The Naivety of Vanity

Andrea Beinheim, of the Beinheim royal family of France, hated American high school. From Elsa to Snow White, her “peers” loved teasing her about her status. Which was odd considering that no one ever bothered Jacques about this. Perhaps it was due to her descendancy? Maybe not… Andrea sighed as she opened the door to the French embassy, ignoring prompting from the Royal guard. She walked straight through the white marble halls to her personal bedroom, locking it with a constructed padlock. ‘No intrusions.’ She thought.

She turned on the white television and listened to the news. Another botched plan by DANGER DAN!, Lucius Alba addressing the UN, a break in at a museum a few blocks away, Mad Jack suspected in a string of murders that occurred while the victims were sleeping. Nothing out of the ordinary. She opened her trigonometry homework and placed it on the black desk. Her room was the size of a mid sized apartment in New York, and despite its size it was sparsely decorated and very Spartan. Obviously preferring function over fashion.

Multiple constructed weapons lined the walls, mixed with mundane objects. The floor, originally marble, was replaced by hardwood at Andrea’s request. Unfortunately, the blindingly bright coloration of the room was not something the architects were willing to budge on. Andrea had to get some paint so she didn’t go blind due to the sheer amount of light that the room gave off.

The black couch was pointed at the television, catty-corner to the large French doors that led to her deck. Andrea had setup massive padlocks on that door the moment she had the chance, and reinforced the windows with her own constructs.

As Andrea studied, she realized how late it was getting. She stripped out of her every day clothing, and put on a pair of silk pajamas and laid down to sleep. As she drifted off… she smelled it first. Expensive cologne. Wine and spice. She gripped the handle of her blade and whipped it in the direction that she heard the jingling of jewelry from. “Who are you?” She said in her accent tinted English.

Bright white light surrounded her body as the white armor of the Templar’s manifested. The visor of her helmet immediately covered her face.

Haru liked to think he was a master of stealth. Of course, Francine would call him overconfident, Barret a loaf, and Balthazar an idiot, but he knew he was right. He had yet to be caught, right? Despite being one of InterPol’s Most Wanted (well, the Red Bandit was, but that was Haru now, so what, really, was the difference?) and living in a world of superhumans with no powers, he had yet to be caught. A merit of his ability, surely; and he ran the world’s largest magical black market out of his freaking antique shop! If that’s not talent- anyway, not the point. The point he was making is that he’s damn fine at stealth, thank you very much.

So getting caught in a ridiculous trap like this was just pathetic.

It was common in houses like these to let some of the tiles, especially around the edges of the room, to creak; the people who live in the house would know not to step there, but any intruders would step there, not knowing the floorboards were left that way on purpose. It was a simple, stupid, amateurish thing to fall for, all things Haru is not; at least most of the time. Can you blame him for being enraptured by the angel sleeping not ten feet of him? Sure, he was here to rob her, but Haru was a guy who appreciates a pretty girl. And that was a pretty girl. He had been so involved with staring at her that he didn’t even think about avoiding stupid shit like that.

Well. He was paying for that now.

She had suddenly heard him - the creaking of the floorboard had startled him, his numerous jewelry clanking as he jumped - and Haru knew he had fucked up. She had a sword, and white light was surrounding her, evidence of some sort of magic; and anybody who uses a sword in todays world of guns and bullets was definitely confident in their ability. Haru had never seen magic like this, but he didn’t have to focus on the masterful use or the waves of some sort of energy currently washing over him (it was even more odd that the Clasp of Anansi couldn’t determine what type of magic it was). She asked who he was and before he could control himself, he answered.

”I’m your strippergram. Wassup, baby girl?”

Welp. He was dead. Might as well lean into it. Haru flashed the girl an incredibly charming smile, tucking his multi-colored locks behind one ear and winking at the girl. If he was going to die, he was going to do it as he lived.

Andrea stared daggers at the man who broke into her room. She stood, keeping the point of her sword aimed at his chest. She slowly maneuvered her way to the armor and smiled. “Rude to watch a girl dress, non?” She waved her hand and a blinding white blindfold wrapped itself around Haru’s eyes, bound by equally white chains. Andrea, within a matter of moments had the armor on. She was now ready for battle.

She waved her hand again, and a key unlocked the chains around Haru’s face fell away. She shoved the point of her sword into Haru’s lap. “Now then, “Strippergram”. I think you were going to tell me why I shouldn’t castrate you.”

Andreas heart was pounding. She kept it well hidden, but this was he first time that she would be completely without guard. She didn’t want to call out, and only hoped that they might hear the commotion. She needed to make as much noise as possible to grab their attention and keep herself safe. She kicked the chains out of the way, purposefully making them clank and clatter against her armor.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and her eyes turned almost pure white as she examined the strings of fate. This man had an expected number of strings attached, most of them silver. However, she saw two strings of differing color. “Who is your backup?”

”Well, sweetness, nobody ever accused me of ever being polite.”

His grin was equal parts “shit-eating” and “flirtatious” and did absolutely nothing to betray his heart pounding staccato in his chest. He was petrified, to be honest; for the sake of simplicity, he had left the majority of his magical artifacts behind, which was good in this situation; nobody else would get their hands on them. What was bad, however, was that that meant he was left without protection from the very angry, magical warrior woman holding a sword on him and currently talking about removing a part of him he enjoyed, thank you very much.

But Haru wasn’t worried.

On the contrary, he seemed positively breezy, adjusting his position to lean on the wall. An eyebrow flicked upwards on his handsome face as he crossed his arms, taking a very casual stance on the wall, as if his life wasn’t in danger. Only then did he snap his fingers; at that, a floating red dot appeared first on his chest, then travel across the floor to settle squarely on her chest. If she knew anything about movies, she would know what it was, even if it was only for show and dramatic flair in real life. Haru chuckled under your breath.

“Well, the answer ta both your questions, precious, is that little red dot there.” he winked as he pointed at it. “Sure I don’ have to tell you what it is, you’ve seen movies. On the other end of that dot is a really big gun. And holding that gun is my dearest friend, Patriot-” A buzzing from his earpiece interrupted him. “We ain’t friends.” But Haru ignored it, continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “-who wouldn’t hesitate to put a hole right through your pretty face. Oh, and don’t even think whatever magic you have can save you. I promise you, we’ve seen it, and his bullets aren’t normal.”

Haru was still nervous, but he hid it expertly; now was a time for steel. If she thought for a second that he was bluffing, she could attack, or worse call her guards, and any attempt to strike it rich would go down the toilet, ruining months of planning. This *had* to go smoothly. There was an energy in the air he knew they both could feel, a spark that made the hair on his arm stand on end. It only magnified the closer he got to you; there was an urge, almost, to touch her, just to see what would happen, like holding a firework until it exploded just to feel the burn.