#or what Sonnac's actually tastes would be

[toxinfox]

Templars of Metal

“The fuck am I doing?” Alex muttered under her breath as she passed the gate guards and climbed the stairs toward Temple Hall. Harley wasn’t on duty tonight, and for once she was grateful; if she got into deep shit for this, she didn’t want to have to see him be genuinely disappointed in her. The gentle creaking of her leather uniform jacket as she moved made her feel guilty enough.

She’d lost a bet. Four drinks down at the Horned God, and she’d lost a bet to Reynolds, over a lousy card trick of all things. Fucker had grinned like a Chesire cat at watching the loud American dhampyr get it wrong… Resolving to figure out how that particular magic trick was done and get him back for this later, Alex tried not to look nervous as she strode casually-ish past a second set of door guards, these flanking the actual grand doors into the Templar headquarters itself.

The task Reynolds had laid out for her after wallowing in his success was simple: Go to Temple Hall, in uniform. Go into Richard Sonnac’s office. And perform ‘vigorous’ air guitar atop his desk. Record yourself doing so.

None of the other posted guards in the soaring foyer of the grand hall batted an eye at her as she headed for Sonnac’s office. Agents reported to him at all hours of the day and night, and by now Alex was recognized as a (somewhat unusual) fixture among the ranks. No, going to speak to Sonnac wasn’t noteworthy.

Planting her boots on his mahogany desk and shredding air guitar would be another story.

“Sorry sir, I lost a bet, please don’t fire me or turn me into a research project,” she mouthed to herself, practicing her apologies. A nervous swallow later, she gently shouldered the door to his office open, drawing a breath to explain as she crossed the threshold.

And then she paused, just inside. The office was empty. Sonnac wasn’t here.

Blinking, Alex let the door fall closed behind her. She hadn’t prepared for this possibility. Sonnac wasn’t here?

… did he have to be?

Alex felt the grin start on her face. Reynolds hadn’t said ANYTHING about Sonnac being present. There was no telling how long Sonnac had been gone-- or WOULD be gone-- but she had this one, blessed, solitary moment to make good on the bet possibly without getting fired.

Snagging her phone from within her jacket, Alex started a thrashy metal song, set the phone to record video, and darted across the room, hefting herself up onto her handler’s desk, keeping her boots off of his papers and pens. Taking a deep breath, she quickly opened her coat, showing off her metal t-shirt, and… began aggressively air-guitaring, headbanging and snarling to the tinny cell phone music. Holy fuck, she was doing it. She was air-guitaring on Sonnac’s desk.

“Yeah, suck it, Reynolds. You’ll get yours soon enough,” she muttered, shredding one more glorious guitar riff--

-- when the door opened.

Alex froze, except for her head, which snapped toward the sound.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

Standing in the doorway, brows raised in faint bewilderment.... Was Richard Sonnac.

Fuck. She’d been caught red-handed. Alex winced and hopped down from the desk, mortified, aware of her pulse in ways she usually wasn’t. The cell phone, still growling its tune into the otherwise silent office, only made it worse.

“I trust there’s an explanation for this,” the Englishman said tentatively. His voice was steady, maybe curious. Not angry. Yet.

The wince on Alex’s face turned to a full cringe that continued on into her shoulders and posture. She turned away, scratching her neck awkwardly.  “I… lost a bet, sir. I’ll… I’ll get out’a your hair. Sorry.”

Burning with embarrassment, she started for the door, but Sonnac held up a hand to stop her. Alex stopped. Cringed again. Looked up a bit, wondering what he wanted.

Sonnac’s hands settled on his hips, and his head cocked to one side. The whole gesture was too loose to imply condemnation. “You took a bet, where the condition of losing was to dance on my desk?” he asked. His voice was almost amused.

“Air-guitar, actually, sir, if we’re splittin’ hairs,” Alex offered, arms folded, gaze turned to her boots. “I… really didn’t think I was gonna lose that bet, honestly.”

“Mm. I imagine not.” Straightening, Sonnac walked past her toward his desk. Puzzled at his lack of reaction to catching her in such an absurd moment, Alex couldn’t help but look up, wondering what he was doing. Her confusion only deepened as he shrugged off his immaculate suit jacket and hung it neatly on the back of a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Then he opened a drawer in his desk, put away his papers and lamp, and pulled out a slim black object; it looked like a remote control of some sort. Alex cocked her head as he pointed it at a painting on one wall, pressed a button…

… and the sounds of Iron Maiden’s ‘Death or Glory’ thundered through the stone room, courtesy of half a dozen small but potent hidden speakers. Alex’s jaw dropped. Her head snapped back to Sonnac, her eyes wide with surprise.

He was grinning, his teeth a slash of white in his dark face. “If you’re going to enjoy a bit of heavy metal in my office, you should at least do it properly.” And before she could say a word, Sonnac himself hopped upon his desk and conducted his own enthusiastic air-guitar.

Alex stared. Blinked. Shrugged. And joined in.

When the song wound down, her handler hopped neatly down from his desk, turned the speakers back off again, and began rolling his shirtsleeves back down as casually as if he’d helped move a couch. Alex was still grinning, although not without a tinge of nervousness.

“Jeez, Sonn-- I mean, sir. I had no idea you listened to-”

“Metal?” he asked, his tone level, maybe even a bit conspiratorial. “I have broad tastes, actually.”

Alex nodded. He was… taking this strangely well. Scratching the back of her neck again, she watched as he finished with his sleeves and began to shrug his jacket back on. “So… I’m not in trouble then?”

“Trouble? No. You’re far from the first agent to be up to harmless shenanigans in my office, and if we’re being frank, I have an idea of who you lost a bet too, based on the nature of the shenanigans at hand.” His tone and faint hint of a knowing smirk as he settled back into his chair implied that this might not have been a first. Folding his hands on his desk he added, “I wouldn’t suggest making a habit of this, of course.”

She almost laughed in relief, but stifled it for a smile and a salute instead. “Yes sir! Or, uh, no sir! Or, fuck, whatever. You know what I mean.”

Was that a little smile? Sonnac hid it and waved her toward the door. “Go on then. Unless you have something relevant to report. I’m afraid the paperwork that crosses my desk is endless.”

“Right. Yessir. You have a good night, sir! And, uh, thank you.”

Her body wanted to dart for the door, spurred by a combination of nervousness and relief, but Alex forced herself to walk normally-- although she paused at the threshold.

Oh yeah. Her phone. It had stopped playing music several minutes ago, but had it stopped recording?

She glanced over her shoulder as she picked it up. Sonnac’s head was down, reading a report. Had he even been aware it was there? He had to have been; it’d been playing music when he’d entered… She swallowed, then slipped out the door, shoving the phone in her jacket again. Past the guards in the foyer. Past the guards at the door. Past the guards at the gate. She walked normally, heading for home.

Only at home, safely behind closed doors, would she dare to check and see if she had indeed captured video of Richard Sonnac playing heavy metal air guitar on his desk.

Pax was never going to believe this.  

* * *

Explanations for those who don’t know:

Characters and setting portrayed are those belonging to the MMORPG “The Secret World/Secret World Legends”. Richard Sonnac is a game NPC, and Alexandra Bishop is one of my characters. 

Alex is A) from Brooklyn, NY, and B) is a dhampyr, which in my interpretation means she was bitten by a vampire, but never fully turned, and is ‘stuck’ halfway between being human and being vampire. 

‘Harley’ is Harley Trevelyan, a mortal Templar guard that Alex is frenemies with. They sass each other, but still have each other’s backs. 

I have no idea who Reynolds is, but he’s going to get what’s coming to him. 

Black Jackal (on Alex’s T-shirt) is a fictitious heavy metal band. 

Pax belongs to a fellow player, @packetdancer

All artwork is art markers on Bristol. (With the exception of Sonnac’s pinstripes-- they’re colored pencil.)