black_wolf (black_wolf) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-12-17 15:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | cassius corbet, lucien swinton |
Who: Lucien Swinton, Cassius Corbet
What: A mostly civil conversation
Where: The Lionhart
When: 15 December, 1888 [Slight backdate]
Rating: PG, C for Cattiness
Lucien was rather tired of the Significant Glances that’d been tossed his way from the vampire section of the floor, and given a few hints dropped by Mac, he figured Corbet knew about the plot long before he’d managed to learn about it from Peter.
It was a decidedly mixed blessing -- he figured better the vampire know than not, but Lucien didn’t know exactly how fully his political opponent had been informed of the entire business, and he was growing weary of the meaningful pauses and raised eyebrows.
So he’d sent a request for a private meeting under the guise of hammering out a compromise around mining (which was nonsense), and showed up at the appointed hour to the back room at the Lionhart (safe from prying ears, and other possible threats, should his rival be concerned), a frown already lodged firmly on his face.
Corbet was sitting there, looking as he usually did -- a studied air of nonchalance.
“Lord Ravensworth,” he said, formally, bobbing his head as the door shut behind them. “I appreciate the opportunity to talk in person.”
"It's always a pleasure to speak with a fellow MP," Cassius replied, leaning back in his chair and keeping his hands on the head of his walking stick, and off the likely-sticky surface of the table. Pubs were not his usual sort of meeting place, but needs must. And Mac Ruadh was here, should they need to consult him. On mining, of all things.
He nodded acknowledgement in turn, less formal but still observing the courtesies Swinton was due. "Shall we order a round of drinks, or would you like to dive right into who should be permitted to poke their picks where? It's always a touchy question, isn't it? Men so often have differing opinions. Have you eaten?"
Lucien paused. “I wouldn’t be averse to drinks,” he said, as a concession to politeness, “and I’m not in need of food, no,” he added. He sighed a little internally -- these early pleasantries were necessary, really, important to maintaining the illusion of a social contract no matter how strained it might otherwise be in reality, and given the personal nature of what they were hopefully going to address, it was probably a good idea.
“I haven’t had the chance yet to wish you happy returns in person,” he added, taking his seat. “It was a lovely wedding, and all my best wishes for you and your wife.” It was a loaded statement, and he wasn’t sure how Corbet would take it, but he did mean it -- it was why he was here, after all.
Cassius had already remarked on his lack of like invitation to the wedding of Lord and Lady Black, so he let that pass and chose to focus on a subject that would affect the future more directly.
"It is an interesting alliance, isn't it? But then..." He gestured around them at the pub, which was the unchallenged territory of Mac Ruadh and his favorites. "You have alliances of your own. Do you think they have armanac here? If not, I'll order two of whatever you recommend."
“They most likely do, I’d warrant it’s a well-stocked bar,” Lucien replied. “I don’t come here often,” he added a little curtly, with a slight frown of annoyance at Cassius’s implications. We’re hardly wed was on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to keep from saying it out loud.
It was more than a little galling that the Fae Court had cast their lot so openly and blatantly with the vampires through the recent marriage while Mac was held to a standard of neutrality, a standard the Fae kept to scrupulously in the House of Shadows whatever his personal preferences might be. It tipped the scale in a way he didn’t care for.
It was times like these that he missed Arthur. The vampire had been a quiet force of nature, soft spoken and brilliant, and he possessed a remarkable capacity to rise above the petty in-fighting to think about the bigger picture. His mantra was How does this serve our countrymen? How does this serve our Empire? How does this serve our Crown?
With that mantra firmly in mind, and the benefit of a brief respite while ordering drinks (they did indeed have armanac, and Lucien ordered one for himself as well in order to make a point), he looked over at Corbet. They still had a minute or two before the drinks arrived and they could be assured of more privacy, and while the thought of keeping up pleasantries for that length of time gave him a bit of a headache, he plowed through it.
He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve had my share over the years -- out of friendship, convenience, mutual interest, necessity…” he raised an eyebrow.
Cassius raised his eyebrows, a small, amused smile curling his lips. "Are we still discussing alliances?" he asked. Swinton's confirmed bachelor standing implied a string of mistresses - or boys - behind closed bedroom doors, although his hasty marriage and claims of being lifemate to the wife of his former friend cast rather a different light on that status. Not celibate nor determined bachelor, perhaps, simply...waiting for his opportunity.
One he'd found, conveniently, in France, with a murder that had cut short the life of Lady Black's former husband by a considerable span. Cassius doubted it was Swinton's hand - or tooth - that had been bloodied, but he wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that one of the Black Park pack had acted in its alpha's interests, to stabilize the pack and generate an heir.
It was what he might have done, in the same situation.
"If you're asking about the nature of this particular alliance," Cassius continued after the barb had settled, "I believe mutual interest - and mutual benefit - is most apt. The Baroness and I are of like minds on a number of issues, and believe we may see the best progress by working together toward our aims." He settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his walking stick. "But you're not really here to ask about that, are you? Though I'm sure you're truly invested in my wedded happiness."
“You seem rather determined to assume all sorts of things,” Lucien replied, tartly, “but as to the latter, yes, of course this meeting has an alternative motive, one of which you’re full aware, and it very much speaks to my investment in the good of our country and duty to the Crown, and your and the Baroness’s wellbeing, regardless of my thoughts on your current arrangement.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “At the very least, that ought not to be up for debate,” he added, quietly. “And before you anticipate me, my assumption is that you hold yourself to similar standard, or else you should not have been asked here in the first place.”
The drinks arrived, the server dismissed, and he took advantage of the pause to down half his glass and take a solid breath.
Heavens, he hated talking at times.
"That was a speech worthy of the House floor," Cassius drawled, toying with his glass but not drinking yet. "Do go on. I should hate to assume anything about your motives, though I appreciate the concern for my well-being. You know I, and the Ravensworth coven, are loyal to kingdom and crown. I shouldn't think you've ever been given reason to believe otherwise."
“I thought I made that rather clear as having been a necessary prerequisite to this conversation,” Lucien replied icily, “and as you are here, quod erat demonstrandum. You needn’t belabour the point.”
He noted Corbet’s leap to profess his own loyalty without affirming his belief in his own, something that made his hackles stir, but given he’d just been lecturing about belabouring, he figured it was best left well enough alone.
He sighed, and tapped the table with his fingers. “So might we cease posturing for at least a little while, and, as two loyal representatives of the crown, go about the business of protecting it, and you?”
Cassius swallowed the pithy comment on his tongue and gave a nod. "Mac Ruadh mentioned that you have a stray, and a bit of a problem. It's not only my life that needs protecting, though, is it? I gather there's some dissension in the ranks. Or the former ranks, as the case may be. One of your pups tried and failed to take your place, and now they're turning on the coven instead?"
He clucked his tongue in mock-disapproval. "I'd have expected them to learn better from you. You've never been one to go on the attack in such a foolhardy fashion. Or is that why they've decided to take matters into their own hands? One war wasn't enough, and change is too slow to come?"
It took a few beats for Lucien to respond.
He knew Corbet wanted him to rise to the bait he had so obviously planted (and while he understood Mac’s reasons for laying all the cards on the table, to have his Pack business so baldly and insultingly stated stung), but the room was in sore need of an adult, and he was the senior member.
Significantly so.
Oh, once they’d each gotten a few centuries under their belts fifty odd years’ difference would be laughable, but he’d cut his teeth during a war, had built a reputation he could stand behind, and Corbet…
...Corbet was two years into his tenure, and facing an assassination attempt, along with his new bride.
He let the silence linger for perhaps a fraction longer than was absolutely necessary for him to regain his equilibrium so that Corbet’s words could continue to echo in the air, on the off-chance it might result in some self-insight about the wiseness (or lack thereof) of what he’d just said.
“I believe the more pressing question is not why my former packmate was convinced to stray, but rather the motives and identity of those who convinced him,” he replied, very nearly mildly. “As to the latter, at the moment, unfortunately, what we know is sorely lacking, but their organizational structure is highly compartmentalized.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Regardless, it appears as though they intend to break the treaty, and I, for one, do not intend to let them.”
"Are you with Mac Ruadh, then, intending to kill them one or two at a time as they make the attempts?" Cassius didn't know if Mac Ruadh had let his plan of killing Peter Foster slip to Swinton, but if he hadn't, it wouldn't hurt to crack that united front a little. "I'd prefer your former packmate remain alive and useful, but I seem to be in the minority. Do you truly believe he's turned?"
Working with a supposed spy, of course, meant trusting that the spy really was on their side now. If Foster were still chasing after his alpha, power-hungry and reckless, Cassius might not have concerned himself overmuch with that question; with it being Cassius' life in question this time, he had rather more personally at stake.
This was entirely new information, and unpleasant to boot. “...I do,” Lucien replied, carefully, “and… I agree with your assessment.”
He frowned. “...I will say, he’s in a considerable bind -- he cannot be successful in his stated mission, of course, but his usefulness will be limited should his capacity to lead those he’s been given charge of be hobbled through decimation -- it’s taken him considerable effort to convince them to follow his lead. With two Fae in the know, we very well ought to be able to make it look like whatever we wish without such measures. Pretend two have died. Send them to Australia with some money and a fresh start. These are the very souls we’ve got to convince of the value of peace.”
His frown deepened as he chewed it all over, before huffing a little. “Regardless,” he added, a sour taste in his mouth, “I suspect those orchestrating this hardly need a successfully completed assassination to accomplish their goals. And while some sabre rattling is to be expected…” he looked over at Corbet. “Knowing this is coming, knowing the current atmosphere, do you believe it would be possible to keep it at rattling?”
He hardly expected Corbet to be able to hold the line on his own -- he was the newest vampire member of the House, and while his marriage had been a coup, and he’d given a few rousing speeches to give that rising star impression an extra sheen, the grooves worn into the floor by his predecessors were well-established and deep.
He hemmed. “Lewis would be key, I’d imagine. He tipped the scales to approve the treaty on your end, because he was the first to come to the table who wasn’t seen as moderate, and he has some weight behind him. Jacobs, DeWitt, and Fredrickson tend to follow his lead, and if he’s convinced it’s a rogue element and nothing more…”
"Are we being blunt with one another?" Cassius supposed they were; the time for sabre-rattling, as Swinton had put it, had passed. And there was nothing he'd say about the climate that Swinton didn't already know.
"War benefits none of us at present. That isn't to say it won't at some point, but the covens will hardly appreciate a rogue werewolf pack of assassins to dictate when and how it begins. So long as you're fighting among yourselves, it's all well and good, but the moment we're dragged into it, we'll have to save face as well as our heads. The covens are more vulnerable than your packs; there are hundreds more of you, for a start, and while I won't belittle your grief by saying you wouldn't mourn your own when they fell, the effect on us is rather more dramatic. I'm telling you this because I'm certain you already know; it was an established tactic during the war, to eliminate one from every coven, to destabilize all of us. Which is why I will not be faking my death, as was suggested, nor anything so sensational."
At last, Cassius picked up his glass and took a sip of the sweet, distinctive French brandy he favoured. Swinton had decided to speak with him as an equal and an ally, likely due to his packmate's life hanging in the balance; Cassius would sheathe his claws and grant him the same courtesy.
"I suspect you already know, but we may have problems of our own." Cassius studied Swinton with hooded eyes, watching for a reaction. It would surprise him if Swinton hadn't heard; Una and Mac Ruadh twittered to one another like songbirds, and what was whispered to Mac was whispered to his cherished pet. "Perhaps instead of seeking to eliminate certain threats ourselves, we should consider turning them against one another, to mutual benefit. What do you know of the Stahls?"
This earned Cassius an appraising look.
He’d been bound and determined to weather drawls and barbs and pray the vampire would at least go back to his corner with some inkling of strategy that wouldn’t cut him out completely, but this…
This was progress.
He nodded, fractionally. “A coven come over from America, wanted for a few different counts, and bringing some nasty business with them. So they’re targeting their own?” He asked, frowning. “From what I could gather, they seemed to be either running to ground or on a vendetta, but I hadn’t quite caught towards whom.”
He’d come back around to how the vampires might ‘save face,’ and how much blood (and whose) it would take later.
It made some sort of sense, though -- two sets of opportunists, poking at the embers of a fire to see if they could get it roaring again with purpose -- power, no doubt, or money, or both.
“What would you propose, then?” He asked, curious, leaning forward a little, his glance keen.
"I wouldn't go so far as to say we're being targeted...but anything they do reflects badly on all of us, and as such, they're a threat to our reputation and political power." It was more of an admission than Cassius might have liked to make to a werewolf, but assassins, like misery, acquainted a man with strange bedfellows.
Cassius would have liked to leave it there, but remembering the Pinkertons' warnings, he sighed and gave up the more delicate information.
"I trust this won't leave our little circle of conspirators, but the Pinkertons were sent in part to find out whether the Stahls' choice to flee to England was due to my appointment. They've decided it hasn't, which is fortunate for them," Cassius continued dryly, "but they believe I'm a target for assassination, and that the Stahls may use certain ritual objects for summoning spirits or beings to serve them, or for gathering power, in making their attempt. Ravensworth would be quite a coup for them, considering our recent alliance with the Winter Court."
Cassius took another sip of his armagnac. Much as he would have liked to be petty, he couldn't really fault Mac's cellars. "I don't believe anyone has told them that there's another group signed up already for the job. So we have a pack of werewolves who want to take on vampires and spark a conflict, and a band of vampires -" Cassius didn't often like to call them a coven, considering what he knew of them, "- who wish to set themselves up in power by taking on the established covens. Which would make them a tempting target, don't you think?"
“Hmm. Perhaps. If they can be made to be seen as a rising power,” Lucien replied, thinking it out as he spoke, “as a power that would threaten our own standing, or who would be reckless enough to rise to the occasion to spark a war where there would otherwise be little appetite, especially if the assassination attempt doesn't have the desired results.”
A thought occurred, then, and he frowned, catching Cassius’s eye. “I would be concerned about possible consequences should the extremists on my end learn of the existence of tools that could be particularly quite disruptive in their hands, seeing as their aim is closer to genocide than a power grab. Is there truth to it?”
Cassius was silent for a long moment, debating just how much he wanted to hand over to someone who might yet become an enemy, if their attempts to keep the peace should fail and war broke out again. Finally, he nodded once, slowly. "The Pinkertons believe so," he replied. "And I have no reason to doubt them. Their list of stolen items, believed to be in the possession of the Stalls, is...very specific."
He set his glass down and pursed his lips briefly. "The covens are on alert, of course, and should any whisper of such items occur, we will do everything in our power to obtain them and remove them from the country. The Americans want them back, and we would rather they have them."
Particularly, Cassius thought privately, since the Winter Court had stolen items of their own in the wind, and that was altogether too many powerful weapons in dangerous hands.
“What a bloody mess,” Lucien muttered, before sighing and frowning thoughtfully.
“Right. We can have my man plant a bee in his handler’s bonnet about the Stahls, but will keep any mention of weapons out, and see if there’s the possibility to direct them a touch more fruitfully, or perhaps he might suggest he could take initiative due to having an opening. There’s a risk, of course, but if the people we’ve got working for us are the ones sent after them, that cuts the risk substantially, and there could…” he paused and shrugged. “There could be some benefit to both sides if Foster achieves some… tangible success. I’m also working to see if we might discover who’s further up on the chain, who’s funding this on our end, and I’ll be keeping Mac informed.”
He looked over at Cassius. “For what it’s worth,” he said, a little shortly, “I appreciate the advanced warning regarding possible collateral damages.”
Cassius waved a benevolent hand in dismissal. "Think nothing of it. We're allies now, it seems, until present difficulties on both sides have passed. If you have thoughts on how to make an attempt on my life properly dramatic and survivable for all involved, I'd be interested to hear them."
For a moment, he nearly - very nearly - asked Swinton what he knew about di Palermo, but that was a private matter, even if it did escalate beyond its current state. Cassius wouldn't use a werewolf to help him bring down a vampire. Some things were best kept within the family.
That resulted in a small flash of of a smile, very nearly without his meaning to. “I shall be sure to let you know,” he said.
He reached into his leather case, then, and pulled out a sheaf of papers, sliding them across the table.
“I took the liberty of drawing up some language around mining so we could have a cover for meeting, and anticipated your position. Feel free to go back and complain loudly about the second paragraph, but I threw you a bone in the fourth, so it ought to even out some.”
The meeting was as successful as it could have been despite the early and rather substantial insults tossed his way, and he leaned back in his chair, downing the remainder of his brandy. “If we are to be allies, of a fashion,” he said mildly, “while I can appreciate a certain degree of candor, know that there are limits to my patience. While I cannot expect you to cease use of slurs when referring to my people altogether, I would ask you to avoid use of them in my presence as a courtesy.”
Cassius considered this request, tapping the handle of his walking stick with one finger. Cassius had the coven at his back, but Swinton had allies of his own, and far more time in his position. They would never be friends, but there was value in cultivating allies as well as assets, even of a temporary nature.
"Agreed," Cassius decided after he'd come to a decision, and delicately adjusted the papers so that he could read them. "Now, let us see just how appalling this negotiation is. I do so enjoy having something to loudly complain about."