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Evening Dance

Ysadora walked to an open air terrace near the main river bordering one side of the city. The air was fresh, and the evening announced itself to be of a perfect warmness. A waiter saluted her, and gallantly guided her toward a table at the far end of the terrace. Ysadora suddenly felt more nervous than she expected, and she made sure that her attire (the same black dress of her mission, but without the necklace; she didn’t wished any distraction toward her ‘bosoms’, as she amusingly remembered Daniel’s explanation) was proper, as well as her makeup unsmudged by her earlier persuasive meeting with the investor.

Upon her arrival at the table, Abraham, dressed in a more casual suit, without a tie and his shirt slightly unbuttoned in response to the heat of the evening, rose from his seat to welcome her. They clumsily greeted each other with reserved pecks on the cheeks, and Abraham helped Ysadora on her seat. A soft jazz music was playing from an intimate band inside the restaurant, and the sounds filled the calm silence of the evening, the other clients’ chatter low and soft, as if the restaurant was a sacred ground where no one dared to disrupt. The two settled on the day’s specialty menu, Abraham chose a wine (he claimed a deep knowledge of this subject, to Ysadora’s amusement), and the waiter declared he would be back as swiftly as he could.

Abraham and Ysadora spent the next few minutes looking around them, fiddling with the silverware, and shyly searching for a subject to start the conversation upon. Ysadora felt her obvious lack of experience in such matters, due to her job and lifestyle never requiring talking about herself or someone’s else. Abraham felt his obvious lack of experience in such matters, due to the lack of a partner that took for once an interest to his person, and not to his position, nor desired to supplement him. So they both smiled nervously, until Ysadora realized she could comment on his attire, and Abraham realizing with an invisible facepalm that he should do the same thing. The truth was that both were too taken by each other’s eyes, which shone brighter than before, to even care about what each other were wearing.

Ysadora looked upon Abraham’s face, and she was drawn to how his deep blue eyes enhanced his black hair, and the elegant passion that oozed from his gaze; and Abraham, as he gazed into Ysadora’s turquoise eyes, saw the closest recreation of an angel that he could think of, her loose blond hair framing her delicate and softly chiseled face, seductive in a classical fashion. And both knew at that moment that they had no need to express overtly their fast-growing fall for one another; it was plain to see, and a comfort in this world. So from that moment forth, they found they could speak of anything, and not feel offended or guilty about the questions or the answers.

The waiter returned with the bottle wine, and he poured the glass, and left the bottle at Abraham’s request.

“The chef will get to your order soon,” the waiter reassured them, to which they replied that there was no hurry.

On an impulse, Abraham rose his glass, and toasted:

“To you, Ysadora, for being the most beautiful woman I’ve set eyes upon, and for the miracle that brought you into my life.”

Ysadora blushed hard, and could only raise her glass in return, ashamedly hating the fact she could not put words into her feelings. But Abraham smiled softly and comfortingly, as if knowing what her heart wanted to say even if her head could not yet express it, and simply drew his wine glass closer to hers. And so, they clinked their glass together and took a small sip, their eyes never leaving one another.

Abraham suddenly grimaced, and discreetly spat the wine in the nearby bush.

“That’s the most awful thing I ever drank! It tastes like liquid mud!”

Ysadora considered her glass with puzzlement.

“Really? It tastes just fine to me; notes of cherry, chocolate and spices...”

Abraham looked at her in doubt, then tentatively took a small sip. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he finally put down his glass.

“I see what you mean. Strange, though, I’m sure it should taste more than what I’m getting… It must be the result of the entrées I took before you came in.”

Ysadora laughed at this confession, Abraham joining her, realizing how ungallant it made him seem.

When about half an hour passed, Abraham and Ysadora were waiting for their dessert and were passionately talking about various important events in their respective lives; though most of the talks were about Abraham’s life, as Ysadora only hinted of her intensive training, explaining that the process was too complex and over too many years to be properly described. But Ysadora learned of the various obstacles and abuses Abraham went through in his younger years; and she felt admirative as such mistreatments didn’t hinder Abraham’s ambitions and goals, but only strengthened them. When he finished emptying his heart, Ysadora leaned forward and took gently his hand in hers. She did not need to say anything, as Abraham knew she backed him.

“That’s when I studied more profoundly Chaos Theory, and how Nature deals with Life, in general. If I could understand how the most basic yet effective control of Nature herself applies against her own life, then humans would be no more different. They obey the Universal Law of Nature: Might makes Right,” he quickly resumed.

Ysadora smiled in agreement and said nothing; for once someone who saw the world as it was, Abraham thought with relief. As the now cooler silent evening settled around them, and the restaurant’s band started a new song, another thought crossed Abraham’s mind. He looked deep within Ysadora’s eyes, and knew at once he didn’t need to hesitate. He rose, took her hand, and gracefully lead her to an empty space of the terrace, clearly meant as a dancing space. She smiled playfully, and with equal grace, she moved in time to the music, sometimes a few steps away from Abraham, and the rest of the time moving against him. He followed her as much as he could, but instead found himself appreciating her taunting movements.

After a few minutes, when the song ended and a slower ballad began, he lead her to a slow waltz, one of his hand holding her hand against his chest, the other feeling her back beneath the delicate fabric of her dress. For the first time and a rare moment in all of Ysadora’s life, she let go of her usual self-control, closed her eyes and rested her head against Abraham’s shoulder. Both felt finally at peace with one another, knowing deep in their heart they would never disagree or betray one another.

A deeply hateful roar pierced the calm air, and Randall’s usually distinguished Britannian voice bellowed:

“Take your hands off my daughter!!!”

With surprising strength and in one fluid yet fast movement, Randall took the shoulder of Ysadora with one hand and flung her aside, making her fall to the stone floor. Abraham noticed with deep surprise that Ysadora, despite getting back to her feet, did no movement to defend herself against Randall’s rude push, and on the contrary, kept staying out of his way, fear in her eyes for the first time since he knew her.

Such surprise didn’t last long, for Randall turned to him, burning rage distorting his face. Before Abraham could even protest, Randall administered him a powerful punch to the lungs, so strong that Abraham thought he staggered several feet back, gasping, his mind becoming blank with shock at Randall’s strength and rage, his vision blurred.

When his vision returned, he noticed Randall and Ysadora staring at him with shocked expressions. At that moment, he realized that Randall was accompanied with a small orange-haired man with a lunatic gleeful expression on his face, and a tall blond man whom he recognized as Ysadora’s assistant Daniel, who was the only one with a completely expressionless face, staring at him almost in professional curiosity. Randall’s shocked expression soon turned to anger, while Ysadora stood back a few paces, Abraham wondering what they saw.

“Another M.U.T.! I knew he was a spy for these newcomers!” the orange-haired lunatic hissed in spite; and before Abraham could see it coming, the man threw himself at him, slammed him down to the floor stone despite his short stature, and held a three bladed knife against his throat, his green eyes gleaming with pleasure at the anticipation of his kill.

“I know spies, and he is not one,” Ysadora’s small but bright voice, as if she was afraid to disobey Randall’s orders, stopped Scott in his track.

“Ysadora, don’t speak!” Randall roared.

“But Randall, we need him!” Ysadora urged him.

Randall turned on her, and slapped her across the cheek with no restraint, as if she was a child who had a tantrum. Abraham reared at this unusual treatment, but he was pinned down by the extraordinary strength of the orange-haired man. Still, Abraham wondered why Ysadora made no movement against Randall (‘her father?’ he couldn’t help but ludicrously wonder), despite her clear advantage in fighting, and the dishonour she just endured, a grown woman being slapped in the face like a child.

“Sir, Miss Dawn is right. Mr. Abraham exhibits no inherent traits that could lead to spying or betrayal,” Daniel intervened, his calm monotone voice inhuman in the current scenery.

Randall glared at him for a few moments, Ysadora dutifully keeping her hands behind her back, like a scolded soldier; the orange-haired man kept on holding his katar dagger against Abraham’s throat, waiting for the order to kill his prey.

Considering Daniel’s diagnostic, Randall turned toward Abraham, his icy eyes nevertheless burning with the fire of hate.

“Scott, get him up,” he ordered the orange-haired man.

With a dissatisfied grunt, Scott ungracefully raised Abraham to his feet, placed himself behind him while holding one of his arm, and replaced his dagger against Abraham’s throat.

“Who are you?” Randall hissed.

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“Abraham Solomon, sir,” Abraham answered truthfully, slowly panicking. What the hell was going on?

Randall dangerously approached him, and slapped him hard.

“Don’t lie! Who are you?” he bellowed.

Abraham blanked out in quick succession, his mind filled with panic; but every time he came to consciousness, he could see the shock in the group’s eyes.

“Sir,” Daniel’s voice intervened, “it is possible that he himself does not know that he is an M.U.T. His entire behaviour is suggestive of his lack of knowledge and control over such a situation.”

“How is that possible?” Randall asked, his glaring eyes never leaving Abraham.

“Countless ways, sir. I would need to interrogate him to know how he came into existence.”

Randall thought about it; he looked toward Ysadora, and back to Scott.

“Let him go,” he reticently ordered him.

Scott hissed in anger and disappointment, but Randall’s glare wasn’t welcoming argument, so he obeyed. Abraham finally managed to get a grip on his panic, and his hands flew to his neck, searching for wounds.

Randall stared at him, and turned to Ysadora.

“Shoot him,” he ordered her.

Abraham raised his head in shock, and stared at Ysadora, waiting for her answer. She looked at her father, who stood unflinching, and back at him, her misty eyes betraying her emotional turmoil. Abraham knew at once her response, and that knowledge, despite announcing his end, reassured him; for she was loyal to a fault to her father, and had they been blessed with a life together, she would have shown that same unyielding loyalty to him. If, in return, this was his only proof of loyalty to her world, then he was at peace with it. He would not plead and be returned to his own, emptied of worth, world.

He gave her a reassuring smile, and closed his eyes, waiting for the shot, barely hearing the blond man’s voice intervening:

“Sir, you cannot shoot Mr. Solomon!”

“Stay out of it, Daniel,” Randall coldly replied.

“I cannot, sir; I must prevent you from harming Mr. Solomon,” Daniel persisted.

Abraham couldn’t help but open one eye as Daniel took a determined step toward Ysadora; but Randall took him roughly by the elbow to stop him. It did nothing, however, as Daniel shrugged himself easily from the grip, and darted toward Ysadora. Ysadora’s turquoise eyes held Abraham’s gaze, her chest heaving as she clearly tried to silence her conflict, and her hand moved to her purse, where he knew her handgun was hidden. Abraham closed once again his eyes, and peacefully waited for the end.

**

Ysadora gulped in regret for the first time since all these years she had been the obedient knight; the Feldmarschall’s words sprang to life:

“...think deeply about whether you still have a drop of humanity left; and how long before you lose even that drop?”

Staring at the peaceful face of Abraham, his eyes closed in anticipation, she took out her handgun from her purse, and without hesitation, shot straight at his head.

He collapsed as she conjured every ounce of her strength to stop a tear from falling; Daniel stopped in his track and instead went quickly to him, slightly stumbling and tripping along the way, while Scott hissed in disappointment, as he wasn’t the one who took Abraham down. Randall looked thoughtfully at Ysadora, and he smiled weakly at her obedience.

“He is safe, sir,” Daniel suddenly announced, and the group startled at the unexpected diagnostic. “He has simply fainted, because he was convinced the shot would come.”

“But I shot him in the head!” Ysadora protested, fearful that Randall would think that she tricked him. But Randall looked merely interested by this turn of event.

“We must not forget that his M.U.T. instinct was still active. His head was, all things in consideration, non-existent,” Daniel explained. “It was as if you shot the air. The simplest way I can explain, is that because he knew you were going to shoot, his body reacted in instinct and he became out of phase. You could still see him, but he was physically non-existent. Thus, you shot at air. But now the danger is passed, his subconscious brought his physicality back.”

Ysadora turned to Randall, and keeping her voice steady, she implored:

“We should at least follow Daniel’s suggestion of interrogating him. His psychological profile indicated allegiance and obedience, not betrayal. If he is truly on our side, he will be excellent. We need a scapegoat more than ever; but imagine a scapegoat that can literally disappear and never be caught!”

Randall took a deep breath, and turned to her:

“And that is exactly what I will do, Ysadora. You both passed the test, yourself even more. Take him to your place,” he ordered Daniel.

Daniel immediately picked up Abraham and carried him in the manner of a fireman, with seemingly no effort at all, while Scott begrudgingly hid back his dagger in his sleeve. The restaurant was empty at the beforehand order of Randall, with the help of a generous bribe, so no one was left to witness the whole scene.

Before leaving, Ysadora erased the security camera after the first dance, and registered in the log a failure of the restaurant’s primary and secondary power due to a short-circuit. That would leave no evidence of Abraham’s extraordinary M.U.T. ability.