No intro. Just read... Interpret how you want, I didn't write this...
Anarchy. The word, unspoken, yet it had permeated the very essense of the community. It had started small, but soon, violence had swept widespread through the nation, a torrent of broken windows and government upheval. In the wake of this chaos, a figure had emerged, stability in the wake of so much chaos. Confident, charismatic, she enamated an aura of intelligence...and deviance. She became the poster child of this revolution, the figurehead of this civil unrest. Some referred to her as the mother of anarchy, quietly leading these children of war towards a brighter tomorrow. Some remarked that she was a demon, the Anti-Christ in the form of a woman, come to destroy those of whom were left. Others simply believed that she was simply one of the brave who was finally taking a stand in the wake of civil unrest. No matter how people saw her, they knew that change was upon them.
In the wake of this new order, the police -and their laws- had become irrelevant. A valiant attempt at maintaining peace had been made, but it was clear that the majority was against them. It was here they met, in the riot-filled streets, backed by the glowing embers of a freshly sparked fire, a mutual discovery of one another. She noticed the mask first, the lower half of his face encompassed by it, a personified enigma if she had ever seen one. He towered over her, dark piercing gaze staring right into her very soul. And then he was gone, in the brief moment she had looked away, he had vanished. Before she'd even had time to ponder his sudden absense, strong hands were grabbing her from behind, dragging her away towards who knew where.
"You should be more careful, my dear, don't you know what kind of creatures lurk out here?" The rhyme was followed by a haunting laugh, echoing slightly in the empty street. The confident mask slipped away, replaced by a look of terror from the girl. The masked man gestured toward the street, where a solitary figure lay sprawled on his back, a knife protruding from his chest, and a gun clutched in his hand. She inwardly cringed at the sight, not at the idea that he had been killed, possibly by this masked figure, but by the idea that she had come quite close to death and had not even noticed. A quick shake of the head, and she had regained some of her former composure.
She could only stare at him in disbelief, still a bit shaken by the event. "You saved me", she remarked, the very idea foreign to her. Why would anyone risk their life for her? "Why did you save me?" He lowered the mask momentarily in order to flash her a grin that would send the Cheshire Cat running.
"Because without you, what good would all of this do?" He gave a grand sweeping gesture towards the street, the broken windows, the cars with their slashed tires, the fire spreading along the buildings. "Allow me to offer my services to your cause, protection from-" He gave an indecipherable look towards the man lying in the street. "-disgusting flaws."
There was a choice to be made. The man terified her, radiated danger and bad intentions, but those same qualities intrigued her. She studied him carefully for a long moment, taking him and the situation into consideration. She did, in fact, need a bodyguard, and he looked more than capable of taking a hit and giving it back three times as hard. On the other hand, he was dangerous. What would stop him from attacking her? Nevertheless, it was a risk she was willing to take. She offered him her hand. "I'm Kat", she offered, the name sounding strange on her tongue; it had been far too long since she'd revealed her real name to anyone.
"Omnifarious, in order, an obscure objicent, cast oddly as both order and outrage by the obscenities of Fate. This objectivism, no mere obduracy, obnixley opstreperous by objurgate, now obreptioning, obscretaed. However! This obsequious ocracy obliterated by ochelesis, stands obvolute." And with that, he took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her fingers. The gesture was unexpected, but not unwelcome, though she couldn't help but ponder at how often she had lost her composure around this self-proclaimed walking cliche. She gave a curious look to the hood he wore, and lightly reached up, fingers lightly brushing his face as she pulled the hood back. She could feel him stiffen beneath her touch, but she was undeterred, unsure if his silence was a sign for her to continue or to beware of receiving the same fate as the poor fellow lying in the street.
She had removed the mask and pulled back the hood, an unspoken bond of trust. His mask was rarely removed in private settings, let alone in public. And by a stranger no less! He was snapped out of his thoughts by a soft smile and the remark that he looked cute without his mask. Cute. He was Omnifarious Amalgam! Cliches were not referred to as cute. He cursed inwardly, this girl, no, this angel of anarchy, causing such a confusing stir of emotions inside him, a Molotov cocktail of feelings that was ready to explode with the proper activation.
"And just what was that for?", he remarked, giving her a curious look.
"Because if you wear a mask too long, you'll forget who you the man behind it is", she remarked.
He let out a laugh -if one could call it a laugh-, the cackle bordering on the edge of madness. He noticed her take a step away from him at this, and cursed once more; he did not mean to frighten her. And suddenly, his thoughts were silenced.
She had reached for him, more of a gesture to thank him than anything else, soft fingers lightly brushing along his leather coat, arms softly enclosing around him. His strangle cackle was a bit unnerving but also...intriguing. She knew that whatever decision she had just made by doing this, good or bad or even deadly, there was no turning away from it now. His expression was unreadable, the blank stare from his dark eyes the calm before the storm, but she refused to back down. The silence, uncomfortable, uncertain, wrapped around them. She became nervous, the feeling new to her, and she idly smiled up at him, their unspoken bond strengthening just a bit more with the simple gesute.
"Thank you, Omni." A light smile flashed across her face. "I would love to have you as my bodyguard", she added quietly.
News quickly spread of the anarchic angel and her demon bodyguard. They were as different as night and day, this towering guardian and his famous ward. The relationship could only be described as symbiotic. In this violent individual she found a sort of misplaced tenderness, and a feeling of protection that no other could match; he had saved her life quite a few times and taking quite a few beatings for her, but she did not feel indebted to him. In her, he found solace, an odd sort of freedom, a look at the world far from the priveledged life he had once led, and care; on the few occasions he had taken a hit for her, she had nearly worried herself sick over him. He was loud, brash, ungentlemanly as they came, while she was reserved, quiet, and considerate; she was intrigued by his strength, and he was entranced by her quick wit. Their bond was unique and unbreakable...even in the wake of the unfortunate and unexpected.
The pair was never apart for very long. He claimed it was so he could protect her, but really, she could never be sure. Constantly he pestered her for cash, justifiying this question as payment for his protection of her, which she often grudgingly gave him. She knew it was a small price to pay for his services as her bodyguard, and for his time with her. She was, however, surprised to find the money she had given him reappearing a few days, sometimes even a week or two later, in strange places. She knew that he had returned the money, but no matter how much she questioned it, he would never give her a straight answer on that subject, or many others for that matter.
"Omni? Why do you go to so much trouble to protect me?"
"You're the writer, you should already know that."
"C'mon, answer me."
"I can't until you tell me what to say."
"Can't you ever once give me a straight answer?", she demanded, folding her arms.
He flashed her that wonderfully mad grin. "Why so serious?"
The weather that day had been the signal that the fates were to pass judgment. Dark clouds brought with them an entourage of booming thunder and brillant streaks of lightning, sheets of rain pouring down upon the broken steps of the White House. The war had been won, the revolution fought, and today was to be a historic event. No more would the people be locked under the tyranny of these suited figureheads, their own agendas pushed forward with the false implications that they were for a greater good, no, today would a rebirth, a new beginning. From the ashes of old, a new country would be born, one innocent and pure, to be shaped with an impartial, fair hand that had seen the horrors of war, and the delicacy of peace.
They stood before the people, rain pouring down upon them, but no one paying any mind. They were transfixed on this pair, this unpredictable team, this yin and yang, so different, but both needed for true harmony. He stood beside her, masked and cloaked as always, prepared to sacrifice his life for the safety of hers. The very atmosphere was charged with energy, her excitement, the uncertainty of this new future. She spoke to the crowd, not with false promises, but of honesty, the intent to listen, in order to form a nation led by the people, the ability to maximize individual freedom and liberty. She was cut short by what could only be described as an explosion, then she stumbled backwards, falling into his arms, little strength to even stand, but she was determined to anyway. She held onto him for support, doing her best to remain upright, to be the strong leader she was meant to be for them. He held her tightly, knowing there would be no good in trying to lead her away before she was ready. Dutifully she finished her speech, the crowd mixed between fear and awe of her determination, and as the last word left her lips, she collapsed.
A few tense days passed as they awaited news on her condition. A nation hung in the balance, prompting a reaction similar to that of the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Fragility permeated the atmosphere, frantic questions of the worst-case scenario went unspoken, but they were there, in the glances exchanged between the people as they huddled around televisions, quietly waiting for a glimmer of hope. Omni was oblivious to this. He refused to leave her bedside, never leaving for more than a few minutes at a time, his emotions a pendulum, swinging between fits of anger at himself and intense sorrow at the thought of losing this precious girl, and his failure at protecting her. His disguise had been abandoned. He spoke little, but the emotion in his eyes said volumes. He clutched her hand, waiting for the day when those fingers would gently close around his hand, her eyes would open, and she would give him that wonderful smile.
Five days after it happened, she awoke; the relief he felt was palpable. They told him he would have to be gentle with her, she had been through a lot, but nothing could stop him from sweeping her up into a crushing embrace when her eyes fluttered open. He pulled away suddenly, placing a hand on either side of her face, studying her intently. Was she alright? Did she even remember him? The bullet hadn't entered her brain, so surely there was no neural damage, but it had hit her chest, somewhere near her heart the doctors had mentioned. What if there was permanent damage? She smiled lightly at him, then leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his. Once again his thought processes were silenced. He grinned, the expression could have made the Joker look like he was frowning.
"For 20 years, I sought only this day. Nothing else existed... until I saw you. Then everything changed. I fell in love with you. And to think I no longer believed I could."
"That's the most beautiful thing you could have ever given me."