The Catacombs

[The Exodus]

Far below the streets of Paris, there is a whole different world. While the city above is noted for its lights, the catacomb system under Paris is a dark place-- still mysterious. This is the place for all intrepid explorers. But, be careful! It's easy to lose your way.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

It was times like these Penny wished zombies existed, save for the smell, they would be able to give her directions out of here. She stepped on nameless person after nameless person in search for her group. It was dark down here in this final resting place, shared by countless people, and every turn in this ever-spinning labyrinth was identical to the last.

“An introduction to France,” her colleague had called it. “You can’t live like a Parisian for any amount of time if you don’t know your way around!” But somewhere between the topics of Margaret Thatcher verses David Cameron and the benefits of setting up yet another underground metro, they got separated.

Why hadn’t she taken William and Damien up on their offer to go out to eat? It suddenly didn’t matter how unappealing sitting in a sidecar was while Damien snaked his hands around her brother’s waist in that secretly hungry way he did when William first got the bike. All she wanted was out.

Her feet hurt, but sitting down meant touching the decay without the thick barrier of rubber separating her skin and their bones.

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby

Rowan hadn't really meant to end up in the catacombs...in fact, he had really meant not to. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid of all the bones that surrounded him, more that, after having recently murdered his (now former) landlord, death was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about. He had fled England in order to escape not only the police, but also any memory of what had happened and now here he was, reliving that night again.

He tried desperately to focus, I've got to find my way out of here...but how? When he had been told that getting lost in the catacombs was easy, Rowan had brushed it off, touting his great sense of direction and explaining his lack of intention to ever end up down here anyway. Now he wasn't so sure, sense of direction didn't matter so much when there were no landmarks, no sun, no nothing.

He was completely alone, reveling in the silence and the sound of his own footsteps. Up until now anyway. Suddenly, Rowan could hear footsteps other than his. He stopped dead in his tracks, clinging closer to the wall and then jumping away from it when he realized he had just embraced who knew how many nameless people. Rowan placed his hand carefully on the handle of the knife on his belt. At least he could protect himself. The Brit paused, trying to tell which direction the footsteps were coming from....They were in front of him, definitely in front of him.

"I'll just wait here until whoever it is comes into sight," he whispered to himself. He tried to stay quiet, praying for his racing heart to settle down and not give him away.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Feet sore, Penny slumped against the wall, hard and cold on her skin. She could feel it jutting out and poking her, uneven and rough on her back as she leaned her weight against it. And for a moment, she regained her bearings, her only companions the decrepit and decaying death that surrounded her, that she walked on, and the sound of soft solitude and silence.

Until a sound, a voice, soft and near, pierced through her momentary cloud of solace. "I'll just wait here until whoever it is comes into sight," it said, and for a moment, Penny foolishly prayed it wasn’t the spirit of a body she stood on, which had her wondering for a brief time if the dead were aware she was making a podium of their shin bones and vacant eye sockets, standing in and gripping for support their vaulty ribcages as if they were boats that would sail her through this River Styx to her group. She wondered if they were looking for her, her group, or if they had even noticed her absence.

Penny held her breath and listened for the sounds of life in this cavern of death. She strained her ears and could hear the shuffling of bones and the gentle inhale and exhale of someone trying to sift through the stench of decay and earth.

She bravely cleared her throat and tried to make a sound, but nothing but air issued her lips. She tried once more. Perhaps it was a tour guide or a rescue crew; perhaps it was another lost tourists that could muddle through this labyrinth of a burial mound with her. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Whatever it was, it worth a shot. “H-hello?”

And she heard her voice ricochet around and crawl back to her as if being issued from the corpse lips, uttered by their lost souls in search for a way out as well. And she swallowed a scream before trying again. “Hello? Who’s there?”

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby

Rowan's breathing was slow and paced, trying to keep his cool in a pressure situation. Most would think that being lost in the catacombs would have been a pressure situation, the sort in which you would panic, walk further in hopes of escape and end up hopelessly lost. No, that wasn't the case with Rowan. He was just panicking because his paranoia was reaching a new level and the thought that Interpol might have found him in the depths of the French catacombs was becoming more and more real. It occurred to him that it might be time to seek out medical attention and get on some sort of anti-paranoia drug.

Rowan carefully pulled his knife from his belt, holding it at the ready at his side.

“H-hello?”

The voice before him sounded hesitant and feminine....One might think this person would be the least of Rowan's worries but, on the contrary, they were the greatest. What better way to bring a man out of hiding and into Interpol handcuffs than to bait him with the stereotypical damsel in distress? No hero would be able to resist unless they were smart enough to see it coming!

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Rowan continued to go through thought processes. He had only heard one other set of footsteps. That would imply that there was only one other person down here. Would any government force send down just one person? Maybe, if they were heavily armed. What might this person be armed with? Probably automatic weapons, that was all anyone used anymore. Could a knife beat automatic weapons? Absolutely, especially given the element of surprise. Knives were more quickly used than guns, guns had safety's, triggers, aim to worry about.

Rationalization complete. He gathered himself up, prepared to attack, adrenaline beginning to leak into his blood stream. Knife in hand he shifted, ready to run forward. He would attack in 3...2...GO! Rowan lurched forward around the corner, trying to quickly assess the situation as his knife lunged for his potential attacker. Woman? Yes, that was predicted. Guns? Where are the guns? No guns?! STOP! His body went into shut down, shock, a severe post traumatic stress reaction. His knife clattered to the floor, backing up against the wall with his eyes wide and set on the woman before him.

"I'm so...I'm so sorry...I didn't...I wasn't trying to...I...I'm sorry."

He breathed deeply again, pacing, trying to control his heart rate. He had almost killed another person, and this time a woman. He was a monster, a killer, d*mned to hell for all eternity. Why couldn't he just escape his past for a moment?

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

She heard the threat of nearing footsteps and prepared herself for the worst, hopes for the best. For a moment, there was a silent still that seemed to fill the chasm, mocking the forced still of the dead around them. Footsteps again, and they seemed close now, muffled as if on an underwater carpet. She took in a careful, quaking breath before the wind was knocked out of her by the sudden, surprising movements of a shadow and a swift glimmer of some silver blade. Penny yelled and leapt back, clinging even closer the wall, gripping at the natural handles it provided as it cut sharply into her hand. She felt the skin of her palms puncture as she trembled against it, feeling a metallic, stinging, sticky liquid cover her hands. She heard something clamor to the floor and she felt her breath, quick and shallow, bounce around arhythmically in her head.

And William had said that Paris was safe.

"I'm so...I'm so sorry...I didn't...I wasn't trying to...I...I'm sorry."

“You were trying to what?” Penny snapped back, “Give me a heart attack? Pray tell what you were trying to do, then. I’d love to know so I don’t have to go to some kind of therapy or something.” Penny’s knees wobbled as she precariously fell to her knees, sweating and hot from fear. Beneath her bleeding hands, she felt the bones that had accompanied her for the past two hours, and she couldn’t imagine what diseases she was opening herself up to. The silver glimmer of the blade caught her eye as she sat there on the floor. She pinched it between her fingers as if it was some dirty dishrag or a dead frog Ben had put on her pillow. She could use this should he attack her again. Chances were, he was equipped with more than a knife—he could have some brute strength, or worse, a gun. She was not letting these bones be her company any longer than needed, and she’d be d*mned before she joined them in their grimy unanimous grave. “I’m just lost, I swear.” She said, hiccupping on a tear. “And I do not deserve to be treated like an enemy. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?” Despite her words, her voice shook and her tongue felt thick and heavy, making articulation more of a challenge than it had ever been before. “I am the future Prime Minister of England. I have friends in high places, and… and…” Penny only sounded hysterical now as she struggled to stand, her heartbeat in her throat, make-up running away from tears. “Please… don’t kill me. I’ll do anything!” Penny thought about this. Would she really? “Well, not anything, but a lot of things.”

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby

“You were trying to what?” Penny snapped back, “Give me a heart attack? Pray tell what you were trying to do, then. I’d love to know so I don’t have to go to some kind of therapy or something.”

Rowan remained against the wall, clinging to it as though it would help him retain his sanity. His eyes were wide, his breathing still irregular and forced, the Brit stammered, "No, no I--I wasn't trying to...I didn't mean to...," but the words wouldn't leave his lips. He was too overwhelmed with what had just nearly happened and what this women didn't quite seem to realize. Knife did not equal heart attack.

“I’m just lost, I swear.” She said, hiccupping on a tear. “And I do not deserve to be treated like an enemy. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”

Rowan's eyes had followed the knife up from the floor and to the air as the woman picked it up. He pressed his hand to his heart, trying to keep it from beating straight out of his chest. His mind was starting to come back about though, the shock leaving him and logic taking it's place. How was he to know she wasn't to be treated like an enemy? The government was after him! The whole of Scotland Yard! Their spies were everywhere and Rowan was still not convinced that this wasn't one of them. It was a damsel in distress sort of plea, this was exactly what they wanted. He would defend himself, nearly harm the target, find that she's a sweet woman who's just lost, find their way out of the catacombs and BAM! Cuffs on his wrists and back to jolly old England he'd go. Those brilliant bast*rds!

He hadn't been listening really, he wasn't so interested in the blubbering and tears of the decoy that was going to take him to jail. He was trying to find a way out, that was it. He needed to get out of here without being followed. He could...

“I am the future Prime Minister of England. I have friends in high places, and… and….Please… don’t kill me. I’ll do anything!”

Rowan's body fell, his knees hitting the ground before he leaned back to sit against the wall, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees. He was going to jail. He'd fled England and interpol only to end up here, in the French Catacombs having attempted to murder the future Prime Minister. Yes, England had found it's way to him in a much less contrived way than he had ever imagined it might. There was nothing left now though, it didn't matter how this happened or how it looked. He was going to jail...he was going to jail.

“Well, not anything, but a lot of things.”

Rowan took a deep breath. "I wasn't trying to kill you....Well, I was." That sounded bad, think, think. "But-but, I thought you were trying to attack me! I didn't know it was just someone else who was lost, let alone the future Prime Minister of England." He shook his head, "I'm terribly sorry."

This wasn't going to work. She was going to have him brought in. He couldn't remember how long it'd been since anyone had been drawn and quartered in England but he would be the next. This would be high treason. He was a dead man, most definitely a dead man and at this point he would take jail over a state mandated death. Though, at the murder of a man and the attempted murder of the future PM jail probably wasn't an option anymore.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Penny should have listened to Bill. He had told her to buy a map and a flashlight. But Bill was a moron. She didn’t listen to morons. But now, she looked the fool and he the scholar. Next time, she promised herself, she would take up his advice and follow it to a tee. No. Next time, she would take Bill with her. That’s what she would do.

"I wasn't trying to kill you....Well, I was." Penny pulled at her hair, pulling tufts out and letting them fall to the death-ridden ground and disappear to join the crusade of decay that paraded and oozed across the underground. She wasn’t hearing this. She knew she wasn’t. It was surreal as she drew what she would have sworn were her last breaths. She gripped the handle of the kbife until her knuckled glowed white even in the darkness and her hand bled even more.

"But-but, I thought you were trying to attack me! I didn't know it was just someone else who was lost, let alone the future Prime Minister of England."

She squinted in the darkness at him, trying to make out his face through the sea of darkness htat engulfed them both. She almost believed him.

Almost.

"I'm terribly sorry."

“Sorry?” Penny asked. “You’re sorry for attacking me? How about paying for any therapy this makes me need? How about getting me the heck out of here? How about not going after me with a sharp object again?”

Penny stopped. She was scared. He was scared. It was dark. They could at least help each other. “No. I’m sorry. If I trusted you more, I’d give you your knife back. But since I don’t, I’ll just hold onto this until you tell me your name and I can see you better. Let’s just get ourselves out…. Please.” He may have been a psycho, but even psychos had feelings, even psychos got scared and even psychos needed getting out of dark catacombs. Someone could die down here. After all, several thousands of people had, it looked like.

Yeah. She’d make a great Prime Minister one day.

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby

“Sorry?” Penny asked. “You’re sorry for attacking me? How about paying for any therapy this makes me need? How about getting me the heck out of here? How about not going after me with a sharp object again?”

Rowan startled as she spoke, staying against the wall as though, somehow, it would protect him. He wasn't scared so much of the woman as he was afraid of the fact that he would be going to jail. He was too good looking to go to jail. He'd get picked out as someone's b*tch in mere seconds. He'd be subject to "dropped soap" incidents and other horrifying situations he could only imagine. At least he wasn't a child molester, they always got the worst treatment in prison. He was sure that the future Prime Minister was still talking but he wasn't listening anymore, he was too involved in envisioning his own sad future. His train of thought was broken though as silence settled between them.

“No. I’m sorry. If I trusted you more, I’d give you your knife back. But since I don’t, I’ll just hold onto this until you tell me your name and I can see you better. Let’s just get ourselves out…. Please.”

Rowan's mind went back into a panic. She wanted to know who he was! She was a spy! She was trying to see if he was really the escaped murderer from England! The jig was up! Fortunately, Rowan had already gathered his new identity. His real name, the name that he bore at the time of the murder, was Marcus Danby. His hair had been long and so he'd shaved his head almost completely to the skin. He could only do so much to change his identity but he had done what he could and he hoped that it would be enough.

He stood, adjusting his jacket and dusting himself off. The Brit walked toward the woman before him, extending his hand and looking at her apologetically.

"My name is Rowan Leatherby."

I may be lost and I may be paranoid but, the least I can do is get my knife back and maybe get out of here in the process.

He looked around them, trying to determine if there was any natural light coming from any of the tunnels. Well, clearly they had both gotten in here from different directions, that meant there were at least two ways to get out of here.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

The man, recondite by the vast, unending sheath of black became a silhouette, just darker than the dark that engulfed then now. Penny squinted her adjusting eyes, straining to make out features on this mysterious, blank shadow of a human being. If Penny’s cells were pumped full of the same squishy, superstitious cytoplasm as her younger sister’s were, she’d compare him to a full body apparition, some imprint of a soul departed from the very bones they walked on. But she wasn’t. Because such things didn’t exist. Penny was, if anything, logical, and remembering this helped to ease her spinning mind, catawampus from the lack of light and overall foreboding atmosphere that loomed like a heavy black smog in the air.

Through the opaque, she saw him move, a welcoming motion as he stretched out his shadowy arm. Penny groped around the blackness for it before her flesh came into contact with his. It was rough and warm, she noticed, as her hand clasped around his.

"My name is Rowan Leatherby."

“Penelope MaCarthy,” She offered back. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Of course, that was absurd. She copied and filed papers for the French Ambassador’s secretary. She was still working her way up the political food chain, grasping hold of each individual link, holding it strong-fisted in her grip, never looking down should she stumble. “Or not. But you will, I swear, if it’s the last thing I do.” She bit her lip. “But the first thing I must do is get us out of here.”

There was a yawning cavern before them, the only way left to try, she led him with her strong grip and pulled him along with her to wherever that cavernous mouth would lead them. Hopefully, that was up to sunlight, and they could make a return to normalcy and the warm, garish sunlight.

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby


“Penelope MaCarthy,” She offered back. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Heard of her? Had he heard of her? He didn't think so but there was really no telling. He wasn't much for politics unless it pertained to his going to jail or possible deals that didn't include jail. That really had much more to do with law than politics anyway. Why did it matter whether he knew her or not anyway? He had to plan his escape, surely he would be arrested as soon as they reached the surface and the police that were undoubtedly waiting to to take him in for attempted murder had their way. He had to figure out not only how to get out of here but how to escape once they got to the surface.

How to get out? Rowan had had military training on these sorts of things, he wasn't the type to get lost and disoriented. D*mn paranoia had him all turned around. He'd already figured out that there had to be two ways out of here, if not more. It was extremely difficult to see all the way to the walls with the severe lack of light.

“Or not. But you will, I swear, if it’s the last thing I do. But the first thing I must do is get us out of here.”

This young lady seemed to be much more interested in the scope of her reputation than whether Rowan was still trying to murder her. Fortunately, that made planning two escapes much simpler. He suddenly felt a tug on the hand he had previously extended to Penny and that was still held firmly by her. She was pulling him off to some section of the catacombs that didn't seem to be the way that either of them had gotten there. Why would she try and find a new way when they had two that they knew worked?

"Erm, Ms. MaCarthy?" He said, pulling his hand and himself back to the direction from which he'd come. "I'm pretty sure that we should go back this way."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Penny felt a sudden weight on her hand, a pull , a tightening, leading her in a different direction.

"Erm, Ms. MaCarthy? I'm pretty sure that we should go back this way."

Penny’s eyes grew wide from shock, but it didn’t help her see any better. Her mouth became a gaping chasm. One day, she would have to make major decisions for the entire nation of the United Kingdom. Certainly she could make the right decisions to get the two of them out of a little underground, dark maze.

“Excuse me,” She said, wrenching free of his grasp and putting her hands on her hips. “You are not taking me back the way you came. You probably have a posse of… of gunman and rapists… or something back the way you came. I don’t trust you. I’m going this way, far away from the way you came. I know that there are several points of entry to the catacombs around the city and we’re bound to find one either this way or that way.” She pointed to the way she came and the way she tried to go. She prayed, for the first time ever, that one of them would lead them nearby to William’s apartment. “You can either go my way or find yourself out of this place. Alone.” She tried to sound threatening, powerful. She nodded curtly. “Yeah.” That was the best deal she would give him. He was either with her or without her, but either way, she was not going to be someone’s victim in a place no one could hear her scream, enshrouded by bones, knee deep in the dead that she was nearly drenched and dripping with death. She shivered. How could she feel so cold underground, where it was so warm?

Penny turned on her heel and made her way towards her own exit. “Leatherby, are you coming or not?”

[Deleted]

Rowan Leatherby

“Excuse me,” She said, wrenching free of his grasp. “You are not taking me back the way you came. You probably have a posse of… of gunman and rapists… or something back the way you came. I don’t trust you. I’m going this way, far away from the way you came. I know that there are several points of entry to the catacombs around the city and we’re bound to find one either this way or that way.”

First of all, rapists? gunmen? That was an awfully cruel assumption. He really wasn't a bad person, well, maybe he was. He didn't want to hurt anyone though. It was just one incident, one horrible mistake, one break in character, that didn't make you a bad person did it? Why would Rowan ever drag anyone, especially a woman, back through tunnels just to kill her there. He was more than capable of doing so himself without moving her and even at that, it's not as though he was at all interested in harming anyone. He just wanted to defend himself, to get out of these catacombs.

Second, why didn't she trust that he would know the way? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he'd lunged at her with a knife and quite nearly done some serious damage. Maybe.... Or maybe she just didn't trust men, maybe she somehow knew more about the catacombs. She didn't sound like a Parisian, definitely a fellow Brit but, you never knew what background people were coming from. He could bend on this one if necessary. Though, he still thought that his way was better, he knew how to get back through most of his way.

“You can either go my way or find yourself out of this place. Alone.”

Well, clearly it was going to come down to bending to Ms. Penny MaCarthy's will. This was ridiculous. She would very likely not remember how to get through the paths that she had gone down herself and would definitely have no idea what laid before them in any of the other tunnels. Fine, he would follow her, it's not like he would be in any worse of a situation if he did.

“Leatherby, are you coming or not?”

Rowan stepped forward, grabbing for her hand again in the darkness so that he would have some idea where she was going. "Fine," he grumbled, not pleased about following her.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

There was a moment when both her and Rowan’s pride repelled each other like two same poles. It was reminiscent of when she and William would go at it (as they still at times did) and Freddy would have to wiggle his way between them, into the tense air that sat there and break it up with a funny exclamation that would send William to ride his bike with a Benjamin or Damien strapped to the back and Penny to finish her homework. But there was no Freddy here and there Rowan Leatherby gave out a cool stream of a sigh into the damp air of the catacombs.

“Fine.”

Finally. She won. Perhaps all of those years of education and debate had finally found a way to pay off. It made her future look a tad brighter—she’d win in Parliament anytime now. And this new found luminescence seemed to give her a path of light to find her way out by.

“Good.” She said with a bright smile. “This way.”

She took them up down a way, to the left of a fork, back again, to the left of that same fork and followed the spirally twists and turns of the caverns, all the while searching for clues that would lead to the way out.

Up two levels. Finally she could see a bit more, even if her companion’s face was still shadowy. She took a deep breath and gulp and followed along the path again. “See? Already making progress,” She assured Leatherby, taking another left and followed it along until she found a patch of light, four little circles that lead to the street, casting miniature spotlights on the dirty subterranean ground. So close they were to the world of the living, but the lack of mobile reception reminded her just how far they were. Maybe she’d call Diego and he could pick her up. “Almost there.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Santiago/Linnea BIC:


Santiago Ortiz

As far as Santiago was concerned, there was nothing wrong with taking a little shortcut through the catacombs. As long as he knew what direction he was heading, he was fine. He was something of a cataphile these days; obsessed with the tunnels, with learning them and utilizing them to the best of his ability. They were ill-lit, damp places, but less crowded than the metro and, perversely, warmer than the streets above. Santiago didn’t mind the darkness (his had matches and a lighter), and he didn’t mind the company of hundreds—thousands, probably—of dead men and women. Maybe Georgette was onto something, preferring to pass the time with corpses than live people. They made for better—certainly quieter—company.

Santiago needed to clear his head. He’d left the Garnier without so much as a by-your-leave today because he had a lead to follow. Ramirez could have been any number of men, but he had a hunch. Sebastian Ramirez, some dippy-school-boy fling of Catalina’s, could Just as easily be their key to finding Lorenzo. If so, Santiago could close the case and go back to his quiet, relatively peaceful, life as a stage manager and pretend no one had ever hired him on as a private investigator.

But it seemed every time Santiago returned to his quiet, relatively peaceful, life as a stage manager, something like this cropped up and he was toeing the legal line.

If Catalina paid him well enough, Santiago supposed he could take the money and run. Far away from Paris. Out of Europe, even. He’d drag Rachel along for the ride to keep his end of their bargain and then set up camp on some beach in the Caribbean where girls with golden tans and who spoke his native language would help him forget he’d ever been a gun-toting vigilante.

Is that what you call it now?

Alternatively, of course, if Catalina paid him well enough when the case was solved, Santiago could quit his day job and stop calling it “vigilantism”. Stay in Paris, set up shop, and make Detective Santiago Luis Castaneda Guadalupe Ortiz a reality. Imagining himself as a twenty-nine year old detective had its attractions. No more ballet company. No more chorus girls. No more directors. No more fixed schedule. Hello, freedom.

That was stupid, though. Who would hire a guy like him—no credentials, with a background in theatre and drive-by shootings—to look for their missing children or wayward spouses? Detective work wasn’t always a murder mystery. What would someone like Santiago do if it was a hacking case? Besides be out of his depth, of course. He’d want the gritty stuff; the things usually only police detectives handled. Not private investigators.

And there was no way in hell Santiago would ever become a police officer.

Of course, all of this hinged on Catalina paying him, and of that there was no guarantee. If he didn’t turn up results—or results she liked, anyways—the woman might skip town and leave Santiago with nothing more than a forged badge and a whole lot of wasted time. Besides, he couldn’t afford—even if handsomely paid—to play hooky or rooky detective.

Because Santiago had taken on another case entirely. Rachel Day’s father was out for her blood. Again. Or perhaps that was “still”. In any case, Santiago would be no better than a rat if he tossed her aside like yesterday’s paper once Catalina was gone. Even if he really did want that beach front vacation.

And the Garnier would need a new stage manager if Santiago left. There was only one man fit to fill his work boots, and pride dictated Santiago be unhappy about the prospect of Bill MaCarthy getting his old job. He spent too long fighting for it to just hand it over with a peace truce.

Santiago took a turn to the left, and the crunch of his boot on human bone snapped him out of his thoughts. He’d done one of two things in that single moment. First, he’d put his foot through a human skull, so that it now had a shoe-shaped hole for a nose.

Second, Santiago had found a dead end.

So much for this being a short cut.