milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The sun is setting over the Milliways lake. The air is crisp and cold, and snow covers the ground in a thick blanket. However, there is a large circle of ground where the snow has been cleared away. In the midst of it, there is a person wielding a metal pole in some type of martial arts form.

He is also shirtless and barefoot, but he doesn't seem to be noticing the cold much.

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Wells lets out a long, low whistle, bringing up a hand in a salute of his own. "Nice work," he says. "Nothing I recognise, but still- damned impressive."

He turns and smiles warmly at the newcomer.

"Thank you," he says. "I've been working on that particular form for a while now. I may be close to perfecting it."

His eyes shift to the gargantuan hounds, but he doesn't seem disturbed. If anything he seems intrigued. He nods toward them in greeting...and doesn't bare his teeth with his smile.

Wells makes a noise low in the back of his throat, and one of the dogs leans forward to sniff at the stranger a little more closely. "Don't suppose it's got any sort of a name a bloke from my where and when might recognise, does it?" he says. "Earth, 2004? London or Yorkshire, specifically."

He shakes his head.

"No, I'm afraid denn'na was not introduced to humans until much later. It was orginally a Minbari form, after all."

The Ranger extends an open hand to the dogs in invitation...along with a subtle mental projection of welcome-no-harm-here.

"So you are from Earth," he bows his head slightly. "I am honored to meet you. I am a Ranger. Some here call me Saggio."

The smaller of the two dogs- not that this means much, they're both big enough to be furniture- pads over to snuffle at the offered hand. His tail wags briefly.

"Pleasure," Wells answers, ducking his own head a moment. "Harry Wells. Former sergeant, myself."

Again, the closed-lipped smile.

"And what should I call you, cousins?" he asks the dogs.

The dogs, as one, glance in Wells' direction. He nods.

The larger dog starts scratching behind its ear with one paw. Gheri, he says, in the manner of all dogs, and this is my brother Gifr.

He's Grandfather, adds Gifr with a chuff and a flick of the ear in Wells' direction. Hi.

A chuckle. He may not know dog, but the thought forms are enough.

"Again, an honor."

He glances wryly up at Wells. "Interesting family. Rather like mine. My 'daughter' is a horse."

Wells sighs a little, but smiles fondly. "They're good lads. Their 'father's' gone off to his own world. I dunno if he's comin' back, but these two're stayin' with me until he does. How'd the horse happen? Bottle-raised, I'm guessing?"

"Something like that," he says, cautiously scratching Gifr under his chin. "Her mother was killed in a Zarg raid. I was taking her to the orphan's barn when Milliways showed up. Since we were stuck here for a significant amount of time afterward..."

A shrug.

Gifr starts wagging his tail furiously. The Ranger's hit a spot. "Never heard of any Zarg," says Wells. "Dunno if that's just the time difference, or if you're another universe altogether. Seems like that happens a lot around here."

"Indeed, it does," he says, firming up the scratching a little. "But, if you are from my universe, you shouldn't have to deal with those...unpleasant creatures in your lifetime. They were not encountered until well after 2200."

"Fair enough," says Wells. "We've got enough trouble in my world just now anyways. Vampires and such. Not really the sort of things you want at your back if you've got the enemy coming in from above as well."

"Vampires?"

Okay, THAT got his attention.

"Are you talking true vampires of legend? We have encountered some species who seem to mimic such behavior, but none have been close enough to Earth at the right time to have given rise to such myths."

"Nah, actual vampires- not just haemovores, either, though those might be livin' off the coast for all I know," says Wells. "Among other things. These're the real, stake-'em-and-they-go-to-dust, blood-sucking, sun-hating vampires with no souls to call their own."

He shivers.

"Suddenly, I am quite glad that the most supernatural beings we have to deal with are Soul Hunters," he says. "At least they do not actually kill the bodies housing the souls they try to collect. How widespread are these vampires of yours?"

"Widespread enough that I've got no fucking clue how they stay secret as far as they do," Wells says. "I've been training vampire slayers these past few months- there's a good forty or fifty of 'em these days, where it used to only ever be one girl in a generation with the Slayer's abilities."

He turns thoughtful.

"The universe has a way of providing for the future," he says.

If Wells knew about the spell that activated all the Potentials, that wouldn't be such a disquieting statement.

"God, I hope not. Anything that means we'd need that many girls's a fucking nightmare and a half."

Who knows? In the Ranger's universe, there are very few true coincidences.

"Indeed," he says grimly. "So only these girls are able to meet the challenge these creatures present?"

"About the size of it, yeah," says Wells. "Not that governments 'n shit haven't tried other ways, but it's amazing how many of them get it completely fucking wrong."

"That is the unforunate tendency of many governments," the Ranger says sympatheticly. Valen knows, he's had to deal with enough of them to see this first-hand. "Though, this one-on-one technique doesn't seem to be the most efficient..."

He looks up questioningly. "Have you gone up against them as well? You said that only one person at a time dealt with them until recently. How did you get the experience to train these new ones?"

"Vampires, no," says Wells. "Werewolves, yeah- straight out of legend and into the hills of Scotland. That's how it all started, for me. My squad got volunteered as bait so's they could capture one, only they didn't tell us shit about what we were in those woods for, nor give us proper weaponry, neither."

The Ranger's eyes go hard.

"That has an unfortunately familiar ring," he says. "Granted, it was a long time ago for my people, but the taste is still bitter. And we still see it in the races we deal with far more often than is comfortable."

"I don't mind danger," says Wells, "and I never minded it when I was ordered into a situation where I might've died in war. That's part of the job, y'know? But this- they lied to us about why we were there, they lied to us about what we were up against, and the things they were going to do if they ever captured their werewolf would've given fucking Unit 731 a bad night. None of us signed up to die for that kind of a lie."

"You will not hear an argument from me, Harry Wells," he says firmly. "Our purpose is to place ourselves in harm's way for the sake of that which we love. But we need to know what it is we are expected to fight and die for...and that it is for a purpose that is worth such sacrifice."

Wells lets out a sigh. "Sorry," he says. "I've been on edge about it lately. The bastard who asked for my squad to be the bait's here. Came in after his death, and he's infected the same as me."

A commisserating smile.

"And the 'no outside business' rule chafes?"

"Dunno that it'd do any good, honestly," says Wells. "I mean, what'm I supposed to do, eh? The best I can do is keep watch on him when the moon's full, make sure he doesn't do something we'll all regret later."

"I suppose that is all anyone can do, at the moment. Although..." He tilts his head to the side, questioningly. "Perhaps you would like some help in the watching? I am not inexperienced in keeping watch over potentially dangerous entities."

"As long as he doesn't get too near the Bar I don't care much where he goes," Wells says. "If you don't mind standing watch over the edge of the forest, that'd be a load off my mind."

The Ranger bows his head slightly.

"I don't mind at all. When will you need me?"

"First three nights of February," says Wells. "That's the next full moon. I put up a schedule by the back door with a warning."

"I'll be ready," he says.

It is the least he can do to repay the help he has recieved here.

"You've got my gratitude," says Wells. "Thanks, mate.... now, not to be rude, but these two need more exercise for the evening before I can take 'em in. D'you mind if we head out?"

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