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I-280, Jump City. 0846 Hours, 16 AUGUST 2014
. . . of the tragic accident has been identified as Michael Garcia, a local. Police continue to search for suspects in the brutal murder of truck driver, Se- . . .
The man reached forward and turned up the volume on his radio to fend off the growing cacophony of honking horns and epithet filled shouts. Traffic was always slow returning from work and he had long since ceased holding any expectations for his peers upon the road. While their patience dwindled and they began hurling expletives that only encouraged further violent discourse, he did not indulge in such crude behavior. Reaching for the first of many cups of coffee that would see him through his late night, he inhaled the cinnamon scent, and sighed as it soothed his agitated nerves before he lifted it to his lips.
He shouted as it suddenly soaked his suit, lid thrown by the sudden quaking of his car and footsteps pounded across his roof before cowboy boots appeared on the hood of his car. As the verbal violence bubbled forth, the slender girl turned to face him and bent at the waist, gazing into his eyes with a small smile as a penny dangled on a string about her neck. The words died on his tongue and in the next moment, his door, which he had unlocked even if he didn't remember the action, was pulled open. Gloved hands reached past him and pulled his wallet from the second upholder while another set held him back, ensuring that he would not move but he couldn't even consider such a thought lest he break eye contact with the gorgeous emerald gaze. The arms retracted, tossing the wallet and its few remainders into the seat before they dashed away. His heart hammered as the girl winked at him before she leapt to the road and raced between the cars.
It felt as though a fog had been lifted from his mind and he shook it to hasten its departure as he furrowed his brow. Anger boiled up within him and he pushed from the car, ready to weave through the labyrinth of cars before he was slammed into by a small crowd of men and women, knocking him to the ground. They stumbled over him and soon they were a mess of limbs and writhing bodies, prior frustration and rage helping with the rapid deterioration of the situation. Others pulsed at the blockage before filing along alternate routes, but the girl and her accomplices had disappeared from sight.
Nobody paid any mind to the panel van advertising 'Jump City Gutter Cleaners' idling amongst the legion of vehicles, and the short-haired girl laughed excitedly, exhilaration still coursing through her as she performed a victorious dance in the cleared space of the van.
"Oh, that was a blast. Man, I love rush hour," she proclaimed as she swung her hips back and forth, arms pumping in the air. Her accompanying pair were decidedly unsubtle in their focus, and she knew that their driver watched her movements via the rearview mirror. They had been chosen for their athletic frames and pleasing features, save for the driver who had been the unfortunate soul manning the vehicle when she had decided to acquire it. After she was sufficiently complimented by their dull-eyed ogling, she ceased her gyration and turned towards them, setting a hand upon her hip.
"Dump the packs, boys," she crooned. "Mama found something interesting while we were playing."
They obeyed without hesitation, turning over the backpacks they had tossed their ill-gotten gains in and she purred happily as she crouched, sifting through the pile of cellphones, cards, cash, and baubles. Humming, she stopped in her search to slip a gaudy watch onto her wrist, admiring its glitter and shine in the dim light even as it hung loose and bulky upon her wrist. Focusing upon her task once again, she paused as she found a driver's license that she had demanded be added to their hoard while the man was being robbed. Lifting it up, she scanned the lines of text before sliding to the front of the vehicle where she passed it to the unwavering driver.
"We've got a new destination, Jeeves," she smirked. "Don't be afraid to scratch the van, just as long as you keep me away from the cops."
Finishing his study of the address and devising a route, the driver gave a clumsy nod and reached down to shift gears, lurching into a space as it opened.
Main Street, Jump City. 1114 Hours, 16 AUGUST 2014
"Cashy, when I let you off your leash to play, I prefer it when you keep the casualties to a minimum," Alondra noted dryly, taking a long sip from her Irish coffee. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste as she licked at a dab of whipped cream on the corner of her mouth while Cash focused upon his game, giving no sign that he had heard her. Opening her eyes, she conceded with a slight nod, "Or, at least to what's necessary."
"The execution was unmitigatedly justified," he protested. "It provided the manslaughter a sense of realism. Or perhaps we are discussing the effeminately haired chauffeur? Because his extermination was likewise necessitated."
He lounged upon one of the side seats within the spacious back of the limo as his employer occupied the rear seat, attired in a silky, midnight blue dress with a slit along its side that revealed her shapely thigh. A pale furred collar was wrapped about her neck and she carried a small saucer for her simple coffee mug. The city flashed pass them outside tinted windows, towering skyscrapers replaced with shorter structures as graffiti flourished upon old walls. Residents eyed the sleek automobile with a mix of hunger and envy, covetous stares straining to follow it for as long as possible. It passed swiftly through the crumbling neighborhoods, encountering only green lights, and the driver took no heed of any pedestrians, missing toes by several inches and sparing not a single glance backwards at the ranting figures.
"En serio?" she muttered. "Just how many accidents have you seen that ended in somebody's murder? And I'm talking about how you handled Garcia, not Doyle's little minion."
"Manufactured or accidental?"
"Que?"
"In reference to the calamities resulting in the abrupt, intentional cessation of existence, is our dissertation about manufactured or unintentional incidents?"
"Both."
He paused his game and squinted, sifting through his recollections, before he admitted, "With the inclusion of the mishap of the quondam night, six."
"And how many accidents have you seen or even heard of? Of both types?"
"I -"
"Plenty more than six, yes?"
He grumbled an incoherent response and she continued without acknowledging him as she asked, "So, how does the murder add a sense of realism?"
"Retaliation is practically necessitated," he argued. "It's a gang-related cessation."
"'Retaliation?' Please. That was revenge. Which is a loser's game, Cashy."
"One that you've certainly never dabbled in," he muttered sarcastically.
"There's a difference between revenge and discipline," she fired back. "Revenge is about passion. Nobody really learns anything from it. But, discipline - that is all about teaching others their boundaries."
He grunted as he pressed passionately at the buttons and she rolled her eyes, giving a small shake of her head as she took another pull from her brew. She glanced out the window to see the vehicle passing through a chain link fence, rolling onto a concrete lot dominated by a line of gleaming motorcycles. Seedy men in leather jackets or coveralls paused in their conversations with leather clad woman to gaze at the gleaming white craft that glided into the contained area. It pulled past them with a prideful air, drawing to a stop before a series of bay doors, most already occupied with cars in various states of disassembly. Men working upon them halted in their progress, dropping wrenches and other tools into deep pockets and wiping their greasy hands upon rags.
As the limousine halted, Cash sighed and the game flickered into his sleeve as he slid from his seat and dutifully opened the door. He stood posted at it as Alondra took a final sip from her cup, set it upon its saucer, and placed it upon the seat as she gracefully emerged from the vehicle. She stood for a moment, regally poised before beaming and approaching the growing congregation of men and women. Cash closed the door and lumbered after her while the driver rested a hand upon the submachine gun that he had drawn from the glove compartment.
"Buongiorno, signore e signori!" she greeted the mechanics and their attendees cheerily as she approached them. Her expression sobered slightly as she drew closer and she bowed her head, pressing her hands together in a small prayer. "Judging by this welcome wagon, you know who I am. I have come to offer my condolences. It has come to my understanding that you recently lost a most beloved member."
The members of the Tribe, familiar with their former boss's foe, eyed the slender woman with everything between distrust and outright disgust, which Cash returned wholeheartedly. Several looked towards the memorial that had been prepared for the fallen Michael Garcia, already overflowing with flowers and other forms of well-wishing. Floating to the stand, Alondra kneeled before it and crossed herself, reciting a short prayer in Italian before she straightened, looking towards the assembled gang members.
"I only knew Michael for a short time, but, even in that time, I could tell that he was a good man," she announced, taking a short glance back towards the cluttered remembrance. "A beloved man."
"He was," grunted a blonde man with a scraggly goatee. His eyes glittered dangerously from behind his long bangs and his fingers twitched as he stared down at the slight woman. "You don't belong here."
"Chico, I belong wherever I want to go," she said with a small smile.
"Not here you don't," he insisted, voice low and guttural. A hand balled into a fist, knuckles blanching as he clenched it and he snarled, "I just watched my best friend, my brother, get run down. Your face isn't doing anything to improve my mood."
"It appears he esteems the countenances of his troglodyte confreres over your own pulchritudinous visage, boss babe," Cash grunted, folding his arms over his chest. "Mayhap, I should ameliorate his erroneous inclination."
"Cashy, be nice," she scolded, wagging a finger at him. "These poor gentlemen have just suffered a gran tragedia. Their thoughts are skewed by their mourning."
A sound like a growl emerged from his sneer and he looked to the blond man to caution him, "The boss babe's magnanimous allowance has granted you a reprieve, churl. Commit another such transgression and you will discover that you have accumulated a bevy of new orifices."
"You and 'orifices,'" Alondra sighed, shaking her head before looking towards the crowd. "Please forgive him. Mi caro amico, Cashy, can be a touch . . . protettivo. Overprotective."
"Good for him," grunted the spokesperson for the collective. "Now, unless you have a problem with your car, you can walk your bony ass outta here and he can be overprotective somewhere else."
"Has anybody ever told you that you're an incredibly personable man?"
"No."
"I didn't think so," she muttered before she sighed and spread her arms in supplication. "I get that this is a rough time for you all, and there are certain things that you don't want to think about, but the world does not stop turning for any death. Who leads you now that the sorely missed Michael has left us?"
"I don't see how that's any of your -"
"Bitch!"
A red-eyed man suddenly shoved from the crowd, staggering slightly as he held aloft a revolver, its barrel fixed upon the intruder though it wavered slightly. Alondra raised a brow as the stringy, haggard man took faltering steps forward and the blond muttered a dark oath, moving to intercept him. He stopped as the weapon swung towards him, the dark-haired man steadying it with both hands.
"Back off, Ron," he muttered, stumbling past him before aiming at the slim woman. "It's her fault. We all know it. It's HER fault that Mikey's dead."
"Me?" she asked innocently, placing a hand to her chest. "Signori, I just heard about the death this mor-"
"SHUT UP!" he roared, lurching forward to press the barrel against her temple. She lowered her arms slowly and wrinkled her nose at the stench of alcohol that rolled from his mouth as he took shuddering, ragged breaths.
"Mikey," he began, "Mikey was out there to figure out a way to take care of you. If it wasn't for you, he woulda been just fine. He's dead cause'a you."
"You bring up a good point," she conceded, keeping her expression schooled. She held up a finger and requested, "Allow me a moment to prepare a counterargument."
Cash's fist took up the side of the man's face as it slammed into it, launching him from his feet and sending him skidding across the pavement, Alondra unflinching at the spectacle.
"Remarks complete," she said with a thin smile, opening her hands.
The crowd gave a shout and several of them surged forward, charging the bulky man who repressed a grin as he turned to face them. He caught the first to reach him by the face and drove his head into the ground with a resounding crack as two more barreled into his bulwark frame. Alondra took a single step backwards as her guardian roared in excitement, throwing both of them back as a fourth assailant came at him from the side, slamming a heavy pipe wrench into his knee. Grabbing his attacker's wrist, he twisted it sharply, causing him to drop the weapon before he bent it, producing a loud, sharp snap. Hollering in pain, the biker stumbled backwards, gawking at the unnatural angle to his limb that hung uselessly.
The man whose head had been bashed against the concrete started to rise only for Cash's boot to slam into his ribs, cracking them and propelling him into one of his comrades. Storming forward, the giant lashed out with his heel, smashing it across the man's face before grabbing one of the pair who had tried to tackle him. Turning, he heaved him through the air, into the metal panel wall of the garage and the man slumped to the ground where Alondra pressed her stiletto heel against his throat, applying menacing pressure.
"Stay down, cabrón," she advised.
Seizing the final of the quartet to attack him, Cash hauled the dazed man into the air and slammed his head against his own, repeating the process several times with sickening thuds. Dropping the unconscious man to the ground, blood oozing from his forehead, the unfazed bodyguard turned towards the crowd.
"Come on!" he bellowed. "Agglutinate in this brouhaha!"
His gaze suddenly swung to the side, picking out the gunman desperately worming along the ground, hand reaching for the weapon that had been thrown from his grip. He gave a cry of pain as the heel of Cash's boot came crashing down upon the back of his hand, grinding into it before rough fingers curled in his sloppy attire and flipped him onto his back. They hauled him into the air while the other collected his firearm, shoving it into his mouth and cutting off his fervent curses and violent promises.
"Prepare for perforation, schlemiel," Cash growled before his mistress's voice halted his trigger finger.
"Don't waste a bullet on the perdedor," she commanded, heel still pressed against the man's jugular. She looked towards the crowd who had stiffened at the barrel in their comrade's mouth and she gave a small smile. "Perhaps it is a time for a lesson on the difference between discipline and revenge."
Her gaze slid towards the garage and he followed it before grinning broadly and pulling the revolver from the man's mouth. Keeping him aloft, he strode across the no man's land between his boss and the rest of the bikers and into one of the open bays. A car had been pulled onto the tracks of a hydraulic lift and it hung in the air, supported by a thick pillar. With a dark chuckle, Cash threw the man onto the floor beneath the lift as Alondra followed after him with stately steps. Glancing upwards, her protector lined up his squirming victim with the frame of the track as she grabbed its dangling control and pushed it towards him. Straightening, he caught it as he slammed his boot onto the man's chest, keeping him pinned as he grinned excitedly and Alondra turned to address the crowd, taking the revolver from her proactive bodyguard.
"Any idiota who interferes gets, to take a word from Cash's dictionary, a brand-new orifice," she announced, lifting the gun. Her free hand dipped down, sliding under her dress and sliding a snub-nosed revolver from the band high upon her thigh. "And, if any of you perras get smart and realize that there's more of you than I have bullets, take a quick look behind you."
They turned to see that her driver had emerged and circled about to kneel beside the hood of the car, leaning against it to stabilize his firearm. Turning back towards Alondra, she nodded and lifted her voice for all of them to hear, "All right. Listen up, students. Class is in session."
The motor of the pillar gave a rumble and began a slow descent downwards as she explained, "What your friend was after, what he wanted, was revenge. He wanted to hurt somebody for the sake of a dead fool. Revenge is a waste of energy and resources."
She pointed one of the sidearms at the pinned man whose eyes bulged at the lowering frame as he thrashed beneath Cash's unmoving boot.
"This, right here, this is discipline. This is me teaching you what happens when you start pointing guns at people that you really shouldn't point guns at. And what being rude gets you. But mostly the gun thing."
"Ronny!" screamed the drunkard desperately. "Help me! Don't let them do this to me! You can't let them do this to me! Bobby! Cal!"
His eyes darted frantically about the crowd, but each of them averted their gaze, hiding their shamed visage before the blond Ron took a shaky breath and stepped forward.
"Right. We got it. Lesson learned. Just let -"
"Lesson learned?" she parroted, cocking her head. She straightened it and gave him a small pout, "Caro, I'm the teacher here. I say when class is dismissed, and school is still very much in session. Now, unless you want to step up to the blackboard, sit. Back. Down."
The pistol pressed forward and he bit his lip before taking a step back, staring helplessly at his writhing friend as the lift started to close the final inches before his head. He strained, struggling to lift the foot planted upon his chest, a futile effort that Cash chuckled cruelly at, before he turned and pled with his brothers-in-arms.
"P-pl-please! S-save me! For the love of God, help me! Don't let them do this to me! Don't let them - ahh!"
He broke off as the metal finally began to press against his head and he tried to pull it free, stubbornly struggling as he tearfully begged, "I-I-I'm sorry! Puh-please! Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't ki-"
"Oh, cease your simpering," Cash snapped in annoyance, pushing more of his weight onto the man to force the air from his lungs. He gasped desperately and the men and women he called family refused to watch as cracks and squelches replaced his screams before the lift finally touched down upon the floor. A red pool grew and mixed with the various oils and grease that had dripped onto the floor, and Alondra picked up her dress, lifting her hem from the ground as she evaded the crimson ichor. Sweeping out of the bay, she regarded the assembly coldly and hissed.
"Any questions?"
They remained silent, most failing to meet her gaze, and those who did only peering at her from the shadow of their brows, their faces grim. She continued, "I'm afraid guns pointed in my general direction quickly make me lose any patience I have for my usual games, so I'll get to the point."
"Your capo, your boss, is gone. Muerto. And, if you refuse to play nice, you're all headed down the same route. From here on out, you're under new management. Namely, mine. You'll retain autonomy, you'll keep up with business as usual, but whatever cut Michael got now goes to me."
Cash stepped up behind her, grinning gleefully as his overly bright eyes scoured the crowd, searching for any signs of disobedience, for his next victim. His fingers danced eagerly, curling and unclenching them in anticipation as his mistress commanded, "If you have any problems with that, bring them up now. That way, your death will be quick. Relatively. But, if you go along with my offer now, only to betray me later, I will personally remove your organs, and you will be awake for every. Single. Second!"
Drawing in a calming breath, she smoothed out her dress, stroking slender fingers through her furred collar, and Cash looked towards the bikers almost pleadingly, urging one of them to dispute her rule. However, none came forward and Alondra gave a small smile, nodding contentedly at their obedience.
"Bene. I look forward to our long and fruitful partnership," she beamed before striding towards her car. "Now, I have another meeting I must attend to. So, be good and make sure I get my cut by the first of the month, or I'll be paying you all another visit. Ciao!"
She glided towards her car, returning her personal revolver to the strap hidden beneath her dress while she passed the second to Cash. He accepted it grudgingly, disappointed with the subservient crowd, and stuffed it beneath his jacket after turning the safety on. Alondra stopped amongst the men that had been injured in the fight with Cash. The conscious ones glared at her but remained silent while the one with the fracture gaped at the tilt of his limb, attempting to close off the pain that flowed from the sight of the break. Casting a glance over her shoulder, the crime boss fixed her gaze upon Ron, who still stood at the forefront of the crowd.
"Take these boys to the Murakami Hotel," she instructed as she turned forward again. "They'll take care of them. Free of charge."
Cash slid in front of her to open the door, and she slid into the back of the vehicle gracefully. He cast a final, almost wistful glance backwards, urging somebody to act out as the driver returned to his cab, before he wedged himself through the doorway, causing the luxurious car to lower under his bulk. Shutting the door behind him, he dropped onto his seat, game flickering from his sleeve as he pouted. Returning his weapon to its regular home, the driver shifted and the limousine began to pull from the lot of the auto shop. In her seat, Alondra twisted about, glancing downward as she slid a hand under her rounded rear.
"Cashy."
"Hmm?" he wondered, refusing to lift his gaze from the screen that had captured his attention.
"Do I have a bony ass?"
He paused, eyes wide before he tilted his head back, looking towards her thoughtfully as he mused, "Typically, your callipygian derriere is without compare, but it is feasible that I may suffer privation of a view unobstructed by any accoutrements to ascertain such information."
She beamed under the praise, picking out the more familiar words as she purred, "You just want to see me naked, non voui?"
"Always."
"Please refrain from removing any clothes while I'm present," requested Mr. Quill, his back ramrod straight and his expression flat as he perched upon the long seat opposite of Cash. The large man swore at the announcement of the white-suited man's presence, sitting up as his hand slipped into the inside of his jacket. At the same time, Mr. Quill flashed forward and Alondra stared in bemusement as the lithe man pressed a straight blade into her protector's neck while he jammed his heavy pistol into the bottom of his chin. Neither moved for a moment though the car continued onward, the driver ignorant to the troubles in the rear, and Cash glowered into the curiously wide eyes that met his own unblinkingly.
"My triumph, homunculus," claimed the capped man.
Mr. Quill remained motionless for a second longer before sliding away, returning to his seat as his knife disappeared. Alondra gave a small chuckle and wondered, "Exactly how long have you been there?"
"Since you and Mr. Sloane -"
"Cash," snarled the guard as he slipped his firearm back into its holster.
"- began aggressions against Mr. Alexander. I have been watching longer," he confessed.
"Are all you Fuma of such Lilliputian stature?" Cash interjected. "Your dimensions are more diminutive than those of the Serpent."
"The Taipan," he corrected, an edge coming to his voice but vanishing quickly. "And I would have thought that he would have been lesson enough on the lack of correlation between size and lethality."
"Can we start this meeting or do you want me to wait for you two to finish posturing?" Alondra asked with a teasing tone.
"Forgive me, Ms. Arnetti," Mr. Quill requested, bowing his head towards her. "I intended no disrespect."
"Lascia perdere," she responded, dismissing his transgression with a wave of her hand. "Mr. Quill, I trust?"
"Yes."
"A pleasure to meet you," she smiled sweetly though it was a touch predatory. "Since we already know each other, let's get down to business. It has recently come to my attention that the Fuma, my beloved, long-time associates, have decided to sit out on this little takeover I have going on."
The assassin cast a quick glance towards Cash, who watched him with an eager smile as he flexed his fingers, before returning to her as he nodded, "That is correct. I had intended to speak with you upon the matter, but you set up the meeting before I could do so."
"Hmm," she hummed, leaning back. "And there is no way that I could . . . persuade you to break that rule?"
A brief darkness came to his eyes and the edge returned to his voice as he answered, "I would never betray the Family."
"Never is a very long time, Mr. Quill," she observed with a small smile before she nodded. "However, I'll respect your boundaries. For now. But, per curiosita, say that I want you to kill someone who's never been a client of the Fuma. Could you kill them?"
"As long as they have no affiliation with the crime syndicates of Jump City, I am fully at your disposal."
"Eccellente. Now, one final question, and this one has been troubling me for quite some time. What happened to my dear, dear Taipan? One day, he wiping out my annoyances and the next, he's just . . . gone."
Mr. Quill hesitated for the briefest of seconds, eyes shifting quickly between the regal woman and her menacing guard, both of whom studied him with unwavering stares. The Fuma Family was a grand organization and rarely did anybody meet every other member, but it was seemingly impossible not to know of the Taipan. One of the most proficient assassins with the Family, he had served for years under Alondra Arnetti, carrying out the various murders she did not want her Carogne Uccelli tied to.
"The Taipan has . . . disappeared," he reported. "We are unsure of where he has gone or what he is doing."
"Una lástima," she sighed, closing her eyes for a second. She opened them again and offered a small smile, "That's really all I needed from you. Is there anywhere you would like us to drop you off?"
"The next intersection shall suffice."
"Are you sure? I'd hate to have you walking all over the entire city or something."
"Your concern is appreciated, but I shall be fine," he assured her without losing a step.
"Very well. Cash, let Frankie know to stop."
He grunted in response as he shifted in his seat and Alondra pursed her lips as she asked, "I thought of a final question. Is the Family going to throw a fit if I hire freelancers to deal with the people they won't?"
"I was under the impression that you already had."
"Oh, Cashy isn't a freelancer. He's actually very loyal."
"To the zenithal petitioner," grunted the man in question as he leaned back in his seat.
"Que?" she demanded, snapping a glare towards him. He grinned back at her as the limo rolled to a stop and Mr. Quill flowed towards the door, ducking under their eyes. Exiting the vehicle, he paused and turned to offer a courteous bow.
"The Fuma have no qualms with you taking matters into your own hands though they do ask that you refrain from killing any of the Teen Titans. It would draw unwanted scrutiny."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," she said, momentarily tearing her glower away from Cash. "I have my own ways of handling the Twerp Titans."
"Then I bid both of you a good day," he offered as he straightened and executed a sharp turn before soundlessly moving away, disappearing into the crowd. Cash paused, peering out the door and searching for him before snorting and slamming it shut.
"Lost him."
"Of course you did," she retorted smugly before her eyes narrowed upon him. "Now, what was that you were saying about petitioners?"
Genevieve, Downtown Jump City. 1704 Hours, 16 AUGUST 2014
A pleased cry shot through the soft chatter of the restaurant's dinner crowd and a stout woman bustled through the crowded tables.
"Mon ami! Bienvenue!"
Kori grinned as the dark haired woman bustled forth, pushed aside the hostess, and captured her in a hug that the redhead returned with a giggle. Adelaide barely reached her shoulder but there was a surprising strength in her arms that belied her frame. Releasing each other, the owner of the restaurant caught Kori's hands and inspected the gorgeous girl before she tutted disappointedly.
"Look at you. So skinny. You need to eat more."
"That is why we came to see you," she answered.
The shorter woman peered around her at her four friends, recognizing two of them before looking back to Kori and smiling, "Then I shall do my best to add some meat to your bones. The short one with dark hair would appreciate that, no?"
Kori and Richard blushed at the remark while Gar leaned over to Rachel and whispered, "I think she's talking about you."
"Behave," she growled and he chuckled before tucking behind Victor who rolled his eyes at their antics, following the others to their table. He tried to keep his mouth from watering as the aromas washed over him, singing a siren's call that threatened to overwhelm his rationale, but he made it to the table without any incident. His ring, like the ones worn by the others, disguised him with a wholly human appearance, and he had programmed a crisp dress shirt and black slacks into it for the semi-casual evening. Dick had reluctantly removed the sunglasses and flattened his hair, separating himself from the identity of Robin, but he still remained vigilant, body tensed for the possibility of any threat.
The tall redhead and the chef chatted animatedly, hovering over the table as the others took their seats. The team was slow in recovering from the after effects of their fight with Phobos and Deimos and had still been feeling the lingering touch of the pair's powers. Beast Boy remained hesitant to shift into his animal forms, afraid that he would lose himself in them once again, and Robin's hand had wandered to his hair several times when he was stressed before he forced it back to his side. Headaches still plagued Cyborg and Raven while the resident alien refrained from summoning her starbolts in the situations that had called for their involvement, which were, fortunately, minor. A fragile silence had pervaded the Tower that not even Beast Boy had dared to break though a steady murmuring had been gaining momentum with the nearing of the dinner.
Some life had been restored as they had readied themselves for the evening, and Rachel had been subjected to her first joke from Gar since the incident. The warm atmosphere, soothing music, and delectable scents populating the air put them at ease and the customary smiles were restored upon Gar and Victor's faces as they sat down. As Adelaide departed for the kitchen, Kori settled into the seat that Richard pulled out for her and the changeling leaned forward to accuse, "You've been coming here without us."
She flushed, "I did not mean to. I had been doing the shopping and was feeling hungry when I found myself here. They were not very busy, and Adelaide remembered me. She shared lunch with me."
"Look out, Dick," Gar smirked and earned a glare from the dark-haired boy. "You might have some competition."
"I have eaten here several times since," she went on to admit. "Forgive me. I did not mean to neglect you."
"Chill, Kori," Victor assured her, glancing up from his menu. "I'm more annoyed that absolutely nobody mentioned this place to me. Y'all've been holdin' out on me!"
"Yeah, see, we liked this place. We want to be able to come back," smirked the faux blond.
"I take it Adelaide's husband has returned," Rachel observed, nodding to the cloth flowers residing in their glasses and stealing away the conversation before her friends could turn it into a demonstration of repartee for the entire restaurant.
"For a time," nodded the tall girl. "He travels frequently."
"What's he do?" Dick asked, slipping into the talk with his surveillance of the restaurant completed.
"Adelaide said that he works as a stage magician. He seems to be rather skilled given the apparent call for him," she said.
"Hey, maybe Rae could take some lessons from him. I don't think she and Mumbo are working out," Gar suggested in mock conspiracy, eyes flickering to the pale girl at his side. He shrunk away as the dark-haired girl glared at him but she refrained from making any threats and focused again on her menu. In lieu of her hood's shelter, she tried to sink into the ambient shadows afforded by the pointedly dim lighting. Despite her agreement to buy the dress, it had taken Kori's cajoling and pleading for herself to pull it on for the evening, and she had been equally reluctant to don the dark heels.
While Kori had added a glittering necklace to her ensemble, Rachel had decided against any jewelry, but still found herself subjected to periodic glances in her direction from Gar who studied her with an intensity usually reserved for his movies and video games. It unnerved her while simultaneously sending her heart into frenzied palpitations, and for a reason she either didn't know or didn't wish to acknowledge, she had not demanded that he stop. With the aftermath of the mental trauma inflicted by the criminal duo, they had yet to conclude, much less continue, their discussion from the pool. A part of her wondered if the return of his jocular manner meant that whatever rift that had grown between them was now healed, but she knew nothing in her life was that easy.
The incognito changeling was thankful for the arrival of the waiter, a distraction from the all-too enchanting figure of the girl in the seat beside his own. He smiled at the pretty blonde who leaned forward to remove the napkin rose and fill his glass with clear water and crystalline cubes of ice. Before he could let fire the off-color comment on the tip of his tongue, a sharp pain shot through his shin and he barely managed to keep the twinge concealed before he turned to glower at Rachel who adopted an affectation of innocence. Kori readily supplied her order, familiar enough with the fare that she gave no more than a cursory glance over her menu before handing it over, and Dick made his request in flawless French, impressing the waitress who halted her smile at the warning gaze of emerald from the redhead.
Vic fretted over his options, too hungry to settle on a single meal and he passed the pressure to his blonde friend who shakily rattled through his meal's name, butchering the foreign pronunciation. After Rachel made her choice, it circled back to Vic who, after sucking in a breath, crashed and stumbled through what sounded like half the menu. The waitress frowned as he forged through it, resorting to a second page and wedging the letters together, her brow furrowing. When he finally ceased his reading of the majority of the menu, the unfortunate woman read through them again to confirm the orders. She departed lightly flushed and out of breath, lurching towards the kitchens. Dick turned to the largest of the youths with an arched brow.
"You do realize you're covering your own bill, right?" he asked cautiously as though trying to decide if he was being serious or joking.
"Oh, sure," he nodded with a grin. "But I've got BB's account info, so I'm good."
Despite its rounded edge, Gar's ear managed a twitch and he tore his unconscious, appraising gaze from Rachel's voluptuous form and blinked at his friend.
"Wait, you got what now?"
"Nothing, man," Vic reassured him with a broad grin that only served to further arouse Gar's suspicion. As they began a, fortunately, low-volume tirade, Rachel rolled her eyes and looked to the long-limbed girl at her side.
"Are you certain that this was a good idea? Bringing them along seems like it'll ensure we're banned from here," she grumbled.
With an indulgent smile and a laugh, Kori shook her head. "Friend Adelaide would not ban me."
"And what about the rest of us?" she asked, noting the conspicuous absence of a plural pronoun.
"They have to-go boxes," she shrugged with a small grin.
The intentional humor stunned Rachel into silence and she gaped at Kori who winked and then turned to talk excitedly to her boyfriend, regaling him with tales of Adelaide's culinary mastery. He offered his full attention to her tangent-filled speech, smiling with sincere contentment as he gazed upon her. Rachel could sense the swell of affection that was impossible to keep fully concealed and it released a giddy charge through her body, sending her heart into a fluttering flight. His hand gingerly reached out to hesitantly lay atop Kori's own, and the contact caused her to stagger to a halt in her discourse as they both blushed at the touch before she secured a hold upon his hand and continued.
Rachel could feel the twin beacons of shyness and the contradictory desire for more at the simple touch though they wisely restrained themselves. Excitement raced through their nerves and Rachel averted her gaze before any could remark on her curious study though looking away did not save her from the wash of emotions. Enough joy bubbled from Kori that she imagined it was only her other hand securely anchored about the chair's frame that kept her from floating into the air. Richard's mental barriers weakened in the presence of the violet-clad beauty and nervousness ran rampant through him even if it never breached the surface.
The sensations were vivid enough that for a second, she slipped into the delusion that her own fingers were entwined with those of another. A sudden squeeze about her hand followed by a quickly stifled flash of confusion informed her that it was more than imagination. With a growing sense of dread that made her wonder at the current whereabouts of Phobos, she slid her gaze along her lightly slanted arm. It stretched beneath the tabletop to mingle and conspire with Garfield's extremity. Whether by her subconscious design or his own, their fingers were quite intricately woven and one of his claws, bared though disguised by the ring forcing him to remove the glove, circled lightly upon her skin and she hissed as she pulled in a breath that did not want to leave her lungs.
Garfield's feelings were blatantly obvious, throwing themselves from the partitions of his mind, and there was a crash of panic and utter bewilderment at the situation. He schooled his features with impressive discipline, continuing his conversation with Victor as though his other hand was still unoccupied. Rachel was about to pull her hand away, when she was struck by a curious little consideration, offered up by a traitorous portion of her mind. It spun about within her mind, gathering momentum as other facets took interest and it soon loomed too large for her to ignore or excuse.
He had not released his hold.
Her cheeks colored and she prayed that Victor's device was not sensitive enough to detect such a minor fluctuation, but her hopes were dashed as she noted Garfield's near luminescent flush. Lowering her head, she wished, for neither the first nor the last time of the evening, that she had her hood to retreat into. Before she could conjure up some small glamour to disguise the all-too attentive hologram, their meals descended to the table with an aroma worthy of an angelic choir's accompaniment. She took this as an opportunity to drop Garfield's hand, wondering which of them produced the sudden spark of disappointment, as she tried to stop herself from salivating. After a second, the changeling followed suit and she could feel his mind fortifying itself once again.
Victor's meal, though it seemed more fitting to name it a personal feast, required the addition of a secondary table, a worry that was waved away by Adelaide's command. She had accompanied his plates, confessing that they were still completing his order, but he seemed preoccupied with the spread before him, assuring her that it was fine. For a moment longer, she had lingered to bask in their reactions to the marvels she had created before strutting, very nearly skipping under the apparently lightening effects of praise, back to the kitchen to continue her beloved labor.
Amongst good food and good friends, talk flowed easily, and, for a moment or two, they were relieved of the burden of being them. However temporarily, they could forget that the safety of a city rested, at least partially, upon their young shoulders. That tomorrow they would wake, like any other youth across the globe, with no greater worries than the test they had forgotten to study for or what to wear. Looming concerns of super villains, distant mentors, and potential disasters fled from their mind and even when the plates were cleaned, save Victor's gastronomical undertaking, they lingered, happy in the sanctuary and respite.
Ultimately, they knew it could not last, and when Victor finally finished, moaning in contentment and agony alike, they paid their bills and thanks then managed to drag the large man from the unfortunate chair that gave a grateful creak at its freedom. Kori paused to exchange private farewells with the twinkling-eyed Adelaide who had been unable to stop her gaze from flickering back towards the increasingly nervous dark-haired boy attempting to support his staggering friend. When the pair had finally concluded their discussion, Kori had turned to her comrades with her cheeks ablaze. She had hurried from the restaurant under Adelaide's smug smirk and even Garfield's pestering could not convince the redhead to divulge what had passed between her and the elder woman.
Victor was rather unceremoniously loaded into the rear of the vehicle, haphazardly stuffed into the backseat before Rachel and Garfield tried to squeeze themselves into what little space remained. Ultimately, the blonde resorted to removing his ring, immediately undergoing the transformation into Beast Boy as the hologram was broken, and leapt in under the guise of a ferret. Rachel forced Victor to the now largely vacant side and settled herself comfortably into her seat. In front of them, Richard had already buckled himself into the driver's seat and his girlfriend was twisting about in her seat to discover the source of the backseat's commotion.
Once everybody was situated, Richard pulled smoothly from the parking lot and into the streets lit only by the evenly placed street lamps. As they rolled through the mostly empty avenues of their city, Rachel set her elbow upon the bottom of the window and her chin in her palm to study the darkening buildings. Her introspection was disrupted by a sudden warmth upon her lap and she glanced down to find a green ferret nestled upon it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded while keeping her tone low.
"Cy keeps slumping over. I don't wanna get crushed by half a ton of meat-saturated man and machine. Speaking of which, he may be in a food coma," he supplied. "We might want to think about taking him to a hospital. Or an auto shop."
"What are you doing on my lap?" she amended.
"Oh. Well, it's comfy."
"Off," she growled. "Now."
Blank eyes stared up at her for a moment before Garfield dropped his head with a sigh. "Nope. It's just not the same."
"What?"
"You're cute when you're angry. And you're a lot cuter when you're, well, you. Not all hologrammed up."
She rolled her eyes and snapped at him to disguise the blush, "Stop that."
"Sorry. You're right. 'Hot' is a better word for it . . . or maybe 'beautiful,' but that's a bit pretentious sounding for me, right? Though 'pretentious' is kinda pretentious sounding for me."
Amusement sparkled in his pale eyes and she could feel his mirth, mingling with something else she could not entirely discern. Glancing forward, she found Richard and Kori were suitably distracted by each other, hands clasped as the latter leaned over to press her head against his shoulder. Music featuring a girl singing about who her friend really belonged with drifted through the car, kept at a low enough volume so as not to offend anyone. Beyond the growing hammering of her heart that pressed into her ears, Rachel was surprised she could hear it and she tried to block it out as she glanced back towards the ferret in her lap.
"Garfield, if you continue to mock me, I wi-"
"Whoa, whoa. Hold up a minute. What makes you think I'm mocking you?"
"Aside from your seeming inability to be serious, I know how I look, and while I thank you for refraining from making any jokes about me in a dress, I . . . Th - Nobody really means it when . . ."
"Wait, you - Rae, have you ever actually seen yourself? Because, and trust me here, this is one of the few times that I am serious, you're - I mean, you could probably give most models a run for their money. Easy."
She gave a harsh laugh, but quickly quelled it as she glanced surreptitiously at the other occupants of the car. Turning back to Garfield, she hissed, "I think you're talking about Starfire. I don't -"
"Don't own a mirror that doesn't suck you inside your own head, apparently," he interjected with a grumble. "I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that Starfire isn't insanely hot – least, not while Rob can hear me. But I am gonna tell you that you are too - just in, y'know, a different way. In your way."
The sincerity in his proclamation threw her off-balance, disrupting her carefully structured retort and she stumbled through half-formed words for a moment, frantically checking to ensure none of their friends had heard him. While she flushed, he studied her with an uncharacteristic intensity that had created a glow in Timid, which not even her cloak could contain, within Nevermore. Rachel pointedly avoided his gaze, sending it to search the roof of the car as he patiently awaited her response.
Any answer to his remark was prevented by the sudden crunch of metal that slammed into the front of the car. The dark town car continued onward, barely slowed by the impact while the disguise about the T-Car flickered and vanished as it was thrown sideways. Airbags deployed to catch Richard and Kori as Gar morphed into a mid-sized bear with thick fur, stretching across the seat to catch Victor who was ripped into wakefulness by the impact. Continuing its reckless path, the sleek vehicle barreled forth to slam into the corner of a brick building down the street.
The Teen Titans, their glamour shed, emerged from their car with astounding speed, shooting towards the wreckage, any peace they had found in the evening quickly dissipating. Black auras surrounded the doors of the crashed vehicle before they were ripped away, sent clattering along the street. In the back seat, a portly woman in a crisp suit had thrown herself over a young girl whose soft brown curls matched her own. Their driver groaned, buried by the airbag and Robin went to him, ripping a hole in it with the same birdarang that had torn his. He had donned his sunglasses and activated their night vision, offering him a dubious measure of anonymity that did not slow his rescue.
Crossed lines of red light emerged from Cyborg's mechanical eye to scan the form of the woman before he called, "Unconscious, but no serious injuries found; still gonna want to keep her steady. B.B., you on the line?"
"It's ringing!" he shouted back, his Communicator pressed to his ear when the line suddenly picked up. "Listen, this is Beast Boy of the Teen Titans. I'm at the scene of a car accident, and -"
Starfire growled as she tore away the roof of the car and Cyborg ripped the seat belt from its anchor points, freeing the woman. She was encased in dark energy that levitated her limp form out of the car and laid her safely upon the ground, ensuring not to jostle her neck. A moment later, the driver groaned as he was placed beside her, struggling to keep his eyes open as Robin checked him for bleeding. Finished with his call, Beast Boy was loping towards the vehicle when he paused briefly, sniffing the air.
"Fuel!" he called and Cyborg held back a swear as he scanned the girl.
"Beast Boy, Star, help me keep the civilians out of the scene," Robin directed as people began to emerge from the nearby buildings and cars stepped in their nightly journey to investigate the scene. "We need to make sure that there's a path for the ambulance."
As they set to work guiding traffic and keeping onlookers away from the scene, encouraging them to return to the safety of their homes, Cyborg looked to Raven, his expression grim.
"The impact snapped one of her ribs and punctured her lung."
"I can keep her stabilized until the paramedics arrive," Raven said, her tone firm and reassuring. He smiled, trying to ignore the aroma of fuel that was beginning to reach his nostrils. Cutting away the seatbelt, he stepped back and watched as Raven collected the youth with her soul self. She could feel the broken rib pushing into the walls of the girl's lung and she secured it, ensuring it would tear nothing more as she levitated her from the vehicle. Moving slower than with her previous passenger, she delivered her gingerly beside her mother, reluctantly releasing her, scared of what would happen without her attention. However, as the smell of fuel grew stronger, she crafted a bubble field about the vehicle, putting her entire will into its construction.
Her force field shuddered at the explosion, causing the stubborn bystanders to jump, but it stayed firm, preventing any shrapnel that would have ripped from the now burning heap. After a moment, she released the shield and gave a sigh of relief as the wail of the siren ripped through the air. She looked back towards her friends as Starfire soared to the ambulance and other emergency vehicles to guide them, their cries shattering what had been a serene night.
Apartment 503, George Towers, Jump City. 2018 Hours, 16 AUGUST 2014
Tomás Granados paused at the scream of sirens, pressing himself into the shadows of the rich apartment, eyes darting to the study from which a soft glow emerged. The lenses in his beaked mask showed his prey's heart rate was steady, almost slow, but he did not move from his spot in the chair. Once the brilliant lights had ceased their play across the room's interior, the stocky agent of the Carogne Uccelli slid forward, stealing across the carpeted floor to pause right outside the doorway. He gave a moment to listen to the tribal drumbeat of his blood as it pumped through his veins, calling to the ancient and primal instinct of the hunt. Inhaling a heady breath, he emerged from his hiding place and strode into the study.
"Mr. Lure. I am a representative of the Vulture," he announced. "I have come to collect your debt."
The gracefully aging man stiffened, sitting straight in his tall-backed chair and looking up from the papers piled upon the solid, wooden desk. His study was warm and spoke of expensive tastes, rare books gracing the oaken shelves that lined the walls. Thick carpet covered the floor and an elegant floor lamp in the corner provided a glow that coated the room in a relaxing light, bright enough to see by but not glaringly so. Amongst spaces upon the shelves were a number of wrought-iron statues mimicking the great sculptures of the masters, perched atop heavy bases.
Its occupant was a skilled investor who, following a drawn-out and venomous divorce, had made some rather poor business decisions. The stress had coupled together and his already weak heart had not suffered it well, eventually giving out and dropping him in the middle of the bank. He had recuperated at a hospital where he learned of his imminent need of a heart transplant and his rather dismal placement on the list that sparked his fear and impatience. A business associate had informed of the services provided by the Vulture, and after some deliberation, he had sought them out. The first several payments had arrived promptly and in full, but they had faltered before cutting off altogether, which made him ripe for plucking.
Over the years, Tomás had learned that there were four responses to his announcement and presence, barring exceptional circumstances. Sometimes, they would simply break down, tears pouring from their eyes as they blubbered pathetic promises or pleas for leniency, for just a little more time. Occasionally, they hastily paid their dues and the extra expenses, and he would leave without dispute. A few brave, or foolhardy, individuals would try to fight, but most of the time, they ran. They ran with a desperation that harkened back to humanity's earliest days, a time before they ascended to the relative safety at the top of the food chain.
The last one was Tomás's favorite.
However, Mr. Lure did none of those. Instead, the man who rigorously maintained his physique and would have made such exquisite prey, looked straight forward, eyes staring through him. Tomás waited a moment, hoping it was fear that had frozen the man to his seat before he strode forward, sliding a scalpel from one of his many pouches.
"With any luck, whatever you're on hasn't completely numbed you," he muttered sourly. He heard the footstep behind him and turned in time to see the metal pedestal of one of the statues swinging towards him before his vision was filled with chromatic explosions, galaxies swimming before his eyes. Staggering forward, he managed to catch himself as the assailant drew back the weapon again and smashed it against the back of his head, sending him spilling across the floor. His attempt to rise was met with another blow and he finally subsided, struggling to focus on a pair of cowboy boots that stood in front of him.
After a moment of heavy breathing from his attacker, the boots shuffled and the statue thudded against the floor. There was a small chuckle that sounded slightly delirious and then the girl crouched down, hands clamped over her mouth to stop her sudden eruption of mirth at the violence. Her hair was in a short, tomboyish cut and her eyes glittered with a dark intent, but he was pulled from her budding beauty to the coppery coin dangling from about her neck, dancing before his eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Carrion Bird," she purred as she crossed her arms and set them upon her legs, letting her necklace hang over them. "It has come to my attention that you know things. Some very interesting things. Don't you?"
"Yes," he drawled, his voice sluggish as the world slipped away, save for the swinging coin.
"Yes, you do. Good boy. Now . . . penny for your thoughts?"
Problems fixed! We're still apologizing for our neglect with our stories and we should be returning to our regular schedule soon.
In other news, if you notice, Alondra tends to use Spanish when threatening or insulting people because she learned the language from her mom, who is more prone to threatening and insulting her employees and underlings because she was not born into power like Alondra's father was - she had to fight for it and take it anyway that she could.
Also, anybody else ever end up associating original characters with a particular song? For example, we often think of 'Run This Town' by Jay-Z when writing Alondra (though it's not something we'd listen to). Sorta like a theme song. We do it with a lot of our characters. Carnivore's song is 'Wolf and Man' by Metallica.
Hope you enjoyed! Regardless if you did or not, please review!