Hi! I love your writing. Could I request a mean, stern-but-fair villain with a captured hero’s sidekick? Sort of a “you’re lucky you still have your baby fat” scenario. Thank you!
"Do you need a paper bag?"
"A bag." The villain's head tilted, examining them from the opposite wall of the small cell. "To breathe into. Or maybe puke into. Either way-" they waved a hand. "A bag."
"No," the sidekick said in a small voice. "No, thank you."
"You look like you're about to puke. Or hyperventilate. Or possibly cry."
"I mean, I cry at every movie I watch, it's a very low bar." They had a moment to blanch appalled that the comment might come across as in some way defiant or taunting or - something else offensive - when the villain snorted.
The sidekick swallowed, looking down at their legs. Their super-uniform was ripped slightly at the knee, and not in a cool 'ripped jeans' sort of way. More in the dishevelled, out-of-your-league, sort of way. They could see all the goosebumps quivering on their skin, hair raised, despite their general efforts not to visibly tremble.
They knew what the villain did to prisoners. Namely, they didn't take them. They got what they needed, ripping said fool apart in the process, and then moved on.
"Water?" the villain offered.
The sidekick felt their legs begin to tremble, jittering and fidgeting up and down with a dreadful anticipation. Why would the villain offer them water? To lull them into a false sense of security? To ram the glass down their throat? To poison or drug them?
"No." The sidekick's voice was almost impossibly smaller than before. "Thank you."
"Hm." The villain took a step closer.
"You're lucky, you know." The villain leaned down, so that their faces were level, though the sidekick avoided their eyes.
"I feel very lucky right now."
"Sorry," the sidekick blurted. "Sarcasm. I'm told it's a bad coping mechanism. Not that I'm -" Oh, god, they were royally screwing it all up. They'd always swore that if they had anything to do with the villain that they would play it cool. Stoic. Or at least not start babbling like an idiot. The villain must have thought the hero had a terrible choice in sidekicks.
"You're lucky," the villain said softly, "that you still have your baby fat."
"You think I'm fat?" The sidekick caught themselves. They squeezed their eyes shut, braced for a blow. "Sorry. Not the point. I'm stopping now. I'm absolutely a baby. Do not skin my baby fat. It would be very - very-"
"I would really sincerely love to, I swear, I'm not-"
The villain pressed a hand over their mouth, and despite the horror the sidekick felt a pathetic stab of gratitude at that.
"You're going to pass on a message to your boss," the sidekick said. They reached into their pocket, pulling out a small box, and tucked it into the sidekick's clammy palm. "Don't try to open in yourself, it will explode on you, you don't have the right fingerprints. Nod if you understand."
"They will probably find you somewhere in the next couple of hours. Maybe twelve at the most. Then they will release you. Hold onto the box until then - don't drop it."
"Have you given me a bomb?" It came out a muffled incoherent yelp against the villain's hand.
The villain dropped the touch, eyebrow raised.
The sidekick cleared their throat, opening their mouth to repeat the question, but-
"Not if you don't drop it or try to open it when you shouldn't."
The sidekick shivered, not entirely sure how the villain could so uncannily guess what they'd been about to say. They closed their hand tighter around the box.
The villain shifted the restraints a bit, so they could rest the box on their lap where it would less easily fall.
The sidekick's mouth felt dry.
The villain tipped their chin up with two fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. The villain's were very blue; like electricity, or a too hot flame.
"The next time I see you," the villain said, "don't irritate me and let yourself be the bait. I will take it. And I will swallow you whole in the process, and spit out all the little gristly heroic bones of you when I'm done. Once is beginner's ignorance. The second time it becomes a tactic. Okay?"
"Okay." It came out a squeak.
The villain straightened, away from them to full height, taking a last moment to consider them.
"Actually, just get a new job. You're a good kid. Heroism is a bad industry for the good ones."
With that little titbit, the villain walked away.
It took the hero six hours to find them.
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
