beyond the rift } { won't you spare me over another year
Josef Soltini was one of the first people Bela met when she came to Chicago. He greeted her, explained as best she could, and over the months in between, her became her friend, her employer. Josef was a part of her life here, whether she wanted it him to be or not, and now he was gone
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He compelled some women, took them back to the club for a few hours while he drank. It's a wonder he didn't kill any of them, but he let them all go with the key in his pocket as reminder of what Josef left for him.
It took Damon some time, but he made it up to the office and got out the box, reading the letter on top of it. It doesn't help. Nothing really helps, and now everything Josef owned is his and he doesn't know what to do with that. There is a near empty bottle of alcohol on the desk ( ... )
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"Please," she sighs as she sits, crossing her legs as she shifts to get comfortable in the seat. "And you know what I mean."
She's not in the mood for games. And if he continues to frustrate her, she may very well shoot him, but for now she's being nice.
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Some part of him is telling him not to delve into too much information. It's for the safety of everyone including Elena, including Bela. However, he also knows he can't do this alone and he has vague 'could trust' feelings toward Bela when he does not trust the Crowbar in the slightest.
"Josef had a lot of enemies," he says carefully at first though his tone of voice is still dark, still dangerous. "They were shot up on the sidewalk by one of them, not just the shoot you in the head, bang you're dead kind. But shoot you full of holes to send a message kind."
He shuts the lid of the box. "And he... apparently knew he was going to die."
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Not that she actually expected him too. It's more frustration than anything else, and she has a lot of it at the moment. As she speaks, however, the wheels in her head are turning. People who use machine guns are not her forte. She usually deals with the more subtle side of getting rid of people.
She takes another sip of the drink, before looking back over at him. "What do we do?"
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He would have done the exact same thing, but Damon will take anything that he can be mad at at this point to ignore the hurt which refuses to go away. Damon glances over to her from his position.
We. More people involved, more people to lose. "He was killed over an artifact that this group needs. They didn't get it. The people who came to collect have been.. taken care of," Damon says, and then he settles his hands on top of the desk, staring at her, and there's the anger, the frustration, the danger in his expression. "But the people who pulled the trigger are still alive."
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But then Damon says artifacts, and the ball is right back in Bela's territory. Artifacts, relics -- that was her bread and butter too. She'll ask specifically about the artifact later, but for right now, she needs to know more about the people pulling the trigger.
"Do we know who these people are?"
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He turns from the wall to look at her. His gaze is hard, not violent, just-- just not exactly stable either.
"They call themselves the Society. They're like the Illumanti. Their view of the world should be the view of the world, and they will do anything to make it happen. No one is supposed to know about them, and if you do, you die."
If they find out that you know.
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"So what is their view of the world? Or am I better off not asking?"
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"Everything Chicago isn't. No wanderers. Angels vs demons. Werewolves vs vampires. The way of the world. Nature over... choice." Damon's jaw locks further as rage threatens to slide up through him again. It won't help. Not right now, not when he doesn't know how to find them. A monster came after those in the car, but he doesn't know for certain if they were all killed.
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Even though it's anything but. To think that Chicago's the best of what this world has in terms of pro-Wanderer sentiment, and not war torn by a conflict as old as time -- the idea that Chicago is the safest place to be -- that makes her uncomfortable. Mostly because she never feels safe in Chicago, and she isn't sure if she ever will. There's too much unpredictability. But if it's the safest place to be, then she wants to make sure that things stay that way.
"Do we know who these people are? Who the members are?"
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There's the most sarcastic expression on the world on his face as he smirks very bitterly and takes a drink from the glass that he has refilled.
He shakes his head.
"Other than basic factions, angels, demons, vampires, and werewolves that are really fucking old?" Originals and now this. Some people really live too long. "No."
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Then there's a beat.
"They believe that all these factions should be at war against each other and yet they work together?"
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He doesn't know if it's the same here. He doesn't really want to find out.
"For the greater good," Damon says in answer, tightening his hold on the glass in his hand. "They have some tentative truce while they 'fix' the world. But it still leaves room for all kinds of squabbles, violent ones. One card for us."
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If they want to compare what they know, Bela is game for that. Her expertise isn't in the monsters, it's in the practical, the objects that can do damage.
"So it seems the answer is to get them to turn on each other."
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If artifacts, objects are her thing, they would actually make a good team in that sense. Especially since his expertise lies where hers falls short and vice versa.
He swallows back the bitter feeling in his throat. "So it would seem," Damon says with a bitter smile as he turns back to her. "Lets see. You, me, and..." He makes a face, rolling his eyes as he does not remotely trust them, does not even know that Bela knows of them, "The Crowbar against the big powerful Society. Always love near impossible odds."
It's not like there's a choice. It's not like certainty of death would stop him.
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Whether or not he agrees or disagrees with that is his prerogative.
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