Main Storyline: Part One

[Sara Pezzini]

“Any more tough words, bitch?”<br>“Just three... brush your teeth!” she said with a devious grin her tone of voice like that of a rebellious high-schooler.

Her voice caught in her throat as he grabbed her about the neck and lifted her from her feet. Try as she might to pry his fingers apart his iron grip wasn’t budging. White spots flashed across her vision, her cheeks reddened, eyes rolled skyward as she craned back as far as she could to try and get a breath. His fist pounded twice into her face and already she could feel the flesh bruising at the bottom of her jaw. She guessed it wasn’t broken, but with all the adrenalin in her system she couldn’t tell. Sara hit the trashcans like a rag doll. Her lower back dug unmercifully into the edge of an overturned lid. Her hands immediately tried to brace her for the impact, but that was perhaps not the best course of action. The crunch of bone was sickening as it co-mingled with the lance of immediate pain.

“Don’t pass out on me, bitch. Not yet.”<br>“There are two hundred and fifteen bones in the human body. That's one.” Sara slid her knee up, pushing against the street with her unbroken hand. As she began to shakily stand, he was again attacking her. With the first blow to the bricks she felt her shoulder dislocate, the second was the crunch of ribs, and as a bonus her collarbone. It fractured in a compound break, popping from her delicate skin like the disposable strips of plastic her department often used for restraints. The brake at her collarbone was enough to make whatever fight she had left in her subside and as Jackie stood over her she half smiled.
“Jack… love the suit.”<br>
In the time between Sara did the last thing she could manage. Blindly her left hand reached down to the right. The middle and ring finger were twisted up backward; jammed up the opposite direction. Just the feeling of her hand in that position was enough to make her sick, but she drew in a deep breath and steadied. The re-brake sent a wave of revulsion to her stomach, eyes rolled and for a long while thereafter she could only lie there and bleed.

Sara used to think that when a person was unconscious that they didn’t experience the world around them. It was only until later that she discovered that the mind reveals what’s going on in the surrounding world all too well… it’s the art of determining the differences between what was really there and what the mind manifest that is the tricky part. To be frank, at the moment she was not really sure of anything anymore, The Witchblade’s strange way of putting things in order could easily sway the difference between insanity and rational thought. And as her mind put the pieces together the edges didn’t quite match up.

She winced in her sleep. Tears had been falling behind her closed eyes as a natural and un-controlled response to the amount of pain she had undergone. The stir of movement drew her back toward consciousness and as detective Pezzini flexed her muscles she could still feel lingers of pain, but it was muted. Someone had lifted the heavy curtain of anguish… There was an IV line in her hand… the fog of morphine in her head. At the stir of his patient, Boswell moved to her bedside sitting carefully.

Eyes flashed open as she panicked.
“Jack!”<br>The Witchblade flashed out a long sickle of platinum metal and before she fully became aware that her setting was far different than the littered floor of the alley, the flexible spear of metal sank though the soft and unresisting flesh of Everett’s shoulder.

-Pez#nosmileys#nosmileys

[Everett Boswell]

Dark eyes watched in silence, smoke rising from his lips into the air for the cigarette he smoked. Bad habit he knew, but somehow calming. Sara had been extremely beaten, bruised and broken. Clothing torn to shreds no doubt by the Witchblade. A normal hospital would have asked too many questions, need to fill out too much paper work. Here in his suit it was far simpler. Dr. Scott wasn’t paid well for nothing.

The elderly doctor worked his magic, though it would be painful. Broken bones, being replaced or broken to heal correctly. Large gashes stitched by hand. After binding each wound carefully he took the young woman’s hand, searching for the right vein before inserting the needle that would hook up to the IV and the drip. Surely the Witchblade and its wielder had their enemies, but who strong enough to do such damage? Kenneth would have to be consulted. After all he’d been the informant.

As Sara started to stir he put out the cigarette and gave a nod to the doctor so he could go get a break from the hours or so he’d spent tending to the detective. Italian leather soled shoes moved easily over the wood flooring until he came to a stop next to the bed. Weight shifted as he sat on its edge hand resting near her blanket covered leg propping himself up as he studied her.

His embroidered handkerchief moved to dry her face from the unconscious tears that had fallen from most likely a mix of pain and emotion. Everything happened quickly then. She nearly jerked after he removed his hand. There was shock in her eyes, hints of anger and panic still. “Jack” came rough dry voice. And the Witchblade reacted as if it was still under attack. He stopped, muscles tightened as back went rigid. Then with a gasp of breath he focused his sights on to the tendril of metal that sank into his flesh.

The pain wasn’t as any he’d ever felt before. It was cold, icy. Anymore force it would have broken through the back of his shoulder blade. Now that was an uncomfortable feeling, the sharp end of the metallic tendril scrapping against bone. He’d been standing at that moment when it happened. Handkerchief dropped to the floor while the veins in his neck pulsed a moment and teeth clenched.

With another breath being pulled in, hand moved up against the metal tendril gripping around it, pulling it back as he took a step back. Blood was already beginning to stain the designer shirt, causing it to stick to his flesh. Finally removing himself from the spear drops of blood fell against the floor from it nearly four inches was covered in his blood. So now he’d witnessed the Witchblade in a moment of action. It had been an awesome sight, then it retracted into itself. Left shoulder dropped some, as the still open wound gave another shot of pain running up his spine. Right hand pulling away the stained fabric to examined the wound himself when the door behind him opened.

Dr. Scott entered holding a cup of coffee and looked up from it, seeing that Sara was awake. “Ah, awake I see. The morphine should help with the pain.” But then he stopped noticing the small pool of blood on the floor. “What happened?” Everett turned around holding now red fingers against the shirt for pressure. “Just a bit of an accident. And, my father wanted me to be a doctor. Fancy I didn’t…I might have cut someone’s arm off.” Boswell grimaced slightly and the elderly doctor moved to examine him. Almost a look of skepticism in his eyes.

Moving back he took a set in the chair removing the shirt in the process, which still wanted to cling to his flesh as some of the blood started to dry. Swallowing he tipped his head back against the headrest of the chair as the good doctor cleaned the gash and started to hand stitch it. Eyes moved as he lowered his chin to look across at Sara.

[Kenneth Irons]

The quality of Irons composure was remarkable. Only minutes before he was experiencing some of the most intensely potent bouts of pain, but now it seemed that it was a mere blip on the screen, barely something to give much thought. His cheeks sank in a little as he sipped the wine, savoring the rich flavor of fermented currant. He set the glass down and tilted his head to the side, watching the intersection of players.

He was impressed. Boswell had managed to slip the braggart Sheridan drink and drug, and from the looks of it the top ranking M1-6 spy was about to do something very foolish. With a wrinkle of his forehead Irons glanced to Chase Carver.
With sarcasm he asked, “Friend of yours?”<br>He couldn’t help but smile at the reactions and conversation, and the laid-back mannerisms he was sporting were enough to melt away any thought that he was without a sense of humor. As the waiter passed he ordered a cup of coffee for Terry then gestured to a chair.
“Please Mister Sheridan why don’t you join us.”<br>
He waited for the opportunity to speak again, and this time it was to ask a seemingly harmless question.
“Your accent,” he quirked a brow leaning his arm on the table, “The dialect is quite the unique blend; we’re either of your parents from Scotland?
Irons already knew a good deal about the M1-6 agent. Yes he was aware of the time Sheridan had spent locked up in a prison in the far reaches of Kazakhstan, about the friction between him and Everett, and especially about the night he’d spent with Sara Pezzini; it was simply more amusing to play ignorant and see how things were going to transpire.

-Irons

[Isabella]

Finally the plane had landed and off it was into another land. It's funny really that when in Mexico Isabella felt homesick for other worlds, yet when in other worlds she was homesick for lady Mexico. It was as if nothing would satisfy her, ever. She was used to climate changes now, different tempatures and adjusting from the dry hot air, to the damp cool ones. After the plane had touched down for instance, a jacket was placed over her shoulders and the tanned beauty glanced around. Eyes hidden beneath the sunglasses which she would keep over the pair. Suddenly the dark hidden orbs spotted a man whom appeared familiar to her and oddly out of place as well. Slowly and without a care she approached him, immediatly giving her bag over just as he spoke " Signora the car is waiting to escort you to the Hotel." "Bueno, it is about time I have someone compatent helping me. Oh, and remind me later to discuss the tormentment of the seats on that plane with the head of this airline before I return back to Mexico. I think he or she will appreciate my concern." " Of course Signora. My name is Ricardo by the way, it was arranged for me to assist you when you need it." Ricardo responded as they moved through the airport and towards the car. The door was opened by the driver and Isabella suddenly turned around before entering. " Let me tell you something, I don't care who you are, as long as you do your job right. We won't have a problem then, Entendido?" "Si.." before Ricardo could enter into the car, the door shut and they were off. Leaving him standing along the sidewalk in shock at the fact of being left behind.

They arrived at the Hotel with out a problem. " Be back in a hour. " "Yes Miss." the sound of .the drivers voice was not shakey or anything. No, he would do as asked. She left the car and was headed up to the room, helped by bellmen who were paid generously for their help. Isabella wasn't always cold hearted, it just really depended on who you were whether she treated you right or not. Settling into the suite, this would prove to be a nice stop before continuing on her search. Giving her ample time to stop amd smell the daisies as she heard someone say once. But first, before she could enjoy herself, some business was to be taken care of. Phoning Ricardo, she asked him where the best club in town was and to meet her in the back of the alley before they would enter. She dressed in a fine dress, sleek and black which fitted her nicely. Her dark hair was pulled back away from her face, purse in hand.

When she arrived he was waiting and after ushering the driver away again she smiled slightly to Ricardo. " Give me your jacket." " Of course." her handed it over before she wrapped it around her frame. Buttoning it up. " Porque?" he asked hesitantly before she began to fiddle around in her purse. She knew she had heard and seen of this man before and she only needed that hour span to find out what she needed . " Because Ricardo.." suddenly her hand lifted from the purse, a Beretta M29 with a silencer attached pointed towards the man and two fires were off. One in the leg causing him to fall, and the other in the chest, causing his voice to still as he fell fully to the ground. "I don't want my new dress stained" She moved towards the fallen man, pulling a rubber glove from her purse and placing it over her hand. He wasn't dead yet but would be soon. " The Devils awaiting for you" a whisper and suddenly she prodded her index and thumb deep into the hole in his leg as she crouched over it. A sound of pain ringing out, but it was drowned by the music inside. She fetched the bullet from out his wound and placed it into a bag. Then the chest wound went through the same ordeal before he finally stopped breathing. She moved his body and placed the jacket around his form before a lighter was lite and she threw it onto his form. The fabric catching fire slowly but setting his form ablaze. She turned then, throwing the glove into the small fire and making her way. Around the building and finally through the front doors of the club. It was time to relax from enjoying that business. Time to make haste towards the bar and ordered a tequilla, dry.

[Sara Pezzini]

Sara’s voice fell agape in an O of surprise. Blood had splattered across the brunette’s face in an angry line, bisecting the bridge of her nose and forehead like paint thrown obliquely across a canvas. Numbly she watched as he pulled himself off the pike, her figure rocking slightly as the Witchblade retracted into itself with equal maliciousness.

Two lines of thought fired off at once. First was that she had just stabbed a man in cold blood. Second was that the man she stabbed had discovered her secret of the Witchblade. What could she possibly say that would make him understand? She couldn’t possibly tell him that it was figment of his imagination… he was bleeding for Christ’s sake!

Her lips quivered as she tried to make a sound of protest, her throat letting out a few choked noises. At first she tried to bring both of her hands to her face, but as her right arm came up to her chest she felt an unnatural crunching in her shoulder. It reawakened levels of pain she did not relish. Sara’s voice returned and she cried out, biting her bottom lip and covering what bits of her face she could with her left.
Pezzini swallowed hard trying not to cry as her eyes glanced away.
“Twice you’ve been here for me and what have I done…? What have I…?”

Sara’s words were hard to make out due to her raw voice and emotional struggles. She glanced back, wanting to make eye contact to express how sorry she was, but it was harder this way. Her head turned away from him as she continued to speak, this time the quaver in her voice more repressed.
“Stay away from me Everett. Everything I touch turns to shit. I’m a…”

The Doctor entered the room at this point and Sara wondered how long it was going to be before she was on an autopsy table being dissected like an alien being. Mr. Boswell was probably looking for a stun-gun so he could put her down like the rabid dog she was. Sara pushed against the mattress with her un-broken hand, wincing slightly as the needle began to bend. Lips parted to speak until Boswell interjected. Again her face was looked puzzled. He was lying for her? Why? She waited until the doctor finished before requesting, “would you excuse us a minute?”<br>
Dr. Scott waited for permission from Boswell, and then nodded as he departed. Broken fingers took hold of the IV line and she pulled it from her vein with a grit of teeth. She sat up a little more; glad that the Witchblade had been hard at work repairing her injuries in conjunction with the physician otherwise she’d hardly be able to move at all.
“Why did you do that? - Aren’t you afraid of me?”<br>She chuckled in an exasperated cynical manner.
“I know I am.”<br>
-Pez

[Everett Boswell]

His chest stung, muscles throbbed around the wound still with that pang of cold attacking his flesh. Eyebrows knitted for a moment as she looked up to him, her eyes filling with shock perhaps, worry. After all he knew her secret now first hand, it was different that what he’d read or heard from Kenneth, but she didn’t know that. Swallowing he drew away for a moment. Her voice cut the tensions of the moment with ragged breath.

“You’d think…I should know better after the first time…” the slight grimace turned to a slightly forced smiled as hand rested against his chest and Sara continued after a moment. “We Brits don’t take hints well…as I’m sure you’ve already discovered from Croft and Sheridan. If I worried over my life, I’d not be a member of MI-6.” Shifting his weight he glanced at the door as the doctor entered.

Muscles in his jaw clenched slightly after the last stitch was made and a cloth was taped against his chest. Rising to his feet he gripped the soiled dress shirt. “Discard this in the trash as well if you wouldn’t mind. I’ve another in my closet if you’d bring it next time you come back.” Watching the doctor leave with a nod and the bloodied shirt Everett waited until the doors closed.

Fingers rubbed against the medical tape against his chest before he tipped his head up eyes focusing on Sara. “Do what?” he question nonchalantly, though he knew what she’d meant. Why he lie for her. Walking towards the bed he stopped just before her. “I almost half expected you’d think better of me than that, Sara. I’ve dealt with my own…oddities through out life. In all honesty I’d heard rumor of such a thing, but wasn’t quite sure if I believed any of that. Seemed almost like muck, along the lines of aliens and Elvis living.” Shifting his weight he rolled his shoulder slightly and nose wrinkled with the twinge. “Nothing you could do, would cause fear in me, Miss Pezzini. Though will you do me a favor? Will you rest this time, or do you intend to storm after me once again?”

[Terry Sheridan]

Sheridan’s eyes narrowed some before he moved shoving his hands into his pockets. The well dressed business man returning now to take his seat, but Everett had snuck out during this time to save Sara. Something that if anyone, he should be doing, but he wasn’t informed as Boswell was. He didn’t have the powerful ties and in his current state he wouldn’t be much use.

With a shake of his head sights focused on Irons for a moment as he asked a question. “I don’t know that American wanker…” he scoffed slightly but eyes turned towards where Croft sat “The minx on the other hand.” But another question from Irons drew his attentions back and the prospect of a coffee. Maybe it would help clear his head. “Yes, why does it matter?” he questioned back before looking to the seat then the company before pulling the chair out.

“I don’t believe we’ve met…Mr?” he paused a moment as he dropped in the seat and leaned forwards slightly “I can tell you already know Croft…be careful she gets awfully cranky with her knickers in a bunch if things don’t go as she’s planned them. Especially when it comes to men…and artifacts.” Leaning back he waited the coffee, but the drugs were now working their way into his bloodstream.

[Lara Croft]

Irons had returned and Lara refrain from asking any about his episode, frankly she saw it as none of her business, but yet she was curious as to the reason behind it and what exactly that tattoo was for. To the Tomb Raider it all seemed to be connected. However life was going to get to connected for the Lady Croft as Irons took attention to something or rather... someone behind her.

Turning, Lara put on a smile expecting to greet someone she didn't know, but instead the smile faded into a clear and obvious frown while she shot a heated glare towards none other than Terry Sheridan," Well. I wonder who else from my past will pop up tonight." With that said, Lara's intense stare moved towards Irons, her look very accusing. Once more she turned to face the table and settled, doing her best to ignore Mister Sheridan basically, but it seemed that Irons was going to make that a rather diffcult task and thus Lara grew very silent and focused apon the artifact still before her apon the table as she listened to the conversation.

Eyes darted annoyed towards Sheridan as he leaned forward to whisper something to Chase and then sat back, scowling Lara finally broke her own silence," Mr Sheridan, what ever you just told Chase about me I am quite sure he already knows." Little did she know just how right she was while the evening was going quickly from worse to terrible.

[Sara Pezzini]

She winced when she saw Boswell’s pained grimace, her nose wrinkling and her eyebrows knitting together as her eyes cast down. The doctor did his work quickly, pausing for a second to note the IV line had been removed.
“I don’t want any medication.” She offered.
The doctor departed again, not arguing the issue simply shaking his head at her. In his eyes without painkillers and after the extensive damage to her, she was in for a thankless few months of agony. Sara would have kindly wallowed in her own self regret, her eyes on the blood splattered coverlet, unless he spoke again. Fortunately he did.
“You bet your ass it exists. I think that’s why I’m so beat to shit.”<br>Sara wiped the remaining bits of Boswell’s blood from her face with a piece of gauze left behind after the stitches. She swallowed a few more times, glad that her voice (although still raw and dehydrated) was returning.

As he moved closer her analytical mind studied him. Of course initially she noticed his physical handsomeness. Who wouldn’t find themselves captive in his dark smoldering eyes or drawn to stare uninhibited at his bare-toned upper body? Sara found herself glancing to the scar beset across his upper lip, and idly she wondered what it would feel like during a kiss. <<If I had a dime for every time I felt your libido kick a notch…>> the Witchblade joked inside her head. The blade startled her, and quickly as if she were just caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Sara’s eyes returned to Boswell’s.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Sara?” she said with a soft voice.
“If I have to stay in bed then I’ll need a few things. One, I’m dying for a bath. Two, if you can provide it I’d like a firearm at my disposal. And three, keep your doctors and men away from me until the Blade has time to fix this. I don’t want to find myself on some autopsy table awaiting dissection if anyone other than you sees it.”<br>
-Pez

[Chase Carver]

He handed the object over to Croft and watched as she scanned it intensely. He himself had no idea if the piece was genuine or not but for his pockets sake he hoped it was. He chuckled at her comment. “You wake up on the wrong side of someone’s bed this morning, Lara?” He knew that would get he blood boiling even more but that was all part of his game. What most didn’t know was that the tomb raider was all the more inticing when angry. The problem was that he knew why she was angry with him and that in itself could possibly kill any chances that he would have with her again. He came across as relaxed but as he watched Irons he had come to the conclusion that he didn’t trust the man. It wasn’t anything he said but he was a business type and those types always have hidden agendas. That much was obvious by Lara’s presence in all of this. Whatever the object actually was it was more important then he had first thought. All that meant was that his price had just tripled.

His concentration on Croft was then broken when Irons assistant arrived with a briefcase. The man opened it and pulled out a checkbook and a golden pen. Now they were getting to the good part. “I have a few documents for you to sign, verifying the change in ownership…” Irons said after he slid the check across the table once his signature was placed upon the slip of paper. He looked over the documents not knowing exactly what any of the legal terms meant and suddenly wishing that he had brought a lawyer with him for just this occasion. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I hope that if I need to call upon… “ His words were cut off as suddenly the man seemed to go into a seizure of some kind. “You alright.” He said with concern for the man with whom he was being paid by. His assistants came to his aid and then the man excused himself.

He observed the scene somewhat confused but brushed it off placing his attention back to Lara. “I see you’re stepping up in the world, Lara. I hope your new boy friend is alright. Although I never pegged you to go after the rich and powerful type.” Soon after Irons returned as if nothing had transpired. “A friend of yours?” The man asked as he gestured towards a man not too far off from their location. He quirked a brow as he eyed the man approaching their table. Things were getting a bit too interesting for his taste. Sheridan was the man’s name and of course the first words out of the accented man’s mouth were quite insulting. “Wanker?” he said obviously annoyed but brushed it off under the realization that he would soon be very wealthy.

The man then slumped down next to him and begun to speak again inquiring about his identity. “Chase Carver.” Sheridan didn’t seem like his head was screwed on well, perhaps he had taken a bit too much to drink. He smirked at his comment about Lara. It was something he knew all too well. Placing his attention on the documents he signed the papers and slid them back to Irons. “So, you want to explain to me why the piece is so important to you. A collection is one thing but I have dealt with collectors before and in my experience 90% of the time whatever you sell is usually worth five times as much as they offer.” He was very curious as to this man’s hidden agenda.

[Kenneth Irons]

“Ah so you’re familiar with our little archeologist are you Mr. Sheridan. I myself am just getting to know the young lady and I must admit she is quite the winning creature. Stubborn, willful, but then again I’ve always had a liking for strong women.”<br>Kenneth pointed in Sheridan’s direction, as the waiter as he neared with the coffee cup.
“I was merely noting the unique blend of your accent, no offense was intended.”<br>He paused for a moment watching in earnest as the drugs Boswell introduced worked into his system.
“We’ve never officially met in person no, but I have seen you in the London branch while I was there on a fact finding assignment for your department’s previous ‘M’.”<br>
His attentions returned to Chase Carver, and for a few minutes he was content to watch the interaction between the two men. It amused him to see the ‘Alpha Male’ a-typical boasting and bouts of superceding testosterone between them. Each in their own way was infatuated with Croft. It was apparent from the go, but what fascinated him was how different yet the same her choice in male companionship was. Did she not crave variety in her sex life or was it all about the muscle ripped adventurous lad with an inferiority complex and an overblown ego that did it for her?

“I’m pleased to do business with you Mr. Carver. – My collection is quite eclectic and I take much pride in the superlative and the unique. Hmph, hence my newfound interest in Miss Croft.”<br>Irons chuckled a bit, clearing his throat. He poured more wine into his glass, and then tucked the paperwork into his briefcase alongside the artifact.
“Well now that the trifles are out of order, might I extend an offering to adjourn this meeting so that we might retire to my home? I’m sure as a fellow collector of antiquities you’d be more than satisfied with a modest tour of my gallery.”<br>As if it were an afterthought he turned to Sheridan.
“You’re welcome to join us as well Terrance, that is, if I’m not intruding upon alternate plans you may have. I’m curious to know why MI-6 hasn’t snatched you back to London what with the recent events in regards to the new threat of a cold war with Japan.”<br>#nosmileys

[Everett Boswell]

Boswell could tell she was studying him looking him over after the doctor had left per his request. Dark eyes studied her features, how she was trying to be strong. His lips formed a smile some pulling the scar that ran against his upper lip. “Well…it’s surly left an impression on me. One I don’t think I’d quickly forget.” Shifting he straightened up still maintaining his eye contact.

“Proper English upbrining, you’ll have to excuse me Sara.” Was simple reply to her asking him to call her Sara than Detective Pezzini. “Hm. And what would those be. I’ll fulfill them as long as their in my power to do so.” Tipping his head he listened to her requests. “I believe I have a 9mm stored away in my safe, I’m afraid no other guns but my own. I’ll reminded Dr. Scott, though he won’t speak anything he’s been with me for some years now since my boy hood. And I wouldn’t let anyone dissect you.”<br>
Offering his hand to her he helped her stand. “The bath however I can draw for you. Follow me.” He lead her threw the double doors connect to her room into the large marble floored bathroom. In the middle wall an elevated spa styled bathtup, in the corner a large waterfall styled shower. A vanity ran along another wall. Opening up the sink cubbord he pulled out a gift basket.

“It came when I bought the place. I’ve not much use of it myself but perhaps you will.” Inside it had bath oils, salts and candles. A very elegant and tasteful basket put together with products from the specialized bath stores of New York, most that the common New Yorker wouldn’t be able to afford. Also was a small bag of items from Paris. Starting the warm water he fetched three large terry cloth towels and a robe. “If there’s anything specific wardrobe wise you’d like, please let me know.” Nodding his head he closed the doors behind him.

[Sara Pezzini]

How enrapturing his eyes were, and how she found herself wanting to continue the study of the windows to his soul. His steady gaze fueled hers, and for a lingering moment the connection was unbroken with words or modesty. Then Sara felt her cheeks redden and she broke contact, pushing up to stand.
“So… unngh…” she used Everett’s shoulder as support as they walked to the lavatory.
‘What you’re saying is your house is devoid of weapons save your own? – I find that odd considering your line of work.” She sat on the lip of the tub with another moan of complaint she could not contain.
“I have half a dozen strewn and hidden about my place at all times…” she trailed off wondering if the mention of the excessive firepower in her apartment would shock him. She watched as he busied himself drawing steaming water and grabbing various items for her disposal.
“I’m not complicated. Something soft and comfortable is fine with me. I’d say just launder my old clothes, but seeing as that’s not really an option…” her fingertips brushed at the tatters of bloodstained cloth. “I’ll trust your judgment; it’s been a while since I’ve been able to say that and mean it.”<br>
Boswell gave her privacy and she stripped herself free of soiled clothing. Bloody fabric glued to her skin in places, the unnatural shift of bone and tendon as she worked to shimmy her arm free. Sara felt defeated as she whimpered in agony. The homicide detective slipped into the awaiting water, breathing a relaxed breath. Sara’s eyes slipped closed and she fell into slumber, the Witchblade extracted itself again, this time enveloping the tub basin like aquatic plant life as it cocooned her frame. The drip, drip of water and the even breath of Detective Pezzini was the only thing to be heard outside the door for a long while afterward.

~~

Sara awoke with a start. The bathwater was ice cold, and she splashed herself in the face as she flinched in response to the nightmare images that had awoken her. Lifting herself out of the tub Sara leaned down to drain it and then wrapped her chilled figure in a towel. Gingerly she opened the bathroom door to find a few boxes on the bed. She opened the first of them fingering the silk pajama pants and matching wrap around shirt. It was something she’d see Michael’s wife wearing; something she’d always envied the Asian woman for owning, and being able to carry off with such grace. She tried it on, glad that it fit better than she would have expected.

Her body felt better. Not 100% but clearly fixed with an unnatural rate. Sara exited the bedroom, walking the somewhat familiar halls.
“Everett … Mr. Boswell?” she called out, her footfalls bringing her toward the sound of music.

[Lara Croft]

Brows knitted slightly. Eyes drifted from the three men surrounding her, Lara's nerves were growing oh so close their ends. Beneath the table, her fingers clenched and unclenched over and over. Nerves of steel she had, but they worked best in close call situations, not annoying get me out of this nightmare situations like this.

Her green eyes bore holes into Chase's, hoping this would keep him from doing something stupid as he was usually acustomed to doing. Her gaze flitted curiously towards Terry, who she could tell something was not right with. He looked dazed, and that was not a normal look for Terry Sheridan, even when drunk out of his mind he still could hold a look of " I know what I'm doing" quite well. And then her eyes moved to the man of the hour, Kenneth Irons, who seemed to enjoy speaking of her as if she wasn't even present," Might it be advised it is not good for one's health to become so interested in me Mr Irons." Arsehole indeed, Lara thought to herself venomously.

Taking a long steady drink of water, Lara was trying to keep herself under control. This was turning out to not be a very easy task, infact it was taking all she could muster to keep a rein on her heated desire to kick some asses, namely the three currently in her personal space," I'm sure Mr Sheridan has more important things to attend to." The Brit hinted very strongly, hoping that Terry would not stick around and go about his own business whatever that was currently.

[Chase Carver]

This scene was getting more interesting by the second. There was the multi-billionaire who moments ago seemed as though he had one foot in the grave. Luckily for him the man felt free to pay him handsomely for the artifact he found. As soon as the check cleared the man could kick the bucket for all he cared. Then there was the drunken Scott, Terry Sheridan. Perhaps in another setting they could have shared a drink and stories involving the woman that seemed to be the center of attention. Lara Croft. It had been so long since he had seen her. They indeed had history although he felt the need to only remember the good times. He took a sip of his drink and found that his eyes caught hers. She was looking at him. Was there anything behind the glance? Some repressed feelings that in his absence she was unable to let out. He wondered such until he noticed the look to be more of a glare. Perhaps said feelings were not the ones he wished to see come to the surface.

Nodding to Irons he spoke. “Well, since I came all the way here I don’t see why a tour wouldn’t hurt.” His curiosity was peaked as he was far more interested in what the business man’s plans were for the artifact he had just acquired than a tour of the man’s estate. Hearing Lara’s comment he smirked. “I beg to differ, Lara. Speaking from experience I’d say that my interest has faired quite well for me.” He recalled the many adventures they had encountered together and found that in most cases the experience had been in his favor, whether it was monetary or otherwise. Normally he would just walk away and enjoy a night out on the town but Lara’s presence had completely changed those plans. “Modest? Please.” he thought to himself as he nodded to the man. If she was involved then Irons was far more than a rich man wanting another conversation piece for his study. “I’m ready when you are.” He said before finishing his drink. He saw promise of something even more profitable and he wanted in.