A/N: Tallulah has a Bristol accent in case you want to imagine her voice. :)
The princess, Ilana Rostovic, is to be their charge. Soon to be queen, the poor princess needs protecting from a Themyscira-born sorceress by the name of Circe. The journey to her side stretches on as the team disembarks the Osprey and takes an armored vehicle to her location.
Tallulah doesn't mind that all the seats are taken. She keeps herself busy.
"You're staring," Nina says, her voice tiny. She shifts nervously. "It's... unsettling."
Bride huffs softly, a laugh caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "She knows that."
"Mm." Tallulah responds.
Her long fingers creep up the pale column of her throat, the heat of his radioactive emissions trickling into her lungs. Glowing blues peer into the equally bright green flames of her paramour. She drinks him in, eyes tracing the rise and fall of his flickering glow with an unsettling devotion. "Nature's a cruel artist. To carve such beautiful contradictions into one body—ruin and radiance, passion and reluctance. A poison that ferments into the most delicious wine."
"That... What?" Nina whispers. "Does that mean anything?"
Bride snorts. "She speaks nonsense. Her aim is to confuse and seduce."
Tallulah fixes her cold gaze on Bride, smirking. "My stitched-together songbird, nonsense is merely poetry yet to be deciphered."
Dr. Phosphorus exhales, toxic fumes curling from his maw. "It's a fancy way of saying I look like a terrible idea with a great aesthetic."
Tallulah groans approvingly. "Mmm, yes. Deliciously terrible," she purrs, stretching her neck out and sucking down the air between them. It's tinged with his toxic fumes, tickling her throat on the way down. Around her, the rest of Task Force M rattle in the seats of the SUV, the landscape flying by the windows. The vehicle shakes over the winding terrain, but she remains weightless, her amusement undisturbed.
She breathes deep, laying on her back midair. Alexi, the head of the royal guard, picked them up from the airport, cutting through the lush countryside of Pokolistan. He pretends not to hear them, eyes on the road as he hums a quiet tune.
There's a sigh like air bubbling from beneath a river of magma. Tallulah feels the weight of his attention on her skin. That dying star is finally shining on her.
"You're trying to turn me into one of your tragic sonnets. It's not going to work."
Tallulah giggles again, both sweet and sinister, a hand moving over her unbeating heart.
"Never you, my dear. We do the same twisted dance, moving to the distorted music. We're writing the sonnet right now, and it's anything but tragic. The love interests are meeting for the first time, wading through the beginnings of a world-ending courtship. You hear it, don't you? The violin signifying our attraction, the delicate harp playing to a budding romance..."
He presses himself further into his seat, radiating not only heat and flame but also discomfort. "I hear the ramblings of a madwoman."
She gasps, her painted lips making a perfect circle. "Mad? You don't have to butter me up, darling. I'm already wrapped around your finger." She laughs darkly. Tallulah floats up to his face, her half-lidded eyes trailing over his features.
"That wasn't a compliment." Crossing his toxic forearms over his bare chest, the skeleton leans back against the window, widening the valley between them.
"Oh?"
"It was a statement." He turns his skull the other way, sockets tilting toward the sky as his elbows rest on the window behind him. "Like 'that's a fire' or 'that's a very big knife, put it down.'"
The truck rumbles over uneven roads, touring through little towns and villas. The castle is draped is purple hues, blending nicely into the pinkened horizon. It reminds Tallulah of the view from the old farmhouse, the castle of her village's ruler looming over the trees in the distance.
Phosphorus licks his lips, though there's no saliva on his tongue to wet them with. An old habit, one he can't kill. Even chapstick can't soothe the dryness, the heat.
"You think if you pour enough honey in my ear, I'll forget what you are."
Tallulah squints, her smile reaching her eyes. "And what am I? A demon? A warning? A pitfall?"
His voice, sharp as a scalpel, slices through her sweet, sultry chuckles. "A devourer. A hole with no bottom. All hunger, all wanting."
A soft sigh leaves her as she swoons. Her head tilts, her neck bared as though offering it to him. "Oh, he's a poet. Even better," she croons dreamily. "And you're right... I am hungry, but not for food. I want something more."
"Yeah, we get it." Phosphorus mutters, waving his hand near his hand like waving away a fly. "You feed off radiation and you're a spooky vampire. The theatrics are a little unnecessary."
"Oh, dear," Tallulah's eyes soften in an instant. Her voice lowers as she drifts, leaning in to speak in Phosphorus' ear. "Theatrics are entirely necessary. I have a certain... reputation to uphold, and I must perform."
Surely Phosphorus could understand that. Fear and impressions played a large role in Gotham city politics, especially in the criminal underground. That and of course it's delightfully fun to watch them squirm.
His jaw clenches, the flames behind his hollowed-out eyes flickering. He doesn't buy it. He's seen too much, been burned too many times—literally and figuratively—to believe in convenient declarations of devotion.
He won't. He can't, not while he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"What are you afraid of, love?" Her breath ghosts over his face, fanning the flames that dance over his transparent skin. Her muzzle glows red hot from being so close. Metal, so hot it should burn, rests harmlessly on her soft, pale face, remaining strong and intact. "That I'll see you? That you'll let me?"
His jaw tightens, the green glow in his sockets pulsing. "I'm not afraid. Just careful, in a healthy way. Maybe it's because you were just flirting with the other guy two minutes ago, but don't trust you."
Tallulah catches onto the faint want in him, the hunger he feels being draped behind a heavy curtain of distance and sarcasm. She can sense the jump of intent in his fingers, itching to grasp her even as he holds them in place.
His heart beats as fast as a rabbit's, but she doesn't smell any fear from him.
She looks at him with sorrow, wondering what happened to him that made him reject her. So guarded around her that he can't accept her genuine love. "Oh, pet... Don't lie. You may not hear it, but you must feel it. You must see it."
She feels something real between them, something that sets her veins ablaze and makes her feel like her belly's full of hot coals. 353 years of life and she doesn't remember feeling anything other than frigid until now.
Something flickers in his gaze—uncertainty, distrust, longing—all snuffed out before it can fully form. "You want to know what I see? A caution sign. A smile drawing me in only to bite when I get too close."
"No poetry this time?" she asks, curling in the air. Her hair moves with her, glimmering under the midday sunbeams.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the heat from his body intensifying in response to her proximity. "What do you want from me? A poem about how I'm starting to—" He stops. His teeth clack. His mouth snaps shut as if to trap the words inside.
She's not at all disappointed, as the things he doesn't say are just as telling. Tallulah's laugh dances through the air, echoing with knowing amusement. The tinkling of her giggles is like glass shattering onto marble. "You almost said something truthful, didn't you, darling?"
"For the love of—" Flag groans, running a hand down his face. "Can you two stop flirting for five damn minutes? We're not here for you to play radioactive footsie."
The Bride rolls her eyes, her reattached head lolling. "They're already unbearable."
Nina softly agrees, her tone light like powdery snow. "Like watching a snake try to seduce a bonfire."
Phosphorus looks to his so-called teammates, feeling persecuted. "Hey, I'm the victim here!"
Inside, the castle's walls are crowded with portraits. Gold filigree crawls up the walls, slithering along the ornate carved accents in the wood. Blues and purples decorate the hall, it's ornate walls speckled with various portraits and paintings. All of it together speaks to a wealth and refinement Tallulah had never known.
She had been raised in a shoddy farmhouse, where the wind howled through gaps in the wood and the hills stretched on like a lullaby. Her father was a farmer, her mother a homemaker. Her brothers had strong backs but empty heads. And Tallulah? She scrubbed and cleaned, tended to the animals, and ran barefoot through fields that once felt endless.
Until the world came knocking.
She exhales, shaking the thought away. That was over 300 years ago and getting only further away.
Tallulah turns her gaze upon the sardonic scientist, his flickering form bobbing in front of her. She slides along the carpet, her toenails dragging against the soft pile.
"You look at home amongst the riches, my dear doctor," she muses, head tilting. "Did you come from old money? Gold-lined cradles and diamond-dusted dreams?"
Dr. Phosphorus snorts, his molten breath seeping into the cold air. "No, but I made a killing—literally. Gotham's underbelly pays well if you don't mind getting your hands bloody."
"Oh, Gotham," she sighs, her voice dripping with nostalgia. "A city after my own heart. Even older than me, if I'm not mistaken. Crime thick in the air, corruption rattling in the bones of every street. The music seems dreary there. The underworld clawing at the veil, whispering promises sweeter than sin."
Phosphorus looks to her, eye sockets ember-lit. Her words held something more than nostalgia. A little too much insight for someone merely passing through.
Her accent—English, but with a peculiar lilt—is rhotic, her vowels flat. It's not quite Scottish, not quite Welsh, and definitely not from anywhere near Gotham. Somewhere in the West Country. The scientist in him itches to know, even as the cynic in him tells him not to care.
Curiosity is a noose, and he keeps sticking his damn neck out.
"You've been to Gotham?" he asks, voice lazily skeptical, hiding his interest.
"Briefly," she replies, drifting alongside him, moving with eerie ease. She brushes past him, her long, black nails scarping softly against the fabric of his lab coat. She barely touches his shoulder, but he feels it.
He feels her spindly, frigid fingers of through the fabric, icy touch bracing his long-burning nerves.
For the first time in decades, he shivers. He feels something besides overheated and it makes him miss touch, miss kissing, miss things he shouldn't be missing because they're beyond his reach now. His fire intensifies, his glow getting stronger and reminding him to stay in control.
"I quite enjoyed it—the calamity, the chaos," she continues, her voice a silk ribbon wound too tight. Her eyes narrow happily, watching him shudder. "It called to me… much like you do."
The general groans, rubbing his temples. "For the love of God..." His glare lands squarely on Phosphorus, as if he expects him to rein her in. "A little help, here?"
Phosphorus says, dry and impassive, "Oh, sure. I'll just wave my magic wand, and poof, unhinged behavior under control. Maybe I'll even find the time to tuck her in at night. What do I look like, a magician?"
"I don't know what you're pouting for, General. I'm focused," Tallulah purrs. She straightens abruptly, being the only one sensitive enough to hear the light footsteps coming down the corridor. "Here comes the ruler of this crumbling kingdom, now."
Flag stiffens, turning at attention. Ilana's violet dress is draped in decadence, her blonde bob gleaming like corn silk. She moves with the grace and elegance, but Tallulah smells the truth beneath the perfume.
The princess is a shark gliding just below the waves, all sweet smiles and hidden teeth. Tallulah's lips twitches.
"Richard Bill Flag Sr. So wonderful to be meeting you." Princess Ilana smiles, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her tone is honeyed with the formality her status demands.
"Princess Rostovic. It's an honor," he greets, bending at the waist to offer her a polite bow.
Tallulah, her attention still lingering on the princess, murmurs under her breath, "Her mask is painted with innocent eyes and a blush like spring flowers, but underneath? It's as cold as porcelain."
Phosphorus can't help himself. "Does everything have to be a riddle with you? You'd make bank selling cryptic messages to fortune tellers."
Her voice is lost under the sudden ruckus as Alexi steps in front of Ilana.
"This is not the kind of bow we do in Pokolistan, Mr. Richard Flag." Raising his fist and giving it a stern shake, he places his hands on his hips. With jowls as swollen as his, his frown is obvious even under his fluffy brown mustache. "So, unfortunately, we are going to have to kill you."
Rick flounders, stepping back as the rest of task force take stances. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, but it doesn't affect her.
Tallulah breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach, her eyes bright with amusement. After the monotony of the Osprey and the car, she was ready for something unexpected.
"Alexi-" Ilana tries to interject, but is swiftly silenced by the guard's booming voice.
"I am sorry. We must only do sacred, customary bow in this castle." All around them, Alexi's men step forward. A tight oval is formed and Task Force M tenses in response. "Everyone, murder this man."
Hands twitch toward weapons. Flames swell. Everybody readies themselves for combat.
Tallulah? She's not exactly subtle.
Tallulah claps her hands together, a chuckle springing from her mouth. Excitement and blood lust war upon her visage, eyes slightly scrunched to go with her smile. "I do so love a good execution!"
"Of course you do," Phosphorus mutters.
"Wait! Hold on a minute!" the general cries, raising his hands disarmingly. He shuffles back, Task Force M crowding his rear. "No one briefed me on what kind of bow..."
Alexi bursts into laughter, his cheeks puffing out when he tries to stifle it. It's almost as though they were laughing together. His wheezing guffaw hurls through the air. He bends, his hands resting on his knees, laughing himself breathless.
"Alexi... He's... How you say it? Messing on you?" Ilana taps her chin thoughtfully. She tries to hide it, but her eyes reveal her piercing, calculated nature, at least to Tallulah. "But it seems I didn't need to tell that to your floating comrade."
"I thought they were serious." Tallulah sighs wistfully, chuckles barely clinging to her lips. "A shame. I was so looking forward to the bloodshed."
Phosphorus exhaled a slow, glowing breath. "You need a hobby. Maybe bird watching. Something that doesn't involve homicide."
"Well then..." Though she plays it off, Ilana's clearly perturbed. Her kind gaze turns to something more guarded, more analytical. "We've prepared a banquet for you, our honored guests."
Dinner is a tragically boring affair.
Wine is about the only thing on the table Tallulah can stomach. The massive banquet table is cluttered, the abundance of dishes, silverware, and flatware crowding each setting opulently. Roasted pheasants, large cuts of meat, and freshly-baked loaves emit flavorful scents and savory odors, but the foods that cover the surface might as well be ash and crust with how unappetizing they looked to her.
Tallulah's steak isn't as bloody as she hoped, and the outside is seared with a putrid mix of spices and rotten-smelling herbs. Otherwise she might've enjoyed a good lick.
Her physiology had been changed, once when she was sired and then again much later in life. She sighs disdainfully at the raw meat and paws the plate. She sighs, pushing it in small increments, like a destructive house cat.
She slides it off the table, holding back a smirk as the ceramic shatters on the floor. The raw steak squishes when it hits the floor, leaving dark juices staining the rug. A chorus of gasps sounds from the hoi polloi at the far end, their whispers sinking into the atmosphere. Tallulah enjoys wrenching such reactions from mortals. It makes her day that much more interesting.
"Oops." She titters, levitating out of her chair to hover over the banquet table as though lounging. Smirking, she watches the butler rush to her seat, sweeping up the mess promptly. He keeps his stare down, away from her luminescent irises, as he rushes away. It brings a smile to her face to know she still terrifies the peasant class.
Like mist, she drifts to the unimportant end, she smiles at the cowardly humans eating their meals. None of them can even meet her gaze, her caged smile scaring them into submission. They let out a collective sigh when she glides the opposite way, swapping her empty wine glass with one of their full ones.
They don't protest. They don't even look at her.
They're cowards, but she likes the smell of their fear twining together, a bouquet of anticipation and dread coloring the air.
Bride is also partaking in the wine, drinking it straight from the bottle. She has one in each hand, as if daring somebody to take note of her indulgence. Nina swallows a brussel sprout that floats inside her helmet. The butler hands GI Robot a pint full of fuel, at Nina's polite request of course.
She gives a wave to her radiant romantic interest, fingers curling while she smiles delightfully. His flames swell as he presses his hands against his steak. A dark mark in the shape of his palm remains and he takes a bite before throwing it over his shoulder.
Tallulah sips her glass. She licks the red wine off her top lip, savoring the dry, bold flavor. Her eyes meet his over the whole chicken he has in his hands. As it's engulfed by the sickly flames in his hands, it turns a darker shade of golden brown.
He throws that over his shoulder, too, and Weasel darts after it. Tallulah stares at him and glides along the air down the line of the table. Her dress is pinned tightly around her knees, her hand keeping it from dipping into someones soup. Not for their sake, but because she only has one dress.
While Rick and Ilana flirt at the end of the table, Tallulah levitates to the opposite end. She tugs just slightly on the table cloth as she goes, enough to be a threat.
A panic erupts in the group of mortals, eyes wide and prey-like. They grab their plates, looking at her with worry. They're only a few brain cells away from scattering like startled does.
She hides her giggle behind her hand. She turns her back on them, standing straight once her feet find the ground again. She chooses to walk rather than float, letting the plush carpet seep in between her toes.
Her footsteps are silent, the smooth skin of her soles meeting zero resistance in the soft carpet. Draping herself on the back of Phosphorus's chair, she rests her chin on her arm, eyeing him from the side.
"Tell me, my dear inferno," she croons, "is it exhausting to burn so brilliantly? Or do you ever wish for a reprieve? Something to cool you down, to take some of that heat off your hands?"
"No thanks." He doesn't look at her, probably because she'd know he was lying, but his flames pulse, betraying his awareness of her presence. Whatever truth she might see in his eyes is hidden as he instead gives her the back of his head to look at. "You're worse than a damn blizzard."
"You know, I think we could help each other." A rush of her breath—cold as grave dirt—sifts across the nape of his neck.
"Help?" He takes a sip of his own wine, the liquid sizzling on his tongue. "You mean trouble each other."
"You wound me." Her eyes flick to his hands. "I was merely suggesting that, perhaps, you could assist me in getting rid of this dreadful muzzle. I'm hungry, after all, and the General is awfully busy tending to his own... needs. Why shouldn't we?"
Phosphorus glances over at the General, who's too busy clinking glasses with Ilana to notice their conversation. "No thanks. I don't need another round of shock therapy today."
"Mm." Tallulah's tongue flicks out, fondly remembering the first jolt she received through the chip. She couldn't consume the electricity that way, but with her invulnerability, all that she felt was pleasure. The intense shocks caused her nerves to fire and muscles to tense. "I found it rather… thrilling."
He gives her a sidelong glance, his molten eyes dimming. "That's a little concerning."
Tallulah chuckles, the sound sultry and knowing. "Come now, my smoldering star, let's not waste our evening." Phosphorus doesn't answer, so she leans in closer, her voice dipping to a whisper. "There's a lovely courtyard outside. Quiet. Secluded."
His jaw tightens. His eyes flicker, unreadable, before he exhales slowly. "And what exactly do you think is gonna happen out there?"
Tallulah tilts her head, considering. "Perhaps a bit of scheming. A touch of treachery. Maybe I'll simply admire you in the moonlight." She grins. "Or maybe I'll convince you to be a little bad."
He scoffs, affronted. "I'm plenty bad."
She stares deeply into his skull and for a second he fear that she might see right through his stoic facade.
He pushes away from the table, his chair sliding gently against the soft flooring.
"Alright," he mutters, his voice low, as if he's already regretting it. His molten eyes flick toward her, glowing with something unreadable. "But if this is some kind of setup, I'm torching the whole damn garden."