Sorry about the wait... had lots of pretty, pretty injections at the start of the week, and my immune system has been epically battling the little microscopic monsters trying to make me the best me I can be - and also, you know, not get sick when I escape my sea-locked country ;)
KARMA
His fingers itched to reveal the face behind the mask.
They were drumming a repetition across the aged plastic tables. The cracking and yellowed, soda stained, food encrusted tables that lay strewn across the east wall of the arcade were delightfully blocking entrance from that side of the area.
Le Rouge Jacques was wondering which direction The Inscrutable would arrive from, not that it really mattered, but to wait was normalcy and he had learned early on the value of patience.
He'd re-arranged the most perfect area for Sylph.
The man was surprisingly light-weight.
Le Rouge Jacques had had to half carry the mysterious stranger and nemesis into the building. Sylph had done everything in his power to block and detain Le Rouge Jacques plans – short of revealing his identity of course. But his actions had been in vain.
Catching Sylph, finally, had been one of the best incidents to occur this year for Le Rouge Jacques.
He had wanted to rip that mask off and bask in the glory that was Sylph's true face. But something inside of him, some yearning, some indescribable desire had stopped him. Patience had shown its face, and a deeper part of himself had listened to it for the first time in his journey as an adult.
Le Rouge Jacques paced the floor area of the arcade. He had shut off every electrical outlet so that the blinking of lights and the humming of machines were inert. He wanted every moment of this day to be clear, he wanted every sound and every look to be transparent and lucid. He did not want to miss a moment of what was about to happen.
He'd always had a theory that The Inscrutable and Sylph worked together. At one time he had contemplated the idea that they merely joined forces when he was doing something that they disliked. But they had been popping up everywhere he had for too long for it simply to be some business arrangement. It was more likely that they were working together, permanently; which had led him to believe that they knew one another intimately. Not romantically, mind you, just as closely as you could know another not of your family.
Le Rouge Jacques paced toward the window once more, peeking out he watched in glee as the reporters and their subordinate camera-men clamored for visual shots. No news story was worth anything without pictures. He ached to go outside and give them a visual worth their time, but he did shy away from the spotlight as Sylph did.
Le Rouge Jacques did not hide; he merely avoided and stayed within the shadows. He knew the value of a face, a name, a recognizable icon. And he did not want to give the public a face or a picture to latch onto.
Sylph had given the public the faceless, dark figure. The one that scurried around in the night, cloaked in the black and the stars.
The Inscrutable had given the public many eye-witness accounts and testimonies of the blurred, suited figure, slightly crazy and almost demonic in nature. But, it had been common knowledge that the vigilante did not wear a mask as the other criminal did. It was a much contended point within the news community, how did he keep his identity secret?
But above all, even though many of his own victims had been attributed to them, the public (whilst in great fear) could be given no proof that The Inscrutable and Sylph had done anything particularly grievous. At least, there was no physical evidence to support those suppositions by the media.
There were no fingerprints, no skin, no hair, no paper trail or electronic trail. It was as if The Inscrutable and Sylph merely existed on the outskirts of common society. They lived beyond the confines of the law; they lived to the tune of their own band and had paid no mind to the outcries of the public.
Only, anyone who had had a personal connection to the two, 'victims' of the purported often turned around and supported the criminals, there were cops on the force who supported the two, children seemed to look up to them, wanted to be like them. Everywhere the public turned, more and more people had begun to speak of the good acts that The Inscrutable and Sylph had performed. More and more people began to question the statements coming from the government and governmental agencies. People were becoming more and more indifferent to the advent of these two heroes.
Le Rouge Jacques looked toward Sylph.
He respected the man's silence.
But the silent, heaving chest and shaking hands were telling him something else. Not that the hands were shaking all that much, but he'd seen them when the shaking had started. And as soon as Sylph had realized he had lost control of motor function, his hands hand gripped the chair relentlessly.
Sylph was crying, and his hands were still locked on the arms of the plastic chair.
The realization made him pause.
If the man could withstand knife blade slices in silence, would he really allow himself to cry?
And for that matter, what did he have to cry over anyway?
The Inscrutable was coming to save him.
Unless...
??!!??!?!
You're being childish and stupid.
Stop crying!
Sylph became even more annoyed when her brain couldn't yell sternly. It came out as a whine. A plea and she didn't like it.
Thankfully, she wasn't actually making any noise. It was the silent tear cry. But it was frustrating. The liquid was coursing its way down her cheeks, and since she was wearing the mask it was causing some very unusual sensations beneath the face shield.
The moment she'd realized that her hands were betraying her; she'd clenched them into fists. But knowing that was too obvious a thing to do (The Inscrutable had taught her some useful things) she had immediately changed positions.
But a good observationer would know instinctively that something was wrong with her. All she had to do was last until The Inscrutable found them, and hope that he distracted Le Rouge Jacques long enough for her to escape.
If she could figure a way out of these restraints.
Sylph held out some hope for Cho. Perhaps he might help her. He couldn't have grown to hate Le Rouge Jacques enough yet, he'd probably still hold onto the conventional ethics and morals of his previous life. She was almost sad at that thought, that Cho might become more like herself, or The Inscrutable. She certainly didn't want that for the lawful agent. Sylph wanted Cho to maintain those age-old, trust-worthy traits. She wanted to be able to trust the fact that he would help her first, being the hostage, rather than trying to take down the hostage-taker. Although, her previous experiences with hostage crisis tactics led her believe an appropriate and profitable outcome might not be forthcoming; especially not when the hard target was Le Rouge Jacques.
She still hoped though.
Sylph wasn't sure if she was pinning her hopes on Cho, or if she was holding out for The Inscrutable. She certainly knew who she wanted to come and rescue her. The one she wanted to be responsible for rescuing her.
But, and she hated to admit it, she knew how badly The Inscrutable wanted Le Rouge Jacques. She just... didn't know where she ranked in his priority list.
She'd like to think she was highly rated. Given their other non-criminal fighting pastimes, but somehow she's always known, or thought, believed even, that Le Rouge Jacques ranked higher than she did... if given the choice... she'd never been one hundred percent sure.
Her life or Le Rouge Jacques'.
Of course, she's hoped and prayed (if she believed in that anymore) that no situation would ever arise in which she would need to weigh her life on the balance against that man's. Especially since in this particular situation, it's not some mystic man observing the balance – it's The Inscrutable. And the decision he makes, will not only affect the goal they've been trying to achieve for years, it's going to affect something else, the undefinable thing they've dually chosen to ignore defining. They give themselves no names, no labels, they are just them – whatever that means, if it means anything at all.
Maybe their whole relationship is merely a way to pass the time, have a little pleasure and relieve stress.
She doesn't really believe that.
She doesn't.
But they never talk. Not about that. Or what it means.
It's not like they can anyway, really, neither one of them is living for the future.
She's still crying. And she hates it.
Hates that the entire time Le Rouge Jacques was accosting her with a blade she was fine. Oh course, in pain, but relatively fine. Enough time has passed now that she knows her wounds will heal, and there won't be any scars. She now realizes that the mental stress was causing her to exaggerate the depth of the slices, one of those 'grazes hurt more than cuts' phenomenon, along with funny bones not really being funny.
What's making her cry now isn't physical pain; it isn't even truly emotional pain. Since the pain she's crying over hasn't even actually happened yet. She rolls her eyes at the idiocy of that realization.
She's crying over The Inscrutable betraying her, when it hasn't even happened yet. No matter how much she wants to believe he'll save her (as his first priority) she just can't bring herself to believe in him.
That makes it so much worse. The realization that she doesn't trust him as much as she thought she did, as much as she wants to. What if he does rescue her first? Then she'll be even more upset, because then she's betrayed him.
It only makes her cry more.
She feels like such a useless, hysterical female. One of those olden day dim-witted women who can't take care of themselves and fall into disreputable tizzies anytime life doesn't go their way, like at any minute she's going to faint dead-away. Then the slave's going to rush out with the smelling-salts to revive her, and probably blame her corset... she needs to stop reading historical romances.
She hears a strange creaking noise, coming from one of the side exits, fire exit.
She hopes it is Cho.
??!!??!?!
The fire door swings outward with a low groan. The Inscrutable grins.
The afternoon air breezes into the dimly lit arcade. Dimly lit because Le Rouge Jacques had destroyed the fuse box, there will be no electricity in this building, not while he resides at least.
His left hand touches the bud on his breast pocket, his gift for Sylph; reminds him of his purpose here.
He is aware that Le Rouge Jacques expects him, wonders if the man will allow him entrance without disruption.
Is the goal today to get The Inscrutable as close as possible before the duel? Or is the point of this little meeting to gloat, and revel in his capture of Sylph.
He wonders if Sylph's true identity has been discovered, probably not. Possibly.
The Inscrutable desires Sylph's anonymity if only for the fact that he wishes to whisk her off one day and knowledge of her face will impede (not destroy, merely make harder) his plans.
He wishes he had been clearly with her about his intentions, but she reads him so well he had assumed she knew everything in his heart. He must continually remind himself that she does not possess the same gifts as he does. Her talents lay elsewhere, and it would behoove him to remember that. She is too important to his sanity to take her for granted.
She is too valuable, too special, too tied-up on a plastic chair right now for him to be poetic.
The breath in his lungs collapses under the weight of her figure.
Her fists are clenched and it is obvious she is crying.
Rage envelops him.
How dare Le Rouge Jacques cause her tears.
He had known that she was tortured, but his Sylph is the strongest person he knows. She has not lost her sanity, her humanity. Not like he has. She is a better person, a better hero, she is just better.
He will not lose her now, and definitely not to him.
He does not need to scan the floor to know that Le Rouge Jacques is behind him. Not directly of course. But far off to the side, staring intently at Sylph.
He has realized she is crying too, and he is intrigued.
The Inscrutable wants to rip his eyeballs out for seeing Sylph in this intimate moment.
No one should ever see her cry.
Not even himself.
He does not deserve that honor. No one does.
He fingers the dark silver mask upon his forehead. It is ominous and almost omniscient in its dealthly glory.
He does quite like the theatrics of it; reminds him of the operatic ghoul pulling the strings behind the curtain.
He grins and the reflection in the warped steel grimaces.
He can't wait for this fight.
But he must decide on the first course of action.
Incapacitate Le Rouge Jacques so that he can free Sylph OR Free Sylph so together they can incapacitate Le Rouge Jacques.
He will not relinquish this inhumane creature to the police. They cannot be trusted, they have proven that much.
??!!??!?!
Dropping through the ceiling of the arcade had seemed like a good idea. But, it turns out... those types of heroic actions are best left to the movies. It hurt. And he's somehow twisted his ankle as his body swung to the floor.
Guardian hobbled to a corner of the room and hid behind a pinball machine.
He could see Sylph, bathed in dust, stationary in the middle of the room.
Le Rouge Jacques leaning against a covered window, observing her.
The Inscrutable was watching the both of them, obviously deciding what he wanted to do.
Guardian sighed, this was going to take a while.
Poor Guardian, having to wait in the shadows is never a fun thing...
Hope you all enjoyed
Arc