OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
The feels!
Its just like Ahri being able to hear Sona speak... At least I think that was her name.
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Dreaming of Foxfire (Worm/League of Legends) X-post
- Thread starter Thanatanos
- Start date
The feels!
Its just like Ahri being able to hear Sona speak... At least I think that was her name.
The really sad thing is Weld most likely has a human life span, Amumu will out-(for lack of a better term)- live Weld.
Edit: Though since Weld is inorganic he may live a very long time. Nothing to breakdown.
Last edited:
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
I think Weld is effectively immortal.
Thanatanos
PvP Lover, Assasin Player
Welds also an awesome character, i'm trying to figure out how to work him in. Any ideas?
Thanatanos
PvP Lover, Assasin Player
Dreaming of Foxfire Part 3: Juxtaposition
First comes the blessing of all that you've dreamed
1.1
The omelet flipped to my plate from the skillet as Dad deftly worked the other one with his hand. Sniffing the air, I savored the scent. Filled with peppers, onions, mushrooms and sausage, it was a savory breath of heaven compared to our usual plain fare. Dad was showing some teeth from the corner of his mouth, his lips twitching upwards and his glasses in pocket. He stopped making the omelet for a quick sip of coffee before spinning back to the pans with a quick little twirl.
I smiled despite myself, placing my plate on the table before I went for the fridge which opened with a hiss and a spill of ice cold air.
"Orange juice today?" I asked, my hand already reaching for the carton.
"You got it kiddo!"
Success.
Getting our glasses from the cabinet I set them on the table pouring half a glass each before heading back to the fridge.
"Go ahead and top them off," Dad said, giving the pan one last flip. The omelet landed on his plate, and he went for the silverware. I topped us both off before grabbing the napkins, our seats scratching the floor as we both sat down.
"Are you sure I can't come?" I asked, just to check. Dad's head shook as he bit into the omelet, spraying some egg. He laughed and then cleaned it.
"Sorry Taylor," he said with a shrug, "You know I'd love to, but take your daughter to work day isn't exactly a thing for Union representatives."
"I know," I said, keeping my smile, though I inwardly drooped a bit, even though I knew it was coming. "You can't blame me for trying though. Today is a big a day." Dad nodded.
"Maybe the biggest I've ever had! Well, the day you were born was bigger, and my first meeting with your mother…" His smile, while bittersweet, was tinged with nostalgia, not sadness, and he sat up, omelet finished, before striding towards his ironing board. His best suit was laid out along with his best tie, both warm and flat from their recent press. As he tugged on his over shirt and began to wrestle with his tie I picked up both of our plates and began to wash them in the sink.
"I think I like Mr. Jackson," dad said as he ironed. "He has a good business sense and a great head on his shoulders. He's a true visionary; people will talk of him long after he's gone. He's done more good for the docks with this deal than the mayor has managed from his office in years."
I rolled my eyes while he wasn't looking while washing the suds from my hand. I wonder how dad would react if I told him it wasn't Jackson but Lung who was footing the bill? I'd like to say he would be disgusted but knowing how much this means to him…well, it would be hard to say whether that would matter or not.
My smile slipped again, and I covered up my sigh, putting away the dishes with an audible clatter. Dad either ignored this or didn't notice it, busy polishing his briefcase, an old leather thing that he thought made him look dignified. I thought it made him look old, but would he listen? No…
"I'll see you later!" dad called.
"Good luck!" I said, not returning his farewell. He waved as he left, arm flailing through the air, his grin turned to a smile as he entered the car. It's a rental of course, not our normal banged up one, all sleek lines and silver paint with an awesome interior. As he pulled from the driveway I waved right back, my smile only slipping once he was well out of view.
The walk up to my room was a slow, steady plod. This wasn't going to be very fun, but like any chore I had to get it over with quickly, so I rummaged through my closet, searching for my bag. I pressed the speed dial one before waiting. One beeps. Two beeps. Three beeps. There.
"I'm ready," I said, before shutting the phone. A minute later there was a honk from the front as Seka waved from the car, blue eyes alight with a Cheshire grin.
-----------------------------------------------
"All changed and everything?" Seka asked from the front, her hand on the wheel in a casual, relaxed manner.
"Just about," I said, slipping on the new shoes. Business casual was the name of the game, so fancy slacks, a nice shirt, and a small unbuttoned vest.
"Hey Sierra-"
"It's Arianna right now," I interrupted with a sigh. "You're the one who picked my name; you should know this by now."
"Cool your jets," she said, rolling her eyes. "Kenta's the one who chose it, not me. Besides its only been what, five days now?"
"Yeah," I said. "I can't believe it's been this quiet."
"Everyone's preparing," she said with a shrug. "The Nazis are preparing while we're just gathering resources." Her eyes shifted in the rearview mirror, and I just rolled my eyes. That would be me I suppose. Checking my briefcase just for something to do, I flipped through the papers, just trying to relax.
"You know, you don't need those," Seka said, turning back, her foot on the break and one hand on the wheel. "They're all just for show, just need to give him the signs. You have three vetoes remember that, or three deals that will happen for sure."
"I got it," I said, impatience leaking through my voice. I'd been reading up on business speak just for this meeting. Turning to the mirror I practiced my smile, not too big, not too small, just enough to seem relaxed, my eyes tilted that way, my chin up this high. I really did look like a completely different person, especially with the mannerisms I've been practicing till now. Instead of Taylor with my glasses, height issues and curly brown hair, I saw a smooth Asian beauty playing the part of the intern.
"And don't let Jackson get to you," Seka continued. I winced before turning, glaring at her through the mirror.
"I really hate his nickname you know," I said, growling a bit as I combed some hair back. The uptight fussy Korean really got on my nerves, always pushing my buttons, trying to put me in my place. Kenta and Seka didn't seem to want to help either, sometimes going so far as to shoot him pitying glances. Really, like he was the one with the issues.
"Yeah," Seka said brightly, "But you have to admit, it fits rather well. Even has the same meaning as your brand spanking new name."
"Uh-huh," I mumbled, quickly checking my notes. Seka rolled her eyes through the mirror before her gaze shifted forwards, and she jerked to a stop.
"We're here."
"All right."
Here, as it was, was a an elegant building with simple designs highlighted in gold. We walked to the door and the guards nodded as we passed, the same one's I'd seen at the Casino before. They'd been very respectful after the one time we met, going so far as to bow while their boss just stayed rude.
Kenta met us in the hall; arms crossed and chin down with his back against the wall and legs angled before him. His gaze snapped to ours and he gave us a nod, looking every bit the bodyguard in his black leather coat. There was a gun on his hip and a bud in his ear, the first mostly for show; with the latter he gave orders. I always think that it's funny how he plays the street tough when he's running the show in plain sight of others.
"Let's go," he said, and I took a breath, nodding. Seka slapped my hand as she left, whistling a tune, her shoes slapping the halls, her purse slung over one shoulder.
"Send me the vids," she said, passing Kenta. He chuckled, amused, a deep rumble in his chest.
Taking a breath, again, to help steady my nerves, I plastered on that cool smile as we walked to the door.
"Good morning," I said, moving through. "I hope we're not interrupting."
"Oh not at all, glad you're finally here," Mr. Jackson said with a wave of his hands, turning away from his conversation with a practiced grace. His hair was slicked back and his smile was wide, but it didn't touch his eyes, at least not when looking at me. "This is my assistant; she's an intern for now. Her name's Ahri."
"Arianna," I corrected, extending my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hebert."
"Likewise," Dad said.
First comes the blessing of all that you've dreamed
1.1
The omelet flipped to my plate from the skillet as Dad deftly worked the other one with his hand. Sniffing the air, I savored the scent. Filled with peppers, onions, mushrooms and sausage, it was a savory breath of heaven compared to our usual plain fare. Dad was showing some teeth from the corner of his mouth, his lips twitching upwards and his glasses in pocket. He stopped making the omelet for a quick sip of coffee before spinning back to the pans with a quick little twirl.
I smiled despite myself, placing my plate on the table before I went for the fridge which opened with a hiss and a spill of ice cold air.
"Orange juice today?" I asked, my hand already reaching for the carton.
"You got it kiddo!"
Success.
Getting our glasses from the cabinet I set them on the table pouring half a glass each before heading back to the fridge.
"Go ahead and top them off," Dad said, giving the pan one last flip. The omelet landed on his plate, and he went for the silverware. I topped us both off before grabbing the napkins, our seats scratching the floor as we both sat down.
"Are you sure I can't come?" I asked, just to check. Dad's head shook as he bit into the omelet, spraying some egg. He laughed and then cleaned it.
"Sorry Taylor," he said with a shrug, "You know I'd love to, but take your daughter to work day isn't exactly a thing for Union representatives."
"I know," I said, keeping my smile, though I inwardly drooped a bit, even though I knew it was coming. "You can't blame me for trying though. Today is a big a day." Dad nodded.
"Maybe the biggest I've ever had! Well, the day you were born was bigger, and my first meeting with your mother…" His smile, while bittersweet, was tinged with nostalgia, not sadness, and he sat up, omelet finished, before striding towards his ironing board. His best suit was laid out along with his best tie, both warm and flat from their recent press. As he tugged on his over shirt and began to wrestle with his tie I picked up both of our plates and began to wash them in the sink.
"I think I like Mr. Jackson," dad said as he ironed. "He has a good business sense and a great head on his shoulders. He's a true visionary; people will talk of him long after he's gone. He's done more good for the docks with this deal than the mayor has managed from his office in years."
I rolled my eyes while he wasn't looking while washing the suds from my hand. I wonder how dad would react if I told him it wasn't Jackson but Lung who was footing the bill? I'd like to say he would be disgusted but knowing how much this means to him…well, it would be hard to say whether that would matter or not.
My smile slipped again, and I covered up my sigh, putting away the dishes with an audible clatter. Dad either ignored this or didn't notice it, busy polishing his briefcase, an old leather thing that he thought made him look dignified. I thought it made him look old, but would he listen? No…
"I'll see you later!" dad called.
"Good luck!" I said, not returning his farewell. He waved as he left, arm flailing through the air, his grin turned to a smile as he entered the car. It's a rental of course, not our normal banged up one, all sleek lines and silver paint with an awesome interior. As he pulled from the driveway I waved right back, my smile only slipping once he was well out of view.
The walk up to my room was a slow, steady plod. This wasn't going to be very fun, but like any chore I had to get it over with quickly, so I rummaged through my closet, searching for my bag. I pressed the speed dial one before waiting. One beeps. Two beeps. Three beeps. There.
"I'm ready," I said, before shutting the phone. A minute later there was a honk from the front as Seka waved from the car, blue eyes alight with a Cheshire grin.
-----------------------------------------------
"All changed and everything?" Seka asked from the front, her hand on the wheel in a casual, relaxed manner.
"Just about," I said, slipping on the new shoes. Business casual was the name of the game, so fancy slacks, a nice shirt, and a small unbuttoned vest.
"Hey Sierra-"
"It's Arianna right now," I interrupted with a sigh. "You're the one who picked my name; you should know this by now."
"Cool your jets," she said, rolling her eyes. "Kenta's the one who chose it, not me. Besides its only been what, five days now?"
"Yeah," I said. "I can't believe it's been this quiet."
"Everyone's preparing," she said with a shrug. "The Nazis are preparing while we're just gathering resources." Her eyes shifted in the rearview mirror, and I just rolled my eyes. That would be me I suppose. Checking my briefcase just for something to do, I flipped through the papers, just trying to relax.
"You know, you don't need those," Seka said, turning back, her foot on the break and one hand on the wheel. "They're all just for show, just need to give him the signs. You have three vetoes remember that, or three deals that will happen for sure."
"I got it," I said, impatience leaking through my voice. I'd been reading up on business speak just for this meeting. Turning to the mirror I practiced my smile, not too big, not too small, just enough to seem relaxed, my eyes tilted that way, my chin up this high. I really did look like a completely different person, especially with the mannerisms I've been practicing till now. Instead of Taylor with my glasses, height issues and curly brown hair, I saw a smooth Asian beauty playing the part of the intern.
"And don't let Jackson get to you," Seka continued. I winced before turning, glaring at her through the mirror.
"I really hate his nickname you know," I said, growling a bit as I combed some hair back. The uptight fussy Korean really got on my nerves, always pushing my buttons, trying to put me in my place. Kenta and Seka didn't seem to want to help either, sometimes going so far as to shoot him pitying glances. Really, like he was the one with the issues.
"Yeah," Seka said brightly, "But you have to admit, it fits rather well. Even has the same meaning as your brand spanking new name."
"Uh-huh," I mumbled, quickly checking my notes. Seka rolled her eyes through the mirror before her gaze shifted forwards, and she jerked to a stop.
"We're here."
"All right."
Here, as it was, was a an elegant building with simple designs highlighted in gold. We walked to the door and the guards nodded as we passed, the same one's I'd seen at the Casino before. They'd been very respectful after the one time we met, going so far as to bow while their boss just stayed rude.
Kenta met us in the hall; arms crossed and chin down with his back against the wall and legs angled before him. His gaze snapped to ours and he gave us a nod, looking every bit the bodyguard in his black leather coat. There was a gun on his hip and a bud in his ear, the first mostly for show; with the latter he gave orders. I always think that it's funny how he plays the street tough when he's running the show in plain sight of others.
"Let's go," he said, and I took a breath, nodding. Seka slapped my hand as she left, whistling a tune, her shoes slapping the halls, her purse slung over one shoulder.
"Send me the vids," she said, passing Kenta. He chuckled, amused, a deep rumble in his chest.
Taking a breath, again, to help steady my nerves, I plastered on that cool smile as we walked to the door.
"Good morning," I said, moving through. "I hope we're not interrupting."
"Oh not at all, glad you're finally here," Mr. Jackson said with a wave of his hands, turning away from his conversation with a practiced grace. His hair was slicked back and his smile was wide, but it didn't touch his eyes, at least not when looking at me. "This is my assistant; she's an intern for now. Her name's Ahri."
"Arianna," I corrected, extending my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hebert."
"Likewise," Dad said.
Thanatanos
PvP Lover, Assasin Player
1.2
What unsettled me the most had to be the handshake. It wasn't like the usual, what I and dad always share, warm with familiarity and comfortable, relaxed. Seka didn't shake like this either, nor Emma when we were friends. That was more of a casual, flighty thing, full of good humor and fun. No, this shake was cold, impersonal, and impeccably polite, the greeting of strangers, a good, firm shake.
I didn't like it. Not one bit. I probably would have given myself away then in there in my haste to escape if dad's grip wasn't so strong, and my face not frozen in a smile. As it is, that deer in headlights instinct is saved my act long enough for dad to drop the handshake before leaning back in his seat, a comfortable looking affair of hard wood and soft cushions.
"So you're an intern," he mused, his brows furrowing in that most familiar way, completely at odds with his expression of polite interest and curiosity. The door, barely cracked, called to me at that moment, but ignored that, if barely, in favor of answering his question.
"For now," I responded, managing to thrust the ice from my muscles. Not too much though or I might give myself away, so minimal lip movement with minimal words. Keep it polite, short, and simple for now.
"Ambitious?" dad asked, breaking into a grin, a different showing of teeth that I was used to at home. Is this how he is at all of his pitches? If so, I'm surprised he didn't succeed more often. Just the right combination of friendly and distant, but still close enough that he could relate. I shivered, stomach knotting, though he didn't seem to notice, thank goodness, my nerves didn't need any more sudden shocks.
"Well I suppose you have reason," he continued, "I mean look at you now! Barely what, nineteen?"
"Twenty-one," I corrected, the lie coming easily, yet with a small taste of bile in the back of my throat. Practice makes perfect, and that was a result, but how far was I willing to go to be a liar?
"Twenty-one," he said, smiling. "And you've already come this far, trusted by such an important man of the likes of Mr. Jackson."
Mr. Jackson's head rose from the papers he'd been stacking, piling them perfectly and checking their angles. It wasn't very obvious but I saw the barest of twitches, right on his cheek, a small crinkling in the corner of eyes. Well, till he saw me, then he hmphed back to his papers, running a hand through his slicked-back, neat hair.
"It's no big deal," I said, brushing it away with a wave, using his words as an excuse to break away from his gaze. I think my knees would start shaking and my heart already broke from being treated as a stranger by my dad of all people.
"I would have to disagree," dad said with a chuckle. "You have done very well. I'm sure your parents must be proud."
If only you knew. That thought echoed through my mind, but after a moment I smiled before begging off with a nod. Dad returned to Mr. Jackson as he finished stacking the papers, cataloguing them evenly to some metric he ascribed to. I took a seat at the back, next to where Kenta stood, overtly casual, arms crossed, but his gaze lit on me, searching.
Hopefully Seka kept her promise and didn't reveal my identity, my Taylor one at least; he's the one who made Arianna. If criminals got ahold of it – and Kenta certainly counted as one, no matter how amused or relaxed he seemed at any given time – then this would be bad, very bad, at least for my dad. He could skip this whole meeting and simply use him as leverage.
There was always the chance he might figure things out, despite how Lung says he's not clever, that's exactly what he is. Not intelligent in the book sense, his vocabulary was limited, but from my insights in his meeting using the mind of the fox… he was dangerous, that's for certain, he has good instincts as well. Better make this my best showing, both for me and for dad.
Crossing my legs as I sat and placing my briefcase on the floor, I took out my notes and other papers, looking towards Kenta, feeling my cheeks heat a little, smiling somewhat hesitantly in response to his gaze. His brow arched when he saw them, my neat little notes, with their annotations and broad points and my best fancy writing, but he said nothing though he snorted and leaned back against the wall, eyes trained on the meeting held between his aide and my father. I don't know why I was embarrassed, I mean I know nothing about business, but something in his gaze told me that I'd undershot what he expected.
"Remember," Kenta rumbled deep under his breath, his expression stern and serious, a hidden flame in his gaze. "You have three chances and vetoes. No more, no less."
Three vetoes. That's what I have to work with, three chances is all. No doubt they'll have prepared some points beforehand to try to rid of them for free. I'd have to follow the cues that my dad would soon give, the familiar twitches of confidence or the flush of dark anger. Well, if he still used those in a meeting like this, but my dad's always been passionate, I'm sure I'd still recognize his tells.
"Well," Mr. Jackson said, smiling, placing his pen down with precision. "Let's begin, shall we?"
My dad smiled in response. I squirmed, getting comfortable, resting my chin on my hand. Kenta shifted besides me, by all appearances completely bored.
"Then first on the list…"
-------------------------------------------------------
The meeting went as well as could be expected. Even better really, I hadn't found any red herrings. I ended up using my three vetoes on small points that my dad seemed to want but Mr. Jackson seemed grudging. I'd honestly thought the man would have been more abrasive, but his disagreements had reason and his points had great merit. I mean I know Kenta wouldn't hire him just because he looked the part, but to my perspective –with little research and experience – he seemed like he really knew what to do.
My dad's muscles were relaxed and his gaze rested easy, looking happier, if not ecstatic, than he had in a while. I stretched out my legs before me – they were stiff – in an attempt to remove all the pins and the needles. I also relaxed, just a little, from the big business mindset, I mean they were about to wrap up so it's not like I needed to keep this up much longer. I rubbed at the back of my neck, pushing away the wavy spikes of my hair.
It looked like everyone had the same idea: Kenta was cracking his neck, dad was packing his briefcase. Mr. Jackson was tidying his pens. Again. But before he could move to ball pen number three, dad paused, hand on briefcase, before turning to the man.
"So this is just a longshot after everything you've done for us, but how would you feel about reviving the ferry?"
"Too expensive." Jackson said, sniffing. My dad stiffened. Oh boy. This wasn't looking so good.
"That simple?"
"That simple," Jackson said as he straightened pen number five. "There's a time and place for everything and the ferries has long since passed. There's nothing to gain from that old wreck, better to sink it in the bay."
"I'd have to disagree," dad argued, moving forwards. "That ferry was what made Brockton Bay a city at all."
"Was, past tense," Jackson countered with aplomb. "Now it's just an eyesore even tourists won't see."
"An eyesore," dad said, before he regained control of his features.
"It is what it is." Jackson said as he leaned forwards, folding his hands beneath his chin. "The ferry made the Bay, yes, but no one comes to Brockton to see the bay anymore. They come here for the Protectorate, the Boardwalk, the PRT, Panacea and the Casino. We already have all the attractions we need. There's no room for the ferry."
"Yet Brockton's still fading," dad argued. "The gangs, the crime rates, the growing unemployment…"
"Only on The Docks," Jackson countered, "and that's not including the Boardwalk. The Boardwalk and the area around it are thriving right now with a higher per capita than the areas downtown, and the Ruby Dreams is bringing in some much needed income as well."
"But not all of The Docks are thriving," dad said. "The general neighborhoods, the warehouses, the school even…" Dad fumbled with his briefcase, all gangly limbs and spindly fingers, his eyes wide – too wide – and his face had a flush as he ripped the papers from their casings. He didn't resemble a businessman anymore, just plain old excitable dad. Not the dad from this year, or even the year after, but from when mom was still alive, eyes bright and back straight. "Here, look at this, you see it too, right? These are-"
"Predictions, charts, and past years, yes," Jackson said, his voice calm, but he took his glasses from his face, rubbing them on his shirt, facing down – there hadn't been a spec on those glasses. I shifted to Dad, eyes trained on his briefcase, hands fumbling, rustling for papers, passionate, excited, energetic and loud. The office, by comparison, remained neat and tidy, ignoring his efforts and emotions, ostracizing him in a way. Dad stood out.
He looked completely out of place.
"I'm sorry Mr. Hebert," Jackson said, looking up, glasses perched on his nose and his hands leaning forwards. "But the predictions don't help your case. Ten years till profits-"
"At the most," dad decided to point out, still grinning, leaning forwards. Jackson didn't seem enthused.
I shifted in my seat, glancing over to Kenta. He hadn't changed positions, still leaning into the wall, looking towards me and shrugging his shoulders. I made sure to hold his gaze. Shifting my papers to the side I deliberately crossed my legs. The signal for deal we'd agreed on. He'd told me I had three.
This would be my fourth.
Kenta stared for a moment, unmoving, brow arched, before raising his hand to the back of his head and tapping his heels on the side of the wall. Jackson heard this, looked up, and his eyes switched between us, before turning back to dad with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, give me a moment. We'll discuss this over break. Kenta. Ahri."
"Arianna," I corrected, collecting my briefcase from my side. The corner of his eye held a brief, short spasm.
I smiled politely and followed him from room. I brushed by dad, brow furrowed, still searching for papers. I wanted to hug him. I also wanted to smack him. I just gave him a nod. The door closed behind us, soundproofed of course. When I entered Kenta turned, mouth firm, eyes unreadable. I had to tilt my head to see him, our chests almost touched. My heart sped and sweat beaded, my mouth felt a little dry. The urge to swallow was tempting, and if I smiled, it would have cracked. So I just kept a neutral expression and treated this like Winslow. Stone faced and limbs rigid, I bore with it the best I could.
"The ferry project takes money," Kenta rumbled, unmoving.
"It does," I conceded. "But so do the repairs."
"They were necessary, needed. The ferry is not."
"The ferry turns a profit," I said. Jackson handed him a chart. Kenta brandished it before me, in a slow, casual wave.
"Six years," he said. "Six years till first profit. Ten if everything doesn't go as planned. Plans never last."
"Don't they?" I asked, shooting him a challenging look, justgrasping for straws at this point. He was right. They really don't.
So why did he look so contemplative when I finished that statement? He eyed me up and down for a moment, arms crossed on his chest.
"You have used all your vetoes."
"I have," I responded.
"Then how will you repay me?"
"A favor." He nodded.
"You will have to go further than you promised before."
"No killing," I stated.
"Of course," he said. He stared down at me for a moment as if figuring a puzzle, looking at me from angles, eyes losing focus at times. It felt weird when he did this, like being studied and weighed, but that's what he was doing, wasn't it? Finding how I could be useful.
The clock in the room went tick-tock, tick-tock. The dim lighting all around us cast his eyes into shadow. Pencil touched paper with both scritch and a scratch as Jackson sat in the background, drawing something on his desk. He was strangely subdued from what I've seen of him, his expression even and blank. It was creepy. Really creepy. I looked away as Kenta spoke.
"You will be working with criminals to repay debt in this favor. The cost, while in reach, is more than I'm willing to spend."
"I'm aware," I said, nodding. That's where my previous line stopped. It wouldn't be a favor otherwise, he'd fulfilled his side of the deal. Did I want to do this? Not really. Did I have to? Not that either. But if it made dad happy, and brought back some of that warmth…I'd like that. I would. This morning was nice. I want to wake up more often and a share a laugh with my dad.
"We will talk of this later," Kenta said, nodding firmly. "I will think on how to use this and notify you in a day. Deal." His hand extended. I shook it with my own, his dwarfing mine by a large margin. He snapped his fingers at Jackson.
Jackson nodded, suddenly animated, dropping his pen, moving through the door with a smile while flicking his suit with a finger.
"We are agreed," he said, smiling, and dad's returned in full force. "You'll have to thank Ahri for this, she spearheaded your cause."
"Arianna," I said, letting some exasperation show. Dad rose from his seat, taking my hand with two of his.
"Thank you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for doing this. I know how hard it must have been."
No dad, you really don't.
"It was nothing," I said, molding my face to a smile.
Yeah. Lying sucks.
What unsettled me the most had to be the handshake. It wasn't like the usual, what I and dad always share, warm with familiarity and comfortable, relaxed. Seka didn't shake like this either, nor Emma when we were friends. That was more of a casual, flighty thing, full of good humor and fun. No, this shake was cold, impersonal, and impeccably polite, the greeting of strangers, a good, firm shake.
I didn't like it. Not one bit. I probably would have given myself away then in there in my haste to escape if dad's grip wasn't so strong, and my face not frozen in a smile. As it is, that deer in headlights instinct is saved my act long enough for dad to drop the handshake before leaning back in his seat, a comfortable looking affair of hard wood and soft cushions.
"So you're an intern," he mused, his brows furrowing in that most familiar way, completely at odds with his expression of polite interest and curiosity. The door, barely cracked, called to me at that moment, but ignored that, if barely, in favor of answering his question.
"For now," I responded, managing to thrust the ice from my muscles. Not too much though or I might give myself away, so minimal lip movement with minimal words. Keep it polite, short, and simple for now.
"Ambitious?" dad asked, breaking into a grin, a different showing of teeth that I was used to at home. Is this how he is at all of his pitches? If so, I'm surprised he didn't succeed more often. Just the right combination of friendly and distant, but still close enough that he could relate. I shivered, stomach knotting, though he didn't seem to notice, thank goodness, my nerves didn't need any more sudden shocks.
"Well I suppose you have reason," he continued, "I mean look at you now! Barely what, nineteen?"
"Twenty-one," I corrected, the lie coming easily, yet with a small taste of bile in the back of my throat. Practice makes perfect, and that was a result, but how far was I willing to go to be a liar?
"Twenty-one," he said, smiling. "And you've already come this far, trusted by such an important man of the likes of Mr. Jackson."
Mr. Jackson's head rose from the papers he'd been stacking, piling them perfectly and checking their angles. It wasn't very obvious but I saw the barest of twitches, right on his cheek, a small crinkling in the corner of eyes. Well, till he saw me, then he hmphed back to his papers, running a hand through his slicked-back, neat hair.
"It's no big deal," I said, brushing it away with a wave, using his words as an excuse to break away from his gaze. I think my knees would start shaking and my heart already broke from being treated as a stranger by my dad of all people.
"I would have to disagree," dad said with a chuckle. "You have done very well. I'm sure your parents must be proud."
If only you knew. That thought echoed through my mind, but after a moment I smiled before begging off with a nod. Dad returned to Mr. Jackson as he finished stacking the papers, cataloguing them evenly to some metric he ascribed to. I took a seat at the back, next to where Kenta stood, overtly casual, arms crossed, but his gaze lit on me, searching.
Hopefully Seka kept her promise and didn't reveal my identity, my Taylor one at least; he's the one who made Arianna. If criminals got ahold of it – and Kenta certainly counted as one, no matter how amused or relaxed he seemed at any given time – then this would be bad, very bad, at least for my dad. He could skip this whole meeting and simply use him as leverage.
There was always the chance he might figure things out, despite how Lung says he's not clever, that's exactly what he is. Not intelligent in the book sense, his vocabulary was limited, but from my insights in his meeting using the mind of the fox… he was dangerous, that's for certain, he has good instincts as well. Better make this my best showing, both for me and for dad.
Crossing my legs as I sat and placing my briefcase on the floor, I took out my notes and other papers, looking towards Kenta, feeling my cheeks heat a little, smiling somewhat hesitantly in response to his gaze. His brow arched when he saw them, my neat little notes, with their annotations and broad points and my best fancy writing, but he said nothing though he snorted and leaned back against the wall, eyes trained on the meeting held between his aide and my father. I don't know why I was embarrassed, I mean I know nothing about business, but something in his gaze told me that I'd undershot what he expected.
"Remember," Kenta rumbled deep under his breath, his expression stern and serious, a hidden flame in his gaze. "You have three chances and vetoes. No more, no less."
Three vetoes. That's what I have to work with, three chances is all. No doubt they'll have prepared some points beforehand to try to rid of them for free. I'd have to follow the cues that my dad would soon give, the familiar twitches of confidence or the flush of dark anger. Well, if he still used those in a meeting like this, but my dad's always been passionate, I'm sure I'd still recognize his tells.
"Well," Mr. Jackson said, smiling, placing his pen down with precision. "Let's begin, shall we?"
My dad smiled in response. I squirmed, getting comfortable, resting my chin on my hand. Kenta shifted besides me, by all appearances completely bored.
"Then first on the list…"
-------------------------------------------------------
The meeting went as well as could be expected. Even better really, I hadn't found any red herrings. I ended up using my three vetoes on small points that my dad seemed to want but Mr. Jackson seemed grudging. I'd honestly thought the man would have been more abrasive, but his disagreements had reason and his points had great merit. I mean I know Kenta wouldn't hire him just because he looked the part, but to my perspective –with little research and experience – he seemed like he really knew what to do.
My dad's muscles were relaxed and his gaze rested easy, looking happier, if not ecstatic, than he had in a while. I stretched out my legs before me – they were stiff – in an attempt to remove all the pins and the needles. I also relaxed, just a little, from the big business mindset, I mean they were about to wrap up so it's not like I needed to keep this up much longer. I rubbed at the back of my neck, pushing away the wavy spikes of my hair.
It looked like everyone had the same idea: Kenta was cracking his neck, dad was packing his briefcase. Mr. Jackson was tidying his pens. Again. But before he could move to ball pen number three, dad paused, hand on briefcase, before turning to the man.
"So this is just a longshot after everything you've done for us, but how would you feel about reviving the ferry?"
"Too expensive." Jackson said, sniffing. My dad stiffened. Oh boy. This wasn't looking so good.
"That simple?"
"That simple," Jackson said as he straightened pen number five. "There's a time and place for everything and the ferries has long since passed. There's nothing to gain from that old wreck, better to sink it in the bay."
"I'd have to disagree," dad argued, moving forwards. "That ferry was what made Brockton Bay a city at all."
"Was, past tense," Jackson countered with aplomb. "Now it's just an eyesore even tourists won't see."
"An eyesore," dad said, before he regained control of his features.
"It is what it is." Jackson said as he leaned forwards, folding his hands beneath his chin. "The ferry made the Bay, yes, but no one comes to Brockton to see the bay anymore. They come here for the Protectorate, the Boardwalk, the PRT, Panacea and the Casino. We already have all the attractions we need. There's no room for the ferry."
"Yet Brockton's still fading," dad argued. "The gangs, the crime rates, the growing unemployment…"
"Only on The Docks," Jackson countered, "and that's not including the Boardwalk. The Boardwalk and the area around it are thriving right now with a higher per capita than the areas downtown, and the Ruby Dreams is bringing in some much needed income as well."
"But not all of The Docks are thriving," dad said. "The general neighborhoods, the warehouses, the school even…" Dad fumbled with his briefcase, all gangly limbs and spindly fingers, his eyes wide – too wide – and his face had a flush as he ripped the papers from their casings. He didn't resemble a businessman anymore, just plain old excitable dad. Not the dad from this year, or even the year after, but from when mom was still alive, eyes bright and back straight. "Here, look at this, you see it too, right? These are-"
"Predictions, charts, and past years, yes," Jackson said, his voice calm, but he took his glasses from his face, rubbing them on his shirt, facing down – there hadn't been a spec on those glasses. I shifted to Dad, eyes trained on his briefcase, hands fumbling, rustling for papers, passionate, excited, energetic and loud. The office, by comparison, remained neat and tidy, ignoring his efforts and emotions, ostracizing him in a way. Dad stood out.
He looked completely out of place.
"I'm sorry Mr. Hebert," Jackson said, looking up, glasses perched on his nose and his hands leaning forwards. "But the predictions don't help your case. Ten years till profits-"
"At the most," dad decided to point out, still grinning, leaning forwards. Jackson didn't seem enthused.
I shifted in my seat, glancing over to Kenta. He hadn't changed positions, still leaning into the wall, looking towards me and shrugging his shoulders. I made sure to hold his gaze. Shifting my papers to the side I deliberately crossed my legs. The signal for deal we'd agreed on. He'd told me I had three.
This would be my fourth.
Kenta stared for a moment, unmoving, brow arched, before raising his hand to the back of his head and tapping his heels on the side of the wall. Jackson heard this, looked up, and his eyes switched between us, before turning back to dad with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, give me a moment. We'll discuss this over break. Kenta. Ahri."
"Arianna," I corrected, collecting my briefcase from my side. The corner of his eye held a brief, short spasm.
I smiled politely and followed him from room. I brushed by dad, brow furrowed, still searching for papers. I wanted to hug him. I also wanted to smack him. I just gave him a nod. The door closed behind us, soundproofed of course. When I entered Kenta turned, mouth firm, eyes unreadable. I had to tilt my head to see him, our chests almost touched. My heart sped and sweat beaded, my mouth felt a little dry. The urge to swallow was tempting, and if I smiled, it would have cracked. So I just kept a neutral expression and treated this like Winslow. Stone faced and limbs rigid, I bore with it the best I could.
"The ferry project takes money," Kenta rumbled, unmoving.
"It does," I conceded. "But so do the repairs."
"They were necessary, needed. The ferry is not."
"The ferry turns a profit," I said. Jackson handed him a chart. Kenta brandished it before me, in a slow, casual wave.
"Six years," he said. "Six years till first profit. Ten if everything doesn't go as planned. Plans never last."
"Don't they?" I asked, shooting him a challenging look, justgrasping for straws at this point. He was right. They really don't.
So why did he look so contemplative when I finished that statement? He eyed me up and down for a moment, arms crossed on his chest.
"You have used all your vetoes."
"I have," I responded.
"Then how will you repay me?"
"A favor." He nodded.
"You will have to go further than you promised before."
"No killing," I stated.
"Of course," he said. He stared down at me for a moment as if figuring a puzzle, looking at me from angles, eyes losing focus at times. It felt weird when he did this, like being studied and weighed, but that's what he was doing, wasn't it? Finding how I could be useful.
The clock in the room went tick-tock, tick-tock. The dim lighting all around us cast his eyes into shadow. Pencil touched paper with both scritch and a scratch as Jackson sat in the background, drawing something on his desk. He was strangely subdued from what I've seen of him, his expression even and blank. It was creepy. Really creepy. I looked away as Kenta spoke.
"You will be working with criminals to repay debt in this favor. The cost, while in reach, is more than I'm willing to spend."
"I'm aware," I said, nodding. That's where my previous line stopped. It wouldn't be a favor otherwise, he'd fulfilled his side of the deal. Did I want to do this? Not really. Did I have to? Not that either. But if it made dad happy, and brought back some of that warmth…I'd like that. I would. This morning was nice. I want to wake up more often and a share a laugh with my dad.
"We will talk of this later," Kenta said, nodding firmly. "I will think on how to use this and notify you in a day. Deal." His hand extended. I shook it with my own, his dwarfing mine by a large margin. He snapped his fingers at Jackson.
Jackson nodded, suddenly animated, dropping his pen, moving through the door with a smile while flicking his suit with a finger.
"We are agreed," he said, smiling, and dad's returned in full force. "You'll have to thank Ahri for this, she spearheaded your cause."
"Arianna," I said, letting some exasperation show. Dad rose from his seat, taking my hand with two of his.
"Thank you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for doing this. I know how hard it must have been."
No dad, you really don't.
"It was nothing," I said, molding my face to a smile.
Yeah. Lying sucks.
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
There is post Levi idea, but that would require some current wards dieing. Or Lily not transferring to Brockton Bay. Or a ward gets traded to bring Weld to the bay in hopes to be a counter for Ahri.
Considering that Foxfire, (Kitsune?), is known for severely damage or even no selling Hockwolf's metal state Weld would be a very bad counter for her; on the other hand, having SS as a new transfer to Madison's quarantine after the police investigation on the locker incident is done is a viable way to open a spot on BB´s wards roster.
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Kerashana
Warden
- Location
- The Outer Gate
This has a really nice down to earth portrayal of the characters, and yet it goes far enough to still have the strange cape disjointedness. (Their little ticks and so on) I have to say, I really enjoy this fic and it isn't getting enough love (here at least.)
/hug
/hug