Tinkerer had been in love.
At least, he thought he might have been in love. Some strange stirring in his breast reminded him of a twinge he hadn’t felt since his teenage years. A vague hunger scratched at the inside of his ribcage where his heart used to be, and made him feel a yearning for another’s presence. He wasn’t sure. He suspected that perhaps it was a form of apprehension, a jungle-wariness that he had developed as a habit after months of fighting his way through the riff-raff of Rogue Isles villainy. Months had passed since his escape from the Paragon City Zigursky Prison, and those months had not been idle.
On leaving Paragon, he’d travelled first to Mercy Island where he’d met Kalinda, a powerfully psychic Fortunata “Fate Maker” in the ranks of Arachnos. She had filled him in on the deal Arachnos offered. Lord Recluse, the mastermind behind the Arachnos organisation, had remade himself into a spider-like Villain of remarkable power. Once an old comrade of Statesman, Paragon City’s leading superhero of legend, now Lord Recluse despised him and all he stood for. This was a man that Tinkerer could truly respect. The deal was simple. Lord Recluse had rescued choice villains of singular potential from Paragon’s jails to add them to his own forces in a bid to eventually return to Paragon and conquer it. All the “Destined Ones” had to do was prove themselves, and Tinkerer had truly done that. Enhancing his powers with the assistance of Arachnos’ labs, Tinkerer now commanded a horde of robotic minions and had added directed gravity distortion to his repertoire, effectively granting him the power of flight. He’d beaten down other less able villains and carved a reputation for destruction for himself as he conquered vast tracts of the Rogue Isles urban sprawls.
However, his remarkable progress through the ranks of Arachnos was not on his mind today, as he soared through the air over yet another battle ground between local thugs and Rogue Island Police, a strangely non-villainous train of thought engaged him. A proverb sprung to mind as he considered his state of mind.
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
So, was Seneschal Elene a friend or foe? Certainly he felt the need to have her close….
They had met at a common destination, The Family – a mafia-like organisation of local thugs - had been moving in on Carnival of Shadows lairs, slowly eradicating them in a bid to regain supremacy of the dockyards in Black Mariah. The Carnival of Shadows, a strange bunch of circus performers and harlequined workers of the psychic and arcane arts, had been far from impressed. Seneschal Elene had been dispatched to put an end to incursions and Tinkerer had been on a plot to steal the psychic nullifier The Family was using to negate the Carnie’s unique skills.
He remembered their first meeting…
“Get Tinkerer! He’s come for the Nullifier!”
“Protect the weapon!”
The cries of alert and anger turned to pain as The Family’s minions fell before the energetic blasts of Tinkerer’s robotic horde. Ruby red beams of energy laced the air, photonic grenades and missiles filled the warehouse with echoing concussions. The Family were failing, and Tinkerer loved it. He encased an Underboss in a detention field, saving him for some choice entertainment later, when a screech rent the air.
“You SLIME! He’s MINE!”
Chakram ricocheted off the detention shield, striking violet sparks from the walls and chipping crates before returning to the hand of the one who cast it.
“These INTRUDERS are MINE! I want to play with them! Ooooh! Aren’t you a handsome one…”
Tinkerer had met the Carnival of Shadows before, had run up against them and grown to despise them, but this particular specimen near took his breath away. She stood tall, lean and slim, and utterly beautiful. Most Carnies were attractive, but she was simply radiant with a starling and unearthly allure. Her masked and painted face had been finished in the most baroque swirls and curlicues that drew attention to her fine cheekbones, deliciously curved neck, and down to her riotously colored and shapely body. Her legs were wrapped in violently clashing pink and green diamonds, her body corseted and accented with tattered lace and ribbons in vividly colliding colors, her hair bound in an elaborate headpiece from which dangled bells and charms. She stood, briefly immobile in one drawn out instant, hand akimbo on her hips, glowing chakram in each hand, before she pirouetted in place and flung her weapons at nearby Family in a swift choreography of studied and frenetic violence. Tinkerer’s robots finished off the last of the stragglers until suddenly, amongst the carnage, she and Tinkerer were alone.
She pouted, and walked nonchalantly through the robots that separated them. Tinkerer, wary but amused, allowed her passage.
“You ruined my fun,” she breathed, laying one hand casually over the arm of an Assault Bot, “I was enjoying myself, flirting with them in their straight-laced suits and their ridiculous hats. Don’t you think their hats are quaint?”
She flipped her head quizzically to the side, making the bells and charms clash together in a brief melodic peal of sound. Tinkerer stood immobile, awaiting her demands, he knew the Carnival of Shadows for the misanthropic haters and beguilers of men that they always revealed themselves to be and prepared himself to order his robots to reduce her to a vividly colored pulp.
“Strong and silent type, huh? Nevermind, I like that in a man.”
In a swift movement, she wrapped herself about the Assault Bot, twisted and vaulted up onto its shoulder. One arm draped across the robot’s head, it appeared as if the thing held her by choice. Fluid and feline, she reclined in the arms of the metallic beast, and looked up at it.
“These things are your toys? Your loves?” She rapped a delicately gloved knuckle against the Bot’s hollow metal head, “So cold, so sterile, and you so handsome, so striking!”
Like flowing silk, the Carnie writhed around the robot’s arm, and returned to the floor facing Tinkerer’s immobile form. A hand traced the contours of his armor, tenderly touched the robotic arm, and returned to his chest, where it lay like a psychedelic flower on his crimson and umber carapace.
“This armor really is quite anatomically correct,” she cooed, “it’s making me want to see the man beneath!”
She raised a hand to his face, and moved as if to search for hidden seams.
Two armoured hands lashed out to grasp her wrists.
“You waste my time, vixen. Who are you and what do you want?” demanded Tinkerer as he held her back in a steely grip.
She writhed, and wriggled, then adroitly performed a quick backflip, twisting free of his grasp and regarded him with tense hands visibly quivering towards the chakram loops at her waist.
“Not so fast big boy, get to know me first! I am Seneschal Elene, envoy of the Carnival of Shadows, and I’m here to repulse these crass Family morons, and recover the weapon they’ve used so effectively against my Sisters!”
Elene dropped theatrically into a combat crouch, and poised her hands over her weapons as she mimed a stalking motion and glared about at the warehouse walls.
“I’ve stalked them, and followed them here, I know the weapon is here, and I know that Boss Don ‘Three Toes’ Vivaldi is here as well, and he will pay!”
Leaping upright, Elene mimed a slicing gesture through the air in front of her throat.
“I’ll take his head back to Mistress De Vore as proof of my success!”
Seneschal Elene looked over at Tinkerer and a slow smile crossed her face.
“Care to come along for the ride? Then, maybe, you can show me the face beneath the mask, and I’ll,” Elene ran a hand down a tightly corseted flank and along a brilliantly stockinged thigh, “I’ll show you the lady beneath the silk…”
“A lady sure could use these metal beasts of yours to speed up her progress, and avoid any unsightly stains on her dress…”
The rest of that day had passed in a glorious, dare he say it, Carnival of punishment and intimidation. The Family had never stood a chance against their combined energies, and although the weapon had been destroyed in the attempt to wrest it from Don Vivaldi’s possession, enough componentry had been recovered that the day had been considered a success.
Afterwards, in the sequinned and cushioned opulence of Elene’s tent, Tinkerer had removed his helmet, Elene had fulfilled her earlier promise and a tentative alliance, of sorts, had been forged.
The ensuing weeks saw a scourging force sweep across the island of St Martial. Tinkerer had supplied the independent and un-controlled face for the heists he and Elene had jointly pulled, while she had provided the insider knowledge and a wealth of Carnie skills and weapons. Between them, they’d routed The Family from St Martial completely, at least for a time. In the process, their combined efforts had amassed a huge fortune in cash, gold and rare items of power. The Carnival was happy, Mistress De Vore was happy, and Tinkerer had become wildly rich.
It was then that they faced their first real challenge.
Elene had near torn the tent they secretly shared apart with the force of her entrance, she was fully costumed and accoutred for battle, her bells and charms swung alarmingly with the passion of her movement. Tinkerer lounged on the silk and satin cushions, his helmet removed to expose his burned and scarred face, something he only ever did in Elene’s presence. As she entered, breathing heavily and stamping, he put down the power glove he had been adjusting, and looked up at her quizzically. She noticed him at the desk, as was her habit, “clicked” into her usual calm and enigmatic mood.
“Mistress De Vore spoke to me today, darling, and she has become aware of a new power in St Martial, a villain who has amassed power so quickly that she is quite concerned. This villain poses a threat, so she says, to the Carnival’s stranglehold on the island and stands in the way of our eventual escape from the yoke of control Arachnos has forced upon us.”
Yes, Tinkerer knew of the fragile agreement between the two forces. Arachnos owned the Isles, and the Carnival of Shadows was tolerated only due to some undisclosed agreement between Mistress De Vore and Lord Recluse himself. Many things were rumoured about the agreement between the two, but one thing was for certain. The Carnival of Shadows paid a price, and a steep one, for their continued existence in the Rogue Isles. In no small part, the Destined Ones, of which Tinkerer was a member, had served to cement the status quo and prevent numerous attempted Carnival uprisings. It was a topic, and a portion of Tinkerer’s past that he and Elene had silently and mutually agreed to never discuss.
“Give me but his name, my costumed and coiffured lady, and he shall be dust,” declared Tinkerer as he took a glass of rare Absinthe from a servitor robot he had smuggled in under cover of darkness, “nothing can stand before our combined might.”
Tinkerer downed the Absinthe in one gulp, and then coughed it up and reached quickly for his helmet with Elene’s next words.
“It’s you, Tinkerer! It’s you…”