Log [Alison, Harry Leland] Administrative matters and other things...

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Early evening. The meeting with Mr. H Leland of the Hellfire Club proceeds, with the resolution of the administrative detail as mentioned in the invitation sent. And then, of course, there's an additional small matter brought to the table... isn't it always like that, after all?

The invitation card, a thick creamy and obviously expensive paper gilt in gold was neatly placed away in her purse once more as Alison waited in the small reception room. Opulence was very much the mot du jour here, though it was more understated and elegant than the usual Hellfire Club layouts she'd seen before. There were only a few people on hand, the secretary and someone who seemed to be waiter, yet all were dressed in black. Very new black, Alison realized as she stared at the clothing which looked as though it had come straight from the store and matched perfectly, even to her sight. She'd avoided anything in black or white for herself, going for something stylish and colourful; a return to some of the more outré suits she used to pull off when playing up the rock stardom to the hilt.

Having the mention of her father's name on the invitation seemed to indicate this was mostly about the social aspect of the club, after all. But Charles knew where she was and she'd hardly kept anything about this outing secret.

The hand delivery of the invitation itself at the mansion had been anything but secret, at that. It had been downright obvious, to the contrary.

The walnut-and-cherry doors before her opened, their brass fittings and filigrees newly polished. The elegantly-dressed waiter, as he seemed to be, escorted Alison into a large, open room. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the entirety of one of the walls, giving a magnificent view of Central Park and the New York skyline.

The table in the center of the room was the only furniture visible, and aside from herself and the maitre'd, there was no one present.

"Sir will be joining you shortly," he said in a clipped accent, Boston drawl barely detectable. "The kitchen has prepared tilapia in lemon, with herbed potato, if madam has no objections?"

Between playing up the ditzy blonde role to the hilt or just going for something more subtle yet still typical of what people expected of the public façade of Alison Blaire, the decision was easy. Particularly in this setting and with people who were not, one expected, idiots. Going for the latter, Alison smiled politely at the man and shook her head, indicating that the kitchen's selection was perfectly adequate. She'd not been made to wait in the least, everyone was polite and the invitation she'd been sent had to be burning a hole in her purse.

"That will be fine, thank you." The richness on display was entirely ignored in favour of the one thing any New Yorker would know to covet and recognize as the true sign of wealth.

The view from the windows on the far wall.

"Fallen, fallen, is Babylon that great city," a booming voice quoted from across the room. The speaker, a large man dressed in a black velvet waistcoat and trousers - complete with suspenders and spats that would have looked more appropriate to the 1930s, but somehow looked perfectly appropriate on the man - smiled broadly, striding across the room towards Alison.

"That's from the Book of Revelations," he explained. "Saint John proclaimed that the end of the world would be heralded by a great city descending into wickedness and depravity. Some people, when they step out onto those streets, all they can see is the dirt, and the squalor. The people struggling with the system, trying to get by and failing to escape the quagmire of their lives."

He brushed a hand absently at his coat. "Yet from up here," he continued, "I see a glorious body, a living thing kept alive by the workings of that same system. They may see it as the path to hell, I prefer to see it as a work in progress on the journey to heaven. Do you believe in the end of the world, Miss Blaire?" he asked. "I don't mean in any kind of religious sense, but in a very real catastrophe that is as inevitable as the coming dawn. Wars, poverty, crime. All of it growing in society. But here, I am privileged to rise above it all."

The stupid act would not work here, Alison decided in a heartbeat. Though it might pass, from the man deciding to observe the social niceties of letting someone present themselves as they wished, if not from being actually taken as authentic.

"But you have to walk in all of that to get here every morning, don't you?" A neatness freak perhaps from the reflex he'd just displayed, she thought idly as she nodded politely in greeting, as was required. Brainless did not mean without manners and her mother's drills on etiquette were still remembered only too clearly. And she liked the damn waistcoat. It reminded her of the stories her grandmother used to tell, even if everything else in the room reminded her of exactly where she was and at whose invitation.

"In the same way any body must answer the call of nature, from time to time," her host replied. "It is an inevitable by-product of the organism we call society. Like every organism, it comes with its own limitations and frailties. And like other organisms, society," he said with a piercing gaze, "changes. It
mutates, in other words."

He extended a hand to Alison, bowing slightly at the waist. "Harry Leland, Miss Blaire. I represent the Hellfire Club of New York, Manhattan, and the surrounding boroughs. Would you care to sit?" He motioned to the table, where the maitre'd was bringing two covered plates.

Her hand was held for a moment as bowed over it and then released as they moved towards the table, his mannerisms entirely suited to his choice of attire and speech. Her clothing was too modern for the place and she was one of the few spots of bright color in the otherwise near monochrome room, yet carrying it off through sheer attitude and self-confidence she could do. And did, settling down on the chair the maitre'd pulled for her with a murmur of thanks, showing nothing more than a calm appreciation of her surroundings without ever actually feeling out of place. It would be rude to ask him outright why she had been invited here and the ice shifting in the back of her mind was keeping anything else this could possibly not be about well under the surface. "Everything changes, eventually," she settled for remarking, blandly enough. "Where it wants to or not rarely factors in the equation." And thus the silly act went flying out the large bay windows before ever really taking flight. The setting had some effect after all, it seemed.

"Indeed it does, Miss Blaire," Leland mused. "The purpose, the vision if you will, of the Hellfire Club is to be that change, to be both of society and yet outside it. Within the environs of our meeting places, you no doubt have heard stories of licentious romps and acts that polite society would deem inappropriate. While I cannot wholeheartedly deny the entirely of such rumors," he said, dabbing his face with a napkin before tucking it into his collar, "we are more than a glorified gentleman's club. In 1930, we were the first social club in the state to admit women, and members of color. In 1955, we opened our doors for our first of many annual New Years galas for the people of New York. The Hellfire Club, for all its mystery-shrouded finery, is above all else, a society of our own."

Pausing to savor the baked fish, Leland gave a small yet perceptible moan of delight and chewed thoughtfully. Swallowing, he dabbed at his mouth again and continued. "Your father is a well-placed judge in this state, some say a potential Supreme Court nominee. You yourself have had your obvious celebrity. Your family is quite prestigious, and given your iconoclastic and very public life, six years ago a motion was carried to offer you, Miss Blaire, membership in the Hellfire Club."

After a brief pause, Leland took another bite of the fish, swallowing quickly and speaking gruffly. "I must inform you, however, that due to recent affiliations that have come to our attention, our offer must be rescinded. As you said, all things change."

The food was excellent, as was to be expected really yet Alison's entire attention was focused on the man before her and what he was saying. Both in the spoken and unspoken. "Ah." A nod of understanding was given at that, without any surprise in her reaction to the withdrawal of the membership. "I only knew of
some aspects of the Hellfire Club at the time and if I recall correctly, I was whisked away on tour before I ever had the chance to answer the invitation to visit the Club..." And she'd forgotten about it since, the memory of that card buried underneath the flush of success from her first album and the preparations of her very first world tour, never having had any idea it had been actually the preliminaries to an invitation to the Outer Circle. "Mmm. I've learned a bit more since, though."

And one of those things was that there would not be such a production set in place merely to let her know that a possible membership in the purely social side of the Hellfire Club was now no longer possible. Her eyes narrowed just a touch. The event of a positive reply would certainly not have been considered a possibility at any rate. Not if he'd brought up her 'recent affiliations' while taking into consideration that one of them was now a member of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club. She was not, however, about to bring that up as a topic of conversation.

"A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, Miss Blaire," Leland said firmly, all pretense of joviality suddenly gone from his voice. "And I believe you may have put yourself in enough danger already with some choices of, hmm... loyalty that you have made."

"I put myself in danger the day I came out as a mutant, Mr. Leland," Alison replied with dead calm, though inwardly she felt anything but. So now they were coming to the truth of the matter, whatever the man was really after. "And I fail to see why you'd be concerned about warning me about my choices regarding my 'current affiliations' by pretext of rescinding an offer of membership to the Hellfire Club, considering I've had those affiliations for a few years now already." Setting her fork down on the table, she looked at him steadily. "What is this really about?"

Leland took another slow bite of the tilapia, savoring it for a moment. "What if I told you, Miss Blaire," he said after a moment, "that I knew the truth of Alphonso de la Rocha's death? What he saw in his last moments in this world? I admit, the truth of the matter surprised me, but in all fairness - you are an excellent shot, Miss Blaire."

The roaring in her ears was the only thing left for her to hear after his words, Alison's breathing halting as she fixed her gaze upon the man calmly waiting for her reaction. Possibilities and consequences whirled in her mind, but amongst all of them was the thought that if he'd meant to tell anyone she'd not be here now, nor would Pete be alive. He was telling her this, had arranged this meeting under the pretext of revoking her membership to the club to speak to her.

To tell her what he knew. Because he wanted something.

It was, in truth, that simple.

Leaning back in her chair, resting her hands on the arm rests and crossing her legs in a slow, controlled motion, Alison kept her breathing slow and regular. "Then I would have to ask you, quite naturally so, how you knew?" That wasn't the first question. But she wanted to know that before asking him what he wanted.

"My aide, Bernard." Leland indicated the maitre'd standing to the far side of the chamber in silence. "He acts also as the Club's... coroner, for lack of a better term in cases of deaths on the grounds. As you are no doubt aware, there is a level to the Hellfire Club that the world never sees. An Inner Circle, through which we play the ageless game of thrones, politicking and maneuvering for personal and mutual gain. Alphonso held a seat on this Inner Circle, as do I. As now does your associate, Mister Wisdom."

Leland rubbed his hands together as he continued, savoring the moment. "When Alphonso was killed, I oversaw the traditional management of the administrative affairs, including the cursory autopsy. Bernard has an... unusual gift that makes him apropos for this venture. You see, Miss Blaire, Bernard is a necrophage." Leland paused, letting that sink in. "He can share the last memories of the deceased by consuming a portion of their flesh."

It was a ghoulish concept to absorb and at any other time Alison would probably have been hard pressed to hide her disgust. Circumstances dictated that this was hardly such a time however, and Alison instead focused on things far more important than how the man's power worked. Such as the consequences of what his power entailed. Unforeseen events tended to derail even the best laid plans. "I see." She'd still hoped... she gave herself one moment to look at Bernard, taking in the details of his appearance, etching them in her mind. The two men in this room were, she hoped, the only ones who knew the truth of Alphonso de la Rocha's death other than herself, Pete and Charles. If this was about Harry Leland wanting something badly enough to ensure it was so.

"Mr. Wisdom," she said coldly, "is no longer an associate of the X-Men." She felt cold, frost curling in the back of her mind with a crackling sound, ice dripping down her spine in an oddly steadying way. Knowing it was just her mind's way of interpreting the shield didn't make it any less uncanny. Possibilities would have been racing through her mind, were it not for the fact that she was concentrating on the 'now' to the exclusion of everything else. Plans would do no good until she knew.

"The X-Men do not concern me," Leland replied with a huff. "Protecting a world that for the majority hates and fears them, it's far too quixotic for my tastes. What does concern me, however, is that Mr. Wisdom is fully aware of the appearance of the situation. The Inner Circle are the only ones aware of the circumstances of Alphonso's death, and outside this room, none save Mr. Wisdom know the truth of it. It goes without saying that the entire Black Court is closing ranks in the event that the White King takes a personal vendetta against them. Closing ranks around our Queen - Selene; and our Black King, Sebastian Shaw."

At Alison's determined silence, Leland arched an eyebrow and continued. "I will be quite frank, Miss Blaire. I have no intent on disabusing the Black Court of their belief that Mr. Wisdom was the sole party responsible for Alphonso's murder. Frankly, I found the man to be an insufferably cruel peacock, old money in the worst kind of way. Sebastian plans a riposte of sorts, to throw the White Court into disarray. And despite my station, I do not wish for this to happen."

Leland stood, lacing his fingers together behind his back, pacing in front of the massive windows. "I have been a member of the Inner Circle for thirty years now, Miss Blaire. I sponsored Sebastian Shaw's nomination as Black King when he was selected by Selene. I watched Emma Frost take her spot as the youngest Queen in our history. For thirty years, I have ensured that the stability of our Inner Circle remains paramount, through coup and calm. Until now."

"Whatever Mr. Wisdom's intentions are with the Inner Circle," Leland stated, "I do not wish to oppose them. In fact, I would ask of you one favor, in exchange for ensuring that the circumstances of Alphonso's murder stay silent."

The entire conversation had been geared towards this one request, Alison knew, still unable to feel relief at the way he'd phrased the sentence just yet. The asking of a favor, which of course was held in the balance by him keeping his silence if she agreed to what he asked, just as his aide would. A demonstration of spheres of loyalty which were almost surprising to be presented with, considering the Inner Circle's far more rabid politics she'd been exposed to thus far. And yet, not, when one considered the trappings Harry Leland seemed to favor.

Not outing what had truly happened, not even interfering with whatever aims Leland was attributing to Pete - or herself - was... just a consequence of it all. Why else would he be willing to let years of work in keeping the Hellfire Club's Inner Circle stable go to waste?

"And this favor would be…" she trailed off, the phrase making her words more of a statement than a question, acknowledging that simply the fact that he did hold a strong... bargaining position.

"I believe it is time that the linchpin of the Inner Circle be pulled," Leland answered simply. "For twenty-four years, Sebastian Shaw has been Black King. This is traditionally a role designed to head the Inner Circle. Although we act as an ad hoc committee, the Black King has held the most power throughout the past six reigns. For the past seven years, however, Sebastian has forestalled any attempt Emma Frost has made to name a White King, thus you can imagine the chaos your Mr. Wisdom has caused."

Pacing, Leland stroked a hand through his thick red beard, the grey streaks evidence of his advancing age. "This is not by itself an offense - the Inner Circle is meant for those of such Machiavellian ruthlessness. It is the very nature of our being. I wish for Sebastian Shaw to fall, not the Black King."

Knowing Pete, there was no doubt 'chaos' was mild a word to describe the effects of how he'd gone about settling in to his new role in the Inner Club. "So it's personal," Alison stated carefully, noting the distinction between man and function which had been clearly made for her to grasp. Despite the fact that everything might still go awry, she found herself curious as to what Shaw might have done, to set Leland against him in such a way. If the status quo Shaw had imposed for seven years hadn't bothered him before previously... The pacing was just another hint of whatever Leland was feeling at the moment though she didn't doubt anything Leland might say, he'd absolutely have meant to say all along.

Leland stopped, gripping the hem of his waistcoat as he looked out onto the New York skyline. "Sebastian Shaw," he began, "was a young man when I met him. A self-made industrialist, of humble Pennsylvania beginnings, but of the stock of something far greater. His ambition outstripped even my own, and his rise to the Hellfire Club's Inner Circle was inevitable. He was the man each of us followed loyally, with a charisma that was unmistakable. He was every decision I had ever second-guessed, every choice I could have possibly made. He was the personification of Hellfire, Miss Blaire. The desire to have, and the will to take."

"Sebastian was not only successful in business," Leland continued, "He took a wife. A lovely girl, quite brilliant in her own right. And then he came to me, and he asked me to be his confidant, his aide. His ambition had noble ends, and I saw his dream of a family hold such promise. I had dreams once along those lines, Miss Blaire. But the Inner Circle holds priorities of its own. But Sebastian, he had the potential to surpass all of us."

Leland stopped, his reflection in the window showing an expression of restrained viciousness. "I handled his domestic matters when he took Shaw Industries overseas. I thought I was grooming him for greatness,
I thought he would be the ideal picture of success, the American Dream. I did not expect how many nights I would be called to his home, his wife in tears at the discovery of yet another infidelity. I did not judge Sebastian for his foibles - we are Hellfire, we do not quibble over morality. But I found myself torn. His wife, as I said, was a lovely girl, and a fine woman." Looking wistfully into the glass, Leland dropped his head and continued.

"Sebastian's wife bore him a son, Shinobi. I recall Sebastian's pride at having an heir. That was exactly how he put it, not a son, but an heir. And that was when I truly knew the man. Everything he had accomplished - his business, his family, his friends, his son - to him it was all just property. Acquisitions, symbols of power. He was not the best of us, he was the absolute worst. He had everything we had - I had dreamed, and it meant nothing to him." Leland stopped to gain control of his ranting voice, then whispered quietly.

"She took her own life, you know. Sebastian kept so many things from her, she could not live with the secrets she kept from him. And Sebastian grieved, in public. Behind closed doors, however, I knew the truth of the man. That he was cold, and moreover, that he knew this and was not in the least disturbed by it."

Leland finally whirled, face red with intensity, pointing and speaking with the intensity of a fire-and-brimstone preacher. "Sebastian Shaw is the devil himself, I have seen it with my own eyes. I do not believe in divine justice, Miss Blaire, for if I did I would surely be a damned soul myself. But if there exists the Hell of Milton, then I would gladly damn myself to it if I knew that Sebastian Shaw would burn there as well."

The man's sudden display of virulent anger left her silent and she found herself staring at him, blinking in discomfiture from the chair she was still seated in. Realizing she'd been holding her breath during the last bit of his speech, Alison took a slow inhalation, regaining her composure steadily.

It was, in a sense, the most classic of stories. Right up to the faithful retainer falling in love with his principal's wife. And by denigrating the most essential of human emotions, by betraying the dreams Leland had seen for him and withheld for himself, Shaw had set up the instrument of his eventual downfall without ever suspecting it.

Any stirrings of sympathy were easily set aside however with the knowledge that in all of this, she was merely a tool to him. Perhaps an ally, but far more likely the means to an end. One which he'd approached only because he had discovered through his aide. She couldn't, in the simplest of terms, afford to believe any of this wasn't without a potential betrayal should that suit Leland's ends.

For Pete's sake, over anything else.

She wasn't sure she was the right person for this. But she was already involved, in ways which didn't allow any exit and if taking a step that much deeper into the intrigue meant perhaps ensuring some form of success for what they were trying to do, brought the probability of Pete surviving it all that much higher...

"You propose," she hesitated a moment, though the point of no return had been reached weeks ago, she knew, "to provide me with information regarding Sebastian Shaw, his holdings and his plans, with the condition that this in some way, eventually lead to his fall as Black King of the Hellfire Club. Am I misapprehending your intent?"

"You have a quick mind, Miss Blaire," Leland answered with a nod. "I was right not to underestimate you. I wish to see Sebastian humbled, to be reminded that he is flawed, mortal, and vulnerable. I care not what may fall with him, but I wish to see Sebastian Shaw bleed."

Leland straightened up, adjusting his coat and assuming the air of the proper gentleman once more. "We will not meet here again," he insisted, "I will report to the Inner Circle that the cause of Alphonso's untimely end was solely the province of the new White King, who is by virtue of his current station rather untouchable from reprisal. The matter will be closed, and in time a replacement will be chosen. As for my request of you, I would recommend you obtain a subscription to the Post. Should there be an advertisement for imported songbirds on the third page of the classifieds, then I will have what you need. You will contact Bernard at that number, and he will provide all the information you would need."

He didn't care what else happened, so long as Shaw fell. Which explained why he hadn't asked for any information from her, beyond his quite correct assumption that Pete's tenure as the White King wasn't at all what it seemed to be on the surface. And Alison had not even once given any actual confirmation that Pete was anything else but alienated from the X-Men and on his own.

She looked at Bernard, not for confirmation so much as to remind herself of what the man's voice had sounded like, the careful modulation of words and the accent coming back to memory easily and clearly. "Yes." It was more confirmation to herself that she had the man's voice memorized, for what it was worth, than actually acceding to Leland's terms, but it would do as well. Her motion to push the chair back led to Bernard quite correctly pulling it for her as she rose, manners apparently ever prevalent.

"A subscription to the Post it is," she nodded, knowing there were always a few already floating around at the mansion each day and it wasn't entirely unknown for her to read the newspaper now and then. She would not need to contact him, by his rules. But it only made sense to ask. "And should I, for whatever reason might bring that about, need to contact you?"

Leland paused, a smile on his lips. "Thursday evenings I make it a point to dine at Irizzary's on 23rd. They have a fabulous beef Wellington. A message left with the maitre'd there will suffice." He looked over at Bernard, who simply nodded and stepped backwards, pivoted, and walked crisply out of the room.

"Miss Blaire," he said quietly, a tone of genuine concern in his voice, "it behooves me as a gentleman to apologize for the situation I am putting you in. While I am above all else a man who believes that the ends do truly justify the means, I also believe that I have an obligation to keep the means as genteel as possible. But needs must, Miss Blaire, needs must. In this matter between us, I will take every measure in my not inconsiderable power to ensure that no harm or reprisal comes to you. But that is the only guarantee I can make you."

Offering his elbow, he gave another small head-bow. "If you would permit me to escort you to the foyer, I have transport waiting for you to return you to your school."

"As you yourself stated earlier, Mr. Leland," Alison said, accepting the proffered arm gravely, with a tilt of the head she remembered her grandmother making more than once in such an instance, "the choices I've made bring a certain danger along with them. As do certain... affiliations." One could apply the last word to a large array of things. Including events newly born. And while Alison knew better than to let herself be lulled into safety, no matter how appealing Leland might make his case or present things for her in that regard, there was still a moment where she dared to believe that this might very well work.

Advocating patience to the man would be insulting, to say the least, so she offered him a polite smile as he escorted her out, her mannerisms changing as they exited the room to something far more careless and casual than any which had been exhibited while within the room.