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nextwarden · 4 years ago

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Archenemies - Part I

Disclaimer: partially inspired by Supercorp and the very enjoyable facets of their dynamic. Hope you enjoy.

Commotions are always a good indicator of such happenings.

The first eyes on the scene are of course those of curious and surprised bystanders. Rarely does such an event be broadcast in advance. It's happened before, of course. Only a handful of times, however. It means the evildoers are confident in their plan and seek attention, two very bad news for any respectable super. The last time it's been the case, panic managed to erupt, only quelled by the competent authorities with some effort. Some joker tried to replicate the one before last, he's apprehended after barely an hour of shenanigans and threats, each more unbelievable than the last. What he tried to emulate, however, remains scarred deep in the minds of many. Blood and ashes flowing on the grass of the Magnus Arena in the city center on a crisp summer day, and the center itself drowned in cries of pain and terror. On that tragic day, SkullB makes the decision to invest in the services of both Mister Mind and LaValette, two of the most intelligent and cunning cons out there. One hundred and eighty six people die, each one in a slow and far too well documented way. Three pros are amongst them; experienced supers, yet they fall prey to SkullB's devious plans. Dame Seven, Verustoski, husband and wife in the business since the late 70s, and Sunny Sin, a young yet very capable teenage wiz, give their lives in exchange for SkullB's.

Mind and LaValette are, of course, smart enough to see themselves out once it turns in their disfavour, almost as if they see it coming. The former is caught a few days later, splurging on an online casino in his own underground mansion, while the latter still eludes the authorities to this day, taunting both pros and cons in an odd twist of fate. They realize the whole affair is getting far too out of hand, and some even speculate one of them (or both) to consort with the authorities to create the distraction that allows to bring out most of the hostages and to take down SkullB. That stems from irregularities in the chronology of the event and the fact that LaValette apparently decides to own up to her actions after that day. Not completely mind you, but enough to make a difference with a surprisingly efficient foil to many a plan, good or bad. Over the next few years it's apparent she's taken upon herself to remove supers altogether. Not in a definitively violent way, shockingly, but using her agile mind to dismantle actions undertaken to a significant risk to the city and its people. Dynopolis grows less weary and more peaceful due to that. It lasts a sufficient while for her to gain a strange and ambivalent status of anti-hero - chaotic good, as many surmise, in similar leagues to that of the legendary Crime Man himself, some add.

That changes over time as more and more supers, heroes and villains alike, manage either in their smarts, numbers, or luck, to pull and tug at the seams and reveal the cracks in her masterplan. What it loses in her ability, however, the city gains in balance. Many new pro upstarts join the ranks of a newly reformed agency, trying to attain both glory and riches, and to "do the people of this city some good". It's obviously been mirrored by the rise in organized and supercharged crime. That tendency is there from the beginning, structured even before the pros are themselves. It naturally evolves with the times and the influence of one changes the other. Not that they necessarily know - she doesn't care much for one or the other - but she naturally leans into that tendency. If one wants to make a difference by playing the game, one has to remove themself sufficiently from the board, and that she does in a surreptitiously efficient manner.

The second factor which sees to an apparent decline in her efficiency had been more subtle and more specific (although she would argue that it's not so much a decline rather than a shift of focus). It baffles a number and is the joyous guilty pleasure of some others, more observant or perhaps more versed in theorizing. It's fairly unnoticeable at first, by the audience as well as by those involved. The powerful blonde enters the scene unnamed and unknown, and almost by coincidence - officially "on a whim". A small incident takes place in the southern branch of Nat·Bank, devolving into a chaotic chase over land and sea. A simple passerby at the time, the greenhorn not-hero (yet) jumps to action, pursuing the robbers onto the beach and into the coastal waters once they reach their means of escape. Perhaps it's her gallant effort in taking them down despite their ion guns and reinforced armours, bringing the boat back to shore single handedly. Quite literally at that: she emerges on the warm sand pulling the swift vessel behind her, dragging it to the middle of the beach for the authorities to arrest the now baffled culprits. Many onlookers capture and immortalize this moment, making her drenched fit form into an object of many speculations for weeks to come. Her identity somehow remains unknown behind a hasty yet well-placed mask of cloth and nothing is made of it despite extensive research and avid requests on all fronts.

...

Dantra reveals herself almost two months later, to the day, new protegee of sorceress Saralis and a fresh recruit of the H.E.R.O. program - revamped by a retired Dynaman and funded by the Ministry of Defense to raise and promote fresh blood to the side of justice. She's expected to tour the studios and is breathed to be the new mascot of the agency; yet, despite all her efficiency and achievements on the field, she remains as elusive as on the day of her appearance on the chaotic stage. Her speculated concealed beauty adds to her engaging demeanor during her interventions, on top of her flashy yet efficient use of her power. Her flawless track record, only highlighted by her immediate appeal following her first and only late night show appearance, made her an almost instantaneous star, rising fast into the pantheon of revered supers. Some wait for her eventual demise, criticizing her close interactions with fans during downtime and her refusal at revealing too much about herself, theorizing many reasons, each stranger and more somber than the last. Yet it does not happen. She assimilates into the lifestyle flawlessly and durably, it seems. Perhaps too flawlessly for some. Not exactly dwindling, her popularity somewhat reaches a peak over the first year and a half during which she becomes active.

If she's anything, Dantra is not discontent. She takes it in stride, making the most of her situation, to the greatest pleasure of her enduring fans. If she's to plummet, she will, not that it will stop her from doing what was right as long as she was able to. Or so she tells the young reporter who manages to get the first interview in months. And she does, standing as a proud beacon of righteousness and letting life take its course as she does all that is possible to protect and help. This despite the insistence by the agency that she capitalize on her success. She does not yield, however, and accepts that interview on their recommendation only to clear some misconceptions that seem to have arisen over time. No she does not wear a cape and does not plan to as it would hinder her movements. Yes, that piece of white cloth she wears over her face is a replica of the original one, it's been retailored and enchanted by Saralis herself to not be easily removed. Oh she doesn't know if one could say 'superstar', she is proud to make a difference however. Definitely M'Persent, she's been amazed at their display of precision in the way they used their telekinetic powers, since her youngest age. That's excluding Saralis, of course! *laugh* Boreastre, perhaps, on one of his bad days and on her good, then again she has to respect the old man's resilience so, who knew… he is the only con to ever elude the great Dame Seven in his hayday, so that has to count for something. None of the above; the money is enough, the benefits are great, and the ability to use her powers as she does is compensation enough. Because it's right, that's why, and perhaps also a bit in honor of her grandfather, a war hero who she's always admired. Oh…! Uh, yeah, many. So many. Too many. *laugh* But no, never, actually. Sadly. She never has the time or the space, she guesses, or perhaps she's not been looking well enough. One day, perhaps, in her old age, in one of those quiet suburbs, with a dog and a small garden with flowers… That's a new one, never been asked that before, yeah, uhm, if she had to say, perhaps no sea, not that she doesn't like it, she loves the sea, but forests always seem more beautiful, intriguing, and without any tree how is anyone to breathe? *laugh* No, thank you for inviting me, it was great! Oh, yeah! Uh, stay safe and do good, folks. Until next time. *wink*

Some questions she does not answer or shifts the subject, but all in good sport. The interviewer doesn't seem too annoyed by it, more understanding than anything. They're even genuinely excited when she offers a quick demonstration, squealing when she does her trick with the water. Neither do the executives at the agency, they even congratulate her on its good value. She feels good after that, can't say no to fun. She returns to her usual routine without barely missing a beat, if only slightly more discreetly, satisfied for days and unwilling to engage in too much outgoingness at once. That seems to be her prefered rhythm: appearing sparsely on occasions unrelated to crime fighting yet always with panashe and with good reason. Time passes and finally she knows: her secret is safe. Tucked away behind the thin layers of her mask and her gentle charm. There are a number of reasons why Dantra refuses to unveil too much of herself, be it to her fans, enemies, or even her colleagues. She is young but has enough knowledge of the ways of the world, especially online, to wish to be careful about what she exposes of herself. She enjoys the attention yet wants nothing of it once the mask is down, relishing the quiet moments in her cozy house near the waterfront and the edge of the city. The most important reason, the vital one, is not because of a loved one - she's been alone for as long as she could remember - nor because of her job - the agency pays well enough, and a side gig as a commission photographer allows her to pass the time. No, her deepest, darkest secret is entirely other: she does not trust herself to look quite right, to pass well enough among them. She never has. Not before, nor since her arrival and her… change of style. Her face has always felt too angular, too sharp and harsh, underlying the softness that sugar-coats it. Okay, maybe it is stupid to hide such a thing, what with aliens and wizards and so many kinds of secret and supernatural entities buzzing about. Especially considering she is in fact time-displaced herself. But she's a private person and her doubts never quite leave her, neither with nor without the mask. Especially not without. And that's something she wants to keep to herself as long as possible, if not mostly because it would show the cracks in her heroic persona.

One second she's living her perfectly normal if only slightly different life in the wilderness, and the next she finds herself surrounded by stone and metal and sound. So much noise. She fled the great fortified city of her birth for that exact reason, the smells and bustling activity making her prefer the quiet of nature. It's scary, so very scary, at first. Frustrating too, new words to assimilate, new people to remember. Many people. Too many. Tastes and colours as vibrant and foreign as they were interesting. It should be more difficult, more off-putting, it should be a lot weirder and far slower to adapt to this new life that she's quite literally thrown into. She knows that. But somehow, either she's better at adapting than she believes, or the strange shrieking and smelly hole she's been dragged through - she later learns it's all that ozone - has been kind enough to gift her with an augmentation in her abilities. She can't say. Assimilating information has always been easy for her, computing it, on the other hand, takes a bit more time, but she manages well enough and that's a start.

No one knows any of that, not the agency, not her colleagues, not even her best friend Zelda knew of it, and if she has any say in the matter, none would ever know.

…

Later on she realizes their first meeting is not their first. It's not even the first time they actually interact, simply exchanging a look as she disappears into her surroundings while the hero goes the other way in hot pursuit of her own target. They cross paths before, at least twice, always en passant and never out in the open, none recognizing the other. How Valerie Vonazzio misses and is missed so thoroughly becomes one of the many subjects of scoffs and giggles, somehow playing the absolute opposite of their actual first interaction.

How it goes from a simple meddling in a high stakes robbery to a double hostage situation with innocent people in the crossfire she would say is entirely the annoyingly boot-straight bulldozer of a newcomer's fault. He's the one who barges into her delicately masterminded play's fault. They simply have to open the safe, take the money - in truth a pile of fake yet highly realistic 'the artist formerly known as Prince' bills she planted there earlier - and attempt a getaway. No violence needed, no casualties, and she can pocket the money for herself. Not that those to whom it belongs would miss it, even if the amount were to be doubled. And everything seems to work perfectly at first, that is until that idiot of a C-list super Faramour and his disgustingly felty suit gets stuck in one of her countermeasures and calls for backup. The channels should be jammed, they are jammed, and yet, somehow, she hears. Dantra enters all guns blazing - not literally though, she bears no weapons. Praised be that fact or things would go downhill much earlier for the great LaValette. She has no guns, none made of metal at least. It does not prevent her from bursting in, plowing half the group against the wall and intimidating the others sufficiently for them to lose their cool. Having taken two hostages, threatening to do some actual damage if 'superblondie' refuses to cooperate. She doesn't, to Valerie's relief, but she's the smarter of the two, after all. By far. Faramour, on the other hand, does not do the smart thing. Barely liberated from his restraints, he takes one of the robbers in return and immediately escalates the situation. How it hasn't gone to shit quicker with that horrid perfume of his, Valerie will never understand. Deadly weapons are pointed in every direction and a single movement might set the whole thing on fire.

That minty, hair-waxed bumblefuck of a super doesn't even try to use his lonely brain cell, it seems, choosing to ignore Dantra's warnings AND the robbers' threats, yelling louder than either for everybody to shut up, get on the ground and put their weapons down. Despite the fun she'd had recording his disheveled meltdown and against all her principles, she intervenes then. Showing herself in broad daylight for the first time in months, perhaps years. Well, as best as one can through a thick field of smoke and behind a specialized retailored special ops suit. While they're all distracted, she takes Faramour out, stunning him into oblivion and then twice more for good measure with simple yet efficient darts of a sleep agent of her own personal concoction. The robbers are easy too: make them think they have a way out and leave the appeal of the money, and the next second they're running. Dantra is another story. She thinks of lacing the smoke with a sleeping agent but doesn't want to hurt innocent bystanders - she has principles, or at least she's tried to grow some - and instead deploys a simple spot-sonic. The small device works as a grenade and is used to stun anybody of above average physique - group which she instantly guesses Dantra is a part of - and gives her an opening of a few seconds to make a getaway. Hers has been ready for hours now, but as she rounds the building and her car she hears the voice behind her, ordering her to stop.

Dantra is coming around the corner too, armed with a surprising two unconscious robbers, one in each hand. Fortunately she's decided to go stealthy this time, wearing unmarked gear and a simple black gas mask. The lack of recognition she gets from the super means that either she does not know her face, which for the agency's poster girl is highly unlikely as the agency must have drilled her on the many cons they were tracking, LaValette still being high priority. Or that she has no way of seeing through her mask, past her eyes, which is lucky as it has definitely not been designed with x-ray vision in mind. She looks at the blonde for a second too long, perhaps, and her mind is made: she has to play this one well.

"Why? You gonna arrest me?"

"As a matter of fact no, but the police will once they get here."

"Ha. Apologies darlin', I have no time to wait for them. Things to do, places to be," she replies, her tone as cocky as possible.

"You have nowhere to go. I'll catch you if you try to run…"

"Maybe. But I don't intend to run," she jiggles the keys in her hands.

She sees the frown form on Dantra's face through the cloth, a cute set of lines creasing around and above her brow. The super lets the robbers fall to the ground and takes a step forward, then another. Good, just a few more seconds.

"I'm fast."

"Strong too, I guess."

That stops her.

"You're too confident."

"Mayhaps. But so are you, I believe."

"I have the means to back my words up, do you?"

If the very slight flex of her hands and her taut muscles is any indication, the hero does indeed, and she's ready to show it at any moment. Perfect.

"I don't doubt that. But see," and she takes a small step to the left, Dantra mirrors it to the right, "my ride is waiting and they don't have a policy of canceling last minute, so I'm afraid I won't be able to take you up on that."

"The choice isn't really offered."

"It is though, and I'm certainly not letting a muscle-brained blondie tell me what to do."

That gets her a frown. Good. Let her stew a bit.

"You're not part of them."

Oh, surprising. Not all brawns, then.

"You noticed."

"I'm more than just muscles."

"I can appreciate that."

And she winks for good measure. The slight abashed surprise which momentarily coats the frown is worth it.

"You'll be happy to know I'm not all ass either, darlin'."

And with the image of a vague incomprehension mixed with outrage, she presses the ignition button. The car beside her roars to life and then everything is gone, swallowed in the bright neon light of the headlights and the piercing shriek of the alarm. That's enough to make Dantra recoil; by the time the super focuses again, she's long gone. Not very far away, but out of reach.

…

The second time they cross paths it's more official and perhaps she isn't as prepared for it as she's like to make them all think. There's a joint operation by the newly formed Hexagon, a trio of wrongdoers comprised of Miss Spell, Shore Thing, and Sasz, who apparently decide to carry out plans as horrid as their individual designation. How people, supers mostly, come up with such ridiculous names for themselves is something she'll never quite understand. It does help motivate her to foil their plan without pulling any punches, however. Which is a good thing, she thinks. They try to steal one of the prototypes in development at Atomic Delaware Industries, some sort of energy cell that could either be sold to competitors or foreign powers for quite a pile of cash, or be used in not so nice ways by someone smart enough. She certainly would find a few uses for it, she has, actually, without trying too much, even. But that's not the plan, it hasn't been for quite a while. They've been on her radar for the last month and, unfortunately for them, a whole month is entirely superfluous if one were to want to rig the whole operation. Which she does.

The traps fly and spring, doors jam, electric circuits fry and, strangely, the alarm resounds the minute they're deep in the vault despite all their attempts at quelling its shrill signal to the whole of the city police force before they break in. The panic but not so much as would other newer and less competent cons. The prototype is loaded in a rush as they manage to evade the first wave of security. It's jostles a bit - quite a bit - as they come out into the night. Whether it'll still work after that is anyone's guess, although she has an inkling as to the answer. It's but almost entirely confirmed when the crack resounds a few meters in front of them and Dantra appears, making them drop the cart onto the ground and letting the round object roll away. The trio tenses slightly, knowing they have the advantage, but Dantra shows no sign of faltering. The fight that ensues is what makes Valerie act upon her growing frustration: had she let them exit the perimeter they'd have been caught in her electromagnetic web until the police arrived. But of course the hero has to meddle in her affairs. She almost doesn't swarm all four of them with slime ice, a new project she's been working on for a while, trapping anything it touches almost instantaneously (super or not) and with enough efficacy it would work on Dynamos and his high speed vibrating or Saralis and her plane shifting. At least long enough for her to escape. Almost, because as she's about to think better of it, something barely misses the prototype. It's either a hex or an exploding scale, she can't really tell, but she knows that if it hits, they might not be there to argue whodunnit afterwards. To hell with being subtle, she doesn't want to die yet, and there are people in danger of being fried by the foursome's stupidity.

"Oy, nitwits!", she exclaims, stepping out of the dark black sedan she'd taken shop in.

They seem surprised to see her, enough to almost all freeze on the spot. Only Sasz seems not to lose any of his countenance - his cerebral implant must help, she thinks - which is a good thing because they don't immediately notice the small flattened cones that thud in the middle of them.

"What the fu-", she can hear Miss Spell attempt.

"Stop clonking so close to the prototype. Or do you want to raze this whole area to below sea level?!", she adds, seeing Dantra's eyes narrow.

"LaValette," Sasz simply says, still unperturbed. Not that he seems quite anything in the recent months since his upgrade. "How very pleasant." Well at least he's kept his tongue.

Miss Spell opens her mouth again but stays silent, still she can see her violet eyes widen slightly; Shore Thing doesn't react, simply getting ready to fight her too. She sees the flicker of recognition on Dantra's face, however. She wonders for an instant if she should have worn a mask but finds she is almost glad - a small prickle of pride even runs through her spine at the validation of her still very-well known status.

"Stop where you are," she hears the blonde's voice command.

"Oh don't worry, I don't plan on joining in the fight," she smirks, "I'm not made for that."

She lets a beat pass and sees them stew in their uncertainty. No more than a beat, however, or they'll have time to react.

"Plus I don't need to," her smirk widdens as she nods to the ground at their feet.

They look. Sasz and Dantra are the first to react but it's still too late. The cones explode into a storm of white and suddenly all four of them are covered in a thick layer of foamy substance. She has to give props to Dantra for attempting to jump away, but the slime ice hardens too quickly and she's frozen on one foot, her body angled back. They almost instantly begin to slump too, even Shore Thing's weird biology doesn't stop him from feeling the effects of the sedative. It won't take them out, she knows it, but it'll do for a while. She can already hear Miss Spell mumble curses under her breath, it would be cute if it weren't literal curses on top of her insults. She hurries her step, not wanting to overextend her advantage.

"Not that I don't find this fun but I can't trust you people with this," she grabs the prototype, "so I'll be removing your new toy from the playground until you learn how to share properly."

Without further ado she walks back to her car.

"Wait," she hears Dantra's slurred voice.

But she doesn't no matter the slight desire to play with them a bit longer. She knows if she does she'll lose her advantage quickly.

"Sorry darlin', can't stay. Have a nice night!", she smiles as she passes by them before rolling her window up and driving away.

Her exit goes unchallenged, none of the police notice the black vehicule hidden behind the bushes as they quickly drive by a few seconds later. The next day she confirms her slime ice was indeed efficient, more than she had banked on even, as she sees Sasz and Shore Thing still partially trapped in by the time the news channels are on the scene. Apparently Miss Spell managed to phase herself away in the nick of time, escaping right as the authorities arrived, Dantra taking only a few moments longer. She can't help the amused smile at the sight of the fit blonde going away as quickly as she can once the situation has been explained to the police, surely in search of her. The super doesn't succeed of course, as her being in her penthouse at that precise moment indicates. The morning is nice, warm with blue skies. She contemplates letting Dynopolis and its officials sweat it a few days more under the threat of her possessing the prototype, but decides against it. She's a tease, not an actual madwoman. The stolen property is found two days later in Hubway Park, in a glass box with a cute little ribbon on top of it and a card that says "Love, LV" in elegant cursive. And if the city's pockets are slightly lighter after that, well, it's not her secret to tell.

...

They meet again twice before it truly becomes a sort of routine between them. Not that she actively makes it that way. It just seems they can't stop themselves from running into each other. Maybe it's because LaValette's officially made an appearance after all this time, in front of no less than four supers, three of them being cons is of no consequence. Maybe she can't quite stop herself from being on high alert every time she goes on patrol, looking for the lithe dark woman in every corner each time she's called onto a scene or she is made aware of some nefarious happenings. The fact that Dantra is seen a lot more than usual out there does not go by unnoticed and many speculate as to why. The answer is simple: she's been bested thrice and she can't quite let it go. The smirk and the confidently teasing tone of a superior mind still ring in her ears. She's never been one to be very competitive, not seriously so to the point of letting it consume her rather laidback nature. But the villain has a way of getting under her skin. The con times her quips like the beats of a good song, like strums of chords during a guitar solo, settles her silver eyes so steadily that she can't help the shiver of anticipation at the challenge she knows is coming. The first time it's just a fluke, she doesn't realize she's facing the great LaValette herself, not even that she 's in the same realm as her for a while. The second time she gets the message but slightly too late. The result is positive in the end, not satisfactory however. It does have the unintended effect of giving her a purpose. She knows she can't force destiny, doesn't quite believe in it either, but it feels like something the third time they meet. She wants to be there because she knows what's coming. Or at least she knows LaValette will grace them with her presence. She loses her after a frustratingly slow chase amongst corridors and stairs in the tall building where the villain comes to meddle with an intervention the squad puts in place to nip the bud of a growing cult.

The thing doesn't go as well as planned. The cult is too prepared, as if they know what's coming. They manage to get them taken down before any blood is shed, however, which is a good thing. Until she realizes the ease with which it has been done and the glaring disappearance of a number of useless but golden artifacts the cultists had been in the process of using for their sacrifice. She realizes immediately what's afoot, perhaps a bit too quickly if she trusts the bewildered looks she gets from her partners. She spots the suit far too quickly too. She's nothing if not thorough and she's made her research on the older villain turned chaotic vigilante. Her style has changed slightly, moving on from spandex and leather to a more comfortable fabric oriented design. Still black, still badass and cool - she can't help but admire - and still kicking ass without actually doing any of the kicking herself. But as she's about to reach her, LaValette lets her know she's noticed her with a small turn of the head and a wink as she moves to the staircase. The resulting chase happens in a place too constricting for her, which she hates, and amongst a crowd of people who have no business being as productive as they are on a Monday. Still she follows as best as she can, careful not to damage anything. Unfortunately it's not enough and she knows it when the villain slips away one last time, dropping in an elevator shaft this time, and she's unable to follow. Not that she'd fear the fall or hurting herself (her body can withstand much more and quite literally fly, after all) but because she realizes she's been tricked when the shaft turns out to be a screen and she finds herself flailing not to walk off the seventeenth story. How the frustratingly smart woman managed to do that she doesn't know but she knows she's lost her. Despite it all, and while she does a round of the floor just to be sure, she can't help but be impressed. LaValette has never shown any other sign of outstanding abilities than her impressive intellect and for once she's glad it's the case, just imagining that coupled with any supernatural ability almost makes her shiver.

Their fourth meeting is the one in which she feels her work finally begin to pay off. She's been scouring every file, report and analysis she can find, all the footage available for clues as to what counter-measures she could try to put in place against LaValette for weeks. The incident at Magnus Arena makes her both angry, wanting to catch the woman as soon as possible and make her answer for her crimes, but also realize how much the villain has actually shifted her line of conduct since then. She doesn't quite know how others have not measured the impact of her actions since then, both to annoy supers of the program and to mitigate the destructive power of cons. There's no proof, no evidence, but she can read between the lines, feel the depression in the landscape of her crimes, and see the shadow the villain leaves behind her in each misdeed that goes a little bit too smoothly for the heroes or which seems to fail or combust in the air for the cons. How nobody has never noticed that is beyond her. Perhaps the long arms of LaValette extend even within the agency? Or perhaps someone else has been trying to keep the status quo?

It's a bit of a paradox. She gains newfound respect for the woman but at the same time the neverending list of accomplishments - which she seems to silently gloat about every time - makes her blood boil and gives her renewed determination to catch her.

So when she manages to corner her in the back alley of the store as she's about to flee on an unmarked bike, and she sees the brow quirk up in surprise as she halts mid climb, well she can't help herself and smirks.

"Well good evening to you," LaValette says, resuming her action and strapping the large duffel bag containing various pricy items to her bike, pricy items that the organized but not very professional group of masked individuals attempted to rob - are robbing? have robbed? - and will realize are missing from their own possession the next day.

"I would return the greeting but you're coming with me this time, and it will unfortunately not be 'good'," she quips back, hand on her hip.

LaValette has been calmly setting up her gear, putting on a pair of gloves and a scarf, zipping up her jacket, action following which she seemed to notice the quick glance, her smile widening ever so slightly.

"Not that the offer is not tempting, I'd love to stay but-"

"Stuff to do, places to be?", she cuts in.

The villain smiles wider still, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Exactly."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble but I can't let you do that. You being a criminal and me being a hero, and all."

That earns her a chuckle. There's a pause, the woman makes a grab for her helmet, still showing no sign of a rush or any kind of panic at all. This is what makes Dantra start to question her standing in this exchange. She has a way of getting her nerves to flare. It seems the woman notices, her head shifts slightly to the side. Could she read minds? Or was she just that smart? Dantra realizes she might just be that smart

"Oh I know. And I can assure you I'm very flattered by your attention, but should you really be leaving those idiots alone?"

She follows the finger, it points at the store and suddenly, as if on cue she hears an explosion and sees bright flames erupt from the roof. The door she'd passed through moments earlier flies off its hinges and crashes against her, denting itself around her shape.

"What the-" she begins when she hears the engine rev.

Suddenly she's jumping to action, she lets her flight boom her through the alley and can feel the fleeing motorcycle revving its gears enter the grasp of her outstretched hand. Yet before she can do anything she hears a bump and her legs are once again cast in that annoying white substance, not only does it harden, it also latches onto the ground and she's faceplanting before she knows it. That much isn't enough to slow her down too much, and she's up the next second, grunting as she breaks through the foam - the countermeasure is one of raw power but it works, so, who's to judge. But as she's about to engage in pursuit again, masked individuals come pouring through the now destroyed exit and for a moment she's stunned. Why weren't they- It's then that she hears the shrill voice she's learned to dislike with every fiber of her body. Freaking Faramour…!

Only later, as they've rounded up the criminals that tried their best to escape and the police are there to take them into custody does she register the memory. It's seemingly jogged by none other than the felty cretin himself.

"Nice work, blondie!", he exclaims with a thumbs up.

Perhaps it's genuine, perhaps it's just playing it up for the cameras, she doesn't know, doesn't care much for it either. She's let her target escape once again. By the time she'd taken care of the robbers, barely a minute, and was soaring in the sky to try to locate the motorcycle, it had vanished once again. The criminals had given her restraints - a good measure of fence wire - a run for its money, already almost escaping by the time she came back down and she'd had to secure them once more. Then she'd taken measure of the whole situation: a blown up store, a bumbling super idiot trying to take over the situation and a disappeared LaValette. Then the police arrive, then the journalists, almost in sync. Then there's the report, which Faramour takes into stride despite his less than useful participation, and nobody seems to have noticed LaValette's presence. She'd been this close, so close… She tries to wallow a bit in her corner but even that is made difficult when Faramour comes all smiles to congratulate her. She had to at least nod and smile, she may be one of the most prominent faces of the agency - and miles more efficient than him - he had anteriority and some form of mind-boggling respect in the city. But his words trigger the flash of memory.

"Nice try, blondie!"

Almost the same words but a much, much different tone. Sultry and smooth, teasing as usual. With a smile and a wave of the hand as she rounded the corner, spoken in a voice loud enough for her to hear. The frustration is so much that she almost lets out a huff before she takes off to do her report at headquarters. It's only when she's done and gone home that she realizes she was close, much closer than usual. Next time. Definitely next time.

And next time comes. Much sooner than she'd expected. Barely a week later, in the middle of the afternoon. This time it's utter chaos. Three events strike at the same time. Havenleaf institute, the prison that houses many cons, is taken by Miss Spell and what can only be described as strawmen goons which she surel animated. Apparently an attempt to break out Shore Thing and Sasz. Nat·Bank is in the middle of a robbery orchestrated by the BronzeBronze cartel. And the head office of the Police is being hacked. The bank and the prison are already taken care of, Grace Solace and Mesmeride are on the case with their respective sidekicks she hears in the coms, and the police should be able to deal with whatever genius has decided to try his hand. She's met the ITeam and they know what they're doing. Still, she can't help but feel something is off. The coincidence is great, almost too great. So she goes anyway.

Everything is hectic. Power is going out repeatedly, the whole electrical infrastructure seems to be under attack. Which is weird, Rajan and Sam explain. They've made sure the whole network was secure and entirely closed off. She knows it is, she's seen Sasz try his hand at it and groaning in frustration. So whatever whoever is here wants, it's not in the database. The chaos feels too orchestrated. Like a danger looming around the corner and forcing you into panic mode but never making an appearance. She knows this feeling and that's what propels her into the stairs, down to the third basement and the writ archives. She struggles in the dark silence for a while, only nearly jumping when she hears clattering towards the deep end. The ever-knowing smile that usually welcomes her is only ever so slightly assured this time, only ever so slightly weaker, and she knows she's struck a chord.

"Wasn't expecting you so soon, darlin'", the voice drawls as the woman has the gal to look away, back to the files she's been searching through.

"Were you even expecting me?"

Her tone is light but it seems to land once again, from the slight tensing of the shoulders.

"Honestly? Not really. I hoped to have at least an hour uninterrupted, but it seems I got unlucky…"

She can't help the small satisfied scoff. She can't help the spark of curiosity either.

"What are you looking for, LaValette?"

The dark woman looks up, surprise passing through her steel eyes.

"Nothing much. Compromising pictures from college, maybe?", she chuckles. "What tipped your off, Dantra?", she returns.

Dantra knows she's curious but fakes disinterest. Somehow she knows. So she plays on it. She also can't help but lose some focus to the way her name rolls out of LaValette's mouth, soft and playful.

"I got lucky I guess. I had a hunch."

"A hunch?", a quirk of the eyebrow.

Now she was looking at her.

"Three at a time is a bit much."

"Ah," a shake of the head. "Maybe so… might have been a bit over enthusiastic on this one."

"You made all this happen?"

She should know better, she's seen the famed LaValette at work more than once, read and watched everything there was about her, but she still feels the wave of surprise at the revelation.

"No, I'm not omnipotent, you know. I may have… pushed the right buttons, however."

The smirk is back.

"Well you're certainly not getting out of this one," she quips back, hands on her hips.

"Are you sure about that?"

And there's that quirk of the eyebrow again. It's assured and confident.

"No."

But she is. And she jumps. As if she was expecting that the dark-haired woman throws the file at her and starts doubling down an alley of files, reaching for something in her bag. Dantra doesn't know what tips the scales in her favour this time. Perhaps she's gotten better with confined spaces, perhaps she's well and truly surprised LaValette, perhaps LaValette fumbles despite (surely) the many plans she has to escape. In any case, she has her pinned against a wall, any tools she might have discarded and her hands trapped within her own barely a minute later, near the emergency exit. They lock eyes and there's a surprised look in the steel discs, something else too, fear maybe? Something etched deeper than she expects, at least. But she doesn't have time to explore that before the other woman sighs and smirks.

"Well, seems it's my loss this time."

And it is. She doesn't resist. Lets herself be taken into custody without as much as an attempt to resist or protest. She takes an espresso when offered and answers each and every question the officers have for her once they begin processing her case. Dantra stays and watches, still unconvinced she's done it. She doesn't know if she believes everything LaValette says, still mulling over what she could have been searching for in the basement of the central police department. They only find a few files pertaining to an old cold case, one of an old woman found dead in her apartment. Nothing special about it, nothing linked to LaValette. Not that they could actually link anything to her. They don't even know who she is, she doesn't register in any database, no history, public or private, no facial recognition pings when they try. She's an anomaly, a dark and mysterious anomaly that keeps on slipping between your fingers even when you've got her. And have her they do. They have her face, her prints, her blood and saliva, hair samples, her voice and her story. Still, much good it does them. They resign themselves to keep her in custody until due process begins again. Dantra is on the go then, ready to leave when they have her secured. The day has been long and the thrill enough to wear her down. She'd been thinned by the last few weeks, her entire focus being on trying to solve the puzzle of the infamous LaValette. And now that it's done she can't quite believe it. They cross paths as the woman is taken to a cell, her usual black suit swapped for a standard grey uniform. It still fits her, she notes. The woman smiles as she notices her.

"Well played, Dantra."

She doesn't know what to do, what to respond to that. The amused twinkle in the woman's eyes another mystery she can't quite solve.

"Until next time?"

It's a question, she registers, as well as a statement. Nobody can keep her in for long, she seems to say, we'll play again soon.

"You're not getting out of this, this time," she manages to reply, throwing in a smile of her own, as confident as she manages.

That owns her a laugh. The sound is throaty and very amused. The wink that follows should unnerve her, so should the unfading smile. It adds fuel to the fire, that's undeniable, though what that fire supplies in turn, she has no idea. She doesn't sleep very well that night, exhaustion and excitement waging an intense battle. Exhaustion wins out in the end and she's rested enough the next morning when she wakes. It takes her the whole of the day to truly recuperate, however. She takes it off, she knows she needs it. Knows that she deserves it a bit too. No one at work is expecting her anyway. Not the bad weather nor Spyro, her cat, defecating on the coffee table manage to bring her mood down, however. The following night is the same as the previous one, a battle of nerves, she manages to go to sleep slightly earlier though. That Sunday morning she is well and truly rested as she wakes up. The weather is nice, Spyro is lounging on the coffee table, no poop in sight, and even the new seem to be good: the robbery has been foiled thanks to Mesmeride, and despite struggling a bit more and not catching Miss Spell, Grace Solace managed to prevent any escapes from the prison. She's coffee in hand, standing on her small terrace, Spyro resting on her shoulders, when she hears her name. It's faint but as she focuses the words become more clear.

"...and this morning, when Officer Wallace came to check on her she was gone. No traces of escape, no footage, nothing. The detectives are hard on the case but admit being somewhat at a loss as to how this was possible."

This definitely piques her interest and she steps inside. There's a still image of the cell with a few words splayed against it in elegant cursive. That's when she understands. Somehow, despite all the security measures in place, LaValette has made good on her words.

Till next time, Darlin', the writing reads.

She knows she should be appalled, she knows she should be stressed, she should be on high alert and perhaps already on route to rectify the situation but she finds herself excited and giddy. A smile plastered on her face when the screen turns black as power is ripped away from it. She's excited because finally, after so long, after so much hard work and dedication, it undeniably feels like she's managed to get her first arch-enemy. Her own personal nemesis.

To be continued.

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More of what I write, if you’re interested.

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