for the flashbang, compress and resist?

You don’t know him. You don’t even recognize him, and you feel like you should. The top hat and cane? The coat and gloves? The mask, with it’s dizzying array of shadows that - are they moving? You sway in place, staring, though with every rhythmic beat of your heart, it feels as if you should be doing something. Remembering.

“Take my hand,” he says, stepping up onto the edge of the building, coat snapping in the breeze. He turns in place, the better to face you, gloved fingers delicately splayed as he waits for you to listen.  Your name, called in a panic, full of warning reaches you from somewhere very far off. 

“I-”

“We must be going, really, or the finale will be... rather lackluster, don’t you think?” He waggles his fingers, not impatient, but expecting and though you’re certain you shouldn’t take it, you can’t find it within you to resist. Your palms meet, and then you’re standing with him, balanced precariously on the edge of the roof, his arm looped around your waist, your fingers curled in the V of his waistcoat. He smells faintly of something sharp and minty, and he hums, pleased when you rest your forehead against his shoulder. “Welcome!” He calls out, and you feel welcomed, comfortable, even though you know he isn’t speaking to you. “You’ve made it just in time, and have been a most engaging crowd! Unfortunately, all good things must end, and the time has come for us to take a bow.” 

Once more, your name echoes, but it’s lost in the sudden rush of wind, pushed away by his arms encircling you, his coat fluttering against your legs. You don’t know him, you remember that.  But you will.