Escapology #2 (Patreon)

Hi, can you please do a continuation of Escapology ;) 

--

Part 1 

“You want me to what?”

The villain’s study never looked anything like the civilian expected – but, perhaps, with their knowledge that the villain spent a fair amount of time paying other people to pretend to be them and playing roles, that was the most ‘just like them’ thing possible.

It was the civilian’s third time in the villain’s study, since the villain had first revealed themselves.

That time, the room was bland and expensively corporate. All very tasteful. All very completely lacking any real traits of personality.

The villain leaned back in their cliché black swivel chair; boots propped up carelessly on the table in a way that would no doubt make the civilian’s father flinch.

“While I appreciate it is not as fun as me tying you up,” (pause, to allow the civilian to choke and splutter), “your skills in escapology would make you an excellent thief,” the villain said. “The lockpicking is a clearly transferable skill, and that’s not getting into the creative thinking and problem solving initiative you’ve displayed. I simply thought it worth raising the point.”

“I’m not becoming a thief.”

“You don’t strike me as politician.”

“I don’t want to be a politician either!” The civilian folded their arms. “There are options between doing what my father does, and doing what you do, you know.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“The Klimt you recently liberated may disagree with you.”

The villain smirked at that, mischief briefly flaring in their eyes. “You have no proof that was me. Besides.” They waved a hand. “I didn’t take it personally.”

“What do you do, personally?”

The civilian may have paid more attention to the villain than before, after their meeting. They’d always had some awareness of them, given their father’s position and their habit of getting kidnapped, but upon realising that the villain played more than one role, they’d started to look for threads beyond the obvious ones that the villain attached their well-known costume and mask to.

“Find new ways to restrain you?” the villain offered.

The civilian shot them a look.

The villain bit down on their lip, in a rather obvious ploy to keep their smirk from broadening. “I bake a lot of different pies,” they said. “Think of me as a project manager, if you will. I see opportunities. I see connections. I see people with untapped potential. Such.” They uncrossed their ankles and swung their legs down, “as you.”

“The potential to be a thief.”

“If you can get out, you can typically also reverse engineer how to get in.”

The civilian wondered, with a sting of ridiculous hurt, if this was the end point of the game they had been playing. Of the villain’s strange friendship. Recruitment. They rubbed, idly, at the ligature marks curled around their wrists. They would fade by the time the civilian got home, but…

“I’ve offended you,” the villain said.

The civilian’s gaze shot back up to the villain’s face, in surprise. The villain had stilled, brow furrowed a bit as if they were confused, head cocked as if to peer into the civilian’s soul for further answers. The civilian looked down again and cleared their throat.

“Is it the implication I think you may be a good criminal?” the villain asked.

“I appreciate that you have to think about your business,” the civilian began, at the same time.

They both stopped.

“I feel like my face is a bit known for the job,” the civilian hedged. “Also. I don’t want to rob people. But thank you. For the offer.” They pushed to their feet, head filled with thoughts of fleeing out the door. Yet another great escape.

“I am happy for this to remain a hobby!”

The civilian stopped, more at the loudness of the villain’s voice than anything. They turned.

The villain huffed out a breath, and spread their arms in a sort of shrug.

“You would make a good thief,” the villain said. “It seemed an insult to pretend I hadn’t considered it – considered you. I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t. But…only if it is what you wanted.”

It was the civilian’s turn to feel a flutter of confusion, at the villain’s tone. Carefully controlled, but…something.

“What do you want?” the villain asked. It seemed like a serious question.

The civilian grimaced. “Is it not enough to simply exist in this meat shell on a floating hunk of rock. Now I have to want things too? You sound like my parents.”

The villain’s lip curled, if only for a second. “Freedom. Escape. Those are both things that people want. Their common enough desires, in fact. Let’s be real, if you only wanted someone to tie you up, there are other alternatives than me who can do that for you. Safer people. More palatable, legal options. Again, this is not to imply it hasn’t been a pleasure but…”

But what do you want?

“Oh,” the civilian said, as the convoluted path of the conversation suddenly began to make sense.

The civilian was rather used to people wanting to spend time with them. They were the mayor’s kid, at the very least, and they knew how to be personable (or try to be) as much as any child raised with at least one parent entrenched in the upper echelons of politics.

But the villain…

Well, people wanted things from the villain without question, but they didn’t want to spend any time with them. There was a reason, after all, that the civilian had thought the villain would kill them when the two of them first came face to face. The villain had a reputationand it was not for having friends.

“So what is it?” the villain asked, settling seemingly more comfortable again. “What does your escape look like? Money? Identity papers? It is not a job so that you can make your own name and living, clearly, or purely the novel thrill of doing something dangerous. Or-“ the villain caught themselves, so perhaps they were not as at ease as they disarmingly appeared.

“Or to accept a job as a thief in order to earn your trust and entrap you?”

The villain swallowed, barely noticeable.

“Yeah,” the civilian affected casual too, despite the swooping sensation making a rollercoaster out of their stomach. “You’re right. I could find someone else to help me with my growing obsession with escapology. But I don’t want to.”

The villain stared at them.

The civilian rolled their eyes. “I’ve grown attached too, you muppet. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of mastermind? Project manage your affections, you fool.”

The villain spluttered. Choked.

“That said,” the civilian pointed a finger at them. “Don’t ever offer me a job again. I’m not your job. I’m definitely not your employee.”

“Noted.”

“Good.”

There was another pause. The villain shuffled some stationery on their desk.

“I would,” they said, “be interested in your thoughts on some historically unsolved robberies and escapes though. Not as – I thought it might prove a puzzle. One you may have a fresh insight on. I appreciate if that’s getting a bit too close to blurring the professional and personal lines, I merely—”

“Budge over. What info do you have?”

They could practically see the villain smiling. A different, new smile that they hadn’t seen before. It was not, by any means, the first genuine delight the villain had displayed – that was often real and sharp enough, but…

They both focused very intently on the new branch of their joint hobby. On the new excuse, perhaps, to spend time when the civilian wasn’t restrained in a room or being kidnapped.

And, for a while, that was escape enough.