Much later, a very shell shocked Machiavelli would agree that at least his dinner hadn't been boring.
But at the present, the Italian immortal felt himself tugged in a variety of directions. He was stuck somewhere between horror and amusement, curiosity and dread. For the first half of their meal, neither woman had spoken to each other, choosing instead to converse only with him. He'd made the best of it, tacitly ignoring the exchange of glares and one fairly rude hand gesture.
Their waiter had taken the standoff less in stride, Machiavelli reflected, looking at his empty water glass and fruitlessly trying to make eye contact with the stout man.
It wasn't even that the two female immortals were shouting at each other. They both seemed equally poised in contempt. Machiavelli knew that Scatty was actually a relatively gentle, sometimes damaged soul; their fellow patrons on the other hand were trying not to eye their table with the wariness that radiated off their personages.
An uncomfortable silence persisted when Machiavelli stopped talking. I can wait, he thought, wondering how long the two women would let this situation fester before one of them would begin talking. His long fingers tapped against the table.
Maybe if we weren't in one of the poorest parts of one of the most dangerous cities in the country people wouldn't look at us like we're a series of bombs about to go off, he decided. "Neither of you can find one issue to agree upon?" he finally asked in frustration. "I've heard from both of you now that neither of you hates the other, but still somehow, I'm the only person you want to talk to?"
Scatty grimaced, but surprised him by addressing the jazz singer. "Still in the same apartment?"
"Why mess with a good thing?" she said back stiffly, but Machiavelli relaxed. At least they're talking.
"How long have you lived in San Francisco?" he asked Scatty.
She frowned, thinking about it. "Quite a while now. It was where I was living when Billy- not you- and I went on our adventure. That was the first time we'd met."
"You haven't lived in Europe?"
"I did," Scatty said. She chewed her food. "I've found that I usually prefer American immortals. Not that I haven't taken to you, just… you can avoid the American immortals you don't get along with." She indicated the jazz singer with a sweep of her hand. Billie shrugged. "It's harder to avoid the European immortals. I don't know if it's cause everything is all jammed together over there… or because they have a higher opinion of their importance… but I know that Dee had never before this occasion deigned to come over here. That was half the appeal."
"Of course, there's that stuck up bitch Virginia Dare," Billie mumbled, making a volcano out of her mashed potatoes.
"Did you know Virginia Dare?" he asked the singer with interest.
"Stuck up bitch," she said with some force behind her words.
"So you have met her," Scatty said idly.
Machiavelli jumped when the jazz singer laughed; it was the last reaction he'd expected. It would appear that the two female immortals had something in common- a mutual dislike of Ms. Dare. He himself didn't hate her, but understood that she didn't ingratiate herself to others.
"Unfortunately."
"I bet she loved you," Scatty said, leaning forward. Her eyes glinted with mischief.
Billie scoffed. "She looked at me like I was dog shit that she'd just stepped in. You'd think for someone that literally grew up in the woods," she said each word slowly, enunciating the words with derision, "she'd be a little less judgmental."
"How'd you meet her?" Machiavelli asked Billie. Scatty, he figured, probably came across her through her allied ties to the Flamels and Dare's ties to John Dee.
"We dated the same girl- different points of time, but still makes me shudder." She took a long sip of her drink. She twitched.
"Virginia plays for the other team?" Scatty asked interestedly. Machiavelli felt better himself- for a moment he'd wondered if he'd missed something patently obvious.
"I think that white chick plays for whatever team she thinks is winning," Billie said disinterestedly. Machiavelli stored this information internally. Scatty looked like she could have said more, but he gave her a slight nudge and she shut her mouth, albeit reluctantly.
"I don't think Billy cares for Virginia either," Scathach said, as if that settled matters.
Billie looked thoughtful. "Where's the Kid? I thought he'd be back by now from wherever he was" she asked, and Niccolò realized that he hadn't explained Billy's absence yet, even when they'd had lunch together the week before.
"He's trying to keep Black Hawk from killing their master," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Black Hawk could be very stupid, at times. Strange though that Billy's become the level headed one in that pair."
"Didn't you date Black Hawk?" Machiavelli asked her, a little taken aback that she was so critical of the Native American immortal.
"We mostly fucked," she said indifferently. Scatty actually laughed at that, hastily looking out the window.
"Ah," Machiavelli said, not knowing what else to say to her brazen admittance of sexuality. "Well Billy's not impetuous, he's able to make solid decisions."
"Hmmm…" Machiavelli stiffened under her gaze. Billie rapped her knuckles on the table in front of the Shadow, getting her attention. "You think pizzabagel here's in love with the Kid too, don't you?" Scatty looked over at the Italian immortal and shrugged. The jazz singer thrummed with ill-disguised pleasure. "I knew it."
"I said nothing," Scatty said idly.
"But you're thinking the same thing I am," Billie accused her, watching her closely. "You didn't deny it."
"Don't be daft," Scatty said, taking a sip from her water glass.
"It's okay, Scatty," Machiavelli murmured. He blushed slightly. "I do have feelings for Billy," he admitted to the jazz singer, looking at her, but spinning the ring on his finger nervously. "But I have no expectation of him reciprocating those feelings... and I think these will go away too, with time."
"Oh, sure, that's how it always happens," Billie said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and smacked him across the table. "Are you serious? You want something, you have to go after it!"
"I hate to agree with her," Scatty rolled her eyes at the black immortal and Billie snorted, "but that's what I've been telling you."
"Wait a minute," Niccolò protested. "All night the two of you have been arguing. This is what you're going to agree on? I should pursue my definitely heterosexual, only friend in the world on a whim?"
"Well, Billy's not your only friend- that's a little insulting- but yeah, basically," Scatty agreed.
The singer smacked him again. "You tell him or I will."
"Don't you dare," he said, trying to be tough with her. He gave her a stern look.
She ignored him. Snapping her fingers, she flagged down their waiter. "Hey, garcon, what does a lady have to do to get a dessert menu around here?"
Flicking through the menu, she took the time to point at him. "I'm just looking out for you," she said, in her bossiest voice. "Now I know you might look at me and think 'she screws everything with three legs and gets along just fine,' but I'll have you know it's not a barrel of laughs."
"Please talk a little quieter," he begged.
She ignored that too. "This is why you and Billy got so defensive last month when I found out you were sharing a bed."
"I'll give you a few more minutes to decide." Their waiter had unfortunate timing, apparently. Machiavelli looked at him with horror and opened his mouth to protest, but the man was already gone. He practically flew over to the teenagers sitting two booths over. This is probably the first time that man has ever been thankful to have teens to wait on, Machiavelli thought ruefully.
He could feel the blush creep up his neck, but he still attempted to save face. "We never did anything. We were only sharing a bed because there was only one bed in the apartment."
"And yet you've got that big squishy box in the living room." Billie laughed. Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the Shadow. "What do they call those? Coaches? Conch shells? I'm so close to it; don't tell me. Hey!"
Their waiter made his way back over. "Yes, ma'am?"
"I'm going to have a banana split. Skinny here is going to have your chocolate cream puff brownie sundae."
"Is that even really a thing?"
"He'll take two," she cut over him, handing back their menu.
"I'll have apple pie and decaf coffee," Scatty said, also speaking over Machiavelli's protests. "Mac, maybe you should consider talking to Billy about how you feel."
"Fuck him," Billie goaded.
Scatty shook her finger at him. "Don't do that."
"Get him out of your system, honey," Billie said, slapping his hand.
"Tell him that you kissed, at least."
"Ooh…" Machiavelli and Scatty both winced. He glared at her and she shrugged, having the good grace to look apologetic. "You and Billy kissed? Wait, why doesn't he remember? Are you a bad kisser?"
"Niccolò's not a bad kisser," Scatty defended him.
"Wait, this one too? No, let's not focus on her- does Billy lean to the left or the right?"
Machiavelli waved both hands, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't possibly be able to know that because I never did anything with him," he repeated, drawing out the end of his sentence for emphasis. To the left though- stop it Niccolò, he thought and blanched.
"How can you say that, when just two seconds ago, she said you kissed?"
"Alright, fine, we kissed, but it meant nothing. And Billy was too drunk to remember it happened and it didn't mean that much to me…"
Their dessert came. Billie looked at him with a gleam in her eye. "Are you willing to prove that?"
Scatty frowned at her. "That's not going to help anything."
"What do you mean?" Machiavelli asked the singer wearily. He leaned forward and Scatty was forced to copy him to stay in the conversation.
"Let's go to a bar tomorrow night. Pick up a girl."
Scatty touched his shoulder. "Don't do it, Niccolò. You can't just give up hope."
Machiavelli was watching the black immortal's face. He steepled his fingers, listening quietly, which goaded her into further speech. "If you really believe that Billy is not going to be interested in you the way you are with him, then the healthiest thing to do is to move on. And the best way to move on is to hook up with someone else."
He grimaced. "I couldn't do that. I don't need to do that."
"If you don't do something, you're going to spend the next few centuries pining away after him. Why not just tell him? If he says no, then you'll have your answer. And you can move on."
Machiavelli was quiet. The core of what Billie was saying had some truth in it, even if most of it seemed like poor advice to him. Still, though… If I told him, I would have my answer. And if it wasn't the answer I wanted, I'd lose what I have now. He wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but there was still a small flicker of hope inside of him, and he found that he'd rather pine, as Billie said, than lose it entirely. He glanced at Scatty.
She was gazing at him steadfastly- it made him feel like he'd swallowed something warm. "I'll go to a bar with you," he told Billie, agreeing with her. "But that doesn't mean… I'm giving up. You're going to come too, aren't you?" he asked Scatty urgently.
She smiled, her pointed teeth showing. "Course."
~MB~
"I can't believe we were in there for almost three hours, it didn't feel like it, did it?" Billie chatted as they made their way back to her apartment. In between erstwhile rambles, she would throw out directions seconds before they became relevant, fraying Machiavelli's already shattered nerves. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, pulling up in front of her apartment at last.
"I believe it," Scatty commented darkly from the backseat.
"I did have fun tonight though," Machiavelli told the jazz singer, marveling in his truthfulness. He made to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away from him and he withdrew his hand with an apology. Clearly all physical contact had to be on her terms.
They got out of the car, though she told Machiavelli he did not need to walk her all the way up. They stood instead on the sidewalk, sirens cutting through the night in the distance. Up ahead, a boombox thrummed music.
Billie looked over at Scatty. Their eyes locked and Machiavelli tensed, expecting an argument to erupt after the day's precariously restrained interactions. The jazz singer surprised him though. With a funny little nod, she smiled at the Shadow. "I'm sorry about what I said last time we saw each other."
Scatty's anger seemed to crumble. "It's okay," she said, crossing her arms in front of her body. She opened her mouth to say something else, but couldn't bring herself to do it apparently, and closed it again. She tapped her foot. "So we're going out tomorrow night?"
"Sure. Do you have a specific place in mind?"
"We have no plans right now," Scatty admitted. "I'm not very familiar with the geography of Philly." She sized up Machiavelli. "But I was thinking we should bring him somewhere fun." Machiavelli started to protest, having decided their plan was lunacy, but the jazz singer's eyes lit up and the mirrored mischief on his two companions' faces was enough to silence his feeble excuses. "I'll think about where we're going when I get home tonight and Niccolò will get back to you," Scatty told the other woman. "He must have your number."
"He does," Billie confirmed. Without another word, she retreated into her house.
Scathach looked at him and laughed. Without warning, she threw her arms around his middle, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his nose. "You're lucky you're cute, Niccolò, that's all I have to say. Get in the car. Take me home."
He glanced at her on their way back into the house that night, but didn't ask the question he wanted to.
"You want to know why Billie and I don't get along," she said, interpreting his silence.
"You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."
She flicked on the light in the living room, a soft orange glow making her look somehow both older and younger at the same time. "No, I'll tell you. We met only once, back when Billy brought me here after we worked together on an… adventure… Black Hawk was staying over too. Him and Billie- the woman, that is- they were dating at that point."
"I didn't know you'd been in this apartment before," Machiavelli couldn't help but say. It made him feel somehow smaller inside, knowing that of all the people in Billy's life, he had the least amount of history.
"I didn't stay for very long. Nora and I had an argument and I went back to the West Coast. Billy tried to get me to stay, but I wouldn't do it…"
Niccolò moved around the room, closing the shades. He looked back at her, not rushing her.
She made a face. "I may have overreacted- I don't think she means to hurt people, she's just such a cantankerous little… She said something that struck a nerve, but you see how she is in a conversation…"
"Want to play a game of chess?" he asked her. She nodded, so he set up the chess set that Billy'd given him over the summer on the little table in the corner of the living room. He pulled the table out a little so they could both sit comfortably. Sauntering over, Scatty dropped down into the seat opposite him.
"You know you don't have to do anything tomorrow night, right?" she asked bluntly.
He nodded. "I don't think what Billie said was completely accurate. She made it sound like those were my two options- talk to him now or give up. The way I figure it is," he moved his pawn, "I have a third option, to take my time. Maybe I'll be able to…" he trailed off. And shrugged. "Do you think I'm being foolish?"
"No," she said instantly.
He smiled at her. "You're a good friend Scatty. You've been so patient with me."
"We've both been alive a long time. Longer than either Billy. You and I know that things don't happen right away." Scatty took her turn.
"Do you honestly believe that Billy would ever love me?" He moved his queen side knight.
She moved her bishop. "Billy already loves you."
Machiavelli didn't know what to say after that. They were quiet for a while, their match quickly progressing. He found they were equally matched in skill- what he gained from tact and planning, she possessed in daring. "I don't need to have a relationship with him in that way," Machiavelli said finally, checking her king. "I've done alright on my own."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I have to." He smiled at her, feeling both happy and sad. "Checkmate."
