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Short Affair 1/9
Prompt: Witness
Color: Black
Title: A Strange Affair, pt II
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~760
(By popular demand, a continuation of last week's piece.)
Napoleon hadn’t thought much about the babbling THRUSHie or his obsessions with “The Lady” and the amethysts he had been going on about. The stones were in an evidence locker at HQ—including the large gem that Illya had suspected was supposed to have been part of some ritual—and that only Napoleon, as some sort of “Chosen One,” could touch.
It was business as usual as far as Napoleon was concerned; though it was definitely bizarre, he hadn’t lost any sleep over it, and as he and Illya had breakfast the next morning, Napoleon was already thinking about their next assignment as he poured his morning coffee.
He smiled as Illya chided him for leaving his eggs unfinished (and proceeded to spare him the task of finishing them by taking them himself), and walked to the window to enjoy the morning sun as he finished his coffee.
It was then that he saw the most bizarre sight he’d ever seen outside his window—and spat a mouthful of coffee onto the glass.
“What is it?” Illya asked, concerned.
Wordlessly, Napoleon pointed out the window, and Illya joined him to see over a dozen people in black, hooded robes gathering on the sidewalk outside their building; they seemed to be pointing up at their floor, discussing something intently.
“What are they supposed to be?” Napoleon asked, attempting to wipe the coffee off of the window glass.
“I am certain that I have no idea,” Illya responded. “However, if I had to guess…” He paused and took a pair of binoculars from his pocket to look through the window. “Ah. As I thought.”
“What did you think?”
“Do you remember those amethysts from yesterday?”
“…Oh no…” Napoleon said, with a wince. “Don’t tell me…
Illya nodded.
“They have amethysts sewn into the hoods of those robes—more disciples of ‘The Lady,’ whoever she is,” he said. “No doubt here to catch a glimpse of the ‘Chosen One,’ at the very least…”
“Great. Just great,” Napoleon muttered.
“Most men would welcome an army of followers…”
Napoleon gave him a look.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t want that,” Illya continued. “Very well; I think the next item of business is for us to interrogate our prisoner some more about this Lady and her followers.”
“Do you really think it’s safe for you to be out there?” Napoleon asked. “I mean, I’m their ‘Chosen One,” so they won’t hurt me—I hope. But there’s no telling what they’d do to anyone else.”
“Do you really think they would try anything with so many witnesses?”
“Illya, this is New York. Men from Mars could land in Battery Park, and people wouldn’t give them a second glance.”
“This is true,” Illya admitted. “But, even so, I think I have nothing to fear. After all, I am under the protection of the Chosen One, am I not?”
He did an overly showy bow, dropping to his knees in front of Napoleon, who gave him a long, unblinking stare.
“…Your sarcasm is really at its peak this morning, isn’t it?” he asked at last.
“It’s how I channel my anxieties.”
“You’re worried, too?”
“Da, I am. But not for myself. Should they be unfriendly towards me, I can deal with them as I do with THRUSH agents,” Illya said. “But I fear what they might have in store for you. I said that, at the least, they would want a glimpse of you.”
“And at the most?”
“They would want you—not just a glimpse. I fear there may be more to being the Chosen One than just handing over one amethyst. We have dealt with cults before—Brother Love’s organization, and also the Third Way. There was always more going on than met the eye.”
Napoleon’s stomach gave an involuntary jolt at the mention of Brother Love—and how, for a brief but agonizing period of time, he had thought Illya had died. One thing was for certain—whatever this new cult wanted, he couldn’t let that happen again.
“We’ll both go out the side way,” he said. “And we’ll take a cab to work. And I think we should each pack an overnight bag and a change of clothes for tomorrow; it might be a good idea not to come back here tonight.”
“I agree,” Illya said.
They were both packed and out the side door in fifteen minutes; they did succeed in slipping past the cultists, but they both knew that this was only the first hurdle in what was promising to be a bizarre and most likely dangerous affair.
Short Affair 1/9
Prompt: Witness
Color: Black
Title: A Strange Affair, pt II
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~760
(By popular demand, a continuation of last week's piece.)
Napoleon hadn’t thought much about the babbling THRUSHie or his obsessions with “The Lady” and the amethysts he had been going on about. The stones were in an evidence locker at HQ—including the large gem that Illya had suspected was supposed to have been part of some ritual—and that only Napoleon, as some sort of “Chosen One,” could touch.
It was business as usual as far as Napoleon was concerned; though it was definitely bizarre, he hadn’t lost any sleep over it, and as he and Illya had breakfast the next morning, Napoleon was already thinking about their next assignment as he poured his morning coffee.
He smiled as Illya chided him for leaving his eggs unfinished (and proceeded to spare him the task of finishing them by taking them himself), and walked to the window to enjoy the morning sun as he finished his coffee.
It was then that he saw the most bizarre sight he’d ever seen outside his window—and spat a mouthful of coffee onto the glass.
“What is it?” Illya asked, concerned.
Wordlessly, Napoleon pointed out the window, and Illya joined him to see over a dozen people in black, hooded robes gathering on the sidewalk outside their building; they seemed to be pointing up at their floor, discussing something intently.
“What are they supposed to be?” Napoleon asked, attempting to wipe the coffee off of the window glass.
“I am certain that I have no idea,” Illya responded. “However, if I had to guess…” He paused and took a pair of binoculars from his pocket to look through the window. “Ah. As I thought.”
“What did you think?”
“Do you remember those amethysts from yesterday?”
“…Oh no…” Napoleon said, with a wince. “Don’t tell me…
Illya nodded.
“They have amethysts sewn into the hoods of those robes—more disciples of ‘The Lady,’ whoever she is,” he said. “No doubt here to catch a glimpse of the ‘Chosen One,’ at the very least…”
“Great. Just great,” Napoleon muttered.
“Most men would welcome an army of followers…”
Napoleon gave him a look.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t want that,” Illya continued. “Very well; I think the next item of business is for us to interrogate our prisoner some more about this Lady and her followers.”
“Do you really think it’s safe for you to be out there?” Napoleon asked. “I mean, I’m their ‘Chosen One,” so they won’t hurt me—I hope. But there’s no telling what they’d do to anyone else.”
“Do you really think they would try anything with so many witnesses?”
“Illya, this is New York. Men from Mars could land in Battery Park, and people wouldn’t give them a second glance.”
“This is true,” Illya admitted. “But, even so, I think I have nothing to fear. After all, I am under the protection of the Chosen One, am I not?”
He did an overly showy bow, dropping to his knees in front of Napoleon, who gave him a long, unblinking stare.
“…Your sarcasm is really at its peak this morning, isn’t it?” he asked at last.
“It’s how I channel my anxieties.”
“You’re worried, too?”
“Da, I am. But not for myself. Should they be unfriendly towards me, I can deal with them as I do with THRUSH agents,” Illya said. “But I fear what they might have in store for you. I said that, at the least, they would want a glimpse of you.”
“And at the most?”
“They would want you—not just a glimpse. I fear there may be more to being the Chosen One than just handing over one amethyst. We have dealt with cults before—Brother Love’s organization, and also the Third Way. There was always more going on than met the eye.”
Napoleon’s stomach gave an involuntary jolt at the mention of Brother Love—and how, for a brief but agonizing period of time, he had thought Illya had died. One thing was for certain—whatever this new cult wanted, he couldn’t let that happen again.
“We’ll both go out the side way,” he said. “And we’ll take a cab to work. And I think we should each pack an overnight bag and a change of clothes for tomorrow; it might be a good idea not to come back here tonight.”
“I agree,” Illya said.
They were both packed and out the side door in fifteen minutes; they did succeed in slipping past the cultists, but they both knew that this was only the first hurdle in what was promising to be a bizarre and most likely dangerous affair.
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