Marcus breathed deeply, letting the cool evening air fill his lungs. The sky was mostly clear. That didn't mean he could see many stars. Moscow was the most brightly lit city on the planet. Images from space only made that clear, its light outshining London, New York and Beijing by orders of magnitude. It was only fitting. Moscow, the seat of the CCD, the largest empire to ever exist. More than that, the seat of a new order of Ascendants.
Marcus liked the name, though he never used it in reference to himself. There were Ascendants, men and women with the power to use the Force. And then there were those already in power with that ability.
And then there was him. Marcus DuBois and The Ascendancy himself. Apprentice and Master. No one knew his long game. Vellas was a problem, of course, but they maintained an uneasy truce. Both men- channelers was the term now- had been placed in authority. Two sides of the same coin. Likely, Ascendancy hoped their rivalry would keep them busy- an illusion he would be sure to maintain. But if Vellas appeared to have the 'upper' hand because of his command of the military wing, it was only an illusion.
The military mastermind Gaius Marius had said it best. "Politics is war! Anyone who thinks that politicking is easier and cleaner than battle deserves all that comes to him." They had years ahead of them. And Marcus was continually assembling his pieces and threads.
Like tonight. Dr. Zayed was certainly an attractive woman. In truth, far more than attractive. Indeed, there was an innocence to her- in her smile and eyes- that held far more allure than it should have. A stark contrast to the carefully studied reserve of Natalie Grey, her beauty not withstanding. He was unsure of the reason for the pull, though it did not overly concern him. Indeed, he was amused to no end at how that bothered Malik.
In any case, Marcus could be seen as normal in seeking an alliance- with perhaps the hope of more- with such a woman as her. And indeed he might. But she also was an avenue into something else, knowledge about the power. He hoped Natalie Grey shared the results of her studies. At the same time, in the end, it did not matter. The app he had given her access to was his. Any work she did on it would be available to him, even if she never disclosed it.
Danika was another window, perhaps into something more fundamental about the Force. Knowledge was power. And despite his immense ability and power, Marcus suspected that Ascendancy had been far too busy consolidating his empire to give their power the study it deserved.
Knowledge. Power. It was all one. And tonight, he would have other opportunities. The richest of the rich milled about, no doubt congratulating themselves at what their money and influence gave them access to. Many potential targets and allies. He would have to keep his eyes open.
The sound of the limousine pulled him out if his musings. He smiled, hands clasped behind his back, black wool coat open in the front, to reveal a tailored tuxedo. No outlandish materials or colors tonight, despite his fondness for dark purple. Black tie.
The valet immediately opened the door and a leg peeked out.
Despite himself, Marcus felt his mouth go dry. Malik seemed to flee. All thoughts of power and knowledge and strings and connections dissipated like smoke.
Danika Zayed stepped out and for a moment, all Marcus could do was stare.
Oriena was dressed surprisingly demurely this evening. Lace capped shoulders fell into a queen anne neckline, the deep plum of spilled wine, and her black hair was swept into a chignon. Scion Marveet's scrutiny was met with the blithe ignorance of the innocent, though she wondered what amends Jaxen had made to earn the favour of his pockets once more -- or, given the threat, perhaps that was an ongoing process. The flicker of a smile ghosted her lips, but she remained silent during the journey.
She came here without premeditation, exactly, but with a tingle in her skin that nonetheless gave her an expectation for... something. The last time Jaxen had dragged her to a party she had been unwilling, and resentful of the distraction from why she'd actually followed him home. This time the destination drew her like curious moth to flame. Ratting out the Atharim from their nest had had a disappointing lack of consequence, so now she moved to pastures new. Determined to stir a reaction.
"You are a proper princess, Jaxen. Don't let daddy or anyone else tell you otherwise,"
A low hum of laughter left her throat as they assessed the room. The grandeur washed over her with irritation as she noted the faces she recognised, and the shadows and secrets she attached to each. It was currency to her; she didn't forget. Still, there were some surprises amongst the usual dross; two so far, to be exact. It might make for an interesting evening.
"Let them pretend. It didn't end well back then. It won't end well now."
Not a threat so much as a promise, casually spoken. Though she meant it. Russia was built on blood, and sooner or later her true nature would resurface. A suppressed smirk flickered Ori's lips, to outside eyes as though the hot breath in her ear were little more than sweet nothings. "You know I can't resist a game."
She doubted subtly would be the flavour of the night, not at such a showcase as this -- with smoke already wreathing and winding as if from nothing, presumably awaiting the Ascendancy's grand entrance and as such of little interest to Ori. She could tell at a glance which women had the power, but didn't bother to admit it. Men in black snaked through the guests, set apart from the usual security; she could hazard a guess what that might mean. Plenty of easy targets. A powder-keg if they so desired to ignite it. But she was curious to see who he might choose. "Take your pick, my prince."
She had yet to translate her work into Marcus's app, though only because she wanted to make sure she thoroughly understood the foundations herself first. The work ate the hours even when she wasn't ensconced at her study in the Kremlin, chasing the shadows of the night and protecting her from the dreams it brought. Though she had to sleep some time, usually when the exhaustion grew too strong to fight, and most often during the day.
She woke with a jolt, instinct gripping her own palms around her wrists. Unbound, the healing scars still raised against the graze of her thumbs. Memory filtered back through the afternoon light, pierced by the shrill alert of an incoming call. Ghosts retreated. She swept the hair back from her face, and the tablet she'd been working on slipped free to land with a muffled thump on the floor beside the sofa.
Fear fought disorientation; the rising anxiety as tendrils of nightmare left her. Natalie stuffed it down, swung her legs free from the tangled blanket, and padded to the kitchen to pour herself some lukewarm coffee before she accepted the call. Audio, no visual, though her mother hated that. She'd probably hate witnessing the dishevelled mess of her daughter more, though.
"Yes I'm well. No I'm not ready. I told you, several times in fact: I'm not going to the fundraiser."
She pressed the cup to her lips, eyes half-lidded, focused on the mundane.
"Duty doesn't care for desire, Natalie, and as far as duty goes it's hardly an onerous one."
"Then perhaps you ought to be here yourself."
Silence. She regretted the wound almost immediately, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Pulled herself together. The last subject she wanted to bring up was that of her father, the reason Eleanor avoided Moscow with abject diligence. And the very same reason Natalie had allowed herself to be so easily manoeuvred into her current position. Not that any of those plans had unravelled as intended. And now she was stuck here.
"I'm doing my part; I'm here like you asked me. But don't make me do this. You recall what happened the last time I went to one of these functions,"
she said instead. Bitter in her plea and the low blow of it. She might stoop to making a public spectacle, but it was not like she could run off to Africa this time.
Her mother only sighed. "You're expected to be there, and it would be ill advised to snub the Ascendancy's graciousness. We're his allies, Natalie. You don't have to like the people, but it won't do you any harm to try. Your grandfather has ordered a car for this evening, please don't keep it waiting."
The call clicked off. Natalie spent several more moments in silence, fingers wound around the cold coffee mug, before she stood. The dress was still in the box it had arrived in two days before, its pale, smokey folds nestled in tissue paper. She'd not even looked at it properly before discarding it on the unslept bed. She ran her fingers over the fine embroidery now, and despite the beauty felt her heart sink. There'd been two tickets originally, one already disposed of. She should have rid herself of the second damn ticket.
*
Duty was an anchor she tied to her own fucking foot. Despite her reservations, she gave in, perhaps not entirely truthful as to every reason why she acquiesced once again to her family's wishes.
The gown wreathed her like smoke in gauzy pale blues and greys, sheer across the shoulders and down the length of long sleeves. Embroidery glinted across the gossamer fabric, deepening to her waist, where it fell from her hips like the glitter of fallen stars. Her hair swept thick gold waves over one shoulder, and aside from a pair of simple diamond studs, she wore no jewellery. A muted figure in the finery surrounding her.
The last time she'd been surrounded by such crowds it had been to the melody of screams and bombs, not the clinking of glass and polite conversation. The dissonance stirred nausea in her gut; watching these people swoon and awe over Brandon's generosity, utterly ignorant of the gross excess surrounding all of them. It was worse that she was so accepted among their number; blood recognising blood. Natalie circulated easily amongst the unfamiliar faces. No one noticed the frustration fizzing just beneath her skin, or the dull shine of smiles that did not reach her eyes.
"Yes. Interesting how the Ascendancy chooses to care now, when he has something to gain from an alliance with the Legion."
And perhaps a Congresswoman to impress. She said it so sweetly that the poison took a moment to permeate. Her latest companion's brow twitched as he debated whether she meant it as an insult or was just insufferably blunt. Her pale gaze latched on to his discomfort. "The CCD was not so swift to intervene when Wallace-Johnson was dropping bombs on his own people."
As he excused himself she swiped another glass from a passing tray. It wasn't as though she minded the solitude of her own company, but it was going to be a dull evening without some lubrication against the sufferance of fools. Ignoring her better judgement, of course, but when did she listen to that? She glanced at the swirling smoke at the other end of the golden hall, and wondered if Brandon somehow watched them all from its inky depths. It would hardly surprise her.
Ryker was a pillar in stormy ocean waves. When one crashed into him from behind, he deftly manuevered the still-untouched glass of champagne along with the momentum until it brought him to confront the attacker.
As he studied the man, he quickly concluded the attacker was much more of a drunkard than an assailant. He had the discomfort about him of the inebrieated, stumbling over his words as much as his feet.
Ryker was hardly surprised, and the irritation quickly departed as well. Any flinch fled his expression until it was coaxed back to calm waters rippled by the ridges of his scarred face. Though the stillness of those waters likely obscured dangerous tides beneath.
The man's accent was not lost to him either. American, which made him a rarity in a place like this. Since Ryker tended to pay special attention to rare finds, he opted against his first instinct and test the tides of himself.
"An accident,"
he offered by way of an apology accepted. In reply to the latter question, Ryker lifted the glass. Not a single drop was spilled. "All is well."
An additional gesture followed. It was not as though Ryker was completely ignorant of American culture. They were his specialty, after all.
The glass changed hands and Ryker offered his own right palm by way of introduction. "Ryker Petrovic."
He paused before innocently inquiring, "what brings an American to the Kremlin?"
The big pillar of man turned around and Nox took a step back when he met a pair of grey eyes in a scared face. Fuck me! Nox prepared for at the minimum someone talking down to him or calling security. These people wouldn't beat someone down like they might in a club. Nox was sure of that - he was pretty sure. The thought of a brawl in tuxes amused him and when the man introduced himself with a hand shake, Nox was grinning stupidly.
"Nox."
He said absently as he took the hardened hand and shook.
The power sang in his ear and he thought he heard Cruz laugh in the distance but now he was trapped being polite. Nox pulled a little more power and made a funnel of air to hear better. The science of it Cruz had taught him, but he and Aurora had worked the weave out in the mountains of Colorado. But all it did was make everything noisier so Nox dropped it almost immediately.
Nox hadn't expected to have the big scary Russian, well not Russian, but somewhere out this side of the continent anyway, to turn around and make conversation.
"Uh. I'm here on body-guarding duty for my friend. His father is worried the big bag guys are going to shoot him down."
Nox joked. It was the truth, but he wanted to make it seem like it was more frivolous fancy of the rich and deluded.
"I was looking for him in the crowd when I ran into you. Again, I'm sorry about that. Not usually an idiot like this."
Nox looked around wide eyed.
"Not exactly my scene."
He returned his gaze to the grey eyes with a grin.
"You'd think so close after a terrorist tried to assassinate the Ascendancy security would be bigger."
That was when Nox felt others around the room grabbing the power. Not hiding it either.
"Maybe that's them now."
Nox nodded towards the nine men walking in with identical uniforms all of them the same.
Edited by
Nox, Jun 1 2018, 01:28 PM.
Emily exited the limousine as Jared opened the door for her. It was a situation she hadn't thought would happen, especially so quickly, but the more she talked with the man, the more the whole situation felt...right.
She was dressed in the
green gown she had purchased for her own gala, that had been cancelled due to extenuating circumstances - essentially - the Ascendancy bringing people like her to light and things going chaotic. The companies time for celebration would come later.
She was also adorned with green gloves and a matching emerald necklace. It brought a little more attention to her bust line than she was used to, but the clothing made her feel like a goddess.
Emily smiled at the driver as Jared took her arm to lead her into the building. They were both checked in and entered without issue. There were people all around, dressed in their best. Some strange smoke floated about the ceiling, and it made Emily shiver a bit.
Emily took a drink and gave one to Jared as she scanned the crowd. Most people seemed fairly comfortable until she spotted someone who seemed to completely stand out in the crowd. The man was talking to another with a scarred face.
Nox!!!
The thought hit her and immediately she began to panic, but it soon subsided as Jared pulled her closer.
"Are you alright?"
She smiled at him.
"Yes, I'm fine - I just saw someone I knew."
Jared nodded and gave her an encouraging smile until his eyes grew wide and he stared at the nine individuals at the front of the room.
"So what's the plan?"
Jay's question filtered through all the ear pieces worn by the Nine. Communications was the backbone of any team. Other than trusting that your team were competent and did their job, nothing else was more important.
So it bugged the shit out of him that they were walking into this room without a clear plan beyond 'keep VIPs alive.'
There were enough people lost to conversation and the air of their own divinity that their entrance went unnoticed by most. Those closest, however, physically moved back to make room. Without the immaculate white-tie tuxedos, they stood out, but there were enough exceptions to the rule that it wasn't a complete shock. Members of the military, Custody or Legion alike, were dressed in uniform rather than the attire of the average civilian. Most likely assumed the Nine were some obscure military branch.
"Let's split. Keep to pairs. Circle perimeter clockwise. Watch windows and doors. There will be Vegas in the room, and likely undercover agents of the Ascendancy as well. Not to mention his own detail. Flag people of interest and alert the group to watch their patterns. We are looking for two things: anything out of the ordinary or anything so ordinary that it must be fake."
There were a few murmurs of agreement, but he wasn't exactly filled with confidence that the whole group would do as he suggested. He shared a worried glance with Samuel - who had been a firefighter before this. The others were all recruited because of their strength in the power and bringing particular skillsets to the Nine that contributed to their ferocity. Samuel was a firefighter and first responder. Another had been a surgeon. Police. Intelligence officer. And a few military personnel. But the only special forces' trained Ascendant was Jay himself. Unless Commander Vellas counted, but nobody knew his background. Only that he was scary as hell and knew what he was doing. But as he wasn't here yet...
Karim's voice followed. "Great idea, Carp. Let's go."
Jay breathed a sigh of relief and easily fell into step alongside Samuel.
Karim and Jun strolled away together.
Julian and Dominik were basically joined at the hip. The pair glared at Jay before departing.
Sanjay and Allan and Anthony formed the final triad.
Jay smoothed out the sleeves of his coat and shrugged. Each pair seemed to simultaneously reach for the power like they read one another's minds. It was only a little. Nothing like what Jay knew they could control. But as they split, his ability to discern exactly where they stood diminished. Like the distance made it harder to track where the channelers walked, only that they were present. It was a disorienting feeling.
Like most others, his eyes were eventually drawn to the curtain of smoke curling the end of the hall. Only where others saw the effects of the power, Jay could almost feel its looming presence like a shadow behind one shoulder. Ascendancy had to have been the creator. No one else made sense.
He peeled his gaze from studying the smoke to the people themselves. The grandeur of the palace seemed secondary compared to those filling the space. There had to be a billion dollars' worth of jewels in the room. A single pair of shoes alone probably cost more than his first car. Though, really, that wouldn't take that much given that he basically willed that old junker of a truck together himself by sheer force of determination, sweat, and arm power.
But he couldn't stop staring. "You know, it's kind of disturbing,"
he said it to himself more than Samuel, although the other man certainly heard. He had also been studying the smokey curtain.
Jay's eyes swept over the fields of color. The jewels glinting like stars in the sea of black tuxedos. The clink of crystal and the laughter of the self-impressed. He thought about his baby sister at home who was going to die and there was nothing to do about it. At least nothing that the doctors in Des Moines, Iowa could do. Doctors in Moscow? Maybe. Money could buy anything, right?
Jay squeezed his eyes shut a moment. This line of thought would take him no where. The rich were rich and the others were not. Everyone had their lives. He repeated it to himself until he believed it. Who cared about the motive for tonight? Their money would go to Africa: Ascendancy promised it himself. The Legion would do what they did in Sierra Leone. People would be better off. There were probably a million little sisters on the continent without access to the basics. Jay was taking care of his family. Now let these people deal with nations full of innocent kids. Just don't think about it. Don't think about it.
Do your job. The moment of doubt was smothered soon enough by denial once more. That by the time he looked up, he felt better.
But when he did finally look up, it was only to be stopped in his tracks, a blinking statue.
It was quite possible his heart was going to stop right then and there. In fact, it would have been a relief if it did.
But he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips.
The shock held him only for a moment. A smile came to his lips and eyes and he helped Danika out of the car, kissing her hand in welcome. There was a sense of wonder about her, the way she stared about.
He tried to imagine how she saw everything. The facade of wealth and the company of powerful people did not impress him in the slightest. He knew what power was- real power. And he had been here for a while.
The building was meant to be impressive of course, both from the outside, and then, as they passed through the halls through security, checked their coats, and made their way into the ballroom on the inside. See the power and wealth of the CCD it screamed.
A calculated effect, of course, used by men of power for millenia. Architecture as a way to overawe and subdue. Psyops of the most basic kind. Hitler's chief architect Albert Speer had called his style Ruinenwert- "Ruin value". Buildings designed to decay in aesthetically pleasing ways, leaving behind the impression of the vast weight of an ancient history.
Russian architecture at the Kremlin, instead, went the route of opulence to, at least in his opinion, the point of gaudiness. Not that he said as much.
He made simple small talk as they walked through the room, taking two flutes of champagne from a passing server and giving her one. The Force coarsed through the room and he smiled, though he felt no need to seize it himself. Over near the center he saw the black tendrils of smoke and smiled to himself. Ascendancy. If he had to guess, it was a variation of the weave of masks he'd seen Oakland use. He himself had used something similar the night he killed the butcher.
Malik peaked his head out at the thought, the memory of those many hours with the man warming his heart. The screams. The begging for forgiveness. Judgement.
He looked at Danika and he wasn't sure if the smile was his or Malik's.
He saw the Rods in their uniforms and pointed them out to Danika, explaining who they were. Sanjay saluted him, and a few others also nodded. They knew him. He wore no uniform, just a simple though expensive and tailored tuxedo. The only thing that set his apart from any of the others was the pin on his lapel, the symbol of his consulate, naming him Consul.
He was content with that, though he had to admit the costumes were quite impressive. The designer of those had really gone above and beyond. Yet another brilliant use of facade to elicit a reaction.
He didn't speak too much, just took in the room, go where she looked like she might be interested, looking for faces he knew- acknowledging them- and those he didn't. Alexandrova and Leonid were across the room and they nodded to him. He would go over in a moment. Their hands were as much in this as Ascendancy's.
The rich might be the only ones in attendance, but stories of this night would spread across the empire overnight, growing and becoming more awe-inspiring with each retelling.
He looked forward to the festivities.
Marcus lifted her to her feet. Helpful, too, because the incredibly slender heels beneath her calcanei were precariously steep. His smile warmed her, and she felt the blush touch her cheeks. While she would usually recoil from the attention, she physically had to lace her arm through his. The embarassment of stumbling in heels would be harder to bear than the proximity of Marcus's body alongside her own.
With his arm as counterlever, they progressed smoothly along the marbled floors. Her dress hung heavy over her toes with all the weight of crystals and embroidered beading. The women at GUM made her try on no less than six dresses before she settled on this one. They seemed surprise that it was her final selection, but truthfully, Danika claimed it as her own the moment she saw it. Deep purple shone with the glint of turquoise, navy and green stones, beads and crystals that swirled around her body like stars of the night sky. The neckline scooped her chest and fell from both shoulders. Her hair and makeup was immaculate. A bold color painted her lips. Diamonds dripped from her ears like falling stars. She felt like some princess of the universe.
She accepted the flute from Marcus and immediately put the crystal to her lips. A wide smile split her face. The champagne mixed with the vodka already filling her stomach. She had to do two shots before even getting in the limo. Luckily, they did their work and she felt amazing.
Music lulled her within. Even in these heels, she sent the silent query to Marcus. "Care to dance?"
Jared escorted Emily into the hall. He was dressed in full Legion Dress uniform with the exception that he didn't have his sidearm. That was a part of the deal Danjou made with the Ascendancy. Jared had other weapons at his disposal so he didn't feel as naked.
Emily was gorgeous and he was very happy to play the role of the gentleman. Smoke danced in one part of the room, and Jared could feel the resonance of power coming from it as he waited.
Emily tensed up, but insisted she was okay. She had only seen someone she knew. He didn't think that was the whole story, but he trusted her. It was then that he say Jay.
Jay was wearing a different uniform which brought up a whole lot of questions, but it wasn't his position to ask. Natalie had told him that Danjou knew about Jay. He only had to trust Natalie.
He turned back to Emily and smiled. Jared could still see a sense of nervousness behind those eyes.
"Dance with me,"
he said, taking her hand.
She smiled and followed him onto the dance from, preparing to dance.