Who: Drake and Kayla the Kappa What: A not-so-friendly encounter. Where: The streets of Seattle. When: Tonight (3/12). Warnings: Standard Kayla warnings.
It had been weeks since she had taken free reign of the city, a hiatus that she blamed on both the Sadist and M. Barnes. It was maddening, sitting in her apartment like a caged animal while her body and the rift of public concern healed over. Several times, she feared she was losing her mind, especially when Charlie found himself in the middle of a fantastic mess of his own doing. But now, her legs had healed and public awareness of the Kappa seemed to have faded. With all the accounts of Charlie’s release and whispers about the Night Terror, she slipped gently under the radar once again. It was a bit disheartening in some ways to be forgotten, but it gave her the element of surprise. When the surface of the pond was at its stillest, she would strike.
The rips in her uniform had been mended with patches from the interior, little black slits in the aquamarine fabric that ran seemingly at random up and down her thighs and calves. Thankfully, the material she had used was sturdy and was able to take the patches without falling to pieces. Still, it was something to keep in mind - her body could heal with time, but the suit couldn’t. In a twisted way, she was thankful for her experience with a needle and thread as a child. It was certainly paying off.
Poised at the edge of a rooftop, she looked down at the alley below, gloved fingers touching gently on the brick. A smile curled the edges of her blue lips as she saw a lone figure strolling along the sidewalk, the streets otherwise deserted. She’d been in the mood for a bit of fun. Solidifying her mind, she extended herself into her own body, feeling every cell and every molecule of water inside of it. She closed her eyes, more comfortable without the distraction of sight, and leapt off the edge of the building.
The wind whistled around her body as she fell, holding herself the way a diver might. As she felt the body of the passerby approach, she tucked her chin and brought her legs overhead in a simple somersault that shifted her position from headfirst to feetfirst in relation to the ground. Focusing on her own body, she opened her eyes as she slowed her descent, fighting with her own acceleration until she was falling as if she had dropped just a few feet. Dropping to the ground several yards in front of the solitary man, she landed in a low crouch. The dark brown hair of her wig settled on her shoulders, partially obscuring the green mask that ran from forehead to nose. Fierce blue eyes looked up, bright embers set in dark holes, as a smile spread across her lips.
“Good evening,” she said slowly as she rose, movements slightly unnatural. She had risen from the shoulders, not the legs, making her appear as if she were a puppet on awkward wire strings. Her arms rose and fell at her sides, finally coming to rest against her narrow hips. Working a case alone probably defeated the whole purpose of EIT, but everything Drake managed to find concerning the elusive Siren warned how dangerous she was. He didn’t know the newest members well enough to trust them, and Eli’s methods were better suited for recon and investigating rather than actual on-the-job hunting. No, clearly he was best suited to handle a Creation of this magnitude; with two dead and one in a coma she was hardly some idiot screwing around with their powers. Just because she’d been quiet lately didn’t mean she was gone for good, and if anything now was the perfect time to start sniffing around. She wouldn’t expect it. All he knew about her ability was that it was water-based, and dehydration was present in all her victims. Beyond that the physical description was minimal at best but Drake spent the last couple of days asking around to build upon what he already had. Tonight was just recon work, lacking the expectation of finding anything, but he stuck to the quieter areas where his ability would work best. He hadn't forgotten about Warren, obviously, but he was taking this one target at a time for now.
Unfortunately, unnatural stealth was a far cry from invisibility. By the time he registered something in his peripheral vision it was too late to do anything but watch as the masked woman landed a few yards in front of him. Drake regarded her calmly for a few moments, taking note of the way she rose from her crouch. Instinct made him wary but he didn’t run, even though his gun might not do much good. He had entertained the idea of setting her on fire, but that depended on proximity, and he doubted he’d be able to get that close.
“Evening,” he said cockily, giving no outward sign that he recognized who she was. Let her think he assumed she was a vigilante for now. “Little too quiet around here for a mask like you, isn’t it?” It was so funny when people mistook her for a vigilante mask. However, she was the slightest bit insulted - didn’t people know to look out for a brunette woman in a green mask? She remembered an article about it, an article that gave her a pathetic nickname. The Siren was so generic, so wrong. If anything, she needed to ensure that people learned her real name. They knew the Night Terror - fair was fair.
The way this one held himself was almost cute. He looked like he owned the city, like he could take them all on with just a broken bottle and his own knuckles. It made her smile, eyes glimmering faintly with malice. “Maybe it’s quiet because of me,” she replied smoothly, the purr of a woman in control. She had nothing to fear, no sneak attack that could be her undoing. His heart was the only one around them, the only strong, powerful beat. It was intoxicating, delicious. Just thinking about it made her shiver in all the best ways. “That means you should be on your best behavior. Unless you’re looking for trouble.” There was something about the Siren that reminded him of Lilith, yet this one was far more dangerous; the ones who attacked without reason or motivation aside from pleasure always were. That knowledge alone should have been enough for Drake to realize that planning a quick escape was the wise choice even without factoring whatever her ability was into the equation, but years of dodging Death had a sort of desensitizing effect on him. There was a reason he’d developed reckless tendencies and was always the first to volunteer for the more dangerous cases EIT received, and he did honestly think he could handle this on his own.
So Drake didn’t turn and run. He didn’t back down either, or try to talk his way out of the situation. Instead he raised his eyebrows at the suggestion that he ‘be on his best behavior.’ “Should be on my best behavior. I’ll keep that in mind.” A small part of him was trying to figure out her ability, but unless he saw it in action he couldn’t conclude anything. “And if I am looking for trouble? What then?” It was funny how he seemed to think he was in control. Eyebrows raised, expression otherwise calm. The masks were such friendly people, friendly neighborhood vigilantes. Even still, the Kappa didn’t bother trying to hide the malice in her smiles. She was a predator, and he was the prey. It would be a shame, a damn shame, if he didn’t know what was coming. The fish in the ocean, upon seeing a lone barracuda, would run and hide. This little fishie still wanted to try his luck, and she was happy to oblige him.
Clasping her hands behind her back, she stood still, head tilting just barely to the side. “Then you’ll find it,” she said delicately. Her strides were long and slow, the prowling walk of a practiced predator. She paused a few inches from his chest, close enough to invade his personal space. “Do you find yourself lacking trouble in your life?” Drake regarded her with an entirely unimpressed expression, not bothering to make much of an effort towards hiding it. At the moment she was no different from the countless other people who fancied themselves predators over the years, and it would take a hell of a lot more than an invasion of his personal space to rattle him. “Lacking in trouble?” He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “You have no idea, sweetheart.” The word rolled off his tongue in a way that suggested he used it with a lot of women, rather than it being a nickname assigned specifically to her.
In the back of his mind he recalled the autopsy reports he’d managed to get his hands on, but he kept pushing. The Siren’s victims were bystanders, innocents who had no idea how to handle themselves or possibly even what Creations were. In a nutshell, they weren’t him. Drake took a step to the side rather than directly towards her, one hand reaching behind to slide the gun out of his jacket while he leaned forward as though preparing to tell her a secret.
“I know who you are,” he whispered just above her ear. “And trust me, I’ve seen worse.” The muzzle of the gun pressed against her side, just hard enough to alert her to its presence. She just smiled, following his slight movement with her gaze alone. The Kappa loved cocky ones. They were pillars, veritable powerhouses of might. The bigger they were, the stronger they were, the more delicious their tears tasted. She momentarily imagined what this specimen would like on his knees, broken, bleeding. It was a scrumptious thought, one that reminded her how hungry she was.
Her tongue slid over her lower lip as he leaned in closer, voice just above her ear. Tilting her head, she could feel the powerful pulse of his heart. It was beating regularly, unafraid. She closed her eyes, sliding her mind gingerly into his chest. She didn’t do a thing, didn’t cause pressure or pain. She just wrapped herself around that lovely heart, feeling it pulse within her. It was beautiful.
Feeling the gun against her side, she let out a gentle hum. It wasn’t quite a laugh, though she was smiling, and it vibrated through her like a song. Eyes still closed, she stayed perfectly still as she began to solidify herself in the hand that held his gun. “That’s a shame,” she said breathily, slowly drawing his hand back. She took care to hold his trigger finger steady, leaving him incapable of shooting no matter how hard he tried. His hand was frozen, all of her power focused on holding him still. “You really should see me when I’m warmed up.”
She opened her eyes at that, turning to fully face him as she guided the gun up, resting the muzzle against his temple. Alone, at close range, he was hers. There was nothing to break her hold, no need for her to split her mind. She could consume him if she wanted, engulf him and leave nothing but the bare bones. Smiling, she glanced up at the gun he held against his own head, fingers still clasped behind her back. The gun was meant to evoke a response, but he wasn’t expecting anything along the lines of fear. It was like poking a slumbering bear with a stick to rile it up if said stick happened to be capable of lethal force. That was another motivation towards working alone - there was no one around to judge him if he but a bullet through the Siren’s skull. If she wanted to die with a smile on her face, well, all the better for him. Drake wasn’t going to make the same mistake with her that the police made with Night Terror. Some Creations just couldn’t be kept by normal means, and the ones like this deserved whatever they got.
He became aware that something was wrong quicker than most. The stillness in his body was no longer intentional, replaced by some intruding exterior force that easily bore his internal struggle to regain control. No matter how hard he fought through both physical means and willpower the hand holding his gun rose, guided away from the Siren and against his own head instead. Apparently her water ability allowed her to control and restrict movements, which would be useful information if he ever managed to get himself out of his current predicament.
“So you like to play with your food first.” Drake didn’t stop attempting to fight her influence, but he didn’t make the struggle overtly obvious. His gaze flickered up towards the gun before sliding back down to her, wondering if proximity had anything to do with her ability. How far would he have to be to break it? “Is this the part where I beg you to let me go? Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not much for dramatics.” Bravado was so delicious. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he fought against her hold, the way they tried to move around the water she held fast. And yet his heart rate was still fairly regular, as if he weren’t quite concerned at all. That just wouldn’t do. This was a pride that went far deeper than empty ego - it saturated his entire being, until even his basal instincts didn’t know when he was in mortal danger. What a shame. She would have to see how far he could be pushed.
His comments made her smile, a sweet grin that matched malicious eyes. “Oh, I’d never expect you to do that,” she said, reaching out gloved fingertips to gently brush the side of his cheek. “You’re far too proud for that. It would be a tragedy.” She kept the muzzle of the gun against his temple, forcing him to lean forward just enough for her lips to reach his ear. Keeping her voice low, she spoke gently against the shell of his ear. “I want you to tell me why I should make you pull that trigger. Tell me why you’re too dangerous to be left alive.” Drake was starting to think hunting this bitch down on his own hadn’t been such a brilliant idea after all. At least if someone else was here they might have been able to distract her long enough for him to break her hold, and all he really needed was a second or two to pull the trigger in the right direction. Eli was going to give him hell about this later.
He frowned, not quite relishing the role reversal that essentially put him at her mercy. The Siren did get credit for being original, though, since he’d been expecting her to force him to list all the reasons why she shouldn’t pull the trigger. It would have been a pathetically short list. “How much time do you have?” He remarked dryly, unable to keep the dark humor out of his tone. Not that he had any intention of listing every single terrible thing he’d ever done, but just the knowledge that there would be a lot of them was enough to strike Drake as sadly amusing. “Let’s see. I drive too fast. I’ve got more weapons than an entire army would know what to do with and I like using them a little too much for my own good. Shoot first and ask questions later, you know?” He smirked. “I’d put a bullet in your head if I had half a chance. Give me a reason and I might not make it such a quick end.” As he spoke, she remained perfectly still, watching him with eyes that seemed to lead to nowhere. In truth, she was more focused on his heartbeat than what he had to say, though she caught snippets that drifted in one ear and out the other like lazy leaves riding a summer’s breeze. The words drew to an end, and soon it was just them standing there, the empty streets around them going on for miles and miles.
“A very good argument,” she said aloofly, stepping around him in a tight circling motion. Her fingers trailed over his shoulders, as if she were sculpting a statue and carving deep caverns in the marble. Once she reached his front again, she very gingerly laid her hand over his, gloved fingertips brushing the cool metal of his handgun with casual disregard. “You almost have me convinced. Give me something else.”
Not long after the words had left her mouth when she began to slowly, gently, restrict the movement of his chest. When the Kappa held someone still, her focus was in the limbs, holding fast the skeletal muscles of the extremities. The torso was largely left alone to keep them breathing, with exceptions for some back and abdominal regions. But now, she let her influence creep into his chest, restricting his lungs’ ability to inflate. It was like a weight bearing down on his chest, only this was coming from all sides. And she was still waiting for his answer. She’d definitely chosen the right spot to stalk her prey. it was highly unlikely that anyone was going to stumble upon them anytime soon, and Drake’s cell was tucked inside his jacket where it was utterly useless. Even if he could have used it, though, he probably wouldn’t have. Better him in this kind of situation than Eli or another innocent bystander who couldn’t handle it half as well as he could. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a gun to his head but he did have to admit that it never usually lasted as long as this. Then again, he’d never been paralyzed by a chick in a mask before.
Drake had a witty reply at the ready, but a strange feeling around his chest made him pause. He glanced down but saw nothing there, just his shirt and jacket, yet when he tried to take the necessary breath to form words there was something keeping him from inhaling. His air supply wasn’t completely cut off but it felt like his chest was being constricted by some invisible force, like he imagined it might feel to be squeezed to death by a giant-ass snake, and panicking would just make it worse. Instead he focused all his willpower on staying calm and trying to breath as shallowly as possible,but even though he wasn’t sure he had the lungpower to speak there was no chance in hell he wasn’t going to try.
“I--” Drake stopped and decided to get it all out in one long rush. “Blood. Years and years of... blood on my hands... and there’s going to be more.” It was one hell of an effort just to get that out, especially since he still tried to inject his stubborn defiance, and once he was done he could feel the constriction start to take its toll. Even he could only struggle for breath for so long. The way she seemed to be effortlessly squeezing the life out of him was utterly intoxicating. Even though he kept as much bravado as he could, he still had to force all of his words out in one breath, desperate for air. She smiled, pulling her hand back to clasp her fingers and let the knot settle against the small of her back. “Is there?” she asked, smirking. “So you count on your noble pleas not convincing me.”
She gently released his chest enough for him to breathe normally, not interested in seeing his face turn blue. While she was quite partial to the color, she didn’t think this man could pull it off as well as she could. “You need to believe in yourself,” she chided, circling around his back. Resting a hand on his shoulder, leaning against him as if they were friends, she glanced up at his face with a cheerful smirk. The gun was still against his temple, and she every so gently tightened his grip on it. “Give me one more, doll,” she cooed, voice entreating. He tried to shake his head before he remembered he couldn’t, which only increased his frustration along with the use of the word noble. Some people fought their whole lives to be viewed as noble and selfless, heroes among men, but Drake was the exact opposite. A hero would have to be purely good and that kind of person only existed in stories and myths. Those who claimed to be one undermined the very definition of it. “Not noble,” he hissed, still quite capable of glaring even if he couldn’t actually narrow his eyes. Then again the Siren was a sadistic bitch, so maybe she liked the promise of more bloodshed. Typical.
Suddenly he could breathe again, and despite his best efforts Drake found himself swallowing gulps of air like a parched man gulping down water. “Oh, I’ll try. Just for you.” At least if he was about to die he wouldn’t be spending his last moments begging like a coward. “I hunt down people like you on a daily basis. If you don’t pull that trigger I’ll personally make fucking sure that your kind goes extinct. You can kiss your fun goodbye.” He was no saint but people like this, killing the innocent for pleasure, they were no better than animals. Worse, even. His snappy reply almost cracked her calm, almost made her burst into peals of laughter. It was absolutely hilarious how people under stress reacted. Normally, they would beg and cry, but even this one was showing signs of cracking. The anger, the irritation, the sheer hate in his eyes all gave it away. If only she could distill those feelings and pour them on her pancakes, creating the cornerstone of her every day breakfast.
The way he swallowed air like a dying fish was another assault on her calm mask, another threat of laughter that she expertly hid. As the threats came, she smiled, trailing her fingers over his shoulder as she pulled back, seemingly giving him his space. “Oh, I doubt that,” she said softly. “No, I think your continued existence will only continue to amuse me.” Slowly, the hand that hold the gun pulled it away, arm extended awkwardly to the side. She watched him sink to his knees, dropping the gun once he had stopped, and sit back on his heels with forced restraint.
With a smile, she kicked the gun away, watching it skid along the alley into the shadows. She bent down to his ear, lips close enough to the shell that she only had to breathe the words. “Just remember one thing for me. Every day that you experience after this is yours because I gave it to you. Your next dream, your next meal, your next fuck, are all my gifts.” Smirking, she focused on the exposed skin on the back of his left hand, slowly began to pull at the water in his skin. It was a small rash she was making, something you could get from smacking your hand against the door or dropping something on it, but the sensation of its creation was quite painful. The gun may have been moved away from his head, but Drake knew better than to think that the Siren was finished with him so easily. Part of him almost wished she’d made him pull the trigger if only so he could die with some dignity instead of being subjected to her whims like some kind of plaything. There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from falling to his knees, and every attempt to fight her influence accomplished nothing. “Glad I’m amusing. I must be doing something right.” He couldn’t smile, but if he’d been able to it would have been something sharp, devoid of any real humor.
He sighed inwardly as the gun was kicked away, not that it would have been much help anyway. The sound of her voice in his ear sent ripples of disgust down his spine that he may have imagined, considering how tightly his body was still being controlled, but then again he already knew exactly how he felt about the woman just outside of his line of vision. “Are you serious?” Drake almost wanted to laugh. “Fuck you. You’re not some kind of god, bitch, you’re just--” The pain started before he could get any further, but he refused to cry out or make any other kind of noise that indicated just how much it hurt. Instead he focused on his anger, the cold center beneath the flames, and he waited until it was over. Chuckling, she straightened up, watching the wicked rash spread over the back of his hand. It was difficult, holding him still as she so carefully pulled his skin apart, but she was quite proud with the result. Once the bubbling subsided, leaving angry welts over his hand, she leaned forward once again to inspect it. “Think what you will,” she said absently, taking his hand in hers and inspecting it with interest. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you are alive because of me. Just like you could be dead because of me.”
She rubbed a thumb over his hand, admiring her work. “Maybe this will help remind you of that.” Her blue lips pulled taut in a twisted smile as she held his hand up before his eyes, allowing him to see the angry spiderweb of welts and redness that consumed the back of his hand. “It was so nice meeting you, darling. But I must dash. You’ll visit me again soon, won’t you?” Fuck, that really hurt. Just because it wasn’t the worst pain he’d felt didn’t mean he was incapable of feeling it just like anyone else would. The Siren’s presumptions bothered him more than the physical wounds, though; every part of him raged at the idea that he was a puppet on her string. It was one thing for people to claim that an invisible God controlled all their lives and another entirely for one single person to do the same. Frankly, Drake didn’t like either. “Pride goeth before a fall,” he said scornfully, liking the way it sounded even if it was overused.
At least it was his left hand. Still, he didn’t exactly take pleasure in the current state of his hand, like the result of some kind of poisonous spider bite. He had no idea if it would ever fade or even if she’d done something to him that would spread, which probably meant seeing a doctor. Fantastic. “Sooner than you think, Siren. You have my word.” Oh, that was rich. Laughter bubbled from her chest like water out of Old Faithful, an erupting geyser that consumed her and left her feeling raw, tired. With a fond smile, she shook her head. It was the oldest phrase in the book, and the most amazingly quaint little one-liner for this bold boy to use. With a sigh, she leaned forward once more, lips by his ear. “I know. I look forward to it.” Grinning, she pulled back, regarding him with unfettered amusement as she prepared to make her exit.
Just as she was about to turn and walk away, something he said caught her attention. It wasn’t the poorly veiled threat, or the assumption that he could find her before she wanted to be found. Oh, no. It was just one word, one simple word, that was so short and wrong. “Do you believe everything you read?” she asked with a smirk, canting her head to the side. “My name is the Kappa. You can take that to the press, darling.”
With one hand resting on her hip, she turned her back on him, maintaining her hold as she approached the nearest fire escape. She began to climb, one foot over the other, while keeping her mind firm on the man’s body. Her entire existence funneled into keeping him still as she reached the top of the building, the sights and sounds of the world around her all second fiddle to the sensation of her mind inside of him. As she stepped onto the roof, she released him in one massive wave, going from full control to nothing. By the time he had found his gun and was able to mobilize, she was long gone. The Kappa. If Drake wasn't about to spontaneously combust from frustration he might have acknowledged the fact that it sounded a lot better than Siren. It was a typical media name, lacking originality yet sure to play up the angle the papers wanted. He had no intention of enlightening those idiots, though, and the only people he'd pass on the new name to were Eli and the rest of EIT. He wasn't her goddamn publicist; let her torture a journalist if she wanted exposure.
He kept note of how long it took before her control vanished, but even as he stumbled over his newly mobile limbs and scrambled for the gun he knew it was a lost cause. The rooftops were empty by the time he made his way up the fire escape and the night was silent, save for the distant sound of traffic and sirens. "Son of a bitch," he said aloud, glancing down at the back of a hand with a scowl. He didn't think it needed a doctor, but if it spread then he might not have a choice. The Kappa may have won for now... but they'd meet again, and next time he'd make damn sure it ended differently.