Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Branwen on 23-05-2011, 00:50:53</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 00:50:53</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/Amy-Acker-amy-acker-763398_1024_768.jpg)</div><br><strong>Seattle, Washington<br><em>The Seattle Times</em><br>Microfiche Archive Basement Level 3</strong><br><br>Though not precisely having grown up with the internet as her communal birthright, Sarah Hawkins was young enough that not being able to digitally fly through data was an irritant.&nbsp; She'd been in the basement, the third basement, of the Seattle Times for almost half the day.&nbsp; Her back hurt, her eyes hurt and she'd sliced the edge of her thumb open on a piece of paper.&nbsp; It still hurt and the bandage kept falling off.&nbsp; Tray upon tray of microfiche were piled in teetering, Jenga like stacks at her elbows, the right stack going in and the left stack going out.&nbsp; The 'fiche were copies of the newspaper going back to the early nineteen fifties and hadn't been digitally archived yet.&nbsp; Worse, they were blurry and in reversed color.&nbsp; It made all the people look like aliens.<br><br>There.&nbsp; Finally.&nbsp; <br><br><div class="floatright">(http://images.halloweencostumes.com/vampire-bite-kit.jpg)</div>&nbsp; The pain in her back forgotten, Sarah looked closer at the screen, trying to make it out.&nbsp; Those were definitely puncture marks, surrounded by the hickey like bruises that she'd been looking for.&nbsp; It was her, the last victim of the vampire.&nbsp; In Sarah's mind's eye the negative image reversed then came to vibrant, colored life.&nbsp; Clothilda Kirkland, age 19, found dead in Discovery Park.&nbsp; Cause of death, apparent suicide.&nbsp; There were other pictures of her wrist, slit with what looked like a none too sharp knife, but it was the bite marks in the neck that Sarah was interested in.&nbsp; &nbsp;If she bled out, where was the blood?&nbsp; The police didn't say anything about the body being moved, and none of the crime scene photos showed the expected pool of blood that, according the the coroner's report, should have been there.&nbsp; Clothilda was empty of blood, bled out.<br><br>Exsanguinated.<br><br>Sarah took the 'fiche to the cranky printer and after a few quarters coaxed it into printing the articles and pictures.&nbsp; At home she'd digitize them and put them along with everything else in her Mac before embarking on the next stage of the journey from the rain of Seattle to the desert bright sunshine of a sleepy little town in New Mexico.<br><br><strong>Seattle, Washington<br>Hawkins Residence</strong><br><br>Her packed bag and laptop case rested by the front door, along with all the necessary papers to fly since 9-11.&nbsp; Sarah was tired from the day at the newspaper but was excited at the prospect at bringing some justice to the cold case.&nbsp; <br><br>"Sleep well, Clothilda," she told the framed picture of the girl she kept on her bedside table.&nbsp; "I'll get closure for you soon."<br><br><strong>Las Alamos, NM</strong><br><strong>9:55 PM</strong><br><br>The flight had been a bitch.&nbsp; Nothing went straight there and she'd been forced to make two connections.&nbsp; The last leg of the trip had been as the only passenger of a small plane carrying some oil field equipment.&nbsp; She had a headache from the fumes and noise, but didn't stop to check in at the hotel.&nbsp; From the airport Sarah had a cab drop her off in front of the house.<br><br>The killer's house.<br><br>Oh, she was dead several decades ago, and it was either her daughter or granddaughter that lived there now, Sarah wasn't entirely sure, but it was the killer's house.&nbsp; A shiver went through her, a foreboding.&nbsp; "Come on, Sarah, get it together.&nbsp; She's dead.&nbsp; Do this for Clothilda."&nbsp; It was really late, but Sarah had forgotten the time zone differential so it seemed not too terribly late.&nbsp; At the doorstep she sat down her bag and laptop case and held a picture of Clothilda in front of her like an icon.&nbsp; It was taken from life, a sweet, smiling nineteen year old who hadn't yet been murdered.&nbsp; If nothing else, Sarah hoped it would grab the occupant's attention and sympathy so she could make her case for looking through old keepsakes and trunks in the attic and such.&nbsp; <br><br>Sarah rang the doorbell and put a smile on.<br><br><br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 01:52:11</strong>
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				Within a minute of her ringing, the curtain of the front room window twitched, drawing to one side as whoever was in the house peered out. Sarah couldn’t see; the front room was dark, and the porch light cast a harsh, yellow glare on the glass in the adobe frame. Just after, the heavy bolt on the front door pulled back, and the door opened. Only a crack, as Sarah expected from ringing a stranger’s bell at nearly ten o’clock at night.<br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/334/b/1/the_redhead_by_solucha-d33xldf.jpg)</div>Iris Fridasdottir. According to land records, Iris inherited the house after her mother had died in 1998, and had lived there ever since. Sarah’s reporter-trained skills of observation catalogued the woman’s appearance. Half a foot shorter than herself. Slim build. Red hair, shoulder-length. Blue eyes. Fair complexion. Black turtleneck sweater. Blue jeans. Black Harley Davidson boots. <br><br>“May I help you?” the woman asked. She spoke English perfectly, without hesitation. Sarah heard the faintest touch of an accent in her voice, a breathy lilt that made it sound as if the question had been half sung.<br><br>“Miss Fridasdottir?” She nodded. “Ma’am, my name is Sarah Hawkins. I’m with the <em>Seattle Times.</em><br><br>“I’m sorry. I don’t want a newspaper subscription,” Iris said, and started to close the door.<br><br>“No, wait!” Sarah leapt forward, wedging the edge of her shoe in the door to keep it from closing. All avenues of her investigation had led her to this house, and she was as eager as a wolf on the trail of a wounded animal. “Ma’am, I’m not selling newspaper subscriptions. I’m a reporter, and I’m working on an article.”<br><br>The pressure on the door relaxed, and Iris reappeared in the doorway. “The <em>Seattle Times</em>?” she asked.<br><br>“Yes, Ma’am.”<br><br>“I don’t know anyone in Seattle,” she said. But she made no move to withdraw again. She looked down at the photograph in Sarah’s hands, and some trick of the light made it seem as if the streetlamp reflected against her eyes like from a pair of pale blue mirrors. She froze suddenly, as if thunderstruck, staring at the photograph in Sarah’s hands as if it was something obscene, something horrid, and yet she could not look away from. “Is that…” she trailed off, her voice soft. <br><br>Iris wrenched her gaze away from the black-and-white photograph, and looked back up at Sarah. Her vague, polite smile had faded, and her face had settled in a blank, emotionless mask. “Perhaps you would like to come in.”
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 02:37:00</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3301/3490674027_70fc6f5fde_o.jpg)</div><br><em>Easy.&nbsp; You've pushed enough.&nbsp; Get inside and let her calm down.</em><br><br>The reaction had been obvious enough that it wasn't Sarah's reporters instincts that picked it up; anyone would have noticed it.&nbsp; She also seemed to know the victim.&nbsp; It was as if the story was going to write itself.<br><br>"That would be very nice.&nbsp; Thank you, Miss Fridasdottir."&nbsp; Just inside, she sat down her bag but kept the picture and laptop case.&nbsp; Having been raised surrounded by water, Sarah was unprepared for how cold it got in the desert at night.&nbsp; Her thin summer blouse, well suited for the day, was proving positively chilly at night.&nbsp; Oddly, the inside of the house was the same temperature as the outside.&nbsp; Going green?&nbsp; Now she understood the turtleneck.&nbsp; Well, Sarah could endure it, even if little goosebumps started to form on her arms.<br><br>When the door shut behind her, Sarah turned.&nbsp; Iris wasn't there.&nbsp; Turning around, she found Iris standing less than a foot in front of her.&nbsp; Sarah startled and dropped the picture.&nbsp; Iris' hand shot out and grabbed it, keeping it from smashing into the floor.<br><br>"Thank you!&nbsp; I'm so clumsy sometimes."&nbsp; <em>How did she get behind me?&nbsp; I didn't even hear her move.</em><br><br>Iris didn't respond, just walked into a very old-fashioned sitting room and motioned towards a love seat on spindly legs.&nbsp; As if noticing her guest's discomfort, she lit a gas heater mounted into the wall before sitting the photograph on the table between the love seat and a wing backed chair that Iris claimed as her own.<br><br>"Her name's Clothilda Kirkland.&nbsp; She was nineteen when that photo was taken.&nbsp; She never lived to see twenty."&nbsp; As Sarah spoke, she watched Iris carefully for reaction.&nbsp; It should be easy enough to see a flush response, her skin was so pale and perfect.&nbsp; Really, Iris was quite lovely and made Sarah feel, well, plain in comparison.&nbsp; How much did she look like her mother?<br><br>"I think you might know that already, though.&nbsp; Did your mother ever speak about her, or Chloe as she went by sometimes?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 03:19:37</strong>
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				In the background, an unseen CD player began to pipe in music. Befitting the old fashioned sitting room, it was classical music, something that Sarah did not recognize. The string played a quartet in A-minor. She did not know the composer, but the music pulled at her heartstrings in the quiet of the dimly lit room, like the sound a broken heart might make.<br><br>“No, she did not,” Iris said, without hesitating. A prim eyebrow danced upwards, faintly amused. “Does it surprise you that I don’t deny knowing what you’re talking about?”<br><br>“A little,” Sarah confessed. She looked around the room, like a burglar taking inventory. No television. No computer. No piece of furniture or piece of art hung on the wall or photograph in a frame on a shelf that predated 1980. The house was a museum. “But you know of her?”<br><br>“I do,” Iris said. “Chloe Kincaid. She was a lovely girl. But she died in, what…1958?”<br><br>“1959,” Sarah said. “It was December 23rd of 1959. Two days before Christmas.”<br><br>“Yes, indeed,” Iris said. She allowed herself to remember that day, more than 50 years ago. There had been so many victims over the years, that she should remember one in particular, with that level of clarity and detail, was almost too much to be expected. And yet she did. Chloe had not been <em>just</em> a victim. Iris had exposed herself to her in a way that wasn’t in character, and she remembered killing her…not with regret, not exactly regret, but with a bit of old sadness, like a tragic play she had seen long ago. “A bit before my time,” Iris said. “And I was very young when my mother died. Frankly, I’m not sure what I can do for you. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here. This all happened so long ago, and so far away.”
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 03:35:12</strong>
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				"But that was in another country.&nbsp; Besides, the wench is dead," Sarah said, quoting Inspector Morse from the Colin Dexter novel.<br><br>"But it wasn't another country, it was in Seattle at a place called Discovery Park.&nbsp; She is dead though, so that much remains the same."&nbsp; Sarah paused, letting the room fill up with silence.&nbsp; It was an effective interview gambit, and it usually worked.&nbsp; Iris, however, seemed perfectly content to let the silence fill the room, then overflow into the entire house.&nbsp; Sarah also noticed she didn't fidget.&nbsp; In fact, she didn't seem to move at all unless it was for a deliberate purpose.&nbsp; It was like watching a lizard in human form and was quite disconcerting.<br><br>"The police gave up caring about the case shortly after the New Year rang in nineteen-sixty.&nbsp; They ruled it a suicide, tucked the case away in a press board box in an old cell converted to storage and there it sat until last year.&nbsp; There Chloe waited for closure."&nbsp; Sarah spent a moment unpacking her laptop, bringing it to glowing life then turning it so Iris could see the screen.<br><br>"I was going through the old files looking for a murder case.&nbsp; You've heard of the Innocence Project?&nbsp; Using modern forensic techniques, they are going through old capital murder and rape cases and in a shocking number of them getting the defendants freed when the physical evidence proves they couldn't have done the crime.&nbsp; Dallas is one of the worst.&nbsp; They've freed twenty-three people so far.&nbsp; Twenty-three innocent men who spent most of their adult lives in prison for crimes they didn't commit."&nbsp; Sarah spoke with obvious passion and Iris knew without looking there would be an ACLU membership card in her pocketbook.<br><br>Sarah paused to pull a bottle of water from her laptop case and sip.&nbsp; "It's so dry here.&nbsp; I bet you spend a ton on moisturizer.&nbsp; Your skin looks amazing."<br><br>"Anyway, I was pulling out old case files and found hers.&nbsp; This picture fell out and..."&nbsp; Sarah paused, flushing a little.&nbsp; "This is going to sound stupid, but I thought I heard someone, a girl, whispering to me.&nbsp; Telling me she didn't kill herself, that she was murdered.&nbsp; I know, it sounds..."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 03:54:29</strong>
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				“Crazy?” Irish finished. She shrugged. She made the gesture as elegantly and casually as a cat. “That is as may be. Did you know that the majority of people in Iceland believe in elves? How do you call them…little fairies that live at the bottom of gardens? That, before you break ground on a building, you must do a study, to make sure that no elves will be disturbed by the work? It may be crazy in Los Alamos, but in Reykjavik, it is part of the construction code.”<br><br>She broke eye contact with Sarah, and turned to the picture. She picked it up, running her thumb over the glossy surface as if she could touch the girl, forever young, forever beautiful. “How much more can I tell you? My mother was questioned by the police. She was a ‘person of interest.’ The death was ruled a suicide. My mother moved from Washington to New Mexico, had herself a daughter, and died.” <em>In her memory, the blood was black in the moonlight, and Chloe wore it on her hands like a pair of opera gloves. Inky drops spattered to the grass underneath; such a waste.</em><br><br>“Does she have family, this Chloe Kinkaid?” <br><br>Sarah bit her lower lip, and ran a search function on her case notes. “No, actually. Records indicate that she was an orphan. She was raised in an orphanage, as a ward of the state before becoming independent in 1958. Does that mean that she deserves justice any less than if there was a grieving family?”<br><br>Iris waved a hand as if to dismiss the point. “Deserve. She is not the first woman to have died young. I doubt she will be the last. The only thing she has in common with the dozen that are dying at this moment is that my mother’s name happens to have been mentioned on some piece of paper in conjunction with the aftermath. I do not know what you expect me to say about this.”<br><br>A clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, and Iris looked away, as if the timepiece had shocked her awake from a dream. “I am a poor host. Would you like some tea, something to eat?”
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 04:13:44</strong>
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				"Um..."&nbsp; Sarah thought back.&nbsp; There'd been a bag of pretzels on one flight, but the excitement of moving ahead on closing the case made her skip lunch.&nbsp; Dinner too.<br><br>"I'm sorry.&nbsp; I didn't mean to barge in here so late.&nbsp; I was just, well, excited about moving on with things for her.&nbsp; For Chloe," she clarified.&nbsp; Sarah flipped the Mac closed and started to stuff it in her bag.&nbsp; "I'll just call the cab back and get a motel room.&nbsp; May I come back by tomorrow?&nbsp; What time is convenient for you." <br><br>Her thumb slid across the iPhone, but nothing happened.&nbsp; Sarah tried it again.<br><br>No response.&nbsp; It was on; when she hit the home key it pulled up the screen, but try as she might neither thumb nor finger would cause the unlocking bar to slide.&nbsp; "That's odd."&nbsp; Sarah held down both buttons to reboot it, then sat it on her laptop case while she waited.<br><br>"It will be just a minute.&nbsp; May I trouble you for the use of your restroom?" <br><br>"Down the hall on the left," Iris said.<br><br>The restroom was...weird.&nbsp; The toilet paper felt like it was somehow old, brittle, and the soap in the sink was so dry it had started cracking.&nbsp; Well, it was the guest bathroom so there was no wonder it wasn't used frequently.&nbsp; Like many visitors, Sarah took the opportunity to snoop.&nbsp; Nothing really stood out except the cleaning products under the sink.&nbsp; They all had a design, logos and such, from the 1980s.&nbsp; Some of them weren't even opened.&nbsp; It was like being on American Pickers.<br><br>After washing her hands, Sarah walked back down into the sitting room but Iris wasn't there.<br><br>"Ms. Fridasdottir?" she called, turning around in a slow circle.&nbsp; "Ms. Fridasdottir?"&nbsp; Sarah reached for her phone.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 04:57:12</strong>
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				Iris took a turn in the kitchen, as domestic as a housewife of another era. Kettle, tea, china, milk, sugar, spoons. She pulled the tea service from cabinets as smoothly as an oiled machine, and by the time Sarah had finished in the restroom, she had poured and set out the tray back in the sitting room. That there were no lights on in the house besides the gas fireplace in the sitting room did not disturb Iris in the slightest.<br><br>She might deduce that Sarah had not told a soul that she what she had learned, who she would visit, where that might be. If that was the case, it would take nothing more than a minute’s worth of work and ten dollars worth of lime to solve the problem. More troubling was the low probability, high-risk scenario that she had left a trail that would lead right to her doorstep. <br><br>Her boots made no more noise against the tile floor than in she had walked across a Turkish rug. She stood to one side of the bathroom door as it opened, still as a statue, as Sarah stepped back in the hallway. Her eyes gleamed in the dark, a pale blue fire, and her teeth hurt.<br><br>“Right here,” she said, directly behind Sarah.<br><br>“CHRIST!” Sarah yelped, turning to face her. There hadn’t been anyone in the room a moment ago, she’d swear to it. Where had she come from? She looked down, double-checking what she thought she’d observed earlier. The floor was rich Spanish tile. Iris wore heavy boots with thick soles (how tall was she then, without them? Even with the boots, the top of her head barely came up to Sarah’s shoulder. Take off another inch or so…the woman was tiny).<br><br>For just an instant, it seemed that something angry and feral flickered across Iris’ face. It was in the narrowing of her eyes, the pull of her lip that showed a hint of a snarl. But it was over faster than a lightning bolt, and the bland mask of a politely bored young woman settled in place of whatever inhuman rage Sarah had seen. “Please do not blaspheme,” Iris said smoothly.<br><br>“And call me Iris, as I will call you Sarah. In the old county, a guest that arrived after dark could not be refused hospitality, and as you have made no arrangements, I will put you up. I will take your things upstairs. Pour yourself tea, and I will return in a moment.”<br><br>Sarah moved to comply even before her brain had processed. The social awkwardness of not wanting be a burden moved her to protest, even as her iPhone still refused to unlock to her fingers on the facepad. “No, that’s entirely unnecessary. I couldn’t impose on you.”<br><br>“You will not,” Iris said. “Sit. Drink. I will be back.” The words were said as if not complying were unthinkable, like saying that a dropped object would not fall.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>24-05-2011, 02:22:20</strong>
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				Not entirely cognizant of why she was doing it, Sarah sat and poured tea.&nbsp; The fragrant liquid steamed in the cup and she added a spoonful of sugar but let the milk lie unused.&nbsp; Oddly, Iris had brought only one cup.&nbsp; Maybe she wasn't thirsty.<br><br>And what had she meant by the old country?&nbsp; First elves, now this talk of hospitality.&nbsp; Sarah knew little of the customs of Iceland. Other than the fact that they had a strong Viking heritage, overlaid by bastardized Christianity, and that the last part of her name meant daughter, she was at a loss to know if Iris was telling the truth or having Sarah on.&nbsp; Wanting to know more, Sarah reached for her laptop. <br><br>It wasn't there.&nbsp; Not even the power adapter.&nbsp; Iris must have packed it and taken it away with her bags.&nbsp; Sarah also noticed her phone was gone.&nbsp; How had Iris had time to do all that and make tea?&nbsp; It's like she was the world's fastest, most unobtrusive butler.&nbsp; With nothing to do, and cut off from the distraction of her electronics, Sarah stood up and went to the mantel where a very few photographs were framed.&nbsp; They were all landscapes she saw, disappointed not to find a picture of Iris as a child or her mother.&nbsp; In fact, in all her research Sarah had been unable to find any photographs of Iris or her mother.&nbsp; She'd sent in a FOIA request for her old passport photograph, but it had obviously been stored incorrectly.&nbsp; Some solvent had been spilled across the photo, blurring it into a freakish, sliding mosaic of a face that almost hinted of features and left you feeling slightly unsettled.&nbsp; Maybe Iris had some tucked away.<br><br>Something tickled at the back of her neck, like a finger touching the soft hairs there.&nbsp; Using the guise of sipping the cup of tea, Sarah glanced at the room reflected in the glass of a photo frame.&nbsp; It showed her and the room behind her, nothing else.<br><br>Sarah turned and froze, finding Iris standing less than a foot away.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>24-05-2011, 03:18:17</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs16/f/2007/164/1/8/Lilac_eye_by_Fairystories.jpg)</div>It was amazing how many little pieces of lore had survived in the public memory. The bit with the mirror, for instance. Even a hundred years ago, Iris would have simply picked up the conversation where it had left off. After all, no <em>sane</em> person would accept that she didn’t cast a reflection, and would almost certainly lack the prerequisite knowledge to draw the correct conclusion from it.<br><br>But times had changed, and Sarah had seen what she had seen. Granted, Iris hadn’t been certain that she was going to allow the woman to leave alive, but it had still been an open question.<br><br>“Just say it,” Iris said, a faint note of impatience in her voice.<br><br>“You’re a…” Sarah stopped. Terrified disbelief or not, certain phrases just couldn’t be spoken without giving pause for their ridiculousness. After all, everyone <em>knew</em> that there were no such things as…<br><br>“Vampire. Yes.”<br><br>“That’s…that’s crazy.”<br><br>One of Iris’ brows lifted; gentle amusement. “I didn’t call you crazy when you told me that you followed the whispers of a ghost to my very doorstep. And if it is so crazy, why are you backing away from me?”<br><br>Sarah realized that she had been, only the other woman had matched her step for step, so that the distance between them neither increased nor decreased. One more step backwards, and she would have nowhere left to fall back before hitting the wall.<br><br>Her eyes were so terribly fierce. “Your logical mind is telling you certain things. One; I cannot let you leave my home with that knowledge. This is true. Two; you are wondering if I drink your blood or make you look into my eyes and make you into my slave. Yes to the former, no to the latter. Three; you are wondering if I will kill you. Not yet. Possibly not at all, but I haven’t decided.<br><br>“But now the force of denial is welling up in you so strongly that you are about to violently insist that I am lying or crazy or both, because there are no such things as vampires. Allow me to tell that part of your mind to shut up.”<br><br>Iris reached out with one humming-bird quick hand, and took hold of Sarah by the throat. Her hand was cold as ice, and unyielding as iron, and before she knew what had happened, she was lifted by her throat off the ground, as if her weight was nothing, looking down at the fierce-eyed killer.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Branwen</strong> on <strong>24-05-2011, 03:53:05</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://smartincomeblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Vader_Choke.jpg)</div><br><br><em>I'm that guy in the bad hat who dies in Star Wars</em>.&nbsp; Odd what your mind went through when you were held off the ground by a tiny slip of a woman.&nbsp; Just like the guy in the movie, Sarah's feet tried to swim in the air, and her hands grabbed at Iris' wrist.&nbsp; It was like trying to dig her fingers into a slender rod of hard India rubber.&nbsp; All her strength barely made a dent and Sarah could feel the incredible power of Iris' grip; it never lessened in the slightest.<br><br>"Please," she managed to croak out before Iris' fingers tightened further, squeezing with practice expertise on just the right spots to cut off her voice.&nbsp; For perhaps half a minute Iris let Sarah dangle, watching her struggles grow more frantic, drinking in the desperation and fear smell of the young reporter.&nbsp; Just before panic could begin to ease into acceptance of death, Iris' grip shifted, pressing into the carotid arteries.&nbsp; Instantly blood ceased flowing to Sarah's brain and within seconds she was unconscious.<br><br><hr><br>Somewhere between waking and sleep, Sarah floated.&nbsp; She couldn't see, but wasn't aware it was because of the heavy black silk blindfold around her eyes.&nbsp; She was laying on something soft, like feathers dipped in liquid silk, and there was little sensation of weight.&nbsp; When Sarah tried to move, she found her hands were bound together, palms pressed together like a penitent at prayer and her wrists touching each other.<br><br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Past {Pointless Digression and Branwen}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pointless Digression</strong> on <strong>24-05-2011, 04:55:53</strong>
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				“There you are,” came the light, slightly accented voice of Iris. That she had noticed that Sarah had stirred in her bonds either indicate that she possessed some ability to see in the dark, or…no. She had been blindfolded. Sarah tried to pull the blindfold away from her eyes, only to discover that her wrists were bound in place. She had no more than an inch of slack, and absolutely no give whatsoever in the bindings that had her wrists tied together. <br><br>Actually, it was much more than a simple tie, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to appreciate that. The ropes crossed over her wrists in elegant display of knot-craft. She had an artist’s pride in her ability to restrain a person without cutting off the blood flow to the hands, or bruising the skin. Sarah was simply and immovably bound to the bed. “I was somewhat less than honest with you earlier. You and I both know that dear Chloe did not kill herself.” Iris sat up, and moved from the chair she had been sitting in to the bed where Sarah lay. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed a hand on Sarah’s stomach. Her fingers tugged at the hem of her blouse, so that she touched Sarah’s bare flesh. “Of course, you probably have other things on your mind at present. I must thank you, though. You’ve saved me a trip to Santa Fe.” 
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