log; completed
when; 8 Feb., evening.
rating; PG-13.
characters; Megumi Yamamura [roseblooms], Alexis Hargreaves [maitre_de_carte]
summary; An unforgettable homecoming.
log;
It had been a strange nagging feeling-- after all this time of knowing that he was trapped, but still present, the feeling of knowing that he was locked away was enough relief in itself, and all at once a source of discomfort. Even for a man of his time, it was too much of an advantage to him to be in this place. With the kind of burden to Cain's thoughts that he presented, despite part of his revenge being accomplished, it was all too sudden and odd to accept the fact that he was no longer here.
She thought she'd had her closure with him, but after that night with Cain, after that confession to Guy-- Guy who, she was glad, remained out of this and now wouldn't need to be more involved than necessary, she found her mind clouded with doubt. It was for this reason alone that she made her way to the Hall of the Missing after work that night-- she often ran late when she was needed at the hospital, so she knew her girls and of course, Guy as well would expect it. She knew to keep in touch if she ran any later than that, and she had her communicator on her to make sure they got the message. But this was important, just for herself, and she needed to put herself at ease.
Coming here brought on a feeling of severe abandonment, she realized. Axl's portrait was here, for one-- as well as all the old friends she had. As she passed them, she had to do her best not to look for too long and glanced up to look for that one face that had been the cause of so many restless nights and anger for her. It was an odd feeling of frustration, knowing that he had returned, had been freed-- it just wasn't fair. He was supposed to have been trapped here, unable to leave, and yet--
She paused, the sounds of her own footsteps light against the floors, and she looked up-- feeling a certain chill as she turned to look toward the right wall as she turned a corner and... there. She felt her chest tighten when her gaze fell upon that portrait-- the visage of the man who had both confused and tormented her with her return here, as well as being the only person she may have gotten some answers about her current state from. She'd forgotten so much about herself, her child-- though this wasn't caused by anything he did in particular, but she knew she'd told him more than she should have about herself. Her only remaining connection to some shred of sanity about what her life was before she came here. A life she couldn't remember after being here.
Stopping in front of the portrait, feeling herself grow cold at the way those eyes seemed to look back at her, she moved a hand over the scarf around her neck to spread it slightly over her shoulders. He was really gone...
The stone frames almost echoed the cold air of the evening, laced with only the sort of mild bitterness that came from the second week of February. It was the easier part of a readjustment-- London had had snow gracing her streets that evening before he walked through the door and found himself within the gardens of Xanadu. By some mere stroke of luck, he was back; the pine trees that had lined the path had only masked so much of those now-familiar lights to which he had been jaded. Merely a week prior, he had had to readjust his sights to candles, oil lamps, the usual street lighting-- not to mention the soot-laced, fog-clouded air common to London. Back to a more clean, clear air, a strangely less welcoming greeting than the pea-soup air of England was.
Fortunately, he had remembered well the direction in which the Hall of the Missing lie; even more fortunately, he had been given such helpful advice from a passer-by to walk down that street, take a left at that one, then another left, then a right... and it had gotten so tediously easy. He hadn't even been spotted by any others, and if he had, there seemed to be no alarm to it. Not that it mattered-- if he were, indeed, back for good, the Underground had served him well before. There was, indeed, something to knowing the city so well, and it would assist him in covering his bases while he remained in this place.
Truth was, there was more a feel of a scramble for dry ground than there was that mood of security. The solution was obvious, of course-- that was why the Hall of the Missing was the obvious destination. He had to see... had to know himself whether or not that boy was in the custody of the City, as he himself now was. The man in black had formally welcomed him, of course, but he had already forgotten his host's face. The candles illuminating the hall were merely means to an end-- was he there?
And when he came across the face of his Tower, he had to pause in momentary respect. It was a bit like paying tribute to a pet grave; such calmness in that portrait, the calmness of a well-trained butler, didn't do his inner conflict any justice. He allowed himself to chuckle at that quickly-made pun and stepped away. Nothing more than a tool that had been denied him, thanks to the City and her contrary ways.
He had come to a corner, and still no sight of that prodigal son. The corridor before him, however, seemed endlessly long, and it certainly left a good deal to chance. Would it have mattered either way, though...? Perhaps, in some way, no, but he didn't have time to think on that. Especially not when he wasn't alone, as he could tell by a figure just before him. The long black hair... that certain stance, the curve of the neck-- and then, when he saw the profile of her face, he knew just who it was. Only once her back was, again, to him did he approach, each step as quiet as he could allow. So even she remained, despite her protests....
This should prove interesting.
She was ready to leave as soon as she saw the picture, but there was a bitter feeling that lingered as she looked upon that face. She was almost glad for that moment, that Cain's face hadn't brought memories of him into her mind when they'd been together, not that the curse at the time would have permitted it-- but at the same time, it didn't taint that time they had together. The thoughts were heavy on her mind, especially when she thought of the aftermath of their activity-- the fear of mistrust from Guy, the confession, the willingness to have engaged in the activity at all... she closed her eyes briefly, sighing to herself. All that had happened was no longer to be threatened by the presence of this man, and would not. So long as his face remained a part of these frames...
It was late into the night, and she wasn't expecting anyone to show up here, which served as a strong distraction to ignoring the other presence in this hall. This was one of the City's places where few to no people would be around without reason, apart from that cloaked figure who was always welcoming, but never remembered. It was part of the included distraction in her thoughts as she allowed herself to feel vindicated, that Alexis had no power here any longer now that he had gone and would not reign over Cain's thoughts either.
Her wishes, however, ran contrary to what the City desired, it seemed. As she re-opened her eyes, she once more let her gaze rest on the portrait, as though to give it a final farewell when-- she paused, her eyes narrowing as something shifted. The colours began to fade, followed by the outline of the person within the portrait. Without realising it, she was drawing closer, confused, watching the metamorphosis with questioning, until she snapped to her senses, her eyes widening at what was going on.
Alexis' image was fading, and that could only mean--
He has returned?!
Her breath caught in her throat as she moved her hand up to her mouth, beginning to step back from the portrait as though she expected him to walk out of it any second now. This wasn't right, this shouldn't be happening-- every form of denial ran through her thoughts as she began to back off, her eyes locked on the slowly blanking frame, unaware in her shock, of the person behind her. She had to leave immediately and let Cain know, this wasn't good, he was back and he could very well be walking free--
It had only taken three steps, and then he had managed a rather safe distance from that witch he knew so well. It had not happened at all-- her head hadn't even turned towards him, and she hadn't even acknowledged anyone else's presence. Once he paused and stared at what he could sense her eyes were burning holes into, only then did he realise precisely why he had been undiscovered so far. His portrait, himself in a rather austere and obvious pose, was staring down almost haughtily to her... and the colours were fading, the lines with them, the further down the eye travelled.
There was no denying it once he saw the engraved letters below slowly eroding away. The City once more recognised his presence.
Alexis, himself, found it an interesting sight to behold-- he had almost fallen into the trap of hypnosis until he saw her back retreating towards him. Ironically, he knew, she was retreating from him in disbelief, and it was easy to realise why. She truly held a fear of him. It had been much as with prior women; they, too, feared him, and that was how they survived as long as they did. That detestable woman who had run away and disguised his own son as a girl was lucky, in that respect. Now, this foolish young witch would also aide him with her own horror.
Only once she was dangerously close to bumping into him did he allow his arm to snake about her waist-- within seconds, he had her trapped right against him, his free hand coiling at her neck a strong reinforcement to his hold on her. He couldn't afford a scene. Not now. Certainly not one she herself could concoct. Let her have her nightmare, then. He could not contain the soft laughter that had built up in reaction to her own fear.
"That's hardly the way to give proper condolences, madam."
He was mistaken if he was truly thought she was afraid of him, the only thing she was fearing right now was the impact his presence would have on Cain if he wasn't stopped. Getting him arrested now, especially when he was most likely roaming free and had already served time in the City jail was going to work against them entirely. And then there were the memories of the experiences she'd had with him, memories that still haunted her and still contributed to a lot of her guilt in her normal life here. For all that she behaved as a helpful and kindly healer, she knew there were things she would no longer be able to erase during her time with him. Her own behaviour, her role as a double agent... Alexis Hargreaves represented all of that.
And it was almost like falling into yet another darkness when she felt that arm come around her waist-- the feeling of that form and frame now suddenly behind her all too disturbingly familiar, and before she could make any sound in protest, the hand around her neck clamped down like a noose and her eyes widened as she tried to jerk free, not even needing to look to know what was going on here. The scarf being the only thing keeping her neck from being in direct contact with his hand, she gasped, tilting her head back to attempt to try and get herself out of his hold, the laughter becoming all the evidence she needed to confirm her fear.
"I'd rather not insult the dead--" she hissed, feeling the burn from his grip over her already sensitive skin bother her, as well as the tightness of his grip obstructing her breathing.
Foolish, foolish, how could she have been so foolish?!
Her enmity only gave rise to another burst of his own laughter, and the hand at her neck slackened. Of course she'd turn it all back to him-- insults, struggling, it was just a projection, in reality. His presence was proof-positive that she was not at all as she appeared to those outside this intriguing little game. Not that, of course, he would dare use that bombshell just yet. There were other times for it, to be sure. And yet, there were other ways to rub salt into the wound.
"An insult from you? I simply can't imagine that...." He allowed an ambiguous smile to show-- had to play the proper part of a villain with her just to drive the point home, really. Already, Alexis had decided that she must have read far too many romance novels as a child. "You, who never dares inconvenience anyone-- what sacrilege from you."
The thought had been there. That shawl around her shoulders, coiled ever so loosely near her neck, would have been an interesting touch. Briefly, as he considered it, did he toy with it, letting that slackened grip simply move along her neck threateningly. But that silk the shawl had been made of was far too supple to the touch in a very familiar way. Only a certain few ever had such privileges to a textile like that. A curious thing... but a mystery easily solved. Her weaker points were the ears, after all-- and he had no hesitation at all in moving closer to them. "Certainly wouldn't want to disappoint the new Earl of Hargreaves with a fall from grace."
Even an idiot would be able to tell how much he was playing up the role, though it didn't seem at all far for him to do so what with his personality as it was already. He was attempting to sting her with his words, mock her-- he had a minor victory in catching her off-guard and she cursed herself for it, and her eyes narrowed as she heard him speak. At the very least, his grip on her had loosened, but she knew that it may as well be the same as if he were choking her with what he was doing now. She grimaced, turning her head away from his hand, and also trying to get a view around them, hoping that someone would come in-- but at this hour, it'd be a miracle if a mouse crept in.
She had the scarf around her neck for a reason, reasons that were also concealed under the cover of the short-sleeved mini coat she wore over her dress, and were still fading away at their own pace. She hadn't wanted to heal them too quickly, but now she regretted her own sentimentality, and at the mention of Cain, she grit her teeth, eyes narrowed as she tried to push herself away from his grip by force, only to find herself tensing at the way his lips brushed just near her ear.
He remembered her, and hadn't forgotten a thing, that much was clear. And there was something both relieving and disappointing in that revelation, as she glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I'd be the least of his worries!" she snapped, feeling the irritated edge in her tone. Trying once more to tug free, wishing she could summon out her communicator and at least indicate to where she was-- she gave up on the idea for now, trying to compose herself. "Let go of me this instant!"
The more she struggled, the more that scarf came loose-- and the more she, herself, seemed quite spirited. There was no denying it; she still remembered him, and very well, if the intensity of her thrashings were anything to go by. At the least, she had been a quick learner. The decreasing struggle from her almost reeked of willingness to be caught in such a compromising situation. Playing dead wasn't going to help her, however. He had been spotted, and he knew well her nature.
Only as he contemplated the proper way to keep her silence did he notice the blemishes peeking from underneath that pristine white scarf. One second, and he knew what those marks were. Purplish-blue, almost completely even in their colouration, and not at all particular in their locations. Yes, those marks, he knew well. Fluid motion, and then that scarf was in his possession-- and the marks were completely revealed. Well, if there had been any doubt as to the intent behind those marks, it was erased right at that moment.
Hiding them... and even with a finer silk than he knew she could ever afford to touch. Only once he pieced it all together with her much more heated offence at even a mention of Cain did it become evident. At the least, she had attempted to be clever, even if it were such a shoddy attempt at covering it all up.
His hand tensed immediately around that thin neck of hers. "If I were to let you go right now, I wouldn't be able to have a moment's peace-- a gentleman must settle in, don't you agree?" A shrewd glance to her served as good enough punctuation. "I don't have a guarantee of your silence, so, you see, I simply cannot release you just yet. That would be what we call bad business, madam."
It was a strange feeling of vulnerability, one she knew was in no way acceptable simply because it was a situation that did not have her consent. There had been far too much of that where it came to Alexis and she could feel that sick feeling in her stomach begin to grow as she felt the presence of the scarf pulled away from her-- and she paled visibly when she realized just what had been exposed to him. It was making her feel even sicker-- he was the last person whose gaze she wanted on her in this state, and this had been a fear of hers when this had occurred at all. She grit her teeth when she felt his hand tighten around her neck and her eyes narrowed, growing dark in anger at what he was suggesting. Keep her silence? If he strangled her to death now, the City would bring her back-- what would hold her tongue then? She jerked her shoulders again before doing something she would have otherwise never have considered doing without the right sort of training behind it.
But there was going to be no submitting, here. She wasn't going to be afraid, and he would not use her again-- and instead of responding to him, she twisted her body quickly enough to release her arm-- a move taught to her by Guy in the event she'd be immobilised, and she knew Alexis wasn't expecting retaliation from her, not this kind anyway. As her arm freed itself, she didn't waste an instant-- her elbow jabbed back against his chest with full force to loosen his grip around her waist, and she bent her body forward before slamming the back of her hand back into the center of his face-- at his mouth, or nose, she didn't care, but she wasn't going to take this. Not again-- and she took the advantage to shove herself free of his hold, glaring at him before stepping back. She had to run-- but she also couldn't leave him here, where he'd be able to escape into the shadows yet again.
"Guess again." She hissed, before realizing the flaw she had presented to herself-- he was blocking her path to the exit and the only other way would be to run deeper into the hall. She had to stall-- but how? Knowing she had no other option, she began to make a break for the exit. Surely he wasn't going to chase her-- surely--
She had slipped free of her own accord-- it didn't matter that she had obviously gathered new training in this arena, no matter how it added to the irritation. She was running away, and that was not something Alexis had ordered at all. The force that caused the corner of his lip to bleed wasn't as much of a deterrent as it was clearly meant to be, and he had just a second to pause in wonder at the coppery taste on his tongue before he, too, dashed down the long corridor. There was no way she would escape his clutches in order to warn that accursed child.
She ran fairly quickly, almost as quickly as that blond woman who had attempted seeking out refuge from him. Certainly, though, that woman had run quite a good deal in order to lose him-- and yet in the end, the whole affair had ended within the meadows of that cottage, where she sold her own son-- his son now-- for a mere kiss here and there. It was a different situation, yet quite the parallel to the current. With every quick footfall that landed, he ensured that the same fate would play out in this scenario.
Her lack of speed had only made it that much shorter for this black-haired witch-- just to his favour, the game had ended. His hand now clenched around her wrist, forcefully pulling her back as he skidded to a halt near the watchful eyes of a rather matronly woman. Just as he had intended, the force had been enough to tug her back; now, with her body flush against his, in prime position to see his triumphant half-smile, he had her just where he wanted. "I never said you could renege on this." He could feel some of that blood trickling down the side of his chin, certain of the sight before her now. Before she was even allowed a word in protest, his arm again coiled firmly at her lower back, the grip on her wrist, still in mid-air, constricted, and he wasted not another breath before locking her lips roughly with his own. Isn't this familiar....
She knew she wouldn't be able to fight him entirely, but she at least had the security in knowing that now he wouldn't be able to have an advantage over her where it came to her hair. She was glad that at least she had that-- while she was never expecting to see him again like this-- hell, she was never expecting him to ever have a way to gain such closeness with her again, it was a precaution that would pay off if she couldn't escape this tonight. And the hope of escape was strong as she ran, until she felt the hand clamp down on her wrist, causing her to cry out in a panic when she realized he had indeed given chase and she had underestimated his tolerance.
She couldn't shield herself in a panic-- this wasn't something she was prepared for, and she tried to force herself away before that violent force pulled her up against him, and she found herself sinking into that sick feeling of helplessness that she'd felt when he'd first claimed his control over her. And she didn't like the feeling of being dominated-- even if there was that slight satisfaction in seeing the effect of what she'd done. She'd really punched him that hard-- that stinging feeling in her hand was more than enough evidence of the fact that she'd done it right, but that victory had no time to be celebrated. All too quickly, she could taste the blood on her tongue and lips, the possessive grip on her body and that sick, sick feeling of nausea rising up in her chest. Tearing her face away, she raised her left hand this time to forcefully slap him across the jaw, her body moving enough to add force to her action, before attempting to pull away from him. She wasn't going to give him an inch, that much was clear.
That sting of a slap, unfortunately, wasn't even enough of a deterrent to his pursuit. Such defiance, at one point, had been an interesting change of pace and even a welcome one, but in such dire circumstances, there was absolutely no way he, Alexis Hargreaves, was going to allow a mere slap to his jaw to hinder him. His smile quickly changed into a flat glare, his arm moved from her waist, and then he had both her hands shackled in his own-- and a fierce shove backwards later, she was pushed back against the stone walls, trapped by his bulk.
"See? You've forced my hand." He had no need for this nonsense, and especially not when it concerned her. Once more, he had himself pressed against her-- that there were never any advantages to being a man, he'd be certain to disprove-- to the point that she was now caught between stone and his own stone-cold stare. To think that, once, she had held such a coveted Major Arcana position.... Immediately, he thought that he should have stepped down to, perhaps, the Queen of Pentacles, if not Cups.
Her eyes certainly were glaring daggers, and he knew well that it was very lucky he had come at such a time of night. There was, however, no room in which he could take any further chances-- the longer it kept on, the higher the probability of a third party witnessing. And, really, it had gone on long enough. As per an oft-used trick, both her wrists relocated into only one of his hands, the other again resting on her neck. "If you cease this struggling, I can assure you that the only marks around this neck shall be the ones with which you started," he quietly propositioned, fingers tracing around a particularly large mark. Then his hand curled, again, over her trachea and clenched with little room for delicacy.
The very thought of having been under him was a humiliating one on its own and she could very well care less if she was to be part of that organization or even mentioned among it ever again. She'd freed herself, using whatever means she had at the time and while it made her even lesser a saint as she would otherwise hope to be, it was well worth the victory. But now, she knew that that was neither here nor there-- he was taking full control of the advantage he'd gained, and there was no one to help her-- she'd told her family she'd be late tonight, no one would be looking for her. If she was going to fight, she'd have to do it herself, and she was still more than ready to utilise the techniques she'd been taught by her loved ones here to defend herself.
Up until the hand came around her throat and she had to inhale sharply, the uselessness of her hands in the position they were in now sending her mind into a terrified panic-- she didn't want him near her, she didn't want to be caught with him, and she let out a helpless cry before she found her voice catching in her throat. He was physically stronger than her, that fact was far too painfully being realised as the seconds drew on and she clamped her eyes shut, writhing as she tried to free herself once more, struggling to lash out with her legs, herself, anything--
"L-Let... go of m-me--" she hissed in a tight voice, the hatred in her eyes more than clear as she glared at him despite her situation. It was futile, she knew, but it was a clear enough disregard for his offer as she attempted to breathe, her eyes shutting tightly as she tried to turn her head away from his hold. She was shaking now, the fear of suffocation-- of the darkness, beginning to show itself in her eyes that she half-opened, desperate to find some reprieve from his presence.
He could feel her trembling underneath his hand, against his own chest-- hell, at this point, he could see her form quaking. Just enough pressure to collapse the trachea... there was ever the art to asphyxiation, and he could make it look like a science. Alexis didn't flinch once; her shallow attempts at struggling free were so feeble that they weren't even worthy of note. It only served to make her defiance look so much more pathetic under the circumstances. He literally held her life in the balance, and all she could think to do was wriggle like a snake caught in his grasp.
It was entirely her loss, of course. While she was hardly making a break for freedom, it was nonetheless an attempt regardless of the futility. His grip tightened a fraction around her throat, and he adopted an icy, detached stare as he watched her breath leave her body. Fortunately, he knew her eyes would not be popping out-- that was too much Jezebel's speciality for him to even attempt it. Even so, he could see a pallor begin to show on her face; perhaps he had also reached for the jugular veins, he mused idly.
Only once he felt a bit of tension leave her body did he begin to smirk condescendingly to her. She had had no chance. "Did you forget that I do not take lightly to orders?" he whispered, leaning in even closer. If, at any given moment, he were to be interrupted, it could be easily mistaken for a lover's advances. That was the fantastic part about this city-- the jaded atmosphere prevented most from working themselves into a frenzy over anything.
She could feel her breath failing her, and it was a miracle that she was managing at all to keep herself stable even though she was hardly in any condition to respond to him, but she still attempted to turn her face away in clear defiance of his words. She hated him, and if there was a time she'd believed she'd never hated him more, she'd contest herself on that, because the rage she was feeling at him was murderous and it was probably lucky for him that she was rendered immobile with his actions. Her lips were parted slightly, the flush in her cheeks giving way to a slowly building paleness-- not strong enough to take over the colour in her face, but enough to show her slowly growing weakness-- even if she still managed to fight back with whatever small means she could.
And yet, for what he was doing, she wasn't fainting-- she knew right then he was well aware of the control he was to use, and she cursed herself in her head as she glared off to a side, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's not my fault you're becoming hard of hearing--" she hissed in a softer voice, unable to completely raise it. She still attempted to push him off with her body, bucking against him once, but finding the action futile, she tightly shut her eyes and refused to look at him, trying to bite down the sick feeling at him being so close mixed with her lack of breathing room.
That little whispered insult was so quiet that even Alexis could pretend not to hear it. The goal before him was more important than any futile and meaningless insult she could toss his way. Her skin was turning a lighter shade of pale with every second passing, and he could not help himself as that hold on her trachea tightened even further. The quicker it was done, the sooner he could get on with more important business. And, indeed, there was much to be done before he could even allow his presence to be known in the City. She was quite the pesky hindrance--
His grip once more constricted at that thought.
Yes, he had to hurry, to make it quick, to get down to his proper affairs. Yet again, she was interrupting it, throwing a wrench to the gears, and he couldn't have that. She was only fortunate that, already, he had had a back-up plan formulated. Her luck in lasting so long was only due to his desire for no ligature marks; even silk left marks. It wouldn't do for later at all. But he was beginning to get more and more impatient, and the temptation grew... at the least, then, her battle would have ended in a far quicker time.
She wasn't going to last much longer, and at the way his fingers tightened over her neck, she knew there was going to be no chance for her to escape. Not like this, not with her arms pinned above her head, not with--
She had to do something, something that would at least alert her family-- but she didn't know what. And then it hit her-- her communicator, that she kept in her magic space pocket-- she didn't have much time, if any at all, but she began to summon her last bit of strength into allowing it to extract itself a short distance away from her, near the shadows, the only tell-tale sign of any magic at work being the light white glow before the small object collapsed to the ground. If she could look at it, she'd see that the voice input had been turned on-- something she may have accidentally done herself when she was caught, but it didn't matter now. She didn't want to be tracked, not if it was going to risk having people track down Alexis and take away Cain's revenge... it was only, and only that thought that made her reveal her only means of communication now and also to show a triumph over Alexis' will-- his fool's desire to keep her silence.
She didn't-- and neither would fate, so help her. And half-opening her eyes, she gave Alexis an icy glare, before she hissed, "Too late."
Apparently wisely, he had kept his silence the entire time. The plastic clatter on stone alerted him, and then Alexis looked to the source of that noise-- a communicator of some sort, that much was evident as the small screen showing the words "voice transmission mode: on" indicated. There wouldn't be a word further spoken from her, and he had to ensure that very quickly. Whether or not it was accidental or purposeful was revealed with those two little words.
Too late.
Of course-- it was planned. All in order to warn certain people. It hadn't been at all distinct, though, in depicting his presence there, and he was determined to keep it that way. His silence would buy his time, even with her transmitted warning. Her intense glare was met with an icy version all his own. Quickly did he turn her about and then shove her down by her shoulders. No, she'd land on her back, likely the blunt trauma to her head would, in conjunction with the air loss already suffered, knock her out cold. She had suffered just enough strangulation that the desired result would come easily. At the least, it would be an interesting experiment.
His next action surprised even her-- perhaps that in itself was the source of her brief recovery, even though her head was already beginning to cloud over, dizziness overwhelming her balance-- it was because of that that she fell so easily, her body hitting the cold ground as her legs gave out under her, and it was a fortunate twist of her frame that saved her from hitting her head too violently against the ground. She had no will to think any more, and she knew-- she had nothing to lose. As she collapsed back against the ground with her head turned in the direction of where the communicator had fallen, she managed to hiss out the words, "Card--master has... returned..." before the darkness took over her vision, numbness spreading from her wrists to her fingers, and she collapsed unconscious against the stone ground.
They'd know-- they'd know, and she'd stay true to her revenge against him with every last breath. She would not let him win, and perhaps it was the bitter-sweet peace from that thought that sent her into her unconscious state, even with the measures he'd attempted to keep her silence.
She wasn't going to be afraid. Not any more. And she would make him remember that. The fight wasn't over yet.
That had proven more troublesome than it was worth, honestly. However, she now was unconscious, even though her last few words were damning. Always more trouble than she was worth, but in this case, he could not be too careful. Alexis looked first down the long end of the corridor, then to the opposite end. Good, no witnesses at all. The communicator, however, had to be dealt with properly. It still was running, that illuminated screen told him as much. There was only one way to shut it off without finger prints. The silk scarf in his hand dropped, landing gracefully atop the communicator and conveniently covered a good deal of it.
When his heel met the small electronic, the inevitable cracking sound almost ominously echoed down the stone hallways. Again, he thanked the luck he had come across in his return to this place, for there had been no direct witnesses to this encounter. He pensively stared to the crushed obsidian and green pieces on the ground before him-- a silent eulogy to an otherwise decent piece of technology-- before lowering down to scoop up his now-hostage. There was no way she would be left behind, and he would not allow him to pass her by. Her tongue wagged too much for her own good, and he wasn't at all going to allow her to shorten his necessary time to re-establish himself.
"What a pity for you," he whispered in apostrophe. He, this time, had to get his own hands dirty, but he was going to ensure that it would be well worth the effort. Troublesome, indeed, that you are. What a pity for you.
He hadn't met a soul while he strode out of the Hall, save for the man in black, once more stationed at the front. Luckily, that host seemed to have an interesting "don't ask, don't tell" policy-- not an inquiry was made about the unconscious woman in his arms. No one had crossed his path on the way back to that flat, of which he had very fortunately remembered the location, and he hadn't seen another person until he had knocked on the door and was faced with that very familiar blonde maid. She had only needed to look at her master and the witch in his arms to allow him in and lock the door behind him.
It was, indeed, as though he hadn't ever left.
rating; PG-13.
characters; Megumi Yamamura [roseblooms], Alexis Hargreaves [maitre_de_carte]
summary; An unforgettable homecoming.
log;
It had been a strange nagging feeling-- after all this time of knowing that he was trapped, but still present, the feeling of knowing that he was locked away was enough relief in itself, and all at once a source of discomfort. Even for a man of his time, it was too much of an advantage to him to be in this place. With the kind of burden to Cain's thoughts that he presented, despite part of his revenge being accomplished, it was all too sudden and odd to accept the fact that he was no longer here.
She thought she'd had her closure with him, but after that night with Cain, after that confession to Guy-- Guy who, she was glad, remained out of this and now wouldn't need to be more involved than necessary, she found her mind clouded with doubt. It was for this reason alone that she made her way to the Hall of the Missing after work that night-- she often ran late when she was needed at the hospital, so she knew her girls and of course, Guy as well would expect it. She knew to keep in touch if she ran any later than that, and she had her communicator on her to make sure they got the message. But this was important, just for herself, and she needed to put herself at ease.
Coming here brought on a feeling of severe abandonment, she realized. Axl's portrait was here, for one-- as well as all the old friends she had. As she passed them, she had to do her best not to look for too long and glanced up to look for that one face that had been the cause of so many restless nights and anger for her. It was an odd feeling of frustration, knowing that he had returned, had been freed-- it just wasn't fair. He was supposed to have been trapped here, unable to leave, and yet--
She paused, the sounds of her own footsteps light against the floors, and she looked up-- feeling a certain chill as she turned to look toward the right wall as she turned a corner and... there. She felt her chest tighten when her gaze fell upon that portrait-- the visage of the man who had both confused and tormented her with her return here, as well as being the only person she may have gotten some answers about her current state from. She'd forgotten so much about herself, her child-- though this wasn't caused by anything he did in particular, but she knew she'd told him more than she should have about herself. Her only remaining connection to some shred of sanity about what her life was before she came here. A life she couldn't remember after being here.
Stopping in front of the portrait, feeling herself grow cold at the way those eyes seemed to look back at her, she moved a hand over the scarf around her neck to spread it slightly over her shoulders. He was really gone...
The stone frames almost echoed the cold air of the evening, laced with only the sort of mild bitterness that came from the second week of February. It was the easier part of a readjustment-- London had had snow gracing her streets that evening before he walked through the door and found himself within the gardens of Xanadu. By some mere stroke of luck, he was back; the pine trees that had lined the path had only masked so much of those now-familiar lights to which he had been jaded. Merely a week prior, he had had to readjust his sights to candles, oil lamps, the usual street lighting-- not to mention the soot-laced, fog-clouded air common to London. Back to a more clean, clear air, a strangely less welcoming greeting than the pea-soup air of England was.
Fortunately, he had remembered well the direction in which the Hall of the Missing lie; even more fortunately, he had been given such helpful advice from a passer-by to walk down that street, take a left at that one, then another left, then a right... and it had gotten so tediously easy. He hadn't even been spotted by any others, and if he had, there seemed to be no alarm to it. Not that it mattered-- if he were, indeed, back for good, the Underground had served him well before. There was, indeed, something to knowing the city so well, and it would assist him in covering his bases while he remained in this place.
Truth was, there was more a feel of a scramble for dry ground than there was that mood of security. The solution was obvious, of course-- that was why the Hall of the Missing was the obvious destination. He had to see... had to know himself whether or not that boy was in the custody of the City, as he himself now was. The man in black had formally welcomed him, of course, but he had already forgotten his host's face. The candles illuminating the hall were merely means to an end-- was he there?
And when he came across the face of his Tower, he had to pause in momentary respect. It was a bit like paying tribute to a pet grave; such calmness in that portrait, the calmness of a well-trained butler, didn't do his inner conflict any justice. He allowed himself to chuckle at that quickly-made pun and stepped away. Nothing more than a tool that had been denied him, thanks to the City and her contrary ways.
He had come to a corner, and still no sight of that prodigal son. The corridor before him, however, seemed endlessly long, and it certainly left a good deal to chance. Would it have mattered either way, though...? Perhaps, in some way, no, but he didn't have time to think on that. Especially not when he wasn't alone, as he could tell by a figure just before him. The long black hair... that certain stance, the curve of the neck-- and then, when he saw the profile of her face, he knew just who it was. Only once her back was, again, to him did he approach, each step as quiet as he could allow. So even she remained, despite her protests....
This should prove interesting.
She was ready to leave as soon as she saw the picture, but there was a bitter feeling that lingered as she looked upon that face. She was almost glad for that moment, that Cain's face hadn't brought memories of him into her mind when they'd been together, not that the curse at the time would have permitted it-- but at the same time, it didn't taint that time they had together. The thoughts were heavy on her mind, especially when she thought of the aftermath of their activity-- the fear of mistrust from Guy, the confession, the willingness to have engaged in the activity at all... she closed her eyes briefly, sighing to herself. All that had happened was no longer to be threatened by the presence of this man, and would not. So long as his face remained a part of these frames...
It was late into the night, and she wasn't expecting anyone to show up here, which served as a strong distraction to ignoring the other presence in this hall. This was one of the City's places where few to no people would be around without reason, apart from that cloaked figure who was always welcoming, but never remembered. It was part of the included distraction in her thoughts as she allowed herself to feel vindicated, that Alexis had no power here any longer now that he had gone and would not reign over Cain's thoughts either.
Her wishes, however, ran contrary to what the City desired, it seemed. As she re-opened her eyes, she once more let her gaze rest on the portrait, as though to give it a final farewell when-- she paused, her eyes narrowing as something shifted. The colours began to fade, followed by the outline of the person within the portrait. Without realising it, she was drawing closer, confused, watching the metamorphosis with questioning, until she snapped to her senses, her eyes widening at what was going on.
Alexis' image was fading, and that could only mean--
He has returned?!
Her breath caught in her throat as she moved her hand up to her mouth, beginning to step back from the portrait as though she expected him to walk out of it any second now. This wasn't right, this shouldn't be happening-- every form of denial ran through her thoughts as she began to back off, her eyes locked on the slowly blanking frame, unaware in her shock, of the person behind her. She had to leave immediately and let Cain know, this wasn't good, he was back and he could very well be walking free--
It had only taken three steps, and then he had managed a rather safe distance from that witch he knew so well. It had not happened at all-- her head hadn't even turned towards him, and she hadn't even acknowledged anyone else's presence. Once he paused and stared at what he could sense her eyes were burning holes into, only then did he realise precisely why he had been undiscovered so far. His portrait, himself in a rather austere and obvious pose, was staring down almost haughtily to her... and the colours were fading, the lines with them, the further down the eye travelled.
There was no denying it once he saw the engraved letters below slowly eroding away. The City once more recognised his presence.
Alexis, himself, found it an interesting sight to behold-- he had almost fallen into the trap of hypnosis until he saw her back retreating towards him. Ironically, he knew, she was retreating from him in disbelief, and it was easy to realise why. She truly held a fear of him. It had been much as with prior women; they, too, feared him, and that was how they survived as long as they did. That detestable woman who had run away and disguised his own son as a girl was lucky, in that respect. Now, this foolish young witch would also aide him with her own horror.
Only once she was dangerously close to bumping into him did he allow his arm to snake about her waist-- within seconds, he had her trapped right against him, his free hand coiling at her neck a strong reinforcement to his hold on her. He couldn't afford a scene. Not now. Certainly not one she herself could concoct. Let her have her nightmare, then. He could not contain the soft laughter that had built up in reaction to her own fear.
"That's hardly the way to give proper condolences, madam."
He was mistaken if he was truly thought she was afraid of him, the only thing she was fearing right now was the impact his presence would have on Cain if he wasn't stopped. Getting him arrested now, especially when he was most likely roaming free and had already served time in the City jail was going to work against them entirely. And then there were the memories of the experiences she'd had with him, memories that still haunted her and still contributed to a lot of her guilt in her normal life here. For all that she behaved as a helpful and kindly healer, she knew there were things she would no longer be able to erase during her time with him. Her own behaviour, her role as a double agent... Alexis Hargreaves represented all of that.
And it was almost like falling into yet another darkness when she felt that arm come around her waist-- the feeling of that form and frame now suddenly behind her all too disturbingly familiar, and before she could make any sound in protest, the hand around her neck clamped down like a noose and her eyes widened as she tried to jerk free, not even needing to look to know what was going on here. The scarf being the only thing keeping her neck from being in direct contact with his hand, she gasped, tilting her head back to attempt to try and get herself out of his hold, the laughter becoming all the evidence she needed to confirm her fear.
"I'd rather not insult the dead--" she hissed, feeling the burn from his grip over her already sensitive skin bother her, as well as the tightness of his grip obstructing her breathing.
Foolish, foolish, how could she have been so foolish?!
Her enmity only gave rise to another burst of his own laughter, and the hand at her neck slackened. Of course she'd turn it all back to him-- insults, struggling, it was just a projection, in reality. His presence was proof-positive that she was not at all as she appeared to those outside this intriguing little game. Not that, of course, he would dare use that bombshell just yet. There were other times for it, to be sure. And yet, there were other ways to rub salt into the wound.
"An insult from you? I simply can't imagine that...." He allowed an ambiguous smile to show-- had to play the proper part of a villain with her just to drive the point home, really. Already, Alexis had decided that she must have read far too many romance novels as a child. "You, who never dares inconvenience anyone-- what sacrilege from you."
The thought had been there. That shawl around her shoulders, coiled ever so loosely near her neck, would have been an interesting touch. Briefly, as he considered it, did he toy with it, letting that slackened grip simply move along her neck threateningly. But that silk the shawl had been made of was far too supple to the touch in a very familiar way. Only a certain few ever had such privileges to a textile like that. A curious thing... but a mystery easily solved. Her weaker points were the ears, after all-- and he had no hesitation at all in moving closer to them. "Certainly wouldn't want to disappoint the new Earl of Hargreaves with a fall from grace."
Even an idiot would be able to tell how much he was playing up the role, though it didn't seem at all far for him to do so what with his personality as it was already. He was attempting to sting her with his words, mock her-- he had a minor victory in catching her off-guard and she cursed herself for it, and her eyes narrowed as she heard him speak. At the very least, his grip on her had loosened, but she knew that it may as well be the same as if he were choking her with what he was doing now. She grimaced, turning her head away from his hand, and also trying to get a view around them, hoping that someone would come in-- but at this hour, it'd be a miracle if a mouse crept in.
She had the scarf around her neck for a reason, reasons that were also concealed under the cover of the short-sleeved mini coat she wore over her dress, and were still fading away at their own pace. She hadn't wanted to heal them too quickly, but now she regretted her own sentimentality, and at the mention of Cain, she grit her teeth, eyes narrowed as she tried to push herself away from his grip by force, only to find herself tensing at the way his lips brushed just near her ear.
He remembered her, and hadn't forgotten a thing, that much was clear. And there was something both relieving and disappointing in that revelation, as she glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I'd be the least of his worries!" she snapped, feeling the irritated edge in her tone. Trying once more to tug free, wishing she could summon out her communicator and at least indicate to where she was-- she gave up on the idea for now, trying to compose herself. "Let go of me this instant!"
The more she struggled, the more that scarf came loose-- and the more she, herself, seemed quite spirited. There was no denying it; she still remembered him, and very well, if the intensity of her thrashings were anything to go by. At the least, she had been a quick learner. The decreasing struggle from her almost reeked of willingness to be caught in such a compromising situation. Playing dead wasn't going to help her, however. He had been spotted, and he knew well her nature.
Only as he contemplated the proper way to keep her silence did he notice the blemishes peeking from underneath that pristine white scarf. One second, and he knew what those marks were. Purplish-blue, almost completely even in their colouration, and not at all particular in their locations. Yes, those marks, he knew well. Fluid motion, and then that scarf was in his possession-- and the marks were completely revealed. Well, if there had been any doubt as to the intent behind those marks, it was erased right at that moment.
Hiding them... and even with a finer silk than he knew she could ever afford to touch. Only once he pieced it all together with her much more heated offence at even a mention of Cain did it become evident. At the least, she had attempted to be clever, even if it were such a shoddy attempt at covering it all up.
His hand tensed immediately around that thin neck of hers. "If I were to let you go right now, I wouldn't be able to have a moment's peace-- a gentleman must settle in, don't you agree?" A shrewd glance to her served as good enough punctuation. "I don't have a guarantee of your silence, so, you see, I simply cannot release you just yet. That would be what we call bad business, madam."
It was a strange feeling of vulnerability, one she knew was in no way acceptable simply because it was a situation that did not have her consent. There had been far too much of that where it came to Alexis and she could feel that sick feeling in her stomach begin to grow as she felt the presence of the scarf pulled away from her-- and she paled visibly when she realized just what had been exposed to him. It was making her feel even sicker-- he was the last person whose gaze she wanted on her in this state, and this had been a fear of hers when this had occurred at all. She grit her teeth when she felt his hand tighten around her neck and her eyes narrowed, growing dark in anger at what he was suggesting. Keep her silence? If he strangled her to death now, the City would bring her back-- what would hold her tongue then? She jerked her shoulders again before doing something she would have otherwise never have considered doing without the right sort of training behind it.
But there was going to be no submitting, here. She wasn't going to be afraid, and he would not use her again-- and instead of responding to him, she twisted her body quickly enough to release her arm-- a move taught to her by Guy in the event she'd be immobilised, and she knew Alexis wasn't expecting retaliation from her, not this kind anyway. As her arm freed itself, she didn't waste an instant-- her elbow jabbed back against his chest with full force to loosen his grip around her waist, and she bent her body forward before slamming the back of her hand back into the center of his face-- at his mouth, or nose, she didn't care, but she wasn't going to take this. Not again-- and she took the advantage to shove herself free of his hold, glaring at him before stepping back. She had to run-- but she also couldn't leave him here, where he'd be able to escape into the shadows yet again.
"Guess again." She hissed, before realizing the flaw she had presented to herself-- he was blocking her path to the exit and the only other way would be to run deeper into the hall. She had to stall-- but how? Knowing she had no other option, she began to make a break for the exit. Surely he wasn't going to chase her-- surely--
She had slipped free of her own accord-- it didn't matter that she had obviously gathered new training in this arena, no matter how it added to the irritation. She was running away, and that was not something Alexis had ordered at all. The force that caused the corner of his lip to bleed wasn't as much of a deterrent as it was clearly meant to be, and he had just a second to pause in wonder at the coppery taste on his tongue before he, too, dashed down the long corridor. There was no way she would escape his clutches in order to warn that accursed child.
She ran fairly quickly, almost as quickly as that blond woman who had attempted seeking out refuge from him. Certainly, though, that woman had run quite a good deal in order to lose him-- and yet in the end, the whole affair had ended within the meadows of that cottage, where she sold her own son-- his son now-- for a mere kiss here and there. It was a different situation, yet quite the parallel to the current. With every quick footfall that landed, he ensured that the same fate would play out in this scenario.
Her lack of speed had only made it that much shorter for this black-haired witch-- just to his favour, the game had ended. His hand now clenched around her wrist, forcefully pulling her back as he skidded to a halt near the watchful eyes of a rather matronly woman. Just as he had intended, the force had been enough to tug her back; now, with her body flush against his, in prime position to see his triumphant half-smile, he had her just where he wanted. "I never said you could renege on this." He could feel some of that blood trickling down the side of his chin, certain of the sight before her now. Before she was even allowed a word in protest, his arm again coiled firmly at her lower back, the grip on her wrist, still in mid-air, constricted, and he wasted not another breath before locking her lips roughly with his own. Isn't this familiar....
She knew she wouldn't be able to fight him entirely, but she at least had the security in knowing that now he wouldn't be able to have an advantage over her where it came to her hair. She was glad that at least she had that-- while she was never expecting to see him again like this-- hell, she was never expecting him to ever have a way to gain such closeness with her again, it was a precaution that would pay off if she couldn't escape this tonight. And the hope of escape was strong as she ran, until she felt the hand clamp down on her wrist, causing her to cry out in a panic when she realized he had indeed given chase and she had underestimated his tolerance.
She couldn't shield herself in a panic-- this wasn't something she was prepared for, and she tried to force herself away before that violent force pulled her up against him, and she found herself sinking into that sick feeling of helplessness that she'd felt when he'd first claimed his control over her. And she didn't like the feeling of being dominated-- even if there was that slight satisfaction in seeing the effect of what she'd done. She'd really punched him that hard-- that stinging feeling in her hand was more than enough evidence of the fact that she'd done it right, but that victory had no time to be celebrated. All too quickly, she could taste the blood on her tongue and lips, the possessive grip on her body and that sick, sick feeling of nausea rising up in her chest. Tearing her face away, she raised her left hand this time to forcefully slap him across the jaw, her body moving enough to add force to her action, before attempting to pull away from him. She wasn't going to give him an inch, that much was clear.
That sting of a slap, unfortunately, wasn't even enough of a deterrent to his pursuit. Such defiance, at one point, had been an interesting change of pace and even a welcome one, but in such dire circumstances, there was absolutely no way he, Alexis Hargreaves, was going to allow a mere slap to his jaw to hinder him. His smile quickly changed into a flat glare, his arm moved from her waist, and then he had both her hands shackled in his own-- and a fierce shove backwards later, she was pushed back against the stone walls, trapped by his bulk.
"See? You've forced my hand." He had no need for this nonsense, and especially not when it concerned her. Once more, he had himself pressed against her-- that there were never any advantages to being a man, he'd be certain to disprove-- to the point that she was now caught between stone and his own stone-cold stare. To think that, once, she had held such a coveted Major Arcana position.... Immediately, he thought that he should have stepped down to, perhaps, the Queen of Pentacles, if not Cups.
Her eyes certainly were glaring daggers, and he knew well that it was very lucky he had come at such a time of night. There was, however, no room in which he could take any further chances-- the longer it kept on, the higher the probability of a third party witnessing. And, really, it had gone on long enough. As per an oft-used trick, both her wrists relocated into only one of his hands, the other again resting on her neck. "If you cease this struggling, I can assure you that the only marks around this neck shall be the ones with which you started," he quietly propositioned, fingers tracing around a particularly large mark. Then his hand curled, again, over her trachea and clenched with little room for delicacy.
The very thought of having been under him was a humiliating one on its own and she could very well care less if she was to be part of that organization or even mentioned among it ever again. She'd freed herself, using whatever means she had at the time and while it made her even lesser a saint as she would otherwise hope to be, it was well worth the victory. But now, she knew that that was neither here nor there-- he was taking full control of the advantage he'd gained, and there was no one to help her-- she'd told her family she'd be late tonight, no one would be looking for her. If she was going to fight, she'd have to do it herself, and she was still more than ready to utilise the techniques she'd been taught by her loved ones here to defend herself.
Up until the hand came around her throat and she had to inhale sharply, the uselessness of her hands in the position they were in now sending her mind into a terrified panic-- she didn't want him near her, she didn't want to be caught with him, and she let out a helpless cry before she found her voice catching in her throat. He was physically stronger than her, that fact was far too painfully being realised as the seconds drew on and she clamped her eyes shut, writhing as she tried to free herself once more, struggling to lash out with her legs, herself, anything--
"L-Let... go of m-me--" she hissed in a tight voice, the hatred in her eyes more than clear as she glared at him despite her situation. It was futile, she knew, but it was a clear enough disregard for his offer as she attempted to breathe, her eyes shutting tightly as she tried to turn her head away from his hold. She was shaking now, the fear of suffocation-- of the darkness, beginning to show itself in her eyes that she half-opened, desperate to find some reprieve from his presence.
He could feel her trembling underneath his hand, against his own chest-- hell, at this point, he could see her form quaking. Just enough pressure to collapse the trachea... there was ever the art to asphyxiation, and he could make it look like a science. Alexis didn't flinch once; her shallow attempts at struggling free were so feeble that they weren't even worthy of note. It only served to make her defiance look so much more pathetic under the circumstances. He literally held her life in the balance, and all she could think to do was wriggle like a snake caught in his grasp.
It was entirely her loss, of course. While she was hardly making a break for freedom, it was nonetheless an attempt regardless of the futility. His grip tightened a fraction around her throat, and he adopted an icy, detached stare as he watched her breath leave her body. Fortunately, he knew her eyes would not be popping out-- that was too much Jezebel's speciality for him to even attempt it. Even so, he could see a pallor begin to show on her face; perhaps he had also reached for the jugular veins, he mused idly.
Only once he felt a bit of tension leave her body did he begin to smirk condescendingly to her. She had had no chance. "Did you forget that I do not take lightly to orders?" he whispered, leaning in even closer. If, at any given moment, he were to be interrupted, it could be easily mistaken for a lover's advances. That was the fantastic part about this city-- the jaded atmosphere prevented most from working themselves into a frenzy over anything.
She could feel her breath failing her, and it was a miracle that she was managing at all to keep herself stable even though she was hardly in any condition to respond to him, but she still attempted to turn her face away in clear defiance of his words. She hated him, and if there was a time she'd believed she'd never hated him more, she'd contest herself on that, because the rage she was feeling at him was murderous and it was probably lucky for him that she was rendered immobile with his actions. Her lips were parted slightly, the flush in her cheeks giving way to a slowly building paleness-- not strong enough to take over the colour in her face, but enough to show her slowly growing weakness-- even if she still managed to fight back with whatever small means she could.
And yet, for what he was doing, she wasn't fainting-- she knew right then he was well aware of the control he was to use, and she cursed herself in her head as she glared off to a side, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's not my fault you're becoming hard of hearing--" she hissed in a softer voice, unable to completely raise it. She still attempted to push him off with her body, bucking against him once, but finding the action futile, she tightly shut her eyes and refused to look at him, trying to bite down the sick feeling at him being so close mixed with her lack of breathing room.
That little whispered insult was so quiet that even Alexis could pretend not to hear it. The goal before him was more important than any futile and meaningless insult she could toss his way. Her skin was turning a lighter shade of pale with every second passing, and he could not help himself as that hold on her trachea tightened even further. The quicker it was done, the sooner he could get on with more important business. And, indeed, there was much to be done before he could even allow his presence to be known in the City. She was quite the pesky hindrance--
His grip once more constricted at that thought.
Yes, he had to hurry, to make it quick, to get down to his proper affairs. Yet again, she was interrupting it, throwing a wrench to the gears, and he couldn't have that. She was only fortunate that, already, he had had a back-up plan formulated. Her luck in lasting so long was only due to his desire for no ligature marks; even silk left marks. It wouldn't do for later at all. But he was beginning to get more and more impatient, and the temptation grew... at the least, then, her battle would have ended in a far quicker time.
She wasn't going to last much longer, and at the way his fingers tightened over her neck, she knew there was going to be no chance for her to escape. Not like this, not with her arms pinned above her head, not with--
She had to do something, something that would at least alert her family-- but she didn't know what. And then it hit her-- her communicator, that she kept in her magic space pocket-- she didn't have much time, if any at all, but she began to summon her last bit of strength into allowing it to extract itself a short distance away from her, near the shadows, the only tell-tale sign of any magic at work being the light white glow before the small object collapsed to the ground. If she could look at it, she'd see that the voice input had been turned on-- something she may have accidentally done herself when she was caught, but it didn't matter now. She didn't want to be tracked, not if it was going to risk having people track down Alexis and take away Cain's revenge... it was only, and only that thought that made her reveal her only means of communication now and also to show a triumph over Alexis' will-- his fool's desire to keep her silence.
She didn't-- and neither would fate, so help her. And half-opening her eyes, she gave Alexis an icy glare, before she hissed, "Too late."
Apparently wisely, he had kept his silence the entire time. The plastic clatter on stone alerted him, and then Alexis looked to the source of that noise-- a communicator of some sort, that much was evident as the small screen showing the words "voice transmission mode: on" indicated. There wouldn't be a word further spoken from her, and he had to ensure that very quickly. Whether or not it was accidental or purposeful was revealed with those two little words.
Too late.
Of course-- it was planned. All in order to warn certain people. It hadn't been at all distinct, though, in depicting his presence there, and he was determined to keep it that way. His silence would buy his time, even with her transmitted warning. Her intense glare was met with an icy version all his own. Quickly did he turn her about and then shove her down by her shoulders. No, she'd land on her back, likely the blunt trauma to her head would, in conjunction with the air loss already suffered, knock her out cold. She had suffered just enough strangulation that the desired result would come easily. At the least, it would be an interesting experiment.
His next action surprised even her-- perhaps that in itself was the source of her brief recovery, even though her head was already beginning to cloud over, dizziness overwhelming her balance-- it was because of that that she fell so easily, her body hitting the cold ground as her legs gave out under her, and it was a fortunate twist of her frame that saved her from hitting her head too violently against the ground. She had no will to think any more, and she knew-- she had nothing to lose. As she collapsed back against the ground with her head turned in the direction of where the communicator had fallen, she managed to hiss out the words, "Card--master has... returned..." before the darkness took over her vision, numbness spreading from her wrists to her fingers, and she collapsed unconscious against the stone ground.
They'd know-- they'd know, and she'd stay true to her revenge against him with every last breath. She would not let him win, and perhaps it was the bitter-sweet peace from that thought that sent her into her unconscious state, even with the measures he'd attempted to keep her silence.
She wasn't going to be afraid. Not any more. And she would make him remember that. The fight wasn't over yet.
That had proven more troublesome than it was worth, honestly. However, she now was unconscious, even though her last few words were damning. Always more trouble than she was worth, but in this case, he could not be too careful. Alexis looked first down the long end of the corridor, then to the opposite end. Good, no witnesses at all. The communicator, however, had to be dealt with properly. It still was running, that illuminated screen told him as much. There was only one way to shut it off without finger prints. The silk scarf in his hand dropped, landing gracefully atop the communicator and conveniently covered a good deal of it.
When his heel met the small electronic, the inevitable cracking sound almost ominously echoed down the stone hallways. Again, he thanked the luck he had come across in his return to this place, for there had been no direct witnesses to this encounter. He pensively stared to the crushed obsidian and green pieces on the ground before him-- a silent eulogy to an otherwise decent piece of technology-- before lowering down to scoop up his now-hostage. There was no way she would be left behind, and he would not allow him to pass her by. Her tongue wagged too much for her own good, and he wasn't at all going to allow her to shorten his necessary time to re-establish himself.
"What a pity for you," he whispered in apostrophe. He, this time, had to get his own hands dirty, but he was going to ensure that it would be well worth the effort. Troublesome, indeed, that you are. What a pity for you.
He hadn't met a soul while he strode out of the Hall, save for the man in black, once more stationed at the front. Luckily, that host seemed to have an interesting "don't ask, don't tell" policy-- not an inquiry was made about the unconscious woman in his arms. No one had crossed his path on the way back to that flat, of which he had very fortunately remembered the location, and he hadn't seen another person until he had knocked on the door and was faced with that very familiar blonde maid. She had only needed to look at her master and the witch in his arms to allow him in and lock the door behind him.
It was, indeed, as though he hadn't ever left.