One of the Great Lords of the Dark

All around the world-

2007-11-17T04:24:38Z

Those outliers weren't outliers for long. The numbers, so promising, held and then grew in the months following the show's premiere. Christof was pleased.

More than pleased. He was triumphant.

All across the world, people were watching. From the objective point of view, it wasn't even a very interesting show. It was the show of an infant whose life, from crying and being changed to being burped and set down for a nap was being watched by millions of strangers.

Each package of diapers was carefully angled to show the camera the label.

Same with her shampoo.

Each bottle of formula was held just the right way.

Brand-name footie pajamas.

Cuddly stuffed animal of a popular children's cartoon character, already associated with its own cereal and fruit snack.

The world just ate it up.

A Meeting

2007-08-06T05:04:06Z

Only a few cafes in the area kept their doors open this late, and those were only equipped with a skeleton crew, each individual counting down the minutes until closing and turning off that misleadingly welcoming sign brightening the darkness outside the door. Rachel was focusing more on the prospect of sleeping in tomorrow than on her task of cleaning the espresso machine when the little chime hanging from the door gave its customary cheerful jingle, warning her that she'd need to smile.

He had better not want any espresso, she thinks darkly. Turning and putting on her best glad-to-see-you smile, she wished the man who had just walked in a cheerful, if a few hours late, "Good evening!" He sincerity was helped by the fact that the gentleman wasn't hard on the eyes: rather handsome in a way, actually, with his neatly trimmed beard, black jeans and black polo shirt. He returned her smile with a smile of his own, wishing her a good evening as well, and asked for a cup of coffee, strong and black. Rachel didn't mind having to make a fresh pot. She was just thankful that he hadn't asked for an espresso.

Tom, coming out of the back room with an armful of supplies to refill the napkin and straw dispensers, the stirrers, the sugar and sugar-substitute packets and the spoons, furtively made a face at her. She shrugged with a wry look; Tom had just finished cleaning the coffee pot a few minutes ago.

"There you go, sir," Rachel smiled and handed the customer his cup and saucer. "Careful, it's hot," she cautioned.

"Just the way I like it," the gentleman smiled as he paid her a couple of crisp dollar bills. "Thank you."

He pocketed the change and went to take a seat at one of the smaller tables by the window that made up the side wall of the cafe, gazing out the window as he sipped his coffee, his back to the door. Rachel thought idly that the view from the back wasn't that bad, either, but her thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful jingle of the door chime yet again. Two customers within five minutes of each other, so late at night, was nearly unheard of. It wasn't as though this cafe was very well known, being an independently-run place that had just started last November. They were constantly competing against the chain coffee shops that dotted street corners, and that freak blizzard this past winter hadn't helped the new business any.

Tom, finishing replenishing the sugar packets, turned to glance at the entering figure, then shot Rachel a meaningful glance that said clearly, I've got this one.

Rachel smiled knowingly and went to take out the trash. She didn't blame Tom, really. The woman who had just walked in was beautiful, and she knew it. Just the proud way she carried herself bordered on haughtiness; Rachel thought she might be an actress. As Rachel went to the back room, she saw Tom flash the lady his best winning smile and ask if there was anything he could do for her.

When she returned, Tom was sulkily recleaning the espresso machine and the lady was sitting at the table with the gentleman who had come in a little while ago, dopo espresso macchiato in her finely manicured hand. Ah, so that's it. Figured. Rachel gave Tom a wry pat on the shoulder and thanked him for cleaning the espresso machine for her.

Due Day

2007-08-06T04:59:18Z

It had not seemed like little Evie was going to be born on schedule, so Christof had had to take the matter into his own hands. The network's doctors had induced labor a good while ago, now, long enough for the party being held for the directors and crew in the control room, celebrating the beginning of a promising new chapter of their grand project, to be set up and begun.

Now, amid the cheerful chatter of the group, cameramen and writers standing around with their glasses of company-bought champagne, Chistof alone keeps an eye on the screen, timing each contraction. Though everyone else is so sure of the show's success, he could not afford things to go wrong now, of all times.

Over the sounds of labor, the repeated insistence of doctors that the mother must push, he can hear James Ashford from Advertising bragging to Melissa Elkins from Lighting about his new car.

Personally, Christof thinks the man a fool for bragging about a new car after having totaled his previous one by driving too fast during that freak blizzard in December. It was only luck that he didn't get badly injured and freeze to death in the wreckage, as Thomas McNally and Sara Mendoza had.
Christof had enough trouble finding replacements for those two positions; having to fill three would have delayed the start of the show even further, even into summer. However, from what he's seen, the two replacements he found were turning out to be superior to their predecessors in nearly every way.

Letting his mind drift from the events on-screen, he can hear the vague voices of those replacements, laughing over some shared joke as they help with the pouring of champagne for those of the crew who haven't yet gotten a glass. They work well together, those two,
Christof thinks, thank goodness. There is no use in having top-notch people working for you if they don't get along. Luckily, with these two their relationship seems to extend only to the boundaries of the workplace. Nothing more complicated than a good working relationship,
just as Christof would want.

Not like that Richard French from Merchandise, Christof's thoughts change gears as he hears that annoying laugh from off to his left. He's always hitting on the new secretaries and telling off-color jokes again to see how they react. Christof can practically feel the heat of those secretaries' blushes from where he sat. He makes a mental note to get someone to send a note to Richard, politely warning him of the details of the company's idea of proper businesslike behavior and its stance towards harrassment.

A slight touch at his elbow brings Christof back from his thoughts: a hand, offering a glass of champagne. "One must celebrate the birth of a new age," Adrian Doyle smiles down at him. "The doctors know what they are doing, as do the rest of the immediate cast; they've been
rehearsing this for ages." At the resulting look from Christof, Adrian continues. "So I'd think you could afford to take five minutes to celebrate your success."

Christof hesitates for a long moment, then his normally impassive face relaxes into a small, rare smile. "This is something worth celebrating, I suppose," he says, taking the offered glass and standing. It being the first movement they've seen their boss make in
the past half hour, the assembled crew all shift their hold on their glasses and give scattered applause.

From what he can tell, they're expecting him to make a speech. He hadn't prepared one, the party itself had been rather spur of the moment, but Christof had always been a great improvisor. That quality had saved the Truman Show from catastrophe many times, especially when
Truman had begun getting suspicious. It had not been able to save the show forever, in the end, but it had been a good run. And now here he was, standing on the brink of what will, if he has anything to say about it, be another good run.

A better run.

There are words in his head, inspiring words of promise and visions of the future, but all of them fade as the familiar air-raid wail of a newborn breaks through the dim maternity-ward sounds from the speaker behind him, crying against the sudden cold, crying for the loss of the
warmth it had known.

Christof smiles in this moment of triumph, raising his glass. "A new age," he proclaims, and tilts back the glass.

Time Line (to be Updated as things need Updating)

2007-08-06T04:49:56Z

The clouds gather...

... and the daylight dims...

... as the rising wind howls...

...into the fury of the breaking storm.

But the quieting gloom after the storm has passed...

... brings no comfort to those it leaves behind...

... only the dread of the coming night...

... bringing the chill of the dark.

As the days grow darker, pity those who must work through the night...

(d)OOM: In the Network's administration building, some time during mid-late January.

2007-04-01T17:28:07Z

"Sir, you're expected in the boardroom in twenty minutes," Christof's assistant, Chloe, reminded him as she set down his morning's third cup of coffee.

"Hm?" Christof looked up from the calender he had been perusing, a faint line visible between his drawn-down eyebrows. "Oh, yes. The interviews are today." Gingerly taking a sip of the scalding black coffee, he looks down at the calender on his desk again, specifically at the day in March that is circled in red, labeled clearly as "Due Day". "About time, too. We're cutting it close as it is."

Such a nasty business, this horrid winter. Construction work and costume production had miraculously been ahead of schedule, but then that freak blizzard had descended upon them and everything ground suddenly to a halt. It had been like the whole city was dead, the only noise being that of the wind and the ice. It had been January before things began to thaw a bit, as the disaster relief people had come in to help restore power to the city. Snowploughs had been brought in. It was a terrible time, Christof knew, as many homeless people had died and there had been fires in the poorer sections, where people had left their stoves on overnight in an effort to stay warm, but most important was that the lives of two of his key staff had also been claimed in one of the many car accidents caused by the sudden blizzard.

Christof didn't have the time to spare to go over the qualifications of the many underwriters and minor advertising managers to see who might take on the roles that had been left empty; their chosen star, an unborn girl from an unwanted pregnancy, was due in March (Christof had decided long before they found a suitable star that her name would be Evie), and time was short. He felt that some new blood was needed in the crew: fresh talent, who might make the network's rebound from Truman's disappearance that much greater.

Today, he had the task of finding those who would have the talent and ability to fill such demanding roles.

Christof closed the tome-like calender of deadlines and appointments and put it away, taking his coffee with him. Time to get things done.

* * *

"Good morning, everyone," Christof said as he walked into the board room, still trailed by Chloe. After everyone had replied their greetings, he continued, taking his seat at the head of the table. "We have some work ahead of us, today. We need a new head of the Scenario and Script Departments, and a new head of Advertisement. The loss of Bill and Mary hit us all hard, I know," he lowers his head for a moment, more in regret for the delay in preparation the deaths caused than actual grief, "but we must press on. I understand that this is a somewhat unorthodox method, not promoting from within our own ranks, but I feel that fresh talent is needed in our new start. That way," he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit, "we can make this even better than what we have done before. Our creation," my creation, he thinks, "will continue to grow."

The interviewers, all higher-ups in the various parts of the network administration, nodded agreement.

Christof sipped his coffee again before putting the mug down and taking his Mont Blanc from his pocket, looking up at Chloe. "Go tell those waiting outside that we'll be interviewing for the Scenario and Script-writer position first, and send the first one in, will you?"

blue_eyed_lord @ 2007-02-16T15:58:00

2007-02-16T22:07:00Z

They turn, and they are somewhere else. Another shadowed alley in the sprawling city of Los Angeles, with only a passed-out drunk to be an unknowing witness to their arrival.

The Rider takes a quick (free) breath, then lets it out.

He had missed the feeling of space that having a whole world gave, and it is made better by knowing that the nothingness Outside of Time was not waiting for him beyond the next door.

The chilly light of the nearest streetlamp doesn't really reach this far.

blue_eyed_lord @ 2006-01-03T20:38:00

2006-01-04T02:53:40Z

The days have been getting darker, these past few weeks. The clouds are so thick that it is impossible to tell where the sun is at any time of day. Noon is merely brightened, frosty twilight.

In the snowbound silence of noon, his shape an inkblot across the winterbound lawn, the Black Rider walks back towards the bar. His bearing is proud and arrogant, and above all, triumphant. His black-gloved right hand is closed around something.

blue_eyed_lord @ 2005-12-29T03:23:00

2005-12-29T09:26:56Z

A short dramatic scene starring:

Aspen, as herself
White Rider, as herself
Saphyria, as herself
and Black Rider, as himself

SaphTheImmortal: Black: White, you suck at picking minions.
Aspenx3: White: *eyeroll* weak material to work with here.
Aspenx3: White: *adds* However, wait until you talk to the newest possibility.
Aspenx3: (i.e. Barty Crouch)
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *grins* A fine young man, if I remember correctly.
Aspenx3: White: *grin* I thought so myself, cariad.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *sighs with irritation* And now my 'mun' finds that, apparently, I have not met the young man, yet. I was so very sure, but I think she was thinking of the cat.
Aspenx3: White: *smiles warmly* Goodness, dear. Such a careless creature, she is.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *smiles rather nastily over the rim of his wineglass* Yes. Quite.... careless. But useful, perhaps, in her own small way.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *whispers to Saph* Any chance of running for it?
Aspenx3: White: Aren't they all, dear.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *whispers* Would running help?
Aspenx3: Aspen: *whispers back* ... not unless we can worldhop.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *sips his wine* Yours seems to be trying to play the doubleagent, really. Which side is she on?
Aspenx3: White: Her own, she thinks. *turns a teacup in her hands* A clever creature -- too much for her own good, but useful still.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *tries not to whimper*
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *is just very, very still*
SaphTheImmortal: Black: Should something be done?
Aspenx3: White: She will be less useful if broken. Still... you have played with that other, that Moiraine -- perhaps you can accomplish something there?
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *is silent for a long moment* As useful as it would be to have Moiraine...removed from the picture, I would not be the one responsible for anything anyone could offer me.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *edges towards Aspen, trying not to seem to move*
Aspenx3: Aspen: *is barely breathing*
Aspenx3: White: What of the pretty cat, then?
SaphTheImmortal: Black: It looks on me as an interesting aquaintence, if not fully a friend. The cat has been useful in times past. He is also acquantences of Stanton and your little... raven.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *slowly catches Aspen's gaze, then glances towards the door behind them* *slowly, slowly*
Aspenx3: Aspen: *very tiny inclination of the head, inches backward*
Aspenx3: White: Is that so, cariad? Goodness, how interesting indeed...
SaphTheImmortal: Black: He is Wild, if anything. Unhindered by allegiences. That might be changed, perhaps, and to our gain. *He grins with his mouth, not his eyes* Any flame-retardant yarn in your stock?
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *eases ever so slowly backwards, not daring to breathe*
Aspenx3: White: Even the Wild may have its weaknesses, I have found. *cold, cold smile*
Aspenx3: Aspen: *utterly tense, shifts further toward the door*
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *raises his glass a tiny fraction of an inch* Find his.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *tries to not fumble for doorknob, turning it slowly*
Doorknob: *clicks as it turns, audibly*
Saph: *freezes, wary and unbreathing*
Aspenx3: White: Oh, cariad, but an idea I have... *turns to look at door* Why, it seems that someone's getting ideas.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *turns chalk-white and does not move*
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *blanches, frozen with fear, eyes wide*
Aspenx3: (also, I do not want Blodwen a'binding Yrael.)
Aspenx3: (because OW.)
SaphTheImmortal: Black: Ideas that should not be gotten.
SaphTheImmortal: (nor do I, because woah DOOM)
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *voice cold as the winter night* I would so hate for them to get the wrong idea.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *swallows hard* If you compel us, you lose whatever freedom we can offer you.
Aspenx3: White: *looks very unfriendly* Is that so, dear?
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *voice-shaking* We might even stop writing for you at all.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: Not if we make you write.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *snaps back* You can make us write. You can't make us create.
Aspenx3: Aspen: And the difference is your freedom.
Aspenx3: White: *comes over to stand nearby* Oh, now, dear -- are you so certain?
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *backs a step away from White* You would be stuck in Milliways forever, both of you.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *stands silently, and stalks over, looming*
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *fumbles behind back for doorknob*
Aspenx3: Aspen: *raises chin* You can't kill us. And Merriman, and Moiraine, and others -- they will deal with you.
Aspenx3: White: They will try, dear. They have failed before. *whiplash of cold in the voice, and pressure of wind against the door*
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *bone-aching cold sounds in his voice* The Light is not known for pausing to save individual lives. It has ever been their weak point. They will not avenge what we do to you.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *pulls against the door, though is unwilling to turn her back to the Riders* You can not harm us.
SaphTheImmortal: (I'm scared)
Aspenx3: White: It will not differ much from harm.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *breaks* *snatches for Saph's hand and the door handle*
Aspenx3: (yea same here)
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *whispers* Help me! *pulls at the door*
Black: We will see to that. *He motions with his hand, and the temperature falls with shocking speed. The cold is so intense it is painful to breathe.*
SaphTheImmortal: (We doomed?)
Aspenx3: Aspen: *pulls at door as well* It won't open!
Aspenx3: White: You are bound to us, children. Did you think to escape so easily, when you have invited us in to your very minds?
Aspenx3: (We are doomed unless we can find help.)
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *teeth chattering as she pulls at the door* We can retire you both any time we please. If we do, that is the end of all your hopes and plans and plotting. It is the end of YOU.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: You will not find it that easy. We are not so easily cast aside.
SaphTheImmortal: (So.... we're doomed.)
Aspenx3: Aspen: *turns away from door, raises chin, smiling* Don't be foolish. There will be far better things if we work together, after all. I write for Moiraine, and Saph for Yrael.
Aspenx3: White: *eyes, looks at Black* Brave things, aren't they?
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *eyes Aspen* You are far braver than I. *stops yanking at the door, and turns towards the Riders* Have you seen what Balefire does to a person, even an immortal?
SaphTheImmortal: Black: Brave, but stupid.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *out of side of mouth to Saph* Desperate, rather. *to Riders* It unweaves the threads of the Pattern itself... *sudden idea* As we can do by writing you out of the story, if you persist in this.
Aspenx3: White: *dangerously soft* Threats, dear?
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *gaining slight confidence* And don't think we won't.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *musingly* You believe we would leave that option open to you. Fools.
SaphTheImmortal: (Is there a chance?)
Aspenx3: (I think so! *hopeful*)
Aspenx3: Aspen: *bright challenging smile* I do. We do. And it's what we believe that matters. For instance, I believe that door will open when we next try it.
Aspenx3: White: *looks at Saph* Don't be a fool yourself, dear. Clever and careful, and stay alive -- you will not like it outside time...
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: You'd know, wouldn't you? But here... this is a world of our making. *glances at Aspen for an instant* It's our belief that shapes it. You are just the puppets. You do not hold the strings.
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *begins slowly stalking forwards* You will find that people can believe untrue things. Wishing for something doesn't make it happen.
Aspenx3: White: *mutters in the spell-speech of the Dark, as the temperature plummets and the wind rises, dragging at Saph and Aspen*
Aspenx3: Aspen: Not everyone, everywhere, no -- but here, it may be enough. *snatches at door handle one more time*
SaphTheImmortal: Black: *strides forwards, joining his voice with that of White as the smothering cold comes.*
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: Sometimes, the act of wishing for something makes that thing possible. *grabs door handle along with Aspen and turns*
Aspenx3: Door: *opens*
Aspenx3: Narration: There is a whirl of blinding light and a crack as of thunder, and then the room is empty -- or elsewhere. The Riders are gone.
Aspenx3: Aspen: *collapses in heap on floor* Too close.
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *slides weakly down the wall, panting* Much, much too close.
Aspenx3: ... also wtf Dracothread.
SaphTheImmortal: Yes
SaphTheImmortal: Saph: *shakily gets to her feet and extends a hand for Aspen* All right?
Aspenx3: *takes hand, levers self up* Yeah. I'm good. Let's hide next time. Faster.
SaphTheImmortal: Yeah, let's.... not even let them out. Keeps things like this from happening.
SaphTheImmortal: Let's at least keep them confined to LJ.
Aspenx3: ... yes. yes yes.
SaphTheImmortal: *lets out a breath, happy to be able to breathe freely* *looks around at room* Tea?
Aspenx3: Tea would be lovely,
SaphTheImmortal: Yeah. I think we deserve it. Do you take milk and/or sugar in yours? *heads towards table to set out things for tea*
Aspenx3: I do now. Energy, you know.
SaphTheImmortal: *eyes room, glances at Aspen, the door, then at the tea things* ...yeah.
Aspenx3: Yeah.
Aspenx3: *is also staring at Dracothread in wtf*
SaphTheImmortal: Narration: The End

Aspenx3: My brain hurts now.
SaphTheImmortal: mine too

*Curtain rises, all come forward to take their bows*

Plot? Draft one

2005-12-09T07:00:11Z

Hallo, all. I know there hasn't been much of the Black Rider around lately due to his mun (raindrenched) being caught up in school work and such, but there has been a change of management. Now, everyone's favorite (or second-favorite) Lord of the Dark is being mun'd by saphyria. She promises to let him out of his cage occasionally, for snark and Dark deeds.

Speaking of which...

Last we saw of our ~~hero~~ villain, he was very much weakened by his foiled attempt at getting out into a world other than the DiR-verse. A world where he could find a foothold and have another shot at bringing the Dark into power, and taking over. Since then, he's been... very weak, spending most of his time thinking and quasi-sleeping. He has very little power in him. All he has is Milliways and the space outside of Time. To him, there is no question of where he'd rather be. He considers Milliways to be his workplace, for the time being, because it's all he has to work with.

So, in his time of thought since his defeat, he's been thinking about the place itself. Milliways is a place full of emotions and emotional situations. Love, lust, friendship, goodnatured snark, pointed remarks, awkward flirting, awkward silences, cold looks, dislike, anger, bar fights, occasional bouts of torture, betrayal, guilt, jealous boyfriends, bad breakups, anguish, love of cruelty, hate.

Now, say the Black Rider used some of his remaining power to spell some innocuous item to collect the power behind the negative emotions in the bar. The item, not in-and-of-itself Dark, could be left under the couch or on the underside of a table, where it would not be noticed by the patrons, or those who could potentially mess up his plan. Left there, it would collect and store the power of the negative emotions of those around it.

___
EDIT: Gen has suggested he get a boost of power from a third-party-evil-party to give him the strength he would need to make the item into the power-of-neg-emotion-catcher/container. He hasn't been in the bar for long enough that he doesn't know.... much of anyone who would be willing to give him any power, other than perhaps Yrael, who would do it for a lark. (Literally.) We'd need a character who would be willing and able to give him power on short notice. Thing is, who?
---

Of course, the Black Rider would probably only have until Twelfth Night to get this done. Otherwise, he'd miss his chance. 'Tis the season, and all that.

Once the spelled dark-emotion-collector was "full", or on Twelfth Night, the Black Rider would siphon the power out of it and into himself, returning himself to his former power. It'd be a sneaky, non-rule-breaky ( no violence, no business, and no naked) way fulfill his current goal. Through this, he could return himself to his former strength under the noses of the Light Brigade.

What say you?

blue_eyed_lord @ 2005-01-25T21:17:00

2005-01-26T05:25:44Z

Jane arrives in the bar, keeping an eye on the Rider who also just entered.

The Black Rider surreptitiously watches Mordred and Gawain talk, waiting for the opportune moment which he takes, leaving Jane to freak out.

Merriman arrives just in time to be tackled by Jane and cold to Mordred. Bran and Will appear, however, dispelling much of the cold. Merriman and Mordred disappear to different places to make ready for the quest after the Rider. Moiraine and Tom come over to see what’s wrong, Tom having noticed the Rider was gone. Tom and Mordred are introduced with a bit of ~~fanboying~~ snark. Jane knows she must stay behind and Moiraine encourages her.

Getting the quest rolling, Will takes them to the great hall outside of Time. Everyone reacts to the hall and then to the sword. ~~Shiny!~~ Merriman gives the sword to Bran, who in turn hands it over to Mordred, a true Pendragon ~~at last~~. Needless to say, wibbling abounds. Merriman is not exactly happy. (An understatement.) Will and Mordred open the Doors together and head into Mordred's world where the quest for the Rider awaits. Meanwhile they all observe their new, interesting, and somewhat chaotic (thanks to the Rider) surroundings, until Merriman shows up with the car. Mordred makes sure to keep things in the spirit of Road Trip with his singing.

Meanwhile, the Rider has been starting fights in pubs and spreading bullying and intolerance. The Light brigade is right behind him, however, and he leaves the library where he was doing research in an attempt to leave the country via the chunnel, with the Light on his tail.

The Light, however, quickly finds him. Merriman pulls them all out of Time, so not to hurt mortal bystanders, and everyone gathers around to snark at the Rider. ~~Poor, poor Rider.~~ Next course of duty is, of course, getting him under control, which they do. ~~Mercilessly.~~

Merriman then sends Bran, Mordred, Tom, and Moiraine away from harm, so he and Will can deal with the Rider in the best way they know how. And thus, the Rider's power is broken

Bran takes them all back to the bar sans Will and Merriman, who are recovering. Merriman and Will arrive, thankfully recovered and everyone rejoices. Merriman regains Eirias and returns it.

The Rider, meanwhile, is petrified in a corner by the bar, acting as a human coat hanger until Tom un-petrifies him.

blue_eyed_lord @ 2005-01-25T21:17:00

2005-01-26T05:20:11Z

The Rider paused as the door to Milliways disappeared behind him.

On a sidewalk in a town somewhere in Suffolk, the Rider breathed deeply, taking in the scents of this new world, seemingly so very like his own.

Only, this one was pristine and untouched by the likes of the Light or Dark. Except, of course, for that which lives in the hearts of all humanity.

The Rider savored that thought for a moment.

The moment passed. Now, to work. For all the heady sense of new-found freedom, he knew that he was gravely weakened from his previous defeat, and the fact that he was now alone acutely reminded him that he had little time to find enough power to make his removal from this new world unfeasible. He needed power, and fast —which simply meant the largest, nearby source of humanity. London. The further away he was from here when his absence from the bar was discovered, the better.

After only a moment of thought, looking around the crowded, tourist-filled street, he had an idea. Nonchalantly, the Rider stepped off of the sidewalk and into the middle of an intersection. Disappearing from view as soon as the oncoming driver had swerved out of the way, the Rider was able to enjoy the resulting well-orchestrated wreck that involved at least three cars, and the general clogging of traffic and confusion.

Drivers got out of their cars—many of whom were tourists, already cross
after a long day of sight-seeing—and started yelling at each other, especially at the man who swerved.

"Are you mad, man? What'd you swerve for?"

"There was a man in the road! I didn't want to hit him!"

"You're barking! You can see there's no one there!"

"You'd better have good insurance…."

The Rider chuckled to himself as he slipped through the mess of cars, an unpleasant smile on his face. A taste of strife was just what he needed. Knowing he'd better get going before anyone showed up to try and cathc him, he slipped into a black Volkswagon Polo, rudely shutting the drivers-side door on the man who had stepped out of his car to see
what the confusion was on up ahead.

"Oy! That's my car! You, there! My car!" cries the man, adding to the shouts in the already crowded gathering.

The Rider shifted the car into reverse, made a U-turn and sped away as quickly as possible. It was not long before he was cursing the chintzy rental car. What I wouldn't do for my own damn horse back,he thought grimly as the car hummed to reach higher speeds.

blue_eyed_lord @ 2004-12-21T19:45:00

2004-12-22T04:18:09Z

The Black Rider stood once again in front of the window in his room that looked out upon the end of the universe. His outline was barely visible in the dark room against the backdrop of stars.
He felt that looking out upon the universe was somehow inspirational.

Before him were billions of stars around which trillions of planets orbited, many no doubt inhabited by sentient life. Below him, in the bar, were hundreds of patrons from hundreds of different universes. Universes that had never heard of the Black Rider, nor even the Dark.

Today, as much as one could define ‘today’ in Milliways, was not a particularly happy day for the Rider. It was the twenty-first of December by his calendar…and by another's calendar as well. Five years ago, by the calendar's reckoning, had been what the Rider would call the beginning of the end. That is, if he were thinking about that sort of thing, and, of course, he wasn’t.

The Rider squared his shoulders slightly, gazing out at the stars. Time was a slippery thing here. It needn’t be the holidays if he didn’t want it to be.

He turned to look at his bed. On the pillows was his black attaché case filled with his diamonds. Earlier, he had spilled them intentionally over the black comforter in a fit of boredom, as well as to please himself aesthetically. It was like holding the entire universe with all its possibilities on his bed. He had moved them around, using the chaos theory to form patterns in the brilliant disorder. It had helped him clear and organize his mind. Playing with the patterns had almost reminded him of his time before Milliways.

His thoughts turned once again to the date. Twenty-first. His lips pressed together and sought another topic of thought. The New Year would be coming soon. A new beginning. A time for new possibilities….

The Black Rider looked from the diamond-speckled bed to the star-speckled sky outside his window and a vulpine grin lit his face. Returning to his place at the window, feet planted firmly apart and hands folded behind his back, the Rider found that yes, looking out his window was inspiring indeed.

blue_eyed_lord @ 2004-10-14T20:47:00

2004-10-15T03:48:51Z

The Rider lies on the bed in his room at Milliways, head pillowed on his hands. He is fully clothed except for his shoes, which he has kicked off.

It is so strange to sleep again, especially in a bed. When in Rome….

He is smiling to himself, an unpleasant, greedy, and satisfied smile. Last night had been extremely gratifying. The foolish old man had hardly seen it coming. He chuckles to himself. Blinded by his love for others. Ha! Love, the Rider thinks with scorn, love is so easily manipulated.

He feels full inside. Using his powers once more had filled him with such a rush of adrenaline. Weakened as they are, a bitter voice in his head reminds him, but the Rider pushes it out of his mind. He is riding high on his victory.

Still smiling, he wonders how many people were hurt by his manipulation of this Anakin Skywalker. He knows Peter had interfered at the end, trying to recall Anakin to himself. The Rider frowned, that one was always interfering. It may have been just as well that it ended before it had really begun; the Rider may not have been able to control himself and crossed one of the invisible rules of this place, which could have resulted in being throw outside Time once more. One of the Rider's eyes twitches at this thought, the only sign of trepidation at this idea. This, however, does not expunge Peter's actions from the Rider's mind.

He had seen Anakin turn on Peter as he made his escape; he hopes Peter wasn't mortally wounded. The unpleasant smile is back on his face. Presumably Anakin had been talked back from the ledge since then--an unfortunate thing as men tend to be more cautious after being burned--but no doubt many of his friends were disappointed at his actions. It was so delightful how much harm could be accomplished through a single man. The Rider's smile becomes very wolf-like at this thought.

All in all, it hadn't been a bad night.

The Rider stretches languorously before standing and walking to the window in his room. He stands before the cold, glass pane and stares out on the black velvet backdrop of the universe, thousands of pinpricks of light shining out against it. His white smile stands out in the gloom all around him. Instead of sleeping, he stands at his window blending with the shadows until all that can be seen are his brilliant blue eyes, burning out of the dark like two cold stars.