Inside the Walls of Jericho
I fear that she's right - that it isn't just my grip that's crumbling, it's some of the bedrock foundations we build ourselves on. Emma, perhaps, ties her pieces to her outside the club; Adel would still be in her bed whether we stand or fall - but I rely upon the concrete creations of our endeavor. If that endeavor is shaky...
...we need a victory. Any victory. Something to reassure people that we are the path to power.
Also, Harper had better find the fucking leak. I will not tolerate disloyalty.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office < HFC >
It's early Wednesday morning, and Shaw has asked Sal to meet him in his office in advance of a brief, one-day jaunt to the West Coast. When she enters, he's visible through the office on into his bedroom, where he's standing in front of his mirror, slowly tying his tie. "Harper," he says, his voice carrying. "I don't suppose you brought coffee?"
"Shaw," is audible from beside his desk, and there is the faintest tracery of humor in her voice as Sal replies, "Only if you don't mind the thermos." Indeed, in defrence to the early hour, there's a large thermos of coffee, open and steaming, on his desk. She has a mug of it -- only one, /just/ one mug, ans is as curled up around it as one can get while still appearing completely professional. Beside the coffee, her briefcase rests on the desk, unopened.
Shaw smiles, his expression visible in the mirror. "That will do nicely," he says, and - tie tied - he turns around, pacing back into the office proper to extend a hand for the thermos. "I'm not so far from my roots that I can't drink out of a thermos," he says. "Hell, it's a practical invention all around."
Sal uncoils, uncurls from her seat to reach for the thermos. She refills her own mug from it first -- just topping it off, really -- and then passes it on to Shaw. "Doesn't leave rings on the desk," she adds after a sip. Grey eyes seek his out, and she waits.
"It's my desk!" Shaw protests, accepting the thermos. He doesn't bother to pour a cup; he just tips his head back, drinking hot coffee straight as his throat ripples. "Thanks," he says, wiping a huge hand across his mouth and setting the thermos down. "Perfect." A pause. "Now," he remarks, fiddling a bit with his tie. "Let's talk about your trip to Berkeley."
"There is a leak. Somewhere. Somehow. Our erstwhile /former/ Queen was already in attendance when I arrived." There is no trace of relief in her voice -- it holds steady, holds true, as she delivers the facts. "She and another woman -- in control of the weather."
Shaw's brows furrow. "No good," he says in a concerned voice. "No good at all, Harper... I want you to find the leak." A beat. "As quickly as possible - which reminds me..." He goes to drop into the armchair in the corner of the room. "How is your guest settling in?"
"It will be done, to the best of my ability. Should it never be found?" Elegant eyebrows arch upward for a moment, and then she snorts delicately. Quietly. "My /guest/ is setting in just fine. Did she really find the club's atmosphere so abhorrent?"
Shaw frowns, eyeing Sal from his seat. "Are you suggesting the leak is never going to be found?" he asks. "And... she's gifted, Harper, though she doesn't know the rest of us are." No sooner than he's sat he's on his feat again, full of some nervous energy as he paces. "She's an object-reader - post-cognition." His lips peel back into a smile, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. "The club has history."
"No," Sal is quick to counter, "merely asking a course of action should it prove unfindable -- a contingency plan, since not having one in place in Berkley proved ... unsatisfying." She sets her mug on the desk, and reaches to unlock her briefcase. "That would explain her resistance to being touched -- interesting talent. She doesn't know the rest of us are?" There is a slight trace of surprise in her words, in the widening of eyes. "That will not be an easy secret to keep, given a gift of her caliber."
"I'm sure she'll pick up on Bahir soon enough," Shaw murmurs. "You, Percy and I may be easier to hide, unless you happen to cut off a finger or something." He paces near Sal, pausing, rocking back and forth a little on his feet. "I'd like to know the extent to which we can trust her, first - she's fallout from a failed coup attempt in the London Club."
"I will try not to break any more glasses at club functions," Sal murmurs with a wry grimace, "but the woman /is/ living with me." She watches him pace like a caged lion, eventually settling her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her chin on her fist. "She has not yet attempted to assassinate me in my sleep. Do you otherwise suspect her loyalty?"
Shaw shrugs. "I suspect everyone, Harper," he says. Now he's standing right behind her, and there's a brief touch of the Black King's hand in Sal's hair. "The last time you were in this office, I asked you to kill someone - you questioned me, and that someone still isn't dead." A beat, and a smile, as the hand departs. "Everyone."
Sal stiffens at the touch, though only for the briefest of moments. He hurts, she heals -- this is the game they play. "I do my duty," she tells him, "and I keep you alive, despite the occasional impulse to do otherwise." This is as close as Sal comes to teasing, her words softened by the barest hint of a smile. "Paranioa can be a tool, as well as a tragedy."
"Sure," Shaw says, standing there for a moment until he paces back to the window, his hands falling behind his back to clench and unclench. "So the bottom line, Harper, is that there are concerns - this leak, a general malaise..." His mouth curls to an unseen frown. "People are losing - have lost - their sense of respect for me."
"We followed your ideals," Sal says quietly, "X-ID may have shattered some faith in -- in the circle itself, if not in you. We /had/ control. Now we do not. It is -- an unsettling thing. Your pieces have loyalties to each other that may prove stronger than their loyalties to you -- it is a dangerous time, Shaw."
Shaw's indrawn breath is audible, as is its answering exhalation. "Wideawake is Emma's failure," he says, and here he turns, one of his hands coming up to clench into a fist. "/Her/ loss -" he gestures to the side, a finger jutting out of that fist to indicate the White Queen's temporary quarters. "It is /she/ who has hurt us, and yet they look to /me/ with uncertainty?" No steps towards Sal, but the Black King looms. "Is that what you're telling me?"
Unintimidated even in the wake of the Black King's loom, his Rook sits up taller, straighter. "You have only so recently regained power," she points out, "and it is in the wake of /your/ reunited circle that Emma has sold us all out to save her own skin." Sal runs her tongue over her teeth, and meets his black gaze. "/That/ is what I am telling you."
"Cunt," Shaw spits. It's not clear who the epithet is in relation to, and he turns away to resume his pacing, metaphorical tail lashing.
"Asshole," Sal replies with equal vigor, turning back to the desk once Shaw resumes his pacing. For all that she doesn't watch, she's still alert -- other senses guaging his location in relation to her.
Shaw pauses, finally, his back towards Sal. "Priority one," he says, "is finding the leak. Go to Linden for help, and if you can use Miss Deeds, do so."
Once he's stopped, Sal looks back up and over at him. "Yes, sir," she answers. "It would help if I knew who knew about the planned assasination, other than the two of us."
"You, Linden, Bahir," Shaw says. "Linden's people, presumably." He shrugs. "Perhaps Percy or Adel, depending on if Bahir told anyone." He shakes his head. "That's mostly everyone."
Sal nods. "The majority of our court, then."
Shaw's smile is wry. "Let it never be said," he remarks, "that I did not make it so your work was cut out for you." It's a heavy pause, and then Shaw walks back to his desk, opening a drawer to remove a bottle of water. The cap is carefully unscrewed, and he begins to drink.
"And then some," Sal agrees, reaching to close her briefcase. "Is that the end of business, then?"
No response from Shaw, who merely regards Sal silently as he drinks from his bottle of water.
Eyebrows arc in response, and Sal drums her fingers lightly against the desk.
Shaw sets his water down after a long pause. "Indeed."
"Thank you," Sal says, and collects teh rest of her things -- the thermos is lidded, and her empty cup picked up. "You know how to find me. Don't forget to take Jensen with you."
Shaw doesn't respond to his - instead, he turns back to pace into his bedroom, looking for his coat before he prepares to leave.
...we need a victory. Any victory. Something to reassure people that we are the path to power.
Also, Harper had better find the fucking leak. I will not tolerate disloyalty.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office < HFC >
It's early Wednesday morning, and Shaw has asked Sal to meet him in his office in advance of a brief, one-day jaunt to the West Coast. When she enters, he's visible through the office on into his bedroom, where he's standing in front of his mirror, slowly tying his tie. "Harper," he says, his voice carrying. "I don't suppose you brought coffee?"
"Shaw," is audible from beside his desk, and there is the faintest tracery of humor in her voice as Sal replies, "Only if you don't mind the thermos." Indeed, in defrence to the early hour, there's a large thermos of coffee, open and steaming, on his desk. She has a mug of it -- only one, /just/ one mug, ans is as curled up around it as one can get while still appearing completely professional. Beside the coffee, her briefcase rests on the desk, unopened.
Shaw smiles, his expression visible in the mirror. "That will do nicely," he says, and - tie tied - he turns around, pacing back into the office proper to extend a hand for the thermos. "I'm not so far from my roots that I can't drink out of a thermos," he says. "Hell, it's a practical invention all around."
Sal uncoils, uncurls from her seat to reach for the thermos. She refills her own mug from it first -- just topping it off, really -- and then passes it on to Shaw. "Doesn't leave rings on the desk," she adds after a sip. Grey eyes seek his out, and she waits.
"It's my desk!" Shaw protests, accepting the thermos. He doesn't bother to pour a cup; he just tips his head back, drinking hot coffee straight as his throat ripples. "Thanks," he says, wiping a huge hand across his mouth and setting the thermos down. "Perfect." A pause. "Now," he remarks, fiddling a bit with his tie. "Let's talk about your trip to Berkeley."
"There is a leak. Somewhere. Somehow. Our erstwhile /former/ Queen was already in attendance when I arrived." There is no trace of relief in her voice -- it holds steady, holds true, as she delivers the facts. "She and another woman -- in control of the weather."
Shaw's brows furrow. "No good," he says in a concerned voice. "No good at all, Harper... I want you to find the leak." A beat. "As quickly as possible - which reminds me..." He goes to drop into the armchair in the corner of the room. "How is your guest settling in?"
"It will be done, to the best of my ability. Should it never be found?" Elegant eyebrows arch upward for a moment, and then she snorts delicately. Quietly. "My /guest/ is setting in just fine. Did she really find the club's atmosphere so abhorrent?"
Shaw frowns, eyeing Sal from his seat. "Are you suggesting the leak is never going to be found?" he asks. "And... she's gifted, Harper, though she doesn't know the rest of us are." No sooner than he's sat he's on his feat again, full of some nervous energy as he paces. "She's an object-reader - post-cognition." His lips peel back into a smile, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. "The club has history."
"No," Sal is quick to counter, "merely asking a course of action should it prove unfindable -- a contingency plan, since not having one in place in Berkley proved ... unsatisfying." She sets her mug on the desk, and reaches to unlock her briefcase. "That would explain her resistance to being touched -- interesting talent. She doesn't know the rest of us are?" There is a slight trace of surprise in her words, in the widening of eyes. "That will not be an easy secret to keep, given a gift of her caliber."
"I'm sure she'll pick up on Bahir soon enough," Shaw murmurs. "You, Percy and I may be easier to hide, unless you happen to cut off a finger or something." He paces near Sal, pausing, rocking back and forth a little on his feet. "I'd like to know the extent to which we can trust her, first - she's fallout from a failed coup attempt in the London Club."
"I will try not to break any more glasses at club functions," Sal murmurs with a wry grimace, "but the woman /is/ living with me." She watches him pace like a caged lion, eventually settling her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her chin on her fist. "She has not yet attempted to assassinate me in my sleep. Do you otherwise suspect her loyalty?"
Shaw shrugs. "I suspect everyone, Harper," he says. Now he's standing right behind her, and there's a brief touch of the Black King's hand in Sal's hair. "The last time you were in this office, I asked you to kill someone - you questioned me, and that someone still isn't dead." A beat, and a smile, as the hand departs. "Everyone."
Sal stiffens at the touch, though only for the briefest of moments. He hurts, she heals -- this is the game they play. "I do my duty," she tells him, "and I keep you alive, despite the occasional impulse to do otherwise." This is as close as Sal comes to teasing, her words softened by the barest hint of a smile. "Paranioa can be a tool, as well as a tragedy."
"Sure," Shaw says, standing there for a moment until he paces back to the window, his hands falling behind his back to clench and unclench. "So the bottom line, Harper, is that there are concerns - this leak, a general malaise..." His mouth curls to an unseen frown. "People are losing - have lost - their sense of respect for me."
"We followed your ideals," Sal says quietly, "X-ID may have shattered some faith in -- in the circle itself, if not in you. We /had/ control. Now we do not. It is -- an unsettling thing. Your pieces have loyalties to each other that may prove stronger than their loyalties to you -- it is a dangerous time, Shaw."
Shaw's indrawn breath is audible, as is its answering exhalation. "Wideawake is Emma's failure," he says, and here he turns, one of his hands coming up to clench into a fist. "/Her/ loss -" he gestures to the side, a finger jutting out of that fist to indicate the White Queen's temporary quarters. "It is /she/ who has hurt us, and yet they look to /me/ with uncertainty?" No steps towards Sal, but the Black King looms. "Is that what you're telling me?"
Unintimidated even in the wake of the Black King's loom, his Rook sits up taller, straighter. "You have only so recently regained power," she points out, "and it is in the wake of /your/ reunited circle that Emma has sold us all out to save her own skin." Sal runs her tongue over her teeth, and meets his black gaze. "/That/ is what I am telling you."
"Cunt," Shaw spits. It's not clear who the epithet is in relation to, and he turns away to resume his pacing, metaphorical tail lashing.
"Asshole," Sal replies with equal vigor, turning back to the desk once Shaw resumes his pacing. For all that she doesn't watch, she's still alert -- other senses guaging his location in relation to her.
Shaw pauses, finally, his back towards Sal. "Priority one," he says, "is finding the leak. Go to Linden for help, and if you can use Miss Deeds, do so."
Once he's stopped, Sal looks back up and over at him. "Yes, sir," she answers. "It would help if I knew who knew about the planned assasination, other than the two of us."
"You, Linden, Bahir," Shaw says. "Linden's people, presumably." He shrugs. "Perhaps Percy or Adel, depending on if Bahir told anyone." He shakes his head. "That's mostly everyone."
Sal nods. "The majority of our court, then."
Shaw's smile is wry. "Let it never be said," he remarks, "that I did not make it so your work was cut out for you." It's a heavy pause, and then Shaw walks back to his desk, opening a drawer to remove a bottle of water. The cap is carefully unscrewed, and he begins to drink.
"And then some," Sal agrees, reaching to close her briefcase. "Is that the end of business, then?"
No response from Shaw, who merely regards Sal silently as he drinks from his bottle of water.
Eyebrows arc in response, and Sal drums her fingers lightly against the desk.
Shaw sets his water down after a long pause. "Indeed."
"Thank you," Sal says, and collects teh rest of her things -- the thermos is lidded, and her empty cup picked up. "You know how to find me. Don't forget to take Jensen with you."
Shaw doesn't respond to his - instead, he turns back to pace into his bedroom, looking for his coat before he prepares to leave.