Alix wasn’t quite sure what the material was. Most likely some kind of enhanced polymer variant, but what she did know that it was supposed to monitor her physical condition via phantom sensors all across her body. It wasn’t unlike the sneaking outfits the SEALs were known to wear – in fact, if she recalled correctly Eric mentioned a few extra enhancements had been made especially for Alix. Increased adrenaline output, endorphin-release during combat, really crazed shit like that. Her mind was hard pressed to distinctly remember any of them, what with the irony of how he always tinkered with her (even in the smallest of ways) nagging at her psyche.
On her back were strapped her two Daisho katana blades, missing their lavish, gold engraved scabbards for maximum accessibility - though she would have to take them off before they got inside the train. The ends of the blades grazed at her lower legs; long and strong, yet thin and light, all one-hundred percent steel. The perfect weapon.
Vincent stood next to his desk, fixing himself in Kevlar and… set his watch to the exact time, in an effort to be prepared for their assignment as well. His gear was black as well, similar, but loose and heavy; he refused to wear anything even remotely tight, and it obviously lacked the additions made to her attire. It was easy to understand aesthetically, but in battle loose clothing was always a hassle, in Alix’s eyes. Then again, she had never been male, and all he needed to do was extract the girl. “Almost, Alix. Let me get the bandages to cover my wound.” he said, though she could tell he was trying to kid.
Alix stared at him, zipping the duffle bag up at her feet and straightening. She wasn’t in the mood. “Just hurry the fuck up.” she said through clenched teeth. She hastily pulled her gloves on and, in her hurry, put the wrong one on the wrong hand. She cursed loudly and coarsely.
“Is something bothering you?” Vincent asked, packing what he needed into his own small duffel bag. She wondered if the Marines coming with were doing the same. “You’re really....” he let his eyes wander to hers, and for a few moments they kept eye contact, before Alix diverted hers back to her gloves.
‘Please don't, please shut up.’
“Did something happen again?” He said the “again” without even thinking. He should have thought.
Alix threw the glove on the ground. “Mind your own goddamn business.” she said in a low growl, which escalated into a yell as the sentence came to an end. She reached down and snatched up the glove, putting it on the correct hand with fury in every tug.
Vincent stopped packing. “I didn’t --”
“I don’t care, Vincent.” she replied before he had time to justify his question, her voice sounding apathetic and tired now. “Don’t bother.”
“I know,” he blurted out, still keeping his gaze on her despite the fact that she had long parted gazes with him.
She looked up to find him staring into her eyes, which now displayed an emotion she wish they never had; rather, she wish they never did. She closed her eyes and sealed off the emotion. No.
Vincent continued to stare, his honest eyes melting through her icy exterior. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
Alix bit her lip and accidentally tore at the skin. She could taste her own blood; salty, metallic and frightening. She was human, and being reminded of that scared her more than anything. She wanted to put herself into the bag she was packing and hide for ages.
“Vincent,” she began, “you really don’t know anything.”
“You don’t have to protect him.” he whispered sharply.
“I’m not.” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. Alix lifted the duffle bag from the floor to her side, and felt a hint of pain from her wrist, raw and bruised, hidden under black, Government owned material. “Let’s go. We have a train to catch,” she hissed, turning away to avoid his sincerity.
* * *
The men and women in the office building were indefinitely disconnected from the color spectrum - wearing so many different shades of gray that they could have their own rainbow.
Eric Maddox gave the techno-labyrinth city, a reborn Washington D.C., one final glance before taking his seat.
“Before I begin… I am going to be extremely honest to this committee. We've, most admittedly, ignored the facts for awhile, but the truth is too clear now to be ignored. We are simply out of options.” Sitting at the apex of the table, Eric placed his fingers on the center of one of the stacks of documents before him on the table, sliding it ahead to present to the five other occupants in the board room. He continued; his words clear and concise. “The market is plummeting. Unemployment is beyond ‘far-reaching’, it’s a fucking pandemic… Our military is spread too thin to even protect our citizens. To top it all off, our repeated, failed attempts to correct the Eternal Twilight has lost the trust of the public.”
It was at this point that Eric placed a cigarette between his lips and ignited it with the aid of an expensive, platinum lighter. He exhaled before he spoke, twisted ash-gray wraiths bound by chains of nicotine swirling before him. “The same trust that spawned from the fear following the phenomenon, slipping through our fingers. Having taken all of this into consideration, it is... Obvious that our continued failure will suffice no longer. Not with the public, and certainly not with I. We, this organization, must take steps.”
“Just what is it that you suggest, Mr. President?” The first to inquire, hell, to speak in this meeting was James. He was the youngest of the persons allowed access into this room, Caucasian and slightly bulky, not in a threatening sense but something of notice all the same. His brown hair was swept to the side in an odd sort of motif, and his suit, cut from pounds of fabric from something entirely black, gave Eric the impression it had never been worn prior to today. James was Department of Urban Development.
“The Marienkind Project is to begin its second phase.” He said coolly, eyeing them all between the ripples of smoke that were being expelled into the air. The President noticed the two seats closest to him, for Vincent and Alix, were empty. He hoped things would go smoothly.
“Eric... You know that I'm still not sold on that.” The man closest the Eric muttered, fingers sprawled into his graying hair, thinking. Adam, in contrast, was the oldest of them. Though he was entering his fifties, he was not a part of his father’s organization – though he had ties to the late President Maddox all the same. Adam was the Department of the Interior.
“That is absolutely ridiculous. There is no need for such measures. Scientific progress is the way, Eric. We need time, and you have no authority-”
Frank was the head of international affairs.
…And it was becoming increasingly apparent, with each of these secret meetings, that the surviving member of his father’s cabinet either did not want to be here, or had incredible distain for Eric, or both. “I have ALL of the authority.” Eric stated commandingly, before taking another drag off of the Silk Cut slim, retaining it between his lips as he looked over some of the papers, his voice low and annoyed. “Your bureaucracy is bullshit. Do you have any idea of the chances of us finding a cause, let alone eradicating the Twilight in the next 60 years through 'research and science'?” He sounded like he wanted to laugh when he came to stare at Frank Layton and his sneer.
Cillian O’Donnell was the head of research and development at Dynatech Labs Washington, which had more-than-close ties to the national agencies. In many ways, Dynatech’s influence on the American government was greater than that of its populace. He was primarily Irish but didn’t look it (though the European was there), with blue eyes hidden behind round glasses and very dark hair cut almost like an awning over his forehead, which bothered the President nominally. “One can only assume 'indefinately'. Though we at Dynatech have... Attempted to estimate - based on what little knowledge we have.”
He had with him a liquifilm sheet of data that he proceeded to examine with a stylus, while his assistant, Paige Mainwaring, continued. “The report compiled by Dynatech suggested the chances would be...”
“With an eight percent marginal error,” Cillian added, not bothering to look up from the data pad.
“...Of course. The chances are zero zero zero zero zero zero point-”
“Point nine percent. I know.” Eric interjected, leaving Paige with a look on her face borderline pissed from being cut off so much. It soon passed however – especially considering her presence here was a luxury and nothing more. Cillian found it necessary to have her come as a fellow representative of Dynatech, and she did.
‘It is absolutely remarkable how far fucking the right people can get you,’ Eric thought to himself, before he resumed speaking.
“Our most esteemed scientists joke about it as the ‘09’ theory. In other words... We will die before we see the light of day by relying on our conventional sciences.” He rose slowly from his chair, plums of thick smoke in his wake. “I believe it is time we explored the Marienkind Project as a viable option-- perhaps even our major concern from here on.” As he walked along the right side of the table, past Adam and James, he looked out along the darkened skyline. The vast twisting trenches and connecting tunnels, the trains and the cars that densely packed rain-soaked freeways, towering spires and skyscrapers and smoke stacks that cared not for environmental safety; they all glowed as if made of turquoise halogen light, and the underside of the dense twilit sky reflected it.
The four walls of this floor were glass, its thick glass streaked by droplets of water and vibrating to the touch from the movements within the expansive building. The White House. Eric pressed his fingers to it. There was silence – save for Frank’s audible noises of displeasure, slowly building into a rebuttal.
“You cannot be serious. There are other things to consider here. What about the research over in Japan? England? Australia?” Frank’s argument was valid, to be sure, but it was something Eric had heard before… And he was sick and tired of being reactionary.
“There is no more to consider. They wouldn't dare share information with us. This is a competition in their eyes, and unfortunately I... We are the ones who stand to lose everything.”
The wrinkled, slightly pudgy fingers of the aging Adam reached over for a set of the papers on the lacquered wood table, bringing them to him. “Eric, is there really nothing else we can do? No one else has gotten even remotely close, this we know... but are we positive that we're out of alternatives? And if we utilize the children, are you really suggesting we’ll be capable of harnessing the power of a system in place since...”
“The ‘system’ is the source of our plague. There is very little doubt in my mind that it will also be the key to removing it.” Eric rested his gaze on a loose photo jutting from the stack of files before him. Anastazie Tichy.
Before The President had a chance to answer, the others were beginning to retort, apparently having come to their own conclusions. James was the first. “Eric is entirely right. For the Eternal Twilight to end it would have to be...”
…Followed by Cillian, his eyes peeking up over silver rimmed, square glasses, away from the liquifilm. “... an act of God.” His voice was sharp on the ears, and the room became extremely silent once more. Prior to the pin actually dropping, you might be able to hear its fall.
There was a beat. “Acts of men are better than acts of God.” Eric stated calmly, authoritatively.
“Your conviction to this cause is surprising, Mr. President.” James seemed slightly taken aback. He, as well as the rest of them, were men (and women) of some sort of faith, those new and old. Even Eric Maddox had his own principles. But James’ reply remained of open mind.
With a sneer, Frank once more expressed derision. “Conviction to what? His own agendas?”
Cillian, now much more involved in the conversation, sat the translucent panel on the table, edging it to the center, and fixed his glasses higher on his nose. “Enough with the accusations, please. This is neither the time nor the place.” Paige nodded accordingly.
Adam’s words were low in volume, as if he didn’t mean to speak aloud. “So this is why you have put tremendous pressure on finding and eliminating the Furious Angels. After what they did to Dynatech...” Curiously enough, however, he had hit Eric’s next topic of interest.
The President, who had long resumed smoking the cig, made his way back to the table and sorted through the documents, producing a heavy manila folder with the genuine hard copies of Furious Angels data. These remained in his hands at all times, but the majority of the information was digitally accessible to all of them through private means.
“Allowing the children to breach the confines of the compound, and then taking the Alpha, to add insult to injury... They've certainly become a problem.” Paige said with sigh. Eric imagined she had to deal with most of the great amounts of shit paper work that followed each attack by the Angels. “We even have video evidence of the hybrid with them. The hybrid, the girl Anastazie, and a prototype weapon which could easily be reproduced in the black market if sold to the right engineer...”
The Alpha child. Specimen 111-09. The fucking aleph of the Marienkind Project. The biggest concern of them all; Anastazie Tichy. Taken by a band of renegades he didn’t care enough to bother with after previous incidents. Eric took a seat and exhaled, ghostly shapes spilling from his lips.
Cillian continued the technical damage assessment Paige had begun. “Without even figuring in the damage done to our headquarters, the Angels have left a sufficient dent in our wallets.”
Eric crushed the cigarette in the nearest ash tray, killing its flame. “That girl is vital. And I have found the Angels. Currently Miss Kinoshina and a few of our very own Marines are on their way to destroy them. I have made the next move - it is up to her now.”
“Get the hell off of me.” Alix said through clenched teeth, though it was hardly intimidating nor convincing.
They all instinctively looked away at the mention of her name. It occurred to him that no one questioned the absence of her and Vincent. Their operation, until now, had been proceeding in secrecy. James, after a moment, had something to say. “So after our very own, 'wonderful' maid Alix is finished swatting a few bothersome flies... Then what?”
Eric did not like his tone at all, but dismissed it. “The Marienkind Project will commence immediately with the retrieval of the Alpha child.”
“And if she fails?” Cillian asked, his tone flat.
“... Then we are to proceed... Without her.” He said what they wanted to hear, even though he had the utmost faith in her.
With a deep, but not in any way regretful, sigh, Adam seemed to cave to the prospect. “If there is no other way, I have no objections—”
“I will not allow this to continue, Eric.”
Eric looked at Frank like he was damned near insane. He didn’t ‘allow’ shit to begin with. “You will do what has been decided by this board, Frank. You will do as I say.”
“Eric, we have no right to do this to these people, to experiment with their lives, let alone continue this... preposterous operation.” In a sudden uproar, his fit hit the table violently, Cillian’s liquifilm display bouncing with a more-than-audible smack, papers becoming sprawled, and the marble ash tray at Eric’s side flipped in a complete revolution. Four or five twisted cigarette butts, as well as a handful of ash, found its way to the floor, a rather nice floor.
Frank rested his forehead in his palm, shoulder propped up on the table. He looked away, rapping the fingers of his free hand on the table callously. “I will not allow everything your father worked so hard to make a reality become... to become destroyed by your corruption!” His voice heightened into a yell, and Eric countered, coming to an immediate stand and slamming his hands on the end of the cherry wood so hard he should have broken something.
“CORRUPTION IS ALREADY UPON YOU! LOOK OUT FUCKING SIDE!” His hand shot out to the right, the glass wall previously visited. “This is corruption. This is the failure of mankind. I am trying to correct this error, OUR error.”
He left his position to pace over to Frank, the tap of his dress shoes on expensive flooring drowned out by his intensely pissed voice. “Frank, I am not a man to tolerate failure - you understand that, don't you? If you are choosing to be against me, then you are choosing to abandon the most important cause to mankind. This is a time where we must make the decisions that will decide the fate of our enterprise.”
He stood behind Frank now, adjusting his tie. He gritted his teeth and attempted to act a little more professional. “We have little use for you from now on, Frank. And I have little patience for your... Criticism. Do not test me.”
“Calm down, Frank.” Adam said sternly, his fist balled tightly, looking at the director of internal affairs in complete disbelief. No one had ever questioned President Maddox to such an extent that they’d challenge his position of power.
Frank didn’t seem to care. He just continued to mutter under his breath, “You abandon reason, Eric. You're a fucking bastard. You're a sick fucking bastard.”
“Frank... You know this is what needs to be done...” Paige said, looking concerned. She obviously hadn’t witnessed anything like this before, and seemed to show a bit of sympathy, despite holding a much different stance.
“Shut up, you cunt. I wonder, who sucked the most dick to get access into this room, anyway? You or Alix?” He blurted out, ‘abandoning reason’. Cillian removed his glasses quickly to shout ‘Enough!’, but Eric raised his hand quickly in his direction to silence it. He shot Paige a remarkably considerate look. So much for sympathy.
“I asked very politely. You have five seconds to stop talking, fool.” He reached into his pocket, hoping he had settled things, and needing the cigarette to unwind, now. Unfortunately, just as his fingertips pressed over the familiar Surgeon General’s warning on the carton, they were forced to withdraw.
“I am no fool! You're all pawns for this sick bastard and that little tramp he drags around.”
Mistake.
Frank slammed his fist down again, voice rising to its maximum. The ash tray could be heard falling and shattering against the ground from the jolt. “The only failure in this room is the failure of our nation as a whole in allowing this crazy fuck into the esteemed position he is in. You all know it, and Eric definitely knows it. You killed—”
His late father had once told him of a trick to help control rising anger from causing brash actions.
For he, like young Eric, had moments of uncontrollable fury.
This technique was a simple one. When being pushed, for three seconds, consider the following:
First, you were to consider the consequences of your own actions.
“One...” Eric’s hand instead detoured into the interior of his coat.
“--your fucking father. Your own goddamn father, and you would kill any one of us in an instant. You're shitting—” Frank turned to look Eric directly in the eye, still seated.
“Two...” He checked that the safety was off.
The second thing to consider was the ability and efficiency in which you could go through with said actions.
“--on his work and you've created a perversion out of this entire organization. You will pay, Eric, so help me fucking God—”
The silencer barrel of the Beretta M1934 pressed right between Frank’s eyes and in a most remorseless fashion emptied every one of its eight rounds into his skull. The first ensured his death – the seven following splintered hard wood and sent his body back, head tilted upward from hitting the edge of the board room table. Blood misted and spilled against Eric’s expensive suit and the white marble flooring and his Florsheim black Lancaster dress shoes in a mess of gore. Droplets of which sprinkled against the lenses of Cillian’s glasses, which he quickly wiped away on his pant leg in severe disgust.
The third and final consideration was liability.
Eric’s hand fell limply at his side. Paige covered her mouth, looking rather sickly, but at the same time, frighteningly curious at the display. Adam merely dropped his head in his hands, shaking it slowly, probably thinking about how he had tried to make Frank shut the fuck up. James seemed spellbound and rather neutral to the whole turn of events. In fact, he seemed eager to laugh at how quickly everything had happened. Cillian, closest to Eric, remained disgusted and nothing more.
Eric offered him a handkerchief from his pocket, which was quickly accepted.
“If there are no more objections…” He trailed off, ejecting the clip and placing it on the table along the edge of a quickly spreading pool of blood and sinew and bits of bullet-fragmented bone. His eyes roamed among his crowd, slowly settling on Paige and remaining there as he put the gun away and went back for his Silk Cut. He wasn’t sure if he was warning her. But he knew there would be no objections. No sympathy.
The world would soon play by his rules. “Then this meeting is adjourned.”
* * *
Sometimes when she slept at night, she could feel her mother’s breath soft against her cheek. It smelled sweetly and faintly of milk and cinnamon, both cool and warm, both intimate and impersonal. She could imagine her again, small and thin, wrapped in layers of Japanese silk; hugging her jagged, boney body and giving it substance, softness. Cheekbones stern and sharp yet motherly, a mouth that was always scolding yet praising at the same time, with a liquid voice. What have you reduced yourself to, my daughter? But oh, still yet I am proud.
‘Those women who longed for the touch of others' lips and thus invited their kisses,’
Then was when she would awake, sticky with sweat and tears, the air hot and humid, devoid of milky smiles and cinnamon eyes. Gone were voices of praise and contempt and a feeling of belonging, being, knowing. She would be alone, left only with the inadequacy and the silence and the night.
‘I am among them, and other things cheaply had.’
Alix remembered the night her family was robbed. Their home completely ransacked; material possessions and furniture thrown about and vandalized. In her mother’s arms, the two of them had managed to hide away in a closet together, until the criminals had extracted their fill and left. In dying fear and partial relief the cried together against the soft pillows of their displaced couch, letting the rain lull them into somber sobbing whispers until her father arrived home. He ran to them and hugged the both of them as tightly as he could, never wanting to let go. Alix had never felt that loved before in her life before that moment and she didn’t think she ever would as much ever again.
The truth was different, though. She never had that moment at all.
Whenever it rained, she attempted to reconstruct past reminiscences slowly becoming alien to her with age – a redux of her memories in her favor, to her own liking. Dreams for the wide-awake.
Alix often wondered what would have been, if only her mother had hidden away with her during the burglary of her home. If only her father had been away at work just a little later. If the pieces had fallen together correctly to create the perfect picture that she desired more than anything, instead of the crumbling mess she was left with at only seven.
The mess that was her existence - and the path she could not change.
Or so she told herself, over and over. Committed, determined, stubborn submissive… Whichever she truly was did not matter at this point, realization of her fucked-up self now a goal postponed for later in her life, when things weren’t so goddamned hectic. She had a job and without that job, she didn’t amount to a damned thing to anyone. She needed to complete that job, and sulking against the window of subway line 108, passing through the central district of Washington D.C., wasn’t going to help. Pinpointing blame on whatever initiated her downward spiral wasn’t going to break the fall.
Very quietly, with her head in her hands, fingers diving into her soft, dark hair, Alix began to whisper a portion of Eric Maddox philosophy as if it were some mantra. A quote she had heard on some lonely night, in the company of his arms and the smell of matches. The loneliness nights of all.
"They say that 'lust' is a sin, but 'love' is highly regarded to Man as the language of one's heart and soul.”
Vincent, sitting across from her, the little fucking twat, was simply silent. Silent in a way that came off as particularly indifferent, as if he did not want to insult the volatile female. There was faint hope, somewhere within her, that he would just disregard what she was saying. The rest wished he wouldn’t.
“What is the difference, Alix, can you tell me? Can you show me?" She concluded as her hair suddenly tossed itself before her eyes, irritatingly whipping at her face, like a sheet of laundry in the wind. The dizzying construct that was this city made for a rather questionable rail system. The sharp right turns always fucked with her.
He smiled, but not because he was happy, just humored. “You will.” Vincent replied calmly, as if the past transgressions between them had never actually transgressed.
She sneered, the heel of her foot pressed against her duffle bag, locking eyes with him, the little kiss-ass shit. “Without question.”
Neither of the two spoke for the remainder of the journey to the District of Columbia air base.
[more]
Jubilation Link @ 08:50 AM CST [#] [1114 comments]
The false-sun lamps shined dimly in the hallway, creating a warm glow against the striking hardwood and gold furnishings. The tap of a woman’s high heeled boot as she walked quickly was swallowed by the walls, the echo nearly non existent in the beautiful, yet sterile hall. The azure stained glass changed a grey sky into a blue one, spilling it’s false light upon the false beauty of the room. It was a horrible place really, covered up to try and hide it. But all the gilded chairs and burgundy fabric couldn’t do that. If you were in there, you knew exactly why. And if you weren’t part of the Agency, it was a good thing everything was so damn beautiful, because it was probably going to be the last thing you saw.
The winding, escalator like staircases, only nearly four times wider than those used in normal homes, led up to the penthouse of the headquarters. Generally, one would have to go though massive security checks to get into that sort of area, but the guards here knew better than to check her. If she was up to any funny business, then it was far too late for them to do anything about it. Besides, if Adrienne couldn’t protect herself against her own minions, then she wasn’t a very good leader then, was she? But of course, when one has that much power, one doesn’t need to be able to protect themselves. That’s what rest of the Agency was for. Even her, though she hated to admit it.
A dark sheet of clouds moved over the already dismal sky, making the skylight, decorated with pixies and cupids and other things that would soar through a more beautiful sky, dark and sinister, making the room even more horrible than it already was.
This was all a sort of unbiased point of view, of course. To the woman, the room truly was beautiful. You just had to stop looking deeper than you needed to, and enjoy the face value of what you were given. This is what she had learned early in life, and found it to be a fairly ingenious way to live her own. It was the way most people in Paris now lived, for the city was so ruined and decadent that if you truly looked at it, truly saw what it was under the glamour and sex, that you wouldn’t be able to stand it. It would drive you insane. The mere fact that the Agency, such a dirty group, took office in the Eiffel Tower was enough to make one cringe. But my, how Adrienne had made the tower look. It was a sight in its rainbows of colors. So the citizens didn’t seem to mind anymore.
The city of Paris was dull this time of year. Well, it was dull all year, really, with the heavy clouds and always cool temperatures. The city itself was beautiful, though. Over the years, the citizens had grown fond to using lavish decorations not only on the inside, but on the outside of their houses as well. This lead to the town looking like one big Christmas present, except the only thing it held was coal.
At the end of the darkened hallway, two giant doors, plated with silver and gold and leading into Adrienne’s office and living quarters, lay closed yet unlocked; a sign that Adrienne had guests. What kind of guests, well, that was always different. Adrienne conducted both work and play in her home, which the woman always thought to be so risky. But that’s just how Adrienne was, and always had been. Risky.
She walked up to the doors, and stood for a moment, straining to hear what was going inside. It was well known around the Agency that Adrienne favored the company of both men and women, and favored it often. She had never witnessed such an encounter, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. She didn’t feel like walking in on something like that, if it in fact did happen as often as it was rumored to. She just didn’t need that right now.
The woman bit her lip, then released it as she pushed the door open. She walked in, her head held high, her stride graceful yet dangerous. Whenever she walked in to a crowded room, she wanted everyone in there to know that, if she wanted to, she could kill them, regardless of who they are. That sort of power trip was the kind of thing that got a woman like her off. She liked being in power, she liked having the upper hand. Therefore, she worked to maintain it at all costs.
However, the crowd she was entertaining wasn’t the kind that needed what she was giving them. A crowd of manicurists and pedicurists hovered around all 20 digits of Adrienne’s hands and feet, while a dressmaker attempted to measure the sitting woman, most likely for another gorgeous dress she would wear only once or not at all. Adrienne herself was yelling in Italian on her small earpiece phone, but what the conversation was about eluded the woman. She knew Italian, but not well enough to keep up with Adrienne’s feverish ranting.
Adrienne, as well as being extravagant and rich, was also very bored. So like most bored people, she surrounded herself with things to do. When she bored of things, she got rid of them as easily as she got rid of her dresses. The woman, however, was still around, so apparently Adrienne simply hadn’t bored of her yet. Perhaps that is why she always put on that stern face, that dangerous walk. Maybe it wasn’t for the rest of the people around (for they knew of her nature, of her wickedness). Maybe it was for Adrienne.
The woman walked over to the mass of people, so thick one could barely see Adrienne. As she approached, one of the workers looked around, and in seeing her, quickly moved away from Adrienne. This prompted the other workers to look around as well and, just like every time, they all stopped what they were doing and quietly waited in the wings, waiting for Adrienne’s order: Leave or stay.
Adrienne continued to talk into her phone, her eyes lidded and her lips pursed. Noticing her lack of pampering, however, she looked up slowly, and in seeing the woman, her eyes brightened slightly. She touched her finger to her ear and turned off her phone, removing it from her ear and sitting it on the table in front of her. She sighed deeply. “Mika.”
The woman paused, unsure of how to reply. She settled with the simplest. “Adrienne.”
Adrienne made a casual gesture to her minions in the room, and they all quickly bowed and scurried out without a word. The only one who didn’t was the dressmaker, who walked over to her and started speaking to Adrienne in hurried French, though her accent was French Canadian. Adrienne replied simply, telling her to stop bothering her now. She politely asked her to leave, and the dressmaker, knowing not to push her luck, politely nodded her head and scurried out of the room like the rest of the servants.
“Mika, it is good to see you,” Adrienne said, smiling. Her accent was thick and Parisian; Mika never knew why Adrienne spoke in English to her. Mika was fluent in seven languages, French being one of them. Adrienne had no reason to not speak to her in French. Of course, she did sometimes, but she would usually start out in English. Her English was flawless, really, but her accent was thick. Mika remembered vaguely once telling Adrienne she preferred English, but really, why did that even matter?
“It’s good to see you too, Adrienne,” Mika said, her voice neutral and unemotional. She walked over to Adrienne, who motioned for her to sit by her on her sofa. Mika sat down slowly, then placed what she had been holding in her hands down on the glass table in front of them.
“What is this, Mika? Why does everything always have to be business?” Adrienne said, her voice barely above a whisper. She mumbled something in French, but Mika couldn’t hear her, so she decided to ignore it.
“Adrienne, these are the papers on Dante Lamoroch -”
“I think we can just call him Dante now. We both know well who he is by first name alone.”
“...Dante.” Mika corrected herself. It was well known to the both of them now that Dante had been with them both, though “relationship” probably would have been too strong a word. It was basically a short time of idiocy on both of their parts, ending with tension, a manhunt, and a thirteen million dollar deficit in the Agency’s funds, all courtesy of Mr. Lamoroch himself. There wasn’t a person in the Agency who didn’t know the name Dante Lamoroch.
“Well, what do we have on him?” Adrienne asked, staring down at the documents but not really reading them; she expected a summary from Mika.
Mika cleared her throat. “Well, we’ve tracked him from Italy, where he returned shortly after his little visit in Paris. There, he managed to cause a 6 car collision while escaping from an agent we sent after him. After escaping from that mess, our operative managed to catch up with him, but Dante managed to kill him before he could report his exact whereabouts.”
Mika looked over at Adrienne, who was still staring at the papers, but was obviously not listening to anything she was saying. “Adrienne, please.”
Adrienne looked over at her sharply. “Don’t tell me what to do, Mika. Regardless of anything, you do not speak to me that way.”
“I know you still love him, Adrienne.”
“I do not love him, Mika. But I do not hate him. I admire him for his accomplishments as much as they anger me,” she shook her head and looked away. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm when saying things such as those. I know that you loved him more than I ever did.”
“This is not the time for this, Adrienne. I’m sorry I said anything.” Mika replied, her voice flat. She hated admitting what she had felt for Dante; it humiliated her.
Adrienne nodded, looking over at Mika and staring into her eyes. Adrienne always told Mika that she had very emotionless eyes, but that she knew what lie behind them. Mika hated when she said that, because she knew it to be true. She hated having someone know so much about her.
Mika paused and looked away, then continued with her report. “Well, after Italy, Dante moved on to London, where he has been in four car accidents, and three nearly botched money deliveries he always manages so save. All of which were direct results of the Agency’s involvement, although the authorities were none the wiser. To them, it was only Dante. As for other things he’s done, I‘m sure they exist, but were apparently too trivial to put in the report. I just refuse to believe this is all he’s been up to.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Adrienne said. Mika was unsure why she had said it, for she knew just as well that the Agency was practically invisible and no agent had ever admitted any allegiance to it. It was the perfect business, really. So visible yet so invisible.
“Adrienne, what are we doing now, then?”
“Well, we are going after him. We have to kill him. In the Wonderland, soon.” Adrienne replied, her voice strained.
“You know you don’t really mean that,” Adrienne replied, not as a statement of surprise but as a fact. She knew Adrienne didn’t have the heart - at least not yet - to kill Dante Lamoroch.
Adrienne looked back over at Mika, with an emotion in her eyes that wasn’t often there. Suddenly, Adrienne relaxed her shoulders and laid down across the sofa, her head in Mika’s lap, as if exhausted. Mika’s response was neither surprise nor contempt, but merely of almost parental affection, as she gently stroked Adrienne’s hair.
Adrienne sighed softly, and wrapped an arm loosely around Mika’s legs. “I know that.”
-----
“Listen, Adrienne, if its money you want…”
Adrienne rolled her eyes and sighed, the echo loud against the marble walls. The soft splash of water was apparent to her, but was hopefully not transmitted. It just seemed too unprofessional.
“Se taire, Dante...” Adrienne said, her voice cool and collected. She didn’t have time for his little bribes.
“...What, Adrienne?” he replied, his voice laced with false confidence.
Adrienne answered, “I hope it is your lucky night...” she paused now, unsure of her next move. “...Don’t die. Au revoir”
She hung up the phone quickly, wondering why she had added on the last part. Well, in her heart she knew; she did not want him to die. But she knew that he wouldn’t, he was too clever to let the lumbering fools she sent after him this time catch him. She felt as if she was playing more of a game than a true manhunt. But perhaps that’s how she wanted it.
Adrienne slid a little further down in the bathtub, her lover for tonight sitting silently between her legs, back facing her. Adrienne felt a shudder against her legs from her companion, prompting her to reach over and turn on the heater. The water quickly heated back to what it was originally, and the bubbles seemed to find new life, growing and surrounding the two.
Adrienne ran her hands down her companion’s back, the faint scars and brilliant tattoos mixing together, both beautiful and horrid, against a canvas of sleek muscle and tan skin. She slid closer and pressed her chest against said back, the other occupant both surprised and happy at the same time. “I love you, you know.” Adrienne murmured into her partner’s ear.
“No you don’t.” her lover replied, the voice not at all upset, simply accepting.
“That isn’t true. I do love you.”
“You say that to anyone you wish to bed, Adrienne. I’m not any different than the rest.”
“Oh, but you are.” Adrienne said, resting her chin on her mate’s shoulder. She gently kissed her companion’s neck, the skin moistened and warmed from the water, giving slightly as her lips pushed against it. She smelled the faintest traces of fragrance, and whether it was from earlier or from the oils in the tub, either way it excited her.
Her lover gave into her caresses, sliding a hand up and down Adrienne’s leg, the soap forming a thin lather. This prompted Adrienne to run her hands down her companion’s shoulders and across the flat, muscled stomach, tracing a set of Roman numeral tattoos under the navel, her fingers sliding across them. Her companion shuddered once more, though from cold most likely not, uttering a phrase in a language that Adrienne did not understand, but the tone of voice told the story better than the words anyways.
Adrienne paused, then began kissing her lover’s neck, working her way across the chin and eventually to the lips; such sweet, soft lips, giving to her kiss yet kissing back; powerful, gentle, fierce, loving.
“I love you.” Adrienne repeated, her lips only inches from her lover’s, who’s neck was craning and twisting back towards Adrienne, seeking her lips once more. “I must ask that you believe me.”
“…I know very well that you take many to your bed every week. I am not special, nor loved.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear. People will do anything to destroy happiness.” Adrienne replied, neither denying nor confirming anything, for in her mind, it had little significance whether it was true or not. “But what you can believe is that I do love you.”
“You do not. Perhaps what I am; a body, a plaything, something to use… But when you bore of me, you will find yourself discontent and you will find something else. You know I‘m right.” her companion said, the voice laced with anger and, perhaps, disappointment.
Adrienne, seeing this, relented to her companion, letting another kiss pass before again parting, staring into her eyes. “Whose eyes do I look into now?”
“Mine.”
“And what do you see in them?”
Her lover paused, staring into Adrienne’s liquid eyes, then began to speak but stopped, before finally uttering only a single word. “Love.”
“Then it is Mika that I love.”
Mika’s eyes watered slightly, the closest she usually ever got to tears, and she turned around, kissing Adrienne with such a force that she slid her to the back of the tub, Adrienne’s back pressing against the beautiful marble, her pale chest pressed against her beautiful lover.
And for now, at least, Adrienne was content.
[more]
Liz @ 03:49 AM CST [#] [1071 comments]
One might, in fact, call it a meat market. Evelina couldn’t help but gape as she walked down the wide steps leading further underground. The hallway she’d previously navigated had nothing on this: along with the inevitable prostitutes and strip clubs, there was a veritable smorgasbord of unsavory shops. Nobody bothered her, but she didn’t need to be harassed or haggled to feel out of place—their looks said it all.
Fetishists wandered into sex shops that featured chimeras, not typically welcome in normal cities. Cyber-punks perused storefronts full of electronics, which, although spendy, had mostly all been stolen or acquired through otherwise shady means. Those with a passion for body art didn’t have to look very far to acquire a new addition to their canvas of flesh. For anyone feeling braver, there were actual body alterations to be had. Androids—albeit low quality ones—were readily available. Evelina furrowed her brow and stuck out her jaw, exhaling in a quick burst to blow a strand of hair out of her eyes. She thought to herself how the Subterranean had just about everything in life she didn’t need.
A pair of dark blue eyes startled Evelina. She blinked, stopping in her tracks and gazing perplexedly into them. The eyes stared back, unmoving as they sat floating at the top of their liquid prison—a jar in one of the body alteration shops, this one specifying in brand-new eyeballs. A wave of nausea washed over Eve as she thought “Julia. Those eyes look just like Julia’s.” They weren’t, of course, but it unnerved the young woman nonetheless, which is why she nearly had a heart attack when someone’s hand touched her shoulder.
“You have beautiful eyes,” hissed a man, perhaps the owner of the shop. He seemed to be fond of changing his own eyes, because although they were a brilliant purple, they seemed a bit too small for his own head. The man grinned, revealing his rotten, crooked teeth. “Care to make a trade?”
“Ugh, no!” Evelina shouted, yanking her shoulder out of the man’s grip. Severely unsettled, she broke into a run, away from that creepy man and his creepy store. She shuddered, wrapping her arms across her chest as she ran, eyes downcast. A moment later she slammed into someone’s shoulder, muttering a brief apology. That would have been the end of the encounter was it not for a glimpse of long brown hair, a familiar jawbone, and—could it be? —those dark blue eyes…
“Julia?” asked Eve, turning to get another look at the woman. Where was she? Frantically Evelina scanned the crowded underground, but the familiar face had vanished. It was completely improbable, as they had touched shoulders just seconds before, leading Evelina to believe that somehow she really had seen her friend. “Julia, get back here, dammit!” Now she was yelling, oblivious to the stares she was receiving as she turned around and ran past the purple-eyed man and his customers, past all the cyber-punks and the chimeras and the sex fiends until she had reached the stairs.
“Where are you…?” she whispered, resting her hands on her knees and panting. She knew how illogical and crazy it was to think she’d actually seen Julia, but in Evelina’s mind she accepted that she just might be going crazy. Better to be a little loopy and see her friend than to not see her at all, and it had to mean something…
Tears were streaming down her face, leaving a trail of black mascara, and she silently cursed herself for crying in public. Evelina had no idea what to do next, and so she was actually thankful when the gate lifted and Marena and Dante rushed down the stairs to meet her.
* *
Two small, pale hands with chipped blue nail polish fumbled with a set of keys, finally managing to open the car door. Kaori Matsuya was in the garage behind the Mezzanine, a small, four-car deal. She had snagged her suitcase from Eve’s bike, and now tossed it into the car where it landed with a bounce on the passenger seat.
“It is my fault we lost Eve. I wish I could do something right. I can't mess this up. I'm not going to mess this up.” Kaori thought to herself before sitting down, then cursed audibly: there was water on the seat, and it had already soaked through her pants. “Of course, thanks to our new outlaw friend and his aquatic skills.” Before she could insert the key into the ignition, the garage door farthest from her began to open. Several policemen walked in, shining flashlights around.
“Crap,” she muttered, briefly contemplating driving straight through the closed door behind her. It would open, normally, if the car moved slowly enough, but not if she backed out quickly, as she was considering. Instead she opted to squeeze down beneath the dash on the passenger side, keeping her head low and praying they wouldn’t notice her. A few moments later, her worst fears came true when there was a rapid knocking on the passenger side window.
“Ma’am?” said the accented voice. “Ma’am, what are you doing hiding there? Get out of the car, please.”
Sullenly she hoisted herself up and over to the driver’s side, then opened the door to stand beside the car.
“What’s all this about?” asked one of the men.
“I was scared,” she said, making her voice high-pitched and sweet sounding. She kept her left hand on the roof of the car. “I heard there were some dangerous people in the club so I went out here to hide. When I saw you guys, I guess I just panicked.”
“Uh huh,” he replied skeptically. “Is this vehicle registered to you?”
“Yes.”
“License and registration?”
“…I left them at home.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the car,” he announced, and when she didn’t move, he grabbed her by the wrist. Another policeman had opened the passenger door and was now rummaging through the glove box. “Bingo. This car is registered to Dante Lamoroch. You’re mixed up with some bad company, little girl.”
Kaori deeply resented being called a little girl, but most of all she was angry with herself for getting caught. Everything she could have done differently over the past several minutes flashed through her mind, going back even further to how they lost Eve in the first place. The awkward motorcycle ride from earlier was starting to seem like an impossible dream, that she had ever been in Evelina’s presence.
“Let go of me, you jerk!” she exclaimed, wrenching herself out of the man’s grip. He seemed surprised by her strength. Moments later his shocked expression turned to one of severe annoyance, and he made another lunge for her, which she deftly avoided. “I’m not going to mess this up,” she thought again, feeling a sort of disconnection in her mind. Although Kaori feared what her power could do, there was very little alternative with so many policemen to take out, and she didn’t think she could do it with her fists alone. Manipulating the earth was becoming more automatic; an instinct that would ensure her survival—one she wanted to know more about, despite her fears.
A barely perceptible growl started deep in her throat. Fifteen minutes, Dante had said, and she’d already wasted at least ten. Her fists clenched as her growl became louder. Kaori didn’t realize that her eyes were glowing green, but the police looked at one another warily and even took a few steps backwards.
“Now hey, little girl, just calm down...”
“I’M NO LITTLE GIRL!” Her scream echoed eerily through the garage before she slammed her fist down into the concrete floor. As the ground trembled, a wave of earth rippled forward from where she crouched, breaking the concrete into large, dangerous chunks that went flying through the air. The policemen went flying as well, slamming bodily into the closed garage door. When the wave reached the door, there was a loud splintering of wood and a crack shot up through the center. So great was the upheaval that the door broke into pieces and fell to the side, allowing for the policemen (badly injured, but still alive) to crawl to safety.
“Safety,” unfortunately, was a busy parking lot, and they were nearly run over on the spot. They had barely clambered out of the way when Dante’s sleek white sports car went barreling through the broken garage, struggling to back over the cracked cement and spraying the crowd with debris. Behind the wheel, one very determined Kaori Matsuya grinned wickedly, put the car into drive and spun out into traffic. Instinctively, her hand reached up to clasp the emerald necklace at her throat, and she found that it was warm.
* *
Further, if Evelina had been hoping for a chance to catch her breath and calm down, she was mistaken there as well. Dante wasted no time in catching her by the upper arm and dragging the black-clad woman through the Subterranean at a breakneck pace, Marena in tow.
“Excuse me, what…hey, what’s going on?!” she demanded, scowling at Dante.
“Just…run,” he said, never once looking at her.
“I’ll thank you to stop…manhandling me.” Evelina pulled away. She was getting really sick of people randomly grabbing hold of her.
“Whatever, just run!” Dante said impatiently, glancing back over his shoulder. Evelina did the same, taking note of the stream of policemen who appeared to be chasing after them. “And don’t shoot any of ‘em, either. They’re just doing their job.”
“Fantastic,” muttered Eve, shoving her way through a particularly crowded section of the underground. Everyone was in an absolute panic, not wanting to be caught doing anything illegal, but they had nothing to worry about: Dante and his accomplices—but mostly just Dante—was the big prize, and the police chased him with fevered single-mindedness.
“So where are we headed? This had better not lead to a dead end.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” said an out-of-breath Dante, still managing to grin slyly over at the females, who both looked at each other and rolled their eyes. The group had just clambered up some rusty metal stairs and through a doorway leading to the subway station—evidently this was some kind of secret entrance, and very well hidden behind a large pillar in the corner. “See?” said Dante suavely, though the beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed his nerves. “I know my way around a few places. Now, if that kid got out of the Mezzanine okay, my car ought to be waiting—“ he motioned to a crowded set of stairs leading up. “Right out there.”
Peering out across the noisy station, Eve looked down at the several rows of train track before them—all four lanes of it. In between each was a narrow strip of concrete where passengers congregated around ticket dispensers and waited for their train.
“And what if she’s not?” asked Marena.
Dante’s reply was blunt. “Then we’re screwed.” Motioning for them to follow, he started across the tracks. Marena, who was still fairly tipsy, fearlessly ambled along after him and had soon made it all the way across. Evelina paused halfway across—a train was pulling up, and there was no way she’d make it in time. As the train slowed, she stood directly in front of the doors as they parted, hoping to use it as a shortcut. However, she was greeted by policemen who, anticipating something like this, were waiting inside.
Eve hesitated, knowing that if she ran, they’d shoot her. She wasn’t too keen on having assault charges against her, either. Luckily, as the police were pulling her onto the train, Dante appeared behind them and expertly knocked their heads together. They slumped to the ground, motionless, as the train doors started to close. Dante jumped over their unconscious bodies just in time, though his coat was caught in the door and the train was beginning to move.
“Um…this is not good,” he said, grinning nervously over at Evelina. Some teenagers inside the train, sporting the ubiquitous cyber-punk look, had grabbed hold of his long coat and refused to let go. They laughed gleefully, pointing at him.
“Just take off your coat, moron,” Eve suggested, crossing her arms.
“No way! Do you know how much this thing cost?!” Dante yelled a few choice words at the teenagers, trying to free himself as he ran alongside the train.
“Do I care? No. You can’t wear your expensive coat to prison, Dante.”
“Tch,” he replied, looking defeated. “Fine, you win. Christ…lemme get my cell phone first.” Mournfully he wiggled out of his coat, which dangled on the outside of the train momentarily before one of the punks yanked it inside, promptly trying it on. The teen pressed his face up against the window and inflated his cheeks most unflatteringly before the train vanished into the tunnel.
Still seething, Dante hurried across the tracks along with Evelina and toward the staircase.
“What happened, you guys?” asked Marena, tugging drunkenly on a strand of hair.
“You don’t wanna know,” said Dante curtly. They jogged up the stairs to the busy streets of London. Evelina noted how cool and refreshing the night breeze felt on her skin after being in that musty, dank underground for so long. “I don’t see any more police,” added Dante, looking back down the tunnel. “But you can bet they’re not far behind.”
“Aren’t the London police supposed to be faster than this? I heard they use jetpacks or something,” muttered Evelina.
“No, those are the American authorities,” spat Dante, clearly letting his anxiety get to him. “The London police are hilariously under-funded. And what’re you so sulky about?” he added, looking critically at her tear-stained face for the first time. “That wasn’t the smartest thing, running off like that. And where’s that kid? Dammit, we’re gonna get caught…”
“Hey, leave her alone,” said Marena, interrupting what would have been a very rude comment from Eve. “We found her and that’s all that matters, Mister-Let’s-Leave-Evelina-Behind. All you care about is yourself, Dante, so don’t start on Evelina.”
“Psh, whatever,” he replied, craning his neck to look down the busy road. “Who saved her skin back there? Me. I know, I amaze me too. And you seemed to be quite a fan of The Dante yourself, Marena.”
“Oh my God, shut up!” Marena, crimson, turned the other way.
“Ugh!” exclaimed Eve, lowering her head into her hands. “There’s no words.”
“Well, we have Kaori to thank for ending this awkward moment,” said Dante. Indeed, the young woman was veering through traffic at breakneck speed and somehow avoiding injuring herself and others. She pulled over, several people honking and yelling as they sped past the idling vehicle.
“You’re late,” said Dante, hopping in next to her. Evelina and Marena tumbled in next, and the car began moving before they could even close the door. With only two seats, it was a tight fit.
“Shove it,” replied Kaori, smiling sweetly. Dante nodded, unusually silent, perhaps because he was squeezed between her and Marena and knew he was outnumbered.
Tower Bridge Road lead naturally to the dazzling Tower Bridge, which was lit up at night to showcase its sheer architectural brilliance. Two tall, elegant towers made up the central part of the bridge, bookmarked by a smaller tower on each side that served as an entrance or exit to the bridge. Several beams connected the main towers, and they glowed blue and green in the night with a golden crown at the very center.
“Tone it down, Kaori,” said Dante, who quickly explained himself after she gave him a withering glare. “You did a great job getting us out of there, I just don’t want to attract any more attention, you know.”
“Got it,” she said, shifting to a lower gear. She relaxed in the seat, driving as if they were on some pleasure cruise. “We’re outta here.”
“Thank God,” said Evelina. She squirmed uncomfortably; Marena had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She was used to traveling alone, and that’s when she thought of her bike for the first time since she’d left it behind. “What about my bike?”
“What did you expect me to do?” asked Kaori, shrugging. “This car isn’t practical, but your bike would be impossible.”
Evelina moaned sadly and pressed her forehead to the windowpane, staring dejectedly into the water below. “See if I ever try and take a vacation again.”
Sylpheel @ 09:57 PM CST [#] [1156 comments]
Saturday, August 28, 2004
