MORE THAN ROYAL

Before the war, Jason didn’t really see anything too strange on his quiet greek island. His brother showed great strength and showed him what it was like to be a god, but that was about it. After Darkseid’s inavsion, his familiarity with strangeness become more frequent as he continued to come across new heroes and others who seemed to want to outdo each other in the category. Tonight was one of those moments.

Whenever Jason has free time, he likes to go for a walk around the city and try to clear his head. He found that hard to do, however, as he watched a man simi dig himself out of the earth.

After being called out, Jason sprung into action. “Of course,” He said. “You might want to close your eyes.” He quickly whipped up a small vortex of wind and focused it on the dirt around the man, blowing it away and revealing more and more of his buried body. When he thought he was free enough, Jason finally offered said hand and pulled him up to his feet in one sweep. “Quick thinking on your part - who knows how long you would’ve had until you couldn’t breathe,” He notes. “Do you know who did this to you?”

A good Samaritan - they were easily picked out amongst the crowd, those willing to stop their current dealing to help any poor shmuck they may happen upon along the way. Anton could see it on their face, even if he had to goad one of them into pulling him from the earth. There was no doubt in his mind that this man would be so willing to assist him.

And he was right.

Anton did as he was told and shut his eyes tightly; the wind rushed around him and he could feel bits of dirt and gravel bounce off of his face in a flurry. The tightness of the earth around his middle lessened, eventually leading his would be hero to pull him out from his soiled nap.

“About five hours, give or take,” Anton returned absently as he dusted his suit jacket off. This wasn’t his first rodeo, but it was the first time he had to dig his way out - and that proved to be nothing like the movies at all. “Oh, I do. Names, numbers.. Addresses - the whole shebang. I’m planning on giving them a little visit, actually.”

Middle men were unpredictable and flaky, but most importantly, they were stupid. It was why Anton preferred to work directly with a client - or partner. His line of work tended to be a little too sensitive, at least in his mind, and he didn’t trust any of it to simply be given to someone expendable. It didn’t sit well with him. 

Unfortunately, he had to play nice, if only for this one instance; the client was big, secretive, someone that Anton wanted to eventually press under his thumb, but it grew difficult to do so, so playing their game looked like the right call for now - even if that meant forgoing the comfort of his personal office in favor of a dank and dark motel lobby.

The vomit green paint that was slathered across the four walls peeled and curled like the skin of an orange under the sun, and the room itself smelled of old cigarette ash and sweat. Anton was certain he’d sink into the couch cushion and never resurface if he took a seat, so he opted to stand, straight and silent as he waited for word on the living.

When movement did happen and the dust that had started to settle was disturbed, Anton lifted a curious brow as he surveyed the face of this supposed middle man that made itself known. He hummed before greeting with, “you don’t look like a Paolo.”

The Son of the Devil || Wanda and Anton

@lrdblkhrt​

Normally, she was back at the Sanctum by now. But she needed to get away from the four walls. Maybe she could call it the breeding in her from Magda and Django, but she didn’t like to feel confined. And lately, she had been trying desperately to push against the boundaries set on magic. To see if she could just access something. Anything more than what she had. It wasn’t enough to win. And they needed more. One teleportation spell was not enough. She needed to be able to do what she needed to do. And Scarlet Witch was what without her magic?

So she sat in silence in Central Park. It was late and her hands were shaking as she let herself lift from the ground, her power swirling around her. It was harder than it ever had been before for her to channel, to reach the threads of reality. Her eyes glowed red and sweat beaded on her brow as the silky red of her dress swirled in the increasing wind.

More. Just a bit more. And yet, when Wanda hit the threshold of where she normally ran out of her resources, it was like a wall slammed down on her, knocking the wind from her as a scarlet explosion had her shooting back to strike a tree. With a groan, she carefully pushed herself up to sit. She was panting, pain blossoming over her back, but the bite of a sharper and darker magic had her tensing. Who was here?

“Hello?”

The word ‘antichrist’ left a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths. They didn’t even have to be religious to recoil in the slightest as there tended to be a familiar in their life that popped up alongside it; it was a term often branded to those assholes of the finest and most vile quality, those with a jarring lack of compassion for any around them - qualities that tended to get Anton into deep trouble.

A quick escape led him to the thin forest of Central Park; the plumes of shadow when he teleported dissipated into the darkness around him. The day grew late and it wasn’t wise to linger. They had his scent.

A voice so carelessly thrown out into the evening caught Anton’s attention. He traversed a hair deeper still, ignoring the prickly nag at the back of his neck that told him to leave. The clearing the small, but the witch was apparent under the shading of the tree. Anton, while fascinated with the power that surged from her, didn’t come for a fight. He stepped out of the surrounding darkness before casting a glance over a shoulder. With no sign of impending (and temporary) death, Anton turned back to the hero with a placid smile.

“You know, it’s really unwise to call out into the darkness like that,” he started; one of his hands buried itself into a trouser pocket. “Never know what might answer.”

She raised a brow at his words, though the cockiness of his grin was enough to coax a tiny smile out of her. It had been years since she’d done anything like this and, well, she’d missed it more than she cared to admit. Tearing down her husband’s empire was a priority, but perhaps still thinking of him as her ‘husband’ was another folly all in itself. “There’s kinky and then there’s having a death wish.” she said wryly.  

Her mouth twisted to the side a little before she admitted, “Gin.” Her mother had called it an unfashionable drink but things were very different now. She flicked her thick hair back and rested her cheek lightly on her hand, “Double with tonic and a few cucumber slices. Sooner, rather than later.” Her last words were directed at the bartender who, after seeing what she did to his prize mirror, didn’t hesitate to make it a priority.  

The idea of dying in any way, shape or form absolutely terrified Anton, in prior years. Once he figured out the specifics of his temporary immortality, having used a pinky toe to test certain theories, that fear of a permanent sleep washed away to a brazen and almost psychopathic desire for danger. That appetite only grew with time; the majority of people found it unsavory. “I see no difference,” Anton returned with humor and a smile hidden behind the lip of his glass.

Gin - he was good. Anton watched the bartender scurry away, both to fulfill her wishes and get the hell away from them, before offering her his undivided attention. He leaned against the bar, left elbow pressed to the counter with palm wrapped defensively around his glass. Right ankle was hooked over left knee; he looked like a cool guy, the kind of guy who looked like he could ruin someone’s life and enjoy it. He looked too cool for his own good. 

Anton ran a fingertip around the rim and regarded her. “Now, why would anyone want to arrest you?”

There weren’t many people nowadays who would take the time to bury a hit - in cement, sure, but dirt? Most would resort to tying cinderblocks at the ankles or crushed in the trunk of a lemon sedan. Maybe fed to some pigs, but six foot dirt naps were hard to come by. That didn’t stop Anton’s most recent client from pulling the trigger, of course, and subsequently piling dirt over his limp corpse as if he were nothing more than some mutt’s most prized leg bone.

This wasn’t the first time Anton found himself in less than stellar conditions, but after a handful of hours he managed to get his head and an arm out from the soft earth. It other instances, he would have simply phased through the darkness that filled the dirt hole, but Darkseid made that nearly impossible - so digging it had to be. Embarrassingly for him, he couldn’t get his other arm out. He was stuck.

Eva had no patience for pathetic men, or anyone else making sleazy attempts at her attention; she’d already dealt with two men earlier and now her patience had reached its end. She narrowed her eyes and the large mirror hanging conveniently above the bar (the place was called The Looking Glass after all) cracked in several places.

“Imagine every shard from that mirror shooting forward and ramming themselves into all the vital points of your body, coming out the other end and then reforming while your blood drips down to fill up the glasses.”

“And then-” she turned to finally look at the man and paused. Well. The first two had been very sorry specimens but this man, well he happened to be very handsome, enough to give her a slight pause. Her eyes flicked down his body and up again to his face, the whole package was very nice in fact. “Or they may not.” The cracks in the mirror faded away, “You’ll have to chance it and see.”  

His now-humored gaze flicked up to the precariously placed mirror and back down to the row of empty glasses before them; most men would have turned for the hills and tried their ilk on another unsuspecting yet normal woman, but Anton wasn’t like most men. Normal was boring. He tapped the fingertips of his left hand against the bar top and offered her a boyish grin, clearly interested in her prickly shell. Fixing it would never be the intent.

“Not much of a threat if some people are into that,” Anton pointed out before he wordlessly called over the bartender. “Let me guess.. Vodka? Gin?” He queried as he hurried over her features, but made no move to take his gaze off of her visage, even with the bartender’s presence.