Hide And Seek (Monty)

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Was it weird to feel like she was coming home in a way, as Mylène crept through the narrow, dark and damp corridors of the catacombes underneath Paris’ houses and streets with nothing but a candle to shed a little light forward? She supposed it was, in a way, but she could not bring herself to care. For a stranger, these dark stone walls would seem threatening and mysterious, full of unknown dangers, but for her practically every one of those ways and corners were full of memories. Memories of a time not so long past or longer past. Here was the niche where she had hidden from Claquesous after making fun of him. A few hundred yards to the left would be the ossuary of the Montparnasse cemetry, where she had often played games with her friends of the streets. A dare to go in there and spent a considerable amount of time in complete darkness with only the skulls and bones for company… fight the fear of decay and death in a way, but it had not seemed to them like that back then. They had just liked the thrill of it, to prove their courage.

The catacombes of Paris certainly were no place for the fainthearted. Down here, there was no law aside from that you could claim as your own. When it rained, the sewers swelled and threatened to flood the old quarries in various places, you could drown in your sleep – if someone hadn’t cut your throat before that. And yet, with all the danger, it had been a home. A natural roof above your head, an exciting playground to grow up in. No glamour, no flitter, no lies and false fronts. Just life, in its barest forms – misery, surely, but still a secret world you were part of. Mylène had left all of this behind in favour of an ‘honest’ life, a life she enjoyed without any doubt. She was one of the nameless faces of the working class now instead of Mylène, leader of a band of child thieves or Mylène LaCoquine, daring member of the juggler and carney group Les Corbeaux. But to her new friends and to a few old ones, she was still Mylie or Coquine. She was someone, and her old life was still a part of her in a way.

Why was she returning now? She hadn’t been down here in a few months, after all, apart from trying to escape from the Parade, but there she hadn’t made it past the first step down the Rue Cochin entrance… It was a trip to the past, yes, but it was in service of the future. The mood in Paris was explosive to say the least, but she knew that any explosion would not be succesful unless it wasn’t supported by ALL parts of Paris. And a huge part was invisible to the ignorant eye. Down here, the lowest of the low lived, those who stole and begged to survive, or both, and they did not care for those who lived and worked above, apart from how easy it was to get their money and food. If they only could SEE though that in a world where everyone was equal, they would not have to do this! Mylène had brought Courf and Pépier together already, and Pépier was spreading the word now amongst the jugglers. There was a fair chance some of them would join a rebellion. But down here… so much work had still to be done, and Mylène was intent on trying.

Sneaking through familiar alleys, crossroads and shortcuts, she did not encounter anyone, until the flickering light of her candle flame showed a shadow in the distance. It had been only a split second, but the shade had born an unsettlingly familiar shape. A hat, close to the shape of a tophat. Patron-Minette…? Impulsively, Mylène closed her eyes and snuffed out her candle blindly, so the difference between light and dark would not be so big. Pressing herself against the damp stone wall behind her, she then crept forward. It might be foolish, but she was not the type to turn around and go because of a mere shadow. If it was Thénardier himself, she would have nothing to fear anyway, and if not… well, just a few yards ahead there was another narrow lane she could slip into and take a different turn. Above her head was the Jardin du Luxembourg... She still had this, a few months of absence or not!

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

The body was stripped of all valuables, and Montparnasse had no more use for it. Hidden here, below the city, it was unlikely anyone would find it except others who lurked in the Parisian underworld. They would know, perhaps, who had snuffed the life from the corpse—but that hardly mattered. The police would not chase him here, and if they did—well, he was Montparnasse and not some novice pickpocket. He could lose them within the labyrinth, come back around behind them, and in the end they would join the skeletons lying in the darkness. He rose from his crouched position beside it, pocketing everything he had a use for and leaving the rest to rot.

He enjoyed the catacombs, both for their familiarity and their practicality. Here it was in essence always night, and he knew every path he might need. Those who lived all their lives on the surface might come here, but once they did they were even more vulnerable than they were up there. They could become lost, and fear would drive them blindly forward, allow him to corner them and trap them. It was a thrilling, dangerous game—and a game Montparnasse always won.

Bringing his fingers to his nose, he smirked in the darkness. No blood, even though the angle had forced him to use his knife. He had come upon the corpulent man from behind, somehow he had heard his footsteps and turned on him—and it was for reasons like this that the young man kept a knife to hand. The fat ones often made good targets; fat and finely dressed, and the bet was almost certain to play out in Montparnasse's favor when he went through the body's pockets.

Yes, he might answer to others for now, owe some portion of his gains to Thenardier and the Patron-Minette, but as far as Montparnasse was concerned it was he who really held the power down here. This was the world he had grown up in, and as he moved down along another corridor away from his kill, he let his fingers brush only lightly along the rough stone wall. He knew his path, and the darkness was its own kind of comfort.

Until it was broken. Somewhere down a corridor that ran perpendicular to his, he recognized the flickering of a candle. That was interesting... he stepped back, resting his back against the wall he had been moving with his hand against. The light went out. His suspicions ignited; whoever was down here had seen him, or perhaps heard his footsteps. Waiting, he controlled his breathing as carefully as he could.

There were three main possibilities, and none frightened him. First, it might be some prowler like himself—though likely not completing the commission of some crime, because lights drew attention down here. Then again, the light had been snuffed. So the possibility remained. Or it might be some prospective victim, some wanderer who did not realize the danger he traversed. This prospect was the most exciting, the one Montparnasse stood to benefit from the most. The third he was indifferent to—some child like he had been once, or else a flea-bitten beggar. Not valuable enough to steal from, not dangerous enough to avoid.

He listened carefully, tracking the footsteps. Depending on where they went, he could slip behind whoever this was whether by taking another corridor or simply by following with quiet steps.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

In the darkness and with the familiar walls around her, Mylène now truly felt like she was catapulted a few years back in time, into her old life, and it made her nerves suddenly spring to life, but not in a negative way. On the contrary, she suddenly felt a surge of energy coursing through her, causing ever fibre of her body to vibrate so that she almost started to tremble. An excitement that was nearly inexplainable took over her and she had to fight the urge to laugh, feeling something inside her swell and threatening to burst. This, this was it! Ultimate life! It felt almost similar to the feeling she had had when she had first kissed Courfeyrac, even though it was of course something completely different. But both here and back then it had been a matter of being on the edge… surviving a threat on life and limb before celebrating life in its utmost shape. And now, a possible threat was before her. She would have to fight for her wellbeing yet again, prove her worth… and so life was so palpable like it seldomly was.

Like it always was when she crept around in the catacombes, her ears took over for her eyes and in her long years of living here, she had learned to discern the different noises. She could tell a rat was scurrying past her by the small scratching noise its little feet made on the stone floor… and she could hear the tiniest movement in the distance, the soft scraping of cloth against stone. This someone she had seen had stopped as well, and was probably now waiting like her for one of them to make the next step. He must have seen the candle of course, but what would he make of it being sniffed out? No one could move down here completely soundless, even though Mylène knew her overdeveloped sense of balance made her an excellent sneaker, and therefore he might hear her if she moved on – but so would she, probably! And it was not in her nature to retreat or stand still, paralyzed by fear! Oh no, once upon a time, she had not exactly owned these catacombes, but she had felt like it, and she still considered them part of her territory – without being exactly territorial. As long as people did not strive to harm her, everyone had a right to be down here.

So, like being pulled by an invisible string, Mylène found herself creeping forward, slowly, ever so slowly, and stopping every five steps or so to listen. When she had reached the small crossroads ahead, she carefully peeked around the corner without showing more than her forehead herself. Gladly, her dark hair would be a good concealer in the darkness as well. In the duct to her right, she could make out a shape, clearer and more defined now, even though he seemed very intent on melting into the wall. A shower ran down her spine, stirred by a sudden flash of unpleasant memories. Hiding in the dark like creature of the night, like a panther on the prowl. Patiently… deadly. Montparnasse Her mouth was forming the name soundlessly as her mind started to race. There were few people Mylène did not think she could handle… but this young man, scarcely older than herself, was definitely one of them. But she was not one to let herself be dictated by fear, on the contrary. As stupid as it was, Mylène’s way to deal with fear was always the same: tackle it head-on, against better knowledge.

Even though every muscle in her screamed to turn and run, to not make her relive a few certain moments, not give him the chance to get the better of her, she stepped forward, a ghostly grin on her face. “Gotcha, Monsieur Fat¹. Can’t hide from ME!”

¹: Dandy, swell

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

It took only a moment for Montparnasse to recognize her voice in the darkness, though it took him slightly by surprise. She had been here almost as often as he when they both had been children; unlike him, however, she had forsaken the life of the street for supposedly more honest work. The surprise made him step back slightly, pressing closer to the wall before stepping away from it.

Her words suggested that she had known he was there, but he couldn't imagine that was actually the case. Unless the girl's exploits had pushed her in some direction to care about the fat bourgeois whose throat he had cut, the streams of their lives had diverged to where his actions should not concern her. He was not afraid of her; she could hardly hurt him.

He stepped further into the darkness of the corridor, slowly beginning to circle so that he could come around behind her. It was always better to be in pursuit rather than the one chased. The thrill of a chase filled him, though he sensed there was no cause for this to end on the blade of a knife. Her very presence here, in a world he thought she had left, suggested to him that she had not abandoned it as much as he thought. Nevertheless, his voice carried an almost haughty tone of half-playful warning. “Watch where you try to corner me, Mademoiselle LaCoquine.” He smirked, though the darkness must have concealed it from her eyes.

He moved forward toward her again, light on his feet but slowly enough to make his steps as soft as possible. He waited a moment, suddenly quickening his pace to encourage her to run. “Maybe you should run? I've got a knife...” He mocked her with his threat, not really intending to kill. She had caught him in a good mood; he was satisfied enough with the prey he had already captured, knew Mylene as she had been well enough not to care to attack her. There was no benefit to it.

He let the knife flash back into his hand, certain that if she could make out the general outline of his movements, she would recognize the gesture. He continued his slow, circling path, ready to dart down another corridor as part of this half-serious game.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

What was she DOING?! This question was not asked of Mylène for the first time in her life, and certainly not for the last, but it still was a valid one, though without a clear answer. Half of the time Mylène did something she did not know why exactly, she just acted first and then thought about it later – if there was still time for thinking. Right now she had reached such a point again when a rash action forced her into something she had not antipicated but had to deal with nevertheless. To deal with someone this time more like, and what a person she had chosen! Montparnasse was not only far better looking from a distance, he also was far less dangerous and more amiable from a distance. He was one of those people you better not got closely involved with. A wolf in the darkness… just that Mylène was far too cocky and reckless to consider herself a sheep. She was challenging him by approaching him alone, and only Devil or God might know where this would end!

Energy, thrilling energy coursed through her body as she noted his movements. He was trying to circle her, no doubt, he would want to turn the tables on her, make her the target, and his words conveyed the same notion. “Oh… mademoiselle…” she chuckled, seemingly unaware of the looming threat of him coming closer, while in fact all her senses were directed on him now. “Like always, your manners are impeccable. But no worries, I will watch indeed…!” There, she had accepted the challenge head-on without even so much saying it, but her feet were already moving slowly away, towards the side alley she had picked as her escape route earlier. The ‘map’ of the underground was flashing before her inner eye, she knew there was a narrow passageway between two larger corridors down that one, just wide enough for a girl of her figure to slip through without making a sound.

Her muscles twitched, almost begging her to quicken her pace when he did likewise, but she forced it back. This was the number one rule of the underground: Show no fear! Those who showed they were afraid were marked the victims, free game for everyone. But she would NOT be Montparnasse’s game, not today, not ever! Not answering for a second to not give him any more of an inclination of her position, she scurried light-footedly down the passageway, then called back in a hushed tone: “Maybe YOU should run… I’ve got a brain and intend to use it!”
Would he follow suit or would he try to circle her? She almost believed the latter, but there was no real anticipating Montparnasse’s flights of fancy. That was one of the things making him so dangerous. Mylène had sometimes watched well-distinguished old men playing chess in the Jardin above their heads, now below the ground another game of chess was started. Move and Countermove.

Montparnasse knew these parts better than the back of his hand, so much was for sure, but Mylène thought she had an ace up her sleeve still: Unlike him, she did not only know where the corridors led, she also had the ceiling of these parts mapped out. If things got serious, she would use her climbing skills to get over his head… and watch him walk underneath her, until she could jump down behind him. The sandstone here had enough inclusions for her to apply fingers and toes, and there sometimes were little cavities above head level.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse moved forward to follow her some distance, mind working quickly. Every street child had a favorite part of this maze of tunnels, and he thought he could remember some of hers—but he couldn't be certain if she would follow those paths. He paused for a moment again, listening to her retreating footsteps...

There were a few possibilities in the direction she was going, but he could intercept her further down the same passageway by another tunnel if he went quickly. Hastening his path, he took a corridor to the left and broke into a run. He would never run away from someone like her, rarely ran at all because it was both an unnecessary effort and raised suspicions about him. But here, it was important to come back around onto her path before she could take another.

And Montparnasse could not be sure that he could outrun her in a flat sprint. He was not a particularly practiced runner, for his stratagems rarely spun around a chase at full speed. The clothes he had taken to wearing were not particularly made for sprinting about, either, though he could still be quick despite his more accustomed pace.

She said she would use her brain, but he intended to more than match that. He was used to the hunt, reveled in it—and although he knew she had been chased, he doubted her newly 'civilian' life had taken her often into the depths of these tunnels, kept her running blind from a knife's edge. He could, if it became necessary, try to draw her away from this part of the catacombs and into an area he knew had changed a bit from the effects of bad weather and human damage. There, it might be possible to get her lost.

But he would only try to tempt her in that direction if he had to. For now, the chase was on, its flanking maneuver set in motion. It did not take long for him to reach the point in the tunnel that intersected back with the original one. He turned quickly, resting his back against the wall again and taking a breath. He could feel his heart pounding, more from excitement than exertion. He listened, trying to place where in the corridor she was and hoping he had in fact managed to pass her.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There was jest to this game, but there was also seriousness and tension, more tension than Mylène would have liked, and the dark, eerie surroundings only added to the notion she desperately wanted to ignore: That she in fact was hunted by him, that the balance of this encounter was tipped towards his favour, that she was more prey than hunter. She should have never confronted him. She tried her hardest not to be afraid, but in the darkness, long since subdued pictures came to life before her inner eye. Pictures of a time where she indeed had been the prey, only that she had noticed it far too late. That the background of the former encounter was so similar to the one they had had now didn’t make it any easier either. Then, like now, it had been somewhere down in the catacombes, then like now she had wanted to get away from him – but had not succeeded.

It was more than two years back now, in a time she really did not like to remember. She had felt utterly lost back then, Alain had been taken and her decision to stay in Paris and look for him had been freshly made, even though she had had no idea of where to go and what to do. So she had returned to the only place she knew, the catacombes, the Court des Miracles, but it had felt like a defeat. A step back from what might have been. And just in this situation, Montparnasse had found her, gloating barely concealed in his eyes as he welcomed her back into their world. And his ‘welcome gift’ had been as unwanted as his sheer presence, Mylène shuddered to remember the end of their chase, the cornering and the imposing. She had refused him, had somehow managed to brush her way past him violently and get away, but ever since that day an indistinctive fear churned her guts whenever she so much as thought of him. The fear of what he COULD do, given half the chance.

Two years living a better life had done much to restore her confidence, she felt herself ready to face anything thrown her way, and yet she would rather be somewhere else right now. Mylène did not sense him coming directly after her, but that did not lessen her anxiety, on the contrary. With Montparnasse it was like with a poisonous snake or a spider you knew to be somewhere. ‘Don’t fear it while you see it, fear it while you don’t see it’ was a phrase that could apply to both beasts and man. She thought to hear the rustling of fabric and the lightest of footsteps running in the distance, a little away from her. So he might be wanting to intercept her. But by which way? Her mind raced through all the tunnels and sideways she knew, and she held her breath as her fingers found the entrance to that narrow tunnel. It was a good thing she had never been subject to claustrophobia or else she might have panicked at the way the cold stone walls enclosed her back and chest as she crept sideways through the passageway.

Nearing the end of it, she paused for a moment to listen and to decide. There were two ways to go, left or right. She almost guessed and dearly hoped that Montparnasse had not been quick enough to intercept her yet. If he was fast, she would run into his arms further down this path when she turned left. But if he was slower even than she expected, she wouldn’t be able to slip past him when she turned right. In the end, the chances were even, she had to make a choice. Her intuition pulled her to the right, since it was the terrain she was better familiar with, towards the Latin Quarter.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse reentered the initial corridor and froze almost immediately against its wall, listening carefully. He had played this game a hundred times, both as a still almost-innocent gamin and more recently. Sometimes it really was a game, harmless practice to hone a child's skills—but now it far more often was not. However much he did not overtly intend to capture and harm Mylene, he still kept himself very aware of his knife, conscious of the sounds immediately around him in preparation for her counterattacks.

It seemed that she had left it. No matter how much he strained his ears, he did not hear any footsteps. She had not gone the way he had come from, so that left only a few more options. He was confident that he would find her, however clever she considered herself.

He knew better than to expect her to allow herself to be cornered easily. She would be afraid of letting that happen again, and it would drive her into corridors she knew not to be dead ends. This he could use to his advantage. If he pushed her toward dead ends she might try to double around behind him from any remaining side tunnels, which would not serve his purposes.

Still for another moment, he darted across and into the passage on the right side of the main path. It was the most likely place for her to have run, and he slowed his gait almost as soon as he had reached it. Water dripped from somewhere above, a new leak of some kind. Small, and little to be concerned about—but he took mental note of it anyway. He thought he heard footsteps ahead again.

It took him a moment to realize where Mylene was likely heading. He had thought about the tunnels as a self-contained world, and had been hoping to work out her favorite parts of the underground—but it seemed the answer was in where she frequented above the street. He hurried his steps again, knowing that if she could reach one of the accesses to the surface here beneath the Latin Quarter it was more likely he would lose her.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

It only occurred to Mylène slowly, but she really was acting different in the catacombes this time around. There was something to be said for growing up and actually growing OUT of something. She still liked it down here, though she never would develop such a love for these dark passageways as Montparnasse would, and yet… it was different this time around. The catacombes had been her home and playground once, but even in younger years she had not seen them as a solitary entity, they had always been connected to the world above, and this had just intensified. When she thought of the passages and corridors now, she looked on them in her head like from above, always reassuring herself what kind of place would be the equivalent over her head. She would not be lost and disorientated if she ceased to do it… but her connection to the overground world was so much stronger now, it just had to happen.

She was not appeased or calmed by his apparent reluctance to heighten the pressure on their little game by coming closer, it rather had her wondering, if he had some sort of higher plan she was missing out on. If he was reluctant to play, he would have called off the search and went on his own way, but apparently it amused him enough to keep going… something was afoot. But what could it be? Mylène had quickened her pace slightly and she had almost confirmed her decision to make for some likely exit to the Latin Quarter above, when suddenly her stubborn streak inside her reared its head. She had come down here for a reason, and just because she had encountered Montparnasse wouldn’t mean she’d so easily give up on it. No, she’d have to call herself a coward if she returned empty-handed, and she would NOT give him that satisfaction. She just would have to reach her destination, the actual Court where more people were around. Then he would not care to continue their hide and seek game. Too many witnesses.

So, instead of continuing further west, she turned south at the next crossroad she could find, stopping every few yards to listen for any signs of her persecutor. Would he guess what she was trying to do, or had she thrown him a little with her decision to head in the rough direction of the Montparnasse… the irony even! Hunted by the bearer of the name, she headed to the cemetery of the same name… hopefully not to end up like the many bones there, by his hand.
Mylène just started to feel a little safer now she had made her plan, when suddenly her reaching hand smashed hard against an unexpected obstacle, as she turned around an anewed corner. A… metal rod?! Her eyes widening in the darkness, her heartbeat faltered for a second. Since when had they put an iron fence here?! And WHY? Who had wanted this tunnel closed off?

Alright… don’t panic! she monished herself. Maybe she could escape him even better if she managed to squeeze through there. But as much as she tried, even though her figure was skinnier than that of a well-fed woman, she was not a tiny child anymore. Back, then? But then she might walk straight into his arms…!
Her eyes darting upwards, she remembered that at this spot a large recess run along the wall two yards above her head level. Apparently the time for climing had come! Quickly, her fingers searched for the first hold. But would she be fast enough?

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse followed, smirking in the darkness as he realized where she was going. Toward the Montparnasse... and he knew things had changed there since she had left. There were new gates, and although there were a hundred ways through and around a simple iron gate and he had no doubt that she knew many of them, would they occur to her quickly enough to be of use? That he doubted.

He came into that part of the tunnel in time to hear the sound of something against the wall, the brief click of a fingernail against the stone, her breath—panicked? He smirked again, listening carefully. She was cornered now, he was confident of that—and so he could take his time.

“Trying to climb the wall, Mylene?” He spoke in an almost lazy tone, leaning back against one of the tunnel's walls again. He couldn't follow her up a wall very effectively, but he didn't think she'd get far. And now she was within reach for him to make a grab for her. “It's been a while... forget that the tunnels change?” He hoped she would take his taunting, retaliate with something of her own.

And if he knew Mylene, he trusted she would. He doubted that a daytime profession had changed her that much. His teasing might not be entirely friendly, but neither was it quite so aggressive as it might have been. He folded his arms against his chest, carefully hiding a knife in his hand in case he should require it.

He wished he could see her face. The darkness prevented that, as was almost always the case in the tunnels unless he hunted someone who had brought some light of their own—and although Mylene had had a light at first, it had gone out even before the chase had begun. He wanted to see the panic, to glimpse her trapped between himself and the iron gate.

“It's just a gate, Mylene.” There was a dark sort of mirth in his voice, and his teeth flashed in a smile even if the darkness concealed it. “Nothing to be afraid of from a gate...” He straightened up, moving forward a little further down the tunnel, his steps measured and slow. Unless she moved up the wall at a speed greater than he expected to be possible, she was his. Trapped. In his power. Whatever he decided he wanted that to mean.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

As she had just hauled herself up the first few inches, she heard his voice – far too close already to comfort. He was sure of his victory now, else he wouldn’t have spoken out, he would have used the extra time and speed to really get a hold of her, had he thought she really could escape him. Maybe she could use that to her advantage still… hadn’t there only been one problem: the lack of light. Yes, Mylène had lived down here a huge part of her life, and she had learned to see shapes and find her way in the pitch-black nothingness of the tunnels, but climbing a wall with only your fingers to feel the way took more time than it would normally. She could be as quick as a lizard in climbing walls, trees and houses in broad daylight or even a street lit by gaslamps, but if her eyes did not help her in finding the necessary footholds, she needed a longer amount of time – too long now!

Of course she would still try it, but then it also occurred to her that she might be showing her back to Montparnasse in her fervent tries to get up that wall and away from him, and showing this young man your back when he was so close was a mistake you usually could not regret. So she stopped, halfway up the wall and shifted her balance a little, facing him. “Aye, the tunnels change”, she commented, shrugging though he might not discern that movement well in the darkness. “But apparently not the vermin that roams them. Same old tricks, Fat, they’re getting’ old, ye know.”

Playing courageous and pretending she was not afraid was one of Mylène’s best tricks, and one she also did not have to work hard for. She SHOULD be mortified now, she knew that, it was the wisest instinct to have, but in fact she was less mortified than Montparnasse probably wished for. It was her lack of fear that had brought her into this spot, but somehow she still hoped her lack of fear would also get her out of it. Montparnasse was used to seeing his ‘victims’ try to flee him at all costs, but Mylène did not desire to be such a victim. If the situation could not be remedied right now – and it didn’t look like he would grant her enough time to get up that wall and make it through the gate – she would stand her ground and pray for a miracle. That had kept her alive for eighteen years. But maybe her show of courage would be enough of a miracle already. Enough to impress him… enough to not make him want to see her at his feet at all costs for trying to defy him, but to cause the opposite. But before that could happen, Mylène knew she still would be in for a tough time.

A huge part of her mind still was flooded with panic, but the defiant and proud part got larger by the second. Lissomly, Mylène jumped down the small height she had gained and turned to face Montparnasse. Her eyes were still wide in fear and her chest heaved, but her chin was raised defiantly. “Who said I was afraid? That gate an’ I will become friends soon now I made its acquaintance. I should call it… Baudruche¹… cause it reminds me of ye!”

¹: blockhead

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

“I can hear you breathing,” he stated simply. She was either winded—possible, but she had always been a rather good runner—or frightened. “And you're cornered.” That was the greater indication, and he had heard her and felt her in such a situation before. Knew what it felt like to be cornered and helpless himself, but would never let her know that.

After all, it had been a moment like that, his back to the wall and his options running out, in which he had learned to kill. “My tricks work, whether they change or not.” He made a grab for her, reaching with the hand that did not conceal a knife to try to trap her there against the gate. “And I can get you through that gate,” he offered suddenly, though any generosity in his voice was false. “If I choose.”

He kept his body turned slightly away from her, an attempt to protect himself from being kicked. If she tried anything of the sort, the knife would find its way into her flesh. She was of little use to him, unlikely to even have enough money to be worthwhile to kill—and he certainly had no purpose for her clothes. He wondered, in passing, if she could avoid his knife if he attempted to use it. The temptation to try it was strong, though curiosity for what had brought her down to the catacombs again outweighed whatever more morbid curiosity he had.

“Why are you here, La Coquine?” She'd left the world they had shared, and he resented the idea of bringing her back in now that he had her cornered. Beneath the Latin Quarter it had made sense, there was the potential for a shortcut. But they had left that part of the network of tunnels in their chase, and she had deliberately turned away from it and toward the Montparnasse cemetery. And she had come here for some reason, he was sure of that. People from the surface always had some reason to come here, unless they were children or curious to see what lay below—and neither, he was convinced, could be true of Mylene.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Yes, she was cornered, and she knew it. How on earth had this happened again?! Well, she knew the answer, she just had been too prideful and stupid, unwilling to back down. She had thought she could outwit him, and she could have, had she known about this blasted gate. Everything would have been fine! But there was no use in crying over spilt milk, she had to deal with this situation now somehow, and best without losing her wits. Beasts of prey smell your fear… therefore she tried to force it back with all her might, even though a certain sentence kept recurring into her mind, a sentence Montparnasse had said last time, when she had been trapped between him and a corner. ‘I could do most anything to you now…’. Was it now at this again? ‘Most anything’?! Come on, Coquine, you’re better than that now… you’ve grown, you’re not a scared sixteen year old with no real prospects!

“Well, ye know how it is with someone who’s cornered”, she commented, her tone sarcastic. “They grow all the more dangerous!” Why hadn’t she thought about bringing at least one of her old knives with her?! When younger, she had always worn one stripped to her lower left arm, so she could draw it quickly, but ever since she worked at the café, her choice of clothing had changed also, not leaving much room for hiding a knife in your sleeve. Then again, thinking she could outclass Montparnasse with a knife was ludicrous as well. She had to find another way out of this… and probably quickly. Not that he might kill her right away, he had all but no reason to, but being at his mercy was nothing she liked to live through for more than just the odd second!

He suddenly grabbed her, and though Mylène saw the movement and tried to duck underneath his arm, the only thing she managed was smashing her shoulder painfully into the iron rods as his arm intercepted any further movement. Great…! Now it was really him or the gate… and since those rods were fairly new, there was no way she could break one of them to use it as a weapon against him. Alright, Coquine, think, THINK! she monished herself. Montparnasse always had a knife ready in such situations… and if he had grabbed her with this hand, the knife would be in the other. Now she only had to be wary of that hand… or try to disarm him somehow. For that though, she needed to distract him first.

“Well, thanks!” she spat, her tone still dripping with sarcasm. “And wha’ would yer price be for this samaritan deed of yers?” Most likely none she would be willing to pay. Oh, certainly not! She’d rather try to brush past him, disable him for a moment and then continue the way she had wanted to go by a detour. What intrigued her though, more than it possibly should have, was that for now he seemed curious, too. It was true, they hadn’t seen each other in a while, and she had turned her back on the underground mostly, even though that had been as much by necessity as by choice. She just didn’t have so much time on her hands anymore. Still, she was not going to be an open book to him. “Wouldn’t ye like te know, Michel?” It was none of his business, that she tried to win support down here, he was certainly lost for the cause!

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse knew very well the danger of even a weak person cornered. It was in such a place, run into a dead end and trapped, that he had learned of his own ability to kill. He knew that, at least before, Mylene would usually be armed—like any self-respecting thief, aware of their own vulnerability if caught without any sort of weapon to defend themselves. But she had not yet gone for her knife, which made him suspect that she might for once be unarmed.

'Civilian' life had made her soft, perhaps, and Montparnasse felt quite able to exploit any flash of domesticity that might show itself in Mylene. Whatever the lack of a knife might indicate, however, her words had as much fire as they ever did. It might be a false front, he thought, or it might mean that she could still be dangerous. It was better to always assume the latter.

He was almost surprised to have caught her so easily, had half expected her to find some way to quickly scuttle up the gate like some sort of beetle. “Well... tell me, Mylene, what do you have to offer me?” Sometimes the offers made by people cornered, turned into nothing but frightened prey, were more interesting than he could invent on his own. Sometimes they were more surprising than the almost unnatural strength they discovered in the face of their own mortality.

The sound of his own first name caused him to loosen his grip on her, just a little, surprised to hear it used. Hardly anyone called him that anymore; it was a name that he had long felt he had outgrown. A name that had gone well enough with the dirt-streaked face beneath unkempt dark hair, but which he had come to associate so much with life as a gamin that it seemed a lifetime away from him now.

“Telling me why you're here is part of the deal. If you want through this gate.” He was certain she knew other paths as well, and not all of them were so different from what they had been a few years before. She would get to her destination if he allowed her any chance to slip past him, and although he could follow her, it could also become desperately easy to lose her in the darkness. He kept his knife at hand, prepared to prevent any escape.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Montparnasse was playing out the intimidation card and he was doing a fairly good job… just that Mylène was far too stubborn to really give in to any fear she might be feeling. This was a war of wits as much as it was of minds in general, and they were circling each other like two fighting dogs right now, waiting for any weakness to show. She was searching for a weakness in his guard, while he was searching for a weakness in her whole behaviour that would make her succumb. He’d like that… oh for sure! But she still had this, even if the situation had slipped through her fingers somewhat. Montparnasse apparently wanted to confuse her more by ‘offering’ her the chance to set her own price, it was an old trick, but it was a good one. She’d know more than a handful of people who would have jumped at the chance, believing he one: would actually take what was offered and nothing more, and two: would not exploit the chaos of those people’s minds. Both was wrong, he would do whatever he pleased, since that was the reason he had started this game.

“What could I offer you…” she started, buying time since she really needed a moment to retort with something, but gladly it occurred to her soon enough. “How ‘bout a piece o’ advice? Get yer hands off me, turn ‘round an’ get yer butt out o’ this alley, cause this is the last time I’m gonna make tha’ offer peacefully!” More a threat than an advice, so much was for sure, but she hoped at least for some effect to her benefit. For she did not like the indication that was hidden somewhere in his words, she did not like to think on ‘other offers’ he might have expected. There was him, and there was this gate which she now felt in her back, with his hand still holding her, though not as fast as he had before. She could use that to her advantage, but the moment had not quite come yet… or had it?

Doubting and second-guessing was not good in these circumstances, it made her weak and slow. She would have to make a decision, and make it so quick he could not anticipate it.
“I dun realize ‘ve agreed te a deal yet!”, she muttered defiantly, throwing him an annoyed glance. She could not tell him, not only because she knew he would not understand. Mylène wanted no one to know what she was involved in unless she was sure she could win those people over to her side. It had worked with Pepier, it could work with one or two or even more down here – but certainly not with Montparnasse! “Can’t a girl seek out sum ol' friends? Dun mean ye wi’ tha’ of course, sorry te disappoint-“ She did not finish the sentence, since she hoped that would give her enough of an element of surprise to catch him off guard as her hand darted forward, grabbing the one that held the knife around the wrist and smashing it on her knee that came up like the head of a striking snake. She could only hope that would be enough to make him drop it… but she still needed to get past him, even unarmed!