Chapter Four: Of a Sinister Nature (Riptide)
Janos Quested kicked flopped his muddy boots up onto the antique stone table in the "reception hall." As if he had no idea what the word "antique" implied.
He did, of course. He was not a complete idiot.
He just didn't give a fuck.
He flipped a shuriken out of his leather vest, and started throwing it into the air nonchalantly. Part of the act. The cool, assassin act. The act that had gotten him this deal in the first place.
"You're going to break something," the green-haired witch who'd only introduced herself as Vertigo sneered at him.
She was always sneering about something.
When this job was done, he would love to find out just what it was inside of her that made her so goddamn sour all the time. Maybe she was green on the inside. He was sure he could find out. A quick spin, and a few spikes, and disemboweling always ensued.
For now, he ignored her, and continued flipping his flashing throwing-star into the air haphazardly, catching it with two fingers in the center of its flat sides when it came back down, and twitching his wrist just a little and releasing to send it flying again.
Vertigo. What a fucking stupid code name.
Course, it was better than Blockbuster. The big lug couldn't even do anything great. He was just… big. And cosmically fucking stupid, apparently. Or Harpoon. Honestly, Harpoon?
What was this, Moby fucking Dick?
Riptide, however. That was a cool code name.
"Where is he," the witch hissed again, pacing behind the couch he was sunken into.
"He said he'd be here," Harpoon leveled a dangerous glare in her direction, polishing one of his horrific projectiles.
Like he wanted to remind them all what it was he could do with those things.
Riptide flipped his shuriken in the air once more, just for good measure.
"My Marauders…"
The voice echoed through the hall before the shadow of the man became evident.
If he was even a man. Janos had doubts about the likelihood of that. No, this dude was something else altogether. Something off the fucking scale.
His voice was still bouncing around the cavernous stone chamber when he stepped into the light. Torch light.
Torch light, in a castle, in England.
How bloody strange was this guy, anyhow?
He was only half into the light really. But the silhouette of his Dracula-inspired high pointed collar and trailing cape was just as impressive in the dark as it was in living color. Perhaps more so, really.
Riptide could appreciate that. Drama served its purposes. He could probably learn a lot, working with this guy.
And the money was good, anyhow. Which was really the important thing.
"I have a little job for you."
"So we heard," Vertigo snapped.
The boss turned his face, so that it was suddenly caught in the flickering firelight. Steely. Square. Eyes glowing.
Na. Not a chance that he was human. Or mutant, probably. Off the fucking scale.
Vertigo shut up, anyhow, which was another important thing.
"Twins," he finally spoke, after his glowing eyes had bored into the witch long enough to satisfy him. "Follow me to the lab, and I'll show you who I want. You are to bring them to me within two weeks time. You know the price if you fail."
And with a swish of his cape, Sinister was turned around and heading down a dark hallway.
Janos Quested found himself leaping to his feet, shuriken forgotten.