creative

Dish and Spoon – Part I

In the land of Neap, there lived a soup bowl. 

She wasn’t an extraordinary soup bowl. She was averagely shaped and hand made: a little crooked around the bottom, with chip on the left edge (don’t ask me to explain how it works, but does.) 

Nor was she a particularly useful soup bowl. She was small, and just a tad too deep for the soup to cool quickly. 

But she was unique. For in the entire collection of bowls and pates and mugs that lived in the lady of the cottage’s cupboard in the land of Neap, this soup bowl was the only one that was colored. 

She was a yellow soup bowl, with delicate green vines painted around its rim, and a blue circle right in the bottom. She rather reminded those who ate from the bowl of a flipped sky. Those that used the bowl often found themselves pondering odd things, such as why the sky was blue; or why didn’t plants grow with their roots in the air; or why was the snow white instead of palest purple? (Neap was a magical land, and had its fair share of absurdities: Purple snow wasn’t entirely out of the question).

Most importantly, when people ate from the yellow soup bowl, they felt at home, welcome visitors to the little cottage on the edge of the deep dark woods. 

Well then. Now that the introductions are done, our tale shall continue. 

One day, the yellow soup bowl sat on the counter. She was currently being used to hold potato peels. The lady of the cottage was preparing a large cauldron of stew. This was a hearty stew, filled with lots of good things like potatoes and onions and carrots and even a few rutabagas, in addition to delicious chunks of beef and pheasant. 

While so occupied, the yellow soup bowl thought to herself: 

It is rather nice to be useful, even if I’m not being used for soup. 

As the smells of simmering vegetables filled the cozy kitchen, the soup bowl buzzed with delight. 

“Maybe mistress will use me for strew today!”

While being a pretty bowl had its merits (all the other bowls and plates envied the yellow bowl’s glossy finish and pretty green leaves) it also had its drawbacks. 

You see, the yellow soup bowl only got used when there were no other bowls to be had. Either too many were dirty and were piled in the sink, or there were more guests than bowls. 

It was wonderful to be of use,  no matter the method. But nothing beat the purpose for which she was made. 

The yellow soup bowl sat there for a good amount of time, basking in the aromatics of the simmering cauldron. Then the lady set her knife down, stretched her back, and went to retrieve some herbs from her garden. 

“Sst. You there. Yellow bowl!” A voice came.

The yellow bowl sought the sound, perplexed (do not ask me to explain how a bowl, or any utensil for that matters, perceives the world. There are some mysteries best left unsolved).

“Who, me?” The bowl asked to the kitchen at large. 

“Yes. You. With the tato skins.”

The bowl turned, the chip on her left edge now facing the window outside. She could perceive the lady stopping to admire her lavender bush through the wavy glass. 

“What? Where are you?” The bowl asked again. 

“I’m here.”

There came a terrible clattering jangle as one of the wooden mixing spoons wiggled on the rack from which he hung. 

“Oh. You’re a spoon!”

“Yes I am. And you’re a bowl.”

“A yellow soup bowl, to be precise.”

The spoon gave the impression of raising an eyebrow. 

“But you have tato skins in you.”

“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful to be used?”

The spoon scoffed.

“Pfah, I wouldn’t know. Lady barely uses me.”

This the soup bowl could relate to.

“Oh. Me too.”

“But you have tato skins in you.”

“Yes, but I so much prefer to have soup in me, only it’s becoming rarer and rarer that she uses me for that purpose.” 

Taken aback by the sudden flood of words, the spoon just hung there for a moment. 

Then:

“Well. That’s all fine and dandy for you, bowl. At least you get used at all.”

The soup bowl felt a pang of pity for the spoon. What was life with no purpose? To be, without fulfilling your created duty?

“Surely Lady uses you more than that?” The bowl asked hopefully. 

The spoon shook its scoop rather sadly. 

“Nay. She used me but once when she got me, then hung me up and forgot about me.” 

“That can’t be!” Cried the bowl. 

“See for yourself,” the spoon indicated the myriad other spoons littering the kitchen counter and sink. “She has no use for me. That’s why I’ve decided to go away. On an adventure!”

The bowl gasped. 

“Go away? Where? How?” 

The spoon considered a moment. 

“I’ve no idea. But I’m going to, soon.”

Further conversation was prevented by the return of the Lady. She shredded the rosemary leaves from the stems, dropping the fragrant herbs into the cauldron before setting the stems in the yellow soup bowl. 

The bowl glowed, happy to be of use. But she wasn’t as content as she was before. As the hearty stew finished cooking, and the Lady didn’t empty the potato skins from her, the yellow soup bowl began to consider what the spoon had said. His words rang through her mind for the rest of the day and long into the night. 

***

The yellow soup bowl sat on her shelf for nigh on a month, with nary a glance from the lady. She’d been so sad when she’d placed it there, in the dust and cobwebs. Surely she would be cheered if she just ate a bowl of soup from her yellow soup bowl? Or even a nice helping of custard? 

But no. She all but ignored the soup bowl. She seemed to forget she was there. 

The soup bowl’s spirit quavered. Then she began to feel restive. 

She looked at the rack where the spoon had been. Indeed, he was still there.  

Seeing the spoon there, unused, unseasoned, the soup bowl had an idea. 

It was bold and daring, and so unlike her that she nearly didn’t follow through with it. But when the Lady once again overlooked the soup bowl for a drab, plain clay one, the yellow bowl made up her mind. 

Late that night, after Lady had gone to sleep, the yellow soup bowl wiggled to the edge of the cupboard and whispered. 

“Spoon! Spoooooon!”

A few spoons rattled and mumbled in their various nests. But the wooden one didn’t move.

“Oye! Spoon! Wooden spoon on the rack!”

“Mm. Wha? Whozit?”

“It’s me. The yellow soup bowl.”

“Oh. What do you want?”

“You were right!

“Eh? I was? Well of course I was… about what?”

“I’m bored. And I want to be useful. Er… more useful. Or something…” the bowl added, thinking she had the better deal of the two of them, despite being ignored for a month. 

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I want to go away with you.”

Silence met that proclamation. 

“Well? What do you think?” She asked, tentatively. 

More silence. 

“Spoon?”

The soup bowl’s spirits were plummeting back into despair when the spoon spoke at last. 

“Well that’s a brilliant idea. Let’s do it.”

Una Nota

Ciao, Belli. Just another brief note that should be taken into consideration when reading any of these lovely Hero/Villain pieces.

I’ve written them with the intention of being vague. The technicalities of the dynamic is up to you, my lovely readers. These pieces are essentially exercises for working on tone, character dynamic, dialogue, and brevity.

Hero/Villain aren’t chronological, and can technically be read in any order. A Treacherous Path could follow Dangerous Temptation, or could be considered an alternate version, or read with a completely different set of characters in mind (this is how I’ve intended them to be).

So. That’s all from my end, for the moment.

Go forth and enjoy the day, my lovelies!

KU

A Treacherous Path

Trigger warning for violence, dub con, and minor sexual content

After losing yet another fight, the Hero woke once again in the Villain’s home.They were tied, as usual, to an uncomfortable chair. Though this time they were in what they assumed was some sort of sitting room. Though, given the presence of only a single love seat across from the their chair, they had to assume this room served other, darker purposes most of the time.

Disgusted with themselves, with the Villain, and with the world in general, the Hero immediately began working at the knots that bound their hands. The Villain’s rope work was spectacular as usual, but the Hero had been doing research. In a matter of minutes and a few dislocated joints, they had their hands and one foot free. They were working on the other one when the Villain entered the room. 

“Wha…” the Villain gaped, dropping their tea. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered. 

With a snarl the Hero tore the remaining rope from their body, and launched themselves at the Villain. This was a rare opportunity and they weren’t going to waste it. Besides, they had a score to settle.

Coming within reach, the Hero flung a fist at the Villain, hoping the suddenness of their attack was enough. 

It wasn’t. With effortless grace, the Villain dodged the blow, and landed one of their own on the Hero’s ribs. 

The Hero grunted, but turned and attacked again. 

“Well isn’t this fighting spirit new,” the Villain commented, dodging one punch only to take a kick to their upper thigh. They staggered, but maintained their defensive position. 

“Oh, it’s always been here,” panted the Hero, eyes burning. 

“Has it? I hadn’t noticed.”

The Hero yelled, and threw themselves at the Villain. Shockingly, the direct attack worked. The Villain – surprised at finding the Hero free, and unbalanced from the blow to their leg – wasn’t fast enough. They tried to slip aside as they always did, but instead caught the Hero’s bulk full in the chest. 

They barely had time to catch their breath before the Hero slammed them into the wall, knocking the wind from them again. Using the moment, the Hero grabbed their neck, locking their fingers behind their jaw. The Villain’s eyes bulged in surprise. 

“I should crush your throat,” the Hero growled. “For what you did to my Sidekick.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s got you so worked up.” The Villain grabbed the Hero’s shirt and twisted, searching for a hold. They kneed the Hero in the thigh, stepped on their feet, but it was no use. The Hero’s grip was relentless. As was the weight of their body, keeping them pinned against the wall. “I was wondering when that would come up. I should have thought of it soo-achk-“

Their taunt was cut off as the Hero upped the pressure on their throat. 

The Villain had a moment of panic as their vision darkened on the edges. But they found they still had a voice. 

“Do it then,” the Villain goaded, vocal cords whistling. Their eyes gleamed dangerously. “Avenge your Sidekick.”

The Hero sneered, and nearly lifted the Villain off the ground. 

The Villain smirked, despite being choked. They knew they had the upper hand now. 

“Ah. But you… won’t, will… You… You’ve proven… that before.” 

The Hero snarled and leaned in, thinking rapidly. Clearly threats of physical harm didn’t work with on the Villain.  Their face was a breath from the Villain’s.

 A sudden thought occurred to them, something that could potentially put the odds in their favor.  

They slackened their grip on the Villain’s neck and closed the distance. They breathed on the Villain’s lips, holding the Villain’s gaze with their own. 

“What are you doing?” The Villain asked, bemused and completely nonplussed. They even stopped struggling, their body still.

“I…” The Hero’s chest rose and fell with startled breaths. It hadn’t worked. But something had shifted. “I don’t…”

Suddenly the tension between them was different. More heated. 

One moment, they’d been seconds away from killing each other, the next…

The Villain pulled on the Hero’s collar, bringing them closer.

Their gazes locked.

And then they were kissing. 

Frantically. 

Viciously. 

The Hero’s hands shifted from the Villain’s throat to cup their head and grab their hair, and the Villain wrapped their arms around the Hero, suddenly needing to truly feel them. 

The Hero broke the kiss first, gasping. 

“What are you doing?” They rasped, fingers till tangled in the Villain’s glossy hair. 

“I don’t know.” The Villain giggled. “You started it though, and isn’t it wonderful?” They kissed the Hero again, fingers digging into the muscles of their back. 

Deciding to return the odds to their favor, the Villain reached up and jerked the Hero’s hair, pulling their head back. 

The Hero let out a startled yelp that turned into a sigh as the Villain began kissing their neck. They pressed kisses to the hollow of their throat, their collar bone, the pocket behind their jaw, and was pleased to hear the Hero’s breathing become even more ragged. 

Backing them up towards the love seat, the Villain pressed the Hero to their knees. The Hero didn’t resist, instead pulling the Villain down with them. 

With no idea what they were doing, but enjoying it all the same, the Villain straddled the Hero’s hips and leaned the Hero back until their back was pressed into the couch cushions, chest and throat beautifully exposed. 

This was certainly a new way to play their little game. And the Villain was far from disappointed with this development.

With a quick shrug of their shoulders the Villain freed themselves from the Hero’s arms. Grabbing their wrists, they extended and pinned the Hero’s arms down, holding them in place with the weight of their body. Staring down at the Hero, prone before them as they should be, the Villain decided they wanted to continue whatever this was shaping up to be. They kissed the Hero again, letting their desire for control guide them. 

The Hero struggled, but only half heartedly, and after a few seconds they melted into the Villain’s rhythm.

Forgetting themself and their game, the Villain released one of the Hero’s hands to run their hand under the Hero’s shirt.

“Oh Hell,” the Villain breathed, feeling the Hero’s body in a completely new way.

Finding a hand free, the Hero briefly considered fighting, doing anything besides continuing to maul the Villain’s face. Instead they wrapped an arm around the Villain’s back and pulled them closer. 

A surprised gasp escaped the Villain at the new friction between them, and the Hero grinned like a cat. 

Clearly this was a game, and two could play.

Feeling the Villain tense, the Hero lurched forward, sending the Villain sprawling backwards. The Hero sprang after them and straddled them, pinning their shoulders to the ground with their elbows. 

Perplexed, the Villain stared at the Hero, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. 

The Hero looked down at them, surprised at themselves. 

“What now?” The Villain asked, trying and failing to keep their tone steady; their voice cracked halfway through the question. 

Digging their elbows in, the Hero leaned forward, savoring the way the Villain gasped in discomfort. 

“Now?” The Hero mused. Their expression turned positively devious. They shifted their hips, and the Villain tipped their head back, eyes closed, throat bobbing as they swallowed a moan. “Now, I leave you with a parting gift.”

Leaning down, they kissed the Villain hard and swift. Then they shot to their feet and bolted out the door, leaving the Villain too stunned and frustrated to follow. 

***

The Hero didn’t stop running until they reached the street outside. They took the stairs three at a time, practically falling on the bottom flight in their haste to get away from… whatever that was. 

On the street, the night air was cool against their flushed cheeks. The Hero slowed to a brisk walk, feeling like their skin was too tight.

They took a shaky breath, mind reeling.

They shook their head, surprised to find that they were trembling.

But they weren’t… scared. They were… 

Exhilarated. 

Blinking, the Hero realized with horror that they liked the feel of the Villain’s hands on them, the way they…

No. The Hero thought. I shouldn’t be… We’re sworn enemies, nemeses. Hero, and Villain. I can’t afford to let the Villain get to me like that. Especially not after what they did.

They thought about what the Villain had done to their Sidekick, tried to elicit some of the rage they’d felt such a short time ago. It was there, that rage and hate. But it didn’t feel as potent in light of what had transpired between themself and the Villain.

Their thoughts strayed back to the feeling of the Villain beneath them, of the Villain at their mercy for once. 

It was intoxicating, that kind of power. 

The Hero suddenly understood the Villain on a level they never thought they would, and wasn’t sure they wanted to. 

Shaking themselves from their dazed reverie, the Hero turned a corner and hailed a cab. They were in no state to drive. Besides, the likelihood of a Minion lurking by their car was high, and they didn’t want to go back to that room. Back to the Villain.

At least not yet.

Sliding into the back seat of the cab, and absently giving their address, the Hero couldn’t refute the fact that they had been the one to initiate the shift in the game.

 And as much as they wanted to deny it, to deny everything that had just happened, the Hero knew they had just taken a step down a very treacherous path indeed. 

An Addition

Hello my lovelies! (again)

I have a number of playlists dedicated to Hero/Villain pieces, and it occurred to me that I could share them here! So, here you go!

Elegant Villainy: which inspired Evil Tea Party
Fekin Fabulous, let’s have a great time
Hero/Villain angst

Dangerous Temptation

Trigger warning for violence

The fight had been longer than usual.

Once again, it was the Villain who instigated.

Wasn’t it always the Villain who instigated? I suppose it depends on who you ask.

But this time, the Hero had the upper hand. It was rare that this happened. And so often in the past had they let their opportunity pass, that this time… this time… the Hero would have the final word.

After downing the Villain, they hadn’t left the Villain for whichever Minion to find. No, they’d taken the Villain to their own special bolthole. It was nicer than a warehouse, but not much more comfortable. The Hero started using the abandon mansion as a sort of sanctuary when the rigors and responsibility of being a Hero got to be too much. Here they could relax. Here, they could experiment.

“What…” the Villain spat, waking up with a jerk. They were poorly tied in an uncomfortable chair, the Hero sitting before them. This had never happened to them before. They weren’t entirely sure they liked it. But they didn’t dislike it either. This position had an air of… opportunistic irony about it that they could appreciate.

The Hero leaned forward and grabbed their cheeks with their nails. The Villain tried to pull away, expression defiant, but the Hero held them fast. 

The Villain heaved a sigh. 

“I schposh…” they drawled around the Hero’s fingers. The Hero released them enough to speak. 

“I suppose this is you thinking you’re clever, isn’t it?” 

The Villain leaned back, exposing their chest while they stretched their legs out. A pity about their hands and arms being tied. Their neck hurt. 

“You think that after me being your prisoner.. what… once? Will ever make you my equal?” 

The Hero glared and started to say something but the Villain cut them off with a laugh.

“You’re pathetic! If you think this…” they shrugged their arms, spread their knees. I”s enough to cow me…” 

The Hero snarled and slapped the Villain. And was met with another laugh. 

“AHAH! FINALLY!” They laughed again, gleefully. “You’re finally realizing the value of physical violence. Come on, do it again.” 

The Hero blinked at the Villain. 

“What?” 

“Oh please. Hit me. Hit me again, with all the strength you have.”

The Hero hesitated and the Villain kept talking. 

“Or are you too morally right? Too polite to-” 

The Villain grunted as the Hero punched them hard in the face. The Hero felt surprisingly better for it. 

“You talk too much,” the Hero said. 

Head still to the side, the Villain gave the Hero a side eye. 

“Yes, it’s because everyone else is a bore. Someone has to make up for-” 

The Hero hit them again, and this time the amusement faded from the Villain’s face. Blood trickled from their nose to their lips. 

They looked at the Hero, noted their heightened breathing, the barely restrained rage burning in their eyes. 

A soft chuckle escaped the Villain, and they spoke again in a slightly nasally voice. 

“Yes. You see? The power it gives you, having someone at your mercy.”

They straightened, and let their head fall back, a sensual smile playing shout their bloody lips. 

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”

“SHUT UP!” The Hero yelled. They shoved the Villain in the shoulders, sending them and the chair to the floor. The Villain grunted upon impact, but was relieved to find the ropes had untied in the fall. 

“But why?” The Villain said from the ground, awkwardly peering at the Hero. “Because you don’t like the truth of what I’m saying?” 

“No. Yes… Gah…” The Hero’s shoulders fell, their expression crumpling in confusion. 

“It’s alright my darling Hero.” The Villain wiggled their hands free of the knots. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“Oh, but I do. I understand you completely.”

“I’m nothing like you! The hero hissed, some of their fire returning. I’ll never be like you.” 

The Villain hummed.

“You say that now…” 

In  a flash they were on their feet, the rope in their hands. Before the Hero could react the Villain had the rope wrapped around their neck. They twisted, and the Hero gasped, clawing at the Villain’s hands. 

“But one day soon you’ll realize…” The Villain’s voice was silky as hey twisted the rope further. The Hero hacked and choked. “There are benefits of giving into your desires.” 

They leaned in and tenderly kissed the Hero’s cheek. 

“So you see,” they murmured. The Hero was nearly unconscious. “You just have to take what you want, when you want. And when you do that?” They peered into the Hero’s bloodshot eyes. “That is when you are truly free.” 

With that they released the rope and sauntered to the door. The Hero fell to their knees, chest and shoulders heaving as they sucked in breath after breath, tears and spit running down their face. 

“If you ever decide to pursue some more… illicit interests,” the Villain said, pausing in the doorway. “You know where to find me.”

And they were gone. 

As the Hero regained their breath, their throat aching, they thought about where it went wrong. They didn’t know. But the Villain’s words…

The Hero punched the floor, bloodying their knuckles.

The Villain had ended the fight with the upper hand.

Again.

Damn it.

Glaring at the door, the Hero made a vow to themselves. One day. One gods’ damn day, they would come out on top, no matter what.

Oh look at that!

She’s alive!

Yes. I am alive. And thriving, for the most part.

See, I figured it’s only fair to give you lovelies an update after 6 months’ absence. So here we are! For the most part, I’ve been doing the working mid-twenty-something thing, working full time at a tasting room. I mean, what could be better than selling wine (or, as I call it, the adult happy juice?) well… getting paid for writing could be better, but that’s something that will come.

And come it will! Hopefully. Soon. But who knows. Ya see, I finally finished a first draft of a novel!

*throws confetti and glitter*

And while that’s a wondrous milestone for me (who has like 12 working drafts they’ll happen eventually okay?) I don’t think I fully appreciated the Herculean task of editing. *cries writer tears* It’s not that I don’t want to do it. I do. A lot. It’s just that I didn’t realize how much more work there was to do to make this story what I want it to be.

HOWEVAH! All is not lost nor is it hopeless. I’ve done a fair bit of editing thus far, and while I recognize that I’ll have at LEAST 5 drafts before the thing is finally done, I’m loving the process. I’ve had at least one beta reader finish and give me feedback, and knowing that someone (even if it’s my mama) enjoyed the story, makes it all worth it.

So that’s what’s up. Wine, and words (both of the written and read variety). I do want to get back to writing my little pieces here, and hopefully as things further settle for me, those will come sooner and more frequently than they have.

On that note, I do have one final piece stockpiled in the notes. And after this wee little update, it only seems fair that I share it.

Consider it as a teaser. And a promise. A promise that The Modern Bard will get back to her shenanigans.

Love you, my dear readers!

See you in the next post.

KU

P.S. I just noticed that I have 392 readers (or so wordpress tells me) and I cannot express my gratitude, nor my appreciation and awe, that so many of you dearies have found my blog through one means or another. So, from the bottom of my ink-stained heart, thank you.

I must get the kettle before it starts screaming in earnest.

Succession

A Hero/Villain piece

TW for violence

Sounds of fighting reverberated around the abandoned construction sight. Shouts, grunts, and fists hitting flesh mingled with the overall soundtrack of the night-shrouded city. 

And yet no one knew of the fight besides a few sleepy pigeons in the scaffolding, unbothered by the violence unfolding beneath them.

A crack echoed, followed by a scream, and the Villain sagged in the Hero’s grip. With a grunt of effort and disgust the Hero flung the Villain away. 

The Villain grunted and cried out again, rolling twice before stopping, their cane feet out of reach. They struggled to their knees, only to be shoved back down as the Hero’s kicked them in the chest.

“Please…” the Villain rasped, blood trickling from their lips. “That the worst you can do?” Movement caught their eye, and they saw the Sidekick emerge from the room where they’d kept them for the past two days. 

Catching their look, the Hero looked around. Renewed rage filled their eyes to see the Sidekick stagger into the light, battered and scraped. 

The Sidekick, ropes still hanging from their wrists, watched in horror as the Hero grabbed the Villain by the collar and began punching them in the face repeatedly. 

“STOP! The Sidekick cried. They ran forward, and grabbed the Hero’s bloody fist, stopping another blow. 

“This isn’t the way!”  They cried. The Villain’s head lolled, blood pouring from a broken nose. Their shoulder was dislocated, hanging awkwardly at their side. 

“It’s not your way, maybe.” The Hero growled, eyes flashing.

“Wha…?” 

With jerky movements, the Hero stood, shoving the Villain down where they lay slowly moving in pain, their breaths whining through a bruised throat. 

Steely resolve shone in the Hero’s eyes as they reached into an inner pocket. 

“What are you…” The Sidekick began. Their eyes widened as the Hero drew a gun, leveling it at the Villain. 

The Villain wheezed on a laugh, blood burbling on their lips. 

“You can’t do it… we’ve been…”

An ear-shattering bang sounded, echoing around the concrete and metal structure, finally startling the pigeons into panicked flight.

The Sidekick screamed, and the Villain slumped back, dead. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The Sidekick cried, half hysteric. 

“I did what had to be done.” The Hero’s voice was devoid of emotion. “They’d have killed you. I killed them first.”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER!” The Sidekick was shaking. “You’re the Hero!”

The Hero looked at the Sidekick, expression sympathetic. 

“Exactly. I’m the Hero. The press will believe me when I say I acted in your defense.

“But…” the Sidekick swallowed a sob. “But that isn’t… that’s not how these things are… should be done! You taught me that.”

The Hero hummed, tapping the warm barrel of the gun to their lips. A smudge of gun powder remained behind. 

“Be that as it may, can’t things be different?”

The Sidekick looked at the Hero, confused despite the horror of what they’d seen. 

“What?”

“Cant things be different. Together we can change things. You and me. We can make it so there won’t ever be the need for Heroes again.”

“This isn’t you.” The Sidekick began backing away. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. “What do you mean?”

 The Hero’s expression turned hurt. 

“Of course it’s me. It’s your Hero. I’m the same person you joined up with all those months ago.”

“No. You… you’re different. Something…” the Sidekick stuttered into silence at the sudden change in the Hero’s eyes. 

“Something what?” They asked. 

“Something changed in you.”

“Fah. Nothing changed. I’m still the same. My eyes were just opened fo the follies of the old ways. But together,” the Hero stepped closer, eyes fevered. “Together you and I can make this city whole. We can change THAT for the better. And after that?” Their eyes gleamed. 

“No. You’re wrong.” The Sidekick continued ending away, the Hero pacing after them, and only stopped when their back hit the wall. “You’re just… You’re becoming the Villain!” 

Silence resounded through the site. 

“What did you say?” The Hero’s voice was deadly quiet.  

The Sidekick stood up straighter, expression set.  

“You heard me. You’re becoming what you swore to stop.”

The Hero laughed then, a harsh sound so at odds with their familiar and once-kind face. 

“Don’t you see? I did stop it. I stopped the Villain.” They pointed at the Villain’s battered body. The Sidekick glanced, and looked away quickly. 

It was all wrong. 

“Yes. But what cost?” The Sidekick asked quietly. 

The Hero regarded them steadily, considering. 

“I see,” they said. They sounded sad. “I understand.” They took a step forward, and the Sidekick cringed away, hands grasping for something, anything, to use as a weapon. “You just don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” The Sidekick’s hand found something loose and metal. They grabbed it, but kept it hidden. 

“My vision.” The Hero signed, suddenly exhausted. “And I can’t have shortsighted people working with me. You’ll only slow me down.”

They primed the gun, and the Sidekick suddenly understood. 

“This is your last chance,” the Hero said, leveling the gun at the Sidekick’s chest. “Are you with me? Or-“

The Sidekick, cold metal in their hand, didn’t hesitate. 

“No.” 

Before the Hero could react beyond a narrowing of their eyes, the Sidekick swung. They caught the Hero in the face with a slim metal pipe. A sickening sound followed the impact. 

The Hero shrieked in pain, clamping a hand to their eyes, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” They screamed, curling forward. Blood dripped between their fingers, papping on the concrete. Snarling, the Hero’s hands dropped away, and the Sidekick bolted from the sight of the Hero’s contorted face. From the one bloody eye socket and the remaining eye that was filled with fury. Nothing remained of the person they’d met and spent so much time with.

And come to love, in their own way.

“YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!” The Hero lunged for the Sidekick, but missed, their depth perception forever skewed. 

The Sidekick dodged the grab, and ran as fast as they could while the Hero continued screaming profanities behind them. 

They burst out into the empty yard of the site, tripping over boards and other hazards. They didn’t care. 

“YOU WILL PAY!” Screamed a voice they didn’t recognize as the Hero’s. “YOU HEAR ME?! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!”

The Sidekick tripped, skinning their hands and knees as they slid over the gravel and sand covered ground. They barely felt the sting as they struggled to their feet and kept running. They didn’t stop until they were a mile away, the Hero’s tortured screams echoing in their mind. 

What have I done? The Sidekick thought, staggering to a stop under a street light, gasping for breath, and in horror. 

The Villain was dead, killed by the Hero. 

And the Hero was…

The Sidekick sank to their heels, curling around themselves, and wrapping their blood-speckled-hands around their knees. The ropes were still hanging from their wrists. 

With an agonized cry they struggled out of the coarse cords, flinging them as far away as possible. They grabbed their hair, failing to keep the panicked sobs from escaping. 

The Hero had become the Villain, hadn’t they? 

And that meant-

They were the Hero. 

Devotion

A Minion/Villain piece.

A little different from previous posts, this piece introduces a new, recurring character: The Minion. After all, what is a Villain without a Minion, or a Hero without a Sidekick?

“Where were you? The Villain’s voice was cold. 

Caught in the middle of removing their coat, the Minion looked up, finding their Mastress sitting in a chair by the bay windows. Dusk was falling, staining the sky plum and citrine as a curtain of depthless indigo descended over the world. 

“I was running errands,” they said, hanging their coat and scarf on the rack. “Some of the supplies were low, and I thought-“

“Come here,” the Villain interrupted, waving at them to approach. 

Obediently, the Minion came to stand at the Villain’s side.  

“Why did you not tell me?” The Villain’s tone sent a thrill of warning through the Minion’s chest.  

“You were busy,” they said truthfully, hands stuffed in their pockets. “When I got back with the supplies you were still locked in your office, so I met someone for dinner.”

“Who did you meet?”

The Minion hesitated, fearing to say too much. 

“A friend.” It was true, to a point, but they didn’t want the Villain involved in their personal life more than they already were. 

Without warning The Villain surged to their feet and wrapped their hands around the Minion’s neck, driving them to their knees. The Minion didn’t resist, merely met the Villain’s gaze with something like resigned trust. 

“You are mine!” The Villain growled, squeezing just tight enough for the Minion’s eyes to widen in surprise. A moment later they released the Minion’s throat with a scoff, only to grip their cheeks instead, digging their nails in. “Do you understand?” They hissed. “Mine, and mine alone.” 

The Minion inhaled gently, relieved to have the Villains hands off their neck. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, nor would it be the last. Still, it was unsettling. 

“Say it.” The Villain’s voice was harsh, their expression difficult to read. 

The Minion blinked once, slowly, holding the Villain’s unwavering gaze. 

“I am yours.” They said softly, devoutly. 

“And?” The Villain dug their nails in harder. The Minion suppressed a wince. 

“Your wish is my command, Mastress.” 

A tense moment passed, neither so much as breathing. 

“Good.”

With a flourish the Villain released the Minion, leaving red crescent moons etched into the skin of their cheeks. 

Slowly, so as not to provoke them, the Minion rose to their feet, assuming a neutral stance. 

“Mastress?”

The Villain pressed their fingertips to the bridge of their nose, eyes closed.

“It’s been a long day,” the Villain sighed, as if carrying on a previous conversation. As if nothing untoward had happened. “I require a drink. You know which, I take it?” 

“Of course.” 

The Minion was about to leave when the Villain stopped them with a gentle touch on their shoulder. Pausing, the Minion turned, their chest a mere breath from the Villain’s. 

“I haven’t told you this enough, darling,” the Villain murmured. “But you… you are the reason…”

The Minion raised a hesitant brow when the Villain didn’t continue. 

“The reason?”

Forgoing an answer the Villain pressed their lips to the Minion’s, lingering just long enough to convey a vague sense of desperation. Grinning as they pulled back, the Villain savored the warring expressions on the Minion’s face; confusion, desire, fear, concern. 

“Why, you’re the reason I remain so fabulous, despite the Hero’s best efforts to make me otherwise.” 

The Minion nodded, a bemused smile on their mouth. 

“It’s my pleasure, Mastress,’ they said, their expression settling back into carefully practiced neutrality. “Shall I get your drink then?” 

The Villain waved their hand dismissively, the kiss already forgotten. 

“As you will, my dear.” 

Bowing slightly, the Minion departed. When they returned the Villain had resumed their seat by the window, staring out at the night-enshrouded cityscape below them. Without a word they set the drink on the table at the Villain’s elbow. 

“Do you require anything else, Mastress?” They asked. 

The Villain merely waved their fingers. But rather than cupping their chin again they took the Minion’s hand, staying their departure. 

“Stay here tonight,” they said. Their thumb traced idly over the Minion’s knuckles. “I want you ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mastress.” 

The Minion returned the pressure of the Villain’s grasp before slipping their fingers free. 

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll turn in, then.” 

Nodding idly, the Villain continued contemplating the view, knuckle pressed to their lips in thought. 

Taking the silence as a dismissal, the Minion headed for their bedroom, the door on the far side of the room. They stepped through and were about to close it when they paused. 

“Good night, Mastress,” the Minion said. 

“Good night, my darling. Sweet nightmares.” 

The Minion smiled and closed the door.  

Grey

A Hero/Villain Piece

In which a new, recurring side character is introduced: The Sidekick.

“So it comes to this,” the Villain sneered. Defiance flashed in their bruised eyes as they glared at the Hero from their knees. They took a deep breath, refusing to grimace as their ribs creaked. The Hero could hit hard when they wanted to. And if they were properly motivated. The Villain relished the satisfaction of a job well done, despite the pain. They had finally found the Hero’s weakness. At the cost of a few broken ribs and ruined coat, sure, but they knew how to plan for the future now. 

“Doesn’t it always?” The Hero asked. They looked impassively down at their nemesis. Blood covered the Villain’s face and stained their once impeccably white shirt. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt was smeared across their chest, and their pants were ripped at the knees, their boots scuffed beyond repair. The remains of their coat lay in tatters around them, the fabric little more than threads. 

“Well, yes. But I’m usually the one standing over you crowing my victory.”

The Hero ignored the Villain’s jape, and turned to look at the wall behind them.

“Are you alright?” They called.

“Y… yes!” Came the quavery reply. From around the corner appeared the Hero’s Sidekick. They were battered and shaky on their feet, but at least they were alive. 

Seeing them, the Villain laughed, a harsh, maniacal cackle that frayed the Hero’s nerves. They’d heard that laugh too many times, and it never boded well.

“Stay where you are,” the Hero barked as the Sidekick approached.

“But they’re-”

“DO WHAT I SAY!” The Hero’s voice took on a quality that surprised the Villain. The Hero sounded… Frightened? Furious? That was interesting.

With a look that mirrored the Villain’s sentiment, the Sidekick stopped just out of reach. They wrapped their arms around their torso, shielding the cuts and bruises the Villain knew were visible through their thin, ripped shirt. After all, the Villain had inflicted them personally. 

Silence filled the warehouse, the sounds of the night-enshrouded city reaching the trio as if through a fog. It was one of the Villain’s favorite locations in the city. Just central enough to run the risk of getting caught, but just far enough out of the way that it was unlikely for screaming to be heard.

“I’m surprised,” the Villain rasped, breaking the relative silence. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to kill me.” They coughed, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm on the ground, disgusted with their mortality.

“You changed the rules when you brought them into this,” the Hero said, jerking their head at their Sidekick. “It was supposed to be just you and me. No one else.”

“Oh my darling Hero, such naiveté. It was never just about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can you say it was only ever about us with an entire city out there?” If it didn’t hurt so much the Villain would have gestured to encompass the surrounding metropolis. As it was, they sat up a little straighter, staring the Hero in the eyes. “It’s always been about them.” The Villain nodded at the Sidekick, who flinched as if they’d been struck. “About how they perceive us. How we affect them.”

“It’s not. You’re wrong,” the Hero whispered, anger flickering in their eyes. The cuts on their knuckles cracked open as they clenched their hands; blood trickled down their fingers.

“Am I?” The Villain laughed again, coughed, and sagged back onto their heels, supporting themself with an arm braced on the ground. Monologging was difficult with broken ribs. “Tell me, my Hero. When has anyone from the city ever asked about you, personally?”

The Hero’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly. You see, it was never about us. It’s always been about our game, and what that game brings to news feeds and conversations. They don’t care about us. Hero, Villain. It makes no difference. We’re just actors to them, never mind that we live and walk among them. Even your lovely fragile Sidekick over there thinks so. Look at how they adore you, worship you, as if you’re nothing but an idol.”

“Then why did you bring them into this?” The Hero asked, eyes flicking to their Sidekick. They watched the exchange with rapt attention, proving the Villain’s point.

A satisfied smile crept across the Villain’s face.

“The game was growing stale. The masses’ attention was wavering. It was time to bring in a new player.”

Without warning, the Hero drew a gun from an inner pocket and leveled it at the Villains’ chest. Their carefully neutral visage cracked, their face filled with loathing.

The Villain’s eyes widened in fear for but a second before they schooled their own expression into unconcerned indifference. But the Hero saw the fear. Had they been looking anywhere but the Villain’s face, they would have missed it.

“Oh come on, really?” The Villain taunted. “Since when-“

“Since you made it personal.”

The Villain shrugged, the movement coming across as nervous rather than nonchalant. “It’s always been personal, my dear. Why do you think I chose you? Why I chose them?”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting. More interesting than other Heroes I’ve broken in the past. You’re resilient in a way that I admire. You remind me of me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

The Villain chuckled. “We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”

The Hero didn’t say anything, but kept the gun leveled at the Villain. The Sidekick looked from one to the other, trepidation and confusion etched on their young face. 

“Go on then, do it!” The Villain surged to their feet so the barrel of the gun was inches from their chest. “You don’t have what it takes, do you? To kill someone in cold blood? Not unless you’re defending yourself or someone you love.” The Villain spat, ’love’ sounding like it burned their tongue. 

An ugly sneer contorted the Hero’s face as they struggled to keep their hand from shaking. They swallowed, and the Sidekick pressed a hand to their mouth, their eyes riveted on the Hero. 

After tense moment the Hero lowered the gun, never breaking eye contact with the Villain. 

“I knew you couldn’t do-“ the Villain’s taunt morphed into an agonized scream as the Hero shot them in the leg, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse with deafening violence. The Villain fell back to their knees with another scream as their leg buckled.

“Oh my god!” The Sidekick yelled in horror.

The Hero glared down at the Villain. An unexpected, not wholly unwanted sense of pleasure bloomed through them as the as Villain writhed in pain at their feet for once. 

“You talk too much,” they said, failing to suppress an ironic smile.

“That’s no reason to shoot me!” The Villain groaned, holding their bleeding, mutilated thigh with a white knuckled grip. 

Chuckling, the Hero crouched down and took the Villain’s jaw between their fingers, pressing the barrel of the gun lightly against the Villain’s cheek. Their pleasure only grew to see genuine fear and doubt cross the Villain’s face. 

“Perhaps not,” the Hero said, their voice icy. “But kidnapping and torturing my Sidekick is.”

The Villain growled, and jerked their head away. The Hero let them, standing in a fluid movement. 

“You said the game was growing stale,” the Hero continued. “But you’re not the only one who can change the rules.”

With a turn the Villain reluctantly appreciated, the Hero strode away.

“Come on,” the Hero said as they neared their Sidekick, gently taking their arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But what about them?” The Sidekick asked, looking back at the Villain as they headed for the nearest door.

“Them?” The Hero looked over their shoulder, eyebrows raised.

The Villain snarled, lost their balance, and fell on their side with a grunt, blood oozing between their fingers to stain the concrete beneath them. “Don’t worry about them. Let’s go.”

The Hero and Sidekick were at the door when the Villain spoke up.

“Don’t leave me here, damn it!” They cried, desperation and pain tingeing their voice.

“You’ll be fine.” The Hero waved a dismissive hand, turning their back on their nemesis. “You always are, aren’t you? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t make a miraculous recovery.”

Without looking back the Hero guided their Sidekick outside, the Villain’s enraged, pained scream echoing after them. 

***

Fifteen minutes later the Villain staggered to their feet, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints in their wake.

Reaching the nearest wall, they sagged against it for support while they caught their breath. Their… everything fucking hurt, but their other injuries were pale trivialities compared to searing pain of the bullet wound.

With a grunt, the Villain pushed themself off the wall and kept going. As much as they wished they could call death and destruction down upon the city in petty vengeance, they knew that revenge was a dish best served cold and well prepared. 

Looking at the door through which the Hero had left, a satisfied chuckle shook itself from the Villain. 

During the Hero’s righteously indignant exit, they failed to remember their Sidekick. The Hero had been so determined to have the final word that they didn’t notice the youth glance back at the Villain, didn’t notice the look of reluctant, misplaced sympathy filling their eyes.

Oh, yes. The Villain thought. This time revenge is going to be sweeter than your cries of pain, my dear.

“You want to play that game, do you?” The Villain hissed, fear and pain replaced by furious determination.” They took another hobbling step forward and fell to their hands and knees with a strangled cry. Gritting their teeth, the Villain forced themselves to their feet, to take another step. A glint caught their eye, and the they reached down to retrieve a steel pipe. It was thin, if a little heavy. It would have to do for now. “Fine, we’ll play that game.” The Villain took an experimental step, using the pipe as a cane. They didn’t fall. “And before we’re finished, you’ll wish you had killed me when you had the chance.” 

Harbinger

A Hero/Villain piece.

The Villain sat back in their chair, swirling their wine with a practiced hand. The fifteen year old bottle of Syrah they had opened for the evening was perfect. They held the glass to their nose, inhaling deeply. They smiled, took a sip. The flavor started with dark fruits, predominantly blackberry. Rolling the wine on their tongue, the profile turned smoky, and as they swallowed the sip ended with a strong, full-mouthed cherry flavor that had them shivering. 

They sighed with pleasure. The grandfather clock in their entryway chimed eleven times.

“You know,” they said, addressing the rim of their glass as the last reverberations faded. “If you weren’t so damn rude, I’d offer to share.” 

“Who’s to say I want to share anything with you?” Came the response. 

Looking through the crystal clear glass, the Villain raised a sardonic eyebrow at the Hero, handcuffed to a chair opposite them. Faded bruises covered the Hero’s forearms, a scabbed cut marred their left cheek, and their hair, while clean, was a mussed tangle. Hidden under their shirt, a deep cut and other bruises covered the Hero’s torso.

“Considering the fact that we’ve been sharing the same residence for nigh on a fortnight, I would expect you to be a little less abrasive.” The Villain took another sip of wine, never taking their eyes off the Hero.

The Hero snorted and raised their hands, the chain between them clinking before drawing taut. 

“Says the person who chains their house guests to chairs.”

“As I have told you every day since your arrival, it’s for your own good.” 

Scoffing, the Hero slumped and winced as their shoulders shifted. 

“You were the one who sought me, remember?” The Villain’s eyes flicked over the Hero’s features, their posture, the way their hair fell into their face.

The Hero glared at the Villain. 

“That doesn’t-“ they began.

“But it does,” The Villain interrupted, voice sharp. The Hero fell into a sulky silence . “Let’s see,” the Villain continued. “As I remember, it was a cold and rainy night.” 

Rolling their eyes, the Hero resigned themselves to yet another monologue. 

“And I was just sitting down to a perfectly cooked rib-eye and French potatoes when someone knocked on my door. Pounded, more like. Intrigued, I got up, answered the door. And who of all people was standing there, dripping blood on my new doormat?

“I was not dripping blood.”

“You clearly hadn’t seen yourself,” the Villain lilted. “You passed out without so much as a ‘hello, may I come in?’ the instant the door opened. If I say you were dripping blood, you were dripping blood. A lot of it.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with-“

“My dear, it has everything to do with this story. Bloodied as you were, I had little choice in the matter but to take you in. Clearly something had gone wrong. Otherwise why would you, my nemesis, seek my house in the middle of the night?”

The Hero gave the Villain a peeved look. 

“Alright, yes. Fine. I was in a scrape and needed somewhere to lay low.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you came to me, the person you’ve yet to bring to justice.”

“I… Well you still haven’t explained why you cuffed me to a chair the instant I woke up and tried to leave.”

The Villain threw back their head and barked a laugh before taking another generous sip of their wine. 

“Darling, it is because you tried to leave that I cuffed you to a chair. You think I’m just going to let my favored nemesis leave after staining some of my best towels without having a bit of fun? Besides, I didn’t want you undoing my stitching handiwork.”

Even as the Hero rolled their eyes, they knew the Villain’s stitching was impeccable. They weren’t about to admit it though. 

“Well then. Why don’t you let me go since you say I am so rude and a burden? The cut is healed, you took the stitches out two days ago.”

The Villain sniffed. They stood, poured themselves more wine, and settled back in their chair with a sigh. 

“Point the first: I never said you are a burden, just rude. And point the second…” Their grin was wicked. “I will let you go when I tire of your company.”

Heart rate increasing, the Hero edged their chair away from the Villain. Yes, they had helped the Hero, but that didn’t mean they were to be trusted.

“Oh please, I’m not going to gut you,” the Villain said, throwing a leg over a knee, shoes gleaming in the low light. “At least not yet. Now why the hell did you come to me?”

The Hero’s jaw worked for a moment, trying to form the words to respond. The sudden shift in tone, from convivial to interrogative, had thrown them. 

“I… A job took a turn.”

The Villain quirked a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Fine. I was jumped. Outnumbered, taken off guard!” The Hero huffed, flustered by the unwavering stare. They hated that stare, and the Villain knew it. “I tried running, tried using my power, but I didn’t want to hurt the civs. One of the thugs knifed me in the side before I–“

“Did you use your power then?” The Villain’s calm voice was tinged with excitement.

“Yes. If I hadn’t the bastards would  have gutted me in that damn alley.”

“Kill anyone?”

The silence that followed was answer enough for the Villain. They started laughing. First quietly, barely a chuckle. A moment later they were laughing uncontrollably, the wine glass shaking in their hand. 

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” The Hero, struggling against their cuffs. 

“Oh but it is!” The Villain gasped. They were shaking so hard they barely managed to set their glass down without shattering it on the side table. “The fact that you killed a few thugs, even in self-defense… Tell me. Did you enjoy it?” 

Defiance flashed in the Hero’s eyes, but the Villain caught something in the Hero’s expression that paused their laughter.

“You did, didn’t you? You enjoyed watching the fuckers die by your hand, by your power.”

“I didn’t!” The Hero protested, despite knowing it was pointless. In truth, they had enjoyed it. The sense of righteous vindication gave them enough energy to make it out of the alley and to the Villain’s front door.

“Only a Hero would say something like that, denying they enjoyed giving the Villains their own back.” The Villain fell into another fit of cackles. The longer they laughed, the more concerned the Hero became. They’d never seen the Villain lose control like this, and it was more terrifying than any level-headed threat they made in the past.

In another few moments the Villain had regained their composure. 

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.” They said, fighting a grin. 

When the Hero didn’t say anything the Villain stood, unfolding from the chair like a flower. 

“I’m glad you came to me,” they said, stalking towards the Hero. “And not those saps at the hospital. Do you know why?”

“No. And I’m not sure I want to know.” The Hero strained against the handcuffs. Despite everything, they hadn’t worried about their safety – hadn’t felt threatened –  for nearly two weeks. Now they weren’t so sure. Fear coursed through their limbs with the realization they were completely at the Villain’s mercy. 

The Villain stopped a foot from the Hero. They crouched and took the Hero’s jaw between their well manicured fingers. “I told you I’ve kept you here for your own good, though you don’t believe me.”

The Hero grunted, jerking their head back. The Villain dug their fingers in, forcing the Hero to look them in the eye. “I did so because I don’t want you running off and getting yourself killed.” They leaned in, brushing their lips against the shell of the Hero’s ear. “That’s my job, darling. And when I undertake a job, I assure it’s properly done. None of these half assed attempts that leave you two-thirds dead and bleeding out on my imported Persian rugs.”

The Hero shuddered.

“Then why help me at all?” They whispered. Even though the Villain patched them up, they still weren’t strong enough to do anything useful. Like fight back, or escape. 

“Because, my lovely,” The Villain murmured. They pressed a kiss to the Hero’s temple. “When the Heroes fall, no matter how far, the game gets so, so much more interesting. When I let you go I want you to remember this conversation.”

The Hero shuddered. 

“I want you to know,” the Villain continued in a lover’s whisper, “that when we meet again as foes, I’ll know if you hold back. Do you want to know what I’ll do then?”

“What?” The Hero’s voice was rough with fear and something else they didn’t want to recognize. 

“I’ll make sure you and your cadre of Heroes never hold back again.”

The Villain pulled the Hero’s face closer to their own, mouths a breath apart. Before the Hero could sneer or resist, the Villain brushed their lips to theirs in a kiss before whisking back to their chair.

“You are free to go.” The Villain said, back facing the Hero, hand resting on their chair. They spoke as if they hadn’t just threatened the Hero with a kiss. “You’ll find the key to the handcuffs in your front pocket.”

As the Hero tried to processed what just happened, the Villain strode across the room and into their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind them. 

“What the fuck was that?” The Hero whispered. 

When the Villain didn’t return and the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway, the Hero groped in their pocket. The key was there. Wasting no time they undid the cuffs. Standing, joints creaking and popping in protest, they crept to the front door. They were about to unlock it and slip away when they noticed their coat, bloodstains gone, hanging on a coat rack. Their boots, cleaned and polished to a shine, stood beneath them. Shaking their head the Hero slid into the familiar embrace of their coat, tugged their boots on, and came to a sudden decision. Tiptoeing back to the living room they splashed wine into the Villain’s empty glass. They took a sip and were pleasantly surprised. 

It was delicious. 

The Hero finished the pour, rueing the fact they hadn’t been more polite, corked the wine bottle and slid into an inner pocket. It was the least the Villain owed them for keeping them chained to a chair for the better part of two weeks. 

Finding a notepad in a drawer, they scribbled a missive and left it unsigned. Satisfied, they made their way back to the entryway just as the clock chimed twelve thirty. As they opened the door, the Hero cast one look back at the room before slipping silently into the misty night. 

***

The Villain emerged from their room late the next morning, clad in a satin dressing gown. Entering the living room they weren’t surprised to see the chair vacated, the handcuffs laying where they’d fallen, but they felt an annoying twinge of disappointment. 

Irritated at the sentiment, they shrugged off the feeling and retrieved their glass. They noticed the half-full bottle of Syrah was missing the same moment they noticed the notepad, placed more or less exactly where the bottle had been. Intrigued, they picked it up.

Best wine I’ve had in years. Thanks for “sharing” the rest. 

A smirk crept across the Villain’s face. 

“I’ll make a Villain of you yet, my darling Hero. Just give me time.”

With a chuckle they padded to the kitchen, mind already working on the next phase of their plans.