Tears: The Right and Left Hand

[m-danson.livejournal.com]

This summary is far from complete as there was too much interaction and character development for me to document. Fill in the blanks where your memory is better than mine.

( There are no non-combatants. )

Tears: Cut Scene (in Dijon, France... when the crew left for Paris)

[m-danson.livejournal.com]

...not just us and them, there is more. Those who are caught in the middle, life is more than black and white, there are shades of grey," the blue feathered one insisted, ruffling his feathers unconciously. "I will not be a butcher. I will not kill the innocent or the helpless..."

"Fine." The motled and marked feathered one cut him off abruptly. "You don't have to kill them but don't get in our way. Remember, you aren't with Daddy any more. Things are different down here." He slammed the door shut.

If the arguement continued in the vehicle she couldn't hear it. Not that it really mattered to her. She had what she had come for. The pigeon pecked happily at the bread until it was all gone and the vehicle was long gone. Satisfied, she fluttered up to the window sill and hopped inside the newly vacated room. Unfortuneatly there room was devoid of bread and only a few crumbs remained on the small desk. She finished them off.

Then she shifted.

A slightly pudgy young woman in a canvas coat and blue jeans stood in the middle of the room. She brushed grey hair out of her eyes and wished again for a dye that would make it any other color. Her most successful attempts at covering the grey had turned her shaggy hair a deep shade of granny blue. She had almost shaved her head after that attempt. Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she pulled a pair of laytex gloves and a tiny camera from on of her many pockets. Methodically she tossed the room without disturbing it. Finding nothing she picked up the hotel phone and dialed an outside number. Her call was answered on the tenth ring. She delivered her report in short clipped sentences then waited.

"Deadtown, sir."

"No, sir."

"I don't know, sir."

"Do you want me to interfere?"

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

She hung up the phone.

Perhaps she should have left then but a bit of colour caught her eye. She bent down and picked up a blue pin feather from the carpet. She rolled it between her gloved fingers thoughtfully. Perhaps blue wasn't such a bad colour after all. She carefully placed the feather in an inside pocket, stripped off her gloves, and shifted.

The pigeon flapped off towards town in search of breakfast.