(no subject)

[gabriel_tam]

The Tam quarters on Londinium are just that -- quarters. They're fine and spacious, assuredly, but they're an apartment, they're not the estate, and they're certainly not a home.

This doesn't mean that they're not outfitted with the best in cryptography and call protection, of course. Andronicus Crowley would insist on it, even if Gabriel and Regan Tam did not. Multiple dedicated source boxes, multiple screens, mulitiple hubs, all protected to the standard that Crowley and Gabriel use themselves in their offices.

The Tam quarters are spacious, and they're not home, but the light in the rooms is close to that of the Tam estate: all soft yellow, near-ambient, illuminating every corner with only the barest and least threatening shadows. That's enough to make the Tam quarters livable.

Even now, days after the initial news, the blue light projected from every screen in every room is enough to tell anybody who might be watching, even assuming that they could with all of this protection:

Something is not right.

Gabriel stares at the screen in front of him, at the words that say in English and Chinese Transmission Ended, and he can't stop himself from focusing on the second word --

(this is the end)

-- before he forcibly snaps himself out of it, and stands.

No. There is a way. There has to be a way.

Comments

[aj_crawley]

Crowley had been on his way back to his console.

Crowley had looking a little better, taller, walking with purpose.

As he stops dead in his tracks, and slowly starts to turn around, he seems to be trying to hunch himself smaller - don't mind me, little old me. He stares at the screen for a few moments, and he isn't quite gaping, because he hadn't known Nicholas Rosse, but he had known that voice. And he knows that face.

"Hngk," Crowley manages after a moment. "Hi, boss."

[gabriel_tam]

Gabriel, on the other hand, knows Nicholas Rosse. Rosse Advertising's deals with Bett Pharmaceutical and Dunsmuir Excel were industry legend during his time with Birnam, and he's well aware that Rosse had been spotted in conference with Carson's chief advisors.

That little piece of information had gained them the support of Martinpur Select, among others.

But he also knows that Andronicus Crowley is more than the CEO of Bentley Aeronautics --

(There was a battle, in Heaven - Crowley's a demon)

-- and so it takes only one word, one single word

(boss)

for Gabriel to turn chalk-white and stare at the screen, in turn.

He doesn't even notice that he's moved to put himself between the display and Regan; it's automatic, below the level of conscious thought.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

Rosse's gaze moves to Gabriel and his wife and the smile remains in place as he nods, smooth and courteous.

"Good evening, Senator Tam. I don't believe I've had a chance to congratulate you."

[gabriel_tam]

Years of social training and business instinct override shock, and later he will be thankful for it.

"Mr. Rosse." Gabriel smiles cordially at the screen, still half-shielding Regan as he draws her closer to his side.

"Xièxie nĭ. We're certainly pleased to be able to serve the Alliance as best we can, although of course there are still those who might disagree, of course."

It's not unlike walking a tightrope, although this one's deadlier than most, he's sickeningly certain.

[regan_tam]

At the word 'boss,' there's a moment of utter blankness.

(And, she's wondering somewhere behind the startlement, how is Rosse managing this? Turning a newsfeed into a call, you can't do that, there are frequency safeguards and configuration disjointment...)

And then she realizes -- because she knows Crowley is a demon, though parts of the story never quite made sense to her, she does know, but she doesn't really think about it, because demon is complicated and confusing and straight out of science fiction but Andronicus Crowley is a label she can handle -- she realizes what 'boss' means here.

And she thinks, stupidly, Oh.

Oh hell.

And then she realizes that Gabriel is trying to shield her, and it's noble but it's pointless, because if the devil (such a ridiculous, outmoded concept) can get at them through a Cortex screen it's not as if standing in front of her is going to do anything, and anyway she'll be damned if she'll let him face this alone. She's already done that far too much.

So she lets her husband draw her closer, but she doesn't let him hide her, and she lifts her chin and offers Mr. Nick Rosse a carefully calculated, cordial smile that doesn't look strained at all.

[aj_crawley]

Oh, fuck. Oh gāoyáng zhōng de gūyáng.

That's the joke of the business world. You can see a man's name on the front page of the economics section every day for twenty years, and never once see his face.

Oh fuck, oh f- no. He will not panic.

Yi, er, Crowley counts, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, san, si...

"Long time, no see."

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

Rosse's attention is still on the Tams.

"We are certain that you will be an upstanding servant of the Alliance, Gabriel," he murmurs, and if there's something a little chilling behind his we and behind the word servant...his manner is flawless, and the arrogance nothing more than that which is customary for Nicholas Rosse.

Nicholas Rosse, whose official networks cover the Core and whose unofficial influence cobwebs all the way out to the Rim.

Nicholas Rosse, whose name carries a lot of weight for a construct that signifies, in the end, nothing true at all.

Nicholas Rosse, whose brown eyes dance as he looks back at Crowley; at and through in a way that renders the sunglasses nothing more than vanity.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

[gabriel_tam]

It's not the first risky and delicate situation he's been in -- and there's very little he wouldn't dare at this particular moment.

River. Simon.

With no more thought to it than that, Gabriel steps out onto the edge of the abyss. His smile is sharp, showing teeth, although not too many. Suŏyŏu de dōu shìdàng , after all. All that's proper.

"I do intend to do all that I can," he says smoothly, politely. "I'm certain you've heard the speeches and discussions, of course, given your position, so I won't bother to repeat any of it now."

A beat, which practically sings with tension.

"I'm afraid we are somewhat occupied at the present moment, which I suspect you may already know; after all, I can't imagine that we would receive the benefits of such an extraordinarily effective method of communication without there being a reason for it."

[regan_tam]

When you don't know the ground -- when you don't know what's solid and what's quicksand -- you tread carefully.

Unless Gabriel's been doing a hell of a lot of theological study with Crowley in the free time he doesn't have, he doesn't know the ground any better than Regan does. Which is to say: not at all, not in any way that matters.

This is why her polite expression has just gotten rather more fixed, and her fingertips dig into Gabriel's arm.

If you're going to play checkers with the devil, she thinks at her husband as fiercely as she can, for the love of God don't TELL him that.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

The silence drags on past the bounds of politeness.

And then Lucifer Morningstar laughs; the dark quiet laugh that's never really changed in all his ages of existence.

"Gōng xĭ gōng xĭ, Crowley. Your little puppet's got balls."

The smile that he gives is just as sharp - and very, very insulting.

[aj_crawley]

"Yes," he squeaks, eyes flickering towards Gabriel. It's a good thing Crowley doesn't technically need that heart, because he thinks that little stunt might have just caused it to stop entirely.

Slowly, a terrified rictus of a grin on his face all the while, he edges forward a little.

"So."

He coughs loudly.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"I'm doing you a favour, Crowley," Lucifer says brightly. "I advise you to store this occasion away and treasure it."

[gabriel_tam]

He's silent now, as is Regan, by his side. This business, whatever it is, isn't theirs; this deal isn't for them to negotiate.

Together, the two of them stand, and watch, and listen, taking in everything that they can.

[aj_crawley]

"A favour," he croaks.

His hands, he realises to his horror, are twisting nervously in front of him, knuckles cracking in the thin fingers; he balls them into fists and shoves them in his pockets, caring nothing for the sleek line of his suit.

Crowley tries to look - to sound - grateful, but it isn't particularly easy. Not when you know better than anyone that a favour from the devil is often no manner of favour at all.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"Valuable advice, more than anything."

And abruptly the danger is gone and it's just Nicholas Rosse's face, perfectly composed, continuing as though everyone involved is looking as relaxed as he is.

"We wouldn't want you to go and do anything stupid."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley had been on his way to wave Mal.



"Oh?" he asks.

That was difficult, too; it feels like his throat is closing up.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

He smiles.

"Sometimes it's safest to play by the rules."

[aj_crawley]

"Sometimes."

It doesn't, perhaps, sound quite like the concession it should have.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

Lucifer sighs.

"Here's the thing, Crowley. I know you. And Nicholas Rosse knows Andronicus Ji Crowley, and the places he goes, and the pies he has his fingers in, and the people he surrounds himself with. And no matter how many strings you have in your hands and however many ways you can think of to cheat in this game of humanity that you love so much, I have more."

The last three words are a whiplash.

"Don't pretend you don't believe me, because as well as playing dumb suits you -" a brief, unamused smile "- it's hardly constructive, and it's an insult to my intelligence as well as your own."

And the tilt of his head says: you don't want to be insulting me, Crowley.

[aj_crawley]

And the -

places he goes,

and the -

people he surrounds himself with

"You can't - " he blurts, ashen-faced, and then breaks off, teeth clicking shut as he tries to keep his heart from crawling out of his mouth.

Because he can.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

There's a moment where -



- but the danger passes.

"Yes." That smile again. "I can. If I decide to destroy your carefully constructed identity, I can do that. If I decide to start handing down assignments that would keep you stirring up trouble on the Rim for the next two centuries, I can do that. And if I decide that Simon and River Tam should disappear and be found floating in the Capital City harbour, I can do that."

Nicholas Rosse does not seem altogether human any more. Something about the crackling shades of fire underneath his cultured accent; not-quite-Londinium, older and hollower. He ignores the gasp that Regan can't stifle in time, and the involuntary movement of Gabriel's hand, and fixes his eyes on the demon.

"Here's how this will work, Crowley. You will play by the rules. You will work within the normal bounds and pretend that you are nothing more than the successful CEO of Bentley Aeronautics...and I will do the same."

The echo of command hangs in the air.

"I think I'm being rather generous, all things considered."

[aj_crawley]

"You." His voice is wavering between fury and panic, both of them crowding in his throat until there's no room to breathe. "You touch, you lay a finger on any of mine, and - "

And what? What will he do, then? The smile on Nicholas Rosse's face begs the question. He could go after the Morningstar, go after the heishŏudăng liúmáng like long ago and once upon a time when there wasn't so much

(so many)

at stake and a 'no business' rule kept people safe, and what would it matter, in the end? Because it would be too late. And then nothing would matter, nothing at all.

Crowley looks like he's about to be sick.

"Yes," he corrects himself. "Sir."

"Very generous, sir."

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"Yours?"

Lucifer's expression flickers with amusement and...something else.

"Always so invested," he murmurs. "And look how open it leaves you. Don't worry, Senator," he continues smoothly, finally looking back at the Tams. "Alien as the concept may seem to someone used to the political arena, I keep my promises. You just have to make sure that Crowley keeps his."

He bows, an impeccable gesture of respect that is entirely at odds with the careless power in his voice.

"Wăn ān, folks."

And then the screen blurs and Wanda Chen is swinging her hair and complimenting a B-list starlet on their outfit, and Nicholas Rosse is gone.

[gabriel_tam]

In the wake of his departure no one moves, as all three of them are frozen in shock and varying degrees of horror and disbelief.

It does not hold them long, however. Gabriel is the first to stir, striding to the screen and snapping it off in something of fury before he whirls on Crowley.

"Zhè shì shénme làn dōngxi? Generous? What precisely is-- is--"

Words fail him as he chokes on rage and fear, glaring at the demon as though he's the one to blame.

[aj_crawley]

"The devil," he shrieks, and it covers the fact that for half a second, looking half-afraid, he took half a step back.

"When he says he's being generous, you don't disagree. And - "

And then he takes the rest of those steps back, because it covers the fact that his knees are giving out, and drops into an armchair.