TORN-OPEN SACRIFICE

[image: some panels from blue beetle issue 4. diviner  is standing behind La Dama. they are in the halls of a fancy mansion, and diviner is lifting a hand to his face and saying “lovely niece.” La dama looks at him out of the corner of her eye and seems annoyed. She says “Notice again and I’ll have you killed.” Diviner says “ah, to work then. Quite a little "collection” you’re building.“ next picture is diviner saying “You’re not even sure this new player is –”  La dama says ”–the Blue Beetle. There are rumors. Confirm them.“ Diviner says "The last Blue Beetle showed no mystical abilities.” La Dama says “the first one did. Diviner, have I ever told you how much I enjoy being second-guessed?” end image]

     he slides onto the empty stool beside her, signaling to the bartender he'd like a drink. a glass of mezcal, neat. " I imagine that's by design, of course, " he continues, smoothing out the creases in his slacks as he attempts to make himself comfortable in such a... modest establishment, " but I'm afraid times have changed. when you have an alien flying around in hideously bright red underwear that stops bank robberies and catches falling babies and turns back hostile flying saucers on a daily basis, shadowy organizations led by an equally tenebrous puppet master don't seem quite so far-fetched any more. "

     the bartender sets the drink down and makes an expeditious retreat to the other end of the bar, sensing that this is a conversation not worth being privy to. Lex idly traces the rim of the glass with a finger, but makes no indication he intends to actually consume it. " I've no doubt a woman of your caliber and reputation is no stranger to snuffing out the occasional pest—terrestrial or otherwise—but as we both know, it certainly helps to have the right tools for the job. "

     Lex places a small box (like something that would store a piece of jewelry such as a ring) on the counter and then leans forward, voice now barely above a whisper.

" hagamos un trato, la dama. "

She had yet to turn his way, her attention held captive by the bar’s cadence and the low, rhythmic pulse of the city. It was not a deliberate snub, but rather a gentle dissonance; a fleeting delay where her mind drifted, caught in the tide of the room. As his words wove through her consciousness, her stillness dissolved into an amused hum, her gaze finally settling on Luthor.

❝ Un regalo de tu mano es un nudo en la mía. ❞

The drink La Dama had been idling over tilted slowly against her lips, the last of the liquid draining as she kept the rim pressed to her mouth a heartbeat too long.

❝ I could use a good laugh, ❞ she murmured, setting the empty glass down between them without breaking eye contact. ❝ Why are you looking for me, LUTHOR ? ❞