EDITED 5/11/12: Some very minor changes.
EDITED 7/19/12: More minor changes.
The Devil's Queen
Chapter 6
Excella shifted nervously from side to side in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position on the lobby chair. The shiny leather squeaked beneath her as she crossed and uncrossed her legs impatiently. Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the padded arm of the chair. Brown eyes flitted back and forth, barely registering the hustle and bustle of the other occupants in the room.
Normally, she would have been appalled by her rude and unfeminine behavior, but her mind was on other matters. Ten minutes ago she had been inside the conference room to her left. Ten minutes ago she had been standing in front of Tricell's board of directors, breaking out in a cold sweat, wringing her hands, and knocking her knees together like glossophobic in front of a theater audience. She could recall every moment of her dreaded presentation in enormous detail: the too-cold air conditioner that blew directly on the exposed back of her cocktail dress, the slight cough of the head director that seemed to indicate either boredom or disapproval. She could even remember the piercing buzz of the fluorescent lights that had seemed so grating in the deadly silent chamber. Faster than a heartbeat, it was all over, and she was being led out by a nice, young intern and directed into the uncomfortable leather lobby chair she was currently fidgeting on.
All that was left now was to wait for the verdict.
Excella stared dully at her reflection in the untouched glass of wine beside her. She had been slightly apprehensive about her wardrobe for the day, but that had all been forgotten during her nerve-wracking presentation. The fancy black and gold cocktail dress she picked out this morning hadn't seemed quite appropriate for a business meeting. She'd decided to go with it in the end, her reasoning being that the directors (all older men) might enjoy the refreshing sight of a young woman in a snappy outfit. Perhaps the allure might even persuade them to support her cause.
The slam of a closing door jerked her out of her reverie. She watched as a man strolled out of the conference room. He was in his early fifties, and despite the age, was tall and well built. His suit was professionally fitted and ironed to perfection. His hair, cut in a short, clean manner, had once been a dirty blond but was now speckled with a considerable amount of gray.
"Excella!" he greeted, flashing a splendid, politician-like smile.
"Marcus Kauffmann," she said with significantly less enthusiasm. No doubt the board had sent him out to deliver their decision. But why Kauffmann? Did they really think having a familiar face would make the process any more comfortable?
Despite being decades older than Excella, Marcus Kauffmann was still considered a very, handsome man. God had bestowed him with a sharp, chiseled face, a high nose, and brilliant, sea-blue eyes. The spotlessly groomed designer stubble only emphasized his strong jaw-line and flawless chin. His regal appearance drew many female employees to his side, some of whom would give almost anything to spend a night with the man. Seeing him now, she was suddenly struck with the idea that an older Wesker would have probably looked something like Marcus, if only he aged like a normal human.
"How you've grown, Ms. Gionne," he said playfully, his smile as plastic as ever. "You look very much like your grandmother did when she was young."
"You know I hate small talk, Kauffmann," she said. It came out sharper than she had intended.
Unlike the numerous women who flocked to the Tricell director, Excella wasn't fond of Marcus. And it was all because of story her grandmother used to tell her, a cautionary tale for her ambitious young granddaughter
Marcus Kaufmann had once been a man of unrivaled potential. Smart and cunning by nature, he followed his thirst for success with an avid determination. In no time he had scampered up the career ladder, and landed himself a high-paying job in Tricell's research sector. He was on the board of directors by his mid-thirties, the youngest ever in the company's history. And before anyone could even marvel his sudden rise of success, he made the headlines when the retiring CEO of Tricell Pharmaceutical chose him as the number one candidate to succeed his position.
It was absolutely perfect. Not only had he the most support out of the entire board, his research into a new virus that could potentially rival Umbrella's rumored, "B.O.W. creator" was enough to win anyone over.
Needless to say, things did not go as planned. After a heavy night of drinking to celebrate his success, he had unintentionally leaked a considerable amount of the company's secrets to an amiable man at the lounge, who unbeknownst to Marcus, was an Umbrella employee. The CEO position slipped from his fingers, never to return to his grasp again.
Excella hated Marcus Kauffmann because the man reminded her of failure. The "gentleman" before her had thrown away everything because of one simple weakness he had failed to hide. It disgusted her to no end.
"Now, now, Excella, there's no need to hurry—" he said, reaching out with one hand to pat her jokingly on the shoulder.
Excella took a step backwards so that his fingers swiped through empty air. "You're here to tell me the board's verdict, aren't you? Well, what is it?"
Marcus sighed lightheartedly, like a parent would to a petulant toddler.
Excella felt a sudden wave of cold run through her body. What if the answer was no? What if the board didn't like the proposal? The only way she and Wesker would have any chance to obtain the Kijuju facility was if the board picked up the Type 2 Las Plagas project.
"Such a serious look on your face," Kauffmann said with a chuckle. "So intense…as if the fate of the entire world depended on my words."
At the sight of Excella biting down on her lip in impatience, he broadened his smile. "You can rest easy, Ms. Gionne. The board is impressed. So impressed, they've decided to promote you to head of Tricell's African division."
There was a rush of blood to Excella's head and for a fleeting moment, she was afraid she'd pass out right there on the floor. Had she heard him right? Head of division?
"Unbelievable, right?" Marcus continued. "Normally, we wouldn't just give away such a high position, but you're impeccable timing landed you the spot."
"What do you mean?"
"This hasn't been made public yet, but the old head, Johnson—you know him right? A few weeks ago we discovered that he's been dealing with some of the rival companies for years now. Of course we're going to get rid of him, but we first needed a solid replacement. And look who just turned up on our doorstep with one incredible research proposal. I have to admit, Excella, we just couldn't turn you down."
"I don't believe it," she gasped, sitting shakily down onto the edge of the chair.
"You better believe it." He took a seat beside her. "It's not every day you go from a research manager to the head of division. You should be grateful."
And then something clicked in Excella's head. She'd succeeded. It had worked. Excella Gionne was now the head of the Africa division. For some reason, however, the only thing she could think of doing was going back to the laboratory and reporting the news to Albert The research facility was theirs. And his reaction…what would he say? Would he thank her?
"Excella?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow at her clouded, vacant gaze. She blinked twice, before remembering her well-trained manners. She was a Gionne after all; she had to be always presentable, no matter the occasion. She morphed her face into one of gratification.
"This is absolutely amazing, Marcus." She had on a perfectly crafted smile, without any hint of smugness or vanity. "I can't thank the board enough. It's a dream come true. Too think I'm head of a division now, with my own facility—"
"Ah. About that facility…."
Excella's heart constricted painfully in her chest.
Kauffmann had on a very peculiar expression. His Capitol Hill smile was gone, and in its place was a gentle, sympathetic look, one usually reserved for a conversation about a family death. It was a shallow expression of polite courtesy, without any substance behind it. And yet there was something beneath the surface, a strange gleam in his eyes that betrayed his true emotions. She had the sudden impression of a wolf, licking its lips at a helpless, trapped prey.
"The facility you expressed interest in. The Kijuju one. I'm afraid that it's already been taken."
"By whom?" Excella choked out.
At this, Marcus gave a long, forceful sigh, as if reluctant to answer her question. But Excella caught a slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
"I hate to say this, Excella, but I've already taken ownership of the facility weeks ago. It's been approved by the board and the contracts have all already been signed. I'm sorry."
It was the second shock Excella had experienced in the hour, and she was beginning to fear that her heart wouldn't be able to keep up with so many intermittent jumps. Seeing her dumbfounded expression, Marcus leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand over hers.
"I know that facility must have meant a lot to you. But look on the bright side; at least you're still the head of the African division. With a position like that, you could get any other facility you could ever want…just not this one. It really isn't that special anyway. It may be large, but the location's not practical."
Excella raised a hand to her temple. Her head was swirling with thoughts that she was having a hard time sorting through. Sure, Marcus was right. She could settle for any other research center in Africa with all the power that came with her position. She already had all that she'd ever wanted; she could stand up, walk out of the building and be done with it all.
But yet, the one vivid image that kept sneaking into her thoughts like a slow spreading disease. Albert Wesker. She could remember every detail of his face after hearing about the ex-Umbrella facility back in Irving's office. He wanted it…no, he needed it. Since meeting the blond several months ago, she had never seen such a furious look of determination pass over his stony demeanor.
She sighed deeply and put her hand down, only to spy Marcus from the corner of her eye. He was studying her with an unsettling intensity that immediately set alarms off in her head. There was a look in his eyes that she'd seen so often in scheming businessmen, spinning plans behind their plastic smiles and courteous words.
"However…Excella," he said slowly, chewing the words. "If the facility means so much to you…perhaps I can make an exception."
"What do you mean?" She knew better than to jump on the bait; there was more to this than the man revealed.
"An exception. I give you the facility, in exchange for something I want." Again, that hint of a smile on his lips.
"And what would that be?"
"I don't know how to say this, really. I've been observing you for a long time…and you've really grown through the years Excella. From the little teenager following in her grandmother's footsteps to the ambitious young lady I see before me today—"
Excella shifted forward in her chair and stared deep into the Marcus' sea blue eyes. "I've told you before that I hate frivolity, Kauffmann. What are you willing to trade for the Kijuju facility?"
Marcus chuckled lightly, dropping all attempts to keep that intrusive smile off his face. "Well if you don't mind me being so bold, my dear, I'll say this. You have, what shall we call it? A bit of a reputation around this company. A beautiful, charming lady like you…word gets around fast."
"A reputation," Excella repeated, her expression flat.
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only she would be able to hear. "To be honest, this facility means nothing to me. But I'm willing to trade it for one simple, personal favor. Come now, Excella. Be practical here. I'm sure someone with your personality is quite comfortable with certain methods of persuasions…so persuade me."
"What are you implying?" she said through clenched teeth, though she was pretty certain she knew the answer already.
Marcus voice dropped even lower, so that it was barely a whisper. "Tonight. I'm staying at the Grand Hotel down the street, you can ask for the room number at the desk. What do you say Excella? How badly do you want the Kijuju center?"
He shot her a crooked smile, before standing up and straightening out his suit.
"And there you have it," he said, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. "It's your decision."
He held out both arms, palms upward, in a casual shrugging gesture, before turning heel and walking back into the conference room with the same confident stride that he'd entered with.
Excella waited for the fancy wooden doors to close shut behind the man, before standing up, grabbing the untouched glass of wine on the side table in front of her, and hurling it straight onto the marble floor. She found some pleasure in hearing it shatter and watching the liquid spill out in a wave of crimson onto the tiles.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Here she was, head of Tricell's fucking Africa division, and unable to get the one, sorry-looking research facility that she needed. No, she corrected herself. We need. And that damn Kauffmann, he knew the desperation in her eyes. It was all just leverage for him to get her to dance along to his tune.
"That bastard," she hissed, resisting the urge to kick over the expensive lobby chairs and wreak havoc on the carefully crafted flower arrangements.
She was angry at herself, in part. After all, Marcus was right. She was used to these types of transactions, and normally, she would have felt absolutely no qualms for following through with his request. She could barely keep track of how many men she'd won over with seduction and hints of romance; it was practically a chapter in her strategy book now.
God made you a woman for a reason, her grandmother used to say. Put it to good use.
But something was different this time. No longer did she find the idea so agreeable anymore, in fact, it seemed downright repulsive to her. Just the image of getting into bed with someone like Kauffmann sent a wave of nausea through her body.
It was different now. Back then, she'd done it for herself, for her own gain. She'd agreed to the act because it was only a way for her to get ahead in the game. Those obese, hairy men with their disgusting fantasies were just chess pieces for her to maneuver. It had meant nothing to her because there was no love in the act, only her own ambition and desire for power. But now...
Now there was only one person she wanted to be with, and despite his slight resemblance to Marcus Kauffmann, he was most definitely not the miserable, wretched failure that old man was.
The thing is, Excella, you're not the one who needs the Kijuju facility. That reasonable, practical voice she had been so acquainted with recently was once again poking its head out of the hole in the back of her mind. You've already got what you want: one of the highest positions in Tricell. Just bail and leave Albert behind. You don't need him anymore. Tell him the truth. You couldn't get it. There's nothing he can do about it.
This isn't just about business anymore, Excella though to herself, glaring at her reflection on the black marble floor.
Who are you kidding, Excella? The voice countered, twice as loud and intrusive as before. He said it himself. It's a partnership, remember? And yet like an obedient puppy you keep running back to him, hurrying to meet his every need. You're like some love-sick little girl with the way you obsess over that man. Is he like some deity to you? When did you become so dumb, Excella?
"That's not true," Excella snapped at herself, earning some raised eyebrows from the other occupants of the lobby.
Then what about this? You think you do things for yourself, but why work so hard for something that's not even for you?
Excella stood up in anger and stalked out of the lobby, her black heels clicking all the way to the double door entrance. It was snowing lightly outside, and a group of pedestrians were huddled next to the office building's awning waiting for a taxi to come by. Excella felt goose bumps skitter across her exposed shoulders, and she hastily draped her white fur shawl around them. Her breath came out in puffs of white and she stood idly by the curb.
Perhaps it was due to the temperature, but she found her frustration simmering away and leaving behind tired thoughts in its wake. She had two choices now. Either go to Kauffmann and win the facility back, or call Wesker and tell him that it'd slipped from her grasp.
She knew what the smart and reasonable decision was, but her heart swayed differently. Her mind and body were full of contradictions that she just couldn't sort out.
It was getting dark. The cloudy sky was turning brilliant shades of magenta and maroon as the sun set behind the high-rise office buildings. There silhouettes reminded her of a fence posts sticking out of a white, snowy pincushion, bathed in a halo of light. The huddling groups had, one by one, found taxis, leaving the sidewalk lonely and empty.
Excella sighed. She'd have to leave soon, before her toes turned black in the cold. She hailed a passing cab, one delicate, smooth hand held out in her usual, haughty manner. It skidded to a stop, window rolling down to reveal a haggard driver with an unkempt beard and a baseball cap full of moth holes.
"Where ya heading, miss?"
The Grand Hotel lived up to its name. It was a glorious sight to behold, with white stone archways decorated with enough gold to leave King Midas scowling. The hotel was the most luxurious one in town, reserved solely for ambassadors and businessmen of the highest tier.
Excella fit perfectly in her opulent surroundings, dressed in a lavish, tight-fitting black dress, cut so low that it left very little to the imagination. It was decorated with a silver chain belt that went along nicely with her silver pumps. Excella was particularly proud of this outfit, and judging by the number of men rubbernecking, she had a reason to feel that way about it.
However, she wasn't in the mood to smile seductively at the gawkers, as she usually would have. Today, she was sporting a stiff, clenched frown, and any man she caught ogling received a glare hard enough to cut steel. She stood in the middle of the lobby, one hand on her hip, taking in her surroundings with the cold, mechanical air of a construction worker surveying a work site. Targeting in on the reception desk, she stalked over, face flat and emotionless.
"I'm looking for a Marcus Kauffmann," she stated, without preamble.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Kauffmann was expecting a visitor," the man said, reaching beneath the desk to pull out a slip of paper. A room number was written in neat black letters on the note.
Excella hesitated for a second, suddenly apprehensive. Marcus had been so confident of her arrival that he'd already alerted the front desk. What was she doing, playing along with his little game?
No matter now, she thought to herself, taking the paper from the receptionist, a tight, forced smile on her lips. Focus on your goal, Excella. Everything else is irrelevant.
To the elevators she went, stiffly, like a puppet on strings. Inside, she fixed her bun in the gold tinted mirrors of the walls while the elevator rose steadily, the display flashing at every floor. With a cheerful ding, the doors parted and she was out in the hallway, her heels sinking it to the thick, plush carpeting. Down the hall, her eyes scanned over the door numbers mechanically, until she reached the one that matched the slip in her hand. A knock.
She crossed her arms, waiting.
Marcus opened the door, wearing nothing but a red bathrobe. How dare he, Excella thought to herself, her anger bubbling to the center of her attention. She pushed the thought away, and instead, cocked her hips seductively to one side, and tried to put on a natural, amused look. She'd done this before. All she had to do was let go and let her body run on auto-pilot. He had on his usual smile: clean, cold, and as white as a refrigerator wall. His eyes glittered as they scanned her, from the silver pumps to her delicately arranged hair.
"How nice of you to join me, Excella," he said, his voice as smooth as a snake. "You're looking lovely today."
"Just because I agreed to this doesn't mean you get to small-talk me to death," she answered with a haughty smirk. She tilted her head just barely to one side, and straightened her back so that her assets were proudly displayed before her. They were practiced movements; little things she knew could drive men mad.
Sure enough, Marcus attention was abruptly diverted away from her hair and face and focused on other parts of her shapely figure.
Excella briefly wondered if he could sense how much she wanted to take a crowbar to his head. To see his brains splattered against the dainty hotel wallpaper and hear him scream while his pulsing blood stained the carpet…
…it was something that Wesker could do without even trying. He could rip that scheming failure limb from limb in a blink of an eye.
Marcus must have been misinterpreting her sudden grin, for his robe had shifted a bit around the legs. He motioned for Excella to enter, and she sauntered into the room, hoping the murderous fantasies playing over in her head were enough to get her through the night.
Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, haven't been writing recently. I was a bit apprehensive about this chapter, and was tempted to scrap the whole thing and send the story in another direction. In any case, I did manage to finish this and I suppose for now I'll upload it and see how I feel about it on a later date.
Also, I went back and changed a bit of chapter 4 to fit this chapter, but I'm sure it's hardly noticeable. On second thought, it was probably a bad decision on my part to name one of the characters Marcus, considering there's already another Marcus in the REverse.
(BTW, finally saw RE: Afterlife. Movie Wesker was a huge disappointment, and I will now spend the rest of my life forgetting he ever existed.)