Through the black of the night, the lights flowing off the billboards and signs high above street level guided the way for them. In the iridescent glow of the neon lights, he could barely make out her pale figure, glowing much like his own ghostly complexion, as they walked, hand in hand, through the dingy side streets, dodging the random passerby or panhandler, and stopping once so that he could toss a two Euro coin into the guitar case of a busker. There could be only two destinations in mind for their utterly formal means of dress: either La Bourse ou La Vie, a local steak restaurant; or the Louvre. He intended to hit up both tonight, though she had no idea.

They didn't speak a word to one another as the strolled casually, hand in hand, down the winding city streets. There was an unmistakable silent conversation going on between them, each word sounded out through simple gestures and eye contact. She led the way, being more familiar with the Parisian outlay, her fiery red hair acting as a lantern as she guided him through the concrete jungle, pointing out the occasional landmark or popular sight, reciting moments of French history -- even if he knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it. He'd heard all of the tales from books before, but to hear it from a human voice so very close to him was something else. It was not the cold, distant narration of a line of text he read to himself; it was the warmth of the flame in the way she spoke the words, rolling French phrases off as though it were second nature. He, too, spoke a hint of French, but she was near-fluent, and with each word that came tumbling out from betwixt her lips, he felt himself falling further and further into that pleasantly warm abyss he knew so well.

But there was no way of her knowing that he was secretly plotting out the entire evening, turn by turn. Even consciously, David didn't know he was doing it. The plotting was all a method of something sleeping deeper within him. He knew it was there, but it hadn't emerged ever since Mr. Supernova had made his fateful visit a week prior. The spaceman had left in quite a hurry, but hadn't left any contact information -- only a short note, stating that he would return in due time. Taking off for Paris "on assignment" worried David that he might miss Nova's return to his office, but he was reassured by the thought that if anyone could find him on the face of this earth, it would be Mr. Supernova.

With awful deeds in mind, David held the door open to La Bourse ou La Vie, allowing Alexandra to slip by him with a flirtatious peck on the cheek. David found himself utterly captivated by her, but somewhere deep inside, the monster was unhindered by her movements -- the subtle sway of the deep emerald dress that trailed ever-so-slightly behind her. IT was already at work, formulating the strategy of the next few days as though it were planning a game of chess. There are only so many first moves, and from there, it knew exactly what must be done to ensure success. It was all a matter of moving the right pawn in its first move. Unconsciously, David kept thinking the same phrase to himself: 14 minutes. 14 minutes...

Within moments of being seated and ordering their first round of wine, David experienced a mixed batch of emotions. Though entranced in conversation with his significant other, he found himself subtly undergoing a gradual feeling of vexation. It was as if he were living two lives simultaneously, perceiving two worlds at once: first and foremost, his conversation with Alexandra over dinner, and secondly, taking in the sounds of the diners around him. One table in particular took the attention of his secondary hearing: a pair of women, likely a mother and daughter, the mother likely in her early to mid seventies, complaining to a waiter regarding the temperature of the older woman's steak. And far be it from David to bother noticing the condition of others, but the older woman was a wretch, speaking to the waiter using horrid English words as the man attempted to qualm her vexacious jeremiad in broken French-English, much to no avail. The steak the woman had ordered was sent back not once, not twice, but thrice. On the third steak's return, the woman was preparing to kick up a further fuss when, without a cognitive or active thought, David turned in his chair, breaking up Alexandra mid-sentence, and faced the elderly woman, to whom he spoke in an unsettling baritone.

"If the steak is not the proper temperature, perhaps the temperature of the approaching grave will be more adequate for you."

He did not face her long enough to read the response on her face, which was, without a doubt, a mix of horror and outrage. But he paid no mind. She had been disrupting his thought process -- a most valuable asset in his method of planning. 14 minutes, he thought to himself again, 14 minutes.

Oddly enough, Alexandra did not find fault in his sudden invective toward the elderly woman. When David rapidly apologized to Alexandra for interrupting their otherwise pleasant evening, she responded with a slight laugh and a playful rubbing of her foot against his beneath the table. Furthermore, she explained that he was justified in his conduct of admonishing the woman, as the upheaval she had been creating was ostensibly bothering the rest of the diners in the room. And indeed, David had perceived this, despite his lack of social graces. It were as though, in the moment, he had absorbed the collective aggravation of the restaurant and allowed it to rupture forth from his animus. Quite relieved that Alexandra was not bewildered by his comportment, David allowed the rest of the meal to continue in relative peace as they traded beguiling remarks and shrewd, subtle body language, basking in the radiance of each others' company. The abhorrent woman from a table over meanwhile, was asked to vacate the premises by the maitre d' moments later. Overall, it was a rather pleasant evening out on the town for the two eccentric characters, as they ate and drank and conversed to their hearts' content.

Stumbling back to the Timhotel de Louvre, their hotel for the evening, David apologized ahead of time, admitting that he must depart his lovely companions company for an hour or two while he met with a correspondent to the story he was to be writing for his dispatch while in the city. Being rather tired and more than a bit tipsy from the wine at dinner, Alexandra took this news inherently, and gave David a parting kiss at the door of the hotel before floundering inside the building on unsteady legs, intending to pass out once her head hit the pillow.

But once she had careened out of sight behind the doors of the elevator, Mystica took hold of David's body compulsorily -- David didn't even detect it happening, and he would have no memory of the events that would manifest during the sleeping god's measure of control. Moving expediently out of sight of the Timhotel de Louvre's front doorways, Mystica dug effortlessly into his pocket and removed a single cigarette before reposing it between his wan lips and enkindling it. Pulling in a gratifying breath of thick smoke, Mystica sighed out the words he had been thinking of all evening.

"14 minutes," he puffed, watching the tufts of smog evanesce into the cool night air. "8 minutes to the hotel. 6 minutes to the museum."

Of course, he wasn't intending to go to the museum summarily. No, that sort of action lacked finesse and proper machination -- most certainly not his idiosyncrasy. It would be rather out of character for him to march into this stratagem without apt formulation. He was too much of an intellectual, too much of a pundit and learned being to worry the details later. A plot of this magnitude required more than simply a paramount hand. It would require collaboration -- assistance.

Mystica began to enumerate a new phrase as he walked, pulling up the collar of his coat: ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes...

The time it would take him to reach the bushes on the far side of the Jardin de l'Infante -- a park.

In the dark of the late evening, the eldritch sleeper passed only a few faces, even in the tigerishly busy section of Paris that was the area lying just before the Pont des Arts -- a bridge across the Seine. By the time he had reached the stipulated meeting point, he felt as though he were late already. Without an iota of David's conscious consent, Mystica cursed the thought of Alexandra, undoubtedly assured that she had caused his in arrival. Lighting up another cigarette, Mystica was soon approached by a dark-skinned man in a worn leather coat, which, the sleeping god's keen eyes noticed, was hemmed by a shock of extremely threadbare wool, bright as the sun and stained by the ghosts of time and use. The man whispered to Mystica in a thick French accent.

"It is you, dear Old One?" he asked, not daring to look Mystica in the eyes, perhaps out of fear or deference.

"Indeed it is," Mystica replied with an air of offhandedness, breathing in a puff of his smoke. "Have you the information I require?"

After a quick and suspicious look around, the strange man opened his coat to remove an envelope from the inner pocket, but in the process of doing so, revealing a queer, sky-blue coloured, runic symbol suspended from his neck by means of a frayed hemp string. Mystica noted this object with a grunt of acknowledgement, and the man gave a sheepish, almost child-like smile of glee, before returning to his businesslike demeanor and handing over the envelope to his superior.

Nonchalant, Mystica tore open the envelope with steady hands before unfolding the bit of paper contained within. Looking over the details of the paper carefully, Mystica shot occasional glances at the man, giving little grunts of approval. When he had finished mulling over the information contained on the stationery, he re-folded it and stuck it into his inner coat pocket before patting it once or twice to ensure its safety. He nodded casually to the man before turning on his heel and marching back up the way he had come, leaving the deferred follower to his own devices.

As he walked, he ashed his cigarette with unflinching hands and recited yet another new phrase aloud:

"5 minutes, 5 minutes, 5 minutes..."

Achievements

• 1x Tag Team Champion
  
• August 2013 Superstar of the Month (Thank you all so much!)
  
• 1x US Champion
  
• 1x X-treme Champion