19. Chapter 19

AN: I was going to hold off on writing this up until next week, but I had ideas and I was genuinely curious about how they were going to pan out. So I guess you guys get another chapter this week. Hopefully I still have time/energy/material for next week's update.

Lincoln and the faux Eight of Spades stared at each other across the counter top.

"So..." He began. "Uh..."

"Maggie." The girl supplied.

"Maggie." He said, nodding in agreement. "The birthday girl."

"And you're Lincoln." She responded. "I've heard about you."

"Neat." He replied. Then the pair lapsed into awkward silence.

"So..." He began again, "You like my comic?"

"Apparently." Maggie deadpanned. Her eyes darted around, presumably reevaluating the situation.

"...Do you actually draw this stuff?" She asked.

"Writing and drawing." He replied, nodding. "I handle the creative end, more or less. My partner handles the business part."

"Ah."

Silence again.

"...Is this as awkward for you as it is for me?" He asked.

"Extremely."

"Well, at least we're in agreement on something." Lincoln had tried to deliver his reply with good humor, hoping it would spur the girl to open up a little. But it was to no avail. The teen simply continued to look at him with that stony-eyed stare.

This put Lincoln in a bit of a quandary. The older girl was clearly not enthused about having to deal with him, and based on their failed attempt at socializing, he was inclined to feel the same. And yet...the fact that she was still here, talking to him, hinted that there was more to the situation.

Lincoln took a moment, and tried to look beyond the girl's gruff exterior. She was nervous. Almost imperceptibly so. This was a girl who was clearly well practiced at nonchalance, but the signs were there. The way she toyed with her spade, seemingly unconsciously. The way her eyes would break with his for the briefest of moments, roaming over the the comics on display, the colorful costumes of his sisters, the dolls that decorated the countertop. Someone as anti-social as Maggie clearly was didn't just show up to a convention for no reason. Least of all dressed as she was.

"That's a really nice costume." He said, playing to his hunch.

Maggie stiffened, having apparently been preoccupied with her own thoughts. She said nothing, but discretely pulled her hood down a little further, withdrawing into her cowl. It was actually rather impressive how effectively she managed to disappear within her own outfit.

...At least, from the neck upward. No amount of stealth was going to hide what lay below that region.

Taking Maggie's impromptu turtle impression as a sign, Lincoln pulled out a new sheet of paper and began to draw.

"You know," He said conversationally, "Eight's one of my favorites."

He paused, so as to allow Maggie the opportunity to respond. But it quickly became apparent that she wasn't going to take the bait.

"Her costume's a lot of fun to draw." He continued, the soft scratching of his pencil underscoring the cadence of his speech.

"The cloak lends itself to a lot of really cool action poses. The spade is really cool too. It was just supposed to be part of the pun at first, but I think it's really become part of her identity. Just something about how she takes up a tool meant to provide people with food and shelter, and wields it to protect them from harm. I dunno, I think there's something cool about that."

He allowed the conversation to lapse at that point, trying to focus on the finer details of his work. At last, when he was finally about to write off the endeavor as wasted effort, a voice came from within the cowl.

"...I feel a kinship with her."

Lincoln smiled, but said nothing. Silently prompting the girl to continue.

"Eight has a darkness within her." Maggie said, her face peeking out just the slightest bit from underneath the hood.

"She endeavors to do good. But her only means to achieve that good are via a methodology that may very well twist her into the very thing she'd fighting against."

"So its the inner turmoil that appeals to you?" Lincoln asked.

Maggie ventured a little further out, and shook her head emphatically.

"Eight is well acquainted with her darkness. She fears it, as she should. And yet..."

The older girl frowned, seemingly trying to better organize her thoughts.

"...She doesn't let it control her. She owns her darkness. Knowing full well what it could do to her, and yet she faces it head on regardless. Because she knows that a single life lost to something as petty as her own indecisiveness, would be irredeemable. Far more than any act of villainy she could willingly undertake."

She paused, having apparently caught up with her own soliloquizing.

"I just think it's...admirable." She concluded, somewhat lamely. Now keenly aware of how uncharacteristically verbose she had been, and all the more embarrassed for it.

"I agree." Said Lincoln, finishing his drawing with a flourish, then flipping it around for her inspection.

It was a fairly simple sketch. The Eight of Spades, standing against a city skyline. Her stance confident and decisive as her cloak billowed around her. Then came the moment he'd been waiting for, the light of recognition in her eyes as Maggie realized that the individual in question was not, in fact, the Eight of Spades.

"...I think you've taken some artistic liberties." She said at last, the barest hint of red tinging her cheeks.

"Trust me, I didn't." He replied, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, despite his best efforts. "That costume is a really good fit for you."

Maggie said nothing, continuing to study the drawing, but the color that warmed her normally pale skin seemed to imply that she'd heard him.

"...I think I owe Luan a Coke." She muttered, raising the drawing, seemingly in an attempt to block his view of her.

"Have you seen Luan?" Lincoln asked, all further thoughts of teasing the emo-girl immediately vanishing from his mind.

"Yeah." Maggie affirmed. "We hang out in your basement with your parents, a few of your sisters, and some other goobers."

"In the sandwich room?" Lincoln asked, horrified. "Is that where they've been all this time?"

"I guess."

"But it's been months!"

"What can I say? They seem to like it down there."

"So many sandwiches..." Lincoln murmured in disbelief.

"It's not so bad down there." Maggie said, shrugging. "Luan makes it fun. She has a very...rye sense of humor."

In spite of the loud, ambient noises of the convention around them, the world suddenly seemed a lot quieter.

"...I won't tell anyone you said that." Lincoln, said, glancing around worriedly.

"...Please don't." Replied the older girl. Then the world went back to normal.

Maggie coughed in embarrassment.

"A-anyway, I should probably get going." She said, reaching for her purse.

Lincoln waved her off.

"That wasn't a sale. That was a gift for a fan."

Maggie managed to look both perplexed and grateful, but silently accepted the drawing regardless. She started walking away, but stopped herself.

"Y-you know." Maggie said, her voice trembling very faintly. "Luan says she misses you. You should...probably give her a call."

A smile spread across Lincoln's face.

"Thanks Maggie, I think I will."

"Don't mention it." She murmured, vanishing into the crowd.