Hawke's eyes had been fixed all day on the mansion, watching every little movement she could. The large glass windows in the back certainly made it easy enough to gather all the information she needed. Her target was the famous Dama, seamstress extraordinaire. The woman was worth a large fortune, and Hawke was sure her financiers would fork over a few million to see her returned safely.
She smirked as the full moon hung overhead. She knew the layout of the house perfectly, she had even gotten the blue prints from a paid off official at city hall. She knew the codes to the security system, and she knew that Dama's little helper wasn't going to be around tonight. Hawke didn't even care that it was so easy. Challenges were just for people too stupid to find the easy way.
She stood from her hiding place in the tall grass and skulked toward the back door. She took out her pick-lock and started working at the door. Her expertise rewarded her quickly, and she had the door open wide in less than ten seconds. She darted through the opening and quickly dialed the code into a nearby security pad. She closed the door behind her and smiled.
The only difficult part was over. If the security code had been wrong, she might have been in trouble, but it was smooth sailing from her on out. She carefully examined her surroundings, letting her eyes get used to the shadows of the house. Moonlight poured through the windows, making it quite easy to see where she was going, though there weren't many available hiding spots.
It didn't matter, though. Dama was asleep, which just meant she was an easy target. Hawke quickly made her way to the master bedroom and cracked the door. Moonlight revealed a figured curled up under elaborate blankets. Perfect. She was fast asleep. Things really couldn't get better. Cloth hung loosely about the room, which Hawke could only assume were projects of some sort. The bed was overloaded with blankets, all made from a material that glistened in the moonlight, making it look like diamonds were sprinkled over it.
Flamboyant. Dama was obviously very proud of her work so much that she'd drape herself in it.
Hawke walked right up beside the bed and drew her gun. She pointed it at the bulge of Dama's head. She tapped the woman's shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."
The woman stirred and moved a little. "Mm? What is it? Did you have another nightmare?" she said groggily. "You know you're welcome to climb into bed with me anytime. You don't have to be scared."
Hawke furrowed her brow. As far as she knew, Dama didn't have any kids. She couldn't be talking about that college girl that spent so much time here.
Hawke tapped the woman's shoulder again. "Come on, wake up, we have to go."
Again, Dama stirred, but this time she lifted the blankets to stare right down the barrel of the gun. She didn't seem phased by the intruder in her room. "Hello," she said.
"You're coming with me. I'm going to take you as a hostage and demand a ransom. If you cooperate, it'll be much easier in the long run."
"So, why the gun then?" Dama stretched before yawning. The blanket slipped off her, revealing a small, frail stature. Hawke knew she couldn't put up a fight just by looking at her. "I have to say, I much prefer when a strong leather clad woman brings cuffs. Guns really just aren't very fun."
Hawke twitched. This woman was shameless. "I'm not interested in sex with you. I just want money."
Dama tilted her head and pouted her lips, drawing her fingers toward her cleavage. Hawke let her eyes wander, not feeling threatened by the woman. The bra Dama wore was about what Hawke would imagine. Black with lace. Dama's breasts were small and matched her frame, making her look even more vulnerable as she tried to show herself off.
"I think that could be arranged. I don't particularly find anything wrong with prostitution as long as it's not coerced." She patted the bed beside her. "Come, hop in the bed, I'm sure I can arrange to pay you what you were seeking for my ransom."
Hawke visibly twitched. How utterly shameless. "Look, I'm not interested in having sex with you. Now get up, we're leaving."
Dama sighed as she twisted on her bed. Hawke had no time to react as the blanket seemed to come alive and wrapped around the gun. "I will never understand why people just don't take the easy option instead of having to put up a fight every time. I really would've paid you, too. I can't see you very well, but I do love naughty girls."
Hawke stood paralyzed at what had just happened. She pulled her hand away from the gun and stepped back. "What the fuck?"
Dama stood up from the bed, clutching her blanket between her fingers. The material shifted and curled before stretched out to restrain Hawke, wrapping around her ankles and her wrists, pulling her into a neat hogtie on the floor. All she could see as she tried to move and struggle was Dama's stocking clad feet stepping toward her.
"Who... but... what the hell? How are you doing this? This..." Hawke fumbled with her words. The situation hadn't even really clicked with her. Seeing the blanket move like it was alive had been a shock -- being subdued was an even bigger one.
"Why, I'm a seamstress of course. Rather, I'm the Seamstress. You know, that super villain who rubs banks and uses cloth to subdue everyone? I swear, it would've been easier had you just became a prostitute for the night. I admit, I was lamenting about having no one to share my bed with. It can be so boring to sleep alone." Seamstress sat down in front of Hawke, her legs to the side as she pulled Hawke's head onto her lap, gently scratching under her chin.
Hawke growled. "And so what, you plan to rape me or something? Do you think you're the first to try that?" she laughed. "I'm an ex-sharpshooter and a mercenary, do you think you can do anything to me that will bother me? You hold meetings here, and I can already tell you don't have what it takes to kill someone or keep them locked in a room for too long. So do whatever the hell you want, I don't give a damn."
Seamstress pouted. "My, my, my so feisty and so serious. And why would I want to rape you? It's not like sticking my fingers in you and wiggling them is going to bring me any pleasure afterward. No, I want you pleasing me, and I would rather avoid... well, let's just call them love bites for now."
"Ha! See, you don't have what it takes." Hawke shook her head. This was still easy. Eventually this woman would let her out of the bindings, and then she'd just knock her out and find a plastic box for her in the meantime. Limiting her access to clothes wasn't something she wanted to do, but the thought of the bitch locked in some box prone and helpless at least would make up for this indignity.
"You take yourself so seriously, don't you?" Seamstress lifted Hawke's chin further so she could look her in the eyes. "What do you plan to do with the money anyways?"
"Why would I tell you?"
"Because if you don't, I'll make sure to put you in every delightful outfit I can think of and take pictures, and then when you accomplish whatever goal you're going for, I'll release them."
Hawke sneered. "I'm going to build my own company of mercenaries, and maybe some hunters for you super powered freaks."
"Wow, even your goals are so serious. You really need to lighten up to you know. Maybe smile a bit more." Seamstress reached toward Hawke's boots and brushed them with he fingers, watching as the boots shifted and started to warp before what seemed to be a black ooze wrapped around Seamstress's fingers and wiggled it's way up her arm and across her torso before forming into a belt on her midsection.
Hawke wiggled her toes in her athletic socks to confirm what had just happened. "Geeze that power is freaky. How the hell do you manage to manipulate clothes anyway?"
"Well, it was passed down from my mother and my grandmother. I imagine it's been something in the family for quite a long time. It's quite useful." She suddenly lifted Hawke's chin off her lap and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get a mirror and turn on the lights. I want to make sure you can see yourself, after all."
"See myself?" Hawke asked. She tried to watch as Seamstress moved about the runs and turned on the lights, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted. Seamstress pulled a mirror from the side of the room and put it in front of Hawke so she could see herself. What seemed to be cloth strips bound her wrists to her ankles, and the remainder of the blanket fell off loosely to the side. Some of her black hair had fallen out of her ponytail and was splayed against the side of her face. Her black pants and shirt stuck out against the cream colored carpet. She wore no makeup, and her hair and clothes seemed frizzled.
"Oh, yes, just how I like my girls," Seamstress said as she sat to the side of Hawke. She still looked small and frail in the light, with a black lace thong that was almost transparent along with a matching bra and stockings. Her pale skin and brunette hair somehow seemed to go together quite well with what she wore. Hawke sighed as she thought that being a prostitute for a night probably wouldn't have been as bad as being captured by such a small looking person.
"Now, are you ready to smile?" Seamstress traced across Hawke's bicep.
"There is literally nothing you can do that'll make me smile."