This is the fourth story in my Mary&Sue series, dedicated to our beloved "V for Vendetta". Watch the magnificent twins competing with V in heroism!
I strongly recommend that you read the first story (you can find the link in my profile) before reading this one for better understanding of the plot.
An old, battered "Ford" jingled along the road, every now and then coughing and sighing. The radio banged the drums and howled the voice of some typically American band of sex-preoccupied dolts like "Offspring". The sisters were riding to the country house.
On their way the had popped into a video rentals shop. And now Sue, who was at the wheel, squinted her eyes at Mary's gleeful face. She was twisting in her hands a cherished DVD, on the cover of which there was a suspicious-looking fellow in black, wearing a mask and holding a knife, and also a shaven-headed creature of unidentifiable sex. The fact was that a few days before the sisters had gone to the movies to watch "V for Vendetta".
- Can't you understand, he is so cool! - Mary chirped in ecstasies. - Clever, witty, kind, gallant, showy...
- All burnt and in a foolish mask, - Sue concluded acidly. - It's silly to fall in love with movie heroes at your age.
- How long it's been since you yourself stopped being lovesick for your Tuxedo Mask? - Mary parried. - Palmed the CD on me, hadn't I twisted in the last screw! You didn't think "Sailor Moon" was a cartoon for twelve-year old girls, did you?
- Ok, it's for you to decide where to go. After all, it was you who assembled the machine, and you are also five minutes older, - Sue mimicked her sister's favorite argument and squinted her eyes at her again. Mary was wearing more black than usually, and resting on her knees was a little nice back pack with the anarchy emblem.
* * *
London quietly slept under the night's dark veil. Two black silhouettes stood out against the sky at a rooftop. These were V and Evey.
The noble vigilante had just with his usual solemnity his farewell words to Justice. With a wave of his hand Tchaikovsky's overture thundered above the city.
And suddenly somewhere to the side an explosion sounded, unceremoniously interrupting the concert in mid-accord. It was London's Tower, which went up in a most prosaic way. And only then, having lost all of its grandeur, went the planned Old Bailey explosion.
V was looking thoughtfully in the direction where the old fortress had towered five minutes before. His mask could have been expressing perplexity.
- Er... was it meant to be like this? - Evey inquired timidly.
There was no answer.
A dozen of roofs away from them stood another pair of silhouettes, both in fluttering cloaks and wide-brimmed hats.
- At last I've had my vengeance, - one of them uttered. - Remember that D that spoilt my year mark in history? It was for the Tower!
The second figure giggled. They approached the edge of the roof and jumped down, hand in hand.
Four government bigwigs were sitting at the table in a cabinet. Their gloomy phizes were turned to the screen, from which Adam Sutler, the tyrant of all England, was gazing at them. The talk was about terrorists and explosions.
In order not to undermine the government's authority it was decided to announce that the court was demolished on purpose to erect a new building on its place. And that the Tower, not needed any longer due to the absence of tourists, was to be rebuilt as a modern and reliable prison.
The photos of three terrorists in differently colored masks were shown.
- This terrorist is certainly the mastermind of the mutiny, – Mr. Heyer said, shaking V's photo. We shouldn't inform the people that a whole gang is challenging us.
- Besideds, the other terrorists could win the people's sympathy by their charisma and sexuality, – Mr. Finch caught up, twiddling the photos of a couple of curvaceous masked lasses, whose outfits looked like carnival costumes. - That's why we should announce about only one villain.
- Unfortunately, we will hardly remain the only ones who've seen this couple, - Mr. Dascombe said, taking a photo from Finch and viewing it with certain interest.
- Then we'll announce that they are not terrorists but just...
- Circus artists!
- What a splendid idea!
Mary and Sue were sitting under a skyscraper's roof. Their looks were turned to a huge TV screen on the wall of the opposite building. It was about to start showing the record from a tape they had put on air, in advance tying the unlucky TV men and barricading the door to the studio from inside. Then they had activated their jet shoes hitting heels together and retreated through a window. They had outstripped V by half an hour, planning that special forces would arrive by that time and he would not be able to slip into the TV tower.
The screen lighted with a caption with their symbols, appropriately encircled – the letters M with legs in shape of curved blades and S, stylized to resemble a snake. Then went a close-up from head to toe of the one with the shiny M buckle on her belt. On her face there was a red carnival mask with sparkles which did not cover the Hollywood smile. The long fluttering cloak, the wide-brimmed hat decorated with scarlet roses, the elbow-length gloves, the overknee boots, the latex superheroine-style bikini – everything she was wearing was red. Then in the same way the camera showed the beauty labeled with an S: she did not differ from the previous one except by the violet colour of her costume and by the decoration of her hat which consisted of a bunch of peacock feathers.
- Greetings, you filthy government scum! - they announced in a solemn choir. - You have the highest honor to meet...
- M! - the red finished on her own.
- And S! - caught up the violet.
- We bring vengeance...
Suddenly the speech cut in half-word and the beautiful orators disappeared from the screen. Instead of them the frame was occupied by the perpetually smiling mask.
- I regret to inform you that we have to interrupt this comic show... - V's ironical voice sounded.
A burst of assault-rifle fire let out a frenzied swear from down the roof, and the giant screen went black.
Sue was sitting at the table with a dreary look, dangling her leg absent-mindedly. In front of her there was some sophisticated radio receiver, from which wires stretched to her headphones. It was to transmit information from the bugging devices with which the sisters had generously larded the Shadow Gallery during V's absence.
Mary emerged from the adjacent room. Tedium was written on her face in capital letters.
- Anything worthwhile?.. - she asked, yawning.
- Like hell there is! He keeps playing some classical stuff. As if these are not bugs but a call to technical support! - grumbled Sue. She took off the headphones, clicked a rod on the receiver, and the sounds of "Moonlight Sonata" filled the room.
- And the cameras I've stuffed his dressing room with transmit – believe it or not – slides of some paintings. I've turned them off, lest he'd switch on culture studies lectures.
The "Moonlight Sonata" ended. It was followed by some quiet violin melody, and against this background V's voice sounded.
- At last! - breathed Mary.
"I'm very pleased to welcome you in this vicinity, my valiant vigilantes! - the radio recited, avouring the numerous "v"'s. - I view you vivid vigor and vast knowledge with vaunt. However vexing it might be, I have observed that you did not evade such vices as vainglorious violence and vulgar vestments. I vehemently believe that you shall find my advice valid and valuable. Vale!"
- It's the tenth time I'm listening to this message, - Sue spoke through clenched teeth.
- Ah you... you mean mocking-bird! Never mind, we'll show, who's the hero in the city! - Mary said vindictively. - Let's go and beat up some gang of fingemen.
- Really, - agreed Sue. – I'm dying of boredom.
In a dark alley they found six fingermen, as well as a trio of teenagers – their victims. Two of them were dragging a black bag over the head of a tremendously thin girl, resisting sluggishly. Another two were trying to pinion a nimble lad, who kicked, bit and swore fiercely. A third one, a youth of sturdy build, clinging fast to the dead end wall, was belligerently fanning of the advancing pair with a baseball bat.
- Finita la comedia! - came down from the roof.
The fingermen, one and all, craned their necks. Two figures in fluttering cloaks were slowly and picturesquely descending from the roof.
Mary swooped on the fat man who was holding the lad by his bony hand and burned up his balding crown with her jet sole flame. He started yelling and running about, and the other man, who was distracted by this sight, was treated by the lad with a well-aimed blow in the groin.
- Go home, good boy, – Mary said favorably, grasping the bent and whining fingerman by the collar to raise him up and thud him against the ground.
But the boy shook his head stubbornly and started kicking the one who was running about and trying to extinguish fire on his hair.
The two advancing at the sturdy guy looked back for a moment, and this was rewarded by a blow of the bat on the back of the neck.
The remaining pair let the girl go and pulled out their guns, but this did not save them. Sue, who was circling above them, made a spectacular somersault in the air, snatching weapons out of both men's hands and than introducing the toes of her shoes to their noses. After that she landed agilely in front of them, grasped them by the collars and knocked their foreheads together.
- Well, what are you waiting for? - she said to the desperate teenagers in a mundane tone, eying the man scattered all over the alley not without pleasure. - We've saved you, say "thank you" and run back home.
- Nay, we won't, - the skinny girl exclaimed, squinting her eyes slyly – her comrades had already freed her of the bag. - They've spotted us and now they'll hunt us down anyway. You don't have any choice except taking us with you.
- That won't do. We haven't got enough space on the base. - Mary said resolutely. - Now finish them, quick, and I'll mar all the cameras in a mile's distance. - She dragged out from her purse, red and with a rose-shaped clasp, a miniature EMP emitter. - And no one shall know about you.
- The youth are so annoying these days, - Sue grumbled. – You keep saving them – and you don't even hear a "thank you". All they say is "take me with you", "teach me your treat" and "cool boots, I want them as a present!"
- And do you know V? - the lad suddenly asked, wiping his bleeding nose with his sleeve. - Bring us his autograph!
This wasn't the end of the heroines' disappointment. When they returned to their headquarters, which was located in the attic of an abandoned house near a power station (so that it'd be easier to connect to electricity offhand), on the table beside the receiver they found an antique vase with a big bouquet of scarlet roses. Among the flowers they found a note covered in exquisite hand. It read as follows:
"My beloved artists! I bow before your charm and talents. I thank you with all my soul for your tape and I am glad to inform you that I constantly enjoy watching it and every time it invariably raises my spirits. Your rapturous admirer. P.S. We shouldn't consign to oblivion this marvelous tradition of paying visits to each other!"
Upon reading this Mary became dark as a thundercloud and Sue reddened with anger and trampled the note with her heel. The heroines had been cut to the quick when the BTN defamed them as actresses, because after that no one took them serious and all the fame went to V. More than that – the Gordon Deitrich show depicted them dancing cabaret! Naturally, after that they changed their minds and did not save the poor man from the black bag.
Sue, enraged by the mockery, was going to answer V with an indecently shaped cactus, but Mary stopped her, saying that they had few cacti and they were meant for the government. Moreover, for such rough humor V would label them not just as actresses, but as actresses on a tour from the American backwoods.
Armed with metal detectors, the sisters searched every inch of their headquarters, but found no spying devices: V was too noble to spy on girls.
Coming, at last, in a fairly good mood, Sue started, as usual, mocking at her sister:
- Your admirer is already sending you roses. It's time for a romantic date on the roof!
- Hell no! I will make him estimate me at my true worth! - the proud Mary broke out. - I'm not some whiny silly little thing to beg for dates!
The fifth of November. The abandoned catacombs of the metro. Mr. Creedy's foul face. His men with armed weapons. V, ready for his final battle.
Surely, they had come. They had gone a long way to transform the slighting nickname "actresses" into a threatening title. "Actresses in the theater of life and death, stars of justice on the stage of lawlessness" - they introduced themselves to their enemies, appearing to pompous music and striking picturesque bows – and then bursting gunpowder fireworks and lead confetti. But their enemies were their first, last and only audience – and that's why our heroines had neither fame nor admirers.
They'd had enough time to prepare the plat for their honorable spectator, to put up sets at the scene of their triumph. A wave of a hand – and the gloomy cave is lit with blinding floodlights, and the foes instinctively throw their hands to the eyes. The waterfall of light flows on the astounded faces, plays with sparkles on the two carnival masks, dances a chiaroscuro dance on the fluttering cloaks (due to the absence of drafts in the subway this effect is made by the footwear jet engine fans running free). A brief nod – and drumroll thunders under the high vaults... A movement of a finger – and the gleaming machine gun is ready to perform its deadly aria...
The eye accommodates to the bright light – and what does it see? Like crushed sets, a pile of bodies towers in the middle of the stage. Like polished parquet, the ground glitters with a bloody flood, into which falls with a splash the chromium-plated duet, which was too late to sound. The music goes down, letting the way to ringing silence.
- Drop the curtain. Applause, – a soft whisper suddenly sounded right by the ear.
Lowering their eyes, the sisters could see shining blades by their own throats, and squinting them back – the evergrin mask of the silent, lurking spectator, who had performed the play instead of them.
- What are you doing?! - Sue squealed, loosing her temper. - We've just saved your ass, didn't we?!
Polite silence was the answer.
- I've always known all men are ungrateful beasts! - Mary stated aggrievedly, cautiously touching the hand holding the dagger. It was as easy to pull it away as to move a mountain.
- Poor lady, – the mask smirked. - It seems you've never had the pleasure of meeting a true gentleman.
- That means gratitude isn't in the list of gentleman's virtues? - Mary parried.
"A true gentleman, you say?" - Sue realized.
She closed her eyes, dropped her head on V's shoulder and started to slide slowly into a faint. Surely, the "true gentleman" would not allow a lady to fall into a puddle of blood. He immediately grasped the girl by the waist, leaning a bit to the side and pressing her to his torso. At the same time he drew the blade from Mary's throat and handed it to her handle first.
- What makes you think so? - he uttered, taking Sue in a more comfortable grasp. - Here is my knife, here is my back. It's the best time to fulfill your schemes.
- You offend me by your incredulity! - Mary flushed and, snatching the knife, dropped it to the ground. - And I bet your back is armored!
- No, only the chest, – V confessed reluctantly, lifting the girl in his arms. "Victory at the price of loss is also sweet", - she thought with pleasure, hanging relaxedly in these stone-solid hands.
- I shall take it into account, Mr. V, – sounded from the darkness, and into the circle of light stepped, screwing up his eyes, Mr. Finch with a gun in the stretched hand. - And now stand still and answer my quest...
The detective could not expect that Mary, bearing on her face an expression common to kamikazes, would rush at him at her full jet speed. The pistol in his hand shook, he instinctively backed away, managing to fall back by a couple of steps before his chest met a breathtaking blow. Falling down, he accidentally pressed the trigger.
Sue felt V's body shake and his hands grow feeble. Wriggling, she immediately was back on the ground. It was her turn to catch him, slowly sinking into the crimson sea. The stray bullet had struck him in the back of the neck.
Meanwhile Mary snatched the pistol out of Finch's weakened fingers, threw it away and turned back.
- You bastard! - She exclaimed fanatically, jerking up the detective by the collar, and delivered to him such a ferocious blow, that the poor man flew several steps and slipped down the wall.
- Don't do it, – V's quiet voice made her freeze in half-movement. - It is not his fault. It is my destiny.
"It's the plot! It's all the strict, straight, damned plot!", - a thought screamed and beat in Mary's head.
V was stretched across the floor. The spread flaps of his cloak were wet with enemies' blood. The hat, knocked off by the bullet, was lying lonely beside him. His head was resting on Sue's knees, and trails of blood ran down her naked thighs.
Mary rushed to him, dropped to her knees, leaning over him.
- What can be more pleasant than death among close friends? - V said in a soft, velvet voice, leaving an impression of a serene smile.
- I will not let you go, - Mary breathed, drawing a roll of bandages with a shaking hand. - You cannot die. Ideas are bulletproof, aren't they? - she almost pleaded.
V stopped her hand, grasping the wrist with his soft glove. The bandage rolled to the ground.
- Knowing this, you still won't let me to the well-deserved rest? - he asked disarmingly.
Mary did not know what to answer, and even if she knew, she wouldn't be able to: as if some invisible fingers were clasping her throat.
- May I hope for your forgiveness? - he continued evenly and calmly. The sisters nodded eagerly. - For I've been testing you all the time. And you didn't disappoint my hopes, - he said tenderly, dragging Mary's hand to him and catching Sue's wrist, slick with his blood. - You hearts are roses of pure gold: solid metal, impenetrable thorns, frail petals... Promise me the worm of sorrow shall not touch them. Because it is only this flesh that is going, fleeting, useless flesh, and I... I am an idea, I am the freedom-loving spirit burning in your hearts, in those people gathering in the square, in everyone... I don't say farewells, for I shall never leave you!
V's fingers unclasped, his hands fell powerlessly. The girls kept there eyes on him, holding their breath – eyes, full of tears and reverence. A bit further one could see Finch's sad, as if apologetic face. "It's all over", - a thought flashed. But the hand in the black, glittering with blood glove moved and slowly crawled under the cloak flap. Out of there it drew three white masks.
- You know what to do, – his last breath rustled.
And he was gone.