Siege Perilous - Part 4 - Machinations
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xp_logsFlashback Log: Kevin takes the opportunity to plant some seeds of doubt in Gabe’s mind about his future with the HFC.
It had been decades since Kevin had dinner at Cicero's. The Maggia controlled restaurant had been a sort of DMZ for decades for organized crime; a place where they could safely enjoy their gnocchi and bagna cauda without worrying about being whacked by their competition at the next table. Frankly, he'd always found the food overrated, but it had been fun to negotiate a 'fuck with us again and we'll feed your fucking corpses to the fishes' between the Maggia and the CIA in the late 60s while Sinatra sat at the next table with a couple of his thicknecked made buddies. Still, the wine cellar remained excellent if you liked Italian reds and his veal piccata was excellent, even after a touch too much lemon.
Gabriel always felt he stuck out at Cicero's. It was a place of flash, of crime as theater, of older men whose clothes were trying too hard and who wanted to channel some kind of old-world energy that they were long separated from. Old as he looked, he felt too young to be here. And too trendy, too downtown. And, at times, too gay — though, admittedly, he leaned into this bit by bringing one young twink after another with him in a kind of flex to make the made men uncomfortable.
Still, work was work, and they let him smoke indoors here, so he came once more. In front of him was an empty bottle of a vintage red (on the house; by this point, he rarely paid here) that he'd drained after hours of boring eavesdropping. Now he wanted another, and he didn't want to wait for a waitress. So he stood from his corner table and strode toward the kitchen, where he figured he'd pilfer something from the wine cellar unnoticed.
"That's a nice suit." Kevin said, almost too quietly as Gabe walked by.
"Oh, thanks, it's—" Gabriel went silent as he whipped around to the source of a compliment. "Well." He crossed his arms, the defensive stance almost instinctive. "I'd tell you where I got it, but I'm sure that you, of all people, know exactly how much I paid and the moment down to the second that I got it tailored."
"A Brioni had to come from that gaudy new flagship on Madison Ave. I'm assuming you had it tailored in house there, especially since the hand stitching matches across the suit. If not, you found an excellent independent tailor. I wouldn't be surprised if he was making a fortune churning out knock-off Tom Fords with that skilled a hand." Kevin took a sip from his glass, looking like just another guest, engaged in pleasant conversation. "Decided to treat yourself?"
"Something like that." After another moment of hesitation, Gabriel sat, not bothering to wait for an invitation. He waved down a server and simply pointed to the glass on the older man's table, then himself. "I always heard a good suit was an investment. Maybe from you; feels like a thing you'd say." He shrugged. "Thought it was high time to invest."
"It can be an investment. It's also a tell. Before you 'displaced' them," Kevin's voice made the quotations obvious. "half of the Maggia dons in here would be showing off their five figure Fioravanti and Brooks Brothers, all squared off and tailored as best as they could for guys who were sagging under the weight of nights down by the wharves and cheap trophy wives who thought lunch at The Grill meant they were now New York Society. Guy your age, in that suit, tells me you think you've made it."
The wine came, a fresh bottle for the table and a glass for Gabriel. He stayed silent as the waiter filled his glass and topped off Kevin's, considering whether he should take offense to the implications that lurked between the other man's words. "Maybe," he finally said, smiling as he reached for the glass of wine. "I think it means I've got expensive taste and mounting credit card debt. Salud."
"Cheers." He raised his glass with a smile. Kevin was impossible to read, because of his powers ability to shut down micro-twitches and tells. The smile seemed entirely genuine. "I do have a question. What happens when the money stops rolling in?"
"That is a question." Gabriel cocked an eyebrow and swirled the wine before he took a sip. He always had his guard up with Kevin, but something was making his hackles rise up. "I have one too." He put the glass down, matching the man's eye contact. "What are you doing here?"
"Keeping an eye on the ever changing eco-system of scumbags, made men and jumped up criminals who think they're now players. My first time in this place was around the same time your father was born, kid." Kevin's smile was thin. "What are you doing here? Not really the place for the new firm."
"The new firm." Gabriel said, his voice flat, because scoffing was a tell. "This is all a business arrangement, then, and I'm something of an independent contractor." He ran his fingers around the base of the wine glass, looking at his hands tracing circles for a few seconds before looking back up at Kevin. "Do you remember being 25, 26, a few years of work under your belt, and you're watching TV or flipping through Life magazine, and you stop and you see something you really want? A phonograph or a set of encyclopedias, maybe. And then you realized that you could just go and get it?" He picked up the glass again. "That's why I bought the suit."
"It was a 1956 Ford Fairlane. Ooh, I loved that car. It was the first new car I'd ever had. I think it might have been the first new one bought in my family." Kevin's grin was innocent, disarming. "But it didn't impact my work. That suit does. Even if it's about being here and pissing off a bunch of conservative European organized crime bosses by parading your side piece around, it's still about your work. So why don't you tell me again why you bought that suit?"
"I told you why I bought the suit." Gabriel considered lighting a cigarette. "Because I could buy the suit. And I wanted the people here to know that I could buy the suit." He allowed his eyes to wander around the restaurant, searching the faces of the other patrons. "These men," he scoffed. "So superior, they made it clear they thought I'd serve them best as their gardener or their handyman. And so assured of their intellect, so paranoid about each other, they didn't see me as any kind of threat."
He returned his focus to Kevin, his gaze now steely. "I saw something I wanted. And after a lot of years wanting and waiting and wanting and waiting I realized I could have it. That is why I bought the suit, and that is what I'm doing here." Gabriel picked up the glass again. "But you've clearly reached your own conclusions," he added, an edge to his voice, "or wouldn't have called me a jumped up criminal two minutes ago."
"So it wasn't because you wanted to go and get it. It's because you wanted others to know you could go and get it. Take it, just like you took the Maggia Dons empire from them." Kevin responded, meeting his glare with a placid look. "See, that I can respect. The Dons wore expensive suits and went to posh restaurants because they wanted the elite to see them as one of their own. They wanted... respectability. Personally, I think this suit is a show of force. A reminder that you haven't necessarily stopped now that you're on top."
Kevin took a sip and shrugged. "Or maybe you just have exceptional taste for a former bartender. I've been wrong before."
Gabriel snorted. "I'm not sure you actually believe that," he said before taking another sip. "But I'll take the compliment, given that you've been negging me since you got here." He decided to let the former bartender line slide; truth be told, Gabriel was a former a lot of things.
"I know I'm not a genius," he added, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "But I'm not a moron, either. This isn't... what was it you said? I know the money'll stop rolling in eventually."
"Good. It's important to have a clear understanding of your position. So, when that happens, what are your plans?"
“Now, now.” Gabriel offered him a mischievous smile. “I can’t tell you everything. Where’s the fun in that?”
"Well, there's two kinds of power in this world. There's the power you have and then the power you hold. Which do you think is yours?"
“Seems limited.” Gabriel had a cigarette lit and between his lips in a split-second. He waved down a server for an ashtray. “Who’s to say I can’t have some of both?”
"Both? That's amazing. Tell me something. When Selene asks for something you don't want to give her, what happens to your power. Do you have both still?”
Gabriel knew only that he would cross that bridge when it came time. But he wasn’t about to admit that, and so instead he merely shrugged and studied Kevin to whatever extent that was possible. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, sounding a bit playful, “I’d think you were concerned for me.”
"You've got talent. You could own this town for decades... with the right people involved. It's not the Hellfire Club."
"Maybe not," Gabriel said. He knew that his decades were limited, at least if he had to keep using his powers in order to keep control. "But for now, they help me with the target on my back."
"Sure, as long as you're useful. But the second there's a better offer or you push back on their demands, they'll make sure you're replaced." Kevin shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend this isn't about helping myself. The Maggia out from under the HFC's thumb is a win for me. But you strike me as a smart guy, a person I trust says you're not scum, and frankly, I haven't seen anything that ties you to the fucking sadistic shit that Selene and that Sefton bitch like to get up to. So I'm going to trust that at worst, you're a guy out for himself first. If that's the case, you know that the HFC is a classic deal with the devil, and the only question is when, not if, they decide to collect on your life." Kevin got up, waving to the waiter. He'd already arranged earlier for Dominic DiLucciano to cover his meal - a fact that the Mafia don would learn later to his surprise.
"Good luck, kid."
Flashback Log: During a quiet moment, Remy makes the White Queen an offer.
Le Bernardin was quiet on a Wednesday night. Remy was sitting with his back to the textured steel wall feature, quietly watching the people as they walked in. For the restaurant, Wednesday was the day for regulars; the monied elite, the privileged locals and those here for the food as opposed to the celebrity hunters and tourists. He was also well aware that it was virtually the only time it was possible to catch Emma Frost without her Black Court minders. He wasn't sure what kind of deal she'd worked out, considering everything else had been stripped from her by Selene and Shaw. A quiet two hundred dollars slipped to the server ensured that her normal undistinguished table was switched to his.
Shaw liked to give her this; loosening the leash once a week, giving her just enough of a taste of illusory freedom to make her captivity more painful. When Emma had first been allowed to come after Selene and Shaw had snapped the magical leash around her neck, she had spent the following days beating her wings bloody against the magical cage, hoping to escape.
Now... now she came because the food was pleasant, the waiters still thought of her as the White Queen and sometimes the champagne was enough to dull her senses slightly.
Emma frowned slightly as the waiter led her past her usual table, to another near it where a man sat waiting.
"M. Frost." Remy said, as the waiter slid out the chair and pushed it in as Emma sat with the grace of royalty on her throne. The bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold reached the table immediately after; a newer brand that the sommelier had recommended. They sat in silence as two glasses were deftly filled and the waitstaff melted away from the table. "Remy thought dat we needed to talk."
Emma lifted the champagne flute, taking the smallest sip, looking almost carefree except that her knuckles were white. “Did Sebastian send you to talk to me?” she asked quietly. “Or Selene?”
"Non. Dis idea was Pete Wisdom's. Remember him?" He raised his glass to her in a slight toast before taking a sip.
Emma’s smile was, for a moment, real and heartfelt. “Like I’d ever forget Wisdom,” she said. She shrugged at Remy’s look. “We have… mutual interests.”
"You still might. See, something dat Wisdom and I have talked about was you. He talk 'bout when you met... de kind of woman dat you were." Remy leaned back in his seat. "Stories 'bout de woman he knew... dey didn't seem like de kind of person who would let her company get leveraged out from under her in an utterly one-sided takeover. Or go along wit' de kind of horrors dat de Black Court makes a habit of dese days."
The silence between them was long. Long enough for Emma to drain her glass in one go, hold it out for a refill from Remy and nearly finish the second before she finally said, “That woman… had things to live for. People… worth fighting for. Tell me, Monsieur… Remy, have you ever had your world ended? Watched your children die? Watched everything… burn?”
"Oui. And been on de other side of dat situation more times den Remy care to count. But Remy heard you life story... at least, best dat Wisdom knew. Been lots of times you been down and never given up. So dis was de one dat broke you? Really?"
Emma tested, carefully, the words she wanted to say inside her head, wondering what she could let slip out of the bars of her cage. “I have,” she said softly, “been broken many times. I agree. Watching my children die was… I was almost catatonic with grief. I was stripped of everything that mattered to me. I wasn’t… cautious in my grief.” She finished the last sip of her champagne, slid the glass forwards towards Remy again. She had to be very careful here, try and find a way to make him understand without saying anything that wasn’t allowed. “Do you know the works of Maya Angelou, Monsieur? I can recommend the first volume of her autobiography. It… is very illuminating.”
He refilled the glass, emptying the last of the bottle even while he waved for another. The caviar appetizer was on the way out and he remained silent as the food was placed in front of them, ignored. Finally, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone, plugging in some words and scrolling down.
"Dat makes some sense. See, Pete and I had a theory. Bout a place as lousy wit' magic as your... workplace." He finished as the new bottle arrived and her glass was refilled. "Did you know dat Remy was a slave once?"
Emma shook her head. “No. I’m afraid I know almost nothing about you, Monsieur.” Her smile was small, self-mocking. “I’m afraid I don’t have much capacity for… independent inquiry at the moment. Being a slave is obviously very unpleasant. Even in such…” She waved a hand around at the discreetly luxurious restaurant, “pleasant surroundings.”
"See, heard 'bout dis swamp witch. Laughed 'bout it. Went into de bayou to kill her, show de locals who was boss. Five minutes in front of her, Remy on his knees in de mud, begging for his life and promising to serve her. Can you 'magine dat? A magical leash between you and a woman dat makes you life hers?" His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass.
Emma gave a small shrug. “A witch’s leash around your throat, Monsieur? I must have a most excellent imagination, Monsieur; I have only to hear you say those words and I can feel a collar drawn snugly around my neck.” She gazed at Remy for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “That must have been a terrible experience for you,” she added, finally. “I assume you no longer do her bidding? As you said it was Wisdom, not some swamp witch that sent you here.”
"It does sound like a children's tale, neh?" Remy said, taking a bite from his plate. "I was lucky dat I convinced her dat I was useful enough to keep around and eventually free... although, taking orders from Wisdom can be its own challenge. Makes you wonder if we ever really free."
"We are never free, Monsieur," replied Emma. "Not from the ties that bind us. Do you know what I wish for? Only to know who killed my children. That's all. That would be... enough."
"Would it?" They'd paid dearly for the information, in part the reason that Pete had been tied up in Europe for most of the last year. Remy reached into his pocket and placed an envelope on the table in front of her. Before she could reach for it, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out another object; a black king chess piece, and placed it on top of the envelope. "Remy would think dat kind of information would be de start of something, not enough."
Emma’s smile was rueful. “You seem to think that I can be helpful,” she said. “I haven’t been able to help anyone for a very long time. Not even myself.”
"Maybe not. De one thing dat Remy learned 'bout being a slave. It either lasts up until de man wit' de whip is put in de ground, or de whip in you head makes sure it never ends." Remy took another sip from his glass before standing up. "At some point, de man wit' de whip is going to be out of de picture. When he is, you going to have a choice. Remy look forward to seeing what dat is."
Emma held up a diamond-tipped finger for a moment, halting Remy as she opened the envelope, scanned the information it contained. For a long moment, she closed her eyes, knowing that her suspicions about who had killed her children, the length of the game that had been played against her, were correct.
She reached out then, lifted the chess piece up, then clenched a fist made of diamond around it.
The shape that fell from her hand onto the table was crushed, unrecognisable.
“I believe I’ve already made that choice, Monsieur,” she said, coolly. “Please pass on my thanks to Wisdom and let him know that I hope to be able to return the favour soon.”
Flashback Log: Shortly after Remy’s death, Marie-Ange gets a call and Amanda discovers the cost of her actions.
Marie-Ange had been dreading her phone for hours. Not the general sort of dread that makes you ignore your breakfast sandwich and coffee, but the kind that had her standing in a hot shower to ward off the cold sweat that kept trickling down her spine. The kind that meant she'd swallowed a Xanax with a lukewarm cup of green tea and wrapped herself in a chunky warm scarf to try to seek some kind of relief from an anxiety she could not shake.
None of it helped, and she kept glancing at her phone over and over, seconds after she promised herself she would stop picking it up and making sure the ringer was on, that it had a full battery.
Perhaps she could have dialed any of the memorized and never saved numbers herself, but she had nothing left but dread, and the trickles of cool, clammy grief that wormed their way out whenever she managed to distract herself.
When it finally did ring it was an anti-climax; no hole opened beneath her to swallow her whole, no lightning arced from the sky to immolate her. Belladonna's voice was cool and smooth. Anyone expecting rage from her would be frozen over in hell long before it made a showing. "Marie-Ange. Your contract is up, it's time to come home." She handled the curves of Marie-Ange's name easily, the slight nasal twinge of her accent the only thing marking it as different from the redhead's. "But you already know that, don't you?"
"I do know." Her voice was steady. Years of practice gave her that, and she thought perhaps she could've managed to look Belladonna in the eye, but this was easier. "I am already packing, I have plane reservations arranged.." She fumbled with the phone, and Marie-Ange considered just hanging up, saying the rest later, in person.
It wouldn't be any easier to wait. The taxi to the the airport, the plane trip, none of it would ease her mind. "I will not waste any of your time with condolences, nor apologies." She said, hastily. "The chaos here is about to erupt and the mess it will cause is not the sort that is good for business." Though the aftermath might, once the clean-up was done.
"A mess that is no longer our interest or responsibility. Now we must sit on the sidelines and watch these idiots tear themselves apart." She sounded peeved, but then, Belladonna had never been one for sitting idly by while others had their fun. "One last gift from that asshole."
Marie-Ange would not be at all surprised if Belladonna recognized her pause as a sharp disagreement about the term 'asshole', but the point was that she did not speak her disagreement. "We let them tear each other apart, and then capitalize on the power grabs once they remember that outright madness is stupid." She did agree with that part, at least. "I will check in again once I have landed in New Orleans. I have a direct flight."
"Good." A beat, and then the Cajun spoke again. "Well done, chere. When you are back we will have a talk, you and I. With these... changes I will need someone by my side that I can rely on."
***
All Amanda wanted, after the extremely disagreeable and bloody scene downstairs, was a long, hot shower, a very large G&T and Angie. Her ear, while starting to heal thanks to her own magic, stung like fuck and she was sticky with dried blood, hers, Shaw's and Remy's. To be honest, she looked like that girl in that old horror movie, the one with the prom and the telekinesis. She and Angie had watched it on Halloween night after Selene's grand ball and Angie had said something about the girl being just like Amanda and Amanda had poked her and there'd been a tickle fight that turned into sex...
She opened the door to their suite and saw Angie finishing up the final details of packing. Suitcase on the bed, almost full, Angie herself dressed for travel... With a frown that caused the dried blood on her face to flake and crack, she asked: "Where are you going? The ritual's only a few days away."
"I have to go." Marie-Ange didn't look up, focused on wrapping sweaters in tissue paper and then laying them gently into her suitcase. "I've been called back to New Orleans. The Head of the Guild called me personally."
"But..." Amanda swayed slightly, literally reeling from the news. "I don't want you to leave. You need to stay here. With me."
"I very much wish I could, but I have obligations to the Guild." It was said accompanied by a stillness that washed over Marie-Ange's movements. The tissue paper stopped rustling, her braided hair settled down over one shoulder. "Obligations I made very long ago, that are greater than anything else I have promised."
“Greater than me? Than… us?” Amanda’s voice was almost childlike and she crossed the room to take Marie-Ange’s hands in hers, regardless of the caked and drying blood. “I thought… I mean… you know,” she managed, trying to put into words a series of emotions completely new to her. “I want you here.”
God, this would've been easier if she'd gotten out before Amanda had gotten home. She could've left her phone in a trash can, been on a plane before she had to have any of this conversation. It would not have been the first time. "It is. I. You see." The worst barely came out. "If I stay, I go back on every promise I made, to the people who made me who I am. I go back on... " She had not been able to face Remy, had slipped away before they killed him. "I have not been entirely truthful with you about my contract with the Hellfire Club."
"How do you mean? What aren't you telling me?" Amanda's expression was a combination of fear and confusion.
"The man you all killed, he was not just..." Marie-Ange set the clothes down. "I knew him. He took me out of that school when everything went bad, and I took refuge in New Orleans." She sat down, pulling her hands free from Amanda's. Talking was the worst. "I spent a year with my sanity barely intact, I did not sleep for days, I hallucinated the worst sorts of things. Firebirds and monsters with the faces of stars, and death itself coming for everyone. Remy knew a witch, I spent another year in her shack in the swamp having my soul stitched back together. I used to be able to see the future in the my dreams, and she took most of that away, because it opened my mind to horrors. I have only a little of that ability left, and you see what it does to me." She saw Amanda open her mouth to reply, and shook her head.
"Tante made Remy LeBeau her... her voice for the Guilds, I suppose. He spoke for her. Every Guild, Thieves, Forgers, Assassins, all the rest, no one touches Tante, and no one touches Remy, and anyone who does is..." Marie-Ange shrugged. "Selene killed him, the entire Hellfire Court is about to be censured at best, and at worst.. At worst, all of you and anyone associated with you is a welcome target for as long as it takes Tante Mattie to announce otherwise."
Amanda closed her mouth, the words dying in her throat. “I didn’t know… Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, voice trembling, all she could see in her mind’s eye was Remy’s bloody, painful death at her hands. “I would’ve…” She stopped again. What would she have done? The same thing? A less painful end? “So that’s why you stopped me, at the warehouse.”
"I wanted to buy time, I had hoped... " She shrugged, and shook her head, hair loosened from the braid falling over one side of her face. "I don't even know what I had hoped. That I could have stopped it, that I could have made a miracle and come up with a plan to save him, to save this, all of you. Us." Marie-Ange swiped a hand over her face, rubbing at itchy, dry eyes. "And instead I was sat here, because I could not find a way to keep him alive that did not risk destroying everything."
"Be careful what you wish for. That's what he told me, just as we were taking him." Amanda barked a short, bitter laugh that sounded almost like a sob. "He knew, didn't he? What would happen." She looked down at the blood smeared on her hands, embedded around and under her fingernails. "And even if I'd known, it wouldn't have mattered. Because Selene is my Queen. When she says frog, I jump." When she looked up at Marie-Ange again, her face was set, emotion wiped clean from it. Only the tendons of her neck, taut and strained, showed the effort it was taking to swallow everything down. "You'd better go. Can't miss your plane."
"I am in the same pot. When Belladonna says go, I had best have the tickets already bought and perhaps be in the taxi." Marie-Ange said. She began zipping the suitcase shut, but stopped partway through. "He knew. He always knew how it would end. He used to say, chere, someday dis job take Remy. Nobody retires to de house in de country." Her imitation of his accent was poor - too refined, too European. She finished zipping the suitcase, and swiped at her face. "I have a taxi outside waiting."
Amanda wanted to go to her. Go with her. but that wish was swallowed up by the resentment and pain and anger she'd carefully nurtured over the years, ever since she'd realised Adam had escaped and left her behind. Selene had been the only one who had helped her, and yes she was a power-crazy sadistic energy vampire, but she had never broken any of the promises she'd made to Amanda. She was the only one who had never left.
Her response was curt, almost vicious. "Go on, then. You're not needed here."
"No, I suppose not." Marie-Ange stood, lifting the suitcase off the bed. "If you... " She started, and then pressed her lips together firmly. No, she knew Amanda would not budge, not now. Perhaps later.
Or, as she felt the searing pain down one side of her face that meant one of the rare horrific migraines was coming on, perhaps never. The door closed itself behind her.
It had been decades since Kevin had dinner at Cicero's. The Maggia controlled restaurant had been a sort of DMZ for decades for organized crime; a place where they could safely enjoy their gnocchi and bagna cauda without worrying about being whacked by their competition at the next table. Frankly, he'd always found the food overrated, but it had been fun to negotiate a 'fuck with us again and we'll feed your fucking corpses to the fishes' between the Maggia and the CIA in the late 60s while Sinatra sat at the next table with a couple of his thicknecked made buddies. Still, the wine cellar remained excellent if you liked Italian reds and his veal piccata was excellent, even after a touch too much lemon.
Gabriel always felt he stuck out at Cicero's. It was a place of flash, of crime as theater, of older men whose clothes were trying too hard and who wanted to channel some kind of old-world energy that they were long separated from. Old as he looked, he felt too young to be here. And too trendy, too downtown. And, at times, too gay — though, admittedly, he leaned into this bit by bringing one young twink after another with him in a kind of flex to make the made men uncomfortable.
Still, work was work, and they let him smoke indoors here, so he came once more. In front of him was an empty bottle of a vintage red (on the house; by this point, he rarely paid here) that he'd drained after hours of boring eavesdropping. Now he wanted another, and he didn't want to wait for a waitress. So he stood from his corner table and strode toward the kitchen, where he figured he'd pilfer something from the wine cellar unnoticed.
"That's a nice suit." Kevin said, almost too quietly as Gabe walked by.
"Oh, thanks, it's—" Gabriel went silent as he whipped around to the source of a compliment. "Well." He crossed his arms, the defensive stance almost instinctive. "I'd tell you where I got it, but I'm sure that you, of all people, know exactly how much I paid and the moment down to the second that I got it tailored."
"A Brioni had to come from that gaudy new flagship on Madison Ave. I'm assuming you had it tailored in house there, especially since the hand stitching matches across the suit. If not, you found an excellent independent tailor. I wouldn't be surprised if he was making a fortune churning out knock-off Tom Fords with that skilled a hand." Kevin took a sip from his glass, looking like just another guest, engaged in pleasant conversation. "Decided to treat yourself?"
"Something like that." After another moment of hesitation, Gabriel sat, not bothering to wait for an invitation. He waved down a server and simply pointed to the glass on the older man's table, then himself. "I always heard a good suit was an investment. Maybe from you; feels like a thing you'd say." He shrugged. "Thought it was high time to invest."
"It can be an investment. It's also a tell. Before you 'displaced' them," Kevin's voice made the quotations obvious. "half of the Maggia dons in here would be showing off their five figure Fioravanti and Brooks Brothers, all squared off and tailored as best as they could for guys who were sagging under the weight of nights down by the wharves and cheap trophy wives who thought lunch at The Grill meant they were now New York Society. Guy your age, in that suit, tells me you think you've made it."
The wine came, a fresh bottle for the table and a glass for Gabriel. He stayed silent as the waiter filled his glass and topped off Kevin's, considering whether he should take offense to the implications that lurked between the other man's words. "Maybe," he finally said, smiling as he reached for the glass of wine. "I think it means I've got expensive taste and mounting credit card debt. Salud."
"Cheers." He raised his glass with a smile. Kevin was impossible to read, because of his powers ability to shut down micro-twitches and tells. The smile seemed entirely genuine. "I do have a question. What happens when the money stops rolling in?"
"That is a question." Gabriel cocked an eyebrow and swirled the wine before he took a sip. He always had his guard up with Kevin, but something was making his hackles rise up. "I have one too." He put the glass down, matching the man's eye contact. "What are you doing here?"
"Keeping an eye on the ever changing eco-system of scumbags, made men and jumped up criminals who think they're now players. My first time in this place was around the same time your father was born, kid." Kevin's smile was thin. "What are you doing here? Not really the place for the new firm."
"The new firm." Gabriel said, his voice flat, because scoffing was a tell. "This is all a business arrangement, then, and I'm something of an independent contractor." He ran his fingers around the base of the wine glass, looking at his hands tracing circles for a few seconds before looking back up at Kevin. "Do you remember being 25, 26, a few years of work under your belt, and you're watching TV or flipping through Life magazine, and you stop and you see something you really want? A phonograph or a set of encyclopedias, maybe. And then you realized that you could just go and get it?" He picked up the glass again. "That's why I bought the suit."
"It was a 1956 Ford Fairlane. Ooh, I loved that car. It was the first new car I'd ever had. I think it might have been the first new one bought in my family." Kevin's grin was innocent, disarming. "But it didn't impact my work. That suit does. Even if it's about being here and pissing off a bunch of conservative European organized crime bosses by parading your side piece around, it's still about your work. So why don't you tell me again why you bought that suit?"
"I told you why I bought the suit." Gabriel considered lighting a cigarette. "Because I could buy the suit. And I wanted the people here to know that I could buy the suit." He allowed his eyes to wander around the restaurant, searching the faces of the other patrons. "These men," he scoffed. "So superior, they made it clear they thought I'd serve them best as their gardener or their handyman. And so assured of their intellect, so paranoid about each other, they didn't see me as any kind of threat."
He returned his focus to Kevin, his gaze now steely. "I saw something I wanted. And after a lot of years wanting and waiting and wanting and waiting I realized I could have it. That is why I bought the suit, and that is what I'm doing here." Gabriel picked up the glass again. "But you've clearly reached your own conclusions," he added, an edge to his voice, "or wouldn't have called me a jumped up criminal two minutes ago."
"So it wasn't because you wanted to go and get it. It's because you wanted others to know you could go and get it. Take it, just like you took the Maggia Dons empire from them." Kevin responded, meeting his glare with a placid look. "See, that I can respect. The Dons wore expensive suits and went to posh restaurants because they wanted the elite to see them as one of their own. They wanted... respectability. Personally, I think this suit is a show of force. A reminder that you haven't necessarily stopped now that you're on top."
Kevin took a sip and shrugged. "Or maybe you just have exceptional taste for a former bartender. I've been wrong before."
Gabriel snorted. "I'm not sure you actually believe that," he said before taking another sip. "But I'll take the compliment, given that you've been negging me since you got here." He decided to let the former bartender line slide; truth be told, Gabriel was a former a lot of things.
"I know I'm not a genius," he added, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "But I'm not a moron, either. This isn't... what was it you said? I know the money'll stop rolling in eventually."
"Good. It's important to have a clear understanding of your position. So, when that happens, what are your plans?"
“Now, now.” Gabriel offered him a mischievous smile. “I can’t tell you everything. Where’s the fun in that?”
"Well, there's two kinds of power in this world. There's the power you have and then the power you hold. Which do you think is yours?"
“Seems limited.” Gabriel had a cigarette lit and between his lips in a split-second. He waved down a server for an ashtray. “Who’s to say I can’t have some of both?”
"Both? That's amazing. Tell me something. When Selene asks for something you don't want to give her, what happens to your power. Do you have both still?”
Gabriel knew only that he would cross that bridge when it came time. But he wasn’t about to admit that, and so instead he merely shrugged and studied Kevin to whatever extent that was possible. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, sounding a bit playful, “I’d think you were concerned for me.”
"You've got talent. You could own this town for decades... with the right people involved. It's not the Hellfire Club."
"Maybe not," Gabriel said. He knew that his decades were limited, at least if he had to keep using his powers in order to keep control. "But for now, they help me with the target on my back."
"Sure, as long as you're useful. But the second there's a better offer or you push back on their demands, they'll make sure you're replaced." Kevin shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend this isn't about helping myself. The Maggia out from under the HFC's thumb is a win for me. But you strike me as a smart guy, a person I trust says you're not scum, and frankly, I haven't seen anything that ties you to the fucking sadistic shit that Selene and that Sefton bitch like to get up to. So I'm going to trust that at worst, you're a guy out for himself first. If that's the case, you know that the HFC is a classic deal with the devil, and the only question is when, not if, they decide to collect on your life." Kevin got up, waving to the waiter. He'd already arranged earlier for Dominic DiLucciano to cover his meal - a fact that the Mafia don would learn later to his surprise.
"Good luck, kid."
Flashback Log: During a quiet moment, Remy makes the White Queen an offer.
Le Bernardin was quiet on a Wednesday night. Remy was sitting with his back to the textured steel wall feature, quietly watching the people as they walked in. For the restaurant, Wednesday was the day for regulars; the monied elite, the privileged locals and those here for the food as opposed to the celebrity hunters and tourists. He was also well aware that it was virtually the only time it was possible to catch Emma Frost without her Black Court minders. He wasn't sure what kind of deal she'd worked out, considering everything else had been stripped from her by Selene and Shaw. A quiet two hundred dollars slipped to the server ensured that her normal undistinguished table was switched to his.
Shaw liked to give her this; loosening the leash once a week, giving her just enough of a taste of illusory freedom to make her captivity more painful. When Emma had first been allowed to come after Selene and Shaw had snapped the magical leash around her neck, she had spent the following days beating her wings bloody against the magical cage, hoping to escape.
Now... now she came because the food was pleasant, the waiters still thought of her as the White Queen and sometimes the champagne was enough to dull her senses slightly.
Emma frowned slightly as the waiter led her past her usual table, to another near it where a man sat waiting.
"M. Frost." Remy said, as the waiter slid out the chair and pushed it in as Emma sat with the grace of royalty on her throne. The bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold reached the table immediately after; a newer brand that the sommelier had recommended. They sat in silence as two glasses were deftly filled and the waitstaff melted away from the table. "Remy thought dat we needed to talk."
Emma lifted the champagne flute, taking the smallest sip, looking almost carefree except that her knuckles were white. “Did Sebastian send you to talk to me?” she asked quietly. “Or Selene?”
"Non. Dis idea was Pete Wisdom's. Remember him?" He raised his glass to her in a slight toast before taking a sip.
Emma’s smile was, for a moment, real and heartfelt. “Like I’d ever forget Wisdom,” she said. She shrugged at Remy’s look. “We have… mutual interests.”
"You still might. See, something dat Wisdom and I have talked about was you. He talk 'bout when you met... de kind of woman dat you were." Remy leaned back in his seat. "Stories 'bout de woman he knew... dey didn't seem like de kind of person who would let her company get leveraged out from under her in an utterly one-sided takeover. Or go along wit' de kind of horrors dat de Black Court makes a habit of dese days."
The silence between them was long. Long enough for Emma to drain her glass in one go, hold it out for a refill from Remy and nearly finish the second before she finally said, “That woman… had things to live for. People… worth fighting for. Tell me, Monsieur… Remy, have you ever had your world ended? Watched your children die? Watched everything… burn?”
"Oui. And been on de other side of dat situation more times den Remy care to count. But Remy heard you life story... at least, best dat Wisdom knew. Been lots of times you been down and never given up. So dis was de one dat broke you? Really?"
Emma tested, carefully, the words she wanted to say inside her head, wondering what she could let slip out of the bars of her cage. “I have,” she said softly, “been broken many times. I agree. Watching my children die was… I was almost catatonic with grief. I was stripped of everything that mattered to me. I wasn’t… cautious in my grief.” She finished the last sip of her champagne, slid the glass forwards towards Remy again. She had to be very careful here, try and find a way to make him understand without saying anything that wasn’t allowed. “Do you know the works of Maya Angelou, Monsieur? I can recommend the first volume of her autobiography. It… is very illuminating.”
He refilled the glass, emptying the last of the bottle even while he waved for another. The caviar appetizer was on the way out and he remained silent as the food was placed in front of them, ignored. Finally, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone, plugging in some words and scrolling down.
"Dat makes some sense. See, Pete and I had a theory. Bout a place as lousy wit' magic as your... workplace." He finished as the new bottle arrived and her glass was refilled. "Did you know dat Remy was a slave once?"
Emma shook her head. “No. I’m afraid I know almost nothing about you, Monsieur.” Her smile was small, self-mocking. “I’m afraid I don’t have much capacity for… independent inquiry at the moment. Being a slave is obviously very unpleasant. Even in such…” She waved a hand around at the discreetly luxurious restaurant, “pleasant surroundings.”
"See, heard 'bout dis swamp witch. Laughed 'bout it. Went into de bayou to kill her, show de locals who was boss. Five minutes in front of her, Remy on his knees in de mud, begging for his life and promising to serve her. Can you 'magine dat? A magical leash between you and a woman dat makes you life hers?" His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass.
Emma gave a small shrug. “A witch’s leash around your throat, Monsieur? I must have a most excellent imagination, Monsieur; I have only to hear you say those words and I can feel a collar drawn snugly around my neck.” She gazed at Remy for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “That must have been a terrible experience for you,” she added, finally. “I assume you no longer do her bidding? As you said it was Wisdom, not some swamp witch that sent you here.”
"It does sound like a children's tale, neh?" Remy said, taking a bite from his plate. "I was lucky dat I convinced her dat I was useful enough to keep around and eventually free... although, taking orders from Wisdom can be its own challenge. Makes you wonder if we ever really free."
"We are never free, Monsieur," replied Emma. "Not from the ties that bind us. Do you know what I wish for? Only to know who killed my children. That's all. That would be... enough."
"Would it?" They'd paid dearly for the information, in part the reason that Pete had been tied up in Europe for most of the last year. Remy reached into his pocket and placed an envelope on the table in front of her. Before she could reach for it, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out another object; a black king chess piece, and placed it on top of the envelope. "Remy would think dat kind of information would be de start of something, not enough."
Emma’s smile was rueful. “You seem to think that I can be helpful,” she said. “I haven’t been able to help anyone for a very long time. Not even myself.”
"Maybe not. De one thing dat Remy learned 'bout being a slave. It either lasts up until de man wit' de whip is put in de ground, or de whip in you head makes sure it never ends." Remy took another sip from his glass before standing up. "At some point, de man wit' de whip is going to be out of de picture. When he is, you going to have a choice. Remy look forward to seeing what dat is."
Emma held up a diamond-tipped finger for a moment, halting Remy as she opened the envelope, scanned the information it contained. For a long moment, she closed her eyes, knowing that her suspicions about who had killed her children, the length of the game that had been played against her, were correct.
She reached out then, lifted the chess piece up, then clenched a fist made of diamond around it.
The shape that fell from her hand onto the table was crushed, unrecognisable.
“I believe I’ve already made that choice, Monsieur,” she said, coolly. “Please pass on my thanks to Wisdom and let him know that I hope to be able to return the favour soon.”
Flashback Log: Shortly after Remy’s death, Marie-Ange gets a call and Amanda discovers the cost of her actions.
Marie-Ange had been dreading her phone for hours. Not the general sort of dread that makes you ignore your breakfast sandwich and coffee, but the kind that had her standing in a hot shower to ward off the cold sweat that kept trickling down her spine. The kind that meant she'd swallowed a Xanax with a lukewarm cup of green tea and wrapped herself in a chunky warm scarf to try to seek some kind of relief from an anxiety she could not shake.
None of it helped, and she kept glancing at her phone over and over, seconds after she promised herself she would stop picking it up and making sure the ringer was on, that it had a full battery.
Perhaps she could have dialed any of the memorized and never saved numbers herself, but she had nothing left but dread, and the trickles of cool, clammy grief that wormed their way out whenever she managed to distract herself.
When it finally did ring it was an anti-climax; no hole opened beneath her to swallow her whole, no lightning arced from the sky to immolate her. Belladonna's voice was cool and smooth. Anyone expecting rage from her would be frozen over in hell long before it made a showing. "Marie-Ange. Your contract is up, it's time to come home." She handled the curves of Marie-Ange's name easily, the slight nasal twinge of her accent the only thing marking it as different from the redhead's. "But you already know that, don't you?"
"I do know." Her voice was steady. Years of practice gave her that, and she thought perhaps she could've managed to look Belladonna in the eye, but this was easier. "I am already packing, I have plane reservations arranged.." She fumbled with the phone, and Marie-Ange considered just hanging up, saying the rest later, in person.
It wouldn't be any easier to wait. The taxi to the the airport, the plane trip, none of it would ease her mind. "I will not waste any of your time with condolences, nor apologies." She said, hastily. "The chaos here is about to erupt and the mess it will cause is not the sort that is good for business." Though the aftermath might, once the clean-up was done.
"A mess that is no longer our interest or responsibility. Now we must sit on the sidelines and watch these idiots tear themselves apart." She sounded peeved, but then, Belladonna had never been one for sitting idly by while others had their fun. "One last gift from that asshole."
Marie-Ange would not be at all surprised if Belladonna recognized her pause as a sharp disagreement about the term 'asshole', but the point was that she did not speak her disagreement. "We let them tear each other apart, and then capitalize on the power grabs once they remember that outright madness is stupid." She did agree with that part, at least. "I will check in again once I have landed in New Orleans. I have a direct flight."
"Good." A beat, and then the Cajun spoke again. "Well done, chere. When you are back we will have a talk, you and I. With these... changes I will need someone by my side that I can rely on."
***
All Amanda wanted, after the extremely disagreeable and bloody scene downstairs, was a long, hot shower, a very large G&T and Angie. Her ear, while starting to heal thanks to her own magic, stung like fuck and she was sticky with dried blood, hers, Shaw's and Remy's. To be honest, she looked like that girl in that old horror movie, the one with the prom and the telekinesis. She and Angie had watched it on Halloween night after Selene's grand ball and Angie had said something about the girl being just like Amanda and Amanda had poked her and there'd been a tickle fight that turned into sex...
She opened the door to their suite and saw Angie finishing up the final details of packing. Suitcase on the bed, almost full, Angie herself dressed for travel... With a frown that caused the dried blood on her face to flake and crack, she asked: "Where are you going? The ritual's only a few days away."
"I have to go." Marie-Ange didn't look up, focused on wrapping sweaters in tissue paper and then laying them gently into her suitcase. "I've been called back to New Orleans. The Head of the Guild called me personally."
"But..." Amanda swayed slightly, literally reeling from the news. "I don't want you to leave. You need to stay here. With me."
"I very much wish I could, but I have obligations to the Guild." It was said accompanied by a stillness that washed over Marie-Ange's movements. The tissue paper stopped rustling, her braided hair settled down over one shoulder. "Obligations I made very long ago, that are greater than anything else I have promised."
“Greater than me? Than… us?” Amanda’s voice was almost childlike and she crossed the room to take Marie-Ange’s hands in hers, regardless of the caked and drying blood. “I thought… I mean… you know,” she managed, trying to put into words a series of emotions completely new to her. “I want you here.”
God, this would've been easier if she'd gotten out before Amanda had gotten home. She could've left her phone in a trash can, been on a plane before she had to have any of this conversation. It would not have been the first time. "It is. I. You see." The worst barely came out. "If I stay, I go back on every promise I made, to the people who made me who I am. I go back on... " She had not been able to face Remy, had slipped away before they killed him. "I have not been entirely truthful with you about my contract with the Hellfire Club."
"How do you mean? What aren't you telling me?" Amanda's expression was a combination of fear and confusion.
"The man you all killed, he was not just..." Marie-Ange set the clothes down. "I knew him. He took me out of that school when everything went bad, and I took refuge in New Orleans." She sat down, pulling her hands free from Amanda's. Talking was the worst. "I spent a year with my sanity barely intact, I did not sleep for days, I hallucinated the worst sorts of things. Firebirds and monsters with the faces of stars, and death itself coming for everyone. Remy knew a witch, I spent another year in her shack in the swamp having my soul stitched back together. I used to be able to see the future in the my dreams, and she took most of that away, because it opened my mind to horrors. I have only a little of that ability left, and you see what it does to me." She saw Amanda open her mouth to reply, and shook her head.
"Tante made Remy LeBeau her... her voice for the Guilds, I suppose. He spoke for her. Every Guild, Thieves, Forgers, Assassins, all the rest, no one touches Tante, and no one touches Remy, and anyone who does is..." Marie-Ange shrugged. "Selene killed him, the entire Hellfire Court is about to be censured at best, and at worst.. At worst, all of you and anyone associated with you is a welcome target for as long as it takes Tante Mattie to announce otherwise."
Amanda closed her mouth, the words dying in her throat. “I didn’t know… Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, voice trembling, all she could see in her mind’s eye was Remy’s bloody, painful death at her hands. “I would’ve…” She stopped again. What would she have done? The same thing? A less painful end? “So that’s why you stopped me, at the warehouse.”
"I wanted to buy time, I had hoped... " She shrugged, and shook her head, hair loosened from the braid falling over one side of her face. "I don't even know what I had hoped. That I could have stopped it, that I could have made a miracle and come up with a plan to save him, to save this, all of you. Us." Marie-Ange swiped a hand over her face, rubbing at itchy, dry eyes. "And instead I was sat here, because I could not find a way to keep him alive that did not risk destroying everything."
"Be careful what you wish for. That's what he told me, just as we were taking him." Amanda barked a short, bitter laugh that sounded almost like a sob. "He knew, didn't he? What would happen." She looked down at the blood smeared on her hands, embedded around and under her fingernails. "And even if I'd known, it wouldn't have mattered. Because Selene is my Queen. When she says frog, I jump." When she looked up at Marie-Ange again, her face was set, emotion wiped clean from it. Only the tendons of her neck, taut and strained, showed the effort it was taking to swallow everything down. "You'd better go. Can't miss your plane."
"I am in the same pot. When Belladonna says go, I had best have the tickets already bought and perhaps be in the taxi." Marie-Ange said. She began zipping the suitcase shut, but stopped partway through. "He knew. He always knew how it would end. He used to say, chere, someday dis job take Remy. Nobody retires to de house in de country." Her imitation of his accent was poor - too refined, too European. She finished zipping the suitcase, and swiped at her face. "I have a taxi outside waiting."
Amanda wanted to go to her. Go with her. but that wish was swallowed up by the resentment and pain and anger she'd carefully nurtured over the years, ever since she'd realised Adam had escaped and left her behind. Selene had been the only one who had helped her, and yes she was a power-crazy sadistic energy vampire, but she had never broken any of the promises she'd made to Amanda. She was the only one who had never left.
Her response was curt, almost vicious. "Go on, then. You're not needed here."
"No, I suppose not." Marie-Ange stood, lifting the suitcase off the bed. "If you... " She started, and then pressed her lips together firmly. No, she knew Amanda would not budge, not now. Perhaps later.
Or, as she felt the searing pain down one side of her face that meant one of the rare horrific migraines was coming on, perhaps never. The door closed itself behind her.
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Date: 2021-03-21 03:15 am (UTC)...a person I trust says you're not scum, and frankly...
was about Felicia and that's really fucking cute, byeeeee