(FIC) Jaevel Av En Tango: (Ch. 1) Familiar Faces
Hey flist! I have a ton of links to go through -you were all so productive, expect super late feedback from me soon-, but I return victorious!!! One more week of finals and I shall be done, but the hardest was finished this Monday and today we had the guest juries in. I will make a recount of this past crazy week soon, but first!!!
Happy Birthday, Jen and Star!
I bring you fic! I will post chapter two in a bit, since I think this one doesn't make much sense without some backstory... I wish you both a wonderful birthday and a great following year. You two make my days brighter, a second-hand effect, of course, of making the whole world a better place by being the kind, brilliant people you are... uh, and that's why I wrote you mafia!DC fic? uh.. look. I love you! that's what counts! Not beta'ed. Point, and I correct!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 1 - Familiar Faces
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Clark, Bruce, Barbara
Word Count: 1700+
Summary: Clark Starr, Metropolis reporter, is a hero -or as much of a hero as Earth 3 has ever seen. When he tries to stop a new mob from moving into Metropolis, he gets himself right into big league trouble -the kind no one wants to get into when you're in the Crime Syndicate's territory.
All chapters found here
Chapter 1: Familiar Faces
Kal woke up slowly, a pounding headache making it hard to concentrate. He was… he was lying on a couch. A leather couch, by the smell of it, not that he needed super senses to know that that. He could also smell brandy and expensive cologne. A man was sitting in front of him, about five feet away, his heartbeat slow and calm. Two other, quicker heartbeats, sat by his side, and a pungent animal smell that permeated the room made him wince. He could hear cars outside, and the wind, though it wasn’t the wind that rattled windows in the higher stories of buildings. He was in a second floor, maybe a third. He was… he couldn’t remember where he was. Which meant he was most likely in trouble.
“Vak, did you call for me?” a young voice broke the silence, a soft female smell shifting into the room. Kal frowned, he hadn’t hear her come in.
“Yes. Would you bring me this month’s payroll, please?” The soft male voice belonged to the man in front of him, the pleasant baritone of a well educated man, with just the slightest Gotham accent. “Never mind. I think our guest is waking up,” he said.
Kal opened his eyes, turning his head to look at the man. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who this man was, and the last thing he remembered was greasing up a Gotham contact for information on the new mob moving into Metropolis. It seemed like he had asked the wrong question to the wrong person. Silence was probably his best bet right now.
“Good evening, my friend. Would you like a glass of water?” The soft voice had now a strong Germanic accent. Kal filed the difference in his mind for later, and tried to play his part as best as he could.
“Ah, a glass of water would be good, thank you.” Noting he wasn’t tied down -he distinctly remembered being tied down at some point, but the memory was fuzzy- he sat up, his shoes burying in a thick grey carpet. A massive Great Dane was sitting in front of him, eyeing him cautiously, and another walked by his master’s side as the man poured a glass of water from a pincher.
The man handed him the glass. Kal’s eyes never left his interlocutor’s face as he took a small sip. The water smelled and tasted normal, no poison. The man in front of him, though, was harder to appraise. He looked somewhat familiar -tall and handsome, the symmetric effect of the boyish face destroyed by an eye-patch over his left eye. The other one was a piercing steel blue, and he had a dangerous smile that belied his relaxed stance. A small diamond stud earring gleamed from his left ear, dark bangs falling over his forehead in a careless arrange. He was wearing an expensive grey pinstripe suit, but under the well-bred image lurked something else. He was a well dressed shark, and Kal had seen too many of them in his career to fall for the look.
“I’m not sure how I got here,” Kal said evenly. If push came to shove, he could fight his way out of… wherever he was.
“Ah, yes, well. It would seem you were the victim of over-eager informants. They thought I would be interested in you, and were looking for a turnaround in the favor bank. Amateurs, you understand. You’re a reporter, yes? Clark Starr, from the Metropolis' Planet?”
Kal nodded slowly. Of course the man knew who he was. Kal could now see his notebook and wallet on the couch in front of him, where the man had been sitting. “Yes, that would be me. I don’t think I have the pleasure, mister…”
“Vak. Vak Báleygr, at your service,” the man introduced himself with an easy smile and laughter in his eye. Kal found himself returning the smile cautiously. “You’re at my office, Mr. Starr. Are you familiar with my business?”
Kal’s smile grew tighter. He was beginning to understand what the business was for the man with the high-end club and patron of the arts façade. “The fame of the Mist reaches even Metropolis, Mr. Báleygr.”
“Please, call me Vak. As I was saying, I apologize for the misunderstanding. You should be careful with whom you hang out with in this town; this is not Metropolis.”
“I understand… Vak. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Kal didn’t say anything about how inconvenient it had been for him to be electrocuted and kidnapped. But if he could walk unharmed from the offices of the Mist, then his captors would have done him a favor. All he had done was ask if they knew anything about Wotan, and they had brought him to this man. A fresh new lead on his case on the Storm.
“Now, no need to apologize. But maybe you can indulge my curiosity. You see, I couldn’t help myself from looking at your notebook. I am something of a journalism aficionado; I find detective work fascinating.” Vak turned around and picked Kal’s wallet and notes, and returned by Kal’s side, towering beside him.
Kal grabbed his belongings, his fingers brushing slightly against the other man’s. One of the hounds growled menacingly.
“By any means, if I can answer any of your questions, Mr. Báleygr,” Kal said with his best business voice. He knew his notebook was unreadable. His investigation was safe.
“Is that shorthand? I have never seen anything quite like it,” Vak said, gesturing to the cramped lines of handwriting in the notebook.
Kal nodded, his lips quirking into a small smile. “My cousin taught it to me. I believe she invented it herself… a token from our childhood, but quite useful, don’t you think? Information is such a valuable resource these days.”
“Better to keep one’s thoughts away from prying eyes, is it not, Mr. Starr?”
“Yes.”
The man smiled again, and this time the smile had too many teeth. “I shall pry no more, then. I think we might understand each other yet, little brother. Some things are not worth knowing.”
“Some things are worth the world, though.”
Vak laughed, and Kal’s smile froze on his lips. He knew right that second that even if he left the building, if he left Gotham altogether, he would never be out of this man's sight again. “Oh, yes, they are. But who’s willing to pay that?” Vak took a step back, giving Kal space to stand up, and offered him a hand. Kal shook it firmly, and this time neither of the dogs protested the contact with their master. “If you ever find you need a friend in Gotham, Mr. Starr, don’t hesitate to come here. I am a big fan of your work in the Planet, but if you feel tempted to leave journalism and pursue a career as a novelist...”
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Báleygr. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
Vak walked him to the door of his office, where a young redhead was standing holding a folder, with a blank expression that seemed well practiced. Vak waited until he was almost out of normal hearing range, but Kal could hear him perfectly well when he spoke. “I will keep an eye on you, little brother.”
Kal left the building wondering just how much this new lead had just cost him.
---
“Was that smart?” Barbara asked once the reporter had left, handing her boss a folder with the payroll for that month. Cooks, waiters, maitre’ d, security and musicians in one file; snitchs, fields agents, muscle, hackers and assorted middle level criminals in the other one.
“You think it wasn’t,” Vak said, the accent gone.
“He was asking about Wotan, and they led him to you, and you just let him go. You can’t believe he will drop the subject, Vak. He’s going to keep digging.”
“I know.”
“Then you know this can’t end well. Are you stirring trouble for Owlman? Is this one of your games?” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, her warm green eyes growing cold and distant. Games with Owlman had a tendency to end up with a high body count and things like eye-patches and terrible favors to be repaid.
“Hrmm,” Vak growled as he perused the payroll. “Not everything I do has to do with Owlman, Barbara.” He signed his approval on both the files and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Our friend Mr. Starr is going to need help in stopping the Storm from taking over Metropolis, but perhaps not as much help as I had thought. He was brought here by one of the Crows.”
“The Crows never take any prisoners,” Barbara said, frowning.
“No man can resist Timothy’s charms. By any right, Mr. Starr should have fried when Tim electrocuted him. Yet he wakes up here with nothing but a headache.”
“Do you think he’s a meta?”
“I know he’s a meta. The question is, does he? And if he does, who’s he playing for?”
“I see. And if he finds out about Wotan?” Barbara walked to the big glass desk, sitting on it and extending her hand to prompt her boss for the files.
“Ah, well. If he finds about Wotan, I guess we’ll have some fun and games after all. It all depends on who he’s playing for… but if he doesn’t have a team…”
“He looks familiar, Vak. Did you notice?” Barbara said with a knowing smile.
Vak’s eye gleamed, his voice playful. “Oh, I noticed.”
“The Storm could use a trusted manager for the Metropolis branch.”
Vak lay back on the big chair and handed the redhead the files. “You have a twisted sense of humor that could get us in trouble, Babs.”
Barbara walked towards her desk, turning once she reached the door. Short, well manicured red nails were like blood against the white folder. Her smile could disarm the smartest of men, her mind could ruin them. “You love trouble, big brother. You’re going mess with that guy, and you’re going to love it, so don’t try to blame it on me.”
Vak’s smile could make men the bravest men tremble, his mind could destroy them. He smiled to Barbara, and all she could feel was a growing anticipation for the days to come.
Happy Birthday, Jen and Star!
I bring you fic! I will post chapter two in a bit, since I think this one doesn't make much sense without some backstory... I wish you both a wonderful birthday and a great following year. You two make my days brighter, a second-hand effect, of course, of making the whole world a better place by being the kind, brilliant people you are... uh, and that's why I wrote you mafia!DC fic? uh.. look. I love you! that's what counts! Not beta'ed. Point, and I correct!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 1 - Familiar Faces
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Clark, Bruce, Barbara
Word Count: 1700+
Summary: Clark Starr, Metropolis reporter, is a hero -or as much of a hero as Earth 3 has ever seen. When he tries to stop a new mob from moving into Metropolis, he gets himself right into big league trouble -the kind no one wants to get into when you're in the Crime Syndicate's territory.
All chapters found here
Chapter 1: Familiar Faces
Kal woke up slowly, a pounding headache making it hard to concentrate. He was… he was lying on a couch. A leather couch, by the smell of it, not that he needed super senses to know that that. He could also smell brandy and expensive cologne. A man was sitting in front of him, about five feet away, his heartbeat slow and calm. Two other, quicker heartbeats, sat by his side, and a pungent animal smell that permeated the room made him wince. He could hear cars outside, and the wind, though it wasn’t the wind that rattled windows in the higher stories of buildings. He was in a second floor, maybe a third. He was… he couldn’t remember where he was. Which meant he was most likely in trouble.
“Vak, did you call for me?” a young voice broke the silence, a soft female smell shifting into the room. Kal frowned, he hadn’t hear her come in.
“Yes. Would you bring me this month’s payroll, please?” The soft male voice belonged to the man in front of him, the pleasant baritone of a well educated man, with just the slightest Gotham accent. “Never mind. I think our guest is waking up,” he said.
Kal opened his eyes, turning his head to look at the man. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who this man was, and the last thing he remembered was greasing up a Gotham contact for information on the new mob moving into Metropolis. It seemed like he had asked the wrong question to the wrong person. Silence was probably his best bet right now.
“Good evening, my friend. Would you like a glass of water?” The soft voice had now a strong Germanic accent. Kal filed the difference in his mind for later, and tried to play his part as best as he could.
“Ah, a glass of water would be good, thank you.” Noting he wasn’t tied down -he distinctly remembered being tied down at some point, but the memory was fuzzy- he sat up, his shoes burying in a thick grey carpet. A massive Great Dane was sitting in front of him, eyeing him cautiously, and another walked by his master’s side as the man poured a glass of water from a pincher.
The man handed him the glass. Kal’s eyes never left his interlocutor’s face as he took a small sip. The water smelled and tasted normal, no poison. The man in front of him, though, was harder to appraise. He looked somewhat familiar -tall and handsome, the symmetric effect of the boyish face destroyed by an eye-patch over his left eye. The other one was a piercing steel blue, and he had a dangerous smile that belied his relaxed stance. A small diamond stud earring gleamed from his left ear, dark bangs falling over his forehead in a careless arrange. He was wearing an expensive grey pinstripe suit, but under the well-bred image lurked something else. He was a well dressed shark, and Kal had seen too many of them in his career to fall for the look.
“I’m not sure how I got here,” Kal said evenly. If push came to shove, he could fight his way out of… wherever he was.
“Ah, yes, well. It would seem you were the victim of over-eager informants. They thought I would be interested in you, and were looking for a turnaround in the favor bank. Amateurs, you understand. You’re a reporter, yes? Clark Starr, from the Metropolis' Planet?”
Kal nodded slowly. Of course the man knew who he was. Kal could now see his notebook and wallet on the couch in front of him, where the man had been sitting. “Yes, that would be me. I don’t think I have the pleasure, mister…”
“Vak. Vak Báleygr, at your service,” the man introduced himself with an easy smile and laughter in his eye. Kal found himself returning the smile cautiously. “You’re at my office, Mr. Starr. Are you familiar with my business?”
Kal’s smile grew tighter. He was beginning to understand what the business was for the man with the high-end club and patron of the arts façade. “The fame of the Mist reaches even Metropolis, Mr. Báleygr.”
“Please, call me Vak. As I was saying, I apologize for the misunderstanding. You should be careful with whom you hang out with in this town; this is not Metropolis.”
“I understand… Vak. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Kal didn’t say anything about how inconvenient it had been for him to be electrocuted and kidnapped. But if he could walk unharmed from the offices of the Mist, then his captors would have done him a favor. All he had done was ask if they knew anything about Wotan, and they had brought him to this man. A fresh new lead on his case on the Storm.
“Now, no need to apologize. But maybe you can indulge my curiosity. You see, I couldn’t help myself from looking at your notebook. I am something of a journalism aficionado; I find detective work fascinating.” Vak turned around and picked Kal’s wallet and notes, and returned by Kal’s side, towering beside him.
Kal grabbed his belongings, his fingers brushing slightly against the other man’s. One of the hounds growled menacingly.
“By any means, if I can answer any of your questions, Mr. Báleygr,” Kal said with his best business voice. He knew his notebook was unreadable. His investigation was safe.
“Is that shorthand? I have never seen anything quite like it,” Vak said, gesturing to the cramped lines of handwriting in the notebook.
Kal nodded, his lips quirking into a small smile. “My cousin taught it to me. I believe she invented it herself… a token from our childhood, but quite useful, don’t you think? Information is such a valuable resource these days.”
“Better to keep one’s thoughts away from prying eyes, is it not, Mr. Starr?”
“Yes.”
The man smiled again, and this time the smile had too many teeth. “I shall pry no more, then. I think we might understand each other yet, little brother. Some things are not worth knowing.”
“Some things are worth the world, though.”
Vak laughed, and Kal’s smile froze on his lips. He knew right that second that even if he left the building, if he left Gotham altogether, he would never be out of this man's sight again. “Oh, yes, they are. But who’s willing to pay that?” Vak took a step back, giving Kal space to stand up, and offered him a hand. Kal shook it firmly, and this time neither of the dogs protested the contact with their master. “If you ever find you need a friend in Gotham, Mr. Starr, don’t hesitate to come here. I am a big fan of your work in the Planet, but if you feel tempted to leave journalism and pursue a career as a novelist...”
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Báleygr. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
Vak walked him to the door of his office, where a young redhead was standing holding a folder, with a blank expression that seemed well practiced. Vak waited until he was almost out of normal hearing range, but Kal could hear him perfectly well when he spoke. “I will keep an eye on you, little brother.”
Kal left the building wondering just how much this new lead had just cost him.
---
“Was that smart?” Barbara asked once the reporter had left, handing her boss a folder with the payroll for that month. Cooks, waiters, maitre’ d, security and musicians in one file; snitchs, fields agents, muscle, hackers and assorted middle level criminals in the other one.
“You think it wasn’t,” Vak said, the accent gone.
“He was asking about Wotan, and they led him to you, and you just let him go. You can’t believe he will drop the subject, Vak. He’s going to keep digging.”
“I know.”
“Then you know this can’t end well. Are you stirring trouble for Owlman? Is this one of your games?” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, her warm green eyes growing cold and distant. Games with Owlman had a tendency to end up with a high body count and things like eye-patches and terrible favors to be repaid.
“Hrmm,” Vak growled as he perused the payroll. “Not everything I do has to do with Owlman, Barbara.” He signed his approval on both the files and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Our friend Mr. Starr is going to need help in stopping the Storm from taking over Metropolis, but perhaps not as much help as I had thought. He was brought here by one of the Crows.”
“The Crows never take any prisoners,” Barbara said, frowning.
“No man can resist Timothy’s charms. By any right, Mr. Starr should have fried when Tim electrocuted him. Yet he wakes up here with nothing but a headache.”
“Do you think he’s a meta?”
“I know he’s a meta. The question is, does he? And if he does, who’s he playing for?”
“I see. And if he finds out about Wotan?” Barbara walked to the big glass desk, sitting on it and extending her hand to prompt her boss for the files.
“Ah, well. If he finds about Wotan, I guess we’ll have some fun and games after all. It all depends on who he’s playing for… but if he doesn’t have a team…”
“He looks familiar, Vak. Did you notice?” Barbara said with a knowing smile.
Vak’s eye gleamed, his voice playful. “Oh, I noticed.”
“The Storm could use a trusted manager for the Metropolis branch.”
Vak lay back on the big chair and handed the redhead the files. “You have a twisted sense of humor that could get us in trouble, Babs.”
Barbara walked towards her desk, turning once she reached the door. Short, well manicured red nails were like blood against the white folder. Her smile could disarm the smartest of men, her mind could ruin them. “You love trouble, big brother. You’re going mess with that guy, and you’re going to love it, so don’t try to blame it on me.”
Vak’s smile could make men the bravest men tremble, his mind could destroy them. He smiled to Barbara, and all she could feel was a growing anticipation for the days to come.