An Uncommon Witness Ch 8
Nov. 14th, 2010 10:42 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tutufansAfter 3 months, here is the next installment of my fanfic. Hope you guys will enjoy it and thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tomoyoichijouji for beta-ing! :)
Ch 8
"I'm so sorry Fakir! I tried! I really did!"
Duck and Fakir were in the grand ballroom of the theater along with the rest of the audience invited to the gala. Despite the multitude of famous and influential people milling around about her, Duck could only dwell on how she had fallen asleep in the middle of the opera. She had endeavored valiantly to stay awake, but has nodded off shortly after intermission and had woken up to the sound of applause at the end of the final act.
Fakir shrugged dismissively. "It's not as if she could see you in a place this big. And with the lighting no one on stage would be able to see past the first three rows."
"That's true, but..." Duck sighed dejectedly. She'd wanted to be able to fully enjoy this opportunity Rachel had given her, particularly since it was a personal invitation from the singer herself.
"You're getting distracted by this," Fakir reminded the moping red head. "Don't forget what we came here to do."
"I know, I know," Duck mumbled. At least though, she reconciled herself, she did get to hear Rachel sing after all. Although she hadn't a clue what the songs were about she could still appreciate the beautiful quality of Rachel's voice. Duck smiled at the recent memory.
"Ah, there you are!"
At the familiar voice both Fakir and Duck looked up and saw Rachel, who had changed out of her costume and was now wearing a lovely green gown, approach them with a man Duck had never seen before.
"I hope both of you enjoyed the performance," Rachel smiled, to which Duck responded effusively while Fakir merely grunted. Laughing, Rachel turned to the man at her elbow. "Duck, this is my husband, Hans. He was at work when you came by last so I didn't get a chance to introduce you to him."
"Glad to meet you," Hans nodded politely at Duck. "Rachel told me all about you and how supportive you were of her performance."
"Oh!" Duck giggled bashfully. "Well, uh, to tell you the truth I didn't really understand what the opera was about—that is, I mean, I didn't understand what the words were saying. It wasn't in English, I knew that much." She turned towards the opera singer with genuine curiosity. "What language were you singing in, Rachel?"
"It's Czech. I studied the language when I was in Prague and…"
While Rachel discussed the opera with Duck, Fakir discretely scanned the ballroom. There was no sign of the Corvo patriarch, and Fakir did not think he had seen him before the performance either. Dominico Corvo was not known to be a very public man; still, he would always let his presence be known at an event.
Fakir grimaced. There was the chance that he had miscalculated. Could it be that the old man did not attend tonight's reception or the opera? If so then there was little chance Principe would be present either and his plan would be in vain.
As Fakir agitated over the possibilities, his eyes caught the glint from a pair of spectacles in the crowd, and when he focused on its source, the detective's brows drew together. Across the room and half hidden by the other guests was Autor, standing in a far corner beside a marble pillar. Fakir would've otherwise ignored him, expect the other man's gaze was fixed on him and it was plain he was trying to catch Fakir's attention.
"Wait here, I'll be back in a minute," Fakir said to Duck, interrupting her conversation with Rachel.
"Fakir, where—" Rachel asked but her cousin was already gone. Perplexed, Duck watched Fakir dissolve into the crowd. Looking back at Rachel, she saw the singer was equally confused, with a touch of concern in her eyes.
At this time a party of well-wishers approached Rachel and the soprano touched Duck's hand in apology. "We'll talk more later, Duck. If there's anything you need just ask for me, okay?"
"I'll be alright, but thank you," Duck said, and watched as Rachel and Hans greeted the other guests and were swept up by the crowd.
Left to her own devices, Duck sighed. Other than Rachel and her husband she didn't know any of the other guests, and Fakir had gone off somewhere without an explanation.
Duck shifted uncomfortably in her heels. She wondered half-heartedly if she ought to look around the gala to see if she could find Principe, but remembered that Fakir had instructed her to stay put, to which she grudgingly obeyed.
As Duck continued to stand there, pursing her lips impatiently, someone came up to her from behind and said, "Pardon me, dear, but are you by any chance the daughter of Elsa D. Stannus?"
Fakir nudged his way through the crowd and came upon Autor in his secluded corner. Autor greeted the detective with a condescending smirk.
"What a surprise. Given the annual salary of a New York police detective I would never have expected to see you here."
Fakir however didn't take the bait. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Attending the opera. Surely a detective can deduce that much."
"Right, and I can also deduce that you standing here with a grin on your face is not a coincidence. I've already told you I'm not interested in any project you might have, so beat it."
Autor pushed up the bridge of his glasses, causing the lens to shift so that they hid his eyes. "Ah, but I must admit, my decision to attend the opera was due to a bit of serendipity. I found an interesting old newspaper clipping from my collection, one that I had nearly forgotten about until it quite literally fell out in front of me."
Confused by this seemingly unrelated tangent, Fakir frowned by kept listening.
"It was a notice, a small one, from 16 years ago about a double homicide," the journalist elaborated, and at the last two words Fakir's eyes widened as his hands balled into fists but he otherwise stood stock still as Autor continued. "The victims, according to the article, were a married couple who operated a small bookshop in the Bronx area. The police believed two armed suspects entered the store late at night and gunned down the victims. The crime was believed to be a warning from the mob, as it was known that the store was located in an area controlled by a racket affiliated with Don Corvo, and the couple had previously filed complaints with the police about solicitations and threats from the mob. There was a witness to the crime, for the couple's son had survived the murder. But he was unable to identify the perpetrators and ultimately no one was ever charged for the crime."
Here Autor paused and his voice was hush when he spoke again. "However the story doesn't end there. Riddled by guilt and a desire for revenge, the boy became a police detective for the New York Police Department when he grew up, and his name is—"
At that moment Fakir grabbed Autor by the collar and slammed him against the wall next to them. Fakir raised his fist, his green eyes flashing with fury. Autor sputtered breathlessly, "If this comes to light you will be pulled off the case! What's more, the judge would never accept the case because of your conflict of interest in its outcome."
At those words Fakir's fist froze in midair, hovering just a few inches away from the journalist's face. He stood glaring at Autor for a long moment. The rest of the party carried on behind them, but in the shadow cast by the pillar Autor held his breath and waited for Fakir's response.
"Go ahead and plaster it across the newspapers if you want." Fakir released Autor, disdainfully pushing the shorter man away before turning and walking back towards the crowd.
Autor gingerly straightened his crumpled shirt collar when Fakir stopped to glower back at the bespectacled man and said in a voice so frigid Autor could not suppress a shudder. "But you had better say your prayers," Fakir's eyes narrowed into menacing slits. "Because I don't care if it costs me my badge, I will make you pay for it."
With those parting words Fakir left a shaken Autor behind and disappeared into the crowd.
Duck's mouth dropped opened in surprise at the question. Turning to one side, a finely dressed blond woman in her early forties stood peering inquisitively at her. "Uh, yes, I am," Duck answered demurely.
"I knew it!" The woman smiled, deeply pleased, and explained, "I saw your mother at her premier performance many years ago. I had the great fortune of meeting her afterwards at the reception and I clearly remember the pendant she wore, the same pendant you are wearing now," she gestured at the jewel at Duck's throat. "And you look so remarkably like your mother, I fairly thought Elsa herself was here again tonight!"
Duck looked at the pendant, her eyes wide in amazement. The half dollar-size pendant was made from thinly cut pieces of translucent garnet set in a frame of gold, giving it a delicate, almost ethereal quality. Duck had long admired it when it was worn by her mother but she had never expected anyone else to recognize the object.
The blond lady turned to wave over her friends. "Ronnie," she called out as a trio of women approached. "I was right! Doesn't she look just like Elsa did back then?"
The brunette of the group gasped. "My goodness, and how!" She stepped forward and took up both of Duck's hands and shook them enthusiastically. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, my dear. I—we—all greatly admired your mother," she gushed and the other women nodded in agreement. "I had never seen a more passionate and beautiful performance of Odette than that of hers at her English premier."
"We first saw Elsa at her premier as Odette in London," recounted a ginger haired member of the quartet. "This was well before the war of course, and we were all dancers ourselves back then. We had heard rumors of a raising prima donna who had trained in Russia and was returning home to perform. But no one had heard of her before and we were all quite curious as to what she was like."
"Her technique was perfect and she had such charisma. Oh, I remember that performance created quite a stir at the time," a dark haired woman reminisced. "I had the pleasure of working with her in a production of the Nutcracker a few years afterwards. Even during practice you could see how passionate she was about her dancing. There was always a sparkle in her eyes, a spring in her step, so spirited and full of life. It's too bad your mother retired so early; I'm sure that had she continued with ballet, she would have become a prima donna assolutia."
"That's certainly right," the brunette lamented. "It was such a shock when I found out she was retiring. She was only 25 at the time, at the peak of her career! I could never understand what drove her to abandon the stage like that." She shook her head sadly. "Then, when I found out about her death, I was simply devastated. The world had lost a true artist and one of the greatest ballerinas of all time."
As the brunette finished her elegy, the ginger haired woman turned to Duck. "Say, how old are you, dear?"
"I'm 19," Duck answered reticently.
"Wasn't it 19 years ago that Elsa announced her retirement?" The blonde wondered aloud and shared a look with her friends before four pairs of eyes descended on Duck.
At their gaze Duck fidgeted uncomfortably. Despite feeling better about her role in her mother's early retirement after her conversation with Fakir, Duck could not completely let go of the feeling of guilt she'd been carrying for so many years. To have so many people standing in acknowledgment of that right now made her want to run and hide.
Seeing Duck's discomfort, the blonde cleared her throat and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, "What about your father? Is he here tonight as well? We never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance and would love to meet him."
"Yes, do introduce us to him!" the dark haired woman put in eagerly. "I hadn't known Elsa had been married until one of the girls in my company told me. I've always wondered what sort of man he is."
However this new topic only seemed to make Duck more uneasy. Shuffling her feet, her eyes fixed on the floor, Duck stuttered, "Um…actually, Father passed away before I was born. I-I only know he used to be a playwright, I think, and that he and my mother met in Moscow where he was producing a play."
"Oh my..." The brunette exclaimed quietly and brought her hand to her lips. "Before you were born? I'm so sorry, dear. Maybe that's the reason why Elsa retired."
"No, it couldn't have been," interrupted the ginger haired woman. "I remember our producer, Mr. Donaldson, once told me Elsa sent him a letter saying she wanted to start dancing again and asked if he knew anyone who's hiring. I remember that was 15 years ago because he told me right before I myself got married. But for some reason she never wrote back to him, and in the end never came out of retirement after all."
Ma had wanted to return to ballet? Duck was dumbfounded by the revelation.
Duck had always assumed her mother gave up ballet after giving birth to her, and that raising and caring for her had been the reason for Elsa's retirement. But now it seemed that was not true, that Elsa had still wanted to return to the stage. If that was the case then what made her change her mind? Why had she given up that idea and moved her family to the new world, never again to dance under the spotlight?
The quartet evidently had the same question as Duck, and she was called away from her thoughts when one or another of the women said, "And so that's the real mystery behind all this."
Here four pairs of eyes converged on the red head once again, and this time Duck slinked back involuntarily. "None of us could figure it out, so we simply had to ask you. Did your mother ever tell you what her reason was for retiring?"
Duck looked back at them helplessly. "Um, well…I…"
As Duck struggled for an answer, a short distance away Rue swept into the ballroom and picked up a glass flute from a passing tray. Putting the glass to her lips, she grimaced at the fizzy ginger ale, which was a poor substitute for champagne, and exhaled a frustrated sigh as she turned her eyes to the crowd.
Rue had been looking fruitlessly for Mytho, who after the performance had disappeared off somewhere. She scowled. Though she was loath to let him roam around the ballroom by himself, she realized that with her notoriety it was safer for him to remain anonymous in the crowd. Better to let him be, she thought reluctantly, her feet taking her into the crowd as she mulled over her thoughts.
Besides Mytho, Rue was also concerned about the absence of her father from the event. She had never known him to skip appointments, and he had sent word the day before, instructing them to meet him at the opera, yet there had been no message from him all day. She'd tried calling him after the performance but the butler who answered only told her he was occupied by some business and did not wish to be disturbed. Rue's first thought was of the problem with the unidentified witness, but with her father's convoluted web of associates and connections it could be anything. Whatever it was, for it to have kept him from attending the opera it had to be something urgent.
As Rue's eyes passed through the multitude of finely dressed guests they caught sight of a vaguely familiar profile a few feet away from her. Rue narrowed her eyes quizzically and approached the figure for a better look.
The young woman in the apricot dress was surrounded by a group of women, their eager expressions reminding Rue of cats that have cornered a mouse, whiskers twitching with anticipation. When the figure in the middle suddenly turned, Rue found herself looking into a pair of startled blue eyes, the same eyes that had once smiled at her from the doorway of a pointe shoe store, and Rue's own wine-red eyes flashed in surprise.
Duck had been desperately looking around for someone she knew so she could tactfully excuse herself. But she had never expected that person to be the classy young flapper who had graced her shop weeks before.
"Rue!" Duck exclaimed, their eyes meeting.
Turning to the blond spokeswoman of the group, Duck smiled sheepishly and started edging her way out. "Eh, I uh, there's someone I know over there that I need to talk to, excuse me."
Rue watched with one eyebrow raised as Duck toddled over and ducked behind her for cover. The ginger haired woman recognized Rue and approached the young heiress. "Why, if it isn't Miss Odile Legnani!"
Duck blinked at the unfamiliar name while the dark haired woman said to Rue, "I didn't know you are the friend of Miss Stannus here."
"We are...acquainted," Rue replied, glancing at Duck.
Just then, another one of the four women gestured towards the others regarding some enticing new point of interest.
"Well, it has been a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Stannus, and you too, Miss Legnani," one of the women quipped to Rue even as their feet started to shuffle away toward the next attraction. "We look forward to your next picture!"
Duck sighed a silent breath of relief once the group had moved away, leaving her alone together with Rue.
"So, what was that all about?"
"They knew my mother and were asking about her..." Duck scratched her cheek uneasily.
Rue scoffed. "Seemed like a bunch of nosy snoops to me. But besides that," she fixed her eyes on Duck, "I'm surprised to see you here."
Duck blushed when she saw Rue looking over the gown gifted to her by Rachel. She hastily explained, "I know the cousin of the lead soprano and she invited me to the opera. A-actually it was very out of the blue. In fact, I can't quite believe I'm here myself!"
As Rue was about to head off around the ballroom once more, Duck remembered the unfamiliar name by which Rue had been addressed. "So, why did she call you Odile if your name is Rue?"
"That's my screen name," Rue answered as she—with Duck in tow—meandered through the bustling party. "I've been using it for two years now, ever since I started making movies."
"I see, so you're an actress!"
Despite Duck's enthusiastic response, an affronted frown tugged at the edge of Rue's lips. "You've honestly never heard of that name before?"
"I don't go to the cinema all that often," Duck admitted, "but I think 'Rue' is a very nice name. What made you want to use a stage name?"
Rue stopped and exchanged her cup of stale ginger ale for a fresh, chilled glass from a passing tray. "A successful actress needs three things: talent, beauty, and a name people will remember you by. 'Rue' is too plain of a name so I choose to use a stage name instead. Which reminds me, call me 'Miss Legnani' in public; I don't want people to know that I have such an unglamorous name."
Following Rue's example, Duck also picked up a glass of the sweet beverage. "Er, I'll try, Miss Legnaah-ni," Duck drawled clumsily, struggling with the unfamiliar pronunciation.
"No, it's Legnani, Leg-nani. Say it correctly."
Duck paused, pursing her lips, and then looked fiercely determined. "Leg-nanny?"
At Duck's butchered pronunciation Rue rolled her eyes, but much to her own astonishment Rue found she couldn't hold back a chuckle. Collecting herself, the actress shook her head, not only at the red head's blunder, but in wonder of how it was that every time she was in the company of this girl, she always felt more at ease despite herself.
"Oh, never mind," Rue dismissed it exasperatedly, but with a smile still lingering on her face. "Not to put myself in the same category as those old hags, but you mentioned your mother was a ballet dancer once. You never told me her name."
"Her name was Elsa Stannus," Duck answered with none of her earlier hesitation. "Have you heard of her before?"
"No, I…" Rue paused. The last name of Stannus had not rung any bells but the name Elsa somehow sounded familiar. Rue could not recall where she could have heard it, so she answered, "I don't think so, but I might have. I'm not sure."
"Ma had retired when we came to New York, so people who knew of her are usually from Europe, back when she used to perform." Duck sipped her drink thoughtfully. "She did teach for a number of years at the Crown Dance Studio but other than that—"
"Crown Dance Studio?" Rue interrupted. "I used to practice there."
Duck considered this. "Really? Maybe that's why you've heard of Ma. She was very popular with her students."
"I didn't take classes there, but I know someone who did. We met there back when he—"
This time Rue was the one to be interrupted as a man in a dark suit came up to her and said in a low voice, "A message for you, Miss Corvo."
The man had stood close enough to Duck that she could make out the last two words he had spoken and her blue eyes widened. "Miss...Corvo?"
After that first sentence the man leaned in and whispered something into Rue's ear. Duck could not hear anything he was saying, but she watched as Rue's expression darkened, her thin black brows furrowing. She gave the man a curt nod and sighed resignedly.
Seeing Duck's confused mien, Rue said, "I need to go now. But before I leave, I want to give you something."
Rue asked the man for a pen, grabbed a napkin from the adjacent refreshments table and scribbled something onto it, startling Duck when the actress stepped right in front of her.
"Here's my number," she said, placing it into Duck's hands. "I'm usually very busy, but…" Rue paused, her expression remaining stoic but with a trace of pink tinting her high cheekbones, "I would like us to keep in touch. I don't suppose you have a phone at your place?"
Duck demurred, shaking her head mutely.
"Oh well then—I'll ring your shop if I want to reach you. What was its name again?"
"I-it's the Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop. But Rue..."
Clutching the napkin in her hands, Duck opened her mouth but found herself incapable of forming the words. Was Rue really related to Domenico Corvo? It couldn't be, could it? It had to be a coincidence! Duck wanted to say all these things, but a lump in the back of her throat prevented her from uttering a sound.
Rue was looking expectantly at Duck to finish her sentence when something behind Duck caught Rue's attention. Duck began to turn around to see what it was, but before she could complete the movement a hauntingly familiar voice made her blood run cold.
"Ah, there you are Rue. Father asked us to return home right away."
Duck found herself looking into the face of the man whose appearance had eluded her on two other occasions. Now she saw him clear as day, dressed in an exquisite white suit that put together with his soft layered hair and fair features, reminded Duck yet again of the reason that people would call him "the prince". But it was his eyes that Duck found herself looking into. They were a rich, amber color, nothing at all like that of a cold-blooded killer as she had imagined. And yet, Duck thought, there was an edge of hardness to them, like diamonds, beautiful but hard.
It was when the pair of golden eyes blinked that Duck realized he had also been staring at her as well, and above the chatter and noise of the party she saw his lips move and he whispered, "Elsa?"
Duck gasped mutely, not quite sure she had just heard what she thought she heard when Rue walked up to them, completely ignorant of the exchange.
"I know. Let's get going then," she said and wrapped her arms around Mytho's. When he didn't respond, she looked at him, askance. "Mytho?"
As if waking from a dream, Mytho glanced at Rue, then back at Duck, before he finally gave a small chuckle and smiled apologetically at Duck, "I'm sorry, miss, I must've mistaken you for someone else. If you'll excuse us." He nodded politely at Duck and with Rue on his arm, the couple turned away, following the man in the dark suit and disappearing in the crowd.
Duck was left where she stood, her mind gone blank at everything that had just transpired. There was no doubt in her mind that this man was Principe, the man Fakir and the police had been searching for so long. But his presence also meant that her new friend, Rue, was almost certainly related to Domenico Corvo, the man who helmed the monstrous organization that seemed completely untouchable.
This man, whose name was Mytho, who somehow knew her mother's name, this man with the amber eyes...the same eyes that oversaw a man's murder in cold blood…
With a jolt, Duck remembered her purpose here and the thought jumpstarted her mind back into working order. She looked around, wanting to tell Fakir about what had just transpired.
But Fakir was still gone and Duck had no way of letting him know where she was. Mentally kicking herself for not listening to him to stay where she was the one time it made a difference, Duck had no choice but to try to retrace her footsteps and hoped Fakir would be waiting for her back at their original location when she got there.
Likewise, Fakir had been engaging in his own search for Duck. When he had returned and found her gone he had cursed under his breath and canvassed the ballroom for her. But the building was huge and having no idea where she might have wandered off to, Fakir opted for a better vantage point and climbed up the stairs that led to the marble balcony overlooking the entire ballroom.
He'd been scanning the room when he spotted a red head frantically meandering its way around the crowd. Knowing that could only be Duck, Fakir descended the stairs and threaded his way through the party-goers towards her location. When he caught sight of the familiar lick of red unruly hair waving above the crowd like a flag, Fakir moved towards it and suddenly found Duck standing right in front of him.
"Idiot, I told you to stay—!" he began to reprimand her but to his surprise Duck grabbed his arms and started talking.
"I found him, Fakir! I found him! I was talking to Rue, whose last name turned out to be Corvo, when this man came up and whispered something to her and she said she had to go but—"
"Wait, Rue Corvo? You know Rue Corvo!? How?"
"She came to my shop once and she tried on a pair of toe shoes."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Fakir exclaimed, aghast.
"Because I just found out her last name tonight!" Duck retorted curtly, anxious to continue with her narrative. "So then she gave me her phone number. That was when he came up behind me, telling her that they should go, and I recognized his voice and I saw his face before he and Rue turned and left. He was dressed in a white suit and-and he has layered white hair!"
Fakir's brows furrowed. Seizing on the last few words, he said, "I know that. What else? What about his eyes? Did you see them this time?"
Duck gasped a moment to catch her breath. "Yes! They're amber colored, and I also heard his name—"
Fakir involuntarily felt his muscles tense and his chest tighten. The anger from his earlier encounter with Autor, his irritation with Duck wandering off on her own, all but disappeared, replaced by a rush of adrenalin and laced with a heavy sense of dread.
Clasping Duck's shoulder in a vice grip, the volume of his ensuing words caught the attention of those nearby yet he was too intent on this matter to pay that any heed. "What was his name?" he demanded.
Duck winced at Fakir's iron grip on her shoulder, but the intensity she saw in his green eyes made her cringe. It reminded her of the first time they had met, and for one unnerving second Duck felt as if she was back in that dark ally, feeling helpless and confused.
Slowly, she mumbled, "It-it's Mytho, but I can't be sure I heard it correctly—"
Before Duck could finish her sentence Fakir was gone.
Heedless of the people in his way, Fakir pushed and jostled his way towards the exit. The people around him faded into a blur of shapes and noises. Above the undecipherable din of the crowd Fakir could hear the echoed voices of two boys from long ago, standing by the side of a country road on a clear spring day.
"How long are you going to be gone?" asked the dark haired of the pair of teenage boys.
"I don't know, but it'll be a long and difficult journey. But you know, I'm not afraid, because this has always been my dream and I'll do anything to achieve it," answered the lanky fair-haired boy, a determined smile on his lips and a knapsack on the ground by his feet.
The dark haired boy didn't respond and stood glaring at the ground. His light-haired companion looked at him, puzzled, when finally the black haired boy looked up and turned back toward him, and spoke with a determined gaze set in his eyes, mirroring his companion's.
"I have a dream of my own as well, and no matter what, someday I'm going to make it happen. So you had better make sure you fulfill yours too, all right?"
The fair haired boy grinned. "That will be our promise then!"
Fakir stopped abruptly to avoid ramming straight into a startled couple and veered around them, their angry voices replacing the ones in his memories.
This can't be your dream Mytho! What happened? Where had you gone wrong?
Fakir's eyebrows creased with anguish as he clenched his teeth, clearing the final few feet into the ballroom's doorway.
Outside the theater Rue stood with her arms crossed, tapped her fingers impatiently for their car to pull up. Glancing at Mytho she found him gazing back at the building entrance, completely distracted. Wanting to know the cause of his strange behavior, Rue opened her mouth to speak but at that moment the Gray Ghost pulled up, and the liveried chauffeur quickly stepped out to open the door for her.
Telling herself she would ask him later, the actress stepped towards the car when a cold breeze swept by and she realized something was missing and grimaced. "Oh drat! I completely forgot about my coat."
"I'll go get it for you," Mytho said quickly and took off for the theater entrance before Rue could protest.
Once indoors again, Mytho slowed down his pace and gazed around the room, but did not see what he sought in the now nearly empty foyer. Seeing the ballroom entrance, he took a step forward but hesitated. After pausing for a moment, he reluctantly turned on his heels and went on to retrieve Rue's coat as promised.
With the coat in his arm, Mytho made his way back towards the theater entrance when a loud, rapid cascade of footsteps made him pause. Glancing behind him, Mytho glimpsed a man with slightly tousled jet, black hair, his breath heavy from excursion. Turning around, Mytho faced him directly.
The two men stood frozen in the doorway for an infinite moment, each gazing upon the other without uttering a word.
Fakir was the first to speak, but the voice that finally came through his lips was no more than a strangled whisper. "I can't believe it," he choked out. "Mytho…it really is you."
A/N: Just a few notes this time around, folks. For the attentive fans, you might have noticed I based the four women on the four girls seen in the advanced class with Rue in the canon. Their gossiping trait is purely my own invention as none of them had a speaking role in the anime. Also, according to Wikipedia ginger ale was used as a legal substitute for champagne in the 1920's, in addition to being a popular ingredient in mixed drinks.
tomoyoichijouji for beta-ing! :)Ch 8
"I'm so sorry Fakir! I tried! I really did!"
Duck and Fakir were in the grand ballroom of the theater along with the rest of the audience invited to the gala. Despite the multitude of famous and influential people milling around about her, Duck could only dwell on how she had fallen asleep in the middle of the opera. She had endeavored valiantly to stay awake, but has nodded off shortly after intermission and had woken up to the sound of applause at the end of the final act.
Fakir shrugged dismissively. "It's not as if she could see you in a place this big. And with the lighting no one on stage would be able to see past the first three rows."
"That's true, but..." Duck sighed dejectedly. She'd wanted to be able to fully enjoy this opportunity Rachel had given her, particularly since it was a personal invitation from the singer herself.
"You're getting distracted by this," Fakir reminded the moping red head. "Don't forget what we came here to do."
"I know, I know," Duck mumbled. At least though, she reconciled herself, she did get to hear Rachel sing after all. Although she hadn't a clue what the songs were about she could still appreciate the beautiful quality of Rachel's voice. Duck smiled at the recent memory.
"Ah, there you are!"
At the familiar voice both Fakir and Duck looked up and saw Rachel, who had changed out of her costume and was now wearing a lovely green gown, approach them with a man Duck had never seen before.
"I hope both of you enjoyed the performance," Rachel smiled, to which Duck responded effusively while Fakir merely grunted. Laughing, Rachel turned to the man at her elbow. "Duck, this is my husband, Hans. He was at work when you came by last so I didn't get a chance to introduce you to him."
"Glad to meet you," Hans nodded politely at Duck. "Rachel told me all about you and how supportive you were of her performance."
"Oh!" Duck giggled bashfully. "Well, uh, to tell you the truth I didn't really understand what the opera was about—that is, I mean, I didn't understand what the words were saying. It wasn't in English, I knew that much." She turned towards the opera singer with genuine curiosity. "What language were you singing in, Rachel?"
"It's Czech. I studied the language when I was in Prague and…"
While Rachel discussed the opera with Duck, Fakir discretely scanned the ballroom. There was no sign of the Corvo patriarch, and Fakir did not think he had seen him before the performance either. Dominico Corvo was not known to be a very public man; still, he would always let his presence be known at an event.
Fakir grimaced. There was the chance that he had miscalculated. Could it be that the old man did not attend tonight's reception or the opera? If so then there was little chance Principe would be present either and his plan would be in vain.
As Fakir agitated over the possibilities, his eyes caught the glint from a pair of spectacles in the crowd, and when he focused on its source, the detective's brows drew together. Across the room and half hidden by the other guests was Autor, standing in a far corner beside a marble pillar. Fakir would've otherwise ignored him, expect the other man's gaze was fixed on him and it was plain he was trying to catch Fakir's attention.
"Wait here, I'll be back in a minute," Fakir said to Duck, interrupting her conversation with Rachel.
"Fakir, where—" Rachel asked but her cousin was already gone. Perplexed, Duck watched Fakir dissolve into the crowd. Looking back at Rachel, she saw the singer was equally confused, with a touch of concern in her eyes.
At this time a party of well-wishers approached Rachel and the soprano touched Duck's hand in apology. "We'll talk more later, Duck. If there's anything you need just ask for me, okay?"
"I'll be alright, but thank you," Duck said, and watched as Rachel and Hans greeted the other guests and were swept up by the crowd.
Left to her own devices, Duck sighed. Other than Rachel and her husband she didn't know any of the other guests, and Fakir had gone off somewhere without an explanation.
Duck shifted uncomfortably in her heels. She wondered half-heartedly if she ought to look around the gala to see if she could find Principe, but remembered that Fakir had instructed her to stay put, to which she grudgingly obeyed.
As Duck continued to stand there, pursing her lips impatiently, someone came up to her from behind and said, "Pardon me, dear, but are you by any chance the daughter of Elsa D. Stannus?"
Fakir nudged his way through the crowd and came upon Autor in his secluded corner. Autor greeted the detective with a condescending smirk.
"What a surprise. Given the annual salary of a New York police detective I would never have expected to see you here."
Fakir however didn't take the bait. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Attending the opera. Surely a detective can deduce that much."
"Right, and I can also deduce that you standing here with a grin on your face is not a coincidence. I've already told you I'm not interested in any project you might have, so beat it."
Autor pushed up the bridge of his glasses, causing the lens to shift so that they hid his eyes. "Ah, but I must admit, my decision to attend the opera was due to a bit of serendipity. I found an interesting old newspaper clipping from my collection, one that I had nearly forgotten about until it quite literally fell out in front of me."
Confused by this seemingly unrelated tangent, Fakir frowned by kept listening.
"It was a notice, a small one, from 16 years ago about a double homicide," the journalist elaborated, and at the last two words Fakir's eyes widened as his hands balled into fists but he otherwise stood stock still as Autor continued. "The victims, according to the article, were a married couple who operated a small bookshop in the Bronx area. The police believed two armed suspects entered the store late at night and gunned down the victims. The crime was believed to be a warning from the mob, as it was known that the store was located in an area controlled by a racket affiliated with Don Corvo, and the couple had previously filed complaints with the police about solicitations and threats from the mob. There was a witness to the crime, for the couple's son had survived the murder. But he was unable to identify the perpetrators and ultimately no one was ever charged for the crime."
Here Autor paused and his voice was hush when he spoke again. "However the story doesn't end there. Riddled by guilt and a desire for revenge, the boy became a police detective for the New York Police Department when he grew up, and his name is—"
At that moment Fakir grabbed Autor by the collar and slammed him against the wall next to them. Fakir raised his fist, his green eyes flashing with fury. Autor sputtered breathlessly, "If this comes to light you will be pulled off the case! What's more, the judge would never accept the case because of your conflict of interest in its outcome."
At those words Fakir's fist froze in midair, hovering just a few inches away from the journalist's face. He stood glaring at Autor for a long moment. The rest of the party carried on behind them, but in the shadow cast by the pillar Autor held his breath and waited for Fakir's response.
"Go ahead and plaster it across the newspapers if you want." Fakir released Autor, disdainfully pushing the shorter man away before turning and walking back towards the crowd.
Autor gingerly straightened his crumpled shirt collar when Fakir stopped to glower back at the bespectacled man and said in a voice so frigid Autor could not suppress a shudder. "But you had better say your prayers," Fakir's eyes narrowed into menacing slits. "Because I don't care if it costs me my badge, I will make you pay for it."
With those parting words Fakir left a shaken Autor behind and disappeared into the crowd.
Duck's mouth dropped opened in surprise at the question. Turning to one side, a finely dressed blond woman in her early forties stood peering inquisitively at her. "Uh, yes, I am," Duck answered demurely.
"I knew it!" The woman smiled, deeply pleased, and explained, "I saw your mother at her premier performance many years ago. I had the great fortune of meeting her afterwards at the reception and I clearly remember the pendant she wore, the same pendant you are wearing now," she gestured at the jewel at Duck's throat. "And you look so remarkably like your mother, I fairly thought Elsa herself was here again tonight!"
Duck looked at the pendant, her eyes wide in amazement. The half dollar-size pendant was made from thinly cut pieces of translucent garnet set in a frame of gold, giving it a delicate, almost ethereal quality. Duck had long admired it when it was worn by her mother but she had never expected anyone else to recognize the object.
The blond lady turned to wave over her friends. "Ronnie," she called out as a trio of women approached. "I was right! Doesn't she look just like Elsa did back then?"
The brunette of the group gasped. "My goodness, and how!" She stepped forward and took up both of Duck's hands and shook them enthusiastically. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, my dear. I—we—all greatly admired your mother," she gushed and the other women nodded in agreement. "I had never seen a more passionate and beautiful performance of Odette than that of hers at her English premier."
"We first saw Elsa at her premier as Odette in London," recounted a ginger haired member of the quartet. "This was well before the war of course, and we were all dancers ourselves back then. We had heard rumors of a raising prima donna who had trained in Russia and was returning home to perform. But no one had heard of her before and we were all quite curious as to what she was like."
"Her technique was perfect and she had such charisma. Oh, I remember that performance created quite a stir at the time," a dark haired woman reminisced. "I had the pleasure of working with her in a production of the Nutcracker a few years afterwards. Even during practice you could see how passionate she was about her dancing. There was always a sparkle in her eyes, a spring in her step, so spirited and full of life. It's too bad your mother retired so early; I'm sure that had she continued with ballet, she would have become a prima donna assolutia."
"That's certainly right," the brunette lamented. "It was such a shock when I found out she was retiring. She was only 25 at the time, at the peak of her career! I could never understand what drove her to abandon the stage like that." She shook her head sadly. "Then, when I found out about her death, I was simply devastated. The world had lost a true artist and one of the greatest ballerinas of all time."
As the brunette finished her elegy, the ginger haired woman turned to Duck. "Say, how old are you, dear?"
"I'm 19," Duck answered reticently.
"Wasn't it 19 years ago that Elsa announced her retirement?" The blonde wondered aloud and shared a look with her friends before four pairs of eyes descended on Duck.
At their gaze Duck fidgeted uncomfortably. Despite feeling better about her role in her mother's early retirement after her conversation with Fakir, Duck could not completely let go of the feeling of guilt she'd been carrying for so many years. To have so many people standing in acknowledgment of that right now made her want to run and hide.
Seeing Duck's discomfort, the blonde cleared her throat and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, "What about your father? Is he here tonight as well? We never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance and would love to meet him."
"Yes, do introduce us to him!" the dark haired woman put in eagerly. "I hadn't known Elsa had been married until one of the girls in my company told me. I've always wondered what sort of man he is."
However this new topic only seemed to make Duck more uneasy. Shuffling her feet, her eyes fixed on the floor, Duck stuttered, "Um…actually, Father passed away before I was born. I-I only know he used to be a playwright, I think, and that he and my mother met in Moscow where he was producing a play."
"Oh my..." The brunette exclaimed quietly and brought her hand to her lips. "Before you were born? I'm so sorry, dear. Maybe that's the reason why Elsa retired."
"No, it couldn't have been," interrupted the ginger haired woman. "I remember our producer, Mr. Donaldson, once told me Elsa sent him a letter saying she wanted to start dancing again and asked if he knew anyone who's hiring. I remember that was 15 years ago because he told me right before I myself got married. But for some reason she never wrote back to him, and in the end never came out of retirement after all."
Ma had wanted to return to ballet? Duck was dumbfounded by the revelation.
Duck had always assumed her mother gave up ballet after giving birth to her, and that raising and caring for her had been the reason for Elsa's retirement. But now it seemed that was not true, that Elsa had still wanted to return to the stage. If that was the case then what made her change her mind? Why had she given up that idea and moved her family to the new world, never again to dance under the spotlight?
The quartet evidently had the same question as Duck, and she was called away from her thoughts when one or another of the women said, "And so that's the real mystery behind all this."
Here four pairs of eyes converged on the red head once again, and this time Duck slinked back involuntarily. "None of us could figure it out, so we simply had to ask you. Did your mother ever tell you what her reason was for retiring?"
Duck looked back at them helplessly. "Um, well…I…"
As Duck struggled for an answer, a short distance away Rue swept into the ballroom and picked up a glass flute from a passing tray. Putting the glass to her lips, she grimaced at the fizzy ginger ale, which was a poor substitute for champagne, and exhaled a frustrated sigh as she turned her eyes to the crowd.
Rue had been looking fruitlessly for Mytho, who after the performance had disappeared off somewhere. She scowled. Though she was loath to let him roam around the ballroom by himself, she realized that with her notoriety it was safer for him to remain anonymous in the crowd. Better to let him be, she thought reluctantly, her feet taking her into the crowd as she mulled over her thoughts.
Besides Mytho, Rue was also concerned about the absence of her father from the event. She had never known him to skip appointments, and he had sent word the day before, instructing them to meet him at the opera, yet there had been no message from him all day. She'd tried calling him after the performance but the butler who answered only told her he was occupied by some business and did not wish to be disturbed. Rue's first thought was of the problem with the unidentified witness, but with her father's convoluted web of associates and connections it could be anything. Whatever it was, for it to have kept him from attending the opera it had to be something urgent.
As Rue's eyes passed through the multitude of finely dressed guests they caught sight of a vaguely familiar profile a few feet away from her. Rue narrowed her eyes quizzically and approached the figure for a better look.
The young woman in the apricot dress was surrounded by a group of women, their eager expressions reminding Rue of cats that have cornered a mouse, whiskers twitching with anticipation. When the figure in the middle suddenly turned, Rue found herself looking into a pair of startled blue eyes, the same eyes that had once smiled at her from the doorway of a pointe shoe store, and Rue's own wine-red eyes flashed in surprise.
Duck had been desperately looking around for someone she knew so she could tactfully excuse herself. But she had never expected that person to be the classy young flapper who had graced her shop weeks before.
"Rue!" Duck exclaimed, their eyes meeting.
Turning to the blond spokeswoman of the group, Duck smiled sheepishly and started edging her way out. "Eh, I uh, there's someone I know over there that I need to talk to, excuse me."
Rue watched with one eyebrow raised as Duck toddled over and ducked behind her for cover. The ginger haired woman recognized Rue and approached the young heiress. "Why, if it isn't Miss Odile Legnani!"
Duck blinked at the unfamiliar name while the dark haired woman said to Rue, "I didn't know you are the friend of Miss Stannus here."
"We are...acquainted," Rue replied, glancing at Duck.
Just then, another one of the four women gestured towards the others regarding some enticing new point of interest.
"Well, it has been a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Stannus, and you too, Miss Legnani," one of the women quipped to Rue even as their feet started to shuffle away toward the next attraction. "We look forward to your next picture!"
Duck sighed a silent breath of relief once the group had moved away, leaving her alone together with Rue.
"So, what was that all about?"
"They knew my mother and were asking about her..." Duck scratched her cheek uneasily.
Rue scoffed. "Seemed like a bunch of nosy snoops to me. But besides that," she fixed her eyes on Duck, "I'm surprised to see you here."
Duck blushed when she saw Rue looking over the gown gifted to her by Rachel. She hastily explained, "I know the cousin of the lead soprano and she invited me to the opera. A-actually it was very out of the blue. In fact, I can't quite believe I'm here myself!"
As Rue was about to head off around the ballroom once more, Duck remembered the unfamiliar name by which Rue had been addressed. "So, why did she call you Odile if your name is Rue?"
"That's my screen name," Rue answered as she—with Duck in tow—meandered through the bustling party. "I've been using it for two years now, ever since I started making movies."
"I see, so you're an actress!"
Despite Duck's enthusiastic response, an affronted frown tugged at the edge of Rue's lips. "You've honestly never heard of that name before?"
"I don't go to the cinema all that often," Duck admitted, "but I think 'Rue' is a very nice name. What made you want to use a stage name?"
Rue stopped and exchanged her cup of stale ginger ale for a fresh, chilled glass from a passing tray. "A successful actress needs three things: talent, beauty, and a name people will remember you by. 'Rue' is too plain of a name so I choose to use a stage name instead. Which reminds me, call me 'Miss Legnani' in public; I don't want people to know that I have such an unglamorous name."
Following Rue's example, Duck also picked up a glass of the sweet beverage. "Er, I'll try, Miss Legnaah-ni," Duck drawled clumsily, struggling with the unfamiliar pronunciation.
"No, it's Legnani, Leg-nani. Say it correctly."
Duck paused, pursing her lips, and then looked fiercely determined. "Leg-nanny?"
At Duck's butchered pronunciation Rue rolled her eyes, but much to her own astonishment Rue found she couldn't hold back a chuckle. Collecting herself, the actress shook her head, not only at the red head's blunder, but in wonder of how it was that every time she was in the company of this girl, she always felt more at ease despite herself.
"Oh, never mind," Rue dismissed it exasperatedly, but with a smile still lingering on her face. "Not to put myself in the same category as those old hags, but you mentioned your mother was a ballet dancer once. You never told me her name."
"Her name was Elsa Stannus," Duck answered with none of her earlier hesitation. "Have you heard of her before?"
"No, I…" Rue paused. The last name of Stannus had not rung any bells but the name Elsa somehow sounded familiar. Rue could not recall where she could have heard it, so she answered, "I don't think so, but I might have. I'm not sure."
"Ma had retired when we came to New York, so people who knew of her are usually from Europe, back when she used to perform." Duck sipped her drink thoughtfully. "She did teach for a number of years at the Crown Dance Studio but other than that—"
"Crown Dance Studio?" Rue interrupted. "I used to practice there."
Duck considered this. "Really? Maybe that's why you've heard of Ma. She was very popular with her students."
"I didn't take classes there, but I know someone who did. We met there back when he—"
This time Rue was the one to be interrupted as a man in a dark suit came up to her and said in a low voice, "A message for you, Miss Corvo."
The man had stood close enough to Duck that she could make out the last two words he had spoken and her blue eyes widened. "Miss...Corvo?"
After that first sentence the man leaned in and whispered something into Rue's ear. Duck could not hear anything he was saying, but she watched as Rue's expression darkened, her thin black brows furrowing. She gave the man a curt nod and sighed resignedly.
Seeing Duck's confused mien, Rue said, "I need to go now. But before I leave, I want to give you something."
Rue asked the man for a pen, grabbed a napkin from the adjacent refreshments table and scribbled something onto it, startling Duck when the actress stepped right in front of her.
"Here's my number," she said, placing it into Duck's hands. "I'm usually very busy, but…" Rue paused, her expression remaining stoic but with a trace of pink tinting her high cheekbones, "I would like us to keep in touch. I don't suppose you have a phone at your place?"
Duck demurred, shaking her head mutely.
"Oh well then—I'll ring your shop if I want to reach you. What was its name again?"
"I-it's the Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop. But Rue..."
Clutching the napkin in her hands, Duck opened her mouth but found herself incapable of forming the words. Was Rue really related to Domenico Corvo? It couldn't be, could it? It had to be a coincidence! Duck wanted to say all these things, but a lump in the back of her throat prevented her from uttering a sound.
Rue was looking expectantly at Duck to finish her sentence when something behind Duck caught Rue's attention. Duck began to turn around to see what it was, but before she could complete the movement a hauntingly familiar voice made her blood run cold.
"Ah, there you are Rue. Father asked us to return home right away."
Duck found herself looking into the face of the man whose appearance had eluded her on two other occasions. Now she saw him clear as day, dressed in an exquisite white suit that put together with his soft layered hair and fair features, reminded Duck yet again of the reason that people would call him "the prince". But it was his eyes that Duck found herself looking into. They were a rich, amber color, nothing at all like that of a cold-blooded killer as she had imagined. And yet, Duck thought, there was an edge of hardness to them, like diamonds, beautiful but hard.
It was when the pair of golden eyes blinked that Duck realized he had also been staring at her as well, and above the chatter and noise of the party she saw his lips move and he whispered, "Elsa?"
Duck gasped mutely, not quite sure she had just heard what she thought she heard when Rue walked up to them, completely ignorant of the exchange.
"I know. Let's get going then," she said and wrapped her arms around Mytho's. When he didn't respond, she looked at him, askance. "Mytho?"
As if waking from a dream, Mytho glanced at Rue, then back at Duck, before he finally gave a small chuckle and smiled apologetically at Duck, "I'm sorry, miss, I must've mistaken you for someone else. If you'll excuse us." He nodded politely at Duck and with Rue on his arm, the couple turned away, following the man in the dark suit and disappearing in the crowd.
Duck was left where she stood, her mind gone blank at everything that had just transpired. There was no doubt in her mind that this man was Principe, the man Fakir and the police had been searching for so long. But his presence also meant that her new friend, Rue, was almost certainly related to Domenico Corvo, the man who helmed the monstrous organization that seemed completely untouchable.
This man, whose name was Mytho, who somehow knew her mother's name, this man with the amber eyes...the same eyes that oversaw a man's murder in cold blood…
With a jolt, Duck remembered her purpose here and the thought jumpstarted her mind back into working order. She looked around, wanting to tell Fakir about what had just transpired.
But Fakir was still gone and Duck had no way of letting him know where she was. Mentally kicking herself for not listening to him to stay where she was the one time it made a difference, Duck had no choice but to try to retrace her footsteps and hoped Fakir would be waiting for her back at their original location when she got there.
Likewise, Fakir had been engaging in his own search for Duck. When he had returned and found her gone he had cursed under his breath and canvassed the ballroom for her. But the building was huge and having no idea where she might have wandered off to, Fakir opted for a better vantage point and climbed up the stairs that led to the marble balcony overlooking the entire ballroom.
He'd been scanning the room when he spotted a red head frantically meandering its way around the crowd. Knowing that could only be Duck, Fakir descended the stairs and threaded his way through the party-goers towards her location. When he caught sight of the familiar lick of red unruly hair waving above the crowd like a flag, Fakir moved towards it and suddenly found Duck standing right in front of him.
"Idiot, I told you to stay—!" he began to reprimand her but to his surprise Duck grabbed his arms and started talking.
"I found him, Fakir! I found him! I was talking to Rue, whose last name turned out to be Corvo, when this man came up and whispered something to her and she said she had to go but—"
"Wait, Rue Corvo? You know Rue Corvo!? How?"
"She came to my shop once and she tried on a pair of toe shoes."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Fakir exclaimed, aghast.
"Because I just found out her last name tonight!" Duck retorted curtly, anxious to continue with her narrative. "So then she gave me her phone number. That was when he came up behind me, telling her that they should go, and I recognized his voice and I saw his face before he and Rue turned and left. He was dressed in a white suit and-and he has layered white hair!"
Fakir's brows furrowed. Seizing on the last few words, he said, "I know that. What else? What about his eyes? Did you see them this time?"
Duck gasped a moment to catch her breath. "Yes! They're amber colored, and I also heard his name—"
Fakir involuntarily felt his muscles tense and his chest tighten. The anger from his earlier encounter with Autor, his irritation with Duck wandering off on her own, all but disappeared, replaced by a rush of adrenalin and laced with a heavy sense of dread.
Clasping Duck's shoulder in a vice grip, the volume of his ensuing words caught the attention of those nearby yet he was too intent on this matter to pay that any heed. "What was his name?" he demanded.
Duck winced at Fakir's iron grip on her shoulder, but the intensity she saw in his green eyes made her cringe. It reminded her of the first time they had met, and for one unnerving second Duck felt as if she was back in that dark ally, feeling helpless and confused.
Slowly, she mumbled, "It-it's Mytho, but I can't be sure I heard it correctly—"
Before Duck could finish her sentence Fakir was gone.
Heedless of the people in his way, Fakir pushed and jostled his way towards the exit. The people around him faded into a blur of shapes and noises. Above the undecipherable din of the crowd Fakir could hear the echoed voices of two boys from long ago, standing by the side of a country road on a clear spring day.
"How long are you going to be gone?" asked the dark haired of the pair of teenage boys.
"I don't know, but it'll be a long and difficult journey. But you know, I'm not afraid, because this has always been my dream and I'll do anything to achieve it," answered the lanky fair-haired boy, a determined smile on his lips and a knapsack on the ground by his feet.
The dark haired boy didn't respond and stood glaring at the ground. His light-haired companion looked at him, puzzled, when finally the black haired boy looked up and turned back toward him, and spoke with a determined gaze set in his eyes, mirroring his companion's.
"I have a dream of my own as well, and no matter what, someday I'm going to make it happen. So you had better make sure you fulfill yours too, all right?"
The fair haired boy grinned. "That will be our promise then!"
Fakir stopped abruptly to avoid ramming straight into a startled couple and veered around them, their angry voices replacing the ones in his memories.
This can't be your dream Mytho! What happened? Where had you gone wrong?
Fakir's eyebrows creased with anguish as he clenched his teeth, clearing the final few feet into the ballroom's doorway.
Outside the theater Rue stood with her arms crossed, tapped her fingers impatiently for their car to pull up. Glancing at Mytho she found him gazing back at the building entrance, completely distracted. Wanting to know the cause of his strange behavior, Rue opened her mouth to speak but at that moment the Gray Ghost pulled up, and the liveried chauffeur quickly stepped out to open the door for her.
Telling herself she would ask him later, the actress stepped towards the car when a cold breeze swept by and she realized something was missing and grimaced. "Oh drat! I completely forgot about my coat."
"I'll go get it for you," Mytho said quickly and took off for the theater entrance before Rue could protest.
Once indoors again, Mytho slowed down his pace and gazed around the room, but did not see what he sought in the now nearly empty foyer. Seeing the ballroom entrance, he took a step forward but hesitated. After pausing for a moment, he reluctantly turned on his heels and went on to retrieve Rue's coat as promised.
With the coat in his arm, Mytho made his way back towards the theater entrance when a loud, rapid cascade of footsteps made him pause. Glancing behind him, Mytho glimpsed a man with slightly tousled jet, black hair, his breath heavy from excursion. Turning around, Mytho faced him directly.
The two men stood frozen in the doorway for an infinite moment, each gazing upon the other without uttering a word.
Fakir was the first to speak, but the voice that finally came through his lips was no more than a strangled whisper. "I can't believe it," he choked out. "Mytho…it really is you."
A/N: Just a few notes this time around, folks. For the attentive fans, you might have noticed I based the four women on the four girls seen in the advanced class with Rue in the canon. Their gossiping trait is purely my own invention as none of them had a speaking role in the anime. Also, according to Wikipedia ginger ale was used as a legal substitute for champagne in the 1920's, in addition to being a popular ingredient in mixed drinks.
