Who: Justice and Isabel. What: Justice is sick of these muthafuckin flyers on her muthafuckin bar. Where: The Experience Office’s. When: Early Saturday afternoon. Rating: PG-13 Status: Complete
During the day, the old hangar that housed The Experience looked like some dead husk of something that had once held purpose. At night it was lit up. It came alive with writhing bodies, and the rhythm of the music gave it a pulse, and for those hours it was open, it lived. Just now, it was shuttered up and locked up tight, and the only way to do business with said ‘Experience’ was at its office in town, at one of the few office parks in Babylon. The floor that housed The Experience offices was very lavish, in so much that it looked like some office out of a movie or TV show, with all modern equipment and edgy decorating. And, of course, all the attractive employees.
There were a few people in the waiting room - all of them human - and when Justice arrived, a receptionist (who’s humanity was questionable) greeted her before she even had a chance to fully take the place in.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked. The beautiful young woman smiled brilliantly at Justice, but her tone implied that she did not think the person standing across from her had an appointment. And that wouldn’t do.
“I’d like to make one,” Justice smiled back at the woman, but it certainly didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t put any effort into forcing it to, either. “Soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”
The previous afternoon, she’d gone to open the Cellar only to find someone had plastered her entire store-front with flyers for The Experience during the wee-hours of the morning. Rather juvenile, she had thought, especially since none of the other stores in the strip were touched. Call Justice a little paranoid, but it seemed like a childish, but personal attack. And she had a general hunch.
The high-class quality of everyone walking around this office wasn’t helping that hunch, either.
“I need to talk to someone about defacement of public property - with these.” She slapped the crumpled flyer on the receptionist’s desk.
The assistant’s eyelids fluttered, her smile not fading, and she glanced down at the flier. Of course, she didn’t need to uncrumple it to know what it was.
“Miss Fane is a very busy woman,” the receptionist spoke as though she were speaking to a dog, “But if you could just give me your name, ma’am, I can add you to her schedule. We’ll see if can fit you in today. It may have to wait until tomorrow.”
The door to an office just behind the receptionist opened, and first a startlingly attractive man (doubtfully human) emerged. Right behind him was a very short little firecracker of a woman. Short, even in stilleto heels. She slapped the man on the ass (he rolled his eyes with his back to her) and she waved dismissively to the receptionist.
“Coryn, send in my next appointment,” Isabel said, turning sharply on heel and click-clacking back into her office.
The receptionist (Coryn) was already looking past Justice and into the waiting room, where a man in his late fifties looked pensively back.
Justice met his eyes, instantly recognizing him as Mr. James Wicker, a ‘regular’ at the Cellar - much to the chagrin to his wife, that is if she knew about it. Turns out Justice had one piece of luck going for her.
“Well hi, James,” she said with a small, knowing smile. “How’s Helen? She still workin’ at the library?”
James caught the drift pretty quickly. Hen-pecked as he was, the man sure knew how to recognize a loaded question when it was staring him in the face. He smiled sheepishly back, pretending to have stood up from his chair only to adjust his coat. Then, sat back down.
Justice immediately looked back at Coryn, the chilly smile back on her lips. “Oh, that’d be me.”
Coryn pursed her lips, unamused, and shifted a more nervous look towards Miss Fane’s office. They had rules about scenes in these offices, though. Attracting attention was a big no-no. Sometimes Miss Fane could be understanding, so long as she was entertained by the change in her schedule.
“Right this way, ma’am,” she returned back with equal ice, danger in her eyes but her smile still beautific. She led Justice the short distance to Isabel’s office and knocked, announcing Justice. Or at least, announcing that she was ‘some woman’ who had come to complain about fliers.
Isabel Fane’s office was exceptionally decorated, very modern and sleek, lots of black and white and glass and stainless steel. Seated behind a large desk was Isabel herself, although the flier referred to her exclusively as Old Scratch.
Her dark eyes were fixed on Justice the moment she strolled in, and they glittered with amusement upon seeing her. Ah, yes, the little rat that ran The Cellar. She had been hoping the matter would’ve been passed on to the intended target, one very large Sheriff whom Bastian was having difficulty turning, but this mongrel would do for her entertainment if nothing else.
“That will be all, Coryn,” Isabel said crisply, waving her off, “Please, have a seat. Coryn said you have some kind of complaint...?”
She smiled, exposing perfectly white, even teeth.
Justice felt like she was on the set for some bad daytime drama with these surroundings; the office fit more in a high rise in New York or LA, not a blip on the radar like Babylon, and the chick behind the desk fit even less. She’d gone into this about ninety-nine percent certain ‘Old Scratch’ wasn’t just a ploy for the club business in a town with a biblical name; the money that obviously went into the decorating, both architectural and fashionable (apparently) was another neon sign.
The fact that a baby-faced porcelain doll was at the center of it just sealed the deal. Justice stared at her as she cautiously eased into the center chair. She didn’t need to school her expression, which was a cross between cynical and disgusted.
“What are you, twelve?” Of course she wasn’t. “S’a big gig for an adolescent, but I guess that explains a few things.”
“Ah, ah,” Isabel waved a finger, her lurid little bowtie of a mouth quirking into a pursed smile. Her perfectly maintained eyebrows arched, “Despite what you have assumed, Ma’am, I am not a child. I would, in fact, prefer we conduct business in my office as mature adults. Do you suppose you could manage that? Because if not,” she put on a cynical, insincere expression of apology, “I’m afraid I’ll have to have you escorted from the building. Barging in with no appointment, name calling...”
She tsk-tsk’d and shook her head.
“Let’s start again,” she drummed fire engine red nails on the glass, the ticking like dog claws on a wood floor, “Good afternoon, Ma’am. I’m Isabel Fane. How can I help you today?”
Even though she was smiling, it was fairly obvious Justice had started on the wrong foot - fair enough, considering the reason for her visit, but obvious that Isabel would not hesitate to have her removed from her presence.
Justice could taste the bile in her throat, stirred up by the normal set of nerves on top of the small, but personal vendetta. Nevertheless, a humorless smile cut into both cheeks, flashing teeth, all of it peppered with an equally colorless snicker.
She tossed the flyer on the desk, her brows arched high.
“You wanna toss me out? Go’head - I’m sure I look like someone who’ll go real quietly, don’t I.” That was clearly not a question. “But it looks to me someone was looking for attention in the first place.”
“And now threats,” Isabel sighed, although her dark eyes were sharp, “Unfortunately, Ma’am, whatever you’ve come here to accomplish, it’s over now.”
She pressed a button on a sleek, important looking phone, “Coryn? Please send in security. I’m afraid our guest is incapable of comporting herself in a civil manner.”
Isabel released the button, her eyes not once leaving Justice, not even to glance at the flier. She’d seen it before - she’d designed them.
“You can either remove yourself, or be removed,” she said, “And if you insist on making a fuss, we can always get the police involved. Pity, since I’m still unaware of what’s been done to cause you to behave like a teething infant.”
Yeah, I’m the teething infant. Justice snorffled to herself and pushed up to her feet. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re oblivious,” she said, dripping sarcasm from every syllable. Shifting weight on her boots, she angled a hard point at the flyer, keeping Isabel’s gaze as hard as the other woman was, boring into each other’s faces as if they were strip mines. “I got about two hundred’a those in my back dumpster that were screaming for my attention--” Justice half turned toward the office door when it opened, introducing a uniformed security guard. She didn’t linger long, only enough to add, pointedly, “You got it, now.”
Isabel couldn’t believe this little monkey. Incredible! She’d been hoping to get a reaction, of course, but this was a cargo hold of gunpowder that she could likely ignite whenever she pleased. One thing was sure - The Cellar would be getting regularly covered in flyers from here on out. Most humans would just make a complaint over the phone, but this one...
She was going to be fun.
“We could’ve talked about this at length,” Isabel spread her hands, “But since you couldn’t behave civilly, I’m going to have to say goodbye.”
Her security was all demons and daemonem, and they were all very imposing.
“Ma’am,” the lone guard said, gesturing, “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
“And I will be making a note to bar you from these offices,” Isabel added, her words drizzled with the sweetest honey, “You understand. I just can’t be having threats thrown at me in my own place of business,” she wiggled her fingers in a cheeky little wave, “Au revoir.”
In her mind, the wall-papering of her establishment had been a blatant shout for a fight; with her close encounter with Bastian and the first demon she’d taken care of in Babylon all within the last month, it made sense that others would be calling her out. It’d certainly happened before. This one certainly had a new approach, and sure enough, Justice hated it like all the others.
With the same sour smile on her face, she showed her empty hands to the big security detail and started filing out toward the hallway, muttering something to the tune of ‘passive-aggressive bitch’ on her way out. She had to watch her back, now - not that she didn’t before, but it seemed things were starting to really heat up in this town.