by Katharyn » Sat Feb 08, 2014 1:40 pm
Title: The Raiders Chronicles – Tomb of the Vampire Prince - Chapter One
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Absolutely, yes please. That’s why I write for this place, to engage in the discussion about the story.
Spoiler warning: Nope. All new. All original. Set in a universe where Willow Rosenberg takes the place of Indiana Jones. What can I spoil?
Distribution: This story was written for Pens. Pens is its home. No archiving off Different Coloured Pens and the Kitten Board please. No conversion to eBook or other formats please. Enjoy it here.
Summary: Doctor Willow Rosenberg is on an ocean liner, on her way from the USA to France… Naturally that doesn’t go well. A prologue to the rest of the story…
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS or Indiana Jones. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc. I am making no money from this series of stories however all original characters and situations remain my property. There may be occasional use of ‘classic lines’ from the source series/movies or others for which full credit is given to the original writers. I am not sure if Disney bought Indiana Jones along with Star Wars but… do not sue me! I have no money!
Rating: Occasional, tasteful, adult situations and contextual bad language.
Couples: Tara and Willow forever. 100% FAQ compliant, 100% of the time. Look it up if you don’t know what that means.
Text convention: Use of italics denotes either special emphasis if used for a single or a few words in a sentence OR first person thoughts if used for a whole sentence.
Physics: I’ll say it here… It’s Movie Physics, people. Someone Willow’s size and weight can punch out big, big guys… If you don’t like it, don’t read it. (But please read it)
Notes: These movies always start with a prologue which isn’t always anything to do with the larger story… Is this like that? I’m not saying yet. However I wanted to touch base with a couple of characters from the first Raiders story and give them a ‘future’. While I love the idea of them just hooking up, even more exciting is that they did that and stayed that way… It’s really just a guest appearance though. I’m saving them for something else (if this series continues)
Thanks to: Chewster, first and foremost for giving me the original idea, inspiration and working with me on the Raiders re-write. Took a girl out of her solitary writing cave and reminded her collaboration can be fun after too many years without it. Oh, and now I am back in my cave and that sounds way dirtier (to the Willow in me) than I meant it to be.
Previously on… - Umm, Tara and Willow recovered the Lost Ark and then lost it to the US Government. Oh, and Buffy ran off with a bad girl… A very bad girl. Remember her?
Prologue:
The Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of France, 1939
“Oh. That’s hot. That’s hot – Hot – Hot - HOT!”
Willow Rosenberg snatched her gloved hand back from the skin of the boiler, spun in the same movement and used the momentum to throw a punch at the stoker who’d taken exception – violent exception – to her running through his engine room.
Or maybe he was under orders.
Either way, the man was big and he was muscled. But the bigger they are the harder they fall.
And yeah, he had a glass jaw. Out for the count. One punch.
Not bad, Rosenberg. Not bad. You’ve still got it.
She kept running, dodging under the pumping pistons of the great liner that was supposed to have just been delivering her to France.
Once, just once, it would’ve been nice to cross an ocean without spies trailing her or business rivals trying to steal from her or getting punched or even some stoker trying to fry her face on the side of his boiler because she was trespassing where she shouldn’t.
This was her life though.
A certain United States Navy Lieutenant Commander – no, make that full commander now – had told her she attracted trouble like a magnet.
Commander Tara Maclay was wrong about that. Trouble really just tended to already be where she already was.
She threw another punch, this time it was blocked by the filthy black shovel that reverberated with a dull clang and left her shaking her hand. “Ow!” The largely toothless guy, covered in sweat and coal dust grinned at her with bare, shockingly pink, gums.
It wasn’t a good look. So she kicked him in the nuts and then – when he was bent over – took the shovel from him and smacked it into the side of his head with as great a swing as she could manage.
This was an ocean liner, she couldn’t keep running forever. So after he went down she took a moment to take stock.
Right this moment – this precise moment - no one was attacking her. In terms of resources she had a tuxedo – probably damaged beyond saving – a bag full of her gear including a whip, a hat and a gun.
Oh, and in the other hand a stokers shovel.
What she also had were plenty of enemies in a confined, dangerous, environment… Most of whom knew it much better than she did. Boiler rooms were dangerous places on these kinds of ships. She’d never had to think about it before, but there it was. Fact.
A few more hours and she’d have been okay. They were supposed to dock early in the morning, while the passengers were all asleep. After the final dinner of the voyage she could well believe sleep was the way she would’ve gone. It was already settling on her stomach way too heavily. But that would’ve been that.
France.
Instead?
This.
Maybe Tara’s right about me, maybe I do actually attract the trouble...
Question – where was the map?
Half my time pouring over maps. Half my time getting hold of them. Half my time keeping them out of the hands of bad guys who try to steal them from me.
Wait… No. That’s too many halves.
Still, that was what it felt like. Too many halves and an abundance of maps.
This kind of thinking, bemoaning the way her life was going, wasn’t her. Or rather it was the ‘her’ who’d gone too long without meeting up with a certain other ‘her’ who’d she’d never have run into if she hadn’t been exactly who she was.
A cry rang out, from the gantry above that overlooked this, the bowels of the ship. A different language, but the meaning was clear. “There! Get her!”
Nothing she could do about that – shooting would’ve been a very bad idea with a risk of steam explosions that could blow the ship apart - so… she ran.
Working against her was the lack of knowledge she had about the engine room. She’d seen a couple in her time but this was by far the biggest of those. About all she’d picked up from prior experience was that the propeller was at the back and that the giant shaft ran the whole length of the space to the forward boilers. Right through bulkheads too.
In her favour though, she was small, quick on her feet and a good deal more agile than the people who were chasing her. It was usually the case.
Oh, and she packed a punch no one ever believed until they’d been walloped by it.
Throwing herself into a baseball-style slide, she ended up going right through the legs of one of the enemy agents who’d finally made it down here to the bottom of the ship. They were ‘agents’, right?
Probably.
Well, this ‘agent’ had nuts like his half of the rest of the species.
Hypothesis tested and proven as she punched upwards during her transit. Then as he doubled over, clutching himself, she pushed herself to her feet and kept running right out of the slide. Until…
The Map.
Things would’ve been simpler if she hadn’t seen the map. Right now she’d have been in bed and comfortable and there’d be no nuts at all.
First people had just been trying to kill her, that had been complicated enough. Imminent death always was. But now she had to recover the map – while they were still trying to kill her – and get out of here too.
Fortunately the thing that everyone was after was just rolling gently from side to side in its case as the ship did the same. It wasn’t going anywhere (and wasn’t protected by traps, so bonus) so she snagged it on the way past and kept running.
After all this trouble, this thing better be worth it.
Whatever it is.
People chasing after her were a regular enough part of life that she wasn’t ever shocked by it, but right now she had no idea why these particular goons were even after her.
No idea until – well, until explanation presented itself, anyway.
Leaving the heat of the engine room was a relief, finding the breaking morning light even more so. She pounded her way up the stairs and it was there that she came to understand.
A voice.
“Doctor Rosenberg.”
She lost all her speed in a couple of paces and stood still, knowing the voice well enough. Knowing what it meant too, even though she’d never thought to hear it again.
“Lehane,” she breathed.
The proverbial bad penny.
Slowly raising her hands, she turned and saw the woman who’d been her nemesis for far too long. The whole ‘Ark of the Covenant’ thing hadn’t ended well for Lehane though. She’d come away empty handed despite the efforts and deaths of hundreds of Nazi’s. Millions of marks of financing for the biggest dig in Egypt’s history since the pharaohs themselves.
Lehane had lost Hitler his prize. Maybe the greatest prize there had ever been.
That was the professional side of things, at least.
But to compound things, Lehane had run off with Elizabeth Summers in the confusion of the aftermath. Buffy really had no taste in women but you couldn’t deny how good the two of them would look together.
Even though she’d never seen it herself.
“I’d tell you again, about how I can take anything from you,” the Frenchwoman said, “but you already know that, don’t you?”
Lehane was, surprisingly, wearing an elegant evening gown that probably hadn’t left a lot of options for where to hide the Luger that was pointed at her right now. She’d stared down the barrel of plenty of them in the last few years as the German’s had pushed further and further into her territory.
Unlike the Nazi’s though, Lehane knew her. Knew what she’d do in most situations.
Knew what she could do.
Also, no nuts to kick or punch her in.
“Aren’t you taking a risk? I thought you were staying out of Europe?” she asked. “Der Fuhrer wasn’t very happy with you last I heard.”
“Water under the bridge,” Lehane said, waving it off but not with her gun hand. “He’s come to understand that the incompetence of his men can hardly be my fault. You know, I should thank you; I believe you’ve proven it to him a few times when I was thousands of miles away.”
Willow barked a laugh. “Oh, sure, he’s sided with a Frenchwoman who sleeps with an American woman over his bunch of blonde haired, blue-eyed ubermen? What’s with the map, Faith? What is it?”
“Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t know?”
“I wouldn’t believe you if you were on fire and said it was getting a little hot.”
“I’m not the bad girl here,” Lehane said, shrugging. The pistol did waver as she did. Just a little.
“But you are the one with the gun.”
“Give me the map, Doctor Rosenberg.”
“Why do you want it? If you don’t know what it is?”
“The map.”
“Sure, here.” She held it out by the strap of the case, knowing exactly –
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Doctor. Please. Place it on the deck and take three steps back.”
“Or I could do that,” she admitted.
Willow did as she was instructed, backing away but keeping her eyes fixed on Lehane as the other picked it up. Some people – Elizabeth Summers for one – would’ve taken advantage of the pose, the dress and just having eyes to marvel at the portions of her figure that were revealed. And no one could say that this woman wasn’t stunning, but she was also mercenary, unprincipled and dangerous.
It was no wonder at all that Buffy had fallen for her.
Lehane was just her type. And she was sure it was a wild ride that they’d had – or maybe even were still having. She didn’t honestly know. It’d be nice to find out. And a villains need to talk about just how villainous she was could be the ideal – and only – opportunity.
“Actually, I’m surprised you even get out of bed anymore,” she quipped. Mostly to make sure that Lehane didn’t just shoot her. She was more than capable of it, though she’d never been vindictive towards her before. Usually she left it to the people she was working with.
And it really didn’t matter – when it came to a bullet – whether it was business or personal. They were just as fatal and – crucially - always had right of way.
“That still has its attractions,” the other woman said while a slight smile touched her lips. “Was that what you wanted to know? Whether Elizabeth and I were still together?”
“She’s tireless and insatiable, I’ll agree with that.”
Meanwhile she was still backing up. Slowly. Letting Lehane follow her to prevent the range becoming too great. She didn’t get the idea that the woman was a sharpshooter, but at this range she wouldn’t need to be. Anyone who couldn’t hit her the moment she tried anything didn’t deserve to be carrying a gun
“She’s always been the same,” Willow revealed. “Any of her boyfriends will tell you.”
“You think to cloud my judgement with jealousy of lovers past?” Lehane laughed. “You mistake me – and her – if you think we haven’t both shared our histories with each other by now.”
“Well, then you know Buffy and I never - ”
“Yes, and I know the reason for your schism too. I do have a message for you from her though,” Lehane said as Willow’s butt brushed up against the guard rail which protected from the long fall to the water below. “She wanted me to pass it on in case we ever ran into each other again.”
“Oh?”
“She hopes you’re well and happy. And she’s curious if you’re still seeing that government agent. The American?”
“She is?”
Wait… that didn’t feel quite right. Why was Lehane asking that sort of question? Even if Buffy wanted to know. It didn’t really go with the whole ‘your life is about to end’ taunting.
“Well? Are you?”
“You didn’t even want the map, did you?” Willow concluded, realising what had just happened.
“No. Honestly, I didn’t know about it until you emerged and… look at you. Always the same with you. Always overdressed for the wrong occasions.”
“You didn’t know I was aboard. Did you?”
“Not until yesterday. I spotted you playing badminton with the elderly gentlemen, but declined the opportunity to join you.”
“And you’re not going to kill me, are you?”
“I have too healthy a fondness for Elizabeth’s charms to do that to her oldest friend,” Lehane said, finally allowing the gun to drop. “However there are plenty of people on this boat who do seem to want you dead and this is the way to stop them. So for our mutual friends sake, you go. I will give them the map.”
“Give it to them?”
“For a finder’s fee, of course.”
Willow considered rushing the Frenchwoman, taking the map back from her. But Lehane was right. There were people onboard who wanted to kill her and they were getting closer, she could hear them. She’s already delayed too long.
Besides, she didn’t even know what it was. Hadn’t even seen it yet.
“Do you know – You really don’t know what it is?” she asked.
“No. Do you?”
She shook her head.
“Better go, Doctor Rosenberg. I’ll say ‘hi’ to Elizabeth for you the next time I’m with her.”
Willow turned, dawn was breaking and she could see… Wow, they were really quite close to land, weren’t they?
But it was also a long way down and she was at the pointy end of the ship, that was the end that was going to run her over and then spit her out of the propellers in fish edible pieces if she wasn’t very careful.
The shouts were getting nearer though.
“If it were just me, I’d sell you to them too. But for her, Doctor Rosenberg, you have to go. I know you can swim quite well enough. Go. Live to fight another day.”
Lehane was right… so she turned, climbed the railing with her bag slung around her neck.
Jumped.
---------------------
“Au revoir, Doctor Rosenberg,” Lehane called after her departing rival.
Just in time too because seconds later…
A coat was draped around her shoulders and one slim hand pushed inside it. Into her dress too. “There you are. I was wondering where you’d gone,” Buffy said, always bold with her affections.
These days, at least.
“I was just finishing up some business.” She held up the map case.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know yet, but I think perhaps it’ll be enough to let me put a diamond on your finger when we’re at the top of the Eiffel Tower,” Lehane said, peering over the side as they were surrounded – briefly – by the men who’d been chasing down Doctor Rosenberg.
But her rival was long gone so she returned to business.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Forgive my boldness. But are you perhaps looking for this? I just took it from your thief and for a small – ah – finder’s fee, I’d be happy to deliver it to you.”
It crossed her mind that they might just try to take it from her. But that would’ve gone badly. She and Elizabeth… well, they’d taught a few lessons to people who had no reason to know better.
“Aww, business” Buffy simpered. “I thought we’d finally get to bed.”
Oh yes, I did promise…
“Don’t worry, chérie, we will. We will. Right after I take care of business, I promise I’ll take care of you.”
----------------------------
France
Willow dragged herself from the ocean. Carried in towards the shore by the power of the incoming tide, it’d been a swim of at least a mile and she’d not exactly been dressed for it with the tux dragging her down. But…
Finally she’d got where she’d been headed for.
France.
France in a soaked, bedraggled tuxedo with strands of kelp hanging from the pocket – oh, and her ear.
Another one ruined. Just putting one on was a recipe for disaster and it wasn’t like a well cut tuxedo – well cut for a woman even of limited stature – was cheap.
“I’ve got to go back to Hong Kong,” she said to herself. Three days in that city and she’d had five made for the price of the New York one that was hanging, sodden, from her now. She took the jacket off, knowing she’d be warmer without it now it was soaked.
It was already past dawn but real daylight was sometime away, mostly due to the mist that was clinging to the land beyond the shoreline. The beach itself was deserted and she was that cold and wet that now wasn’t the time for worrying about little things like modesty. Trading the sodden tux for the hard wearing shirt and pants from her bag wasn’t much fun. They were just as wet, but they’d dry faster and they were… her.
Seemed right that, once you’d been shot at, you dressed the part.
With the boots, they gave her everything she needed to walk who-knew-how-far to get to someplace she could catch a train. She needed to get to Paris. That had been the whole point of this trip. Maps and Lehane and even news that Buffy was still with that double-crossing bitch… they were all sideshows.
Paris was the main event this trip and she was determined to get there on time.
So obviously it started to rain.
“Oh, come on!” She stared up at the heavens, not about to get any wetter than she already was. But this wasn’t going to help.
What would? Well, she could pull on her hat and jacket.
Never go on an adventure without your hat.
-------------------
Paris, France
Two women.
In the same city. In the same arrondissement. Both in embassies. Both in Paris.
Neither knew about the other, but they had news to give to their superiors but they didn’t hurry. That wasn’t how the diplomatic services of the countries that employed them worked. Perhaps in the event of war, which was looking more and more likely, a fast trot through the halls might break out. But certainly not until that crisis became real.
No, until then the smartly dressed young women each clutched the messages they’d been given and walked calmly through their respective embassies. They were each hand delivering notes from similar lower floor communications rooms. Written in different languages, certainly.
But with similar content.
Each was crossing beautifully polished marble floors than made their heels click and threatened embarrassment as it was all too easy to slip. This was Paris, after all. What other style of building would be appropriate for an embassy of state?
They both climbed stairs with polished balustrades, their fingers sliding across them like they weren’t even there. Neither considered the work of the cleaners who – when the rest of the embassy was still and sleeping – would clean those marks away.
Each crossed the hallways of the upper floors of offices, given over to the functionaries of the embassies in which they served. Not for them any visit to either of the ambassadors. That wasn’t how things worked either. Protocol had to be observed.
No, they delivered messages to the people who – perhaps – would arrange an appointment with their respective ambassador if circumstances merited it.
Though circumstances rarely did. The ambassadors didn’t do much other than carry and speak the messages of their respective President and Chancellor.
It was in the office space where you found the people who ‘got things done.’ Everyone knew that.
Here the differences, aside from the spoken language, started to emerge.
In the German embassy, the office to which the secretary delivered the message was large and impressive – almost as impressive as that of the ambassador himself.
In the American embassy, the office was barely more than a cupboard. There was a small, round window – as was the Parisian way for rooms just below the roof – but with only a little effort you could’ve grown mushrooms for all the light that was admitted. The bars across that window, high on the side of the building, revealed a caution about the purpose of the office and its inhabitant.
A caution absent in the surroundings of the much more impressive and opulent German embassy.
Once there, after knocking, the two messages were handed over.
By coincidence the two female secretaries both handed over their burden’s to two other women. Women, this time, with real authority. Women that – in each case – the younger secretaries looked up to, if for slightly different reasons and with different expectations.
Only one was in official, military uniform. That was the blonde in the US Embassy. Her black jacket with its insignia - and no hint of the medals that the woman had actually earned but could never admit to – was neatly hung up and now she wore only the white blouse and black, uniform skirt along with her sensible shoes and stockings.
And in the German embassy, a brunette who - despite the lack of a uniform – nonetheless wore clothes that said exactly who she was.
A woman to be feared.
She didn’t have a jacket, either. But she had a long, black coat that too many people would soon recognise as a uniform of sorts.
The messages differed in that they were written in the languages of the embassies they served in, but each woman could’ve read and spoken the other nearly flawlessly.
The messages were similar, the wording differed a little. But the thrust of them was the same.
‘Doctor Willow Rosenberg sighted in France. STOP. Last seen near Le Havre. STOP. Believed en route to Paris. STOP.’
Questions were subsequently asked, about the circumstances. Both message recipients were surprised by the news that Doctor Rosenberg had not come ashore by boat, but instead swam in. Presumably from a perfectly good liner that had crossed the Atlantic and made it to her original destination only a few hours later.
The Gestapo officer was slightly more surprised by that than the American Naval Officer but both were undoubtedly pleased by the news.
Just for very different reasons.
****************
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If I wanted a little pussy, I've got my own to play with.
Chance in *Chance*
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. Good Luck!!! \m/-___-
that she is in the role of Rene Belloq * even though it's totally hot that she's french* and am actually hoping you go away from canon and that she doesn't meet the same end as Belloq. However, I am totally looking forward to her mooning over Tara. That's really gonna get Willow's dander up if you included it. * prays that you did*
