Butterflies
By Adam Bourret/Evil Pickerel

  Kwannon burst through the restaurant's antique french doors.  Her face 
stained with blood and her hair pressed flat against her skull from the 
pounding rain that beat a steady rythym on the pavement outside.  A prim and
 proper Matre d' blocked her way, preventing her further movement into the 
restaurant.
  "Good evening lady," his voice was dull and british, "do you have a 
reservation for a table?"
  Kwannon's voice was ragged and gasping, "I need to use your telephone."
  "You are not permitted to enter without ..."
  "This is an emergency, I need to use ..."
  "No entry without a reservation.  Good day."
  Kwannon grabbed the d by his lapels and pulled him close to her face.  
"Listen to me, I am in danger!  I need to use your telephone!"
  "Madam, leave now or I will alert security!"
  "Oh come now Edward and leave the poor woman alone, that is no way to 
treat my guest." Both turned and beheld the approaching woman.  Her features
 were attractive, sensual and very british.  The simple blue evening gown 
she wore was composed simply of a slip like top adorned with a veil of 
silken cyan butterflies.  The skirt was long, blue and slitted, rich in 
color and shine.  Both dress and body were dulled however, in comparison 
with her brilliant mauve eyes and hair which blossomed out like the 
butterflies on her dress.  The woman glided forward with the grave of a seer
 and embraced the bedraggled woman.
  "Setsu!  Dear cousin, you have fallen again!"  The woman spun Kwannon 
around to face the annoyed matre d'.  "Edward, this is my cousin Setsu, of 
the Japanese Braddocks."  The d made a stiff bow and grumbled a slight 
apology.  "Come, I'll help you clean yourself up before dinner arrives.  
Before Kwannon could react she was already through the bathroom door.
  The bathroom was tile, spotless and white.  It's sole occupant was an old 
oversized woman with an undersized dress.  She sat at the middle mirror 
making an elaborate show of smearing on makeup.
  "Madam," the butterfly woman tapped her on the shoulder.  "Could we please 
have some privacy, only for a minute?"
  "This is a public washroom," said the woman, her many chins jiggling.  She 
eyed Kwannon's beat up face, "unfortunatly."
  Her savior shot the woman a dirty look and then a mischievious smile.  
"Nonsense, this is the low-class restroom.  Refined ladies like yourself are 
expected to do their business out on the street."  Kwannon's trained eyes 
caught a purple glint flashing across the butterfly woman's violet iris.
  The woman's eyes looked shocked and then they glazed over.  "Yes," she 
agreed, "I must pee, outside, where everyone, can, see."  She left in a 
zombie-like trance.  Seconds later they heard Edward's startled voice.  
"Madam!  What are you doing?  You can't do that here!  Madam!"
  All sound suddenly vanished from the room as if it had been deactivated 
via switch.  The butterfly woman applied a cold cloth to Kwannon's bloody 
forhead.
  Kwannon drew back, "who are you?"
  "My name is Elisabeth Braddock, my close friends know me as Betsy.  You 
are Kwannon-Li-Oshira, you are being pursued and you need my help."
  THe bloody face tightened with anger, "you read .."
  "And manipulate .."
  "Minds!  You are NEVER to read my thoughts!"  She pulled a dagger from her
 dress and advanced with the quickness of a cat.  The blade stopped 
millimetres from Elisabeth's face.  Kwannon discovered that she couldn't 
move.
  "A word of caution," Elisabeth advised, "knifing a famous british 
millionaire in a public washroom will not pay off in the end."  Kwannon 
found that her fingers were free of the other woman's mental hold.
  "Drop it." was Elisabeth's next bit of advice.  Kwannon's fingers loosened
 their grip on the weopon.  It clattered as it hit hte tile floor.
  "Release me," Kwannon demanded.
  "Of course."  Kwannon toppled back at her sudden freedom, she quickly 
regained her balance.
  "How do you .. do that?"
  "Telepathy lass, comes quite in handy at times.  As I was saying before 
you tried to murder me, I am Elisabeth Braddock, high fashion model.  And 
you since you are so defensive to my gift, why don't you introduce 
yourself?"
  "I am Kwannon an agent for ... the Japanese government. Nothing else is 
your business, in mind or words."
  "Understood," Betsy nodded, "please come with me to my private chalet.  
You'll need some dry clothes and medical supplies ..."
  "Thank you .. for your kindness," the ninja replied, "but I am being 
pursued by ones as dangerous as I.  Anyone who accompanies me will be in 
mortal danger."
  "I am quite well adjusted to danger."
  Kwannon snorted, "you in your prissy hair and silken drawers?  I do not 
expect to surrvive this night.  If you have an inch of brainpower you will 
not follow me."
  Betsy's forhead seemed to glow, and then shifted it's rose colored 
energies into the shape of a butterfly.  Kwannon watched in awe as the 
magical creature flew around the restroom amd faded into a purple mist.  "I 
have more than enough of brainpower lass.  Let us go."
  Almost a mile away stood a lone man in black clutching a pair of high 
powered binoculars and directing them through the restaurant bathroom 
window.  The sequence of event unfolded itself in the green color of the 
specs.  He made a mental note that a colour screener would be more useful, 
one that would pick up energy signatures moreso. He lowered the specs and 
spoke japanese into a microphone.
  <"Kwannon is departing with another woman.  A brit I think.">
  <"This brit, does she have the information?">
  <"Most likely, you have knowledge of her car?">
  <"Yes.">
  <"Plant the bomb now.">
  Back in the restaurant Louisa Grethel, famous german supermodel, groaned 
at the sight of her elegant dinner companion escorting some gutter-rat jap 
through the door.  Louisa ran a gold comb through her bloned and bouncy 
hair, pretending not to notice.
  "Louisa!" Betsy called, "we must leave for the chalet at once with me 
cousin."
  "But Elisabeth," Louisa protested, "we have not even had our entree."
  "This is an emergency lass," Betsy urged tossing her a set of silver keys.
  "You go and warm up the car, I will pay for the cheque."  The blond woman 
huffed and departed.
  "She seems perturbed that you interupted her dinner," Kwannon whispered.
  "That anorexic slut would've thanked me," Betsy whispered back, "but she 
can't stand to being seen with and unelegant foreigner."  She sighed, "how I
 tire of these racist rich bitches.  And yet I am forbideen the treasure of 
true friends."
  Kwannon felt a twinge of sympathy for her companion.  How often had she 
called "friend" to someone she knew who would kill her at a master's 
bidding?  She watched as Louisa unlocked the door of Betsy's porche.  As the 
model entered the care her trained eye caught a sickly familar object 
strapped to the underside of the car."
  "Elisabeth!" she cried grabbing Betsy's arm.  Outside the world went white 
as the chasiss of the porche exploded pitching the auto's remains high into 
the night air.  The car landed on it's roof spreading fire across the 
parking lot.  The explosive boom faded into a stomach turning screech as the 
flipped car pulled itself apart against the force of gravity.
  The two women were sucked into the flow of hysterical public eaters and 
out the door on to the street.  The parking lot was a mess of metal and 
fire.  In the very center of it all stood the fat woman in the white dress. 
 Still staring blankly and peeing away in the middle of the chaos.  Kwannon 
breifly wondered if they could use her to douse the flames.  Betsy ran to 
the woman followed by Kwannon.  A quick tap on the temple brought the woman 
back to reality.  She ran screaming into the darkness.
  Kwannon's eyes scanned the front of the restaurant which was now teeming 
with shrieking and pointing people.  Her eyes caught flashes of metal of 
katana blades and firearms all around her.  The flaming car before them 
prevented the crowd from seeing them.  If they didn't do something, they 
would be shot dead and burnt before anyone knew of their presence.
  "Elisabeth ..."  Kwannon was about to spill the bad news when she saw that 
Elisabeth was gone.  In her place stood a tall, bald and muscular man of 
colour in his early thirties.  She noticed for the first time that she was 
now an african british woman who looked about the same age.  Both were 
dressed in ripped and mangled dinner clothes.
  "My name is Anthony Klein, you are my wife Marcy," the man/woman whispered 
to her, "we'll make the rest up as we go along."  Then he began to shout for
 help.  Kwannon joined in, still weary of the eyes around her.
  The ninja in black positioned his binoculars on the scene speaking into a
 tape recorder at the same time.  "Chu-Hsi reporting.  Our car bomb 
detonated perfectly a killed the british informant that was to supposed to 
give the secret information disk to Kwannon at the Royal Hotel.  In one hour 
after we have removed evidence of the bomb we will move in and obtain the 
disk.  Kwannon has gone missing but that matters little.  Without the 
informant she does not have the key to the room where the disk is.  She will
 most likely return to Japan a failure.  There is no need for her death.  
Chu-Hsi out."

  Thirty minutes after the restaurant bombing Kwannon descended the steps of 
the Royal Hotel to meet Betsy at the hotel fountain.  The rain had stopped 
and the night was clear.  A royal blue hard disk was clenched in Kwannon's 
hand.
  "That's it?" Betsy goggled, "Louisa was blown to soot for a computer 
disk?"
  "The disk contains important records on a rival clan's operations in 
Britain.  It is of the highest importance."
  Betsy didn't seem impressed.  The two women stood silent in the night 
until Kwannon broke.  Tucking the disk into her jacket she threw her arms 
around Betsy.  "Thank you," she whispered, "for all that you've done.  I 
feel unworthy of your attentions Betsy Braddock for I am not an agent.  I am
 an assasin.  And when I give the disk to my master over twenty rival 
clansmen will ..."
  "Hush," Betsy whispered, "I don't want to hear anything from you.  All my 
life I have been inspired by butterflies lass.  My looks, my thoughts, my 
feelings all modeled after them.  Butterflies never judge you Kwannon, and 
neither will I."  It had begun to rain again, the flight for Japan would be 
gone in twenty minutes.
  "Thank you," Kwannon whispered as she turned and fled into the storm.

The End