tw: mentions of minor character death
Civilian’s fingers dug into their knees, trembling with an ounce of fear. They didn’t dare lift their head, for they feared that if they locked eyes with Supervillain, they would be done for.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here, hm?”
Contrary to the civilian, Supervillain seemed quite calm. They were casually thumbing at a small lighter pinched between their fingers, the ignited flame sizzling at the end of their cigarette. The stick lay clamped between their lips, the embers illuminating their face.
The office doors had been closed, and the curtains drew shut. Only a faint lamp light on the end of Supervillain’s desk was alight, the only source in the room. They struggled to open their mouth, finding a response.
They cursed themselves for being unable to hide the tremble in their voice. The supervillain blew a string of smoke, hard eyes penetrating the civilian’s skull. A brief chuckle left their lips.
“Stop shivering. It’s pathetic,” they demanded, and the civilian flinched violently at their words, body rigid. They didn’t have the strength to apologise. They knew exactly why they were here, and they knew Supervillain had found out.
The supervillain took another slow drag, before they pushed off the desk they were leant on, and stalked slowly around the room.
“Civilian, how long have you been working for me?”
Civilian swallowed. “Three years, sir.”
“Three years. How extraordinary. Brass player?”
They knew where this was going, and fear pricked mercilessly at their skin. “Yes. Sir.”
Supervillain hummed under their breath, slowly nodding their head, as if in thought. Their footsteps paced around the room, muffled by the detailed red and gold carpet beneath them. Civilian didn’t dare look, their eyes glued to their thighs.
They had known what they were getting into, when they decided to take this job. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know the jazz lounge was owned by Supervillain. And it wasn’t as if they were aware of how cutthroat the auditions were for the band, strangely so. But the pay had been so tempting, and Civilian was desperate.
“You’re aware that Hero was here tonight, aren’t you?”
Civilian stiffened. “...I heard from the other band members, sir.”
Supervillain chuckled, nodding their head. “I’m sure from the stage, they were a rather easy spot. It was a miracle they escaped, however. Disappeared in the nick of time, just before I arrived. Very peculiar, isn’t it, Civilian?”
Their heart hammered painfully loud. “Very much so, sir.”
Why? Why did Civilian have to take Hero’s offer? Why on earth did they think it was a good idea to help them right under Supervillain’s nose? They’d been a fool. Conducting that awful code during the final performance had seemed like a good idea at the time. Have Civilian play just loud enough, in a slightly different key, to warn Hero they needed to get out of there.
Slightly. It had only been slightly different. For at least least two counts of eight, nothing more, nothing less. The crowd would barely notice it. The musicians might have — they were perceptive in their profession, but nobody batted an eye.
So, Supervillain surely couldn’t have known. Not if you were keenly listening out for it.
Civilian flinched violently when a finger pressed under their chin, tilting their head back. Their wide eyes met Supervillain’s cold ones, glinting with a hint of mischief. Their breath hitched involuntarily, and they struggled not to rip away from their touch.
“I might not be a musician,” Supervillain whispered, fingers wrapping around Civilian’s jaw in a harsh grip. “But I was born with perfect pitch, Civilian.”
Their blood ran cold. The crooked smirk lining their lips stripped down the civilian’s senses almost instantly, and they couldn’t stop the tears from falling down their cheeks.
“My musicians don’t make mistakes,” Supervillain purred.
Civilian sobbed. “I-I’m sorry…”
“Why were you off key, darling?” Supervillain’s grip tightened, and Civilian gasped in pain.
“I’m sorry. Please, please don’t kill me.”
Civilian’s mind wouldn’t stop reeling, struggling to remain calm and collected as they had been doing. Their chest had grown so inexplicably tight, that their breaths had turned sharp and desperate, unable to stop themselves. Supervillain was going to kill them, and there was no doubt about it.
They were going to end up just like all those other jazz players, the ones that went missing one day and was replaced by a stranger the next. They shivered fearfully under Supervillain’s touch, their thumb softly brushing away the tears from Civilian’s cheek.
They released their jaw with a satisfied smile, tucking some hair behind their ear. Civilian whimpered pathetically.
Civilian didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as their legs found their strength, they had dashed from the office as fast as they could.
