Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by StarChild »

The disclaimer: The X-Men and Nightcrawler are the property of Marvel Comics, and this very unworthy one makes no income from these tales! Elissa is my own creation as you know! So the beginning of:



Romancing the Elf: An Adventure



Deep within the jungles of Colombia, near the foot of the Andes Mountains in the fertile Magdalene Valley, Juan Jose Colin Arciniega was busy gathering coca leaf into a bag wrapped around his left shoulder. The work was hard in the rain but it had to be done. He had deadlines to keep and children to feed and his contacts could not be kept waiting until the rainy season was over! He harvested as quickly as possible, his four compadres in the distance using machetes just as he was to cut the leaves from the plants, the brim of his white hat almost flopping it was so saturated from the torrential downpour!

Thunder sounded in the distance, and Juan looked up in surprise. Storms such as these usually did not have the accompanying effects of thunder and lightning; it was just an endless tide of rain. How could this be? That was when a sleek, black jet came peeling through the low-lying clouds, surprising him and his crew as it shot overhead, its left hand engine aflame and the right one sounding none too stable either!

“Madre de Dios!” he exclaimed, lowering his machete to cross himself as the plane shot overhead, clipping the trees and heading for the distant, swollen Magdalena River. He watched it hurtle on, feeling his heart in his throat as he forgot about the plants he was supposed to be harvesting. “Muchachos, mirada!” he cried and pointed toward the water with his blade.

He did not need to alert his compatriots for when he glanced in their direction they had already stopped what they were doing, and some were loosening their rifles and heading toward the river. Juan did not hesitate, but sheathed his machete and joined his friends in their mad race. There was a sound of a crash intermingled with the splash of water so loud that the wildlife in the region reacted with varying shrieks, and jungle birds took to flight. Even Juan stopped momentarily as he beheld a cloud of vapor rise just above the trees; his dark brown eyes round as saucers as he looked skyward before exchanging glances with his friends.

Together the five men ran down the incline, picking their steps as carefully as they could through rivulets of mud and a tangle of foliage. Juan took the lead as the growth grew thicker ahead of them and used his machete to hack a path toward the Magdalena. He could hear the hiss of escaping steam and smell the jet fuel that was more than likely pouring from the stricken craft. He knew there was a distinct possibility that the aircraft would ignite, and they had a minimal amount of time to reach the pilot. It had looked like a military aircraft, he assessed as he ran, and that meant munitions for the cause, but also possibly a very dangerous and very big explosion.

“Rapido! Rapido!” one of his friends shouted from behind, and Juan could see that two of his companions had flanked him and were likewise cutting their own paths through the overgrowth! Juan cursed, realizing that this would be a race to the spoils, and renewed his efforts as the banks of the river came into view and he could see the beginnings of the black hulk. One last swing and he stumbled through to the shores of the Magdalena to stop short at the sight before him.

The plane was huge and upside – down! Over thirty meters long and half again as wide, it was acting like a partial dam against the swollen river, its ebony body in sharp contrast to the hues of green through out the jungle. The water lapped over the right turbine, sending up a cloud of steam, but the left still burned in spite of the rain, kicking up a plume of smoke as black as its mother’s body. If there were anyone in there still alive they would have to get them out soon.

One of Juan’s friends had already leapt into the water, holding onto the wing of the aircraft to keep himself moored in the face of the rushing waters. He chewed his lower lip as he looked toward the belly hatch and watched his friend clamber onto the hull. Another man was taking a rope and tying it to a tree before entering the river to swim carefully toward the cockpit window; and that is when he decided to join his other companion on the top. He did not trust the currents so easily, and perhaps with luck they could force the hatch open, but as he climbed onto the belly of the ship the heat of the left engine fire made him almost turn back.

“!Jefe, venga en!” his friend called, waving him on.

Juan muttered to himself as he tried to negotiate the slick surface of the plane, holding his arms tentatively akimbo to keep his balance as he watched his companion pry at the hatch. “Busque una liberación, Carlos,” he shouted over the rushing water and the snap of the flames and stabbed a finger toward the hatch control embedded next to the door. “¡Allí! ¡La palanca es correcta al lado de usted!”

Carlos stopped with his blade and let his eyes follow Juan’s finger to behold the round indentation with the emergency hatch release inside it. He rolled his eyes and slammed a palm against his forehead; “¡Soy estúpido! ¡Usted tiene razón! ¡Lo veo!” Sheathing the useless machete, and wincing against the combination of flaming jet fuel and steady rain, Carlos snuck his fingers around the control and pulled with all his might.

Juan watched as the hatch opened in response to the control, except, to his dismay, the stairwell emerged, but inverted! He could hear the emergency klaxons sounding within the craft and clucked his tongue as he followed Carlos down a precarious path into the plane. He paused only long enough to shout back to the others that remained, “¡Amigos! ¡este camino! ¡Rápidamente!” before disappearing.

Water was rapidly filling the interior of the ship toward the front, and the smell of ionized air was pungent in Juan’s nostrils as he made his way after Carlos. The perspective was dizzying as he looked up at the empty passenger chairs and the control consoles overhead. Using the seat harnesses, he entered the cockpit area, which was knee - deep in water to find the other man who had chosen the cockpit route, struggling through the shattered plate glass window with Carlos’ assistance. That was the only reason Juan saw her first lying on her side in the water, her long golden hair spread around her bloodied face, dressed in a form-fitting unitard of deep blue with a gold belt around her waist and boots on her legs. He moved quickly at the sight of the stricken woman and pulled her up out of the water into his arms, rising to glance up and see the pilot still strapped upside – down in his chair. That was when Juan cried out in a religious terror, “¡Madre de Dios! ¡Un demonio!”

Carlos looked from where he was assisting his friend through the window, and nearly dropped him at the sight of the indigo-blue, pointed eared man harnessed in the flight chair, the tail dangling as limply as his arms over his head. “¡Ah mi Dios!” he murmured, then renewed his effort to pull their companion into the cockpit. “Venga en, Miguel. ¡Tenemos que salir aquí antes de que este avión a reacción explote!”

Miguel heaved himself into the cockpit, his hand impacting with the glass and making a deep gash into his palm. He drew a sharp breath and plunged the bleeding member into the cool waters only to see the three - fingered hands before him. He looked up and his eyes went round, “¿Un diablo azul? Santa Maria!” He scrambled to his feet and moved as quickly as he could from the unusual sight in the pilot’s chair, looking from Carlos to Juan to the creature that looked like a man before him. “¿Hacen los ... lo rescatamos?” he stammered.

Juan shook his head negatively, "¡No! ¡Tome lo que usted puede encontrar y salir aquí!" He settled the weight of the woman in his arms and looked down at her face to see the huge gash in her forehead, and her unearthly beauty. “Ai! ¡Ella parece a un ángel! ¡Venga, muchachos! ¡Ayúdeme a conseguirla de aquí!”

Carlos watched Juan Jose leave with the woman, heading back for the hatchway, and he shook his head. He glanced one more time at the demon strapped into the seat, and the strange outfit he wore with its red and black hue and the white gloves and boots. Something in his mind was being triggered in his memory at the outlandish garb the man wore. Something he had seen on television a long time ago; but how often did you get to see television in the jungles of Colombia? Shrugging off the vague memory, Carlos helped Miguel to his feet, and spied a single duffel bag half – submerged in the rising water. He grabbed the duffel and pulled his friend toward the hatch.

“Uno momento, Carlos, “ Miguel said and undid the rope around his waist. “¿Y él?” he asked and jerked his head toward the pilot.

“¿Y él? ¡Él está muerto ya! ¡Venga en!” Carlos retorted, shuddering as he looked again at the demonic man. There was no way on earth or in heaven that he was going to touch him! Instead Carlos toted the duffel along with his cache of coca to the hatch, leaving Miguel behind.

Miguel stared at the unusual features of the man upside – down in the pilot’s chair and reached out with a tentative hand to almost touch the upswept ear. Changing his mind quickly when he saw the rise and fall of the muscular chest, he drew his pistol and took aim.

“Miguel! ¡Ahora!”

Startled, the shot went wide, and instead of catching him in the chest, the bullet hit the blue man’s arm near the shoulder joint, and Miguel leapt back when he heard the man gasp even in his unconscious state. The coca – harvester left then, scampering as fast as he could to follow his friends, leaving behind the now doubly stricken pilot.

Two pairs of hands hoisted the golden-haired woman through the hatch and outside as Juan Jose climbed up and out of the interior of the plane. He looked back down to take the proffered bag from Carlos and set it aside before helping his friend out of the jet. Together they reached down to heave Miguel to the surface, then the five men took their booty, and their hostage off the plane and into the jungle leaving behind the still burning jet and its demonic – looking pilot.

“Idiota! ¿por qué tuvo que usted ir y pegar un tiro a él?” Carlos' voice receded in the distance as the fires on the SR – 71 Blackbird continued to sputter in the afternoon air.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spanish translations :

“Busque una liberación, Carlos,” "Find the release, Carlos!"

“¡Allí! ¡La palanca es correcta al lado de usted!” " There! The correct lever is next to you!"

“¡Soy estúpido! ¡Usted tiene razón! ¡Lo veo!” "I am stupid! You are right! I see it!

“¡Amigos! ¡este camino! ¡Rápidamente!” "Friends! This way! Quickly!"

“Venga en, Miguel. ¡Tenemos que salir aquí antes de que este avión a reacción explote!” "Come on, Miguel! We have to get out of here before this plane explodes!"

"Hacen los ... lo rescatamos?” "Do...do we rescue him?"

"¡No! ¡Tome lo que usted puede encontrar y salir aquí!" "No! Take what you can find and get out of here!"

¡Ella parece a un ángel! ¡Venga, muchachos! ¡Ayúdeme a conseguirla de aquí!” "She looks like an angel! Come, boys! Help me to get her out of here!"

“¿Y él? ¡Él está muerto ya! ¡Venga en!” "What about him? He is already dead! Come on!"

“Idiota! ¿por qué tuvo que usted ir y pegar un tiro a él?” "Idiot! Why did you have to go and shoot him?"





[Edited on 8/5/06 by StarChild]
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by chicory »

Oh no! They shot him while he was unconscious and made off with Elissa! Is this like the sequal to Romancing the Stone? I've never seen it...

Maybe some of the Spanish should be translated like:

“¿Y él? ¡Él está muerto ya! ¡Venga en!”

“Idiota! ¿por qué tuvo que usted ir y pegar un tiro a él?”

Try doing what Angelique does in her stories, that works!
For those who believe, no explanation is neccessary. For those who do not, no explanation is possible. ~Gino Dalpiaz
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by StarChild »

The sequel is Jewel of the Nile...this is meant to be a bit of a blatant parody...but not exactly like the first movie!

I will add translations!!

Thank you, Chicory!

[Edited on 8/5/06 by StarChild]
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by StarChild »

Pain. Dull, throbbing pain and the splash of cold water woke a reluctant Nightcrawler to the land of the living. He opened his eyes to see water beneath him; blood running from his numb left shoulder stained it red as it lapped over his hands then receded. Slowly and through monumental force of will, he raised his right hand up to the harness release and punched the button only to tumble into the brownish – green water and land hard on the ceiling of the cockpit beneath the surface. He pushed up quickly, his head throbbing from the blood that had rushed to it for so long, and clutched the paralyzed arm to his side to examine the wound. His yellow/gold eyes went round as he realized he had been shot; but how? He shivered in the chill of the water, glancing toward the cockpit window to see it was dark, and the water continued inside at a slow trickle meaning the Blackbird was resting in shallows.

That was when his sluggish brain remembered how he had gotten here, and who had been with him. Adrenaline surged momentarily as his eyes darted around the partially submerged cabin; “Elissa? Liebchen? Where are you?”

Panic began to ensue then when there was no immediate response, and he suddenly became aware of a world of pain as the blood flowed to his members. Wincing against the headache and the ache in his shattered shoulder joint, Kurt took in a deep breath and sunk beneath the surface of the water to peer for some sign of his wife. He pushed himself along the bottom, looking to the right and to the left, but there was nothing there, not even their duffel bag! He rose quickly and looked around the cabin, his eyes wild with fear as he realized she was even gone in the subliminal sense of the Binding. Forcing himself to walk, he headed for the rear of the jet to see that the emergency hatch was open, but nowhere in the plane itself was StarChild.

“Elissa?” he called, pushing his legs forward, his teeth chattering and his heart racing as he moved toward the cargo bay. Why could he not feel her in the Binding? Why? How was that possible? Unless she was – was – NO! He stopped those thoughts then and there! If she were dead, then where was her body? Why was it not here? “Elissa!!” the cry was more strident now, the panic more acute and drove his leaden legs to new levels of exertion as he scanned the spacious cargo bay of the upside – down fighter. He could smell the fire, or the remnants of one, and thanked God that the Blackbird had not exploded as he ripped a medical kit from the wall of the hold and staggered back to the open ramp. He was alone in the ship, of that much he was certain, and terrifyingly alone in his mind and heart, which was a condition he had not known for close to two years now. Where was his wife?

Nightcrawler stopped beneath the open ramp and gazed out into a starlit sky, the world above swimming dizzily in his field of vision. He held the first aid kit beneath his right arm, the non - responsive left arm hanging limp at his side. He might have just enough strength to attempt it, he thought, and took a step forward physically while willing himself into a ‘port. It was just a short hop to the surface of the plane, but when he materialized, he felt as if he was weak as a baby. He dropped to his knees onto the hull of the Blackbird, his breath coming in heaves as though he had been running, and he felt the world going grey as the medical kit fell beside him. Sinking onto the surface, he stared at the alien constellations, and struggled to recall how they had gotten here.

Three days ago they had left for Lima, Peru with Professor Xavier, Storm, Cyclops and Emma Frost at the request of the Peruvian government to deal with a band of local mutants that were causing problems. It had started out as an aggressive undertaking to restrain the band of renegades, and ended up being more of a mission of mercy where the X-Men had remained to work with the government and the renegades to bring a new comprehension of mutants and their place in the Peruvian society. Nightcrawler and StarChild had opted to leave early for the sake of Stefan, their infant son, back in the mansion near Salem Center, so with a promise to return in several days to pick up the team, they had taken off with the Blackbird to return to New York. That was when the bomb had exploded in the left engine, and Elissa had been propelled across the cabin to collide with a console. He had been strapped in, but with the jet mortally wounded he had his hands full in trying to maneuver the craft. He could recall the Andes Mountain range dead ahead, the way her body had rolled limp and lifeless, and his frustration in being unable to get to her. They had clipped the mountains, and dove towards the valley, his flaps useless and hydraulic pressure all but gone, then the trees, the water, the blackness that overtook him and nothing. Now he was here and she was not, and all he did truly possess was the agony of his own body and a useless left arm.

Tears welled up unbidden to his eyes as he fought against the agony of body and soul. “Elissa,’ he whispered, and let himself fall into blackness.


She woke to a dull ache in her head that made her nauseous, and her body felt leaden beneath the weight of several blankets. The room was dark and foreign to her, filled with vague shapes and aromas that did little to settle her emotions. She sat up too quickly and the world swam, forcing her to fall back onto the hard bed and feather-filled pillow. Reaching up tentatively, she could feel the mass of cloth bandages the swathed her forehead, and the dampness of what must have been blood, or at least she thought it was, and that did nothing to soothe her fear.

“H-hello?” She called into the darkness, and let her eyes fall to the only window in the room, and the starlight that shone through. Somehow it reminded her of something, something on the edge of her perceptions, but remained oddly elusive. Something was calling to her, stirring her in the strangest of ways. Frightened, she drew the weight of the blankets over her shoulders, and pressed in deeper into the hard mattress to wait for the morning.


The sunlight was warm, heating the dark colors of his uniform and his indigo flesh, but doing nothing to soothe the aches of his body from the impact of the shoulder harness, or the intrusion of the bullet. Kurt Wagner blinked against the morning sun, his left arm still unresponsive, and sat up to find himself on the hull of the inverted Blackbird in the middle of a jungle that smelled of wet loam and foliage. Around him was a river that he knew must be the Magdalena, its banks overrun with floodwaters from the recent rains it had endured. Birds of varying voices sung in the distance, and he could swear he saw caimans in the river swimming against the current and on the opposite bank basking in the sun. He would have to be very careful, he decided as he opened the medical kit to extract a packet with two coated aspirin tabs inside of it. Tearing it open with his teeth, he popped the pills into his mouth as far back as he could and swallowed, nearly gagging because of how dehydrated he was.

Within the Blackbird were survival rations, and, with those in mind, he dropped back down into the recesses of the ship, to land in a crouch, and winced as the pain reverberated through his head. Straightening up, he moved to a bank of storage lockers along the wall and stretched up to open one. Within were several prepacked, waterproof khaki backpacks which were replenished periodically with non – perishables and fresh water. Grabbing one of these, he placed it around his uninjured shoulder and teleported back to the surface of the Blackbird to stagger from momentary dizziness as he reappeared. Blood loss; it had to be from the blood loss! That was why he was so weak!

He sat down on the hot metal, resting the backpack between his knees, and used his right hand to open it. He found the water bottle and opened it up using his teeth, dropping the cap in his lap, and took a long and welcome drink. His mind turned to Elissa as he lowered the bottle, and he worried as to whether or not she had water, if she was safe, and or if she were even alive. The fine muscle along his jaw twitched at the mere thought of that as he fastened the cap of the bottle back into place and moved methodically to the next thing he had to deal with, which was his shoulder.

Within the medical kit were a pair of scissors and a bottle of alcohol, and it was with great disdain that he withdrew that particular item. He looked at his shoulder and the dried blood, realizing that the bullet was probably blocking the flow of blood by now, and heaved a sigh as he began to cut through his uniform. There were forceps within the kit, but he felt a tad uncomfortable about extracting the slug by himself. What if he buried it only deeper?






[Edited on 8/5/06 by StarChild]
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by StarChild »

The indigo flesh around the wound was purple and black and hot to the touch, and he scowled as he contemplated infection setting in. The fabric of his uniform stuck momentarily, and, when it was pulled free, a fresh excretion of fluid began from the torn capillaries. Setting aside the scissors on the open lid of the kit, he got out a sterile pad, unwrapped it, and used his teeth once again to carefully open the alcohol bottle. He found himself glad the arm was numb as he saturated the pad and applied it to the surface, only to gasp at the reaction of his nerves to the astringent. He rolled his eyes and breathed through his nostrils as he gritted his teeth, and counted his blessings that it was at least a sign that there was hope for full restoration of his arm. There would be more hope if Elissa were here! Her healing abilities would have had him as good as new within hours! He dismissed those thoughts as quickly as they had come, dropping the pad to fumble in the box for the forceps. Now it was time for old-fashioned medicine and his body’s own recuperative abilities until he could find her.

“God,” he lifted his eyes heavenward in a brief, heartfelt prayer, “let me find her.”

He focused then on his hand and the need to keep it steady, and slowly and carefully inserted the forceps into the small hole in his shoulder. Perspiration beaded his brow at the sensation of discomfort as tissue had to be teased and pushed in order to find the bullet. Blood responded to the intrusion of the foreign device, welling up again to stain the velvet of his skin. This was definitely harder than it looked in the movies, he decided, with a fragile attempt at humor. As he fought against a wave of vertigo, the forceps pushed up and to the left, and he hissed at the brief, dull stab of pain. The blood was flowing freely again, and his chest rose and fell now more out of anxiety than exertion as he dropped the forceps onto the bloody gauze and reached reluctantly for the bottle of alcohol. His hand trembled as he anticipated what would happen next as he tipped the bottle over the oozing wound.

The cry that echoed in the immediate vicinity made the caimans dive into the water and paused several animals in their tracks.


She sat up with a shriek, the blankets falling aside and her body bathed in perspiration. She laid a hand on her left shoulder where fire burned without flames present, her chest heaving and eyes wild as she looked around the brick - walled room in utter confusion. The furnishings were slightly old and in need of a dusting. An antique bureau occupied the far corner covered with a child’s toys that were obviously handmade, and a wicker chair filled the other with a hand-woven, multicolored blanket over it. Candles were on the windowsill that looked out onto a lush jungle setting that was so close she could reach out and touch the frond of a tree. That was when she looked down and noticed the linen nightdress she was wearing and her bare feet, and it seemed wrong somehow; as though she should be wearing something else.

The door burst open then, and she spun about to see an older woman with bronzed skin dressed in a black skirt and a white, short-sleeved shirt dulled by frequent washings. She ran a hand through thick black hair shot with grey that was tied in a loose knot on top her head, and examined her with worried brown eyes. “¿Señora, son usted bien? ¡Oí que usted gritaba!” (“Madame, are you all right? I heard you scream!) she said, and reached out to lay a hand on her arm.

She frowned, stepping back as she felt an inexplicable wave of dizziness, accompanied by a strong sense of concern that had not been part of her emotional experience before. She extracted her arm from the woman’s grasp, finding the emotional influx abating but not the dizziness. Stumbling back to the bed, she sat down heavily, touching the weight of the bandages around her head, and still aware of the dull ache in her shoulder. She was confused; where was she? How did she get here? Why was she wearing these bandages? She slipped her fingers under the improvised dressing, pulling it off to stare mutely at the dried brown stain.

“¡Señora, no haga ...! ¡Madre de Dios! ¡Su cabeza ... la herida! ¡Es ido!”(Madame no don’t…! Mother of God! Your head…the wound! It is gone!” the Spanish matron gasped, and made the sign of the cross as she backed away toward the door. “¡Juan! ¡Juan! ¡Venga rápidamente! ¡Es mágico! ¡Magia negra!” (“Juan! Juan! Come quickly! It’s magic! Black magic!”) she cried as she opened the door and fled.

She dropped the bandage to the floor when she noticed the sun reflecting off the star-shaped diamond ring on her left hand, fascinated by the glitter of blue, purple and yellow/gold in the light. She sunk back into the bed, the fatigue almost overwhelming her, and let her aching left arm fall limply to her chest.

The door to the room opened again and she glanced listlessly at the new arrivals, feeling detached as though she were barely conscious, yet at the same time curiously awake. A man entered followed by the matron, average of height with a thick, rough-cut mass of brown hair dressed in khaki slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt. They were rambling back and forth in that strange language with the woman gesticulating towards her wildly. The man listened in an effort to placate her, but the expression in his dark eyes when he looked at her was one of worry. She tried to sit up, but the dull throb in her unblemished shoulder kept her from lifting herself, forcing her to settle back and simply stare.

Juan Jose approached the bed and looked down at the slender woman clothed in the simple, ivory-colored nightdress and felt his eyes widen at the unusual purple hue of eyes that met his, like the finest of amethysts. Her long golden hair was matted at the temple from the blood she had shed, and she looked pale, apathetic, almost like she was lost in another world. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as she drew long legs away to make him room, and licked his lips at the feeling that he was somehow being improper in doing this, but he had to get close enough to see the headwound.

“¡Anciana, usted tiene razón! ¡Es ido! ¡No una señal! ¿Pero cómo?” (“Old woman, you are right! It is gone! Not a mark! But how?”) Juan peered hard at the alabaster flesh, almost reaching out to touch her forehead, but saw how she flinched and tried to withdraw. He let his hand fall to his side, “Señora, how is this possible? You had a horrible cut to your forehead! To the very bone! And now there is nothing?”

She tried to speak, her brow furrowing as she attempted to explain but could find no answer for the stranger. Tears of frustration clouded her eyes, “I…I don’t know. S-should I?”

That was when Juan sat back and realized what he was dealing with. He looked back at the older woman who was watching from the doorway; “Amnesia, Mamá.” He looked back at the woman, and saw the confusion in her expression, and choose his most gentle tone; “¿Señora, cómo se llama? What is your name?”

She began to tremble then as she heard the question but as she searched her mind could find nothing. There were no memories! Only of waking up in the middle of the night, and the sensation of calling, then the pain this morning to find herself here. Full lips quivered, and her forehead wrinkling as she fought for a reference point, and she looked up at the man in fear. “I…I don’t know my name. I…,” she faltered then, and shrunk away from him, curling into a ball to face the window.

Juan Jose looked at the woman he called mother, and rose to cover the quaking female with the blankets before rising. He shook his head, and escorted the old woman out of the room, whispering to her in Spanish and explaining the situation. Juan’s mother glanced back at the stranger and crossed herself again as he closed the door behind them.

Alone now, she let the tears stream freely down her face as she stared at the star-shaped diamond and the reflections of purple blue and gold.There was something significant about the ring, she knew it; but the more she tried to grasp the memory, the further it eluded her.








Just a little bit, but I have to get to bed! :wave




[Edited on 9/5/06 by StarChild]
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by StarChild »

It was with a monumental gasp that the slug finally came free, and Nightcrawler regarded it through pain - slit eyes like it was some archnemesis on par to Magneto himself. He discarded it on one of the several pads he had used to staunch the flow of blood, and used water instead of alcohol this time to cleanse the wound. Taking another pad, he applied it over the hole and laid back on the surface of the Blackbird in sheer exhaustion.

He would have to go back into the jet and retrieve another backpack. He was going to need the supplies for a sustained march, and he did not know what condition Elissa was in. The link they shared was a symbiosis of their minds, bodies and spirits, and he found it disconcerting that the Binding, as it was called amongst her people, was no longer functional. Not only was it frightening after dwelling in this state for two years now, but it was going to make finding her all that much more difficult. He licked his lips and looked at the already saturated pad, and forced himself to sit up and change the dressing. He applied antibiotic ointment this time and another pad, then wrapped it carefully with gauze to keep it in place. Methodically ripping tape with the teeth again, he fixed it into place, only to hear the grinding of broken bones and feel the odd, disjointed sensation in his shoulder. The arm was virtually lifeless thanks to where the bullet had hit, he could not force it to do anything other than hang there. He rummaged in the medical kit to find a wider roll of gauze and fashioned a sling, and then carefully drew his arm against his chest.

Kurt stood carefully, swaying for only a moment as he surveyed the lay of the land around him. The jungle was dense, and reeked of humidity as though he was in a terrarium rather than outside in the wild world. Overhead, the sun was beginning its slow arc down the heavens, and the sky was striped with grey-tinged clouds. The Blackbird rested close to the shore while the river continued another fifteen meters to the west, its left wing a charred and melted mass of metal, but to the east he could see something that caused hope to stir in his breast. The underbrush had been cut away, and that could mean only one thing: someone had come to the jet after the crash, and had taken his wife, and most likely shot him.

The arm was beginning to ache more now that the bullet had been removed, and he debated about a pain reliever. He could not take a chance with the pain becoming incapacitating, especially since he could picture an extended hike. Stooping back to the kit, he found a prepackaged syringe and a small vial of morphine. Kurt snorted in amusement as he wondered at how a one - armed man was going to draw a solution from a vial! Getting the syringe free was effortless, but this was when a tail became invaluable. Wrapping the spade of the unusual fifth appendage around the little bottle, he had to smile at his own ingenuity as he plunged the needle in to extract the clear fluid. He administered it into his arm through the fabric of his uniform, then dropped back into the jet to get another backpack from the storage lockers.

This time when he teleported to the surface, he did not feel as weak. Determination was giving him a reserve of strength he had not possessed before. Hopelessness had been replaced with anticipation at the revelation of the path in the jungle. He stuffed as much of the medical kit’s essentials into the first pack, then, shouldering both, he slid off the top of the SR – 71 fighter and landed feet first in the water. The world swam momentarily, but he fought against the weakness and waded in calf – deep water to the shore, scanning the ground for footprints.

The rain had been successful in only partially wiping away the hints of his quarry. He could discern at least four sets of differing footprints, which did not mean there was more, and they went off into the jungle in the opposite direction of the course the Blackbird had taken when it first crashed. The trek through the twisted overgrowth was not going to be an easy one, and he found himself wishing for the duffel bag that had held changes of clothing for himself and Elissa as well as one special item, an ancient blade from another world that they had brought back when he and Wolverine had assisted in rescuing a small portion of StarChild’s people. That sword would have been invaluable now for this journey. He only hoped that whomever had it as well as his wife treated both as the treasures they were. Features cast in stone, the weight of two packs on one shoulder, Nightcrawler stepped into the Colombian jungle, and kept his eyes on the path ahead.


Juan Jose studied the sword on the table carefully, admiring the filigree of the blade and the strange symbols that somehow looked like a language, but one he had never seen before. He sipped at his drink and glanced up to look out the window. His mother had taken the woman outside to the vegetable garden, and was showing her the plants and trying to teach her some Spanish terms. She was dressed in a white skirt embroidered at the bottom with flowers and a white shirt from his own clothing. She was taller than the women in his household, yet slender enough so that the skirt fit, even if it did end just below her calf! She still looked confused, lost somehow, though she listened politely to his mother, and followed her attentively. At least it gave her something to do, and Juan found her vulnerability and angelic beauty endearing.

“¿Juan, qué va usted a hacer con ella? ¡Usted no puede guardarla aquí para siempre! Pienso que ella es uno de aquellos superhéroes americanos.” (“Juan, what are you going to do with her? You can't keep her here forever! I think she is one of those American super-heroes.”)

Carlos’ gruff voice drew him from his speculations, and he turned his head to look at his friend. “¿Qué le hace decir esto, Carlos? ¿Por qué piensa usted que ella es un superhéroe?” (“What makes you say that, Carlos? Why do you think she is a superhero?”) He took another swallow of the tepid Coca – cola, wishing instead for a beer as he leveled his best authoritative gaze on his junior. “¡Ella es una mujer! ¡Y ahora ella es mi mujer! ¡Bajo mi casa y mi protección!” (“She is a woman! And now she is my woman! Under my household and my protection!”)

Carlos looked out the window at the two females as they moved along the rows of plants doing what came naturally to women. He watched the way her hair floated on the wind, and the manner in which the dress clung to her form, and he found himself envying Juan. Golden – haired women were scant to non – existent here; he snorted at his own thoughts, then! Women were non – existent here this far into the jungle! The nearest city was fourteen hours away by car, and that was if you were lucky with the trails! He turned his attention to the sword instead, fingering it carefully as he sipped at the warm beer; “¿Y esta cosa? ¡Esto probablemente vale el rescate de un rey! ¡No sé cual el material es, pero parece antiguo! ¿Qué va usted a hacer con ello, jefe?” (“And this thing? It is probably worth a king's ransom! I do not know what the material is, but it looks ancient! What are you going to do with it, boss?”)

Juan tapped at his friend’s hand, and pulled the tassled sword away from him towards his side of the table. He smiled at Carlos dangerously; “Lo guardo, como la guardo. ¿Traspasa, entender?” (“I keep it, like I keep her. Hands off, understand?”)

Carlos laughed as he drank, sputtering back his beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He met Juan’s eyes across the table, and leaned forward to point a finger at him; “¿Y qué hace usted cuándo ella comienza a recordar, ¡eh!? ¡Aquella espada estaba en su bolso junto con la ropa de un hombre! ¿Y si ella vea y recuerde? ¡Es un anillo de boda, Juan! ¡Alguien vendrá buscándola!” (“And what do you do when she starts to remember, huh? That sword was in her bag along with a man's clothing! What if she sees and remembers? That is a wedding ring, Juan! Someone will come looking for her!”) He sat back in satisfaction that he had made his point, and let his attention go back to the garden to openly admire the new female.

Juan sat back in his chair, and let himself worry; Carlos had just made very good sense. He decided that asserting himself again was the only way to regain control of the conversation, and tapped an insistent finger on the tabletop to get his comrade’s attention back to him. “¡Hay siempre los armas, Carlos, y soy responsable aquí! ¡No usted!” (“There are always guns, Carlos, and I am in charge here! Not you!”)

He stood rapidly, taking the sword in hand and went to a locked chest in another room. Setting the blade on the floor, he stooped to remove a set of keys from his pant’s pocket and undid the padlock. Within the chest was the duffel bag from the jet resting on top of other clothing and family memorabilia. He opened it quickly and withdrew the leather scabbard to sheathe the ancient blade and place it back inside the bag. Carlos’s attitude was not instilling trust in him, and he realized he would be fighting two if not three fronts when he chose to rescue the female yesterday. He locked the chest and stood, making sure the keys were in his pocket by patting his pants. His thoughts also strayed to the blue devil-like man they had left behind, and he found himself wondering if he had lived or died. Surely the burning craft had exploded! It would be the last time he saw that monstrous face again, thank God!

[Edited on 10/5/06 by StarChild]
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Ah, yes...lover at heart and along comes the ultimate romantic! Fox hunt ala Nightcrawler
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Bamferino
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

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Wow. What a story? When will it get finished?
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Romancing the Elf Chapter Post from Bamferino -- the edited

Post by Bamferino »

That monstrous face was marching in grim determination through the jungle, his eyes on the ground, and the elegant ears paying heed to every sound. The rains had been a blessing in disguise, helping the men’s footprints to become indelibly imprinted in the loamy soil. It was a short time before he came upon the coca field fifteen hundred meters from the crash site stretching as far as his eye could see, and suddenly everything made more sense. These men were criminals and probably affiliated with underworld channels; and they had Elissa. Glad of only one thing, that his trek was not going to be as endless as he had first believed, Nightcrawler settled the backpacks more comfortably on his shoulder and cut a path through the green field following the footprints.

The coca plants themselves with their leaves and berries were carefully concealed by lush rubber trees interspersed throughout the fields in long rows, and their leaves concealing the genuine cash crop beneath from prying eyes overhead. The aromas of the differing plants struck his senses as he picked his way through the plants, his attention still focused on the ground so as not to lose the spoor he was pursuing. He did not know how long he would be able to continue, though; the morphine was affecting him and the heat and humidity were doing little to improve his situation. Night was indeed more his element, but when the evening came then the predators would emerge. The thought of that caused his jaw to set all the harder, and he forced his body forward with renewed determination. They couldn’t have gone far! Not with…

That is when he saw a distant brown line ahead of him, far ahead of him! He came to the sickening realization that the strangers had a vehicle of some kind, and what lied ahead was a road wafting its ways through the jungles of the Magdalene valley. It took a monumental effort of will not to drop both backpacks and simply sit down in sheer frustration. Drawing in a heavy sigh, he plodded on through the fields, following his trail towards the distant road.


Night had come, along with the reign of a thousand stars like a hazy cloud against the black heavens. Flowers filled the air with a fragrance like unto that she had never known, and she inhaled deeply as she drew the heavy blanket around her shoulders and stared skyward. Emotions played through her mind and body as she gazed upwards, some that were her own and others that she found alien, almost as though they came from without herself, yet were part of her experience. There was sadness, exhaustion, and a pain of body and soul that came from an exertion she had no experience of, and it confused her. The stars made her strangely reminiscent, but of what she did not know. Something ached to express itself within her, and it was layered with a desperation and loneliness that stirred a need to console within her. But console whom? Where were these feelings coming from? Her day with Juan and Maria, his mother, had been uneventful, and she had slept much. Why was she feeling this way?

The door of the sprawling wooden house opened and light spilled outside across the ground. She turned to see Juan silhouetted against the light, his hands on the threshold of the door, and the outline of his body visible through the white shirt. “¿Señora? Come inside. The night is chill, and supper is waiting,” he beckoned her, his voice its warm and reassuring tenor.

She smiled introspectively, grateful that Juan and his mother had never forced her to remember, nor prodded her to find her name; they were quite content in calling her madam, and she was happy with the formality. She moved toward the house, the inviting smells of cooking and the pungent spices stirring her appetite. She found herself enjoying the South American cuisine, it…a rustling in the underbrush from behind her made her stop and turn. Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the dense undergrowth, seeing a low, black form moving against the shadowy green. Curious, she stepped closer, the blanket slipping from her shoulders to the ground, and that was when yellow eyes met hers from the bush. She gasped as though a sudden pain had hit her, stumbling backwards as a memory and a name came to the forefront of her perceptions.

“K-Kurt?” she murmured in confusion, only to be answered by a growl as a black jaguar slunk from the bush.

Juan’s eyes went wide, his instincts moving him as he gripped the rifle resting alongside the door and quickly took aim at the beast. One shot was all it took, the recoil from the weapon reverberating along his arm as the bullet hit the jaguar, propelling it backwards and the woman screamed. He was aware of his mother coming up behind him as he dropped the rifle and moved quickly outside.

She stared at the body of the jaguar, its golden eyes hazing over in death, the fine black, mottled pelt stained with blood from the terrible wound, and there were tears streaming down her face. She dropped to her knees, and with a trembling hand, and she touched the fine velvet of the fur, a memory pushing to the forefront of her mind, and along with it a vision. There was something she knew now, but it was befuddling her, for the memories were not her own, yet they called to her with a potency like that of strong wine.

Juan gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, turning her around to face him; “¿Señora, son usted ...? ¡Madre de Dios!” That was when he let her go, hastily stepping back to run into his mother, his heart pounding in his chest. The pupils of her amethyst eyes were filled with white fire, casting an unearthly glow on the planes of her face. He watched as she turned like a somnambulist, stepping over the dead body of the jaguar to move into the jungle, heading east.


Kurt Wagner sat bolt upright at the sound of the distant gunshot, pain lancing through the wounded left arm and his head pounding. The jungle floor had proven to be a hard mattress, adding discomfort to his back along with his numerous woes, but that was quickly forgotten at the sensations that were beginning to slowly flood back into his mind. A small smile grew on his lips as he fumbled for the straps of the backpacks, and stumbled to his feet, gazing to the west. There was confusion there in the recesses of his consciousness, but a dawning awareness and a fear that tore at him, motivated him to move his leaden legs into action. He dove into the jungle, following a soft strand of golden fire that he had believed all but gone.

The sound of the rifle had not been that far away, or so he hoped, as he stooped low to avoid the tree limbs. Instead of keeping his eyes down, this time they were forward as he looked and felt with his heart. The sensations of fear and confusion were drawing him on, and he clung to them like the lifeline they were. It was so dark in the jungle, so unbelievably black that it was almost a relief to see the distant glow of habitations just on the horizon. He pushed aside the fronds of a tree and saw a form moving towards him, a wonderfully familiar and slender form with softly glowing eyes.

“Elissa? Mein Gott…Elissa!” The backpacks were forgotten, dropped to the ground, as he rushed forward with a renewed vigor to the woman he loved.

She stopped when she heard the warm, accented voice, hearing the breaking of foliage, seeing the vibrant glow of the yellow eyes, and the shape of a man with a pointed tail heading towards her. Her breath came fast, as fast as the memories to her mind, as fast as the right arm that caught her around her waist and pulled her against a warm, velvet body that became achingly familiar.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” She could hear the torment and the tears in his voice as her hands rested along his back. She inhaled the perspiration, the blood, the smells of trek and battle as she felt his relief and his lips on the base of her neck. She framed his face in her hands, stepping out of the ferocity of his embrace, experiencing the cascade of his emotions, his pain, his exhaustion as she met the yellow/gold eyes.

Kurt could feel her confusion like blocks of a puzzle slowly being assembled. He saw her lips form his name, and suddenly realized what had happened, and did the only thing he could think of doing; the only thing he wanted to do right now. His mouth pressed down on hers with all the power at his command, his good arm pulling her firmly against him as he felt her arms go around his waist. The Binding, with all its intimacy and all its passion, righted itself just then, and when he released her, there were tears staining both their faces.

“You’re hurt,” she exclaimed, touching the useless arm in its sling and a hand on the small of his back to balance herself. The healing empathy was welling up within her along with a myriad of other emotions that were mostly coming from him. “They shot you,” she said, glancing back briefly toward the house. “It had to have been them! Oh, Kurt…!”

He kissed her face repeatedly, pressing his cheek to hers, only to be interrupted by a gunshot that peeled through the forest, causing them both to jump and look back. He let her go, his hand sliding down her arm to find her hand as he scanned the area behind them. Nightcrawler could discern two shapes charging towards them in the darkness, and a flashlight’s beam was suddenly ignited, probing, and slicing through the shadows “Later, Liebchen! We have to get out of here! Come on!”

He led her back through the brush to where the backpacks lay, releasing her to stoop and grab one at first, only to see her alabaster hand snatch up the other one. Kurt looked up to offer her a sideways grin, wishing there were more time for a proper greeting, and beheld the same sentiments in her expression as well. He rose smoothly, wincing against the numerous aches as the flashlight carved a swathe across their bodies, and a shot rang out.

Elissa cried out, dropping her backpack to clutch at her opposite arm, her face screwed up in pain. She felt herself sagging, and an arm come around her waist, then there was a moment of light, a rending of body and spirit, and when she next could see, they were on a dirt road with coca fields stretching on in the distance seemingly forever. She heard Kurt’s howl of pain as she fought off her own reaction to the distant ‘port, saw him crumple from the corner of her eye as she, too, fell at his side, muscles cramping everywhere. She peeled back her hand to look at the graze across her shoulder and the blood, her eyes rolling back as she lost consciousness.

The moon bathed the two bodies lying side-by-side on the dirt road in pale shades of silver light as a cloud of black, brimstone–scented smoke dissipated in the night breeze.


The healing process kicked in on the subliminal level, as it always had and it always would. Kurt found himself in that wondrous place of mist, that other plane of the psyche, where the world was scented of sweet roses and woods; the signatures of their lives bound together. Here he felt at peace, without pain, as his consciousness was stretched beyond the physical and into the spiritual in this realm of the mind. He looked down at himself, clad in simple white, a tunic and loose fitting pants, his feet unencumbered even by the boots of his uniform, and flexed a left arm that was whole, uninjured. He moved aside the silk of the tunic and studied the area of his shoulder where the bullet had penetrated, and smiled softly at his unblemished skin. This was the realm of the mind; he knew that, but everything seemed so real.

“Kurt…beloved…”

Her voice sent shivers along his body, and his tail almost involuntarily arced in a feline question mark as he turned to behold her. She, too, was clothed in white, her alabaster shoulders bare, and her golden hair cascading in rich waves. She extended her arms to him, the mandarin sleeves of her gown like butterfly wings, and her amethyst eyes glowing a warm welcome. The tears started again, spontaneously; so glad was he to see her! He rushed towards her, catching her slender form in his arms and lifting her off the ground.

Elissa laughed, circling his broad shoulders with one arm and the other hand resting in the thick mass of his blue-black curls. “Did you miss me that much?” she teased.

He set her on the ground as carefully as someone would a treasured china doll or fine antique, his arms firmly locked about her waist, and pulling her as close as he possibly could. His voice was husky as he struggled with the flood of emotions, the relief, the fear, the last vestiges of his loneliness without her; they all wanted to emerge at once. “I thought you were…were dead, Liebchen! I…I never want to feel this way again!”

She stared into the yellow eyes that some would dare to call less than human, and beheld the vulnerability there. She felt the tangle of emotions and read his memories as she stroked his hair, and her chin quivered in empathy for what he had endured. She drew his head down in a gentle kiss that lingered for a long, long time, and when their lips parted, their contact remained, forehead-to-forehead as they stared into each other’s eyes. “ I cannot take away the hurt you endured, my love. The physical…yes! That is mending even now! But here in the spiritual, I cannot touch the physical in another aspect I would love to give to you so much now.”

He smiled and heaved a rattling sigh, releasing one hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, before allowing his brow to touch her’s again. “Then love me in that way that is truly our own, StarChild. Weave our souls together…”

Her fingers danced through the length of his hair, her eyes glowing white with fervent light; “In an ecstasy that no one could know, Nightcrawler…an ecstasy no one will ever know but we two.”

Their lips met tenderly, but what actually occurred happened beyond this facsimile of the physical as their minds and their spirits became one in a union that went beyond all the physical plane could conceive of. Even then, in that infinite span of oneness, the loneliness, the fear, and the pain melted away.


Kurt groaned, feeling the insistent shaking, but wanting, no, needing to stay in that safe, quiet place of the mind. He sought the depths of the velvet blackness when the shaking stopped, only to experience instead a fire-like poke in the core of his mind that jolted him awake to a world of overcast skies and sunlight. He blinked and moaned, his arm still throbbing as a worried but familiar face hovered over him, a syringe in her hand and concern in her wide eyes.

“Don’t move just yet, Kurt,” Elissa dissuaded him, as she cleansed his arm with an alcohol pad. She carefully administered the morphine injection as he complied, then tossed the needle away into the coca fields. “We’ve been out for six hours, and that is insufficient time to heal the wound completely, but we can’t stay here.”

He sat up slowly, her hands coming under his shoulders to assist him onto her lap as he eyed the red weal across her shoulder evilly, “I think I owe your friends several times over for what they have put us through, Elissa. How are you feeling?”

She gazed at him in exasperation, moving her hair over one ear to lean over and kiss his forehead, “I told you not to move just yet.” She sat back, stroking his hair with her good hand, and gazed out over the endless fields. “I hurt, but I will heal. You are going to require a more concentrated effort, and this place is too open.”

Kurt sighed, reaching up with his right hand to touch her thigh, and stare up at the lovely face, “This is their field, Liebchen, and they will come looking for us soon. Back into the jungle, I am afraid, though I preferred the place of the heart.”

She regarded him with a wistful smile, her fingertips probing the torn uniform, grazing across the visible bruising of the indigo flesh beyond the edges of his rough dressing. There was a fine sheen of oil in the velvet, and his curls were starting to fall flat; he needed a bath and sleep, much sleep. She tried to conceal her worry as she spoke, “As do I, but we cannot dream forever, can we? Stand for me slowly.”

There was the morning birdsong here, but the voices that formed a backdrop to this day were exotic, and the air was scented with the plants around them. If it had not been for the severity of their situation, she would have savored the beginning of this day. She helped him as best she could to his feet, feeling the exhaustion, his aches and pains echoing throughout her body along with her own. He was trying valiantly to stand on his own, but he still leaned on her, his right arm around her shoulders in a momentary embrace.

“I am going to have to rest soon, Elissa,” he whispered in her ear, swaying like he was intoxicated.

Shock; the word reverberated in her mind, and she knew he was assessing himself and she was merely hearing him, but she knew he was right. He had been running on adrenaline alone for the last thirty-six hours, and now everything in him was reacting with an instinctual need for release. She stooped as she held onto him, fumbling for the shoulder strap of the backpack, and gritted her teeth against the pain as she lifted it onto her compromised arm. The positions were reversed now, and she knew she would have to get him somewhere secluded to spend the time in an effective healing.

“Come, my love. Let’s go find a quiet place for you to rest a bit,” she encouraged him, and turned them back towards the river.

Nightcrawler shook his head, stopping her by shifting his weight back in the direction they had come from. “Nein, Liebchen. We h-have to go back to their hacienda. They…they have the duffel, and we will need the other backpack with the supplies.” He gave a crooked smile, snorting slightly to regard her through narrowed, bleary eyes; “Besides, they have my broadsword. That is a no-no!”

She felt him lurch back toward the ranch where they had left behind Juan and the others, and moved with him to keep him balanced, slipping her other arm into the strap and settling the weight of the pack onto her back. It took an effort of will not to succumb to his exhaustion with their physical contact, but she recognized his determination. “Are you sure that’s wise, Kurt? You need…”

He looked into her eyes, pausing in his tracks for emphasis; “I have all I need right now, woman. I just don’t have my sword…”

Elissa laughed softly, wrinkling her nose at the male aroma in an attempt at humor, “Or a change of clothes, or a bath…”

Kurt smirked at her, touching his forehead to her’s, “Ha, ha. Smell or not, beloved, till death do us part…”

Something in what he said made panic stir in her breast; a fear she lived with every day, and sublimated with all her might. She framed his face in her hands, drinking in every angle, every hue, the feel, and the texture of his flesh with a severity she had never known before. Elissa realized with a sickening force just how close they had come to that eventuality, and that was thanks to the memories she shared with him. “Kurt Wagner, don’t say such things…do not!” She brushed her lips across his, her heart aching as she drank in his presence, his pain, and his persona. “I love you.”

Her face was so close, her breath like warm honey, and his head tilted to one side as he studied her features and saw the tears she was fighting. He tightened his grip on her waist, and smiled gently, “And I you, Liebchen…dearest one.”

She kissed him briefly, nuzzling against his breast before turning to lead him toward Juan’s abode. “Come on, hero! Or we’re going to be paying Alena massive babysitting overtime!”

This time when he leaned on her, it was more for the need of closeness then support as he realized just how much there was to live for!


In the mansion outside Sale Center, New York, a golden-eyed fury from another planet was confronting a man nearly three times her weight and muscle mass, and feeling quite vindicated in doing so! Alena bounced the tiny bundle in her arms as she stared hard into the blue eyes of Henry McCoy, not bothering to restrain herself from projecting her irritation. The only problem with that was the fact that little Stefan was picking up on it as well, and was not settling into sleep. Jaketh was at her side, her three and a half year old son clinging to her pantleg with one hand and a thumb grazing near his mouth. “I tell you, Dr. McCoy, something is wrong! I can feel it, Jaketh can, too. And Stefan? The baby is so unsettled it is incredible! I have to use my nurturing abilities constantly, or else we’ll have portals opening inadvertently everywhere!”

Henry McCoy ran a hand through his thick indigo hair, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. He studied the ten-month-old infant in his star-flecked sleeper with a raised eyebrow; “Why, oh why can’t the N’hilrain be like other mutants? At least our powers do not manifest until puberty!”

Alena blew back a lock of chestnut-colored hair that fell in front of her golden eyes and smirked at the bulky felinoid, “That is because we are not of earth, and even though Stefan is half human, he is still of the StarClan, and we live by the Binding!”

Beast waved her off from where he sat before the computer console in the mansion’s control center, her anger as palpable as his own indigestion at the moment. He saw the blaze of white incandescence and knew if he did not placate the slim woman, all hell would break loose, quite literally! “All right! All right, Alena! It was a rhetorical question! You’re projecting, do you realize that?”

Stefan stirred in Alena’s arms, the pastel blue face screwing up as he began to whimper, his little five-fingered hands curling into fists, and she immediately began to sing a lullaby in the Kanaran language while looking at Henry from beneath lowered brows. She turned on her heel and left, taking her son by his hand and exuding a veritable halo of disapproval.

Henry McCoy released an explosive sigh as he reclined in his chair. The air was literally beginning to clear after she left, and he was glad that her temper was not as literally explosive as StarChild’s could be. There was something incredibly volatile about a telempath gifted with a telekinetic ability. He tapped a fingernail on the desk pensively, and had to inwardly agree that the Blackbird was overdue. The last transmission he had received was over forty-three hours ago, and Nightcrawler had said they were on their way back to Salem Center. He had been so preoccupied with his own duties that he had never considered the fact that something could have happened to the jet. Kurt was a qualified pilot; he knew precisely what to do in an emergency, but…

Henry turned to the console and began to tap in several commands and codes, and waited as the screen did a series of dances then settled on a map of Colombia. He leaned forward, his eyes getting wider and wider as the screen shrunk down to focus on a flashing red blip on the eastern side of the Andes mountain range. He felt himself going cold inside; “Holy..sh…expletive!” His finger fumbled at first, then found and stabbed the intercom control, but his eyes never left the screen; “Logan…get up here now! We have an emergency!”


She watched over him as he slept fitfully, wishing for a blanket to keep him warm even in the late afternoon sun as he shivered in her lap. The microorganisms that had caused the infection in the bullet wound were proving to be a nuisance in that they had moved into his bloodstream, and it would require a great deal of concentration to pinpoint them and neutralize their effect. The shoulder itself was a gentle reassembling of bone, vascular and lymphatic tissue, and when you combined that intricacy with the task of abolishing the infection, she found herself tiring. They were perhaps a half-hour from the low-slung building and compound the coca harvesters called home, and she marveled at the length of Kurt’s jump. It had taken them almost an hour of walking just to get to this densely overgrown area to find a place of rest, and he had quite literally collapsed when they got here. What ensued now were a careful tracking of cellular entities that were not indigenous to his body and a methodical annihilation of their presence in his bloodstream, while slowly reprocessing his shoulder.

She leaned with her back against the bole of an old tree, and softly sang in the vowel-heavy Kanaran language in much the same way she knew Alena sang to her baby now. A shudder passed along the length of Nightcrawler’s athletic form, and he curled into a ball, his hands clutching at her leg as he dreamt, muttering to himself. Elissa frowned and intensified her labors, raising a single golden eyebrow as she tried to tame the effects of the infection, and caught the wisps of his subconscious mind.

He moved along the sewer system using the conduiting on the ceiling and enduring the aromas coming from the fetid water below him where Wolverine strode, a miniflash in one hand, ankle-deep in the filth. He empathized with his comrade, feeling a little selfish that his unique wall-crawling abilities, thanks to his incredibly strong hands and bird-like feet, spared him the unpleasant foot-washing Logan was experiencing. He had to smile to himself as he thought of just how many predicaments throughout his lifetime his unique gifting had saved him from.

“Water’s risin’, Nightcrawler,” Wolverine observed, his irritation echoing in the storm sewer. “We got much farther ta’ go?”

He spared Logan a glance with a small sideways smirk before turning his attention to the scanner in his left hand as he clung momentarily to the pipes. He read the indicator blips and judged the data carefully before responding, “My scanner says we’re almost there, Wolverine.” He clipped the sensitive piece of equipment to the fabric of his uniform before sidling along the network of pipes a little further, “These power and communication cables all service the Hellfire Club. That place uses as much electricity as a skyscraper – I wonder why?”

Wolverine extended the claws from his left hand, looking speculatively at the conduiting to his right, “Beats me, Elf. But these cables give me an idea.”

Kurt looked down in surprise, catching the scanner as it slipped with his sudden movement before it fell into the sewage below. The flash of Logan’s claws riveted his attention to his companion as he slashed the cables, sending sparks flying, and briefly illuminating the darkness. “Wolverine!” His accented voice reverberated hollowly in the tunnel, so surprised was he at this wanton destruction of public property. “What?!?”

Logan’s smile was that of the rogue, confident in his own prowess,” Relax, Elf. All I did was strip the insulation off these power lines. When the water hits ‘em, they’ll short out – probably blow every light in the club.” Logan’s attitude was one of insufferable pride, “If something goes wrong tonight, a surprise blackout could come in handy.”

Nightcrawler snorted, the surprise at Logan’s actions replaced rapidly with a sneaking admiration! Sometimes he played by the rules so much he missed the obvious inspirations his friend had in being fast and loose, and that contrast made him appreciate Wolverine all the more. He refastened the scanner to his costume, and reached for the transponder hidden in the collar of his uniform, a grin on his carved features; “Very nice, mein Freund. Very sneaky.”

Wolverine looked up at him with an equally wicked grin, “I do my best, bub.”

Kurt shook his head in frank admiration before speaking to someone else a mile above ground, warmer, drier and cleaner than they were, “Nightcrawler to Cyclops – we are in position and ready to make our move. Over.”

“Roger, Nightcrawler,” came the muted, yet audible response. “Thanks to Angel, we four have invitations to this bash under false names. The White Queen’s allies – whoever they are – should have no idea we’re coming.”

Scott began talking to Professor Xavier, switching off his connection to the two covert operatives in the culvert, and Nightcrawler switched off his transponder with a diplomatic shrug. That was Cyclops; all business and no pleasure, but this was a mission, and he and Wolverine had the literal dirty end of the stick. He continued on down the tunnel, concentrating on his grips and enjoying the resistance of his muscles as he progressed in his own unique way. He had to smile as he heard Logan grumble below him as a rat scurried along the lower slope of a wall and disappear down a smaller side branch. He, Logan and that vermin suddenly had much in common.

It had taken them almost a half-hour to reach the egress point, and oddly enough, Kurt found himself feeling hot, as though fevered, agitated, knowing inexplicably what was going to happen next; but how was that possible? He let Wolverine take over then, using those razor-sharp adamantium claws to dig them a path up through the floor and into the basement of the Hellfire Club. His diminutive Canadian friend gave him the boost he needed to leap up with a cat’s agility into the musty, box-strewn storage area. Kurt assessed their surroundings quickly, finding the storm cellar stairs past an arrangement of crates, and crept forward as Wolverine climbed out behind him.

“We’re in, mein Freund. So far, so good, “ he commented, aloud, fairly confident they had maintained their anonymity.

Wolverine’s voice came from behind him as he struggled out of the hole; “Yeah, this caper’s going down easy – too easy. I’ve been feeling antsy all evenin’! Any more news from Cyke or Jeannie?”

Kurt moved carefully, purposefully towards the stairs, keeping his tone restrained, “Nein. Like you, I am beginning to get worried. Could be nothing, though, as the old saying goes: ‘No news is good news’.”

That was when a grip like a steel vise caught him around his throat and lifted him off his feet, and electricity arced along his body, minimal enough to throw off his concentration to teleport, but when combined with the choke hold, maximum enough to make him panic. A voice rang out triumphantly, and Kurt could perceive from the corner of his eye, a man with wheat-colored hair, bound in a ponytail, and dressed in a burgundy-colored suitcoat holding him aloft like a ragdoll. “In your case, goblin, your lack of news could have fatal consequences.”

He gasped, struggling in vain to get free, wanting to teleport so badly that it became a litany to his fevered mind as the hold on his throat tightened…tightened…

She gasped, her eyes going wide, and her power vainly trying to compensate against the strength of Kurt Wagner’s will to be free, to wrest back her own individuality from the vivid dream, enhanced by his fevered state. She could feel the pain of Donald Pierce’s cybernetic grip on her own throat, partake of Nightcrawler’s terror as he strove in vain to get free, then, suddenly, one moment he was there, and the next he was…gone!

Elissa heaved a breath, choking on the brimstone-scented smoke, and staring, dumbfounded at her empty lap. She rose quickly, scanning the surrounding area physically as she reached for the backpack, realizing that he could not have gotten far in his present condition. That was when she reached instead through the Binding, through the eyes of her heart, and turned in shocked surprise toward the compound. “My God! The subconscious…he is moving all along the subconscious…”

She ran then, as fast as she could through the overgrowth, realizing that he could do anything in his present state of mind. Hopefully he would have the common sense to recognize that the jungles of Colombia were far from the sewers of New York and the Hellfire Club.

He stepped out of the ‘port in a clearing near a washline strung up between two posts, his body aching as though he had run a marathon, only to stare into the empty eye sockets of the head of a jaguar pelt drying in the sun. Kurt gasped and stumbled backwards, his hand going to his throat as the last vestiges of the dream vanished in the harshness of reality.that was around him. He looked around him at the house made of imported siding with the strange tropical growth that surrounded it, and the dirt road that led down to further smaller units of varying degrees of quality in construction. He blinked, trying to lift a left arm that barely cooperated with his desires, and snorted derisively as he realized what he had done and just where he was.

“So real,” he muttered to himself, and was about to lurch to the covering of the jungle when he heard a woman’s sharp gasp. He turned to see the matronly figure of a woman in her fifties standing on the porch of the hacienda, her face sheet white, and a balled fist pressed to her lips. Kurt was about to roll up his eyes in frustration and attempt another ‘port, when she fainted dead away.

Out of simple concern, he moved to the woman’s side, swaying slightly as he stooped over her to check her pulse. Satisfied that she was all right, he rose carefully, leaning against the wall of the house to peer inside, “Hello? The woman has fainted. Is anyone home?”

He waited for a response, his breathing irritatingly labored in his own ears, and his desire to lie down growing stronger by the moment. He wondered about Elissa; he could remotely feel her through the aches of his body, knew she was coming for him, but right now the need for rest was becoming an overriding concern. “Hello?” he called again, and took a tentative step across the threshold of the door when there was no response.

It was furnished like any other Latin American home in the typical brightly hued manner, and thanks to Elissa’s subconscious memories, it felt strangely familiar to him, even though he had never been here before. He made his way unerringly to the small back bedroom with the toys on the battered bureau, bumping along the wall all the way, and studied the twin bed made up with its gaily-colored blanket for only a moment before he allowed himself to ease into its recesses. Kurt stared at the wooden beams that comprised the ceiling, and coughed briefly. She was not that far away; that much he knew, and he had to trust that Elissa would arrive in time because he was definitely in no condition to help himself right now.

“ ‘I know you are not,’” the response was in his mind, a voice that stirred hope within his breast. “ ‘Stay where you are, and try not to dream! I’m on my way.’”

Kurt laughed softly, feeling the caress of her mind like a warm kiss, and clung to the sensation like a lifeline, “ ‘Hurry, Liebchen.’” He concentrated his thoughts toward her, and his aloneness, “ ‘I do not know how long this reprieve will last…and I hurt. I need you, wife.’”

Elissa frowned from where she was at, hearing the uncharacteristic fear in his voice as she pushed through the overgrowth, hiking up her skirt to leap over protruding branches. She had to follow the emotional aspects of the Binding to trace him now, and what she felt worried her. “I’m coming, Kurt,” she said, both aloud and in her mind. “Just hang on!”

That was when she literally ran into the bushmaster! The snake looked like any other limb in the plethora of trees in the jungle from a distance, but when she bumped into it, the hiss that greeted her was a little more than that of an inanimate object! Elissa gave an involuntary shriek, and leapt back from the beady black eyes that regarded her with an animal’s wary hostility, watching as the snake uncoiled from the tree and bobbed towards her. She reacted instantaneously, for there was no time for delays, and projected an emotional aura of outright belligerence. She watched as the reptile shrunk back, and dropped to the ground, fleeing from her as quickly as its lithe body could find a path through the forest floor.

Kurt’s voice echoed in her mind with concern, “ ‘Liebchen? Are you all right? What just happened?’”

Elissa smiled softly at her small victory, settling the khaki pack on her shoulder more comfortably as she regathered her composure. “ ‘Everything is fine, Kurt; just a little pest control. I’m on my way!’” She leapt forward, ignoring the pain in her healing shoulder, and pursued the mass of exhaustion that was her husband. She shook her head, and marveled that they had made it thus far; but then the hand of destiny always seemed to play a role in their lives together. That, she thought, and a little ace up her sleeve in the form of a telempathic link they shared.


Logan studied the location of the emergency beacon on the master screen in the control room, his fists resting on the console as he leaned the weight of his compact form forward. Dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt, his square features revealed anything but a casual mood. “How do we get me there the fastest, Hank?” he asked, glancing at the blue-furred doctor.

Beast was manipulating his computer keyboard as fast as he could, watching the screens go by as he entered data using a specially designed keyboard for his larger than normal digits. He read the information as it came up on the screen, “I have a private jet reserved for you at Kennedy International Airport. Take Scott’s motorcycle to New York. It is more maneuverable than a car, and you will be dealing with rush hour traffic when you get to the city, or at least the tail end of rush hour traffic! I am printing out your itinerary right now. Pack what you need and quickly, Logan! I will alert the consulate in Bogotá of your arrival, and hopefully they’ll assist you in anyway they can.”

Wolverine watched the printer spit out a piece of paper, and moved to take it as it fell into the tray. He scanned the document with the name of the chartered jet and his contact, and then met Henry’s eyes, “Thanks, Hank. I’ll be in touch!”

Beast gripped his forearm as he turned to leave, “Logan, you have to find them. They have to be alive for Stefan’s sake.”

Logan’s features were grim as he exchanged looks with his old acquaintance; “For all our sakes, Hank. We’ll be back; all three of us!”

Henry watched him leave the control room at a rapid stride, and turned to the screen to stare at the flashing dot. He heaved a reluctant sigh before reaching for the telephone in order to contact Charles Xavier through the office of the American consulate in Lima, Peru. He only good thing was that Charles and the others were geographically closer to the crash site than they were, and perhaps they could help Nightcrawler and StarChild more quickly than they could. He just regretted the fact that he had to be the bearer of bad news!


She found the other khaki backpack where she had inadvertently dropped it, and snatched it up, thrilled at the prospect that she was this close to Kurt again. Just beyond the trees by fifty meters, she could make out the eaves of Juan Jose’s home, and feel the proximity of Kurt’s presence. Soon…soon and she would be reunited with him.

That was when she heard a familiar voice as car doors opened; “¡Mamá! ¡Mamá! ¿Son usted bien?” (“Momma! Momma! Are you all right?”)

Elissa stumbled to a halt, and experienced that sinking feeling as she realized a confrontation was inevitable! She drew a deep breath as she felt Kurt perk up at the sound of the voices outside the house, and thought him a quick message, “ ‘Don’t worry, lover! The cavalry is here…in the nick of time!’”

Within the bedroom, Kurt veered his eyes toward the door as he heard several male voices exchanging words in Spanish outside, and rolled onto his right side. “ ‘That is good to know, mein Liebste, because I haven’t the strength for a fight right at the moment.’”

Footsteps echoed in the living room just beyond his view and the voices grew louder. Kurt fell on his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable, “ ‘Hurry, Elissa! Hurry!’”

Juan and Carlos settled Maria’s inert form on the couch while Miguel, with pistol drawn, moved through the house, his bandaged left hand grazing the wall as his dark eyes scanned the hall. The man recalled the demon from the plane and wondered at a curse. Besides, there was a smell in the house that was not characteristic of Juan’s mother’s cooking. This was a musk, the smell of a man who had not bathed in quite some time. He rounded a corner that had led to the strange woman’s room, and his jaw dropped in amazement at the sight of the blue tail dangling over the side of the bed.

Miguel rounded the corner and into the bedroom proper as the demon in his black and red outfit struggled to sit upright, his glowing golden eyes focusing on him, and the full mouth drawing back into a sneer. The coca harvester tried to master his fear, raising the pistol to aim at the creature he had thought he had slain almost two days ago. “¡Adiós para siempre, demonio!” (“Good-bye forever, demon!”) he said, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly, as Kurt was about to close his eyes in anticipation of his demise, he saw the man drop to the floor, and heard the two others in the other room likewise collapse. Heaving a sigh of relief, he flopped back down onto the bed, wincing briefly at the pain that reverberated through his sore shoulder, and looked back toward the bedroom door at the rustle of a skirt. He stared at the delicate bare feet, followed up the line of the shapely calves, the skirt, the swell of familiar hips and bosom, and the slim yet strong arms to finally focus on a treasured face with glowing amethyst eyes; and he smiled from ear to pointed ear. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld in my life,” he commented, and watched in great satisfaction as she dropped the two backpacks to the floor, stepped over Miguel’s inert form, and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He did not resist in the least as her head came down and her mouth covered his in an extremely passionate kiss.

She did not let him up for air immediately, and when she did she was quite pleased with the effect she had on him. Smiling with wicked innocence, Elissa traced a path along his chest with a fingernail and kissed his forehead; “You only say that because it’s true. They’re all out for a long, long time, my love…and that includes everyone in the compound.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, a tad self-conscious that that was not the only thing that was raised right now; “You didn’t, Elissa?”

She shrugged, climbing into the bed next to him, and wrapping an arm around his waist to lay her head on his good shoulder. She wanted to prolong their play so badly, but now was not the time. “Forty-three people in total in the compound proper; men, women and children. They are all having a sweet siesta, Kurt.”

He watched her hand stray along his chest as he felt a heaviness growing in his eyelids, “Liebchen, you…you…know…”

Elissa watched him fall into a deep sleep, and this time she made certain it would be so deep that there would be no chance for him to dream. She resumed where she had left off, plying her empathic powers on his body, but this time in a trance sufficiently deep so that there would be little opportunity for anything to go awry. Setting her internal clock to wake herself in several hours, Elissa surrendered to the subconscious and the healing.

When Kurt woke up, it was night and what he could see of the sky was lit with stars. He was amazed to discover that he had inadvertently rolled onto his left side while he slept, and no longer did his shoulder hurt! As a matter of fact, the tasseled hilt of the ancient Kanaran sword was propped up next to him, and a change of clothing from his personal wardrobe was on a chair that had been pulled up beside him. Two things were missing; one was the sleeping form of Miguel, and the other was that of StarChild.

“Elissa?” he called, reaching out with his inner senses to find her peculiar echo still within the confines of the house. He sat up slowly, feeling grubby and more than a little stiff, but incredibly rested. He tried rotating his shoulder, and had to smile at the renewed mobility in his arm. Nothing like a woman who could cook, clean, and repair your body, he happily thought to himself.

“Speaking of which, supper is on the table, and there is a hot bath waiting for you.”

He looked up at the sound of her voice, and smiled at the renewed vision of loveliness that stood before him. She had obviously bathed and washed her hair, for it fell over one shoulder in wet ringlets in the tropical humidity. She wore a loose-fitting cotton pullover of soft lavender and matching pants with canvas runners on her feet. “You realize, of course, that by the time we get to Bogotá you will not look half as delectable as you do now,” he said teasingly.

“Neither will you,” she countered and extended her hand to him. “Come on! Bath first! We don’t have all night.”

Picking up his beloved sword with his right hand and letting her lead him by his renewed left hand, Kurt Wagner was never happier to be watching that feminine sashay from behind then he was now. He let her lead him into the living room, studying the sleeping forms of the three men on the floor, and the old woman still on the couch, his eyes still drifting back as he pondered how much time they had before they woke up again, then felt the steamy heat in the next room they entered. He brought his eyes front and center to ponder the free-standing bathtub that had to have been from the nineteen forties, the lack of indoor plumbing, and the pail with water sitting beside it. Kurt looked at her with new appreciation as she poured his bath gel into the water to scent it and the tiled room with musk and spices. “You didn’t…?” he asked.

Elissa looked at him with a smile on her face and flexed her right arm to show off her bicep, “Twenty-six buckets of water heated on the stove for a hot bath, Herr Wagner. All for you!” She bent to produce his shampoo from behind the bucket on the floor, “Now, strip if you please, and get in the tub. I want a clean Nightcrawler at the table in twenty minutes. I will have dinner ready and waiting for you.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, and began to teasingly undo his torn uniform over his newly healed shoulder, “Are you sure you do not wish to stay and help me, Frau Wagner?”

“Nicht, ohne unter der ganzen und völligen Ablenkung, Herr Wagner zu leiden.” (“Not without suffering from complete and utter distraction, Mister Wagner.”) She chose the German that time, and slapped the well-honed bottom with the back of her hand, before attempting to leave the room.

Kurt caught her by the arm and pulled her up against him gently but firmly, encircling her waist with both his arms. It felt very good to be able to do that again, and this time without being in the dream state. “Wo denkst du, dass du, Gnädige Frau Wagner, gehst? Ich will etwas von dich sehr schlecht,” he murmured. (Where do you think you are going, Madame Wagner? I want something from you very badly.)

Fangs graced her throat ever so softly, and Elissa gasped at the fire they created along her spine. She let her hands wander across every possible curve of his body that was within her reach, for his arms were not going to let her escape so easily. His lips followed the teeth, kissing her neck, cheeks and mouth lightly then lingering with a heavy pressure, his body firm against her, letting her feel the indicators of his arousal. Their eyes locked with an equal fervency of heat, and she knew that she was going to just have to let dinner get cold as she peeled the form-fitting costume from his body.

His smile was lustfully wicked as her clothing joined his in a pile on the floor, and they followed it soon afterward.


Sated in every physical way possible, clean within and without, Kurt and Elissa moved onto an act of larceny that made them both a little regretful, but need always drove one to extremes. They tossed out bag after bag of newly harvested coca leaf to the ground from the flatbed of the pick-up as the night progressed into velvet darkness, along with munitions and other paraphernalia related to the drug trade. They tossed their duffel into the front of the cab along with a small satchel of food and prepackaged drinks, then paused to stand by the pile of ill-gotten gains.

Nightcrawler was dressed in a black sweatshirt and drawstring pants against the chill of the evening, all but invisible save for the eerie glow of his yellow eyes. He held the hand of the woman at his side, who shone with a soft light like her namesake, sharply contrasting with him. “Well, mein Liebste, if you will do the honors?” he asked and extended an arm toward the pile.

StarChild nodded once, and regarded the cache with eyes that glowed with increasing light, her long hair stirring on invisible, kinetic winds that caught Kurt’s black curls as well. The coca, the weapons, and the symbols of Colombia’s internal war began to disassemble themselves into their component molecules, and scatter on the night breeze. She shuddered minutely as the last of the material vanished, and she came back to the world of the supramolecular and reality, then climbed into the truck’s passenger side.

Nightcrawler climbed in behind the steering wheel, slamming the door closed behind him, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale cigarette smoke that conflicted with Elissa’s sweet perfume. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine spluttered to life, but the gas gauge only reached to the three-quarters mark. “This will get us only so far, Elissa. You realize that.” he said, and tapped the indicator for emphasis.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Kurt. Now we have to decide on a course of action,” she responded, reaching across the seat to squeeze his hand.

He threw the truck into gear, and turned it around onto the road, throwing on the headlights, “Back to the Blackbird and wait for a rescue, or onto Bogotá and adventures unknown?"

She smiled at him, knowing his thoughts and his heart; “I have never been one to wait for a rescue, and I know you! Adventure is your middle name, nicht wahr, Herr Wagner?”

Kurt laughed aloud in the cab of the truck, and shook his head at the involuntary usage of a reference to a movie that he had so enjoyed in the past. He wished he had the appropriate fedora right now to complement his mood; “Just call me Indiana Wagner, Liebchen! All I need is a bullwhip now!”

She giggled as the truck ran along the path to the west, leaving the sleeping compound and one set of troubles far behind them.



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From the Triumvirate:

This chapter was posted for a banned member in kindness and for that reason, we will not remove it.

However, after much discussion it has been decided that no more chapters should be posted after this one. The only acceptable continuation will be a link to a new forum or fiction archive (such as Fanfiction.net). If further chapters are posted, we will be forced to close the thread and we would really rather not as that would prevent any further feedback from ever being posted.

Banning is a permanent action meant to sever contact between a member and this forum. It is not an action taken quickly or lightly or without reason. Please respect the wishes of the administration of this board.

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[Edited on 24/5/06 by Executive Administrator]
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Romancing the Elf: An Adventure

Post by Bamferino »

In order to comply with a request, you can find additional installments of the story at:

http://www.imwan.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=5530

Sorry. B.
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