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?"

[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.

[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.

[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]

"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]

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."