In the bright moonlight, Vincent could see the ground was covered in flowers. Poppies? Sunflowers? Saffron? He never had been very good at plant identification.
A groan must have escaped Vincent's lips as he came to, for Reese came to a halt, laying him down on the ground with surprising tenderness.
"Are you all right?" he asked with an expression Vincent immediately mentally dubbed "moonie eyes," taking into account both the lighting and the size of his compatriot's peepers.
"I'm fine," Vincent replied, sitting up. "What the hell is going on here? I was heading over to Smiley's, and then you were there, and there all these cats..." He was painfully aware he sounded like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Reese sighed, like he knew what was coming and dreaded it, but was resigned to go ahead.
"Vincent, there's a lot I need to tell you, but we don't have time for much now," he said with a grave tone, all lunar aspects disappearing from his eyes. "Okay, first, we've been watching you for a while. Two, we're pretty sure your dreams are prophetic. And three--and this is the most important--they've organized."
"Let me stop you right there," Vincent said with a distinct tone of disbelief. "I amnot psychic. My dreams never even make any sense!"
"Oh, I know they're confusing. You probably haven't even noticed the connections yet. But for now, think of yourself as a low-budget Cassandra," Reese said, his eyes darting around for something that in his charge's opinion probably wasn't even there.
Vincent wasn't sure how exactly to feel about that last statement. "Who the hell are you? And who are they?"
"Me? I'm on security. Yours, at least. And even you," he continued, growing frustrated, "must have figured out who 'they' are by now."
"Humor me," Vincent replied wearily.