If Zena thought she'd been shaken while actually in Pavi's great big hearse-like car, she was even worse off by the time she'd been sitting in her bedroom for a few minutes afterwards. She'd actually been somewhat relieved to find her mom in a Z-induced haze upon staggering through the front door because she was in no mood for any sort of conversation, staggering by her snoring form as she lay sprawled across the couch, and kicking her bedroom door shut behind her. Once inside, she stepped out of her heels, and then fell into the chair by her desk. After that? After that she just…sat.
Usually her routine after word was a borderline ritual - she'd shed anything that so much as vaguely had the aura of the GeneCo tower attached to it, and then forcer her mind onto anything but work in order to make sure she could return to it the next day with her mind in the right place. Instead, she sat in her stupid uncomfortable suit, bemoaning her stupid uncomfortable life.
Pavi Largo had dug into her life - into her history, into her family. Pavi Largo found her interesting enough to tear his gaze away from his mirror for the time it would take to do so. It did not bode well. She only thanked the powers that be that she was fairly boring. Well, by her own standards if not by Pavi's, based on how things were working out. There was no criminal record, no surgical debts to square, no firings, no fines, no misadventures, not even so much as a particularly bitter ex-boyfriend. If he'd been looking for weak spots, her parents were a laughable direction to go in, too - she'd never be the sort to delude herself into thinking that just because they were responsible for putting her here that they were good. Hell, she was more inclined to hold that fact against them.
Even her reaction to the whole thing had landed her in trouble, though. She'd made him laugh. Not for the first time, either, and she had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be for the last. So not only did she intrigue him, she amused him. What would be the third strike? God, if only she'd been born ugly and boring. Then again, it was a well known saying in these parts that there wasn't a woman alive so ugly that Pavi Largo wouldn't shag her. Where would he go poking next, now that he knew her dear dead darling dad wasn't a point of weakness? She'd soon find out, that much she didn't doubt, but she didn't want to find out.
Sighing heavily, she tried to wiggle some of the soreness out of her feet as she let her hair down. She had to stop panicking, it would help nothing - and she had to stop self-pitying, too, because that was just insufferable. It was something her mother would do.
Standing up, she changed into pyjamas and began the slow, halting process of reasoning things out with herself. Some would call it digging a lovely ol' pit of denial, but it was self-preservation, really. Mental fortification, really. Okay - he'd gone digging into her life. But maybe that was just protocol for anybody he got involved in business with - lest she turn out to be some criminal mastermind or a secret serial killers or something. Then he might mistake her for a fellow Largo. Maybe he was just nosy and bored. Maybe, in his quest to conquer anything with a pulse, his interest had momentarily snagged on her. Maybe it was her clear discomfort around him that amused him so much to begin with. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
In the end, she reasoned, she could spend the next ten years trying to riddle out exactly what it was that went on in the mind of Pavi Largo and still likely come nowhere near to actually hitting the truth of the matter. There was one thing, however, that she did know. She was of some use to him. He liked her designs. He had something to gain in her continued survival. That put her head and shoulders above almost the entirety of the rest of those who lived on this island, save for his father. So if it was a game plan she desired, continuing to churn out designs would be the best one. And maybe that amount of pressure wasn't the best working environment, but working as Rotti Largo's secretary was hardly less stressful.
The second conclusion she slowly came to as she pulled a ratty old blanket around herself and sank back into her desk chair was a much more cheery one. Something he'd said to her kept snagging in her mind the more she turned it over - 'by the time we're done here, your life will look quite different'. The panicked part of her, the one that felt like a cornered animal, was all too happy to take it as a threat. He was good at that, she'd noticed. Saying things that on the surface were bright and cheery but could be a whole lot more sinister should he choose to make them so later on down the line. It was something he must've learned from his father, and it was a damn sight more effective than Luigi's unrivalled fury.
But…he had a point. The Largos dripped wealth, and if she could make the same amount of money with one garment that she could with a whole week of pushing paper, that would half the amount of time it took for her to get the fuck out of here. And for what? Doing something she already loved? Something she was good at? The fact that she was doing it for Pavi Largo would only suck the fun out of it if she let it - and if she handled it all well, if she stayed smart and made the most of this, she could very well look back on it as the best thing she ever did.
It was that very empowering thought that had her up all night drawing.
By the time dawn rolled round, Zena was still entirely untired, and her pile of sketches that she was willing to keep even outweighed those crumpled in the garbage. They weren't all surefire things, of course - she needed to give them time to breathe, and after that she'd look at them again and either decide they were better than she originally thought and were worth keeping, or that she must've lost her mind not only to consider the design decent once the sketch was finished, but to pursue the idea at all. Despite being completely awake, though, her brain was beginning to fog and she knew she was in sore need of a jostle.
It was one of her rare days off, luckily, so she soon found herself pulling on her sneakers and going out walking…pocketknife tucked securely into the waistband of her sweatpants, just in case.
Other than drawing, walking was the only thing that eased her in any way - loosened the strain in her chest and lifted the fog in her mind. Nobody around here walked anywhere anymore. They all had places to be, pollution-ridden air to avoid, and if their bodies ended up fucked thanks to going everywhere in a car they'd just have bits and pieces replaced no problem. Zena loved it, though. It didn't cost any money - not until GeneCo found a way to charge per step taken on the sidewalk, anyway - it tired her out, and once she hit that fourth or fifth mile on her endless loops, the burn in her legs and aches in her joints would give way to a numbness that was almost euphoric and she'd be left with the feeling that she could simply walk right off of the island and make her way somewhere better by foot alone.
This time round, though, any fantastical thoughts like that were cut short when her jog across one of the busier roads earned her a lungful of exhaust. Coughing furiously, she ground to a halt, coming to a stop on a side street that wasn't too dimly lit where she could keep her back to the wall.
"Long time no see, Z."
Her hand had barely reached for the knife before she was registering whose voice she was hearing and she rolled her eyes, dropping her arm again as she shook off the last of the coughs.
"That nickname is especially unfunny when it's you that's saying it, Graves."
She blinked the tears that stung her eyes away just in time to watch as he slunk up to lean against the wall beside her, casting an ever-cautious gaze about their surroundings to make sure nobody was waiting to jump out of the shadows and arrest him.
"Where've you been?" He asked lightly - in a tone that said he knew full well where she'd been.
"Working for the Largos," she croaked, then cleared her throat and took in a few deep breaths "Like you, come to think of it."
He smirked "In a different way. Unless you've adopted a very different stance since we last saw each other."
"Still a boring ol' goodie two-shoes, I'm afraid."
He hummed as if to say 'shame' and then shrugged.
"Saw your mom yesterday," he said.
"You sell to her?"
He shrugged again - this time unapologetically "She had the cash."
"Well, she's better strung out than she is than she's withdrawing," Zena grimaced.
"In that case, you're welcome - my pleasure."
Zena snorted…and then she paused.
"Hey, you have an, er…amicable working relationship with Amber, right?"
"As far as amicable goes with the Largo cult. She's a completely different animal to her ol' dad, though, if it's tips you're looking for."
"Not Rotti," she admitted - and then almost thought better of saying anything at all before she finally sighed and forced out the name "Pavi."
Graverobber laughed - a deep, delighted laugh that was probably the msot amused she'd ever heard him.
"Oh, Zena - you didn't."
"No - I didn't," she said quickly "And I'm trying to keep it that way. But he's…taken an interest."
Graverobber's black-painted lips curled into a wry half-smile "Of course he has. You'd be unreal levels of hideous if he hadn't. Shit, Z. I don't envy you."
"Commiserations aren't really helpful here."
"What could be helpful? Getting your face torn up in some horrible accident?"
"I'm trying to avoid something along those lines, too," she said drily "You've survived Amber this long. I know she's not quite like the others - probably the easiest one to survive, really. But you haven't got…oh, I dunno, a secret rulebook? A game-plan? A good luck charm?"
"The only good luck charm I need where she's concerned is this," he snorted, opening his jacket slightly to reveal a telltale blue glow within.
"Well. It's been nice having a face. Always thought mine was a decent one. I've grown pretty attached to it, but I guess all things have to come to an end," she sighed, smoothing a hand over her forehead.
He chuckled "You want my real advice? Keep that up. The humour don't come with the face - he'd be more inclined to let you keep it if you keep him laughing."
Zena frowned, the hand on her brow coming up to run over her hair. The advice seemed counterintuitive.
"And what if I'm too funny and he wants more?"
"I wouldn't worry. You've never been that funny, Z."
She rolled her eyes. And he wondered why they didn't hang out more. Straightening up, she began getting ready to make her excuses and leave - the ache was starting to set into her legs, and if she didn't get moving again soon the rest of the way home would be hell.
"You want my advice?" He offered.
"No, I want you to laugh at the shitstorm I've landed myself in," she grumbled.
"You applied for that shitstorm, sweetheart," he took no sympathy "You sent in your resume, and you prettied yourself up and put on a respectable face so you could step right into it."
"Yeah. Well. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"The Largos are opportunists. Gotta be worth more to them alive than you are dead. If it was Luigi I'd be telling you to pick out songs for your funeral, but Pavi? Eh. Could end bad, won't lie, but he's got at least a little more self control…when he wants to. The trick is making sure he wants to."
"And if that means sleeping with him?"
Ever the pragmatist, Graverobber shrugged "Word is he isn't half bad in the sack. And he can't kill every woman he fucks - there'd be no women left alive on the island."
Well. Wasn't that a cheery thought?
A/N: I'm sorry for the patchy updates! In addition to personal bullshit, this fandom is just very tricky to write in. I have no intention of abandoning this story, though!
According to canon, Graverobber is supposed to be around 21 and I picture Zena to be *around* that age, so it stands to reason that they could've grown up together and been old friends.