. (spacecowboys) wrote in repose, @ 2016-08-21 19:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, cat dubrovna, flash madison, frank castiglione |
[Gala: Cat, Flash, Frank]
Who: Cat, Flash/Reaper, & the bad guy (Frank)
What: A very swanky gala in the Capital
Where: A converted church
When: The week after this
Warnings/Rating: Frank has a teensy problem with anger management
Going unnoticed was not the plan, and so Cat wore red amid an ocean of black.
The church was in a part of the Capital that Cat visited often and new well. It was a dump, this part of town, and when Cat had first ventured into it, it had answered so many questions about why the Wainrights had chosen this obscure part of the world for their secondary headquarters. This place, this slum, it was like being home, only with a sky that was more open, and only with less media attention. The city was easily the size of home, and it needed just as much help in the grimy parts. This borough was thugs and gangs and people pushing shopping carts along sidewalks in winter. And now someone was trying to clean it up, and wasn't that how it always was with the upper-classes?
It made her think of Bruce. It made her think of a long-gone life, and it made her think of so many paths not taken.
The meth clinic across the street had closed its doors. The soup kitchen on the corner just ceased. This church, old and squat amid crumbling tenements, had been converted into a museum. It was filled with old bones now, and it was filled with even older money, and Cat wore red.
She knew what faces belonged here. She knew what faces didn't, and her own dealings in the Capital were a few blocks away, safe and in their beds - she hoped. Because she knew this gathering would be irresistible to their little friend. She hadn't thought of a name for him yet, the executioner who'd spilled enough Yakuza and Egorovs blood to make himself interesting. She'd come up with one.
But this gala? The one that was supposed to be filled with old blood so blue that it would make a sapphire envious? It was peppered with names from Families so old that Cat hadn't seen them since home fell. Families, and that capital F? It was absolutely deliberate. And the church? While extremely secure? Wasn't exactly made for the kind of barrage of damage this particular man could do. After all, the Yakuza? Had more security and training than any Family Cat could think of, and this man had taken them out. Alright, not as many of them as Russians, but it was still a feat. And it wasn't sloppy, the man's work. Oh, the papers hadn't given specifics, but Cat had gone to the scenes. She'd been dressed in red then too, and wasn't that a coincidence? Cat wasn't good at planning, but she was good at looking at brains on a wall and recreating their splatter. This man? He was dangerous.
So, here she was, making her way over to a familiar old face. Italian, a friend of her father's, and her hand outstretched. Concern on her face, and she was good at that brand of smile when she wanted to be. Diamonds glinted cheekily on her elegantly proffered wrist, and she didn't bother calling herself anything but her given name in this introduction. And she only hoped that her little escort? Would drop the innocent little boy façade before he engaged anyone. She hadn't expected her cover to become quite so important, quite so soon, but there was one thing she knew about the boy at her side. He was loyal, painfully so, and that could either prove an advantage or a very big disadvantage. Earpiece tucked unnoticeable in her ear, she very much hoped for the former.
Best case scenario? She'd pick up a reputation for being a cougar. Worst case scenario? They were fucked. Ah, well, she'd dealt with worse. And her mission? It was a simple one: Find him. Got that, kid?