Magic 101: Necromancy || Roman & Stephanie
Tip of a knife digging into casket wood; that had been the end. No more masks. No more pretending. The metaphorical masks, of course; the ones every person – socialite, congressman, checkout chick, low life thug, man, woman, child donned, with no end to how many different ones they wore in a day. All ciphers, as Roman Sionis had known since childhood – playing pretend with their feelings and perspectives over and over and over and over again due to anything from sycophancy to the fear of loss of control, just as Charles and Jocasta Sionis had once done before they had writhed and screamed and died in fire. Enjoying the same status as their idols of vitriol, Thomas and Martha Wayne, at last.
The Roman Sionis of Janus Industries had needed to join them, of course. It would have been hypocrisy not to. Short of being consumed by flames himself, he could still die. Become not dissimilar to the blackened bones of his parents – was Charles Sionis’ skull black after his death? Would his son who lived on truly come to reflect him? Black Mask himself continued on the family legacy of what was underneath – hateful and self-serving, revelling in it freely when his predecessors had kept it behind closed doors, but it came with its price. To enjoy anonymity, the physical mask had to be pulled off as the mask used by society had to be put back on.
There was zero debate that the lovely Zatanna Zatara was worth it, magic extraordinaire as she was. With umbrella in hand catching the drizzle and black greatcoat catching the specks of moisture, Black Mask disappeared from the naked eye as the features of the old Roman Sionis took his place. Only the eyes remained, dull, the nurses had commented following his tumultuous birth. Even a mother obsessed with appearances had noticed the fact. Venom in transparent jelly and sclera.
Turning the last corner, Hexuality was visible immediately at the other end road, its outside lights shining dim in the evening. A loose gaggle of people were outside, the doors already open for entrance for that nights show with some either heading inside or chatting with others as they waited for friends. Cheap though the tickets were, no one threw even so much as a glance at Roman’s more expensive dress; the high ranking elite and even others in his own business were regular patrons just as much as anyone else. The only difference tended to be that they booked in advance, taking up the spaces of all the other common folk who wouldn’t want to pay the advance fee. Assholes.
Passing a black dressed and beautiful Alexandra Kosov who had no idea who he was, her only good eye not even registering him and instead focused on whoever the hell her shoulder ornament was tonight, Roman pulled in his umbrella as he strode into the foyer, water dripping into the carpet from the metal tip. One of the ticket booths was already taken; some blonde haired girl with her back turned to him taking up the attendant’s attention. That was about as much as he cared to register as he opted for the free one beside her, wallet being pulled from trouser pockets.
“…Y’know, you should be careful ‘bout going out this time of night by yourself. You been hearing about all these girls disappearin’ and bein’ killed and all that?...”
Whilst his own bored looking attendant said nothing as he exchanged his money for a ticket, the one beside him seemed to be one of those ones that made up for it the worst way possible - via unnecessary conversation with people who didn't care to listen to them. Her tone was light and breathy, as if she were sharing mere gossip rather than warning about an Arkham escapee. Tetch. Demented short guy. Alice in Wonderland – why was everyone in this city just so damn crazy?
The rip of a ticket beside him before it was handed over, and out of the corner of his eye the girl’s face became apparent for just the briefest of moments as she moved.
Brave. Intrepid. The definition of derring-do. A girl in a ridiculous purple costume with long blonde hair and a pretty face had once demonstrated that holes could be gouged in it all, where the vitality that was all bottled up underneath a sealed surface could be punctured and left to bleed out. Down into puddles on the floor, running into the grates of rusted drains to spiral away and disappear out of sight, out of mind.
Not a muscle twitched as he stepped away from the booth. Simply, he followed the trail of a few to the auditorium, leaving the girl behind him. It had only been a glimpse. The Mad Hatter probably thought all his Alice’s looked incredibly like one another, but Black Mask was not so haunted with faces blurring into one another. No impromptu attacks of the conscience, and the occasional act of entertaining fond old memories didn’t blink back into the real world.
When he’d enter the auditorium, picking his chair before the show started, his jacket was cast on the spare seat beside him, closest to the alley. At Hexuality, every seat would always fill, and until he spied that girl again it wouldn’t be moved – the inevitable last place to sit.
Time to see if one form of magic truly did exist.
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