Marie-Ange and Warren

[xp_tarot]

Marie-Ange and Warren happen to be at the same event for entirely different reasons. It goes stunningly well. They're almost friends.



It was the same old, boring bull crap that Warren was forced to endure for the sake of his company. Some old, decrepit board member and his trophy wife were out parading their daughter as if she was a horse in heat.

Ugh.

And here he was, smiling, with his appropriate gift, and equally appropriate blonde eye candy, mandated to be here by his mother who was somewhat a friend of the trophy wife and by his father, who was definitely sleeping with the trophy wife. And he was sure the board member was embezzling funds to give to his trophy boyfriend.

He was so thankful that the sanctity of this event wasn't compromised.

"How old do you think the mother is?," he asked Marie-Ange in perfect Japanese. "Because judging by her face, she's easily on face lift number two, and her nose is clearly only a month old. If I didn't know any better, I'd say her ass wasn't the original model either."

Warren was all out of fucks to give.

"Do you want a dossier?" Marie-Ange's Japanese was accented, but acceptably so, for a Frenchwoman who spoke it as somewhere around her sixth language. "I can get one, but I was not here for her so I would have to bribe my knowledge base." She leaned over from her table to Warren's neighboring table, and patted his "date"'s bare shoulder. "Oh here, do switch, we haven't caught up since the Hamptons." And somehow the French-American accented Japanese switched to a perfect Boston accent as she maneuvered . "Darling you understand, Warren and I are old friends, we must catch up, Emma would simply murder me if I missed a chance to update Warren on the latest." Name-dropping Emma Frost, perhaps over the top but it had Doug, over the ear bud communicator laughing uproariously.

Warren watched in amusement how the blonde bimbo was broadsided by Marie-Ange. He only had brought the date because Bobbi was busy and had found her by randomly texting numbers in his phone. He couldn't even remember what her name was, but he made it a point to wave her goodbye. Warren definitely wouldn't be seeing her home.

"Oh, how is our dear Emma," Warren asked. "As deliciously evil as ever?" He switched back to Japanese and grinned. "Are you here for nefarious reasons? Please tell me that whoever is in the truck can hear everything I'm saying."

"If I tell you, you are a material witness, also, yes, Doug says of course he can hear you, and when are you coming to the next Hellfire party?" " Marie-Ange answered, slyly, and then fell back to English - the language switching had to either be driving their table neighbors mad, or making them think Warren and Marie-Ange were flirting. "Emma is well, making money hand over fist and of course, dominating New York's social scene." The innuendo was not even a little bit clever, it was just required, at least once.

Warren gave an approving nod. "La belle Emma," he crooned. "One day, she will fall for me. I guarantee that. And with our powers combined, the world will implode. C'est sur." French was acceptable too. It was fun to watch everyone at the table try their best to ignore AND pay attention at the same time. This was infinitely more interesting than the stupid debutante.

"With your money combined, you mean." Marie-Ange said, laughing. "Doug still wants to know about the party, and says the mother has a regular Botox appointment in her calendar, for next week." She patted Warren's hand. "I am going to drop my wine glass on the floor in a few minutes, I would recommend being not here so I do not ruin those lovely shoes." It looked like she was flirting, but he really had such lovely shoes, she couldn't' bear to ruin them just so she could pass a lifted phone to Artie when he came in as a caterer.

Warren nodded, and moved away from the table. In fact, just to be on the safe side, he stood up abruptly and glared at her, trying to add a little extra drama. Walking over to a waiter, he snatched a glass from the tray and watched the scene unfold. He had to admit: they were damn good at their job. Even knowing that something was going to happen, he still barely noticed the subterfuge. In fact, he wasn't actually sure he did see anything, he just really really wanted to.

When it was all said and done, he returned to his seat, the table now cleared. After all, if one wine glass fell, another could, and no one wanted to risk those stains. "Do you like what you do?," he asked, speaking in Japanese again.

A quarrel and reconciliation. Those happened every minute at this party, it was nice to play it out with someone Marie-Ange knew, instead of having to pretend with a stranger. "Sometimes, yes. Sometimes no. It is the same for you though, yes? Sometimes being in charge of your company is a grand time, sometimes it is a mountain of paperwork and fighting off shareholders who want every red cent?"

"I was born and raised into this work. When you don't know anything different..." Clearing his throat, he reached up and fixed his tie. "I think what's worse is when you know there's another option, and yet you can't do anything about it. That's why I love doing my detective work so much. I get to be a different me, one that can help instead of fucking everyone over."

"That is fair, and more honest than I expected. Mine is not quite the same." Marie-Ange reached into her handbag - a beaded tasteful green and bronze thing - and pulled out a few tarot cards. "But similar enough. I know my own path, in ways others cannot, but I know the other paths I could have taken." She gave Warren a wry smile. "Warren, in one, there is purple spandex. And also pink. On me. With my hair. Purple. And pink."

"That would be an excellent future," Warren smiled. "I wonder what my other paths have for me....I hope I'm as debonair as I am in this one." He nodded to her cards. "Are you reading my future tonight?"

"You are very obviously high if you think I look good in purple and pink." Marie-Ange said, with a snort. "Ah, I am almost always reading someone's future, but not yours, no, not tonight. My concerns are more, ah, practical tonight." Her nose wrinkled up with amusement. "Blackmail, extortion, perhaps automotive arson if necessary, but I dearly hope not. Jubilee likes it too much."

Warren gave an undignified snort. "Jubilee likes anything to do with pyrotechnics." A sobering look crossed his face. "I worry about that girl. I have spent entirely too many nights watching horrible movies with her, pretending I care, when I know that she's just trying to avoid sleep. How do we stage a work intervention? Does she even know how to relax?"

"Is she drinking too much?" Marie-Ange question was just a touch abrupt. "And, no, she does not know how, not really. It has been a very tough two years, and Jubilee thinks she has to be three times the person any of us are in order to, I do not know, impress ghosts, I suppose." The precognitive rubbed at her face, taking care to avoid her eyes - ruining her makeup was not on her agenda, and she had stuffed her purse with everything but an eyemakeup kit. "I think it is first worth speaking to Kurt about her, he has the more ability to make her breathe."

Warren cocked his head. "I...don't know that I've ever really spoken to Kurt," he wondered out loud. "I don't know if I should be admitting that, considering I spend a ridiculous amount of time with Jubilee." He tapped his foot on the floor. "Wouldn't talking to Kurt cross a line though? I should let Jubilee know how I feel. That would be a grown up thing to do."

"Unless you are in love with her, please do not be in love with her, she has probably already told Kurt herself." Marie-Ange said, after finishing down a glass of not-terrible sparkling white. "Which means Kurt knows you are a human being and not simply a collection of vices and quite nice suits." She paused. "As does Jubilee. She is many things, but unobservant is not one of them."

Warren nodded thoughtfully. "This is true. And I'm most definitely not in love with her. I believe I would need a heart or something resembling that." He paused. "And I have amazing suits. This one has Kevlar sewn into it." He lifted his arm. "very lightweight and serves a purpose."

"Oh if only I could say the same." Marie-Ange's dress left no room for Kevlar. It barely left room for anything, and what room it had left was devoted to a handful of tarot cards, and a bra that was a remarkable feat of engineering. "About suits. And perhaps hearts, Jubilee will tell you I am quite awful."

"You seem slightly more likeable than me though."

"Only because you did not go to high school with me."

Comments

[xp_wallflower]

Beautiful work, you two. :D I love this.