Disclaimer:...Stan Lee, and Marvel comics - what more need be said? Proof that pure genius still lives on in the world.
"Gabriel?"
The young woman stirred, her eyes coming into focus and her fingertips skimming lightly down the stalk of her champagne flute.
"I'm...sorry, Warren - you were saying?"
Gabriel glanced at him apologetically, taking a sip from her glass.
Warren Worthington III flexed his wings uncomfortably.
"Is something wrong?" He asked the girl, concern showing in his handsome face.
Gabriel considered him for a moment, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes barely detectable.
"Non." She replied with a radiant smile, purring disarmingly in her French accent. "Why would zere be?"
Warren raised his eyebrow, returning her smile in a somewhat wryer form.
"You look awfully beautiful when you lie." He said quietly.
Gabriel's smile remained on her face, but Warren could sense a serious change in her manner.
"Dance wis me." She said, delicately lifting her napkin from her lap and putting it down beside her plate.
Warren followed suit, watching his friend cross to the dance floor as he did so.
The heavy silks and velvets of her French 18th Century gown rustled as she walked, their hues shifting like wine in the candlelight. The sleeves and neckline were hemmed with wide, ruffled lace, and the front of the corset was embellished with a rich gold-and-russet-thread brocade.
Gabriel was wearing little jewellery that night: merely a simple pearl choker and ruby earrings, the full brunt of decoration left to her hair. Her long, pale curls were taken up and back with a few ringlets left trailing over her shoulders, and the locks were adorned with sprays of fresh jasmine and one or two small red roses, which Gabriel sometimes rejuvenated whenever she felt they were beginning to look forlorn.
Warren felt her tension as he took her hand in his and brought her to him in preparation for a Waltz.
"What is it?" He asked.
"My farzer," Gabriel glanced about them, keeping her voice low. "'Ee 'as struck up an alliance wis zee Black Queen."
Warren's brows bent.
"She's up to something." He said.
Gabriel sighed impatiently.
"Oh, don't be such a fool, Warren - she's always up to somesing." She chided. "What 'as been concerning me is why she would need zee 'elp of someone like Papa."
Warren felt a shiver slither down his spine like an eel.
"Grave notion." He murmured.
Then he winced as Gabriel shot him a look with her eyes that spoke murder.
"Sorry - that was a very bad pun." He apologised sheepishly.
"Oui." She agreed tartly, her lips thin.
Warren cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted his wings, but Gabriel continued.
"Zere's no doubt zat some of zee Inner Circle are in on 'er schemes also, but not all of zem."
"Makes sense." Warren mused. "She's bound to have favourites; members who are more loyal to her."
"What on erss could she be planning?" Gabriel frowned. "'Er alliance wis my farzer confuses me - if it weren't for zat, I would not be 'alf so worried."
"Black Queens are supposed to scheme, Belle - it's in their job description. Although..." Warren looked his friend straight in the eye. "I'm inclined to agree with you."
Gabriel looked back at him.
"What are you going to do, Warren?" She asked warily.
He was about to reply when he was interrupted by a cold, sneering voice.
"Mind if I cut in?"
A tall, gaunt, blonde-haired man wearing traditional 18th Century gentleman's garb stood to their side, his hands clasped behind his back.
From looking at his face, you could tell that at one time, he had been handsome. Back when he had passed for human.
His features were now marred by long, slender scars where the skin had been peeled back in horrific operations to alow various components to be fitted beneath the flesh, of which not much remained, and there was something not quite right about his eyes.
Donald Pierce the cyborg stood watching Warren with an expression of cold expectation.
"Of course." Warren said stiffly, bowing out to allow the pale man to dance with Gabriel.
"Have you considered the Queen's proposal, yet?" He asked, ignoring the young woman's shudder as his steely arm slid round her waist. At close range, Gabriel could now see, with utmost revulsion, what had seemed so wrong about his eyes - there were three eyeballs in each. Knowing Pierce, at least two had to be weapons.
"I 'ave." She replied shortly.
"And?"
"Zee answer is still non."
Pierce smirked.
"You'll find the Queen is most persistent in these matters." He warned.
"Let us 'ope, zen, zat zee Queen is wise enough to accept gracefully when 'er request is turned down."
"Let us hope, then, that the invitee is wise enough to gracefully accept the Queen's request." Donald replied with a touch of threat to his tone.
Gabriel narrowed her eyes.
"I find no srill in zee prospect of becoming a member of your twisted, sadistic society."
Donald smiled a dark smile that made the young woman feel as though something slimy had just been dropped down her back.
"Pity." He said, considering her for a moment. "You father will be so disappointed you chose not to follow in his footsteps."
Gabriel drew back her right arm and slapped Pierce's face with all the strength she could muster. She knew that thanks to his almost completely mechanical anatomy, he probably wouldn't feel a thing, but it would communicate her thoughts at least.
As the echoes of the sharp sound faded away, Pierce's head remained turned by the blow, though only from shock, and his skin was ripped to expose glinting metal beneath where her nails had gouged through the thin layer of flesh.
Gabriel glared poisonously at him, her lavender eyes blazing.
"'Ow dare you." She hissed, barely even able to speak for her anger.
Donald turned his head back to face her, his jaw clenched tight. The whole hall was awash with silence now.
"'Ow dare you!" Gabriel cried furiously, striking him again. This time, her nails scraped against the exposed circuitry, causing the mechanics to start spitting occasional sparks.
Pierce reacted more visibly to her action the second time, and he bore down on her, seizing her arm, and making as if to return the blow.
Warren was there in a heartbeat, wings flared, his body between Gabriel's and Pierce's, holding Gabriel protectively in his arms.
Pierce glared at them for a moment with his six bionic eyes, and then stepped back, knowing full well that giving into his anger wasn't worth Angel's wrath.
"Bitch." He spat, jerking the front of his black overcoat straight and stalking off toward the galleries.
But just as he reached the grand entrance to the banqueting hall, he stopped and turned towards the watching guests.
"The Black Queen will hear of this!" He cried maniacally.
A moment later, he had vanished into the shadows.
-~*~-
Gabriel settled back in the deep leather seat of the back car, gazing out of the rain-washed window at the furry halos of street lamps and restaurant lights that passed by them.
Warren sat beside her, wings folded, and his eyes never leaving her profile.
"You're sure you're ok?" He asked quietly.
"Oui." Gabriel's voice was even softer, and she didn't look away from the window. Then, after a moment more of silence, she sighed.
"Non, I'm not: I'm terrified."
Warren narrowed his eyes with sympathy as her voice gave, and extended an arm around Gabriel's shoulders as tears began to roll slowly down her porcelain cheeks.
"Warren, I'm sorry." The young woman laughed weakly, and tipped her head back to try and stem the flow of tears.
"Don't apologise!" Warren smiled, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Having to look at Donald Pierce is enough to emotionally wound someone, let alone having to dance with him."
Gabriel gave another quiet laugh, and pressed the handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, so that it draped down over her nose and mouth - it smelt comfortingly of Warren's aftershave.
"Donald Pierce is a travesty of 'uman life!" She said huskily, lowering the white cloth. "It is not only 'is strength zat frightens me, but also 'is intellect - 'e's a clever enemy, and a dangerous one." She paused, and looked up at Warren with bright eyes. "Per'aps it might 'ave been foolish of me to turn down zee Black Queen's invitation."
"Certainly not." Warren told her sternly. "And if she doesn't like it, there's not a lot she can do."
"What do you mean?"
"Your father loves you dearly, and if she ever did anything to harm you..." He drew beath in through his teeth and gave a low laugh. "If the Black Queen can stand on her own two feet and look your father in the face when he's against her, it'll be the most she can do, and more than I expect of her."
Pulling Gabriel a little closer as she clutched his handkerchief in both hands for comfort, Warren kissed her silky hair.
"I think it's time I had a reunion with my old mentor..."
-~*~-
Pierce was in a terrible rage.
His tall, lanky form was visibly trembling as he smashed the activation panel with his steely fist, where it left a large dent in the keypad. The panel gave out a loud 'fttzzzzz' and began to shower blue sparks, one or two of the key tabs falling to the carpeted floor with metallic 'chink's.
The tapestry on the wall before Pierce flickered like a tv screen with bad reception, and then vanished all together, revealing a door-sized opening in the brickwork.
Without even a thought for the broken mechanism, Pierce stalked through the entrance and down the staircase on the other side.
The foot of the steps lead off into a long, dark hallway, the ceiling so high above that it was hidden in shadow, and the walls on either side lined with neo-classical pillars, upon which crouched gruesome statuettes of winged demons, their fanged mouths open wide in insane laughter, or unholy screams - Pierce couldn't tell which.
Over the cold silence, the muffled murmur of talk in another room began to reach his ears from up ahead, and he hissed a long, aggressive sigh out through his clenched teeth as he approached the door.
Leaning close to the wooden panels, Pierce said in a harsh voice
"Bishop to Queen's 6."
A moment later, the door swung open, and Pierce was bathed in warm candlelight and the sound of socialising.
"Donald, old boy!" Exclaimed a dark man sitting at the long table in the centre of the richly-furnished room, light from a candleflame shining through his glass of red wine as he lifted it and staining his white-lace cravat crimson. "What ever's the matter? You look ready to murder..." He added with a chuckle.
Pierce angled his cheek towards the man, and with a snarl, thrust an accusing finger at the rips in his face.
"Delierre's damned daughter!" He foamed. "That's what!"
"Petit little madame use you as a scratching post, did she, Pierce?" Smirked a lithe, raven-haired woman in purple silk from the corner.
"Aren't you normally on a street corner somewhere at this time of night, Finella?" Pierce asked coldly. "Wouln't do to lose out on business, you know."
"Good grief, Pierce - have you any curtesy remaining with you at all, tonight?" Scorned the dark man at the table, filling a second wine glass from a large decanter and offering it out to the blonde cyborg.
Pierce took it after a moments consideration, and then, after taking a sip, cleared his throat, and glanced over at Finella - his eyes, despite his somewhat softened expression however, remained hostile.
"I apologise sincerely, my dear." His voice returned to its usual deep, resonant timbre. "I have no idea what came over me."
"It's that girl." The woman replied with a smile. "Or your other company - I could never abide that Worthington boy."
"Quite." Said Pierce, taking another sip of his wine.
"I don't know why Selene is even entertaining the idea of having Gabriel on the Inner Circle." Finella mused airily. "Why take settle for someone with such mediocre powers when she could have the weather witch, Storm, or Mystique?"
"Delierre's daughter is powerful in her own way, dear girl." The dark skinned mutant told her. "Have you ever seen what happens to someone when they're cocooned in poison ivy? Or when they're peppered with inch-long thorns?"
"I take it, then, that you would like to see her on the Inner Circle, Mathias?" Finella asked a little stiffly.
"Just as much as I would like to see Selene release and reinitiate Magneto into our ranks, yes." Mathias replied simply.
"Each to his own." Remarked a man in gold and red by the bookcase, glancing mutinously up at the back of Mathias's head with acid yellow eyes.
Mathias appeared not to hear this, and took another draught from his wine glass.
"Why has the Black Queen made an alliance with Delierre?" He asked then after a pause, looking about at his comrades.
Pierce raised an eyebrow.
"You don't know?"
Dark snickers issued from several places around the room.
"Dear chap, I wouldn't have asked otherwise, would I?" Mathias replied cheerfully, though his tone was slightly edged.
Pierce gave a wry smile.
"Forgive me, Mathias - I thought everyone knew of his fearful reputation."
"Let us say, then, that I haven't." Came the reply, a little tighter still.
"Well, when we were talking about powerful mutants a moment ago, you must excuse us for sneering so at your suggestion. It is true that one of the two Delierres possesses incredible abilities, but it isn't Gabriel..."
"I see..." Mathias responded patiently, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on the tabletop.
He knew full well that Pierce was only dragging this out to humiliate him, and that the only way to counteract it was to play along, even if his temper was growing shorter by the moment.
"The more powerful is, infact, Jaques-Antoine - her father - whose name is greatly feared amongst those who know of him, and what he is capable of."
By now, everyone in the room was watching Pierce with some degree of amusement, enjoying the performance being presented to them.
"I remember quite well how persistently the Queen sought him out when She heard he was in New York." The blonde man continued theatrically, his deep voice filling the space. "She even had us capture the Morlock, Caliban, to find him. And eventually, we did. In a graveyard. But not buried, you understand - oh no! Very much alive. And so, infact, were one or two of the Dead."
Mathias's brow bent as he tried to understand.
"You see, my dear fellow," Donald smirked, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Well might those who have heard of him shiver at his name, because Jaques-Antoine Delierre has a power quite unlike anything the Black Queen has heard of before."
The room was deathly silent now.
"And this unique and...remarkable asset of his, is exactly the reason Selene sought him out so determinedly - why she was prepared to go to any extent to strike up an alliance with him."
Pierce lowered his voice a little for dramatic effect.
"The reason she's willing to die for her plans, this time. Because, you see, if she does, it won't matter - she can always come back. Because Jaques-Antoine Delierre, like so many of us, also goes by a nom de guerre. The nom de guerre of 'The Necromancer'."
In the corner, Finella drew in a long breath through her white teeth.
"Bravo." She said quietly.
-~*~-