#kit muses

Since the construction of Isidore Tower - dubbed 'Gluttony Heights' by a certain cryptic radio host, a nickname that had caught on surprisingly fast amongst the masses - Malachy had grown rather... paranoid, one might say. For good reason, however; there was a target painted on his head and he didn't plan to make that assassination easy for anyone. Despite his position as a force of 'good' in the city, he had made a lot of powerful enemies... and regardless of how good his agents and security were, it would only take a single bullet to prematurely end the game that had utterly consumed his life in tumultuous bliss. A fact that remained particularly pertinent considering that he had a longterm arch nemesis, standing at the helm of a chaotic terrorist organisation. Thus, Malachy rarely left his tower, for the sake of his own safety. Which was a fine concept - he had just about everything he needed, and plenty of space and resources with which to prosper. But, sixty years down the line... admittedly, he was going a little stir crazy. It wasn't as if he didn't have anyone to talk to, what with running a business empire, a political campaign and a secretive vigilante association... and a regular semi-threatening email conversation with his rival for fun - but it wasn't always enough. It wasn't even the social side of things that had him longing, not really... He still had so many fond memories of the early days of his rivalry with Sir Misery. The way Malachy would attend events, giving speeches and meeting with his public... the way Misery would crash those events, and take hostages and generally cause chaos... Such good times. They always had a delightful banter, sometimes it felt as if they weren't enemies at all, just old friends with a healthy interest in killing one another. Since the unwelcome addition of The Serpent Blade in the city, he and Misery had been forced to turn their rivalry into a long distance affair - less personal and more like a giant game of chess. They would both sit in their strongholds, instructing their pieces to oppose one another and ruin each other's plans as frequently as possible. Despite the fact that Sir Misery was a constant and extremely prominent fixture in his life... he hadn't seen him in person in a very long time. It wasn't as if he hadn't had the chance to see him again, Malachy had just considered all other opportunities to be, well... ridiculously dangerous. Sir Misery liked to invite him on 'dates' - proposals of afternoon tea, dinner at a nice restaurant... likely filled with armed Misery Co employees, with a kitchen packed full of C4. Needless to say, Malachy had always graciously declined - as much as he would have loved to reconnect with his dear old friend, a night ending with kidnap, torture and death was simply not something he could fit into his schedule. But this? This was an elusive opportunity. A calculated risk - a room full of innocent civilians had never stopped Misery from striking before. But after sixty years... Malachy felt that he could live dangerously, even just for one night. Just himself, Sir Misery... his bodyguard and a team of his agents, all posted inconspicuously around the party in disguise. With his signature tattoo and most of his face concealed, thus far nobody had even recognised him - which suited Malachy just fine, it wasn't as if he was here for any of them. A glass of champagne in hand - the vampire queen really had outdone herself, you could practically taste how expensive the catering was - azure eyes swept the length of the room, thinking over his calculations of logic. The chance of Misery attending the event was relatively high - after the cryptic clue Malachy had left in his last email, vaguely hinting at the fact that he might be attending - but the chance of him attending with his usual appearance was next to none. Sir Misery did, after all, have an extremely memorable aesthetic, and even if he did decide to tone down his monochrome fashion sense, Malachy doubted that his signature white hair streak and pale eyes would go entirely unnoticed.