The Beginning of All Commotions - Act 8

_{Title: The Beginning of All Commotions - Act 8
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Greece/Japan, mentions of other characters and minor pairings in later parts.
Rating/Genre: PG-15 for this chapter / Mafia-AU, Humour, Action.
Warnings: Slight crack, gang warfare, language, booze & smoking.
In this act: In which a girl seeks the extraordinary in the ordinary (you only live once, so why not?)
A/N: Tremendous thanks to tinywhitekitty for her awesome beta-ing of this chapter. Thank you, bro, for listening to all my creys/whines lmao.}

_____

Act viii.

February 14, 2kXX. 16:33 PM


Elizabeta Héderváry valued her days off. Things tend to get really hectic when you happen to be a young, ambitious and attractive lady, but especially more so when you're working towards graduating with a mass communications degree. Actually, thinking about that now made her chuckle a little, and that she did; a quiet, almost-nostalgic kind of laugh, as she swirled her drink with the miniature pink umbrella stick. Mid-way through her second year in Human Resource Management, she had made a conscious decision to switch courses, when she'd discovered – while sneaking appreciative glances at two men intensely eye-fucking each other across the table in the library – that her real calling in life was not to plough through stacks of remuneration packages, but in journalism.

Particularly in photo-journalism (moonlight illuminated their passionate throes oh-so-well).

She had always enjoyed studying the raw details; the littlest things that made an otherwise ordinary daily life occurrence more than just mundane, more than just routine. She liked to keep the "daily" in many, if not all, of her photos but there was always a spark, a bit of spunk if you will, in her shots.

There was still a lot she had to learn about the finer aspects of photography and capturing the right moment, but she prided herself on her current portfolio, especially when compared to the type of shoddy work a certain snotty-faced Gilbert Beilschemidt came up with. Liza took a longer sip at her drink, a vein twitching ever-so-slightly at her temple, brows furrowed in distaste at the very thought of her arch-rival.

Everyone thought Gilbert was charming, and that his stories were nothing short of awesome, but Liza knew better than most – countless of slant and angling in his reporting, coupled with sensational headlines, no doubt tweaked and stolen off Tumblr memes. Why was he always talking about missing airports on his Tumblr anyway? Her dashboard had been clogged with stupid airport GIFs for weeks now and she still didn't get it. And god, don't even mention the blinking, sparkle text he abuses in his weekly e-blog updates (The Very Secret But Still Awesome Blog of the Last Descendent of the Teutonic Knights).

"Miss Héderváry?"

At the sound of the voice, Liza shifted in her seat.

So he finally decided to make his move huh, she thought. She supposed it was better than having a stranger watch you from across the street continuously like a massive creeper, or like a Russian spy. If he was a creeper, she'd have a good excuse to perfect that new mixed-martial art move she had been practising over the weekend. If he was the latter… well, maybe she'd have an interesting story to blog about when she got home that night.

"That depends on who's asking," she began carefully, only to be faced with what looked to be the built torso of a man dressed in a light-blue shirt, framed by a slightly-wrinkled dark coat. She trailed her gaze upwards to meet the eyes and the languid gaze of an attractive-looking man.

The man nodded slightly, offering a polite smile. "Sorry for disrupting your afternoon, Miss Héderváry. We've met before a few times, although I'm not sure if you remember those instances."

Liza was about to call the guy out for attempting such a lousy pick-up line (with the amount of bad lines she'd received recently, she almost preferred if he had gone all melodramatic instead and recited Edwardian poetry, with a blood-red rose grasped between his teeth, just for a change). But she remembered then that the man had referred to her by name, and after another a minute or two of scrutinizing that handsome face, recognition dawned on her.

"Ah, Herakles," Liza said, the frown she'd previously worn dissipating as her expression softened. "What a surprise! How have you been? I hope your father isn't overworking you still."

Herakles grinned. "I've been good, thank you. The pace has been much slower lately. So besides a couple of late-night parties with his friends, Dad hasn't been getting himself into too much trouble."

"Not yet at least," Liza said, lips curved into a smile to match Herakles' grin. "A pity I couldn't be around for those parties – I would loved to get some great shots of him outside of business shoots and work." She paused, taking another sip of her drink, before continuing, "'Daily Life with Romulus Vargas: Snapshots of Mediocrity.' That's what I would name the collection."

"Not if he has anything to say about it. I think he'd prefer something more 'exciting.'"

"'The Vargas Adventures: Battles with Domesticity.'  How about that then?"

"Hmm," Herakles' eyes narrowed to half-slits, pondering over her suggestion like how he would over the readings of Kierkegaard. He was prone to doing that; thinking over the simplest matters for any sign of hidden profundities.

("Life must be understood backwards, but lived forwards," he'd said to her once, in the middle of a press conference, where his father was giving a hearty speech to help promote an associate's new line of men's aftershave – "With Ye Olde Spice, your man can now smell like me, even though he isn't me."

Liza wasn't quite sure what to make of it then. Come to think of it, she still wasn't sure.)

"I don't know. Maybe if he's allowed to pose as a gladiator in your shoot..." Herakles trailed off, doubt lacing his words.

"A professional photographer doesn't question her subject's idiosyncrasies when going about their daily life. In fact," Liza's hazel eyes brighten with a gleam of enthusiasm, "that might actually add to the offbeat theme of the shoot."

Herakles gave a tiny snort of amusement at that. "I'll be sure to mention that to him. If you're lucky, he might actually go along with it."

"One mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling." Liza said, the smirk still playing around the corner of her lips. "That said, what brings you here, Herakles?"  She tilted her head sideways, glancing over him once more, as if she could ascertain his very purpose of being by the sheer power of scrutiny alone. She probably couldn't, but she'd like to think she was good enough at picking up the subtleties. She enjoyed studying body language, after all.

"We believe you have in your possession something very important."

Liza froze in her seat when she heard the second voice from behind her, goose bumps prickling down the back of her neck. She swivelled her head slowly to face the speaker.

A slim man sat in the chair directly across the table from her. Like Herakles, he too was dressed in a black suit. But where Herakles' was rumpled and un-tucked, with an unbuttoned collar and a missing tie, this man's was crisp and (mostly) wrinkle-free. And unlike Herakles' easy-going and carefree demeanour – evident in the dishevelled mess of waves that was his hair, in the slouch of his shoulders, in the languid strides he took as he walked – this man was the very picture of elegance and propriety, with his short, black hair combed neatly into place, a sliver of sunlight glinting off the polished buttons and wrist-cuffs on his coat.

Save for a tiny, frayed tear at his left shoulder – and what seemed suspiciously like a weapon hanging loosely at his side – he looked as if he had just walked straight out of a business meeting.

The man cleared his throat lightly, before placing both hands before him on the table. "My apologies, Miss Héderváry. I had not meant to startle you."

"Apologies accepted," Liza said, casually leaning back into her seat, letting her gaze flicker over the stranger, before she glanced back at Herakles. "I'm assuming that you are a friend of Herakles'…"

"Oh, er–" Herakles began, a hand scratching the side of his cheek, lips pulled into a sheepish grin.

"Yes," the man spoke again, voice soft, dipping his head slightly as if in apology. "You may call me Mister Fox," he continued without missing a beat, "and forgive me for my forwardness, but I must request that you return immediately what my cou–ah, my associate had given away to you by mistake."

"Oh," Liza said, blinking uncertainly. "But I don't think I know any of these associates of yours."

"Were you approached by a teenaged-boy earlier this afternoon?" Mister Fox asked.

Liza scrunched up her nose, frowning hard as she tried to recall all the people she'd met within the course of her day.

"A kid with bright-coloured headphones?" Herakles prompted. "He's pretty boisterous. Sometimes he breaks out into a funny sort of dance–"

"Oh!" Liza clapped her hands together, a familiar face finally springing to mind. "Yes, there was someone like that. He was a sweet boy. Rather charming too, I might add."

Mister Fox's expression didn't change, but Liza could've sworn that she saw a twitch just right below his eye.

"Yong Soo is ah, very lively. However, he gets ahead of himself at times, and that has, admittedly, brought on more grief than joy on many occasions."

"I hate to be utterly frank but I really have no idea what you're getting at, Mister Fox." Liza grimaced, looking back at Herakles again, who was now occupying the other seat at their table.

"Well, it's a long story, but basically, there was kind of a mix-up, and Ki–  I mean, Mister Fox's friend got his instructions all wrong. In his over-enthusiasm, he gave away an important possession to someone else." Herakles met her questioning gaze. "And that someone happens to be you, Liza."

Oh, so that was it? Well then, Liza didn't see why Mister Fox had to be so roundabout it in the first place. If he'd just gotten straight to the point, she would have understood right away. With him being all-sneaky-suspicious like that – not to mention how Herakles was also being somewhat-sneaky-suspicious in similar fashion – Liza couldn't help but feel a tad bit curious now.

"Liza?" Herakles said, leaning forward in his seat. "Do you have it?"

"Please Miss Héderváry," Mister Fox said, a serious weight to his tone now. "It is important that we know."

A tiny, tiny part of Liza considered pretending and telling a white lie. She figured it would be interesting to watch the men be utterly baffled and then slowly panicking if she told them No, I'm sorry but the boy didn't give me anything. But her rational side cautioned her – these men aren't what they seem to be, Liza, don't be stupid – and after a moment of silent deliberation, she reached over to rummage through her duffel bag.

She pulled out a medium-sized box made of polished mahogany and set it on the table before her. It was held shut with a silver clasp. An emblem was stamped on the cover; a blood-red swallowtail butterfly, framed by swirls of ivy and golden ginkgo leaves.

"It's very cute and sweet," Liza said as she casually flicked the clasp loose and opened the box. "But I don't quite understand why anyone would go through so much trouble just to look for this, let alone to keep a plush toy in such an expensive-looking box."

Mister Fox remained impassive, save for that tiny half-smile that he allowed to show through his mask. Herakles however, was unable to hide his curiosity as he leaned forward to take a closer look inside the box. Only to gape rather stupidly at what was unmistakably a small stuffed animal – a white cat, its mouth sewn into an odd, nihilistic smirk, dressed in a pink dress and with ribbon pinned to one ear.

"Is that…uh…" Herakles frowned uncertainly.

Mister Fox's smile only grew a little wider, a gleam of humour reflected in his dark eyes. "I assure you, we have our reasons, Miss Héderváry. Would you be so kind as to return it? It may not look much, but it's not an item that should ever fall into civilian hands. I could never let a lady such as you come into harm because of it."

I'm not a porcelain princess, Liza thought, irritably. Or apparently said aloud, because Mister Fox was dipping his head once more in apology, slightly taken back by her short outburst.

"I apologise for my careless words, Miss Héderváry. It was truly not my intention to come off as patronising."

Liza closed the box, her face still turned in a slight scowl, her cheeks a little flushed. But ah, how could her maiden heart stay angry at Mister Fox when he had apologised so earnestly, unlike some men who would have probably just laughed and shrugged it off as her being a sensitive little girl.

She let out a tiny sigh, offering the man a smile as a sign of her forgiveness. "I guess I should return it… but it was given to me, so technically it belongs to me now, doesn't it?"

"Well, technically yes, but Miss Héderváry–"

"And you wouldn't possibly want to take it away by force either, would you?"

"No, of course not. But Liza, I don't think you understand–"

"But aahh! I wouldn't know what to do with it anyway, so how about we make a deal?"

Mister Fox tilted his head sideways, considering her words. "Point taken. What do you have in mind?"

Liza reached for her bag again; this time, she held up a DSLR camera. "I have a big photography project due in two weeks, but I have yet to find any suitable subjects for an idea I've had in mind."

She pointed the camera at Herakles, snapping a quick photo of him. "I'll return the box, and in exchange, I'd like to ask both of you to be models for my photoshoot."

Oh Liza, Liza, what are you doing, playing mind games with men like these? she thought. Or what she thought her mother would say if she knew what her little Lizzy was up to.

Mister Fox exchanged awkward glances with Herakles. "A-ah, I suppose we could help…"

Liza pointed the lens at Mister Fox, snapping a second photo. "A nude photoshoot."

Both men stared at her incredulously.  

Oh what was she doing indeed.

Herakles tapped the side of his cheek with a finger, nonplussed.  "Er… well, I guess I could do that. It's not the first time I've been asked to model in the nude." His lips quirked into a hesitant smile as he glanced over at his companion. "It'd be the first time I'll be in the buff with another man though…"

Mister Fox decided it was easier to avert his gaze, his cheeks turning several different shades of pink.

Liza thought of retracting what she had just suggested but… what was that thing Gilbert was always reblogging on Tumblr? YOLO… You obviously love owls? No, that didn't sound quite right. You only live once – oh yes, that one. Liza wasn't normally one to throw caution to the wind, but if she'd wanted a boring life/career, she would have just stuck to Human Resources. Plus, she thought both men looked rather good together. Maybe she could even convince them to share a deliciously hot, searing kiss, with tongues flicking and–

YOLO it was.

(Hopefully, she'd still be alive after this.)

"So gentlemen," Liza said, this time with a cheerier tone in her voice and a noticeable gleam in her eyes. "Do we have a deal?"

A pause and then–

Mister Fox sighed. "Deal."

Liza beamed brightly. "Oh, thank you so much! Don't worry, I'm a professional and I'll make sure you'll only be doing poses you're comfortable with. And–"

And she didn't manage to finish what she'd wanted to say, because there was a sudden flash – a bright burst of greenish light (…flames?) and a swoop of talons and black feathers.

Liza felt the sting of a sharp beak at her arm, and she cried out in pain as she swung her arms about.

"Liza!"

"Miss Héderváry!"

Both men rushed to her side, just as her assailant – a huge black crow – flew upwards in a rush of feathers, the box now gripped tightly within its talons. It circled over them, screeching loudly before propelling itself forward with a great flap of its wings, leaving swirls of green flames in its wake.

"What in the blazes was that… that thing?" Liza stared after the creature, mouth agape in shock. She didn't even protest when Herakles gently took her arm, giving it a quick glance-over to ensure she was not  badly injured.

A sword now in his hand, Mister Fox rushed forward, leaping after the fast-disappearing streak of green.

"Herakles!" he called back over his shoulder. "Stay with Miss Héderváry; there could be more of them!"

"Kiku, wait!" Herakles began, but the man was already out of earshot, weaving his way in between the crowd like liquid shadow.

Cursing under his breath, Herakles looked about him, sweeping his gaze over the rest of the café crowd, who were watching them with tentative and fearful expressions.

"Liza, listen to me," he said as he turned back to her. "I need to go help Kiku. So stay here where the crowd can see you and–"

"And let myself miss out on all the action?" Liza cut in, snapping out of her initial shock. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, trying to hold back a curt reply. Herakles meant well, she knew, and she could sense his genuine concern.  But she was also so tired with men and their knee-jerk response of Must Protect Fair Maidens From Big Scary Dangers!

Unless they were up against a trigger-happy mob hell-bent on murdering the shit out of their sad lives, and then dumping their bullet-ridden bodies into the Thames, she was quite certain she'd be able to hold up her own….though, if that was the case, she might have to reconsider her priorities. She didn't like being called their little princess, but she also didn't want to break her parents' poor old hearts.

But then again, who knew what they were going up against?

Liza wet her lips, hesitant. Then before she could change her mind, she reached hastily for her bag and slung the strap of her DSLR camera over her neck. Kicking the chairs lightly out of her way, she rushed towards the direction where Mister Fox had run off to.

"What– Liza, come back!" Giving the scared, ruffled patrons an apologetic nod, Herakles quickly pulled out several bills from his pocket and shoved them into the hands of the nearest waiter – "Keep the change!" – before scrambling away to catch up with Liza.

"Sorry guys," Liza muttered under her breath as she raced down the road, past the crowds of giggling middle-schoolers and tottering old ladies. "But I'm not the girl who sits around, waiting for things to happen."

No. No, she wasn't.

Especially not when there was a good story she could be capturing all on film.


~.*.~