Anytime You Want

The stone slabs that line the floor are pleasantly grayed and weathered, grass and earth springing between the cracks. The wooden frame that encloses the courtyard hangs thick with ivy, interrupted by pale pink climbing roses, nestled in the tresses. The deeper hues of the cosmos reach outwards, inviting in the delicate butterflies that flicker about the tiny courtyard. Iron wrought tables, each lit with a dancing candle, fill the curiously quaint space, the pleasant hum of evening conversation adding to the serenity of the restaurant. Silverware scrapes against china plates, glasses filled with blood red wine clinking on occasion, the odd laugh penetrating the peaceful buzz...perfectly boring, in my humble opinion. I look above the floral, gold rimmed teacup from which I sip my coffee and flip open the day's paper. My hair is red again, just for the moment in which I am sat. Half a lazy smile drifts on my seemingly vacant face. I flip the page of my paper, and glance up to the thick black lens of the security camera. Around me the city burns, and they know it was me, the dangerous man who has the audacity to come into their territory and sit in the stiflingly upper class oasis in New York. I never could resist that moment of cheek, the wink of a sparkling hazel eye which they'd scowl and stamp their feet at later. An alarmed shriek behind me alerts me of the presence of an anomaly.
"Coffee?" I say pleasantly, without turning around.
"Gerard Arthur Way, you are under arres-"
"We can come to the details in a minute. The niceties must be observed, Mr. Boaz. Sit." I cut him off, my tone polite yet assertive. I hope it would serve reminder of the past.
He sits.
"Way" he says, a little less gruffly. I roll my eyes at the camera behind my paper briefly before I put it down. The brief glance caught the reflection of Boaz's men holding for the 'secret' signal he'd give, which would be a 'discreet' but obviously fake cough or a far-too-delicate scratch of the nose for such a brawny man.
"Boaz. How have you been keeping?"
"Well enough. Been doing anything, except being on the run with murderers?" I give a low chuckle. Frank was safely tucked away where no one would hurt him; I'm sat among the only enemy. The rioters are at my expense.
"Oh, keeping busy. That's all." He takes a sip of the coffee and I look him in the eyes as he spits out the drink and gags. I don't stop to see him fall off the metal chair and fall to the floor, twitching; I punch to my left, a quick jab in the nose which causes a fountain of the stuff to spurt and splatter the grey slabs that make up the floor. I stand and savor the the moment of the blundering man who is supposed to be the prime of protective forces. Without flinching, I turn to the next fool, oblivious to the screams and smashed plates, and dodge the punch. Ducking underneath his arm, I break the unspoken rule - hit him where it hurts. I knee him in the face before he gives up and crumples on the stone, his blood running freely. The last, I take more tactically. Smash the jaw, feel the bone grind against mine, and wait for the shock to register. As it does, I twist his arm so he falls. I could have made my exit more snazzy, but the door did just fine as I became one with the night once more.

Notes