Master Key (for raggedy_doll)

[hypnotic_patter]

Given the nature of his business Ragdoll had a habit of going off the radar for days or weeks at a time. Billy was generally all right with it. Plenty of people had long-distance relationships where their first conversation in a month involved giddy Skype calls from remote South American dictatorships that had recently had a major administration shift.

Still, he kept tabs in the best way he could. When his Google Alerts notified him that "Peter Merkel Jr." had made the news again he abandoned his half-finished sonic gun and ran to see what his dancing doll had done to make the world more interesting. The scene of a smoking building half-submerged in the river made him smile. Meister popped open a soda and stretched out to watch the news report.

The costume worn by one combatant was identified as that of Peter Merkel Jr., better known as Ragdoll, while the identity of his attackers was unclear. Their brutal battle spanned several city blocks, ending at a fuel station used for local barges. It's unclear exactly how the fire started but the blaze quickly led to a massive explosion that demolished several nearby buildings. Witnesses report that Merkel's injuries during the battle were quite severe, indicating he most likely died in the explosion. The only bodies identified so far were those of local dock workers, and two others were burned beyond recognition. So far no one knows the motives behind--

Some part of him had always assumed Ragdoll was invincible. Rubbery, able to bounce back from any catastrophe with a smile and a bizarre quip. In some ways he had seemed more force of nature than mortal human. Billy left increasingly desperate messages on Peter's voice mail, but after a few days of silence denial seemed impossible. He huddled in his dressing room trying to write some appropriate requiem in Peter's honor. Nothing he could create seemed grand enough to encompass the beautiful kaleidoscope chaos that was Ragdoll. He spent hours staring at the ceiling with the RENT soundtrack playing in the background, devoid of inspiration or the will to create.

At the end of the week a knock on the back door roused him from restless drowsing. He leapt from his bed and ran to the door, still in t-shirt and boxers, hoping against hope that--

Who the heck were these dorks?

A group of one man and two women were gathered in his back alley. Their clothes were loose white muslin with embroidered red coats. All of them wore elaborate jewelry and golden bangles around their wrists, as well as beads threaded into their long braids. "Music Meister." The group bowed low to him, as if he were some pope of weird people. "It is an honor, a privilege, to finally be in your presence."

"Eh?" He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Who exactly are you?"

"We are the Acolytes of the Celestial Echo." Possibly they could sense how close he was to ordering them to pile themselves in the nearby dumpster, so the explanation was extremely rushed. "We believe that the universe was created by a single song, and that this song was then taught by the gods to the first humans. All songs thereafter are humanity's feeble attempts to recreate that which they once knew, buried deep within our ancestral memory. No living person can repeat it, for time has withered our voices."

"I see. You're crazy people." When he found who gave them his address he was going to beat them with a stick. Billy frowned. "I'm really not in the mood for creepy cults right now."

Again the low bows, their jewelry clinking. "We are sorry for your loss. We know how it must pain you."

"You know nothing about it." He had the door slammed in their faces before the implications of their words fully sunk in. The door opened a crack. "...what do you know about it?" Few people knew he was connected to Peter, let alone dating him. It wasn't their business.

"We have been following you for some time. You have a voice like no other, something precious beyond measure, and we believe it may accomplish what no other voice can. You alone, Music Meister, could bring the first song back into the world."

"So basically you're saying you're my stalkers." He leaned on the door, arms folded. This was not garbage he needed to be dealing with before coffee and a shower. "I appreciate the sentiment, I just don't care. There won't be any performances for a while, and you should understand why."

"Fully." The lead man reached into the ragged bag hanging at his side and produced a familiar mask. It had obviously been cleaned, but traces of dried blood and dirt lingered where the false hair met the pale face. Billy gaped.

"Why do you..."

"It was pulled from the rubble by the police. We recovered it by--"

"Give it to me!" Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Billy snatched it out of the acolyte's thin fingers, hugging it tightly to his chest. His fingers ran fondly through the red mass of yarn. To Billy the mask was Peter's face as much as the scarred flesh beneath it.

"If you will come with us you may get back the rest of him...and more besides. The song created the world. Bringing one soul back from the dead would be a minor affair by comparison. Come with us and we shall teach you the song that meager mortals cannot sing. You will be worshiped as a new Apollo with we your willing servants, and your dancer shall return to your side."

Billy tongued the gap between his teeth. In his thoughtfulness he did not hear the soft humming by the acolyte in the back or see the way her fingers moved in arcane patterns across the symbol held in his first two fingers. The merest nudge, though even that took a great deal of their power. They appealed to the Songbringer's grief and his pride in unison, and this was only the final push to tip him over the edge of the cliff. The mask of the fallen dancer would bring his lover under their sway.

"Keep talking."

Comments

[raggedy_doll]

Getting out of that situation had been... taxing. Those sent after him had been obvious professionals, fast and well-armed, and while he'd managed to take care of the ones with guns, evade some of the worst blows, and greivously bite the one who'd gotten their hands on his mask, a mixture of blades and blunt instruments had been unpleasant to say the least.

In the end, blood loss more than anything had run him down. He'd managed to get into crannies where they couldn't follow, but only after the aforementioned loss of his mask, as well as a chunk of flesh from one arm, and quite a lot of broken bones.

When he heard them leaving, he found his own way out -- and the ensuing explosion had jettisoned him the rest of the way out of the water pipes and straight into the river.

That much had been lucky. The fact that he'd apparently lost his phone somewhere in the midst of all that brouhaha was much less so.

He'd been subtle for once, not able to afford being seen by police, other villains, or any lingering assassins. He'd made it back to the Secret Six base, though by that point he'd have much preferred to finish off the evening in a nice calm way instead, and promptly collapsed after saying his "hello"s and "someone tried to kill me"s.

When he woke up about a week later, he was quite grumpy to hear the news: Quite a lot of lost blood, nearly a dozen bones that needed set and/or replaced, miracle to be alive, etcetera etcetera, and no visitors. Well, aside from the Six, but that was to be expected. And a few more assassins the previous evening, who had been unlucky enough to drop in when Catman and Deadshot were there.

"Waller said if we keep killin' people in here we're gonna have to leave," Deadshot warned.

"It's the best hospital we could access," Scandal explained. "Well-guarded and discreet. But if they've found you here, it might be best to move..."

Obviously they hadn't wanted a replay of that whole Doctor Psycho nonsense.

When Ragdoll had complained of no William standing vigil at his bedside, or at least wreaths of flowers and well-wishes -- well, they knew how to roll with things like that by now, and Deadshot just rolled his eyes, giving one of those tight little smiles that meant he was only partly joking, but also saying something he thought you wouldn't want to hear.

"You sure your boyfriend didn't send those guys after you? You were reported dead on the news, and he hasn't said jack. Maybe he wanted you whacked."

Ragdoll glowered and crossed his arms -- and then uncrossed his arms quickly. "Don't be ridiculous, Floyd. William has much better taste than that. If he wanted me dead, why, he'd make quite the show of it!"

"...You know, freaky, you've probably got a point."

Honestly. The things some people thought.

But... Well, he could have borrowed a phone at that point. A potentially simple solution to the current bothersome issue of having no William around to dote on him! But somehow he had a feeling he really should go see his virtuoso in person.

He didn't bother checking out of the hospital -- it was a split-second decision, really, early in the morning a few days later, when he just didn't have patience to wait for someone to stop by again. By the time the nurse got there, Peter Merkel, Jr.'s room was empty.

Fully recovered or not (and the answer was not), he'd been moving around in much worse condition before, so it didn't really register to him to be more than somewhat uncomfortable. It was more discomfiting to find the Tempest Theater entirely empty of Meisters, really. Though not, as it turned out, completely empty of theatrically-themed figures. Hopefully Meister-related ones; if not, he would be very displeased.

"Pardon? Pardon me?"

[hypnotic_patter]

"Soprano" had not technically been ordered to be here. The last point of contact with the boss had been a glum request that they bring him takeout and wine, and that had been almost a week ago. He hadn't been in the theater all morning, either, and the police blotter didn't indicate he'd been picked up by the cops again. In theory she could have slept in and no one would have noticed.

Still, it was Thursday. The living area got cleaned on Thursdays because nothing interesting happened on Thursdays, and it was her turn on the roster. Besides, rent was coming due and Meister never cared if you took a bit of your salary early. Especially if you took it from the bottom of the cash pile and replaced it with paper to make it look like it was still the same height. She was sweeping the stage in her boss-mandated casual wear shirt when Ragdoll called out to her.

"Hey!" She hefted the broom like a spear and stomped over to the edge of the stage. "You're not allowed to be in here. Private property, fuck off." Fuckin' hobos always trying to come in here while the boss was gone. She should have locked the door.

But even for a hobo the guy was funny looking. Scars all over his face, limbs thin and floppy...the weirder a person was, the more likely it was that they were a friend of the Meister. "Unless you're looking for someone," she added.

[raggedy_doll]

"I am indeed, my charming chorister." He'd moved into his usual half-capering crouch as soon as she pointed the broom at him, a pose that he knew made him look more harmless and comical. Talk of private property and the fact that she was cleaning up the place was a potentially good sign; the 'M' logo that became easier to see when she got to the edge of the stage was an even better one. Meister had, of course, mentioned his henches before, and this woman seemed to fit the bill...

"I'm hoping that William Harris will be back before long, in fact. Unfortunately we've rather fallen out of touch over the last week or so. Have you seen him recently?"

Hopefully, of course, the answer's 'yes'; he's almost sure it's 'no'.

[hypnotic_patter]

"Nope. We haven't seen him either, he's been in a bad place lately and doesn't want to talk to anyone. Some...stuff happened." Soprano waved her hand vaguely at the dressing room. Normally she wasn't particularly sympathetic to the pain of others, but losing your boyfriend in a fiery explosion was major suck.

Come to think of it...

Soprano looked him over more intently. "Hey, I don't suppose you know a Peter Merkel?" She'd only heard him briefly described and seen a few pictures in full costume, but his body type roughly matched. Maybe they were brothers?

[raggedy_doll]

A bad place. Well, Peter couldn't be surprised about that; William feels things so strongly, after all. Perhaps he really had been just sequestering himself away, mooning and mourning about -- but if that's the case, then where on Earth had he gotten too now?

"Ah, of course. We never met. I am, in fact, Peter Merkel... Jr., of course. Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, I'm afraid! That's why I wanted so terribly to see him, as soon as possible."

[raggedy_doll]

It had been a nice offer, really. Truly. "Hench stuff" probably didn't cover what needed to be done here, though. At least, not Music Meister hench stuff. Being punched was the very least of what he would need people to do.

On the other hand, they could always ask around to see if anyone had been asking around about Meister recently. Since he was their boss, they might have an easier time getting the info.

The Six decided to be a little more proactive.

A few days more of bed rest in a hospital with slightly worse security than the last gained Ragdoll a few more visitors with absolutely terrible bedside manners. And since they wanted to play so badly, why, they were invited all the way back to the House of Secrets. For storytime.

Actually, that was quite helpful, albeit messy. The assassins revealed the specifics of their orders, that their employers had called Ragdoll "the dancer" and ordered them to kill him -- and not just to kill him, but to be sure to bring them some of his flesh, and his mask. One of them was even coherent enough to give bank info from the money transfer they'd received, and more specific descriptions of the symbols on their robes, which were difficult to make out from the security cameras!

"I said it was a cult, didn't I? I said it was!"

"Yeah, yeah, you did. Good job. Now we've just gotta narrow that down. Gotham attracts all sorts of weirdos." But if they could track even one person down via that bank information, or find out where the group was located from the description of their robes...

He texted Soprano the updated robe and symbol descriptions, just in case.

[hypnotic_patter]

Soprano didn't know anything about the symbols, but calling her back paid off all the same. The Celestial Echo were not the usual sort of religious nuts. They did not entice the lost and aimless in by lovebombing, and none of their number sang in airports to spread the truth of their beliefs.

But they did have one aspect in common with your garden variety cult, and that was an interest in taking your money. Soprano had access to Meister's main bank account due to his disinterest in handling his own financial affairs, and the recent online purchases were definitely not Alto going on a spending spree. The last one was two days ago and it had nearly cleaned out his account.

This isn't him. They got his password. Betting his private account's also swiped. WTF.

The most expensive ones were from broadcasting equipment, but there was the occasional large amount of gold embroidering thread or purveyor of mind-altering substances deemed illegal in most countries. A few of them were from private sellers who refused to list their items on the receipts. The actual purchases were diverted through PO Boxes and proxies centered in North African areas with easily bribed customs agents.

[raggedy_doll]

That certainly did pay off. They had a name, they had activity that absolutely proved that they were using Meister for something, and they even had a location...

"North Africa? Man, why's it always Africa with these guys?"

"Was it Africa, last time? I still think it might have been Cleveland."

Small quibbles aside, they had at least a good guess as to where Meister might be. If, by good guess, you meant an entire continent, and a very large one. But since that was only one out of seven, it did narrow it down somewhat... If he was actually there.

They really needed a way to be sure.

"...Are you sure, Mr. Merkel?" Scandal had driven him out to the Zechlins' house, and she looked, if not worried, then slightly concerned. He had to admit, he was feeling unaccountably anxious himself.

"Of course! Just because we haven't spoken since all that mess doesn't mean we can't ask an old friend for help. Why, I'd be remiss if I didn't seek out her expertise."

"If you say so."

He did say so.

He said as much to Lori, who was definitely shocked to see them -- shocked, and awkward. In fact, he didn't actually say as much to Lori until after some awkward silence and back-and-forth between them. When she heard that they needed her help, she was hesitant, but eventually... well, something made her agree, though he'd begun to think she might not. He wasn't really sure why.

"But you don't know where this guy is? Trying to find Blake last time, it was... big. Really big. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Yes, I thought of that." Ragdoll pulled out Billy's iPod, offering it to Lori. "Here. This belongs to him. He hardly goes anywhere without it. Some magic user out there should be able to trace people through things like that, do you think?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I'm sure there is." She sounded more confident, taking the music player -- then glancing at the two of them. "Uh -- Is it gonna be just you guys?"

They glanced at each other, then. After a moment, Scandal sighed, brushing her bangs out of her face. "I'm sure Bane would want to come. Maybe Kay, too. The others should probably stay behind to field assassins, or in case someone spots him around the city."

"Well, come on, then." Suddenly decided, Black Alice headed toward the door. "I didn't feel like going to class, anyway."

[hypnotic_patter]

The two-pronged attack, magic and Google, proved the most fertile.

Meister's attachment to the iPod, combined with some creativity of theft on Alice's part, was able to track him to within approximately 75 square miles of rural Ethiopia. Not ideal, but closer than they were. It was notable that the tracking was so vague...for such an important item, it should have been sharper.

The symbol present on the cultists' jewelry was more elusive, but 'search by image' pulled through once it was turned to the right angle. It tracked back to a news story from several years ago, where the symbol was captured by a security camera during a theft of a set of clay tablets containing a Hurrian hymn to the goddess Nikkal--believed to be the oldest known written music, written in cuneiform. The tablets had only begun to be deciphered and even the scant information gleaned by various archeologists was hotly contested. They were never recovered.

[raggedy_doll]

"Nor am I the poster child for good anything!" Ragdoll agreed cheerfully.

He wasn't especially fond of his doppelganger, but he really didn't feel a need to keep a distance, either. It certainly didn't seem hostile; in a way, it might even be on his side. Which could prove useful, at least for the moment. He crossed over to pat Billy's arm. "Of course I know you're excited, dear one, but rest now. If you do, we may wake early to practice and dress before your debut." It was already fairly late, and while he knew the others wouldn't like waiting, it wouldn't be terribly long before morning. They would just have to stick it out. Things would be easier if he wasn't creeping about trying to figure out who to target -- and leaving William alone and unguarded but for this silent homunculus.

[hypnotic_patter]

"I don't..." He yawned abruptly, so wide that one could nearly hear the crack of his jaw. The false Doll raised a hand and gestured towards the door to the living quarters.

"Okay, okay. Silly you."

On the other side of the door was a small cell, bare of everything but the basics. Billy changed from one robe to a long nightgown, also embroidered with the same symbology, and washed his face. He hummed the song dreamily to himself, occasionally swaying to the melody in his head.

[raggedy_doll]

Ha. He was right, and even William admitted it. Sort of.

As Billy prepared for bed, Ragdoll crouched nearby, keeping an eye on him; he was obviously in quite a state! "Where did you say you'd be debuting again? I'd hate awfully to get lost in this temple. It would be a shame."

While Billy slept, Ragdoll would take a better look around his quarters, and perhaps eavesdrop on a few conversations in the temple. If he knew where they would be setting up, perhaps he could get a better idea of their real plans, beyond simply using the Music Meister for their world domination song. If there were going to be any surprises, they could always stand to be less surprising.

[hypnotic_patter]

The room was utterly unlike anything Billy would design for himself. Even the walls were blank. The dressing room at the theater was tiny but its walls were lined with posters and newspaper articles, or little notes that Billy had tacked up to remember. It was a lovely, lively clutter where this place of supposed beauty felt quite sterile. They'd set Billy up in a prison cell and placed the door's lock inside his own mind.

"The amphitheater. Courtyard, under the sky." The false Doll obediently tucked Billy in, pulling the covers up to his neck. Rather than climb in with him it sank down to sit on a padded mat next to the mattress. Apparently its masters had some sense of propriety when it came to deluded interactions with mute doppelgangers.

"Good..." Billy trailed off, sitting up to look down in irritation at the duplicate. From the way he cut himself off during his rambling and then jumped in again, the false Doll had one last argument to make. "I told you, he misinterpreted. He thought he was being polite. Look, he doesn't understand how you are, which I honestly think is perfectly reasonable. Even I don't understand you half the time." He burrowed into the blankets sulkily.

"It'll be me in control, anyway," he mumbled, eyes slipping closed. "Won't matter. I wouldn't let him take your scars."

[raggedy_doll]

"Ewww."

He was more bothered by the strips of flesh and old, thick blood stuck to his mask than the patched-together corpse in front of him, or the way it fell lifeless to the ground. He was sure he wouldn't be able to clean this to his satisfaction; he tossed it to one side, instead, turning back to the acolytes.

"I'll just count that as broken, shall I? No matter," he said, leaping forward again. The head acolyte was backpedaling, so it was easier to reach one of the others -- unfortunate, but he wrapped himself and all his limbs around them anyway, squeezing to breaking point. "I don't see a point in threats, really. But I'm not happy with you, and your little Gatekeeper routine. Or would it be Keymaster? I can never remember."

[hypnotic_patter]

Billy was huddled on the ground, hands over his mouth. The fog hadn't so much lifted from his mind as been sandblasted out, leaving little useful to replace it. He had no idea what was going on or who he should be supporting, and the loudspeakers were echoing the sounds of the people screaming around him.

"Interloper! Blasphemer! Get him!" The cultists were reacting predictably. The foolish younger ones rushed in to grab Ragdoll while the older acolyte grabbed Billy around the shoulders Not now, not when he was so close!

"Sing!" he ordered in a harsh whisper. "Begin the rite before all is lost!" The ritual was nothing, merely pomp and circumstance to appease the masses. The only real power was in the song and the one who knew how to siphon it for his own usage. Billy drew in a shuddering breath and let out the first sweet note of the first song.

[raggedy_doll]

Oh. Oh, that was right. William was more addled than he'd expected, and apparently hadn't fully snapped out of it, or was too confused to argue, or something along those lines.

Even that one note was -- it wasn't like the Music Meister's usual hypnotic singing, but it still made his head feel like it was slowly filling with fog. And there was that itching again. Luckily, his mind was often a mess, so for the moment he could ignore it, and clambered on top of the acolytes who were trying to grab hold of him. "William!"

And he leapt towards the acolyte. "I will tear your head from your shoulders, priest!"

[hypnotic_patter]

The acolyte smiled, and the laws of physics briefly changed around Ragdoll's body. His body diverted to the side and slammed to the stone floor, sending him sprawling.

The song stuttered until the acolyte rested his hand on Billy's shoulder. Already he could feel his power growing. "Sing, Songbringer, fulfill your purpose!" he whispered in his prisoner's ear. Even with the look of horror on his face Billy continued to recite the memorized notes and strange words. His wide eyes were fixated on Ragdoll. Every note of the melody felt as if it were pulled straight out of his heart but he could not hold himself back from singing.

Around him the world warped, colors shifting like light through a prism. In the sky above stars dotted the dawn clouds that wavered like aurora borealis before the sun. The acolytes fell to the ground with their faces pressed to the dirt, writhing in jubilation. Finally.

[hypnotic_patter]

"That's all right," Billy murmured. "It was never my favorite. I'll make a new one." A shaky grin split his face as he buried his nose in Ragdoll's shoulder. What a silly, tiny little thing to get upset about. Just a cape and a mask. "You know I like it when you dress up for me." Especially when you come to rescue me from a freakish music cult trying to take over the world and steal my will.

The acolytes on the ground raised their heads. They stared blankly up at the pair with expressions of confusion. Shouldn't they be in Eden by now?

[raggedy_doll]

"The situation seemed to call for something special." Hunting him down and rescuing him from a freakish music cult trying to take over the world and steal his will deserved a costume!

"Are you all right, Mr. Harris?" Bane and Knockout were keeping a suspicious eye on the stirring acolytes, but Scandal headed up towards the stage -- along with Black Alice.

"You did it!" Lori paused a moment, looking from one to the other. "Um -- I mean, you both did it. We didn't even haveta come in and be the cavalry."

[hypnotic_patter]

There was a laugh in his voice. Okay, yes, mind and body alike. "I hadn't known there'd be one." He was almost apologetic about it. Stealing their spotlight and all, making them go to so much trouble. He was mildly impressed that they'd shown up at all, even with Ragdoll's encouragement.

Billy turned his head to look at Lori, one eyebrow raising behind the glasses. "I"m sorry, I don't think we've met?"

[raggedy_doll]

"We definitely haven't," Lori agreed. "I'm Black Alice. I was with the Six, for a while, before... stuff happened." She sounded a little bit wistful, for a second. They weren't-- well, they weren't heroes, or the good guys, and they definitely did some awful stuff, but--

"Anyway." She brushed that off pretty quick. "Nice to finally meet you, Music Man -- you've got good taste."

"What should we do about these?" Bane spoke up, then, indicating the still gathered acolytes, voice and expression serious.

[raggedy_doll]

It was impossible for the mind to wrap around, really, so he didn't bother. He just shifted as Billy rolled, moving to flop mostly on top of him, sprawling comfortably again.

"Godhood sounds quite nice, really. It's ascending into onehood with the universe and all that that seems incredibly boring. If I wanted cosmic bliss and harmony I'd choose a different line of work."

[hypnotic_patter]

"And imagine all that responsibility. Complete pain in the rear." He was wearing Ragdoll like a blanket at this point, which was exactly how it suited him. Billy needed to keep having reassurances that this wasn't another demented hallucination intended to keep him docile.

"And on the subject of pains in the rear, if you ever do that again and don't give me a phone call I will hunt you down and sew your wrists to the base of your spine." His voice remained at the same pitch but his hand clenched slightly around Ragdoll's neck. Anger and concern, how dare you hurt me, how dare you disappear on me.

[raggedy_doll]

If one could not trust one's own mind, what could they trust? Well... Ragdoll wasn't really sure of the answer to that one; he often couldn't trust his mind completely. But Billy could, and if he needed a Doll-blanket to feel better after his ordeal, Ragdoll was happy to oblige.

And he'd wondered when they'd get around to this particular subject. "I really am sorry, William, terribly, awfully sorry." He did sound apologetic, his voice a tad softer than a few moments ago. He rested his chin against Billy's shoulder. "I spent a week unconscious in hospital. Why, I even slept right through Thomas and Mr. Floyd fielding more assassins. And then, somehow, I had the impression I should see you in person, but you had been gone for some days by then..."

His voice had taken that 'storytelling' cadence as he talked, but when he trailed off, then, he turned his head, pressing his cheek to William's shoulder instead. He could give reasons, good reasons, but still. "My apologies."

[hypnotic_patter]

Billy's hand relaxed into a caress. Unlike many of his Arkham compatriots he understood mitigating circumstances, and Ragdoll's injuries had apparently been fairly extensive. Probably still were, at least.

"At least have someone call me next time," he mumbled. "They used you to weaken me." Undoubtedly it wouldn't have mattered if they'd failed. Some other avenue of attack would have been found. It didn't keep him from holding Ragdoll even tighter and hoping Deadshot and Catman were not too quick in their work.