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Leon Orcot (motherofdragon) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-10-21 11:11:00

Who: Leon Orcot and Mathis Abimbola [As NPCed by Lily]
What: Leon goes to see a man about going home, things don't quite go as planned
When: Late morning, October 21st'
Where: A Vorerra Hotel
Warnings: Language, violence, FTB (mental) torture


If things with James had taught Leon anything, it was that the sooner he could leave Vallo, the better. There wasn’t any getting away from it, really. There were parts of it he’d miss, of course - Adora was great, and not just because she’d healed him, and Catra wasn’t so bad either, even if she was pricklier than Leon was. David and Alexis were a blast. He’d barely started hockey, but that had been fun too.

But that was another sign that he needed to get out of Dodge as fast as possible, wasn’t it? Joining sports teams like he was in high school again, and staying up all night staring at the ceiling, wondering if you should call some guy to apologize for being an ass were sure signs that he was forming an attachment to this place, and Leon had managed to go ten fucking years without forming an attachment to anyone or anything.

And now with Altan gone… well, Leon hadn’t really thought that Altan had wanted to leave Vallo at all. It wasn’t like they’d talked about it much - Altan was Leon’s kind of people, in that they had a solid working relationship without any danger of it becoming a friendly relationship - but it seemed to Leon that Altan had preferred Vallo to his own world.

So what the actual hell was Leon still doing here?

He’d planned to take this whole thing slowly. He’d talk to the smugglers and see if they could get him out for his Vallo dollars easy peasy, and if not, he’d move up to the Covens where it might take a favour on top of the money, and then if none of the reputable ones had any answers, then, and only then, would he move to the disreputable ones. But it was better to just skip to the endgame, wasn’t it? After all, if anyone with good intentions had any answers about how to leave Vallo, they’d make that information public knowledge. Leon had known from the beginning it would probably come to this, eventually. That was why he’d never promised James that he wouldn’t go asking Vorerra.

And he hadn’t promised him that. So he didn’t need to feel guilty about it. He didn’t need to feel guilty about any of it, really.

He wondered how many times he’d have to repeat that to himself before he believed it.

As it turned out, getting a meeting with the heads of Vorerra wasn’t as easy as picking up a phone and asking for a meeting, which was the first thing Leon had tried. The person on the other end hadn’t laughed at him, but he was pretty sure they were going to do that later, when they told their friends about it.

He tried going to a few Vorerra businesses asking around, and that hadn’t helped much either. In the end, what did it was parking his ass in the lobby of one of the Vorerra hotels. He’d been there for four hours before he’d finally gotten a phone call - Heaven forbid someone walk up to him and just fucking talk to him - setting up a meeting with Mathis Abimbola (which screamed Villain in flashing, neon lights, but Leon didn’t care) for the following afternoon.

And so Leon had gone home, convinced that he was going to sleep better than he had all week now that he was on his way out of this place. Except that between his excitement and trying to plan out what to say, and his guilt and wondering if he should call James and tell him what was going on, Leon got hardly any sleep at all.


He’d gone out early the next day to buy himself a suit, and made sure that he looked professional and put together before he made his way back to the hotel. He regretted needing to spend the money - he regretted the fact that he’d been spending any money on clothes, now - but he thought looking good probably would count for more than the cost of the suit once all was said and done; Leon suspected he didn’t have nearly enough money to just buy his way out anyway.

He’d probably be expected to do some sort of favour, hopefully something minor in the grand scheme of things. Leon’s moral compass maybe wasn’t as strong as it had been in the days before D - there’d once been a Leon who wouldn’t consider talking to any organization with a reputation like Vorerra’s at all, unless it was to read them their Miranda rights - but even still there were lines he wouldn’t cross.

They’d left him waiting in the lobby well passed the meeting time, and Leon suspected it was to throw him off his game, but when someone finally came to collect him, Leon affected like he hadn’t been bothered. He took a moment, once he stood, to straighten his suit jacket and to check his cuffs, and only then did he let himself be led back to the meeting room.

The meeting room was filled with way more people than Leon had expected. He probably shouldn't have been surprised, but that, more than anything else so far, threw him off. It wasn’t hard to spot which one of them was supposed to be Mathis though.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Leon said first. He wouldn’t let Vorerra set the entire tone for this meeting. “My name’s Leon Orcot, and I’m hoping we can help each other out.”

If Leon didn’t regret meeting Mathis Abimbola prior to this gathering, he would regret it later. And Mathis Ambimbola would make sure of that.

The Vorerra head sat behind a grand oval desk which boasted a black lacquer that was the exact same pitch as bottomless pits and gargoyles. Many books on witchcraft, economics, and history lined his office shelves. A steeple of regal fingers, all laced together in a way to be falsely comforting, allowed him to place a duo of indexes that bore the point of his chin; he had bodyguards in here, of course (James would call them torpedos, because that’s what they were - cousins and uncles and aunts who did the dirty work; sisters too, since that’s what Julia had once been as well), and one of the stone-faced women stood a little straighter when Leon spoke. She resembled a vulture rustling its wings.

There was no ‘hi, how do ya do’s’ or other bullshit pleasantries; it wouldn’t take long, this meeting. Outlander business was below him, quite honestly, and he didn’t understand why some in Vorerra had made it their business. Lately, it was a little bit ridiculous.

Boring. He’d rather watch paint dry.

“What could you possibly have to offer me in exchange for my help? And what is it you need help with?” Mathis wanted to know - he technically didn’t need to ask anything, he could just look. And he did - a gentle prodding that wouldn’t be felt at all and, oh, interesting. The man had a shield up - the hair trigger of it was activated immediately, and Mathis knew right away who had done it. Avelina’s traitor.

Now he was really going to make this hurt.

Leon hadn't known what to expect when someone came up against James' shield. He hadn't known if he'd feel it or not. But he definitely felt it snap up, and he all but smirked at Mathias. If he had a chance before he left, he'd have to buy James a drink.

"I want out of here," Leon said. "Just send me home. One less Outlander in your hair. As for what I can offer you…" Leon shrugged. "I don't have a lot of cash, but it's all yours if you want it. But I've got skills too. Spoken languages aren't a problem for me," though he could only read English, "and I can talk to most animals. Or if you need physical labour I can manage that too, though I'm not superpowered."

It was probably a good thing Leon wasn’t on the Psychic Hotline, the psionic connection shared between the bodyguards and Mathis right now - because the laughter was damn near deafening. Funny thing was, it was all inside their heads - on the outside they remained utterly blank and disinterested.

“Just send you home,” Mathis repeated. Mathis, who untangled the threads of his fingers and unfurled them, placing them upon the coolness of the desk so that he may drum the rhythm of some forgotten concerto. His eyes were cold and hard as onyx. “Hm. I suppose you make a compelling argument.” Not really. “You Outlanders do have your other lives to return to.”

They were insects, nothing more. Flies to be swatted, dead bugs squashed and caught between the pages of a book. But he supposed there was nothing wrong with toying with one for a little while - they could be entertaining, if nothing else.

What should we do with him? one of the enforcers asked, mental voice soaked in shadows - it resided in a graveyard, in the room where you slept, a presence that was all Vorerra because they had a presence unto their own.

No one will miss him, another spoke up.

Patience, Mathis responded. Then he spoke out loud. “We will give you a task. When you complete it, we will consider you one of us - and we, Vorerra, always help our own.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. His gut had been rolling this entire meeting, which he’d been expecting. Normally, Leon trusted his instincts - his gut very rarely steered him wrong, except when he’d been digging in his heels about D and all the weird shit he’d been doing in LA (and in retrospect, maybe he’d just been interpreting it wrong), but in this case he knew Vorerra was slimy and suffering through his instincts rebelling was just something that he figured had to be done.

Except when Mathias pretended to care about Leon’s other life, his blood went cold, and he began to actually wonder if he wasn’t making some sort of mistake. If he should have just dropped this whole thing, maybe gone to one of the other covens and steered clear of Vorerra all together. Leon had phrased his request how he had intentionally, as a way to get rid of one of the Outlanders. He hadn’t expected Mathias to care about why, and the fact that he was pretending to was way more distressing than anything else.

And then Mathias made his offer. Vorerra’s laughter might have been silent, but Leon’s snort was very audible. “Yeah, no, hard pass,” Leon said, waving a hand. “I have no interest in joining your creepy little cult thing. If I decide to do your task, then you send me home. That’s the deal.”

The idea of this one joining the family almost made Mathis vomit up the steak tartare he’d had for lunch, but he simply...smiled. It was the first time, since Leon entered the room, that his expression may have cracked a little. There was a sharpness to his smile though, the way the wind was sharp against skin that was wet.

“Of course,” he responded, soft and smooth. “Come to think of it, we could use the help. We’ve been - betrayed, actually. A terrible thing, when you come to learn that you can no longer count on family. And I don’t want to ask for such a thing, truly, but - I’m afraid I have no choice.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of the bodyguards retrieved a folder from a cabinet - inside the folder were a series of pictures; Mathis carefully placed the folder on the desk, opening it up. Were those - snapshots? Of James? Of Leon with James? The rainbow glow of a color-changing bonfire, high atop an Asetenarra mountain?

(Vorerra was always watching)

“Since you’re leaving, you won’t mind tying up this loose end for us first,” Mathis added, closing the folder. “Take care of him. And I don’t mean in a romantic way.”

He fully knew, however, that Leon wouldn’t do it. Because this Outlander, handsomely stuffed into a suit yet rough around the edges, was soft. So full of heart. Avelina was soft too - it was why her nephew was still alive, why she’d let him leave. But this was a warning - it was a warning for the both of them. It was a message to any other member of the family who even considered following James’s example. It was an assurance that James would rot alone as he deserved, because no one was going to want to be involved with someone who carried the stigma of betraying their family. Would they?

From the moment that Mathis said ‘betrayed’ Leon knew what was coming, and whatever smirk had been on his face when turned down the offer to join their little gang disappeared entirely. But it wasn’t until Mathis showed the photos - the photos of Leon and James that Leon realized just how thoroughly he’d been set up. He should have known, he really should have. After all, if Vorerra didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, what better way than to make an Outlander do their dirty work for them? James would probably trust him enough to let him get close enough to do what needed to be done, and then all the blame would rest solely on the shoulders of some outsider. Everyone who needed to know would know it had actually been Vorerra, and everyone else would be happy enough to blame the outsider. He wondered if Mathis had even planned on talking to him at all. It seemed likely he’d just expected to be able to Jedi Mind Trick Leon as soon as he’d walked in the door, and hadn’t been able to pull it off thanks to James.

And he knew he wasn’t walking out of that room. Not peacefully, at least. Because it wasn’t even a consideration. Leon didn’t need to think about refusing this favour. If the deal had been to ‘take care’ of James, and D would immediately appear in front of Leon, all wrapped up in a neat little bow, there still wouldn’t have been any consideration.

There was no way in hell.

And if Leon wasn’t going to take their deal, they weren’t going to let him just walk out with a “Oh, that’s too bad, see you around sometime,” so he could go and warn James.

Which meant that Leon had approximately thirty seconds to come up with a plan. He’d subconsciously made note of Mathis’ little goon squad - their approximate locations, any visible weapons - when he’d come in, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out. He was a decent fighter, but he doubted Vorerra hired schlubs to work security, and even if they’d all been terrible fighters, Leon couldn’t take them all on. He briefly considered going straight for Mathis, except the desk was in the way, and by the time he got to him he’d likely be pumped full of lead.

He wished now that he’d thought to wear his gun under his jacket.

“Tempting,” he said slowly, looking up from the photo and right into Mathis’ eyes. “But counter offer -”

He slammed the heel of his foot into the instep of Goon #1, the one who’d brought the photos over and had been standing way too close to be wise. There was a crunch of cartilage and a spray of blood as Goon #1 slammed his own face into Leon’s waiting elbow, and that was the arm Leon used to wrap around his neck to put him in a chokehold, using his other hand to grab the gun that had been strapped to his belt. He dragged Goon #1 so that he was positioned between Leon and the rest of the Good Squad, Leon’s back facing the wall, and pointed the gun at Mathis and…

And this was as far as Leon’s plan had gotten before he’d had to act. Every other Goon had their weapon aimed at Leon now, and hell, he thought he could just shoot Mathis. He’d definitely be dead in that case, but so would Dick Head over there, and Leon thought that if James had thought he’d gotten out free and clear, it might just mean that this one guy was the only one with any power who opposed the defection.

Except his safety, he noticed, was still on, and the chances of him taking off the safety and getting a clean shot before he was dead were not quite zero, but pretty close.

And, he reminded himself, he couldn’t actually kill Mathis. It wasn’t that Leon had never killed someone before - Leon had killed more than his fair share of people - but Leon had never killed someone who wasn’t a clear and immediate threat to someone else, and the only person Mathis was a clear and immediate threat to right now was Leon.

And if Leon was honest, he kind of deserved it.

He could try using Goon #1 as a human shield on his way out, but these fuckers could communicate telepathically, couldn’t they? Which meant that he probably wouldn’t get very far before they’d devised some stupid psychic plan to free this asshole.

Maybe, he thought, he should just go ahead and get himself shot. Then, at least, they wouldn’t be able to use him against James (unless they brought people back to life here, which Leon wasn’t necessarily counting out, but he thought it unlikely). But that wasn’t the way Leon wanted to go. And so, with a twinge of regret, he shoved Goon #1 away from him, taking no small amount of pleasure when the man tried to put weight on his probably-broken foot and crumpled to the ground instead, and raised his hands, barrel of the gun pointed to the ceiling and his fingers splayed wide and away from the trigger.

Oh, come on now.

Such rudeness in the display of hospitality - did none of these Outlanders have any respect? It hurt Mathis, it really did - hurt him to know that his fine offer was being rejected. Such a disregard to his kindness (because considering what he could have done to Leon, all of this was a kindness) was a terrible thing, it felt like lava in his bone marrow.

The thing about Vorerra was that they didn’t need guns - they never had, not to amass their power and their incredible fortune. They didn’t need guns, or knives, or brute force, not even magic words once their spellcasting was advanced enough - the heads of the three families were the most powerful in the coven, and there was a reason Mathis sat in this chair right now; James’s trigger shield was done well, he was taught well, but Mathis knew how to get around it. Under it. Over it.

Mind control was a specialty of the coven, Leon, didn’t you know that? You stood no chance on this home turf, though Mathis respected the way he went about it - it had been sort of fascinating to watch the whole thing unfold, to watch the way Leon’s brain parsed things out.

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as all the others after all.

“Are you finished?” he asked, checking his watch. He’d already slipped in, shield demolished and in psychic pieces - he was Leon now; in his veins, his neural pathways, his muscle and bone. “And for gods sake, put the gun down. You’ll blow someone’s face off playing with that toy and I don’t want to make you have to tidy up the mess with a toothbrush - it’ll waste time, and I promise bits of blood and bone is a real bitch to get off a surface with just a toothbrush.”

He was already going to have to clean up the blood in here, spilled from his associate. Or, rather, someone else would clean it up - Mathis didn’t clean.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” he continued, as the rest of the enforcers began to circle in - they crowded Leon like a whole pack of vultures. And if they got in a few hits with the pain inducement (no physical wounds, but the psychic scars would remain - you just didn’t forget your pain receptors going haywire), well, that would be a treat. Mathis would allow it. “Listen very carefully...”