V for Vada

A Deceitful Percussionist

-November 4th, 2020-
-11:45 P.M.-

The masked man I now know as V stands before me, his head tilted in thought as he analyzes my name.

"Verity Vada. V, V."

"Yes, the letter V is prominent in my family." I state blankly, still in shock, my breathing far from steady.

I flinch as V takes a step toward me, offering a hand.

"Are you hurt, aside from your hand?" He inquires, leaving me to think. I've been running on adrenaline for so long, I haven't had a single thought pertaining to my own physical state of being.

"N-No, I believe I'm fine." I admit, taking the man's hand. I wince as I realize I've given up my injured hand, the contact stinging as V releases me, keeping a careful watch on me as I stumble, holding my hand to my head.

"I may have hit my head on the tumble down." I woefully admit, my vision blurring once more. I blink back into focus, finding V to move silently, his hand gently reaching toward my head.

"May I?"

I nod once, taking slow, deep breaths as V touches a finger to my chin, tilting my head gently and checking closely.

"You're not bleeding, and there are no obvious marks of contact. Are you alright to walk?" He asks, and I nod, gulping in another breath.

"I suppose so."

"Miss Vada, I've a question. Although veering from the subject at hand, do you enjoy music?" He asks, distracting me as something begins to squeeze my hand. I glance down to see that a dark strip of cloth is being tied around my hand to stop it from bleeding. How could someone so vicious, so elusive, be so caring?

"I, uhm--yes, I do."

"Well, Miss Vada, I am a musician of sorts, and I am on my way to give a very special performance."

"What kind of musician?" I ask in return, gaining immediate response.

"Percussion instruments are my speciality, but I intend to call upon the entire orchestra for this event. I would be most honored if you could join me." He offers, drawing a small grin to my face. It's been years since I've been invited to an outing, especially of this extravagance. However, it is past curfew, and I am injured.

"I-I don't think so, I should make my way home. I'm injured, and I've gotten myself into more trouble than I bargained for, tonight." I insist apologetically.

"I can promise you, Miss Vada, that it will be like nothing you've ever seen. And afterwards, you'll return home safely."

I take a brief moment to weigh over the options.

One. Go home immediately, and risk possibly being detained again, now without any assistance whatsoever, and suffering the same fate as my beloved parents.

Two. Accompany this "V" to his performance, and be beneath the safeguard of him until I return home, as he's promised. Although I've seen more than most tonight, I do believe that it wouldn't hurt much more to attend an innocent concert of sorts.

I look to V, who awaits my answer patiently. I nod without a sound, to which he chuckles warmly, obviously delighted.

"Then off we go."

After slinking through the streets bothered by no sounds whatsoever, I soon find myself standing beside V on a rooftop, with a beautiful view of London, particularly the Old Bailey.

"It's absolutely beautiful up here." I admit, swallowing my fear of heights, refusing to think of what is below as I try to focus on what is in front of me. I find myself in a stupor, observing London from a completely new perspective.

"A more perfect stage could not be asked for." V comments, admiring the city as well as I.

"I don't see any instruments, V."

"Ahh, once again, your powers of observation cease to fail you. But anyhow," he says, whipping a conductor's baton from beneath his pitch cape, lowering his arms slowly, channeling his energies.

"It is to Madame Justice that I dedicate this concerto, in honor of the holiday she seems to have taken from these parts, and in recognition of the imposter that stands in her stead. Tell me, Verity, what day is it?"

Startled by his sudden question, I barely manage to stutter out an answer.

"Uhm... November the fourth?"

"Not anymore..."

As V says this, the powerful toll of Big Ben pounds in my ears, and I turn to face him. He marks twelve o'clock midnight, the sign of a new day.

Before I can get the gears turning in my head, V begins to speak once more.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November--"

"The gunpowder treason and plot." I chime in, all of the information falling into place. I've only ever heard my parents use that phrase, in honor of who I now know to be my grandfather.

He tried to blow up parliament, all those years ago.

Today is the fifth of November, 2020. Today marks four hundred fifteen years passed since that fateful day.

As all these dots connect, V finishes the words I haven't heard for years, and I mindlessly follow along.

"I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."

V sighs, and I know exactly what is to happen.

He gently taps a nearby exposed pipe, holding his arms high, ready to conduct a deceitful orchestra.

"First, the overture."

Be begins waving his arms articulately to the sound of the toll of Big Ben, making him prove the correctness of my assumption. He most definitely is a crazy person.

"Yes, yes, the strings--listen carefully, can you hear it?"

I close my eyes, trying to hear as this man hears, and believe as he does.

"And now, the brass."

And suddenly, I hear it. I find myself gasping in surprise, rushing to the edge of the roof, and peering over the edge.

However, instead of the orchestra I half-expected to be playing on the street, I find that the music has somehow been wired into the announcement speakers of London, Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture now blaring into the ears of all who may hear it.

I watch as baffled Londoners all around wander out of their houses--this being a strange occurrence for them. I wish I could shout for all of them to retreat to their homes in warning of what is about to come, but I have not the time nor the courage to do so. I've seen what this "V" character can do to a full-grown man.

As the ballad begins to climax, V releases a laugh, his arms swinging in a wildly tame manner as he announces,

"Here comes the crescendo!"

I look back to the Old Bailey, just in time for it to burst. An explosion of fireworks erupts from within, and I witness the sudden demolition of the historic building.

I am mesmerized by the music, by the fire, by the debris. By V's adoring cackles as he marvels at the chaos he's brought upon this city. By the explosions as they light up the sky with one singular intentional letter.

V.

I find myself perching along the ledge of the rooftop, in awe of these events until the very last spark from the very last flame has faded.

Or at least, so I believe.

I soon find myself waking up in my bed, home alone and safe.

Although most of my dreams are more often vacant of meaning than not, last night's seemed to strike viciously at something in my heart.

An awakening.