capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO:

formidophobia.
WHERE: Angelica's secret laboratory.
WHEN: Evening.
WARNINGS: None, except those inherently associated with the above characters.
SUMMARY: A talk.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start, whatever within.

She was busy, for a dead woman.

It was the first time in over a year that Angelica Einstürzen had been out from under the prying eyes of the law, and with death had come a certain sense of liberation. The heroes had been all too eager to accept her murder as a lasting act, justice or revenge. No one had come looking. Her work progressed uninterrupted, flourishing in secrecy. Being savagely torn into bloody broken pieces by her favorite son was a small price to pay.

(She loved and loathed Heine's betrayals, each one.)

Her laboratory became a sanctuary. Quiet, except for the hisswhirbeep of machines. Angelica was dressing, drawing the zipper of her dress up to her throat, pulling on her white physician's jacket. Six-fingered hands smoothed blond hair back from her face. Her color was just slightly pale, her movements naturally graceful but vaguely fatigued. Making the clones was always physically taxing, but after all these weeks, her distrust of the lull had brought her to reform her set. The new clone sat beside its sister, still covered in a faint sheen of biological fluids. Both were dormant, resting in a large mechanical contraption with oxygen masks over their faces and various monitoring devices connected to their skin, their veins.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Years of experience in Gotham's crucible taught Jonathan all the necessary tricks to keep secrets. He wasn't followed, he made sure of that, and he didn't tell anyone where he was going, not even the (few) people he trusted. He parked several blocks away from the warehouse district, picked his way towards hers, running in his mind over everything he wanted to say, all the ill-advisable things.

He didn't feel guilty very often, it was incompatible with his fundamental self-schema, but this... this was a unique circumstance.

Jonathan let himself in with his key, took one last glance over his shoulder and then headed into the lab proper, calling softly to announce himself, "Angelica?"

She was carefully rolling up her jacket sleeves when she heard the door open, a familiar voice carrying over the expanse of the lab. Ah. She had expected that sooner or later, he would come to see her. Angelica paused to retrieve her gloves from a counter top before moving to greet her visitor.

"Hello, Jonathan." Her lips turned upwards just slightly in a faint smile. Somehow, her smiles never seemed to quite reach her eyes. "I was wondering when you might come."

As she spoke, she pulled on her long gloves, covering each of her twelve fingers, her arms up to the elbows. There. She was composed now, fully.

"I thought you might need some time." He said, and it sounded weak to his ears. Partly he'd been worried--worried of what, he didn't know, exactly. Maybe that she wouldn't recognize him, or that she wouldn't want to see him, for whatever reason.

"How have you been holding up?" It was an absent question, because his eyes were on her hands, mesmerized a second as he drew closer. He liked her hands. He always had. "You've been busy."

She found his uncertainty vaguely endearing to her, in a distant sort of way. It was, in its own way, something to be appreciated-- not a grating little annoyance, like the swollen arrogance of her other colleagues. Angelica smiled, showing her teeth. The expression was just slightly sharp, more a sociopath's mimicry of the look than the real thing.

"I have," she agreed, "Being dead is a surprising amount of work."

A shade of sadist's amusement in her eyes, maybe. Satisfaction. She counted this disappearing act as a victory. Angelica's smile became darker, more sincere. She took one of his hands in her gloved ones, turning it palm up in a gesture made to be absent. In her mind she imagined a scalpel and a jar of formaldehyde with deep affection for each long finger.

"I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you, Jonathan."