THE SWEENEY - Log 7
Apr. 19th, 2026 03:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_changeling posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsClea and Stephen have a meeting with a particularly oily contact.
WARNING: Explicit content and language
Three-Four turned out to be Rupert Maxwell according to the Hag's little notebook. And Rupert Maxwell was exceedingly easy to find, considering he was considered one of England's best muckrakers, scandalmongers and, if you put the quotes around it heavily enough, journalists for the London tabloids. He got photos nobody else could get and many of them that no one could legally print. He seemed to be able to break out affairs, corruption, and sleaze with an artists' eye, and shopped himself around the tabloid world for the highest bidder.
When they'd contacted him for a meeting, he had given a date and time at an exclusive club in Mayfair, making it clear that he wouldn't be the one paying the tab. As they arrived, they found him sitting in a private booth. He was thin, vulpine, with a salt and pepper goatee, obviously dyed hair, and his eyes hidden behind amber sunglasses that were present in every picture they'd seen of him. He was drinking from a small tumbler and looking up as they approached.
"You know, intellectually, we all know a twenty thousand quid bottle of scotch exists. I mean, we know there's ones worth more, but still, twenty bag for a bottle." He looked into his glass, rotating it in his fingers. "This glass costs more than your tickets to Old Blighty did. Imagine that. I think I'll have another." He said, holding up a finger for the barman to bring a refill over.
"If you like," Stephen said, shrugging off his overcoat and taking Clea's before sliding her chair back. Once she was seated, he handed their coats off to a waiter standing at attention and then seated himself. "It's a bit gauche to drink so early in the day, though, so far as I'm concerned." He waved away the offer of a glass for himself, indicating he'd take his breakfast tea black, instead, and that Clea would take hers with two sugars. "Though to each their own, as the saying goes."
Clea settled into her seat and looked at Maxwell, "The man has taste of fine drinks and even finer dining accommodations." She paused for just a second. "And is pretty well known for finding the most interesting topics for the tabloids." She leaned forward, elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. "We are looking for information and we heard you are just the one to talk to."
"I am known for many things, darling. Most of them very positive for a young woman." He said, unctuous and gross. "I could accommodate the goatee, even if only to watch for a while. Scratch at the door before being let in."
"Charming. Do these many things also include magic nullifying majicks?" Clea only readjusted herself when the drinks arrived.
Stephen merely arched an eyebrow at the man, allowing Clea to take the lead as he settled back in his chair. Was this meeting worth the blood on his hands? He didn't know. It wasn't as though he'd planned for the blood to be there to begin with. Still, keeping his face a mask of vague boredom, the young sorcerer made sure he exuded the type of easy confidence he'd observed in others as he waited for Three-Four to respond.
"Magic nullifying artifacts? That's very specific indeed, love." He said, taking a sip, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Guess you have questions of a certain type to ask me, don't you? So let's skip right to the rabbit you are chasing, shall we?"
Clea took a sip of her tea and then gracefully placed it on the saucer in front of her. "Our source named you as their broker. I am interested in names of who else you may have broker this deal too."
"Worlds within worlds, you know." He made an airy gesture with his free hand while the other continued to supply the expensive scotch to his mouth. "Friends of friends. That said, can't think of a good reason to share... unless there's a payment waiting at the end of this particular yellow brick road?"
"We hardly thought you'd offer the information out of the goodness of your heart," Stephen said, pulling a small digital device from his pocket and sliding it across the table to the other man. "You'll find photographic evidence of Lord Haversham's hypocrisy regarding homosexual relationships on this. And if you check your bank accounts, you'll find you've been more than adequately compensated for your time and the information we want."
"Aren't you a lot more attractive all of a sudden?" Three-Four said with an unctuous smile. "Is there a chance to get in on this twosome? Have a little fun on that goatee?"
Clea was getting the ick factor with this guy. Not too many things unnerved her but she was doing her best to keep this cordial. "The offer is tempting, but I would have to pass on that."
Smirking despite himself, Stephen replied, "My partner doesn't enjoy sharing with others." Which was... true, actually. She didn't. She had no qualms about sharing with herself, however. "The information we requested, if you please?"
"I guess I'm at the door after all." He said with a sigh. "This is a generous offer. I worked the negotiations. The Three Eddies. They wanted the gear." He rattled his empty glass. "One more?"
With a handwave, the bottle he had been drinking had appeared in front of Clea and she personally poured him the drink, "A pleasure doing business with you."
"Oh if only, luv." He said in a way both wistful and oily at the same time.>
WARNING: Explicit content and language
Three-Four turned out to be Rupert Maxwell according to the Hag's little notebook. And Rupert Maxwell was exceedingly easy to find, considering he was considered one of England's best muckrakers, scandalmongers and, if you put the quotes around it heavily enough, journalists for the London tabloids. He got photos nobody else could get and many of them that no one could legally print. He seemed to be able to break out affairs, corruption, and sleaze with an artists' eye, and shopped himself around the tabloid world for the highest bidder.
When they'd contacted him for a meeting, he had given a date and time at an exclusive club in Mayfair, making it clear that he wouldn't be the one paying the tab. As they arrived, they found him sitting in a private booth. He was thin, vulpine, with a salt and pepper goatee, obviously dyed hair, and his eyes hidden behind amber sunglasses that were present in every picture they'd seen of him. He was drinking from a small tumbler and looking up as they approached.
"You know, intellectually, we all know a twenty thousand quid bottle of scotch exists. I mean, we know there's ones worth more, but still, twenty bag for a bottle." He looked into his glass, rotating it in his fingers. "This glass costs more than your tickets to Old Blighty did. Imagine that. I think I'll have another." He said, holding up a finger for the barman to bring a refill over.
"If you like," Stephen said, shrugging off his overcoat and taking Clea's before sliding her chair back. Once she was seated, he handed their coats off to a waiter standing at attention and then seated himself. "It's a bit gauche to drink so early in the day, though, so far as I'm concerned." He waved away the offer of a glass for himself, indicating he'd take his breakfast tea black, instead, and that Clea would take hers with two sugars. "Though to each their own, as the saying goes."
Clea settled into her seat and looked at Maxwell, "The man has taste of fine drinks and even finer dining accommodations." She paused for just a second. "And is pretty well known for finding the most interesting topics for the tabloids." She leaned forward, elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. "We are looking for information and we heard you are just the one to talk to."
"I am known for many things, darling. Most of them very positive for a young woman." He said, unctuous and gross. "I could accommodate the goatee, even if only to watch for a while. Scratch at the door before being let in."
"Charming. Do these many things also include magic nullifying majicks?" Clea only readjusted herself when the drinks arrived.
Stephen merely arched an eyebrow at the man, allowing Clea to take the lead as he settled back in his chair. Was this meeting worth the blood on his hands? He didn't know. It wasn't as though he'd planned for the blood to be there to begin with. Still, keeping his face a mask of vague boredom, the young sorcerer made sure he exuded the type of easy confidence he'd observed in others as he waited for Three-Four to respond.
"Magic nullifying artifacts? That's very specific indeed, love." He said, taking a sip, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Guess you have questions of a certain type to ask me, don't you? So let's skip right to the rabbit you are chasing, shall we?"
Clea took a sip of her tea and then gracefully placed it on the saucer in front of her. "Our source named you as their broker. I am interested in names of who else you may have broker this deal too."
"Worlds within worlds, you know." He made an airy gesture with his free hand while the other continued to supply the expensive scotch to his mouth. "Friends of friends. That said, can't think of a good reason to share... unless there's a payment waiting at the end of this particular yellow brick road?"
"We hardly thought you'd offer the information out of the goodness of your heart," Stephen said, pulling a small digital device from his pocket and sliding it across the table to the other man. "You'll find photographic evidence of Lord Haversham's hypocrisy regarding homosexual relationships on this. And if you check your bank accounts, you'll find you've been more than adequately compensated for your time and the information we want."
"Aren't you a lot more attractive all of a sudden?" Three-Four said with an unctuous smile. "Is there a chance to get in on this twosome? Have a little fun on that goatee?"
Clea was getting the ick factor with this guy. Not too many things unnerved her but she was doing her best to keep this cordial. "The offer is tempting, but I would have to pass on that."
Smirking despite himself, Stephen replied, "My partner doesn't enjoy sharing with others." Which was... true, actually. She didn't. She had no qualms about sharing with herself, however. "The information we requested, if you please?"
"I guess I'm at the door after all." He said with a sigh. "This is a generous offer. I worked the negotiations. The Three Eddies. They wanted the gear." He rattled his empty glass. "One more?"
With a handwave, the bottle he had been drinking had appeared in front of Clea and she personally poured him the drink, "A pleasure doing business with you."
"Oh if only, luv." He said in a way both wistful and oily at the same time.>
