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Meanwhile
Somewhere in the vicinity of New Melbourne, Raguel is brokering a deal.
They're a ragtag group - all the unsavory types he's used to dealing with (except maybe for one sandy-haired kid in the corner, panic in his face, as green around the gills as anyone he's ever seen). This many weapons, that many bags of grain - and the sellers want weapons a lot more than they want grain, that's clear enough. They do seem to have quite a few weapons of their own, though.
Raguel is about to comment on this – even here, no one would dare to contradict him - when a door opens up on another planet and his head splinters apart.
"Again," he growls, knees already hitting the floor.
The dealers begin arguing - the 'mediator' is down, sick or something. At least a couple of them stare at him curiously, but make no move to help.
Flashes of Crowley, pale as a ghost, looking anxious. A roaring sound over the gunfire, and sickly fog blurs his vision.
Voices escalate. A few shots are fired, then there's the sound of people scrambling behind crates, running out of the room, more yelling, more shots. Raguel, lying between the two groups, doesn't hear much of it.
Mal, Kaylee, Gabriel Tam - they swam in and out of focus and then Crowley is speaking to him again. Him.
"Go home," he snarls from the ground. "Tianshi."
Phantom feathers tug on him from behind. There's a voice in his ear, many voices, one voice. He stares around, seeing only fear on the faces of his friends.
And suddenly, he can feel something separating him from the other. It's not gone, but it's muffled - behind a paper wall. He can't see it. Thinking his own thoughts is just a little closer to possible.
"Get out," he hisses at the kid who's nearest to him, now cowering behind a crate and holding his gun wrong. The kid looks at him with wide eyes and doesn't move.
Raguel pushes his upper body off the floor but doesn't get very far before the ragged gunfire picks up again and a stray shot takes him right in the neck. He curses loudly at the culprit, too weak to make either the wound or the pain vanish.
Using the edge of the nearest crate, he manages to climb all the way to his feet amid the flying bullets. Blood from the wound streams down over his collarbone and begins to soak his clothes, and in a flash of lucidity he sees the kid with the gun staring at him in terror.
And in an instant, the terrible duality in his head has vanished.
"That's it," Raguel mutters viciously, and for a fraction of a second there is a flare of light blindingly strong and crimson and hot – hot like the core of the sun. And then it's gone.
The walls have melted slightly and warped, making the whole warehouse bow outward. The grain and the guns are gone. And there's not a trace remaining of anyone else who was in the room.
Well, that kid probably would have gone bad, anyway, he thinks, collapsing back to the floor. With only people like that to guide him - it happened. Sort of.
Raguel stays in the room for a while longer, elbows on his knees, head down. He half-expects some kind of retribution, but it doesn't come.
Bits and pieces of the encounter do, though. The time before and after. And suddenly, urgently, he needs to go and visit Crowley.
They're a ragtag group - all the unsavory types he's used to dealing with (except maybe for one sandy-haired kid in the corner, panic in his face, as green around the gills as anyone he's ever seen). This many weapons, that many bags of grain - and the sellers want weapons a lot more than they want grain, that's clear enough. They do seem to have quite a few weapons of their own, though.
Raguel is about to comment on this – even here, no one would dare to contradict him - when a door opens up on another planet and his head splinters apart.
"Again," he growls, knees already hitting the floor.
The dealers begin arguing - the 'mediator' is down, sick or something. At least a couple of them stare at him curiously, but make no move to help.
Flashes of Crowley, pale as a ghost, looking anxious. A roaring sound over the gunfire, and sickly fog blurs his vision.
Voices escalate. A few shots are fired, then there's the sound of people scrambling behind crates, running out of the room, more yelling, more shots. Raguel, lying between the two groups, doesn't hear much of it.
Mal, Kaylee, Gabriel Tam - they swam in and out of focus and then Crowley is speaking to him again. Him.
"Go home," he snarls from the ground. "Tianshi."
Phantom feathers tug on him from behind. There's a voice in his ear, many voices, one voice. He stares around, seeing only fear on the faces of his friends.
And suddenly, he can feel something separating him from the other. It's not gone, but it's muffled - behind a paper wall. He can't see it. Thinking his own thoughts is just a little closer to possible.
"Get out," he hisses at the kid who's nearest to him, now cowering behind a crate and holding his gun wrong. The kid looks at him with wide eyes and doesn't move.
Raguel pushes his upper body off the floor but doesn't get very far before the ragged gunfire picks up again and a stray shot takes him right in the neck. He curses loudly at the culprit, too weak to make either the wound or the pain vanish.
Using the edge of the nearest crate, he manages to climb all the way to his feet amid the flying bullets. Blood from the wound streams down over his collarbone and begins to soak his clothes, and in a flash of lucidity he sees the kid with the gun staring at him in terror.
And in an instant, the terrible duality in his head has vanished.
"That's it," Raguel mutters viciously, and for a fraction of a second there is a flare of light blindingly strong and crimson and hot – hot like the core of the sun. And then it's gone.
The walls have melted slightly and warped, making the whole warehouse bow outward. The grain and the guns are gone. And there's not a trace remaining of anyone else who was in the room.
Well, that kid probably would have gone bad, anyway, he thinks, collapsing back to the floor. With only people like that to guide him - it happened. Sort of.
Raguel stays in the room for a while longer, elbows on his knees, head down. He half-expects some kind of retribution, but it doesn't come.
Bits and pieces of the encounter do, though. The time before and after. And suddenly, urgently, he needs to go and visit Crowley.