(How Not) To Catch A Thief (IC, Solo)

[Ari]

At quarter to 5 o'clock, in a hallway of the third floor of the Monkey Towers apartment complex, William 'Will Sulky' Mainsly adjusted his weary head on the rolled-up and only slightly ragged sleeping bag. He let the peace and silence that covered the early morning of the usually restless bedlam that was his home. As he drifted into sleep, he caught a vague glimpse of a narrow figure slipping quickly in his direction. Feeling the slight disturbance of the air as the figure passed, William consoled himself with the thought: "Well, t'aint my business, is for sure".

William Mainsly was a former shipping clerk, formerly a punctual, efficient man, whose own sterling qualities had led him into a conflict with the two-bit imitation of the Mob that ran small smuggling operations along a few dozen miles of New England coastline. He was a charity case of a small band of more kindhearted-than-average business owners, who payed the gloomy miser who ran Monkey Towers to keep them in his apartments and off the street.

Marceau 'King of Suits' Suvou turning this over in his head, musing on the possible advantages in selling off his collection of fine statuary and wood carvings, he stepped smoothly over the usual riff-raff cluttering the dark, musty halls of the Towers; lying in various states of peace and insomnia on their futons, sleeping bags and blankets. He had briefly been among their number himself, as he had arrived in America two years ago with hardly a pound to his name. It took over eight months of near-constant searching before he found an employer, an accounting offices janitorial staff.

A blast of icy air as he exited through the back door quickly pushed himself back to reality. A moonlit reality of snow(which he barely noticed) flying through the air and turning to slush under the wheels of the lazily-directed cars and freight trucks, and hurrying miniature crowds bustling along the streets all raising a low roar as they went. Vivid neon signs, all wearily familiar and repugnant to Marceaus' eyes, burned jaunty holes in the otherwise dark, bitter morning.

Raising the collar of his coveralls, Souvo walked in his accustomed style, one leg up, forward, down, up, forward, down. With heron-like strides, he walked dingy alleys and crooked streets unseen on any city map. His travels were halted when, passing a bookshop that Marceau would have sworn was haunted, he heard a loud and furious cry.

STOP, THIEF!!

[Ari]

Swiveling about sharply, Marceau unfortunately missed seeing the thief in flight, and was instead met with the sight of a huddle of scarves, hats, coats and mittens pointing in a roughly eastern direction. Darting into a side-alley and behind a convenient dumpster, Marceau shed his everyday disguise and emerged onto the street as the masked and hooded King of Suits!

A costumed crime-fighter was a common sight, and several of the bystanders around the origin of the theft had already been grumbling about tardy heroes when Marceau leaped onto the scene. His arrival still warranted a cheer from the band, ragged and muted in some places though it was.

With a bow, Marceau clambered up the side of a building adjacent to him, and swiftly went looking for a sign of the thief's presence.

[Ari]

His cursory scan of the adjacent alleys being unfruitful, Marceau hopped lightly down into the one running directly behind the bookshop and noticed immediately that a few tracks(all of roughly equal age and weight) lay right against the walls of the alley. Someone had been there, perhaps waiting for the thief? a hand-off of the stolen goods to another person was a common trick, Marceau knew, but it was just as possible that the other person had been a decoy, to provide a merry chase for people operating under just such an assumption. To follow both was impossible, and to follow one left open the chance of escape for the other.

Pondering this dilemma, Marceau shook himself out of his indecision by deciding that the thief should be caught first, as they had stolen, and might bring in their accomplice to keep all the blame from falling on themselves.

Dashing off after the(he gauged) later footprints, Marceau sped off into the night, his grinning mask gleaming in the moons glare.

[Ari]

Marceau sped past deserted diners, movie-houses that you wouldn't want to bring anyone under the age of thirty to, warehouses that had never been owned or operated under any legal reason, soup kitchens and homeless shelters that were always full, and all lit by the blazing, imperious moon.

Marceau took a moment by a small chapel to observe a moment of silent prayer.

On a and on he ran, for a little under an hour, through alleys and side streets and deserted apartments, until at last he arrived at the place that the footprints stopped. They stopped abruptly, in the middle of a sidewalk halfway along the second block of houses that faced the ancient restaurant 'Nite Wings'. A place well sheltered from the wind.

Marceau took a moment to mop his slightly sweating forehead. And his much sweatier hands, clammy with excitement.

Then he made a long, careful appraisal of all available escape routes.

His attention was arrested by a flagpole, only ten or so feet above his head, with most of the snow brushed off its. Mr. Suvou gave a sigh of relief and slipped into the dark house, hoping fervently that whoever was inside wasn't in a fighting spirit.

[Ari]

Marceau moved with utter silence, his feet scarcely disturbing the fallen snow inside the door that had mingled with the welcome mat. His eyes strained in the dark, making out dimly a hallway all but filled with purses, wallets and handbags of such diversity they beggared description. He passed noiselessly from the hall to a room from which a faint light emitted, a pale blue radiance that illuminated exactly nothing. Creeping to the edge of the doorway, Marceau began slipping his gloved hands over the frame, noticing too late which side of the frame the hinges were.

The soft whumnk of the door hitting Marceau's gloved fingers seemed to the two who heard it to magnify beyond all reason, filling the house with its quiet, accusatory voice. The muffled curse from within the blue-lighted room was much less restrained, as were the panicky footsteps that followed them in a dead run deeper into the house, raising forlorn echoes as they went.

Extricating himself from his embarrassing snare, Marceau slipped into the room his quarry had just left with what speed and dignity he could come up with on such short notice, grumbling to himself about the need to get back into his groove.

For the trouble that it had caused, the room was not much to look at. Its dimensions were 12 ft. in width, 8 in height and 9 in length and with a small window placed high on the left-hand wall. Some furniture lay piled in a corner, dusty and long out of use, with pale green wallpaper of some checkered design, a white ceiling and a hardwood floor. The light came from a floating ball in the middle of the aforesaid ceiling. Admittedly, Marceau was rather uncertain as to how accurate his judgments were, due to the ball of lights annoying habit of seeming to draw all light into itself.

Scattered across the floor was littered the thief's spoils. A woman's purse, three wallets and a small moneybag. Sweeping them into some of the manifold pockets covering the inside of his cape, the King of Suits sprang back into action, dashing once again off after his quarry, with a vague irritation at the unprofitable direction the day was heading.

[Ari]

Marceau dashed upstairs after Mr. Thievery, an incoherent feeling of unease gradually moving to the front of his mind. After around eight minutes of running up single staircase, Marceau turned to look back down it, only to see a dark, long, long, LONG, hallway stretching out for what seemed half a mile, with the only indication of its size being the shadows cast by a blue orb hanging from the ceiling directly above. The King of Suits slowly turned towards the sounds of his quarry's retreating feet, seeing that the hallway appeared to have taken the place of the entire house. Deciding that he could do little now that both he and his prey were caught by some magical force, Suvou began examining his new surroundings.

They were not unhandsome. A rich, well-varnished mahogany floor supported his feet, with narrow silver designs of Celtic knots providing endless fascination to an idle eye. The walls were brick, hung with tapestry's depicting valiant lords and daring ladies besting evil creatures of all sorts, with especial care done for two, one of a golden-clad knight driving back a monstrous skeleton clad in red armor, the other of an unclear figure wielding a blazing spear of light striking down what looked for all the world like a mans shadow sprung out of the ground.

Shaking himself out of his curiosity, which had become acutely aroused by the clearly semi-symbolic wall-hangings, Marceau turned back to the business at hand. He drew out a razor-edged card, ran halfway up the closest wall and struck out at the blue orb. It connected with a blast of air, dust and a brief vision of a fury-filled brown eye before the world snapped back into being around him. He landed lightly on his left hand and crashed heavily into the suddenly narrowed wall opposite the one he had jumped from.

He leapt to his feet, finding himself face-to-face with his adversary, a shortish man with a a dark, brooding air about him, and a curious smell like a burned flower.

The man jumped toward Marceau with a wild yell of "You ruined it!", grabbed him by the mask and they went tumbling down the stairs in a heap. The strange man slowly gained his feet, glaring down at Marceau and raised his right hand, a thin blade coalescing into being between his fingers.

"Too good for you" The man spat, "But desperate times and all. You'll be a good warning to nail to the door.".

A razor card whipped into the wall next to the man's upraised arm, tearing off a few shreds of cloth as he leaped to the side, aiming a blow at his enemy's head. It slid smoothly into the floor vacated only milliseconds before by Marceau, who jumped ungainly to his feet, shaken by the suddenness of the attack,

[Ari]

Tense from his narrow escape from death(or at least disfigurement), Marceau's next card was easily batted aside and veered left, striking a wall three rooms away. With a sad, weary smile, the stranger raised his left hand(the other being busy keeping a magic sword corporeal) and snapped his ring finger and thumb together. With a sudden feeling like deflation, Marceau saw the endless hallway rise up around him once more.

The change from the starkly and unevenly lit real world to dusty gloom of half-light and murky tapestries proved much more subtle than Souvo had expected. First the walls seemed to slowly slide towards him, gaining height as they went, before dissolving into a dusty haze the dark stairway had kept him from noticing.The haze wasted no time, however, and quickly began reforming the deep rug and brick walls Marceau had seen only seconds earlier.

The stranger calmly brushed his coat(he wore, Marceau noticed, a thick wool shirt under a patched and wrinkled trench coat, faded and dirty blue jeans, and light gray dress shoes) to get rid of the dust that had gotten over most of it during his brief scuffle with the KoS. Turning to his foe he said quite briskly, with a light Belgian accent;

"Mr. Mask, I have no idea who you are or why you've taken it upon yourself to be such a nuisance to me, but I can tell a new, untrained, untested or out-of-practice fighter when I see one, and you fit nearly all of those to my reckoning. Take my advice and follow me peacefully to my department's meeting hall and I'll make sure you only have to leave a few pieces of gear behind as a peace offering. To answer the obvious question, I'll just say that my superiors are carrying out a divination project and ask you to leave sleeping wyrms lie." Turning towards a far-off green-tinged light, the stranger started walking off, pausing only to mutter a spell that turned the blue orb above their heads into a small mural showing a blue gem carrying a fountain from atop a mountain to a desert village. It was a very descriptive mural. This had the side effect of casting the place into a deeper darkness, only alleviated by the lights at both ends of the hallway.

[Ari]

Marceau had almost begun to spring forward, but checked himself sharply when his opponent started talking. Clearly from what the stranger had said, Marceau had one slight advantage: he had been pegged as not being a threat worthy of fighting. Silently thanking his lousy aim for this unexpected opportunity, Marceau bowed his head quietly and followed in his best sullen silence, his mask with its ferocious grin concealing a slightly smaller smile of amusement and slight anxiety.

Thinking it best to play to his enemy's ignorance, Marceau began to attempt a subtle questioning of who and what this mans superiors were.

"So, who might these 'Superiors' of yours be, eh?" His voice rumbled like a roll of thunder through the otherwise silent halls, carrying with it nearly every single unspoken question he was trying to figure out at once.

"Genius, Marcy my lad, sheer genius!".

[Ari]

The stranger sniffed, not even bothering to look back. "You'll find out when I choose to. Not a minute before."

They passed on for what seemed hours, with tapestry after tapestry tastefully and symbolically displaying the great battles, events and gatherings that Freedom City had endured or payed host to over the centuries.

After the eightieth or so, Marceau began to wish their was something else to look at. The light in the distance never seemed to grow any brighter, his footsteps were wearying in the close and oppressive atmosphere, and the weighty purse was tearing a hole in its pocket.

When he was wondering if he should just 'cuff the stranger and finish take his chances, the stranger stopped, holding up his left hand sharply. He snapped his pinky and ring finger resoundingly, a sharp blast of air escaping from an unseen source, and a narrow black stone door opened in the air before them. Turning to the King of Suits, he said simply "We've arrived, go in." and waited for Marceau to follow his command.

[Ari]

Marceau looked nervously at the door, knowing that what lay beyond was likely to be in a realm of power far greater than his own. He glanced over his shoulder at the passageway behind him, realizing abruptly that the answer to his problem lay right next to him. He turned to give a long stare at the stranger, turning his situation over in his head. On the one hand, he was in unfamiliar territory with his only known means of escape turned into a small mural on the ceiling. On the other hand, he had someone right next to him who seemed to know this place quite well, and to have some degree of power over it.

And how better to learn of how this place than by interrogating this man who knew so much about it?

With a bound, Marceau leaped upon the stranger, calling upon his stellar power source as he went, his strength rapidly amassing until the stranger was unable to move an arm.

The grinning mask bent over the stranger's face, as Marceau's voice swelled and boomed from the confines of his lungs into the still air:

"Tell me the truth, and I will be merciful".

[Ari]

The stranger stared up at the grinning metal face with perhaps more sheer terror than was strictly necessary. "W-w-whadda you wanna kn-know?", he managed after what felt like to him half an hour under Marceau's imperious glare and maniacal air. While he was terrified, he was hardly unthinking yet, and his mind buzzed with scheme after scheme of how to turn things around in his favor. While his foe was certainly far stronger than he was, he was clearly unused to actual combat. If he could get his former(and technically present) prisoner through the door to the Laquer Halls, and out of the Brick Halls where if he got loose it would be nearly impossible to find him again, he'd still be able to complete his mission, bringing the nights tak-

Oh,scheisse!

His mind whirled as he realized he'd forgotten the nights takings back at the Half-Way House! What was he to do? bring this lumpen brute to the throne of the Contrarian and say "Oh master from the other world, whose strength overmastered the Steel Tower and brought eternal dominion over this twilit empire, I have here a man who attacked me. He looks like a playing card, isn't that a knee-slapper?"

Clearly, the stranger realized, there was only one possible way to go. He'd go along with this lunkhead back to the Half-Way House, stab him in the back, get the haul from the living room and bring the whole kit and kaboodle to the overseer.

In the meanwhile, it was getting hard to breath.

"Please, mister, just let me stand, I'll tell you anything you want to kn-" Marceau's eyes took on an uncannily burning cast, and the stranger hurriedly decided against pushing his luck. "Alright, alright. So, what is it you want me to tell you about?"

[Ari]

Marceau had relaxed nearly noticeably, assured by the abrupt shift in this bizarre mans behavior that he was at least making an impression. A more careful look, thankfully disguised by the glow in his eyes(an unfortunate side-effect of his powers) and what little light in the hallway being bent towards the black door. Realizing that he was liable to be stabbed in the back at any moment if he let the man(who still smelled like flowers) out of his scrutiny for more than four seconds, Marceau shrugged under his heavy poncho and moved slowly upward, taking the stranger with him.

His questions were quick and to the point: "Where did your accomplice go? what is this place? how do you leave here? what lies behind that door? how did you find this place? One of those questions being answered would be a favorite, though first I must ask your name. I am the King of Suits, previously the student of the Ace of Suits."

He might not answer honestly, but at least I can get a general idea of what in the blazes is going on here.

In the meanwhile, he had gotten the stranger back onto his feet, having decided that he might as well introduce an element of "I'm not going to treat you like a sub-human source of information" into the situation. He was leaning pretty heavily on him for all that, pressing his back against a tapestry depicting a green man looking smugly down at a man made of lightning. The lightning man seemed to be breaking down or something, his limbs misshapen and his fingers bursting into blue electricity.

[Ari]

"My name is Wolfgang Schantzneuser, Suits, my 'accomplice' is by now probably somewhere in the upper Fens, where a safehouse is. This place is called the Brick Hall, it is the outer region of this dimension, the name and purpose of which I have no knowledge. I found my way here quite by accident when attempting a ritual to summon a minor angel. Leaving is quite simple, really" Wolfgang paused to collect his thoughts, all of which involved knives and unsuspecting backs.."To leave, all you need to do is snap your fingers. There's no right or wrong way to do it, all you need is to snap two or more digits together and you'll be back in the place you came from. Unless of course" he paused again, wondering if he should...nah, not worth his neck."Nevermind, I was...bah! just let me bring that orb back into action and we'll both be out in a few seconds. As for the door, I will simply say that the most powerful being in this entire dimension resides in the halls it leads to. Small fry like me and(begging you pardon) you would have no chance against it. Now please let me go and I shall return the orb to its usable state".

Wolfgang smiled ingratiatingly at the King of Suits, who was all but smacking his head against the wall at how he could have at least tried to imitate his adversary. Now all he had to do was wait for the simpleton to accompany him back to the Half-Way House and all would be well. Just so long as he didn't catch on to what was going on in his head, of course.

[Ari]

Marceau ground his teeth in irritation. As if it wasn't bad enough that nearly an hour had elapsed before he'd even thought to attack the random hood, now it turned out that leaving was almost, no, completely insultingly easy. Holding Wolfgang now at arms length, he regarded his foe with an outward appearance of apathy, while internally pondering how the heck he was supposed to find the accomplice now. Wolfgang would be unlikely to lead him directly there, and it was too late now to track him by his footsteps. Sighing in resignation, he released Wolfgang and nodded.

"All right, re-activate the orb and I'll drop you off at the nearest police station" The words dropped like anvils onto cushions in the stuffy near silence "Guess I'll look for your friend once you're behind bars. A shame you won't tell me anything other than 'upper Fens'. Take me a few days at least to track him down".

Marceau sighed wearily, for extra effect. If he played this right, Wolfy here would lead him right to the guy he wanted. Maybe put off the murder attempts, too.

[Ari]

Wolfgang hurriedly changed his plans. It had never occurred to him that his ally not going to jail would be a bad thing, but he suddenly realized that if Mark got the takings to the magicians, Mark would stand a chance at promotion due to Wolfgang being taken prisoner. In that case, there was only one possible way to go.

"Alright, Mr. Suits, I get your point. Release me and we'll be on the trail of my luckless associate in minutes!"

When I get to the rendezvous, I'll just give him away. A few bullets should fix him.

Released by the King o' Suits, Wolfgang snapped his fingers, causing the mural above them(showcasing a man in blue tights throwing a car at a golden man by pointing at him) to relinquish one of its tiles, forming itself into the illumination-deficient orb Marceau had come to dislike so much.

A few moments later, the two returned to the landing at the foot of the stairs and wasted no time in setting out into the snowy night. Wolfgang muttered deep into the collar of his coat, wondering how the night could have gone so wrong. It was especially galling to have to look back every few steps to see if the masked man was still behind him, as even in the snow the King of Suits made little noise, and what little he made was mostly obliterated by the rushing wind that ran unimpeded through the streets of the Fens.

They soon arrived at the warehouse, an uncomplicated affair with a curved roof and the number 73 on its door. Or rather what could be seen of the door, as it was mostly raised to reveal that several misfits were lounging around a table poking at suitcases, purses, handbags, wallets and other personal items beyond immediate quantification.

[Ari]

Immediately upon sight of his quarry, Marceau bent double and prepared to slip away from Wolfgang to do a brief reconnaissance of the escape routes he'd need to keep in mind during the takedown of the thieves. Unfortunately, he stepped on a loose piece of ice that snapped with a slight, crisp sound under his weight. Wolfgang had been paying little heed to what was going on behind him, so it was only with the barest luck that he heard the tell-tale noise. He had of course spun around, and upon catching sight of the King of Suits hunched in a stealthy manner, divined his purpose with great alacrity. He realized too that if the KoS got away, it would be with only the greatest of difficulty that he and his comrades would escape. Summoning his magical blade, he sprang upon Marceau, who dodged with less room for error than he would have liked. Seizing the chance to be done with the now-violent informant, Marceau lashed forward and delivered a powerful uppercut to Wolfgang's left temple. Striking the ground with great violence, Wolfgang lay, stretched and silent in the snow. Breathing a sigh of relief, Marceau whipped a pair of handcuffs from the depths of his cloak, and secured Wolfgang with them, taking care to put his adversary's arms behind his back before locking the cuffs on his wrists.

That taken care of, Marceau slipped off into the howling night, silently discovering a single emergency exit. Calling upon the power granted him by the stars, Marceau lifted up one of the nearby dumpsters and placed it gently int he alleyway directly in front of the door. That done, he checked the sides of the building, re-assuring himself that the people inside couldn't get out through the windows. Failing to see the open window on the second floor that any fool could get through easily, Marceau spread the power of the stars more evenly about himself and crept to the door of the warehouse. Realizing something, he slipped back to the unconscious body of Wolfgang, and too his cellphone. Going back to the door, he called 911 and informed the police of his position, the situation, and the number of criminals that needed to be apprehended(eight). Stretching his limbs, Marceau gave himself over to a serious bout of planning, knowing that charging in would be suicidal.

[Ari]

Despite his desire to come up with a game plan, Marceau was quickly sidetracked. What was the purpose of the thefts? what did Wolfgang mean by a "Divination experiment"? and why had Wolfgang not called for help, even when his voice was within reach of his comrades ears? These and other mysteries plagued Marceau to the point that ten minutes later a feasible plan still eluded him. Shrugging off his worries, he gave a quick look around the front door, before slipping into the warehouse to see if he could get close enough to the assembled miscreants to get an inkling of what they thought they were up to. Abruptly remembering his prone foe, he rushed back to Wolfgang and carried him over to the dumpster he had installed at the back door, placing him quietly inside and punching

It was a ticklish business, as the whole lot had fallen into the habit of glancing at the front door at regular intervals, due to Wolfgang being over an hour late to the rendezvous, and it was only with difficulty that he managed to dart behind a rack holding standard-issue computer keyboards, and turn a careful eye and ear to his unsuspecting prey. Thinking it would be handy to get some evidence of wrongdoing, he took out the small microphone he kept in one of his coveralls pockets, and tossed it neatly onto a box on the shelf nearest to the assembled brigands.

The problem of evidence taken care of, the King of Suits turned his whole attention to what they were saying. He was quite curious to learn what the people Wolfgang worked were planning to do.

"'s none o' my business, Larry," declared one of the men at the table(white, short, thin, mid 20's, short spiky black hair, green coat, orange scarf, dark blue pants, white boots), clearly unhappy about the state of affairs he found himself in, "but what if Wolf isn't coming after all? you did say he was more flaky than was safe with keeping the schedule." The man addressed as 'Larry'(black, slightly shorter, much beefier, late 30's, short blue hair, clearly dyed, all black ensemble) sighed deeply and turned to the questioner: "Mike, really? we've all been late to these meetings at least twice a week now. Freaking out just because our tardiest member is late with his stuff again isn't exactly sensible. He might have been caught by whatever little old lady he was swiping the purse of, and now is in front of the police commissioner getting dressed down again. Besides, he never did bring all that many personal items with him. I figure he's been keeping them stashed away in that Half-Way House, under some creaky floorboard somewhere. Anyway, let's get down to business and go over what we've collected tonight. Jason(to a middle-aged white man swathed in grey), you start, and we'll move counterclockwise; state the item, its probable connection to its owner, when and where you got it, and then nod to your left".

For the next seventeen minutes, as the long roll-call of the ill-gotten gains droned on, Marceau desperately tried to again think of a plan to beat them. Can't just dash out there, they'll cut me down in no time at all.

Flogging his brain for the answer to the 'how' of capturing eight criminals without letting even one escape, Marceau glanced around himself, deep in thought.

[Ari]

An idea finally occurred to him: an attack from above would be much more difficult to defend against than of he charged them from the horizontal. If he could get to a place where he could strike them without their being aware, he could easily wipe the floor with them. He then rapidly sketched out a plot that went roughly as follows: he would climb to the top of a shelving unit near the table and leap down from there, using the momentum from the blow to incapacitate the man called 'Larry', and then go down what he presumed to be the rough ranking system that usually grew within gatherings of humans. The shock of losing their commander(s?) would then hopefully lead to the quick surrender from the subordinates. That done, he would then use his sudden and potentially fearsome appearance to scare some information out of them as to any other groups like them. That aside, he knew full well the adage of plans never surviving contact with the foe, so he spent the last few minutes of his plotting considering how he'd escape from a turn-around like having one of his strike's blocked.

Jumping with eerie silence onto a nearby shelf, he avoided climbing and simply jumped from one third of the way up the rack to the top, then leaped from one rack to the next until he was practically overhead the table. Then, gathering himself into a spring he set his heels against the shelf, recalled his plans, and launched himself at the man with blue hair.

[Ari]

The instant Larry leaned back in his chair(to better keep an eye on the door and the current speaker), he felt a faint rush of air behind him, and fortunately enough didn't dismiss it as "just the wind" and turned to see what it was. At the same time he turned Marceau's left fist landed on his cheek, sending his head into the table before him, whereupon he lapsed into unconsciousness. Mike, seated almost across the table, was raising his hand to call forth his mystic blade when the cloaked and masked figure in red and black struck him in the chest with his left foot, sending the thief into a shelving unit behind him stacked with flat-screen TV sets. Amazingly, these failed to explode, or even drop on top of him. This miracle was followed by an act of genuine competence from the third thief the KoS tried to drop, a man named Jonas, who ducked under the whip-like lash of Marceau's right foot, and slashed at his attackers leg. The blow was turned by the armor under the heavy cloak, but Marceau had only seconds to breath before the blows from the other thieves rained down at him. The fifth, a man named Raphael, managed a hit on the shoulder of his foe, but the armor turned the blade, with only light bruising to show for his effort. The others had hacked at their enemy without any sign of its efficacy, and after only a few seconds had retreated several steps from the table, tossing their chairs away to keep themselves somewhat free from obstacles.

[Ari]

Raising himself to his feet with all the speed he could muster, Marceau surveyed his opponents with care. His plan had gone awry much earlier than he had hoped, yet less badly than he had feared. The thieves weren't running, were directly before him, and were possibly rattled by the suddenness of the attack. Then again, they may also have gauged him to be a rookie with little capacity to harm them. If he fought, he knew, it would be on their terms, and the clock ticked on...why fight? Figuring he could do worse than try, he stood to his full height, pointed one arm dramatically at them and declared: "I know exactly who you are and why you are here. Your crimes will soon be answered for, as the police have received word of you and your misdeeds tonight. In a little under five minutes, you'll hear their sirens approach, and I can easily keep you all here if you try to run. Surrender now and I'll be kinder in how I restrain you all."

He was quite aware that some especially hardened criminals would be effectively immune to reason, but he gambled that a display of forethought would make them think twice about trying to either escape or fight. He wondered what would happen if it took longer than five minutes for the police to arrive...

[Ari]

The thieves tensed themselves as Marceau began his declaration of their doom, their hands tightening on the wieghtless hilts of their shimmering purple blades, most of them leaning as though for a sudden spring forward. When he finished, Marceau watched their faces with great care, his left hand slipping into a fold in his cloak to retrieve a smoke-card.

It proved unnecessary. The group of thugs relaxed, glanced at each other, extinguished their mystic blades, and lay prostrate on the ground with their hands on their heads. Filled with a rush of relief, Marceau jumped to the floor while simultaneously whipping several pairs of handcuffs from his cloak's inside pockets. After shackling them (including Wolfgang) to a conveniently heavy shelving unit, placing the microphone on top of a pile of the I'll-gotten gains for easier finding,, Marceau stood before them. "Now then, please be reasonable once again, and tell me who set you up for this job. I want everything you can tell me about them, name, race, accent, height, phone number, anything and everything" he demanded. They were only too happy to oblige him. It turned out the mastermind the thefts was a wizard who called himself 'The Contrarian', due to his talent for reversing attacks with magical shields. He was five foot ten inches, covered himself in white-checkered-with-black robes to conceal his appearance, and he lived in a pocket dimension none of them had figured out how to enter on their own(except Wolfgang, thought Marceau). This discovered, The King of Suits heard the approaching wail of police sirens, and thanking the thieves for their help, went out to meet the officers of the law he had called.

[Ari]

With a creak of rubber on packing snow, the four police cruisers, sirens blaring, came smoothly into the square. Police Detective Arnold Wlodjyka, short and thick-set, came walking rapidly over the snow to the King of Suits. He shot an inquiring look over the odd figure with the grinning mask and card-suit cloak. "So, you the guy who called us?" at the nod from the masked man he beckoned to four beat officers to follow him into the place while the rest checked around the building for anything of worth to their investigation. Marceau followed the first group in, to make sure none of the thieves had escaped. None had, and he learned moreover that most of the group he had caught had been in recently for petty theft at least four times. After settling the captured criminal element in the police cruisers, all but one of the cars thus filled sed off into the night, Arnold staying behind for a quick chat with the masked man. Looking him up and down, he decided to get straight to the point: "Alright mister, how'd you get word of this little operation? One of them rat out to you? That Wolfgang guy didn't look that well, you didn't hurt badly, did you?" he watched the gleam of the other man's eyes behind the mask, trying to get an idea of what was going on in the vigilantes head.

[Ari]

The King of Suits waited for the officer to finish his questions. Once the interrogation was complete, he answered at once with "You may rest assured, Officer Wlodjyka, that I didn't do any harm to the man named Wolfgang that a day or so of rest won't cure. There are no permanent injuries to be found on or in him, and I was as gentle as I could be with him. He told me the location of the gathering of thieves, yes, and all I did was demonstrate to him that I wasn't quite as bad a fighter as he thought I was. You may, if you wish, disbelieve me, but I hope you won't. He told, aside from this location and its significance, that he and the others waere in the employ of a man named "The Contrarian"' a powerful wizard from another world who lurks in a sub-dimension inaccessible except through the use of a particular tool. If you wish, I shall return with you to the police station, and tell you the story in full. What so you say?"

[Ari]

After a good few seconds trying to figure if Marceau was kidding, Wlodjyka shrugged his wide shoulders and decided to accept that the oddly-dressed hero was telling the truth. However, the issue of what to do with this information still existed, and he was all aware of how hard it was to make criminal investigations into the world of the arcane. After a moment's thought, Wlodjyka realized that technically, they would have to find evidence beyond the thieves' say-so that this Contrarian' guy was even real, and that he really had set them up for the job. Turning to the be masked hero, Arnold said simply "We need more information, and significantly more evidence. I need you to go find this Contrarian guy, and get a confession out of him. We'll alert Mr. Eldritch to this, and get everything we have about this case together for the prosecution. Assuming, of course, you can get what we need." Arnold peered at the grinning mask and the cloak with the sign of hearts on it, a feeling in his gut that this guy wasn't nearly up to the task.

Marceau for his part was all for it, and said so: "Detective Wlodjyka, you can rest assured that I will get this Contrarian character to confess. All I have to do is get back to his hideout and find out where he's hiding in it." the smile under the mask slipped slightly, "There is, however, one thing I'll have to do first: you know where I can get some insider info on how defensive mages operate? Would do a power of good."

Arnold stroked his chin, a far-off look in his eyes. After a few seconds, he looked Marceau full in the eye and said, "You know, Mr. Suits, I just might. Let me get a phonebook out and see if they're still there."

The two set off towards the toll-phone on a nearby sidewalk, Marceau relaxed as he went. The night wasn't nearly over, his job as a costumed hero was still to be done, but at least he would soon have someone to go to for help in this case. That, at any rate, was more than he had at the start of the night.

TO BE CONTINUED!