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Thread: Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

  1. #1501
    Disciple of Peperna CatKnight's Avatar
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    New Jersey
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    She watched him get out of the carriage with two friends, while their escort went ahead to stable his horse. She ignored the first, an older man, as beyond irrelevant: An accomplice.

    The second made her hiss. What the hell was he doing here? Was he part of the conspiracy too? Of course he was. Well, he'd get what he deserved as well. She'd see to it.

    Today belonged to her target though, the brown haired man with strange eyes. He reached inside the carriage, apparently struggled with something, and finally yanked a torn hat free. She grinned. Any setback her enemies suffered made her heart sing.

    The older man reached in and pulled out her new cobelligerent, an orange cat that clawed at the air. Poor thing. Did they hate it too? Well, she'd free it after she tore a hole in his pretty throat. He started it mayhaps, but she would finish it.

    She watched them step inside the local tavern, sat back and waited. She'd tracked him across an ocean and three states - a few more minutes didn't signify.
    --------

    "Just toss it over there, will you?" Heyward said negligently as he stepped into the guest room. He dropped his clawed hat on a table and started to unbutton his coat. Abruptly he spun on Waymouth. "I didn't ask you!"

    The congressman and spy frowned at each other. For the past few days Heyward acted strange, even by his exacting standards. Waymouth dropped the cat to the floor and rummaged through his belongings.

    Major Andre stepped to the window and opened the curtains. The afternoon sun shot in, stabbing the room.

    "What are you doing?" protested Waymouth.

    "I like to see who's around," the spy replied. "Ever since we arrived, I would swear we are being watched."

    "That's Trenton for you."

    "I do not follow."

    Waymouth grimaced. What good was a joke if you needed to explain? "Never mind."

    The orange tabby, left to her own devices, retrieved Heyward's hat.

    He whirled. "Stop that! Bad cat!"

    She stopped, met Heyward's gaze, and deliberately ran her claws across the cloth.

    "What the devil did you do?" Andre demanded. He turned and picked up the tabby, who purred. "She hates you!"

    Oh no, darling, echoed in Tom's mind. If I hated you, there'd be no doubt.

    "Stop that!"

    Andre stiffened. "Apologies." He put the tabby down.

    "Not you!"

    You are humanity's greatest hope? You are God's swordarm?

    Heyward glared at the feline.

    We're doomed.

    Waymouth and Andre exchanged another glance. Maybe it'd been a mistake to bring him.

    "I need to sit down." Instead he went to the window, looked outside and rubbed his forehead. "I'm going mad," he muttered.

    You all do, sooner or later.

    Waymouth watched him for a moment. "Come, Mister Andrews. Let's give the barkeep some business."

    The spy nodded. "Very well. Do you need anything, sir?"

    Heyward shook his head. "No, thank you."
    -------

    They walked down the stairs into the common room and ordered two beers.

    "Surely your friend is ill," Andre offered.

    Waymouth looked at his drink. "Have you ever been in a war?"

    "Of course." He smiled at the waitress and flicked a coin at her. "Entire first war."

    "Until you were reassigned?" the congressman smiled, then waved his hand. "No, stay. My point is that sometimes the stress of war does something to a man."

    "And you think this is what afflicts your friend?"

    "I don't know," Waymouth answered. "All I know is he makes a few good points, and if I can use his testimony to do a service for the repub...what's amiss?"

    Major Andre frowned at the stairs, at to all appearances a very poor, dirty blond haired woman as she began her ascent. "Hell and death," he whispered.

    "What!?"

    "Trouble!" Andre slipped one hand in his coat and they followed.
    -------

    "So," Tom said to the cat, "Who are you?"

    I'm a cat.

    "That's not an answer."

    It's a perfectly good answer. It's not my problem if you don't like it.

    "I must be dreaming."

    What is life but a dream?

    Heyward sighed and leaned his head back. "I am going mad."

    Yes.

    "What do you mean?" The voice in his head didn't answer. He picked up the cat and shook it. "Answer me!"

    You're attempting to interrogate a cat, for starters.

    Heyward sighed and dropped the animal. "I just need to rest," he muttered.

    The cat appeared to agree. It curled up on his hat and closed its eyes. Then someone knocked on the door.

    "Who is it?" Heyward called. No answer. "Hello?"

    "Major Andre's compliments!" called a woman. "He has a gift for you."

    The tabby leapt to its feet. Tom frowned. The spy wouldn't endanger his identity so casually. "I do not know a Major Andre!"

    This seemed to confuse the woman. "Oh, my mistake."

    Tom turned away. Something about the woman's voice ... rougher than when he heard her last, some sort of respiratory infection.... "Foster!?"

    LOOK OUT!

    Heyward whirled as the door slammed open. It was indeed Mrs. Foster, wielding a butcher's knife. She screamed a challenge and raced across the room. No time to react, no time to even think. He raised his left arm to shield his face and neck, and thrust his right hand out palm first.

    He struck her in the forehead. A crack, like a modern pistol echoed at the impact and Foster flew across the room, through the open door to crumple against the wall beyond.

    Tom rushed out just as Andre appeared. He drew his gun and pointed it at the limp form.

    "It's alright, Mister Andrews."

    "No sir, it's not!"

    Tom glanced down as she stirred. "Put the pistol away," he said softly.

    "General Heyward, you do not realize who she is. She's..."

    "I know precisely who she is," he snapped then knelt in front of her. "And what she's done."

    He gently smacked her cheeks until she awoke and looked around wide-eyed, terrified. "Where am I?" she cried hoarsely. "What is...Oh God," as memory returned.

    "It's alright Mrs. Foster," he said gently. "The nightmare's over."

    She began to cry.
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  2. #1502
    Would-be King of Dragons Draco Rexus's Avatar
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    Well then, that was an interesting response from our dear Mrs. Fosters when awoken by her enemies after her failed attack. One wonders if there is a possibility that she wasn't entirely acting on her own these last few encounters?

    And what's up with our feline cat toying with Tom like that? She could be a little more sympathetic considering what and who Tom has been through since being thrown into this cauldron of discord.
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  3. #1503
    Field Marshal Vann the Red's Avatar
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    Very interesting. Did he know he could do that?

    Vann

  4. #1504
    Strategos ton Exkoubitores Fulcrumvale's Avatar
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    You are humanity's greatest hope? You are God's swordarm?

    Heyward glared at the feline.

    We're doomed.
    Nice to see that Bast has such a positive outlook on life.

    And what just happened to Miss Foster-- did she just "snap out" of her insanity?
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  5. #1505
    If this is Bast's temperament, and if she is one of the good ones, I am glad I do not consort with angels frequently.

    Foster has reentered the picture. One or two things make me wonder who, besides the people we know about, have been involved in her current state.

    You say Black is now a motivational speaker? I know exactly the guy you're talking about! I Know Black Personally! I'm getting my gun.

  6. #1506
    Bast was not the one responsible for bringing Heyward back and may not agree with her "sister's" choice of chosen instrument. If Heyward is using the power he gained from Black, he ought to be able to work out just who the cat is. He ought to be worrried that she called him darling.

    There are hints that Miss Foster has been touched by evil to attack Heyward. Black does not seem the sort to have equal partners in his enterprises. So if there is one of Black's side also in the frame, he's not a welcome ally. Perhaps there is a clue here; if you run quickly at something very solid, the impact may just break the possession.

  7. #1507
    StoreytellAAR Storey's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by CatKnight
    Heyward sighed and leaned his head back. "I am going mad."

    Yes.

    "What do you mean?" The voice in his head didn't answer. He picked up the cat and shook it. "Answer me!"

    You're attempting to interrogate a cat, for starters.
    A cat with a sense of humor? On the other hand cats do like to play with their prey before eating it. Either way Tom is in for a difficult time while trying to cope with this turn of events.

    Poor Jasen. Just when he gets a chance to flex his wings and fly from the nest Mr. Black yanks him back and clips his wings or should I say breaks his wings?

    I don't know what Black is up to but it wouldn't be the first time an army returned from a war feeling betrayed by the politicians back home. There certainly is room for Black to cause some mischief.
    The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

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  8. #1508
    Field Marshal jwolf's Avatar
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    Bast is making a puzzling entrance on Tom's side -- if indeed that is what she is supposed to be doing. And speaking of puzzling: Tom's smack on Foster's forehead somehow exorcised her, and now she is free?

    I loved Black's incredulous reaction to the news of the peace treaty. Kind of like how we react ingame when we are crushing a hated enemy and our ally ends the war for 50 ducats.

    On the other hand, Black appears to have recovered and has a foul plan in motion. I wonder, though, just how effective his oratory will be when the soldiers return home to their families, which is where they've wanted to be for months. More than a few of them should react with favor to Moultrie's peace treaty.

    Happy New Year, CatKnight, and I look forward to even more confusing updates in this great AAR!

  9. #1509
    GunslingAAR coz1's Avatar
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    It is easy to see why Heyward might think he is going crazy. But I am enjoying this playfulness between the spirit and Tom. I have a feeling it might come in handy at some point. Perhaps it already did with Tom's slight warning with Foster.
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  10. #1510
    Field Marshal Stuyvesant's Avatar
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    From the last update it seems that Heyward has some kind of 'Laying on hands' healing method, presumably due to the supernatural (divine?) spark within him. From her initial reaction, it sounds as if Mrs. Foster was possessed by something malevolent and that Heyward succeeded in banishing that. If that's the case, that's a good thing, although Foster was already after Heyward way before ever exhibiting her raving loony side.

    As to Black inhabiting general Allen instead of Rutledge, it should slow him down a bit, but it doesn't look like it's going to take him long to start shaping events again. He could try for a military coup and it might succeed, or he might be slightly more subtle, if he has the time for that. After all, there's nothing preventing a retired general from entering politics. I'm sure that Black's unique combination of populist hatemongering and brutal behind-the-scenes violence could give him the governorship by the next election. Which could occur really quickly, if Moultrie were to have an 'accident'. Say, end up being slaughtered by an oversized Cherokee native with wolfbite scars.

    Seems the playing field is starting to tilt a bit more into Heyward's favor, but I'm still wary about Black's future moves.

  11. #1511
    Field Marshal GhostWriter's Avatar

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    CatKnight: ...He struck her in the forehead. A crack, like a modern pistol echoed at the impact and Foster flew across the room, through the open door to crumple against the wall beyond...


    it seems that there is something other-worldly about that impact.

    magnificent updates ! !

    so, Mrs. Foster is "cured"? ?
    B an 0:-), make someone happy, :-) GhostWriter :-)

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  12. #1512
    Field Marshal GhostWriter's Avatar

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    congratulations on 40.000 views! !
    B an 0:-), make someone happy, :-) GhostWriter :-)

    "Freedom has many difficulties and democracy is not perfect, but we never had to put up a wall to keep our people in." . . . - John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Berlin, 1961


    "Refusing to forgive is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." - not sure

    thanks for the 6.10.10 update Valdemar ! ! : HOI1 *First Resistance* check it out ! !

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  13. #1513
    Strategos ton Exkoubitores Fulcrumvale's Avatar
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    Congrats!
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  14. #1514
    Would-be King of Dragons Draco Rexus's Avatar
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    Big time congrats on not only reaching that benchmark, but now surpassing it!



    Now... when's our next update?
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  15. #1515
    I can't believe this story is still going after almost 3 yrs. I'm only up to page 10 of the thread, Chapter 48: Fate of the South (Part 1 of 2) and it hadn't occured to me to look at the newer posts.

    This is a great tale, my only question is when is it going to be in the bookstore?

    Is there an archive copy or something? It's doesn't hurt much but it'd be nice to see the images that go to the earlier posts as several images don't appear to exist anymore.
    Last edited by Vipre; 12-01-2007 at 09:12.

  16. #1516
    Disciple of Peperna CatKnight's Avatar
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    Draco Rexus: Well, definitely not acting on her own. As for the cat.. do you remember once we snickered at Mrs. Rutledge's treatment of Cassie, but noted she was the precursor of the classic southern belle?

    Who do you think taught the cats everything they know about playing with their toys?

    Vann the Red: Nope. Now he's pretty much figured it out.

    Fulcrumvale: Something like that.

    J. Passepartout: Who said she was good? She's a cat. She thinks of humans the way we think of the EU2 AI.

    Black a motivational speaker. Hm...close. He's in charge of Amway and runs a nice pyramid scheme these days.

    Chief Ragusa: Hm, exorcism by blunt-force trauma. I like that!

    Storey: Yes, I feel bad for Exeter. In his barely-sentient way he thought he was finally free of Black. He should've known better than to bring him back to the army to uh...heal himself.

    jwolf: LOL! I know what you mean. Especially in 1.09, when the leader of an alliance can always end the war no matter who started it.

    coz1: Yep! Bast doesn't really dislike him - though if pressed she'd probably say a cat could've done this whole "save the world" thing much more effectively. She has no problem taunting him though.

    Stuyvesant: If Black thought abut it, he has all the time in the world now. Yes, Heyward's out there, but if Black leaves no clues, it'll be that much harder for Heyward to find him. We've established 'they' can sense each other, and that may well apply to Tom now also, but even so that's very limited range...in a city with lots of people.

    GhostWriter: Yeah...usually when you hit someone it doesn't sound like a modern pistol. And thanks on the 40,000 views! I checked: That put us in...I think 6th all time...ignoring the baars and such for EU2.

    Fulcrumvale, Draco Rexus: Thanks!

    Vipre: Hi, Vipre! Welcome!

    The story's taken some breaks here and there as life's intervened, or my attention's wandered but yep, almost 3 years! A Victoria story (Into the West) just finished at I think the 3 year mark. This one...I don't know how much longer it'll go. My characters keep adding stuff.

    There's no archive yet I'm afraid. I want to work on that, but as you can guess it'd be a pretty big challenge. Alas some of the older pics no longer exist (like PacMan chasing the Indian ghost ) but I'll see what I can do.
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  17. #1517
    Disciple of Peperna CatKnight's Avatar
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    -= 174 =-


    New Jersey
    August 1784



    Chivalry, or at least its direct descendant, obliged Philip Waymouth to call for the strongest coffee the tavern could devise and wrap a cloak about their prisoner. She sat, hunched in a stuffed chair, staring at nothing, stupefied. Dirty locks flew in every direction, framing a smudged face with bruises along one cheek. Her expensive dress looked like so many rags, torn and abused through ... how many miles? She did not know, did not even remember most of it.

    Major John Andre had no such chivalric concerns. Oh, he understood gallantry well enough and with almost any other woman on the planet he'd have trumped the American's efforts. However, he knew this woman. No matter what may have happened afterwards, she was his spymaster. She'd put him in this mess, and all but threatened him when he wanted out. If Waymouth hadn't been here, nor perhaps that poor bastard in the next room, he'd be tempted to do America (and himself) a favor. Instead he stood by the window, occasionally glancing out it and back at her. He still held his pistol, though pointed at the floor.

    Someone knocked at the door. Andre smoothly turned and pointed his gun at it.

    "Oh, put that away," Waymouth snapped, rising from his kneeling position by Foster's side. "You're likely to give some maid a fright."

    "This is a bad idea!" cried Andre loudly.

    "Blame Heyward." He opened the door on a waitress.

    "Here's...," she began, holding a pot. She glanced over his shoulder, saw Andre in a classic dueling pose. Her mouth opened in a wide 'O' and she froze.

    "Capital!" Waymouth said. He dropped a coin on her tray, grabbed the pot. "Never mind my companion. He doesn't like coffee." He slammed the door in her face and whirled. "Put that God damned thing away!"

    Andre snorted like a bull, but obeyed, sticking it in his belt so he could pull it out again quickly. "I do blame Heyward! First he's talking to thin air, and now we're taking in strays!"

    Foster began to cry.

    "Now look what you've done!"

    "Oh for God's sake, it's an act!" Andre cried. "I'll show you!" He advanced on Foster and raised his hand, then paused when she didn't move to defend herself.

    Waymouth charged across the room and clouted him in the head with the pot. "Not on my watch, son."

    Andre cried out as hot liquid splashed on him and fell back. "This isn't over," he spat.

    "Probably not. Why don't you go look for her elite army of assassins and leave us in peace!" Waymouth pointed.

    The major snarled, marched to the door, grabbed his hat and opened the door. "Mark my words, she's nothing but trouble!" He slammed it shut behind him.

    "I'm sorry," Foster murmured.

    Waymouth turned to her, shook his head and walked to his pack. A minute later he stood holding a mug that smelled of beer. He filled it from the pot and placed it in her hands.

    Foster looked down at the steaming mug, not recognizing it for several long moments. "Why?"

    "Why what?"

    "Why are you being kind?" She drank, and the sharp aroma and bitter taste (the inn took Waymouth's call for strong coffee seriously) sang through her nerves. She realized he hadn't answered and looked up to find Waymouth staring at the window. "Sir?"

    He shook his head. "Why not?" he smiled. "Kindness to strangers and that."

    Something in his tone rang false, and she looked down quickly. "I tried to kill your friend."

    Waymouth glanced at the closed bedroom door. "Aye." He chuckled. "I suspect he's hard to kill."

    Foster drank again. "Not true. Anyone can die."

    His smile faded. "Aye." He still studied the window. Then, in another tone: "What does it feel like?"

    "Sir?"

    "To be...to...not think clearly."

    She looked up, eyes wide. "I...I don't want to talk about it!"

    Waymouth nodded at the window. "Of course. Forgive me." He gave her a false smile, lowered his gaze and turned for the door. "I'd best make sure Andre doesn't kill anybody."

    Foster stared at the coffee. She owed something to him after such kindness. "I...I was scared most of the time."

    He froze, but didn't turn.

    "...and not sure of what. Like everyone..." Tears stung her eyes. "..everyone wanted to harm..kill me. Like...like God hated me." She shook. "I wanted it to stop, but it just got worse, until it couldn't...until I didn't think it could stop." She caught her breath. "I was trapped and couldn't get out."

    Waymouth banged his head on the door once, twice. "I thought so."

    "Sir?" Foster cried, a fresh flood of emotions washing over her.

    He inhaled sharply and stood. "Nothing. I'm sorry...and thank you." He left.
    ------------

    In the bedroom, Major General Thomas Heyward lay on his back one arm behind his head while the other drummed a beat on his stomach. He stared at the ceiling, listening to their conversation, feeling the sharp, not quite painful surges through his body like a constant adrenal rush.

    "Not bad," the cat on the windowsill commented. No call for secrecy now. "For a beginner!"

    "You knew?"

    "Of course." She stretched, enjoying the sun's heat on her fur. "You know what this means?"

    "I'm no longer human."

    Bast turned laughing eyes on him. "Of course you are. That's the problem."

    "You don't like humans?"

    "They make nice pets." She slurped one arm lazily.

    He turned to her. "Will I become like her?" He jutted his chin at the door.

    The cat thought. "No."

    "But I will go mad."

    She sighed, plopped onto the floor then onto the bed. She climbed his chest and sat, looking into his eyes with this wisdom of six millennia.

    "You're human. You already are."
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  18. #1518
    Bast likes her jokes. Why does Heyward keep asking a cat if he's mad? His friends think he is. Congress is not going to keep a nutty general on its books- aninteresting defence for his actions, though.

    Miss Foster may no longer be possessed, but she's still a trained agent.

  19. #1519
    I sympathise with Andre, but we need to get some information out of this woman.

  20. #1520
    Strategos ton Exkoubitores Fulcrumvale's Avatar
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