A/N: Since we haven't had much of the villains in the first few chapters, here they are. I've always imagined Torchwick as a deadlier version of a gimmicky Silver Age supervillain, and he's very fun to write. Enjoy!
"It looks like the heroes have a new recruit," Torchwick says, striding into the conference room without so much as knocking. Cinder doesn't bother to dress him down for a violation of propriety; it won't even dent his ego. She straightens her red blazer and glances out of the tempered glass bay windows, out of habit. Spies are everywhere, even hundreds of feet in the sky.
"What do we know about the hero?" Cinder asks, motioning to Emerald. The girl rushes forward with her computer, heels clicking.
"She's a former high-ranking member of the White Fang," Torchwick says. "Taurus was quite upset when she left the group. She dropped off the map for a while, then reappeared as we were attempting to get a little information out of a Triad enforcer. Assisted a known hero. She doesn't seem to have powers, but she's good with Dust."
"And that's your excuse for losing the robots? A White Fang member somehow teamed up with superheroes?" Mercury sneers, propping his feet up on Cinder's pristine desk. Emerald shoves his feet away, shooting him a horrified look. She's been trained to stay out of Cinder's way by a few well-timed bursts of fire.
"Do you have images of this new recruit?" Cinder asks. Torchwick frowns and shakes his head.
"Well, that was a waste of time," Mercury says in a voice calculated to be just loud enough for Torchwick to hear. "Why do we keep this guy around?"
"I don't see you getting the White Fang under our control," Torchwick snaps. "You're Cinder's spineless lackey. I am Roman Torchwick, the next great criminal of Remnant!"
Cinder casually torches his hat. She can't let subordinates be getting ideas. Torchwick swears under his breath and swats at his precious derby, but he seems to get the message.
"Regardless of whether or not the heroes have a new recruit, we'll continue as usual," Cinder says. "You found an assassin, as you mentioned you would two days ago, I assume."
"I've done more than find an assassin," Torchwick says, grinning. "I've trained an assassin from birth! I taught her everything I know and then some. She'll be a fearsome opponent for even a hero with powers."
"You're well-prepared," Cinder comments, watching him puff up his chest.
"Of course! Roman Torchwick's motto is 'be prepared'."
Emerald's snort of laughter is swiftly quelled when Cinder shoots her a glare.
"Roman, why did you train an assassin? We've only been working together for a few months, and I know that your modus operandi tends to be – theatrical." Flashy, attention-grabbing, and often useless is a more accurate description, but that's exactly why he's an ideal pawn.
"Dramatic stunts can't achieve everything, darling. Sometimes stealth is called for."
Obviously, Torchwick is plotting against her. She's willing to let him try, honestly, because his clumsy attempts will be funny, at least. And she can kill him with a thought, but in the meantime he's distracting the heroes quite well.
"Send the assassin in," Cinder says. "And get out. Your orders haven't changed."
Torchwick tips his hat.
"Watch for the fireworks tonight," he calls. "It'll be a spectacle to die for."
He's useful, Cinder reminds herself, quashing the urge to kill him just for that joke.
The door slams behind Torchwick, then slowly opens.
"Come in," Cinder says. She doesn't need an assassin, but the more Torchwick feels indispensable, the more arrogant and unthinking he becomes, and the easier it is to keep him under control.
The girl who walks in is at least a foot shorter than Cinder. Torchwick's influence is clear in her hair, half brown and half pink, and the white, undoubtedly custom-made suit trimmed in brown and pink. Too flashy for an assassin, but maybe that's what Torchwick is counting on. Maybe a flashy person is assumed not to be dangerous because they stick out – she's giving herself a migraine just trying to understand Torchwick's logic.
"You're the assassin," Cinder says flatly. "What information do we have on her?"
"Not much," Emerald says, tapping at the keyboard. "Her name's – Neopolitan, I think?"
Of all the ridiculous names. Torchwick alternates between plans insane enough to work and just plain insanity, and this is firmly on the side of the latter.
"You're –" Cinder sighs – "Neopolitan?"
The girl nods.
"And how exactly are you inconspicuous with that hair?" Cinder asks. Tear the girl's hopes down now, and she'll be much more useful later.
The girl doesn't say a word. She smiles slightly, then passes one hand in front of her face. Her hair unravels and darkens, and her clothes turn black and scarlet. When she removes her hand, Cinder is briefly startled (not that she'd ever let it show) to see a perfect replica of her own face staring back at her.
Powers of illusion are rare, and one that easily controllable almost impossible to find. Torchwick's assassin could be a valuable tool.
Cinder keeps her face neutral.
"Neopolitan, your talents could be very useful. Does your power extend to voice mimicry?"
The girl wordlessly shakes her head.
Ah, well. One can't have everything.
"We'll have a task for you soon," Cinder says. "An undercover assignment; nothing too complicated. We can't risk it now, but we'll set another trap for a hero in a few weeks. I'll contact Torchwick when I need you back."
Neopolitan nods and leaves, still not saying a word.
"New plan?" Emerald asks.
"Just a modification of the old plan," Cinder responds.
"Oh, sure, now Torchwick's useful," Mercury grouses.
Cinder snaps her fingers to conjure a flame around them, and enjoys the way his eyes instantly widen. She still commands a bit of respect here, after all.
"Mercury, all of my subordinates are valued only as long as they are useful. I don't see many of your ventures providing us any benefit."
"That's just because you haven't seen the latest plan. Emerald and I are going to hijack a Schnee Company train," Mercury enthuses.
"That's the White Fang's plan, which Torchwick informed me of months ago," Cinder says, watching him deflate. "Torchwick may be a theatrical madman, but he has genuine plots rather than small-scale thefts and pirated ideas." Mercury opens his mouth to object, and she shifts the fire in her hand. "If you continue this pattern, I'll be hiring Torchwick to a more permanent position. I'm sure I can open up a vacancy."
Mercury glances at Emerald for support, then, finding none, scowls and stalks out.
"I've compiled a small file of notes on Neopolitan," Emerald says, leaning across the table. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
If there's one thing Cinder hates more than rebellious subordinates, it's subordinates who hang on her every word.
"Get me some coffee and get out. I have more planning to do," Cinder says. Emerald nods and rushes away.
Emerald and Mercury will probably be gossiping out in the lobby about her, and for once Cinder doesn't particularly care that they're wasting time.
She has an infiltration to plan.