manic_intent (manic_intent) wrote in no_true_pair, @ 2009-05-25 22:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 2009 kinks challenge, author: manic_intent, crossover: ff12/marvel, pairing: ffamran/vayne |
Playing by Ear [FFXII:OGC/Marvel]
Title: Playing by Ear
Author/Artist: manic_intent
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII: OGC/Marvel
Pairing/characters: Vayne, Ffamran, Wolverine, Bergan
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Some violence.
Prompt/challenge you're answering: Balthier and Vayne are captives that turn to each other for comfort
- Balthier and Vayne are captives that turn to each other for comfort
Dark Mirrors
Playing by ear
I
Ffamran woke to the stale stench of urine and choking musk, and his head swam as he sat up sharply, his head throbbing. A gray concrete cell, iron, rusty bars, two cots with rags for blankets; the single, locked door looked out to another empty, filthy cell. His captors had left him his clothes, but had shackled his wrists with inhibitors, and Ffamran rubbed at the bridge of his nose, disoriented. His left cheek felt bruised, and the dry thickness of his tongue as well as the insistent headache informed him that he’d probably been drugged.
What-
The distant clanging and shouting that had woken him was getting closer. Ffamran drew back against his cot, blinking, as two heavily masked men in orange jumpsuits pushed a slender man roughly before them, jeering when he stumbled, dragging him up by his elbows, then unlocking Ffamran’s cell and shoving the newcomer inside.
Anti-mutant insults ensued. It figured. Ffamran sighed, filtering out the shouts, leaning back against the wall, as his shackled cellmate levered himself carefully off the grimy floor to settle cross-legged on the other bunk.
Eventually the crazies departed, and Ffamran said, as cavalierly as he could, “Name’s Ffamran. What’s yours?”
The newcomer smiled, neat and precise. His sleek, long black hair was pulled back over his shoulders in a band that was unraveling at the nape of his neck, and long strands of hair were falling over his delicately handsome face. A bruise was also growing over one cheek, his left, and he was favoring his right arm. His torn clothes were richly tailored, evidently cut to fit, a white shirt, freshly discolored, and charcoal gray slacks over black leather loafers.
“Vayne Solidor.”
A strained pause, as Ffamran stifled his first thought ‘you’re joking’, and then his second ‘your minions almost killed me in Rwanda. And Uganda was a damn close thing too’. “Ah.”
“You must be Ffamran Mid Bunansa,” Vayne said, very thoughtfully. “Once, I do believe I offered your father a job.”
“These anti mutant activists are in for a world of hurt.”
Another neat smile. “That may be so.”
Vayne Solidor, undisputed regent and Crown Prince of Italy. Democracy had buckled half a century before under the warring and increasingly powerful Camorra, the mafia’s stranglehold on politics and justice growing stronger and stronger, their disputes more and more violent. Then one famiglia, the Solidor, had risen above the others by nurturing powerful mutants under its wings and breeding the same into its lines. Gramis Solidor had in a few decades done what the remnants of the Italian policia and the international community had failed to do: destroyed and absorbed the rest of the Camorra, opened Italy back to the world, enforced peace on its streets, and, at the same time, installed himself as Emperor. At the same time, the traditional Camorra businesses, particularly drugs, were legalized and taken under ‘government’ control, thievery was abolished, murder became specialized, and, with the collapse of most of the judiciary, legislature and executive branches of government came an odd sort of safety.
With his failing health, and the suspicious deaths of his two older sons, he had named his remaining and now eldest son Vayne Solidor as his heir and regent, a man by all reports at least as calculative and cold-blooded as his father. Vayne had been quick to expand his reach beyond Italian borders, with fingers in illegal diamond mines in Africa to drug production in South America, weapons manufacture for the Middle East, all the way to piracy off the Capes. The last son was merely twelve, and Ffamran vaguely felt that very likely, the young Prince Larsa was unlikely to reach maturity, reports of sibling affection be damned.
“So how did you get bagged? I don’t think these rednecks just waltzed into Italy and bundled you into a car?”
Vayne looked slightly pained, for a moment. “Dissidents have been rising in Italy recently, headed by a relative of a deposed famiglia. There was an… incident as I was returning to the Castello del Valentino.”
“Doesn’t say much about your security.”
“It was well planned.” Vayne sounded almost admiring. “Smooth execution. One can appreciate. They did, however, naturally take heavy casualties. Why are you here?”
“I was fixing up a kid’s toy in a playground when I got jumped.” It had been so stupid. Vossler was going to kill him.
“Poor circumstance.” Vayne allowed, graciously, somehow managing to seem regal despite their surroundings. “Certainly unforeseen.”
“Definitely not as much as getting caught in Italy,” Ffamran said dryly. They were technically enemies and they were reassuring each other in a jail cell while bigots above them were probably deciding the best spot to lynch them at.
“Agreed.” Vayne was far too unperturbed about this entire kidnapping-and-lynching business, in Ffamran’s opinion. “Do you play chess?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ve heard your memory is remarkable. Let us play by ear. You can take white.”
“You’re not concerned at all about our situation?”
“I know that if our captors wished us dead we would already be dead. Therefore, they likely are either ransoming us, which may be unlikely given their beliefs, or planning something worse. Furthermore, as we are both well connected, we can expect rescue sooner than later. Either way as we cannot as yet improve on our circumstances we may as well pass time.”
Blindingly impeccable logic – what was more, Vayne had, by device or accident, not mentioned his guardian and surrogate father at all in the entirety of the conversation. Ffamran found himself gratefully intrigued. “White, N-f Three.”
Vayne smiled comfortably and settled back against the wall as he did. “Black, N-f Six.”
II
He was just ‘some mutie kid who’d been picked up off a playground’ to his captors, something that seemed to accrue him only insults and poor food, said captors being wary of catching any ‘mutie germs’. Vayne, however, was a ‘known threat’, and, as an increasingly bruised and battered Vayne informed him mildly over the next two days, was likely to be lynched within the week.
“We have to get you out of here,” Ffamran said. Their ‘friends’ had left them with basin and cloth and a bowl of dirty water, and he was really not sure that he should be cleaning Vayne’s wounds with shit like this.
All the intellect in the world and he could only depend on rescue. No windows to their cell, no way of picking the lock. So stupid.
“I expect matters to be resolved on the morrow,” Vayne said, long legs folded beneath him and inspecting the bruises on his arm. Jacket ruined, shirt in tatters, and the Regent of Italy had ‘fixed’ his dislocated shoulder via the untroubled process of biting on to a rag of his shirt and instructing Ffamran to ‘pull’ it back ‘into place’. All in all, it had been one of the worst things Ffamran had ever had to do for someone, even for a supposed enemy. “Now, where were we?”
“Cleaning your wounds.” Cigarette burns. On Vayne’s beautiful long fingers. What was he meant to do about that?
“I meant the game.”
“Black c-5,” Ffamran said automatically. “Are you sure your fr… I mean, your employees are coming for you?”
“Once they have completed their tasks, naturally. White R-d1. Your surrogate father?”
Ffamran was too tired and a little too shell-shocked to scowl. “Fury will find me. It’s one thing he’s good at.”
“Then you have little to worry.” Vayne watched dispassionately as Ffamran awkwardly patted the wet cloth over his hands, not even flinching. “Speaking of which, the job offer still stands.”
“Assuming Fury doesn’t get here first and arrest you-”
“Assuming he arrests me-”
“It’s still a ‘no’. I’ve no interest in working for the mafia, whether a legitimate one or a otherwise.”
“A pity.” Vayne said soberly, “For, if you do recall my saying, I would be happy to employ you simply as a form of asset denial. You need not craft weapons at all.”
“Sounds good, but I’m happy where I was, thanks.” Ffamran knew enough of the world and logic not to trust Vayne Solidor, even a bruised and battered one sharing his cell, but the seed of temptation had been so economically planted.
“If you ever change your mind, do send word. Your move, Ffamran.”
III
Loud shouting, shooting and screams usually heralded a rescue of some sort, but Ffamran’s hope sank when he got a good look at the person sauntering down the corridor. Logan sniffed the air, glanced at him thoughtfully, then stopped outside his cell, turning to his master.
“Hey, princess. Your ride’s here.”
“Logan. You are quite late.”
“Yeah? Well, if you didn’t want t’marks t’die slow I could’a gotten here earlier, seein’ as the rest o’ your pack o’ hounds ain’t so efficient, boss.” The Wolverine cut the bars open with one extended claw, looking utterly untroubled by Vayne’s mild rebuke. “What about the brat?”
Vayne glanced at Ffamran, his eyes unreadable, then he looked back to Logan, who was using the claw to slice their shackles open. “We’ll take him with us, drop him off at the X-Mansion on our way back.”
“Did’ya hit your head too hard in this place? If they hit us with everythin’ they’ve got-”
“Professor Xavier understands the benefit of cease fires, I am sure.” Vayne got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and if Ffamran had not been watching Logan closely he would not have seen feral eyes narrow with ugly rage, the big fists clenching shut, then Vayne exhaled in irritation as the Wolverine picked him up as though he weighed nothing and slung him over his shoulder.
“Logan.”
“If you’re dumb enough t’put yourself in this sort o’ danger just so we can get t’every fuckin’ Dick an’ Harry who come out o’ hidin’ t’see your hangin’, then your dignity can suffer a little fuckin’ more.” Logan looked back at Ffamran, and jerked his head towards the corridor. “You comin’, kid?”
“You tried to kill me in Uganda,” Ffamran muttered, as they headed towards the exit. Vayne’s expression was a mix of resignation and residual irritation.
“Yeah? Obviously didn’t take.”
“And you got caught on purpose.” Ffamran glared at Vayne. “I thought so.”
“Certain difficult… heads of remnant famiglias were still in deep hiding. I needed something dramatic to flush them out.” Vayne was untroubled again, despite the indignity of his position. “Logan, I can walk.”
“They could have killed you first,” Ffamran pointed out, as the Wolverine ignored Vayne, picking his way over bodies that had been ripped to ribbons. Ffamran had his hand tight over his mouth, trying not to look, as they headed up a stairway liberally splashed with gore.
“No gamble is without its risk. Logan.” And they were out, in the fresh air, a black jet sleek and neat on the courtyard. Before it, a tall, ascetic man with a scarred face hurried forward to take Vayne over his arm. “Bergan. I am pleased to see you.”
“Your Highness,” Bergan looked him over, concerned, through gritted teeth. “We should have come earlier.”
“Hardly, if it would have compromised my intent. We may need to make a detour.” Vayne looked back to Ffamran, one eyebrow faintly arched. “Are you sure you would not work for me, Ffamran?”
“Thanks for the offer,” Ffamran said dryly, pointing one finger of his manacled hands upward, “But I think my ride is here. Probably picked up on your signature.” Above, the drone of a helicopter was getting closer, its sides emblazoned with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logos.
“As that may.” Vayne inclined his head. “We may finish our game another time, perhaps in better circumstances.”
“I might look forward to it,” Ffamran supposed he could say that much. “Arrivederci.”
“Arrivederci, Ffamran.” Vayne’s elegant exit up the ramp of the plane was rather ruined by Logan’s fingers, pressed against the small of his back, all but pushing him forward. Ffamran stood back as the engines charged, drawing an arm up over his eyes.
He had been fairly sure he had been winning this particular round, anyway.
IV.
“Got t’have better ways o’ meeting people,” Logan grumbled, finally removing his ten-gallon hat as the plane lifted off to swerve clear of the helicopter’s range, heading back towards Italy.
The mutant crossed bloodstained boots over the seat beside him, leaning comfortably against the hull, arms behind his head and hat on his belly. Bergan sat in front, next to the exit, while Vayne sat in his usual seat, lounging, a glass of good red in one hand, the other turning the pages of the newspaper in his lap.
“Trust is difficult to earn with the skeptical unless the situation is genuine, Logan.” Vayne said mildly, having anticipated this conversation long before the Wolverine had made his violent appearance. “And it was merely one part of a whole.”
A snort. “Could’a been killed.”
“Then it is fortunate that I was not, was it?”
“Didn’t figure your balls t’be bigger than your brain.”
“Logan.” Bergan growled, but Vayne merely chuckled.
“And it was worth a few cracked ribs, in particular, to discover who in particular, in this organization, is loyal to me personally.” Vayne took a sip of his wine, rolled the rose of the aftertaste in the back of his mouth. “You could say I am fairly pleased with the outcome.”
“You’re not borin’, I’ll give you that.” Logan closed his eyes, settling deeper into the chair.
“Quite. Bergan, have the pilot set course to the Charles de Gaulle, and arrange a table at L’Ambroisie. Invite Sarkozy if he is available.” One could not be rude, after all. “And then put through a conference call to my father, if he is well enough. Perhaps the disappointment that I am still alive may put him into an early grave.”
“Aye, your Highness.” A pause. “But your wounds.”
“Gloves and long sleeves,” Vayne said dismissively, “The rest that is visible can only be good politics.” That, after all, was the only language worth practicing.
-fin-