Across the Street from Where You Live (Twinkie)

just across the hallway from The ground floor dance studio was a martial arts dojo, with an almost exactly the same interior with only the marked difference of punching bags for kicking, and rope wrapped wooden boards for punching. Natives and immigrant residents alike set aside any differences they had and donned the white gi of a foreign martial art, to sweat and bleed together. Given the condition of the neighborhood, the two studios shared a common lobby, and ballerinas and karatekas were inevitably mingling after work outs. The nicer ones anyway. It was no secret that shady deals occasionally happened in that very lobby, but they usually kept it discreet, preferring a corner of the room near the receptionist's IKEA table, where they sold energy drinks or just water.

Today though, the usual head of the dojo, a tall Frenchman, deferred to a much smaller, but fiercer looking Asian girl in pricey street clothes- Louie Vitton Bags, the most chic clothes for the season, even designer rubber shoes. During practice she taught the teachers, refining their raw fighting techniques over the modern, sportier aspect of the martial art. Being a lady garnered lots of points with the female students, ballerinas included.

Most prominent was her art tube though, a big plastic tube usually for holding large, rolled up papers or canvas... but this was a different kind of studio, for a different sort of art. They sat at that particular bench away from the pupils. A third man would come in, a worried old gentleman who had a absent-minded, scholarly look about him. He approached the 'shady bench' and spoke to the asian gal. They would leave the building soon after.


Minutes later, once the Karate Kid and the old professor had left, another group entered. They appeared to be Eastern European, and very tough looking.
They were led by a redheaded European lady wearing designer glasses.

"Tak gde zhe starik ? YA dumal, chto on budet zdes'. (So where is the old man? I thought he was going to be here.)"

"My propustili ikh . Dolzhno byt', oni dvinulis' dal'she. Sprosite registratoru. (We missed them. They must have moved on. Ask the receptionist.)"

"Excuse me. We are looking for girl. Young. Look like student." The man asked, pulling out a picture.

"Try red light district." The receptionist said, not even looking at the guy, just continuing to play Clash of Clans on the receptionist computer.

"Don't try to be smart with me, Arab immigrant shit. We are looking for the one called Blood Sword." The Russian pulls the receptionist off his chair by the collar, then takes out a submachine gun and shoves it into the Receptionist's neck.

"They go into office! Across the street!" The Receptionist quickly spills the beans, not wanting to be on the 6 o'clock news the next morning.

The lobby full of karate students proved brave, confronting the one harassing the receptionist, but the Russians proved to be armed with guns. In martial arts, it's usually a bad idea to fight someone with a weapon. Ten times so, if that weapon was a firearm. The Russians were wisely left alone by the karatekas.

"Thank you. Eto cherez ulitsu... Chto ty smotrish' , Natasha ? (It's just across the street... what are you looking at, Natasha?)" The beanie wearing soldier gently releases the cooperative receptionist, even tidying up his collar, before speaking to the Redhead.

"Poperek zala ot karate shkoly baleta . Ran'she ya, kak balet , vy znayete . Kakoy by ni, davayte poydem . (Across the the hall from the karate school is ballet. I used to like Ballet, you know. Whatever, let's go.)" The redhead lady looked intently at the nameplate and portrait of the instructor at the dance studio, quite Russian like herself. Red and her team of eastern European soldiers depart from the studio and begin crossing the street, demonstrating their evil intentions by jaywalking when the vehicle light was green. Annoyed motorists blew their horns, but the European mercenaries simply cuss them out and make rude gestures.

A flash of that ominous red energy glowed slightly from behind the screen that divided office and dance floor. A surprise awaited Lilia in the studio's Instructor office once she bothered to check.

Right there, on the desk that had Lilia's name (they made a gold name plate for her desk and everything!) sat the black leather clad lady, boots up on the table, scanning through personal articles that belonged to the dancer. In one hand Red Tigress calmly looked at the class picture, while in the other, she twirled the diamond tipped and bladed combat knife with expert finesse. She was confident and deadly as always, despite the scar over her one eye.

"Hello Agent Etoile. It's been too long. How have you been?" She said nonchalantly, not even looking at Lilia as she spoke. She continued twirling her dagger.

Time hung heavily on the young woman's mind, the mere presence of armed foreigners storming about the quaint streets of Marseilles not something she'd envisioned for the perpetually calm neighborhood. Life here was easy and any hint of criminal activity was more often than not limited to the occasional domestic dispute or pickpocket. But this was something else entirely. The east Europeans turf did not stretch this far, to Lilia's knowledge anyway, and their presence hinted at expansion or something much more sinister. They were looking for someone...

Smothering her paranoia beneath the calm, pleasant facade of an unassuming dance teacher, the ballerina crouched low until she was level with the wide eyed faces of her students. They were too young and too innocent to even be granted a chance to witness such depravity, let alone be told what was happening outside. They still possessed the pure naivety of a childhood and Lilia was not going to be the one to ruin that for them.

"My little doves, you all did so well today-"*

A flash of red pierced the opaque glass connecting her office and the dance floor, a silhouette haunting the space beyond the view of the upstart dancers.

"I...I umm, I hope you learned something new today and-and that you arrive next week with big happy smiles and...*" As hard as she tried to maintain ignorance, Lilia could not tear her gaze from the room behind her students, the very fact that someone had so easily intruded concerning her above all else. Removing her students would be a challenge in itself, especially considering she was finishing forty minutes earlier than usual and parents were paying good money to have their daughters educated by a Russian native.

There needed to be compromise, for the sake of the children.

"And what Madame Cygne?!" A rosy cheeked five year old chirped, tugging Lilia's hand until the Russian finally glanced back downwards.

"And...and you all get home safely!"* She smiled, tussling the blonde curls of the inquisitive kindergartner before standing up and making the chatty group of children follow her. The excuse she'd give their parents would come in due time, the mere presence of armed men a large enough excuse for why she cancelled the lesson earlier than usual. Rushing the troupe of tutu wearing children into the Dojo for added safety, Lilia was given a receptive nod by Pierre, the studios grand master, before slipping out of the room and back into the dance studio before locking the door behind her.

Clenching her jaw and digging her thumbnails into the palms of her hands, the young woman, garbed in a simple pink leotard, leg warmers and point shoes, steeled her nerves before making her way over to the office.

Slamming the door open and instantly finding the reclining figure of the red haired woman gazing back up at her, the diminutive dancer found herself at a loss for words before taking a tentative step forward. The mention of 'agent Etoile' garnered no reaction from the young woman, Lilia tensing her shoulders as she glanced at the knife and then back at the oddly familiar woman once more.

"I do not know you or this agent. Please leave before I call the police."* She ordered, her feathery voice rising just an octave higher. She was just a dance teacher, nothing more and nothing less and she was never going to let her past come find her no matter what form it took...

* = speaking French

"Oh vraiment? Je dois être confondu ensuite . Mes excuses. (Oh really? I must be mistaken then. My apologies.)" she apologized with an unnerving politeness and a fluent French. Red lowered her feet off the table and stood up.

She switches to Russian, as if to try and get under Lilia's skin. "YA nablyudal za vash tanets . Vy ochen' khoroshiy uchitel' , kak khorosho. Vy yezdili v Moskvu gosudarstva ? Vaganova ? ili Korolevskiy balet ? YA skuchayu po Korolevskuyu baletnuyu shkolu v Novgorode . Oni uchat vas tak mnogo metodov...  (I watched your dance. you are very good teacher as well. Did you go to Moscow State? Vaganova? or Royal Ballet? I miss the Academy in Novgorod. They teach you so many techniques)...."  Emphasizing that last word, a red portal opened up beneath her feet and she quickly fell through.

She materialized behind Lilia in a flash of that red energy, and continued talking in that doublespeak, switching back to French. "Je me demandais si vous pouviez tuteur quelqu'un pour moi. Elle est un bon danseur aussi, mais a besoin ... conseils . Cinq minutes et je serai de vos cheveux pour de bon. Je sais combien vous vous inquiétez pour vos ... étudiants , dans cette petite partie calme du monde .. (I was wondering if you could tutor someone for me. She is a good dancer too, but needs... guidance. Five minutes and I will be out of your hair for good. I know how much you care for your... students, in this quiet little part of the world.)" And there it was, the threat given. Red didn't really want Lilia herself- she needed her metahuman power to deal with business. It wasn't beneath Red at all to threaten whatever a person held dear.