The Universe's Mixer

(Warning: Violence.)

Jack was bothered by the fact that there was a Nigma in this world who seemed to have slipped over to the goodguys. Again. He knew that she'd started out that way, but they'd all done so much to further her career. Not-so-gently nudging her toward crime and violence.

Crane's report that she was headed down a path of righteous living irritated him.

He had to be careful, though. He couldn't just roam the City aimlessly trying to track down the red headed tart. He couldn't be seen. Not when he was supposed to be secured away in Arkham, watched over by doctors and heavily drugged. So it took him time to find out where the little brat lived. Then he took time to try to memorize her routine.

He didn't really need a plan, so to speak. He just needed to get the miniNigma's attention.

In an alleyway near her home, he waited. There was an empty storefront he planned to drag her into once he had her. Jack adjusted the stem of the rose that he held. It was a real flower, but it had been modified just a little bit. Now a tiny hose ran from the center of it down to his hand, where he held a trigger switch.

Jack kept the bulk of himself in the dark, having worn a black suit to accommodate his needs. A hat pulled low on his head. He watched for her, waited patiently as she approached. Then held the flower out for her.

"Would the miss like a rose the color of her pretty hair?" All it would take was a moment's hesitation, and he'd release the gas, knocking her out for easier transport.

The long stretch of night drew heavily over her, silvered her eyelids, cocooned her with warm lethargy, wrapped in the scent of the lavender just over her porch rail. High overhead, above the eternal springtime boughs, the moon began its slow descent. It was, Beauty thought wryly, well past her bedtime. Her thoughts were meandering in only the way a very tired mind would allow. Half-formed ideas pressed into others; patchwork.

She'd dressed carefully, selecting a dress that caught the moonlight and jewelry that glowed under it. Beauty hadn't wanted him to miss her accidentally. Every half hour after the sun set, she repeated the same ritual: she stood from the small sitting area she'd created - just two chairs and a tiny end table from the living room - and walked to the steps leading into her garden. "Lestat," she said quietly, very aware that her roommate was sleeping. And then, perhaps more importantly, she all but yelled his name silently in her head.

If the gifts that'd been arriving at her cottage were any indication, Lestat came often. She'd never been awake to find him hovering over her bed or creeping through her hallways. Tonight, she swore, it would be different. Tonight, she'd have her answers from him.

She waited on the steps, her dark eyes surveying the park as it stretched out before her. She could see nothing - no one. But she knew that it didn't mean he wasn't there. Lestat. So many talents, he had. And because of her foolishness, she'd hurt this gifted man.

"Lestat," she said again.