1o ɂ spam

[mattersverymuch]

spam } victor creed

[There isn't any point in waiting. The marquis wants to start this now. In part because he trusts Iris's judgment, in part because she's right, he's bored, in part because he'd like to see if he can warp a monster into a different kind of monster even in this place with all of its bizarre checks and balances.]

[He follows Victor starting shortly after lunch, watching his path out of the cafeteria carefully. He knows Victor's habits; he knows most people's. And while he starts out following at a distance, he gradually decreases subtlety until he is abruptly waiting for Victor by the door to the CES. Just watching.]

private/video } dean winchester

[The decision is made abruptly. Succinctly. Like a light turning on, or off, or the breaking of a bone.]

[He sits on a flat stone step in his room, or what passes as his room; he sits on it like it's a throne, and he smiles for the camera.]

Have you ever heard the story of Puss in Boots?

Comments

[mattersverymuch]

I heard it from the rumor mill, Mister Creed. I heard it from the wind. As I said: never something for nothing.

[He considers this idea - of not being one's best at any point in time - and dismisses it. His intent is always to be his best. Just because lately he hasn't been--]

[Not important. On his first day, he was. But it's not in his best interests to say that.]

[lawofthejungle]

An' what kinda somethin' would I have to give t'get that kinda information?

[He wouldn't have believed it anyway; Creed's universe is composed of him and everyone else. He is superior. His worst day is still better than everyone else's. He is unbeatable unless he allows it. Cannot be bested honestly more than once. It is a lesson learned and the future will be better. It will not happen again. He can afford to admit the fleeting lapse.

His words now are lazy, measured and unconcerned. He is curious, but not enough that he will lose any sleep over not having the answer. He has his own ways of finding out.]

[mattersverymuch]

[Of course he does. The marquis doesn't expect anything less. After all, physical pain - torture - is an excellent way to get information out of people.]

[People other than him, of course.]

[He shrugs, smiles.] I'm not sure what metaphorical wares you have. Generally I deal in favors, but if all the favor will be good for is violence, it's slightly less use than a favor from someone of more versatile skills.

Then again, as I said, I do think you have more. Skills, I mean. Underneath it all.

[lawofthejungle]

[Torture only works reliably on a certain group, Victor has discovered in his long and illustrious and blood-steeped history. Those too scared to lie well, those already inclined to betray or tell the truth out of fear. The weak in the herd. With a little pressure, a little encouragement, they sing like nightingales, answer every question you ask with fear in their eyes and desperation in their souls, as if they'll be released from the cage in the end, as if their loved ones will be spared, so long as they answer. Sometimes the answers are even the right ones, or answer questions you hadn't asked yet. They are useful, and entertaining, and provide him the screams and fear he thrives on, but ultimately hollow and cheap because they get there far too quickly.

But those with too much conscience, or too little, those for whom physical pain is nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience, who have dissociated themselves from the emotional ties the rest of the herd clings so tightly to, these individuals will never respond well to it. Some of them scream and cry and piss themselves anyway, much to Creed's continued entertainment, but they do not speak.

He thinks the Marquis may be one of the latter. Not that he won't squirm and scream like the rest, but he won't talk. Won't ever give a straight answer no matter what you do.

It's not necessarily a bad thing. There are ways of getting them to talk too.

The lazy drawl continues, stretching out across the space with the practiced ease of someone intentionally painting a disinterested picture. A cat turning its nose up at the food dish or a friendly hand because it can. To prove that everything is at its discretion.]

Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Been around for a long, long year, as the song goes. Be a disappointment if I didn't pick up a few things along the way. You tell me what kinda favor you need, we'll see if we can't work somethin' out.

[mattersverymuch]

No.

[That's that. The answer is no - to telling, at least. That's not how the deal works, never has been. And perhaps it's a matter of timing, of waiting until Creed is desperate in one way or another (because no matter how much you might think you never will be, it happens to everyone) - waiting until then to deal.]

[He's promised Iris an attempt. Never a quick one. Some things require finesse. Victor Creed clearly requires a lot.]

It's a check for a certain amount, to be filled in later. You tell me how much this information is worth to you, I tell you how big of a favor you'll owe, when I'm in need. If you double-cross me, I stab you in the back.

[None of this is said with any urgency or concern. He's interested, yes. But this is just how he does business. It's not personal. It never has been and never will be, or at least that's the hope.]