Eleanor Monarch-Sparke is the Black Canary (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} skree) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} musingslogs,@ 2011-06-20 03:40:00 |
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What: Two young masks learn how to dance fight. Flirting ensues.
Where: In the alley behind a club downtown.
When: Saturday Night
Warnings: None.
Shadows clung to Archer like a second skin, forming dark patterns against the deep red of her vest. She had to hand it to Orin, his people knew their suits. She definitely cast a much more imposing shadow as Archer when she was dressed for the part; and if she was being honest, she felt like she looked a lot sleeker in this outfit too. Almost sexy, if that was possible.
But it wasn’t often that the world got to admire Archer in her outfit. That was the lot of the distance fighter. She stayed high off the ground, away from the action, relying on her years of training and perfect aim to take criminals down. It was only on the rarest of occasions that Archer had to step into the fight herself, so when it did happen, she considered it a treat. Couldn’t let those martial arts skills go to waste, could she?
As luck would have it, tonight was one of those occasions. She was downtown on Saturday night, where all the action tended to be in a city like Seattle. Four guys had cornered a pair of far-too-drunk girls in a back alley, and the music that was pumping from the clubs nearby was loud enough to swallow any screams.
Four guys, two girls. She knew she couldn’t miss if she tried to shoot them, but actually engaging them in a fight was safer. Four guys with arrow shafts would raise a lot of questions, and well, she had a hankering for a fight.
Checking to make sure her bow and quiver were strapped securely to her back, Archer jumped down the fire escape, landing on a closed dumpster in a crouch. “Hello, boys. You looking for some company?” She cast a shit-eating grin at them, ignoring the confused looks the drunk women were throwing her way.
It hadn’t taken Spider-Man long to feel very comfortable swinging about Seattle. Though he sometimes missed Chicago’s skyline, this city was home now. He had learned its nooks and crannies, the fastest routes to where he needed to be. Now that most of the work had been done in getting the lay of the land, he could feel like he was playing a whole lot more. After all, once he knew the sandbox, he’d be able to more easily find the best toys.
Saturday nights were prime for drunken shenanigans. Spider-Man wasn’t the biggest fan of dealing with drunks - it was as if alcohol gave them super strength, or just super stench - but he was in the mood for a fight. As he zipped over a strip of popular clubs, a group of four men chasing two women into a side street caught his attention. Turning quickly, he made a beeline for the roof. Just as he was about to drop, he saw a figure crawl down the fire escape.
Huh. That was interesting.
Landing on the edge of the building, he peered down, watching as the red-clad girl made her presence known. The scattered light offered by the surrounding nightclubs highlighted the quiver of arrows on her back, bringing a grin to Spidey’s face. Archer. Well, he had promised a good show for their first meeting. He anchored a line to the edge of the building, silently dropping over and lowering himself through the shadows. By the time he had lowered himself to the alley, he was hanging upside-down just feet from Archer’s left, feet twisted around his webline.
“Is there room for one more?” he asked excitedly, glancing briefly to the other Mask. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring the cake, but if you play your cards right, I might take the role of the stripper.” Dropping his webline, he somersaulted to land on his feet on the ground, arms spread at his sides. “Which to be fair, isn’t that hard here. What is that song? It’s got a great beat. It kind of goes...how do you think it goes?” He glanced to Archer, straightening up. “I think...boom bam...pow?” At “boom,” he stepped forward. At “bam,” he shot a webline to the ankles of one of the four men. At “pow,” he yanked, bringing the man down on his ass.
It was a testament to Archer’s years of training that she didn’t jump at the sound of the new voice, fired as all her nerve endings were. She turned her head the bare amount necessary to catch the new player in her peripheral vision, without losing sight of the four men. Ah, this had to be the infamous Spidey. Noticing the line of... was that spider web? that held him up, she couldn’t help but be amused. He hadn’t been kidding with the moniker. And here she had thought that he was just trying to sound creepy.
“I normally dance alone, but for you, I think I can make an exception.” With a wink at the hanging figure, she vaulted over the edge of the dumpster, in a perfect flip. Okay, so she was showing off a little bit. Could you blame a girl for trying to make a good first impression?
She chuckled at Spidey’s antics, taking down one of the men to the sound of his beat. “Not bad,” she smirked, “but like Britney, I prefer to be a little hands on.” Bouncing on the balls of her feet once, she lauched forward towards one of the men. Her feet fell in time to the steady bass beat of Till the World Ends that was pouring out of the club. She veered to the side as the gap between her target and herself shrank, propelling herself off the wall of the club before kicking out towards the man. He moved to defend himself, but she was too fast, and too well-trained, and the sole of her boot connected with the man’s jaw with a satisfying crunch. The man crumpled to the ground, out cold.
Archer looked back at her pal, winking once again. It was annoying, just how limited her facial expressions were because of the red mask. “I had always heard that the dark alleys behind clubs are for clandestine meetings. I never thought I’d have the chance to prove them right.”
If her mask was limiting, his was a complete wipeout. The yellowish lenses of his spider mask covered his eyes, the red cloth of the mask shielding his nose and mouth. He was a completely expressionless entity, a total blackout. His expressions were in his body, the way he held himself. His head tilted to the side as she flipped elegantly off the dumpster, both interest and curiosity in his gaze. After making quick work of his thug, he stood back, watching her keenly as she used the wall of the club expertly to propel herself up and over to drive her boot into her target’s jaw.
At her comment, he grinned, merriment obvious in his voice. “I wouldn’t call this meeting clandestine, babe. I’ll be telling everyone I can about this. I’m a chatty little Cathy, you know.” Shooting a webline out at the man he’d knocked down, yet not out, he pulled him along the ground, until he was just a yard away. The spider took a running start before jumping on the man’s chest, treating him much like a trampoline. Knees bending, Spider-Man leapt forward, falling easily into a handspring.
It was all flash and show, taking him easily to her side. By this time, the two men left standing - tipsy themselves - were pulling out knives. The red-suited spider looked to the archer, extending a hand to her that flashed red, green, pink, and blue in the club’s erratic light. “May I have this dance?”
“We’ll just have to see what we can do to shut you up then,” she replied with a grin, watching appreciatively as his lithe form knocked his thug out... by bouncing on him. Something about the action reminded Archer of a little kid on his parents’ king sized bed, all joy and glee. A little kid with a good deal of muscle, she amended, as she noticed the muscles of his back rippling under his snug suit. Men weren’t the only ones who could appreciate a tight-fitting shirt, it seemed.
Spidey’s handspring was executed perfectly, and Archer was certainly impressed. It wasn’t every day you got to fight crime with a man who could move like that. Cocking her head to one side, she smiled her specially-for-evil-low-lives smile at the men. They reacted pretty well in light of their obvious consumption. Oh well, more fun for her.
Archer dropped her leather clad hand daintly into the spider’s. “Why,” she purred, batting her eyelashes heavily, “I thought you’d never ask.”
It was wrong how strangely hot her response was. Thankfully, his reaction was shielded by his mask, leaving only his words as evidence. “I’d never leave a pretty lady hanging,” he replied with false suaveness, pulling her close and arranging their hands in a classic “tango” position. One of his hands held hers while his other rested high on her back, the slightest amount of pressure there to subtly guide her with him.
He took a step forward, urging her to her left as he turned around her. His gaze skipped from her face to the men behind her as he moved them closer, keeping as much musicality in his steps as he could. “I always wished that Antonio Banderas would teach me how to ballroom dance,” he quipped off-handedly as they approached the two drunkards. A flash of silver caught his eye and he released her side, holding onto her hand tightly as he pushed her with his free hand, spinning her out. This was all on her, though he shifted his weight to balance her, holding what needed to be held.
“Such a gent,” Archer mused, following the gentle pressure of his hand, allowing herself to be led at his discretion. It was rather strange, doing the tango to the heavy bass of the Britney song, but it was just strange enough to strike Archer’s fancy. They moved faster than one normally would in a tango, but they hit their moves with accuracy, Archer automatically point her toes and flicking up her ankle around his calf at the appropriate moments.
Needless to say, this was the best fight Archer had ever been in. She was kicking ass, and being led in the perfect tango all at the same time. This definitely wasn’t a dream; Archer knew she wasn’t creative enough to come up with something like this.
“I think you’re doing just fine all by yourself.” Archer spun out as the Spider released her, pressing into the turn to increase her momentum. She flung out an arm at the exact moment that moment that she let go of his hand, catching first the hand holding the blade and then the owner’s nose with each spinning hand. At the last possible moment, her hand reached back towards his, her full weight pulling away from the spider, counter-balanced by his own. Archer had known her arms were strong enough to take the shock from her sudden stop. The test of the Spider’s strength had been done on blind faith. “Nice.” If it was possible, she was even more impressed now than she had been before.
“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she flung her arm out like a steel rod to catch the knife-bearer’s wrist and nose. “But a Spanish accent would be a real plus.” As she pulled back in for a sudden stop, he grabbed her free hand with his, tensing to hold them both still. They stopped dead, her leaning back while he gripped her tightly. His brain was on fire, every neuron alert and active. Though his mask hid him perfectly, he couldn’t stop grinning, even though beads of sweat were beginning to form on his temples. It was a good sweat, utterly satisfying. And they had just gotten started.
Pulling her up, he banded an arm around her back, turning them both sharply in place. As their turn reached completion, he dropped his arm a bit lower to pull her weight closer to his chest as he slid a foot back and bent, prepared to bear the brunt of her weight as he lifted her, freeing her legs for a kick at the second man behind them.
Archer pretended to think as she hung out in the air, her shoulder less than a foot off the ground. “Maybe,” her breath caught as the Spider pulled her back up, “a girl can’t resist a man with an accent.” The little space between their bodies collapsed as he pivoted in place, their legs interlocked. Chin up, she looked straight into his eyes (or would have, if she could have seen his through his mask) as he held her weight close. Archer could see her target getting closer in her periphery, and she thanked the Creation gods that were for her shiny new skill. As Spidey stepped back to brace her weight against his chest, Archer lifted her feet off the ground in a perfect arch, feet pointed and all (which was no mean feat, given the fact that she was wearing boots). A solid thunk confirmed that she had hit her mark, as she had known she would. Perfect aim was a handy thing, even when the only thing you were throwing up was your own leg.
Though Spidey rarely fought with companions, he tended to use his opponents as oversized ragdolls and makeshift dance partners. Thus, he felt perfectly comfortable bearing and manipulating Archer’s weight as she arced through the air and hit her mark. He couldn’t help grinning as the vibrations of the kick ran through her and into him, a strange shared moment that reminded him that they really were working as a functional unit - on their first meeting, no less.
Once the kick had landed, Spider-Man straightened, wrapping an arm around her legs and shifting her in his arms as he turned with the momentum of her flying arc. Turning her slightly, he dipped low as he pulled her close, ending their movement. He supported her shoulders with his left arm, her head close to his shoulder, while his right arm reached up and over her mid-thigh to hold her legs against the right side of his abdomen.
Breathing somewhat heavily with the effort it had taken to stop without dropping her or falling flat on his own face, he lowered her legs to the ground, grinning beneath his mask. “I think we knocked ‘em dead.”
The Spider wasn’t the only one having trouble catching his breath. The man had bragged about his prowess over the comms, but Archer hadn’t put much stock in it. But not only was he a good fighter, her fought well with her. Nell had worked the rooftops and alleys alone for years, so to find herself completely synchronized with the fighting rhythm of another was both exhilarating and terrifying. Her eyes twinkled at the bad pun. Apparently they shared a sense of humor too.
Archer found herself wishing she could see more of the man’s face. Was he laughing, was he unimpressed, or was he rolling his eyes at the girl that was a little too excited by the proceedings? It was unfair - he got to see half her face, but she had no way to judge what he was thinking. Archer looked down at the men lying unconscious around them. “Is it just me, or does the entire plot of West Side Story suddenly make a lot more sense?”
Her question earned a genuine laugh as the red-suited spider looked at the unconscious men around them. “I knew I should’ve been snapping my fingers during this,” he replied. “Next time, I’ll keep that in mind.” He knew it was a lot to presume that “next time” even existed, but something about the mask made him feel so much more confident, and so much less afraid of rejection. If she said no, she had just said no to a mask without an expression. She wouldn’t be able to see disappointment or hurt. The mask protected him, in that way, more than any other.
He stepped over one of the men, sparing a glance for the two women that had been crowded into the alley to begin with. “You two okay?” he called out. They stared at him, then Archer in turn, before awkwardly backing away. They both babbled apologies and thanks before making a break for it, as if they’d just witnessed the Boogeyman. With a laugh, he looked back to Archer. “Tough crowd.”
Archer’s stomach did a little flip at the mention of ‘next time’. “Snapping your fingers while leading a tango? Oh, I’m going to have to see that.” Ideally as a participant, she added mentally. Her eyes followed his across the alley, to where the two drunk women had been huddled together. Archer watched them slink away without remorse, long since used to the thankless-ness of her chosen profession. Save their lives, and somehow you were still the bad guy. It was what it was; there really wasn’t any point getting upset about it.
“Seeing as how it was our first time, I’m just glad we didn’t get booed off stage.” A moment passed, as she stared out in the direction the ladies had hurried off in. “And then there were two.” She took a deep breath, before dropping down next to one of the unconscious men. “So what do you want to do with these thugs?”
“You’ve got front row seats,” he quipped back, chuckling to himself. Leaning back against the wall of the club as the women made their exit, he glanced back to Archer, snorting. “Booed? Us? Nah.” He waved a hand to drive his point home, crossing one leg over the other. “We’ve got show quality.”
As the woman stooped beside one of the unconscious men, he shrugged. “They were drunk, and now they’re out. I could always hang them up by their ankles. Give them a real scare when they wake up.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. We can probably just leave them. Unless you wanted to call the cops and stick them in the drunk tank overnight.”
“The drunk tank isn’t what’s going to straighten these punks out.” She pushed up to her feet, “accidentally” stepping on one of the men’s hands as she walked back towards the Spider. “That’s not going to stop them from trying to take advantage of drunk women.” Archer’s thought flew back unbidden to the night of the Masque, and she felt an extra dose of sympathy for the women. “I don’t think there’s much else we can do here.”
Turning her attention away from the men, Archer focused in on the Spider. “So if I recall correctly, you were making promises to get me excited. Shoot an arrow off your head and such.” Her tone was light and playful, brave in a way it could never be without the mask.
“No,” he replied with some measure of defeat. “There isn’t.” That was the most difficult think about being a Mask, he had to say. Knowing that even though you fought your hardest, and threw yourself on the line, it would never change everyone’s lives. It was hard to put the worst people away for good, and keep the best people safe forever. He supposed you simply had to think small, focus on the lives you could preserve.
The briefly dark mood lightened as she turned back to him, a grin spreading under his mask. “I do remember that. You get to shoot an apple off my head if I didn’t excite you.” He was quiet a moment, still leaning against the wall of the club with his legs and arms crossed casually as if he were waiting for a train. Pushing away from the wall, he took a few steps towards her. “So the question is,” he started, extending a hand to her as he extended the question. “Did I excite you?”
The corners of Archer’s mouth turned up in a smirk. She took her time considering what answer to give Spidey, making a show of looking him up and down and studying him. Somewhere, a part of her registered the fact that music in the club had changed, a slow, tantalizing bass drum reverberating through the walls, down the alley, and up her body. She shifted her weight to her back leg as she stood there, silent in the loud night.
“I haven’t decided yet. Impress me, maybe. Excite me?” The smirk deepened into a coy smile. “Baby, I’m a little more work than that.”
It was strange, being inspected. Spider-Man knew that with his skintight suit, he likely got a lot of scrutiny. And yet being in front of this other Mask, who was clearly giving him the up-and-down, was strangely intimidating. Once again, he was thankful for the mask that separated him from rejection or failure, allowing him to “save face” by not having one at all.
Letting out a low whistle, the spider shook his head. “That’s cold,” he said, voice upbeat and lighthearted. “You set me up with false hope, just to get me to play William Tell.” Taking a few steps to his side, he stepped lightly over one of the fallen thugs, grinning under his mask. “You do this to all the male vigilantes, or am I just a special spider?”
“I never said it wasn’t a possibility in the future. Just that it’s going to take a little more excitement to make me forget promises of target practice.” Archer pivoted to follow the Spider’s movement, never taking her eyes off him. “If you’re up for it, that is.”
Archer studied the expressionless mask before answering. She could tell him that the only other vigilante she had met in Seattle so far (not counting Orin) was Rescue, so there wasn’t really enough data to base her answer on. Or she could continue their little game. “Oh, you’re certainly special, Spidey.”
Resting one hand casually on his hip, he laughed jovially. “I always thought as much,” he remarked. “I guess next time, I’ll have to work a little bit harder. I’ll get some fireworks.” If he were more self-aware, the red-suited spider might have stumbled on what exactly he was doing here with Archer. Or, at the very least, he might have had a clue.
“Chicks dig fireworks, right?”
“Seeing as how you’ve kept the promise you made, I’ll believe you this time.” Archer fiddled with the arms on her bracer, pushing away the stirrings of discomfort that had begun in her stomach. So, she wasn’t used to flirting so much with a guy. But she wasn’t herself right now, was she? No, she was Archer. She was confident, strong, and unafraid. Any way, if things went south, it’s not like the spider would have any idea who she was, right?
“Depends on the type, but yes.”
He chuckled, taking a few steps back towards the wall of the club. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.” He shot a webline to the roof, wrapping his fingers comfortably around it. “Now I hate to dance and dash, but I always like to leave on a high note. Leave them wanting more, and all that.” He hoisted himself up with his other arm, muscles tense as he crawled onto the webline as if he truly were a human spider.
“You need a lift? I’ve got room for one passenger, and there’s no baggage fee.”
“It’s a noble goal, but you’ve already promised me a second date, remember?” Archer watched the spider scale his web with almost inhuman grace, mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements. Jealous for a split-second, she found herself wishing against reason that she could make climbing look that effortless. She took her time moving towards where Spidey hung suspended, each step sounding her intent.
“I could go back the way I came, but I’ve always been a fan of air travel. It’s all efficient like,” she shrugged with feigned nonchalance. Of course her acceptance had nothing to do with the fact that she was having the best encounter of her long and colorful career as a vigilante. Nothing whatsoever.
Grinning behind his mask, he twisted around his webline as she approached. Bracing one foot against the wall of the club, he shimmied down the line a few inches, face hovering just above hers. “That is is,” he replied. For a moment, he really thought that he was going to offer her a hand. He was convinced that he was going to. But instead, he surprised even himself. “You’ll get the full experience if you excite me during round two. Fair is fair.”
With a laugh, he kicked off the wall of the club, shooting a webline to the opposite wall and yanking himself to it. He glanced off that wall in the opposite direction, effectively zig-zagging his way up the walls. By the time he was nearly to the roof, he spared a wave for Archer on the ground, letting out a whoop of excitement. “Keep practicing, Archer!” He laughed again, landing on the roof and peering down at her. “Round two always ups the ante!”
Turning away from the edge of the roof, he ran, pelting towards the opposite edge. His blood was on fire, his brain was both fuzzy and clear at the same time, and his skin wouldn’t stop tingling. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about any of those things, but he had a hunch.
When in doubt: websling.