forum The Showman // One on One // Closed

Started December 08, 2019 by Deleted user

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Winston smiled sightly, turning off the TV and grunting as he stood up off of the couch.

"C'mon," he said, offering her a hand to help her up. "Let's go do somethin'. My apartment's never fun."

"No…" She chuckled, taking his hand and standing up, "Don't say that, all that matters is that you're there." Marzia fawned, only half-joking. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Somewhere," he said with a shrug, walking into his room and coming out with a pair of work boots and shin-high, socks. "There's a new restaurant down the street, isn't there? I got a bonus a few days ago, I got a little more money than I usually would."

"Hmm, the Italian one? Yeah, we can go, but I'm buying. I sold that oil painting.." Marzia shrugged, clearing her throat, and not-so casually gesturing to her heels, "So yeah, I'm buying."

"Yeah, yeah, I noticed them," he said, rolling his eyes as he sat down on the couch again to slip on his socks. "I jus' chose not to mention 'em. How much money did y'get for the painting, anyways?"

Marzia chuckled shyly, "For one of them…" She sighed, not wanting to sound spoilt or stuck-up, "Y'know..like..six, seven…" Marzia whispered, looking at the ground, "..Thousand."

"Damn" he said, impressed. Winston leaned over and began tying his shoes, the compromised position causing his voice to sound slightly strained. "I wish my hands didn't shake so damn bad, or I'd be doin' the same damn thing."

"I know, but like I keep telling you…The Institute teaches a bunch of different art forms." Marzia said, listing them off as she put on her coat, "Dancing, singing, fashion design, sculpting; which I think you'd like." She quirked an eyebrow, looking at him sarcastically, "And it's drop-in and beginner-friendly. I wish you'd reconsider."

"Nah, man," he said, getting to his feet and smoothing out his tank top before picking up a dusty leather jacket from the ground and pulling it on. "The time in my life where I was interested in that shit is long gone. 'S just too late for me."

"Noooo," Marzia whined, pulling the sides of her beret dramatically, "Don't say that…" She laughed, leaning against the wall next the door. "Just try,– or even do when you've got a spare moment! We could go to my place after and do some pottery. Just for fun." Marzia implored, tugging lightly on his sleeve.

"I don't got the time, Mars," he insisted, tugging her along to the door. "So let's stop talkin' about it an' get going. We're burning daylight here."

"Yeah, yeah, change the topic, like you always do." Marzia teased, stepping out into the street. She was greeted with a soft afternoon current of wind, winter wasn't so far now, she felt.

Winston zipped up his jacket half-way and slipped his hands into the pockets, walking out onto the sidewalk and taking a left. It was getting kind of cold. Which was good, since fighting in that purple suit often got hot as hell in the summer.
"How badly are you insisting that you pay for dinner?" he asked over his shoulder, assuming she was following him.

"I insist." She nodded, "I won't let you pay for it, though it's nice that you offered." Marzia smiled, bumping into him playfully, her cold hands buried in her coat pockets. Winter was her favourite season in her city, but at the moment, she craved a summer in Paris, bustling with sunshine, life and tourists.

"Seems unfair, considerin' I came up with the idea." Most people would have stumbled when bumped mid-step, or at least broken stride to recover, but Wilson didn't even react. It was as if nothing touched him. Every time she had asked about it, he claimed that it was just good balance, but there was always something iffy about the way he said it. "Are we gonna have to fist fight over the bill?"

"You know, on any other day, I'd arm wrestle you for it, but I'm not fallin' for your trick, not to-day, no sir-ee." Marzia chuckled. "That reminds me! While I was in Florence, I learned to make gnocchi! Come over some time and I'll make some pasta for us." She said, gesturing wildly with her hands, "It's such a delicate process.."

"New-whatnow?" he asked, raising an eyebrow over at her. "Yeah, no. Unless the food has 'getti' at the end of it, I don't trust the it-"

BOOM! From about a block down the road, a fireball launched into the air, and the shock-wave that was produced knocked everyone but Winston off their feet. People screamed in terror as another shot into the sky, this time without the wave. It was Fyre, the psycho pyromancer that has just recently broken out of jail. She was bad news, even for someone like Winston. And she had apparently teamed up with Shockwave, who hadn't been caught yet. The two together caused so much damage it was something to fawn at if they didn't threaten to kill you for looking at them.

"Shitshitshit," he mumbled, basically pulling Marzia onto her feet by her arm. "Get up, we gotta go."

"What the FUCK," Marzia yelled, trying to refocus her spinning gaze as Winston grabbed her. "What?!" She yelled, widening and squinting her eyes as people scrambled to their feet around them. "What– What's happening?!"

"Don't worry about it," he said, pushing her forward as they could hear the sound of laughter behind them. Fuckin' maniacs, he grumbled, contemplating picking Marzia up when she didn't move as fast as he wanted her to.

It was a blink of an eye. A millisecond ago, there was no one in front of them, then boom, there was. He wore a tight grey spandex suit that left a little too much open for view. His face was covered by a pair of tinted goggles, but with how close he was, they could just make out the white in his eyes. The eyes flicked from Marzia's face to Winston's and stayed there.

"Don't I know you?" Brisk asked Winston, tilting his head. The superhero still had a fading bruise on his face from the first time he met Indigo.

Before Winston had the chance to answer, the man sped off again, this time towards the two villains that were wreaking havoc.

"C'mon," Winston said, glancing back at the battle with an odd expression on his face before gently leading Marzia away by the wrist.

"Mon dieu!–" Marzia cursed, "Was that–?" She tried to keep up, and realizing her heels weren't doing much justice. She slipped them off, and held them in her free hand. "What's going to happen?" She wondered out loud, looking back while trying to put some distance from the explosion, dodging people running around them, screaming and yelling to call the police.

"A fight," he grumbled, opening the door to the closest shop and tugging her inside, "One that we don' wanna be outside when it happens."

Winston slammed the door behind them and locked the door. It was a glassfront, so doing that alone wouldn't do them much good. So, with hardly a grunt of effort, he reached up and pulled down the metal wall that they typically use to keep robbers inside.

"Go into the bathroom an' lock the door," he told her, then pointed to the clerk, who stared at Winston with scared eyes. "You too."

"Like hell, I'm gonna do that without you." She snapped, tugging at his sleeve with an angry expression. There was so much adrenaline going through her, she was past the point of arguing, "Don't try to be a hero. Come on, lets go." Marzia said firmly, gesturing to the back of the room.

Winston walked with her to the bathroom, stopping right before the entrance to allow the clerk in first.

"You're gonna hate me for this…" he mumbled, giving her an apologetic look.

The action took only a slit second. He shoved her into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and locked it from the outside with the key he had snagged when he walked past the cashier's counter.

Marzia sprung to her feet, "You're right! I really hate you for this." She yelled, banging on the door, "Winston, open the FUCKING door!" Her shoulder banged against the door close to the handle, trying to bang it open.
"Come back! What are you doing!?" She yelled.

For about 5 minutes, there was nothing but silence. Then, a huge boom! rocked the small building, shaking the floor beneath them. The sound of blows being traded lasted for almost 10 minutes, then once again, silence.

When Winston opened the door, he expected to get slapped. His face, which was covered with soot, was scrunched up like he was expecting a blow. His jacket was even dirtier than before, with a couple of spots even on fire, and one of his boots was missing.