Hey guys! Bayonet here, letting you know that I am tentatively entering back into the realm of fanfiction. While this probably won't be permanent, I'm certainly going to try (schoolworkdead Bayonet.) Ew. Anyway, this one is going to become (hopefully) a piece done by me and my friend Roony,. We''l be switching on and off on the chapters. She began this one, so I'll post the first chapter under her name!
Copyright jazz- V for Vendetta is copyright to other people, not me. Only the story plot of this particular story, not the books or movie, is ours. Thanks!
While being essentially kidnapped by a man in a Guy Fawkes mask was certainly strange, Evey thought that one of the most jarring aspects that came with it was never knowing the time of day. There was no sense of day or of night. Time became a memory, a routine. She came to sleeping when she felt like it, not when the clock suggested she should. The same for when she ate. Though V had somehow managed to obtain all sorts of edible treasures such as butter, cocoa, various fruits, ginger, cinnamon, spices, and other delicacies (she was still mulling over what Turkish delights were), Evey used them in strict moderation. She was obliged to use the kitchen, fridge, and stove and any utensils. Evey wondered if V allowed her such privileges out of his trust for her or… Or knowing that if she tried anything, he could easily stop her or if by some miracle she was successful in injuring him, she still wouldn't be able to escape the Shadow Gallery.
Those were two things she caught him at: eating and sleeping. He cooked for her on occasion in that dashing apron, with or without his gloves (she'd gotten into the habit of not looking, both out of courtesy and escaping nausea). But he never partook in the meal himself. Undoubtedly, that would require him to remove his mask which he definitely would never do before her, but still he never left the room with food for himself or anything.
She also never saw him retire per se, or mention fatigue. Though he would sit and read, he never set a tome aside and lounged. He never stretched out on the luxurious daybeds and sofas, and she certainly never seemed to have awoken him. He was always aware and at work at something. Or at least, when she was present.
Through these habits, Evey could tell he was perpetuating a certain image. A nonhuman one. Call it a ghost, a demi-god, even demon, but it was an image that subtly insisted 'I am more than a mere mortal'.
Which she believed to be total bullocks.
She thought she'd test him out. Not directly; instead she would lure him into stumbling a little in his façade.
So she stopped sleeping. And started almost following him around. Not obviously going from room to room, but keeping a close eye on him whenever she could. One of them had to sleep eventually.
I can last as long as you can.
She lasted longer than she had feared she would, and perhaps that was out of pure will. She came to drinking caffinated tea every three hours to help. And still, it seemed to come to nothing. He never once was out of her sight for more than half an hour at a time and those instants were few and far between. She realized she'd have to conserve her energy, and so she situated herself on a sofa with tea and a book and listened to him walk about the shadow gallery.
Eventually, he came to the very edge of the wide portal to the room she was in. Despite the painted smile, she could sense he was a little concerned about her.
"It's two in the morning," he noted.
"Think I'll stay up a little longer," she replied simply, trying to focus on stirring her tea.
"Very well." He rose swiftly, his cloak whirls about him like a pair of great black wings.
"You'll have to sleep eventually," he remarked offhandedly, and she could almost see the smile under the smile. He was mocking her. "We all do."
Though slightly irritated that he'd probably figured her out, Evey coolly sipped her tea and pounced on that slight verbal slip.
"You sleep? I thought ideas didn't sleep." It was said, toned, as a simple, innocent observation. But, the glint in her eyes spoke otherwise. She was teasing him. But only a little. He hardly seemed to mind.
"But from where to ideas come?" he asked, raising a gloved finger to emphasize his point, "Dreams. And dreams, while ever present, only reveal themselves most in sleep."
He turned to leave, but she wasn't going to let him go that easily. He had, after all, taken her prisoner. Oh, and he was so full of this character of his. "But you sleep."
He paused, turning his face back to her ever-so slightly. "Yes."
She gave a slight shrug, turning her attention back to her tea. "Seems almost too human for you."
She glanced back up at him, though it was rather pointless to. Just that smirking Fawkes mask staring back at her. Yet a chill had passed between them. She was pricking him with her remarks. Verbally exposing him as not some superhero, but only a man in a mask. A small part of her warned that this was stupid. That she knew he was dangerous. And though she refused to back down, she was also perplexed. She, who was always afraid, was directly confronting perhaps the most dangerous man in the country. Unstable, skilled, deadly. Her captor. And yet… And yet she persisted.
"Do you ever have nightmares?" she asked, pushing it even further. Trying to point out that he wasn't so strong, that he wasn't so above her and the rest of the people.
He seemed ready to reply. "Do you?"
"…All the time." she replied honestly, not adding that most of them involved her parents, her brother, or, of late, him. "Or, sometimes, I dream of nicer times."
He answered in that flowing voice of his, that quietly excited tone when he spoke and gave meaning and poetry to the words. "And from that statement is derived twin envy. I know no fear, unlike you." She flinched slightly. He'd sounded so superior, yet…pitying. "So I do not have nightmares, although I do on occasion awake on fire." On fire? What? she wondered, but did not interrupt. "But you can dream of better days."
She frowned. "You don't?"
"I dare to hope. Dream? I dare not take the risk."