The COATS Files

Chapter Five- More Than One Mask

∣New York City∣
∣May 4, 14:23 EDT∣

The first thing Locks' did when they finally got back to the familiar smoke screen of club Tristis was collapse back into the soft and sun-deprived leather of Thife's chair. Allowing the feeling to enwrap them, Locks' dragged their eyes across the surface of the large desk in front of them, lined with the streaks and dents brought on by more than one knife being embedded into the wood. Their eyes latched onto Thife's frame, looking on as she rubbed feverishly at her cheek, and their own skin itched slightly, yet they resisted the urge to scratch at their newly burned neck.

When she drew her hand away, Locks' watched as she slid down the wall, her chest rising and falling as she inhaled the faded familiarity scent of gunpowder and neon alcohol bleeding from the ceiling. Locks' hand twitched, their body already moving to join Thife, but a force held them in place, a sense of invading washing over them. This wasn't the same thing as other times, this was a family issue, Thife's other life, other family. 

Locks' couldn't help but wonder, in colour, if it was possible for them to have a piece of that life too, could they be another person like that? Locks' knew a lot of Thife's, a lot of covers, both fake and genuine, and wondered which came first. Lock's was so lost in this feeling that when her breathing steadied and Thife looked up, the black teardrop tattoo on her cheek gone of the make-up previously hiding it from sight, Lock's didn't notice. Lock's watched as her entire mind shifted until she stood as Locks' remember her. The longer they looked, the more Locks' felt themselves shifting, until the tiredness that had been pulling at their mind vanished, and they sat up straighter, banishing any irrelevant thoughts from their mind without wondering where they had come from, or if they had always thought like this. 

"Alright, Thife, what's the plan?" Locks' asked, voice broken, lost in a limbo between the ineffable experience they had felt the last few hours, fading with every mile put between them and what Lock's decided to call the second life, and their usually, city stained tone. They asked, even though they had seen the way Thife's gaze lingered on a certain pen on the desk, and they knew exactly what the plan was. Even so, they couldn't help but be slightly surprised.

Thife moved fluently, reaching forwards and plucking a pen from the pencil holder on the desk, then, without looking away from Locks' and giving them a soft, private, smile, she easily placed the strange, entirely black pen into a perfectly circular pinprick dent in the desk. Lock's remembered the pen, they had once bickered over just how sharp it was and ended up playing a game of darts with it. 

A modern-day painting that looked more like a tangle of shapes caught in a spider's web shifted, sliding into the floor as if it had never existed. Locks', however, knew that it had, and they had spent many hours staring at the painting, lost in thought and rarely actually thinking about what was behind the ten-thousand-dollar painting.

Dimly and unwanting to speak aloud and break the peaceful silence, Locks' wondered if Thife would send them off into the field, and their bones itched at the thought of a heavy log of metal clasped between their fingers. The slight resistance of the trigger as they forced it down, and then the kick as the bullet shot off. 

To tell the truth, Locks' was only slightly pleased when they and Thife both pulled out their guns during the misassumption at COATS Manor, because it meant that once again, even after months of being away, Thife had remained tethered to the words Locks' had said to her many years ago, had slapped in her face when she was too blinded by rage that would seem petty to those who inhabited the manor to see them. 

A gun means it's business, a knife means it's personal.

As if knowing they were thinking of her, Thife turned to give Locks' a look, as if telling them not to flatter themselves, and Locks' returned it, happy to participate in their silent banter despite the sorrowing atmosphere that had started encasing their lives like a fog. Locks' brought their legs to their chest and wondered if the heroes would feel smug, knowing that the criminals that had been unable to catch where finally facing an opponent that had managed to get to them.