Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Syrenet, Chapter #14: Damaged Dinner. This chapter is out a little bit later than usual because of the weird email glitch that alerts are not sent out and since I want to be fair to all of those who are following this story via the actual 'follow' button and those that stop by when appealed to as with the glitch, the story also isn't being bumped up to the top of the updated list meaning people won't know about the chapter actually being there. I am going to have an absolute blast writing this chapter as it is going to about, as you guessed from the title, a dinner party, the same one referenced in Chapter 2 nearly six months ago like good lord that was a long time ago. We'll get to see a plethora of characters, such as Corrin, Cloud, Robin, Shulk, Snake, Mac and Midna. The other stars of the Syrenet cast will appear later in the arc, as this arc centers primarily around the dinner and those characters as a result. Review replies!
Seth the Great- You have the most fascinating commentary, and I am beyond thrilled to see you invested in such a thing like this. Interesting insight on Ness, and yep... there's a huge running trend in these AI Units. What if one happens to get a character killed, hm? And, for your question on dealing with an AI Unit, that'll be explained in a later chapter further down the line, though it isn't too far away. Oh, and for the Shulk question, that'll be revealed even way further down the line, though one of your musings is correct dealing with him. Ike fights to suppress violent memories, something I referenced last chapter about a 'New Orleans' incident, which you can wonder about what it is till I disclose it.
CrashGuy01- If you liked the dark nature of chapter thirteen, then buckle yourself up mister as the ride is going to get a whole lot bumpier as we progress through this arc and others to come (especially the last arc, Chapter 31-40, it's one heck of a train wreck of emotion) I am hoping however that I am not making every character have some tragic backstory for the heck of it and that they actually all feel different, because besides Cloud, Robin, and Lucas, everyone has done something or been involved in something that has dramatically hurt them.
Thank you two for reviewing so consistently and diligently these past updates, it means a lot. I hope you enjoy Chapter #14: Damaged Dinner.
To say that Shulk hates crowds is an understatement. Shulk loathes crowds with as much reason one hates clowns or dying or something tragic or other. The personal business attire is also not something that fits in with his... 'style', as actually the blonde has no idea to describe how he presents himself other than the typical word, and so this fancy, ornate party does not sit well on his skin.
He's huddled over in the back corner of the living room, where everything is just too much white, too much of a moving blizzard or a hazy cup of vodka, where the blending of all colors causes him to have a headache. Shulk longs to be talking to Lucas back at headquarters, the ringing of the gunshot from earlier still echoing around in his head. The AI Unit must be devastated, which Shulk concludes sadly to himself whilst hanging on the fringes of the social buzz. He's never been particularly close to Ness, so having done the professional job required by Corrin is nothing that matters that much to him. What he's fearing, with good reason, is Roy's reaction, and the presumable consequences when Roy discovers who led out the devious 'interrogation'.
His eyes catch hers across the room, and though Shulk tries recalling the woman's name that he's been eying for the past half hour with glasses of Merlot and Chardon and champagne and even draft beers, it isn't coming to him quite fast enough. She slinks over to him, trailing an ever translucent sea foam green dress that hugs her delicate curves. Shulk is happy his wife is dead, or else he'd be rotting in the everlasting furnace for smiling the way he does. The dress combats nicely with the woman's electrifying and heart warming red hair, and then Shulk's brain connects the dots, now regretting even looking at the viper he calls a woman.
"I can tell that this party is not leaving you in the best of moods..." the woman whispers close to him, pulling Shulk out of his nook and cranny, which causes the man to make a sound replicating that of a dying dog. He's clinging to the corner almost in a cartoonish manner, drawing a few giggles, laughs, and oddball stares, but the woman is persistent and the two start to trail around the house.
"And I wonder how you came to that conclusion," Shulk snaps back wittily, downing the drink.
She eyes him with a peculiar competence that freaks him for a split second until her head is set dead ahead at the linoleum floors and elegant paintings dotting the walls. "Do you end every sarcastic comment with a drink?" Her eyes light up like fireflies, and Shulk is enthralled, almost bad enough to where he's unable to concentrate.
"N- no..." he stutters.
"Seems like you do," the woman says, eyes smirking, just like her face.
He folds his arms over his chest, noticeably setting his drink down on the bookshelf that the two are near. It is going to sit there like an insatiable itch on the back of his neck, where his hands will want that drink, they will bemoan for the glass, the craving of the murky wine shall become too great for him to handle... and dammit, he's going to look like the biggest idiot ever in front of the prettiest woman he's seen all night around the fake and phonies atop the fake and phonies. "I'm- I'm sorry, but have we met? I'm pretty sure I'd remember knowing someone like you with that attitude." Shulk's heart twinges some at the remembrance of Fiora, the perfect syrupy sugar sweet balance to the bitter tartness that is the blonde Mr. Roberts.
The woman who actually does not have a drink in her hands, being one of the seldom ones, makes a facial expression that suggests she wants a drink very heavily. "With all the news going around D.C about what happened in Boston, I'm surprised that you don't know who I am. Your protégé currently in the hospital sure knows who I am, though."
Shulk looks at the woman warily. His hand curls around the glass, but it isn't so he can use it to drink. It's a weapon if he smashes it against her head hard enough, though that'll ruin the party and everyone's bubbly persona will fade underneath crimson pools, jagged glass, and hair kissed by fire. "You're Midna Nye, aren't you? Snake's mole in the Collins Arms Dealer corporation..."
Midna laughs, her vibrant and auburn hair highlighting along the walls. "The one and only, Mr. Roberts," she winks at him, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. "Or is Shulk satisfactory?"
"You can call me anything you deem alright."
"Shulk it is then."
"I'm so glad you solved that little hiccup right there."
"And now you're going to take a drink!" Midna exclaims happily.
He takes a drink, which then causes him to stomp his foot, as son of a gun. She is right about his drinking nuances and it's bothering him far more than it should be. Shulk scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, seeing as there is no way around this elephant in the room. Ike's words come back to haunt him, and the description and details of what happened in Boston to the new recruit are sending images spiraling into and out of his vision. Roy huddled over a pool of blood. Link's ghoulish, empty diamond eyed stare from afar. Midna's hair and bones scattered to the wind. Snake's voice breaking against a crumpled wall... Shulk shudders, luckily Midna having been preoccupied with the moon currently shining outside in the darkening sky.
She beckons him to follow her back into the main living room where the other party guests were still mingling, the chefs in the kitchen nearly finished with the dinner that would be to feed almost forty people. The extra addition of loud banter and belligerent noise helps the two talk about whatever they wish with little prying eyes and ears.
Midna motions at Shulk's glass, the blonde obliging and handing her the drink. She takes a sip, then shrugs, and downs the rest despite the blonde's half-hearted protests. Shulk wants to be able to drive back to Syrenet headquarters with the morning come and being drunk is no way at easily accomplishing that task. Midna's lighthearted gaze that she's been wearing the entire night hardens into something fierce, chills enveloping Shulk's spine. "I spoke to Roy at the hospital two days ago."
"You did?" Shulk's eyes widen imperceptibly, blue irises flaring with hope. "How is he?" he prods when Midna does not divulge any further statements.
"Do you wish to have the good or the bad first?"
"I'm still going to feel terrible knowing there's a bad option, so it doesn't matter."
The redhead straightens Shulk's tie expertly, whilst leaning inward to whisper in his ear so a lady entering through the doorway with too many jewels hanging around her neck does not here the transaction of events happening four feet away from her. "Good news is that Roy is alive and recovering with the stitches from the wound in his leg. Bad news... he reeks of depression."
Shulk snorts, and it isn't a sign that he doesn't care, the man is purely and effortlessly surprised. "Being depressed is one of the criteria that gets you placed into the Syrenet problem. The only person who is underneath the roof that I know of who does not struggle with depression is my AI Unit, Lucas, who's always blissfully happy despite there being many reasons not to be so jolly."
Midna sighs, running a hand through her hair. No one ever truly understands what she's saying, the redhead feels while Shulk's true avoidance of the statement takes hold of her perceptibility. Link Collins didn't listen to her when she advised him to drop the gun, and now there's a bullet hole in that man's forehead, covered in soot at a cemetery where he's buried six feet deep. Her own father does not listen to her when she says that there's a gas leak that she can smell, but he deduces it to being nothing more than the cooked scent of bacon from several hours ago for breakfast. She remembers the feelings of flame lacerating her skin as the house explodes mere moments after she opens her car door to get to work.
"No, Shulk, I am not simply referring to depression all 'Syrenet' employees must have," she throws her hands up at waist level, indicating there's more behind her words. "He's depressed as he believes everyone is disappointed in him. No one's stopped by to visit him except for me, and he gets out of the stupid hospital in less than 48 hours. I'm the only person he's seen since last weekend's admittance, and I'd say that's quite a terrible situation to be in if you ask me."
He stirs at these words, blanching visibly. Midna hands him back his drink, winking, and off she goes into the crowd, blending amidst the gathered where the last Shulk sees of her is the blurred tornado of ripe ruby red hair, a frolic dancing against a man's sheer black suit, and she's gone. Shulk squeezes his eyes shut, unsure whether or not to relegate the... 'encounter' he had with her be a simple hallucination, or everyone is playing him up as if he's some crazy man.
Someone else's presence is registered by Shulk's side, and when the hand clamps down on his shoulder, he yelps, the blonde's drink going everywhere. Shulk's heartbeat slows down to regular speed after a few moments, the breathing taken right out of him with his scream. A hearty chuckle fills the void of silence from Shulk's cry of terror, and it is a sound that is all too familiar to her ears. He turns and his terrified expression morphs into a one of pure delight.
"If I hadn't been scared out of my wits just now, I would've hugged you!" Shulk greets, throwing his arms out to envelop the stranger in a hug.
The stranger is FBI director Snake Karlo, the man looking completely different from when Roy had seen him last in Boston a few days ago. Snake isn't wearing a typical dark sort of suit, but rather something a little bit lighter, a coarser brown, almost like oak or mahogany. His beard is gone, leaving behind a pale face that has seen too many winters and battles and too much blood. An irreplaceable glow sits in his eyes that is warm and welcoming. He pats Shulk on the back, a bottle of Coolers Light resting in his lax grip.
Snake tips his bottle across the living room of crowded men and women to Midna, who is now by the bar chatting up this gentleman that Shulk has never seen before. Her hair is as vibrant as ever, looking brighter and stronger than some of the lights flickering on and off in the house. "I take it that you've met the little starlet. Midna is... well, she's quite the handful."
"That she is," Shulk laughs with the man. He hasn't seen the FBI director in quite some time, the last the blonde recalls even talking with the man was about a year ago for some Syrenet intelligence conference that generally had most of the Washington D.C national security personnel in the room. The last time the two fought together side-by-side was in Tahiti, the summer of 2088, when Fiora had first come to Shulk with the idea in her head about becoming a surrogate, but Shulk shoots in down as it is way too much money, and the president needs him alongside the FBI to kill some rugged group of assassins. His expression sobers at the thought, and he looks at Snake, realizing that if he apologizes to Midna about Boston, he also needs to apologize to the man who coordinated the entire operation. "Snake, I- I gotta say thank you."
"For what?" Snake lifts an eyebrow up. The man never expects people to compliment him on his work. He's another trained soldier, a simple peon in the world of the United States and its policies. He has no desire for global recognition, or apparently even local praise as the tips of his ears flush a putrid scarlet in slight embarrassment. "I can't imagine I've done anything-"
"Boston," the Alpha commander of Syrenet elaborates, and it is the one word that gets Snake to dip his head low in a nod, lips pursed, and eerily calm. "For saving Roy and killing that wicked two timing double crosser."
Snake looks back up at Shulk and there's the readable emotion of sadness reflecting back at the blonde. "It's nothing to congratulate me or thank me about, Shulk. I was doing what I do in the line of work and there's all it is to it. That reminds me, I need to go and see how the boy is doing after all. I only got a word in before he had been whisked away on a helicopter to the hospital. I sustained nothing more than a bullet hole to the hip, and even then it only grazed me. He got... he got the worst end of the stick, that's for sure."
The blonde starts to get uncomfortable with all this war talk, especially as he's a close and comforting man of many tastes, and sometimes war is not one of the conversations he likes discussing. Shulk rubs his shoulder innocuously, taking a sip. He wants to search out in the vast unknown for a topic that is far more enjoyable and one that can lighten his mood. He scans over the crowd, about twenty to twenty-five men and women collected in the space between the couch and kitchen counter. He realizes that there are plenty of people in the room he does not know. Shulk hasn't been invited to too many parties at his forty year-old age.
Shulk takes a sip of his drink, leaning back up against the wall. "So, how many parties of Corrin's have you been to?" he asks.
Snake laughs, making a wry smile. "Too many. Way too many," he smiles. That is true. It feels like the white haired maiden is dragging the man everywhere she goes, even when it has nothing to do with him, as it should, and there's all this applause, and the noise gets louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and- "Corrin wants me to come with her all the time, and I think it's purely because she wants someone's company that she can stand. From what I know, Robin and her do not get along all the time, but I hardly know the reason why."
"Is there anyone here that you don't know?"
"Oh, there's plenty. I'd like to keep it that way," Snake chuckles. He downs a sip of the beer. "What I like doing when I'm bored at these really soporific events, in which they really are just tandems of high class socialites discussing lord knows what, is to look at someone I don't know and try and guess how they were allowed to show up."
"Oh?" Shulk raises an eyebrow. That seems like quite the harmless game, a rather fun game if anyone was to ask him. "Anyone here you wish to... scrutinize?"
"How about... her?" Snake says, pointing.
Shulk follows his gaze and the two of them are looking at a middle aged woman in the middle of the room, talking to a guy that the blonde thinks is a member of the EPA, but he isn't quite sure. What is probably giving the gentleman she is talking to a heart attack is the poor raven practically hanging around her neck, with plucked midnight feathers poking from the shoulders of her putrid and sickening yellow vomit dress that makes the FBI director purely want to hurl while looking at it. A clunky ring of topaz sits on her right hand at the wrong finger, resting against her pointer knuckle, bouncing and dipping constantly with her every movement. She's a hand talker, as she is probably telling whimsical tales of her youth to the presumable EPA agent that is no older than thirty, and she has to be in her near seventies.
"What do you think her story is, then?"
Snake rubs his chin, looking thoughtfully, a smile resting on his lips. "I'm guessing her name is Dolores or something completely stereotypical like a Marta. She's in her mid-seventies give or take. This... Marta, knows Corrin because she accidentally bumped into her at the airport, and she spills her coffee all over the president and is fearing for her life. She begs and begs for some forgiveness, but Corrin isn't a killing woman over coffee and invites her to the next gala or gathering she is hosting. Marta, wanting to impress Corrin, wears the best outfit she has in her closet, and her best jewels. I hardly believe the president will be... blown away by this spectacle."
The blonde's gaze follows over to Midna and the guy who's a complete stranger to him, laughing at the redhead's facial expression when she catches mere glimpses of this woman. "I think your fellow partner in crime is getting quite the eyeful."
"Oh, is she now?" Snake jokes back with him, downing the rest of his beer.
In fact, Midna is indeed having the time of her life with quite the eyeful of not only the crazy dressed woman in the center of the living room, but with the gentleman she is talking to, a Mr. Mac Sarasota. She loves his name, loves it perhaps too much and that's something she hopes to all things mighty won't be an issue in the coming months. She appreciates the way his eyes light up just enough to be showing off true emotion, but done well enough that you'll never know what he's truly thinking. Mac currently is downing a water bottle while everyone around him is getting drunk up a storm to the ever high heaven, and she's prodding around like a hyena sniffing a cactus.
"Why aren't you drinking?" she asks in between a sip of some new fancy wine she finds on the counter near the refrigerator. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Shulk and Snake chattering away like old time college buddies, which causes the redhead to roll her eyes. The only person she actually knows in the entire room is Snake, and she's perfectly okay with it. However, her new mission since nothing has been assigned is to get to know the ever curious and ever so handsome Mac Sarasota. Why? Because Midna Nye can.
Mac grimaces slightly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's just not my style, I suppose. It used to be, though."
"Oh? And what drink did a man such as yourself indulge himself with?"
He stretches his arms wide, yawning as if the party is boring. Midna loves hanging on the outskirts of the carpeted living room floor and just catching all the random buzz that flits and floats about with the denizens of Corrin and Cloud's cliffside mansion. "The classic Jack and Coke, ma'am."
Midna crinkles her nose. "Ma'am?"
All the color in Mac's face drains, and he's throwing his arms out and shaking his hands back and forth at her so she spares his life. "Sorry! It's just an old habit I get! I- I... I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you sound as if you're-"
"Relax, Mac. I'm just busting your chops," the redhead places a comforting hand on his right shoulder, the two talking from across one of the kitchen counters. "I am hardly that old to be called ma'am, though, and if you call me it again I'll castrate you."
The secret service agent laughs nervously, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt and then straightens his tie, face all flushed out. He has never found a woman so attractive in his life, her dark and robust skin color, perhaps coupled with a glorious tan sending rivets of shock up and down his spine, walking him up. Mac hopes his hair looks somewhat decent as he had to chase a little toddler around the premises earlier in the day when one of the patrons brought their adopted daughter he had wanted from Guatemala. She sneakily climbs a tree, the desperate father demands the girl comes back, poor Mac is dragged by his other secret service friends - for being the last man on the totem pole - to get her down. He manages to, and then a branch snaps and down he goes, getting dirt, dust, pollen, and poor thorns all over his suit, which looks as if it's been in a war zone. Catching Midna's eye from across the living room makes him forget all about the pain.
"Well, I don't have a dating life so I'm pretty sure I wouldn't miss it," Mac chortles.
"You? Without a dating life? You're gorgeous."
"Flattered," Mac smiles. God, his smile. "You aren't too bad yourself."
"As expected..."
"Slight ego?"
Midna places a hand underneath her chin, looking deep into his olive eyes, which causes a blush to settle on the poor man's cheeks. "I've never seen you around here before, and I've been dragged too many numerous parties. How were you invited?"
This places a grin on Mac's face and he looks down at his feet abashedly. "I was hand selected by Miss Wyndel to become one of the president's secret service agents. Previously I was a security guard at a Wal-Mart," he makes a jazz hands gesture, causing Midna to giggle. "I was totally living in the big bucks, and I knew it too!"
She laughs with him, grinning and smirking. "It does sound like you were living quite the amazing life, Mac. I'd be proud of that, for sure."
"And you?" Mac takes a sip of his water bottle, finishing it and crumbling it up in his hands like a paper plate, which fascinates Midna. He gives her a look, up underneath his brow and it causes the redhead's world to stop completely, her own eyes caught in a whirlwind of emotion that leaves her paralyzed. She must've looked stunned for a second as the secret service agent is furrowing his eyebrows together, waving his hand in front of her face. "And what about you?" he asks again.
Midna blinks, looking around dazed and confused. "Oh... me? I am one of the FBI's top agents. Director Karlo drags me whatever place he can without killing me. It is quite the task, if I do say so myself, but I digress."
"Huh," Mac nods. Midna is thinking this is the worst thing in the entire world, like she's completely proved herself to be nothing short of a dud muffin and he's lost interest. Lo and behold, the man places a hand against his cheek, smiling. "I think that's rather neat. You and I should spar sometime."
"Oh? You wouldn't have your pride beaten by a girl?" Midna jokes.
"As if," he snorts back at her. The two break into raucous laughter, which earns a few looks of disproving, contemptuous glares that makes Midna give them all the finger. Anyone looking at them turns around quickly, afraid she'll take some names and kick some ass, but it's all in the good spirit of things. The redhead is willing to bet she is not as cognizant as usual when inebriated, as she's had four or five drinks already. Mac flexes his muscles in a very pathetic manner, obviously making a show of himself. "These guns had to wrestle kids from stealing candy, and ma'am, I don't think you can handle their firepower."
She raises an eyebrow at her, and then decides that she only lives once. "Is that so?"
"Totally."
Midna perhaps does what is the most stupid thing of her entire life, and there have been a few, placing a kiss right on Mac's lips, pulling him forward by grabbing his tie and tugging him towards her. He's caught off guard, as most would be in this sort of situation, hands unsure of where to go, so he places them against the sides of her face, her hands tugging at the shirt.
"Should we- should we go somewhere private?" Mac whispers to her.
"I'd think that'd be for the best..." she agrees.
The redhead gets up and drags poor Mac off with her, the two stumbling giddily into a bathroom before the evident sound of the door locking is heard by a few dancing and drinking by said bathroom. The stares continue for a few seconds till everyone acts as if nothing had happened. Which, is perfectly okay in their book. Stuff like this happens all the time. Just ask Corrin and Cloud.
Over in the kitchen is Robin Wyndel, the vice president in deep conversation with one of the lectures of anatomy at Harvard, and she's currently trying to act as fascinated as possible with the rather boring and trite discussion of brain cells and their connection to STEM cell research, and Robin wishes she could just go back to bed. Now that she thinks about it, she hasn't seen Corrin at all since the beginning of the party, the president entirely consumed by her husband's presence and the arrival of people who apparently mean something to her.
Robin is so distracted in her 'listening' that her gaze wanders over to Midna and Mac, and her Grinch like heart that does not exist manages to grow every time she witnesses Mac smile. He's a little precious teddy bear in her eyes, a man who's been stumbling around like a lost puppy and now he's grounded, experiencing the fruits of the world that allow him a fraction of happiness. When she watches the two of them kiss, her eyes sparkle and she feels like a mother standing on the sidelines as their baby grows up and graduates. She's so enthralled in watching the two stumble into the restroom that she doesn't even notice the person she's talking to walk away in disgust, being replaced by the FBI director himself.
Robin Wyndel is not particularly swoon over like the other women in the establishment by Snake's good looks, charm, or whatever he's calling it nowadays. She is no longer holding onto any glass of wine as she gave up on trying to become drunk hours ago, and by the looks of things, her new buddy is just now starting his journey into an alcoholic hangover. Sounds like so much fun.
"You looked one hundred percent invested in that conversation," Snake nudges her, a new chilled bottle of beer resting in his right hand. He takes a sip and settles it down on the counter. "I think that's the same face you have whenever Corrin mentions any sort of political gathering. You need to stop looking so disinterested. It gives off the bad kind of vibes."
"And what, pray tell, Snake, would you know anything about 'bad vibes', hmm?" Robin places her hands on her hips, making a not-so serious facial expression that makes Snake bellow with the vibrations of a snare drum echoing in his vocal cords. She is downright precious with her blizzard hair in a bun bouncing up and down as she gives him the stink eye.
"I think you've forgotten what I am in our government, Robin," the FBI director crosses his arms over his chest. "It is my inexplicitly stated job as FBI director to read people, and I don't think you do a very good job at hiding your true emotions."
"True emotions..." Robin sputters. "I'll have you know that I do a very good job at hiding my emotions from people. Thank you very much."
He gives her a look that reads anything other than belief, and Snake almost wants to chastise her. Snake turns his lip up into a smirk, taking another sip before sighing loudly and purposefully, which elicits a glare from the vice president somewhere in his general direction, but he looks around haplessly. "Well, then prove me wrong. Were you or were you not completely bored out of your mind with the conversation that you had?"
She bites down on her tongue. Robin has no idea why she ever decided as a teenager to want to enter politics. It is a lot of ripping hair out of her head moments, too many dollar signs and bruised egos and spreadsheets. A lot of bright flashes from cameras and the obnoxious voices of reporters who don't know anything about personal space, their ugly mugs and pimpled faces two inches from Robin's where she can smell their three day old pizza breath and see their hollowed out eyes that are mere empty shells of a black void oozing the ripe and staunch stench of desperation.
"Okay," the silverette caves. "I downright hated listening to him."
Snake's eyes twinkle a glow of triumph, and he settles a hand precariously against her shoulder which she shrugs off. He sighs. This woman will never be beat. "First rule in being an FBI agent. Everyone is always watching you, and you're always watching them. Do not let anyone see you sweat. It works in any circumstance. Because, since you had been so disinterested, you also missed the guy you were speaking to flip you off and utter a few not scholarly like words in your direction."
Her face flushes a pure and angry scarlet, hands curled into fists, but Snake presses gently as she can see the sleaze ball from across the room and it takes all of Robin's willpower and Snake's resistance to not launch herself forward and pummel the ungrateful ingrate. Robin searches desperately for a way to channel her anger, fingers latching for the gilded cross necklace around her throat, deciding to spin around and play with it. When she speaks, her voice has lost all confidence. "So what? One man's opinion to my hideous reaction. Big whoop."
"It's a big whoop like the one that got Roy nearly killed in Boston," Snake reprimands, his face darkening somewhat. Robin blanches at the thought of the poor redhead Syrenet employee, as she hasn't gotten a chance to meet him in person and almost missed the opportunity had he died. "Roy panicked in hopes of probably pleasing Corrin and myself on the mission and forgot everything he should in dealing with crisis situations such as the one he was in. I smelled his fear from miles away, even when I met him as he isn't the best at keeping his emotions in check."
"I can't very well say that my emotions would lead to something like that," Robin counters, and the wringing of the cross continues. Her thoughts flash over Midna and Mac's interaction. "Is the redhead girl with you Midna? The same on the Boston trip?"
"That'd be the one. She's- she's trying to not think about what happened." the FBI director shuffles his shoes awkwardly.
"The two of them looked happy together. It's what I had been staring at."
"Lovely indeed," the two share a chuckle. "Did you see how his face lit up when she kissed him? Midna is a hopeless flirt, but she hardly actually kisses someone outside of a mission. I haven't known her to be the dating type, so let's cross our fingers and hope it isn't a one night fling where both parties involved feel terrible afterwards. Ten bucks says you wish that right now, you were Midna and I was Mac." Oh boy, Snake is crossing into thin ice territory now.
Robin closes her eyes, not comprehending the full scale doom of his question, smiling gracefully. "One hundred percent..." her voice trails off, and then she snaps her eyes open, looking at Snake in an unrelenting fury, pounding his shoulder incessantly. "Wait, what? Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting? As if I'd do it with you!"
Snake laughs and the two return to like they're in high school. "And what if I am?"
"Not on your life, sport."
The two share one more laugh and Snake bids her a quick and hushed goodbye, before grabbing his beer bottle and vanishing somewhere else into the house. Robin leans back against the counter, a devilish smile placated on her face. "That man is downright foolish..." she whispers to herself, not entirely opposed to the thought, but it's not like she's going to tell him that. It'd be the ever lasting end to her.
She looks around the crowd, and her stare catches the person she hasn't seen the entire night. Corrin's.
The president is bent into conversation with her husband, and Robin only wants to know what they're talking about as her best friend's face is lit brighter than a chandelier, Lumiere has got nothing on her!
Corrin bats at her husband's arm playfully, Cloud smirking along with her.
"Don't let Robin hear what you just said! She'll probably kill you on the spot." the president winks with her husband, the two standing together under the arched walkway into the dining room where the chefs and butlers and maids were currently setting the table.
"Maybe it'd be a good thing," Cloud muses in jest. "It'd get me away from you, as currently you're the worst thing in the world. I can hardly stand you."
Cloud is taller than Corrin by a good six or seven inches, her husband's height being a domineering 6'3, his tornado of lemonade hair only adding to the sheerness of scale. His diamond eyes appraise over the house with a jovial light, face laden in a smile as he watches the patrons completely swallowed whole by the buzz of interaction and bliss. His shoulders are broad and cloaked underneath a crisp midnight suit, pearly white tie, and a firm handshake to top things off. His smile is so counterintuitive to Corrin's, that when he flashes an A+ grade grin, you cannot help but feel welcome, whereas his wife flashes an iconic smile meaning she has plotted your death alongside your entire family.
No one believes they are truly together, but it's all hearsay created by the journalists and reporters to try and boggle down the amazing and accomplished feats of the Etch administration. When the two married, Corrin's highest wish that Cloud dutifully fulfills is that their names are still kept unchanged, that she remains Corrin Etch and he be still Cloud Gladwell. Corrin relays the information to him over one typical cocktail dinner as her words act like a safe holder. She doesn't want her bad deeds to catch up with her and hurt his entire reputation by having the same last name. He thinks she's being too sweet and too precautionary, as this happens before Corrin Etch even has a formulated an idiotic fathom at becoming the president of the United States.
Corrin takes his insult, though meant to be a harmless joke, in stride. "Keep your tongue in check, honey. You don't want to lose it." He laughs at her threat with as much mirth as he does when being insulted any such other time, but his wife isn't exactly playing games. He knows this by the dangerous light playing out in her eyes, the 'harmless' smirk that she tosses out so effortlessly, and Cloud kisses her temple to keep her at bay.
"I can witness your beauty with only my ears and eyes, Corrin. I don't need to speak, it only ruins the moment."
"You got that right," Corrin chuckles, ignoring his sweet talk. The senator of New York squeezes her shoulder, turning behind him as a chef announces that dinner is ready. His face elates, as he's been starving for a good few hours and planning out this entire dinner party with the many guests has been quite the chore, and quite the chore it has turned out, where he has to dig into his wallet for funds makes it the icing on the cake.
"Dinner is ready, darling," he announces to his wife, and her face matches that of his.
Corrin grabs her wine glass which is full to the brink, spilling some to the carpet. A sizzle of Merlot tips out and it splatters everywhere. The putrid violet stain reminds her of Fiora Roberts' blood for a few seconds, and her vision hazes over, jagged lines of static disrupting the pallid carpet and her husband's worried, reflective stare. The president regains her composure, taking a knife from the table and gently tapping it against the glass.
It manages to get everyone's attention, including the stragglers when Corrin's mind distraction over Fiora's blood resemblance to the Merlot stain causes her to slice the stem of the glass entirely in two, the rest of the goblet coming down with her, soaking the president's hand in a tart and purplish liquid. Her eyes go as wide as saucers, steam practically pouring out of every orifice in her body, Cloud biting down on his lip so he doesn't laugh.
She blows a tuff of hair out of her eyes, and tries to not notice the drops of liquid currently going drip-drip off of her fingertips, or the coagulation of sticky wine like the coagulating of ripe, fresh crimson blood. Corrin's hateful sneer twists grotesquely into a brazen smile. "Dinner is ready ladies and gentlemen! And I guess, so is the wine carpet. Come taste at your own discretion! Refunds will not be given if you get a few cats hairs along with a sample!"
A few people laugh at her joke, which raises Corrin's spirit as she turns into the dining room with evident disgust in how she walks. Cloud follows at her heels, and so does a few disgruntled and gay guests, their laughter abounding high up into the air. Snake and Robin follow soon after, the latter's face turned into a frown as she's completely stuck and pondered over the fact that she doesn't remember Corrin ever mentioning a cat, and she for certain knows that Cloud is allergic to the furry beasts, so she's completely perplexed.
Midna manages to hear Corrin's announcement of food, and since she's as hungry as a ravenous bear, she rips herself and Mac out of the bathroom, both completely disheveled. Her hair has come undone, flowing down like locks of lava against her tanned back. Mac's suit is rustled, hair a mess, lipstick stains marked all over his cheeks. He zips up his dress pants as someone kindly mentions his fly is down. She takes him by the hand and drags him with her.
Shulk is the last to trudge into the dining room, vision starting to blur slightly from the apparent alcohol running rampant through his veins. He is unable to see clearly, but it isn't stopping him from embarrassing perhaps the most important person in the world. He steps into the dining room, which is far larger than anything at Syrenet. A long, wooden table painted a rich and suave dark chocolate brown is in the center, elaborate and ornate napkins with a fancy golden trim lacing the outer edges placed at each seat. In the center between the forks, knives, and spoons which are a stainless bronze, is a plate that reflects off the truly gorgeous chandelier hanging above the table.
He's in awe, noted by his wide, gaping open mouth. Shulk is quick to shut it, in case he wants flies to come zipping in and make a home in his tonsil cavity. There's one seat remaining, the table wide enough to hold about forty people, stretching a good twenty to thirty plus feet than an average table, Corrin and Cloud situated together at the left end of the table, Robin on the other side. Mac, Midna, and Snake all sit in a line luckily, a wicked blush settled on both of the lovebirds faces. The last seat remaining for Shulk is right by the vice president, and she smiles comfortingly at him to take a spot.
The blonde sits, Corrin introduces everyone at the table, claps her hands, and the feast begins.
Waiters and waitresses bust out of the kitchen doors, carrying trays and trays of food. Shulk thinks he's never seen this much food in his life before, even when he and Fiora's reception had been paid for by Corrin's enormous wedding fund. He snorts at the thought that the president of the United States, before she became the royal and prestigious title that she is, set aside in her checkbook an entire folder for weddings that wouldn't include her own.
The first plate placed down in front of Shulk is a simple Cesar salad. He wrinkles his nose at it; he's never been a fan of the anchovy dressing. However, this salad is nothing much than extraordinary. The lettuce is neatly trimmed, which makes him think of the metaphor as if lettuce were fingernails, which worsens his appetite even further. A bed of emerald green rests in the bronze bowl, followed by croutons of many shapes, sizes, and even colors. He bites into one and immediately a savory flavor explodes into his mouth, followed by something sweet. Looking at fellow reactions from around the table, he's not the only one. As he is digging inside the bowl for a piece of grilled chicken, grilled so perfectly that the black sear lines spell words in the meat, Shulk notices that Midna has not even touched her plate, and by that he means she hasn't lifted her napkin from her side or lifted her utensils. She's chatting with Mac and Snake like it's nothing, yet neither man is saying something. Shulk frowns, shrugs his shoulders, and goes back to eating.
Following the salad is soup, which makes Robin clap her hands like a giddy school girl. The Alpha commander of Syrenet asks what was the sudden devolution of going from adult woman to toddler for, but then finds out when the bowl is placed in front of him. His mouth waters hungrily, well beyond even the most extreme form of hunger, if that was possible. Inside the bowl is a fiery tortilla chicken soup, and he's looking at vegetables and bread types that he has never seen before. He takes a bite, and what hits him first is the perfect pinch of salt. Shulk's mouth nearly splits in two at the downright riveting taste of salt followed by a softer taste of the broth and black and pinto bean mix. A bite of chicken is next with a piece of rye bread stuck on the side, and he's divulging into another salt cavity. Shulk thinks he's going to get gout if he continues eating ravenously at this rate.
The entrée is a seared piece of lamb, which is something Shulk Roberts is able to say he has never had in his life. A few pieces of grilled asparagus top it, and the lamb sits nicely on a mesh of collard greens and on the side, in a small bowl is some pasta called orzo. He digs a spoon into the pasta, taking a bite. A sweet taste of cheese and delicately spun thyme mix causes his eyes to water at the sheer joy. By the actions of everyone at the table, they're eating it just as heartily. A bone is sticking out of the lamb chop, rugged and coarse and brown, but Shulk tears through the meat akin to ripping open presents like it's Christmas morning. His fork, knife, and spoon are stained all sorts of crazy colors and combinations, the flavor of dinner swishing around with no clear cut winner so far. Refreshments are tiny shot glass mimosas, and if Shulk thought the room had been spinning before hand, it must be revolving as fast as Mercury.
Dinner is something that Shulk enjoys, but he takes more pride in relishing in dessert more. Dessert is placed in front of him, and the sound that comes out of Shulk's throat is that between a delayed whine and a croak of pure and utter gluttony. A ripe piece of chocolate pie sits on the plate, and Robin says it's called European Truffle. It is a chocolate pie with a chocolate crust, followed by a chocolate sponge cake, a creamy and suave mousse center, followed by more cake, the rest of the pie crust, a swirl and tsunami wave of slightly mahogany and coral whip cream, and to top it off, a decadent chocolate ganache. As Shulk is currently enjoying every tantalizing second of dinner, Midna still pushes her plate away for the fourth time, claiming she is not hungry, and her lack of food is filled up by more and more glasses of vodka.
All the dinner guests begin to finish chowing down when Corrin stands up at the other end of the table. She thinks about hitting her new glass of champagne to get everyone's attention, but flashbacks of the living room hit her with the force of a truck, causing her to blanche. Corrin stops and whispers in a server's ear, and the man dutifully nods, retrieving a simple bell from his pocket. She takes it earnestly and jingles it.
In a matter of five seconds, which Shulk knows because he counted, all talk has ceased at the table, and it is pure silence - a ghost town that is lively yet dead at the same time - and a creepy itch has stitched itself to his skin. Shulk breaths in as quietly as he can while Corrin straightens herself up. She looks completely pleased with herself over something unknown, and the blonde has a strange suspicion he's about to find out really fast what the entire dinner has been about.
"Cloud and I wanted to thank you all personally for coming and eating with us tonight!" Murmurs of agreement follow around. Corrin gives the room eye contact that sends shivers down Shulk's spine. "And now that everyone has eaten, I have an announcement to make."
Everyone sits forward, and Robin for some reason reaches across the table to grab Shulk's hand. The blonde flashes the vice president a look that is half deranged, half confused. The longing feeling of dinner and dessert is still resting on his tongue, happy and content that it is not replaced by a bitter taste instead. The vice president has a vice grip on Shulk's arm, fingernails digging into his skin. He winces in pain, as Corrin continues to speak.
"As I am pretty sure you all remember, we all have a Syrenet employee in our midst! Mr. Shulk Roberts!" she shouts, thrusting a hand outwards in his direction. Every pair of eyes in the room flashes to Shulk, immediately scaring him, the blonde jumps and clangs his knee against the table. "Say hello, Shulk." Corrin prods gently, though he sees the fire in her eyes, and it is a dangerous, all consuming one that threatens to destroy everyone who dares oppose her. Cloud stirs somewhat uncomfortable in his seat, eyes sizing Shulk's up, and he reads the emotion of a plea in the two diamond orbs.
Shulk gives a wave akin to the new kid arriving and interrupting a class where he's likely to be turned into a pulp, face probably very pale. "Umm... hello?"
Corrin's face goes through seven stages of rage, rather than seven stages of grief, and she tilts her head dangerously to the right. "As you all know, Syrenet has become one of our brand new efforts in our administration to keep the peace in our divided nation by providing jobs and technological advances around the country, from sea to shining sea and maybe all around the globe if we're lucky."
Robin gives another squeeze to Shulk's hand. "Please try and stay calm..." she whispers.
"What are you talking about?" Shulk hisses back at the vice president.
Corrin's expression impasses as she witnesses the two of them have their 'private' moment. "If you all remember, which I'm sure you do, that our last effort at establishing a branch for Syrenet in Oklahoma had been a failure. Oklahoma City devastated us all, and it made me reconsider all my options. Now, I am ready to make this heartfelt and genuine announcement that no one here other than Robin knows about."
His mind is going fifty million miles a minute, all these possible guesses running rampant. He's debating on a few, such as Syrenet is meshing into perhaps the FBI, or perhaps the president is deciding to cancel it.
What he is not expecting, is this...
"Syrenet will be trying to launch with a conjoined effort from the FBI, a branch in Chicago, Illinois in a week's time." Corrin announces. Right then and there, the entire world goes to hell.
All the color drains out of Shulk's face, and he's feeling very sick. He isn't expecting this. Midna's face drains of color as well, for an entirely different reason.
Corrin's words reverberate inside the blonde's skull, and that sickness plunges from his stomach out through his throat.
However, over at Midna's spot, she vomits all over the table first.
Shulk soon follows suit.
There we are ladies and gentlemen! Chapter #14: Damaged Dinner, is done! This took me two days exactly to type, 3K on Saturday, and 6K today on Sunday. Man, here we are with a 9K chapter guys, now this is the largest chapter of the story when to be honest I hadn't been expecting something this monstrous for what I personally feel as half filler / half important, as this last section with Corrin's announcement, Mac and Midna's talk, and Robin and Snake's talk mattered the most. But, wow! A lot did happen, and you all did learn a lot! Do you guys think Midna / Mac is a fling or a relationship? And what about Robin / Snake for old times sake, right Seth? Teach Me How to Cry cameos and references here! And what do you think about Corrin's announcement, as this is what Arc 3 is going to be about... the plan that Syrenet is to try and place a branch in Chicago, Illinois. However, what do you think is wrong with Midna and why she wasn't eating and why she threw up? Clearly it isn't something Shulk is plagued by. Any guesses? I want to say thank you so much for reading, and please review! I'd love to know what you all thought about the chapter! And go vote on my poll if you haven't, it's about your favorite Syrenet characters! Currently I think Ike and Corrin are both in the lead. I hope to post Chapter #15: Stone Sacrilege by Friday, and then we'll be off into the worst part of this arc. Have an amazing day! I love you all! Bye!
~ Paradigm