Unbeknownest to a great multitude of the population, flame knife dancing was one of the Captain's lesser known skills. She had taken it up on a trip to Hawaii and--though a bit rusty--she still remembered enough of her 'novelty' classes to be relatively impressive with a flaming steak knife.
At least, as far as being impressive enough to throw the knives at passers-by...which was not strictly 'dancing', per se, but had you asked her, she would've credited the classes as being the reason why she could do what she did.
Under ordinary circumstances, 'following the nearest path of flamey death' was a good way to find the Captain, but in this case the flamey death wasn't all her doing--flaming knives not withstanding. In fact, she was doing her utmost to avoid flamey death...though her methodology in doing so was far from sound. After all, 'fight fire with fire' rarely worked as well as 'fight fire with water'.
After the movie had ended, Captain and the young man she'd been sitting next to during Dracula struck up a conversation. The going was somewhat rough at first, his terribly thick accent--Hungarian in origin--was hard to make sense of, but they were both avid horror movie fans and, accent or not, Captain heard 'Dario Argento' and an instant later, Cupid drew back his bow and let fly.
Ambros Almos was, in Captain's opinion, one of the prettiest men she'd ever laid eyes on. He was that sort of unfair pretty that no male of the species had any right to be. The unfair pretty that made women jealous. He was tall, at least a good six foot four, and had the darkest eyes she'd ever seen outside of her chief of operations' face. In fact, she was starting to think Techie's eyes were light in comparison to Ambros'. If she had to describe his features, she probably would've said 'chisled', but they were still slightly soft--almost feminine--and, upon further reflection, that description fit the rest of him as well. He was slim, defined, but not overtly so. Strong, but still somehow delicate. She couldn't really find a proper adjective to fit him when she put her mind to it.
But whatever he was, she reeeeally liked it.
So, when he asked if she'd like to be his escort around the festival, she was hard pressed to find a reason not to be and, when he offered his arm, she took it. She was confident that Techie and Jonathan could take care of themselves.
Things progressed without incident right up until Ambros had suggested they grab a bite. The festival had rented booths to many different eating establishments around Gotham, and there were tables for two set up all over the place, so that the festival goers could dine alfresco. The more upscale places actually provided wait staff and busboys around the tiny makeshift courtyard. The two companions got a sampling from a few different booths and snagged a table, still chatting amiably. Ambros had pulled out the Captain's chair--which she took after blushing slightly--and then, just as they had picked up their sporks in the interests of digging into their sundaes, all hell broke loose.
At first, she'd been happy to see Firefly. Garfield was a nice enough guy and he hadn't set anyone she loved on fire recently; but then the happiness wore off as she saw him set fire to one of the tents and she realized: extreme heat, irreplaceable 35mm film reels, bad.
The Captain shouted at him to stop but the entire festival had erupted in total pandemonium and she couldn't be heard over the racket. She did the first thing that came to mind, which was to pick up the nearest heavy object and hurl it at his head. She missed, of course, but it got Firefly's attention and that was enough. He turned, his head tilted at her curiously when recognition set in and she took his moment of surprise to hurl a smoldering chair at him.
"Smeghead!" she shouted over the din as the chair shattered against him. "Don't you know celluloid is a precious commodity?!"
The Captain had forgotten the cardinal rule when it came to dealing with supervillains-whether you know them personally or not: tossing things at the man with a flamethrower is never a good idea. Ambros had to grab the Captain around the waist and pull her out of harm's way. He upended the table and they crouched behind it as a wave of heat exploded around them.
"Are you insane?!"
"Probably," she replied honestly, ducking out from behind the table. A serving cart had been tipped over and forgotten and she dove for it, narrowly missing a tiny smoldering bonfire that had once been a fondu pot. The serving cart had been made up of two sections: the top, which was for holding whatever was being served, and underneath, hidden by cloth, a dishpan full of dining utensils. The steak knives scattered all over the ground were gathered up post haste and she started flinging them at Firefly with as much accuracy as she could. The first four or five flew sideways, posing no threat of bodily injury whatsoever, but once she hit a groove, they sliced through the air with frightening precision. She winged him a few times before Ambros once more wrestled her out of harm's way.
"Hey!" she squeaked as she was thrown to the ground, flat on her back (ow!) and Ambros covered her body protectively with his. She struggled against him for a few seconds before she got distracted by just how muscular his arms were.
Well, that and the huge blast that caused the earth itself to shudder. In a flash of heat, her skin felt drier than it had ever been before and the air grew thin, making it hard to breathe. She clung to Ambros as she gasped for air like a fish out of water and ash rained down from nowhere and everywhere. The Captain couldn't verbalize the fact that his crushing her ribcage was hardly helping her catch her breath, but it didn't matter. She grew lightheaded and was only vaguely aware of the scuffling noises coming from Firefly's general direction. Focusing on regulating her breathing as best she could, everything outside herself didn't matter and she remained pretty oblivious to the villain being tossed across the courtyard by persons unknown and landing just a few feet to her left.
Firefly was knocked unconscious and with the threat gone, Ambros rose, clutching the Captain to him as he went. She would've fought him, but the gravelly voice of Batman made her bury her face in his shirt as much as she could without smothering. Just because she was hovering dangerously near an asthma attack didn't mean she'd taken leave of all her senses, after all. Batman would recognize her in a heartbeat and then…well, she wasn't much in the mood for Arkham today.
However, the vigilante was too concerned with rounding up Firefly to pay the civilians any attention and once he'd dragged his prey away, the Captain tried to extract herself from Ambros' embrace. She pressed against his chest, but he didn't let go and she looked up at him, glaring fiercely.
She stopped struggling immediately, losing herself in his eyes. For the longest time, she couldn't remember why she was upset with him. What was there to be upset over? He was just holding her…and that was actually, very, very nice. She felt her spine straightening, her breath caught in her throat and her body being lifted up on her tiptoes. She was inexplicably drawn towards the man with his arms so securely wrapped around her middle and she strained towards his lips. Boy, he smelled good…
"CAPTAIN!"
Ambros instantly released her and the Captain felt like she'd lost something, but she couldn't name what it was. Her mind felt a little bit addled. She realized it probably had something to do with all the oxygen deprivation. She had been holding her breath just now and had just narrowly escaped the clutches of an asthma attack.
Techie slid into place between Captain and Ambros and her brain cleared of some of its fogginess with the forced separation. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"Firefly and I'm fine. Where's Jonathan?"
The other woman looked skeptical and she poked her friend's shoulder. "You sure? You don't seem fine."
The Captain fixed Techie with a glare. "Yes, I'm sure. Why don't you ever believe me?"
"Because you're usually lying." Techie didn't even bother to turn to look at Ambros, just jerked her thumb in his direction. "Who's the stiff?"
"Where's Jonathan?" Captain repeated, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
"We split up to look for you. He'll be around." Techie turned to face Ambros fully. "Now, who's this gu--"
She froze and looked up at him. "Good gravy, are you ever tall."
The Hungarian smiled at Techie and Captain felt a surge of irrational jealousy. It intensified when he took a step backward, bowed with a flourish.
"Ambros Almos, madam." He took Techie's hand delicately and brought it to his lips in a lingering caress.
He didn't kiss my hand, Captain thought irritably only to blink suddenly and realize a moment later that the envious train of thought was completely foreign. Since when did she care about that sort of thing?
Techie just stared at him dumbly for a moment until he stood up straight once more. "Your accent is lovely. Are you from Russia?"
He smiled again and another stab of resentment made itself known inside the Captain. She knew it didn't belong there but it was present just the same. His smile was lazy, almost tranquil--as if he knew just how easily it would win over the other woman--and his eyes were only half open.
Bedroom eyes.
The Captain had never wanted to shove another person away from a love interest before, but she felt like pushing Techie right off a cliff at that precise moment if it would mean Ambros would stop looking at her like that.
"Hungary," he replied in that luscious accent of his. He leaned toward Techie and she swayed toward him as if drawn by a string attached to her sternum. "Have you ever been to Europe?"
She gulped audibly. "Nuh uh."
"Every young woman should see Europe. Paris in the spring, Prague in winter…"
"And when should I see Hungary?"
"As soon as possible, mei preţios toana."
"There you are!"
Just like that, the thread between Techie and Ambros snapped and she stood up ramrod straight once more. Jonathan arrived on the scene and stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on the taller gentleman. He regarded the mysterious Hungarian with great suspicion but Techie stepped away from him and situated herself at Jonathan's side.
"Ambros, Jonathan," the Captain said, relieved at the distance now between the object of her sudden obsession and the competition. "Jonathan, Ambros."
The two men nodded at each other briefly, but said nothing.
"He's from Hungary," Techie said conversationally as she looped her arm through Jonathan's. He tried to flinch away, but she held him fast. "Come on, Jonathan. I'm sure these two want to get back to whatever it was they were doing."
"We were having dinner before the rogue interrupted us…I should hope," he looked at the Captain, "that we may go elsewhere to pick up where we left off?"
"Of course we can," Captain replied happily, almost adoringly.
"You are welcome to join us," Ambros said charmingly, turning back to Techie and Jonathan. "I am certain the company would be most welcome."
A vein in the Captain's forehead throbbed menacingly. Jonathan cleared his throat and gracefully declined. "No, that's okay. You two go ahead. We have other things to attend to."
Ambros inclined his head in a slight bow and then took the Captain's arm. "Then it will be just you and I, savuros nimic."
The recipient of his attentions looked positively giddy as he led her away.
The moment they were gone, Jonathan jerked out of Techie's grasp and straightened his sleeve.
"That accent," he said with distaste, staring after the two lovebirds, "you do know it's bogus?"
"Oooh yeah…in more ways than you think," she replied anxiously, starting off in the other direction. "She's in way over her head."
Jonathan followed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She can handle a sloppy pretty-boy conman with one hand tied behind her back. She'll be fine."
Techie shook her head. "He's no conman. He just called Captain 'tasty morsel' in Romanian."
--
Academic note: the Hungarian language is very similar to Romanian (indeed, often using some of the same words, like 'mei' for 'my') but there are enough fundamental differences in the words themselves and way they're pronounced that if you have even a rudimentary knowledge of either, you can tell which is which. The words used in this chapter translate, very roughly as 'my dear pet' (mei preţios toana) and 'savory morsel' (savuros nimic).
Thus concludes your language lesson for the day.