Prompt: a trope mashup with Damien and Shelly using 'stranded due to inclement weather' & 'anger born of worry.'
I kind of included both? Anyway, this was a lot of fun to write.
Damien leaned back in his chair, resting his right ankle on his left knee as he turned his wrist to check his watch. 7:00 PM exactly. He pursed his lips.
"More coffee, sir?"
"Yes, thank you." As the waiter refilled his mug, he looked around the room. The cafe wasn't very busy at this hour: only three other tables were occupied, and two of those were his people. The door had a small bell over it, so he would have heard anyone coming in; it seemed his appointment was running late. Damien didn't appreciate that. He made it a personal policy to arrive between five and ten minutes early to all meetings, and expected similar punctuality from his business partners and employees. Given the military background many of them had, most didn't need to be told, but his meeting today was with a different sort. Of course, there was a storm that might make travel more difficult, but a professional should have accounted for that ahead of time.
The minute hand on his watch ticked over to 7:01 at the precise moment his waiter stopped pouring and stood up fully. Damien glanced up to thank the man… then paused.
The waiter was tall, standing perfectly straight. He had a dishcloth resting over one bent arm, and a pot of coffee held in the other hand. He wore a simple uniform of an apron over dark slacks and a white shirt, and his facial hair gave off a vague 'British butler' impression. More interestingly, he had a monocle in his left eye and a neat line of stitching bisecting his face down the middle - an appearance that by all rights ought to have stood out from the beginning.
He smiled down at Damien, and gave a short bow.
"Excuse me a moment," he said politely, before making his way back across the room behind the counter, where he put the coffee back and busied himself fetching a slice of cake from the display case.
Damien looked around the room one more time. None of his security detail seemed to have noticed the unusual character in their midst. Of course, Chapman was attending to other matters today, and waitstaff in general were more invisible, but… Eliot would have noticed him.
He sighed, and sat up to fold away his newspaper. When the waiter returned, Damien had cleared a space for the poundcake he'd brought, and nudged out the chair on the other side of the table.
"An interesting start to an interview," he said as Shelly de Killer, the renowned assassin, sat down across from him. "Here I was, thinking you'd be late."
De Killer didn't return his easy smile, but his expression was professionally mild, as was his tone when he replied: "I apologize for the subterfuge, but I make it a policy to observe the situation before making myself known."
"Well, I can't fault caution," Damien laughed. He made eye contact with the table behind de Killer, now all watching the man with startled and wary expressions, and gave them a quick shake of the head to stand down. They were much too late anyway, if he'd actually needed their assistance. Later, he'd have Chapman discipline the lot. For now, better to focus on the potential asset a man so capable of being overlooked might be. "You make very good coffee, by the way."
He lifted his mug in a toast, before taking another sip. The assassin smiled blandly.
"Thank you. Please, enjoy some cake as well…"
"Don't tell me you made this, too." Damien couldn't help a small laugh at the thought, reminded of a certain other hitter. Maybe there was something to be said for a correlation between similar skill levels in making food and ending lives. He took a bite, then amended the thought: hopefully not, if this perfectly average cake were anything to go by. He'd come here in search of quality work.
"Delicious," he said anyway, brushing the crumbs away from his lips. "Now, to business."
-xxx-
The time passed by quickly enough. Shelly de Killer had come highly recommended, and his professional attitude throughout the meeting seemed quite promising. Damien was somewhat skeptical of the entire concept of a line of assassins operating under the same name and passing their skills on to a chosen heir, but comic-book premise aside, de Killer did seem to know his craft.
He also made it a point to mention how much he valued trust between himself and his clients. Damien had found great utility in a more personal relationship, but studious professional courtesy was definitely a good start. The veiled threat of deadly repercussions should he be the one to betray their trust didn't fly over his head - he'd heard of what happened to Engarde - but it didn't particularly bother him either. He generally preferred to honor his agreements as well. The trick was to make your promises very, very carefully in the first place.
Before fifteen minutes had passed, he'd already gone ahead and hired de Killer for at least the job he'd approached him about today. Damien didn't stop the discussion there, though; what he ultimately had in mind was a more permanent position, at least by a few years. It didn't seem like his preferred hitter would be coming home for a while yet, and he really would rather not have to settle for a significantly lower caliber in the meantime.
As they discussed prices and preferred means of expiration for the target (through veiled metaphor, for the sake of the couple across the room), the steady rain picked up, falling heavier and heavier until it was nearly sheeting down. Several times the wind blew hard enough to shake the front door, settling the bell ringing. It was a little annoying, but nothing exactly to be concerned about. The more pressing issue, really, was de Killer's reluctance to give up on his little gimmicks.
"As I said," Damien smiled, "I have no need for calling cards. I promise, the people who you visit will either already know who sent you and why, or they don't need to know."
"I am dedicated to customer satisfaction," de Killer replied, "but as a businessman I'm sure you're familiar with the importance of advertising. Not to mention, as the face of the business, I will be the point of contact for any complaints. A benefit to you, if anything."
Very polite, and very implacable.
Very annoying.
"I'm sure my HR department is better-staffed than yours," Damien said, less amused by the moment. Quality work was one thing, but tractability was important too. "And as for advertising - "
He was cut off by a bright flash of lightning, immediately followed by a loud boom of thunder, and the power going out moments later.
At the table across the room, one of the couple yelped, and Damien could hear several of his bodyguards getting to their feet: securing the room in case there was an attack, most likely. He didn't think so, not when the streetlights were out as well and more thunder soon followed, but he still had these protocols in place for a reason.
Personally, he took the sudden darkness as an opportunity to collect himself. He'd gotten used to Eliot knowing what he wanted and adapting himself to fit - but even Eliot hadn't been perfect in the beginning. De Killer had obviously worked alone for a long time, and most of his customers probably didn't care about his methodology so much as his success. It made sense that he'd be resistant to change, at first. Perhaps the better option would be to simply leave now, and wait until they'd worked together a few times before making the offer for an exclusive contract. He could discuss terms - such as not advertising his identity or services to other people - then.
Damien took a final sip of his coffee and then stood. One of his bodyguards had produced a flashlight and was slowly shining it around the room.
The seat across from him was empty, and de Killer was nowhere to be seen.
He flinched, annoyed but begrudgingly impressed.
"Call the car," he ordered his head of security, who nodded and took out his phone. As he was busy making the call, de Killer returned from the kitchen with a tray full of lit tea candles, which he passed out among the tables.
"I'm afraid we might have to cut our conversation short -" he started.
"Sir." It was Blumenthal, phone held down against his chest. "There's an issue. Apparently there's been a flash flood warning, and it's not safe to drive."
It took a bit of work to keep his smile up, at that news. Damien took a moment, let the irritation build, and then shut it away for later.
"Actually, it seems like we'll have plenty of time," he told de Killer.
-xxx-
The assassin passed out free muffins and coffee to all the 'patrons' trapped inside his shop. The lights and power were still out, so the extra bit of warmth was appreciated and the couple promised to give him a generous tip. Damien's security team seemed grateful as well, though Blumenthal at least kept a suspicious eye on the man who'd snuck past him twice already this afternoon.
The shop didn't have a wireless radio, so with the power out their only news source was via phone. Damien left that to his bodyguards, instead focused on making the most of the time he'd been forced to spend here.
He still didn't mention the possibility of hiring de Killer exclusively, not at first. Instead, he discussed his usual procedure, and how important certain protocols were to follow. On that topic, at least, he and de Killer were in complete agreement: discretion was essential to them both. Still, that stupid calling card remained a sticking point, and de Killer seemed increasingly distracted the more time went by.
"Look," Damien finally said, sick of talking around the point. "I'm not like your usual clients. I know that, and you know that. Unless you work only for me, then I don't want your name linked with my business at all. Consider it a special request, if you have to - I hear you have experience with those."
The comment was admittedly a little pointed. He didn't have to reference Engarde. But then again, that whole episode was proof of de Killer's lack of good taste in clients, and it needed to be managed. Not to mention, the assassin's attention was somewhere else again: he'd been gazing out the window and answering slowly and vaguely. At the very least, the barb snapped him back into focus.
"Damien Moreau." De Killer snarled back, looking actually angry. "I am not your employee. You have no right to demand anything of me at all!"
"I'm looking to cultivate an ongoing relationship," Damien said, through gritted teeth. "Imagine, if you would, what kinds of connections might be drawn from your… business cards being left at all of those locations. We just spoke about cleaning up after yourself for a reason."
A stubborn, mulish look on his face, de Killer started to reply - then visibly cut himself off.
"Yes, I understand your reasoning," he said, not nearly as smoothly as he'd been at the beginning, but at least with what sounded like an attempt at it. "But you need to understand mine. I don't work for you at all yet. This is an interview for you, not for me. And even if I do decide to accept your request, it will only be the one. I work on an individual basis, with individuals and for individual jobs, and I am a professional who expects the respect I am due!"
Over the course of this speech, he grew louder and louder, to the point that he was garnering attention from around the room, and shoved himself to his feet on the last angry word.
Damien leaned back in his chair.
"Alright, then," he said as easily as he could, and picked up his newspaper. Unfolding it, he asked, "What's the news on the flood?"
"Still another hour or so, sir. He'll be on his way as soon as it's safe, unless you want to go earlier?"
"No, this is fine," Damien said. He turned to the comics, and read them over, squinting a little in the candlelight. Nothing very funny, but at least it was Sunday. "Does anyone have a pencil?"
None of his bodyguards did, but one of the women from the couple came over to offer him one from her purse. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Damien and the barista still standing opposite him, obviously intrigued, but she was too intimidated or shy to actually ask what was going on. Damien grinned at her as he thanked her, joking about being worried that he'd be forced to attempt the crossword in pen. After a moment, she retreated back to her table, where she and her girlfriend began talking in low voices, no doubt gossiping about whatever they suspected was going on.
They would remember him. And not just him - de Killer had, by making such a spectacle of himself, completely negated all of the subtlety that Damien had initially admired about him. It was absolutely infuriating, and Damien deeply resented being forced to sit with him for even another minute.
He worked on his crossword.
It was almost ten minutes before de Killer sat back down. Damien was intensely aware of his position the entire time (in his opinion, few things were worse than an unpredictable hitter), but tried not to show it. He took a sip of his coffee and wrote in another word.
De Killer sat in silence for a while longer. Damien continued slowly solving his crossword, getting stuck on one clue he knew the answer to, but not in English.
"What's the word for how a horse moves?" He asked eventually. "The bumpy jog, kas-"
"Trot," de Killer offered, voice subdued. Damien made a slight noise of triumph in his throat when it fit perfectly into the open space.
"That's it," he said, but didn't look up.
"Mr. Moreau, I must apologize for my outburst," the assassin said next. He still sounded a little strained, but sincere enough. "I am… stressed, and took it out on you. It was unprofessional and you didn't deserve that."
For the first time in a long while, Damien looked directly at de Killer. He still sat very still, with perfect posture… but his hands were twisted together on the table, and he was frowning.
"What could possibly be so stressful?" Damien asked, after a moment.
"I…" The assassin cleared his throat. "I have a cat. Shoe is afraid of the rain, and I'm simply concerned for him in this weather. Being unable to return to him is," he hesitated, "bothering me."
"Ohh, a cat!" Damien set his pencil down and smiled widely, gesturing across the table. "I love cats! Tell me all about him."
"I - I'm willing to discuss the calling card issue further," de Killer offered, a little sheepishly.
"No, no," Damien said. "You've made your feelings clear. Tell me about this Shoe."
De Killer winced, and Damien felt his smile veer a touch nastier. Oh, excellent. It seemed the assassin understood perfectly well that he'd just cost himself quite a few jobs. Completely screwed himself out of a, frankly, very cushy position because of a damn cat.
Not that Damien disliked cats. He was telling the truth, actually: he loved them. They were probably his favorite animal. And he didn't particularly care if his employees had pets or families or anything else. People could love who and what they wanted, of course.
But to let that interfere with a job?
Damien understood de Killer's feelings perfectly. He seemed like a nice enough man, if a bit too stiff. But anyone who would allow himself to be provoked so easily, anyone whose reaction was to shout at him… no, he wouldn't work with that sort of person. This entire meeting had turned out to be far more trouble than it was worth.
De Killer wouldn't be useful to him. He was, in fact, veering dangerously close to being a liability, and only the thought of the witnesses across the room he'd have to deal with, and the way the assassin now seemed willing to demurely accept the unspoken dismissal, swayed Damien from his desire to deal with the liability right now. He might still have to, later; although if de Killer actually took confidentiality as seriously as he claimed, maybe that was better left alone. After all, no money had actually changed hands. Nothing illegal had happened here today, just a conversation.
They spent a tense half-hour politely chatting about cats, sharing anecdotes and chuckling over feline antics. Eventually, the call came through that the roads were safe, and Damien's driver was on his way. The power was still out, so they readied themselves to leave by only the flickering tea-lights, and had to pay their bill in cash.
"Oh, America," Damien remembered with a snap of his fingers, and added some money to the tip jar. De Killer looked surprised at the courtesy, despite the pleasant conversation they'd been sharing up to that point. Something flickered in his expression, finally resolving itself into a wry smile.
"I don't suppose you'd like my card?" he asked.
Damien was startled into a short laugh.
"No," he said, before leaving.
He leaned back in his seat as his driver headed back to the hotel, sighing heavily. It really was a shame. Not so much this meeting in particular, though obviously the way it had gone had been intensely irritating, but more that it had been necessary at all. And now he was probably going to have to promote Chapman, of all people. If only Eliot would just get over himself a little faster, this whole headache of a process wouldn't be necessary.
"Hurry up," he mumbled, bouncing his head back against his seat with his eyes shut. Then, louder: "I'd like room service to be ready when I get there. I'll be turning in for the night, I'm exhausted."
"Yes, sir."
Damien thought of de Killer again and sighed once more. It really was a shame. He could have been fun to work with; as it stood, he might only become very annoying to kill.
Shelly's kinda disappointed that he let a professional client who stays calm slip away from him. Then again, I don't think he'd ever wanna budge on the calling cards/being an exclusive employee, so it probably wasn't meant to be.
Damien is just... apparently still pining after Eliot a little. 'When will my hitter come home?'
What else... Oh, Damien is thinking of Croatian word for 'trot' as a nod to his actor's nationality. I kept getting either kas or касати on online translators so I just did the first and maybe he's being interrupted before he finishes saying the word.
Oh, and this is entirely unrelated to most of the rest, but if you like the idea of Leverage/Ace Attorney crossover content, I have a tag for that on my tumblr and some very fun discussion/art has been had there. I can't link on this site, but my blog has the same username as here and the relevant tag on it is "leverage attorney" so please come on over!
