August 2: Let the Countdown Begin [Ready or Not]
Title: Let the Countdown Begin
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Rating: T/PG-13
Crossover: Ready or Not (2019)
Spoilers: Post-canon for both Angel: the Series and the movie
Notes: So I got home to find the Internet down, and the spectrum app says it won’t come back up until after midnight. So here I am, trying to post from my phone for the first time ever. Milestones!
Summary: One of the Le Bail subclient files had abruptly updated with a cascade of death certificates, so it was time for Lilah to make a field trip. 1200 words.
Lilah stifled a yawn behind the cover of a freshly manicured hand as the minion from Records droned on, handing out the day's assignments to the firm's 'long term' employees. The choicer files always went to the living employees of Wolfram and Hart, despite the fact that they supposedly only signed their most valuable agents to perpetuity clauses; benefits of having a captive workforce. There was a lot less those dead and only reanimated at the company's leisure could do about it.
Finally, the minion reached her desk. "...and one of the Le Bail subclient files abruptly updated with a cascade of death certificates."
Lilah had seen a few of those happen over the course of her career; occasionally, the descendants of those tricked into making a deal with the client in question were stupid enough to break their contract, and the results were always messy. Usually it meant arranging for a family memorial-- there was rarely anything left to bury, but a discreet cleaning service and a solemn ceremony usually settled any curious minds in the neighborhood-- and absorbing the remaining assets into Mr. Le Bail's investments. That was drudge work, though, usually given to freshly signed junior lawyers or disgraced employees fresh out of one of the holding dimensions.
"What's special about this one?" she asked, frowning.
The nondescript woman's eyebrows lifted. "There was a survivor," she said, meaningfully.
Lilah's attention was caught, despite herself. That was a surprise. Rarely, a client did find a way to slip out of their contract; other supernatural powers were usually involved. But for the file to still exist? Someone had legitimately inherited without getting blown up when the family-ending failure clause activated. And the file wouldn't have landed on Lilah's desk if there wasn't some concern about it remaining under Wolfram and Hart's control.
"I guess I'll be making a field trip, then," she said, snatching the file up and giving the minion her best, bland smile.
The portal commute to the Northeast didn't take much longer than her trip from her apartment used to, back when she'd actually been a living resident of Los Angeles. She didn't really need to sleep, now; and since Wes had been shuttled to a different office after his own revival, she didn't have much need of a bed for other reasons, either. Maybe one day, if his surviving friends managed to rescue him from his perpetuity contract; if he still remembered her fondly enough to try for hers again. For now, though, there was no sense wasting energy on hope. She found her joy where she could: for example, in the details of the file on Grace Le Domas.
Mr. Le Bail was thorough in his contract recordkeeping; Grace's collision with the family's induction ceremony made for fascinating reading. Every so often, the contract in question required a sacrifice of innocent blood, a sacrifice made even more appetizing by being delivered by a loved one's hand. Or, whatever passed for love in a family that regularly chanted over dying goats in their patron's name and added new souls to their contract through an elaborate analogue of Russian Roulette. Grace had been chosen when her prodigal son boyfriend had returned to the fold for their wedding. And over the course of the evening, every one of the family and their servants had died, through a combination of bad luck, stupidity, and absolutely underestimating one woman's stubbornness and will to live.
Lilah liked her already. She liked her even more when she got to the part where her new husband had been deliberately allowed to live a few moments longer: both, she assumed, to ensure that Alex Le Domas inherited everything and thus would pass all assets-- including the contract-- to Grace; and to deliberately give Grace the opportunity to knowingly invoke the contract's consequences herself, thus acknowledging it and giving it more power either way she chose. She could have forgiven him, made excuses for him; but she'd chosen self-respect, and walked out of that burning mansion alive and alone.
She was in the hospital now, healing; from a bullet wound, a stab wound, several other cuts and bruises, sedative after-effects, and assorted other trauma. It read like a Slayer's file; only this girl had to heal at the speed of a mere mortal. No wonder the Firm was keen to hang on to the Le Domas file. She'd be a far more formidable matriarch than any of the born Le Domases of the last three generations.
She was also sharp enough to realize something was up the instant Lilah walked into her room. Grace's gaze dropped to Lilah's pumps, then the cut of her pantsuit, the floral scarf wrapped around the scar on her throat, and the file clasped in her hands, then immediately hit the lever to raise the head of her bed, wincing as the pillow pressed against her back. "And the lawyers enter the picture. I assume the cops finally settled the question of whether I'm a victim or a suspect, then?"
"Oh, Wolfram and Hart takes good care of our clients," Lilah said, smiling back at her. "And as the sole inheritor of the Le Domas gaming empire, that makes you a very valuable client."
"Seriously?" Grace scoffed. Despite her injuries, there was something almost luminous about her; clear skin, blonde hair braided back from her face, striking dark brows accentuating her blue eyes, a wide white smile. Almost angelic. But the hard life lurking at the back of her knowing gaze put her more in Lilah's court than any do-gooder's. "There weren't any distant cousins? Business partners? Surviving goats? I was barely married for half a day, and I don't even have the ring anymore."
"I'm afraid not," Lilah shook her head, then reached into her bag. "You played Mr. Le Bail's game. You survived. Congratulations; I'm just here to help with the paperwork."
Grace stared at the artefact that emerged in Lilah's hand with widening eyes: a certain antique-looking automated card shuffler. "But... I won," she blurted, stunned.
"Exactly," Lilah said, polite smile turning more sympathetic. They all did regret their choices, eventually; initial ignorance of the consequences didn't invalidate them, though. "You played the game, and survived. Don't worry, though; the requirements aren't onerous. One ritual animal sacrifice each new moon, ceremonial details unspecified, and a single game chosen at midnight each time someone new marries into the family. And in return...." She gestured with the file.
Grace stared at the box warily a moment longer, as if it were a hissing snake, then narrowed her eyes, determination setting back in. "I guess I'm going to learn how to hunt, then. Say a lot of 'fuck you very much-es' in the woods once a month. Fuck a lot of people. Never marry again. And never, ever have children. What do you think Mr. Le Bail will have to say about that?"
Lilah laughed. She really did like this girl. "I suspect he'd say-- good luck? And the house always wins."
"Right," Grace said, mouth set firmly. Then she stuck out a hand, chin tilted up. "Give me a cigarette, then. And the paperwork. Let the games begin."
-x-
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Rating: T/PG-13
Crossover: Ready or Not (2019)
Spoilers: Post-canon for both Angel: the Series and the movie
Notes: So I got home to find the Internet down, and the spectrum app says it won’t come back up until after midnight. So here I am, trying to post from my phone for the first time ever. Milestones!
Summary: One of the Le Bail subclient files had abruptly updated with a cascade of death certificates, so it was time for Lilah to make a field trip. 1200 words.
Lilah stifled a yawn behind the cover of a freshly manicured hand as the minion from Records droned on, handing out the day's assignments to the firm's 'long term' employees. The choicer files always went to the living employees of Wolfram and Hart, despite the fact that they supposedly only signed their most valuable agents to perpetuity clauses; benefits of having a captive workforce. There was a lot less those dead and only reanimated at the company's leisure could do about it.
Finally, the minion reached her desk. "...and one of the Le Bail subclient files abruptly updated with a cascade of death certificates."
Lilah had seen a few of those happen over the course of her career; occasionally, the descendants of those tricked into making a deal with the client in question were stupid enough to break their contract, and the results were always messy. Usually it meant arranging for a family memorial-- there was rarely anything left to bury, but a discreet cleaning service and a solemn ceremony usually settled any curious minds in the neighborhood-- and absorbing the remaining assets into Mr. Le Bail's investments. That was drudge work, though, usually given to freshly signed junior lawyers or disgraced employees fresh out of one of the holding dimensions.
"What's special about this one?" she asked, frowning.
The nondescript woman's eyebrows lifted. "There was a survivor," she said, meaningfully.
Lilah's attention was caught, despite herself. That was a surprise. Rarely, a client did find a way to slip out of their contract; other supernatural powers were usually involved. But for the file to still exist? Someone had legitimately inherited without getting blown up when the family-ending failure clause activated. And the file wouldn't have landed on Lilah's desk if there wasn't some concern about it remaining under Wolfram and Hart's control.
"I guess I'll be making a field trip, then," she said, snatching the file up and giving the minion her best, bland smile.
The portal commute to the Northeast didn't take much longer than her trip from her apartment used to, back when she'd actually been a living resident of Los Angeles. She didn't really need to sleep, now; and since Wes had been shuttled to a different office after his own revival, she didn't have much need of a bed for other reasons, either. Maybe one day, if his surviving friends managed to rescue him from his perpetuity contract; if he still remembered her fondly enough to try for hers again. For now, though, there was no sense wasting energy on hope. She found her joy where she could: for example, in the details of the file on Grace Le Domas.
Mr. Le Bail was thorough in his contract recordkeeping; Grace's collision with the family's induction ceremony made for fascinating reading. Every so often, the contract in question required a sacrifice of innocent blood, a sacrifice made even more appetizing by being delivered by a loved one's hand. Or, whatever passed for love in a family that regularly chanted over dying goats in their patron's name and added new souls to their contract through an elaborate analogue of Russian Roulette. Grace had been chosen when her prodigal son boyfriend had returned to the fold for their wedding. And over the course of the evening, every one of the family and their servants had died, through a combination of bad luck, stupidity, and absolutely underestimating one woman's stubbornness and will to live.
Lilah liked her already. She liked her even more when she got to the part where her new husband had been deliberately allowed to live a few moments longer: both, she assumed, to ensure that Alex Le Domas inherited everything and thus would pass all assets-- including the contract-- to Grace; and to deliberately give Grace the opportunity to knowingly invoke the contract's consequences herself, thus acknowledging it and giving it more power either way she chose. She could have forgiven him, made excuses for him; but she'd chosen self-respect, and walked out of that burning mansion alive and alone.
She was in the hospital now, healing; from a bullet wound, a stab wound, several other cuts and bruises, sedative after-effects, and assorted other trauma. It read like a Slayer's file; only this girl had to heal at the speed of a mere mortal. No wonder the Firm was keen to hang on to the Le Domas file. She'd be a far more formidable matriarch than any of the born Le Domases of the last three generations.
She was also sharp enough to realize something was up the instant Lilah walked into her room. Grace's gaze dropped to Lilah's pumps, then the cut of her pantsuit, the floral scarf wrapped around the scar on her throat, and the file clasped in her hands, then immediately hit the lever to raise the head of her bed, wincing as the pillow pressed against her back. "And the lawyers enter the picture. I assume the cops finally settled the question of whether I'm a victim or a suspect, then?"
"Oh, Wolfram and Hart takes good care of our clients," Lilah said, smiling back at her. "And as the sole inheritor of the Le Domas gaming empire, that makes you a very valuable client."
"Seriously?" Grace scoffed. Despite her injuries, there was something almost luminous about her; clear skin, blonde hair braided back from her face, striking dark brows accentuating her blue eyes, a wide white smile. Almost angelic. But the hard life lurking at the back of her knowing gaze put her more in Lilah's court than any do-gooder's. "There weren't any distant cousins? Business partners? Surviving goats? I was barely married for half a day, and I don't even have the ring anymore."
"I'm afraid not," Lilah shook her head, then reached into her bag. "You played Mr. Le Bail's game. You survived. Congratulations; I'm just here to help with the paperwork."
Grace stared at the artefact that emerged in Lilah's hand with widening eyes: a certain antique-looking automated card shuffler. "But... I won," she blurted, stunned.
"Exactly," Lilah said, polite smile turning more sympathetic. They all did regret their choices, eventually; initial ignorance of the consequences didn't invalidate them, though. "You played the game, and survived. Don't worry, though; the requirements aren't onerous. One ritual animal sacrifice each new moon, ceremonial details unspecified, and a single game chosen at midnight each time someone new marries into the family. And in return...." She gestured with the file.
Grace stared at the box warily a moment longer, as if it were a hissing snake, then narrowed her eyes, determination setting back in. "I guess I'm going to learn how to hunt, then. Say a lot of 'fuck you very much-es' in the woods once a month. Fuck a lot of people. Never marry again. And never, ever have children. What do you think Mr. Le Bail will have to say about that?"
Lilah laughed. She really did like this girl. "I suspect he'd say-- good luck? And the house always wins."
"Right," Grace said, mouth set firmly. Then she stuck out a hand, chin tilted up. "Give me a cigarette, then. And the paperwork. Let the games begin."
-x-