#droidofmay

          four. five. six.

                 tap. tap. taps.

                        ten. eleven. twelve. 

                                       tap. tap. taps. 

                                              door. window. patrons. 

                                                      nineteen. twenty.

                                                             tap. tap. 

                                                                   door. window. door? 

Door! 

The swinging door reveals his man. Janus enters the bar, drawing off his flowing black overcoat. Gliding through the crowd, he swipes the hat from his head. Settling into his seat, he removes one yellow leather glove after another.

“You weren’t waiting long, were you? Oh, of course not.” Janus answers his own question. “But truly, I am dreadfully sorry for my delayed appearance. Just had to make sure the weather was quiet. Didn’t want to be caught in a storm.” His voice is a purr and his eyes stare into Virgil’s soul, burning the meaning behind his words into his brain.

“How many storms have you had to deal with while I was away?”

“Just one for the moment. One that is, unfortunately, quite strong.”

The anxious man raises his eyebrow in surprise. Janus is not one to throw the word “strong” around when discussing the opposition. “Has the storm passed?”

“The clouds continue to be dark and overcast.” His companion studies his nails, annoyance clear in his words. “And do you have the newspaper? I haven’t had a chance to catch the latest gossip.”

“Right here.” Virgil pulls out a bound roll of paper that to the outside observer would, indeed, appear to be a copy of The Mosmay Creek Times. He hands it over to his companion. “There isn’t much more news to gather from there. I believe it’s time I find a new vacation spot. Any suggestions?”

His companion’s smile is wide. His eyes flash in excitement. He slides the roll of paper into his bag and withdraws a postcard. “I’ve heard this has had some exciting nightlife as of late. Though you may want to dress warm. The night’s get cold and unfriendly amongst these types.”

Virgil nods his head and swipes the postcard. But Janus no longer holds his attention. A newcomer has entered the bar wearing a frankly garish prince costume. And to make matters worse the pompous fool was staring directly at them.

“We may have a storm.” He whispers. His hand drifts down to the lip of his boot, his fingers brush the hilt of his blade. Virgil’s companion leans back into his chair. Templing his fingers, Janus waits for the show.

The conspicuous man saunters up to their table, drawing the attention of the entire bar to their little meeting in the corner. The fool’s smile flashes down at Virgil and his companion. Janus, himself, appears composed and relaxed. He hides his discomfort well.

“Welp, I think business is done here, boys. Don’t you?” The stranger speaks.

“And why would that be?”

The clearly deranged man, gestures up and down his body as if that would explain everything. “Uhh, because I’m here? And Deceit I’ll be taking that newspaper now.” His hand is offered, outstretched.

“No, wait. Hold on… Am I supposed to know who you are?” Virgil’s asks in genuine confusion.

Janus' laughter breaks the cold silence of the room. His cackles overlapped with the offended sputtering of the bedazzled cake topper. 

“I am the Prince!” He nearly shrieks.

“Congratulations?” Virgil is still completely lost.

“Anxiety, dear. This is Mosmay Creek’s very own superhero. He started while you were away but, as you can see, already thinks quite highly of himself. You must applaud him for the bravado. And Mr. Prince,” Janus turns to the fuming hero, “I would love to be able to help you with your grand theatrics of heroism, but I’m afraid I cannot. Truly sorry, but duty calls and I must be going.”

Janus grabs his bag and coat. He tsks to himself as the Prince moves to block him, continuing, unperturbed, to slip on his gloves and hat. “Anxiety, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle this hollow actor of justice. Or have you gotten rusty enough to actually need my help?”

Virgil snarls at his companion, who happily hums in return. “Very well.” Janus continues, “It was nice to catch up with both of you.”

“No one’s leav- AHHHHH!” The prince’s words are cut off with a howl of pain. His outstretched hand now has a bloody gash down the palm. A hissing blur of purple and black launches himself at the startled hero. Virgil lands on his opponent’s chest, knocking him to the ground, the feral knife-wielder presses his blade into the cape’s throat. 

Virgil hunches over his prey, flashing a devilish grin. “Well, we finally get to talk just the two of us.”

The bar is silent. They stare in awe at their downed hero. No one is able to move.

“So you aren’t invulnerable? What exactly makes you so super, hero?” He presses the blade harder into his opponent’s skin. A trickle of blood is drawn.

Anger flashes across the hero’s face. His eyes, which had previously been brown, were brown no longer. Red. They began to burn. Bright. Hot. Red. Virgil is forced to squeeze his eyes shut tight, a second before a force throws him back. Slamming him into the wall. He falls to the ground. The blade is lost in the blast. He can barely breathe. The air has been forced from his chest. He gulps for anything that can fill his lungs. Virgil’s scrambles to his feet. The hero is beginning to stand. Virgil must recover quicker. He grabs a chair and launches it at the hero. Hunched over and in pain, Virgil rushes the door. Pushing anyone and everyone out of his way, he exits the bar. 

Behind him he can hear the Prince shouting for people to move. But Virgil is out in the street now. No one can catch him here. This is his element. He squeezes into the rush. His hoodie up, the slim figure moves through the packed bodies like a fish through water. Disappearing into the roar of strangers. And once he knows he is lost from sight, he exits the stream of people and glides into an alley.

The trash bins provide a jumping off platform. The fire escape is easy to reach from there. And after that, the roof is a synch. Climbing the walls of a city is a simple thing for one of Virgil’s past. A quick escape is often needed when dealing in an occupation of secrets. And sure, his ribs may be sore, but he has had worse than a measly push against a wall.

Up on the roof, pressed against its surface, Virgil shimmies over to the edge. Lying flat, he peers over the edge. Sweeping the street for any sign of pursuit, and somehow he is able to hold back a chuckle. The dumbfounded Prince is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, the swarm of the crowd passing around him. Oblivious, the hero continues to look left and right, lost in utter confusion. Virgil’s smirk was threatening to turn into an actual smile. This new hero may actually end up being a whole lot of fun.