Interlude - Francisca Ojou - Part Two

Interlude - Francisca Ojou - Part Two She nodded to Clive, then spared a glance to her left where Maximus was standing before coming to a halt within the alcove. The view was gorgeous. A city bathed in the light of day. Too early to see even the slightest dimming of the sun's strength. She appreciated light now in a way that she'd never had before. Strange, that. Perhaps she could move to an apartment with larger windows? Something further on the edges of the city, so that she'd have an unobtrusive view of the sun? Ah, but no. There would be a message of weakness in that, in moving out, and she couldn't afford weakness. Bottling in a sigh, she picked a seat, one that had the sun facing her, and sat. This restaurant was nice enough. One of the nicest in Fortress ENE. She was determined to make the best of this evening, have a lovely meal, and a bit of wine. If her personal trainers complained, then too bad. This week had been... a lot. She had gotten a lot of messages from sympathetic people, and an equal-number of congratulations. There was something in her, now, a tiny light that could burn like a star at her command. She was itching to call it, sometimes. Her unique power. It wasn't even too impressive. An assessor had claimed that it was a core-unique variation of the level three Blade of Light spell. Affectionately called the Lightsaber by every Light-attuned mage in existence. Not that there were many of those. Light was one of the rarest elements to awaken. One of those with the fewest spells after Dark. But that wasn't bad. Rare was good. Rare was memorable. Rare was worth investing in. It's why she had a brand new bodyguard already. A replacement. A C-ranker from the company, and clearly someone pulled off another duty who had no business acting as a bodyguard at all. He was unprofessional and not ready for it. She couldn't wait to reach his same level, then leave him in the dust. That light in her burned bright enough to shine upon her own ambition, and it had never been greater. She was going to be better, she was going to be strong, more perfect, more like Deadline. The woman's memory resurfaced once more. It was a regular occurrence. Her therapist, a person under spellbound oath, said that it was normal to be infatuated and appreciative of one's saviour, but they didn't get it. Deadline had been perfect. Though... no. That was her own mind clouding things. Perfection wasn't real, not truly. A sound to her side, footsteps on carpeted floor. She turned, expecting the waiter, bringing her water and those little bread loaves that tasted so divine. Her breath caught as Deadline walked up to the seat across from hers, raised it back, then sat down. "Good evening," the woman said. Francisca stared. She couldn't help it. In her mind, her memory of Deadline was fragmented. The portal world had been dark; the moment outside loud and hectic. She remembered a graceful woman who moved quick, a sort of languid rapidity. She recalled a strange leotard-like outfit, with indecently exposed hips, and soft, blue-purple eyes. A Void user, perhaps. And Deadline's voice, barked orders, loud but confident and sure, and a dangerous cadence when talking to a cornered foe. The woman across from her was Deadline. The clothes were different, save perhaps for the mask concealing her lower face. The dress was cut to expose some bosom, but she tore her eyes away and took in the entire ensemble at a glance. She'd trained for this. Bespoke, or otherwise not made by a larger, more popular brand. Maybe a small designer? But no, that was too form-fitting, so it had to be tailored. The jacket had pauldrons that were armoured, but otherwise she couldn't tell much about it, and the hood hid most of Deadline's face, but not from the front. It didn't hide her very familiar eyes. "Miss Ojou!" her bodyguards said. Guns were drawn. She raised a hand, forestalling them. "It's fine. This is my guest." "She's armed," Clive said. Deadline broke eye contact and turned to stare him down. "If I wished to hurt Miss Ojou, I'd have done so in the twenty-three seconds it took you to notice me," she said calmly, coolly. She didn't seem bothered by the guns. Clive was tense, nervous, scared. Gods, she was perfect. "Clive, take our new guard and step back a little? We'll speak in relative privacy." Clive hesitated, but did as she asked. Which left her alone with Deadline. It sent a thrill down her spine. She was alone in a small space next to an unchained tiger. "Nice place," Deadline said. "The food here is excellent." "You've eaten here before?" she asked. It was idle curiosity, but... well, there was no harm in small talk. "First time coming here," Deadline said. "But I think I've had just about everything on the menu." A... idle boast? It couldn't be true. Some of the items were exclusives, weren't they? Not for the first time she wondered about Deadline's allegiances, her past. One thing she knew for certain was that Deadline wasn't Redline. She was something else. "It's good to see you well." "Well?" Deadline asked. "I wasn't hurt last we met. How about you? Escaping your kidnappers, making it back, becoming a D-ranker. It takes a toll, doesn't it?" "I'm fine, thank you," she replied. "But I appreciate your asking. It's kind of you." "I'm feeling particularly kind this evening," Deadline said. "Impressive what good food can do for your mood, isn't it?" "Hm? I mean, yes, I suppose it is." A waiter made his way over, and she sat straighter. Had she been slumping? Deadline sat with less-than-perfect posture, and yet it was relaxed, calm. A lioness didn't need to be ready to pounce to be dangerous, did she? "The waiting staff here is deaf and often mute," she said, just to speak before the silence even began. "You can order by pointing to the menu." Deadline nodded, then looked up, breaking eye contact to stare at the waiter. She raised her hands, then started to gesture. The waiter perked up at that, and nodded along. She stared. Deadline... knew about the dead waiters. And knew sign language as well? Not well. There was some hesitation, some lack of fluidity, but she knew enough to order, it seemed. When the waiter turned to her she jumped, then hurriedly scanned over the menu. "The salad is fine," Deadline said. "But the Galapagos steak? I'd consider murder for a bite. It pairs well with just about any red. I think they have some decent vintages here. Hmm... the... Les Forts de la Porte Rouge, is a decent one. Not the most expensive on the list either, but I think one of those that tests best." Stolen story; please report. "Ah, then I'll try that," she replied. Her diet ever since she'd come bad from the kidnapping had been nothing but processed high-magic foods. Hundred dollar meals, three times a day, all to push her potential up a few notches. It was a good way to burn money, she found, but it definitely lacked in flavour. "So, I imagine this isn't just a date, but pleasure and business all in one?" Deadline asked. "A date? I mean, yes, I did want to meet with you to speak about something." Deadline nodded. "Avoid sending a letter as you did. It took me by surprise. Next time... hmm, well, I'll send you a text." "Do you want my number?" "I have it already." She blinked. But her number was... ah, yes, a power play. To think that she'd learned so much about these, but had rarely ever been struck in the face by one. Now she could roll with it, or be left floundering, wondering how Deadline knew. She rolled. And yet, her estimation of Deadline only grew. "Onto business, then? While we wait for our meals?" she asked. Deadline nodded. "Business." She leaned back into her seat, making herself comfortable, relaxing. She crossed one leg over the other, and Francisca had to do all in her power not to look down. She caught a flash of fishnet. "I... I don't know exactly where to begin," she admitted. She was a little bit flustered. "From the start, then? I imagine this has something to do with your kidnapping?" "Yes. Yes, actually. I need to know who caused it." "Hm. It's either outside or inside. Obviously. So, more specifically, you either have an enemy amongst your family, or an enemy on the outside. Or, as a third option, you were seen as an easy way to get to your family." She swallowed. To be fair, it wasn't a complex deduction to make. "For now, I suspect that it's... internal." "I see. Family or the company?" "Family," she admitted. Why did it bother her so that Deadline learned that her family was a mess? "I see. Do you have any specifics for me?" Specifics? The question on her face must have been obvious, which in and of itself, was shameful. "You can't just point me to your parents or siblings and say 'look for who's responsible.' I've got a number of skills, but I'm no detective, and time is short, always." Deadline chuckled, as if that had been a joke. "If you want me to help, then I'll need to know where to look, and whether or not you're willing to help me in turn." "Ah, yes, of course." A negotiation, this she was more ready for. "First, compensation for saving me. That was a brave thing you did, and it seems like you never put in for the standing reward at the time." "Ah. I wasn't aware of it." "No matter," she replied. She did a bit of mental math, then nodded. "I have fifty thousand I can offer you, as a direct transfer or..." "Cash," Deadline said. She frowned, and seemed confused for a moment. "That's a lot." "It's a small sum to pay for my freedom," she replied. And a lot more than she'd initially intended to offer, but Deadline was clearly worth that, and more. "I don't have the specifics of the job yet, but if you give me a way to contact you, then I'll be in touch. What kind of work are you comfortable with?" "No wetwork," Deadline said. "My record is... spotty, with regards to trespassing on occasion, but that's all I've ever done. Other than that... I can be useful in some other ways." "I'm certain," she said, sitting up. She'd somehow ended up on the edge of her seat, so she sat back properly. "I'll draw up some details for what I need. Mostly, it's proof of one brother or another's involvement in all of this, but I suspect that there's something more. There had been things happening in Fortress ENE that seem strange." "CEOs dying, A-rankers showing up out of the blue," Deadline said. "Yes, I've noticed as well." Of course she had. "I'm not a big player in any game. I've been keeping my head down for years, working for my father's company and trying to learn how to do things right. Obviously, that's changed now." "How so?" Deadline asked. It sounded like a genuine question. "Because I'm a D-ranker. One day I will be a C-ranker, and then maybe B. It's potential, and it means a lot even in the world of business." Deadline nodded. "Power is power, isn't it? Ah, but speaking of power." Deadline stood, and she did the same on reflex. "This was a nice meeting. Better than I expected," Deadline said. The waiter arrived, carrying a tray with a bottle of red and a cloche, and... and a small box with a neatly folded bow above it. She'd ordered her meal to go? "But I have to head out. I have things that require my attention. I'll text you a number or email to contact me through." "Already? No, I mean. Yes, it was a pleasure to speak with you again, Deadline." Deadline smiled, or at least her eyes moved that way. They were surprisingly expressive. She took the box from the waiter and thanked him. "Good day, Miss Ojou." "Francisca," she said rapidly. "Pardon?" "Call me Francisca, please." Deadline paused, then chuckled. "Good day, Fran." She watched the woman leave, a casual, happy strut. She might have thought her unassuming from behind, even with the sword at her hip and the flash of a gun strapped to her leg. Slowly, she sat back down and opened the cloche over her meal. Her guards returned. "Clive," she said. "Yes?" "What were her readings?" A potentiometer was only so accurate, and a ranged one wasn't much better, but still. Clive pulled out a small, expensive device from his jacket's pocket. "172 - D-04, ma'am," Clive said. The C-ranker next to him snorted. "That's barely a D-ranker at all." "And yet she must have been within less than a foot of you without you noticing her," she pointed out, not disguising the acid in her voice. "I'd bet my fortune that her blade was enchanted, and that revolver of hers could injure any competent C-ranker. She could have taken you out. She chose not to." She needed to replace that man, and soon. Would Deadline agree to be her bodyguard? Ah, but no, of course not. The results... Those were relatively low numbers. She wasn't too far from them herself and she'd only just ascended. That only made Deadline all the more impressive. But it gave her some hope. If Deadline could do it, maybe she could as well. And Deadline was right about the steak. It was excellent. ***