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[sophrosyne]

JULIA GRUMLEY "Send them a message for me, will you?" Julia is gasping for air with pathetic little whimpers, fingers clutching at his arm for support. This is actually happening, she thinks, but something in her head still can't let her believe it, even when she sees the blood staining her clothes, making them stick to her skin. Cerbos adjusts his stance and inches her up with him, pulling another gasp right out of her lungs. "Tell them... Tell them that I'm really, really upset with what they did. Can you do that for me?" No answer. The woman in his arms can barely produce thoughts, let alone words. He wouldn't have it any other way. The elevator doors open. Ground floor. He can see the front entrance. "I appreciate it." Cerbos removes the blade from her stomach and quietly makes his way to the door. -- WESTMINSTER It wouldn't be the first time the nurses believed Jack Gibson was paying a visit to poor, gentle Westminster -- Cerbos made sure of it. They could never suspect that this would be his last, however. That's what she was for, after all. To predict the unpredictable. Cerbos sits by her bed, shoulders dropping with the most heartbroken sigh. His brows knit in the most insincere display of regret. "It really is sad, Eva. So sad." He pauses, bringing one gloved hand up to scratch his jawline. Leather was always Jack's favorite. "You know -- one of your predecessors once told me that the first vision a Westminster has is of their death. Is it true?" No answer. Not that he expected one -- he always liked to indulge in his monologues. Cerbos reaches into his pocket and leans in to whisper, turning the blade in his hand. One side, then the other. Both wiped clean. "I never did like you precog types. Always spoiling the surprise." -- ST. DAVID'S "I'm sure you've heard about Westminster's fate." Callistra's glare could cut through him like a knife. He knows what really is in there, though, standing right behind her anger: fear. "Tragic, really." He continues without concern, smiling at her like they're sharing an inside joke. "Always liked those precog types. What would we be without them, right?" -- ROGER AND SHIRLEY GIBSON It's a modest, quiet little house. You could only tell there were people living in it by the sound of the TV, always on, from the moment the old couple woke up until their late night show said its goodbyes. She opens the door to a rare visit, looking up with small, tired eyes, now complete with surprise. "Jack?" He takes a moment to reply, showing her a pleasant smile. "You must be Shirley." -- WINCHESTER "I just want to know one thing. Is he gone?" Cerbos' lips break into a sharp little grin, hissing with pride. "And never coming back." The soldier's expression remains unchanged. There was never hope. Not even fear. Eddie Gavell is simply ready to kill him. He can appreciate that.