Masks
By Shahrezad1
Disclaimer: By this point, I think it's fairly well-established that I'm poor. Meaning, that if I really was as awesome as Brad Bird, to create something like "The Incredibles," I probably wouldn't be in the penniless state I'm currently in.
Summary: "At least if anything happened she'd know she only had herself to blame."
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Chapter 4: Truth
"I know that the Spades are the swords of the soldiers,
I know that the Clubs are weapons of war.
I know that Diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the Shape of my heart.
That's not the shape…
Shape of my heart.
And if I told her that I loved you,
Maybe think there's something wrong.
I met a man with too many faces,
The Mask I wear is one."
-Shape of My Heart, Sting
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Violet flattened the creases in her dress beneath her hand as she glanced again at the address. She'd paid a Taxi Driver to bring her here, but as soon as she'd shown him the location he'd become nervous. And not seconds after climbing out of the ragged, rust-coated vehicle he'd driven furiously away, almost taking her shawl with him in the process.
His actions only succeeded in reviving her fears, Vi's heart pounding loudly in her ears.
Which didn't make sense. She was a Super. She could handle herself in a fight—heck, she could handle herself against 'James,' even. But she still shouldn't run headlong into a dangerous situation. And something in her gut told her danger of some kind would be involved, a sense of trepidation rising throughout.
Was it the gloomy atmosphere that was affecting her through the mix of obvious depression and crime; the feel of eyes running along her skin something she couldn't quite shake off? Or could it be the knowledge that she was very much on the wrong side of the tracks, at the wrong time of night? Even on her runs as a super she'd never entered this way without backup. Or at least body armor.
As things stood all she had as a shield right now was several layers of silk and a thin hand-embroidered wrap E had loaned her, in order to 'complete the ensemble.' She felt naked without a coating of reinforced Lycra underneath her outfit, but she'd had no choice but to discard the protective covering in favor of style.
At least the entryway looked hospitable enough, in contrast to its environs. A smartly-dressed attendant calmly watched the door, even if he resembled a Navy seal more than anything, and the cheery façade of swooping arches and royal columns impressed even her.
The embossment of some sort of symbol was etched into the glass doors, but she couldn't get a good glimpse at it, nor did she really care as she was inescapably drawn towards the edifice. It was truly the only thing alive in the area; the only building unmarred by the blight of crime, and she was drawn by that knowledge.
It gave her heart, somehow, and so Vi stepped forward. But with it came the thought of her mother and a conversation they had once shared, which had been on her mind for the past few days and she had somehow been unable to shake. In fact, she'd been thinking about it since the night she and James had kissed the second time. Ever since she'd really thought about their upcoming 'date,' connected with the realization that she would be, in effect, walking straight into the lion's den. His turf, not hers.
'There will be a time when Villians start to realize that you're not just a Super, but a woman. When that time comes you need to not be tempted by what they're offering. You need to hold your head high, put your foot down, and stand up for what you believe in. Don't be fooled by a mask of charm-a prettily painted snake in the grass is still a snake.'
At the time she'd blushed furiously, turning invisible almost on automatic. But now that she was older she was starting to understand what her mother had meant.
She wouldn't let herself get fooled by flirtation, charm, or good looks-especially good looks that changed on a holographic whim. But somehow she still felt as though she'd already failed that test. What was she doing giving into his demands and requests? What she should really do was either break things off or…or…
Well, okay she didn't know what she should do. Possibly arrest him, but on what grounds? Driving her insane? The attraction between them existed like an exposed telephone wire; a form of communication existed, but at the cost of possible electrocution. That's what she was doing: playing with fire. It just reinforced her possibly insanity-she should definitely get her head checked the next time she visited the NSA.
She'd wondered that at least a dozen times in between work and training. But then those moments of synaptic overload-pain sizzling through their delicate connection-had always brought her instinctive need to care and protect to the forefront; her almost-sympathy a continual stumbling block. Because even though he was, however accidentally, mooching off her ability to heal, their sudden closeness had developed a sort of emotional message system. And if the pain was torturous, then the expressive, 'Thank You' notes he passed down the 'line' to her were the sweetest of balms.
It was those in moments that she knew. Knew that something was there; that there existed some sort of underlying connection which went beyond the scope of their meager familiarity. And while she might be a 'Naïve Little Super,' as Arsenic had coined for the tabloids, the chance for love was too much of a temptation for her to pass it by.
Violet thought of a certain Princess's apple-based fate with a wry smile.
At least if anything happened she'd know she only had herself to blame.
Sighing, the Super drew her cover closer about her shoulders, shivering. Then with determination matching every stride, marched her way up to the entrance where the doorman had been discretely watching her. For signs of sudden weaponry or mental breakdowns she didn't know.
Escorted immediately inside, her chill and anxiety was immediately dispelled by the atmosphere. The building's interior was in stark opposition to its outer surroundings, and within the golden-red ambiance of luxury she could hear the din of chattering couples and calm businessmen. All appeared to be normal and level, from the plus seating arrangements and gilded chandeliers down to the rich crimson carpet.
Violet found herself awed in the face of her surroundings but hid it easily, having had practice while traveling with E. The maître d caught the quick disguise and arched a brow approvingly but said nothing, merely waiting for her to come to him rather than the usual way around.
"Good evening, Sir. I believe I have a reservation tonight," Vi filled in quickly, straightening her spine in full 'confidence mode' in response to the environment. He also took note of this change, mustache twitching, and turned to the large tome before him. It was large and ornate, each thick one-inch section representing a month, give or take. The edges were finely plated with gold, and she noticed him wearing silk gloves to turn its pages.
"Indeed, Miss. Under what name may I find it?"
"It's under-," but suddenly Violet found herself faltering, words lost. Under what exactly? James? Butterfly? It couldn't very well be under her companion's real name, but if it was how was she to know? He'd honestly never told her, and the Fashion Assistant found herself flushing under the suddenly hard, grey-eyed scrutiny before her.
"She's with me."
Navy eyes flew upward as she whirled around, stumbling slightly in her heels.
Instinctively she placed her hand on his chest in order to steady herself, and received a flood of unspoken information as her palm rested above his heart. Admiration, awe, strong attraction, and boyish happiness that she'd actually come washed through her, as serene and deadly as the tide coming in. And looking up into his disguised face she could see his electrically-charged blue eyes reel minutely at her own feelings: anxiety, worry, uncertainty, and longing mixed into a poignant pot of emotional tea, coursing from Vi to James in a quite-literal heartbeat.
"Hi," he murmured, voice and expression softening the slightest amount. To an observer it would have seemed like no change at all, but with them so close the look was matched with feeling. And Vi responded without inhibition.
"Hi, yourself."
The host cleared his throat, breaking the moment and suddenly looking both at attention and in awe at the same time, a change Vi noted with surprise, "ah, Monsieur Eh-."
"A table for two. My usual spot if possible, please, Jacques."
The man scurried off, and suddenly Violet was again the victim of those intense eyes. And that rakish smile, even if it really wasn't his own.
"So. You came."
"I didn't really have much of a choice, now did I?" the tart immediately came back in her tone, but they were matched equally with a sideways smile, carefully outlined eyelids dropping to half-mast, "we had a deal."
"Provided I pay," he rumbled ironically.
"Which leads us to our current situation, doesn't it," was the last quip to cap their remarks, and for a second the two of them merely watched each other. Until the return of said host broke the moment once more.
Violet was really starting to get annoyed with the guy.
Still, she graciously accepted the man's help as he directed them to a shrouded table, candlelight it's only source of illumination. Another table stood closely at attention, in wait for other guests, but the night was still young and a solid third of the seating within the restaurant remained empty for the time; but expectantly, as though in anticipation of change. It was James himself that pulled out her chair, hand lingering on the small of her back as she was directed forward.
She didn't have to shiver to know that he felt her thrill at the touch, and blandly frowning she met his twinkling eyes over one shoulder, her date keeping his smile tightly in check.
The maître d hovered for seconds more, respectful air sliding towards the simpering side and as fake as a three dollar bill. But James tolerated it, depositing a liberal tip in the man's hand along with an unspoken request for privacy without any change in expression. Immediately the odious man's face lowered until it was parallel with the floor in a deep and impulsive bow, spine permanently cemented in its L-shaped formation as he carefully inched away in a subservient manner.
As soon as they were alone her companion's mask on top of a mask altered to a true expression of disdain.
"Parasites on the system…" Violet thought she heard her date say, his hand thrown up and over his shoulder as though tossing salt in a ward against evil.
The heroine chuckled wryly, but said nothing as the two of them were drawn into a pregnant silence. He stared just above her hairline while she examined the delicate intricacies of a table well-built. Then almost simultaneously their eyes, light blue to dark blue, met over the china place-setting. Creating a shock of energy both literal and figurative and causing the both of them to start in shock, the connection only ending as James looked away, breathing heavily.
"So. I'm here now. What comes next, Mr. Mysterious?"
It was ironic that when she finally broke the ice it was in some sort of epithet, almost Superhero-ish in nature. But it allowed James' uncharacteristic discomfort to dissipate, like the wall of a bank under the force of an antimatter ray.
He straightened and laughed, loosening his tie more for breathing room now, rather than out of any awkwardness, and then, through the smooth and unlined visage of a holographic mask, he pinned her with a vivid gaze. His smirk simultaneously flirtatious and up to no good.
"Next? Now we talk, Butterfly."
Thank you, Captain Obvious. She rolled her eyes in an effort not to fall under the onslaught of his decidedly observant gaze, "about what, exactly? The woes of dealing with underhanded coworkers? How about the cut and style of the costumes that are 'in' this season?"
"We could talk about that," he said quietly, both eyebrows lilting to create a look that was gentle, if mocking. But the emotions that were niggling through her barriers were colored in curiosity, "or we could talk specifically about the cut on style of your suit in specific. Unless you consider that question to be off-limits?"
Violet blushed. Definitely off limits. And she made sure her side of their emotional connection let him know this fact.
"Buuuuut…as much as that idea delights me, Sweetheart," and here the man tossed her a subtle wink, which occurred so quickly that it could have been a mere trick of the light. Vi blinked, "I have a feeling you'd disapprove of that little suggestion. So! I suggest a game."
"A game?"
Her suspicious question would have to wait, however, as their water arrived. A burly waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored black slacks, multiple gold rings decorating muscular knuckles.
Rings Vi made an effort to ignore as she realized that she recognized them from her other line of work.
What a way to drive a point home.
The muscular attendant was nothing if not professional, though, no trace of 'thuggishness' evident as he politely gave them their separate menus. And when it came her turn to order he didn't even blink an eye at her odd request.
"'Herbal tea?'" James questioned once they were once again alone, complete with 'air quotes' and casually mocking tone.
"'Bottled water-unopened,'" she parodied back, deadpan. Then answered his question anyways, "ah, but just imagine someone like me with the lowered inhibitions one normally associates with alcohol," bland smile and slightly upraised eyebrows invited him to do the math.
But he only barked out a laugh, "you still don't trust me, do you?"
"No," it was only the truth. And 'James,' wondered if he should feel insulted or not, "I don't. But what does your bottled water say about me?"
"Nothing about you, really. Just that I don't want any…contaminants."
"Contaminants?" she prodded.
And this time when he answered, somehow the twist of his mouth seemed less like a smile and more like a grimace, "Poison."
"Paranoid."
"It's not paranoia when you've actually dealt with it before."
And since Violet had nothing to say to that, having not had a similar experience. But when he smiled a triumphant smile at his petty little 'win,' the girl just gave him a look saying that the argument was far from over. But for the moment the subject would be dropped.
"So…a game? Aren't you afraid it'll go the same way your last one did?"
Tracing the tablecloth in a mathematical equation he could only understand, the disguised villain replied quietly; thoughtfully, "You know, I actually thought that went pretty well. Considering how it got you here."
But she ignored the flirtatious effort at avoidance in favor of an honest answer, looking blandly on. Amused exasperation via their connection was the eventual concession she received, mixed with a surprisingly honest, self-aimed smirk.
"Besides, this could be your chance at getting a one-up on me."
"Really? And how exactly would I do that?"
Smirking, he held up all his freckled fingers as though they held the key to the universe. And once the man started speaking she found that, in a way, they did, "ten questions. I'm sure you've got a few things you've been dying to ask. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't, either."
"But?" she asked suspiciously. And Violet could tell that he was ever-so-slightly proud of how she'd grown from trusting innocent to a wary, if still naïve, little Super.
"But no 'take-backs.' No outright identity questions. And nothing that could get us kicked out of this place."
And then Violet felt her lips draw into a smile, wicked irony tickling her senses, "what, you mean suddenly you're the cautious one? No turning out the lights in order to steal from the guests, or running like mad through the off-limits section of an art gallery? Nothing like that?"
"Well, you do have habit of making me act out."
"I haven't made you do anything!"
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"Nothing I've ever regretted, anyway," the red-haired man continued, resulting in a delightful blush spanning from neck to ears.
She really was beautiful when she was irritated, Buddy mused with a quiet little smirk. From head to lovely toe, her emotions seemed to always be reflected in her body language. Even down to the way she reflexively tilted her head and shifted her shoulders.
The woman across from him wet her lips unconsciously, not realizing what a distraction it was. And Syndrome resisted the urge to pull her across the table with him, all the while keeping an eye out for the maître d.
Notoriety. It was the one drawback of having street credentials. Because from the moment when he'd first walked up to the entryway and onward the man had been itching to blow his cover, the title he'd so carefully chosen in the place of his last pseudonym hovering on the tip of his lips. A pointed look overtop Butterfly's head had closed the man's mouth before he'd had the chance to utter a single word, but the leach still hadn't been above making obeisance for a quick buck.
Thankfully their waiter was a little more circumspect, though, taking note of the silver eye stickpin Buddy wore, yet saying nothing as the cultured underling had handed them their menus. And he'd remarked even less, if that was possible, on Syndrome's chosen companion.
Even now he was maintaining a safe distance from the couple, in wait for the subtle nod the Villain was likely to toss his way once the conversation was free of 'accidentally overhear-able' topics. It was one of the plus sides to the restaurant hiring discrete help (host excluded), and Pine could tell he was an old hand with the whole setup.
Making their current flirtation all the easier to manipulate.
~/~/~
"Alright, then," Violet mustered in a quiet voice, wry smile switching over to curious warmth, "what color is your hair?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she'd spoken too swiftly, a feeling of self-aimed irritation born along with the dread his smirk created.
"Right now-blonde."
One down, nineteen to go. And in this little chess game of theirs she was already off to a bad start, impulse making her heedless.
If there was one thing she needed to remember, the young designer scolded herself sternly, it was the fact that he was a villain. Their attraction may be honest and, as accidental experimentation through 'magical' emotional connections had proved, mutual, but he would still ruthlessly take advantage of her when given the chance to do so. It wasn't personal-it was just business to him, she knew. And if she wanted to get any sort of real information out of him then she would have to take the same standpoint.
"What is your physical appearance underneath your illusion?" the young woman responded succinctly, only to have one freckled finger place itself upon her lips, silencing her effectively. Violet blushed, and 'James' smirk smoothed into a satisfied smile.
"I'm next, remember."
"I actually don't remember that being part of the bargain."
"My turf, my rules. I won the date; you have to answer my questions too."
Suspicion rose like a wall between them, but it was a narrow wall overrun by vines and rimmed with flower bushes. And as though it was standing right before them Vi could almost imagine a hole, or chink, breaking through the dividing space between them.
"And why should I?" her words came out lower than anticipated, and a slight thrill shook the girl's frame as electric-blue eyes deepened, lids lowering ever-so-slightly.
"Maybe because I'm just as curious about you as you are about me," he answered with an honesty neither of them expected. But it rang uncomfortably true and after the words were spoken he straightened slowly, looking away in the search for composure as he sought to loosen his tie the slightest bit.
"Oh."
The word was an exhalation of emotion and, pointedly not looking at her dinner companion, the heroine could feel a blush rising up from her neck to claim her ears, just barely covered as they were by the brush of short hair.
"Fine. Shoot. Not literally."
"You take all the fun out of things," he smirked, then lounging back against the booth he was sitting in, waved a hand through the air indolently, "what's your favorite color?"
"Light blue. Now wha-."
"Not purple or violet?" he interrupted, waving a hand at the light color of her outfit. She flushed at the sheer-too-close-to-home irony of his question, but ignored it in favor of saying.
"I believe that's another question, James. It's my turn now."
"Alright, I give," laughing internally at the turnaround, he stretched fully back in his seat, an imperceptible nod tossed off somewhere she couldn't see. But determination was pumping through the heroine's veins and she wasn't about to get distracted, posture as straight as a rod and entire being brimming with stifled curiosity.
"What…" the dark-haired girl slowly asked, "is the color of your real hair?"
"My real hair?" James stalled, indolently. He was back to his lazy, lion-like confidence. Basking in the heat of her gaze as though it was African sunlight at midday.
"Yes," impatiently.
But she would have to wait a few minutes more, as at that exact second their waiter came with both beverages and their meals. A steak, very rare, with pasta on the side for him and simple chicken Alfredo for her. Their drinks were set down without a single click of glass on the surface of the table, and Violet caught James' short but approving look. A few minutes more passed under the sudden onslaught of tableware and savory tastes and smells. Accustomed as she was to him avoiding her questions, she almost forgot about their game for a moment as her earlier anxiety made her very hungry. But Violet was brought to a halt, twirled noodles halfway on their trip to her mouth, when she realized that he was watching her. What's more, he was watching her eat.
"What?"
"Red."
"What do you mean, 'red?'"
"Red. For your question," abruptly he smirked. And Violet wondered yet again at the desire to wipe it from his face either one way or another, "And here I thought you were eager for the truth. My answer is, 'red.'"
"Red," she repeated, doubtfully. Then epiphany came with the remembered feel of his hair tangled up in her fingers, their last kiss slowly escalating at the endorphins of the moment brought out a sudden desire to know everything about him.
Just as she could sense what he was feeling, she had no doubts that he could see her own. So it was with a smile on her lips that she permitted him a wicked view of her own outlook. Her fingers tangling within hair that was longer than his holograph showed, and more than ready for a cut. A single thumb brushed across a hidden, scarred cheek, her eyes falling closed in an effort to create a mental image of his features and coming up with only an image of light stubble on a broad face.
Red. The answer to her first question was red.
Looking up, she noticed immediately that he was holding his breath, eyes focused somewhere distant and hand gripping his knife in a painfully tight grip. And when she focused on her feelings she realized that they were a mix of surprise, calculation, and strong attraction-emotions that were definitely not her own. Meaning that they were still connected and that she'd accidentally shared her memory of their kiss with him. Again.
Vi cleared her throat, trying to ignore the blush and embarrassment that had rolled over her, "But you've never…" She trailed off as she motioned towards his currently blonde looks, "but you've never indicated…"
"I try to avoid it if I can," he explained shortly. A little hoarsely.
"But…why?"
"Redheads stand out. It makes me too much of a target," and for some twisted reason he barked out a laugh at this, although it didn't quite make sense to her. So she dug a little deeper; dangerously deeper, she somehow knew.
"Is there any other reason?"
"Fire. It reminds me of fire," and abruptly his melancholy response disappeared in the wake of a smirk, "and be glad I gave you that much information. Those could've counted as two more questions on their own, and you know it."
"Well, it'd serve you right for tricking me into that other one, then. Whose turn is it, anyway?"
"Mine."
"Fine," she said, and tried to ignore again the attraction he was sending her as she took another bite to eat.
"How long have you been an active member of the NSA?"
"…what?" the air suddenly disappearing from her longs, Violet almost didn't understand the words as he spoke them. They were too close to home and they made sudden anxiety flare between them, shortening her breath. She could almost see him mentally swear at his poor choice of words, followed by the placing of his hand on hers, soothing reassurance making her unease dissipate.
"I meant…how old were you when you became a Super?"
Her shoulders slowly fell, breathing becoming easier. That she could answer a little more comfortably, especially as her 'generation,' so to speak, was chock-full of teenage superheroes, "I was fourteen."
"Fourteen," he murmured, thoughtfully. Holographic eyebrows quirked somewhat ironically, followed by a smile that couldn't quite be counted as bitter or sweet.
"I kind of didn't have a choice-there was a void and I filled it."
And it really was that simple, 'Butterfly's words ringing true both vocally and through their connection. She could tell that he was surprised at her honesty, but even more than that he was surprised that he could somehow…understand a Super? To comprehend her heroic reasoning and perhaps even…empathize and commiserate through their convoluted expressive echo?
It was an odd occurrence for him, she could tell, and if his sudden shifting was any indication she could tell that he wasn't quite comfortable with the experience.
"But you're retired now?"
"Mostly. I have a regular job and a regular life, but I get called in every now and again."
"Right."
"My turn," and if it was possible for any person to feel relieved at a change of subject, he definitely did at that moment. She could tell by the waves he was accidentally sending her, and so it was with a lighter heart that she asked, "what's your favorite pastime?"
"Pastime?" he grinned boyishly in a burst of surprise, setting down both knife and fork, "definitely inventing."
She took a sip of her now-lukewarm tea, "what do you like to invent?"
"All kinds of things. Tools and equipment and wea-armor," the short slip was ignored by the both of him as he continued enthusiastically, "but what I really love is taking things apart and putting them back together, only better."
His enthusiasm was infectious, and so she asked, "like what, microwaves and dryers?"
"Sometimes, but what I really love is computers. Rockets are fun, too, and security systems and remo-," halting himself abruptly, he coughed. And through the holograph she could see him blush. Half of Violet was surprised at this breach while the rest could only be grateful; for other than his hands she'd never been able to see a single part of him. Making the blush all the more precious to her, "I'm rambling. You probably don't want to hear about any of that."
He tacked on that last bit as though accustomed to others blowing him and his ideas off; impatience causing them to miss out on the enthusiasm he was just beginning to reveal to her.
"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested," was her humble, quiet response, and the light blue eyes that had been tracing the table in a large measure of self-conscious disquiet looked up optimistically; gratefully.
"And if I didn't think I would be using all my questions tonight then I would definitely take up this chance to investigate the subject thoroughly," she finished the previous thought, and when he dimmed ever so slightly, she added daringly, "but maybe we can save it for another day, right?"
"…another day," he tasted, slowly nodding as an open smile developed the tiniest bit. Another day meant a promise that they would see each other again. It was something he could definitely hold on to, and perhaps reward with his own light-hearted question, "right. Which reminds me-did you make that dress yourself?"
Oh, dear. A full-bodied blush covered her from head to toe, and feeling for a moment just like she had when they'd met Vi didn't quite know how to respond. Especially when he added, lowly, "I remember what you said. And I want to point out that when you get down to it we're pretty similar, wouldn't you think?"
"I love the makeup, and the concept sketches, and seeing the finished project! And being able to see the models as real people, instead of stick figure mannequins, with hopes and worries of their own. I love being able to say, 'I created that. That was me,' and then releasing it out into the world like a butterfly from its cocoon. I love it all."
"And if creative inventing is anything to go by, then I think you're a fantastic inventor."
"O-oh…" she breathed shakily, "well, in that case, I did make it."
"For tonight…specifically?"
"Yes."
"…for me to see?"
"Well," and suddenly the confidence of an artist and the strength of Invisigirl came back in full force, memory resurfacing, "I figured that to have an actual conversation with you I'd have to be able to breath, and breathing isn't exactly a priority when I'm wearing Mode's creations."
"Well, either way, it still makes for good luck for me," he mumbled, almost to himself, "…again."
"Oh."
She coughed.
"Me again. Did you always want to be an Inventor?"
"Yes. What about you? Did you always want to be a Designer?"
"Not always, no."
"What about a hero?"
"…no," she looked up, sensing yet again something deeper, "and you, did you always want to be a villain?"
His eyes softened, looking out the window and into what had become drizzly rain. And with the quiet honesty of one bearing their soul, he eventually spoke.
"No, I didn't."
Their questions continued more lightly but she couldn't get that response from her mind. And it even followed her as they individually finished their meals and she excused herself to use the ladies room and into yet another complication.
~/~/~
"Excuse me."
The words, softly spoken from Violet's back, surprised the young Super. And immediately she jumped, navy eyes wide. What they landed on were two dove-grey orbs, surrounded by wire-framed spectacles of an almost archaic design, and a pile of messy, mousy blonde hair.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was in the way."
"It's no trouble."
Swiftly moving from the sink, Violet paused on the way to the hand dryer, only to freeze mid-step as the secretary-like woman removed her glasses to wipe them clean; a single move which shocked the experienced hero into deadly stillness.
She was Femme Fatale! One of the most dangerous Villains in the western hemisphere, she was wanted in twenty states, possessed several PHDs in various poison-related sciences, and held the record for fighting off the highest number of upper-level Supers at the same time.
Yet innocently the woman stood, dressed in a frumpy blouse and navy pencil skirt, conservative blue flats to match. Before her stood the woman Violet had fought off various times, but never fully defeated. One of the few she had never fully defeated.
Taking a chance, the young assistant opened her mouth to hesitantly speak, "Um, Miss?"
"Yes?" responding calmly, the Villainess looked up to smile in a purely benevolent fashion, even pausing to slip her spectacled mask back on.
A short falter, then, "this might seem somewhat out of the blue, but I was wondering if we knew each other from somewhere? I can't help but feel a sense of familiarity."
"Well," the woman across from her began, folding her hands calmly as though she was truly thinking of the matter, "we may have seen one another at the downtown library."
"The library?" of all the responses Fatale could have given her, that was not of them.
"Yes," she nodded, messy bun bouncing in a schoolmarm-ish way, "I work there, in the children's section. And I have for, oh, five years now."
A sudden image of the woman stooping over Violet to help her set up her username and password on the library computers immediately rose to the surface. Without thought, she snapped her fingers as a counterpoint to her realization. All hero work aside, she had seen the woman before! It had been this scholarly woman that had walked her through the Dewey Decimal system, then later informed her brother of Videogame Fridays. And on infrequent, but not odd, cases, she could be seen talking with Violet's mother about bestsellers and different child care books, among other things.
In truth, one of her most challenging enemies was in actuality a librarian.
Shock wound its way through her system but the girl didn't let any of it show. Instead she pasted on her own neutral smile, a face she typically used for interviews and paparazzi photos, "that's it. I used to go to that library all the time before I graduated."
"Really? Congratulations," smiling in a purely maternal way, the soft features lowered in a nod, "and I was thinking that you seemed familiar as well. You cut your hair, though."
She had noted that, then? "Yeah. I decided that I was tired of it getting in my face all the time."
"I understand. That's the same reason I pull it back."
And with another bout of surprise, Vi realized that she hadn't ever seen the Villainess with her hair down, secret identity or no. It was always ponytails and clips, but never had the woman let its length down in front of the Super. Not even in battle.
It took a good deal of focusing for the young Super to return to the moment at hand, as Femme Fatale continued speaking.
"Well, it was good seeing you. Give my regards to your mother, if you get the chance."
"I will," those were the last words to come out of her mouth before the librarian was gone, exiting through the restroom's still-swinging door. Leaving Violet behind with a lot to think about.
~/~/~
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, do you?" stated calmly, nonchalantly from behind Buddy, the words were unexpected as his mind was occupied with the desert menu.
Turning a few degrees to the side, unmasked blue eyes met steel grey as he came face to face with one of the deadlier of their species.
"Were you talking to me?"
A deliberate glance at her own empty table followed by a distinctly sarcastic look was all the answer she gave. And for once he was glad the hologram hid his flush of color.
"You don't know what you're getting into with that girl, Echo. She recognized me in the ladies room. The real me," seemingly calm, the fingers tightening on the back of her chair were the only sign of the rogue's discomfiture.
Oh, so that was what it was all about. The broad was afraid his little pet would blow all their secret identities sky high, and take the restaurant with it. Eyes mentally rolling, Syndrome took a lounging, almost arrogant position without thought.
"If that's what this is about, then you can just relax. I mean, I know what she is. And she kno-."
"You think you know what you're doing, but you have no idea what you're messing with," shaking her head ruefully, the pseudo-librarian looked almost mournful. For her, anyway. It was more emotion than he had ever seen appear on the super-powered woman's face, and despite himself an inkling of curiosity tugged at his frontal lobe.
"Okaaaaay. So, what are you talking about, then? What am I messing with, exactly?"
Distaste colored her features as Buddy's attitude began to grate on the woman, but she set it aside for the greater evil, "Enjoy your plaything for a time, Echo, but see that we have no part of it. That child you're manipulating has protectors, and if you hurt her, they will destroy you."
"Protectors?" shock glitched the hologram for a second's time, and Femme Fatale grimaced at the terrible image before the electricity came back online. The multi-millionaire chose to ignore her reaction, "What, wait. You mean she's part of a league or something?"
What came was outright hesitation, an expression he had never once see grace her face, then, after wetting her lips, words were spoken no higher than a whisper. As though they were a curse, and just speaking them aloud would earn her a swift beheading.
"Not a league. A family. I'm surprised that no one has spoken to you of them sooner. They…"
Silence passed for several seconds, then.
"I'm not getting any younger, librarian."
"They took out the last great Villain of the Golden Age!" irritably barked out, her words slowly petered off into quiet mourning, "…and the first one of the Silver. A youth whose name we honor in death. It was by their hands that he perished, under fire."
Last Villain of the golden age? Where in the crap had that come from? And the first of the Silver? It was like he had to unearth a paper trail of news clippings every time one of his peers made an obscure reference. On one hand, Buddy could definitely understand a need for discretion, but the cryptic messages were really starting to get on his nerves.
Wait just a minute.
When a Villain was arrested, the NSA usually took them into custody, since Supers were typically too self-righteous to execute judgment. The last official Villain to die had been…
Him.
Oh, no. Not again.
Feeling once more like Alice in the looking glass, fate smiled a Cheshire grin his direction as irony fell over its own feet with maniacal laughter. And sitting one table over, Femme Fatale smiled in quiet satisfaction at having silenced him. Not realizing the true ramifications of his shock.
Butterfly was the Invisibrat.
Buddy Pine, former fan of Mr. Incredible and self-proclaimed Incrediboy, later to become the man named Syndrome, then the criminal mogul Echo, swore under his breath.
Femme Fatale merely motioned to the waiter for her check.
~/~/~
When Violet returned from the bathroom her date had a pensive look on his masked face. It was odd, and somehow didn't seem to fit the 'features' of the man she'd come to know, his blunt chin resting much like Rodin's "Thinker" upon his fist.
And as she took her place across from him, skirts swishing in a swirl of flowering layers, he looked up almost guiltily, in frustrated confusion. As though her reappearance brought on a contradiction of feelings to him, and he didn't know how to react. But one thing was certain, her friendly, wickedly funny companion was gone.
"What is it, James?"
The false name slipped easily to her lips, but as soon as the word was out she regretted it, watching him. His response had been to jerk in surprise, a frown worrying the spot between his eyes like a chisel in a rock face. And the false color disguising his hair seemed almost garishly golden under the cover of romantically dim lights.
"Sit down…Butterfly," and under his clear blue eyes-his real eyes all along-she felt very much like the delicate insect. Beautiful, fragile, but easily crushed beneath the gaze resting on her.
Vi sat, then waited. Ignoring the cold chill of the restaurant suddenly permeating the fabric of her dress, a light breeze brushing snake-like along the tips of her hair. Safety was fleeting, the Super realized in that moment.
And when safety no longer existed, the Super took over.
"Tell me what's wrong."
Her words were a steel bar, cold and cruel. And with a sweeping glance he recognized the switch. But this time there wasn't going to be an effort towards removing it. Playtime had abruptly ended, and with it her footing. The fall of reality had come for the both of them, like a pendulum swinging ever-closer.
"This isn't going to work."
They were words she'd heard a dozen times, from a dozen different boys. Tony had been one of the few to not use them, and in the presence of James' words she couldn't help but mentally thank him for his mercy. For if what she felt at that exact moment was a heart breaking, she didn't think she could have handled it happening twice.
"Why?" the question stopped him cold. His wide orbs blinking and mouth momentarily slack, she asked again, "why isn't this going to work?"
The burly man blustered for an answer, "I'm a Villain, you're a Super."
"So?"
"So do you really think the fairytale you've been spinning would last forever? I hate you. And all you represent. And you hate me," Buddy could feel himself lie as he spoke the words, and for one of the few times in his life as he felt the harsh eye of the Greater Good glaring down at him he actually felt guilty and remorseful.
But couldn't it see that what he was doing was for the greater good?
After all Buddy, Syndrome, and Echo alike despised Mr. Incredible with every fiber of their being. And with him, his family. But Butterfly wasn't the Super; Invisigirl was. And the girl sitting sweetly before him, the one who had held back her powers in their duel and joked and played, didn't deserve the death he may have planned for her in the past.
If he was truly being evil, manipulating the girl would have been an easy feat. But long minutes of thinking had led his mind back to the only option that was open. Separation. Even if it forced him back into the position of a lying, deceitful Villain again.
I must be getting soft, the criminal had no choice but to admit, for me to rely on being cruel, to be kind. And for what? The brat of my most hated enemy. A kid.
"Once we knew each others' identities we would have been at each others' throats anyways."
Attempting to emphasize the words being spoken, he slammed a freckled hand down on the table, trying to intimidate the woman he had so recently wooed. But all that was portrayed was that he was trying to make noise, "things would have fallen apart eventually, and you know it. You've probably even known it from the beginning, haven't you."
It was a statement, not a question. And with it the Assistant abruptly felt very tired. Of life, and of everything.
"You're a Villain; I'm a Super. The thought did come to mind," The words were parroted back at him, lifelessly, emotionlessly, yet she could tell they struck deep. As deep as the words he'd callously tossed at her.
The duo became unified in their silence. He clenching and unclenching his fists, while she stared at the table. When the awkward silence became too much, Syndrome rose gracelessly. A high-end note was left at the table to pay for the meal, and wordlessly they rose to retrieve their coats. Sensing that something was wrong, the observant host, switched from their previous attendant to a much younger gentleman, had graciously called a Taxi for Violet, so all they had left to do was stand there and wait, confusion, anger and sorrow warring back and forth.
With the sky growing darker, and the night getting colder, Violet tried one last move. She had to know…
"At least tell me why. Really why, James," a petal-soft hand rested itself on the thick fabric draping his forearm while large, doe eyes peered deep into his soul. And for once in his life, Buddy Pine regretted a decision he'd made. It was that regret that made him speak, standing deep within the restaurant awning's shadow, arm itching to wrap around her slim form. But fighting the longing with clenched jaw.
"Because you're his kid. And he destroyed me."
Shock, hurt, and dismay were the last emotions the scientist saw passing over her vision, before he turned on his heel and walked out into the darkness. Leaving the stunned girl to her waiting cab.
~/~/~
AN: The creation of Femme Fatale as a librarian in disguise is a reference to Brandon Sanderson's Alcatraz books. =^_^= Go read them-they're good!)
A French host at an Italian restaurant. XD I kill myself sometimes. And I hope you enjoyed the Pyramus and Thisbee/Romeo Juliet/Midsummer Night's Dream reference (you know what I'm talking about if you've seen the movie version of the last title. ^^; I think I spelled Pyramus and Thisbee's names incorrectly, though.)
I liked the beginning and the end the most. The middle was kinda all like, "and now I'm flirting," "and now I'm flirting back." And I've never really enjoyed PDA in real life, so I can't see me enjoying it in my writing. –shrugs-
Oh, and sorry kids-the story can't be happy all the time. ^^; I actually really, really enjoyed writing this, by the way. And I pretty much knew this was going to end up occurring from the start. ("Scenes from an Italian Restaurant." Sound Familiar?) Don't worry, though, it's not completely ended.