The other Siren [Matilda - PRP]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

The very night he got the job to capture Robin, Taskmaster had gone out to investigate his intelligence. After all, Joker had quite the file, but it was only good if it was accurate. He certainly couldn't stalk Robin himself, that was a step too far, no.. he had to just examine the small details and see if they panned out. If he had the small ones right, odds were you could count on him getting the obvious ones too. So far things had been looking good, but it didn't hurt to run the whole list out before he called it a night.

He had checked most of the spots the folder made note of, and they all seemed like viable spots to try and rig an ambush. The last few weren't exactly places he wanted to venture, based on their descriptions.. but it was what it was. If the Bird found his way here every night just to check it out, then he could make it in and out too. Apparently it was just a bad place, you know, the end of the ghetto even the criminals avoid.

As he got closer to the shadiest side of town it became clear no one wanted to be there. People reacting to his appearance wasn't good either. Elsewhere he'd been greeted with a sort of quiet tolerance by the street dwellers.. here though, they were afraid of him. A guy they'd never seen before and they were scampering away into alleys and homes to avoid him. That certainly bode well. Nor do the general appearance of the surroundings.

The streets had been somewhat well kept up to a point, then it all suddenly stopped. The trashcans and dumpsters were overflowing, trash dancing down the street when the breeze rolled in. The streetlights broken ages ago, only a handful still working scattered unevenly down the street. Boarded up homes and shops, broken glass and windows everywhere.. yup, this was a haven for the true blooded criminals and lunatics. Not exactly a place he wanted to be.

A weaker person would have felt it odd or intimidating that he knew he was being watched. Only a fool would think this place truly abandoned.. those living here just didn't want to be found.. or bothered. The silence was kind of eerie.. but that didn't exactly bother him either. While certainly creepy, it wasn't the worst place he'd ever been in.. nor was it the worst place he'd ever be. He still had to check this area out, look for any truly good ambush spots. Tony imagined that this would be the worst possible place to try and get this Robin kid, the residents might jump out and ruin it all if they thought they could overtake them both. None the less it merited investigation.

Throwing his sword over his shoulder and tightening his grip on his shield, Taskmaster continued to walk down the middle of this dark, long empty road..

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] The darkness of Gotham was where Matilda lived. Like a spider, hiding in the corners and watching completely alone, ready to strike at a moment's notice, she often clung to the shadows. Part of the reason was that when she did show her face to the residents that she lived around, they often reacted in fear. The other part of the reason was because she liked being sneaky. It's like when Orifice and I play hide-and-seek.... She covered the porcelain mouth of her mask to stifle her giggle at the thought. Shh! Quiet! You can't be sneaky if you're laughing! Matilda was silent as she moved down the street, clinging to the shadows whenever she could, cursing the flickering street lights above that threatened to give away her position. If the light caught her blonde hair, it would give her a halo. And an angel she was not. "Yes I am," she argued back against the thought verbally, voice soft and muffled behind her mask. "An angel... a princess... a beautician... a mathematician! No. Not that one." She stopped talking to herself when she heard footsteps on the broken-brick that made up the pavement of the road. Matilda looked up, foggy white eyes peering into the darkness that was slowly encroaching upon Gotham as the sun set. It cast strange shadows and odd pictures onto the buildings around the street. There was a man in the road. A strange-looking man. His face was dark and hooded. She couldn't make it out. Was it a man or a shadow? Was the light playing tricks on her eyes? "Are you real?" She called out to the figure and, without a second thought, stepped out of the shadows and into a pool of light from the streetlamp above. It silhouetted her front, and only a small glare off the porcelain of her mask could be seen of her face. Dressed in a raggedy nurse's outfit with stitches across the clothing keeping it together, and stitches down her arms and legs keeping her together, Matilda stood in the middle of the road, not far ahead of the man, waiting for him to reply to her question.

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

[/td][/tr][/table]

♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

The creeps and shivers he got from this place got intensely stronger, a sudden spike in his awareness. For a brief moment, he had the urge to cut the air in front of him, his instincts screaming to attack - but nothing was there. It may as well have been a ghost, the brief cold sweat the instance sparked having paused his breath.. and he only now noticed. Exhaling deeply, he had just begun to compose himself.. it was crazy to be that scared with nothing there. Only children feared ghosts.

"Are you real?"

A voice called out to him, an eerie feeling creeping up his spine again. He turned to acknowledge whatever generated it when he saw her.. it.. whatever it was. He didn't have super human sight, didn't need it.. the seams on this person stood out like sore thumbs. It was grotesque, and yet clearly designed to somehow be an attempt at sexual attraction. All at once, the composure he had briefly mustered was drained out of him. He had seen a lot of messed up things in his day, but this woman was on a different level. Gotham was seriously messed up.

"Yes.. I'm real." he replied "..what ..are you even ..alive? he asked openly, the thoughts running through his mind forcing their way out without consideration. The lighting she was under certainly didn't help. Nothing about her set right, nothing at all. After what was entirely too long for a grown man and trained mercenary he gained control of his senses, the logical side of him taking over. It was then he noticed his stance.. what he had done without thinking while he spoke.

His shield had been taken from his back and quickly position in front of him, his sword raised and grip tightened around the hilt. That was no good, taking an immediate posture like that wasn't the way to keep others from panicking like he had. Taking a deep breath he relaxed his muscles and lowered his guard a little, turning taking several steps forward to get a better look at the.. woman? It was doing so that revealed himself to her as well, the finely detailed skeletal mask beneath his hood showing slightly beneath the shaky lightening that surrounded them.

The only thing that could be heard between their words and occasional steps was the low whurr of the lamp trying to stay alive over their heads. In his mind he could feel himself subconsciously repressing the urge to 'run.. run.. run.. run!', replacing it with a forced sense of composure behind the idea of 'remain calm.. it can't be what it looks like'. Curiosity is what kept him here more than anything, a childish trait..

Ghosts were meant to scare children, grown men knew better.

So what the hell was this?

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] She giggled. She couldn't help it. The way he grabbed his sword and shield like she was a giant and he was the giant-slayer, ready fell the beast before him! Oh, but... that sword... mmm. Shiny. Sharp. Untainted. It was too bright, too metal-looking. It needed more color. How about red? Oh but.. wait. What fun could be had with this! Who was this masked man that acted so heroic in the dark of Gotham? Who did he think he was? What business did he have being here? He didn't look bat-like, so... he probably wasn't affiliated with Batman. No Robin either. Not even a cat-shape for Catwoman. Hmmm. He wasn't from around here, was he? Otherwise he'd be an animal-themed hero. Poor fella. He didn't fit in. He could be a teddy bear.... Matilda thought with glee as she took a step forward, head tilted curiously. A big, soft teddy bear dressed like a warrior! Hmm... Father would be pleased with me if I made him a new doll. But what to do about that pesky sword? She wanted it. The shield could be his, but she wanted that sweet, sharp sword. And his eyes, but that was a-given. How to get the masked man's eyes and sword? How to do it... hmm.... "Are... Are you Batman?" She squeaked, her voice on the edge of breaking. If he could've seen her face, he would have seen the tears dramatically tumbling down her cheeks as she played the part. Her arms began to shake and she reached out to him, desperately. "P-Please! You have to help me!" She cried, moving slowly toward him, visibly trembling. She looked all around her, searching for an invisible threat. "I... I don't know where I am. I was kidnapped by a madman! He was horrible!" Her breaths were coming in short, rapid gasps, hitching in her throat as she sobbed. "Please... help me." She begged him.

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

[/td][/tr][/table]

♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

Was she giggling at him? Really? Did this creepy looking strung out woman just giggle at him in this situation? The lighting, the atmosphere, her attire and now she giggled? Or so he thought, anyway.. that all changed rather quickly.

She started to cry.. the wheezing of forced breathing through tears behind her mask. It was a familiar sound, one he was all too used to anymore. In his line of work he left a lot of women in tears, holding the corpses of their loved ones.. and it never got easier. With time though, if nothing else, he could count on forgetting some of them. She asked if he was Batman, a name he was only familiar with due to recent contracts. He certainly wasn't, nor did he think he looked anything like them.. but she thought so.

She pleaded for help, choking back tears and reaching out for him with shaking arms. Pleading her case she wobbled forward one step at a time, trying to reach him for some measure of safety. A part of him was still panicked, a part of him didn't trust this at all. That part was drowned out though. Deep in his heart of hearts, Tony wanted to repent for what he did when he got the chance to, now and then a good deed helped him soldier on.

Lowering his guard further he began to walk closer to her carefully, examining her body closely. She had stitches all over her, running down her arms and legs and the other revealed portions of her flesh. This woman was probably beautiful once.. a shame..

"Don't move lady, hold still. Your body don't look that sturdy, better not to strain it." There was no quick way of telling if the seams piecing her together were strong enough to work with her, or if a quick sudden movement would rip her open. If he stood any chance of getting her help.. he couldn't let anyone else see her like this.

God.. he was scared of this broken creature. What the hell was wrong with him, how many sci-fi movies had he seen? Pathetic..

Sheathing his sword he promptly removed his hooded cloak and moved to put it around her shoulders. "Here ya go sweetheart, it's fine, this will keep ya warm and covered. You're safe now, ya know, Taskmaster won't lose to anybody. You can relax." He reassured her..

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] Oh this was too good! He was walking closer. He believed her! Sometimes people fell for it. Batman fell for it once... and it earned him a- well actually she ended up getting hurt that time. Hmph. Oh well. She frowned behind her mask when he took a jab at her stitching. Ha! Sturdy? She'd show him sturdy! How dare he! He didn't know her or her father's work! So she had a couple of loose threads here and there... nothing that couldn't be fixed right up. She'd just go back to Dollmaker and ask him to sew her back up- wait. What was he doing? The strange man in the mask... was he... taking off his cape? She paused, her whole body frozen at this new action. Was he hot? Were they gonna play a game of bull-and-matidor? Oooooh, could she be the bull??? She was about to take a step forward when, instead, he closed the gap and wrapped the fabric around her shoulders. She froze at the feeling of the soft cloth draped around her. "Here ya go sweetheart, it's fine, this will keep ya warm and covered. You're safe now, ya know, Taskmaster won't lose to anybody. You can relax." She looked up at him, blinking behind her mask, but she didn't move. He was wearing a mask too, wasn't he? A skeleton one. She wondered if he had ugly scars to hide like she did... if that's why he was hiding his face too? Sweetheart.... he called her Sweetheart? No...nobody had called her Sweetheart. Not ever. And... he was standing close. Warm. Soft fabric. Why... why was he being so nice to her? Oh no. She tricked him. She tricked him and he was a nice person with a mask and a sword. Uh-oh. "Th-thank you...." was all she could mumble, voice muffled by the porcelain. Slowly she reached up and took both sides of the cloak, wrapping it around her tighter. "You have a mask too...." she observed. "What are you hiding from, Mister Taskmaster?"

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

[/td][/tr][/table]

♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

She thanked him..

It had been a long time since someone had truly been grateful to him for something. Contractors and partners thanked him all the time, but behind their smiles he could feel their malice and fear. The only reason they didn't try to kill him, was because they knew better. This felt real though, or so he believed. Behind his own mask he smiled ever so slightly at the irony, that he was enjoying being a hero, even if it was just to one girl, for one night.

The woman pulled the cloak tight around her as she asked about his own mask. That was right, he wore a mask too.. sometimes he really did forget it was there. It was like a second face for him, just the way he intended it to be. It helped him to hide who he was from people, one way or another, for too many reasons to count.

"This?.." he stalled, trying to muster something to tell her. He couldn't tell her who he really was, the choices he really made.. what he had done for years. This woman was in shock, in pain, she was scared and needed him. Well.. she didn't need him, she needed him to lie to her.. so he would. He would be whatever he had to tonight, just this once, to keep her from losing whatever was left. He knew that fear all too well, the brink of forgetting who you were, that was familiar territory. "I wear it to hide myself, I'm like you.. sort of.." he replied. "My scars are on the inside, choices I've made, mistakes from long ago. These scars burn, they haunt me, and anyone who knows my face under this mask, they can remember my scars too. I don't want people to see me underneath this mask. It's how I hide, it's how I carry on.. this mask is what protects me from the future. There's a lot of things I still have to do, like it or not, it's too late for me to change.. understand any of that, sweety?"

He placed a hand gently on top of her head, moving some of her hair out of her face. Her mask was her own business, how much she remembered or not wasn't his right to inquire about, nor was it safe to bring up now. The scars and wounds on her body looked fresh, much more fresh than any of the aged scars on his own body. Taking care not to catch her off guard, he slowly moved beside her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, helping to steady her. "Enough about me, come on, I'll help ya walk.. no need to strain yourself. Can ya remember a place that's safe? A place you'd like to go? This neighborhood is no place for you. I'll get ya out of here, take ya some place warm, some place safe. Ya don't gotta shake anymore, it'll be fine."

This worst part about this was the clawing, raking, voice in the back of his head. No matter how much she may have needed his help.. he was just using her. Using this poor girls plight, her helplessness, to satisfy his own ego. He wanted to feel like there was still good in him, no, he had to believe he wasn't as bad as the men he worked for. This was just a means to an end, a badge of honor he could wear in the dark. A good deed committed while standing in a pool of death and depravity.

All of this was to make himself feel better, in the long run..

Still, regardless of what that voice said, he hushed it and pressed it back into the recesses of his mind. He would help her, free of charge, not because he had to; but because she asked him.. because in her time of need he was the only one there - a bad luck of the draw. It would have been better if he was Batman, or Captain America.. a real hero. He could fake it though, too bad for her she had to settle. He couldn't take her to the police, or even a hospital, they knew his face. He could pretend though, just this once.

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] Oh no. No no no no no no no. What was he doing? What was she doing? This wasn't fun anymore. This wasn't fun! What kind of game was this? She didn't like it. It made her feel... funny inside. Strange. Empty but full at the same time. Wiggly. Wobbly? She didn't know the right word. She didn't answer him even though she did understand all of that. She wore her mask because her face was ugly, because her scars made people shriek and run away. The ones on her body did too, but not as much. People understood ugly body scars. They didn't understand ugly face scars. And they certainly didn't understand ugly inside scars. Did she have inside scars too? Or were her stitches just on the outside? What... what was an inside scar? Father... Father never told her she had any. But... Father never told her a lot of stuff. And he never hugged her. So when Taskmaster wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she tensed up at the touch- fully expecting to be hit or pushed down or hollered at. But none of that happened. Instead he just started walking with her, slowly, making sure she could take those steps. And he spoke to her... softly, gently. Uh-oh. This went from fun to not fun really fast. Matilda didn't know what to do. Her hands itched to grab her knife strapped to the back of her belt. To cut something... anything at this point. She was comfortable with her knives. They didn't give her nice cloaks or hug her. They didn't call her Sweetie. They acted for her like she acted for her father. They were tools, extensions of herself. They were, in essence, monsters too. Matilda looked up. They were moving toward the rest of the city. No. No, no, no! The people... they... they didn't like her. And she hated them! She hated them because Dollmaker said she should. And Dollmaker knew everything! She stopped walking and just stood there, face tilted toward the ground. Someplace safe? She was safe here. Nobody would hurt her here because they were afraid of her. Out there... in the city... the police would hurt her. They would take her away from her father and her brothers. From her family. And then she would have no one. No one! "I can't be alone...." she whispered to herself. Taskmaster could probably hear her but she was no longer considering that. All she could think of was that he was trying to take her into the city... where the police were. He was trying to take her away from her family! He wasn't being nice. He hated her, just like everyone else! Jaw clenched, she let go of the cloak. It dropped to the ground around her feet. "You... you can't make me go!" She shouted at him, leaping away from him swiftly and smoothly, like a cat. She found the shadows again, allowed them to blanket her back. She belonged in the shadows and no one was going to take her from them. No one. "You can't take me away from Father! I won't let you! He needs me!" She screamed at him. Her hands moved behind her, searching for the brick wall she had to her back. Her nails raked down the brick and mortar, snapping off her nails from the tips of her fingers and ripping into her skin. Bloody trails followed the pattern she scratched into the concrete as she mumbled over and over to herself that she wouldn't go to Arkham. She couldn't. Not when her father needed her!

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

[/td][/tr][/table]

♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

Shit.

He had tried so hard to be careful, to ease her out of this spot. Look how that ended. He saw her starting to break, heard her mumble about not being alone here. He tried to tighten his grip on her, to make sure she couldn't hurt herself.. but he didn't react quick enough. He had expected a delay.. some time because, well, he figured he would have been quicker than her. She leaped backward, dropping his cloak to the ground and escaping back to where she had started, a panic taking control of her. An impressive feat in her condition, but it only caused him to worry about her. There was no telling how much of that she could do in her state, or even if she knew what she was doing at all. He couldn't let this go on..

Father? He needed her? She had lost it.. was it something he said, did he trigger this? There was no telling, all he could do now was try to minimize the damage she did to herself. He had started this, he may as well see it through one way or another.

He opened his mouth, an attempt to say something before it was too late - but then he saw it, heard it. She was breaking her nails off clawing the bricks behind her. She was really starting to lose it, he had to do something quickly. Picking his cloak up he began to walk toward her, his arms held out to his sides. "Hey, shhh, it's okay. Calm down sweetie, I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do.. but you need to stay calm." He continued to walk toward her again, if nothing else he couldn't leave until he was sure she wouldn't hurt herself anymore. He could push himself that far, this was all foreign to him though.. trying to genuinely help someone, it had been years since he did that. It was funny, the last person he helped was crazy too, but that guy was different in a lot of ways.

"Hey, come on, come back to me. We can just talk, tell me about your father, ya home, whatever ya want sweetie. I'm here to help ya, remember? Breath, slow it down.. look at me, focus on me." Man, this was sad. He was no good at this talking down crap, he was normally the person the good guys tried to talk out of things. If they could see him now, his allies; the jokes they would make.. his enemies.. it wouldn't change how they saw him at all. This would all be part of some clever ruse as far as they cared.

Still, it made him wonder.. would she still have those finger nails if Captain America had been the one to find her? Would she already be safe if Spiderman were here? Could Hawkeye have already talked her down? Could Ironman have already stabilized her?

He could copy them all, flawlessly, movement for movement. So what made them better at this? It's not like he didn't want to help her, he just didn't know what to do.. it always looked so natural. He had seen it done hundreds of times, they saved countless people he had tried to harm. It always looked so effortless, and he witnessed it.. all he had was his ability to mimic people.

So why couldn't he do it like they did?..

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] What would have been a sharp, excruciating pain to anyone else wasn't to Matilda. The raking of her fingernails sent tingling sensations through her fingers as the pain registered in her mind. But it was just what she needed to snap out of whatever lost place she had gone to. To get back to normal. Her body was tense, rigid, like a predator preparing to strike. Shoulders hulking, her head was lowered and cocked to the side. All of her blonde hair fell over her left shoulder. Her breathing was rapid, shallow, but not from panic. From excitement. He was trying to talk to her in that same sweet, gentle voice he'd used before. Oh... but she wasn't going to fall for that again. Oh no. She'd had her fill of kindness. She didn't like it... or did she? No. Kindness wasn't the same to her as it was to other people. It didn't mean the same thing. But still, he tried. "Hey, come on, come back to me. We can just talk, tell me about your father, ya home, whatever ya want sweetie. I'm here to help ya, remember? Breath, slow it down.. look at me, focus on me." Focus on him? Well, okay then. A sick smile crawled across her face, hidden by the mask that never changed. Focus on him. Hmm... she could do that. She could definitely do that. Her eyes scanned his body. He was tall. Muscular. In good health. Oh... his skin. He had good skin. Tough, solid. Father would be overjoyed if she brought him home to work on. Mmm. At least she knew this one's name. She hated killing someone without finding out their name. People had personality, after all. "How did you get that name? Taskmaster?" She asked, her voice suddenly sickly-sweet. Her arms dropped to her sides and instantly she looked as non-threatening as she had when she'd first encountered him. She moved toward him again, hesitantly, timidly. "My name is Matilda. My father gave it to me. I'm special." Her voice grew softer, darker, with every word. When she was close enough, she reached out with her bloody fingertips- the blood by now had congealed grotesquely- and lightly placed them on his chest. She moved her palms up his chest slowly, seductively, and pushed her body into his. There was an innocent look in her pale, white eyes as she regarded him. "What color are your eyes?"

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

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♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

"How did you get that name? Taskmaster?"

For a very brief moment he thought he had won this encounter, that he had lost her and got her back. When her arms fell to her side, that innocent and defenseless posture, he could only see her as a helpless victim. That.. that quickly changed though.

Her voice began to change, it sounded different than it had a few moments ago. The way she moved, she was clearly trying to walk with a measure of sex appeal. It wasn't working, but to be fair to her she may not have been fully aware of her position. Her voice, as she explained her own name and cited her 'father' again, became much darker. From his perspective this potentially make believe father figure, more than likely her attacker, was the source of this madness.

During her approach, Tony had to bite back his instincts. This sort of lunacy was unpredictable, that wasn't something he liked, not knowing what she'd do one second to the next. The urge to back peddle wasn't hard for him to overcome, he had to triumph over his instinctual fears on a regular basis. She placed her bloodied hand on his chest, pressed her visually pieced together body into him. This was an unsafe situation.. a very unsafe situation. She asked about his eyes, prompting him to consider the question himself. He didn't normally see them, not as often as a normal person would. It was strange that he'd have to consider the inquiry, even if only momentarily.

"My eyes? Yes.. there dark brown. My name is me, I am the Task Master. There isn't really anything more to it." a brief answer, he couldn't very well keep up this masquerade if he told her the full truth. Without allowing much time for a pause he continued on, trying to distract her from inquiring further. "Matilda? That's a good name.. I like it." as he spoke he once again moved to cover her with the cloak. She had ran from it before, but still.. it didn't feel right, seeing her like that. He didn't imagine that whoever she was before this would want to be seen like this.

"Ya calm down now, Matilda? Willing to talk with me about whatever spooked ya? I won't force nothing on ya, so don't hurt yourself like that again.. just stay put." Looking down at her, leaning into him with her bloody fingers sliding along his chest, he felt responsible. Some part of this was his fault, surely, bad things normally were. It would be okay though - he could fix her - he was the Task Master, he could do anything.

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] Dark brown eyes. Oh, so they were the opposite of hers. Well.. as close to opposite as they could get. They were probably clear too, crystal. Not milky or foggy like hers. They sounded beautiful. She just had to have them. Matilda pulled back, slowly bringing one of her arms to her belt, but stopped when he pulled his cloak back over her. Again? Why did he insist on trying to take care of her? Did he think that she couldn't handle herself? Well then. She'd show him a thing or two. "Ya calm down now, Matilda? Willing to talk with me about whatever spooked ya? I won't force nothing on ya, so don't hurt yourself like that again.. just stay put." Hurt herself again? What was he talking about? She scrunched up her face. He wasn't making any sense. Was he crazy? Did he belong in Arkham? Wait... or maybe he'd escaped from Arkham. No... he wouldn't be trying to take care of her then. Dollmaker had told her about Arkham people. They were crazy... and not the good kind of crazy. She tilted her head at him a little, trying to figure him out. Who was he and why did he care so much about her? No. He doesn't care about you. He's trying to keep you in check, keep you normal. Isn't that right, Matilda? He's one of the daylight-dwellers. Father told you about those people. The normal people. But... if he was normal... then why was he wearing a mask? And if he was a day-walker... why was he out here at night? Normal people didn't carry around swords, did they? Her eyes narrowed. Which was it? Was he being nice or did he have an ulterior motive? Most people had ulterior motives, and... well... nobody was nice to her. So it had to be that he had some secret agenda. Well... if that's the way he wanted to play... she could do it too. She had her own agenda. The smile playing on her lips spread into a wide grin. "I don't want to talk...." she said quietly, trailing her fingers up his chest again. "Actions speak louder than words, Lovely." She purred, standing on her toes and pressing her body up against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "So what's your next move gonna be, Sweetie?" She asked seductively, using the same name he'd given her.

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

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♥thanks

[/center]

[Tony "Taskmaster" Masters]

There she was, at it again. On her tiptoes pressing her body against his, being all sorts of sexually driven despite the situation. He could feel her against him, see her standing there, practically throwing herself at him. What was going on in her head? To panic and run from him, then to all but tell him to take her? What was she trying to hide from with all of this banter?

He could hear it none the less, the broken ones always could. He imagined it's why he and Wade got along so well. When there is something wrong with you that no one else can appreciate, a burden no one can share, that let people speak to one another. He and Wade fought all the time, they argued and honestly tried to kill each other. Yet, when he came to Tony in his time of need.. he couldn't turn him away. Just like now. She was crazy, it felt like every second she was drifting farther away, but he could hear her. If nothing else he'd stay until there was nothing left, and he had no one to try and rescue. He hoped that point never arrived, but Taskmaster lived in a world firmly seated in reality.

Wrapping his arms around her waist he pulled her close, hugging her as gently as he could. After all, as far as he was concerned this was a dying, innocent woman whose sanity was slowly unraveling before his eyes. He had no idea she was a psycho, or totally aware of her form, none at all. All he saw was a victim, or maybe he saw more than that. Who knew.

He could feel the seams.. not of her clothing, or his cloak, but on her. His fingers slid slowly over the creases in her flesh marking the binding points that kept her together. She cooed so softly, asking for something that he just couldn't give her. She had to have been beautiful once, he was sure of that much. "I can't give you what you're after.." he finally muttered. An exhale of air escaping from behind his mask. Matilda was very cold.. maybe that was why she was shaking? Maybe that's why she didn't feel what had happened to her hand.

"I don't have a game plan here sweetheart. I'm way out of my element. Just give me something, Matilda, anything.. how can I help you here? I'm no hero.. do you even understand me anymore? What do you see standing here?" This was the first time he'd hugged anyone in.. good lord.. way too long for a human. Sure, he'd been to some shady joints late at night, and he'd paid for a fling here and there. That wasn't this though, he typically avoided this silly little gestures of 'care' or 'concern'. Made him feel all.. weak.. and vulnerable..

It wasn't all bad though, even considering present company.

[matildamathis]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #101010; padding-top: -1px; border-right: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-top: 4px #8B0000 solid; border-bottom: 2px #8B0000 dashed; border-left: 4px #8B0000 solid;] [style=-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));] [style=text-align: center; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 40px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #8B0000; line-height: 15%; letter-spacing: -3px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: -40px;]I want to see love through your eyes I want to heal you pretty sweet I'll throw rose petals at your feet I'll spend eternity Comparing all my poetry to yours I want to show you all the beauty You don't even know you hold I'm hurting you for your own good [/style] [style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 10px; padding-bottom: 25px; color:#888; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 5px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; line-height: 98%; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 5px;] "I can't give you what you're after." Then I'll just take it, Matilda thought aggressively the second she heard him speak. If he didn't want to give up his eyes... well, she wasn't going to take no for an answer. But there was still this issue of hugging. He had fully encompassed her now, arms wrapped securely around her body. She felt so safe... and so vulnerable, all at the same time. The top of her head was tucked into the crook of his neck, cheek resting on his chest. He was warm, and soft. He smelled nice and... he was alive. So much more alive than she would ever be. Than she could ever be. And that... well... that was desirable in more than one way. "I don't have a game plan here sweetheart. I'm way out of my element. Just give me something, Matilda, anything.. how can I help you here? I'm no hero.. do you even understand me anymore? What do you see standing here?" She smiled and stretched up to his face. "Beautiful suffering," she answered quietly, and her words had a double-meaning without her realizing it. She moved her hands up the sides of his face, fingertips grazing the edges of his mask. "I can help you, save you. I can free you," she whispered to him as she tried to lift his mask up. "Let me help you. I can give you what you need. Just trust me. It won't hurt unless... unless you want it to." The smile was in her voice. She hoped he wanted it to hurt. It was always so much more fun if they wanted it.

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I want your beautiful suffering. I want to see your pain.

[/td][/tr][/table]

♥thanks

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