Summary: It was obvious, but inconceivable. Only Ivy would dare remind her.
Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.
I work for Carmen, but I do not understand her. I am not a simple person, and I have never before considered myself a fool. In fact before VILE, I believed myself well educated, worldly even. Here though, in this place, I am thought an idiot. Perhaps I am. Standing next to Carmen, anyone would look it, but it's astonishing how often lately I feel it.
My uniform, with puffy unwieldy sleeves and poorly camouflaged colors, seems to highlight the problem nicely today. Like every one of us whose history Carmen knows cold but doesn't bother relaying to Acme, I'm dressed in a way that invites ridicule. I wear one of the generics, an unspecified court jester's costume, too insignificant for even a themed pseudonym and persona. It's a beacon declaring 'this one's not too bright.' Not to mention that it's not the best for running.
At no time is this more apparent than on a heist.
The rocks of Cape Horn make for unpleasant running, especially when one is being chased. However, when Carmen decides she's loath to leave me behind, I know I'd better move. I manage to keep only a few steps behind her, as we flee from the red-haired detective. With haste, Carmen directs me towards a small sailboat on the rocky coast.
Now I don't like the looks of this one bit. There's a cloud. It's dark and seriously huge. Clouds like this are the harbingers of weather no one wants to be out in. To make matters worse, it's moving. Fast. Carmen doesn't care. She pushes me into the boat and shoves off from the safety of shore. My brain chooses that highly inopportune moment to wonder how many rocks that gesture put in her shoes. My knees thud as they hit the hull.
"Carmen!" Ivy shrieks, still stranded on the rocks, her eyes wide on the cloud. "Are you crazy?"
Willfully ignoring her, my boss steers towards the open sea, away from the pursuit, and at a sharp angle to the darkness. She tries to use the wind to her advantage, to drive back the detective and give her a useful path, but it's no use. The airstream arrives too fast, outpaces our plans, and suddenly is upon is, far stronger than our little boat is prepared for.
"Let go of the sail!" She shouts at me. That should have occurred to me, but my brain seems to have acquired a phase lag. I reach for it and try to loosen it, but with miserable slow failure. It's stuck and knotted, more twisted up than my insides. Bending almost double, she strains against the stuck rope, whispering a rush of foreign words under her breath, though whether those are maledictions, prayers or something else entirely I couldn't say. It comes loose with a dreadful snap, but far too late it seems. We tip, and I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable feeling of fatal water around me. We spin.
It never arrives. Instead, I hear, only slightly louder than the waves, one breathy word "Yes," as I feel the gust dissipate. As suddenly as it arrived, the squall is gone. Carmen laughs a few times, sudden, wild and sharp. I can't blame her. I'm so relieved it strikes me dumb. We're out of range, not capsized, suddenly and unexpectedly safe. The shock of it feels almost too much to bear. It weighs something.
As her black gloved hands expertly rearrange the lines, my employer resumes her sailing. Though her soaked hair is slicked haphazardly across her back and her face is flushed with undignified breath, she looks radiant and self-assured as if she called the storm off herself. "Better luck next time, detective!" She exclaims, looking so glorious that I half believe the elements hie to her whim. Carmen laughs again, bringing her hand to her brim. We didn't even loose the hat.
For a good while, it seems that will be the last word. We fade into the distance, as smoothly as a cloudless sunset. The wind tangles and tears at her hair and clothing. She leans into it like a caressing lover, but the force doesn't seem to push against her body at all. Even air doesn't dare touch Carmen. Behind us, the detective finds no way to chase on. Merely stationary, she digs the toe of her boot into a rock, filing its tip down with a dull steady grate.
"Hey, Carmen!" The girl shouts suddenly over the roar of the air and waves. She harshly snaps one hand in our direction, expelling frustration and nervous energy in a single sharp reprimand. "You're only human!"
Boss's expression changes, oddly, and she says, "That is… so far out of context." Her eyes glint with off kilter merriment, a rapture interrupted at just the wrong moment. I swallow salt.
Disorientated, but not to be deterred, the shouting nearly obscured figure rejoins. "And true!"
Waves crash, and the gale howls, but it is deafeningly silent. Something lurches, and it isn't the water.
"I…" Carmen whispers hoarsely, but the shore was already gone from perception. As suddenly as the storm broke, she drops to the hull, probably to avoid the boom. Her face makes strange expressions, resembling a frown or concentration but somehow neither. It's of little importance, though, because it ceases, almost immediately. Then her eyebrow arches up and her mouth tilts back. "Touché," She says jauntily to the horizon, as if for my benefit. She stands, nonplussed, and weaves through the rocks carelessly. Obstacles don't merit her fear.
I don't even try to understand them anymore. This is beyond my ken.