pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ He steps into the little room after Emily. Leona never mentioned this level of obsession when he took the job, but it’s extremely possibly she didn’t know either. The thought makes something hot and angry settle in his gut. So help him, he’ll ruin this guy if it’s the last thing he does. ]

Funny, the things people do for love.

[ He says it blandly, his anger remaining deeply buried. He moves to the notes, and begins shuffling through the papers with purpose. The love notes and the pleas for help aren’t what interest him. It’s the professional papers, and if they’re not in here, Alec will eat his shoe.

At last he starts to uncover them, scrawled doctor’s notes outlining Edward Baxter’s condition. The intention is there, at first, to administer a proper treatment, but as Monroe and Leona’s affair continued, the treatment took a very different turn. Alec leafs through lists of symptoms and how to induce them, how to prolong them, how to start a steady but gentle decline of the other man’s health.

And at last, at the bottom of the pile, a newspaper clipping of Edward Baxter’s obituary.

He hands the pile over to Emily. ]

You might find this to be engaging reading.

[Lie, cheat, steal, murder. Funny the things people do for love, indeed.

She sets the letter aside for now, instead given something that must be of more interest by Alec; she had noted the way he was setting aside mere letters for... something else. Some information that she could only assume was his main purpose in being here.

She doesn't ask questions just yet, instead satisfied with leafing through the papers given to her. They're strictly professional, which meant they were strictly medical in this case -- records of Edward's slowly declining health, tracked with the fastidiousness of someone with a clear intent. And, it appeared as she continued to read, that intent was not to make the husband better, but rather lead to his ultimate decline.

There's something about the way it's all so... empirically handed that makes Emily feel sick to her stomach. These papers revealed a cold calculation that was almost casual in how eager the doctor was to take another man's life, simply to further his own agenda. Out of so-called love, or lust, or simply having something that didn't belong to him. It rubs her the wrong way, reminding her of when she was younger, when people were so quick to maim and murder all around her, just so they could use her and manipulate her.

She cannot hope to know of all the misdeeds that go on in this city; she isn't so naive to think that she can put a stop to it all. But this doesn't make her feel better about her ignorance, and in fact, it makes her feel like she still isn't doing enough. There's hardly anything in this world that makes her feel more frustrated.

Finally, Emily looks at Alec, anger in sharp eyes.]

This man is a murderer. I won't let him get away with this.

[ He watches Emily’s face as she reads through the notes, finding a cold satisfaction in the anger that settles in her expression. That she’s angry is good. It means she’s going to focus her attention on bringing this man to justice, which means Alec will be free to ensure that Doctor Whitney Monroe won’t have a leg to stand on by the time of his sentencing. ]

I should hope not, with that pretty speech you gave me earlier about justice.

I don't just give pretty speeches. [She's quick to make that addendum; she's not hesitant to mete out justice when it's clear that a crime as heinous as this has been committed. The evidence is relatively clear-cut, and it's difficult to see shades of grey this time.

Good. For once, it'll be nice to not be so muddled up by politics and blurred moralities. It makes for a swifter resolution -- or at least, she can certainly hope it will.]

Criticize all you like, but you're playing just as big of a role in this fetching little ideal called justice, too.

[ He just shrugs, the motion noncommittal as he idly looks around the little room. God, this is creepy. ]

I just do what I’m paid to do. Sometimes it works out in the name of justice, sometimes it doesn’t.

Can we get out of here? This place is freaking me out.

[Emily suddenly finds herself eager to leave, as well. Not because of an unease, but because suddenly this is something she wants to take care of ASAP. She nods.]

Fine. Let's grab what we need and head out, before anyone comes back.

[ He holds up a finger. ] One thing before we go.

[ And he inclines his head towards the many pictures of the woman all over the walls. ] My client. She won’t suffer for this, will she?

I’ll never work again if someone who hired me gets swept up in all these big legal proceedings.

[She lifts her chin, revealing the slightest sign of offense at the question. She supposes, perhaps, that it's a fair enough one to ask. He still has no reason to trust her completely. Emily has yet to truly give him one.]

Your client is innocent, as far as I'm concerned. Surely you don't think that I care about something as trifling as an affair?

[ He barely restrains his urge to roll his eyes. It would figure that someone of Emily's standing wouldn't understand what's important to a person of Leona's. ]

You don't, but she does. I'm not out to ruin her life, here.

[She would argue against that pretty adamantly if that thought had been said aloud.]

Neither am I. [She crosses her arms, eyes sweeping across all the photographs once more.] Don't worry about her. I won't do anything that'll make you regret working with me tonight.

[ He raises his hands. ] Just making sure we’re on the same page.

Since it seems we are, let’s get out of here for real this time. [ He assumes Emily still has all the relevant documents in hand, but he casts around one more time to make sure that he hasn’t overlooked anything. There’s nothing in the little room that seems relevant, so they exit and he carefully shuts the bookcase, locking it and concealing the keyhole once again.

The key goes back in the desk drawer (and while he’s there, he quietly pockets a few notes and a small address book for himself- knowing who this man’s friends are helps him do his job, after all). He finds a moment where Emily’s attention is diverted to wave the lock back into place with a small motion of his hand- he always locks everything behind him, to better cover his tracks.

He meets her back at the rope, still dangling from the skylight into the middle of the room. ]

So, if I say “ladies first” this time, are you gonna shoot me down?

[Emily does have the documents in hand, creasing them in half just enough for her to place them in a pocket, lined on the inside of her coat.

She watches best she can as Alec locks everything back in place (though she misses his subtle use of his special skills); when everything is said and done, and the rope dangles in front of them, she lifts a brow in his direction.]

I wouldn't shoot you. That would make too much noise.

[She can allow herself a sliver of sarcasm this one time, and she doesn't give him time to respond, either. This time, she does clamber up the rope first -- quietly, swiftly as she can, up through the skylight and back onto the roof.]

Was that a joke?

[ He sounds unimpressed, though he’s privately amused. Maybe the idea of justice or whatever gets her to loosen up a little? There’s something out there for everybody, he supposes.

Once she’s on the roof, he hauls himself up the rope, flipping on his Enhancements with a thought to help ease his passage and he makes it up top rather quickly. (Maybe a little too quickly? Eh.) He leaves the skylight to her as he gathers up the rope, looping it back up. ]

Well my lady, this has been a wonderful and enlightening experience, but I believe this is where we part ways.

[The skylight is quietly taken care of, and when is all and said and done, they've done a good job looking as if no one had been there at all. The documents in Emily's coat already feel like they're burning a hole in her pocket; she feels eager to return to the Tower and see to this matter first thing in the morning.

But something causes her to linger a moment more before they depart, and she doesn't turn to leave or even acknowledge Alec's parting words just yet.]

I still have questions for you that you never answered. [It's probably obvious what she's referring to.]

[ Fuck. He was really hoping she had forgotten that.

He turns to face her, expression bland, ]

Our little agreement didn’t cover answering questions, so… no.

[Fine.

She'll be a bit more direct, then.]

Have you been using dark magic?

[It would be something she had seen before, all those years ago -- the day her mother was killed, wielded by Daud's assassins. It's the only kind of magic she knows of, dark and dangerous, borrowed from the Void. If it's what Alec's been using, she has to know, even if it doesn't feel quite the same.]

[ Her directness has the intended effect, and Alec freezes in his tracks, turning to regard her with and evaluating look. A reevaluating look, more like. He had suspected that she knew about magic, of course, based on her conviction when they first met, but most people don’t just ask that. That she asks about dark magic and not… magic in general suggests a familiarity with the former, but not necessarily the latter.

The gears in his head are clearly turning as he looks at her, tongue coasting over his lower lip as he thinks.

Then finally, cautiously, ] Not dark magic, no.

[He's budged, at least. But her bringing up the subject seems to spark a motivation in her; it's hard to erase the association between magic and the moment her life changed completely, even if she tries very hard not to think about that day too often.]

Then what? [She steps forward, not even realizing it.] The last people to have used magic in my life did not leave a particularly good impression. You've proven yourself so far to not be as loathsome as them, but surely you can understand my being wary.

[ When she steps in, he steps back, raising both of his hands. ] Easy, princess. It’s just magic. I was born with it- I’m not making pacts with demons or anything.

[She's surprised to see him stepping back, and she blinks, setting her jaw and exhaling through her nose. Her composure comes back to her, practiced and smooth.]

I've never heard of anyone just being "born with it".

Wizards don’t exactly advertise their existence.

But if all you’ve seen is the nasty stuff, I’m not sure how to convince you that I’m on the up and up.

Well. [She crosses her arms, as if being defiant against her own following concession.] Thus far, you've made a better impression, as... frustrating as you can sometimes be. And you haven't murdered anyone yet.

[Emily watches his reaction carefully. Truthfully, she doubts that he's anything as terrible as an assassin. She's more inclined to believe that he is what he states, a man who takes "jobs" to screw over the wealthy.

One can't be too careful, though.]

Dark magic or no, I need more of an explanation than that. You said you're a wizard?

Wow, Em. That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.

[ That whole “frustrating” thing is still in full swing apparently. Though, now that he’s convinced she’s not gonna attack him or anything, his posture eases a little. ]

I did. What more of an explanation do you need?

["Em"? No one calls her Em. Not even Corvo or Wyman calls her that; she's caught between being put-off and surprised, and settles somewhere in-between with her correction.] It's Emily.

[The frustrating thing is definitely in full swing.]

What kind of magic is it? Who taught you?

[ That was about the reaction he was expecting from his little nickname, so Emily does not disappoint. ]

Okay, Emily. Can we have this conversation somewhere other than the roof of the guy we just robbed?

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my inbox ate ur notif om nom

i see how it is

not my fault they're v. tasty

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