You've Got Mail [Closed]

[Sparda]

Knock knock knock.

Sparda had been in his quarters barely an hour. The day had been filled with tasks - assisting the healers, cataloguing Her Majesty's medicine stock, organising quarantines of the still sick in the wake of the finally subsiding plague, and preparing to track down this Scarecrow character. The dull moments were rare and much appreciated, and the devil spent them recuperating in his room and mulling over his plans.

So who was summoning him?

"Enter," came his answer to the knocking at the door. It swung open with a shallow creak, revealing a flustered-looking messenger. These poor lads must be running themselves ragged. "Sparda, sir," he began with a pant. He dug into the shoulder bag hanging off his body for a brief moment. "There's a package for you, delivered ten minutes ago."

A package? Sparda's brow knotted in confusion. Who on earth could be sending him mail? The messenger produced the package in question. It may as well have been a small shoebox, six inches long and quite slim, neatly sealed with masking tape, and bearing no stamp or marking of any kind. Sparda rose from his seat and crossed the room, taking the package in a gloved hand. "Thank you," he said to the messenger, who nodded and excused himself.

The Queen's shield closed the door and turned around, pacing across to the table that stood beside his bed. He set the box down and opened the drawer beneath, fishing out a small letter opener. Slitting the tape away with the tool, which was then replaced, the devil eased off the lid and put it aside... He could feel his eyes widening of a volition all their own when he looked upon the contents.

Inside was a small mobile phone... and a silver bullet.

The devil stood transfixed for a few long, silent moments, simply staring at that bullet. He recognised its manufacture. He was entirely familiar with the shape of the round, the unremarkable brushed finish of the steel casing, the lack of any identifying marks on the base. And just as the one name who could be responsible for this clear message came to mind - be-be-beep. Be-be-beep. The phone started ringing.

Slowly, in both anticipation and dread of the coming exchange, Sparda reached into the box. He took up the phone in his right hand, flipped it open, and held it to his ear in silence.

[Ranka]

There was a long silence over the line. It persisted for some dreadfully long seconds to the point where Sparda could hear his own beating heart in his ear pressed against the mobile. Most people would have assumed the line dead, but the man knew better and -

''Sparda.'' There was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.

[Sparda]

No mistaking indeed, but the simple utterance of his name still struck the Dark Knight like a sledgehammer to the side of the head. Finally, after all that had happened... He was here. Surely he would have machinations of his own already in place. Perhaps that was what he had deigned to call about, which meant he needed some form of help and couldn't count on anyone else.

"Ranka." He had steeled himself enough to reply in a tone that was at once welcoming and firm, glad to have an old friend back. "Roundabout as always."

[Ranka]

Sparda could almost hear the vampire's grin over the phone.

''You wouldn't believe it was me if I weren't.''

[Sparda]

"Too true," Sparda laughed; always the first to break the ice with warmth of character. "Nor would you contact me in your signature roundabout way if it wasn't important that you stay wherever you are. So what plan are you concocting?"

[Ranka]

There was a short pause. Obviously that was an answer the vampire wasn't ready to delve into over the phone.

''Come to Isafaro.''

[Sparda]

Of course a straight answer wasn't forthcoming. Sparda had figured Ranka wouldn't think a phone line a safe medium for that kind of information. It meant he suspected he was under surveillance, which spoke to the gravity of his situation.

"Come to Isafaro."

Isafaro. This, too, the devil might have anticipated. It explained the danger Ranka perceived himself to be in, to be contacting Sparda and being so careful about it.

"I can be there inside forty-eight hours. I trust I'll know where to start looking for you."

[Ranka]

''Good.''

It was precisely what the vampire had expected from his old colleague, and their mutual understanding only made their inevitable reunion all the more pressing.

''I'll see you soon'' Was all that was said before the dial tone rang in Sparda's ear.

A long time had passed since the two men had heard of each other, longer still since they had talked. Regardless of the circumstances that was about to bring them together, it was certain that much had happened since they had last met. More still, had yet to be said.

[Sparda]

With the simple dial tone ringing, Sparda allowed himself a sigh of relief and a smile. Ranka was alive! And as could be expected, he was already embroiled in some mysterious plan for which he had enlisted the help of an old friend.

Getting to Isafaro would be no trouble. He could portal there right now, having been once before with Zira to liaise with the Resistance. Now he'd be returning with an altogether different goal. No doubt Ranka would already have begun working to make sure Sparda would find a clue when he arrived - something to lead him to the Silver Bullet, something that would have no meaning to anyone but the two of them.

For now, though, he'd wait until Ranka was ready. He had other things to see to anyway. He returned the phone to the box, but pocketed the bullet; it could find use as a sign or calling card. Closing the box and placing it under his bed, he turned and strode from the room. There was still much to do here before he ventured into the darkness of Isafaro to reunite with Ranka. A new game was very much afoot.