Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-20 20:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cian wilde, lena saint laurent |
Who: Cian and Lena
What: Looking for Ash
Where: Ruby House
When: Today
Rating: PG-13-ish, Cian’s language is in the crapper as usual
Status: Complete
He’d been broken in half a dozen places over the course of the last few days. Hell, he’d even been dead for a minute, which was a whole other fucking issue he wasn’t thinking about. Right now, he’d poured all of his stubbornness and single-minded focus into one thing. She left the Ruby on Friday, for reconnaissance. Ajora on a fucking stick, if she was dead under a rock somewhere -- Well. He’d just get that mage to resurrect her, then kill her again for making him worry. (That this approach lacked logic didn’t matter; he was a little past caring.) This district, at least, was slightly less of a disaster than the one he’d come from. It would have been vaguely comforting if he wasn’t frantic with worry. And, being frantic, he was in a place to make the sort of call he’d usually have avoided like the plague (and hopefully better; the plague had gotten to him too, after all). He’d never planned on walking through the doors of Ruby House again, but he did it, found someone who looked like she probably worked there, and asked, brusquely, to see the proprietress. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that. This was, of course, far from the first time a man had (literally or figuratively) attempted to storm the Ruby in search of something or someone, never mind the scores of people who thought they could bark at the staff in order to summon the mistress of the house. Fortunately for Cian, Lena was still on the floor, and it was a challenge for anyone within a few yards not to hear his demand. Maude, a Rubenesque bartendress still watching the door, hardly had time to cross her arms and open her mouth before Lena was approaching, gliding across the floor with a typically impassive expression. At some point she’d forsaken her trademark towering heels and sharply tailored garb (clearly, they were indeed living in a state of emergency), but the effect was only slightly less stately. “Mr. Wilde,” she said, succinctly, expectantly, eyebrows just a few degrees above normal. As she approached, he had a moment to consider whether this was really wise -- the expression on her face hadn’t changed so much with the years (he still thought she was looking down, though these days it wasn’t as easy to do) -- but he reminded himself why he was here, unclenched his fists, nodded a greeting. “Sorry to interrupt,” he even said, some moducm of politeness which was difficult for him considering the current situation. No idea if she’d appreciate it, but he always had tried to step carefully around her. Just in case. (No need to provoke someone who knew things which could be held over his head.) “Was hoping to see if anyone around here had any… additional information to share.” People saw things -- surely Ash hadn’t been fucking idiotic enough to go out completely alone. Then again… “Still haven’t found her,” he said, assuming that this would explain everything. The fewer words between them, really, the better. For Lena to inspire cowed respect after her many years earning it was hardly unusual. The layer cake had been a long, difficult scrabble for her, but she now resided in a rarefied atmosphere in which--despite regular dealings with death, danger, and duplicity--she was rarely put into a position of having to mete out tired responses to disrespect. All that said, for Cian Wilde himself to defer in the slightest was a strange sight indeed, no matter the company. Even the ever implacable Maude (one of Gillian’s immeasurably valuable installations) gaped for a moment. Lena, narrow shoulders wrapped delicately in a woven cardigan that draped down past her hips, was dwarfed by the crime syndicate magnate by a full head. She was silent a moment, as though considering both him and his request in the same breath. “Of course. Maude,” she said finally, her pale eyes sliding over to the third party, “would you be so kind as to spread the word? Anyone here with any information on Aisling should come forward--to you or me.” A certain uncertainty was clearly expressed in Maude’s eyes, and Lena gave a miniscule nod, answering and dismissing the question at once. But, as she turned to go, Lena caught her by the elbow, two fingers light on her skin enough to halt the woman. “Anything at all, dear. Even if it seems unimportant, yes?” The faintly-accented words lingered in the air as Maude finally departed, and Lena swiveled her attentions back to her unexpected guest. Cian’s contact over the network had been uncharacteristic enough, considering his general caginess around Lena (and, presumably, what she represented to him). She could only imagine his unannounced arrival at her very doorstep was cause for concern. That, added to the fact he’d — “— you came alone?” “That’s right,” he said. The reasons were multiple, though no doubt it would be easiest to attribute it to his desperation. Fuck, let her, it didn’t really matter anymore. But the fact was, over a third of his staff hadn’t reported in (some, he thought, had taken the custom-made opportunity to bolt with what they could manage to grab in the way of org funds -- others were unconscious somewhere or dead), and he didn’t need people carrying tales. He hadn’t wanted to interact with her in the first place, but better that no one who really knew his cues witness the exchange. “Just a stop,” he said, “since you’re apparently the last person to admit to seeing her so far. I figure neither of us wants her dead in a ditch somewhere.” This is the one and only thing we can have in common. “I was coming this way anyway, figured it wouldn’t take long to swing by, see if anyone else had anything.” And that was the lie he was going down with, one way or another. She might suspect the truth, but wouldn’t ever call him on it. That wasn’t the way she functioned -- and he’d been keeping tabs as much as he was able considering how private she was about most things. Subtlety said they’d likely part ways knowing he lied but letting it be. “Indeed.” Cian was right: to Lena, the gears of their universe were so large and ever-spinning that to waste her time on such petty matters as his lies about comings and goings was to waste life itself. He was right too in that Lena was invested in Ash’s well-being, although she found his typical sarcasm jarring, under the circumstances. They were still near the doors; the sun angled in through the dusky windows like a ladder of light. Her eyes were pale, pelagic and glaucous, as searching as they were unsearchable. He seemed younger in that moment, full of holy rage, a tunnel of fire around a void, an oxygenated oblivion. Lena suspected it would be a long time before he could catch his breath. Eventually, she indicated the door into the main chamber with a minute sweep of her hand, palm up, offering a glimpse of barstools and cabaret tables beyond. “I hope you understand, I can’t allow you to interrogate my employees. But please, make yourself comfortable while you wait.” I couldn’t be comfortable in here if you drugged me. He let it pass unsaid, choosing caution in place of honesty. “Sure,” he said, “I can wait.” It wasn’t as though he had been planning on threatening anyone into talking to him, fuck’s sake. But -- her kingdom, her rules. He chose a stool, settled in it as she strode off. For today, anyway, they had the same goals. A little discomfort seemed a small enough price to pay. |