Disclaimer: Richie Ryan and the concept of Immortality used here are the property of Davis/Panzer.  No money is being made from this, so please don’t sue me!  I’m going to college, and I don’t have any anyway!

Victoria, Justin, Mrs. Sinramsey, Mr. Cimitalla, Elizabet, and Kane belong to me.  Please ask if they start talking to you, too.

This is rated PG for mild language and virtually no violence.  Enjoy!

                                                                                                                                                    Victoria D. Kestral
                                                                                                                                                     English – p. 1
                                                                                                                                                     January 25, 1998

I’ve always wondered what it is that has kept Justin and I together for so long.  This March it shall be exactly two hundred and nine years.  I first met him while lost in the streets of London, an afternoon so very long ago.  I was a spunky, spoiled aristocrat child of seven years old – good money for any whom entertained the idea of ransom.  I also could have ended up in a brothel by evening.

But before harm could come to me, I was confronted by a tall, young boy.  Blond and blue-eyed, it was a wonder he was not captive in a brothel himself.  His clothing was that of the average London gutter-rat, and I remember being loath to have anything to do with him.  This boy was the first time I had been so close to someone of a “lower class.”  The servants in Mama’s employ were my only source of experience.

He took my hand gently and asked me who I was.  I spoke haltingly, afraid – “Victoria DiThon Kestral, daughter of Lady Guinevere DiThon.”  The boy nodded once and (still holding my hand) led me directly home.

My nurse and my mother flew out of the expansive townhouse to greet me, and I was pulled away from the boy to be plied with kisses and candies.  It was not until after I had been put to bed that I remembered the boy.  I wondered briefly what his name was, then fell asleep.

A week later I saw him again as Mama and I were entering the carriage to call upon some friends for tea.  He was sitting beside the driver, apparently in the capacity of our serving boy.  The last one had been promoted to groom a few weeks before, and we had been lacking.  On the way, Mama informed me that she had hired the boy in gratitude for my return, and he was also to be taking lessons with me from my tutor.  I remember asking his name at that point – “Justin.”

Over the next two years, Justin and I became close friends.  He taught me how to be a real gutter-rat and we had a marvelous time running around London together.  To this day, I am amazed we were never hurt or kidnapped.  I also taught Justin manners and proper English.  Mama said he would have made a wonderful Prince Charming had he been born of a higher class.

Then my beloved mother died, and I was sent to my only relatives.  The shift from pampered nobility to unloved farm girl was a shock, especially as I was only nine years old.  My new family, my mother’s disgraced older sister and her husband and two children, cared nothing for me.  In their eyes, I was worth only as much as they received for my care.

I quickly discovered that the forest was my only solace.  While the Welsh woods were rather strange compared to the sparse groves surrounding Mama’s country estate, I still loved them.  After a few months, I was as familiar with them as I had been with certain parts of London.  There was even a circle of standing stones nearby – a relic of ancient times.  Mama had taught me to respect history in all its forms.  The stones became my friends, guardians, and occasionally even a shoulder to cry upon.

About year after I had been sent to live in Wales, I was sitting among the standing stones, wondering when it would be safe to go “home.”  I fingered the nasty bruise on my cheek carefully.  I should go see Mr. Ricardsen in the village for something to put on it.  Wait until evening, when no one would notice me creeping through the square.  Maybe the shopkeeper would even let me sleep in front of his fire, too.  Uncle Jonathan would most likely still be angry with me.  I had not meant to break the dish, of course.  My cousins William and Elaine had played another of their nasty tricks on me.

Twilight was beginning to fall, and I decided to head for the village before the darkness under the trees grew too thick.  I reluctantly left the calm of the circle and started towards the woods.  Then I paused, conscious of eyes watching me.  The gutter-rat instincts I had easily picked up had never left me.  I slowly turned to look behind me and dropped my jaw in shock.

There stood Justin, bag in hand.  He had scrimped and saved and yes, even stole enough money to travel from London to Wales.  It was at that moment that I knew we would never again leave each other unwillingly.  I knew Justin felt the same.  And to an extent, I have been right.

Over the next two hundred years, we became as close as two people can possibly be.  We have our own habits, talents, and interests, of course, but I can usually predict exactly what Justin will do in any given circumstance.  In life-or-death situations, we can both remain calm and keep our heads.  Lesser problems usually cause Justin to become antsy, while I become silent and rather withdrawn.

We do still manage to surprise each other once in awhile, though.  When I first met Justin, he could see no obvious practical use for music.  This, of course, was the streetwise gutter-rat talking.  Eventually, he began to appreciate it, and today he has developed his wonderful singing voice, which I can never hope to match.  We have been known to sing reputedly gorgeous duets, but he is still much better than I am.  And we both prefer music to silence any day.

In contrast, I am an actress, a rather good one.  This shocked Justin to no end because of my penchant for always being honest if possible.  These days, I’ve learned to temper that compulsion a bit, which might make my next skill a bit of a surprise – I am a spy.  I have great talent with that, too, coming from my acting experience.  Along that same line, Justin is a trained assassin and also very good at what he does.  Most of our few major fights occurred when I tried to be a hired killer, or when Justin attempted espionage.  His role in the Great War comes to mind…

Pardon my language, but the bloody idiot joined MI-6!  Went to Germany undercover, the whole deal!  I will freely admit that I played a role in the war, but even the British Royal Air Force seems safe compared to that, especially when one’s head is on the line.

Of course, then there was the whole mess with World War Two.  Justin had been living in Japan off and on quite a bit by that time and was vastly sympathetic to their cause.  In fact, both of us could be considered Imperialists.  So he joined the army.  In typical Justin fashion, he quickly rose through the ranks and was sent with a diplomatic team to Europe to talk with Hitler.  Meanwhile, I had been visiting a friend in Paris when war broke out and let myself become involved in the French Resistance.  By 1941, I had also started assassinating Axis military leaders.  I tried to contact Justin, but had no idea where he was.

It was not until 1944 that I realized the extent of his role in the war.  I had assumed he was hiding out at the in Australia.  Of course, he had thought the same of me until that year, too.  I had recently been rescued from the Nazis after my arrest for the so-called involvement in an assassination attempt against the Führer.  (Actually, I was trying to kill him at the time, but I had nothing to do with the bomb.)  I was held for three days by the Nazis in preparation of being sent to a concentration camp.  Luckily, some other long-lived friends of mine also working resistance managed to bust me out.  They had learned of my capture by way of an anonymous note sent to their base.  After the war, I realized that Justin had sent it.

A few weeks later I decided to try to take out the Japanese official visiting occupied Paris.  I managed to get all the way to his suite in the hotel where the Nazi officers were quartered.  I stealthily entered the room, knife and gun in hand, prepared to give him a quick stab through the heart.  Then I saw that the figure lying peacefully in the bed was Justin.  I froze, and he woke up at my presence to stare at me shock.  We heard shouts in the hall; obviously the dead guard had been discovered.  The expression of shock was replaced by one of fury as he leapt out of bed.  He hastily shoved me into a closet, then disappeared.  A few minutes later, he came back and pointed to the door, his eyes cold.  Silently, I fled the building.  Neither of us said a single word the entire meeting.

After the war, I disappeared myself with a close friend to his home in Greece.  I learned that Justin had gone to his home in Australia…or should I say our home; I own half the ranch.  I never attempted to contact him, and basically put him out of my mind for about a decade.  It was not until some mutual friends conspired that we got back together on neutral ground – San Francisco.  To make a long story short, we ended up spending our first night in the city in jail, and things became even more interesting after that.  But after that night, the past was the past, and it would stay that way.

Those fifteen years were the longest we have ever spent apart.  After that, we made a point of at least a phone call once a month, no matter where we were.  Through my two stints at college (Hawaii in the Sixties and Oxford in the Eighties) and my years as the second-in-command to a druglord; Justin’s silent involvement with Studio 54 and his five-year long tour of the globe with our mutual friend Elizabet recruiting for her international organization.  Through it all, we have stayed “together.”

Of course, there are hazards of being known as a couple in some of the circles we travel in.  Someone who wants to off both of us, and cause as much pain as possible in the process, usually goes after me first.  Apparently I am considered the weak one in the pairing – sexism is such an interesting epidemic.  I have been captured exactly three times and taunted with the plan of my head being sent to Justin in a box.  Each time I was either rescued or managed to escape myself (and thank the gods for it).  I can handle dying, but the mere thought of Justin facing the world alone scares the crap out of me.  We have been together for over two centuries, and we rely on the knowledge that as long as the other walks the world, we are not truly alone.  Almost literally, he is the other half of my soul.  Corny, I know, but still true…

Fortunately for us, though, only Justin has ever “died.”  He was in a fight recently, and through a series of freak accidents, word got back to me that he was gone forever.  The two weeks after I found out were the worst I have ever spent in my life.  My friends in the city went on a suicide watch, but even they knew it was a futile effort.  If I had wanted to really die, I could have managed it quite easily.  But in my heart, I did not truly believe that my beloved Justin was dead.  That’s the only thing that prevented me from committing suicide, and lucky for me, I turned out to be right.

At the moment, Justin and I are together.  That is, living together, for we are never really apart.  Justin is my brother, best friend, and soulmate, even.  I suppose those reasons, if any, are the reasons that have kept us together for over two hundred years.

Seacouver, Washington
February 4, 1998

Victoria DiThon Kestral walked into her English class towards Mrs. Sinramsey’s desk, leaving Justin Le Faye to wait outside.  For once she had not ridden her bike to school – the roads were rather icy – and he was her ride back to the dojo for a training session with her student Kane Nalamas.  “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

The teacher started in surprise.  “Oh, Victoria, don’t do that!  You scared me!  You’re like a vampire, so silent.”

Her mouth twitched slightly in amusement, but Victoria only said, “It’s daylight.  You wanted to see me after school?”

“Yes, that’s right.”  Mrs. Sinramsey rooted around in the folders scattered on her desk for a few seconds.  Finally, she pulled out the paper Victoria had turned in the day before in class.  “I read your paper last night, and it was rather…interesting.  The assignment was to write a narrative essay by a fictional character.  This was my attempt to get you guys to work on proper point of view.  Yours was one of the best in that regard, but your characters’ lives seem to span many years.”

Victoria nodded sagely.  “Two hundred years, just about.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well, I prefer to write fantasy and science fiction, so it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she explained slowly.

“Yet you make virtually no mention to…immortality or other such things,” the teacher pressed.

She shrugged.  “I didn’t think it necessary to the story.  It would have taken away from the main point, which was the relationship between the main character and her best friend.”

“Ah, I see now,” Mrs. Sinramsey said with a nod.  “And I have to say that now I’m rather impressed with the amount of thought you seem to have put into this.”  She paused.  “I had given you an A minus because of what we just discussed, but now you can safely say that you have an A.”

With a surprised look, Victoria nodded.  “Thank you.”  She tried to hand her paper back to the teacher, but Mrs. Sinramsey waved her hand away.

“Keep it.  Just remind me to change the grade in the computer tomorrow in class.”  Then she picked up a worn-looking paperback book off the corner of the cluttered desk.  “One other thing before you leave.  This is one of my favorite books, which I read again over winter break.  I overheard you talking about Arthurian legend with Mike a few days ago and thought you would like it.”

“Arthur and Avalon,” Victoria read when the teacher handed it to her, carefully controlling her voice.  “By Vicki Kest.  I’ve never heard of it, but it looks interesting.”

“Well, read it, and you can tell me what you think,” her English teacher said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sinramsey, I will.”  Victoria made a show of glancing at her watch.  “I’m sorry, I have to go.  My ride is waiting.”  Mrs. Sinramsey nodded, and Victoria left the classroom.  She found Justin in the hall talking to their science teacher.  “Jus’, stop it,” she said playfully.  “You know it’s not nice to harass the harmless Watchers.”

Mr. Cimitalla rolled his eyes.  He had grown rather used to the five Immortals currently studying in the school – they were the reason he had been transferred to Seacouver in the first place.  “Yes, thank you, Victoria,” he said dryly.  “Don’t exactly want a bullet in the back of the head from the Tribunal.”

Justin tossed his hand dismisively.  “Don’t worry, we’d come and rescue you.”

Suddenly, Victoria’s eyes lit up in inspiration, and she handed her paper to Mr. Cimitalla.  “Here, get this to my and Justin’s researchers, wherever they’re located.  I wrote it for English class, but it’s all true.  And nothing the Watchers can’t know about, anyway.”

He skimmed the first page and looked back up her in surprise.  “If only all Immortals were like you, Victoria – our jobs would be a whole lot easier.”

She could only laugh at that.  “Hey, we have to keep you on your toes, you know.”

“What’s that?” Justin asked, pointing at the book in Victoria’s hand.

“Oh, just something Mrs. Sinramsey felt I would like to read.”  She displayed it so both men could see the cover.  Mr. Cimitalla apparently had never heard of it, but Justin laughed out loud.

“I told you that thing would come back to haunt you,” he said in a mirth-filled voice.

Victoria shrugged.  For the science teacher’s benefit, she said, “I wrote it as a joke when I was going to college in Hawaii.  The friends I was staying with convinced me to try and get it published.  Since then it’s been reprinted twice.  I had no idea it would be anywhere near this popular.”

“It’s yours?” Mr. Cimitalla asked in amazement.  “Wow.  The name ‘Vicki’ threw me off there for a second, because you hate that.  And ‘Tori.’”

“Yeah, I’ll stick with ‘Tor’ and ‘Toria.’  Why be normal?” she replied with a grin.

“Why, indeed,” Justin added dryly.  Draping and arm over her shoulders, he nodded at the science teacher.  “We’ve got to go; I told Richie and Kane we’d be at the dojo at three.”

“Richie still wants to learn all those disarms?” Victoria asked.  She laughed when Justin nodded.  “Ooh, this’ll be fun!  I love teaching the kids new stuff – not to be mean, but they’re so hilarious when they screw up.”

Mr. Cimitalla grinned at them.  “Goodbye, Justin, Victoria, I’ll see you tomorrow.  Don’t loose your heads.”

The two Immortals burst out laughing, much to the confusion of some passing seventh graders.  Both “ninth” graders were well known around school, especially for their quirky senses of humor.  “Adios, Mr. Cimitalla.  Don’t watch your eyes off.”  Victoria called over her shoulder as the two turned to leave.

At that, the two apparent teenagers headed off down the hall, arms still wrapped around each other and bantering back and forth about ways to drop Kane and Richie nicely on the dojo’s mats.  By the time they turned the corner they had dropped into another language altogether.  Mr. Cimitalla stood and watched them, an amused smile on his face.  He did not recognize the language; it could have been anything from Welsh to Russian.

He glanced back down at the paper.  I’ve always wondered what it is that has kept Justin and I together… The Watcher knew.  There were a few “famous” couples in the Immortal ranks, and the two he had just talked to were one of them.

They were soulmates.  Pure and simple.  One of the few simple things when it came to Immortals.  Especially those two.

~finis~

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