It had taken Artemisia some time, but she'd found the spot. Hidden in plain sight, masked as a factory was her escape of the evening. When she wandered inside, the environment looked nothing like a bar, like she'd been advertised. Blue lights blazed across the warehouse, techno music boomed from the speakers, and the ground vibrated with the beat. But that wasn't the most unexpected part. It was the fighting ring in the center: the main attraction.
How did someone like Dawn found out about a place like this? And why did she think it was a spot for Artemisia? This was not her scene. Things felt like closing in on her, pushing her to escape before it imploded.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the undisputed leader of the Titans. . ." She paused her tracks, shifting towards the illuminated pit. No way. "Hawk!" The crowd went erratic for the idiot in the red costume hopping around the ring, feeding off the patrons' drunken love. "Tonight, you have a chance to fight the Hawk. Put your money down! No refunds. No rules. Cash only. Winner gets the grand price!"
Hank taunted the people, challenging them to confront him. Proud asshole. Maybe. . . She could stick around, check out the place and keep an eye on her idiot friend. Dawn sent her here for a reason. She would stay and find out why. With some boosting, of course.
Locating the bar wasn't hard ( mainly because of the neon sign and the fact that most people were watching the fight ), but her next move definitely was.
The bartender was a black woman, her twists drew up into a ponytail. She had a bright smile, dancing along with the tune as she brewed drinks. When Artemisia approached her, she beamed up, swaying closer to the counter. She slid a cocktail towards a patron, ignoring their gratitude, too interested in the woman resting across the wooden line. "What can I get you tonight?"
"Anything with a punch," Artemisia blurted. Shit, rum also had a punch and it tasted disgusting. She sickened at the memory of drinking it the first and only time. "But I also don't wanna feel it. Ever. Does that exist or should I stick to water?"
The woman laughed at her pathetic words, preparing some bottles around her. "It does actually," she said amused, emptying some juice into the mixer. It looked pale pink. She glanced at Artemisia, eyebrow raised. "First time?"
"Not a big fan, that's all." Her eyes followed the clear alcohol spill into the previously poured juice. The bartender closed the mixer with a punch and began shaking. The ice clanking on the metal could be heard over the music, nearly earsplitting, like a shot beside the ear.
Milo, Artemisia read in the name tag, pulled up a glass, and emptied the cold drink. She garnished the cocktail with a lime wedge and pushed the glass towards her, exhibiting the work. "Your friend right here is called a Greyhound. The grapefruit keeps you hydrated, which means no bad hangovers, no dizziness. Be careful with them."
She took the glass to her lips, having a small taste. Sour. But not nearly as bad as Dick's rum. It was good. "Thanks." Milo flashed her another smile as Artemisia walked away, finding a great spot to watch Hank's vicious fights.
There was one thing the bartender hadn't warned about, and it was how addicting these drinks could be. She realized so as the night went on and she'd gotten up three times for refills. Each gulp made the party funnier, the match more exciting, and her preserved nature disappear. Hank had beaten about five people by now, keeping his victorious streak. Of course, a Washington vigilante would have a giant advantage over these amateurs.
A crazy idea spanned her mind. She chose to ponder it over some Greyhound. Her path towards the counter felt longer as she mingled with strangers and stopped to get her vision straight. Although her head did not hurt, the room revolved around her in slow motion and the music was not helping. Still, she wanted this last one to make her decision for the evening: go home or go rogue.
The black woman's eye was already on her as she stood in line. The men before her marched away with two beers and Artemisia took their place, simpering at the lady. Milo sighed, cleaning the counter instead of blending new booze. "Sorry, Liebling, four's your limit." She shrugged. "Keep enjoying the night."
"That's disappointing─"
Milo grabbed her hand, gliding a card into her hold. She gazed intensely into her eyes for a moment, then let go. Artemisia watched as she took off her apron and escaped through the back door without another word. She did not follow her. Maybe it was the end of her shift. Maybe the card had her number and Artemisia would have to disappoint her.
The hard paper was black, embellished with golden sparkles in the reverse. She flipped it over, relishing the craftsmanship. A blond arrow stuck out, carved to its minimal detail. Below the light, tipping the card around, two glazed letters were noticeable: L.S.
She was so-not in her mind to deduce anything from a piece of paper or the bartender's strange actions. Storing it in her jacket, Artemisia faced the hard decision of following her stupid idea ( not that her refused drink had anything to do with this bad choice ).
The next thing she knew, a woman rammed her into the cage, her drunk figure blundering to the floor. Laughter exploded from the crowd, and the man himself. Artemisia jumped to her feet, stepping towards Hank. "What're you laughing at, so-called leader of the Titans?"
He stopped chucking at her clumsiness, mouth dropping open at her sight. "The fuck are you doing here?"
"Well, I paid my money. I'm here to fight, Hawk." The patrons cheered at her remark, slamming their hands on the grid. She took a deep breath, consuming their greed. It was addicting: the yelling, the alcohol, the adrenaline. Hank shook his head. "What're you, afraid?"
The crowd booed him. Hank glanced around confused. Taking the opportunity, Artemisia shifted stances, recalling his form of combat. They hadn't been side-by-side many times, but she retained enough. His gaze returned to her, sighing as he saw her prepared.
"Shit."
Hank threw the first swing. Artemisia sank and wheeled her leg at his feet. He pratfell onto the cage's floor. She lunged back into her feet, circling his groaning frame. His glare regarded her every move, selecting his opportunity to bring her down.
She moved back, out of reach. "One would think our leader lasted longer. I mean, the real one does."
"I didn't want to know about Dick's fucking sex life." Hank was soon on his feet, assailing towards her. Artemisia scoffed, somehow not embarrassed of his comments. She impelled out of the way. His feet turned on the spot, trailing her. He sprang in the air, wrapping his arms on her legs.
They collapsed on the floor, his mass on top of hers. He crawled up, binding her limbs under him. Before she could defend herself, his fist smashed her cheekbone. Her eyes watered up. Ears burning. He tried again, aiming his knuckles to her nose. She seized his fist, redirecting it past her face.
She twisted away. Her elbow whacked him behind the ear. Hank crumbled with pain. She thrust him off, shoving him further enough to escape his reach. She sprinted to the other end, catching her breath. Hank was in no better condition, struggling to balance on his feet.
A chain clanked on the floor. It had landed on the center. The patrons urged them to take it. Artemisia glanced at Hank. He was looking at her. Her eyes fell back on the silvery object, then back at her opponent. This became more than a pleasant fight. Their pride was in the line.
Artemisia whanged to catch the chain. She pulled it away from Hank's reach. They split to the corners once again. She studied him. His face was red, fists tight, a sign of danger written all over his expression. He was furious.
She wrapped the chain around her hand, whooshing the other end, teasing him to come closer. Hank falls for her trick, racing in her direction. She met him in the middle, downing him on his knees. Her feet used his shoulder to gain higher momentum. The chain obeyed her movements and tangled around the top of the cage, her free hand grasping the loose end; she gave that grip a securing twist.
Hank jumped to his feet, attempting to pull her down. Artemisia laughed, ridiculing his height as she stretched her legs closer to his reach. He gave up and glanced at the patrons. She took her chance, lowering herself quietly. Her legs slithered on his neck and strangled. His fist smashed against her thighs but her clutch did not weaken. He continued fighting to haul her down.
With one final effort, Artemisia elevated him. She felt him rocking from her legs, making it harder to hold on. The chain strangled her wrists, skin turning pale. She moaned. Her hands trembled. Her stomach wrenched. Hank knocked the right spot. Her grip unsnapped.
He face-planted onto the ground. Artemisia's final force slipped. Her hands disentangled from the chain. She crash-landed over his back, giving the conclusive strike. Hank cursed below her as the crowd went crazy. They were cheering for her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I can't believe it," the announcer snickered on the microphone, grabbing his head. "We have a winner and it's not Hawk. Give it up for mystery lady!"
Artemisia rose to her feet, looking around. The patron's sentiment was intoxicating. Their yelling did not deafen her. It was something. She couldn't explain why her heart hammered frantically against her chest, or why she couldn't hold back her large grin.
She hadn't even noticed Hank had gotten up until the cage door had opened and the announcer walked in with a sack of money. He shoved the cash into her hand and hurried her away to meet her new fans. She could not find Hank anywhere among the group of people that surrounded her. The amazing feeling fled her. Where the hell was he?
A man walked up to her, seizing her shoulder. He said something. She couldn't understand him. He got closer. His grip hardened. More people neared her, shouting at her. They didn't sound happy anymore. Her ears hummed at the noise. Every milliliter of alcohol in her system kicked in. Her stomach turned along with everything else in the room. The hand around her sneaked lower.
"Get away from me!" Her tongue tingled when she spoke. The ghost of a punch lingered in her fist as she sprinted towards the exit. She banged the doors behind her, drowning out the unendurable atmosphere. The breeze welcomed her back, caressing her drowsiness away. It was reassuring.
Her head snapped to the left, the last of her enduring instincts coming in. Hank was leaning on his car, savoring some beers. He no longer wore the clothes. His glare was fixated on her. She had humiliated him in the cage, after all. "The fuck are you doing here, Lee?"
"I came looking for a fun night. Instead, I found you. Had to make something out of it." Artemisia shrugged, sauntering towards him innocently. "Sorry for beating you up, by the way. Do three hundred bucks make it up?" With that, she flung him the bag stuffed with money.
Hank rummaged through the cash. His face reclaimed its natural sneer. They were even now. "You paid this much to fight me? You could've done that for free, hit me up─"
"I wanted a crowd watching me kick your ass." Artemisia moved next to him with a chuckle, stumbling on her own feet. She laughed at her clumsiness. Hank grabbed her arm, keeping her steady.
"Hey, are you drunk?"
She held onto him, suddenly aware of how her legs felt detached from the rest of her body. She felt hot ─and not in a confident way. Her face and chest burned. "A little bit. Four or five Greyhounds." The taste of grapefruit juice came back to her mind. "They're amazing."
"That's a dangerous drink right there, Temi." She tried to move away, evade his concern. His other hand reached for her wrist, urging her to look at him. He examined her eyes. She stared back, analyzing him. Reddened eyes, dilated pupils, sweaty skin. And he dared to judge her. "You sure you're okay?"
Artemisia yanked away from him. She used the van to secure balance. "I'm just a little tired. I woke up early. Didn't have a nap. . . Shit, I didn't book any room. I'm an idiot."
"Mine's not far," Hank blurted. She frowned. She might be drunk but─ "You can stay over for the night. I'll sleep on the couch."
She broke into a smile. Her fist struck his shoulder, making him stumble back. "Yeah, it's the least you can do after I crushed you in there."
Hank snaked his arm under hers carefully, allowing her to adjust against him. "You better forget all this by morning." He began guiding her around the car to the passenger's seat. Artemisia giggled at his seriousness. He could care when he wanted to; he just needed three hundred dollars in favor and a bit of cocaine in his system.
"Hawk." A woman walked over them. She, too, was wavering on her feet. A bottle of beer swayed in her hand with every step. Hank tried to ignore her, hurrying Artemisia to open the door, cursing when he remembered her state. By then, the woman had reached them, calling for him again.
Unable to escape her, Hank left Artemisia by the vehicle. He turned to face his fan. "Hawk left. Saw him getting in a limo."
"Really?" The blonde woman pressed on. Artemisia scowled as she moved even closer, cornering him in the car. Hank tried to keep his friendly mood. "So what's in the bag?" They looked beside the wheels, where he'd tossed his costume.
"Hazmat suit. I work at the power plant."
Twiddling a lock of hair around her finger, the woman connected the length between them. "Is it true that power plants make things grow bigger?"
Artemisia rolled her eyes. Wasn't Hank clear enough? She pushed past him, coming face to face with this audacious stranger."Hey, lady, he just kindly told you to fuck off. Respect that, will you?" She glared her up and down, scowling.
"You want him all to yourself?"
She cackled at the question. She had just beaten his ass for the pleasure of it. Clearly, she wanted nothing else with him. The woman stared, irritated with her laugh. "This asshole? Nah. I prefer his friend." She turned serious, detaching from her support to fold her arms. "Now, scatter."
"Make me." The woman bumped her chest against Artemisia's. She was bigger than her, not that it mattered in the final result of a possible fight. "I can take you out in two seconds."
Artemisia took a breath in, considering the many outcomes. She didn't want another fight. It sounded too tiring at the moment. A warning would work. She stole the woman's beer, tossing the bottle far. They flinched at the sound but it had not done its work.
The woman threw a limp swing towards her, confident in her poor fist. Artemisia grabbed her arm and used it to send the woman to the ground. The blonde struggled back to her feet, preparing for another punch. It switched something inside her. Something she couldn't control. All she felt was anger. Raw and deep hatred towards every thing and one.
Her hand elevated, working without her consent. Her whole body worked on autopilot. "You humans never learn, do you?" A rope of water blasted out of her hand, binding around the woman's figure. At the first indication of defiance, she contracted it. "I could kill you right now."
"Temi, stop!"
She hesitated for a second. This didn't feel right. It wasn't right. She knew that. Yet she couldn't stop. Her grip gained more force. The woman let out a cry for help. Artemisia couldn't take it anymore. It needed to stop. The fan groaned as she pinched harder, trying to eliminate her sounds.
Hank jumped towards them, tackling her down. Artemisia's head banged onto the ground. The woman's body collapsed. Hank pressed her down, preventing another outburst. "Calm the fuck down! What the fuck's wrong with you?"
Artemisia wanted to explain. Her mouth buzzed, a tingling sensation traveling throughout her system. Static filled her sight, corners darkening. Hank kept yelling at her about controlling herself. Then, she couldn't hear him at all. Or anything.
Little Lies slowly faded into the void that had consumed her. She felt cold. Weak. But most importantly, at home. She was no foreigner to waking up to Fleetwood Mac. It had become a routine when living with Dick. She opened her eyes, a tired smile growing on her face. She couldn't wait to have a cup of coffee and─
A burp came from the other side of the room. Right. The hard reality. She wasn't at the Tower anymore. She was at. . . Where the hell was she? Artemisia sat up, glancing around. Her senses woke up once again. She hissed in pain. "Ouch, everything hurts. Did I blackout last night?"
"Kind of," Hank responded before shoving another gulp of beer down his mouth. He was laying on the couch, starting his noon the unhealthy way. "You tried to kill some woman first. A favor, if you ask me."
Artemisia rolled out of bed, groaning. "Very funny. What actually happened?"
"You did try to kill her," he insisted, leaving his comfortable spot to stare out the window. Artemisia moved behind him, heading for the bathroom. "Had to tackle you down. She would be dead if it wasn't for me. I'm back to being the hero everyone loves."
Artemisia stopped before the mirror, scanning her face. Dark circles hung under her eyes, her hair was all over the place. There was no sight of last night's intense fight. Neither of them. Stupid self-healing powers. She opened up the water and washed her face. The cold liquid slapped her skin, fully awakening her.
"I don't get it. Why would I do that?"
"She was a fan. Insisted that I was Hawk. You stepped in and started arguing." He paused, probably taking another sip of his beer like he wasn't telling a near-murder story. She pulled her hair into a bun and walked out, plopping back on the bed. Hank looked at her. "You said some weird shit, too. 'You humans never learn'. What the fuck does that mean?"
She started to feel cold again. Her hands began to sweat, she rubbed them against her pants. "Shit. . . It's my powers," she confessed, gulping down the acid sensation in her throat. "I mean, they aren't mine. I host the entity that possesses them, just like I did with Dianna. But this is different. It's not human─ I think."
Hank left the bottle by the small table. "When did you think it was the right moment to tell us that?"
"Never." The rubbing in her legs got more intense, more anxious. Why was this so hard? She lowered her gaze, ashamed. "I thought I had it under control. Most of the time, I did. Except for some emotional slips, we were fine."
He turned to face her. His gaze was intense, just like she had dreaded. This is why she hadn't told anyone. He lifted his finger, pointing it at her. "You need to solve this before it fucking kills one of us!"
"You think I don't know that? That I'm a walking danger?" Artemisia got to her feet, slapping his accusing finger away from her. This wasn't her fault─ entirely. Her gaze saddened, defense lowering. "I just can't do this on my own."
"Not our problem!" Hank riposted. He was right. She should have walked out the second this being sought to dominate her. But being alone was something she couldn't do. It infuriated her that he vocalized the truth like it was nothing. He didn't know anything beyond the issue. "Find professional help. Hell, I don't know, maybe a shrink. Or a fucking priest."
Artemisia shouldered him away. Her fury welled in her chest. That, and a mixture of guilt. "Fuck you, Hank. This is how you treat everyone?" She went for her jacket, picking it up. She browsed the room for other belongings. Nothing else. Her eyes settled on him again. "No wonder Dawn's not around anymore."
"You don't know shit about me and Dawn!"
"I bet it had to do with that." Her hand spurted towards the bedside table, remembering the first thing she'd detected. Hank regarded her pointer. He gawked at the small pack of cocaine, half consumed. She shook her head, heading for the door. "Good luck with your problem, asshole."
The door thumped behind her, concluding the dispute.
Artemisia threw on her jacket, guarding herself against Wyoming's crisp morn. Why the hell was she even there? Out of all places, she had to pick the one where Hank was. An entire country and they chose the same hellhole. And out of all people who ditched, it had to be the asshole who yelled the known truth to her face.
A tear slipped from her eye without warning. She wiped it away instantly. What the hell? It was too early to cry. And she wouldn't grant him the pleasure. Her feet dragged her away from the site, searching for the nearest bus stop.
Her phone vibrated on her waistline, snapping her out of the stubborn daze. She fished it out of her pockets. Donna was calling her. That was new. She picked up the call. "Yes?"
"You need to get back," Donna pleaded from the other side. She made Artemisia stop walking, concerned. "Gar, Dianna, and Conner are missing. And Dick's MIA. We need you."
Her chest bloated with contentment. Someone needed her. She could pretend for a few more hours, maybe days, that things were fine. She held back a smile. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
She hung up and glanced back at the motel. Would they be needing him, too? No. They could do it without Hank. He was pure speech, the exact contrary of what they needed right now. She shifted to face the road. They were retrieving the teens.