A/N: Basically, I've been messing around with this OC for a while in my head and decided to pop her into a fanfiction. This is set in Playing With Fire with no major changes in the plot line. If you people like it, I'll post more. If not, it'll be added to the ranks of failed stories doomed to be told only in my head. Just PM or review if you've any questions.
Vaurien Scapegrace struggles against the shackles binding his wrists and ankles to the sturdy wooden chair. Besides the flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling, his chair is the only furbishing present in the dingy Sanctuary cell. He cranes his neck as he hears the creak of hinges behind him. Scapegrace squirms desperately when he glimpses a figure entering the room from the corner of his eye.
"The Sanctuary doesn't know who they're dealing with! I am the Killer Supreme! I turn murder into an art form!"
The figure scoffs slightly before stepping into the dim light. A small smirk plays on her lips as she strides across the room to face the shackled man, She looks bizarrely casual for a Sanctuary employee, clad in jeans and a slightly crumpled white t-shirt. A few dark tresses of hair cascade down her freckled cheeks, after escaping the confines of a loose ponytail. Mild amusement flickers in her eyes as she addresses the scowling criminal. The slightest hint of a Northern accent lilts her voice.
"I'm not Sanctuary, but I'm sure you'll get 'em. Great plan, by the way. Giving them a false sense of security by letting them bind your powers."
Scapegrace glowers at the sarcasm dripping from her words. Glaring fiercely at the tall woman, he thrashes wildly against his restraints while she leans against the cool stone of the wall. She struggles to keep a straight face as the bound man begins to roar, his face shading scarlet with the effort and rage.
"Just wait until I get out! I'll paint the walls with your blood, and then we'll see who's laughing! You worthless piec-"
His otherwise fearsome speech is thwarted by gravity as Scapegrace swings too vigorously and the chair tips suddenly. The seat hits the ground with a hollow thud while his head greets the floor with a bang and a groan. The woman chuckles lightly as the Killer Supreme whimpers, a bump already beginning to form on his temple. Shifting from her position by the wall, she makes her way over to the fallen man.
"As much fun as this is, I'm afraid we've to hurry this up. A little birdie told a friend of mine that you know where the Torment is. I owe him a couple of favours and I'd appreciate it if you made my job a wee bit easier. Care to tell me where he's hiding?"
She nonchalantly grips the back of the fallen chair and hauls it upright. Scapegrace's head lolls to the side and his eyes are glassy and unfocused from the self-inflicted blow. The fair skinned woman sighs and rolls her eyes before crouching so she is eye level with the almost killer.
"Why can't this ever be easy?"
Her eyes close as she presses her fingertips of her right hand on his knee. Her brows furrow in concentration while she dances her finger along his thigh. Scapegrace's eyes widen in agony and his entire body tenses as the woman splays her fingers forcefully. His scream of undiluted pain almost drowns out the sickening crack of his femur splintering under delicate fingers. Almost.
"Ready to talk now, sweetheart?"
She smiles innocently, acting as if she hasn't just crippled the man sobbing in front of her. He's pale now, skin shining with the effort of trying to contain his agony. Ragged breaths echo through the cell. He wearily raises his head, green eyes meeting hazel. He manages to choke out a question between his pained cries.
"What…are…you?"
The woman grins, straightening up with her hands on her hips. The flickering light dances in her eyes with a nearly dangerous gleam. She brushes away a stray strand of hair that dangles over her eye before once again turning her attention to the panting criminal.
"I'm the one and only Maverick Blasé: renegade sorcerer, interrogator extraordinaire, the infamous warrior of bones! And on my days off, I collect stamps."
Scapegrace manages to raise a questioning eyebrow at Maverick. Her grin fades to a frown. Her eyes lose their amused glint as she steps forward. He lets out a strangled cry of anguish when Maverick gently traces his thigh, the feather-light touch torturing the fragments of bone that lodge firmly against his skin, unable to break through.
"Let's make a deal, Vaurien. I feel like we're on a first name basis. You tell me where the Torment is, and maybe you'll be able to walk again this month. So, where does the spider spin his web?"
Scapegrace musters the strength to nod and whispers the name of his hometown, the most unfriendly town in the country; Roarhaven. Maverick smile condescendingly and pats the sorcerer on the head, ruffling his dark hair slightly.
"There, was that so hard?"
She places the fingertips of her right hand over where the bone almost protrudes the skin, ignoring Scapegrace's moans. Fierce concentration is etched on her face as she softly trace of the shards. Suddenly she clenches her fist. She rolls her shoulder and begins to leave the cell as a blood-curdling scream bubbles from the back of Scapegrace's throat, his shards of bone shifting and contorting in an attempt to mend themselves.
Maverick smirks to herself as she shuts the cell door, nodding to the Cleaver stationed outside the door. She slips her phone from her back pocket, her fingers darting across the buttons. A muffled voice escapes from the speaker pressed to her ear. She nods along with the voice as she makes her way back to the Wax Museum.
"Of course I got the info... I know violence is against Sanctuary policy, but I'm not exactly Sanctuary, am I?... Well it worked didn't it? I didn't even break the skin!... Look, he's in Roarhaven. I'll leave the heroics up to you. Give my best to Cain… Good luck, Skulduggery."
The dark-haired woman hangs up and slides the phone back into her pocket, a contemplative look on her face. What to do, know that the end of the world is drawing near? A smile slowly spreads on her lips as she strides through the near-empty halls of the Wax Museum. She hasn't seen her favourite student in a few decades. Humming tunelessly to herself, Maverick strolls through the double doors to begin her hunt for Tanith Low.