angelic_gabe (angelic_gabe) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2018-02-10 22:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | biddie, gabriel allen |
Who: Gabriel Allen, Biddie, Archie(NPC), Graham(NPC)
What: A negotiation and an ultimatum
Where: MPC’s warehouse
When: 9 February, 1889
Rating: PG
Gabriel showed up to MPC’s rebuilt warehouse in his second-best suit, a dapper rose threaded through his lapel, his shoes and smile polished to a fine sheen.
It was his own form of armour, really -- and Gabriel had no illusions. He was marching into battle, of sorts. The stakes were certainly high enough.
At least this time, he wasn’t half-drugged, and stuck on an airship bound for Constantinople.
Biddie’s employees were very good at putting up barriers -- it took more than one polite I really do insist on seeing Mrs Linden’s, a good long period of sitting and looking pleasantly interested in his surroundings, and three cups of tea before he was led back to the rear room -- the one whose walls Archie had held up with sheer will while he’d run through the door to carry Biddie out. The smell of fresh paint was still evident.
(He wondered a little idly whether he would’ve been quite so helpful, knowing what he knew now.)
"There's a what waiting?"
"A Mr. Allen," the secretary repeated. "He is most insistent."
"Frederick, I don't care if he's naked, covered in gold, and yodeling the secret of eternal bliss. This is not the day for visitors. The goddamn Berlin delegation is--" Biddie paused. Inhaled. Exhaled. Put a gloved hand, delicately, over her eyes. "How insistent, exactly?"
"Extremely so."
Biddie thought of several very colorful phrases. Then she thought of them in five different languages. None helped.
"Push Berlin to three and have Walton in the room when they land. Keep Graham as far from that room as possible. I don't want a repeat of November's cabbage incident," Biddie said. She snapped closed the ledgers on her makeshift desk like a crocodile shutting up. "If Captain Curtis show up, I'm not here. Neither is Mr. Allen. Clear?"
"Crystalline, Miss Liddy."
Biddie collected the ledgers "Lovely. Why don't you have an early lunch, Frederick? Somewhere nice."
"I'm quite fine with--"
"Somewhere nice and off site, Frederick."
"...Yes, Miss Liddy."
"Lovely," Biddie repeated grimly. She herded the young man in front of her on their way out of the makeshift - God, everything around her felt makeshift lately - office.
"Mr. Allen!" She beamed. Her face had officially finished "healing"; beaming was again a means of attack. "What a luscious surprise. Have you come to whisk me away from all of this?" Glancing aside, she added, “Run along, Frederick. And remember: somewhere nice.”
Her secretary gave a small nod. “Duly noted, Miss Liddy.”
He gave a brief, edged look towards Allen as he passed.
Gabriel dipped his head, his expression brightly charming as he took her hand and bent over it. “My dear Mrs Linden,” he said, all warmth, “you are looking quite well, which I am so very glad to see. Were you not American, I’d claim you were a proper English Rose in peak bloom.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And the whisking is entirely up to you. I could get us a table at the Osiris, if that’s to your liking, but if you’d rather I transport you with words alone and stay closer to home, as it were, I can rise to the occasion, even though it will be a challenge. I do know how devoted you are to your work. Most admirable, really.”
"Were you not so biologically French, I'd trust the flattery," Biddie said warmly. The temperature didn't quite reach her eyes. "Perhaps we'd better stick to here and now. Would you care to follow me?"
First the witch, and now the charmer, she thought as the heading across the warehouse floor towards the reconstructed test shops in the back. It made it rather easy to guess what today's topic of conversation would be.
Mind on the argument ahead, Biddie pushed open the workshop door and - stared.
Three faces stared back. More specifically, two faces and one faceplate stared back. The former looked surprised and curious, and a little guilty. The latter was attached to a diving helmet that looked about fifteen pounds bulkier than the average specimen; it merely looked dense.
"Miss Liddy," said the guiltiest looking of the bunch.
"Peter," Biddie nodded to him and his companion. "Margot. Finishing with the prop wash testing already?"
"Just this morning," Margot said. She was a tall, unsmiling woman with extremely well behaved curls. Until this moment, Biddie would've dubbed the least likely person on site to be involved in...in…
A series of muffled grunts came from the diving helmet. They sounded oddly - cheerful.
Oh, for the love of God and all the little fishes. "Graham?"
Margot nodded.
"Is he stuck?"
Peter winced.
"Lovely," Biddie said. "All right then, early lunch for the lot of you. Somewhere nice, shoo."
"I don't think," Peter began, eyes on the diving helmet and the merman within. Margot, clearly out to reclaim her place as Sanest Employee in the Room, was already rolling up their toolkit and steering Graham towards the door.
"I won't shoo twice, Mr. Teller," Biddie said. "Just - go. Eat. Pour some tea through the cracks for Graham. We can all pretend this never happened tomorrow." She paused, then added. "Make it a very long lunch, please."
There was a muted chorus of yes, Miss Liddy - echoed almost automatically from somewhere within the diving helmet - before the odd trio exited. Margot paused at the door to look at Allen.
"You're the Captain's visitor from that day," she said. No need to specify which day. "I remember you. We wondered how you'd gotten out at first. If you’d gotten out."
"Mr. Allen has the angels’ own attention," Biddie said. "And the luck of a cat. Enjoy your lunch, Margot."
"Your taste in pet causes, however, leaves something to be desired," Biddie said once they were alone with the workshop door securely shut. She set the ledgers on the table and began tugging off her pretty fawn gloves. "I'm not training your monkey, Gabriel."
“I believe,” Gabriel replied, sitting casually on the corner of a table and setting his hat down on the surface, “that I’ve been rather explicitly clear from the start about my preferences and loyalties. Don’t fault me for being predictable, my dear, simply because those preferences are inconvenient to you.”
He tipped his head her way. “I’ve been honest, as well, about my expectations. Expectations which you’ve violated. Oh, you can be pedantic, and claim to have been technically accurate regarding no ‘physical’ harm, but we both know that’s disingenuous at best -- there has been damage done, your actions have had ongoing consequences, and I’m asking you in good faith to take steps to remedy.”
"Don't think you can cash in on guilt I don't feel," Biddie said. "I admitted to mistepping at the masquerade. Fair enough. And for the sake of that transgression, I'm willing to overlook your pet's blundering in my recent affairs."
"As for these called 'damages'..." She tossed her gloves on the table and gave him a bald look. "You're kidding. Surely. Eden's not damaged, Gabriel; he's cracked. Whatever it is the dead sniff out in him is going to keep bleeding through those cracks and those cracks are going to widen. I'm no more to blame for that than your lot are for - " She waved a bare hand " - puberty. Or whatnot."
"It's like I told the witch girl," Biddie continued. "Cases like Eden operate on borrowed time. He's - what, twenty? Twenty-two? And he's sane and employed. Frankly, that's a better run than most get outside of a madhouse or somebody's cellar."
Indeed, in Biddie's opinion the boy must've been born under a lucky star. Expressly for the sake of annoying the hell out of me.
"I understand," Biddie said gently. "You got attached. He's - unique, it's tempting. It's very kind of you not to want him to...suffer. And I'm perfectly willing to help you keep him comfortable. But beyond that - come now, Gabriel. Be reasonable."
What went unspoken was written clearly on her expression: it’s only food.
“You honestly can tell me that you believe that these… cracks… as you call them are entirely disassociated from the spell you performed on him?” Gabriel replied quietly. “Because from where I sit, you took him and forced those cracks wide, for your own purposes. I hold you responsible, regardless of whether you do or not.”
“And to blame him for something he cannot control…” he paused, and pinched his nose. “You may not feel guilt, but we had an agreement, one which you chose to run roughshod over, and I am cashing in my chips.”
He looked over at her, his expression sober. “You want him to stop interfering? Teach him how to control what he has had thrust upon him. Yes, I know what you told Miss Bakst -- that at his age, such manifestations are difficult to master, but I hardly think it is beyond you to make an effort. And I am here to see whether I might motivate you, given our original terms have been brought to question, and all that implies.”
Biddie held up a finger, faintly scarred. "One. You can hold me responsible for whales being fat and cheese being a poor conductor for sexual gratification, but that doesn't I mean I have to share that opinion. I didn't force Eden to go chasing ghosts without wondering at the consequences. He was invited into my magic only once; everything else is trespassing. Frankly, if he doesn't care how he does it, why should I be guilty when he does it badly?"
Second finger. "Two. It's blame when you're accusing a pet of soiling a carpet or when children cheat at marbles. It's accountability when dealing with a supposedly grown man and his relationship with a power he's had all of his life but never bothered to train."
"And thirdly," three matching scars were present now, "don't speak nicely when you're playing mean, Gabriel. You want to threaten me, you damn well say the words." Biddie's expression was paint on marble. "You cash out, you leave the table.”
And Eden's protection goes with you said her gaze.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I am asking you to extend yourself a fraction, Biddie,” he said, evenly. “I am asking you to take on the training of a person I care for, and have stated my care for since the beginning of our arrangement, a person you will at least admit to using ill. I do not believe that to be unreasonable. We can dicker about whether you hold yourself responsible for what’s happened, whether he is accountable for his experiences, but that’s window dressing.”
“If you should like me to be blatant,” he added, “I shall, but above and beyond all that, why should I have to in the first place? Why are you forcing my hand? It’s not something I would care to do, and really, my dear, I should prefer us to have a mutually beneficial relationship. This would benefit me. I would be grateful, and would respond in kind. Does it require further incentive? Is the notion of providing assistance that contentious to you? It would solve a great many issues, including your concerns over his continued interference, and smooth over several ruffled feathers in the process.”
"I'm sorry, are you asking me to teach him necromancy or etiquette for tea?" Biddie said acidly. "Because - a fraction? A fraction. You want me to name myself as a necromancer to a Night Watchman. And not just any Night Watchman, no, you want it delivered to the one pisser in the lot who's been suspecting me of god knows what for the last three months. Never mind that there's a butcher ripping apart Whitechapel and paranoia running high, you want me to illustrate Eden the finer points of death magic because, oh no, that'll never come back to bite anybody in the arse. He'll never talk of it to anybody. He'll never say anything he shouldn't. Because he's nothing but cautious and circumspect, our discreet Mr. Eden."
"This is not mutually beneficial, Gabriel," Biddie said. "This is you telling me to ignore a hundred years of caution on English soil for the sake of chaperoning your bit of bedsport while he mucks with the dead. Because apparently that'll somehow make him less of a plague upon my house."
“You are not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Gabriel replied, flatly. “If your concern is simply revealing your nature, you’ve already shown a great deal of it to him through your actions. He’s a bloody detective, woman. He can connect those particular dots easily enough on his own, and I would not be surprised if he hasn’t already done so. And may I remind you that yes, paranoia is running high, and if one wished to ensure discretion, perhaps extending oneself a bit would give one insurance, and be preferable to assuming he is an utter fool, simply because you’ve taken his helpful nature to be a sign of stupidity. He saw the ship, Biddie. He knows your ghost at the warehouse was lying. And has he told? No. On my request, I would add.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Miss Bakst believes the actions of the Ripper are associated quite strongly with powerful necromancy. She was nearby when the spell in question was cast, after all. She has involved the Sidhe and Night Watch in her investigations, and they’ve agreed with her assessment. So yes. I can see how it would be more than a little dangerous for you, especially given your… additional nature. I’d imagine if even a whiff of what happened with the Russians were to get out, the association would be inevitable, and you’ve managed to thoroughly hack off three of the people whom you need to keep quiet.” He looked at her, his face made of stone. “Should you wish to remain unscrutinized by a greater audience, despite your rather ridiculously showy displays of late, I would suggest being helpful as a show of good faith, and bringing him into the fold.”
He paused. “I ought to add,” he said, quietly, “that I and Miss Bakst are not the only parties invested in Mr Eden’s continued health and welfare. Mr Kessinger and Mr Swinton would be people I would very much want to stay on the good side of, were I you.”
A terrible silence descended on the little room at the end of Gabriel's words.
Maurice, Biddie recalled, used to joke that his mother would rather cut off her hand than have it forced. Admittedly, by that time her son was well aware how temporary such an inconvenience would be. She wondered what he'd say if he'd been sitting on this meeting. She wondered if he'd find it - God rest his thoroughly French soul - amusing. Or at least ironic.
Then again, if her son had lived - if any of them had lived - Bibbie wouldn't resort to blooding with the Russians or in paying attention to the likes of Eden and his ghost messages.
Or maybe she would. Maybe this was inevitable in its own way, Biddie decided. If not Eden, then somebody else. If not Gabriel, then somebody else. If not now, then soon enough.
There was always something or someone coming for you, always some force demanding you to bend the knee. Always some power calling for profitable obedience. Always a reason to -
"Go to hell," Biddie said.
"That'd make us rather late for tea," said a cheerful voice from the door. "And I was looking forward to a cuppa."
Archie Curtis stepped into the room, smiling, and firmly pulling the door closed behind him. He was dressed for travel in a smart flying coat, his hat in hand and his hair showing evidence of (admirably) surviving outdoor winds. The cleancut face and well-pressed figure radiated amiability.
“I saw Graham walking into propeller with thirty pounds of metal on his head,” he said, still smiling. “It wasn’t on, but should we concerned about that? I feel concerned about that.” He glanced welcomingly at Gabriel. “Mr. Allen! I’m sorry to have missed you at the opera last week. I hope you and Leah will allow me the chance to catch you this week instead.”
All the while, Archie continued a casual, unhurried progress through the room until - as if by sheer accident of timing - he was standing directly between the two.
"I thought you were in New York," Biddie said. Her expression had shuttered the moment her godson had stepped inside.
"I was," Archie said agreeably. "Now I'm back." He turned and swiftly pecked his godmother's cheek. It was an affectionate, but oddly childish gesture. "We made excellent time, by the way. Walton will be thrilled."
“I’m sure,” Biddie added softly. She reached for the gloves on the table; Archie put his hand, his left hand, on hers, arresting.
He kept his hand there, while he turned back to look at Gabriel. “Ah - I almost forgot! I saw our mutual friend, Miss Bakst, before I left. Would you mind terribly if I asked her to join us at the opera, Mr. Allen? We’d make a merry group, I think.”
Biddie’s hand jerked against the table, but Archie pressed down: pinning.
Gabriel could paint on a smile like the best of them, but his expression was decidedly tinged with caution (and relief -- he was man enough to admit it) as he met Archie’s eyes -- he figured it was warranted. He tipped his head. “That would be lovely. She is a dear girl. And may I say, Leah’s quite appreciated stretching her legs of late. She’s like her old man - she enjoys a challenge. I do hope her work has been satisfactory, and continues to be -- it is my heartfelt wish, after all,” he added, his eyes shifting over to Biddie, “that our association might continue to be one of mutual benefit.”
The look Biddie gave at that was scalding.
Archie was immune. "Capital! I'll make the arrangements, then. We'll make something of a night of it. Now, and I do apologize, but would you mind awfully stepping outside for just a few minutes? It'd be much appreciated, thank you. We won’t be long.”
He could take a hint, especially when it was that broadly stated, and stood. “Of course, how monumentally rude of me,” he said, “you’ll want to catch up with your cousin now that you’ve returned to port. I’ll show myself out. Never fear,” he added, with a bit of a grin, this one very nearly reaching his eyes, “I won’t wander too far, and I’ll keep my hands to themselves.”
"Do so," Biddie said curtly.
Archie merely smiled - he hadn’t truly stopped since he walked in - and waited for the door to close behind Allen.
The shouting began almost immediately. The surrounding area became suddenly and conspicuously personel free.
Seventeen minutes later came a deep metal bang...much like the sound of an overturned metal workbench. The door opened. Archie stepped out, carefully closed the door, and leaned heavily against it.
He was no longer smiling.
“Well,” Archie said. “That went - well, actually that was bloody awful. Thanks for that, mate.”
Gabriel had taken the opportunity to provide assistance to poor Graham, mostly in the form of keeping him from wandering as the others rooted around for various tools, and then passing said tools to whoever asked for them, while keeping up a rather steady stream of banter to keep everyone’s attention from wandering back to the offices. He was good at being charming, after all, and Graham was rather cheerfully hapless in a way he found amusing, and he did have a rather enormous weak spot for mer.
The helmet removed, and the promise of a celebratory lunch the following day obtained (Graham was unsurprisingly quite pleasant looking under the helmet), he meandered back at the opening of the door.
“Welcome back to jolly old England, my good Captain,” Gabriel replied. “I’m sorry it was an unpleasant reception, but I’m damned glad to see you.” He nodded towards the offices. “I don’t suppose I’ll have to update my will?” He asked, his voice light, and expressing a broad ‘clearly joking’ air for anyone remotely in earshot, but the expression he shot Archie was serious. “It’d be quite an inconvenience to have to use a competitor to leave the country. Your state rooms are vastly more comfortable.”
"I've been back since yesterday, " Archie said with deceptive lightness. He pointed a stern finger at Graham. "This shop's unavailable for the rest of the day. Move it off the roster - no exception."
"Sure thing, Captain," Graham said. The young man's face creased in sincere concern. "Is Miss Liddy's having one of her allergy attacks?"
There was another almighty thud of metal-on-stone from within the room. Hopefully it was the table being put right side up and not, say, someone punching through a support beam.
Graham's concerned expression didn't alter in the slightest.
"...yes." Archie said. "Yes, I think it's a bad one this time."
Graham nodded. "It's this awful dry air. Plagues my gran something terrible. She swears that gin and raisins is the only thing that gets her through. Should I fetch some?"
He was already turning to go when Archie caught his shoulder. "I think we'll hold off the raisins for now, Graham, thank you."
"Are you sure? Because gran said--"
"No raisins, Graham."
"So just the gin-"
"Graham?"
"Yes, Captain?"
Archie patted the young mer's shoulder. Hard. "Take a long lunch."
"Yes, Captain." He turned cheerfully towards Allen. "Would you like to - "
"Alone, Graham."
The emphasis finally seemed to sink in and the electrician nodded, before heading away with the helmet in his arms. Archie watched him go with helpless mix of fondness and dire exasperation. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Biddie felt all the time.
Well, all the time when she wasn’t pitching furniture across the room. Speaking of which... He jerked his head at Allen, indicating they should move away from the door. His godmother's hearing was worse than a bat's. (God willing she'd been too busy fuming to catch the comment about his early return.)
"You're raising hell with this. You know you're raising hell with this," Archie said. He leveled an uncharastically shrewd look at Allen. "Does Eden?"
Gabriel’s cheerful expression was a touch strained as they moved from the door. “Let me handle that end of things,” he said, which was confirmation enough, but he was rather beyond caring.
“She’s been testing my boundaries from the start,” he continued, lightly, “and she’s just now found the limit. You know as well as I that this restores at least a bit of a balance, and gives her additional bargaining leverage in future. I can ensure he doesn’t shout it from the rooftops,” he added. “After all, he’s already kept several confidences around this messy business to begin with.”
Archie briefly wondered if the words were meant to appeal to his godmother's vanity or his own loyalty. Or, Heaven help them, if Allen was actually sincere about building an alliance - a friendship. Frankly, if that was the case then that was miraculous enough to almost make this strange arrangement worth it.
...unless Biddie gave up and ate Eden anyway. That'd dampen things.
“I’m torn between relief and regret that you never met my uncle Maurice. He had a similar approach to boundaries,” Archie said. He glanced at the door behind them - and the mess behind it, no doubt. “And a similar diplomacy when negotiating with family.”
Exhaling hard, Archie patted Allen on the shoulder much as he had Graham. “Well, no point scowling any more about this business. Tell your Mr. Eden a card to my cousin when he’s ready. Although I’d give it a few days before doing so. Give her a chance to cool, him to warm up to the idea, remove the more delicate furniture out of the house - that sort of thing. In the meantime, can I tempt you to lunch? Today demands an excellent lunch.”
Archie smiled and turned, then paused. He snapped his fingers in realization. “Ah, nearly forgot!” He looked at Gabriel with a wry expression. “Mind’s like a sieve today, you know.”
“I understand that you’re looking out for a dear friend and I truly hope this arrangement helps him. I truly do, Gabriel.” Archie’s expression was faultlessly sincere. “But if your friend does decide to talk about what he shouldn’t, or, say, to investigate his new tutor with his newfound skills - “
If any of this hurts her -
“I haven’t much talent for bargaining, Gabriel,” Archie said simply. “But I spent the better part of my life in the army. And that I was good at.”
“Now, then,” Archie continued warmly. “How do you feel about oysters?”
Gabriel’s reply grin was a knowing one. “I should expect no less, of course. And my dear Mr Curtis,” he added, quietly, “I likewise expect your delightful cousin to appropriately restrain herself, given her tendency to take advantage for the sake of convenience. He’s a tempting target on a few different fronts, and I can respect that what I am asking for is not easily given, but I do expect her to make a good-faith effort to train him, and not to attempt to use his new-found abilities for her own benefit.”
His smile shifted to something significantly more genuine. “See, now,” he said, reaching his hand out to shake Archie’s, “I can already feel this leaky little ship of ours righting again, and the largest of the holes patched. Your candor is, as always, quite appreciated, as is your excellent sense of timing. Thank you. Oysters would be marvelous.”