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Mature content
Midnight :iconfuguestate:FugueState 2 7
She stays in the Gallery.  She knows she could leave; he wouldn't stop her.  She could return to the world above, heal, perhaps live for a time, and die there.  She doesn't fear this inevitability, but she does recognize the uselessness of it.  There is nothing for her in that world.  There hasn't been for some time.  Here, she has herself – someone previously unknown whom she can nurture and discover in this in-between place.  There is nothing to fear here; she's been shown that.  This place will be whatever she makes of it.
And so she stays.
He wakes, rises, goes through the motions of his morning ablutions and is halfway to the dressing area before he remembers - she is free.  He doesn't have to do this anymore.
His hand flies to the wall to steady himself and he nearly weeps for joy.
She barely ever sees him.  The Gallery is silent except for her footsteps as she wand
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Mature content
Mending, part IV :iconfuguestate:FugueState 10 21
[sequel to "Awaken".  See comments for link.]
She rounded the corner into the main room and saw him sitting in a chair, in profile to her.  He looked the same as she'd seen him countless times before.
"Before"… Never in her life had one word been so charged.  
He stirred slightly at her approach.  Rising, he turned to face her, tilting his head in solemn greeting.  
She was unprepared for the intensity of emotion that hit when his familiar smiling visage faced her directly.  Waves of loathing, even rage, warred with simple hurt at what he'd done to her.  She felt her lips pull back from her teeth as she looked at him and conjured an image of simply tearing him to pieces with her bare hands.  
The feel of paper crinkling in her hand made her look down.  She didn't remember having picked up Valerie's letter when leaving her room.  The thought of nearly having damaged it dissipa
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In the end, a warehouse had to be used.  A sports arena might have sufficed for so many people, or a concert hall, but those had long since gone and no large public venues had yet been reconstructed.  Any number of churches were suggested, of course, but aside from the overwhelming number of people to accomodate, there was the inevitable issue of associations with Norsefire that made such an avenue less than ideal.  Thus, a large section of an industrial park had been carefully converted for this event.
It was late at night and throngs of people filled the area, guided by volunteers.  It had snowed earlier, but now the sky was clear.  A half-moon shone down, and there was enough of a breeze to make one eager to be indoors.  Lights and signs showed the way toward one central building where a low hum of hushed voices and shuffling feet could be heard.  Within, people slowly and steadily settled into rows and waited.
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Mending, part III
part I:
part II:
Evey sighed and shifted, waking slowly.  She'd slept longer than she'd expected. Eric must have decided to let her rest - he was always trying to do that.  It had been a while since she'd eaten, and she was hungry now.  There were still leftovers from yesterday, she mused... she could have that, and then they'd need to change V's banda--
The memory of his waking slammed into her at once and her eyes flew open in astonishment to meet his.
* * * * *
V was watching her from his side of the bed.  Having awakened some time ago, he'd been studying her as she slept.  In spite of his continued discomfort at being without his normal defenses, he couldn't deny that he wanted her near.  Sheltered by the dimness around them he'd asked her, haltingly, to stay, and she'd just as hesitantly
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Mending, Part II
(part I is here: ( )
Evey whirled around at the sound of V's voice.
He was blinking slowly, staring up at the ceiling.  She experienced a moment's disorientation upon seeing him, having irrationally expected the masked man in black to go with the voice and instead seeing the damaged stranger she'd been tending.  Then he sighed, and the small sound re-established his identity for her, pulling her toward him.
"V?"  She stopped just short of touching him, uncertain of the new boundaries his wakefulness might cause. His eyes - so unfamiliar, and yet exactly as she'd imagined - drifted toward her.  
"Evey."  She watched in fascination as she actually saw him smile for the first time - a peaceful, happy shadow of the Fawkesian grin she'd known.  "There you are.  I found you..."  His hand reached up to touch her.
But upon seeing his own bared arm as
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He leans down to the sofa, touching her shoulder.
She awakens violently. Her voice rips apart the silence, her arm winging in an arc that cracks against the side of his head.
The stinging impact brings her fully awake and she rises to see him hunched away from her, one hand raised between her and the mask. She sits, breathing, feeling the shout still in her throat. She watches him.
He moves, straightening from his awkward pose. He takes a step away to face her, murmuring distantly polite apology.
She watches him.
He takes his leave, sketching a small bow out of habit and disappearing down the corridor.
She looks down, seeing the blood on the floor where he stood. Her eyes follow the shining drops marking his departure on the flagstones.
She does not apologise.
...He never wanted her to.
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"You should let yourself rest... you haven't slept in over a day."
Eric Finch looked with mild disapproval at the untouched sandwich on the dresser near Evey.  Her vigil over the fallen V hadn't ended since they'd returned from Evey's address - as V - to the people of London.  It had been hours.  
He regarded the young woman who'd talked him into treason, set loose the explosives that destroyed Parliament, and nearly single-handedly averted one of the worst riots London had ever known.  She looked so fragile and unraveled here in the half-light, still wearing the remnants of the vigilante's "uniform"; it was amazing she hadn't collapsed already.
Evey looked up into Finch's concerned expression.  Huge dark smudges lurked beneath her eyes and her already-ill-fitting clothes were even more rumpled from having been worn too long.  "He might wake up again."  She glanced over to V, lying motionless and silent once a
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Forgive me.
There was no way to ask your permission, or to prepare you.  It wasn't something I wanted to do.  There was no other option.
I did understand what you were trying to tell me - please believe this.  I knew the face I was revealing would no more be the man I knew than the mask that covered it.  I only wish it could have been by your choice.
It's so strange.  We had to take away everything to get to your wounds... the mask, the wig - I never thought of it as a wig, did you know that? - the gauntlets that you so hastily put back on that first morning...
We had to peel away all of it, leaving behind a stranger in your place.  Someone silent and bleeding who looked more dead than alive, staining my sheets red.
This body I tend isn't you.  It's just something you've left in my care until you come back.  It's something of yours, so I cherish it.  I try to care for it the way I've
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It was 3am, and Evey was making her way back to bed.  Sleep for her was still an irregular companion since she'd emerged from her cell.  She'd had remarkably few nightmares, but more corporeal matters still interfered.  Her body seemed to be trying to make up for lost time since she'd been taking in more nourishment, and she frequently found herself awake from hunger.
Passing V's dressing area, she caught a glimpse of white floating in the darkness there.  She turned to look and, yes, there he was again.  His face was tilted up toward the Ophelia painting, arms slack and graceless at his side… just staring.  She could just make out that he was rocking slightly to and fro, as one in a trance – or about to collapse.
Carefully Evey moved forward into his field of vision.  He didn't move - there was no sign he'd noticed her at all.  She shuffled one foot, deliberately making a slig
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*thudthudthud*  "C'mon you guys, other people need the Danger Room too!"
WHAM! ("Missed!")
"Are they in there again?"
"Again?  Try still."
takatakatakatakatakaBOOMMMM!  ("Have to do better than that, mon ami!"  "Ha! 'I will show you that there are better men left in England than ever went thieving to France.'")
"What'd he say?"
"I dunno.  He does that."
"Afternoon, all!  I... oh dear - are they still in there?"
"Yep.  Gambit's got a new favorite playmate, it looks like."
BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-WHUNK! ("Oof!  Almost!")
"I don't care if he's the Professor's guest; I'm about to kick his ass back across the pond..."
"Oh shut up, Wolverine, you're just miffed 'cos they didn't ask you along."
"Girls, girls, you're both pretty and you're both goin
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Mature content
Method :iconfuguestate:FugueState 5 11
Turning Point, part 3
(Conclusion of "Turning Point")
The chimes of Big Ben sounded faintly from above, causing the Inspector to flinch slightly.  The odd shapes his life had taken on since he'd found these two had served to insulate him temporarily from events above, but this sound brought that world snapping back into focus all of a sudden.
He's still got sixteen hours. The words from a year and a lifetime ago came back to haunt him.  Now time was up.
He looked up and saw Miss Hammond's eyes flash for a moment at the sounding of midnight.
"It's time."  Quickly she rose and moved to the explosives-laden train.
"Wait!"  The word escaped Finch automatically and he reached out.
The young woman turned calmly.  "Are you going to stop me, Inspector?"
Everything was happening too fast, suddenly.  "—Just… tell me why."
"Because he was right."
"About what?"
"The world needs more than just a building right now.  It needs hope.
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Turning Point, part 2
"Help him."
This was the imperative given to Chief Inspector Finch by a woman whom he'd considered, until moments ago, a dangerous and potentially violent fugitive.   She'd looked at him for a moment – more like through him – after his sudden offer of assistance, with eyes that were old beyond her years.  Their brown depths held him, reading him, until at last she blinked and returned him to the here-and-now.  Evidently she was satisfied with whatever she'd discerned, because those words were the only ones she spoke to him before turning back to her…lover?  Somehow Finch didn't think so, in spite of the obvious intimacy between this woman and the terrorist she now protected.  ("Terrorist"?  Could he use that term anymore, doing what he was doing?  What's in a name, his shell-shocked mind tittered at him.)
Miss Hammond, as his brain had finally settled on calling her, took the
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"Good evening.
"We are here, all of us, to celebrate a day that once lived in infamy and has since become the anniversary of our rebirth as a people, and as a nation. Many of us remember the night our futures changed forever, the night of the Old Bailey … even if we didn't recognize it as such at the time. We remember the fall of Norsefire, and that terrible, wonderful moment when we realized that we are the only ones who can control our own destinies.
"Tonight, I want to introduce you to a person who made all of this possible for us. Without this person's courage, and determination, and love, our world would have been lost. It's taken a long time, but I think now you can finally meet one another …
" 'I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks, but I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you …' "
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Turning Point
[Author's note:  This is a one-shot prequel of sorts to "Apotheosis".  'Twould be advisable to read that one first.  :) ]
Inspector Finch quickly shut off his torch and held still.  He could hear voices further down the tube tunnel.  
He frowned … There shouldn't be anyone else down here – at least, no one foolish enough to allow themselves to be heard.  Then again, this section of the tunnel shouldn't even be open.
Rounding a corner, he stopped in shock at the sight of an utter impossibility.  An underground train faced him at a platform some fifty metres distant – not the sleek steel-and-glass construct that had ruled down here for decades, but an elegant gold-filigreed confection from a century long-gone.  A shudder rocked him as his brain fought the initial instinct to leap clear of the mechanical behemoth – the train wasn't moving.  
Staying in the shadows, h
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Evey Hammond awoke with a small gasp, her heart pounding.  Something was wrong.
Her first impression was one of softness and warmth that bordered on the otherworldly; such comfort shocked her terribly.  This was followed by an awareness of thick silence where once had been muffled cries and echoing shouts of anger.  She lay unmoving in this womb-like state, confused into immobility.  Only her eyes moved, reflecting her mind's racing as they darted back and forth with a curiosity that felt alien.  Gradually they took in the sand-colored stone curves of the vaulted ceiling sweeping gently above her in the soft light, and with a dull jolt she suddenly remembered everything.
The storm... It had been nighttime; the first connection she'd had with a real time of day in she-knew-not-how-long.  She remembered the feel of the raindrops on her skin, stinging deliciously and awakening her every nerve ending with their coolness. 
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It was happening again, and V was getting desperate. It had everything to do with his "houseguest", Evey; he hadn't truly appreciated the new pressures - however subtle - she would be adding to his life.
He had thought he had it under control earlier. Everything was just fine… until he rounded a corner and spotted her curled up on the sofa with a book. Then, sure enough, his body developed its own ideas again. What was worse – he knew she had noticed.
She'd been glancing at him all evening, although she'd tried to be discreet about it. If not for the fact that his eyes were almost continually drawn to her, he might have missed it entirely.
Thanks to a few awkward moments in the first days of her stay, he'd learned to shift his head slightly to one side as he watched her so the mask would not seem to be "staring" at her. Using that little trick, he'd noticed her furtive scrutiny easily… which on this night, of course, didn't help matters at all.
It had caught him very muc
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I. The Show Must Go On
The doublet was still too loose on her, in spite of the padding.  There was no time to fix it; she'd just have to hope no one noticed.  The trousers were a bit easier to fix with the excess length disappearing down into the boots.  She'd hastily stuffed paper towels into the boots to take up the excess space, and to serve as a set of makeshift lifts to make her just a bit taller.  She was still far too short, but with luck her position would hide that.  The wig was next…she realized her hands were shaking as she raised it to her head.  Soft hair framed her face again for the first time in months.  Not honey-colored waves this time, but a midnight curtain – one whose scent brought memories of him that nearly drowned her.
No time for that. Minutes were slipping by, and she had to hurry.  No time to even properly appreciate what she was doing as she reached for the mask
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Vox Populi II
Everyone remembers that day:  The day the parcels came.  No one was expecting them and not everyone got one.  That's what made it so hard; not being able to talk about them because you could never tell who got one and who didn't.  Well, not at first.  Later, as time passed, that obstacle faded as The Fifth (capitalized by those who lived it) drew near.  The people who had received one of the mysterious parcels all had a different air about them – one of nervous expectation, of guilty defiance in unguarded moments.  Nothing was ever said, not out loud.  But there were subtle not-quite-glances between friends and strangers alike, a knowing.  Tension began coiling, day by day, growing tighter with each news broadcast, each headline, each reassurance that life was as it should be.  
As the days marched on, some people began casually mentioning dinner plans, or visits to friends,
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Vox Populi I

--a  trick? / Is he alive? / The news said he was dead, but then how--?
How many did he send? / How did he know I--? / Oh God, will they come for me? / Why me? / What do I do? /--said to stand with him at Parliament  / God,  I can't go there / Will he be there? / What will happen?
I'll get black-bagged / --black-bag me / They'll  kill me / They'll kill us / Like they did
Mrs. Brown
Uncle Stephen
our neighbors
that man
that woman
those people
(She didn't / He didn't / They didn't
even do anything)
Oh God, they'll
come for
take away
my family
my dad
my aunt
my mum
my baby
I can't do this / I can't have this here / I'm so afraid
I hate this /-- hate living like this /-- can't stand this / God I—
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Mature content
Remedy :iconfuguestate:FugueState 15 27


Killjoy97x Featured By Owner Nov 6, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Man, your gallery is simply stunning, I specially adore the drawings, you're a master at setting the atmosphere :o (Eek) 
Rockmantic2227 Featured By Owner May 27, 2012
I love your pictures about V.
I love V. he is Unique.
FugueState Featured By Owner May 27, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you! :)
wobblydaddy Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh my god your V pictures are making me melt into a puddle
FugueState Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Aw, thanks! :)
Deidara1fan Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
I love you 'V' pictures ^^
FugueState Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you! :aww:
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