Fred felt no pain when the scythe first cut into her arm, just a dull sort of surprise.
Then the pain came, almost blinding in its intensity. Her journal fell unheeded to the ground as she reacted to it, her wounded arm falling to hang limply at her side. She brought her right hand up to clutch at it, watching the film strips appear from the wound with vague interest at first, then rapidly growing interest as it became clear that this was somehow a memory. The pain was almost forgotten as she watched...
It was a restaurant, that much was clear; some sort of cozy little café. She was sitting at one of the tables with two men. One of them had a wild, curly mop of dark brown hair, a grey tweed jacket, what looked like Storm's scarf around his neck, and was facing slightly away from her so that she couldn’t see his face. The other man had lank light-brown hair, a beige trench coat, and his hands up in the traditional 'surrender' position. There were also three men surrounding the table, all wearing very nice suits.
One of the men in the suits was pointing a gun at the curly-haired man's head. "What bracelet?" Curly-hair asked, apparently in reply to a question. The man holding the gun cocked it, and Curly-hair appeared to realize these fellows meant business. He shifted position slightly so that he could move his hand, palm upward, toward her as if asking for something. Her hand reached into one of her pockets, where it removed a green bracelet of some sort. She put the bracelet in his hand and he reached up to hang the thing on the barrel of the gun.
The man withdrew his gun, taking the bracelet off the barrel at the same time. He gestured with it to his companions, and they all walked backwards out of the café, still pointing their guns at Fred and the two men as they went. Both Curly-hair and Trench-coat watched them until they were gone, but Fred seemed more interested in watching the two men she was with then watching the people with guns. At least, she only glanced over her shoulder once to see if the men were really leaving.
After a few seconds, she leaned toward Curly-hair and asked, "Are you all right?"
He was still craning his neck to get a glimpse of their unknown assailants. "Oh yes," he said vaguely. "I'm just relaxing and enjoying Paris."
Trench-coat sighed in an exasperated manner. "All right, that's enough. Very cleverly staged but you don't fool me."
Curly-hair blinked and looked slightly confused. "What are you talking about?"
Trench-coat jerked his head toward the café door. "Your men who were in here just now!"
"My men?" Curly-hair gestured toward the door. "Those thugs?"
Fred kept looking back and forth between the two of them. It was rather like watching a tennis match without having any control over what side you were watching.
"Are you suggesting those men were in my employ?"
"Yes!" Trench-coat looked rather exasperated by this time.
Curly-hair paused, seemingly trying to process Trench-coat's logic. He pointed at his head and said, "I don't know if you noticed, but he was pointing a gun at me!" He made a small gesture with the same hand and continued, "Anyone in my employ who behaved like that, I'd sack him on the spot."
Trench-coat's eyes narrowed in triumph. "Except that I know that you arranged for them to hold you up as a bluff. You're trying to put me on a false scent."
"You're English, aren't you?" Curly-hair was looking at Trench-coat in an appraising manner now, as if he was testing him for trustworthiness.
Without turning his head, Curly-hair raised his voice slightly so that he could be heard from farther away. "Patron! I thought I ordered three glasses of water."
Somewhere in the background a man murmured "Monsieur."
"Listen—" Trench-coat started to say.
"D*****," Curly-hair interrupted him sharply. Somehow, the voices in the background seemed to get louder for just a moment before falling back into a mumbling hum again. Fred had no idea what the man had just said.
Just then, a man bustled up to their table. Reaching between Fred and Curly-hair the man put the glasses of water down before he bustled away again.
After the man was gone, Trench-coat leaned forward slightly and said, "What's Scarlioni's angle?"
"Scarlioni's angle, never heard of it. You ever heard of Scarlioni's angle?" Curly-hair turned toward Fred at this last question.
She heard her voice say, "No, I was never any good at geometry."
"Who's Scarlioni?" Curly-hair was talking to Trench-coat again.
"Count Scarlioni!" Trench-coat said in an incredulous tone. "Everyone on Earth's heard of Count Scarlioni!"
"Ah, well, we've only just landed on Earth," Curly-hair said matter-of-factly. Fred smiled at Trench-coat.
"Right," said Trench-coat. "Fine. That's it, I give up. You're crazy!" He jumped to his feet and started to storm out of the café.
Curly-hair spoke up quickly. "Crazy enough to want to steal the Mona Lisa?" That got Trench-coat's attention. He turned around to look at them…
Fred watched the film snap off abruptly. She blinked, dazed by both the pain and the memory, and realized in a vague way that her arm was bleeding heavily. She should try and stop it, shouldn't she? Or maybe... she looked for her journal. Over there. Call for help? Probably wise. She started to move toward it, stumbled over something, and fell to her knees. She was closer to the journal, but hadn't quite reached it yet.
Context for this memory can be found in this log. BACKDATED to Oct. 27. This was not actually a memory given by a crystal.
(Sight/sound memory from season 17, episode 2 [episode 105 overall]- City of Death, part ?.)