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simple-study-of-story · 1 year ago

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Zekiel looked at an empty spot in an art exhibition. Normally, it wasn’t empty. It usually had the only painting that had truly caught his attention. It depicted a crowd of people, their faces blurred in their movement as they crossed the streets, crossed the painting’s frame of view. Buildings and shops stood in the background, also blurred, giving them the same anonymity as the people. Everything and everyone anonymous… except for one person at the center. The one person with details on the canvas. In the monochrome world created, this person at the center of it all was blasted with color. Their raven black hair contrasted with the dull whites and greys around them. Their sapphire blue eyes sparkled with life against the soulless ones around them. Highlights brought attention to their jawline, their nose, their cheeks. He could see every detail in the character’s side profile, from the out-of-place strand of hair hanging above their eyebrows to the smallest faded scar that ran under their ear.

When he first saw the piece, Zekiel stopped in the middle of the walkway in shock. He walked over to it, amazed with how much was captured in a single frame. What intrigued him most, however, was how the artist knew. That was his face at the center of the masses. His face in full color, his face in full detail. That scar under his ear was from a fight with the villain, Syren. She had managed to scratch him with her claws as he tried to stop her from robbing the bank. No one should have been able to get this much detail on his civilian identity.

Now, the spot was empty, replaced with a radius of caution tape, a pair of cops, and a detective. Someone had stolen it the night before and left no trace, except for a couple drops of water from what he heard. It irked him, to say the least. He wanted that painting back, if not for the public but for himself. There was something about it that made him feel… something. That bothered him too: he didn’t know why he felt such a strong connection to the piece. It didn’t make sense to him. He wanted to make it make sense.

He already had a suspect in mind. It was time to pay her a visit.

---

Blix stood against her window, staring at the painting before her. She never named it. It was only known as “Man in a Crowd,” which did the piece no justice, not because it wasn’t true but because there was more to it. It was the feeling of isolation, loneliness, and longing behind it that made it as gorgeous as people said it was. A lonely man in full color, standing out against a sea of unknown faces, in a world that meant nothing but at the same time meant everything.

She wiped away the drops of water resting on the outer bronze frame. How could she have sold this for only 500? None of her pieces should be sold at such a low price, especially not this one. I suppose it was better that I made it famous first before stealing it back, she thought. That way I can sell it at a higher price, again and again.

Someone knocked on her door. Blix looked at the clock. 11:06 am. He’s a bit late, she shrugged before donning her midnight blue jumpsuit and her scaled masquerade mask. It’s all just formalities at this point, she thought as she fixed the mask loosely around her eyes.

Blix went to the door, opening it as she ran a hand through her hair and leaned against the doorframe. “You’re late, darling.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” The Mask sounded irritated. Just as she expected.

“When have I ever listened to you, darling? And besides, I’ve been led to believe you like being called that.”

He sighed, his mask frowning. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Honey, there’s a lot of things you could be talking about right now. You know me, you need to be specific.”

He scratched his head in frustration, making his hair stick up. “The painting.”

“What painting?”

“Syren for the love of the gods I am not in the mood right now, just give me the damn painting.”

Blix feigned a look of hurt. “No need to be so rude about it,” she mock-pouted. She held the door open wider for him. “Come in and look for it yourself.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“Look, darling, if I had traps set in here, they’d be disabled because I am inside the house. It’s safe for you. Unless, of course, you piss me off real good and then I’d be obligated to try and kill you.”

The Mask sighed, irritated. “Fine.” He stepped inside carefully. Blix had half a mind to yell “BOO!” and shake him up at that moment, but knowing how he could be when angered, she figured that wouldn’t be the best thing to do.

When he found that he was still alive after the first few steps inside the house, she closed the door. “Feel free to explore, look around for whatever painting you’re looking for. Just don’t go to the basement, that’s where I keep the bodies.”

He gave her a look. She sighed. “Ok fine, I don’t keep bodies in there, just their organs.” He glared at her, not at all amused.

Blix huffed. “Okay, damn, just trying to have fun here. I’m gonna make some tea. You don’t have to drink any if you’re paranoid but I’m making enough for two. Enjoy your search.”

---

Zekiel walked around the house. Boxes and papers were strewn around in about every corner he could see. If she was expecting me, the least she could have done was tidy up right?

He walked around the house. Where could she keep a massive painting? He peeked into a hallway. There were three doors, one of which was slightly open. He looked back towards the kitchen, where he could hear Syren boiling water. Was she seriously making tea? He shook his head and walked to the open door, peeking inside.

As he expected, boxes were piled to the ceiling and papers were everywhere. But there were also jars of discolored water, brushes, canvases, and paints. An easel was propped up in the center with the back of the canvas facing him. He opened the door wider and stood there. The entire room was full of art, from paintings to sketches and drawings. Sketchbooks littered the bench before the massive window facing the door. There were birds, flowers, fruits, trees, mountains; one was a cottage in the woods with a garden and a fox waiting patiently next to it. But what caught his attention the most were the still frames of moving scenes, similar to the painting he was looking for.

Zekiel walked in, careful not to spill the jars of water or trip on the loose newspapers laying around, protecting the flooring. He saw a frame of a laughing child, a singer on the streets, kids running with a ball between them, a couple leaning on each other on a park bench. He saw himself as the center of many still frames, giving a flower to a little girl, drinking with friends at a pub, carrying a crate of flowers. Hell, he remembered doing all that. There was even a still frame of him fighting Syren on the beach, where he managed to… well, subdue her, he figured, in her own element. But in all of these still frames, he should have had his mask on.

There was no mask in any of these works.

He circled around the easel at the center and found the painting he was looking for propped up on it. Zekiel marveled at the piece, at every work he saw before him, every little detail he could see, from the pollen in the flowers to the mole on a child’s cheek. It all looked gorgeous. Beautiful. The whole room looked like pieces of a fragmented soul, scattered on the walls, hidden in the eyes of the people drawn, hidden in the beauty of the iris flowers sketched. It was all breathtaking.

“So you found it.”

Zekiel tore his eyes off the works of art and found Syren leaning on the doorway, a cup of tea in each hand, the scales on her mask shimmering in the sunlight that entered through the window. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah I found it.”

“The one on the easel, yeah?”

He nodded. She smirked a bit, a soft smile that he had never known she could do. “Would you like a cup of tea before you take it? I assume you’ll be heading back to the exhibition to drop it off.”

“You didn’t poison it or anything right?”

She chuckled. “If I wanted you dead, I would have tried killing you the second I answered the door. You of all people should know that.”

“Fair enough.” Zekiel walked over to her and took one of the cups from her hand. He took the cup and raised it to his lips before realizing that he still had his mask on. He paused. She took a sip from her cup, flinching as she realized it was too hot. “How long have you known what I looked like?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s been ages now,” she said, blowing on her tea.

“How did you find out?”

She paused. “You know how you go to the beach to calm down after every fight?”

He blinked in surprise. “Yeah…?”

“Where do you think sirens live, darling?”

Zekiel was silent. Then he started feeling a little self-conscious. “How… how much do you… do you see…?”

Syren laughed, a melodious laugh that washed over him like a wave. “You don’t have anything to worry about darling,” she consoled him. “You have a good body if that helps your ego.”

“Oh gods, please tell me that’s all you see.”

“What do you take me for, a full-time stalker?” she said, sounding mildly offended. “I’m not a creep, alright?”

“If you’re not a creep, then explain the paintings and the sketches,” he said. “You could have just told me you’re obsessed with me.”

“Oh please, like you would have believed that that easily.” Syren sipped her tea carefully.

Zekiel looked around. “I just… you could easily make a living off of your work, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy to make a living off of this. But also, what did you think my day job was? Some behind-the-desk phone operator or something?”

“Fair enough.” He held the tea to his lips again, then remembered his mask was still on. He set the cup back on the saucer and touched his mask. “I guess there isn’t much need for this stupid thing, huh?”

Syren shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“Can I close the window curtains at least?”

“Sure,” she said, flicking the lights on.

He went over to the window and drew the curtains, then sighed. “If I’m going to remove my mask, you should remove yours too. It’s only fair.”

Syren was silent, then sighed. “Alright. That’s fair.”

Zekiel exhaled. “I’m taking mine off now then.” He held his mask by its chin and lifted it up, moving it so that it was on the side of his head. Then he turned.

Syren’s mask was in her free hand as she moved to hang it on the easel. Up until now, he had never noticed her eyes. They almost blended in with the shimmering scales of her mask. Now, he could see that they sparkled like golden honey. They were warm and comforting, the complete opposite of what he would expect a villain’s eyes to look like. She looked truly human, and truly gorgeous.

She looked at him. “You’re staring darling,” she chuckled.

He blinked and came back to reality. “I understand why you’re a villain now,” he said, regaining his sanity for a second. “It’s a crime to look as gorgeous as you.”

She blinked, stunned, then grinned. “I’m glad to know that you can flirt back. I’ll be expecting more of that from now on.”

“Would be a shame to disappoint.”

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