"We mortals are but shadows and dust. " - Proximo. Gladiator

It was nearly dawn when the barrister returned to the townhouse, after having delivered the "package" at the RPS offices. In a half a turn, his disagreeable housekeeper would be up to start breakfast and her morning chores. And Lucien would be greeted with a long winded tirade about his late night escapade.

However, such things did not concern the barrister. No. Other thoughts weighed heavily on the man.

The barrister retreated into his office and poured himself a good measure of whiskey. He paced the length of the room, alternating between drinking and muttering under his breath to himself. He replayed the events of the evening. Belial's agitated conversation with her brother. He remembered the look in the Ancient's eyes. The murderous crazed look in her eyes.

Lucien looked around the office and he remembered Topher's mood. His words.

He remembered the Ancient's weapon pointed toward him. The glass was tipped back at that memory and the amber contents were quickly drained. The barrister grew more animated as he continued to pace back and forth, waving the emptied glass about, his mutterings growing louder, until...

Mrs. Clancy's chiding about the broken glass fell upon deaf ears. Her ministrations to his injured hand were ignored. The barrister's resolve was already hardening. And the consequences be damned.

"A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom." - Chinese proverb Lucien was not a happy man.

Everywhere he turned, it seemed the DCH was there. Suddenly, they seemed to be everywhere. It served as a painful reminder of how far out of touch he'd been. Just as he had been so keenly reminded when he learned belatedly, the news regarding The Pixie.

When the reports came in about the Oak and Ash, Lucien couldn't believe it. He had to go see for himself. Even then he couldn't believe what he saw. Or rather, what he didn't see. And still reports continued to come in about other motions and movements on other properties and holdings.

It was bad enough that the firm of Dewey Cheetham & Howe was back again. It was worse that DCH was treading on what Lucien firmly held as his domain. However, their unforgivable trespass was who they were after and what they were targeting. And their mistake, perhaps, was relying on their size and strength. Arrogance had a tendency to lead to mistakes and oversights.

And the barrister had every intention of exploiting, and exploding, each and every opening the "big boys" left for him.

The barrister had dealt with DCH in the past. The matters seemed smaller back then, in comparison. Nevertheless, big or small, Lucien beat them before, and he had no intention of losing now.

The next couple of days brought a flurry of unceasing activity in and around the barrister's townhouse. A steady stream of pages and associates flowed in and out of Lucien's offices to the courthouse. Filings were made. Dockets were opened. Appeals soon followed. And when it seemed the steady flow of his work would get caught up in a sudden log jam, the barrister made an appearance at the courthouse himself. Of course it was simply to meet up with some old friends and associates. And perhaps share in some lunch. The stream of filings continued uninterrupted soon after Lucien's return from his cordial courthouse visit.

The barrister remained entrenched at his desk and behind a stack of leather bound volumes. Like David against Goliath, Lucky needed only one good shot. And he held that ace in the hole. However, he would keep it in his pocket, as it were, for the time being. He wanted to let them chew on matters for a bit. Strongly encourage them to reconsider their options. Show them, even their armor had kinks in it. He wanted them to squirm and sweat. He wanted them to hurt.

No, there would be no compromise with the barrister.

Lucien was not a happy man.

"Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are." - Niccolo Machiavelli, Italian dramatist, historian, & philosopher (1469 - 1527),The Prince

"Ser Mallorek." The young page boy wove in and around the bustling press of haggling buyers and vendors filling the Marketplace, fighting an upstream battle to reach the barrister. "Gov'nor!" Lucien looked up from his inspection of the neat stack of fruit hearing the boy's address, much to the vendor's chagrin who was about to make a sale. The young page extracted himself from the milling crowd and straightened himself out before he addressed the barrister again. "Morn'ng, Gov'nor." A sealed envelope and a small box were held out to Lucien. "I was instructed to make sure these were delivered to you today. And to let you know it'd been two days, Ser." The barrister was surprised and it showed plainly on his face. His amused grin remained masked behind the neatly trimmed beard and he murmured under his breath with grudging regard, "You are still full of surprises, Abbil." "You are Ser Mallorek, aren' you?" Lucien's expression and apparent hesitation gave the boy cause to think he may have had the wrong man. "Yes." The barrister quickly smiled and nodded to the lad. "I am the one you've been told to seek out," he assured as he took the envelope and box from the youth and slipped them both into his jacket pocket. The cool silver he gave the boy erased any linger doubt the page may have had. Lucien then tossed the boy a nectarine from the vendor's stand and sent the boy away with his thanks. A few more coins were handed to the vendor. Lucien knew not to keep the merchant's unpaid and waiting too long. Even merchant's he'd had long dealings with. "These will be fine. Please have two dozen delivered." The sale made and paid for upfront, the vendor hurriedly pocketed the monies and turned his attention to the next patron. Lucien had already started toward another booth. His hand slipped into his pocket to insure the items were securely tucked away. The barrister's easy smile and casual gait betrayed nothing of the storm of thoughts and emotions that roiled beneath the surface. Lucien stopped by another vendor's booth, then with another small box in hand, he made his way north.

First there was a quick stop at his townhouse to drop off his newest acquistions. It was followed by yet another visit to the courthouse. The barrister wanted to make sure his latest motion was filed personally. Afterall, it would be negligent for the barrister to leave such a matter to a page, especially since this one was directed at Mr. Howe, himself. Lucien's smile broadened as he wondered how much restraint the man would demonstrate when the restraining order was served.

Lucien loosed his tie as he left the courthouse. Things were slowly falling into place for the barrister. All but one. But that was entirely a personal and private matter altogether. He turned down the road leading to the West End, his free hand slipping to his pocket. He had a promise to keep with the Ancient.

"Eat a third and drink a third and leave the remaining third of your stomach empty. Then, when you get angry, there will be sufficient room for your rage." - Babylonian Talmud, tractate Gittin

I wan' his socks! His shirts! The pot he be pissin' in, Lucien! You'll have that and more, Sid.

Lucien pulled out all the stops. He was going to be more than just a thorn now to Howe and the DCH. He was going to be fully disruptive. The police in Rhydin was a joke. That was no secret. But that wouldn't be a problem for the barrister. No. He would build up a police force from scratch to make sure this was carried out. He was calling in all his favors.

The barrister did more than file suit as the Ancient had asked. He was going to do more than sue the pants off Howe and the DCH. He was going to leave them broken. He wanted DCH to be wiped off the legal landscape. He wanted Howe humiliated and the smug grin wiped off his borrowed face. He wanted to be more than just a thorn in their side. So criminal charges were then filed and arrest and search warrants were issued. However, Lucien was a realist. He knew this was all a farce. He knew Howe would never be held for trial. Howe couldn't be held for trial. He knew that the repercussions of embarrassing Howe and the DCH could be grave. He truly hoped the search would recover what was stolen. (He also hoped that Howe would be subjected to a cavity search, just as an added bonus.) But also he knew nothing may turn up. Except for Howe's ire.

Nevertheless, if there was even a remote chance this 'insect' could get what was stolen from the Ancient and the Bloods back; eke out even the smallest measure of satisfaction; if there was the smallest possibility a mere mortal could even momentarily hold up, and maybe even derail, the freight train that was barreling down the tracks, he had to try. He needed to try.

You almost got the bastard. Almost ain't very satisifying, but he warped out on me. I so hate when they do that. We'll get him next time, Tasha.

As the illustrious Rhydin 'police' raided the DCH offices and hauled away Howe howling and spitting like a cat, the barrister stood across the street, watching Rhydin's finest in action, casually smoking his cigar.

And on the insect's face, there was a look of satisfaction.

Packages At 6:01 pm of June 28th, the day after the Oracle's deadline, the first package was delivered to the Rhy"Din Courthouse. Only two souls were still in the building; the cleaning lady and Tom Jenkins, the overnight security guard. The package was spotted only a few seconds after it was left. Tom looked up from reading a well-worn book, "Interview with a Vampire" by Ann Rice, (thought as non-fiction in Rhy"Din), and spied the large presence. He went outside and read the label. The package was addressed to Judge Kelsey Kingstone. Tom knew the judge and knew he had expensive tastes. Tom decided to take it inside but when he tried to lift it he found it was as heavy as it was tall. Struggling every inch he at last pushed it in to the main foyer, a little off to the side so not to imped morning traffic.

Tom knows his job, he can't let any unexamined packages inside the government building, so taking his time he very carefully opened the box. Inside he found a water feature, an iridescent crystalline waterfall, replete with directions on how to set it up. Also inside the box, nestled in the well of the pond area, was a note that read: "Dear Son,

In celebration of fifteen years as a Rhy"Din Judge. Know we are proud of you. Congratulations.

Love, Mom and Dad"

Tom looked the fountain over and knew there was no way he could get it to the Judge in question's chamber without help. So Tom decided to leave it in the foyer overnight, until his relief came in the next morning. Tom went back to reading his book, and forgot all about the gift to Judge Kingstone.

The second package was delivered to the stoop of Lucien Mal's house, not a half a block away from the Courthouse, at 6:05. Tom was still pushing the first package inside as the second was mysteriously delivered. This box was smaller, but still quite heavy. Inside sits an alabaster bust that looks strikingly similar to Alysia Skye. Under the bust is a folded note card which simply reads;

"Thank You?

It is in a flowing yet unfamiliar hand. The card is reminiscent of the kind one gets when flowers are delivered; signed by an unknown clerk with the sentiments of the purchaser.

"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." Niccolo Machiavelli, Italian dramatist, historian, & philosopher (1469 - 1527) A pleased smile played on the barrister's features when word came that DCH had filed harassment charges. That smile twisted into an expectant grin when he learned DCH had even gone through the trouble of producing an image orb as evidence. Gotcha, the barrister thought as he pulled the knot of the tie up to rest at the collar. That was the opening he'd been waiting for. Lucien appeared before the Courts as he was summoned and laid out his defense. He argued and pleaded his case with a carefully formulated mix...a mix that consisted of a measure of justified indignation, a sprinkling of animated cries for justice, a dash of self-effacing humor, all over a heaping serving of heartfelt (and appropriately humble) appeal to the "wisdom" of the Court. The barrister turned DCH's own evidence against them, gently reminding the Court that the real victim was the Ancient, that it was understandable why she would become so upset. She was threatened. "We would all feel the same way," the barrister argued. Afterall, Howe was constantly, even publicly defying the Court's authority and snubbing his nose at the Rhydin justice system by openly violating the terms of the restraining order. "Then to add insult to injury, these outsiders use evidence of their own defiance to file trumped up charges against an upstanding and long time citizen of Rhydin and the hardworking Rhydin police force. Preposterous!" ***** The barrister was in the wine cellar looking over his private stock, small reward to himself for successfully getting all the harassment charges dropped, when Mrs. Clancy barked down at him about a delivery. Gwyr was out delivering thank you and congratulation notes to the Rhydin "police" and the Ancient, so Lucien abandoned his survey. The pleased smile that framed the unlit cigar he held in his mouth didn't falter or fade as the disagreeable housemaid chided him on the dangers of smoking and how the smell of smoke clung to the drapes and upholstery. Lucien simply nodded and quietly reminded her that the stogie was unlit. "Now where is this package, Mrs. Clancy?" ***** He stopped playing the violin again and lowered the bow, although the instrument remained tucked under his chin. Lucien's attention kept coming back to the alabaster bust that sat on the table in the library. It kept coming back to card that laid beside it. It was not like the Priestess-Emperess to send such a thing nor to send it in the manner it had been. "That ugly thing doesn't look a thing like her at all. A horrible likeness. She'd be mortified!" His scrutiny and questioning faded with Mrs. Clancy's determination. Lucien's thoughtful furrow eased into a chuckle. "Yes, Mrs. Clancy. You are correct, as usual." "It doesn't belong in this house. You need to get rid of it." The barrister dropped the violin from his chin. "Yes, Mrs. Clancy. I'll take care of it in the morning," he assured. "'In the morning!' 'Tomorrow!'" The disagreeable and rotund woman threw her arms up into the air. "It's a wonder you get anything done, Viktor." Lucien bit back the chuckle and tried to maintain an appropriately somber expression. "It is a wonder. But it is already late. I promise, I'll take care of it first thing." Mrs. Clancy snorted with a disapproving glare, but said nothing else and left the room. "Good night, Mrs. Clancy," the barrister called after her, to which he got another snort in reply. An amused grin played on his mien as he watched her retreating back. Once he heard Mrs. Clancy turn in, Lucien picked up the violin and held it like a small guitar. Bow still in hand, he picked out a light tune. For a few hours at least, he would just relish the peace and forget about the DCH and odd and unexpected deliveries and new filings...

*****

Amid the shattered and smoldering ruins of what used to be the barrister's three story townhouse, Mrs. Clancy's body would be found, her usual scowl replaced by a serene mask in death. And alongside the pristine white feather,....the shattered remains of an old violin.