[Log] Marco Maruko, Ulquiorra Schiffer
Title: Welcome to NYC
Characters: Marco (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight)
Timeline: April 3, 1950
Rating: PG
Summary: Ulquiorra welcomes Marco to the city. What better way to settle in than by killing someone?
Cinq was, as always, literally sparkling with perfection. The cutlery and glasses were polished and spotless, the tablecloths were crisp and finely pressed, the waiters and waitresses were gliding around like well-tuned machines, and the atmosphere was rife with sophistication. Everything was... satisfactory. Perfection was to be expected at such a classy establishment, after all.
Ulquiorra Schiffer glanced around with the air of someone quite accustomed to such flawless surroundings. His face showed no emotion, no sign of approval or displeasure. Truthfully, he didn't think much of Cinq's lavish decor. He appreciated it, of course, since it was one of Mr. Aizen's investments, but his pragmatic personality would not allow him to dwell on the ritzy details that others would fawn over. It was a business, and as such it served a purpose. Today its purpose was to be a meeting place.
The consigliere shifted on his seat and glanced at his watch. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Marco Maruko, but that span of time would be brought to a close in just a few moments. He was sure that the Marco he'd be meeting today would be much different than the Marco he had met before, the young man from Florida that had accidentally stumbled into the Concavo's path. A lot of time had passed since then; a lot of things had happened. But still, he couldn't help but wonder how the meeting would go, since their last had been so... eventful.
If first impressions were anything to go by, Ulquiorra Schiffer was the last person Marco probably would want to meet. But as it were, it had been seven long years since they last saw each other.
Hopefully this time Marco would be able to leave in a better shape.
The Eurasian would not be seen without his usual pinstripe suit and brownish dinosaur skull tie, and this occasion was no different. Black leather shoes, black pants, black shirt - it was almost a little ominous if it were not for the almost comical tie and benign smile.
Weaving between the tables, there was that serious face Marco had been looking for. He was just a little late for their dinner appointment, and Ulquiorra's usual serious expression made it a little difficult to tell whether he was bothered by Marco's pathological lateness or not.
"Ciao, Ulquiorra," he greeted, his voice light, his expression nothing short of cheery and his demeanour as casual as his speech. Slipping a hand out of his pockets, he moved to take a seat across from the Italian.
"Seven years, huh. Time sure flies, I'd say."
A subtle glance at his watch told Ulquiorra that Mr. Maruko was a touch late, but the delay didn't bother him in the least. Compared to some other people the consigliere met with on a regular basis, Marco was practically early. It seemed as if punctuality was quickly becoming a forgotten virtue.
Nodding slowly, Ulquiorra ran an appraising eye over the man in front of him before offering his hand in greeting. "Ciao. Time is a strange thing, isn't it," he replied. To him, it seemed like their last meeting had happened decades ago; so much had happened since. He liked to think that he was a better man than the one that Marco met all those years ago - stronger, smarter, perhaps more professional.
Settling back into his chair, the consigliere took another brief moment to take in the other's appearance. There was something about Marco that was strangely familiar, and it left him a bit unsettled. Shrugging the annoying feeling away, Ulquiorra waved over a waiter and proceeded to order himself a sparkling water.
"Are you hungry?" he asked Marco, motioning to the menus that were already on the table.
Pulling his chair in closer to the table, Marco leaned back against the backrest, shifting momentarily to tug at the lapels of his jacket and straighten out his suit.
Seven years could do wonders if you made use of that time. They were both older now - older, smarter, more mature men, leading their own lives even though their paths were and would be crossing for years to come. Many things have changed, yet it was as if nothing had changed after all this time.
Picking up and sparing a glance at the menu, Marco ordered himself a mango french soda and chose to leave it at that.
"Not enough to want to order anything, no." he said in response to Ulquiorra's question, pushing the menu back onto the table. He knew it was a classy French restaurant, but who did he have to kill to get a sandwich or a burger around here?
"You didn't have to do this, you know. I could have wandered around and been the typical lost foreign tourist, I'd say. They say you learn best from your mistakes."
Marco smiled at the consigliere as if he was not a perfect testament to that statement.
One of Ulquiorra's eyebrows arched upwards. Personally, he preferred to learn without making any mistakes. Perfection is learned through perfection, or so his father used to say. Besides, he couldn't afford to make mistakes. Even the smallest flaw in a blueprint could cause a building to crumble, costing money and lives, and any errors made as consigliere could reap consequences just as severe. On the other hand, however, he could see the sense in learning from one's mistakes. It seemed quite foolish to make the same mistakes over and over again; once was more than enough.
"It's not a problem," he said, after a moment. While Marco might have been content to wander around the city, the Concavos always took care of the those who were in their favor. And, as Mr. Maruko already knew, they took care of those who were not in their favor, as well... albeit in a completely different way. Ulquiorra's gaze lingered on Marco's chest for a fraction of a moment.
"How was your trip?" He set his own menu at the edge of the table and folded his hands in his lap. "No complications, I hope."
The way Ulquiorra said 'it's not a problem' could have been construed as anything from 'Sousuke Aizen told me to' to 'I make it a priority to look after and see to the needs of those who serve us'.
That was one of the problems that seemed to pervade with many of the people around Marco; they were all incredibly difficult to read, from the seemingly-apathetic and lazy Kid to this stoic, unchanging, almost unfeeling Ulquiorra.
Things were no different back then. Cold steel pierced in and through his body, and he could still vividly remember those serene green eyes looking down at him without emotion or feeling.
Ah, but that was almost a lifetime ago.
"No, no real complications. There's the usual hassle with having to pull a few strings, but almost everyone has been easy to manipulate and play. It's been almost too easy, I'd say."
Marco did not have the same sort of skill or finesse with these things compared to some of those he knew, but he knew how to get what he wanted, and he knew how to make the best out of every situation and opportunity.
"I'm sure you didn't call me here just to chat and catch up, though. Got something for me?" It was Marco's first time in NYC, and it was his first real opportunity to offer assistance to the Concavos since their first encounter that seven years ago. He was of no use to them flying planes in the Second World War or doing a degree in college, but now that he had a secure position in the FBI, almost everyone he needed had quickly become his marionettes.
All the Concavos had to do was issue an order, and Marco could pull the strings and work his puppets.
Ulquiorra appreciated Marco's willingness to skip the pleasantries and get down to business. The matter-of-fact consigliere could, and often would, participate in idle conversation for the sake of being polite, but found it meaningless and unpleasant nonetheless. He was a bit relieved that he would not have to put up with a lengthy discussion about the weather, politics, or--God forbid--some sort of sporting event. The waiter returned with their drinks, and Ulquiorra took a sip of his soda water as he waited for the man to depart.
"I do," he replied, once they were alone again. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that there was no one listening in on their conversation. One could never be too careful; the city was full of spies.
"There is a policeman named Harry Jones. He's currently in Special Assignments, but he hasn't been there long. He has stumbled across a bit of...information. Fortunately, he is not yet aware of the significance of this information, but it won't be long before he figures it out. We need him taken care of as quickly as possible." He paused to take a sip of his drink. "We think that you're the best man for the job. It should be relatively easy for you to take him out in a way that will not stir up any suspicion. Perhaps your position as an FBI agent will be of some assistance."
The Concavos had been very pleased when Marco joined the FBI. It was very important to have contacts in all sorts of different agencies and organizations, and the FBI was one that was particularly hard to infiltrate. Mr. Aizen must have seen Marco's potential, all those years ago. What had appeared as act of mercy had turned out to be an incredible opportunity for the Concavos. Marco's cooperation would no doubt prove to be extremely helpful, perhaps even influential, in the years to come.
"It's not unheard of for an officer to die in the line of duty, especially when the officer is so new to being undercover," Ulquiorra continued. "The details are up to you."
Marco used the straw to stir around his french soda, taking a sip of the chilled, sweet liquid. It was just the way he liked it - not too sweet but pleasant on the palette - but really, he expected nothing less from this place.
He continued sipping on his drink as he listened, seemingly non-attentively, to what Ulquiorra was saying. Really, he was just thinking - how to go about handling the case, the quicker ways, the easier ways, the shortest ways, what to do, what he had to say, the kinds of people he needed to manipulate and who he had to deal with afterwards.
"Consider it done," Marco said after he was done sipping at his drink quietly for a few minutes. Being charged with this kind of task struck him as odd - surely the Concavos were not short on capable hitmen? Anyone could carry out a hit like that, except Marco would make it look remotely legitimate.
Not one to raise objections or question their decision, Marco kept quiet. Anyway, since their operations were based in NYC, taking the hit out on the SA individual and perhaps landing himself in trouble with the NYPD would be an opportunity he could use to his advantage. He really only needed to look over the hierarchies and connections, spend some time in their headquarters and he could easily get a hold of people he could use for later on, or people to feed him information.
It would be of benefit to both himself and the mob. After all, it was almost impossible for him to stay indefinitely in NYC - not at this stage, anyway.
"Was there anything else?"
"That's all, for now," said the consigliere. It appeared as if Marco had no problem following orders, and for that Ulquiorra was glad. Nothing irritated him more than trying to talk someone into doing a job. What was the point of having contacts that felt the need to argue about the missions they were given? There was no room for reluctance in this business. The Concavos needed people who would do what was required of them, with no questions asked. Some might have called that blind faith, but Ulquiorra called it loyal service. Following orders was a small price to pay for being associated with the most powerful organization in New York City.
"We appreciate your willingness to do this," he continued, only out of politeness. Giving Marco an assignment so soon after his arrival might have been a bit inconsiderate, but that was just the way things went. It wasn't like they could tell Harry Jones to forget the information until a more convenient time, after all.
"Let us know if there is anything you need while you are here," he concluded, trying his best to sound sincere. "We'd like your stay to be as comfortable and... enjoyable as possible."
Marco chuckled. Of course he was willing to do this - he was willing to do anything that was required of him, bar perhaps seriously endangering his life. Even so, he could accommodate and would manage to do what was asked of him, somehow.
"Of course. It's not like I fancy getting stabbed again," he said casually, even if the topic was anything but casual.
He finished his mango soda and placed the glass of ice back onto the table.
"Nothing comes to mind immediately, I'd say, but if I need anything I can't get on my own, I'll be sure to look you up."
After all, even though he did not want to be a burden, it would be rude not to take up on the other's hospitality.
Since there was nothing left to discuss, there was no point wasting time dallying here. Pushing his chair back, Marco got to his feet and pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. From the thick wad of cash inside he retrieved a twenty dollar bill and folded it in half, placing it on the table underneath his glass. Slipping his wallet back into his back pocket, he turned to leave.
"I'll talk to you or the old man again when I'm done. Ciao," he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pinstripe jacket as he made his way back over towards the exit.
Now, to find a place where he could enjoy a flimsy sandwich or greasy burger...
So... they came to it at last. Ulquiorra had been wondering if the nature of their last meeting would somehow find its way into their conversation. He gazed at Marco with a new intensity, for once unsure of what to say. It wasn't every day that he came face-to-face with someone he had previously tried to kill, after all. The only man who had met his blade and lived was the one sitting in front of him.
Since Marco didn't seem to be expecting a response, Ulquiorra didn't give one. What was one supposed to say to a man they had once stabbed in the chest? He remained still, his face exceedingly indifferent as he watched Marco finish his drink.
Acting out of habit, the consigliere stood when the other man prepared to leave. His gaze followed Marco's hand as it set the folded bill on the table. It was an... unexpected gesture. He wondered if Mr. Maruko was trying to make a statement, or if he was simply a generous person. Whatever the reason, the matter was pushed out of Ulquiorra's mind with Marco's parting words.
Old man? Surely he had heard wrong. Or perhaps Marco was only joking. His tie was rather comical, after all...
Ulquiorra decided not to say anything, and nodded once in a solemn farewell. "Arrivederci," he said, watching Marco's back as it began to weave its way through the restaurant.
This was the only part of his job that he sincerely disliked: sitting back and waiting for another person to carry out a task. He hoped, for Mr. Maruko's sake as much as the Concavos', that Marco would be successful.
Characters: Marco (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight)
Timeline: April 3, 1950
Rating: PG
Summary: Ulquiorra welcomes Marco to the city. What better way to settle in than by killing someone?
Cinq was, as always, literally sparkling with perfection. The cutlery and glasses were polished and spotless, the tablecloths were crisp and finely pressed, the waiters and waitresses were gliding around like well-tuned machines, and the atmosphere was rife with sophistication. Everything was... satisfactory. Perfection was to be expected at such a classy establishment, after all.
Ulquiorra Schiffer glanced around with the air of someone quite accustomed to such flawless surroundings. His face showed no emotion, no sign of approval or displeasure. Truthfully, he didn't think much of Cinq's lavish decor. He appreciated it, of course, since it was one of Mr. Aizen's investments, but his pragmatic personality would not allow him to dwell on the ritzy details that others would fawn over. It was a business, and as such it served a purpose. Today its purpose was to be a meeting place.
The consigliere shifted on his seat and glanced at his watch. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Marco Maruko, but that span of time would be brought to a close in just a few moments. He was sure that the Marco he'd be meeting today would be much different than the Marco he had met before, the young man from Florida that had accidentally stumbled into the Concavo's path. A lot of time had passed since then; a lot of things had happened. But still, he couldn't help but wonder how the meeting would go, since their last had been so... eventful.
If first impressions were anything to go by, Ulquiorra Schiffer was the last person Marco probably would want to meet. But as it were, it had been seven long years since they last saw each other.
Hopefully this time Marco would be able to leave in a better shape.
The Eurasian would not be seen without his usual pinstripe suit and brownish dinosaur skull tie, and this occasion was no different. Black leather shoes, black pants, black shirt - it was almost a little ominous if it were not for the almost comical tie and benign smile.
Weaving between the tables, there was that serious face Marco had been looking for. He was just a little late for their dinner appointment, and Ulquiorra's usual serious expression made it a little difficult to tell whether he was bothered by Marco's pathological lateness or not.
"Ciao, Ulquiorra," he greeted, his voice light, his expression nothing short of cheery and his demeanour as casual as his speech. Slipping a hand out of his pockets, he moved to take a seat across from the Italian.
"Seven years, huh. Time sure flies, I'd say."
A subtle glance at his watch told Ulquiorra that Mr. Maruko was a touch late, but the delay didn't bother him in the least. Compared to some other people the consigliere met with on a regular basis, Marco was practically early. It seemed as if punctuality was quickly becoming a forgotten virtue.
Nodding slowly, Ulquiorra ran an appraising eye over the man in front of him before offering his hand in greeting. "Ciao. Time is a strange thing, isn't it," he replied. To him, it seemed like their last meeting had happened decades ago; so much had happened since. He liked to think that he was a better man than the one that Marco met all those years ago - stronger, smarter, perhaps more professional.
Settling back into his chair, the consigliere took another brief moment to take in the other's appearance. There was something about Marco that was strangely familiar, and it left him a bit unsettled. Shrugging the annoying feeling away, Ulquiorra waved over a waiter and proceeded to order himself a sparkling water.
"Are you hungry?" he asked Marco, motioning to the menus that were already on the table.
Pulling his chair in closer to the table, Marco leaned back against the backrest, shifting momentarily to tug at the lapels of his jacket and straighten out his suit.
Seven years could do wonders if you made use of that time. They were both older now - older, smarter, more mature men, leading their own lives even though their paths were and would be crossing for years to come. Many things have changed, yet it was as if nothing had changed after all this time.
Picking up and sparing a glance at the menu, Marco ordered himself a mango french soda and chose to leave it at that.
"Not enough to want to order anything, no." he said in response to Ulquiorra's question, pushing the menu back onto the table. He knew it was a classy French restaurant, but who did he have to kill to get a sandwich or a burger around here?
"You didn't have to do this, you know. I could have wandered around and been the typical lost foreign tourist, I'd say. They say you learn best from your mistakes."
Marco smiled at the consigliere as if he was not a perfect testament to that statement.
One of Ulquiorra's eyebrows arched upwards. Personally, he preferred to learn without making any mistakes. Perfection is learned through perfection, or so his father used to say. Besides, he couldn't afford to make mistakes. Even the smallest flaw in a blueprint could cause a building to crumble, costing money and lives, and any errors made as consigliere could reap consequences just as severe. On the other hand, however, he could see the sense in learning from one's mistakes. It seemed quite foolish to make the same mistakes over and over again; once was more than enough.
"It's not a problem," he said, after a moment. While Marco might have been content to wander around the city, the Concavos always took care of the those who were in their favor. And, as Mr. Maruko already knew, they took care of those who were not in their favor, as well... albeit in a completely different way. Ulquiorra's gaze lingered on Marco's chest for a fraction of a moment.
"How was your trip?" He set his own menu at the edge of the table and folded his hands in his lap. "No complications, I hope."
The way Ulquiorra said 'it's not a problem' could have been construed as anything from 'Sousuke Aizen told me to' to 'I make it a priority to look after and see to the needs of those who serve us'.
That was one of the problems that seemed to pervade with many of the people around Marco; they were all incredibly difficult to read, from the seemingly-apathetic and lazy Kid to this stoic, unchanging, almost unfeeling Ulquiorra.
Things were no different back then. Cold steel pierced in and through his body, and he could still vividly remember those serene green eyes looking down at him without emotion or feeling.
Ah, but that was almost a lifetime ago.
"No, no real complications. There's the usual hassle with having to pull a few strings, but almost everyone has been easy to manipulate and play. It's been almost too easy, I'd say."
Marco did not have the same sort of skill or finesse with these things compared to some of those he knew, but he knew how to get what he wanted, and he knew how to make the best out of every situation and opportunity.
"I'm sure you didn't call me here just to chat and catch up, though. Got something for me?" It was Marco's first time in NYC, and it was his first real opportunity to offer assistance to the Concavos since their first encounter that seven years ago. He was of no use to them flying planes in the Second World War or doing a degree in college, but now that he had a secure position in the FBI, almost everyone he needed had quickly become his marionettes.
All the Concavos had to do was issue an order, and Marco could pull the strings and work his puppets.
Ulquiorra appreciated Marco's willingness to skip the pleasantries and get down to business. The matter-of-fact consigliere could, and often would, participate in idle conversation for the sake of being polite, but found it meaningless and unpleasant nonetheless. He was a bit relieved that he would not have to put up with a lengthy discussion about the weather, politics, or--God forbid--some sort of sporting event. The waiter returned with their drinks, and Ulquiorra took a sip of his soda water as he waited for the man to depart.
"I do," he replied, once they were alone again. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that there was no one listening in on their conversation. One could never be too careful; the city was full of spies.
"There is a policeman named Harry Jones. He's currently in Special Assignments, but he hasn't been there long. He has stumbled across a bit of...information. Fortunately, he is not yet aware of the significance of this information, but it won't be long before he figures it out. We need him taken care of as quickly as possible." He paused to take a sip of his drink. "We think that you're the best man for the job. It should be relatively easy for you to take him out in a way that will not stir up any suspicion. Perhaps your position as an FBI agent will be of some assistance."
The Concavos had been very pleased when Marco joined the FBI. It was very important to have contacts in all sorts of different agencies and organizations, and the FBI was one that was particularly hard to infiltrate. Mr. Aizen must have seen Marco's potential, all those years ago. What had appeared as act of mercy had turned out to be an incredible opportunity for the Concavos. Marco's cooperation would no doubt prove to be extremely helpful, perhaps even influential, in the years to come.
"It's not unheard of for an officer to die in the line of duty, especially when the officer is so new to being undercover," Ulquiorra continued. "The details are up to you."
Marco used the straw to stir around his french soda, taking a sip of the chilled, sweet liquid. It was just the way he liked it - not too sweet but pleasant on the palette - but really, he expected nothing less from this place.
He continued sipping on his drink as he listened, seemingly non-attentively, to what Ulquiorra was saying. Really, he was just thinking - how to go about handling the case, the quicker ways, the easier ways, the shortest ways, what to do, what he had to say, the kinds of people he needed to manipulate and who he had to deal with afterwards.
"Consider it done," Marco said after he was done sipping at his drink quietly for a few minutes. Being charged with this kind of task struck him as odd - surely the Concavos were not short on capable hitmen? Anyone could carry out a hit like that, except Marco would make it look remotely legitimate.
Not one to raise objections or question their decision, Marco kept quiet. Anyway, since their operations were based in NYC, taking the hit out on the SA individual and perhaps landing himself in trouble with the NYPD would be an opportunity he could use to his advantage. He really only needed to look over the hierarchies and connections, spend some time in their headquarters and he could easily get a hold of people he could use for later on, or people to feed him information.
It would be of benefit to both himself and the mob. After all, it was almost impossible for him to stay indefinitely in NYC - not at this stage, anyway.
"Was there anything else?"
"That's all, for now," said the consigliere. It appeared as if Marco had no problem following orders, and for that Ulquiorra was glad. Nothing irritated him more than trying to talk someone into doing a job. What was the point of having contacts that felt the need to argue about the missions they were given? There was no room for reluctance in this business. The Concavos needed people who would do what was required of them, with no questions asked. Some might have called that blind faith, but Ulquiorra called it loyal service. Following orders was a small price to pay for being associated with the most powerful organization in New York City.
"We appreciate your willingness to do this," he continued, only out of politeness. Giving Marco an assignment so soon after his arrival might have been a bit inconsiderate, but that was just the way things went. It wasn't like they could tell Harry Jones to forget the information until a more convenient time, after all.
"Let us know if there is anything you need while you are here," he concluded, trying his best to sound sincere. "We'd like your stay to be as comfortable and... enjoyable as possible."
Marco chuckled. Of course he was willing to do this - he was willing to do anything that was required of him, bar perhaps seriously endangering his life. Even so, he could accommodate and would manage to do what was asked of him, somehow.
"Of course. It's not like I fancy getting stabbed again," he said casually, even if the topic was anything but casual.
He finished his mango soda and placed the glass of ice back onto the table.
"Nothing comes to mind immediately, I'd say, but if I need anything I can't get on my own, I'll be sure to look you up."
After all, even though he did not want to be a burden, it would be rude not to take up on the other's hospitality.
Since there was nothing left to discuss, there was no point wasting time dallying here. Pushing his chair back, Marco got to his feet and pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. From the thick wad of cash inside he retrieved a twenty dollar bill and folded it in half, placing it on the table underneath his glass. Slipping his wallet back into his back pocket, he turned to leave.
"I'll talk to you or the old man again when I'm done. Ciao," he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pinstripe jacket as he made his way back over towards the exit.
Now, to find a place where he could enjoy a flimsy sandwich or greasy burger...
So... they came to it at last. Ulquiorra had been wondering if the nature of their last meeting would somehow find its way into their conversation. He gazed at Marco with a new intensity, for once unsure of what to say. It wasn't every day that he came face-to-face with someone he had previously tried to kill, after all. The only man who had met his blade and lived was the one sitting in front of him.
Since Marco didn't seem to be expecting a response, Ulquiorra didn't give one. What was one supposed to say to a man they had once stabbed in the chest? He remained still, his face exceedingly indifferent as he watched Marco finish his drink.
Acting out of habit, the consigliere stood when the other man prepared to leave. His gaze followed Marco's hand as it set the folded bill on the table. It was an... unexpected gesture. He wondered if Mr. Maruko was trying to make a statement, or if he was simply a generous person. Whatever the reason, the matter was pushed out of Ulquiorra's mind with Marco's parting words.
Old man? Surely he had heard wrong. Or perhaps Marco was only joking. His tie was rather comical, after all...
Ulquiorra decided not to say anything, and nodded once in a solemn farewell. "Arrivederci," he said, watching Marco's back as it began to weave its way through the restaurant.
This was the only part of his job that he sincerely disliked: sitting back and waiting for another person to carry out a task. He hoped, for Mr. Maruko's sake as much as the Concavos', that Marco would be successful.