Post by oberonfrost on Nov 24, 2011 12:17:41 GMT -5
Ultimate Crimson Fox #1
Twenty Pieces of Silver Part 1
Dreams and Nightmares
A cloud of thick smoke hung in the air inside Le Malefosse, a small establishment located deep in a corner of the Parisian landscape infrequently traveled by tourists. From somewhere within the sparsely crowded bar, a lone saxophone played a deep, resonating melody. The interior furnishings were constructed with plush red velvet and dark mahogany, detailed with black leather and tarnished brass metalwork. The patrons were similarly dressed, in dark colored clothing, blending into the surroundings as they sipped their drinks, smoked their cigarettes and conversed in hushed tones. The lights that illuminated their small gatherings, shined through vermillion shades, casting an eerie red light across the tablescapes.
A dark haired young woman sat alone, in a back corner in the shadow of the bar. In stark contrast to the other patrons, she was dressed from head to toe in bright white fabrics. The only color on her person were the crimson sunglasses she wore, despite the darkness inside the club. She sat alone, a nearly empty glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1982 before her, and a long cigarette burning slowly between her gloved fingers.
As the saxophone droned on, the long deep notes carrying across the dimly lit room, the woman in white stood sharply. Dropping the remainder of her cigarette into the glass of expensive wine, she strode lithely past the bar, motioning the handsome bartender to her. With one gloved hand, she stroked his cheek. He leaned forward as she whispered to him, “Soir, il commence.”
As he gazed at her, puzzlement registering on his chiseled features, the woman in white pushed him away with the same gloved hand that had so tenderly caressed his cheek just a moment before. He stumbled backward, knocking a handful of liquor bottles to the floor, where they crashed, spilling their amber contents across the floor. He looked back up to find that she was no longer wearing her crimson shades. Instead, she stared at him now with empty sockets, gaping black holes where her eyes should have been.
Though the barman would have been unable to find words to express his shock and disgust, he would also not have had the time. He collapsed in a heap among the shards of glass and warm alcohol scattered across the floor. Dark red blood, almost black, poured from his eye sockets, streaking his pale features. Suddenly, mid-note, the saxophone squeaked out a dissonant chord then fell silent.
The woman in white turned away from the bar, surveying the rest of Le Malefosse and it’s patrons. Each man, each woman occupying the club now lay splayed across the floor or slumped across tables. Blood pooling on the hardwoods, seeping out of eyes frozen wide open as if terrified. And she smiled a wicked closed-lipped smile.
She made her way to the doorway, slipped her red-tinted shades back on, and pulled the handle. With a giggle that could only be described as joyous, she stepped out into the bright sunshine of mid-morning.
***
Long, slender legs carried Vivian D’Armis through the lobby of her families office building and onto the waiting elevator. As the lift carried her upward, Vivian mused how her father had started D’Armis Chemical Limited when Vivian was a young teenager. He had been a scientific genius, formerly employed by Revson Pharmaceuticals, where he had made a very comfortable living for his family. After his wife had passed away from cancer, he wanted to do more for his twin daughters, Vivian and her sister Constance. Thanks to fancy financial management, and an economy that was booming in the mid-90s, he had been able to build his own chemical empire from the ground up.
Now, her father enjoyed a comfortable retirement and had turned the reins of the company over to his daughters. Vivian would be the first to admit that her sister was really the guiding hand behind D’Armis today. In fact, Vivian had spent the last three years in America living like an heiress with very little input into how their family’s company was handled.
The elevator bell chimed, snapping Vivian back to reality. She stepped out into her sister’s office, the entire twenty-fifth floor of the D’Armis building. As soon as her red high heeled shoes hit the carpet she heard the clarion call of her twin sister’s voice ring out, “Vivi!” and founder herself wrapped in Constance’s embrace.
Constance released her sister from her grasp. “Je suis tellement content que vous avez retourné! J’ai manqué votre terriblement!”
Vivian smiled warmly at her sister. Though her accent was still obviously French, she insisted, “English please, Constance. I’m afraid I’ve gained a… preference while I’ve been way.”
With a heavy sigh, Constance acquiesced to her sister’s will. “Of course. I’m glad you’re home. You have no idea how I’ve missed you. And now, with Revson…. It is good that we can present a united front.”
Vivian had received only a few clues from e-mails sent by her sister during her stay overseas. What she did know was that their father’s former employer and their biggest competition had recently taken two high-profile clients that had been with D’Armis for years. What she didn’t know was how or why they had left. “Yes, what is going on? You’ve been… vague.”
“Let me fix you a drink,” Constance offered. She fidgeted as she walked to the wet bar across the room, twirling her index finger in her shoulder-length red hair. “Do you still prefer bourbon?”
“Oui,” Vivian agreed as she slid into one of the oversized chairs.
Constance poured and began to explain. “I don’t know who to trust, Vivi. We were working on a formula for a new pesticide; it would breakdown quickly, causing no contamination to people or animals feeding on the produce later. It was a top secret project, only a handful of scientists knew about it. Somehow Revson beat us to it. I could overlook it as a mere coincidence, but it has happened twice more in the last few months. And as you know, we’re beginning to lose our clients to them as well.”
“You think someone inside our company is selling secrets to the competition?” Vivian asked as her sister handed her the glass of bourbon.
“I do,” Constance confessed as she sat down across from her sister. “You’re are the only one I can be certain is not a traitor. That is why I asked you to come home.”
Vivian took a long drink from her glass, the ice cubes clinking lightly together as she tipped it back. “We will get to the bottom of this, this I swear to you.”
***
Night in Paris was a beautiful time. Lights glimmer across the cityscape, and the Eiffel Tower stood towering above it all, a shining pillar demonstrating the dedication and pride of the French people. ‘It is now, or never,’ Vivian though to herself, pulling the cowl over her eyes. She threw open the window of her penthouse apartment, the white linen curtains blowing in the breeze high above the city streets, and stepped out onto the narrow ledge.
With great fluidity Vivian leapt from the ledge, the long tail of her cowl trailing behind her in the wind.
Vivian and Constance were identical twins, physically alike in every way, right down to the jagged birthmark on their left thighs. However, there was one dissimilarity between them, a physical characteristic that Vivian had kept secret from everyone, including her beloved sister. Vivian was a metahuman, possessed of powers and abilities that her sister did not share.
While both had trained as gymnasts in their youth, Vivian had been the more talented. As an adult, she had come to realize that she enjoyed strength, speed, and agility far beyond that of her sister, or most normal humans for that matter. Vivian could run and jump and tumble and flip further and faster than anyone she knew. She could easily lift more dead weight that a woman of 5’10” and 143 lbs. should be able to. Even better, she could control the output of her own pheromones, inducing intense attracting or debilitating fear in others.
As she went from rooftop to rooftop, careening in a series of impossible leaps and front flips, Vivian mused how her time in America hadn’t been all about drinking, dancing and dating. She had spent considerable time keeping her body in top shape for this very night and even more money on the masked costume she wore now, and again on the seamstresses silence.
Anyone looking up would have seen nothing more than a shadow flitting quickly across the rooftops. The red-brown uniform she wore blending in with the night around her. It was tight-fitting, and under the leather fabric, there was a thin layer of Kevlar to help protect against the guns so many criminals used. The real asset though, were the steel talons that protruded from the ends of her gloved fingers. Each six inches long, they were wicked sharp, tipped with a diamond and could cut into nearly anything.
Roof to ledge and ledge to roof, Vivian made her way across the glittering skyline of her home city. Finally, alighting on the roof of the Revson Pharmaceuticals building, she knew that this was no longer the fantasy of silly girl, but a fully realized dream come to life. Vivian knew that from that day onward, she would also be known as Le Renard Rouge: The Crimson Fox.
Twenty Pieces of Silver Part 1
Dreams and Nightmares
A cloud of thick smoke hung in the air inside Le Malefosse, a small establishment located deep in a corner of the Parisian landscape infrequently traveled by tourists. From somewhere within the sparsely crowded bar, a lone saxophone played a deep, resonating melody. The interior furnishings were constructed with plush red velvet and dark mahogany, detailed with black leather and tarnished brass metalwork. The patrons were similarly dressed, in dark colored clothing, blending into the surroundings as they sipped their drinks, smoked their cigarettes and conversed in hushed tones. The lights that illuminated their small gatherings, shined through vermillion shades, casting an eerie red light across the tablescapes.
A dark haired young woman sat alone, in a back corner in the shadow of the bar. In stark contrast to the other patrons, she was dressed from head to toe in bright white fabrics. The only color on her person were the crimson sunglasses she wore, despite the darkness inside the club. She sat alone, a nearly empty glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1982 before her, and a long cigarette burning slowly between her gloved fingers.
As the saxophone droned on, the long deep notes carrying across the dimly lit room, the woman in white stood sharply. Dropping the remainder of her cigarette into the glass of expensive wine, she strode lithely past the bar, motioning the handsome bartender to her. With one gloved hand, she stroked his cheek. He leaned forward as she whispered to him, “Soir, il commence.”
As he gazed at her, puzzlement registering on his chiseled features, the woman in white pushed him away with the same gloved hand that had so tenderly caressed his cheek just a moment before. He stumbled backward, knocking a handful of liquor bottles to the floor, where they crashed, spilling their amber contents across the floor. He looked back up to find that she was no longer wearing her crimson shades. Instead, she stared at him now with empty sockets, gaping black holes where her eyes should have been.
Though the barman would have been unable to find words to express his shock and disgust, he would also not have had the time. He collapsed in a heap among the shards of glass and warm alcohol scattered across the floor. Dark red blood, almost black, poured from his eye sockets, streaking his pale features. Suddenly, mid-note, the saxophone squeaked out a dissonant chord then fell silent.
The woman in white turned away from the bar, surveying the rest of Le Malefosse and it’s patrons. Each man, each woman occupying the club now lay splayed across the floor or slumped across tables. Blood pooling on the hardwoods, seeping out of eyes frozen wide open as if terrified. And she smiled a wicked closed-lipped smile.
She made her way to the doorway, slipped her red-tinted shades back on, and pulled the handle. With a giggle that could only be described as joyous, she stepped out into the bright sunshine of mid-morning.
***
Long, slender legs carried Vivian D’Armis through the lobby of her families office building and onto the waiting elevator. As the lift carried her upward, Vivian mused how her father had started D’Armis Chemical Limited when Vivian was a young teenager. He had been a scientific genius, formerly employed by Revson Pharmaceuticals, where he had made a very comfortable living for his family. After his wife had passed away from cancer, he wanted to do more for his twin daughters, Vivian and her sister Constance. Thanks to fancy financial management, and an economy that was booming in the mid-90s, he had been able to build his own chemical empire from the ground up.
Now, her father enjoyed a comfortable retirement and had turned the reins of the company over to his daughters. Vivian would be the first to admit that her sister was really the guiding hand behind D’Armis today. In fact, Vivian had spent the last three years in America living like an heiress with very little input into how their family’s company was handled.
The elevator bell chimed, snapping Vivian back to reality. She stepped out into her sister’s office, the entire twenty-fifth floor of the D’Armis building. As soon as her red high heeled shoes hit the carpet she heard the clarion call of her twin sister’s voice ring out, “Vivi!” and founder herself wrapped in Constance’s embrace.
Constance released her sister from her grasp. “Je suis tellement content que vous avez retourné! J’ai manqué votre terriblement!”
Vivian smiled warmly at her sister. Though her accent was still obviously French, she insisted, “English please, Constance. I’m afraid I’ve gained a… preference while I’ve been way.”
With a heavy sigh, Constance acquiesced to her sister’s will. “Of course. I’m glad you’re home. You have no idea how I’ve missed you. And now, with Revson…. It is good that we can present a united front.”
Vivian had received only a few clues from e-mails sent by her sister during her stay overseas. What she did know was that their father’s former employer and their biggest competition had recently taken two high-profile clients that had been with D’Armis for years. What she didn’t know was how or why they had left. “Yes, what is going on? You’ve been… vague.”
“Let me fix you a drink,” Constance offered. She fidgeted as she walked to the wet bar across the room, twirling her index finger in her shoulder-length red hair. “Do you still prefer bourbon?”
“Oui,” Vivian agreed as she slid into one of the oversized chairs.
Constance poured and began to explain. “I don’t know who to trust, Vivi. We were working on a formula for a new pesticide; it would breakdown quickly, causing no contamination to people or animals feeding on the produce later. It was a top secret project, only a handful of scientists knew about it. Somehow Revson beat us to it. I could overlook it as a mere coincidence, but it has happened twice more in the last few months. And as you know, we’re beginning to lose our clients to them as well.”
“You think someone inside our company is selling secrets to the competition?” Vivian asked as her sister handed her the glass of bourbon.
“I do,” Constance confessed as she sat down across from her sister. “You’re are the only one I can be certain is not a traitor. That is why I asked you to come home.”
Vivian took a long drink from her glass, the ice cubes clinking lightly together as she tipped it back. “We will get to the bottom of this, this I swear to you.”
***
Night in Paris was a beautiful time. Lights glimmer across the cityscape, and the Eiffel Tower stood towering above it all, a shining pillar demonstrating the dedication and pride of the French people. ‘It is now, or never,’ Vivian though to herself, pulling the cowl over her eyes. She threw open the window of her penthouse apartment, the white linen curtains blowing in the breeze high above the city streets, and stepped out onto the narrow ledge.
With great fluidity Vivian leapt from the ledge, the long tail of her cowl trailing behind her in the wind.
Vivian and Constance were identical twins, physically alike in every way, right down to the jagged birthmark on their left thighs. However, there was one dissimilarity between them, a physical characteristic that Vivian had kept secret from everyone, including her beloved sister. Vivian was a metahuman, possessed of powers and abilities that her sister did not share.
While both had trained as gymnasts in their youth, Vivian had been the more talented. As an adult, she had come to realize that she enjoyed strength, speed, and agility far beyond that of her sister, or most normal humans for that matter. Vivian could run and jump and tumble and flip further and faster than anyone she knew. She could easily lift more dead weight that a woman of 5’10” and 143 lbs. should be able to. Even better, she could control the output of her own pheromones, inducing intense attracting or debilitating fear in others.
As she went from rooftop to rooftop, careening in a series of impossible leaps and front flips, Vivian mused how her time in America hadn’t been all about drinking, dancing and dating. She had spent considerable time keeping her body in top shape for this very night and even more money on the masked costume she wore now, and again on the seamstresses silence.
Anyone looking up would have seen nothing more than a shadow flitting quickly across the rooftops. The red-brown uniform she wore blending in with the night around her. It was tight-fitting, and under the leather fabric, there was a thin layer of Kevlar to help protect against the guns so many criminals used. The real asset though, were the steel talons that protruded from the ends of her gloved fingers. Each six inches long, they were wicked sharp, tipped with a diamond and could cut into nearly anything.
Roof to ledge and ledge to roof, Vivian made her way across the glittering skyline of her home city. Finally, alighting on the roof of the Revson Pharmaceuticals building, she knew that this was no longer the fantasy of silly girl, but a fully realized dream come to life. Vivian knew that from that day onward, she would also be known as Le Renard Rouge: The Crimson Fox.
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