Rather than eat at her desk, Zena grabbed her lunch (an energy drink and a protein bar, just to keep all of her food groups covered) and took it to one of the more secluded balconies of the GeneCo tower, where she ate while absent-mindedly watching Blind Mag sing on the great billboard hovering in the sky. Pavi wouldn't be long in his father's office - usually the Largo 'kids' turned up long enough for a verbal thrashing or to make a request of their father, before they swanned off again in a cloud of self-importance. By the time she returned to her desk he would likely be long gone, probably (hopefully) having long forgotten all about her. That one flirted with anything with a pulse…and sometimes that wasn't even a solid requirement if the most unsavoury of the already grim rumours were to be believed. A flirtatious comment from Pavi Largo was the same as a nod in greeting from anybody else. There was no need for her to get herself in a panic about it.
And anyway, if he harmed every woman that caught his eye, there would be no women left in the entire world - certainly none to boast of his skill in certain departments. It was okay. It would be absolutely fine. It would've been more unusual if he hadn't paused to toy with her, really. Next time she saw him, he'd be flanked by a Gentern - or two, or ten - he wouldn't spare her a glance, and all would be well. Zena had almost even convinced herself that she truly believed that when she returned to her office, only for the elevator doors to slide open and reveal the youngest Largo son sitting at her desk.
At first she didn't move at all - like she was dealing with some sort of wild animal that mightn't see her so long as she remained perfectly still - dread rising up cold and heavy through her chest before it could even occur to her to wipe it from her face. He sat sprawled out at her desk like he owned it, although she supposed he owned it more than she did technically, leaning back in her chair with boot-clad feet stretched out and propped up against the edge of the desk itself. When the ding of the elevator signalled her arrival, he glanced up before returning his attention to what had interested him so. She couldn't see from this angle, but he appeared to be reading something propped up against his thighs.
Rather than speak, he waved her over with a gesture. It was perhaps the quietest she'd ever known him to be. That didn't bode well. It took another delayed moment for her to begin forcing one foot in front of the other, approaching the desk like she had an appointment with a repo man.
"Where did you get these?"
It was a balancing act - trying to get close enough to see what he was talking about, but not too close. Although oftentimes with the Largos, in the same room was too close. God, why did she take this job? What madness had cajoled her into thinking she could cut it? Pavi didn't wait for her to edge closer, though, sliding the black binders from his lap and onto the desk before he sprang up and approached her swiftly. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a move that she was sure was meant to be warm and convivial, he herded her towards her desk, gesturing with a flourish towards what she now recognised as her sketchpad.
"Come now…" he trailed off, and it took her a few awkward beats of his watching her expectantly for her to realise he was waiting for her name.
"Zena."
"Come now, Zena," he said it differently than most - as though there was an 'h' at the end of it "Tell the Pavi where you found them."
His eyes never left her face as he spoke. Nope. She didn't like that one bit. In comparison. Every so often his grip on her shoulder would tighten and then loosen again, like a serpent checking its grip on its prey before it began the death squeeze. That was tolerable, though, in comparison to those goddamn green eyes, settling on her and seeing far more than she suspected he purposely let on.
"Me," she said, and then grimaced at her own discomfort-driven speechlessness "I mean, I drew them. But only ever on my commute to and from here - never during work hours. Not even on my lunch break. I just…store them in my desk while I work."
It was a habit that was more of a relic, really, from the days when she'd dreamed of being some sort of designer. Oh, she'd realised before she even hit twenty that the dream was a dead-end. She didn't exactly have the cash to spare to buy the fabric needed, nor the connections to take the next step after that. But the designing part? That was fun. She didn't need to have big dreams of grandeur to still indulge in it. It kept her mind busy whenever the subway or the busses were delayed because one of the passengers had a date with a repo man. Something to do to distract herself from the screaming just outside. On the bright side, it made her feel real good about all of her organs firmly being her own. It was important to appreciate the little things in life.
"You…?"
His eyes finally left her face, trailing down to her sensible grey work dress, eyes doubtful even as his face didn't move. The question wasn't explicitly voiced, but it still demanded an answer.
"I don't want to outshine the Genterns," she said drily.
"Ha!"
He gave a loud, jarring laugh that almost made her jump, followed up by a few lower chuckles. It was difficult to say whether he was laughing at the prospect of her outshining any of the Genterns, which was fair considering they were basically perfect as a rule, or just at the fact that she'd made a joke at all. Hell, she was a bit surprised by that last part herself. Had it been a mistake? Trying to walk a tightrope line without falling towards either side - with 'rude' to one side, and 'even vaguely, mildly interesting' on the other - was trickier than it seemed.
Mostly because the question rattling around in her brain non-stop concerned why he was going through her desk in the first place.
"There are…" he paused, letting go of her now so he could rifle through the pile of sketches "Inspired. You have more?"
Too many to count. It was almost easier to design and have fun with it when the idea of actually creating any of it went out of the window - it meant she wasn't bogged down with worrying about affordable fabric choices. Any sewing she did these days was on the side, usually taking in or mending the clothing of folk in her apartment building who couldn't afford to go out and renew their wardrobes when they needed to go up or down a size.
"I, uh…boxes full," she gestured vaguely to emphasise the great size of said boxes "They're just for fun, I've never actually done anything with them."
He finally stopped when he got to the sketch he'd apparently been sifting through the pile for - a red velvet frock coat with sharply exaggerated lapels and smatterings of black embroidery here and there.
"You must design something for me, yes?"
Well, if that wasn't the most order-laden request she'd ever received.
"I…" she faltered "Mr Largo…"
"Pavi, bella, Pavi," he seized one of her hands, rubbing a thumb up and down her knuckles.
She couldn't help but wonder if he'd forgotten her name already.
"They're for fun, I've never actually executed anything…" what an unfortunate choice of words "…Certainly not for anybody of your stature. I'm not sure I could…"
He grinned, and even having grown up seeing all of the surgical feats available now (and hearing her mom's endless diatribes about how her generation didn't realise just how new this all really was), it still freaked her out how seamlessly the lips of his "face" moved with his own. She quickly looked away, back down to the drawings.
"Design-a something for me - that is all. Design it. From there, we'll…see where it leads."
Talk about an offer she couldn't refuse - and one that was topped with a hint of suggestion, no less.
"Fine," she sighed, and then quickly remembered her manners "Er - yes. Of course. I'll see it done."
Making a sound of approval, he lifted her hand to his lips for the second time that day, before dropping it and returning his hand to her shoulder, squeezing her in a strange sort of one-armed hug.
"Magnifica! I know you won't let me down," his eyes flickered down to her sketches again before he gave a final squeeze of her shoulders.
And then he was gone - sweeping off into the elevator without another word, already lifting his hand mirror up again as he walked. Zena remained standing there for a good few moments, stuck somewhere between dread and relief which both only served to keep her feet utterly rooted to where they stood. It was only when the elevator signalled that another visitor was on their way up from the ground floor that she rushed to her chair, quickly bundling all of the sketches up and returning them to her desk…after a brief check to see if anything was missing.
Nothing was, but that didn't comfort her much. I know you won't let me down. Yeah, it was pretty easy for him to bank on that considering her life was likely on the line. It looked like she had some homework to do.
A/N: Just to explain where I'm coming from with this story before we really get going…for those who haven't spent an embarrassing amount of time reading up on trivia as far as the Repo! universe is concerned, it's official canon that Pavi's heavy accent is actually put on to mask a speech impediment, which is why his siblings don't have similar accents. I find this super interesting and a bit of a glimpse into more far-reaching aspects of his character. It also fits the times when his voice becomes notably deeper/different in certain songs (usually when he's singing alongside Luigi, like in Night Surgeon and especially towards the end of We Started This Op'ra Shit) which maybe could be his 'real' voice — and while I know this is potentially more of a musical choice on Ogre's part to make the songs actually sound good, I still think there's a lot of potential there in terms of exploring how much of Pavi's demeanour is genuine, how much is a façade, and how/when that façade might slip or drop, which is what I want to play with a little in this story.
I feel like it's the only way to have him in a story without him just being a straight-up caricature (which is what the façade is, to be fair), but I really want to do so without discarding what is shown in the movies or trying to play him off as a good guy beneath the mask (er, face) for the sake of an easier route for a romance story because, uh, he definitely is not exactly a beacon of morality, and not somebody you'd want to be with in real life. So not exactly a "good" side/dark side thing, but more of a two sides of a not-so-decent man. If anything, I think the "hidden" side is even more sinister, and certainly a little bit more serious and calculating than he lets on outwardly for the most part.
Didn't mean to write a whole ass essay studying the character of Pavi Largo, my former lit student side is showing, I just wanted to explain my logic going into this story! Basically, I'm challenging myself here. It's been a year of taking on story ideas that intimidate me, and this one absolutely does.