Bankrupt [prp Mortimer]

[Malakai]

Things have calmed somewhat since the unexpected outing of Malakai's sexuality weeks prior.

Temporarily, her and Lyra have installed a figure-head that will get the public back to normal. Malakai, although she feels entirely uncomfortable with the situation as a whole, cannot help but relax a little after she notes the companies profits have fluctuated back to average; they are no longer flopping on their stomachs like a pale fish suffocating and she sleeps better knowing it.

She'd been borrowing and pulling money from Elizabeth's favors. And though it'd been a band-aid to kiss away somewhat of the boo-boo. Lyra hadnt known, (and she likely never would now,) that Malakai had been balancing their check book on the verge of bankruptcy. Sometimes even pulling money from her own pockets in accommodation to the hungry mouth of their extravagant lifestyle. If it had kept up she'd have gone mad with the stress and just taken what she needed.

The starving quota of both the company and the demon's fee for freedom would have driven her to drastic measures; need be. Although she had never been a proud enough woman to not invest in shareholders. She'd been a proud enough woman to not cash in all of her favors or admit defeat; not just yet. In retrospection she's glad she didnt. There are time and places for everything and a crumbling company seems hardly a reason to call upon Cassus, or Liam, or any other immortal creatures to bail her out. She could use them for later things.

The shuck reclines back on the couch. She's never been much a fan of the television but out here in their cabin and away from the hulabaloo of the cities gossip and her agents reports she feels ostracized and out of the loop. She's spent a considerable amount of time (when Lyra wasnt around ) watching the news and logged onto her phone to watch stocks. It's annoying at first, and she feels discouraged and angsty. But eventually she fumbles her way into something resembling ''informed'' and tracks her company the best she can. Today the stock is up and she's able to sip a cool cup of tea and drift into thought every once in a while. She's in the middle of being absent-minded when there's a knock at the door.

It's not Lyra. She has a key. And no-one else knows where they are; not even that man -- Abraham -- who'd she desperately left in her chair and office to flounder his way through (or die trying;because she'd kill him if he didnt). So Malakai rises cautiously. Straightening out her jeans as she stands and makes her way to the door. The chain link is in use as she opens it slightly, peering into the cold Colorado air with slit eyes.

Narrowed suspicion floats in gray eyes at first, but once she recognizes the sharp face of someone she hadnt seen in a long time. They widen and she says nothing as she closes the door in his face. Undoes the chain lock and opens the door fully.

Flat-lipped and shivering the demon says,

"Brother."

And feels teardrops of fear gathering like a crippling ball in the small of back.

[Mortimer]

He's been watching. Not just because it is his job to follow the progress of this brothers and sister, making sure the walk the line, lashing out if they don't. It's because Mortimer doesn't forget, and forgiveness? It's a foreign concept, written in an archaic hand of another life. It was only with a passing interest at first, her progress in the world not his main concern. Mort had consoled himself with the fact that she knows what she's doing. That didn't seem to be true anymore.

Everything see to be going straight down the hole, which wouldn't have been a problem if she wasn't owned by the same entity that laid claim to him.

A meeting with said entity who appeared by his side as he walked strode down a quiet, snow-banked street in Budapest, trying to ignore the not-quite-blood, not-quite-ectoplasm that dripped off his hand and was smeared on his face. It was an unwelcome visit, as they had all grown to be, only to convey instructions.The barghest cleans himself up, spends a day on an airplane, arrives in Colorado.

Taxi-ride to the front gates of a gaudy monstrosity, disembarks, provides an embosses card at the gate that seems to do the trick.

He walks quickly, moving lightly across the unsullied blanket of snow. Gloved hands raises to the door, only the slightest microscopic traces of hesitation before he raps on it.

The door opens and he, poker-faced, says nothing. It's not like him to be so stoic, but in truth this is the last place he wants to be. The door all but slams. It reopens again, allaying his concern that she may be less than compliant if she sensed that this would happen.

"Brother."

The familial term is not what he expected, but the lack of warmth behind it is. "Sister," he gives as a reply, before making his way through the opened door, needing no invitation.

A pause, looks around thinking that she's done well for herself before laying it all out on the table, eyes still roving around the foyer. "He sent me. That cunt-- what's his name? Abraham?-- he's not doing enough," Turns to her before adding not unkindly, "You should have seen this coming."

She would be a fool not to.

[Malakai]

His return greeting is brief, and it lacks as much familiarity and relief as perhaps her's did. She doesnt know why he's here, and it takes a considerable amount of her rational thought to calm her from a impromptu panic. Perhaps it's only the sudden movement that snaps her from vicious retaliation to the visit - that stops her from saying something rude - being too presumptuous. If there was ever one of her kin who matched her cunning and wit, it had to be Mortimer, after-all.

They had too much history pregnant with conflict and betrayal to feel entirely placid in one another's presence. The fact she knows he'd never visit her unless it's business rises her hackles enough.

"He sent me. That cunt-- what's his name? Abraham?-- he's not doing enough, You should have seen this coming."

Malakai eye's darken as she clicks closed the door. Leaning on it carefully as she ignores the blunt of his accusation. Turning slightly to look out of the blinds adjacent. "He didnt follow you here did he?" A pause when she inhales through her nostrils. Flashes of white in her eyes as she assesses the situation; but doesnt turn up with the sneeze-soot of her master. "He sent you here alone then. That's brave."

She shares a careful look with Mortimer. It's concealing and observant. But there are still traces of hopefulness hidden within. Though it may have not been to the level thought -- as said prior -- they had history. A hundred years worth of friendship. Maybe torn abruptly when Malakai had up and left with unsaid promises that remained unfulfilled. But there was still something of a mixed message in her gaze. There was still a fraction of her that Mortimer would only have seen.

Uncertainty.

Malakai clears her throat, turning from her perch to glide back towards the couch. A friendly wave of her hand that offers him a seat as she takes her own. Leaning back to kick her heels up on the edge of the table - to run her fingers through her long dark hair and take a deep breath that displays more of her inner-conflict then she'd ever admit too.

She wants to ask the extent of the knowledge on Lyra he has. She wants to quiz him on everything that's happened, she wants the gaps filled in. But this is a careful rabbit she's prowling. She hasnt seen Mortimer the blunt of fifty years. Her little brother was not so ''little'' anymore. And maybe he wasnt even her brother anymore either. Not in truth (though arguably, it had never been), but in merely title.

A trust before that had been unbreakable may have kinks from time of abandon.

Does he feel bitter with her for leaving? Does he hold disdain, envy, wrath? Malakai wants to crack him open like a walnut, run her tongue over the salt - digest it. But she has become a careful woman since her umbilical cord from hell was sniped. Emotion will not run off the careful prey she has been chasing for what seemed a eternity.

She clears her throat and levels Mortimer a estranged gaze. "I have kept to the end of my deal. I've been heeding to his excessive commands loyally. Why are you really here?"

She leans forward, a intuitive angle to her head.

"What more do you want?"

And she makes sure to emphasize the ''you''. A play to see if she'd get Mortimer worked up like he might have before. She could still remember the twitch to his fur when those of the collection would include them as a whole. Would refer to them as the simple evil. She wants to know what side he is on before she begins to plot and plan.

She wants to know if there is still a thread connecting, even thin, of a dream they'd created together; that she was trying to nurse into a promising reality.

[Mortimer]

Dark eyes watch his counterpart as she warily looks out the blinds. There's something in them that appears doubtful. Mortimer has abilities that came close to matching hers, and might just be as calculating, but never has he been able to cast his emotions aside or mask them as easily as she.

"He didn't follow you here did he? He sent you here alone then? That's brave."

Something like a sneer, or something of disdain appears. "He doesn't need to follow, he's known where you fucking are." A brief wave still gloved hand, "Not like holing up here wasn't an obvious move." Sheds the gloves, jammed in the pocket of a thick-lined jacket-- he's never been one for the cold-- which he also relieves himself of. "You think he'd just let you go off without keeping tabs on you, did you?"

He still owns you is left unsaid, but still fully implied.

Casting the coat on a sidetable, Mortimer stands in a nicely tailored-suit. One would be inclined to think he's moved up in the world. He doesn't think it will fool her. He meets her eyes and there's something between them, something she almost seems to be trying to communicate, but he let's his gaze wander away. He's not here for them, she's several decades too late. Still, he answers with, "And what would you do to me, Ludmilla?" It's not a challenge, almost a jest.

Clearing her throat, she leads him away from the door, to where she had been before. The TV plays and he watches it with a disconnected interest. Not viewing himself wholly as part of society, the news and recent events are a passing fancy. Remains standing as she sits, takes a breath, his unwanted presence clearly weighing badly.

She gives him a level gaze, and this one he can hold. He stares back.

"I have kept to the end of my deal. I've been heeding to his excessive commands loyally. Why are you really here? What more do you want?"

Mortimer has never been as manipulative as her. Try as he might, he never excelled at underhanded strategies. Too forward, too impulsive, he preferred unveiled, unmistakable threats. Still, he saw through what she was doing, didn't want to rise to the bait. Didn't want to make himself out the abandoned child, yearning from attention of the deserter sibling-parent-caretaker-whatever. Didn't want to grind his teeth or let that telltale twitch in his left hand show. But they did and the anger-- righteous anger, if one in his state could lay claim to such a thing-- it swelled inside his chest and he spat out, incredulously

"Me? I'm not here for me." Doesn't pace, which is a plus. Does his best to remain calm because he'd lose even more face if he started ranting and raving and foaming at the mouth. "I was sent here. I have orders. Or don't you remember what that was like?" Embittered words are bitten back, reeled back in and he continues on with difficulty. "I'm here because he--" Mortimer doesn't name him, still doesn't because it feels almost like a summons. "-- because that old fucker wants assurances. Your man-- floundering fucking trout of a man-- isn't equipped enough, able enough to handle the business. He's not stupid, he knows how far down hole you nearly were."

Takes a breath and soothing breath that lets the tension ebb away, "Another slip-up like that and you won't be able to dig yourself out." There's something in that statement, not marred by the rage.

[Malakai]

He doesn't need to follow, he's known where you fucking are. Not like holing up here wasn't an obvious move. You think he'd just let you go off without keeping tabs on you, did you?""

Malakai frowns. It's more out of flat disappointment then him getting the best of her. After all, she'd have been a fool to think she could ever escape the hands of her soul-bearer. There would always be some ''profound'' (or so he says) bond between them. One that has given her wings and simultaneously smothered her. A father that loves her enough to let her go - but never entirely. She wonders if Mortimer yearns for that love from their creator. She wonders if he's gone through the things she had when she left. And she searches somewhere in his gaze to find a clue. Any kind of wayward flinch of pain or hint or animosity that has not always been lingering there. But she no longer knows how to properly read his facial expressions and the attempt is abandoned as soon as it begins.

Instead she focuses on nosing in other ways. Slick ways she has discovered through words and guises and petty grins that are worn tight enough to cut circulation.

"Do you think if I hadnt wanted to be found I would be?" She remarks casually. Makes some sort of condescending noise with her teeth. Entirely to arrogant and smug given the situation; being that little brother had to come and clean up her mess. "It would be doltish and suspicious to hide from Ikus. Or do you not remember?" -- remember the time both of them had thought to escape in the british isle. A makeshift happiness with peasants and street urchins. One that had been abruptly shot down when their master had shown up laughing and punished them both horribly for months.

Malakai's fingers wander thoughtlessly to her upper-thighs. She could still remember the taste of blood on her tongue. As she always did.

"Dont underestimate me." She warns. A serious look that is not a threat but a truth.

"And what would you do to me, Ludmilla?"

She's quiet for a moment. Thoughtful -- maybe she even looks irksome as the silence rolls on and stretches. Mortimer may wonder if he's walking on thin egg shells. If her patience has always worn so thin - or maybe her fuse has grown longer? But before the silence can be taken as hesitation or even a pre-preemptive attack a smile spreads across her face. It's too flat and even to be genuine, but the corners of her lips still twitch in good mirth. "Hang you upside down," She pokes back. Speaking casually but a glint of mischief in her eye. "Flog you with a stick." She moves her hand in a meticulous notion. "I'd even let you pick it out Morty.''

-- Like old times. She implies. Watching his reaction carefully.

But whatever fast (slow?) track they'd been on is abruptly noosed with the stool kicked out from under it as Mortimer loses his head. It's knowingly the sort of response she'd been counting on.

"Me? I'm not here for me. I was sent here. I have orders. Or don't you remember what that was like? I'm here because he-- because that old fucker wants assurances. Your man-- floundering fucking trout of a man-- isn't equipped enough, able enough to handle the business. He's not stupid, he knows how far down hole you nearly were."

She levels him a serious look then. And there is something dangerously sharp about her low response. A flash of ivory tooth that's unintentionally suggestive. "He does not lay claim to anything I have gained. No matter the debt I owe he does not own, nor hold a right to dictate how I profit. He is only entitled to a share of that profit."

She sneers.

"So once again, why are you here, Mortimer?"

Because it surely was not to attempt to control what had never been in his power, or the demon he catered.

She pauses.

"I have a better bargain in mind for you. One that wont have you crawling back to Ikus with your tail between your legs empty-handed."

Because maybe this had been her plan all along.

[Mortimer]

"Do you think if I hadnt wanted to be found I would be?

The look on his face speaks to his opinion, nose wrinkled as if in disgust. The smug sense of superiority wasn't what he remembered, but his recollections of her were no doubt colored with age, torn and dog-eared and wrinkled by his own attempts to both remember and forget. "I think there's no place in the world you could go that he wouldn't find, one way or another. He'd hunt you down like a dog." -- or with dogs. Either his estimation in Malakai varies from her own, or his estitmation of him did. Maybe he'd been with him too long, relied on him too long, been kept under thumb too long, been kicked around too long.

"It would be doltish and suspicious to hide from Ikus. Or do you not remember?"

A visible flinch from that, whether it from the name that he refused to voice or simply her unburying that particular experience. "You think I'd fuckin' forget?" Not likely. For either of them. He'd played it carefully since then, though he had grow less so once she had left. It did him little good.

"Dont underestimate me."

No sort of threat or challenge, but Mortimer suspects that veiled behind the statement, there's another meaning. Perhaps a sign that there is something at play that he's not fully aware of. Would be just like her to have some endgame that no one could see until the outcome was already upon them. That he did remember. Shakes his head in reply, not a denial, but a refusal to takes sides. It seems he doesn't have quite as much confidence in him as he thought.

"Hang you upside down. Flog you with a stick. I'd even let you pick it out Morty.''

He snorts at that, lightening up if only slightly, hands tucked into pockets looking almost coy. Again he looks away, from her gaze, trying to pick apart whatever's there for her to find.

"He does not lay claim to anything I have gained. No matter the debt I owe he does not own, nor hold a right to dictate how I profit. He is only entitled to a share of that profit. So once again, why are you here, Mortimer?"

She pushes, and again snaps back with teeth bared and hackles raised, having clearly not learned his lesson the first time. "The specifics of your contract with him aren't my interest, Ludmilla. I'm not fucking lying about my reasons for being here. I don't fucking lie," he snarls, clear emphasis on the latter two words. That flicker of light in his narrowed eyes, resemblant of the glowing set he had when he was a black dog, was a warning. " I am here because he fucking commanded me to be here. You think I'd actually come to you on my own?" A direct look before the addition, "What possible reason could I have for coming for you?" Abso-fucking-lutely none, his expression told her as well as everything else.

"I have a better bargain in mind for you. One that wont have you crawling back to Ikus with your tail between your legs empty-handed."

What that sounded like-- what he expected it to be was he agree-- was a death sentence. No, he wouldn't kill Mortimer because that would be a simple end. Horrific, excruciating, humiliating, but still an end. Which wasn't how he did things. Paranoia, dabbled with a fair amount of experience, led to an incredulous, if explosive reaction. "You -- fucking -- you know what, fuck you and fuck this and fuck whatever ploy it is that you've deemed fit to kill me with. I'll let him come himself-- you deal with him. The pair of you worthless fucks deserve each other." The dramatic conversation-stopper included a violent gestures, an accusing point, and a violent shove of table her feet were on (probably would have flipped it was there enough room to do so), before he headed for the door.