Post by Bonnie Blue on Nov 26, 2017 16:51:03 GMT -6
M E M O R I A M
A chill wind howled its way through the manmade canyons of downtown Chicago to blow through a gaping hole in the stout wall of the former St. Teresa's Chinese Catholic Church; abandoned after then-mayor David Sanchez had outlawed all forms of religion in the city, and swiftly appropriated by the late, much-lamented Armand de la Fontaine (via a series of intermediaries and shell corporations.) The sanctuary had been swept clean in preparation to serve, once again, its original purpose. Pews were arranged in an informal semicircle around the ornate gothic-style altar, graced by an enormous photograph of a smiling Armand, bordered with a wreath of chrysanthemums. In front of the picture, a brass bowl full of sand held a trio of smoldering incense sticks that filled the air with exotic fragrance, surrounded by a phalanx of votive candles.
The Guardians were together on one long, wooden bench: Alex Richards, conspicuously well-groomed for the occasion and dressed in a somber black suit; L Verez sat to his right, clad in dark gray; Bonnie Blue was on his left, wearing a modest black Prada sheath dress beneath a slate-blue frock coat, wide lapels turned up against the near-freezing wind. To one side, Damian Kaine stood, a black shirt tucked into black designer jeans, and a scarf draped loosely over his shoulders. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes.
To one side, isolated from his compatriots, Preecha Kamon sat in silence and darkness, his only solace the soft touch of Trinity Hayabashi. The other pews were empty, reserved for longtime associates and colleagues of the man the Guardians had gathered to honor. Each, for one reason or another, unable or unwilling to attend. A camera on a tripod faced the altar in mute expectation. Though Preecha had been temporarily blinded in Corey Black's reprehenisble attack, they had determined to record the service for him to watch later, when -- if -- his eyesight returned.
Ms. Hayabashi rose with delicate grace and glided to the altar, stoically ignoring the wind as she ascended the dais. After taking a moment to compose herself, she began the event with her own eulogy -- heartfelt and bittersweet -- before inviting the other Guardians to do the same.
The Daughter of Time saw her cue and took it, assuming the other woman's place at the podium. She looked out over her tiny audience, each watching her with rapt attention, and felt a rush of pride that warmed her against the steady breeze. Her Guardians. Her family. They had faced too much together to be anything less. And each of them utterly, unquestionably loyal to the group.
Armand had been one of theirs, as well. The Russians had taken him, and she would see to it that they paid the price -- assuming Preecha Kamon didn't get to them first. For their sake, if not a little her own, Bonnie hoped he did; because no gods would help them if the Time Witch came calling. Armand had called her his petite louve, little wolf, the very last time they had spoken; a gently teasing term of endearment, but one she was determined to live up to all the same.
"I remember," Bonnie began, "my first encounter with Armand de la Fontaine. It was a Twitter exchange, right after I'd signed with the Dub. He said somethin' suggestive, but me bein' a dumb, naive kid -- I thought he was just bein' friendly. So I replied, an' that kicked off my oldest an' truest friendship at the ol' Dubya-See-Eff. Turned out me an' Preecha had a common enemy in Wade Moor an' #beachkrew, so Armand thought it would be a good idea for us to train together, keep each other motivated an' focused. That was his gift. Armand could assess a person's skills an' qualities in seconds, knew exactly how to maximize a person's potential, be it in the ring or on the streets.
"He was more than that, though. Everyone knew the public face. The charming Frenchman, incurable womanizer, celebrity gangster -- at least, in those circles. Only a few ever saw beneath the mask, and I was one of the privileged. Preecha and I had been booked as part of a four-person team against #beachkrew's best, so Armand had organized a strategy session at the Masters and Margaritas. Unbeknownst to the rest of us, he'd been expecting some trouble, and cut things short to usher us all out safely. That protectiveness was one of his finest qualities. It was what set him apart from petty thugs and small time racketeers. He took care of his people, and if I'm bein' honest, his was the example I leaned most heavily on when I assumed leadership of this team."
The Daughter of Time hesitated. A single tear welled up and spilled over, tracing a faint line down her cheek.
"Today, we honor a man who was a friend, a brother-in-arms, and a mentor. For all his violent ways, Armand de la Fontaine was a good man. More than that, he was a Guardian."
Bonnie Blue knelt at the altar and lit a solitary candle; then, turning from the dais, she walked stiffly back to her seat, while Alex rose and took his place behind the podium. Thoughts drifted as her partner shared his own anecdotes. It wasn't inattention. She had listened to him rehearsing over and over in the empty bar, varying tone and inflection at key points, perfecting cadence until he had been satisfied. It was difficult to keep her mind on a speech she knew by heart when the threat of "15" loomed so closely.
Can it be a coincidence? she wondered. Our mysterious "15" pops up, then Nathan von Liebert makes an appearance soon after... Circumstantial, at best, but worth investigating. Poor Nathan. Must be frustrating to find that your favorite playmates are long gone, when you've spent so many idle moments imagining the torments you would visit upon them. Those fantasies of breaking them down by increments, robbing them of their souls piece by piece. Then to come home, only to find that someone else has already completed the task you'd set for yourself....
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Iron H a n d . . .
{Bonnie Blue} Hello. Is it me you're lookin' for?
A hint of a smile plays across the young woman's lips.
{Bonnie Blue} Howdy, Nathan. Been a long time. Bet you'd like nothin' more than to get your hands -- hand -- on me again.
Oh, wait, I know. You're gonna puff your chest out, all sinister machismo, an' tell me it was all so long ago ya done forgot all about it. Yeah... forgot.
Forgot -- how ya was bested by the daughter of a man who never could crack your code.
Forgot -- how ya dug up every dirty trick in your repertoire an' I still came out on top.
Forgot -- how sweet, innocent little Bonnie Blue dropped the big, bad Devil's Right Hand for the one-two-three, after you was so sure you was gonna tear me apart.
Then again, I was never your priority, was I? You wanted the Polar Phantasm. Your only interest in me was some vaguely defined effort to hurt him. But he would have had to care first, Nathan. The only thing Cameron Bankston ever cared about was his own self-interest. He took his wife and kid and hauled ass outta here the instant things got a little heated. Missed all the fun, though.
She shakes her head in mock-pity.
{Bonnie Blue} Now, I know you'd have settled for gettin' hold of ol' Jay Omega, too. Yeah... not gonna happen, 'cause guess what, Nathan? He ran off, too. At least it was chasin' exotic alien ass an' not cowardice. Well... not the first time. The second time, though, that's another story. Seems the Omega Man didn't much like the company I was keepin', called my judgment into question, said I'd changed too much.
And as you can see, I have changed, and not in my appearance, alone. I ain't the scared little girl you remember. Since your abrupt vanishin' act, I've been a champion six times over; become the leader of the most dominant faction in professional wrestlin' today; I've kissed Death and been revived; I've been to the Sea and I know what lies in the Deep; I served the Serpent and I fell in love with the Leviathan.
So, I'm sorry Nathan, but... the mention of your name hardly strikes the same fear in my heart it once did.
A slight shrug lifts slender shoulders.
{Bonnie Blue} Poor Nathan. I know you were hoping for an easy match. Droppin' the Polar Phantasm on his head while he recites Hamlet in the original Klingon, 'cause he can't be bothered to take an interest in his chosen profession. Kickin' Jay Omega's balls up through his throat -- too late, there. I already handled him. Granted, it was at the other place, so maybe it don't count. But the fact remains; I had Jay Omega's shoulders pinned to the canvas, an' ya shoulda seen the look in his eyes, Nathan. You'd have appreciated it. There was no recognition between longtime friends, nor the expected disappointment; nothin' but naked animal fear.
Her smile broadens into a viperous grin.
{Bonnie Blue} Ain't heard from him again after that. Jay was smart. He knew he didn't want a war with me. You're smart, too, ain't ya, Nathan? One of the things you pride ya'self on, that intellect. Not quite like your former partner -- he would just drone on -- but then again, you were the real brains behind that outfit, weren't ya? My daddy never understood that. The loud one was just the mouthpiece. He kept tryin' to match wits with the wrong man.
But just how intelligent are you, really?
I mean, ya did more or less show up right after me an' mine had our little chat with Spencer. Next thing I know, I'm seein' you an' this partner of yours at some press conference, smilin' an' wavin' at the crowd. Coincidences pop up around you like mushrooms on horseshit, so you might understand my personal misgivings. The point, though, is that Spencer Adams has a habit of surroundin' himself with hired guns, startin' with Kevin Bishop, back around this time last year. His sworn objective was to erase the Guardians from the You-See-Eye roster forever.
Y'see how well that worked out. After Kevin Bishop, he brought in Frank Patrick Venable. Fail. He lured in Corey Bull with the promise of a shot at tag team gold. #wrekt. And now you an' Mr. Knight have been put in that same unenviable position.
The Time Witch hesitates, gazing thoughtfully at the camera. Sea-blue eyes widen in a theatrical expression of dawning realization.
{Bonnie Blue} Oh. Wait.
Are you still laborin' under the delusion that you're the Big Bad, an' I'm ... Little Blue Ridin' Hood?
A light laugh of derisive amusement as her smile turns again predatory.
{Bonnie Blue} Oh, that's adorable! You never took me for more than another victim ready to fall to whatever atrocity your sick little mind could dream up. You never counted on me to beat you the first time. You would have justified it to yourself, led yourself to believe you allowed me to win so that your ultimate victory would be all the sweeter. Kept yourself sated on fantasies of my blood dripping through your clenched fingers until both hands are stained the same shade of crimson.
All the idle hours whiled away, thinking about how you'd finally get your revenge on little Bonnie Blue, poor thing; I hardly thought of you at all.
Don't think that means I ain't takin' ya seriously, though, Sugar. Don't let yourself get comfortable believin' I got other concerns. Always somebody tryin' to fuck with the Guardians, an' if I let that distract me every time, I wouldn'ta racked up the impressive string of victories that has led me to three Tag Titles, two Intercontinental Titles, an' one glorious World Title reign. So believe me, Nathan, when I tell you that you -- an' to a lesser extent, Mr. Knight -- have been the foremost topic in my mind. I may be a little more cocky these days, but I'm no fool. You didn't spend the entire last year an' a half just thinkin' about breakin' me; you trained for it. For all the good it's gonna do ya.
Monday night, Nathan, your time is up.
The camera focuses on Bonnie's arrogant smirk, then abruptly cuts to static.
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T H E 1 5 T H E L E M E N T
"Do you think it could be Nathan von Liebert?" asked Damian Kaine.
"I mean, all that stuff is in his wheelhouse -- and worse. But he's the kind who wants ya to know exactly who's terrorizin' you an' why. It might be a weird reason; the response will certainly be disproportionate. He embarked on a campaign against the Polar Phantasm over a pet rat. The things Von Liebert did..."
The Guardians' leader trailed off, shaking her head, and poured another measure of Southern Comfort into a highball glass. She took a sip and looked at her fellow Guardians, gathered together in this place that had seen them through so many difficult days. Rebecca Thatch sat close by Alex Richards, slender arms twined around one beefy bicep. Damian Kaine stood, lounging casually against the bar with a drink in hand. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, collar open and sleeves rolled halfway up his muscular forearms, under a gray vest, with the same dark sunglasses he'd been wearing at Armand de la Fontaine's memorial service. Bonnie worried; Kaine's behavior had been erratic lately. She knew he'd had a history of addiction, and wondered if he was using again.
How do you ask somebody something like that?
Kaine was a priority, but she needed time to sort out how to handle him. She might even -- Godnilla help her -- have to swallow her pride and go to Kevin Bishop for help. Just now, however, the safety of the group was paramount. From a table nearby, L Verez was gazing at Bonnie expectantly, a boot-shaped glass mug of Zim-Quila halfway to her lips as she waited for the Daughter of Time to continue.
"Anyway, that's beside the point," she continued. "This ...feels different. This is somethin' we ain't run up against before. But all I'm sayin' is, Von Liebert would take credit, not hide behind half-baked riddles. No, he presents a problem all his own, but I get the impression our mysterious 15 is a unique challenge."
Occupying another table, Trinity Hayabashi looked past Bonnie, brow furrowed and her expression speculative. Beside her, UCI World Champion Preecha Kamon sat in his chair, unmoving and evidently lost in deep meditation. There might not be much point in his presence, considering his utter isolation in dark, quiet solitude; but Bonnie and Trinity had both agreed that being around his friends would bring him some reassurance. Now, Ms. Hayabashi appeared to be having second thoughts. Even the Silence wasn't unbreakable, and Preecha Kamon had already lost so much, in spite of attaining a long-cherished dream. She held her peace, however, and simply observed without comment.
A knock at the double doors startled them all. Alex had closed the Dragon for the afternoon, and at two-fifty-nine according to the digital clock behind the bar, they still had a few hours to go before they were scheduled to reopen. Bonnie slipped off her barstool, but Wade was faster, reaching the doors ahead of her and wrenching one open to glower menacingly at a scrawny black man in a courier's uniform.
"Got a package here for the Guardians," he said, carefully avoiding the big man's eyes as he held out a digital clipboard and stylus like an offering. "If you'd just sign here. Please."
Swiftly, the young blonde interposed herself between her lover and the deliveryman, signing the screen; and noted with mild amusement that the display read the hour in military time -- fifteen-hundred hours -- as she handed the equipment back. Moments later, the pair returned, Bonnie carrying a small box, which she set on the bar. The others drew closer, eyeing the unexpected package with varying degrees of suspicion.
Curiousity overcame caution. Damian Kaine reached for a paring knife from behind the bar and used it to slit the tape, then prised free the lid. Inside was a micro-recorder/playback device and a handful of small, glass vials, each containing a single joint. Bonnie lifted out the recorder to examine it, then, with a glance at her friends, she hit the "play" button. Though the voice that issued from the small speaker was distorted, it was as unmistakeable as the dark menace enshrouding every word -- 15.
GUARDIANS:
THE TIME HAS COME.
SEEK, AND YOU SHALL FIND ME.
BLUE VELVET WILL OPEN THE DOOR;
YOU MUST CHOOSE TO WALK THROUGH IT.
The recording ended there. No word of caution, no threat, no dramatically evil laughter. The message didn't even self-destruct. Instead, the recorder sat inert and resolutely unimpressive on the bar as the Guardians stared at it, waiting to see if any further hint was forthcoming. Of all of them, only Wade Moor seemed to know what was going on; Bonnie could see little signs she'd learned to pick up on over months of close association. There was tension in the line of his jaw, a hint of agitation in the subtle crease of his brow, that told her something was amiss.
"You know what this is?" she asked him, holding up one of the glass tubes.
Wade nodded. "Yeah. It's shit you don't want to fuck with lightly."
He saw the defiance creeping into Bonnie's eyes and held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest.
"Baby, I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just saying, be careful. Blue Velvet effects everybody differently -- fucked me up pretty bad once -- and even under the best circumstances, it's dangerous as hell. You smoke that shit, it can change you, usually not for the better."
Something more, unspoken, passed between them; and in a moment of insight, Bonnie realized he was thinking of Jared Holmes. Now she remembered why the name "Blue Velvet" had sounded vaguely familiar: it had been one of Jared's favorite vices, and possibly the thing that had finally destroyed his mind. Slowly, the young blonde nodded in acknowledgement.
"I hear ya, Wade. The real question is why, though. Dude ain't sendin' us free drugs as a friendly gesture, so what does he want?"
Her query bounced its way around the room, each Guardian turning the matter over in their minds, but failing to find any acceptable answer. The message, true to form, was another riddle, though simple enough. It would seem that the drug was a key to unlocking the next clue; to partake would lead them to the identity of their latest stalker. For someone so determined to remain cloaked in mystery, there was no way it would be that easy.
"A test," Alex Richards ventured, at last. "15 wants to see how much balls the Guardians got, how far we're willing to go. I say we show him."
"You want to show 15 our balls?" Bonnie teased.
"Damn right, I do!"
With that, he downed the remaining Zim-Quila and slammed his drinking boot down on the bar with authority. And at that moment, the tension in the room splintered; fell apart piece by jagged piece. A laugh echoed among the Guardians, a balm to ease the sadness of their comrade's murder, and the frustration over this new, seemingly intractable enemy. Shared mirth yielded, soon enough, to a more serious tone as their thoughts returned to the matter at hand. Damian Kaine, silent until now, snatched another of the little glass tubes, appraising the contents with no little speculation.
"It opens the door, huh?" he said, breaking the seal to withdraw the slender, white joint. "If we're being invited in, we may as well cross the threshold."
"Anybody else?" Bonnie asked, looking at each of the others in turn.
As expected, Trinity shook her head emphatically, on her client's behalf. While he didn't outwardly seem to disapprove, Preecha Kamon wasn't the type to indulge, focused on his technique and driven to strive for perfection; there was no room in his life for such things.
L made a face and put up a hand in a gesture of refusal.
"At least one of us should remain sober and relatively functional," the alien pointed out.
"Good idea," Bonnie said. "So it's me, Alex, and Damian going down the rabbit hole. An' the rest of y'all -- "
"We'll keep an eye on things," Rebecca interjected, smiling at the hint of irony in her statement. "Crime doesn't stop in a city like Chicago, just because the resident superheroes want to do weird drugs in the basement of a bar."
"Don't be silly," Alex told her. "We're doing weird drugs in public!"
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#BlueVelvet Glove
Hers, on the other hand, would be an all-out bloodbath. The other one, the one who looked like a lawyer, had said as much. Knight. Sebastian Knight. He didn't hold the same fascination for Bonnie Blue as his partner did, though. Nathan von Liebert. Odd. The name should have struck such fear in her, but all she could muster was a twinge of concern.
No. It wasn't concern, she realized on further reflection. Annoyance. Von Liebert had ambitions. Plans. A dozen little machinations, all of which, Bonnie was certain, she would find squarely in her path at the least opportune times.
Silly man with his red right hand, Bonnie thought. All he sees is easy prey. Let him. The tide's already turned and there's nothing he can do. Von Liebert's fate is sealed, and he'll take his prettyboy partner down with him.
Yes. Irritation. Best to get Von Liebert out of the way now. The World Title could wait a little longer. The young woman's thoughts were interrupted by a sound on the dock behind her.
She turned to see a small, white ball bouncing away. As if compelled, Bonnie chased after it, catching up in a few steps to scoop the toy into her hands.
"Here," said a raspy whisper somewhere ahead. "Throw it here."
The Daughter of Time glanced up and saw, just at the periphery of the circle of light cast down by a nearby streetlamp, a little girl, all in white. From the bow at the top of her head, the vintage-looking dress, her patent leather shoes -- all purest white. Her skin was so pale as to nearly be translucent and her hair was like gossamer in the night breeze. But it was the child's eyes -- black as the depths of space -- that made Bonnie gasp.
"Throw it back," repeated the child, "please."
Against her better instinct, the young woman approached the girl and took a knee.
"What are you doing out here by yourself?" Bonnie asked. "Are you lost?"
"Are you?" the child shot back.
"I -- what?"
The apparition smiled, and a sliver of moon glinted off ivory fangs that dripped crimson venom; for a moment, until a cloud obscured the sky again.
"Bonnie Blue," rasped the little girl. "Dead like you. Ha ha!"
Clapping her small hands, the child repeated the words in a singsong taunt, over and over, echoing the words of their elusive stalker.
"-- dead like you -- Bonnie Blue -- dead like you -- !"
Shrill laughter echoed as the little girl danced in circles around Bonnie, still singing the same words until the Time Witch couldn't take it anymore.
"SHUT UP!"
The little girl stopped singing, but the chilling laughter continued, coming first from one direction, then the next. Overhead, the streetlamp began to flicker. Shadows loomed, even as the apparition continued whirling around and around, now humming the tune to herself. And each time the child passed her by, it seemed as if something changed. She was maturing rapidly, from child to woman in moments.
At last, the apparition slowed, came to a stop. Above them, the bulb in the lamp exploded violently; they were plunged into darkness. The moon's light crept through a part in the clouds, dropping down to pick out the two figures facing each other. Bonnie just had time to see a pair of sea-blue eyes staring back at her, before the vision vanished completely.