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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"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."

"No, I wouldn't call you normal, but it's not something I think of negatively. It's what makes you so good at what you do. To beat the worst crime has to offer, we have to know them intimately to get that one step ahead." Myra shifts, letting one leg stretch while keeping the other tucked close. "Some people are just far more effective at it. With all the demons in human form this worlds has to offer, someone who can give it right back at them has to face them. The people here don't know how lucky they are to have you."

Myra closed her eyes, turning her chin up towards the sun and letting out a sigh. She made a mental note to find an appropriate way to express her appreciation to her own Shadow somehow when she returned home.

The Shadow sits quietly through this flattery, impassive but gradually relaxing. While he cannot afford an inflated ego, it's nice to have it fed every now and again.
"My psychological abnormalities do make me perfectly suited to what I do. I suppose I've shaped the role around myself, but it's..." He hesitates, finding a number of ways to word his frustration, but few he wants to say aloud. "It has its drawbacks. There are moments I wish I didn't walk such a fine line."

After a moment of watching her enjoy the sun, he carefully eases himself back, lying at full length on the warm rock and letting the heat seep up through his bones. Relaxing seems to take so much conscious effort.

"I think anyone in this line of work experiences that at some point." Myra speaks through a breath, her eyes still closed. "That sort of moment is a good sign, though." She opened one eye and gave a gentle smile at The Shadow. "It means you recognize the line you're walking. It's when you can't see it, that you're in trouble."

She can only speak from her limited experience, but her recent adventure in the alternate universe caused her to severely question herself. Now she's more certain of her choices than before.

He arches an eyebrow at her, then lets his eyes drift closed. "I see it almost all the time. What does that mean?" It's hard to gauge, from his tone, whether or not this is intended as a merely rhetorical question. It's possible he's unsure, himself.
"Your point is noted, although if I ever do fall off the tightrope it's unlikely I'll be aware of it until it's too late." He's fairly certain anyone in the vicinity at the time will have no doubts, but that will be more their problem than his.

Myra raises her eyebrows at The Shadow, more from the lack of a reply on her part than anything else. She moved her backpack out from behind her and laid flat on the rock, staring at the blue sky through slitted eyes.

"I think," she began in her native Chinese, "that a tiger does not change his stripes so easily, even though he becomes more fierce with age. But that's just me."

It is unconscious habit to slip into the same tongue when he hears another. "The proverbs are all very nice, but in reality, it is usually an old tiger that may turn to a man-eater." This is usually because they are lame, which he clearly is not, but he worries about the possible injury to his mind. The attack from his alternate has rattled him in ways he doesn't know how to speak openly about.

Myra drops her head onto the rock gently and completely closes her eyes. The Shadow seems to be rebutting everything she tries to offer, and she realizes, she's pushed further with him than she would normally dare. So far he's remained good natured about it all, if a bit pessimistic, and she recognizes that whatever is eating at him, she'll have little effect. She doesn't want to continue this 'game' of sorts to the point that she becomes annoying.

Even though her eyes are closed, she concentrates on the sounds around her, and finds The Shadow almost unnervingly difficult to hear, even as he sits nearby.

Still forcing himself to calm, The Shadow is breathing so slowly and evenly that it is nearly silent, and certainly drowned out by birdsong and rustling leaves. For long minutes he says nothing further, until it seems he may have fallen asleep, then his voice comes so quietly it is like a whisper by her ear. He has not moved, nor opened his eyes, should she turn to look.
"The world I live in now, this world, has changed in ways I can't bear to explain to you. I've adapted my methods, tried to move with the times, but more and more I find myself involved in crimes I have no way to fight. He fixed that, by changing the world. He was successful, in that respect, and I find myself..." He pauses, then hisses the world softly with venom, "Jealous."

At the sound of his voice, Myra opens her eyes, but simply watches a wayward cloud passing overhead as his whisper reaches her. She feels a small pit open in her stomach as she hinges on his words and is finally enlightened, in part, to the issue. Carefully she sits up, the shuffling of her cloths almost too loud as she looks over at his form that appears almost calm and meditative. Now though, she can see that behind the repose and the reflection, there is far more.

Myra has no form of reference to this world besides the one she's visited, and she can hardly fathom a place where even the Shadow struggles to fight against crime.

Stretched out and hands resting limply on his stomach, only the mildest of frowns betrays his mental state. The sounds of her movement are enough for him to form an accurate picture of it. "Society has changed in ways that push people... children, to criminal activity. I didn't see it coming, and I don't know how to turn the tide." What he calls children are more properly teenagers and young adults, and one can only hope she'll realize that's what he means.

"Children?" She's not incredulous, but there's still some disbelif in her voice. Then she recalls him having called the younger super heroes in the Nexus 'children'. She's also reminded of the young man that tried to kill her back in the alternate world. That's not to mention all of the young men that worked for her under 'Khan's' employ. "Like back in Ming's world?"

Lost in his own thoughts, it takes him a moment to comprehend the clarification she's asking for. "Teenagers, then. Yes. Very much like that, only they're dealing drugs. And oh, the drugs they make these days..." Suddenly unable to maintain his calm repose, The Shadow opens his eyes and sits up again, wincing when he uses his left arm.
"Nevermind, it's not your fight..."

"At least, not yet." She frowns as he winces, chastising herself for rushing into this trip. Even though they've both needed it, he was shot, and a couple days is hardly enough to time to start healing. Myra thinks about his words though as she sits across the rock from him, legs crossed and back straight.

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