Listen to: "In The Cold, Cold Night" by The White Stripes for the sewing scene, and "Mausam and Escape" by A.R. Rahman for the fight.
Hesitant piano chords echoed through the studio. They pieced together carefully to create a halting replication of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". It proceeded well until a sour note sent the entire piece reeling. A young cry of frustration went up and the music stopped.
"Hey, it's okay, Jonathan." The woman comforted the boy at the piano. She glanced at her watch. "Listen, you did very well today. You're becoming almost as good as me! It's about time to go, and your mother should be waiting outside."
"Okay." Jonathan stood and picked up his coat. "Bye, Miss Davis."
"Bye, Jonathan. Have a good weekend." The studio door closed with a click. She looked at Moonlight Sonata again. Jonathan was progressing exceptionally well for a boy his age. He really was getting very good. Jackie turned to face the keys again and drummed her fingers along them absently. She stopped and yawned massively. Four hours of sleep; a new record. Usually it was around two. Yawning again, she picked up her own coat and keys to the studio. She didn't have another lesson for another thirty minutes, and the Gunga Diner was only about a block away. She would have just enough time to get a cup of coffee and get back in time for Samantha.
She locked the door behind her, went down a set of stairs and out to the street. Jackie squinted up at the sun and down at her watch again as she walked. Her daily intake of caffeine could not possibly be healthy, and she was starting to hit the side effects. She was getting jumpy. She wanted to keep her senses clear but with such a great intake of the drug it was becoming hard to concentrate unless she had something caffeinated with her all the times.
On the way to the diner she passed a few more morning people. A balding man at a newspaper stand, a kid sitting at a hydrant next to him reading a comic, and people in suits or such hurrying off to work. She got to the diner and bought her coffee. When she got it, she relished in the smell. It had a bitter aroma and, as she took a sip, an even more bitter taste, but she didn't use sugar or cream. It diluted the drink too much.
Jackie stepped out of the diner, walking faster now. Putting the Styrofoam cup to her thin lips again, she checked the time. Nine-fifteen. She swore and picked up her pace, still looking at her watch. She hadn't gotten twenty steps from Gunga's Diner when she crashed headlong into someone, spilling burning coffee on herself and the other person.
"Gah, shit . . ." She tried wiping the coffee off, but it was already soaked into her coat. Distressed now, Jackie glanced at her watch, then back at the diner where she could find napkins. "Agh, I'm really sorry, but I really need to go. Sorry, my fault." She tossed the broken cup in a rubbish bin as she hurried off, pulling her sleeve back again to see the time. Nine twenty-five.
When she got back to the studio, Samantha was waiting awkwardly outside. Her mom was sitting in her car at the curb. Jackie cursed the more formal outfits she wore when she gave lessons. She had almost broken an ankle even in the tiny heels she wore.
"Oh, gosh." She gasped, slowing down as she came up to the girl. "Oh, Samantha, I'm sorry, I tried to get some coffee and I was running late . . . here, let me open the door." She pulled out the key and unlocked the door, waving to the girl's mom as she drove off.
"It's okay, Miss Davis." Samantha laughed, looking at the stains on her instructor's coat. She was about twelve or thirteen, as Jackie recalled.
"Samantha, you're too nice for your own good. And you're my oldest student, so please, just call me Jackie." She opened the door to the studio and let Samantha in first.
"Okay Miss—I mean, Jackie." The girl said. "Are we going to continue on Beethoven today?"
"No, no, I think you've moved past that. Let's try "Claire de Lune". I have other students working on simple Beethoven, and I think you're ready to at least give this a shot." She rifled through a folder until she found the sheet music. The girl's eyebrows rose as she glanced over it.
"This is pretty complicated . . ." Samantha said uneasily.
"I simplified a lot of it for you. The real piece is much more challenging." The two sat down at the piano. "Besides, if you think it's too hard we can always go back."
-One Month Later-
Phalanx leaned against the ledge of the building, taking a bit of a night off. She was on the roof, wrapped in a blanket she had brought to ward against the chill. The top half of her costume, excluding her mask, was in her shaking hands as she attempted to stitch together the short slash in the fabric. Sewing had been labelled, in her mind, as a useless skill. Now she was beginning to regret not learning. Her hand was smeared in little bits of blood from constantly pricking herself, and though it would make more sense not to leave the motel at all, she was finding coming outside to be a habit.
Another needle of pain stung her finger. She continued without blinking, lacing the black thread through the two edges of fabric. Making a mental note to make the suit more resistant to attacks, she bit the end of the string and tied it as tight as she could with numb hands. The leather gloves she wore didn't protect much against cold. Pulling the fabric, she didn't particularly care at this point if it held or not. She was just relieved to have it mostly fixed. The back she had long ago put together, but only now was she starting to pay attention to the sleeve.
A gust of wind howled over the rooftop. Phalanx tugged the blanket closer to herself and pressed tighter against the wall. As the wind died down again, she shrugged off the blanket and pulled the top back on, then grabbed the blanket again, getting up to sit on the ledge she had been leaning on. She wasn't about to go prancing about with the thing with her, but if she saw someone below she could leave it and come back up. Someone—or rather, two people—stepped down on the roof behind her. She looked over her shoulder. It was Laurie and the Dr. Manhattan, doing their rounds.
"Oh, hi, Phalanx." Laurie greeted pleasantly. "I didn't know anyone was up here."
"It's fine. I can move." She stood and folded the blanket neatly. It was quite thin.
"No, we need to keep going . . ." The argument was half-hearted at best.
"It was about time I left anyway." She nodded to each of them. "Good to see you, Laurie. Dr. Manhattan."
Phalanx jogged to the edge of the building and jumped to the adjacent one. The night was cool and relatively quiet. It had been approximately a month since Captain Metropolis had tried to get the Crimebusters together, but Phalanx was fine by herself. Being around other people made her uncomfortable, and throwing knives got dicey when she wasn't sure who she was throwing them at.
She reached the motel. The night was still young, but this gave her a chance to drop off the blanket. She dropped down to the window ledge, slid open the window and tossed the blanket in. About to pull herself back up, she stopped at the sound of a fight below. She shimmied down the wall and drop onto the pavement, a longer knife already in her hand. Turning a corner, shadows danced across the alley walls. A can of spray paint clattered to the ground and rolled to her feet. A couple groans withered in the cool air, and then all was quiet again. There was a distinct pause, and then Rorschach stepped out of the alley shadows.
"Oh, you again." Phalanx commented, running a gloved finger along her blade. They watched each other for a moment—or, at least, she thought so. It was hard to tell with his mask that covered his eyes. The mask like a lava lamp, like a hypnotist's tool. She finally shrugged and walked back around the corner to where she knew there were good handholds. Alleys were all flat brick. "Bye."
She clambered back up and stretched when she reached the roof, bending down to touch her fingertips to her toes with one arm in the air, then bent back the other way. As she straightened up, holding a folded arm behind her head, she saw a shifting gaggle of people move about a block down the road. They walked out of an alleyway, then around a building and into another one. Jumping to the next building across and hoping she didn't lose them, she looking below her feet to see Rorschach running in the same direction.
Her scowl was hidden beneath the neutral face of her mask.
Leaping to a building a few feet lower, she spotted a rubbish bin and landed there before hopping down to the ground. She was a little ahead of Rorschach, but that changed a second later. It was more a silent race now. Neither acknowledged each other's presence, but kept their distance as the pair tore across the street. As they neared the alley, a bubble of drunken chuckling echoed out, as well as a small, feminine shriek. Phalanx, breaking the sort-of silence between the two by holding out one hand in an attempt to tell Rorschach to slow down, dropped a hand to the smaller knives at her belt. To her small relief, he seemed to get the hint and dropped back by just a step. She didn't want to be responsible for any friendly fire.
Phalanx tore around the corner and whipped the knives at the knot-tops without hesitation, on second thought hoping she didn't accidentally hit the woman in the dark. There were several cries, but she couldn't get all of them. Feet pattered down the pavement toward them, and she just had time to drop out of the way as a gloved fist barely grazed the side of her head, aiming for the fastest thug. Phalanx snapped the knife from her belt and turned to the side as a thug slashed downward with a short switchblade. He stumbled, and she reacted on instinct, slamming the curved knife down into his exposed back.
Blood gushed out across her hands, soaking her, the pavement, everything. She pulled the blade out again as he continued screaming, thrashing in helpless agony. Phalanx reached up to wipe something from her eye and smeared still-hot blood on her eyelid. The click of a gun being cocked caught her attention, and she plucked the last throwing knife from her belt. The thug with the gun was further down the alley and hidden in shadow, so she mostly threw based on sound. There was a thud, and he stumbled into her view, doubled over the knife in his stomach. She walked around behind him and wrenched the gun from his hand, taking the ammo out and tossing the empty thing aside. As she shoved him over, she looked up to see the last standing man being taken care of by Rorschach.
Turning around, Phalanx saw a woman crouched against the wall, quietly crying. Phalanx bent down and offered her a hand. The woman shakily took it, and Phalanx pulled her sharply up. "Are you okay?" The woman nodded, whimpering. Phalanx ushered her off to the main street. "Good. Go home and stay there." She turned then to look at Rorschach, but he was already walking away.
"Thank you for the help." She said, mostly out of courtesy. Rorschach turned around partially, enough for her to see the mask that moved.
"Hurm. No problem." He grumbled shortly. The mask shifted again before he turned the corner and left.
Phalanx padded across the buildings, reciting the map of the city in her head. She looked up at the sky. It had to be around three in the morning, meaning she had to hurry if she wanted any sleep. Finding the somewhat familiar apartment, she landed on the roof and bent over the edge, counting windows like she always did. Finding the right sill, she lowered herself down to shimmy down the front of the building. She reached the window and pushed it open—it was never locked. She pulled herself in feet-first and landed on the messy floor of the bedroom without a sound. In the bed, a man slumbered. She crept forward, and a floorboard creaked. She stopped. The man groaned, shifted around in the covers, and turned to see her standing a foot from the bed. He blinked sleepily, alarmed, and reached out to turn on the light. She grabbed his wrist before he could.
"It's okay." Her words were muffled behind the mask. "It's just me."
"Oh." He smiled, the side of his mouth turning up goofily as he let his hand relax into her gloved one. "You should have said something, spider. C'mere."
"I can't stay long." She pulled her hand away. "And I have blood on my gloves."
"Eh, I don't care. It's for a good cause, right?"
"I suppose. Listen, I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I should go."
"Hey, come over here a second."
She stepped over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He sat up and put his legs over to sit next to her, still tangled in his sheets. He reached over and gently pulled her mask off, giving it an apprehensive look as it was in his hand. Bits of polished silver on the cheeks glittered in the light from the streetlamp outside. "You know, this thing always gave me the creeps."
"Isn't that the point?"
"Yeah." He ran a hand through her hair. "Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?"
"I've been thinking of cutting it."
"Hm." He smirked. "You always were one for practicality." He leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her lips. "You should go and get some sleep."
"All right." She pulled her mask back on. "Stay safe, Jack."
"Only if you promise to as well, spider."
She said nothing, but pulled herself back up the building's front to the roof, closing the window with her foot as she went.
I know, it's a little pathetic. I'm going in circles a bit here, but I'll try to get on the good ol' plot track before long. Review, please!