Ahhhhh.
Sigh.
Shift.
Comfy. Warm and comfy, soft things on me, fresh air, soft pillow. Nice.
...moving?
Slowly, really slowly, I become aware that I seem to be in a vehicle, and it seems to be moving. Oh, but surely that's all right; obviously I wasn't driving, and I have warm-soft things on me.
He was the first punk ever to set foot on this
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"I'm certifiable," I grin at her. "I thought you wanted it this way. No one got killed. No one became human. As for your involvement, you came to Luxembourg for two reasons that I could see. One was to find my father. You did that. Check. Yay! Cross that one off the list! The other was to keep an eye on Alex and, by default, myself. Well, how can you keep an eye on us in Luxembourg if we're not in Luxembourg? You see? That would be damn near impossible and a complete waste of your time. It's easier if you just came with us!"
The logic was just so obvious. Wonder why she couldn't see it.
"We're not going to Las Vegas. We'd be found too easily there. We're going elsewhere to claim sanctuary. Now, do sit down and relax. You're still injured, you know. Or I'll have to inject you with this." I pull out the dart gun, still loaded with the Quinidrine Solution.
"It won't do anything to you but I bet the poke will hurt. A lot. Don't want that!"
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Really, what's my problem with this? He's right about the two reasons for which I came to Luxembourg. My problem, plain and simple, is this:
I am not in control.
I'm not even close to being in control. And being in control is something I WANT. Something I'm used to having - even taking. But this - in the freaking air, with Klaus as driver and going God knows where - about the only thing I *could* do to take control is jump out the window. Nuh-uh. I'm not that desperate.
Father Jorge told me just before I left Mexico that God had told him there were big, wild plans for me - his words. He told me that God appreciated that I could laugh at anything, but that it wasn't good enough. He told me that I was going to be taught to relax when not in control. Then he blessed me.
Then he died.
So naturally, I kissed him on the forehead, and left myself. There wasn't anything else I could do; and I didn't wan to think about what he'd said.
I still don;t. So instead, I fall back to my default position for handling life-gone-batshit:
I laugh.
"GODS, Klaus! I think you're making me as crazy as you are."
It's gonna be one hell of a ride, and I'll be damned if I don't enjoy it.
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