and then devour'd.
Watchmen.
Hollis Mason meets the Minutemen's newest adversary.
I already posted this eleventy years ago at /pco/, but whatevs. I DO WHAT I WANT. I just think fandom needs moar Hollis fic in general.
(The inclusion of the Blake excerpt isn't entirely out of left-field; according to one of those old Watchmen roleplay modules from the '80s, Moloch threatened to use his solar mirror weapon on the Empire State Building unless a rare copy of Blake's 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell' was handed over to him. I forget who stopped him, but I'm pretty sure it was the Comedian - whose name is also, ironically, Blake. -cue THE MORE YOU KNOW theme-)
---
Then the weak were caught by the strong, and with a grinning aspect, first coupled with, & then devour'd, by plucking off first one limb and then another till the body was left a helpless trunk; this after grinning & kissing it with seeming fondness they devour'd too.
-William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
"And here's our good little boy scout coming to, now."
Hollis's head snapped up when the voice, low and mocking, filtered through the tired haze that smothered his consciousness.
A face that was vaguely familiar came into focus - sharp, dark eyes; strangely pointed ears; the contrast of onyx hair against pale skin; an unsettlingly cold smile - and he realized it was one he'd seen often on flyers posted outside the Broken Gem, a night club with a not-so-savory reputation.
"Moloch the Mystic."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "You've done your homework. A refreshing change from your counterparts who find it amusing to shoot off childish insults before they realize who they're dealing with."
Long, pale fingers wrapped around Hollis's chin. Twisting his hand, Moloch's fingers dug in deep, biting into Hollis's flesh before pulling away.
"Your funnyman friend realized his error, I believe."
A pang of annoyance and fear laced through Hollis at the mention of the Comedian - for the love of God, what had he done now? - but it was swept away easily by new awareness of his surroundings. A frustrated growl erupted from his throat - the bonds tying him to the post were stronger than what he was used to. Something else had been bonded with the rope, some kind of glue. Odd. He'd have to keep the kid talking; hope he could distract him as he attempted to free himself.
And if there was one thing Hollis was good at, it was putting people at ease.
He assumed a respectful, questioning face as his fingers deftly went to work.
"Are we supposed to believe you're just some underground magician? I can't imagine why you'd go to all the trouble with these theatrics to get us here while you tried to steal the Rajah Sapphire if that were the case. Who are you, really?"
Even as he worked at freeing himself, Hollis couldn't deny that Moloch's lair - or whatever it was - was a beautiful room; a stunning mix of Art Deco and Jacobethan, with sweeping floral-patterned walls and imposing metal fixtures.
Such as the one he was currently tied to.
The young man considered him with an appraising eye, settling back onto a comfortable-looking armchair made of crushed red velvet.
"I possess many talents," he said quietly. "I can swallow fire. I can walk barefoot over blistering coals. And I can make people disappear - something I'm in the process of as we speak. Eight particular people, who think it sensible to drape themselves in capes and masks, poking their noses in places that even the most corrupt law enforcement would not dare. It won't be an easy performance, but it will be worth it, don't you think?"
"I'm afraid," Hollis said, "I can't let you do that."
Moloch smiled. "Oh, but everything has been settled. And don't worry. You don't want to go anywhere."
Hollis snorted, flexing his wrists as his binds finally snapped free. The kid hadn't even bothered to tie his feet, for God's sake. He was as bad as that idiot the Steel Stranger if he thought it was going to be that easy to just order the Minutem--
Oh.
Oh, shit.
A sinister grin stretched Moloch's lips as he reclined back in his armchair. His eyes gleamed in the dim light as Hollis remained rooted - posture perfectly erect - against the metal pole behind him.
"As I said - I possess many talents. Hypnosis is just the start of them."
"You're bluffing," Hollis replied, even as the paralysis continued to trap him in place. "You've drugged me. While I was unconscious - you did something to me. And as soon as it wears off--"
"You can tell yourself that, if you want," Moloch replied, his tone light and nonchalant. "If it makes you feel less weak, I will spare you the embarrassment." With catlike grace, he leapt to his feet and was at Hollis's side once more, inspecting him with studious care, as if Hollis was a new toy he'd received on Christmas morning. This close, the magician's youth was more apparent than ever - he had to be no more than twenty. His breath smelled overpoweringly of Scotch mint, and Hollis tried hard to drive from his mind the sudden thought this was just some kid playing dress up; a kid who devoured mint candy and tied people up and made unbelievable threats.
"But the funny thing about hypnosis, my new friend... it brings one's baser desires to the surface. Just ask your lady friend, the Silhouette. I believe the reason she failed to capture the sapphire from my associates and I in the first place is because of how... busy she currently is. And will be for quite a while. The ladies who work these local vice clubs have quite an appetite, I hear." His smile turned predatory. "One can't be hypnotized without truly wanting it."
Hollis choked out a laugh. "You're insane."
"Oh?" Moloch's teeth glinted as he leaned closer. "Let's put that theory to the test, then, shall we?"
Hollis willed himself to remain calm. The more anxiety he showed, the more drastically Moloch would likely be willing to push these mind games.
Although the young man spoke elegantly and was undeniably well-dressed, Hollis was certain the whole showy illusionist bit was only a facade. So what if he performed at a few clubs? For all he knew, he could just be some bored rich kid, steamed at receiving so little attention from Mommy and Daddy and using their own money to get back at them. It certainly wouldn't be unheard of - there were many other one-note criminals who attempted to go for the big time and crumbled under the collective pressure of the Minutemen.
Just when his cohorts were going to finally arrive was the big question.
Moloch certainly looked to be in no hurry; he hummed quietly as he removed his narrow-striped suit jacket, neatly folding it onto an armchair, revealing a finely-tailored vest and sleeve garters beneath, sharp against a crisp white shirt stretched against a thin frame of a body.
This was ridiculous. The kid looked more fit to be smoking underaged cigars and dancing to Benny Goodman with rouged-up young ladies than to be toying with the mind of a masked adventurer.
As if hearing his thoughts, Moloch turned, glass of white wine now tilted in one hand.
"I am curious," he murmured, "as to why you wear that mask. One could say you are ashamed of yourself." Taking a long sip, he moved back to Hollis's side once more.
"The purpose of a mask is to keep us protected from people like you." The words out before he could stop them, Hollis flinched. Damn. He had meant to say "our identities protected", honestly, but--
Moloch chuckled, the sound low and pleasant in his throat. His fingers traced the edge of the black domino mask, pressing hard into Hollis's cheekbones.
"Then it's not doing a very good job, is it?"
He experimentally tugged against the strength of the spirit gum, and it rebounded with a tight little snap against his face.
"No matter. It doesn't make a difference whether you are masked or not; it's not your true identity which interests me, anyway. I know enough about you to serve my purposes."
The juxtaposition of that predatory grin against such a vernal face was unnerving. Hollis swallowed a knot he hadn't realized had formed in his throat.
"Although one could say I am new to this particular game, I've kept watch of you and your friends. I've been watching for quite some time." Setting his glass onto a small table behind them, Moloch pressed in closer. That infuriating scent of Scotch mint was back, now blurred with wine into some heady, potent mix - and Hollis tried not to breathe him in.
"You, in particular, held an interest to me; it is rare to see someone so noble, so apparently selfless, in the papers these days. You are not in it for the brutality, you are not in it for attention... not entirely, at least... and I find that more fascinating than severing a man into pieces and putting him back together."
Moloch placed his hands on his shoulders, touch warm and feather-light, as though they were old friends. The cool dispassion in his eyes was enough to begin the ascent of a slow, shuddering fear inside Hollis.
He jerked his head, trying to shift his gaze away, calmness be damned at this point, but the words, smooth and calming -- You will not look away from me -- glided into his ears and crept and settled traitorously into his mind. He could not look away.
"I appreciate such nobility." Moloch's voice curled around 'nobility' in such a way that it morphed into a euphemism for something utterly filthy and shameful. Hollis tried to tell himself that this did not bother him.
Without warning, the young man's hands moved from his shoulders and glided down, over and past Hollis's chest, with lightning precision to a spot that should have been quite off-limits.
Oh, God, was the kid really going to--?
--oh. Apparently, yes.
Yes, he was.
Breath caught in his throat, Hollis gritted his teeth, unable to speak as hands pressed and coaxed and teased in places they were certainly not allowed. It was unfair. There had to be some other hidden, unvocalized aspect to Moloch's faux-hypnosis, as well. Athletic prowess and analytical thinking were certainly no match for chemical imbalances in the bloodstream. The young man, however, looked utterly unconcerned with the unfairness of the situation. His smile was positively sinful.
"And yet... there must be something you are wanting for yourself, is there not?"
Hollis couldn't answer him -- probably couldn't answer to his own name -- at this point.
"What is so wrong," Moloch continued, fingers stroking leisurely, "with giving into those baser desires we were discussing?" He paused. "I am sensing no argument from you right now."
He crooked his fingers slightly, hand curving sharply into a come-on gesture, as if summoning the traitorous pressure inside that had been building all this time against his will, and in an instant, the damage was done.
Moloch leveled their faces together, and this time Hollis could not build the strength to block the scent of him out.
"You can pretend that losing the sapphire is your biggest concern, but I know better - in your eyes, losing control of yourself is far worse."
The left corner of his mouth lifted in a new smirk.
"It's unwise to try to fool an illusionist when you're unskilled at fooling yourself."
Hollis Mason meets the Minutemen's newest adversary.
I already posted this eleventy years ago at /pco/, but whatevs. I DO WHAT I WANT. I just think fandom needs moar Hollis fic in general.
(The inclusion of the Blake excerpt isn't entirely out of left-field; according to one of those old Watchmen roleplay modules from the '80s, Moloch threatened to use his solar mirror weapon on the Empire State Building unless a rare copy of Blake's 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell' was handed over to him. I forget who stopped him, but I'm pretty sure it was the Comedian - whose name is also, ironically, Blake. -cue THE MORE YOU KNOW theme-)
---
Then the weak were caught by the strong, and with a grinning aspect, first coupled with, & then devour'd, by plucking off first one limb and then another till the body was left a helpless trunk; this after grinning & kissing it with seeming fondness they devour'd too.
-William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
"And here's our good little boy scout coming to, now."
Hollis's head snapped up when the voice, low and mocking, filtered through the tired haze that smothered his consciousness.
A face that was vaguely familiar came into focus - sharp, dark eyes; strangely pointed ears; the contrast of onyx hair against pale skin; an unsettlingly cold smile - and he realized it was one he'd seen often on flyers posted outside the Broken Gem, a night club with a not-so-savory reputation.
"Moloch the Mystic."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "You've done your homework. A refreshing change from your counterparts who find it amusing to shoot off childish insults before they realize who they're dealing with."
Long, pale fingers wrapped around Hollis's chin. Twisting his hand, Moloch's fingers dug in deep, biting into Hollis's flesh before pulling away.
"Your funnyman friend realized his error, I believe."
A pang of annoyance and fear laced through Hollis at the mention of the Comedian - for the love of God, what had he done now? - but it was swept away easily by new awareness of his surroundings. A frustrated growl erupted from his throat - the bonds tying him to the post were stronger than what he was used to. Something else had been bonded with the rope, some kind of glue. Odd. He'd have to keep the kid talking; hope he could distract him as he attempted to free himself.
And if there was one thing Hollis was good at, it was putting people at ease.
He assumed a respectful, questioning face as his fingers deftly went to work.
"Are we supposed to believe you're just some underground magician? I can't imagine why you'd go to all the trouble with these theatrics to get us here while you tried to steal the Rajah Sapphire if that were the case. Who are you, really?"
Even as he worked at freeing himself, Hollis couldn't deny that Moloch's lair - or whatever it was - was a beautiful room; a stunning mix of Art Deco and Jacobethan, with sweeping floral-patterned walls and imposing metal fixtures.
Such as the one he was currently tied to.
The young man considered him with an appraising eye, settling back onto a comfortable-looking armchair made of crushed red velvet.
"I possess many talents," he said quietly. "I can swallow fire. I can walk barefoot over blistering coals. And I can make people disappear - something I'm in the process of as we speak. Eight particular people, who think it sensible to drape themselves in capes and masks, poking their noses in places that even the most corrupt law enforcement would not dare. It won't be an easy performance, but it will be worth it, don't you think?"
"I'm afraid," Hollis said, "I can't let you do that."
Moloch smiled. "Oh, but everything has been settled. And don't worry. You don't want to go anywhere."
Hollis snorted, flexing his wrists as his binds finally snapped free. The kid hadn't even bothered to tie his feet, for God's sake. He was as bad as that idiot the Steel Stranger if he thought it was going to be that easy to just order the Minutem--
Oh.
Oh, shit.
A sinister grin stretched Moloch's lips as he reclined back in his armchair. His eyes gleamed in the dim light as Hollis remained rooted - posture perfectly erect - against the metal pole behind him.
"As I said - I possess many talents. Hypnosis is just the start of them."
"You're bluffing," Hollis replied, even as the paralysis continued to trap him in place. "You've drugged me. While I was unconscious - you did something to me. And as soon as it wears off--"
"You can tell yourself that, if you want," Moloch replied, his tone light and nonchalant. "If it makes you feel less weak, I will spare you the embarrassment." With catlike grace, he leapt to his feet and was at Hollis's side once more, inspecting him with studious care, as if Hollis was a new toy he'd received on Christmas morning. This close, the magician's youth was more apparent than ever - he had to be no more than twenty. His breath smelled overpoweringly of Scotch mint, and Hollis tried hard to drive from his mind the sudden thought this was just some kid playing dress up; a kid who devoured mint candy and tied people up and made unbelievable threats.
"But the funny thing about hypnosis, my new friend... it brings one's baser desires to the surface. Just ask your lady friend, the Silhouette. I believe the reason she failed to capture the sapphire from my associates and I in the first place is because of how... busy she currently is. And will be for quite a while. The ladies who work these local vice clubs have quite an appetite, I hear." His smile turned predatory. "One can't be hypnotized without truly wanting it."
Hollis choked out a laugh. "You're insane."
"Oh?" Moloch's teeth glinted as he leaned closer. "Let's put that theory to the test, then, shall we?"
Hollis willed himself to remain calm. The more anxiety he showed, the more drastically Moloch would likely be willing to push these mind games.
Although the young man spoke elegantly and was undeniably well-dressed, Hollis was certain the whole showy illusionist bit was only a facade. So what if he performed at a few clubs? For all he knew, he could just be some bored rich kid, steamed at receiving so little attention from Mommy and Daddy and using their own money to get back at them. It certainly wouldn't be unheard of - there were many other one-note criminals who attempted to go for the big time and crumbled under the collective pressure of the Minutemen.
Just when his cohorts were going to finally arrive was the big question.
Moloch certainly looked to be in no hurry; he hummed quietly as he removed his narrow-striped suit jacket, neatly folding it onto an armchair, revealing a finely-tailored vest and sleeve garters beneath, sharp against a crisp white shirt stretched against a thin frame of a body.
This was ridiculous. The kid looked more fit to be smoking underaged cigars and dancing to Benny Goodman with rouged-up young ladies than to be toying with the mind of a masked adventurer.
As if hearing his thoughts, Moloch turned, glass of white wine now tilted in one hand.
"I am curious," he murmured, "as to why you wear that mask. One could say you are ashamed of yourself." Taking a long sip, he moved back to Hollis's side once more.
"The purpose of a mask is to keep us protected from people like you." The words out before he could stop them, Hollis flinched. Damn. He had meant to say "our identities protected", honestly, but--
Moloch chuckled, the sound low and pleasant in his throat. His fingers traced the edge of the black domino mask, pressing hard into Hollis's cheekbones.
"Then it's not doing a very good job, is it?"
He experimentally tugged against the strength of the spirit gum, and it rebounded with a tight little snap against his face.
"No matter. It doesn't make a difference whether you are masked or not; it's not your true identity which interests me, anyway. I know enough about you to serve my purposes."
The juxtaposition of that predatory grin against such a vernal face was unnerving. Hollis swallowed a knot he hadn't realized had formed in his throat.
"Although one could say I am new to this particular game, I've kept watch of you and your friends. I've been watching for quite some time." Setting his glass onto a small table behind them, Moloch pressed in closer. That infuriating scent of Scotch mint was back, now blurred with wine into some heady, potent mix - and Hollis tried not to breathe him in.
"You, in particular, held an interest to me; it is rare to see someone so noble, so apparently selfless, in the papers these days. You are not in it for the brutality, you are not in it for attention... not entirely, at least... and I find that more fascinating than severing a man into pieces and putting him back together."
Moloch placed his hands on his shoulders, touch warm and feather-light, as though they were old friends. The cool dispassion in his eyes was enough to begin the ascent of a slow, shuddering fear inside Hollis.
He jerked his head, trying to shift his gaze away, calmness be damned at this point, but the words, smooth and calming -- You will not look away from me -- glided into his ears and crept and settled traitorously into his mind. He could not look away.
"I appreciate such nobility." Moloch's voice curled around 'nobility' in such a way that it morphed into a euphemism for something utterly filthy and shameful. Hollis tried to tell himself that this did not bother him.
Without warning, the young man's hands moved from his shoulders and glided down, over and past Hollis's chest, with lightning precision to a spot that should have been quite off-limits.
Oh, God, was the kid really going to--?
--oh. Apparently, yes.
Yes, he was.
Breath caught in his throat, Hollis gritted his teeth, unable to speak as hands pressed and coaxed and teased in places they were certainly not allowed. It was unfair. There had to be some other hidden, unvocalized aspect to Moloch's faux-hypnosis, as well. Athletic prowess and analytical thinking were certainly no match for chemical imbalances in the bloodstream. The young man, however, looked utterly unconcerned with the unfairness of the situation. His smile was positively sinful.
"And yet... there must be something you are wanting for yourself, is there not?"
Hollis couldn't answer him -- probably couldn't answer to his own name -- at this point.
"What is so wrong," Moloch continued, fingers stroking leisurely, "with giving into those baser desires we were discussing?" He paused. "I am sensing no argument from you right now."
He crooked his fingers slightly, hand curving sharply into a come-on gesture, as if summoning the traitorous pressure inside that had been building all this time against his will, and in an instant, the damage was done.
Moloch leveled their faces together, and this time Hollis could not build the strength to block the scent of him out.
"You can pretend that losing the sapphire is your biggest concern, but I know better - in your eyes, losing control of yourself is far worse."
The left corner of his mouth lifted in a new smirk.
"It's unwise to try to fool an illusionist when you're unskilled at fooling yourself."