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She talks like she fell out of a James Bond movie.

Vanessa didn't know anymore about what the <********> a Beorc was than she knew about molecular science. If she were not so concerned for Syrtis' fool life she would have rolled her eyes. As they were, however --

Vulcan's gaze flickered from Schorl to the orb in her hand to Syrtis, who had reached the body of the dead -or dying?- woman. He looked pale. Sweat pooled on his forehead.

'You seek to buy his life from me?'

Her heart skipped a beat, chest rising and falling with a surge of fear instead of breath.

'How will you stop me. What will you do or give.'

My bare hands.

Still, Vulcan stalled. She had seen the little face squashed underneath the woman's body, tiny fingers curled in the cotton of her shirt, and new what it was that Syrtis reached for. She tried to keep the youma in her peripherals, but it was near impossible when she was certain that taking her eyes off Schorl meant death. For one or both or all three of them.

"I offered you my name in a trade for yours and you gave me a riddle," Vulcan said. "Do not pretend you'll bargain with me now."

The child howled into the rain. Syrtis went for her despite the youma, large hand curling around her little bicep, attempting to drag her out and into the safety of his arms - he did not know what he would do if he was successful, but he still wielded his discuss in his spare hand. Used it to cover his chest, and the vulnerable starseed underneath.

'You offered nothing, but demanded. You are the interloper here.'

So said the leech to the foot in the water.

Murdering mothers and fathers on the playground. Stealing energy from the boy who would save their child's life.


'Take them. And Go.'

The reprieve was unexpected. Syrtis looked over his shoulder at Schorl. Vulcan stared too- eyes narrowing slightly. Suspicion was not fundamental to Vanessa's character. It had come to her in the same way that she had learned to fight - by way of training. She bristled. Could not help being insulted by the dismissal in Schorl's voice.

She is the sort of villain who invites somebody over for dinner and then serves them their own hand.

Syrtis had the baby now. She wailed in his arms, leaking tears and snot on his chest. He was pale. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and at the sides of his face, where he was still too young to grow much hair.

"Fine," Vulcan said to Schorl, "we'll go."

She waited until Syrtis had retreated to several paces behind her, before starting her own departure.