The Catacombs

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

Linnea wasn't entirely sure how she managed to get herself down here in the catacombs beneath the Paris streets. Yet, here she was, wandering the tunnels, and thoroughly succeeding to have the Willies' with all the dead people down here. Honestly, it gave her the creeps. Linnea had tried to turn around and go back out the way she came, but she couldn't find her way around the dark, and as a result, found herself completely lost.

There was a hint of desperation in Linnea's stride as she searched for a way out, nervous enough to have a panic attack if somehow, someone jumped out and said 'boo.' She fought to keep her breathing even and steady as she kept silently coaching herself through the whole ordeal.

'It's okay, Linnea. You can do this. There's nothing wrong down here. It's rather peaceful. There are no psychopaths down here that are waiting to kill you and add you to the legion of the dead in these ruddy catacombs.' Linnea told herself, but somehow, that only made it worse.

She made it to a corner, but before she could either pass it or round it, she ran into another body. Linnea shrieked with surprise and terror, but the sound died in her throat when she realized it was Santiago, the man she had flirted with in that overly-flashy night club full of people who were too pretty for her personal taste.

"Oh. It's you," she said stupidly, unable to come up with a better response. "What are you doing down here, Santiago? Are you lost too?" she asked him, relieved to see a familiar, living face down here, having the knowledge that she wasn't stuck down here alone.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Godd*mn. Think, Santiago.

He could remember how he’d gotten into the dead end—there was only one way out. But that wasn’t the issue. It was trying to remember where he’d been before that, and before that, and before so he could retrace his steps back to the land of the living above. People died down here. Went missing. Never heard from again. Santiago had battled Netas, rogue Gardunas, American mobsters, and depression. Hell would freeze over before he met his end, curled up and starving in a giant tourist attraction.

Fleetingly, he wondered if that was how Lorenzo had met his fate—whatever it was. Maybe he’d gotten lost in the catacombs of Paris. A sad ending for a gang boss. Funny, in its way. Anticlimactic. Santiago looked down at the broken skull under his foot. He wasn’t a forensic scientist, like Georgette, but if he brought her a sample of this particular set of remains, she’d probably tell him it was too old to be a man so recently gone missing. He wondered if he should bring her some bones—if he ever figured a way out—from under here. It was the sort of gift he thought she might appreciate. He considered looking for a whole specimen as he mentally worked himself out of the maze when suddenly, something collided into him.

Santiago’s hand flew to his back pocket for his switchblade.

"Oh. It's you.”

Santiago stared at a woman in the next-to-pitch darkness. He scarcely could tell who she was and so he did the sensible thing. He turned on his flashlight and shone it towards her. She looked vaguely familiar. The pretty brunette sort he’d been going for lately. He ran a mental catalogue of everyone he knew. Name placement wasn’t usually this hard. Maybe Santiago was getting old.

"What are you doing down here, Santiago? Are you lost too?"

The not-quite-stranger knew his name. Santiago supposed that meant she worked for him at the opera. Great. He kept running into Opera House denizens in the worst places, at the worst times.

“No, I’m playing hide-and-seek,” he said sarcastically. “You wouldn’t have happened to see a little kid hiding in a pile of bones, would you?”

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

Linnea was good with names. Not counting that time at the Rouge where she had trouble remembering Maksim's name, but she mainly used that to rile him. The ruddy man had nerves of steel when it came to her jibing him. Never the less, Linnea enjoyed making fun of him... about as much as she enjoyed making out with him, but true to her usual form, Linnea had no intentions of being tied down by one man any time soon.

Linnea squinted when Santiago turned on his flashlight and shined it on her, and waited for his response after she had asked him what he was doing wandering this forsaken part of Paris. If you could still call it Paris underneath the city. Santiago looked a bit different. His hair was shorter, and he was clean-shaven, but Linnea recognized him all the same, and personally, she still thought he was pretty hot stuff.

"No, I'm playing hide-and-seek," he replied, sarcasm heavily coloring his words. "You wouldn't have happened to see a little kid hiding in a pile of bones, would you?" Linnea smirked, obviously amused. Santiago proved to be even more interesting than what she had gathered at Les Bains.

"Can't say I have, mate," she stated, playing along. "Perhaps he managed to sneak out of here while you were counting. Not that I blame him for wanting to leave. This place is desperately in need of better housekeeping." The sarcasm in her voice was just as evident as it was in Santiago's, but she already felt a bit better with him being there. "While you're looking, you and I might want to find a way out of here too," Linnea suggested, before turning on her heel, and walking in the direction she had come.

"It's been a while since I've seen you last. I trust you've found places more suited to our tastes since Les Bains," she called back to him as she felt her way around the catacombs.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Jesus. Why would he be standing in a dead end cul-de-sac if he wasn’t lost? Santiago had a sudden urge to sigh. He didn’t. Instead, his teeth set to work on his inner cheek. There was an old scar on the right side from how often he ground his teeth.

"Can't say I have, mate," she stated, playing along. "Perhaps he managed to sneak out of here while you were counting. Not that I blame him for wanting to leave. This place is desperately in need of better housekeeping."

No sh*t. Santiago kicked the skull he was standing in towards the wall. It rolled across the uneven ground, making a dry, scraping sound. Santiago imagined this place hadn’t been explored—much less cleaned—in centuries.

"While you're looking, you and I might want to find a way out of here too," the girl said, starting to walk away. "It's been a while since I've seen you last. I trust you've found places more suited to our tastes since Les Bains.”

For a fleeting moment, Santiago worried she was someone he’d picked up while wingmanning for Myron. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman’s face and nightclub names seldom stuck with him long. He thought for a moment. What was that place he and Myron went to the other night?

Batofar. That’s right. Myron called it Batofart for half an hour. No wonder nightclub names never stuck.

Les Bains...

Oh.

Santiago had pushed unpleasant memories of the flashy nightclub from his mind. He wasn’t much one for the in-crowd of Paris. He vastly preferred fringe society. There’d been a girl there dressed down to the sixes he’d flirted with briefly. Nothing had come of it. Until now, apparently.

What had her name been?

Linnet? Lindy? Linda? Linnea? Was that a name?

Santiago’s mind was overstuffed with current events, he couldn’t remember. He ought to feel bad. Instead he followed Les Bains woman down the corridor.

“You say it like there’s an “our” involved,” he said, amused, shining his flashlight in front of them so they could see a couple yards in front of them. “I didn’t even get a phone number out of that conversation. So, no incentive to keep looking for a place for ‘us’.”

He thought of Georgette then. If he got out of here, he’d try to find them “a place”. He thought of Rachel and how many places were “theirs”, back in the day. Us and our implied sharing. Togetherness, connection. The connection he had to this girl—whatever her name was—was arbitrary. Or else, karmic, because this wasn’t a coincidence. Coincidence was running into your ex at a grocery store. This was the catacombs and she was a relative stranger.

Santiago cursed his personal patron saint for being a jack-*ss trickster.