evillurks | Vacation Day (for Myra)

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Current Location: Private airfield, New Jersey

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Vacation Day (for Myra)

The appointment has been set for very early in the morning, a reminder that he keeps all hours, not just the late ones. The coordinates he's sent Myra land her somewhere that the very first and overwhelming impression is one of fog. In her day and age, only a daring pilot would dream of taking off in it, but this is a modern airport with a very small, if often unmanned control tower, from which it's already clear this is simply a low-lying and temporary blanket of mist that will burn off quickly once the sun is truly up. Already a watery light is filtering through.
The building at her back is a shabby hangar, and is no different from any she's seen in her own time, if just a little more weathered. On a private airfield, not much changes but the planes.

The Shadow, dressed in a button-down shirt, light jacket, and jeans, is holding two thermoses. It should be easy to guess the contents, but he looks fairly alert already. "Morning." He has either slept a little better, or is simply covering for it well. Possibly there is some combination of the two.

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Before long, The Shadow slides off his pack to remove the jacket and stuffs it inside, but he does not break stride to do so. In the early morning fog it was needed, but now that they're moving under the dappled sunlight it's a little warm for the extra layer. They move in near-silence together along a narrow trail for a while, each lost in their private observations. The light shines silver on his hair, and brings out the brown highlights in hers.

They have been walking for some time when The Shadow pauses and kneels, touching a hand to the ground. By the time she's reached him, a matter of seconds, he is rising again and gives a nod to the tracks in the soft dirt, the double cleft of deer prints. These are hardly the first they've seen, but this time they're very recent, and he moves quietly off the trail, slipping through ferns with slow care and following the subtle hints of the deer's passing.

Myra replies with the Shadow's deviation in path with nothing more than a smile as she follows him, working to keep her boots from crushing the leaf litter that covers the ground. She keeps low to the ground and it doesn't take very long before they are within easy sight of the small group of deer. One of them is keeping sentry, but Myra has paused and crouched low, keeping absolutely still.

As they draw within sight and stop a short distance away, The Shadow slowly drops into a crouch beside her, the movement slow enough not to draw attention. His face is expressionless as a mask, except for his eyes. He watches the deer with calm respect, glad for the sight.

The deer, for their part, are aware of the human presence through smell. A few nostrils are flared in their direction, but as there are no sudden movements or gunpowder smells, they quickly resume their browsing. It's a small group, a few females and one young male with antlers too small to be worth any game hunter's attention, but as they watch there's a sudden flurry in the underbrush around the deer, and a pair of fawns are revealed as they clumsily chase each other, oblivious to any onlooking eyes.

Having spent her childhood abroad, her idea of deer is different, and these animals are larger than the small water deer she saw back home.

The deer she's had most exposure to are the ones she's seen at zoos. Some have at times called her a hopeless city girl for her lack of exposure to the wilds of North America.

Myra's face cracks into a broad grin, probably one of the widest she's ever given in front of the Shadow. The fawns prance and play as she watches.

These are not tiny creatures, and a kick from one of the adults could do some damage to the unwary predator. Fortunately they are fairly relaxed now, and not entirely unnacustomed to humans. Some of the local area is parkland and resorts, and there are as many people inclined to try feeding the deer as hunting them.

The Shadow's slowly growing smile is mild, a far less deliberate expression than the kind of grin he sometimes displays. He catches hers in his peripheral vision and looks amused by it, content to sit in the underbrush and let her watch until the deer wander off for fresh greens. They have all day, after all.

After a little while the fawns calm down, content to wander, nibbling at whatever their parents are. With a nod, Myra very quietly starts to back up in the brush, returning to the path that they had left.

Once they reach the spot, Myra nods a silent thanks. There's no need to spoil the silence, as she carefully starts along the path, slowly, uncertain in some spots now where it leads, as it grows less defined.

He follows her back to the main trail, and this time lets her take the lead. What looked like a proper trail may peter out into narrow deer trails further up, but The Shadow has checked the compass periodically, and if they climb high enough there are rockier spots where the trees thin out and give a good view.
The greatest danger, particularly in spring, is bears still hungry from hibernation. Apart from that they should be safe enough.

She continues onward until at last she reaches a crossroads of sort. There are a couple deer trails leading off in various, meandering directions, but apart from that, the path has disappeared beneath her feet. She pauses, looking down at the ground, and then up through the trees, trying to discern which way will lead them up the mountain. From here, without the compass in her own hand it is difficult to tell through the thick trees, and she turns back to the Shadow.

"Which way?" She speaks, not in a whisper, but still hushed.

Sweeping an attentive gaze around the spot and filing subtle landmarks away, The Shadow slips around her and leads the way along some subtle course marked only to his own eyes. Before long the ascent becomes a little steeper, and the ground more rocky as the trees thin out. His path takes them between most of the stones, over the easiest ground, but in time they come into a space of open sky and a rocky outcropping. The jumbled boulders offer numerous footholds.
He hesitates only a moment, then starts on a climb that proves to be a fairly easy one, but does require the use of both hands. It's only the work of half a minute to reach the broad top surfaces and a breathtaking view, but he pants slightly and pauses to massage his chest with a wince. It was worth it for the grand glimpse down the mountainside, but likely not the kind of activity any doctor would approve of for a man healing from a gunshot wound.

Myra watches his progression carefully before starting after him, duplicating his moves the best that she can, but improvising in a spot or two where her shorter arms couldn't quite reach. It wasn't a challenging climb, but it offered a different workout than the hiking.

At the top she stands, watching him wince and then diverts her attention to the view. From here she can see the woods they've traversed from the plane, and the dirt airstrip itself. The plane winks in the sunlight and Myra shoulders off her pack, as she sits down, and works to take in more of the details of the stunning view. She leans against her pack like a chair back, and takes a breath. Without motion, she can feel her mind dragging her back to thoughts of work, of home, and inevitably Ming.

Her sitting seems to grant him permission to rest, as well, and he sinks down to sit beside her cross-legged. Few men of his age would be capable of such a pose, but he seems comfortable enough in it. "It's been too long since I got... away. Inasmuch as that's psychologically possible." She's not the only one plagued by thoughts of work.
He pulls off the pack and takes out a plastic sports bottle, taking a long drink of water.

"And its someplace different than wherever it is you usually go between missions." Myra dug into her pack and pulled out a metal canteen, , but just set it in her shadow for later access. She kept her gaze on the plane down below, but her mind was elsewhere, racing over thoughts and events. This was the break she needed a couple days ago, when she'd arrived home. She kept silent for a while, before speaking again. Her voice stayed low, and reflective, as if she was almost worried that speaking her mind would ruin the scenery.

"Ming is...she's loyal to him, but not indebted. When I talked to her, she recognized me as Myra, but either her memory of being Myra is gone or so repressed that she can't see herself as anyone but Ming." Myra picked up a couple loose pebbles on the rock and held them in her hand, giving her something silent to fiddle with.

"Between missions?" One eyebrow quirks as he glances at her sidelong, a smile flashing about his eyes. There is downtime, when he's waiting for information, and it is usually spent in the Sanctum, sleeping in one of his several hideouts, or in one library or another. There are times he wanders the streets out of restlessness, without a specific quest in mind. His work, however, is so overlapping that it may be thought of as constant. There's always crime, even if he's letting it rest on the back burner until such time as it seems best to move in on it.

By the time she speaks again, his face has fallen back into impassive lines. "Does she know who exactly it is she's loyal to?"

"I never said your missions progressed in a linear fashion." Myra shrugged and then shook her head, uncertain.

"I can't really tell. She might, deep down, know who she's really working for, but right now she'd never know it if he had her so convinced that she really is Ming." Myra narrows her eyes. As much as the look is hers, it is one easily translated to Ming's cruel, contemplative face. "It's not hard to pull the wool over our heads like that. She's had it for so long, who can say what it's done to her. The cruelty she's made her trademark, might be her, or it might be what's been ingrained. I honestly can't tell."

The Shadow frowns at the distant horizon, contemplative. "She wouldn't react well to me, either way. Unless..." There is a spark of thought, along the lines of playing the same game as his alternate. Just long enough to talk to her, long enough to glimpse her mind, try to turn her thoughts to the right path. Perhaps, with some effort, he could turn her to something he felt comfortable allowing to take up his alternate's place in that world...
That such a thought is so quick to occur to him is alarming, and he gives a sudden shiver despite the sun. The Shadow's hands shift in his lap and he begins to toy with the ring, spinning it rapidly around his finger. His expression is impossible to read, the lines as hard as if it were etched from stone. "What do you think should be done with her?"

Myra leans forward, tucking her legs to her chest and setting her chin on her knees.

"I don't know yet. I need a couple more chances to talk to her, but right now, I wouldn't feel right sending her back and knowing she was in charge." Myra sniffed briefly. "One part of me wants to redeem her, no matter what the cost. Because she's me, and the thought of a perfectly corrupted Ming is a frightening concept. I'd be worried, that if my Khan got the chance, he'd take advantage of my weakness, and turn me into that, and there would be no going back. The other half of me, wants to find a cold cell in her own world to keep her locked in for life. She's killed a lot of people for no reason at all..."

"I... never had the time to focus on serious reformation. When you reach my alternate, there's a man named Farrow..." His answer is slow and thoughtful, the result of an internal strugger of darker suggestions. He is protective of his agents, perhaps even moreso of the one he has back from the dead, after a fashion. The idea of Khan or some alternate of himself harming her in the ways he knows Ming has been hurt is enough to reach his usually hidden temper.
"But it wasn't Khan that did that..." The spinning of the ring stops, as his left hand clenches unbidden into a fist, the other hand tight around it. That gesture shows the anger that is kept carefully off his face.

Myra glanced over, and noticed the grip on the ring, but the face remaining impassive.

"True, but how certain can we be that he didn't take the opportunity to build off of something Khan may have started?" She shook her head, was it really something she was considering or simply words of comfort to the Shadow?

"I've heard of Farrow, he's...almost a legend. I'd need to talk to the Shadow before getting him involved. Ming...she's had so much longer than I to work at her skills of deception. I'd be concerned for Farrow, and his initiative. If I knew what she knows...I'd kill him the first chance I got, and escape. Then I'd probably replace me. There's a lot to be said for taking advantage of the time difference, now that I've seen her future."

The Shadow, too, notices the pale-knuckled grip of his hands. He forces them to relax very deliberately and flexes them both. His knuckles pop and crack quietly. "...You can't..." The wording of that is quite careful, because The Shadow himself is quite sure of the acts his alternate showed him, and the truth of those images. Her attempt at consolation does little for him, but he has enough self-control to conceal his distress, for the most part.

"Perhaps not Farrow, then, but you could seek his advice at least. You know I'd notice the difference. I wouldn't let that happen to you."

Myra nods sullenly at The Shadow's words.. Indeed he would know the difference, but she wasn't about to have him babysit her just to keep that from happening.

"I could probably get some personal advice from him too." Myra thinks back to her time as Ming, and how close on at least one occasion she came to loosing herself to the cruel role, particularly on that final day.

Still restless with anger, and warm from the sun, he rolls up his shirtsleeves. There are a number of scars on his arms, including some particularly ragged and still pink ones on the right from the undead dog (and torn stitches as they healed). "Personal advice? You're not in need of reformation, but... yes. You should seek him out."
He sighs, willing himself to relax and release the emotions. Farrow was a useful man to speak with, but like so many of his agents and allies the man is gone from his own world. He will have to rely on his meditative training to get over the recent incident.

For a moment, Myra studies his arms passively; they are a testament to the kind of life he has led, and a small sampling of the price he has paid for his success.

She watches him work to meditate away the emotions, and once he seems to collect himself, she offers him a very small, but encouraging smile as she speaks quietly.

"You going to be okay, Chief?"

Metody has seen The Shadow with his shirt off, and the history of battles written across his body is not a pleasant sight. That's to say nothing of the scars that don't show.

Aware of how much his unitentional gestures have communicated, he's not surprised by the question. The Shadow lets out a slow, drawn out breath quietly between his teeth. "Going to be." He's quite firm on that point. "I can understand why he became the monster that he did. I wish I couldn't." His gaze is focused on the horizon, or possibly something beyond it.

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men..." Myra hears herself repeating the mantra she's heard so many times before in a low, reverent voice as she looks out over the landscape.

He laughs softly, a slightly hollow sound, but it still rings against the rocks. It's that damned radio show, spreading around the mantra. "I've channeled my darker impulses to a good purpose, but knowing as much as you do about what I do, you can't possibly think I'm of a normal bent of mind."

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