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Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2017 8:59:47 GMT -5
The Jackals ruled over Piraeus. While they were no longer in their own home, no longer feared in Cairo and no longer welcomed in Egypt as a whole, they were something to be feared in Greece. They held no mercy, didn't mess around, knew how to dodge the police and knew how to stage accidents. They knew what they were doing.
Sabah had settled into the idea of Gale as a leader in name only, and he knew why. Last time, their mess up could've cost Sabah her freedom. She wanted to remain free, and so she led from the shadows, puppeteering the Jackals as she saw fit. That was what she was - a puppeteer, and Gale was just a marionette. He knew that. They all knew that. While he was the one namedropped in newspapers and blamed for mishaps, Sabah ran the show in the backlines.
Piraeus wasn't a bad place to run, though. The port was lively enough, the tourism was strong and thus meant more victims of petty thievery and minor schemes, and the history was rich. As a city to live in, Gale doted on it; his little apartment was comfortable and sometimes he could feel like he was a normal man living his life in this city, pretend that he wasn't out killing people and getting into petty street-fights during the night. It was stupid to wish for - a simple life. He didn't know why he ever thought about it. He'd never experienced a normal adulthood, had fallen into petty crime as a teenager and had never been able to escape. Perhaps that had been how he'd survived the weeks that the Jackals had almost fallen, or perhaps it was sheer dumb luck. Either way, he was grateful to be alive.
It had been exactly ten years ago, now. He'd been twenty-four and stupid and hopeless, hadn't been able to pick up on the telltale signs of a possible traitor. Mori had been the first to go, and Tea had followed soon after. He never had learned which one of them had been the traitor, but Sabah had been insistent that it had to have been one of them. Even now, he managed to lose sleep over them. Over what ifs and if onlys. He didn't know if he'd ever get over it, but he hoped that he'd at least have some freedom in the coming years. It was one hell of a blessing that Jacques hadn't been caught by the police that night; it had been him, Sabah, and Jac whom had all escaped Egypt, never to look back. They'd tried to settle in city after city, until finally coming across Piraeus. It was their ideal home, and where they settled. In the coming years, they gained two new members; Dante and Helios. They proved to be good members to the Jackals, though their punishments were more severe than Gale remembered his own being. They weren't quite as close as the previous Jackals had been, but it was good enough. In time, they became family, and that was that. Gale couldn't deny them access.
He absently stared down at the aged photograph in his hands. The edges were singed from a fire years ago, the paper folded over and over again. After inhaling deeply and taking in the salty air, he took a long swig from his bottle of whiskey and pulled his knees up to his chest, dangling the photo between his fingertips and over the water. Memories were just that. They were nothing more, wouldn't come back. Mori and Tea were gone, and they'd been replaced. Everyone else had moved on - why couldn't he? Time after time, he'd tried...and yet he always came back to the same things. Came back to memories that stung more than the wounds on that night had.
Gale's heart clenched as he let go of the photograph and watched it hit the surface of the water. He watched it float away, watched as it began to tear apart as the water soaked through. He took another drink of the alcohol at his side and finished the last of his cigarette before he stood up and began to walk through the street. It wasn't quiet - but it was quieter than it had been during the day. People coming back from clubs and tourists wandered along, ignored the young man passing them by, quiet as a ghost.
In one hand dangled the bottle of whiskey, in the other was his phone. His hands were unnervingly steady as he tapped in the number he'd memorised, and he held the phone up to his ear. The ringing went on for far too long before someone picked up.
"What d'you want, Nuri?" the man's voice was thick with sleep. "'m trying to sleep."
"Just wanted to tell you not to worry too much if you don't see me tonight," he watched a drunk woman toddle down the street, singing something that sounded like a Lady Gaga song. He sighed. "I promise Sabs that I'd get in the blueprints, but I don't think I can do it. Can you...break the news to her, or something?"
The pause was more terrifying than actually speaking, and he wished that Jacques was quicker to think about decisions when he woke up. It was too nerve-wrecking to just wait.
"I gotcha," his tone was softer, as if speaking to a child. "Sh*t, I totally forgot. I'm sure she'll understand when I tell her, don't worry about it, 'kay? Just bring it in tomorrow afternoon when we meet up, no big deal!"
"Yeah."
There was a click as Jacques hung up on him, and he listened for a beat too long before he clicked the button to lock his phone and slid it into his pocket, gaze dropping to the concrete that he walked on. She won't understand. The thought passed quickly before it was filed away with other thoughts to think about in the morning.
When the street became too overwhelming - people stumbling, leaning against each-other for support - he adjusted his course so that he could sidle through the alleyways, jogging up steps and turning corners that were easy to navigate. Hell, he'd memorised the city by now. If he hadn't, then he wouldn't have been much for a gang 'leader'. He wasn't much for a member, nowadays. Maybe he was burning out already, tired of the messes he'd caused and been apart of. It was an awfully early time to burn out for a criminal, but it wasn't entirely unreasonable. He was so tired, exhausted by his own damn bullsh*ttery, tired of the people around him.
The Jackals weren't...inviting. They pretended, put on a facade like a happy family and pretended that everything was okay. He'd learned that. When a leader was seething with toxicity, it was only natural that the group would follow in their footsteps, would eventually crumble in on itself. He wasn't sure how long it was until the Jackals collapsed, but the thought terrified him.
Maybe tonight was just a bad night.
As if the anniversary of the deaths of his ex and one of his closest friends wasn't enough, he'd heard of news from France. Something about their criminal overlord or whatever falling. Sabah had been interested until it had been mentioned that the man in question had gone missing, off the radar, not to be found. He was named and shamed as Fournier. He hadn't heard much about the man, but he knew the name-and-shame game that the authorities often played. It was part of why he was named as the leader of the Jackals, why he was the man who struck so much fear into the hearts of other gangs and criminals alike, and yet why he held no true authority.
But he didn't want to think about that.
His mind was becoming mildly hazed from the alcohol, which was a surprise. It was good whiskey, though. His hand dialled another number from muscle memory before pressing his phone against his ear.
"The number you have dialled has been disconnected or is no longer in serv--"
Click. He removed the phone from his ear and looked at the contact information, grimaced at his mother's name and the contact picture, felt his heart pull. Just when you need one person the most, he thought idly, shoved his phone in his pocket, and took another long pull of his drink. The darkness of the alleyways were particularly comforting, today. They hid him well, let him move silently without any concerned do-gooders asking if he was okay, if he needed a cab home, if he was okay to walk. As if his body was laughing at him, he stumbled briefly and huffed out a quiet laugh at himself. He wasn't even drunk. Just hazy and sad. So. F**king. Sad.
He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, gathered up all of his energy, and answered.
"Jac calls me and goes oh yeah, Nuri's sad or something," her tone was not pleased, not kind nor gentle as she often put on for Dante when he was upset. It struck wrong in him, but he didn't point it out. "If this is about then, just knock it off and get over it, kid. I'm sick of it. Either drink yourself to death in an alley or don't, it's your call," now, she just sounded bored. His gaze flicked up as he turned a corner. "Blueprints. Tomorrow. I swear to hell and above, I'm going to wring your neck."
"It's not late if it's the same day."
"It's late when I give you a specific time, smarta**," Sabah half-growled, "suck it up."
Though he opened his mouth to respond, he snapped it shut upon something catching his eye. He paused briefly, squinted, and frowned. "I'll call you back."
"N--" the other Jackal didn't get to finish as he hung up and cautiously approached the figure.
"Eyo," he narrowed his eyes, "eyo. Look at what the cat dragged in," his quick switch to French was in the hope that he had found who he thought he had. This was pure gold if it was, and an unfortunate shame if it wasn't.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 7, 2017 22:10:06 GMT -5
Fifty one years old and he had lost everything. It was laughable really, what a mockery he had become to even himself. He could never find it in him to go back home after all was said and done. He had once been revered the King of Paris with an army loyal to him and only him, devoted in their love and reverence to the point where they feared disappointing him. He wasn't the kind of man to rule with fear. He made others fear how much they loved him, how much they wished to prove themselves to him to get his acceptance and his approval.
With an empire set in stone, it had been once impossible to remove him. The authorities had tried. The other families had tried. It had been an inside job in the very ending and he was always wary of the man who had betrayed him, but he had never the heart to stop him. The Fournier Family rose as a Corsican Mafia following the death of the original leader, Emilien Chapelle, who treated him like a son. The family had been dying underneath Chapelle, unable to grow or expand its influence. Alphonse had changed all that.
He established new capos, all intelligent and talented individuals, and most importantly they had all been loyal to him. The newcomers into the family were vetted, working under capos but all knew their allegiance laid with him. He was and always would be a man of the shadows. He controlled things from the dark, the family knew who he was, other families knew who he was but to the eye of the public and the police he was a lawyer. A damn good one at that. Now he had nothing. From the stints as a lawyer to his control as a respected and renowned godfather. There was nothing left for him.
The funds allocated under his name were all put under government watch. Those under his other identities that he created after leaving his work for the DGSE when words of his eminent elimination from the Directorate had reached his ears from the words of his best friend. The only god damn man he had ever trusted more than anyone in his life. Clement had been a brother to him.
To imagine that his empire was built with the trustworthy aid of Clement and that it crumbled with the Garreau as well left a bitter taste in his mouth. The bar here was nice to say the very least and he wasn't short of money, just short of dignity and everything in between including a will to live. The only terrible thing that stayed his hand was his god damn promise to Seraphin that he would never take the actions that he once did. She had called him, sobbing, begging him to come home. But what kind of home was Paris nowadays?
Curling his lip up in a scoff, he shook his head and took another drink. The bartender servicing him eyed him worriedly, hopefully he'd finally get alcohol poisoning or something entirely ridiculously. Hell, he didn't quite mind if someone roughed him up for money at this point. He needed to feel something other than the spite and the self disgust.
Had it not been for some misguided paternal notion and the feeling that he owed Clement everything, he would have killed Edgard Garreau long ago. But Edgard was Clement's son and the man had died for him. Things had went to hell after Clement died leaving an opening in the system he had set up. The vacuum reach for power had shifted and he wanted a capable leader in place. Edgard had disagree, the young man had thought it his birthright to inherit the position. He had no choice, he denied the young man.
Edgard had fed information to the police and another family. The streets of Paris were filled in blood. Hundreds of his most trusted followers were found dead in gutters and alleyways with undignified deaths. An empire built on loyalty and respect shattered by desire and greed. He laughed somberly as he downed the rest of his drink, waving the bartender over. "Get me another one of these," he said, gesturing to the shot glass in front of him. "Actually make that three." F*ck, he just wanted to be wasted and have nothing to think about anymore.
What did it matter that he had been loyal to Clement? Why had he been so dogged in taking care of Clement's sons like his own? It had only brought him failure and ruin. Hundreds of individuals that trusted him - trusted him - were sentenced to death at the hands of another family, shot like dogs. Others ended up in prison. He had escaped when he had, left with nothing but a title left in ruins. He wasn't welcomed in Paris anymore and that broke his heart. That had been home growing up. It had been his everything.
"Sir, you've been drinking-" Shaking his head, he placed down another 500 euro. God it was an overkill, but he was done hearing what he should and shouldn't do. He was tired of doing what was right.
The bartender silenced at the sight of money and his steely gaze. Good. Downing the three shots, he stood up, stumbling as he did so. God, he had felt a lot more sober when he had been sitting. He wasn't sure what to do with himself anymore. The Alkaev Bratva had offered to take him in or reinstate him with some assistance to rebuild his empire, but he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted or needed anymore. His name as a lawyer had been left in tatters. Though the evidence never ran back to him and despite being exposed as the Godfather of the Fournier Family, nothing had actual evidence other than Edgard's testimony.
But the people didn't want to give him jobs because of his involvement in the case. Those who he had once commanded fear and respect from - smaller families - laughed at him. What a sight he made. A ridicule, a king without a throne. He had reestablished his life once before and that time, he had had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Now he couldn't even go home. Seraphin had that look in her eyes that were far too gentle, the sympathy in her eyes only read as pity in his. His children had a failure of a father. How could he look them in the eyes?
They didn't lose the money though. But the money didn't matter. The Family had been just that. It had been family, a home for those without one. A system where kids who were underprivileged and pushed around all their lives were finally something. And now they were dead or in jail because of him. The road to hell was paved with good intentions.
Tired of walking, he allowed his legs to collapse underneath him as he slid down to the ground in a dark and dirty alleyway. God, he was a mess. The three piece suit, tailor made to fit was a wreck now and he couldn't be bothered to care. The stubble had grown into a bear and the bags under his eyes were pronounced. He just needed some time to deal with all he had lost was what he wanted to tell himself, but somehow this was starting to feel like a permanent fix of some sort of pity party he was throwing for himself.
He had just wanted to sleep in the f*cking alley way when an unfamiliar voice spoke in French. He didn't know Greek and he knew he looked European, but French? Raising his head, he tilted it slightly to look at the man approaching him. "Do I know you?" He asked, voice rough with disuse. Huh, maybe it was some small time gangster looking to make a name for himself. Dying honestly didn't sound so bad right now. Lowering his head to hold his temples at the first sign of an oncoming headache from his lack of sleep he didn't look back up. The other could do what he wanted. Alphonse couldn't be bothered to care anymore.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 0:42:40 GMT -5
Years ago, he'd known why he'd become the face of the Jackals. Why their newcomers were convinced that he was the leader, why Sabah was so insistent that he was their most intelligent, or whatever. He knew it was just one of her schemes, knew that his days were numbered. It was awful - to live with the question of is this it, is this the day? lingering at the back of his mind. Sometimes, he expected his apartment to have cops, or expected to never wake up. Expected to be named and shamed as gang leaders had in the past. In the end, he was something to take the fall for one of Sabah's mistakes, something to laugh at in the future when he was gone. It was terrifying. He wasn't sure how he went on - but he did. Maybe it was the combination of sheer stupidity and drink that helped him along. Hell, he knew that nights where there weren't jobs, he often ended up drinking in the streets or alone in his home. It didn't numb the pain, didn't help him forget - he would never forget - but it did make him feel a little worse about something else entirely.
Seeing the Fournier man (and he was rather sure that this was the Alphonse Fournier) would've been amusing had he been in a worse mood. Whatever he felt wasn't pity - more of...I'll either be like that or dead, one day. He didn't know how Fournier was still alive, but it was...sad, actually. His teeth worried at his lip momentarily before he drained the last of his whiskey and glanced at the bottle. Sh*t, that hadn't lasted long, had it? He frowned a little at himself. The buzz was nice, at least.
The man in front of him was rough for wear, the beard was something he'd never heard about. Hell, he didn't look at all like the clean Godfather he'd heard about, nothing like the man who was feared beyond France. Gale's gaze flicked over him again, before he dropped to a loose crouch, ready to spring at any opportunity. The smell of alcohol was strong, stronger than one of Jac's bad weeks. He wrinkled his nose a little, but decided not to comment on it.
"No, you don't," he angled his head to the side. His tone was softer than he had intended, but he didn't mind. Before, he'd wanted to try one of Sabah's tactics - but now? He just wanted to help. Too soft, too caring, she would say when she saw him in the morning, no wonder you can't survive without me. "You shouldn't just pass out in an alleyway. Been there, done that," he flicked his gaze away, "this city is not safe for the likes of you. There are many who would take advantage and wish for the glory of killing a Godfather."
He'd wanted to be amused or something, but Gale couldn't find it in himself. Instead, he watched cautiously, head tilting to the side. F*ck, he'd hung up on Sabah for this. She was going to be p*ssed, or she'd call him a child, or something. Or she wouldn't believe him, make him doubt the truth of his own words. He shifted his weight uncomfortably between his feet.
"Let me get you somewhere safe for you to sober up," the words felt strange - offering help to a man who was once everything to the crime ring in France, and yet was nothing here. There was nothing to gain from offering a hand to help, but nothing to lose, either. If he was killed - then that was fine. One less thing for Sabah to worry about. Maybe he lacked self-preservation, nowadays. "You're going to wake up and hate yourself even more than you likely already do."
The last time he'd passed out drunk in the streets of Piraeus, he'd woken up with wounds and aching muscles, had felt worse than he'd felt before he'd gone to drown his sorrows. It just...wasn't very therapeutic, for some bizarre reason.
And hell, maybe he had some motives underneath. He wasn't quite sure. Gale didn't wish Sabah upon anyone, but maybe Fournier could be useful to the Jackals. It was a big maybe. Maybe the man was just...like other hasbeens, someone who was so done with life that they held no wish to try to rise again, despite the fact that they had nothing more to lose. It sounded hypocritical to him, but hey, he hadn't fallen. Yet. And if he did? He wouldn't get a second-chance. Gale had one chance at life and it was quickly coming to an end. Was it really a chance, or had he just been sitting on death row? He didn't know. Wasn't sure if he cared, really. There were no saviours and no happy-ever-afters in his tale, but perhaps he could try to make someone else's life a little better.
When had he started thinking that? He was supposed to be someone who didn't care about the well-being of anyone outside of his gang, someone to be feared - but here he was, helping a drunk old man who probably didn't know or care about what he was saying. Gale looked down at his own hands, picked absently at his nails. What am I doing? he wondered idly. Was he so desperate to find an escape that he was using Fournier for his own gain? He doubted it. He didn't know how to control people, didn't know how Sabah did. In the end, he was just...too genuine, or something like that.
Gale stood up slowly, but didn't move from where he was in front of the older man.
There was nothing to pity, but everything to be sad about. The suit was ragged, the beard looked wrong, and the alcohol just topped off everything. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen a picture of Alphonse Fournier beforehand, but he doubted that he'd looked like this. Nobody looked the same after something bad. Depression did some awful sh*t, refused to go away.
Sabah would probably use this - all of this - to ridicule the man, and Gale felt bad for that. If she even got to see him. Maybe Fournier would just wave Gale away or ignore him. That sounded typical, sounded like what most people would do. He'd met people who'd refused that Gale was real, pretended that he wasn't there or genuinely thought he was a hallucination. A lack of presence, he supposed, did that.
Why had he even bothered? He ran a hand over his jaw and sighed slowly. This was a bad idea - everything felt like a bad idea. Felt like a bad dream, too. He considered just walking away, but stayed firmly where he was, too polite to leave without waiting for an answer. Especially when he'd offered help.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 1:16:46 GMT -5
Many wish for the glory of killing a Godfather. Could he even be called that at this rate? Tilting his head back against the stone wall, he leveled his gaze with the young man before him. He didn't know what he expected. The concern was baffling, if he was to be honest. He was expecting... no, hoping for something similar to a knife at the throat or just something painful so he could feel something other than the consuming guilt and despair deep in his gut. But instead, he felt nothing but dry bitterness, laughing at the words.
"So you recognize me," the media did a damn fine job of spreading that, didn't they? Though there was no confirmations, his life and his presence was ruined. He didn't have to run, but he didn't want to look the ruins of his life in the eye and pretend it was fine. It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine. Sighing, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that this man was far too kind. Nothing was going his way, it would seem. Closing his eyes briefly, he opened them to try to focus on the man in front of him. "Why don't you kill me?" Ah, that sounded bad.
Absolutely terrible. He was a man with a presence, a man with some semblance of dignity. But he'd lost all that, hadn't he? Still, the idea of having a warm bed to lie on rather than the stone hard floor was enticing and though he had been in this situation many times over, he decided it wasn't all that bad. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself back to his feet, staggering as he did so but managing to balance himself with the help of the wall. God, he had drank too much. He could feel it, the unwelcomed warmth of the alcohol.
Raising his free hand, he loosened his tie. It was a miracle he had even wore it on, but whatever. Maybe the man just wanted to secure him somewhere to make the kill a lot cleaner and less public. F*ck if he cared. Waving his hand in front of him, he awaited for the other man to lead the way. He was confident enough that he could stumble behind without falling over. Probably. He wasn't going to bother himself with the trivialities of the matter. It didn't matter to him anymore. But the man was right about something. He'd wake up only to hate himself more.
He'd done that before. "Lead the way," he said the words in an exhausted voice, hollow and unfamiliar even to himself. He'd drank himself under the bar the days after Clement's death, far too lost in his own grief. He should have realized in hindsight that he couldn't hope to placate Edgard with anything other than he what he wanted. The man hadn't even shed a single tear over his father's death. It was hauntingly empty coming from the Garreau boy. Edgard had been nothing but spoiled rotten by Clement but the boy hadn't felt a single damn thing.
Swallowing thickly, he fought back the nausea he felt as he straightened up. That was a terrible idea in hindsight. He was tired and he didn't want to move, but he had already accepted the other man's help so there was no turning that down just to collapse back in the alleyway. Hell, maybe when he was sober he'd shave his face for once if the stranger piqued his interest. But he highly doubted it.
Maxim Alkaev had tried. The man was a good friend of his as well as the Alkaev brothers who led the Alkaev Bratva. They were powerful in Russia, nearly as influential as he was. There was also Fuyu Isao of the Fuyu-kai Yakuza and Yu Xingfu of the Red Lotus. They'd all offer their assistance, but he had no desire to return to the life he had just lost. Not yet, at the very least. He wanted to perhaps suffer as he saw fit. How was it that he was okay? That he was fine?
That the people who he loved and protected were dead and locked away, but he was free and alive? That he still had a beating heart that continued to beat despite his desires for it to just stop? It didn't make sense. He should have died with the family, he preached loyalty, but he had survive unscathed when everyone else had suffered. The nausea returned, but from other causes than the alcohol. It didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense.
Laughing brokenly, he staggered heavily towards the other man. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his wallet. "What is it you want?" He didn't believe this man just wanted to help him. "Money?" Raising an eyebrow, he opened the wallet and pulled out the money he had inside. It was a ridiculous amount to carry on his personnel, but maybe he was inviting the danger. He certainly knew he wasn't trying to avoid it.
"I'm afraid I don't have much else," he chuckled, balancing precariously on his feet. "And I'm hardly a Godfather. I'm just Al now." The words struck a chord in him as he smiled. Well, it was more like a grimace, if he were to be honest. Once one of the top operatives in the directorate, then a distinguished hitman, and a prestigious lawyer and godfather. Now? Now he was nothing. He had been born with nothing. He had been poor and he had made something out of himself.
With each low, he reached a new high, but never like this. Never had he been stripped of everything he was. Taking a deep breath and exhaling shakily, he held out a scarred hand. Huh. His gloves were missing. "After you." The wave of his arm was sluggish, but it was something at the very least.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 2:17:37 GMT -5
"I don't want to kill you," he flicked his gaze away, frowned thoughtfully. "I think you have more to live for than you think you do. I don't know. I also think that you are very drunk, and that you need time to rest and recover from tonight. We can talk more in the morning."
That seemed fair, to him. Gale wasn't too sure on how to deal with this situation, but he watched Fournier's movements cautiously, shifted his weight so that he could be there on the off-chance that the man fell over, or something. He didn't know why - but it felt right, to try to be a support. He didn't know if he was helping (he doubted it), but at the very least, the man had agreed. That was something. He nodded and began to walk, stayed nearby so that Fournier would have someone to fall against if his footing failed him. Though Gale didn't like the idea of being a physical support as well, he'd been it far too many times, was used to it.
"I don't want your money," he said firmly, "I don't want anything."
I just want to help, remained unsaid. He doubted it would be appreciated. Instead, he smiled faintly and tilted his head to the side. "I'm Gale."
And that was all he said. When they reached his apartment, he unlocked the door and guided Al in, lead him to the bed and...left him there. There was nothing else to be done. He, himself, settled with his back against the wall and allowed himself to doze to let the remnants of his own alcohol leave.
Morning came far too quickly, and with it, the chirping of birds outside and light trickling through the blinds. He blinked open his eyes sleepily and wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol, but went around his morning routine as usual. A shower, lots of water, painkillers - he dressed, and then considered what to do. He had some of Jac's clothing in his closet, so he could lend that to Al whenever he made an appearance, but he doubted it was wise to leave the apartment until the other man was awake. Would he be better and less death-inclined once he was sober? Gale wasn't sure. He'd take the chance, though.
It didn't take him long to go through his fridge and find some ingredients for breakfast; eggs and cheese and bread, he fried the eggs and melted some cheese, toasted the fresh bread and was rather proud of himself for actually eating some of his own cooking. He put the ingredients away (save for the eggs, which he preferred to keep at room temperature if he was going to use them again), and turned on the television at a quiet level. It felt domestic, but he was just waiting for Al to wake up, waiting for the opportunity to talk to the man. He was curious as to how the Fournier man had survived for so long, especially if he was just...laying down in alleyways. Or had it been long? He wasn't quite sure. Time often managed to muddle itself up.
With nothing much else to do, he began to bake. It was good for stress, baking cakes. The television was his background noise and he tried to focus on being quiet, but his quiet, calm morning didn't seem to want to remain that way.
"Sh*t, look at the little housewife," her voice caused him to tense briefly, the jangling of keys hitting the coffee table grating his nerves immediately. However, he smiled faintly and turned to look at her, raising a slender eyebrow. Jacques was with her, too, but there was no sign of the newer two. They were probably off doing errands. That sounded about right. Through practice, he managed to hide his flinch as Sabah's fingers ran through his still-damp hair, pushing it away from his face. "Why are you baking, Nuri?"
"Picked up a stray," he tilted his head to his bedroom door, was briefly glad that it was closed. "Not sure if he's awake yet. He might interest you, though."
Sabah studied him through narrowed eyes, flicked her gaze to the door before returning it to him. She shrugged idly and draped herself lazily over the couch, while Jacques settled on a beanbag and flicked through channels mindlessly. So much for a peaceful morning. He frowned a little and went back to baking - though he wasn't quite into it, anymore.
"You hung up on me for a stray," he knew her well enough to know that she was annoyed. "Thought your self-preservation was better than that. Have you got the blueprints, at least?"
"In my room, so you'll have to wait."
He tensed a little and turned his head to watch the woman from the corner of his eye. Her frown was subtle, and Jac was clearly not paying attention.
Sabah did not like being made to wait.
"Alright, I'll get it," he regretted eating breakfast, now. He felt nauseous. Gale moved away from the kitchen counter, washed his hands and went to his room, opening the door quietly. If Al was still asleep, then great! If not, then sh*t. Whatever. He'd deal with that. He crouched down by his side-table and grabbed what Sabah had been asking for, and was quick to leave without seeing if Fournier was even alive. Didn't look back, either.
Once back in the main room, he gave the blueprints to Sabah and went back to the kitchen as she checked over them.
"Now I can get the terrible two on their job," her tone was not amused, "finally. You're losing your touch, maybe you should just become a pro-baker or something, since that seems to be way more important than your actual job."
Gale didn't reply.
"And the stray? Who is he?"
"Alphonse Fournier," he kept his tone soft. He felt Sabah's tension before she said anything. "He's worse for wear. Wants to die, I think. Just wants to be called Al, he doesn't think of himself as a Godfather."
"Cool," she did not sound like she found this cool. At all. "Only you could find a mess like that in the streets of Greece. That still wasn't worth hanging up on me, though."
"Sorry," he felt like staying silent, but he didn't. He'd just...say what she wanted to hear. Sabah moved from the couch and to his side, watched him with a keen gaze.
"So you should be. Any idea when his royal highness is gonna get off his a** and actually introduce himself to us, or...?" she smiled lazily. Maybe she didn't believe him. He doubted she did, actually.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 3:56:01 GMT -5
It was strange to be told about what was good for him by a younger man, but he had long given into the battle against Gale. Instead, he only chuckled. The last thing he remembered from that night was staring at Gale, inquisitive and actually sober for the briefest of moments. His eyes had been sharp, analyzing and all he had said was, "It's a pleasure to meet you." That was it. Just the name Gale.
Laying in bed look at the wall, he felt the headache full force. God, he hadn't drank himself stupid for quite awhile without concern of the hangover. He hadn't bothered with the water or anything else, only with the alcohol because it took a stupid amount of drinks to knock him out. He had thought that had been an advantage and in many situations it had been. Right now, it was a hindrance and he could only groan as the light flooded in through the blinds.
He liked to think of himself as a morning man. He didn't need much sleep, but at this moment, he certainly wished he could go back to sleep without all the fuss necessary. The birds chirping in addition to the light really made for something he just couldn't beat and all he could do was sit up in bed, allowing the blankets to pool around his now wrinkled and filthy suit. At least he was on a bed. That was a plus.Though he had no qualms with a floor if he were to be honest. It certainly beat a grim and dirty alleyway.
Lowering his head into his hands, he squeezed his eyes shut in order to fight the oncoming headache. He still had to find Gale and thank him for all this trouble. He couldn't quite understand why the other man had decided to help him. But first things first. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he was hit with a wave of nausea that brought him into the bathroom closest by to retch up the nonexistent contents of his stomach. The taste it left in his mouth was sickening and the last time he remembered throwing up was... too damn long ago.
Clinging to the edge of the toilet seat like a life line, he remained on the ground taking in deep breaths from his mouth and exhaling through his nose until the nausea lessened. Washing out his mouth and using a bit of Gale's mouthwash - he hoped the other man didn't mind - he straightened up and looked in the mirror. God. He looked like sh*t. Running his hand against the side of the untrimmed beard, he squinted at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. It was like a wake up call almost, to find himself in someone else's bed without having been there for a quick night.
He was a mess. If he had been the crying type, he would have been in tears long ago, but instead he felt something lodge itself in his throat and nothing more. Swallowing thickly, he headed out of the bathroom, hearing the door of the room open and only catching a glimpse of Gale. Unable to stop him in time, he sighed and headed out. There was more than Gale here. He knew, instinctively, that there was more than one person speaking. He hadn't contemplated the actual chances of Gale having guests over or if he had lived with anyone else, but whatever. Cradling his head to combat the headache, he walked quietly out to the room, hearing them speak in French.
It wasn't the most common language in Greece, but it was a little offsetting hearing his native tongue being spoken in a place where the locals either spoke Greek or English for foreigners. Hearing his name, he stopped in his tracks. He was silently thankful his footsteps had always been soft from years of practice that turned into habit. He's worse for wear. Biting back the laugh, he supposed that was one of putting it. But it was coming from Gale, so the brunt of the blow was lessened slightly.
However, the coming response made him recoil slightly in annoyance and a bit of self righteous anger that he smothered down quickly. Mess? Sure, he could call himself one, but for somebody else who had yet to even see him to... Exhaling softly, he continued moving, the voice of the woman speaking becoming grating on his ears. Rounding the corner quietly, he tapped lightly against the wall as he raised a hand to run through his hair in order to get the longer locks out of his eyes. "Hello there," he said softly, maintaining the usage of French since that seemed to be the common language for this group in particular.
Turning to Gale, he could sense some lack of authority in this situation. It was becoming more and more apparent from the woman's words that she was in control, but also from body language the two displayed. "Thank you, Gale," he said the words softly, more or less to piss off the woman who spoke of him like he was some object or thing to control. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't like it. Corriveau had display the same behavior and he hadn't taken sh*t then. He certainly wasn't going to now.
Reaching into his suit for his cigarette case, he blinked lazily as he surveyed the group of three in the room, maintaining his position by the doorway. He never did like being surrounded and now that he was more sober, he had a bit more self preservation in him. "Would you mind if I smoke in here or shall I go outside?" He asked, once again turning to Gale. The young man had been the one to help him, after all.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 4:57:26 GMT -5
Between Jac's constant flicking around on television channels (it was starting to grate on Gale's nerves) and Sabah's open hostility, Gale just wanted to go to bed, or something. Instead, he focused on putting his cake batter in a pan and shoving that in the preheated oven, beginning to wash up once that was done. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
Hearing Al's voice made his shoulders tense briefly - more so when he, in particular, was addressed. He swallowed and turned around, giving a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and flicking his gaze towards Sabah (who raised an eyebrow), and then back to Al. He was alive, at least. That was good! Very good. Still a little worse for wear, but that was fine.
"No problem," he kept his voice quiet, "you can smoke indoors, I don't mind. There's an ashtray on the coffee tab--nevermind?"
His reflexes were the only thing that stopped him from getting hit in the face with the glass ashtray (thankfully empty), and he held it with one hand and stared at Jac, who shrugged lazily and went back to doing whatever he was doing. Gale inhaled deeply and set the ashtray on the surface of the counter, returning to his job of washing dishes.
"Guess it's over here now. Are you feeling any better?" he focused on Al instead of the other two Jackals, though Sabah did not appreciate being ignored, and he knew it. Her expression said everything.
"How does it feel, having lost everything because you're a huge failure?" her tone was unnecessarily bright, and she stood up from the couch and walked over to lean on the counter next to gale. Sabah's smile was one that would've looked innocent and pretty on anyone else, but was sharp was knives coming from her. "You had everything anyone could've wanted, and yet you managed to lose it all. No wonder you wanna die."
"Sabah," he doubted that he could stop her, but he tried to get her attention anyway. As predicted, Gale's attempt at pulling her claws out of Al did not, in fact, work, and so he just stood there and wondered when his own home had become an uncomfortable place. Jac flicked his gaze over to see what was going on, took one look at Sabah's expression, and then looked away again. Thanks for the help, Gale thought bitterly, though he couldn't quite blame the Frenchman.
It wasn't a surprise that she was acting like this - not really. She lived to break people, and she already knew a potential sore spot, and naturally, she'd press on whatever vulnerable spot she could find. It was what she did, how she forced people to heel. How she kept both Gale and Jac at her side, not quite loyal, but too scared to do anything to upset her. That sounded...pathetic, and he doubted it held true for Jac. He wasn't scared of Sabah. He liked her, didn't get involved in her bullsh*t. Gale was the one scared of her, the one who couldn't help but obey her every word. It probably made him a lesser man, made him weak. Then again, he'd brought in Al because he'd been sad for him - if that hadn't shown weakness, they he didn't know what did.
"Why haven't you died yet? Out of sheer curiosity," she reached over to turn the water off, stopping Gale from washing his dishes. "Nobody really wants you around. Have you seen the news headlines?"
Gale frowned at the bubbles in the sink, ducked his head a little. She was using him as a barrier between herself and Al, just like she used him as a barrier between their enemies and rivals and herself. It was just one of those things, a part of life that had become normal. It was tiring, sure, but he dealt with it. She'd done it when Tea and Mori had died, she did it now. Instead of trying to recruit Al, he was rather sure that she was trying to break him.
"Why can't you be nice?" he asked quietly, switching to Arabic. He didn't know if Al spoke it, but he hoped not.
"I am being nice," she finally moved her gaze from Fournier to Gale, frowned a little at the interruption, but switched to his language of choice. "I wanna see how far he'll bend before he breaks. Or maybe he's already broken. He's not going to be of any use to me if he's just a shell of a man. I've already got one hindrance, I don't need another."
As far as Gale knew, there were no hindrances in the Jackals - but he accepted it nonetheless, and hoped that this would be over soon. Either Al broke or he didn't, and Gale didn't know enough about him to choose which he would do. Most people didn't manage to get past Sabah's questioning - but then again, most people didn't have so much material laying out on the table for her to use.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 5:32:09 GMT -5
It didn't miss him the way the younger man's shoulders tensed and he suddenly felt very, very bad for dragging the man into whatever was about to happen next. He supposed, given that the one in charge of the situation had seemed to be the woman, he should have addressed her. But Gale had brought him here and, it was quick, but he was becoming fond of the younger man solely because of how kind he was despite what he was. Alphonse had no doubts about it, knew instinctively that if someone knew who he was they were either really interested in the media, working for the government, or the more unsavory of sorts.
When he reflected on Gale's words, despite his headache, it was simple to tell that they were the criminal sort. Small time, small unit, from the looks of it. And there was some sort of power imbalance in the group that made him dislike the situation. Things only worsened when the ashtray was more or less thrown right at Gale. Pursing his lips at the sight, he wasn't quite sure he liked the group's dynamics whatsoever. Gale, he liked. The other two? Not so much. And he took himself for a good judge of character.
Nearing the counter and leaning against it, he pulled out his cigarette case and held it up for the younger man to see before removing a cigarette and leaving it on the counter just in case the man wanted one after he was done washing his dishes. "If anything I do inconveniences or bothers you, please inform me," he said simply, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it idly. He could see from the corner of his eye the woman was shifting and clearly displeased. He didn't like the look of that.
Taking a lazy drag, he kept his eyes carefully on Gale, only ever looking at the other woman from the corner of his eye discreetly. "I'm feeling much better," he smiled, all the thanks needed for the question. The sudden interruption from the woman, though expected, was unwelcomed. The words were merciless in a cold biting manner that left him wanting to straighten up and bite back, but he gave her no response. Instead, he blew out the smoke watching it drift upwards instead of focusing on her deceivingly bright tone of voice.
Beautiful on the outside, but insidious to the very core. He'd never like her kind of people. The words would have hurt coming from anyone he knew, but a stranger like her? His eyes flicked over to her, bored and unimpressed. Child's play, really. He'd been through these games at the hands of trained agents. "I think you're quite ill informed if you think it was the result of my own failure," he chuckled, words equally light and forgiving as he ashed his cigarette, watching the bits of ash crumble away from the tip of his cigarette.
Honestly, as uninteresting as the cherry red tip of the cigarette was, it was a lot more pleasant to look at than the young woman he learned quickly was called Sabah. Looking around Gale's place, he frowned thoughtfully, "But then again, you don't seem like a very large group. I can't blame you for faulty intelligence." He appreciated what Gale was doing, he really did, but the younger man's soft tone of voice didn't go unnoticed. He was afraid of Sabah.
He supposed had he been a younger man in a more desperate time, perhaps Sabah would hold the influence she did over Gale. But this? Oh this was a foolish battle she was picking. He was broken, he was under no delusions that he was still whole but she was mistakened if he was to crumble. Hearing the sound of the water turn off, he flicked his gaze back over to where the two of them were. Too damn close for his liking, but he was going to be stubborn if he was to move because Sabah made him uncomfortable. The woman spoke of danger, a devious means to self destruction and he didn't like her one bit.
Smiling as he placed the cigarette back between his lips, he finally looked at Sabah with cold eyes that didn't quite match his friendly smile. He wondered if she had the same fine tuned sense to recognize a predator. "And it's not that I don't want to die, but sadly it turns out it's quite difficult to kill me," he chuckled as if he was telling a joke. "Peculiar, isn't it? Many have tried, but none have proven successful." There was a pause as he tipped his head, tone of voice inviting and kind despite his choice of words, "Would you like to try?" He could name a handful of times where his words became biting and less kind. This was one of them.
Corriveau had demanded the same nature of him, the darker side of him - the interrogation specialist side of him - to emerge. Deceivingly friendly but terribly cruel? Oh, he knew how to play that game. The next time Gale tried to stand up for him, he honestly felt warmed by the younger man's concern, but he couldn't quell the slight concern he already felt.
He had no doubts Gale was afraid of Sabah. Standing up for him, especially when he didn't need it, meant he would only have more reasons to fear the woman. Hearing what Sabah wanted however, he kept himself from frowning, maintaining his smile and not reacting as if he had understood a single word. He would not give her that piece of knowledge. Instead, he was more interested in what little stint she wanted him to be apart of how much control she thought she truly possessed. She was the kind of leader he aspired not to be.
She used fear as the means to her ends. And one day, she would lose everything without a single individual who would remember her with kind words. Sad, really. Worse than him, if he were to think about it. That thought brightened his smile to something more sincere.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 6:18:12 GMT -5
If there was one thing in this world that Gale was confident in, it was that Sabah hated being challenged. He'd seen the remains of people who challenged her, had seen the mental state they ended up in - and yet Al didn't seem too phased. As the biting words were exchanged, he couldn't help but thing of two big cats standing off against each-other. A panther and a lioness, or something like that. There was an underlying danger to Al that he'd sensed before, and he held no doubts that the others would have detected it by now. If they hadn't, then he'd sorely overestimated them.
Sabah remained entirely relaxed, throwing a lazy arm over Gale's shoulders and resting her chin on top of his head, her movements were easy to see as affectionate. From the corner of his eye, he could see how she was thinking about her words, thinking about her course of actions. Her smile was slow, seemingly delighted for a challenge. Maybe she was bored, maybe she thought Al was funny. Either way, he didn't like the chill in the air. Not when he was between two very dangerous people, not when he knew that one didn't care about collateral damage. His gaze flicked briefly to the cigarette on the counter before he shifted his weight slightly to pick it up with one hand, rummaging in his pocket briefly for his lighter before lighting it.
"Thanks," he hummed quietly. Sabah, he knew, disliked smoke - but it didn't dislodge her from the seemingly comfortable position she had taken. Though her head turned to avoid any of the smoke (he made a conscious effort to turn his head away from her), she refused to move. She could out-stubborn a bull any day.
"I don't live in France nor have connections to the mafia," her shrug was quick, "I'm not going to know the deeper details, only what the tabloids say, my friend," her gaze flicked down to Gale and her smile widened a little. "This is only part of us."
Except Dante and Helios were just as unimpressive as the rest of them, and he doubted it would sway Al's opinion of faulty intelligence - but Gale focused on smoking his cigarette and watching the timer on his oven, wishing he didn't have to be here. This was his own apartment, and yet he felt like the outsider in this situation.
He felt rather than saw the woman tense, felt her muscles shift as she became more defensive. He was tempted not to look up and to ignore them both, but he flicked his gaze up and saw what Sabah saw in Al's eyes - perhaps it was because he was more like the hunted, but he knew a predator when he saw one. He held no doubts that she could, too. Like called to like, but...well. Al was not the sort of leader that Sabah was, did not have the consistent dangerous aura. He seemed civil, had held a degree of comfort despite being drunk. He was the sort of man that Gale would've liked to follow, if he'd ever been given the chance. As life was, he held no chance and would have no chance: he was stuck here with the Jackals until he died. The deadline felt like it was coming closer, especially with the way Sabah's fingers tightened against the small of his back. It was a subtle movement to be undetected, and he looked back down at the counter.
"The tiles are white," her tone was eased. "And I'm sure there's a more painful death coming for you. Maybe you should do it by your own hand to save the trouble. What have you got to live for? You're a has-been and have nothing ahead of you. You hit your peak and now you're at rock bottom. There's no fun in killing men who want to die."
She made ways for it to be fun for herself, Gale had no doubt. But he didn't mention anything, instead ashing his cigarette lightly and watching the smoke curl in the air. The television continued to flick through channels, as if Jacques were entirely unaware of the whole situation. It was easy to mistake him for a stupid man, one that wasn't watchful; but if Gale glanced now, he could see the discreet watch the other man was keeping on the trio.
"I think you should back down from this one," he told Sabah, again in their native tongue. "This isn't a fight you're going to win."
"Since when have you doubted me?" she was clearly amused, shifted herself so that she could look at him without inhaling the smoke. "Trust in me, Nuri. It'll be fine - stop worrying. Are you scared?"
"No."
"Then stop questioning my actions."
He swallowed, but said nothing more on the matter.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 6:49:24 GMT -5
It was nice, despite the violent tension in the situation for Gale to have accepted his small peace offering of a cigarette. It made the situation even better that Sabah didn't reach for one herself. Alphonse would not appreciate her touching his belongings, what was his was his to give to those he wanted to. She was not one of them. Nodding quietly to Gale without verbally acknowledging the words, he reached out to pocket the cigarette case before she could change her mind.
If he were to be honest, he was impressed at her composure, but she didn't have a sound head on her shoulders. She didn't know what sort of fights were not worth picking. She fought all of them equally in his opinion. If only she knew how far from the truth she was, but also how her terrible words dug deep into his skin. He despised nothing more than somebody who utilized those weaknesses against others. It was apart of the reason why he despised the man he used to be, who exploited those weaknesses. It was becoming more and more apparent that she wanted him underneath her control, but the thing was... she was going about it the wrong way.
He was, by no means, a simple man to control. It was hard to really say if anyone truly controlled him or if they simply demanded his devotion. Seraphin and Clement had been among the lucky few and well, Clement was dead. He wasn't certain if to be loved by him was truly a lucky occurrence or a bullet painted upon their backs. Still, he knew a bluff and a deflection when he saw one. It amused him to no end the means Sabah was going through to maintain her face. It would seem, she and him shared one trait and that was their concern for their dignity and appearances.
He honestly was starting to wish he had looked better and less worse for wear, but he supposed that could wait for their next meeting because something told him he was going to stay here for awhile. He had nothing better to do and though he was starting to reconsider his options with Maxim, Xingfu, and Isao's offers, this case was more demanding of his attention. "It's foolish to use faulty intelligence in an argument, it only proves how little you know, mon amie," he spoke easily, unconcerned with her promise of there being more. No matter how many there was, he highly doubted it was anything becoming. But he could poke at that a bit.
Smiling, he raised an eyebrow, "How many more?"
Generally he didn't make a habit of poking at smaller organizations. With the right kind of ensemble, even a small unit could cause a fair deal of trouble, but he had once commanded an empire so whatever they had here? Unimpressive. They didn't seem the kind to carry the respect of other mercenary units he had once been in contact with or the assassins he'd personally hired or the intelligence brokers that lived off of his payroll. But who was he to judge? He was nobody, after all, wasn't he?
There was a slight shift in her relaxed posture even as he leaned against the counter, unaffected and unbothered. It made his smile grow slightly to know she felt unsettled, but something in Gale's response to that made him tip his head to a side, nearly frowning had it not been for his years of training. He didn't like the situation. She had placed Gale between him and her for the sole purpose of making him the lamb for the feast. It was wrong in far too many ways, he felt a slight twinge of guilt for pushing him into the situation. If he backed up now, he supposed she would think she'd won. He despised losing, something ingrained into him as a lawyer, but he knew the importance of losing a battle to win the war. He'd been in the military before, after all.
Breaking eye contact, he frowned allowing her to think she'd got the upper hand. It was better if this ended quicker after all. If something far too vicious was said, he was afraid of the collateral damage. Gale had helped him when he hadn't needed to. He didn't want the younger man's blood on his hands. He already had too much. "Maybe so," he said, voice soft and distant as he looked out the window. "Maybe I should put an end to my life," he chuckled grimly, that was what he had been trying to do when he was drinking himself to death. But now? Now he didn't want to die if only to make Sabah enraged at her own inability. "But why do you care?"
Underneath the harsh question was the words left unasked. Why do you want to control me so badly? Do you think your empire of the broken will grow to be something worthwhile? He certainly didn't think so. But the questions left her a way out and if it meant getting rid of her for the time being, he didn't quite mind. Besides, the way Gale responded to Sabah?
The man was like a deer in the headlights. It wasn't right. He wasn't going to push the fight while Gale suffered. Perhaps another time, another place. When they were isolated, ideally, but not here, not now. He could be patient.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 7:09:10 GMT -5
"You're the one who brought faulty intelligence into the conversation," she was definitely amused - her quiet laugh was proof of it. "Perhaps the drink has gotten to your head, old man."
Gale didn't miss how she dodged the question of how many they were. Even she knew that two more just wasn't enough, though he supposed if she counted their affiliations and more, she could claim that there were even more Jackals than met the eye. Technically, it was true. Five people couldn't control a city, even if they were powerful; they held firm influences, knew how to get people to listen to them. Gale and Sabah's brains combined were fearsome things.
But he was not with her on this matter, and so he doubted she would indulge Al in intellectual talk.
"I don't particularly care," her amusement was rising, like she'd found a new plaything - but Gale knew that wasn't the truth. Al was a temporary toy to her, if anything. "I just don't understand why you aren't already dead if you wish for a release. It would be so easy," she shrugged idly, "just one bullet."
He said nothing, finally stubbing out the end of his cigarette and looking at the water in the sink. He needed to finish washing the dishes, needed to get on with his daily chores - but here he was, between the two most dangerous people in the room. He could say that without a doubt. Somewhere underneath, he knew that the Fournier man was more dangerous - but to him, personally? Sabah was the demon, she was the danger and the constant, lingering threat.
Collateral damage was something that Sabah was keen on. She put Gale between herself and a potential threat to assess the situation - just as she put him between herself and any possible downfall of the Jackals. It was how she worked. If there wasn't a barrier to protect her from doing stupid sh*t, then she wouldn't do it. She worked like that, had always worked like that. Once upon a time, he'd been intent on a similar sort of damage - but as time went on, he'd grown out of it and she hadn't.
As Sabah's arm moved from around him, he realised that the television was off and that Jacques was standing up and shoving his jacket on.
"We've got to go," Jac flicked his gaze between the three calmly, as if nothing had been happening. "Dante's been waiting for these, y'know," he tapped the rolled up blueprints on his thigh, walking towards the door. His casual air wasn't fitting, but that was just how he was. "C'mon, Sabs. You have people to terrorise elsewhere. Come back on your own time and not when we're busy."
Finally, finally, Sabah moved from his side and to the door, giving a lazy wave on her way out. Gale remained firmly where he was until the door closed (and the lock clicked), before he turned his body back to the sink, drained the cool water out and started up the hot water once again, watching Alphonse from the corner of his eye.
"I'm sorry," his tone was a little more steady, now. Firmer, but still soft. "She gets a bit...eh," he resumed the work that Sabah had stopped him from doing, checked the timer on the oven again and sighed. "She doesn't usually get challenged like that. In a situation that she doesn't control."
He hadn't missed it. She'd been more tense than usual; Gale's home was a place that she was used to controlling, but things hadn't been that way. It had been strange.
"I am sorry for her, though. I'm...glad you're feeling better," moving on, he supposed, was the only way to go. "I would've given you warning beforehand if I had known that Sabah was coming over," but she never announced her presence because she was too important. In her mind, she was what their life revolved around. She wasn't too far from the truth, either. They were just puppets.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 7:40:12 GMT -5
Few things passe by him and the way she tried to twist his words on him didn't go unnoticed either. Staying his tongue, he narrowed his eyes as he continued to look outside the window. It was unusual of him to give up a fight he was winning, but all things considered he was a considerate man because that was one of the traits that made him an admirable leader. If he wished to pursue victory, it was at the cost of Gale's pain. Sighing, he shook his head muttering to himself softly in German, "Some people just always want to be right even when they are wrong."
He wasn't going to dip his hand in that argument anymore, however. When he established he was done talking, he was through. She wouldn't get another rise out of him even though her gleeful tone was grating on him. Allowed her to degrade him the way the media outlets had already. It was difficult to read how he had been shamed simply due to how inaccurate the words had been, but they were news outlets. They always exposed the story in a light that made it seem far worse than it truly was. Being told to off himself?
It sickened him. He had been there before, had barely been able to stop himself from saying the biting words I prefer a knife before he made a mistake. His gloves were still missing and his hands, if one looked closely, bore the scars that he wanted so desperately for his gloves to hide. He didn't comment on her lack of an answer about their numbers either. He highly doubted it was anything impressive if she wanted to keep it a secret and he honestly couldn't find himself to care when it came to Sabah. He already established in his mind.
He wanted one out of the three he had met. Gale was a worthwhile man to keep around. He could feel it. There was something decisively clever and useful about Gale. And even if not, he owed the young man something at the very least. He had a kind heart, something reminiscent of Renato Notariano and he had taken the young man under his wing. It sickened him to some extent that Gale's situation was very much similar to Ivan's. He was not at home here, he was not safe here, he was surrounded by wolves and he was the prey. It was wrong and Alphonse didn't like it.
When he had been Gale's age, a gang or a mafia or whatever was the family they chose for themselves. When they had nobody else on their side, when they had nowhere left to go - the gang became their family, their brother and sisters. That had been what the Fournier Family had been for many. That was not true with this lot. The heavy weight of her gaze lingered and he knew she thought she had won. He wanted to continue the fight, but remembered why he had stopped for a very particular reason.
Watching Gale stub his cigarette, he did the same. Far too annoyed to have noticed how the cigarette between his fingers had burnt out. And they were supposed to help him relax. God damn it. Hearing the sound of the television turn off, he glanced up to see the other man put on his jacket. He hadn't gotten to know that man very well, but he knew he wasn't fond of him either. He was a bystander. He'd seen bystanders before. They were selfish. He didn't need selfish, he lived by a simple code. Above all else, loyalty.
Waving back at her back in an annoyed manner, he huffed softly to himself, muttering the words quietly, "That one is going to die a bloody and violent death." They sounded an awful lot like a promise to his ears.
Hearing the water turn back on, he returned his attention to Gale, no longer as tense as earlier while Sabah had remained here. Pulling out his cigarette case, he decided to light another one just so he could actually relax this time. Two cigarettes in the same morning? Terrible, but it was what it was. And he was supposed to be cutting back. He sighed. "Don't worry about it," he said, honestly surprised by the apology.
It had been out of the other man's control, but somehow he felt responsible for it. Scratching his beard, he finally straightened his posture, stretching out his back as he did so. "It wasn't your fault. Though next time, a word of advice, I wouldn't be close by if I engage her in an argument." He smiled slightly, "She got lucky." He left it at that, instead settling up on the counter a fair distance away from Gale, but comfortable all the same.
"Tell me about yourself Gale, why are you with them? Sabah's not the kind of individual you'd want to be around for an extended period of time," he said, surprised by how genuinely curious he was. "You know, the Alkaev Bratva offered me some assistance, if you want to leave, you don't ever have to come back."
He hadn't even considered Maxim's offer until now, and, well, right now? It sounded great. He'd just return to his hotel, shower, clean up a bit, get dressed, get a hair cut and look the part like the Godfather Sabah thought he wasn't anymore. Nothing scared people more than when a person was at their worst, but still far more competent than they could ever wish to be. And that was exactly what he was going to be.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 8:01:22 GMT -5
His apartment always became a more comfortable place once he was alone - he was a little surprised to find that he'd relaxed despite Al's presence. Then again...it wasn't too surprising. Not really. Nothing that Al had done so far proved that he wanted to harm Gale, and his words only proved it further. Done with washing dishes, he finished lining them up neatly on the draining board and dried off his hands on a hand towel, crouching down to check the oven. Once again, he fell into routine that he was used to. It was weird how quickly he could go from f*cking terrified to this.
But he was used to it.
"I didn't choose to be nearby," his words sounded like a weak excuse, even to his own ears. "She won't pick a fight with you if there's nothing to barrier herself."
Giving one of her weaknesses away felt like pure betrayal - but Gale didn't know if he cared. Hell, if Al hadn't picked up on it already, then he had probably been close to the truth. He smiled bitterly as he set the cooked cake on a cooling rack, needing something to do with his hands.
"I've been around Sabah since I was seventeen," he tilted his head to watch the older man from the corner of his eye. "I'm thirty-four."
Seventeen years. He wouldn't have believed it, but...well. It wasn't really that much of a surprise. He'd been young when he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, had been young when he'd fallen in love, had been young when he'd followed her and helped found the Jackals. All of his mistakes - they had led up to this moment in his life. He was tired.
"I stay with them because if I didn't, they'd die," he rested against the counter lightly, stared out of the window. It wasn't much of a view - just the cities - but it was something else to focus on. "And Sabah knows how to make people dependent on her," why was he telling a stranger this? He didn't know. "I've tried to leave before, I've tried multiple different things, but I've always ended up back in her group."
With varying consequences, too. Now that he had nothing else to do with his hands, he picked idly at some of the bracelets over his forearms, continued to stare out at the streets beyond his apartment. After listening to Al and Sabah converse, he felt like he owed the other man truths about his own life - he didn't know why. While he knew very little about Fournier aside from what was mentioned in the news, he gave information about himself for...nothing? He didn't know what was going on in his mind. Maybe his will to live was on a thinner string than he'd imagined. For some reason, that was a shock to realise.
"It's nothing I can't deal with," his smile was flat and distant, but he did finally turn to look at Al. "But that's not the point. What are you going to do now, Al? I'm here if you need any help, or anything - you don't need to struggle alone," he swallowed, flicked his gaze away again. "I mean...alcohol isn't the solution. Nor is dying. Sometimes drugs are the next step but trust me, you don't want to go down that rabbit hole - unless you already have, then I don't know," he made a vague gesture with his hands and rocked back on his heels. "My point is, you're going to be fine. The world might feel like it's crumbling down and that it's ending, but it's not. Sometimes you've just gotta...pick yourself up, pull the pieces back together. And shave the beard, I'm sorry, that's not a good look for you," there was, perhaps, a little more mischievousness behind his smile than he had intended.
Gale didn't know if he trusted his own words. He remembered when Tea and Mori had been lost - the pit of despair he'd fallen into. Sabah's actions. It hadn't been a good time, but it wasn't as if he hadn't tried to escape from reality before. He'd tried. He'd been alcoholic, he'd been a drug addict, he'd done things he would never mention to others - but he was clean, now. And he just wanted to help someone else, and if that meant helping Alphonse Fournier? Then that was just...all the better, or something.
He rested his elbows on the counter lightly, "I think you'll be able to get out of rock bottom. It's not the end of the world, even when it feels like it is."
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 8:25:45 GMT -5
It was strange how Gale fell back to what he did after he was placed between him and Sabah as if he were just a dispensable punching bag to take the brunt of the blows of his words. It interested him to some degree so all he did was watch in silence as Gale finished up his dishes. Just in time too as he stubbed the remaints of his current cigarette. That felt better."That's unfortunate then," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'll keep her away from you next time." The way he said the words made it sound easy, and hell, it was. He was rarely a physical man, never touched an individual without consent unless they were a target. But Sabah had proven civility wasn't her look. It just wasn't her style.
He had no reason to remain civil to her either. The words, once again, sounded like a promise to his ears and he was becoming afraid of how many promises he was making. He was bound to be unable to keep one or quite a few of them. It wasn't good. He'd been there and done that and god, it f*cking hurt. All the people he failed ate away at him worse than all the people he had killed. The blood on his hands from those who loved and trusted him hurt a fair share more than those he had murdered despite their families.
It was nice though, hearing from Gale the fact that he had come to assume about Sabah. It felt almost if the man was starting to feel aligned with him, if only slightly. And that - that was good. It meant there was still a chance to save him from whatever the hell this was. And it struck him as strange, he went from dying to wanting to save Gale from Sabah who he had met for barely a couple of minutes at most and already came to despise. Things were moving quicker than he was used to since everything went to hell, and for the briefest of moments he felt the old Alphonse Fournier stir inside of him. The one that was feared with good reason.
Gale's admission, however, made him wish he had another cigarette. The math was simple enough that he could do it in his head. Seventeen years? No wonder the young man had been so terrified of her. He had been younger, foolish, and easier to manipulate then. It made Alphonse's heart ache, and here he was beginning to think the overwhelming pain in chest couldn't get worse. He would have laughed had the situat]ion been appropriate, but he could only sigh with a heavy heart.
"Nobody's ever offered to help you before, have they?" His words were gentle, soft and sad as he looked at the younger man, sympathy lacing his words. That was just wrong. It made him feel sick inside coming to that realization. "You're afraid to leave because you don't think you belong anywhere but here." It was a heavy realization and he shook his head, lowering his eyes to avoid Gale thinking he was pitying him. "Nothing's stopping you from leaving but yourself, and if you come with me," it was another recruitment statement, he knew, but there was something far deeper underlying it. Sympathy, concern, and even a fair deal of paternal protectiveness, "I promise you you'll find a place you belong."
Having involved himself in Gale's matters, it became strange when the topic reverted to himself. In that brief moment, he had come to forget anything had been wrong, far too occupied with Gale's problems to remember his own. Pausing to contemplate the younger man's words, he chuckled at the mention of the beard. Cheeky, now was he? "I've done everything from drinking to drug to attempting to end my life," he sighed not trying to keep the truth from Gale. Earlier with Sabah, he had stayed his tongue about those matters. But here with Gale? He had nothing to hide. His life's story was told in the form of a comedy that was poorly written in the tabloids.
"It never worked," he shook his head. "I was drinking to forget though. The nightmares come when I try to sleep, when I'm drunk, there's nothing." It sounded terrible coming from him. A full grown man,, a former Godfather and he had nightmares like some child afraid of the monsters in the dark. He chuckled dryly at his words, bitterness apparent. "My plan was to get over what happened before going back to France, I have enough money as it is, but I have different plans now," he said straightening up to lean against the window and look out.
"I'm going to shave the beard, thank you for the tip," he chuckled, amused that Gale had mentioned it. He had seen it in the mirror. It was terrible. "And I'm going to contact Maxim Alkaev about the job offer he has in Russia. He wants to unit me with trusted confidants of the Bratva so I can rebuild the Family. Xingfu of the Red Lotus and Isao of the Fuyu-Kai have offered the same opportunities for me and I'll visit there soon after I'm done with the Russian job."
He squinted, watching Gale carefully. He hoped he wasn't wrong about this young man. "Would you like to come?"
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 8:44:28 GMT -5
Keeping Sabah away from him was easier said than done, but Gale didn't shoot Al down. Instead, he began to clean the counter for something to do. He needed to be doing something - didn't want to just sit and talk. Not when the talks were like this, not when they were serious. If it had been casual conversation, then maybe he would've turned the television back on - but it wasn't. There was an underlying layer of paranoia that Jac or Sabah would come back, too - but he'd heard the door open long before they heard any conversation, so there was something there, at least.
For Al to have seen the woman's true colours so quickly - she had misjudged, and Gale knew it. She'd thought that Al would just lay down and die like a good dog, or something like that, and she'd been mistaken. She did not often make mistakes, did not often misjudge people. It surprised Gale, too, though he was smarter than to voice it.
"Why would anyone want to help?" a genuine question, bitterness hidden with a raised eyebrow and a grin. "Sometimes, you just know when something isn't worth it, y'know?" still, he looked away when Al continued. "I don't belong anywhere else. The Jackals are my family and my home, and I'm nothing without them. I'm nobody here, but I'd rather be nobody with a family than nobody with nothing to his name."
He winced a little at his words. Hm. Maybe he had more personal reasons for helping Al, but he didn't linger on that line of thought for too long.
"Hey, look at that," he threw the damp cloth in the sink and washed his hands again. "Relatable. It's not worth it, though. Not really," he picked at his nails in an idle manner, just for something to do with his hands. "All it leaves is scars that people pity, and the knowledge that you really, really f*cked up. Bonus points for the d*cks who talk about attention-seeking."
Gale didn't know why he cared about relating to Al. Maybe it was like a peek at the future - one day, he'd...lose everything. If that was the case, then he wouldn't want to be picked up; but he didn't know about Al. He just wanted to help, to be there - and yet he didn't want to lose his own life because of the help he gave. Sabah wouldn't kill him, but she knew how to ruin him. It was terrifying.
"I see," he said, because he did. "Nightmares are b*tches. Still, drinking isn't the solution," his smile was no longer there, his expression one of a man older than he, himself, truly was. "See? Look at you. Rebuilding your life and sh*t. Knew you had it in you. More than a little surprised that it seems almost entirely spite-based, hmm?"
This time, he smiled - a slow and lazy imitation of Sabah's, though less cruel. It was only natural, he supposed, that he was a copycat in some of her ways. He had no other role models, nobody else to learn from. Maybe he was as toxic as she was, only better at having the kind facade. Good enough that I fool myself, he thought, but did not voice these thoughts. He didn't like them. They could stay at the back of his mind, where the other dark thought resided. Where the reminders of what he'd done remained, where the little voice told him that it would be far easier were you dead.
"You're going to rebuild the Fournier Family?" this time, he was surprised. Openly so. That had been a step in a different direction. He'd expected Al to go back to France, perhaps, sure! But to rebuild the Family back from the ground? It was...something. Definitely something. "Well, then. Have fun with that."
When the offer passed the other man's lips, he tensed. Visibly so. His laugh was a nervous, near-broken thing - pitiful to his own ears, just as words before had been. "Like to? Yes. Going to? Probably not. Sabah would actually kill me, and as much as I hated myself in the past, I'm not ready to give up seeing the sun."
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 19:21:14 GMT -5
Seeing Gale clean the counter, he hopped off as to not interfere with Gale's chores. He didn't complain, instead choosing to settle back at the doorway where he had first been when he entered. Looking down at his suit, he cringed, sober enough to finally inspect the dirt and grime on it. He used to be more careful, he still was, but his despondency had been bad to say the least. He almost wished he had had the sense to not dress well, but wear something more casual if he was going to go and get wasted outside of his hotel room.
Ah, well. Rubbing his fingers against a new hole in his suit, he grimaced as he flicked his eyes up at the sound of Gale's answer. Why would anyone want to help? He hadn't been wrong, after all. It was something he prided himself in, but in this moment, he had wished he'd been wrong. The words hit him hard, he had wanted to know the answer as to why anyone wanted to fix something as broken as him. Now he wanted to help Gale, things were going full circle, weren't they? He knew what the young man felt and it didn't settle well with him.
"I think you're far more talented than Sabah believes," he said, words gentle. It was going to be difficult to convince Gale of that and even now he wasn't exactly sure what Gale did in the group, but whatever it was, he was the most pleasant out of this... gang? Group? Unit? He wasn't quite sure. They were small, he knew that much from Sabah's lack of answer. "And Gale, pardon me if these words are harsh, but this isn't a family. They're using you." It was a plain fact. He'd been on jobs as a spy where the target he was forced to get to were downright terrible people. As bad as, if not worse than, Sabah.
They treated people like dirt, threw tantrums when things didn't go their way. They used people, didn't know how to cherish them. That was what Sabah was. If this was Gale's family, it was a poor excuse for a family. And worse yet, it was the family Gale chose for himself. Somehow that knowledge made him sympathize for the young man even more. He had landed himself with the wrong crowd through and through. Not with just their criminal activities, but with a toxicity that was of the charts. "You deserve better." He had told Renato the same words when the man had been moping about another heartbreak.
He hated how honest they were and how soft he sounded, knew full well tight bonds was the cause of his downfall and yet here he was trying to build something. He smiled slightly at Gale's words despite the grim reality they bore. His smile was bitter and sad, "I know. It doesn't help, it just makes you feel pathetic." He sighed heavily, "I would have, though, had I not promised my wife I would never. Not again." He hadn't mentioned his family for what felt like months since his disappearance. He didn't answer the calls or respond to the texts. Didn't even listen to the voicemail. It was terrible of him and though he was protective of his family, he felt as if Gale was worth trusting if only slightly. If not, well, Seraphin Fournier wasn't a name that was hard to track down if one looked into his files deep enough.
A shame, really.
"So, there's that. If I die, it won't be by my own hands," he chuckled. That was one of the many reasons why he made himself an enticing target when he was drunk. So that someone would finish the job for him. Thinking back on it, it was foolish.
The grim smile became something more genuine as Gale spoke about him trying to "rebuild his life" and how it was spite-based. He supposed it was somewhat, but if he were to be honest it was more out of concern. He wanted to give Gale a family, a place to belong, and a true name. He knew enough about the young man to know he was a good man, not a just one, but a good one. "I suppose you have a point, but lying awake at night isn't exactly my favored hobby," he laughed, the sound hollow.
All he could see at night was the empty look in Clement's eyes as he bled out in his arms. He swallowed thickly. "I was going to rebuild my life eventually, but it seems things have just been expedited. That's not so bad, now is it?"
He had been hoping that Gale would come with him, but from the moment Gale had told him to "have fun with that" he knew almost instinctively the young man was going to reject his offer. And reject, he did. Alphonse knew that he couldn't always get what he wanted, but there was the fact that Gale liked to, but didn't dare to go. It was fear that was holding him back. Fear of Sabah, fear of the consequences of leaving.
Frowning thoughtfully, he crossed his arms as he tipped his head to a side. "Well if that's the case, I'll stick around for a bit longer. Just in case you change your mind," he paused, looking around the place. It wasn't bad. "Would you mind if I stay here? If not, I'll just return to my hotel, it's not quite a problem."
Inhaling lightly, he smiled once again, deciding to finally breach his way onto new topics, "So, tell me, what is it that your little group does?" Because at the end of the day, this was no criminal empire. This was a dictatorship.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 19:54:44 GMT -5
He had been done with the cleaning for a couple of moments - it had been something to keep him occupied, to let him keep his hands busy so that he could focus on anything but Al as they spoke. With nothing more to do, he dried his hands off properly and turned to look at the other man, leaning back idly against the counter, watching him through half-closed eyes.
Sometimes, he realised, he preferred lies to the truth. He wouldn't lie - it wasn't who he was - but he found that he would've preferred to have been lied to about Sabah. Sh*t, he was fully aware that he was being used, that he was better than being used as someone to take a fall - but he didn't find it in himself to care. It was one of those things that he'd been aware of, had known was there, but he hadn't paid much attention. Having it pointed out was unwelcome, but he didn't say anything about that. Al was trying to help. His words proved that much. Gale wasn't sure if he wanted the help, was the issue. He didn't know if he deserved it, even as Al went on to say that he deserved better, he still wasn't sure.
"Sabah uses me. She uses everyone she comes across, in some way or other," his brows pulled down a little, mild frustration making his mouth a line. "The Jackals are still my family, and I'm not going to just...abandon them."
Would they even realise if he was gone, beyond Sabah's initial anger? He didn't know. Maybe Jacques would, but Dante and Helios probably wouldn't even care. It wasn't as if he had much of a reason to stay, beyond her - and yet that was enough to make him stay. He felt small and pathetic, unable to do anything to help himself despite help being offered. He just ended up rejecting it.
The mention of a wife caught him a little off-guard - until he realised that it was reasonable. Al had had everything, and that meant that he had family that was tighter then the Family itself. He hadn't really considered it before, the idea of a spouse, but it did make sense. He blinked slowly and considered this for a moment.
"I see," he said, because there was nothing much else for him to say on that matter. "I think she might've been more than a little p*ssed off if you had died last night. Probably mostly sad, though," he leaned back again. "Have you talked to her at all?"
He was good at redirection - taking attention away from himself to push it to something or someone else. If he could redirect this conversation, then hell yeah. It was fine at some point, but more uncomfortable than anything else. Knowing that he had a point, at least! That was cool, or something like that. He wasn't sure if his heart was still in the conversation, though. He wouldn't back out - he'd been taught better - but it was becoming something of a chore to continue to talk.
"Not bad at all," Gale frowned at the ground. "Sure, you can stay here," he didn't have an extra bed, but whatever. He'd slept on the couch before and he could do it again - it wasn't a big deal. "Some of Jac's clothes are in my closet. They're," he made a vague gesture, frowned a little, "more colourful than mine, should fit you. Or be too big for you. One or the other."
The suit was definitely wrecked, and he was no expert. He eyed it briefly, mildly amused that Al had been able to stand toe-to-toe to Sabah with that getup. Then again, he'd heard that the Fournier Godfather was something to be feared, and, despite the silly beard, he did seem to be that sort of man. Not a bad one, though. It was a surprise.
When the line of questioning trailed to the Jackals, he paused and frowned. Gale knew, in his head, what the Jackals did - odd jobs, dabbled here and there. One day, they could be doing a political assassination and the next they could be doing petty thievery. Hell, their younger duo were out doing petty thievery, or something like that. He wasn't quite sure. They didn't keep him in the loop all the time, just asked him for things because they knew they could - bonus points if he wasn't busy (he rarely was). If Gale wasn't on a job, then it was fair game to get him to pull off little tasks for other jobs.
"Things," he said idly, "we have a wide skill set. Jac is muscle and can do jobs related to that. Dante and Helios are a thief-duo who need to maybe chill. I'm a sniper," he paused and frowned. "Sabah does a lot of things. Usually she stays towards the political sides of things - assassinations and whatever else. I don't know," he shrugged. He wasn't smart enough to figure out what other things she did that lay under that, wasn't a political man. He just shot the people he was told to shoot, took the money and left. Easy as that.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 20:33:56 GMT -5
It became almost apparent that Gale didn't appreciate the harsh words. He had apologized them from the start, but it seemed as if the younger man had already known the truth and his reality. That he was being used. That this wasn't his family, but still somehow he spoke of landowning him. To imagine Alphonse had done just that, just up'd and walked out on his family. Was that abandoning them? Did that make him a terrible man? Probably. He didn't dwell on that too much, he'd come back like he always did unless he ended up dead. That was the way things were.
Though at one point he supposed he would have to call her back. He just wasn't ready for that conversation, was certain he couldn't live with the concern. It was just too much for him, someone who didn't deserve it. He had lost everything, so why didn't she leave him? Why was he leaving her? Why did that course of action make sense at the time being? He sighed softly to himself, lowering his head to the rub the back of his neck. Deciding to give Gale a way out, he bit down on his tongue lightly.
There was no pain from the action, just slight discomfort. It came as a surprise, however, when the conversation was redirected to him. Or more importantly, Seraphin. It caused him slight pain to be asked directly about her situation. He knew she knew he was alive, had last been in contact with Renato on his way to Greece. The younger man was devastated by the fall of the Family, had had a fair share of wounds he was still nursing from the fights. But even then, Renato's concern was something he wasn't deserving of, so he had dropped off a good deal of money and left.
Many would call him a coward for his actions. "She would have been," he agreed softly, tone gentle with the mention of Seraphin. The words, the slight accusation, left a twinge of guilt in his gut. All in all, he had wanted to die. Hadn't thought about the consequences, knew they'd get over him eventually but still he loved Seraphin and didn't wish that pain on her. Worrying his lower lip slightly he held back the answer briefly, knowing admitting to avoiding Seraphin out loud would hurt him more than anything.
"I haven't talked to her since," he paused, he wasn't even sure how long. A couple of weeks? A month? Two months? "For awhile," he finally concluded weakly, exhausted with his own sh*t. It sounded bad out loud. He wasn't even sure how long and he had used to be the one to remember the important dates, to recall how long since the last meeting. He'd been getting far too wasted. F*cking christ. "Maybe I'll call her soon," he chuckled at the absurdity of the suggestion. He wasn't going to. He knew it, but he could say the words aloud if only to reassure himself somewhat.
Silently thankful at the topic returning to the conversation of where he was going to stay - and the five star hotel had been fine, but if he was trying to change Gale's mind, it was best done somewhere closer - he straightened up slightly, less deflated. "Thank you," he said, pausing before continuing, "For allowing me to stay. An don't worry about the clothing." He shook his head there, certain that whatever Jac whom he assumed was the other man, wasn't privy of wearing the kind of clothes he generally had. "I have my own."
It was strange to remind himself he had his own possessions, that he could clean himself up at any given moment. It was his own despondency and depression and lack of motivation that had kept him from looking as he normally would have. But that seemed to lessen due tot he current situation with his own spite towards Sabah and his concern for Gale. He had dealt with people like Sabah before, learned long ago he despised people that were cut of the same cloth she came from.
Hearing from Gale about what they did - small jobs and big jobs - but nothing overly impressive. He contemplated it, looked over Gale and decided, yes this was a man he could believe was a sniper. That meant there was five of them from the ones Gale had mentioned. No wonder Sabah had stayed her tongue when he had asked how many of them there were. He chuckled softly, "That's good. It's nice to have a wide range of skills." Looking at the younger man, he eyed him silently."Would you mind if I go get my belongings right now? I can find your place again, it's not difficult. But just in case I do get loss, would it be too much of a bother to ask for your number?"
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 20:54:41 GMT -5
Maybe the subject of Al's wife had been a bad thing to redirect to. He couldn't judge, though - he'd ditched Kesi and hadn't looked back. Sh*t, he didn't even know what she was doing with her life. Hadn't bothered to get in contact with her after leaving his birth family. It sounded bad - but it had been a similar situation with his mother.
He wasn't even sure if his mother was alive anymore, but he decided not to dwell on it.
"Okay," his tone was soft and weary, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to push away the oncoming headache. Today had already been eventful, and he'd barely gotten through it. "Go for it. Uh," he moved past Al to grab a post-it note and a pen, writing down his number before offering it to Al. He hadn't even needed to glance at his phone; sometimes, he appreciated his memory. His phone was new and he already knew the number. 10/10, he was doing pretty well for himself.
There weren't really any warnings or anything that Gale could give the other man - hell, there wasn't much when a man had already put himself through hell. Piraeus wasn't a bad city, and besides, it was Jackal territory. Al was as safe as a man could be, even with Sabah's mood. She was a p*ssbaby, but she didn't get people killed for petty reasons. If she had been that sort of person, then the Jackals would've been caught and killed years ago, before they'd even fully established themselves here.
"Stay safe," he told Al softly, before moving away to sit on the couch, turning on the television to serve as background noise. He had smaller things to do, people to talk to and arrangements to make, and he doubted that Al would mind him getting on with business. Hell, if he didn't, then it would be weird.
His mind had strayed to Sabah already - she had been threatened by Al's presence and he knew it, but he didn't know why. The man was in such rough shape. Undeniably dangerous, but still; Sabah wasn't recovering from a night of drinking and she was in her prime. Al had done nothing but suffer recently, and that had to have put a dent in him. And yet, he mused idly, pulling his laptop from the side of the sofa so that he could work some more, he seems to be in better shape at his worse than she is at her prime. Weird.
It was the difference in how they treated their family, he supposed. Al was a good man with regrets, and Sabah was an awful person who didn't care much for whatever damage was caused. He was the sort of leader that Gale knew he would've followed had he not been underneath someone else. He wasn't someone to ditch - and the Jackals were all he had. He didn't want to be alone again, didn't want to lose the little life he'd made for himself. Truth be told, he was scared of the consequences of leaving. In the end, it was easier to just stay and suffer quietly than to leave. Besides. There wasn't much beyond this city for him - he didn't have his blood family anymore, didn't have friends outside of the Jackals. It was a surprisingly lonely existence.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 21:35:50 GMT -5
Glad to leave before the conversation became anymore uneasy or they just lapsed into an awkward silence, he nodded his head as he grabbed the slip of paper and pocketed it. "Thank you," he said softly, the formality passing easily through his lips as he opened the door of the apartment and paused. "I'll be back soon," though his soon was more or less a lie. He knew he would be gone for an hour. Maybe two, depending on circumstances, but it was what it was.
Closing the door behind him with a resounding thud, he looked at the apartment number. Noting it in the back of his head, he walked out the building and noted the name of the building as well before trailing aimlessly down the streets. This wasn't that far from his hotel, after all, he had found out after pulling out his phone to open up google maps to figure out which way to head. Ambling down the streets, he felt more of his confidence return now that he had a purpose. The mention of Seraphin had been a low blow, he wasn't going to deny it, but with a new purpose and goal in sight he could rebuild what he had lost. And Edgard, despite all Clement had done for him, was going to pay the price of betrayal.
It was just what needed to be done. Traitors couldn't be allowed to survive and thrive, it encouraged the action. Pausing in his steps, the sight of a barbershop caught his eyes and his hand unconsciously raised to the matted and unkempt beard before lifting to run through his overgrown locks of hair. Huffing softly to himself, he headed in, surprised at how empty it was. He hoped that didn't mean it was a terrible place. Lifting a hand in greeting at one of the three barbers who glanced up, he smiled weakly.
The man immediately gestured to the chair, speaking in rapid Greek. Raising an eyebrow, he spoke slowly as he approached, "Do you speak English?" The man was quick to accommodate, swapping over to heavily accented English that was good, everything else considered. The man was large, larger than he was, but a good four or five inches shorter with a kind smile and surprisingly nice hair. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.
"Yes, what would you like? Do you want a clean straight razor shave? I do that here too," it would seem Gale wasn't the only one who thought the beard looked bad. Chuckling softly, he nodded, settling into the chair the man cleared up.
Looking at the images of the hairstyles on display, he nodded towards to them as the man draped the hair-cutting apron over him. "5, please, and if it would not be too much, the straight razor shave sounds good," he didn't bother to ask about pricing as the man set to working on his hair, trimming the overgrown locks so that he looked more presentable in the mirror. By the time he was done with his hair, he found himself more recognizable in the mirror. When he moved onto the straight razor shave, he relaxed into the chair even as the sharp blade ran across his throat.
He'd always shaved himself for that very reason, had stopped shaving for some time because of how shaky his hands had been. But with Flavian's easy going manner, bright smile, and enthusiastic attitude, he wasn't quite bothered. And if the man's hand did slip, was it all that bad? The man filled the silence, talking to the others and to him, sometimes in Greek, other times in English, as the sound of a game echoed overhead on a tv screen out of his view. As the shaving cream gave way to a clean close shave - usually he went with a 5 'o clock shadow, but the clean shave felt good and looked good - he became less like a wreck in the alleyways and more like the renowned Godfather he had been.
"Look good?" Flavian asked, gesturing to his reflection in the mirror as the man pulled back after wiping away all of the remnants of the shaving cream and stubble. Nodding in agreement, he slowly moved to stand up, reaching for his wallet.
"It looks great, Flavian, thank you," he answered genuinely as he took out the remaining six hundred euro he had in his wallet. Honestly, he could go grab more later. Pressing it into the man's hands, he smiled, "Keep the tip. It's was a very satisfying job." Not only were the words genuine, but looking at himself in the mirror he recognized him for who he was. Alphonse Fournier. Not some nameless man looking out of luck and homeless without anywhere to return to. Though he still smelled like alcohol. God damn it.
Returning to the hotel, he realized the shave and haircut hadn't taken all that long. About twenty minutes, no more, no less. Taking a quick shower, he washed away the dirt and the grim from his body, standing under warm water to feel as his aching body relaxed slightly feeling far less tense. It was like he was getting up to a whole new day, a brand new chance, another opportunity. Slipping into his dress shirt, he stared at himself in the mirror. Pausing while getting dressed, he decided to call Maxim to turn down the job.
"Al!" The voice on the other side sounded relieved, the French a little rough, but still passable.
"Maxim, mon ami, I'm very sorry, but I have to turn down your job offer. As much as I trust your intuition and your judgment regarding this Artem fellow, something's come up," he said, turning down the offer before Maxim even had a chance to bring it up once again.
There was some movement on the other end as if Maxim was sitting up before the man spoke, sighing heavily into the mic. "Something happened, Alphonse? Do you need some help?"
"No, no, I don't need any help," he hummed, amused but also touched at the concern in the other man's voice, "But that said, what's the news of the best sniper rifle on the market? Could you secure one for me and deliver it in Greece? It's a gift, for a friend of mine."
Maxim paused, contemplating the offer, "Certainly. Anything for a friend in need. Stay safe, Alphonse. I'll contact you with news of when the shipment will come."
"Thank you, Maxim," he said softly, ending the call once he was done with the formalities. Finishing up with his business, he placed the phone back down to pull on his slacks and shrug on his suit jacket, the press of the gun holster he was used to carrying a familiar weight on his side. Patting himself down to make sure everything was in place, he picked up his phone once again before pocketing it and grabbing his suitcase and the bag with the filthy and ruined suit. Checking out of the hotel was a quick and painless act and he rounded the building, throwing the suit in the trash before leaving.
The walk back to Gale's apartment was thankfully uneventful, though he probably wouldn't mind the fight, he didn't mind the lack of conflict either. Settling in front of the young man's door, he knocked, waiting patiently to be allowed in rather than what he usually did with his closer friends and family. They knew his skill set, knew he would get his way into a location if given permission. And he rarely ever did use the key they provided. It was terrible.
It felt good though, to feel clean and ready once again. It felt as if everything, for the briefest of moments, hadn't changed. As if he was still the Godfather of the most renowned French family. But then again, they could take everything from him, but not what made him undeniably him. And that small thought, despite everything, comforted him.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 22:13:52 GMT -5
With Dante and Helios doing their own job, it left very little for the remainder of the Jackals to do. They no longer worked as a larger group, decided that small parts of them went out on jobs at a time. It was easier to manage, and meant that there was less risk to being caught. For Gale, it felt less like working as part of a gang and more like working solo, but he wasn't complaining. Sometimes, it was just easier to work alone. Hell, he knew that he was often alone in jobs anyway, so it didn't change anything.
His days weren't all about drink and drugs and god knew whatever he had ruined himself with when he'd been younger. They were slow, often boring, and very rarely dangerous. He planned things, and sometimes he shot was he was told to. That was it. Today was a slower day than usual, he had to admit; he had no doubts that Sabah was likely trying to dig up more on the Fournier Family, and Jac was just along for the ride. That meant that he didn't have to worry about them, at least.
Then, there was the matter that Al was going to stay with him. Not long after Al left, he'd given up trying to work and had instead cleaned his bedroom up, made sure that everything was back in place before he went back to sitting on the couch with his laptop. It just made him feel better - to clean and have other things to worry about. Maybe worrying about Al's well-being would help him or something, but that felt an awful lot like using the other man. An escape without escaping - it felt (and probably was) pathetic. The offer of leaving had been tempting, but in the end, he wasn't strong enough. He wasn't sure if he'd ever have the courage.
Worrying about all of this wasn't going to do much other than stress him out.
His mind wandered to Al - wondered, briefly, how he felt about this. Gale wasn't sure how the other man felt, didn't know how to make him feel better. He wanted to help but it wasn't as easy as it seemed in his head, didn't feel like he had much of an impact.
Sabah had had an impact, though. Al's sudden change was spite if he'd ever seen it - but it was strange for it to have been fuelled by the woman who could only ever destroy, never rebuild. Her influence was always negative, though. That wasn't anything new.
It felt too soon when he heard a knock at the door, but glancing at the clock, time had gone quicker than he'd thought. After a couple of seconds, he stood up and opened the front door for Al, raising a slow eyebrow at the man's appearance. He'd definitely cleaned up - hell, Gale had barely recognised him.
"Look at you," he said, moving aside to let the man in, "all cleaned up and sh*t. Uh, I don't really have anywhere in particular for you to put your stuff so put it wherever you want to. Make yourself at home."
God knew that everyone else did. Half the time, it didn't even feel like his own apartment. It was either a base of operations for the Jackals or a gathering place. It was a relief, when everyone else was busy, for him to have his home to himself.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 22:33:52 GMT -5
When the door opened, he smiled nodding his head in greeting at the look of surprise on the other man's face. If the eyebrow raise was anything to go by, he certainly looked a lot better than what he had looked like that morning. He'd seen his own reflection in the mirror when he woke up, knew it hadn't been a pretty sight and that this was a lot more like the man he was and less like the wreck Gale had brought home from the streets. "Thank you, your hospitality is appreciated, Gale," he said rather honestly as he entered with the space Gale gave him to work with.
Pulling his suitcase and placing it in a corner, he stared at it briefly contemplating if anyone else would touch it. He'd keep it near him. He was a light sleeper, would notice if anyone was rummaging through it. It wasn't all that bad, honestly, there was nothing of importance. Just a handful of his personally tailored suits, some of his more casual clothes, his daily essentials, and two of his favorite pair of shoes. But despite it being nothing important, it mattered to him. He wasn't going to just wear anything and having his possessions touched without his permission was something he was absolutely not going to forgive.
Glancing at it one more time, he settled down onto the couch, actually having time to focus and pay attention to the building as he sat, now comfortable with the gloves on his hands. It had felt strange without them last night, and worse in the morning with Sabah's biting words making him wished that they were out of her sight. They weren't, but thankfully she hadn't noticed. It would seem the woman was hardly as sharp as she thought she was.
"So," he spoke slowly, looking up to Gale as he did so. "What do you know about my downfall?" It was strange to ask such a question. It promised answers to questions he knew he wouldn't like to answer, but given Gale's honesty in the morning, he supposed it was time he shared a bit about his own story with Gale. He almost wanted to for some reason, something he couldn't quite explain or understand completely, to show Gale that it wasn't his own inadequacy or failure, but his loyalty and his devotion that had led to his demise.
To show Gale the kind of man he was, to promise to him that the same could be offered to him if he wanted it. He knew it was reckless, but like he had done then with the small Chapelle Family, he knew he could do now with the right individuals at his command. There was no better way to run a criminal empire than with loyal individuals who would do anything for him. And Gale had that quality for people who didn't deserve it. That meant, given the right kind of people to follow, he would be more devoted than even some of his most trusted men of honor.
However, to ease the tension of the situation a bit and give Gale a way out if he didn't want to discuss about the darker matters, he glanced towards the kitchen. The man had been baking this morning. He recognized it from the times with Annabelle. He had used to be the one to help pass her the supplies as he sat on a stool, watching her work. It was more interesting to watch people bake than to actually partake in the activity in his opinion. He only picked up on cooking because it was useful and then stress relieving and it was such a wonderful way to garner the attention of men and women alike.
In due time, with his marriage to Seraphin, it had become a natural thing he just did. It became a part of his routine, something he liked doing and something he teased Seraphin for. It was with a pang of longing he thought about that. He knew he should have called her, but it was just too hard to talk to her. Instead, he focused back on Gale.
"You bake," it wasn't a question, more of a statement. "My sister is a baker as well." It was strangely familiar, and he hadn't missed what the man had been doing earlier. Just hadn't mentioned it with the inclusion of an individual he had already deemed dangerous. He hadn't liked Sabah, hadn't wanted to talk about anything personal in front of her. "It's an interesting hobby, I've never picked up on baking myself. I only ever did cook a few things here and there." Perhaps if Gale wasn't interested in something more tense and heavy, the more domestic side of the conversation would come to intrigue him.
Alphonse didn't quite know, but somehow it only felt fair to talk about himself in order to learn about Gale. To grow closer to the younger man to get him the hell out of here the way he had with Jerome when he had intrigued the younger man into wanting to learn from him, until, in due time, they had grown close and Alphonse had taken him in as one of his own children.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 23:00:35 GMT -5
Closing the door gently once Al was inside, Gale made his way back to his living space and settled on one of the beanbags instead of the couch, leaning back and crossing his ankles. It wasn't comfortable long term, but it was fine for now and he was used to ending up here if the others were in his apartment, so it was fine.
Admittedly, the question caught him off-guard. For a moment, he considered it thoughtfully, looking down at his hands and picking at his bracelets lightly. Despite his t-shirt, very little of his skin was exposed; he'd learned how to accessorise to dress scars before. He felt near naked without the scarf covering his throat, but he was indoors and he hadn't really considered it before. Then again, Al didn't seem like the sort of person to judge by a man's scars. He'd be a hypocrite, for one, and a jacka** for another.
"I don't know much," he admitted slowly. "Mostly what the news said. You're a lawyer and you were the Godfather of the Fournier Family, you fell due to something internal? I'm not gonna lie, I didn't pay much attention," he didn't smile - his expression mildly pained. "There was...a high body count, I know that. Otherwise...that's all I know, really."
Sabah had found it interesting at the time and had dug deeper, but she'd never bothered to tell any of the other Jackals. Gale, himself, hadn't been too interested. The affairs of Frenchmen were just that - not his business. He'd taken what he'd needed to be up-to-date on big news, and had then backed away from the entire situation. Her interest in it had been enough to make him back away and leave her to it, made him wonder if it was giving her any ideas. At the time, Gale had (internally) compared it to the near-death of the Jackals, but on a larger scale. He saw now that it was much more, much different. He didn't know how to feel about it, but he couldn't make judgement. Not really.
His baking being brought up surprised him, and he flicked his gaze up from his hands briefly, before looking down again. In his mind he could hear look up, I can't hear you mumbling, but he didn't pay much attention to it. He continued to pick at the bracelets and swallowed, this time managing a small smile.
"I bake," he confirmed. "I like cooking in general. I," he frowned, paused for a moment, and then continued. "I've been baking since I was young. It was just one of those things."
Easy to do on a small scale, easy to clean up. Not that his father would've noticed, but it was better to stay quiet and keep his head down. Baking was also a good thing to do when he was stressed or anxious - though this morning had proved how easily Sabah could undo any of his attempts at stress-relief. That was a scary realisation.
"I'd say I do more interesting things, but I really don't," this time, his smile was a little more permanent, and a little more genuine. "I don't suppose you do any hobbies?"
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 8, 2017 23:30:18 GMT -5
All things considered, he never sat down, never talked about what happened. Everyone had seen what happened, had witnessed the dire aftermath, saw what became of him, saw the blood that stained his hands to the point no amount of washing could cleanse them. It had been terrible, had been hard. He had seen the way the look in Ivan's eyes had became lackluster, how hard Greg's death had hit him due to his relations with the family despite him being innocent and ignorant. He had been close enough to Ivan, and Ivan had been close enough to Alphonse for the death of the young man's fiance to hit him hard.
He had wanted nothing more than for Ivan to be happy, had recalled when the young man had first entered the household he was reserved and withdrawn, but nowadays he had a smile and a laugh that was larger than life. He'd made Ivan lose all that. The smile fell from his face, replaced with something far more serious and grim and genuine. "It was an inside job," he finally said, leaning back into the couch, noting that Gale didn't sit on the couch even if it was far from him, but on the beanie bag. Interesting.
The others hadn't seemed mindful of his personal space, it had made him uncomfortable. Perhaps the incidents were related. He would find out sooner or later. "We'd grown too big, overstepped our boundaries in the mind of other families. Our influence and strength laid primarily in Paris, but the business grew outside to other cities. Of course, I didn't allow my men to conduct business outside of our territory, that made for bad relationships, it made many of the inner circle of the crime rings uneasy," he smiled grimly. "There were hits, attempts on my life. All of them ended in failure, but one in particular did have a heavy impact."
"It killed one of my capos, a close friend of mine," the words he died for me went unsaid. All he could remember was Clement struggling to breath, bloody hands reaching out to cup his face in a loving manner. The man was not smiling and the pained grimace on his face was not a good look for him. It was far too different for Alphonse to accept. Remembered the breathless words, remembered being asked to watch over the Garreau boys. He had promised. It had been the only thing he could do.
Opening his cigarette case, he needed something to relax him. Placing a cigarette between his lips gingerly, he lit it as he glanced back up. "His death opened a power vacuum. I placed a competent woman in his place, but his son," he clicked his tongue here, shaking his head, "His son thought it was his birthright. Sold out all of the family's intel, betrayed us to both the other families and the police."
"Bodies started showing up, gang wars. Violence on violence because there were other families who wanted Paris for themselves," he chuckled, lowering his head to run a hand down his face. 'I wasn't a failure, but a fool for not killing Edgard when I was given the chance. I made a promise I intended to keep, but now?" He frowned thoughtfully, eyes hauntingly empty. "Now, I'm not so sure."
He loved Clement, loved the man more than anything. But Edgard did not share the same love. Edgard had killed so many people, had left his son in tears. And nobody hurt his family. Edgard was not apart of the family anymore, didn't deserve to bear the Garreau name. "The news has it all wrong, but then again, few know the whole story other than those involved." He tilted his head, appraising Gale's reaction. "They think they've ended me for good, but until they kill me, I will return."
He had to.
Laughing as if the story had been nothing more than one of those tales told over wine and dinner, he leaned back into the couch settling comfortably. Taking a long drag, he contemplated Gale's respond, mulled over the question thoughtfully. "I find individuals who know to bake admirable, there's a certain level of precision it requires in comparison to cooking. I'd dare say there's a science to baking that doesn't exist with cooking," he would know, he suppose, considering that he had tried once at the insistence of Annabelle to bake. It had not gone well. It was a humorous disaster at the very least, and though it had left a mess, it had been a great laugh.
It was times like that that made him long for home, for the sound of their laughter. But he knew all that was left for him there was sad or pitying eyes, knew that Ivan probably didn't even want to look at him again. He certainly wouldn't. "As for my hobbies, I'm sorry you won't find them quite interesting," he chuckled, tapping his cigarette lightly against an ash tray.
"I cook, I read, I spar from time to time and I've picked up on a few tricks with my knives and cards," shaking his head, "It's nothing far too interesting. Just a party trick here and there that catches the eyes of the audience." He paused, looking at the door, contemplating what had happened that morning. He would've ask, but it seemed as if the mentions of Sabah only disheartened Gale if anything.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 23:51:31 GMT -5
It was easy for Gale to have come to the conclusion on his own that it had been an inside job, but having it confirmed was...sad. He remained silent as he listened and took in the information, tilted his head up a little to watch the other man carefully.
The story was a sad one, and he couldn't deny it. It only got worse, too. He listened, continually picking at his bracelets and nails, watching Alphonse from the corner of his eye but not quite focusing on him. He focused, instead, on the details - it killed one of my capos. He grimaced at that, knew the pain of losing someone and feeling responsible for it - but nothing he'd experienced could compare. And then, somehow, it became worse and worse.
Gale was not good at comforting people. He knew this. There were no words that could soothe the pain of losing someone close, no words that could ease betrayal. He bit his lip, his brows furrowed, and he absently drew his knees to his chest, considering the story he'd been told. It was messier than the new had made it out to be, deeper. Without having even met the man, Gale found that he immediately hated the son of Al's friend. Edgard. The brief namedrop had not gone unnoticed. He swallowed and continued to consider the situation, filed away the information, managed to sort out facts from tabloid bullsh*t. After a couple of moments, his gaze flicked back up to Al, and he tilted his head to the side slowly.
"Sometimes, things happen and you have to break a promise," his tone was not soft - in fact, it was a little rougher than it had been before. "Promises don't matter when you're trying to survive. Your friend's son doesn't deserve to have freedom to live," he blinked owlishly. "Sorry. It's not my place to speak about that. It's just," he made a small gesture with his hand, brows pulled down and a mild look of frustration crossing his face briefly. "You weren't a fool. You wanted to keep a promise, but that promise didn't take into account what happens with the wrong sort of person. Your friend's son was selfish, and he...he's still in France, and he probably thinks he's won."
He was frustrated, and he didn't know why. Sabah had told him that he was overly-emotional, laughed at him getting p*ssed on behalf of her or other Jackals, and this, he supposed, was just proof that he was too emotional.
"If you had died last night, he would've won, and he would've been taught that he can always get his way."
But, again, it wasn't his place to talk, so he fell silent. He had opinions - and that was probably his downfall, he supposed. Gale was opinionated as hell. He just didn't voice those opinions often, scared of the repercussions. Hell, he didn't know why he'd spoken up on Al's issue. It wasn't as if he understood the extent of it, wasn't as if he could fix the past.
The laugh frustrated him more, but he didn't voice that.
"I'm not very scientific," he said quietly, tone softening back to what it had been before he'd voiced his thoughts on Al's downfall. "I just like sweets and distracting myself. It works. I'm better at pastries than I am at cakes, though," his gaze flicked briefly to the kitchen, "I was just trying to make a cake because it seemed like. A thing. To do. I don't know."
Sometimes, he couldn't explain his own thought processes. Hell. He usually couldn't explain his thought processes, it was best just to dive into something and hope.
"Your hobbies are interesting," he couldn't help but smile. Just a little. "They're fitting. It's a little surprising, actually," he leaned back, relaxed minutely. He hadn't realised how tense he'd become, but it was just something he couldn't help. Opinions. Had to love them. "Party tricks are fun. I tried to get into knife tricks once, but I am not good with knives. Never have been."
If a knife wasn't for the kitchen, they scared him. He'd learned that the hard way.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 9, 2017 0:33:23 GMT -5
He couldn't lie, couldn't say he didn't notice the frustration fliting across Gale's face. He had wanted for him to feel nothing, to not be amused or touched by the response, but he was in reality touched at the concern Gale could have for others. He had already established that Gale was a good man, but now he was starting to feel he was just far too kind as well. He didn't deserve to be with people who utilized him, forced what they wanted on him, stole from him and his affection without ever giving anything back in return.
It was painful and only caused the aching pain in his heart at the mentions of the downfall of his family even more painful. Slowly exhaling, it almost amused him to some degree how Gale was giving him advice now rather than the other way around. He knew what Gale said was true, had tried to tell himself those very same words. But in the end, the pain won over. It always did.
He had been there once before, when he was young and apart of the paratroopers with Basile Durand. It had been hard to sleep with the images of war ingrained behind his eyelids, there to keep him awake every night due to the fear of being back in those vivid nightmares. He had been diagnosed soon after with PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. He'd pushed on despite everything, had made it through that, had been recruited by the Directorate and serviced as a spy. A ghost without a name or reputation, bound to do terrible deeds for the sake of his nation. That had only worsened his preexisting depression.
Things had lessened when he had left, life as a hitman came with a lot less responsibility. At the end of the day, the reminder that he didn't know anything about them or their families and they had no name, just a number to their face made the jobs easier. He never tried to learn their names, the ones he did stuck with him. He couldn't forget. It was impossible. As a Godfather, there was a lot less blood on his hands because his crimes were committed by his followers. And all of them had been given a reason - a reason of a place where children with no family would find the family they deserved. His family kept the worst kinds of criminals out of Paris, made it so that drug trade was nearly impossible.
And now he was back with the nightmares and visions ingrained on the back of his eyelids, sick and nauseous from the blood that was all over his hands. Of people he would never forget, people that he owed everything to and promised the world but received nothing but a death sentence. "I know," the words were heavier than he liked, burdened by a heavy heart. Almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic he had become.
"I know," he repeated, voice soft. "He doesn't deserve the chances I've given him. I was wary of him, but I didn't realize the extents he would go to. The number of people who trusted him that he would fail." He sighed heavily, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat before bringing them back down to rest on his lap. "But, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, the past is in the past."
He eyed Gale curiously, wondering if the words would reach him the way he was trying to make them reach himself desperately. "Sometimes, it's best to let go of promises and ties that only wear you down."
Allowing that conversation to die and Gale to pick over what he said on his own time, he returned to the conversation at hand. Amused at the response and the explanation he received for Gale's love of baking, he couldn't help but smile. Annabelle had always said that sweets were far better than any sort of medicine, they could remedy any condition. He was inclined to argue for argument's sake, but the sight of a cake on one of his harder days brightened him up only due to the concern that had been packed into the baked good.
"Well, I find baking a very charming skill," he said, and it wasn't a lie. It made him feel like, even though he was so far away, closer to home if only by the slightest. Having his hobbies complimented, as minute and small as they had been only made him feel a slight bit better. His smile widened. "If you don't mind, I could try to show you a few tricks. Maybe with cards if the knives don't want to cooperate," he chuckled.
"Now," he said, straightening up from his more comfortable position. "I hate to intrude, but is there anything for dinner? And if not, would you mind if I cooked you something? As a thank you of sorts for all your hospitality?"
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Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2017 1:11:52 GMT -5
When Gale looked back on it, he'd never really been free to be himself. At first, it had been his father with his pushiness in being religious, in his obvious favouritism between his children, in the way he ignored the children (namely; Gale) that he disliked. Then, it had been Sabah. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, so the saying went. He'd thought the neglect had been bad, had rebelled through his teenage years - and then he'd just had it worse.
He'd learned that sometimes attention was not good.
Falling in with the Jackals had been one of the worst mistakes of his life. He'd been so in love with the idea of being loved that he hadn't paid attention to people like Kesi or his mother, hadn't had the attention he'd wanted and so had abandoned those who'd truly cared for a fictional sort of love that became less and less, until he was nothing more than a plaything. Gale wasn't stupid. He knew that he was nothing to Sabah - disposable. He'd said it before to himself, and would say it again: his days were severely numbered. He knew that the counter on his life was going down quickly, but he didn't know how quickly. Didn't know when Sabah would turn around and finally free herself of him, didn't know when he'd have a knife to his throat.
Some nights were worse than others. When he tricked himself into thinking that the scars on his back hurt, when he deluded himself with thoughts of being so alone that he had to call Sabah or Jacques for help. They were never impressed, but he had nothing to lose. They never comforted him, but their annoyance was something, it told him that he wasn't alone.
Being with Al wasn't like that. The attention felt more positive, two-sided rather than just him doting on the idea of someone because he could. He hoped, at least, that he wasn't overthinking again, wasn't tricking himself into thinking that someone cared when they didn't. Al had offered to help when nobody else had - but turning it down had been necessary. He'd been offered to leave, and he'd denied that, too. Gale was scared. He knew that. He felt like a child, and it wasn't a feeling that like.
If the man was sticking around, then he'd just have to learn. Gale did not think that there was much to him, did not feel like he was worth saving. It was just a fact of life.
Sometimes, it's best to let go of promises and ties that only wear you down. The words felt less directed at the Fournier situation and rather at him, but he decided to push it aside. He didn't want to overthink it too much, didn't want to go down the rabbit hole again. He expected that the fatherly atmosphere that Al gave off was because he'd been a good Godfather, or something like that. Gale didn't know. Wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Instead, he focused on the more domestic side of the conversation, didn't realise that he was absently picking at the skin underneath his bracelets.
The idea of seeing some tricks was nice - Gale couldn't help but smile a little.
"Sure," he said lightly, "that sounds nice."
There was something domestic about talking to Al like this, like talking to an old friend. It was definitely the paternal atmosphere. He didn't want to get attached, didn't want to end up in the seemingly endless loop of I care about you that turned into I fear you.
"Dinner," the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Then, at the other man's words, he smiled faintly. "I actually hadn't considered anything. You're free to, but you really don't need to do anything," his smile was subtle but there, finally reaching his eyes. Don't get attached, this is temporary. "I'm not sure if I have much in my kitchen to work with," he bit his lip and glanced towards the kitchen. "I don't get much when I go grocery shopping."
It was better to say that than to mention that he usually bought takeout or picked at snacks. He did not have a healthy diet. There were definitely some groceries in the house - he liked fresh fruit and vegetables from time to time - but he wasn't quite sure if he had enough to make a meal out of. Breakfast, sure. Dinner? Hm.
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 9, 2017 1:57:55 GMT -5
Having his offer accepted was a step towards the right direction and it caused him to smile as he nodded. "When would you like to learn, I have a few spare knives. I could give you one, if you'd like," he has always favored balisong tricks personally, though he knew a fair deal of rather unnecessarily excessive knife handling techniques. "Or I have a card deck in my suit case, just tell me when, I'll show you a few simple tricks first." It was strange, it was almost as if there was something slowly budding. Something domestic.
He found himself a little nervous as to how much he was already beginning to care about the young man. That was dangerous. Gale's loyalties were still elsewhere, he reminded himself. And when it came down to who Gale would choose, the answer was without a doubt his gang. Or group. Or whatever the hell they called themselves. It made him feel sad for the younger man, but he didn't voice his thoughts on the matter, instead choosing to stand up once given permission to make something for dinner.
"Oh, don't worry about it," he chuckled, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "I'll figure out something. Thank you for allowing me into your kitchen. My acquaintance in Hong Kong was very adamant about guests never entering the kitchen. It became frustrating at some point when the arguments about how he called me brother meant I was technically family and not a guest. I," he shook his head here, laughing at the small story as he walked over to the kitchen space, "never got to go in the kitchen."
Bending down to get a closer look at the contents of the fridge, he realized he had underestimated what Gale meant by not buying much. There was takeout in the fridge. He wasn't beyond takeout, hell, he had had takeout two days ago. But that was because he had been depressed - he still was, he wasn't just magically cured, but god f*cking damn it. Glancing back towards Gale discreetly, he shook his head in disbelief, sighing heavily as he managed to a handful of things that would probably be useful in bΕuf bourguignon.
Pausing, he straightened up looking at the contents before rummaging about for a bottle of red wine. This was starting to look promising. Not Red Burgundy, but it certainly got the job done in his opinion. Popping the cork and pouring out a bit, he lifted the cup - not glass, sadly enough - of wine to scent it. Not bad. Taking a small sip, he nodded before looking at the bottle again. He'd make note of that for next time. Removing his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he got to work.
Preparing the meal was easy. The task itself didn't take much time and he was a silent chef unless he had a companion in the kitchen who demanded his attention or assistance. He was focused more often than not, but if he wasn't taking things seriously, he would have spoke and joked about. Hell, the times he cooked with Colette only to have a face full of flour was some of his favorites. Chuckling quietly to himself at the fond memories, he shook his head to remind him to focus on the present.
It was becoming harder. For some reason, Gale reminded him of his family. He spoke of them and the menial tasks in an actual apartment reminded him of his home in a different way that a hotel simply couldn't. Cooking wasn't that difficult either, and after an hour - he knew it had been awhile - the meal was ready. Having toasted two slices of bread - it was the small blessings that counted and the fact that Gale had the supplies he had needed - he laid them out on two mismatching dishes - ah well - and spooned the stew over it before sprinkling parsley over it.
"It's not much," he finally said as he brought it over to the table, placing down Gale's portion first and then his, "But I hope you'll like it."
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Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2017 2:24:59 GMT -5
"Maybe after dinner, or something," his gaze flicked up to watch Al as the man went to the kitchen, and he immediately looked away. He wasn't sure if he'd overestimated how much he'd had, or underestimated. One or the other. He very rarely paid attention to what he bought - but hey, if he had something workable, then it was fine.
The story made him smile faintly. For some reason, it was hard to imagine that Al could be told to do anything - so the image of him being banned from a kitchen was an interesting one. Gale couldn't stop anyone from doing anything, though - while he preferred the kitchen as his safe space, he hadn't ever had control of it and so he didn't pretend he did.
From the corner of his eye, Gale saw the head shake and felt his cheeks warm up, shrinking into himself a little more. To occupy himself, he picked up his phone and flicked through it, listening to the sounds of the kitchen. It was strange how he was fine with this, even stranger that Al was still here. He doubted that Sabah would be pleased, but it was just...a thing, he supposed. Besides, she'd wanted to use Al for her own gain, and he was still around. He didn't like that idea very much, but Sabah could deal with Al and he could deal with her. Gale didn't want to get between them again, didn't want to be the barrier.
At some point while listening to the other man working in the kitchen, he'd dozed off. Curled up on his beanbag with his phone dangling loosely from his fingers, he would've been surprised at himself. He hated falling asleep when he didn't feel safe, but there didn't feel like there was any danger, and so he relaxed. Just a little. His nap was dreamless and quiet, and he was awake only moments before Al spoke. He blinked owlishly and watched from the corner of his eye before he pushed himself up and to the table, brushing one hand through sleep-tousled hair. Gale's mind was not slow to work when he first woke up; it was often the first part of him to wake up. He was, however, surprised at what Al had managed to make with the few ingredients in the kitchen.
"Considering you had very little to work with, this is impressive," he smiled faintly, "thank you. I'm sorry that my plates are, uh," he squinted thoughtfully at the novelty plate. He was pretty sure it had the Legend of Zelda on it. Huh. Interesting. "Very not fancy. They were on sale and I broke my last plates."
Sabah had, but that was a minor thing.
"Thank you. It looks great," he was genuine in his words. He hated lying - why wouldn't he be? It was stupid to tell people lies. Unless their name was Sabah Ganim. Then it was important to tell them lies that they wanted to hear, but that was neither here nor there.
One thought, however, had been poking at his brain even when he'd been asleep. The fact that Al could return to his normal life, could try to get the Family up and running again at any point had been worrying him. He absently picked up his fork, but didn't move to eat. Not yet. Instead, he watched Al and frowned minutely.
"Why do you want me to change my mind? You said that you're sticking around, just in case. I would've thought that you'd be eager to go home, but that doesn't seem to be the case."
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Post by LβEΜα΄Κα΄Ι΄Ι’α΄Κ on Sept 9, 2017 2:44:00 GMT -5
He hummed his agreement at Gale's suggestion. After dinner? That honestly didn't sound that bad. Aside from the fact he had an excessive collection of knives that Seraphin would be pleased he would get rid of one or two if Gale wanted them. He liked each and every one of them and as much as he didn't want to part with them, he we becoming fond enough to the young man that he didn't quite giving away the ones that held little to not sentimental value and he had bought only due to utility or appearances.
The compliment, though he would never admit to it, made him feel pleased and he smiled nodding at the meal. "Thank you," he said sincerely gesturing to the meal as he sat down, finally inspecting the plates closer now that Gale had mentioned them. He had looked at them briefly - saw the decisively cute drawings on them - and had hoped they weren't part of some collection like Colette's Hello Kitty dolls or whatever she called them. It was actually a relief that these were completely and utterly fine to be used. Honestly, he thought the art was adorable though he didn't recognize whatever the drawings came from.
"And don't worry about the dishes," he said with a chuckle, picking up his utensils as he spoke, "I find them quite charming. My kids have quite a few like these and a number of novelty cups as well. They hate it when I use them without asking first, I was almost afraid to use these in case they were part of your collection."
He'd never quite understand the collection of more novelty things. Though he had his own attachment to comic books in his youth, he never became as interested in them as his kids had. He supposed it was understandable. It was a new day and age, technology was becoming more apparent and used here and there more often. Hell, when he had been younger, cell phones were certainly not as small as what he was used to. He couldn't help but feel pleased nonetheless. This was nice all things considered.
Honestly, things were fine like this. "Please, enjoy the meal," he said, gesturing to the food as he thoughtfully cut into it, quietly contemplating Gale's question as he chewed his meal slowly. It was a good question despite how apparent the answer was. It would seem that Gale was smart, but he was determined to demean his own self value. He wanted to believe that he wasn't worth much, that he clearly hadn't garnered Alphonse's attention.
Then Gale mentioned home again. Sighing, he swallowed what he was currently eating before deciding to answer the question. "I think, once I rebuild the Family, you'd be an asset to me. But since you're uninterested in my proposition, I wanted to stay around for a bit, see what your little group truly does, take in the sights, and then fly to Russia." He didn't push on the fact that he was staying for a rather indefinite amount of time. "At the very least, perhaps you might fine interest in being an associate of mines."
He shook his head, smiling, "I take care of my own. But let's not talk business over dinner." He chuckled, returning to the meal at hand, hoping his words hadn't been too telling on the fact that he was concerned for the young man. He was young, he had his entire life in front of him and yet... The thought made him sad, but at the very least, the meal was enjoyable.
"Tell me, Gale," he said, trying to redirect the conversation as he scooped up another bite, "What places do you recommend stopping by while in Greece?"
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