Contract N°2: Ishmael Cohen

Oscar loves,

Himself,

Ingrid loathes,

Herself,

Their Target loves,

Himself,

Their Client loathes,

Him.

See, the thing is that nothing ever goes as planned. That’s why you need to prepare yourself even harder! That’s the lesson Benjamin, Jefe as Oscar called him, drilled into his head. Tonight could prove itself to be another challenging contract as it was another night of working with Ingrid, the woman of the four golden rules: 

-Wear gloves.

-Hide yourself with clothes and masks that are different from the last one.

-Don’t damage the target more than necessary.

-Take a paper bag with you.

Now, it’s not that Oscar disliked Ingrid. In fact, he quite liked her. Nevertheless, given her track records with those simple rules, he could definitely see why she was unpopular with the rest of the Crew:

“Well, that’s the list… I guess… I hate you too, Benjie.”

Beyond her attitude problems, of course. Calling El Jefe ‘Benjie’ was a clear lack of taste.

“At least, we got everything.”

“Yup, whatever,” dismissed Ingrid before putting her mask back on and the plastic bag away, “I dunno if I should be glad or offended, honestly. Probably both.”

“Good thing we don’t tally your track records then,” nudged Oscar a bit too long to feel natural, “Given how many you broke-”

“And you peaked in high school! You,” Ingrid bit her tongue before a groan escaped her lips unprompted, “sorry.”

She found comfort in fiddling with her headband. ‘Twas a shame for her feelings to prevent her from looking at the man she loved. Thankfully, he could always remind her why she was enduring the shards of her bottled-up feelings.

“Eh. That’s fair,” he laughed before flaunting his worn-out varsity jacket around, “The Cougars will win one day, I know it! Or the Cowboys if they fire Jerry Jones…”

“God I hate how unbothered you are.”

“You hate a lot of things to be fair.”

“Like your job” “Like my job.”

“Jinx!”

If they weren’t sitting before an apartment’s door, she would have laughed. Sadly, entering an apartment complex unprompted was not an ideal situation for some good ol’ wittiness. Well, as much wit as two drop-outs could come-up with at least.

“Dang it. You know me too well,” lamented Ingrid before trying to pinch Oscar but failing due to his own mask, “That’s depressing.”

“I dunno. I find you quite charming,” commented Oscar while hiding a grin, “When you’re not insulting people.”

“Gotta uphold my image as a proud Czech woman,” was her answer before sticking her tongue out and getting depressed once more, “Fucking hell, dude, you’ve doubled your workflow and you still botch less mission than me.”

“Me vale,” shrugged Oscar, “You’ll grow into the best healer in Texas! lo presiento.”

Ingrid wasn’t sure if she should smack him for being so damn loud despite the unnecessary fabric covering his mouth. Seriously, who would wear an edgy bandana beneath an already tight mask which could not even damper his voice! Oscar Moreno, that’s who.

And that damn Spanish. It drove her crazy, but this was supposed to be a serious endeavor! She needed to focus. She could never accomplish something if she was constantly being distracted. That lack of stress, of chest pain… there were textbook signs she is about to fail.

With how coveted Healers were, the only way for one to be forced into a life of crime to survive would be…

“I don’t think I’ll ever be that good, Oz.”

“Nonsense! You can be fixed. Probably. I dunno,” Oscar cut himself off to the surprise of Ingrid who ended up feeling his hand on her shoulder, “Neither of us will redefine the realm of possibilities in healthcare but you’re the only one that can stop a bleeding.”

“Oz, you tried to pour alcohol into a gushing wound last week.”

“And you knew when to stop me!”

“Everybody would,” Ingrid broke down laughing before resuming her speech, “How the fuck am I losing to you…?”

That’s a Nat 20, mused Oscar, I’ve been doing it for longer and you’re the only one I’ll show this side of me to.

The silence comforted Ingrid in her bliss. One that lacked any kind of complex thought. She didn’t know a lot about Oscar’s past nor his face behind the childish bandana… she just knew she wanted him by her side.

“Maybe I’m winning now, but you’ll produce a miracle.’

Producer of miracles, eh? That sounded nice. That’s the title Ingrid was promised after her awakening. Later on, through much sweat, tears, and vomit, the only natural conclusion was that her terrible attitude was too much for how useful she could be.

“Maybe,” pondered Ingrid before letting her head fall on Oscar’s shoulder, “I’ll heal Benjie. As thanks, you know?”

“Aw.” You can’t but I’ll believe in you.

“Shut up. Go die.”

The only registered Healer ever fired from the Southern Council curing someone way past the expertise of even B-rank Healers? That’s a unique headline she could get behind.

“So, you ready to earn that dough?”

She hated how well he could read her but it’d be just falling into another circle of inaction to complain again about everything she ever hated.

“Yup.” she tried to answer.

Nevertheless, as long as she was earning money, never mind her attitude or the self-doubts creeping up on her. That stack of cash, it was hers and hers only.

“Ingrid?”

Not that she came from a poor background, quite the contrary in fact. She was rich. So rich she had to earn triple the salaries Benjamin had earned in his entire lifetime. However, one day she was left without nothing. Her entire savings vanished.

“You’re shaking again.”

It was the same day she had been fired.

After sleeping where she could, and could not, Ingrid reached a conclusion. Instead of begging, she would make a name for herself. That grown woman would quadruple the money she initially earned. Everything would be resolved if she could just earn a little more…

“Hey, come on now.”

Cut to two years later, she was still broke, still a mediocre Saint, and now she was standing before the unlocked door of an apartment, about to break into a A-rank Mage’s home to beat him up. All over a stupid story of exes. Glorious… But after they get their pay, and rent, she would change. She would start to save. She would build her funding back.

After making this mission, “Ingrid!” Táborský would feel whole again.

Ingrid felt Oscar’s arms around her. It was strange. She was just summing up why she was doing this job. When did she revert to this stupid version of her in her dive to the past? In front of the man she loved most nonetheless. Even if she was never loved back, she wanted to preserve her dignity in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry… I thought I answered.”

“It’s fine,” answered Oscar while suppressing the wince he had when listening to her voice, “Just give me a sec.”

During a search he randomly decided to conduct inside his bag, Ingrid’s mind flashed to an impossible future that made her eyes fill with tears. She was a twenty-six year old woman with the emotional maturity of a sixth grader. If she could bite her tongue, slit her throat, combust on the spot, disappear from the face of the universe, make it so that she never existed-!

“La Lavanda.”

The scent followed by a snap of his fingers made Ingrid forget what frightened her to the point of tears. It smelled so good, like a moment between the two of them. The operation was risky but she could do it.

“Ingrid,” his melodious voice enveloped her mind in a blanket made of cotton candy clouds, “We’ll just go inside and beat this fool up. Don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay.”

The woman about to commit a BNE looked like a frightening little animal one moment and a monster empowered by a sweet substance the next.

Oscar hated the spells he could create with his limitless potential.

They made his relations feel insincere.

However, for her, for the woman who needed this, he could sacrifice one of his two daily spells everyday until she becomes comfortable in her own skin. She’d beat him up later for wasting spells but he’ll take it. Pride was worthless in the face of a loved one suffering.

He equipped his brass knuckles. She forwarded her metal bat.

They had a job to do and they would do it well.

Life was as simple as that.

Take it from the anomaly with the unusual fate. Oscar broke every norm, all the time. Yet, he still ended here when his natural potential ended up far less than expected.

Nature and Sainthood both have hard limits you can’t always overcome. 

He might not have become the second coming of the “Omni-mage” and his reserve energy may be the lowest threshold ever registered but that’s just how it is sometimes.

Oscar was a very logical individual who stuck by his worthless best friend because he still believed she did not reach her full potential. Still, he could have done this mission even if Ingrid was not fully efficient, he had already done so multiple times. So, when she looked at him like a lost puppy due to how quiet he had been, he felt compelled to add to her bliss something magic could never conjure.

He hugged her and said his words not to her broken reflection but the woman.

“You deserve it.”

Ingrid finally snapped awake from his words. She found herself gasping for air as if her mind had been underwater all of this time. “If we fail because you wasted a spell, I’m killing you.”

“We’ll be dead regardless in that case.”

Despite the grim comment, Ingrid playfully nudged Oscar instead of breaking down in a panic. This had work! Now this dimly-lit corridor no longer felt scary. Now, she was ready to put an end to this contract. 

They would sneak up on that Mage and beat him up before collecting what the client requested. Simple and easy. Life always is after all.

Oscar, empowered by that knowledge, opened the front door which revealed….

“Uh… howdy?”

...that nothing ever goes as planned for Saints.

Ishmael Cohen wasn’t sure of what to do. It felt strange seeing two masked criminals before his front door. Granted, he was used to fighting Invaders but something about human cruelty was… wrong.

“...yeah?”

He restrained his fear in a breath that led foam to envelop his hand. Whatever reason they had to be here, he needed to stand firm.  A rolling pin and the magic of an A-rank should be enough.

“Could you… like… leave?” He probably needed to work on his charisma.

Oscar stood frozen during the brief moments of silence that followed his question. He tried to analyze, to understand where they went wrong. In this entrance there were only a few small empty vases, a heavy closet by the door, and… and…!

Their target, Ishmael Cohen, was a fire-specialist. Supposedly, he had no more capability in magic detection than Oscar or Ingrid themselves. Could they have made too much noise? Was it the lavender? Has he always known? Were they simply… unlucky?

No. No. No! There had to be something they had done wrong, a logical explanation for his presence behind the locked door. There is no such thing as dumb luck. There is no…

Oscar hated the unexpected.

Ingrid too…

“We will.”

But she could act.

In a blink she had closed in the distance between her and Ishmael. “H-Hey! Who are you people?” 

His question was met with a swing he sloppily dodged. 

“What’s going on?” was his foolish next question as he tried to create more space for himself, “What are you planning on doing?!”

In his confusion, he swung wildly with his right arm in an arc, his eyes reflecting a red light: “Esh!” Instead of a powerful fire that would have burned Ingrid in a matter of seconds, only sparkles were formed. 

His mind was too perturbed to properly commit to an action. Despite his spell blinding her for a few seconds, he did not take proper advantage of the situation while she powered through the light burns, her eyes glowing an orange light. “Vydrž.”

“A Healer?!”

The worst one on business but Ingrid would never reveal information on herself during a case if she could help it. Although, she doubted the public would believe the criminals taking on one of the rising stars among A-rank Saints were an F-rank and a D-rank that got smarter…

Seeing his partner fight snapped Oscar out of his trance. He closed the front door behind him and threw his bag of tools next to it before lunging at Ishmael. They needed to corner him. The advantage of taking him on in a confined space that he held dear, especially as a fire wielder, was that he could not unleash his full power without risking hurting himself or his possessions in the process. 

The fact he was described as caring by the client meant he probably had emotional attachment to the objects in his apartment. “Hey fire boy!”

“Wh-” Ishmael could only mutter one syllable before having to catch one of his prized trophies in his entrance with his free hand. In spite of the onslaught, he managed to throw it back on a case without breaking it.

Still, his maneuver made him lose a few seconds and spacing. The corridor and his entrance were quite narrow after all.

Bingo.

They will win.

As a seasoned Saint, Ishamel managed to regain his footing quicker than an average person: “Esh Zarah!”

However, Oscar easily saw through the string of fire that his fellow Mage was launching. Its shape was unconventional, just like its tracking ability, but Ingrid’s ferocious attacks mixed with the stress of the situation meant Oscar could dispel the spell quite easily by using one of Ishmael’s vases as a shield before throwing it at him.

“Hey! That's from my mom!”

Ishmael responded in kind by making Ingrid back down with an intentionally wild swing of his rolling pin before chanting: “Neshamah Esh!” which allowed him to disintegrate the vase by breathing beautifully haunting blue flames on it.

“Is that really what you should be concerned about?”

He tried to redirect his fire towards the woman, but Oscar cut his breath short by almost caving his head in with a knuckle sandwich. No matter, thought Ishmael, I just need to keep my distance. He then elbowed the other man to stagger him before preparing something in his hand.

Now that she had been almost incinerated alive, Ingrid would have caved to the panic under normal circumstances but something feral overtook her instead.

It had been brewing when she first saw Ishmael on TV.  Then even more when she saw the interior of the apartment and saw him be so caring towards his furniture one instance before burning it without a second thought a moment later…

It was a strange condition, she could feel it. When the door first opened, she saw how innocent the man looked, how prim and proper he was. How dare he appear like a human despite being a monster himself?

How could he look normal despite fighting everyday for his life against Invaders no one on their crew could take on? 

How dare he exist and make her hope that a normal person could reach heights so high!

Sadly for her, reckless abandonment only made for a good surprise attack: “Too obvious!”

He kicked her in the stomach so hard she flew away into a wall before moving into his living room. Ingrid was left gagging on the floor which made Ishmael laugh: “C'mon, that was nothing. Can't you heal it up?”