This had to be it. She couldn’t rely on luck or patience any more. Time was going by and she was losing her will to wait and, what was worse perhaps, she was losing her interest in this plan. She almost couldn’t remember what had sparked this rivalry, after a week of waiting on a roof for nothing to happen, watching a man lock up a library every night, and limp his way home on the same path. It never changed, save for slight time differences for earlier or later nights at work. And that was it.

No, this was her plan. She had to make this work.

In her hand was a ‘gift’ she had gotten from her leader, as everyone else in the Negaverse had, not too long ago. She had never used it, however, despite learning about it and keeping a list of its uses in the back of her mind. Calling others, various little aids for their cause. But most importantly, at least on this one night, in this one situation, it could be used to summon a youma.

Being a Lieutenant, Gently did not have a youma of her own to summon into a fight. She had never even though about that, as she wasn’t sure she really wanted one. They were intense beasts, and she wondered about the lack of control calling on into a battle might present. They were usually large, impossible to hide, and she doubted they would follow a plan or even hear orders if she tried. So she created a situation where that unpredictability became exactly what she needed. A random encounter for a helpless human.

A time when he would need a savior, and it wouldn’t come.

When something could be safely tested, Painite would take the time to do it. But it was a rare feat with her, if only because she was slightly superstitious. In the theatre, she had learned first hand the strange ritual of testing props during tech week, and having them work perfectly in rehearsal only to have them fail at opening or during the run. It was baffling, but just one of those things that she now believed to be a fact of the stage. Much like the bad luck associated with saying Macbeth during a show, or whistling on stage during tech. All weird habits that no one in their right mind would truly buy in to, but when the moment came that they ‘could’ be true, the hesitance to test fate arose.

She didn’t like testing traps, just in case they were only built well enough to work once. She found it was difficult to test some of her designs, anyway, because they were inconvenient or overly complicated, and it was just more of a liability than a help to do so. Peace of mind was not something she needed: she always believed what she did would work, no matter what. Painfully, blissfully, stupidly optimistic, or overly confident perhaps, but that was just how she functioned the best.

Anyway, if something failed, she could just start from scratch, or adapt what had worked to fix what hadn’t. As long as she was alive to do it, or didn’t get herself caught or badly injured, she was always happy and striving. She would be the best, and that took hard work, self assuredness and a keen, ever expanding mind. One couldn’t learn through success alone, and the moment she got everything right would be the moment she lost her will to continue.

And that would just never happen. An inevitability, maybe, and a little more pessimistic than her explanation of it, but she never expected complete success. She expected things to work, but they would never, ever be one hundred percent. And that was the challenge, the fun, what brought out the need for improvisation and wits. That’s what made every plan she made exciting and kept her coming back for me: the unpredictability, despite every effort to plan for everything. Maybe that was why she sometimes got too wrapped up in the execution, and missed planning for some important, key factors that would really help her. She already accepted that failure was possible, without ever needing to say it out loud or even keep it in her mind now, and it just didn’t occur to her to factor in anything but best and worst case scenario, and whatever small details caught her attention.

In any case, tonight was different. Tonight was a big detail. This communicator, this pretty purple stone, was the key in her plan and she knew she could not wing this one. She had tried it once before, despite her superstition, and had learned to her surprise just how weak it left her feeling afterwards. But that was fine by her: she could work with it. Because she wasn’t going to stay powered up after using it.

Tonight was the night. Everything was in place, still waiting for her. Just as she left it.

Anthony Darrow walked out of the library as he always did, a little later than usual. That was good, fortuitous as well, because that left the streets bare. No one was around. Painite watched him, gripping the crystal. She focused on it, letting her mind ponder nothing else but the crystal, but what she wanted it to do. She could almost feel her energy leaving her as the crystal reacted. She wobbled, powered down, and opened her eyes when she couldn’t take any more, taking a very deep breath and looking down onto the street.

She almost felt like it would have been for nothing. She looked down the street first and didn’t see the librarian where she thought he would be, considering how much time had passed. Had she timed it wrong? Was he gone? She couldn’t believe it, and nearly threw the crystal, but she only had to look back nearer to the library she was standing on to see Tony in the middle of the street, his cane in his hands, a long shadow bearing down on him. Perfect. Perfect! The youma had come to find her, but being unable to it got distracted by the only other living thing around at the moment: a lone human walking home from work.

Gently stumbled to her hidden accessories and quickly got herself dressed. Now it was show time. She put everything she needed on, from the white bodice to the stupid skirt, the boots and gloves, the fairly difficult to make metal tiara and a wig to complete the whole look. She climbed down from the roof on the fire escape, feeling nauseous, but willed it to pass. Tony, she learned, was rather brave. The medium sized youma, with two long arms that ended in grotesque looking fingers, powerful despite their spindly appearance, was retreating after Tony smacked it hard with his metal cane. Gently waited, seeing an opportunity.

From here on out, she had always known, it would be improv.

Tony hit the youma again and she stepped out, hurrying over to the ‘fight’ as the youma retreated into the darkness. It wouldn’t go far. Tony turned to see her, looking surprised. Panicked. His instincts had clearly taken over and some kind of experience guided him to fight back. She liked that about him, but she also knew that he was not one of the many who believed everything that happened in the city was due to those ‘terrorists’.

“Damn it, you let it get away,” she said gruffly, in her best American accent.

“It went that way!” he puffed, “you’ve got amazing timing, Sailor…?”

She watched him with a frown, in character. She scowled at him.

“I saw where it went, but it looks like a hider. I’m going to need some help drawing it back.”

“You need m-my help?” Usually he had to offer, so he actually perked up at the idea of being useful without having to beg or throwing himself in the line of fire. “Of course! I’ll do anything you need.”

“I know you will. You’ll do perfectly.”

She charged at him then, punching him hard in the gut, hoping it would be enough considering she wasn’t powered up at the moment. He hit the ground, dazed enough for her to get his cane and knock him out entirely. She took a breath, stepping back to see him breathing shallowly, laying in a heap on the pavement at her feet. Good.

On to step two.