Hide And Seek (Monty)

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

His laugh at her 'advice' was humorless. Montparnasse did not, as a rule, take advice from girls like her—even less did he take orders from them. If he was right and she was unarmed, her threat was toothless. He felt fairly certain that he was stronger than her, and if that were the case... he had little to fear unless she could get a knee into his groin and bring him down that way. He tried to keep his hips turned slightly away from her to prevent that particular attack. Smirking, he moved his face slightly closer to hers. “No.” There were plenty of things he was willing to accept from her, and he did his best to make that subtly clear—but such ineffectual threats were not one of those things.

She still seemed tense to him, however, but it wasn't the tension of weakness he preferred to feel in his victims. The temptation to use his knife on her was present, but curiosity still was stronger. Whatever the reason she had come underground, she was trying to conceal it from him. And he didn't like it when things were hidden away from him for long. She would agree to the deal, whether she realized it yet or not. He held the dominant position over her, she was cornered and unarmed. The defiance in her voice irritated him, and he finally began to raise his knife hand to hold the blade to her throat.

What kind of friends could someone like her keep down here? Now that she'd gone straight, stopped living amongst the thieves and other people who spent their lives in the darkness... had become one of the miserable, weak, stupid masses willing to complain that they were being mistreated but apparently unable to simply seize the things they envied from those born above them. It was easy, practically safe...

But before he could speak, she had seized his wrist and brought it down on her knee. It caught him off guard, invisible as the movement had been in the dark. He hadn't expected it, hadn't heard her prepare for the move either in her voice or the rustling of her clothing. The surprise was stronger than the pain, but he cried out, almost dropping the knife in his surprise. It remained in his hand, but had slipped—even though he tightened his grip on it, the hold was not secure.

“Let go of me.” His voice was cold, an overlay on all the anger of a trapped animal. His heart beat faster, and he felt himself begin to panic. He hated being held down, and though he was sure he could overpower the girl and free himself, in the darkness he was less certain that she would not manage somehow to stab him in the back.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

This went exactly the way she had dreaded it would, and Mylène knew her time was running out, the time when she still could hold her own against him and pretend she was not scared, not allowing him the upper hand on things. He had a knife, she had nothing, he still grabbed her hand and now he was coming closer, so close she could make out his form almost clearly in the darkness, and even could see that his figure was turned a little to the side. Great, so even if she brought her knee up to prevent the worst, he would not feel the real impact of it, at least not where it was intended. She might be the one more injured by this stunt! What disturbed her most though was that she could feel his breath on the delicate skin of her face as he breathed that ‘no’. The simple gesture alone entailed so much she rather would not think on in detail, and though he was gladly still subtle and not too imposing, she knew this would change once he felt sure of his victory.

And that victory was coming closer now he effectively started to use his knife. She hadn’t exactly seen the movement, but she felt the slight rush in the air as he moved, and knew there was no time to lose. Whether he really wanted to injure her or just make her incapable of any true resistance by bringing the knife to her throat, she had to prevent it or her game was lost. There was not much you could do with the cold steel of a blade at your carotid artery, and not much you actually would NOT do to get it away from there. That was the danger of this situation, and the reason why she had to act as swiftly as possible. Montparnasse might be many things but certainly not stupid. He was drawing his net closer, and soon she would be entangled in it. “Suit yerself…!” she muttered.

The first few seconds of her desperate attempt were a striking success, and for a moment Mylène could feel a surge of adrenaline course through her in victory as she managed to deflect his hand and heard his cry. But there was no clatter… he had not dropped the knife! And really, if she strained her eyes in the dark, she could make out a faint long shape in the direction where his hand should be. Great…! Now came the down side of her plan: she would have to fight him to keep the blade away from her own frame, and he was still the stronger one in the long run! “Now ye see how it feels!” she hissed, flexing her muscles with all her might and increasing the pressure on his wrist. Maybe if she pressed down there long enough his fingers would get limp because she cut off the nerves? It was a long shot… with time she might not have.

“Not so aloof now, are we Montparnasse?” But then she shut up, realizing she would be needing her breath in that little wrestling match that was about to ensue.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

“I know how it feels,” Montparnasse hissed between clenched teeth. Whatever she was doing to his wrist hurt; her grip on him was deceptively strong. Stronger than his own grip on his knife. He tried to shift it back into its proper place in his hand, but with the pressure on his wrist it was difficult. Should he lose it, the tables would be completely turned now that she knew he was here and would not let him get behind her again.

Whatever Montparnasse was now, he had spent years enough as something less. To be cornered, trapped, threatened was nothing new—but rarely was it ever by a girl. From Eponine he might tolerate scratches and blows, but this was an entirely different affair. He couldn't think clearly, and this time it wasn't from lust. If he couldn't free himself, he was as good as dead. That was the way the world worked for people like him.

He wrenched his body, determined to shake himself free of her grip and hopeful that he might manage to injure her with the knife in the process. Instead, his foot slipped on the damp floor of the corridor. The unexpected movement, combined with the strength behind his struggle and Mylene's squeezing grip on his wrist, caused him to lose his weapon. It hit the floor with a clatter, and he froze again. This was it, and by a girl. He couldn't believe himself.

He had two choices now. Struggle again and free himself. The position in which his foot had stopped its slide was hardly a solid base for such a movement, and he would never find out what precisely Mylene had come to do unless he caught her again... or if Eponine knew. Make another desperate grab for the place he had heard the knife fall, throwing himself to the floor and perhaps dragging Mylene with him. But then, she might sense that movement and kick the knife out of his reach... even, he realized with a cold fear, under the gate and beyond his immediate reach.

His heart raced. What kind of a situation was this to be caught in?! No escape, at least not a good one... He reached with his free hand toward the pocket that held his garrote, aware that it would do him little good where he stood but desperate for the inkling of security it might grant him.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

It all felt unreal to Mylène right now, she could not really believe that she actually had picked a fight with one of Paris’ most feared and most effective Garotte-murderers of the present time. That this murderer was a person she had known since their mutual childhood was of little consequence to that matter, she surely should have known better. She always should know better than to work herself from one tight spot into another, but that was apparently what her life consisted on. And anyway, she hardly could how well indeed she was standing her ground so far! Apparently there were a few things in life you did not unlearn, and you never should underestimate the element of surprise.

Was she really having such an impact on him, was there genuine panic she detected in his voice and in his frantic movements?! Before she had even fully grasped the potential of this possibility, she felt him slip and stagger without any apparent reason. Instinctively her grip on him increased, thinking it to be a trap, but then she felt the sharp edge of the knife graze past her lower arm, stinging like a bee, and then she heard the unmistakable clatter of metal on stone – he had dropped the knife! For a moment she was as dazed as he must be by this simple realization, but then her instincts kicked in once again. Shifting her foot a little, she thought to find the hilt of the dagger and kicked it backwards with all her might, hoping it would find its way through the grate and out of his reach – which it did, but only partially. There was another loud bang as both the hilt and the blade collided with the metal rods, and she realized she must have hit it horizontally, not vertically.

”Fichtre!” she cursed under her breath and tried to kick it viciously once again, which only caused her to lose her balance this time. Blindly she reached out with her hand to find something to steady herself, but the only thing she could find was the sleeve of his other arm which he seemed to have buried in his pocket. Her instincts warned her not to get so close to him, but it was already too late. The tables had shifted once again, if at least not entirely turned yet. Now she could only hope he was too panicked to make full use of the opportunity that presented itself now. Montparnasse would have more than just one weapon on him, and there was especially his garrotte to fear. Once she regained her footing, it might be wise to sound a full retreat… if only that would not mean him coming after her!

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse was not, by nature or by practice, a brawler. To attack from behind and use surprise to his advantage was something he excelled at; to dart about unseen had been the main occupation of much of his childhood. To fight in the dark, his main weapon for such confrontations gone, the struggle quickly turning into the sort of tangle of limbs he only enjoyed in quite different circumstances, was not an experience he relished. He did not think Mylene would try to kill him; after all, she had apparently kicked the knife away—to judge by the clanging sound of its sudden contact with the gate—and not picked it up.

When she grabbed his arm, however, it pulled him further off-balance. He caught himself with a hand on the damp, dirty floor of the corridor, and cursed under his breath. The roughness stone stung his hand, and he found himself wishing he had been wearing a glove. Struggling to get himself righted, he released the garrote in his pocket to instead grab at the arm which had taken his, pulling on it quickly in an attempt to bring her to the ground. From there, he could run... just far enough to convince her that he had gone, able then to trail her back through the tunnels to whatever her goal was. In the speed of his grab, he had let the garrote become looped around his wrist. This brought it out of his pocket regardless, and if he could regain his footing and bring his left hand back into play, it gave him many more options.

For the moment, however, he was stuck in an awkward position. His feet were still on the ground, but so then was his left hand. The right had the wire of the garrote still wrapped around the wrist, because of the way in which he had withdrawn his hand from his pocket. He had tried to move too fast, and had messed up. If she realized the wire was there she could hurt him at least as badly as he could hurt her, and control him along with his right hand. But first she would have to release his sleeve. He tried to lurch upward, scrambling to bring his feet forward and stand.