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xp_logs(reposted as posted to wrong journal)
Siege Perilous Day 7 - Jean and Kevin look to hire the Cypher to help with the search for the Darkhold and Illyana Rasputin. It’s touch and go for a while.
The Cypher knew pretty much every meeting spot, dead drop, and solid neutral ground in New York City by this point. Older spies might still be well schooled to keep their secrets, but that didn't mean they didn't have stories, and those stories tended to be about "that time at the bodega on 32nd", or "don't ever get caught in a firefight on Roosevelt Island, kid". You could pick up a lot of useful tradecraft just buying the odd drink in the right bar for the right old-timer. And this might have been the information age, but some things still shouldn't be trusted to anything but an in-person meet. Hell, if anyone knew how insecure an electronic communication could be, it was him.
The atrium of the Citigroup Center was an excellent place for a meet - three stories of dining and shopping in the center of Midtown, with easy access to multiple subway lines and plenty of crowds to disappear into. With a ubiquitous white cardboard cup in his hand and a light windbreaker over a button-up shirt with the top button popped and a perfectly knotted tie loosened the slightest bit, he looked like any other corporate drone who had just come off of his work day.
About 7 minutes later, a tall woman emerged from the crowd, excitedly talking on her cell phone. She wore a teal shirt with the New York Public Library lion and logo printed on it, khaki pants that were just a little too short, tennis shoes, and a black crossbody bag. Her frizzy blonde hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail with an unironic neon scrunchie, topped with a NYPD ballcap.
"Are you serious? Tickets to Wicked tomorrow? Oh my GOD, that is amazing! I can't believe you scored those. This is the best trip ever," she said with a bright grin. "Oh man, Denny's going to flip. Okay I've got to go. Trying to pick up some souvenirs and go on a tour. Yes, yes, I'm staying on schedule. Byeee."
She spotted a couple that passed by, holding up her hand. "Uh...ma'am? Sir? Do you mind telling me where the nearest---Alright then," she said, deflating as they walked past, ignoring her. Her attention fell on Doug.
"Hi there!" she said with a bright smile. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a tour? My husband, Denny, should be here any moment."
Jean had decided to focus on the ridiculous tourist, one of her favourite options to help compensate for her height and fair features. On the other than, Kevin never needed to compensate for his looks, preferring the misdirection of the guy who looked vaguely like a celebrity to attract and then deflect attention almost immediately.
"Honey, am I late? Is this... the guy?" He stuck out his hand to Doug. "Denny. Denny Crane."
Doug had to admire the craftsmanship of the look. It was close enough to Shatner to be recognizable, but distinct enough that he wouldn't run the risk of someone assuming he was actually the man himself and get mobbed. He took the hand and shook it briskly. "Joe Pardella," he introduced himself.
Jean's smile broadened. "No dear, you're right on time," she said, kissing Kevin on the cheek
"Mr. Pardella. So nice to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand to Doug as well. "Wendy Crane. This tour has been just a dream of ours. Top places to go off the beaten path. None of that tourist stuff. Oh it just must be so magical."
"And expensive." Kevin puffed out his cheeks. "Wendy is lucky I've never lost a case. Otherwise, you might be too pricy." The undercurrent in his voice was unmistakable. "So, where do we start, Mister Pardella?"
"Well, you specified 'off the beaten path', so I suppose that puts the Empire State Building and Central Park on the 'no' list," Doug began easily as the trio walked out onto Lexington Avenue. "Did you know there's actually a small piece of the Berlin Wall in a park off 53rd?" He was happy to play along with the 'tour guide' farce as long as the other two were. After all, you couldn't broker information if your customers weren't comfortable. "Or if spooky's your thing, there's the ruins of a smallpox hospital out on Roosevelt Island. Not open to the public, but I know a guy."
Impressed, Jean grinned at Kevin, elbowing him gently. "Hear that, honey? He's got connections. That's so fancy," she said as they walked.
"We were thinking something...I dunno, a little more magical. Oh...I just saw Excalibur for the first time and I loved it. Arthur and Merlin....I mean New York has everything, you know?"
"Except for a good baseball team. That's why we live in Boston. Eh..." He nudged Doug with his elbow. "I need to make a stop. Anyone mind if we stop for coffee or a drink... there-" He pointed to a local bar they were passing. "I just need to make a phone call and use the big boy's room."
"You're the boss," Doug agreed readily. He hailed the barkeep for a drink and a quick bite so as to blend in and be unmemorable, and then settled in comfortably to waiting next to the blonde lady who had introduced herself as Wendy. (He was about sixty percent sure that wasn't her natural hair color, but to each their own.) He kept a bit of a close eye on things, but he supposed the odds were about even that the guy really did have to take a leak.
Jean glanced around the bar, seemingly excited to be in a new place. "So how long have you been doing this? Giving tours, I mean."
Doug leaned a bit in his seat, nodding at the bartender as a pilsner glass and a basket of extremely average-looking mozzarella sticks were put down. He left a few bills next to them in case his clients wanted to leave quickly. "About since I moved here," he answered the question. "You know, typical story - small town kid moves to the big city with dreams of making it big, finds something to do in the meantime to make ends meet, it winds up turning into a career."
Kevin reappeared after a few minutes. "The place is clean. We can talk." He said, his voice back to normal, despite the younger looking William Shatner face he continued to sport. "Alright, 'Cypher'," He somehow managed the make the quotes in his voice. "You got the information we asked for?"
Oh. It was going to be one of those sorts of transactions. "You wouldn't have approached me if I couldn't get it," Doug let a small bit of ice creep into his voice. The change of voice was interesting - it didn't sound like the accent had been put on, but more like two different voices. A small compartmentalized part of his brain puzzled over that even as he maintained the conversation. "Do you have my fee?"
Jean's eager, slightly ditzy facade had melted away. There was something in the way she moved that was completely different, the earnest look faded and replaced with a touch of fire in her smile. "It's a little higher than your usual going rate. Want to tell us about that? We had agreed on a fixed price."
"About that." Doug nodded. "Between then and now, some other parties have entered negotiations, and they're interested in the information as well." He drummed his fingers on the bar. "That puts me in a bit of a pickle, having to say no to them, but you absolutely have right of first refusal. Both as the first interest, and because I know you." His hands spread. "But between their offer, and for my trouble, I'm asking a small bit extra."
"First refusal? So if we don't pay your... small bit extra, our intel goes to someone else?" Kevin sighed, exchanging a look with Jean. "You know the situation that puts us in, right?"
Jean smiled at Kevin." "It's alright," she said, then glanced back at Doug, her smile lingering. "I think we can figure things out, can't we, Douglas?" She studied him thoughtfully.
"We came to you because you have a sterling reputation for getting the job done, and keeping your word. And now to hear this...I'm disappointed," she said with a frown.
"Surely a man of your impressive caliber has ways of getting himself out of trouble when it comes to an impasse, otherwise you wouldn't be in the place you are now. That's what you do. Business is built on the foundation of trust. It puts us at a crossroads. We can give you the money, but at the cost of a few cracks in the foundation, and the risk of taking future business elsewhere. Something I loathe to do when we've had a good working relationship so far. When it comes down to it, all you are is your reputation. We don't want to damage that."
There was an intense feeling of...not quite shame, but anxiety. That feeling of getting caught out by an authority figure, of something you really wanted to work out going sideways on you. "Okay, fine," he said somewhat dully. He slid a micro drive out of an inside pocket and slid it across to Kevin and Jean with a finger. "Here you go."
"Glad we could move past this... misunderstanding." Kevin pocketed the drive, already mentally putting a highlight on Doug's name. He'd been working information brokers since before Ramsey's grandparents has been able to drink, and when they got ambitious, it was a sign to start treading carefully. Once this mess with the HFC died back down, it would be time to take a much closer look who had been sniffing around 'The Cypher' for information. "We have to get going, but I dropped a few extra bucks to the bartender for another drink and some lunch. On us."
Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. Doug sat, staring at the row of bottles behind the bar long after Jean and Kevin had left.
The HFC representatives - Topaz and Clea - meet with the Cypher to make a deal. He rejects their first offer.
TW: sexual references
The Cypher knew pretty much every meeting spot, dead drop, and solid neutral ground in New York City by this point. Older spies might still be well schooled to keep their secrets, but that didn't mean they didn't have stories, and those stories tended to be about "that time at the bodega on 32nd", or "don't ever get caught in a firefight on Roosevelt Island, kid". You could pick up a lot of useful tradecraft just buying the odd drink in the right bar for the right old-timer. And this might have been the information age, but some things still shouldn't be trusted to anything but an in-person meet. Hell, if anyone knew how insecure an electronic communication could be, it was him.
Poets House, just between Rockefeller Park and the Battery Park ballfields, was a little combination library, study hall, and exhibition space with a view of the Hudson River. From there, you could easily slip away into Tribeca or the Civic Center, hop a bus, and be gone. And no-one looked askance at a young twenty-something in a rolled turtleneck sitting and idly leafing through a magazine, clearly waiting for someone to join him.
And join him someone did - two someones, to be precise. Two rather unremarkable looking women, both small enough to be mistaken for teenagers, but holding themselves in a way that betrayed their ease and comfort and confidence in the power they had - a confidence that really only came from time.
"Mr. Ramsey," Topaz greeted him with a polite smile, sliding into her seat. Her eyes flicked to her companion, giving her a slight nod. This was Clea's party - she was just here to observe and steer things if necessary.
The otherworldly beauty sat down next to her partner in crime as she looked over at Cypher, "I am pleased to finally meet your acquaintance. With such a-" Clea looked at him once over. "-Busy man, we are happy that you could spare some time."
Doug's eyebrow raised a millimeter. That was pouring it on a bit thick, even for the Hellfire Club. He took in the white-haired young woman - artfully done hair, rouged eyes, decolletage just this side of scandalous (he was disciplined, not dead), the hint of a garter belt under her skirt as she intentionally shifted her legs...
"What can I do for you?" he asked Topaz, picking her out as the 'face' of the two.
Simple and to the point. Topaz could appreciate that. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as if she were about to let the man in on a secret. "As my partner said, we know you're a busy man, so I won't waste your time. We need information. I'm sure your services don't come cheap, but our employers are more than happy to pay whatever price you name."
She tilted her head slightly in Clea's direction - a very deliberate movement to emphasize whatever price.
The eyebrow raised a bit farther. Doug never would have made an open-ended offer like that without extremely good reason. He was half-tempted to see how far he could push things. "What if I said I wanted her naked on the table right now?" His eyes only left Topaz' for a moment to indicate he meant Clea, otherwise he maintained the intrigued but slightly detached cool gaze of a poker player seeing what someone else would make of an unorthodox bet.
The white haired woman smirked before a purple snap and she disappeared, only to re-appear on the table and began to strip tease slowly. Two other Clea's appeared on either side of him and whispered all the things he could do to them. They felt real enough, as their hands traveled up his chest, teasing him. The real Clea,who had used her illusions to hide from Doug, looked over at Topaz and winked at her.
Doug looked. Of course he looked - see previous about not being dead. And they were in a private enough spot that they weren't likely to draw too much attention. But 'too much' wasn't the same as 'none', and the overtness didn't really interest him. Besides, hedonism was only part of how the Hellfire Club operated. The flip side of that particular coin was leverage. "All right, that's enough," he said sharply. "I mean, is she even eighteen?" he asked Topaz. Footage of public nudity with a questionably legal young lady (or ladies) would be a powerful hold on someone. One of the illusions kept murmuring in his ear, and he snapped his fingers in the vague direction of the hidden 'true' Clea. "I said put it away."
"I would assume so." Topaz shrugged, tucking her surprise back in her mind. "I don't question the Black Queen or who she chooses to have in her court."
She also wasn't going to question if Clea had thought to keep the illusion specific to the target. That would be someone else's mess to clean up and she'd be on a plane back to London by the time it became a problem.
But she did have a problem which required immediate attention. While she was sure Doug could find a woman at any time - people needed money, after all - Clea was, objectively, quite attractive. They hadn't put all their cards on the table; she had been fairly convinced that the temptation of sex would be enough, though. She nodded to Clea as a signal to pull back before refocusing on Doug.
"Not your type, then?"
A brief moue was Doug's response. "Physically? I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers." But that went without saying - the Hellfire Club prized physical attractiveness along with impressive influence. Both of the young ladies were quite good-looking. "But I prefer my partners...discreet." If all he wanted was to get off with a hot young woman, there were much better ways to go about that than to get in a 'situation' with the Hellfire Club.
The illusions smoked away as the real Clea, who hadn't moved, was looking at him. "I can be anything you want love. No one will ever know." She winked at Cypher.
He wasn't interested. Topaz' eyebrows furrowed for a moment as she tried to think. Mr. Ramsey certainly was a mystery. Most men could be bought with sex, no surprise there. Some had a different price. "Money?" she guessed simply, ready to abandon the idea of using Clea to get him. If he made it easy, then so be it.
"Money always spends," Doug agreed. "But I can get money from any old deal. And you did say 'whatever price I named'," he murmured in a fair impression of Topaz' clipped British tones. This was his favorite part of being a broker - the give and play of negotiation. He knew what he was worth, but the Hellfire pair clearly still had cards in reserve, if he could maneuver the situation to get them on the table.
Topaz looked him over for a moment, smiling placidly. "Clea," she said after a moment, making little effort to hide her words. "Will you call in and let your teacher know we're going with plan B? Mr. Ramsey has loftier goals, apparently."
Clea stood up and walked away while pulling out her phone. Humans were strange
After Clea leaves, Topaz lays a new deal on the table.
Topaz watched Clea leave, sensing the girl’s frustration. Not her problem, she thought, refocusing on Doug. “Sex and money won’t do it for you, then.” Straight to the point. “Am I wrong to assume that perhaps you have... higher goals?”
"Always." Eye on the prize and all that. Doug was always on the lookout for the angle, the next step on the ladder. "I rather assumed that young, hot, and eager wasn't the only thing on the...table." He glanced at the table Clea had stood on and chuckled. Truth be told, the other woman intrigued him, but he wasn't getting anything off her body language except business. "Besides, I have a boyfriend, and while we have an understanding..." He shrugged. "Anyways, what else are you prepared to offer?"
She considered her options for a moment. She could just offer herself, she supposed, but that would get messy, and he seemed like someone who would want a more eager, possibly adventurous partner. Straight to the final card then. "A place in the Hellfire Club."
The sort of lazy, amused banter from before sharpened away from Doug's body language as he leaned forward. Now she most definitely had his attention. "I'm listening."
There it was. Topaz smiled benignly. "The Black Queen is... interested in your skills. You know your worth, I'm sure. And she's aware of it as well. Of course, it would mean breaking certain ties."
"Those ties are hardly there to begin with." True, Doug still occasionally gave tidbits of information to people from Xavier's, but they were business transactions like any other. Maybe he'd occasionally approach one of them with an item that had come to his attention, but he certainly did not feel any amount of loyalty to the place. "And so, easily broken." He could see the satisfaction in her body language, but if they were both getting what they wanted, she could be as smug as she liked.
"I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear that." The Black Court didn't particularly hold any interest to Topaz, other than serving as a good lesson to the Blue and Red Courts about what could be their future. But the London Hellfire Club had languished for years in the background. Returning to that quiet peace would be a blessing. "Shall I let her know you're interested, then?"
Doug's head tilted in assent. "Please do."
Siege Perilous Day 8 - Remy and Artie discuss another seemingly unrelated problem with Marrow of the Morlocks.
The Elizabeth Braddock Memorial Centre for Mutant Studies was on the top floor of a positively small eleven story building on the Avenue of the Americas in Manhattan. To the rest of the world, it was a boring thinktank publishing white papers on mutants and mutant related issues read by a few academics around the world. In reality, it was the home of X-Force, the group Wisdom had put in place to challenge the Black Court of the Hellfire Club from the shadows, in order to keep the mansion safe from the war.
The elevator doors opened on a shabby and unoccupied front desk lobby, and admitted Sarah Morlocke into the offices.
Sarah recognized the look of a building built to seem unimportant to ward off intruders, but she saw the giveaways in the details. The elevator door was too new compared to the rest of the space, and had probably needed replaced recently. She thought she smelled blood underneath the heavy scent of disinfectant. There was a laughably large camera in the corner of the room that she recognized from parts of the tunnels that hadn't been touched since the early 80's. Most visitors probably would have assumed a camera like that didn't work anymore. She looked it head on.
"I came up eleven fucking flights in an elevator. The least you can do is not make me go looking for you."
Artie came to the door after a minute, unlocking it. He limped as he moved but at least he wasn't still using a cane. His fresh chinos and white shirt contrasted against the fact that he was clearly armed, even if he wasn't actually pointing a weapon directly at Morlocke. A synthesiser dangled around his neck. He raised one eyebrow and smiled, slightly sarcastically. "Jesus, it's been a while. What brings you here?" The voice was a little tinny and a little flat but sounded close enough to real.
She looked him up and down as if determining if she had made a mistake and the help they needed wouldn't be found in this building of all places. By bringing these people in, was she inviting more trouble onto her Family?
But the young mutant in front of her could have been one of them. If only this generation didn't prefer to live in the sky, rather than the dark. She hoped he could convince the rest to take them seriously, and not just feel pity for the folks living underground. They did not need pity. But they did need help.
"Morlocks are missing. Too many, without saying where they are going or if they are coming back. Something is wrong."
Artie raised an eyebrow at that. "You sure this isn't just normal coming and going? People leave all the time. Not everyone wants to live in the damn sewers." Tunnels, sewers, there wasn't much difference from where he was standing. Either way, it was a shitty life on the edges of everything and at least up here, he also had clean clothes, decent food and something bigger to be part of. He gestured through the door at a glass fronted meeting room. "I suppose you better come in and tell us what's going on, since you think it's a big deal."
"What's a big deal?"Remy appeared behind them as they went through the doors; quiet and unexpected as a ghost. "Have to be something to get you dis many stories above street level, petite." He said with a nod towards Sarah.
Sarah visibly stiffened, choosing a seat closest to the door and angling herself to see as much of the room as possible. "Not everyone has somewhere else to go," she added coolly. "I don't know what is happening, but ten of us have gone without a word. You're right, we would expect this occasionally from the young ones, but last night Marguerite went missing. Marguerite is one of the old ones. Nearly blind. She wouldn't leave the tunnels without someone going with her."
Artie tilted his head and blinked. "She's still alive? How old is she even?" He paused horrified. "Is she still alive?"
Remy simply crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving Sarah distance. They had history. "Remy going to guess... you don't know if she alive or not, neh?"
"I wouldn't be here if I did." Sarah placed her hands on the table, and the click of bone against the lacquered wood was an indication of her own state of mind "If I knew where they were I would have led a search party out to make sure they were safe. And I would bring them back myself if they weren't."
"Are they allied with anyone? Being paid out by anyone with a bit of money behind them?" Artie asked.
"Morlocks have always had an uneasy truce with de Hellfire Club. If dey decided dey didn't care 'bout dat, wouldn't be hard for dem to round up a bunch right off de street without anyone knowing." Remy mused, considering the angles. Can't think of anyone else who has the power to operate anonymously when de want to in dis town."
"Not off the street," Sarah replied with an unpleasant edge in her tone, "Out of our own fucking home. If we let this slide, we will never be safe again. The Morlocks are just another easy target for whoever wants to march on in."
Well, duh. That was beyond obvious. All you needed was a twenty and a Burger King coupon. "Morlocks always need money. Even in the tunnels, living isn't free. Doesn't take that much to convince someone to come with you quietly."
"We don't need your disrespect, thank you." It took all she had not to threaten him, to loop him in with the enemy, whoever they were. But the situation was dire, and sometimes that called for convincing someone you are an ally. "What we need is help. I don't have the resources you have. I need to find who is taking the Morlocks and bring them back home safely."
"Defensive much? I was pointing out the truth about your damn tunnels," Artie snapped, still using his synthesiser. The sooner he never went back there, the better. He looked at Remy. "What's the plan of action then, boss?"
"Remy thinks de Morlocks aren't going willingly. A few missing here and dere could be getting lured out wit' luxuries. Ten or more, especially of de old guard? Dat's being targeted. We'll start looking around." He rummaged through his coat pockets for a second and came up with a phone, which he tossed to Sarah. "Talk to you people. Any information; strangers seen poking 'round de tunnels, one specific region being targeted... anything you can find, call and us know."
She looked at the phone with no small amount of distrust, and finally sighed and put the device into her frayed pants pocket. She looked pointedly at Artie. "You may not understand why we live the way we do. But you must understand that for many Morlocks this is the only place they know and they are no more likely to leave the tunnels than you would be to leave your broken down high-rise in the sky." She pushed back from the table, and nodded at them both. "I will be in touch."
Siege Perilous Day 7 - Jean and Kevin look to hire the Cypher to help with the search for the Darkhold and Illyana Rasputin. It’s touch and go for a while.
The Cypher knew pretty much every meeting spot, dead drop, and solid neutral ground in New York City by this point. Older spies might still be well schooled to keep their secrets, but that didn't mean they didn't have stories, and those stories tended to be about "that time at the bodega on 32nd", or "don't ever get caught in a firefight on Roosevelt Island, kid". You could pick up a lot of useful tradecraft just buying the odd drink in the right bar for the right old-timer. And this might have been the information age, but some things still shouldn't be trusted to anything but an in-person meet. Hell, if anyone knew how insecure an electronic communication could be, it was him.
The atrium of the Citigroup Center was an excellent place for a meet - three stories of dining and shopping in the center of Midtown, with easy access to multiple subway lines and plenty of crowds to disappear into. With a ubiquitous white cardboard cup in his hand and a light windbreaker over a button-up shirt with the top button popped and a perfectly knotted tie loosened the slightest bit, he looked like any other corporate drone who had just come off of his work day.
About 7 minutes later, a tall woman emerged from the crowd, excitedly talking on her cell phone. She wore a teal shirt with the New York Public Library lion and logo printed on it, khaki pants that were just a little too short, tennis shoes, and a black crossbody bag. Her frizzy blonde hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail with an unironic neon scrunchie, topped with a NYPD ballcap.
"Are you serious? Tickets to Wicked tomorrow? Oh my GOD, that is amazing! I can't believe you scored those. This is the best trip ever," she said with a bright grin. "Oh man, Denny's going to flip. Okay I've got to go. Trying to pick up some souvenirs and go on a tour. Yes, yes, I'm staying on schedule. Byeee."
She spotted a couple that passed by, holding up her hand. "Uh...ma'am? Sir? Do you mind telling me where the nearest---Alright then," she said, deflating as they walked past, ignoring her. Her attention fell on Doug.
"Hi there!" she said with a bright smile. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a tour? My husband, Denny, should be here any moment."
Jean had decided to focus on the ridiculous tourist, one of her favourite options to help compensate for her height and fair features. On the other than, Kevin never needed to compensate for his looks, preferring the misdirection of the guy who looked vaguely like a celebrity to attract and then deflect attention almost immediately.
"Honey, am I late? Is this... the guy?" He stuck out his hand to Doug. "Denny. Denny Crane."
Doug had to admire the craftsmanship of the look. It was close enough to Shatner to be recognizable, but distinct enough that he wouldn't run the risk of someone assuming he was actually the man himself and get mobbed. He took the hand and shook it briskly. "Joe Pardella," he introduced himself.
Jean's smile broadened. "No dear, you're right on time," she said, kissing Kevin on the cheek
"Mr. Pardella. So nice to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand to Doug as well. "Wendy Crane. This tour has been just a dream of ours. Top places to go off the beaten path. None of that tourist stuff. Oh it just must be so magical."
"And expensive." Kevin puffed out his cheeks. "Wendy is lucky I've never lost a case. Otherwise, you might be too pricy." The undercurrent in his voice was unmistakable. "So, where do we start, Mister Pardella?"
"Well, you specified 'off the beaten path', so I suppose that puts the Empire State Building and Central Park on the 'no' list," Doug began easily as the trio walked out onto Lexington Avenue. "Did you know there's actually a small piece of the Berlin Wall in a park off 53rd?" He was happy to play along with the 'tour guide' farce as long as the other two were. After all, you couldn't broker information if your customers weren't comfortable. "Or if spooky's your thing, there's the ruins of a smallpox hospital out on Roosevelt Island. Not open to the public, but I know a guy."
Impressed, Jean grinned at Kevin, elbowing him gently. "Hear that, honey? He's got connections. That's so fancy," she said as they walked.
"We were thinking something...I dunno, a little more magical. Oh...I just saw Excalibur for the first time and I loved it. Arthur and Merlin....I mean New York has everything, you know?"
"Except for a good baseball team. That's why we live in Boston. Eh..." He nudged Doug with his elbow. "I need to make a stop. Anyone mind if we stop for coffee or a drink... there-" He pointed to a local bar they were passing. "I just need to make a phone call and use the big boy's room."
"You're the boss," Doug agreed readily. He hailed the barkeep for a drink and a quick bite so as to blend in and be unmemorable, and then settled in comfortably to waiting next to the blonde lady who had introduced herself as Wendy. (He was about sixty percent sure that wasn't her natural hair color, but to each their own.) He kept a bit of a close eye on things, but he supposed the odds were about even that the guy really did have to take a leak.
Jean glanced around the bar, seemingly excited to be in a new place. "So how long have you been doing this? Giving tours, I mean."
Doug leaned a bit in his seat, nodding at the bartender as a pilsner glass and a basket of extremely average-looking mozzarella sticks were put down. He left a few bills next to them in case his clients wanted to leave quickly. "About since I moved here," he answered the question. "You know, typical story - small town kid moves to the big city with dreams of making it big, finds something to do in the meantime to make ends meet, it winds up turning into a career."
Kevin reappeared after a few minutes. "The place is clean. We can talk." He said, his voice back to normal, despite the younger looking William Shatner face he continued to sport. "Alright, 'Cypher'," He somehow managed the make the quotes in his voice. "You got the information we asked for?"
Oh. It was going to be one of those sorts of transactions. "You wouldn't have approached me if I couldn't get it," Doug let a small bit of ice creep into his voice. The change of voice was interesting - it didn't sound like the accent had been put on, but more like two different voices. A small compartmentalized part of his brain puzzled over that even as he maintained the conversation. "Do you have my fee?"
Jean's eager, slightly ditzy facade had melted away. There was something in the way she moved that was completely different, the earnest look faded and replaced with a touch of fire in her smile. "It's a little higher than your usual going rate. Want to tell us about that? We had agreed on a fixed price."
"About that." Doug nodded. "Between then and now, some other parties have entered negotiations, and they're interested in the information as well." He drummed his fingers on the bar. "That puts me in a bit of a pickle, having to say no to them, but you absolutely have right of first refusal. Both as the first interest, and because I know you." His hands spread. "But between their offer, and for my trouble, I'm asking a small bit extra."
"First refusal? So if we don't pay your... small bit extra, our intel goes to someone else?" Kevin sighed, exchanging a look with Jean. "You know the situation that puts us in, right?"
Jean smiled at Kevin." "It's alright," she said, then glanced back at Doug, her smile lingering. "I think we can figure things out, can't we, Douglas?" She studied him thoughtfully.
"We came to you because you have a sterling reputation for getting the job done, and keeping your word. And now to hear this...I'm disappointed," she said with a frown.
"Surely a man of your impressive caliber has ways of getting himself out of trouble when it comes to an impasse, otherwise you wouldn't be in the place you are now. That's what you do. Business is built on the foundation of trust. It puts us at a crossroads. We can give you the money, but at the cost of a few cracks in the foundation, and the risk of taking future business elsewhere. Something I loathe to do when we've had a good working relationship so far. When it comes down to it, all you are is your reputation. We don't want to damage that."
There was an intense feeling of...not quite shame, but anxiety. That feeling of getting caught out by an authority figure, of something you really wanted to work out going sideways on you. "Okay, fine," he said somewhat dully. He slid a micro drive out of an inside pocket and slid it across to Kevin and Jean with a finger. "Here you go."
"Glad we could move past this... misunderstanding." Kevin pocketed the drive, already mentally putting a highlight on Doug's name. He'd been working information brokers since before Ramsey's grandparents has been able to drink, and when they got ambitious, it was a sign to start treading carefully. Once this mess with the HFC died back down, it would be time to take a much closer look who had been sniffing around 'The Cypher' for information. "We have to get going, but I dropped a few extra bucks to the bartender for another drink and some lunch. On us."
Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. Doug sat, staring at the row of bottles behind the bar long after Jean and Kevin had left.
The HFC representatives - Topaz and Clea - meet with the Cypher to make a deal. He rejects their first offer.
TW: sexual references
The Cypher knew pretty much every meeting spot, dead drop, and solid neutral ground in New York City by this point. Older spies might still be well schooled to keep their secrets, but that didn't mean they didn't have stories, and those stories tended to be about "that time at the bodega on 32nd", or "don't ever get caught in a firefight on Roosevelt Island, kid". You could pick up a lot of useful tradecraft just buying the odd drink in the right bar for the right old-timer. And this might have been the information age, but some things still shouldn't be trusted to anything but an in-person meet. Hell, if anyone knew how insecure an electronic communication could be, it was him.
Poets House, just between Rockefeller Park and the Battery Park ballfields, was a little combination library, study hall, and exhibition space with a view of the Hudson River. From there, you could easily slip away into Tribeca or the Civic Center, hop a bus, and be gone. And no-one looked askance at a young twenty-something in a rolled turtleneck sitting and idly leafing through a magazine, clearly waiting for someone to join him.
And join him someone did - two someones, to be precise. Two rather unremarkable looking women, both small enough to be mistaken for teenagers, but holding themselves in a way that betrayed their ease and comfort and confidence in the power they had - a confidence that really only came from time.
"Mr. Ramsey," Topaz greeted him with a polite smile, sliding into her seat. Her eyes flicked to her companion, giving her a slight nod. This was Clea's party - she was just here to observe and steer things if necessary.
The otherworldly beauty sat down next to her partner in crime as she looked over at Cypher, "I am pleased to finally meet your acquaintance. With such a-" Clea looked at him once over. "-Busy man, we are happy that you could spare some time."
Doug's eyebrow raised a millimeter. That was pouring it on a bit thick, even for the Hellfire Club. He took in the white-haired young woman - artfully done hair, rouged eyes, decolletage just this side of scandalous (he was disciplined, not dead), the hint of a garter belt under her skirt as she intentionally shifted her legs...
"What can I do for you?" he asked Topaz, picking her out as the 'face' of the two.
Simple and to the point. Topaz could appreciate that. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as if she were about to let the man in on a secret. "As my partner said, we know you're a busy man, so I won't waste your time. We need information. I'm sure your services don't come cheap, but our employers are more than happy to pay whatever price you name."
She tilted her head slightly in Clea's direction - a very deliberate movement to emphasize whatever price.
The eyebrow raised a bit farther. Doug never would have made an open-ended offer like that without extremely good reason. He was half-tempted to see how far he could push things. "What if I said I wanted her naked on the table right now?" His eyes only left Topaz' for a moment to indicate he meant Clea, otherwise he maintained the intrigued but slightly detached cool gaze of a poker player seeing what someone else would make of an unorthodox bet.
The white haired woman smirked before a purple snap and she disappeared, only to re-appear on the table and began to strip tease slowly. Two other Clea's appeared on either side of him and whispered all the things he could do to them. They felt real enough, as their hands traveled up his chest, teasing him. The real Clea,who had used her illusions to hide from Doug, looked over at Topaz and winked at her.
Doug looked. Of course he looked - see previous about not being dead. And they were in a private enough spot that they weren't likely to draw too much attention. But 'too much' wasn't the same as 'none', and the overtness didn't really interest him. Besides, hedonism was only part of how the Hellfire Club operated. The flip side of that particular coin was leverage. "All right, that's enough," he said sharply. "I mean, is she even eighteen?" he asked Topaz. Footage of public nudity with a questionably legal young lady (or ladies) would be a powerful hold on someone. One of the illusions kept murmuring in his ear, and he snapped his fingers in the vague direction of the hidden 'true' Clea. "I said put it away."
"I would assume so." Topaz shrugged, tucking her surprise back in her mind. "I don't question the Black Queen or who she chooses to have in her court."
She also wasn't going to question if Clea had thought to keep the illusion specific to the target. That would be someone else's mess to clean up and she'd be on a plane back to London by the time it became a problem.
But she did have a problem which required immediate attention. While she was sure Doug could find a woman at any time - people needed money, after all - Clea was, objectively, quite attractive. They hadn't put all their cards on the table; she had been fairly convinced that the temptation of sex would be enough, though. She nodded to Clea as a signal to pull back before refocusing on Doug.
"Not your type, then?"
A brief moue was Doug's response. "Physically? I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers." But that went without saying - the Hellfire Club prized physical attractiveness along with impressive influence. Both of the young ladies were quite good-looking. "But I prefer my partners...discreet." If all he wanted was to get off with a hot young woman, there were much better ways to go about that than to get in a 'situation' with the Hellfire Club.
The illusions smoked away as the real Clea, who hadn't moved, was looking at him. "I can be anything you want love. No one will ever know." She winked at Cypher.
He wasn't interested. Topaz' eyebrows furrowed for a moment as she tried to think. Mr. Ramsey certainly was a mystery. Most men could be bought with sex, no surprise there. Some had a different price. "Money?" she guessed simply, ready to abandon the idea of using Clea to get him. If he made it easy, then so be it.
"Money always spends," Doug agreed. "But I can get money from any old deal. And you did say 'whatever price I named'," he murmured in a fair impression of Topaz' clipped British tones. This was his favorite part of being a broker - the give and play of negotiation. He knew what he was worth, but the Hellfire pair clearly still had cards in reserve, if he could maneuver the situation to get them on the table.
Topaz looked him over for a moment, smiling placidly. "Clea," she said after a moment, making little effort to hide her words. "Will you call in and let your teacher know we're going with plan B? Mr. Ramsey has loftier goals, apparently."
Clea stood up and walked away while pulling out her phone. Humans were strange
After Clea leaves, Topaz lays a new deal on the table.
Topaz watched Clea leave, sensing the girl’s frustration. Not her problem, she thought, refocusing on Doug. “Sex and money won’t do it for you, then.” Straight to the point. “Am I wrong to assume that perhaps you have... higher goals?”
"Always." Eye on the prize and all that. Doug was always on the lookout for the angle, the next step on the ladder. "I rather assumed that young, hot, and eager wasn't the only thing on the...table." He glanced at the table Clea had stood on and chuckled. Truth be told, the other woman intrigued him, but he wasn't getting anything off her body language except business. "Besides, I have a boyfriend, and while we have an understanding..." He shrugged. "Anyways, what else are you prepared to offer?"
She considered her options for a moment. She could just offer herself, she supposed, but that would get messy, and he seemed like someone who would want a more eager, possibly adventurous partner. Straight to the final card then. "A place in the Hellfire Club."
The sort of lazy, amused banter from before sharpened away from Doug's body language as he leaned forward. Now she most definitely had his attention. "I'm listening."
There it was. Topaz smiled benignly. "The Black Queen is... interested in your skills. You know your worth, I'm sure. And she's aware of it as well. Of course, it would mean breaking certain ties."
"Those ties are hardly there to begin with." True, Doug still occasionally gave tidbits of information to people from Xavier's, but they were business transactions like any other. Maybe he'd occasionally approach one of them with an item that had come to his attention, but he certainly did not feel any amount of loyalty to the place. "And so, easily broken." He could see the satisfaction in her body language, but if they were both getting what they wanted, she could be as smug as she liked.
"I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear that." The Black Court didn't particularly hold any interest to Topaz, other than serving as a good lesson to the Blue and Red Courts about what could be their future. But the London Hellfire Club had languished for years in the background. Returning to that quiet peace would be a blessing. "Shall I let her know you're interested, then?"
Doug's head tilted in assent. "Please do."
Siege Perilous Day 8 - Remy and Artie discuss another seemingly unrelated problem with Marrow of the Morlocks.
The Elizabeth Braddock Memorial Centre for Mutant Studies was on the top floor of a positively small eleven story building on the Avenue of the Americas in Manhattan. To the rest of the world, it was a boring thinktank publishing white papers on mutants and mutant related issues read by a few academics around the world. In reality, it was the home of X-Force, the group Wisdom had put in place to challenge the Black Court of the Hellfire Club from the shadows, in order to keep the mansion safe from the war.
The elevator doors opened on a shabby and unoccupied front desk lobby, and admitted Sarah Morlocke into the offices.
Sarah recognized the look of a building built to seem unimportant to ward off intruders, but she saw the giveaways in the details. The elevator door was too new compared to the rest of the space, and had probably needed replaced recently. She thought she smelled blood underneath the heavy scent of disinfectant. There was a laughably large camera in the corner of the room that she recognized from parts of the tunnels that hadn't been touched since the early 80's. Most visitors probably would have assumed a camera like that didn't work anymore. She looked it head on.
"I came up eleven fucking flights in an elevator. The least you can do is not make me go looking for you."
Artie came to the door after a minute, unlocking it. He limped as he moved but at least he wasn't still using a cane. His fresh chinos and white shirt contrasted against the fact that he was clearly armed, even if he wasn't actually pointing a weapon directly at Morlocke. A synthesiser dangled around his neck. He raised one eyebrow and smiled, slightly sarcastically. "Jesus, it's been a while. What brings you here?" The voice was a little tinny and a little flat but sounded close enough to real.
She looked him up and down as if determining if she had made a mistake and the help they needed wouldn't be found in this building of all places. By bringing these people in, was she inviting more trouble onto her Family?
But the young mutant in front of her could have been one of them. If only this generation didn't prefer to live in the sky, rather than the dark. She hoped he could convince the rest to take them seriously, and not just feel pity for the folks living underground. They did not need pity. But they did need help.
"Morlocks are missing. Too many, without saying where they are going or if they are coming back. Something is wrong."
Artie raised an eyebrow at that. "You sure this isn't just normal coming and going? People leave all the time. Not everyone wants to live in the damn sewers." Tunnels, sewers, there wasn't much difference from where he was standing. Either way, it was a shitty life on the edges of everything and at least up here, he also had clean clothes, decent food and something bigger to be part of. He gestured through the door at a glass fronted meeting room. "I suppose you better come in and tell us what's going on, since you think it's a big deal."
"What's a big deal?"Remy appeared behind them as they went through the doors; quiet and unexpected as a ghost. "Have to be something to get you dis many stories above street level, petite." He said with a nod towards Sarah.
Sarah visibly stiffened, choosing a seat closest to the door and angling herself to see as much of the room as possible. "Not everyone has somewhere else to go," she added coolly. "I don't know what is happening, but ten of us have gone without a word. You're right, we would expect this occasionally from the young ones, but last night Marguerite went missing. Marguerite is one of the old ones. Nearly blind. She wouldn't leave the tunnels without someone going with her."
Artie tilted his head and blinked. "She's still alive? How old is she even?" He paused horrified. "Is she still alive?"
Remy simply crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving Sarah distance. They had history. "Remy going to guess... you don't know if she alive or not, neh?"
"I wouldn't be here if I did." Sarah placed her hands on the table, and the click of bone against the lacquered wood was an indication of her own state of mind "If I knew where they were I would have led a search party out to make sure they were safe. And I would bring them back myself if they weren't."
"Are they allied with anyone? Being paid out by anyone with a bit of money behind them?" Artie asked.
"Morlocks have always had an uneasy truce with de Hellfire Club. If dey decided dey didn't care 'bout dat, wouldn't be hard for dem to round up a bunch right off de street without anyone knowing." Remy mused, considering the angles. Can't think of anyone else who has the power to operate anonymously when de want to in dis town."
"Not off the street," Sarah replied with an unpleasant edge in her tone, "Out of our own fucking home. If we let this slide, we will never be safe again. The Morlocks are just another easy target for whoever wants to march on in."
Well, duh. That was beyond obvious. All you needed was a twenty and a Burger King coupon. "Morlocks always need money. Even in the tunnels, living isn't free. Doesn't take that much to convince someone to come with you quietly."
"We don't need your disrespect, thank you." It took all she had not to threaten him, to loop him in with the enemy, whoever they were. But the situation was dire, and sometimes that called for convincing someone you are an ally. "What we need is help. I don't have the resources you have. I need to find who is taking the Morlocks and bring them back home safely."
"Defensive much? I was pointing out the truth about your damn tunnels," Artie snapped, still using his synthesiser. The sooner he never went back there, the better. He looked at Remy. "What's the plan of action then, boss?"
"Remy thinks de Morlocks aren't going willingly. A few missing here and dere could be getting lured out wit' luxuries. Ten or more, especially of de old guard? Dat's being targeted. We'll start looking around." He rummaged through his coat pockets for a second and came up with a phone, which he tossed to Sarah. "Talk to you people. Any information; strangers seen poking 'round de tunnels, one specific region being targeted... anything you can find, call and us know."
She looked at the phone with no small amount of distrust, and finally sighed and put the device into her frayed pants pocket. She looked pointedly at Artie. "You may not understand why we live the way we do. But you must understand that for many Morlocks this is the only place they know and they are no more likely to leave the tunnels than you would be to leave your broken down high-rise in the sky." She pushed back from the table, and nodded at them both. "I will be in touch."
