Episode: 1.7

--- Rook ---

“Ah, Jericho, it’s good to see you. It’s been far too long.” The tailor greeted as they walked into the shop, an old tailor’s place filled with old suits and an old man standing behind the counter with greying hair wearing slacks, a white shirt and a pair of glasses

A young woman with brown hair and highlights, stood across the counter from the old man, while trying to deal with a rambunctious little girl with similar hair sitting in a nearby seat.

“You too Damico.” Jericho nodded, “I don’t suppose you’ve finished Jake’s suit?”

She idly noted the way the woman seemed to stiffen, when she heard Jericho’s voice, before staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.

That… wasn’t a reaction Jericho usually got…

(Odd…)

“Ah, yes, back of the shop.” Damico nodded.

“S-since you have a c-customer we’ll get going, papa.” The woman, Damico’s daughter she guessed, called out quickly helping her own daughter down, while Jericho gave her a double take and idly cursed under his breath. Though he didn’t use an actual curse word since, (‘there’s a child present.’)

“Bye nonno!” the little girl called back waving with one hand as her mother took her other, before rushing out in a hurry.

(Wonder what that was about?)

“Ciao, dolcezza.” Damico waved back to his granddaughter, before turning back to Jericho with a wide smile.

Jericho ran a hand across the back of neck. “Sorry for interrupting…”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for old friend.” Damico dismissed easily, “Give me a moment and I’ll bring out the suit, believe me it is a real beauty.”

“Don’t you need Sam the Priest’s ticket?” Jericho asked, while digging through his pockets for the ticket the old priest gave him.

“Please, I knew you, your brother, your father, and even your father’s father.” Damico waved him off, as he began making his way to the back of the shop. “Even if you’ve a different name, ‘Donovan’s don’t lie’. If you say Sam sent you, then Sam sent you.”

With that the old man left them alone in the front of the shop.

After a moment, she started letting her eyes drift around the shop, eyeing the various suits, hats, and surprisingly enough masquerade masks.

“So…” She began more to fill the silence than anything else. “What’s up with you and that chick?”

Jericho winced, before sighing as he began fiddling with his gloves. “I knew her back in high school, before everything went… pew.” He mimed an explosion with his hands.

“Oh,” she grinned. “an Ex?”

Part of her was wondering if the woman had been the ex, the one he’d been avoiding as long as she’d known him. (Then again, if she was there’d have been more fallout.)

Jericho rolled his eyes. “I was invited to their wedding… a year before they actually started planning it.”

She nodded, before glancing out the shop window. “You didn’t look particularly happy to see her.”

Jericho ran his hands down his face. “It’s… it’s less that I’m not happy to see her, than it is I’m worried about who she’ll tell.”

“Who will she tell?”

“People… I knew before… everything.” He explained in a way that both explained everything and nothing at the same time.

(The ex.) She filled in, after all that was the only topic he ever danced around.

“And you’re not ready to deal with her, huh?”

“With the place my head ‘s been lately?” Jer sighed, before shaking his head. “No, I can’t face them…” he glared at her with that last word, and she just shrugged.

Even if she didn’t believe the who, she did understand his general situation well enough. After all the similarities between the few parts of their situations they were willing to talk about, was the reason they got along as well as they did.

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Deciding to let the topic drop, since they both had an unspoken agreement not to push about this kind of thing, she went back to looking around the shop.

“This Damico guy makes a pretty good suit.” She commented. Even if ninety percent of the people she’d met who wore suits on the daily were dicks, the mannequins themselves managed to wear the suits particularly well.

“Yeah, he was good enough that back when the Franchetti family actually had power, they’d all come to him to have their suits made.” Jer nodded, before smirking. “Hell, after wearing one of Damico’s suits, my old man refused to wear anything else.”

She whistled.

(That is impressive.)

Even if they’d lost the majority of their power, all of New Haven knew about the Franchetti family. An old school mafia group that took over New Haven in the 50’s, and somehow managed to remain arguably the most powerful gang in the city up until about decade prior, when there was some internal schism involving the EME and the few Deviants in the family. With a history well over seventy years long, even the people like her, who moved to New Haven after their fall, knew about the Franchetti family.

(Though other people probably don’t research the local gangs as thoroughly as me…)

“…resistant, I was actually thinking of getting one for myself.” Jericho finished saying something she hadn’t been paying attention to while lost in thought.

“Um…” she glanced a nearby suit, (an expensive looking suit). “These things look kind of expensive, Jer.”

Jericho snorted. “Yeah, they’re extremely expensive, luckily we have a fair amount of money sitting around the house.”

She couldn’t help but groan. “You’re not supposed to make big purchases with that money. Besides buying a suit you’re never going to wear is a waste of money.”

“But I am going to wear it.” He told her as if it were obvious.

“What are you going to wear it for?”

“Well…” Jericho scratched at the back of his head. “I can’t really go running around in a blood-stained hoodie, so I figure a suit designed to avoid getting any stains would be better.”

“Wait, you’re getting a suit to replace your hoodie?” she asked rubbing her temples, at the man-child responsible for so much stress in her life. “People don’t just switch from hoodies to expensive suits, Jer.”

Jericho rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that. Which is why I’ll still wear my usual stuff most of the time, the suit ‘s just for when I do my supervillain thing.”

“Super- Wait, you’re still planning on being a Mask?!” she whispered harshly.

“Yeah, last time I did it I made a million in a couple hours so…” he shrugged as if it were obvious, which it was, (to a complete and total dumbass!) Her eye began twitching in annoyance, before she managed to forcibly calm herself, by taking a deep breath and looking away from the primary source of her stress.

“First, when talking about a crime, you keep your voice down.” She began with a stern look. “Second, you got lucky. You can, not go out there in a mask again!”

“Why not?” he asked, his face scrunched up in honest confusion, “I-If I pre-prepare for it right, this time.”

(Shit, he’s starting to stutter again…)

This was half the reason she didn’t want him going out, even if he actually could handle himself. (With his issues he’s liable to have a breakdown in public, and get himself killed…)

“Look Jer.” She started as softly as she could manage, knowing the harshness of her voice was triggering his mood swing. “You don’t want to be part of that world. I know you think you do, but trust me when I say, you really don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I-I…”

Her heart began pounding in her chest.

(An iron mask…)

(Bullets in the air…)

She couldn’t breathe.

(Blood on the hands…)

(Children screaming…)

She wanted to throw up.

(The world on fire…)

(Death for all…)

A hand was on her shoulder.

(Threat detected…)

Instincts kicked in.

(Incapacitate…)

Her leg shot forward, hooking around the knee, as she caught the threat’s wrist in a vice before twisting it around and pinning it behind the threat’s back, and pushing forward so the threat couldn’t move.

(Eliminate…)

Her hand reached behind her back ready to grab her cannon and shoot…

(Gun gone… use knife.)

She twisted her wrist tried to grab the knife on her thigh, so she could slit…

(Knife missing… improvise.)

She threw the threat onto the ground before raising her fist and-

“Allison!”

She froze.

(How does the threat know my…?)

She blinked twice, before finding herself on top of Jericho, her knee crushing his chest, and her fist ready to crush his skull…

(Oh God…)

She fell back, clutching her mouth as she felt dread flood her stomach, pushing burning bile up her throat, as the gravity of what she’d almost done hit her.

“Rook… you back?”

Her eyes jumped up, focusing on Jericho’s worried face as he sat a few feet away from her, hands raised cautiously as if dealing with a wild animal.

“Jer… I-I’m so… I…” she tried, stuttering out the start of an apology, that she just couldn’t voice, knowing full well what she was about to do to her (only) friend…

“Hey, hey… it’s okay.” He told her, slowly reaching for her hands.

She leapt back shaking her head.

(No… it’s not…)

“Rook.” She could just hear the fear in his voice.

She felt tears starting to form around the corners of her eyes, and her gaze fell to the floor unable to meet his any longer.

“I-I need to…” she started, not sure what she could say, as she forced herself to stand on shaky legs.… after all there was no excusing what she almost did, to her (innocent) friend.

“Rook, rook, look at me.” Jericho told her a slight steel to his voice as he forced himself to talk to her, even going so far as to try and touch her so she wouldn’t realize the sheer terror that he must be feeling.

(I-I need to get away from him…)

She backed away before he could touch her, noticing the scared look that was hiding just behind his mask of compassion, as he forced himself to try and comfort her despite the (monstrous) thing she’d nearly done.

(H-he’s scared… h-he’s not safe with me here… I’m not good for him…)

“I-I’ll go.” She told him, moving past him and towards the shop exit, making absolutely sure she didn’t force her only friend to endure her (toxic) touch.