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no_true_pair2022-09-04 05:16 pm
callirhoe) wrote in no_true_pair2022-09-04 05:16 pm
We Wear The Mask (Moon Knight comics, Rutherford Winner & Tigra)
Title: We Wear The Mask
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Rutherford Winner & Tigra
Rating: General Audiences
Content Notes: None!
Prompt: September Three - Rutherford Winner hits it off with someone at a costume party/ball; wait, it's Tigra?
Incandescent figures swirled around the ballroom like autumn leaves, colorful, beguiling, but easily ignored: Rutherford only had eyes for the enchanting woman who had approached him. Her vibrant green eyes danced as she smiled at him behind the orange cat-mask she wore, so lifelike that he could have sworn he saw the pert nose twitch.
She extended her hand, and he drew it to his lips to kiss the air above her knuckles as he swept her an exquisitely correct bow. "Madam," he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. "I am under your spell entirely. Let us be rid of these masks; I must know your name."
"Well, thanks," the entrancing lady answered with a quirk of an eyebrow, "but I'm not wearing a mask, and we've met. It's Tigra, Moon Knight's friend. Do you remember me?"
Her words made no sense; then he blinked, and the world underwent a familiar, always-disorienting shift. The glittering ballroom became the recreation room of the Ravencroft Institute, sparsely-furnished with institutional tables and chairs and lit with the harsh glow of fluorescent bulbs instead of candelabras and torches. The figures around them resolved into other patients and their visitors, orderlies and guards keeping a watchful eye on them all.
And the woman in front of him, with the sleek orange fur and the green cat's-eyes…
Ah. Tigra, the cat-woman. She wasn't wearing a mask, then.
He released her hand quickly. "My apologies. I do remember. I was momentarily engaging with an alternative narrative in which we'd never met." She tilted her head at him, still looking puzzled, and he added for the sake of clarity, "My recovery from the Pygmalion Project's conditioning is not linear. Occasionally I still revert to contextualizing my existence through narrative tropes, particularly in genres to which I've recently been introduced." Tigra opened her mouth and then shut it. Her tail curled into a question mark over her shoulder. He explicated further, "One of the nurses loans me her historical romance novels after she's finished reading them, and certain scenarios seem to linger."
"Oh!" Tigra grinned, her tail perking up behind her into a curve that now looked intrigued. "That sounds tough to deal with, but also kind of neat. And I love those books. We should swap recs sometime."
"Yes," he said, and met her eyes levelly. "Why have you come? Did Moon Knight send you? If he needs help of my sort, please inform him that he should find someone else. I have no interest in breaking out of this place again now that my doctor has returned."
"No, no, Marc's fine. Well, as fine as he ever is. And he doesn't even know I'm here." She pulled up a chair at the nearest table. After a moment, Rutherford followed suit and folded his hands atop the table, mirroring her. This was his very first visitor who wasn't Dr. Sterman, and he was uncertain how he should act. "I came on my own, because I wanted to see how you are after… everything that happened that night. Are you doing okay?"
"Dr. Sterman believes I'm making progress." It was the truth, and also as much as he wanted to say to a woman he'd only met once and dispatched some of Jigsaw's henchmen with. Did taking out enemies together with brutal finality over a common cause make them friends? He wasn't sure; he should ask Dr. Sterman what she thought. "And you?"
"Me?" She seemed surprised, which surprised him in turn. Had she not expected him to ask? He'd thought it was polite. "I'm… okay." Rutherford inclined his head to her and waited, since she seemed to have something more to say. Her tail lashed once, but "I'm all right," was all she said finally.
He took that at face value and nodded.
There was a silence that was awkward only because Tigra's eyes roved over him, from his neatly-combed-back hair down to his folded hands on the tabletop. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, so he said nothing and watched her back.
The waves of her orange hair were mesmerizing, like flickering flames, and her eyes glowed so brightly even in the harshly artificial light. If she had been on the cover of one of those romance novels, he supposed she would be in a green gown, to match her eyes. Her hair would be unbound, long, and tumbling free. She would be the kind of heroine the narrative described as "fiery", and she would utterly deserve the title. She was, as he had initially believed, enchanting.
"So," Tigra said finally, and met his eyes again to grin. "Romance novels, huh? Tell me about your favorites."
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Rutherford Winner & Tigra
Rating: General Audiences
Content Notes: None!
Prompt: September Three - Rutherford Winner hits it off with someone at a costume party/ball; wait, it's Tigra?
Incandescent figures swirled around the ballroom like autumn leaves, colorful, beguiling, but easily ignored: Rutherford only had eyes for the enchanting woman who had approached him. Her vibrant green eyes danced as she smiled at him behind the orange cat-mask she wore, so lifelike that he could have sworn he saw the pert nose twitch.
She extended her hand, and he drew it to his lips to kiss the air above her knuckles as he swept her an exquisitely correct bow. "Madam," he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. "I am under your spell entirely. Let us be rid of these masks; I must know your name."
"Well, thanks," the entrancing lady answered with a quirk of an eyebrow, "but I'm not wearing a mask, and we've met. It's Tigra, Moon Knight's friend. Do you remember me?"
Her words made no sense; then he blinked, and the world underwent a familiar, always-disorienting shift. The glittering ballroom became the recreation room of the Ravencroft Institute, sparsely-furnished with institutional tables and chairs and lit with the harsh glow of fluorescent bulbs instead of candelabras and torches. The figures around them resolved into other patients and their visitors, orderlies and guards keeping a watchful eye on them all.
And the woman in front of him, with the sleek orange fur and the green cat's-eyes…
Ah. Tigra, the cat-woman. She wasn't wearing a mask, then.
He released her hand quickly. "My apologies. I do remember. I was momentarily engaging with an alternative narrative in which we'd never met." She tilted her head at him, still looking puzzled, and he added for the sake of clarity, "My recovery from the Pygmalion Project's conditioning is not linear. Occasionally I still revert to contextualizing my existence through narrative tropes, particularly in genres to which I've recently been introduced." Tigra opened her mouth and then shut it. Her tail curled into a question mark over her shoulder. He explicated further, "One of the nurses loans me her historical romance novels after she's finished reading them, and certain scenarios seem to linger."
"Oh!" Tigra grinned, her tail perking up behind her into a curve that now looked intrigued. "That sounds tough to deal with, but also kind of neat. And I love those books. We should swap recs sometime."
"Yes," he said, and met her eyes levelly. "Why have you come? Did Moon Knight send you? If he needs help of my sort, please inform him that he should find someone else. I have no interest in breaking out of this place again now that my doctor has returned."
"No, no, Marc's fine. Well, as fine as he ever is. And he doesn't even know I'm here." She pulled up a chair at the nearest table. After a moment, Rutherford followed suit and folded his hands atop the table, mirroring her. This was his very first visitor who wasn't Dr. Sterman, and he was uncertain how he should act. "I came on my own, because I wanted to see how you are after… everything that happened that night. Are you doing okay?"
"Dr. Sterman believes I'm making progress." It was the truth, and also as much as he wanted to say to a woman he'd only met once and dispatched some of Jigsaw's henchmen with. Did taking out enemies together with brutal finality over a common cause make them friends? He wasn't sure; he should ask Dr. Sterman what she thought. "And you?"
"Me?" She seemed surprised, which surprised him in turn. Had she not expected him to ask? He'd thought it was polite. "I'm… okay." Rutherford inclined his head to her and waited, since she seemed to have something more to say. Her tail lashed once, but "I'm all right," was all she said finally.
He took that at face value and nodded.
There was a silence that was awkward only because Tigra's eyes roved over him, from his neatly-combed-back hair down to his folded hands on the tabletop. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, so he said nothing and watched her back.
The waves of her orange hair were mesmerizing, like flickering flames, and her eyes glowed so brightly even in the harshly artificial light. If she had been on the cover of one of those romance novels, he supposed she would be in a green gown, to match her eyes. Her hair would be unbound, long, and tumbling free. She would be the kind of heroine the narrative described as "fiery", and she would utterly deserve the title. She was, as he had initially believed, enchanting.
"So," Tigra said finally, and met his eyes again to grin. "Romance novels, huh? Tell me about your favorites."
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