16No more parties. At least not for a little while. They were becoming a bit of a drag anyway. No point in falling into the hands of Extremist again. Keeping a low profile, no real time for the Illusionist. Touching a carefully covered up bruise on his face, he winced quietly. He lowered his hand, his rather tired eyes staring at the amber glass in front of him.
No parties, yes. That didn't mean he couldn't come to a bar. Hardly anyone he knew would hang around in this pub. He made sure that it was a small one, hardly busy. Which he noticed was a bit of a bad thing. Only three people were there, from what he could tell. Drunkards. Staring at him.
Emmerich swallowed his drink, welcoming the familiar burn down his throat. So much for no one recognizing him. His face was usually in the paper. Business companies loving to pick at him. He was still too young to be running a top-dollar company, apparently. He pursed his lips, drumming his fingers on the counter before he turned to face one of the strangers.
"What?"
He really didn't want to relive the incident with Extremist. He should just leave. Did he ever have a chance to relax without getting thrown into something he didn't feel like falling into?
"You don't belong here."
Emmerich got the same thing from the bartender. The old man apparently didn't like new faces - or "famous" ones at least. Emmerich did have the feeling that this pub held criminals. Protected them. They didn't want some pretty, popular face to draw attention to the pub.
"I get that a lot," Emmerich muttered, taking another drink as he turned away. "I won't be here for much longer, don't worry about it. This place smells." He sniffed. "Or it could just be you."
This earned him a snarl. He went to look back, only to flinch backwards when a pocket knife was thrust at his face. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut, but it was hard when one was loose tongue from three drinks.
"Get out now, you spoiled bastard."
Emmerich raised an eyebrow. "I have had my face threatened by worse people."
"Better leave if you want to keep it," came another voice. One of the other men had approached the bar. He cursed inwardly.
"Can I at least finish my beer?" Emmerich asked innocently.
That earned him a hit to the head. Luckily it missed his still sore spot, but that didn't stop his head from spinning. "Dammit, what is with you people and feeling the need to hit me?"
Emmerich rubbed his abused skull, glowering at the men. Now he noticed the third man on his other side. The bartender didn't seem bothered by this. Now, if they really wanted him to leave - why were they blocking his exit?
"Rich boy must have a lot on him. What do you think?" The one that smelled said - but in all honesty they all smelled like shit and piss. Emmerich grimaced. Great, now he was going to get mugged.
Then a new stranger made his presence known, obviously drunk with a severely unkempt appearance. He stumbled into the pub door.
The newcomer drifted to the side as he walked in and slurred his words a bit. "Did you boys see that match tonight!" He laughed and stumbled again. "Maverick dominated Lucille, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!" The men looked at him, the bartender shook his head. Emmerich just stared in confusion.
"Why don't you get out of here buddy, go home and sober up."
The newcomer grinned, a giddy, drunken, grin and walked towards the man closest to him and Emmerich. His finger was pointed at the man, his steps were sloppy.
"I think you need to loosen up, buddy. You look a little stiff." The man looked at him, his hands clenched as he took a step forward.
"That's it, punk." The man moved forward, but the newcomer was far more than just prepared it seemed. He barely had to touch the man, and in one swift second he wasn't a man anymore. The mugger's body tensed and he gave a shrill sound, and fell to the floor a plank of wood. "I told you, you looked a little stiff." The newcomer faded his now obvious fake drunkenness and grinned again at the two men before him around Emmerich, both in complete and utter shock. They didn't move. Emmerich saw the stranger crack his knuckles and look to the floor at the piece of wood that was supposed to be a man. "Anyone else interested?"
Oh, great. A super. And the guy knew who he was, he was sure. At least his "normal" self perhaps. This was not his week. Emmerich stared down at the plank of wood on the ground where one of the men had been standing. The remaining two were staggering back, but also too damn drunk to be completely frightened. They looked ready to attack the super.
When Emmerich saw the one with the pocket knife get ready to stab, he swung his arm and landed his fist in the drunkard's stomach. He was surprised with his own move, and the second the man caught himself, Emmerich ducked the second attacker's swing and caught his arm, bending it in an angle it shouldn't ever be.
"Listen here, you assholes," he found himself snarling, "I have had just about enough people trying to kill me this week. You got that?"
The bartender seemed to have run off, but Emmerich's attention was on the screaming man as he was getting close to breaking his arm. He let go then, pushing the man to the floor. The one with the pocket knife was on his knees, throwing up. Apparently the blow to the stomach had reminded the man just how much he had drunk.
Emmerich cringed at the sight and got off of his stool, brushing off his suit and trying to tidy it. However, he staggered on his unsteady feet, being a bit tipsy. He chuckled at how ridiculous it all seemed and turned around to face the stranger that had clearly shown he was a super. Emmerich's giddy smile quickly turned to a frown. "What do you want?" He then pointed a finger at the stranger, glaring. "You gonna tell me I should stop fighting too? You one of Extremist's buddies? Well fuck you, I'm not listening!" He should really learn to shut up. Especially since the new blow to his head, including having received a worse one only two days ago, caused him to black out, finding himself tumbling to the floor. Some night.
…
Demitri watched as Stockholm, seemingly drunk himself, took his chances against the other drunks. It was strange to watch, the worlds greatest Illusionist, fight his way against two drunk muggers in a small bar. The super would have stepped in, but Stockholm seemed to have everything under control. Although, Demitri was there and waiting in case anything would go wrong. He cringed at the sight. Stockholm had the man's arm at such an obscure angle it should have been broken, but strangely and painfully, it was not. Demitri lit up a smoke and went behind the counter, grabbing a bottle of scotch. He screwed off the top and took a swig.
Emmerich Stockholm was quite the crazy cannon, one that was going loose and running a muck with the two men. Demitri only laughed when Stockholm was finished, his finger pointed out at Demitri with a scowl on his face. "What do you want?" he sneered, "You gonna tell me I should stop fighting too? You one of Extremist's buddies? Well fuck you, I'm not listening!"
This mother was either crazy or drunk himself. He was about to go to his own defense when Stockholm came crashing to the floor. Demitri cringed. "Oh boy, ain't this just swell." He sighed and went behind the bar, grabbing an ice bucket, filled it up, put some water in it and trudged back to Stockholm. He avoided the other men who were whimpering heaps on the floor.
"Hey, buddy!" he shouted. No response. He tapped him with his foot, nudging and rolling him over a little. Still there was nothing. Demitri raised the bucket above his head and dumped it on the poor fellow, almost giggling as he did so. Stockholm wouldn't be too pleased when he woke up, but it sure beat being dead.
The two men took their chances and fled very much like the bartender while Demitri seemed preoccupied with the fallen playboy.
…
Emmerich spluttered when the water hit him, jerking up as he opened his eyes and gasped. Falling back, none too gently from the shock, he groaned.
"Bastard. You have to go and do that and ruin my suit?" He tried to gain his bearings, pushing himself in a sitting position using his elbows. His thick, dark hair stuck to his forehead, dripping. Once sitting up on the floor he pressed the palm of his hand against his head and closed his eyes. His head was pounding. Almost sickeningly painful. Coughing out some remaining water that had choked in his mouth, he tried to think clearly.
"Easy mate," the stranger laughed, "I'll buy ya' a new one if it makes you feel any better. Besides, how else was I supposed to wake you up? You didn't answer when I talked to you or nothing."
Emmerich wasn't dead. He was all in one piece. "Oh, thank God," he seemed to say to himself with a deep sigh, looking himself over. "I swear, if I get jumped one more time I'm going to have to kill to get a body guard." Not that Emmerich really needed one, with his skills - but if this super didn't know of his other identity maybe it was smart to throw him off the scent if he had some idea.
Clearing his throat, Emmerich grabbed onto one of the tables and pulled himself back onto his feet, leaning against it as he looked more carefully at this stranger. The stranger took another drag of his cigarette and offered one the Emmerich as he pulled himself up. Emmerich declined the cigarette with a stiff, "No, thank you," before he pushed himself away from the table and stood up normally. Which was a bad idea and ended up sticking with leaning on it. "So who the hell are you anyway?" he sniffed, wiping at his face with his half-damp sleeve. He was not at all happy to be sopping wet, even if it wasn't all that much. Going out in public like that was not on his list of priorities.
To make matters more trouble than they were worth, Emmerich's careful makeup had been washed off. Now his bruises were evident - not that he was able to hide his busted lip all that well to begin with. Extremist had gone easy on him, and Emmerich knew that if he wore his Illusionist costume again with that nut-case around the man would not be so gentle the next time around. After all, the Extremist had promised to kill him if he did.
Emmerich again wondered if this super was an Extremist side-kick or something. Sent to spy on him, see if he got the message. He tried to breathe evenly, pretend to not look so tense. Not very easy when he was clutching the table so hard his nails were digging into the wood.
"I'm Demitri, Demitri Lischka." The stranger proudly said his name, tilting his chin up and smiling as he did so. "Demitri" seemed proud about something. "I have to admit, Mr. Stockholm, you really showed those guys. I would have never suspected you, of all people, to be kicking ass and taking names." He was giddy at the idea, apparently. "Oh, my sister will get a kick outta that idea, considering she fancies you and all." Demitri sucked in a breath and laughed a little more. He took another drag, and a swig of scotch and offered some alcohol to Emmerich.
Emmerich watched the man laugh at his own words. God, he wondered if he was that bad when he did it himself. Shaking his head, Emmerich declined the drink. "I've had enough for one night."
Getting a better look at himself and just how wet he was, Emmerich muttered ungentlemanly words under his breath. Emmerich looked up and gave Demitri a studying glance as his dark, brown eyes tried to remember him. Name nor face rang any bells. But Emmerich had a habit of forgetting people all the time. "Am I supposed to know who you are?" he asked sarcastically at the seemingly smug pride he sensed from Demitri. "A lot of women fancy me, Demeter, or whatever your name is. I'm used to it." Then the guy was off finding a snack. He had to roll his eyes.
"When I came in here, I was expecting some good grub, not a bar brawl. More fun than a sandwich though." Demitri took a few more peanuts, popped them in his mouth and swallowed.
"Right...not like I planned any of this either. If it isn't obvious enough," Emmerich muttered. "With your own little stunt back there, you really aren't subtle with the fact you are a super." He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "I really wouldn't go spreading around to anyone what happened here tonight. I have enough people up my ass." He smirked at the irony of those words.
Apparently Emmerich's demeanor only made the younger fellow laugh a little more. Demitri shrugged and put his cigarettes back in his pocket, he then took another swig of scotch and put it aside. "No, not yet anyway." He winked. Demitri stomped out his cigarette on the floor and munched on a few more peanuts. "I'm not really careful, considering he won't turn back until I make him, and when he does wake I'll have my sister work a little magic over him. Those other guys were so drunk, and smelled of shit, no one will believe them." He hopped of the bar stool and looked over at the plank of wood, wrapping his knuckles on it softly. "Poor guy, he must be really uncomfortable. So, Mr. Stockholm, what brings you to this part of town?"
"I came to relax and get away from it all." Emmerich nonchalantly pointed at the bruises on his face. "These aren't from tonight, you know. I haven't had a peaceful day all week. If not stalked by competitors or threatened by psycho self-righteous supers, I'm getting mugged by three disgusting drunkards. Sometimes I wonder if I should be a damned recluse like that Eddie-whatever-the-fuck-his-last-name-is loser."
Demitri looked back to Emmerich, "You wouldn't really want her to stick your talons in you anyway - my sister. You'd look a lot worse of than ya' do now." He returned Emmerich's remarks with a few with a few snide ones of his own, simply for good sport Emmerich assumed. "So for some big hot shot, you sure get in a lot of rows. Now why would that be?" Demitri raised a brown eyebrow and flashed a handsome grin.
Then Emmerich began to think of that outcome of being a recluse and shuddered. "No. Never mind. I'll stick with the parties, boos, and women. Even if those parties just start feeling repetitive."
"Tell me about repetitive parties, those blue blood schmucks tell the same jokes at least a dozen times over a cigar and one scotch. Talk about a bore fest, but the wives of those blue bloods, talk about bored with their husbands." Demitri grinned at him.
Emmerich ran his fingers through his damp hair and sighed, eyeing Dimitri with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, on second thought, give me one of those damn cigarettes, will you?" He smiled crookedly. "Hell if I know," he muttered, then formed a flashy smile in replacement. "Maybe they are jealous of my face too much they have to find an excuse to try and ruin it." He probably wasn't too far off.
Demitri pulled the pack from his pocket and tossed him. "You know, for a rich, sarcastic prick, I kind of like you. You got spunk."
Emmerich felt a little flattered. He scratched his beard in thought, looking off at nothing in particular until he was tossed the requested cigarette. He caught it in quick reflex. Cocking another eyebrow at Demitri he added. "Lighter?" He pretty much ignored most of the younger man's chatter, mainly taking notice to the other's features.
Not bad looking at all. Not precisely his type, but that never stopped him before. Emmerich shook his head, laughing quietly when he actually listened to the guy. He had to roll his eyes again before putting the cigarette between his lips, holding his hand out for a lighter. "Yeah, well, a lot of people either hate or love me. It's always one or the other. Or it's some weird sick love-hate thing. Then things just start getting a bit kinky and weird. But I'm not complaining."
Demitri put the lighter in Emmerich's hand, "Those jealous bastards. Trying to ruin you that way. How awful!" He retorted, though Emmerich knew he didn't buy his story for a second, but he wouldn't pry, it seemed. Demitri pulled the bottle of scotch back closer and took another drink.
"I know, right?" Emmerich muttered back sarcastically as he cupped his hand over his other to shield the lighter as he thumbed and made a spark. Lighting his cigarette, he handed Demitri back his lighter. Taking a small drag before removing the cigarette from his lips, he blew the smoke casually, the burning cancer stick between his experienced fingers.
"So tell me, are you a super in disguise?"
"What? Shit!" Emmerich thought. "How do I keep getting found out? Well…he doesn't know know…"
"Those bruises aren't from disgruntled employees." Demitri was curious about the him, extremely curious.
Emmerich had to throw this guy off. No playboy such as Emmerich Stockholm seemed to fit the type of a super, but hey, Demitri didn't seem to be either…
It was time to change subjects, to ignore Demitri's suspicion. Emmerich brushed his wet bangs from his face again, shaking out some of the water while ruffling his thick locks. It seemed no matter what he did with his hair it always came out stylish. Whether it looked formal or very casual and attractive. Down to earth. Emmerich wasn't a rich snob, or at least he tried to come off that way. The man did intermingle with commons and blue bloods. "You should probably take plank-man outside. Or somewhere else. Knowing it was once a guy who wanted to probably gut me as well as steal my wallet, kind of creeps me out."
Demitri just looked at him. "He's harmless, he can't talk, or hurt you. I mean unless I throw him at you, which would be more so me rather than 'Plank-man' here." He shrugged and set the plank on the table and covered it with his coat.
"Sure hope he can breathe…" Demitri's voice trailed off and he looked up the light, pondering whether or not the wood could breath, "It was porous, but that's not the same concept as a human with lungs."
He then shook his head and looked back to Emmerich. "I'm hungry, do you want to grab a bite to eat somewhere? I've been hungry all fudging day." He stood up and stretched, then walked behind the bar again, putting back the bottle of scotch.
"Sorry about the water and your suit. Seriously, I'll pay for a new one." Demitri came back around, this time with chips in his hands. He snacked casually on them as he looked at Emmerich. Looking over him. "Man you look like you got hit by a train. Need to take better care of yourself, buddy, or else you could end up like the plank-man here and be stiff dead. Though, hopefully he's not dead…"
Listening to the guy ramble on about the plank-man and if he was still alive or breathing was starting to generally bore Emmerich.
The question about going out to eat surprised him though, and not a lot of things did that to one Emmerich Stockholm. "Go out now? Like this? No way, kid," he said with a laugh. He shook his head and put the cigarette back between his lips. Demtri's concern was also rather...touching?
"Besides, I'm the one here with the big money." As he said this, he began fishing through his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet.
Demitri shook his head, "Well, If you say so. Doubt anyone at this hour noticed considering they're piss drunk." He stood up and grabbed his coat, putting his arms through slowly, he pulled the collar so it would fit more properly, Emmerich noticed. Demitri then grabbed the plank and shoved it in his pocket on the inside of his coat; he had to force it in their it apparently. Demitri stood awkwardly for a moment, the weight difference confused his buzzing body from what Emmerich could tell. One too many sips of scotch, eh?
"Can't say I really needed your help, but," Emmerich said with a shrug, pulling out two twenty dollar bills. "Here. Go get something. I'm going home." He held out the money, eyebrows raised quizzically, waiting for Demitri to take the them.
The younger man waved his hand and then put his hands in his pocket, digging for his cigarettes again. "No thanks, Mr. Stockholm, I don't need your cash."
"Suit yourself, kid," Emmerich said with a shrug and a chuckle before putting his money back in his wallet, then stuffing it back in his pocket. "I can pay for my own suit, so don't worry about that. I bitch about everything. You should know that if you read the papers. Good or bad, I can't help but love reading about me," he said with a smirk. "But, hey, tell that sister of yours to come by if she wants. You too, I suppose." It was awfully cute that Demitri invited him out for a meal. Wouldn't hurt to see him again - when Emmerich was in a much better state, that was.
"I don't read the papers, journalists are full of shit. They should try writing something useful, instead of talking about blue bloods, starlet's, and rich, pompous pricks who keep ruing their careers with sex and alcohol." Demitri grinned, probably partly for the fact that he was talking to the Emmerich Stockholm.
"I wouldn't say they are all full of shit. Only half." Emmerich scratched his beard. "Or was it half that I've slept with? Always get that confused." He smiled that crooked grin of his, ever cocky. Ever so attractive. Emmerich Stockholm was described as many things. Sexy, suave, charming, and even cute and adorable in some instances. Though how the last two happened, he hadn't the slightest clue. He figured that bit was for the innocent types. He sure as hell wasn't innocent, though. But then again, his general appearance today set him off as being perceived as vulnerable.
Emmerich wouldn't agree with that himself, but others who would see someone in a rugged, staggering state was probably going to be labeled as an easy target while wandering through the streets to get back home. "So far I haven't ruined my career. Don't plan on it any time soon. Big things planned, you know." He winked, that crooked, boyish smile still not leaving his lips, cigarette in his fingers once more.
"Nope, they are still full of shit." Demitri lit his cigarette and moved towards the door. "You'll probably meet my sister yourself, she goes to a lot of the rich ballroom things. Or if you go to the next production in town, she'll be center stage as always. Runs in the family I guess." Demitri smiled, his brow arched in a mischievous manner; "As for me, well I'll pass. You're not exactly my type."
Taking a drag from his cigarette, Emmerich almost choked in a laugh at Demitri's comment. "Not my type, either, buddy. Don't get any ideas." But he did like him. Still, he would never tell.
Even though Emmerich hated being told no, he would make an exception. He was too wiped out anyway to do anything too exciting for the rest of the night. He wanted to curl up in bed. Possibly sleep in. The thought was nice. He just had to get home first. A bus might be better than walking. First, he'd wait for Demitri to leave. Less to worry about. "Don't get yourself hit by a car. You seem a bit tipsy. Stay on the sidewalk."
"That's a good idea." Demitri said, "I'd hate to have to turn a car and a person in the car into a piece of wood. That'd be tricky." He pulled the plank out of his pocket, and gripped it tight in his hand.
He turned back to Emmerich as he was half way out the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Maybe we'll have drinks sometime." Demitri tossed the card towards him and grinned.
Emmerich smiled and caught the card, glancing over it before slipping it into his breast pocket. "You be careful getting home. Though, with my current luck I should tell that to myself," he said under his breath. He watched the younger man put his hands deep into his pockets again as he puffed on his cigarette. Demitri grinned again, and waved a silly wave as after he walked outside, going off into the distance.
Then Emmerich heard a voice.
"Nice to see you among your kind, Stockholm. Nothing you do surprises me."
Author's Note: Decided to keep this as random one-shots of my writing events dealing with one Emmerich Stockholm AKA The Illusionist. This bit takes place a while after the first chapter and introduces two of my friend's characters. One of which will be actually mentioned better in the next installment. The character Demitri was not written by me. I edited my friend's writing a little only to keep it in limited-third person view. I do not take credit for Demitri's awesome-ness. Heh. This took a bit of editing, some things having to be removed as Demitri's information is limited for Emmerich. Enjoy anyway! To see how awesome our role play is do feel free to visit or even join FallingPieces DOT ProBoards DOT C O M.