June 3rd, 1994
London
Novante Histoire.
He smirked at seeing the engraving in red on one of the plaques marked for each floor, the respective companies with their floor (or floors, depending on how large the company was) listed pristenly on the wall by the lifts. Unnoticed, he started into the lift, pausing irritably when several anxious looking people ran in front of him and all but swung themselves into it, briefcases and filers clutched tightly to their chests. He scoffed. Is that what I looked like when I first entered the oil business? A few moments passed, the pleasant beeps of the lift indicating its ascents and descents. He jabbed the button again, and this time, when the doors opened, he stepped in immediately, all but punching the button to the tenth floor where Novante Histoire was headquartered worldwide. A few people slid in as well, pressing buttons for their own destinations, and, in the time it took, a shorter, heavy set man and a tall, lanky man ran into the building lobby with a teenage girl. His eyebrows shot up and his smirk intensified, waving at them and not caring if they noticed.
The doors to the lift shut.
He leaned back against the back of the lift, his legs crossed at the ankle. He couldn't help but keep smirking, satisfied by every ping of the elevator. Passing each floor, stopping every so often to let people in and let others out. With every stop, he grew more and more impatient. Novante Histoire isn't even on the highest floor, not even close. This shouldn't take nearly this long. He let out an irritated sigh when the lift finally stopped and the doors opened to the tenth floor. Several others (a few carrying sketchbooks and/or rolls of fabric in their arms) stepped out. He waited, lingering just outside the lift until they were all gone. Then, he started towards the double, glass doors into the office, the company name embossed on the back wall in a sleek, black granite, contrasting sharply against the white. Mirroring her hair. Ever the narcissist. A few people raised an eyebrow when he stepped in and, self assured as ever, approached the desk, behind which a young, nervous looking man was filing reports.
"I'm here to see Cruella," He said, looking bored and scowling at the young secretary. "Is she in?"
The young man looked up, startled. "She…." He stammered. "Madame De Vil is here, but….but do you have an appointment?"
"This is an urgent matter," He ignored the young man's anxiety. "Where is she?"
Stammering unintelligibly, the young secretary (and the others around him) started pointing towards the bright red spiral staircase, all of them looking terrified and none of them wanting to say anything. They are quite spineless, aren't they? It didn't matter. The man walked up the stairs without so much as a nod to the people he passed by, ignoring the squeals, mutterings, and gasps of people watching him start up the stairs. They were nothing. The only person in this building he wanted to speak to was at the top of the stairs. He climbed them. He moved so methodically that the rhythm was perfect, never faltering. He kept the amusement and arrogance to his step that he always had. She was more than easy to handle, always had been. Even when they had used to be together, back in the late seventies. There was nothing he didn't know about her. There was, however, quite a bit she didn't know about him. She of course would always claim she did, but that didn't mean a damn thing. He was always one step ahead.
And he always had been.
"Fancy seeing you here."
Cruella nearly fell over into a dress form she had been putting up, her heart pounding. Jabbing the last few pins into it, she set everything else down and grabbed a fabric knife, pointing it at him.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" She hissed.
"I've come to see my fiancee, of course," He replied, swaggering towards her. "How long has it been, fourteen, fifteen years?"
"You already have a wife, James," She snapped. "I left you for a reason, that reason being her."
"Now, now," James Varna put up his hands, waving them dismissively. "Don't blame Chantelle for your issues. Specifically, don't blame her for your issues with your dear mother."
Cruella tightened her hand around the fabric knife. "My mother," She said slowly. "Has nothing to do with this, and you damn well know it."
"I know that you have lied to the public for the last fourteen years about knowing the parentage of your own child," James sneered. "I believe I saw her earlier, as fate would have it. With two rather strange looking men. Far more disheveled than I would have expected for people on your payroll."
She flinched. "My daughter is none of your business."
"You mean our daughter," He corrected, laughing when he saw her throw the knife towards him. He stepped out of the way with ease, and it lodged itself into the wall. "Have you spoken to your dear mother at all lately? You are beginning to emulate her quite a bit. Has your wife stopped having an influence on you?"
"If you take a step near Allie, let alone Lana Marie, I will kill you," Cruella started towards him, her heels pounding violently against the marble floor. "And I will ensure it looks like an accident."
"More and more like your mother every day," James tapped a foot against the floor impatiently, still smirking when she got closer to him. "Are you seeking to rekindle our spark? I imagine a double affair could be -"
Slap.
James took a few steps back, clutching his face, the throbbing raw against his hands.
"Don't you ever try to touch me again," Cruella felt her hands shaking and her chest rose and fell heavily. "You've hurt me enough before. How many times did I manage to fight back?"
"Very few," He spat. "But when you do you're nothing short of a spiteful -"
The doors opened, the stairs pounded: the sounds of people running up.
Then there was a brief silence.
June 3rd, 1994
London
"Is that my dad?" Lana Marie exclaimed, startling when Horace and Jasper shushed her. "Sorry, I -"
"Why else would be following him?" Horace asked, giving her a funny look. "Come on, let's get up there before Cruella can absolutely -"
"Skewer us -" Jasper started.
"- Throw staplers at us -" Horace continued.
"- Go completely mental on us -" Jasper added.
"- Try to find a way to use wine against us -" Horace shuddered.
"- Finally lose her voice because she's never been quite so pissed at us -" Jasper said, pulling Lana Marie into the lift with them
"- Take off those heels of hers, throw them like darts, and -" Horace remarked, his voice quickening.
"Stop it!" Lana Marie stared at the two of them in disbelief when the doors to the lift closed with only them within it. "You're scaring me!"
The two of them went quiet and briefly glared at each other.
"Sorry, Lana," Jasper said calmly, setting a reassuring hand to her shoulder. "It's a high strung situation for everyone, but, of course, we shouldn't scare you. This is about your family anyways. We've just….been around for a lot of this shit."
"Yeah." Horace quickly put in, setting his hand to her other shoulder. "Sorry 'bout that kiddo. Your mum is scary enough without us making her seem like the literal devil."
The lift beeped twice, opening up on the floor, and announcing itself to be going down.
"Well, let's get on with it," Horace awkwardly pushed Lana Marie out of the lift, and she turned back to stare at them, briefly confused, before sighing and pulling out the company ID her mother had given her, rolling her eyes all the while. "Too pushy?" He asked Jasper.
"Far too pushy," He said, smiling uncomfortably at the secretaries while the two of them followed Lana Marie into the office. "Damn, I forgot how sleek this place is. You'd barely know how brightly coloured and extravagant the things the woman designs are just by looking at this shit. Literally just glass, white, black. Reminds me of sci-fi."
"You think too much about the most useless shit," Horace rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah it looks nice in here. Cruella's got a massive fortune from all of this, of course it looks nice! The woman gets paid to design things, did you really think her offices would be any different?"
"Since when are you smart?" Jasper sassed. "I thought that was my job."
"Oh, Horace, Jasper, you have -"
"Cruella upstairs?" Jasper cut in, staring at the breathless designer who had stepped in front of them.
"She is, but -"
"Good, we need to -"
He didn't even get the words out before Horace pushed Lana Marie in front of him and shoved the fourteen year old up the stairs. Adrenaline rushing through her, she ran up the stairs in a matter of seconds, a mix of excitement, anticipation, and a bit of fear coursing through her. One, two. One, two. It wasn't fast enough. Just a bit behind her, she could hear the heavy steps of Horace and the frantic ones of Jasper. When she reached the top, Lana Marie jumped over the threshold, pausing for just a few seconds to catch her breath. Then, without even taking the time to think, she ran towards the frosted glass doors that separated her mother's executive office from the rest of the floor.
Knowing full well that it would be unlocked this time of day, the fourteen year old pushed the doors in, still running, and nearly ran into a dress form several feet into the room. Within seconds, she and her mother met eyes, and then the steps of Horace and Jasper from behind Lana Marie stopped, standing just behind her. Cruella shook in disbelief, only moving a little when her daughter ran into her and tightly embraced her. Scowling at James, Cruella held her daughter close to her chest, shielding her from his gaze and gently stroking her hair. Horace and Jasper awkwardly shifted, closing the doors and then standing nervously in front of them, unsure if they should still be there at all.
"What are you doing here?" Cruella frantically whispered, kneeling down to hold her daughter's face, starting to cry. "Lana, your supposed to be at school, Allie is going to be picking you in just -"
"Called her off," Horace put in, turning away and whistling uncomfortably when Cruella looked up to glare at him. "Allie's having tapas with her mother now instead. Jasper and I picked Lana Marie up from school early. Lice outbreak. She doesn't have any, don't worry, Allie checked and -"
"Shut up" Jasper hissed, stomping down on his foot.
"You trust these two idiots with our daughter?" James let out a derisive snort. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius."
"I have never said that," Cruella hissed. "But I'll go out on a limb and say that I'm smarter than you."
"You would say that, now wouldn't you?" He quirked an eyebrow and then smirked, taking advantage of her kneeling state to push her over into her desk, rolling his eyes when she let out an agonised cry upon him slamming her head into the side of the glass. "You do look almost exactly like her," He brushed his hands under Lana Marie's chin, then putting his hands on her shoulders. "But you have my hair. Good thing, too, given how painfully distinctive hers -"
"Don't touch her!"
Cruella shrieked, struggling briefly to get off the ground. One hand clutching the back of her head where it was bleeding, she ran at him the best she could and ripped his hands off her daughter's. Lana Marie quickly moved, albeit letting out a small shriek, to be behind her mother and try and support her while she swayed. Horace and Jasper immediately moved on to James, quickly grabbing his arms and holding him back. Cruella shakily held onto her daughter with one arm, still holding onto her bleeding head. Lana Marie held onto her for dear life, starting to cry herself. Taking full restraint over James, Horace began to drag him out of the office and down the stairs. In just a matter of a minute, they were gone. Jasper helped Cruella and Lana Marie sit down on the dark purple chaise lounge (an insistence of decor from Allie), and then all but ripped the phone out of the wall to call emergency services.
"I've got a woman with a head wound, bleeding, and potentially concussed. Yes, the tenth floor, world headquarters of Novante Histoire. Five minutes? Alright, thank you, yes, I'll stay on the line,"
"Mummy?" Lana Marie whimpered, curing into her mother.
"Shhhhh…." Cruella closed her eyes, the entire room spinning and the pain from the back of her head worsening by the second. "Mummy's here…..mummy's here."