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the city is dark, grey toned, like always. veronica slips through the air smoothly, letting herself fall a half second too long every time she lets go, engaging the grapple just before hitting the ground. today, a silent shadow falls behind her; she can feel reggie's presence at her back like a flame she only just escaped. as the blossom mansion rises into view, veronica slows, landing deftly on a nearby rooftop, silhouette small with her legs tucked under her. reggie swoops in behind her, silent and judgemental as ever. minutes pass in fits and starts; veronica shifts, every so often, but reggie doesn't. (it makes her impatient, nervous. she's already on thin ice with mary, and reggie-- well, reggie never even taps his feet. reggie's fucking perfect.)
"a waste of time. i should be out there hunting, not protecting cheryl's mother, a nun so awful she ought to be exorcised." veronica spits out. she can't sit here much longer without snapping, without giving up on even trying to be civil and challenging reggie to a rooftop fight. she knows he'll win, but maybe he'll throw her off the balcony, at least. reggie doesn't respond; he's seemingly tuning her out, looking attentively through a pair of binoculars at thornhill. he's so composed, like a dancer, and she can't sit still, can't stop talking. but if she's talking she can at least get something out of it.
“i’ve heard stories about you, you know.” veronica finally spits out, determinedly not looking in reggie’s direction. “reggie mantle, the magnificent… destined to lead the league of assassins to glory.” reggie still doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. veronica angles her body toward him, the shift causing the wind to ripple against her suit, a gentle sound barely perceptible to the non-trained ear. reggie turns his own body toward her, but his shift gives off no noise. (he’s better than her in every way, more useful more likeable more acceptable more good. he’s rubbing her nose in it every time he moves, every time he talks– or doesn’t talk. every second she spends around him is another chance for him to show her up, for him to prove how much better he is. how much more worthy.)
“i have to admit– i’m not impressed.” she infuses her voice with as much venom as she can muster, more than another person might be able to (but less than her average amount of spite). she and reggie are looking directly at each other now, and she searches his face carefully for flinches or any kind of reaction, which she of course doesn’t find. reggie is still staring at her without blinking, mouth closed in a subtle smirk. he thinks he’s better than her. (he is.) and veronica may not be able to tell off archie for his incessant encroachment on her personal boundaries, or betty for her insistence on insulting and belittling her, but reggie isn’t going to be here forever. eventually– hopefully sooner rather than later– he’ll be going back to seoul. veronica can afford to burn bridges with him. so for once, she lets herself say exactly what she’s thinking.
“i’ve seen the condescending looks you give, reginald. you think i can’t cut it, huh?” there’s still nothing reflected in reggie’s eyes, and veronica wants nothing more than an acknowledgement, some kind, any kind of tell. she goes on, voice hardening further. “throughout all of this, i recommend you keep in mind– i’m not the one mary relegated to seoul.” at the mention of mary, veronica imagines she sees reggie’s eyes brighten, then dim again as she goes on.
“maybe there’s a reason.” she says, acerbically, voice taut with anger, words thrown with perfect precision. this time, reggie doesn’t flinch, but he does shift, off the edge of the building and swinging over to the club before she realizes he’s moved. “there’s a back entrance to the maple club from the alley.” he calls behind him, voice soft but strong as it always is. (he’s mastered the art of politeness, of saying what he means in just the right way for it to sound warm. he doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he talks well. veronica, on the other hand, is the opposite– no matter how much she talks, she can’t seem to do it right.)
“keep your eyes on the front,” is tossed over reggie’s shoulder as he swings out of sight, and veronica bares her teeth, hissing. she thinks about calling after him that she’s not here to follow his orders, but it’s too late; he’s gone, disappearing behind the club. veronica’s alone again on the rooftop, wind blowing gently in her hair, thinking of nothing but when mary will return.