phantom pains {Francis/PAST}

[Mihai Roșu]

The doctors had told him the wounds should not trouble him anymore, after a good few months of rest, so he did not know if the discomfort in his gut now was from the scars or the fact that he was about to meet someone he really didn't want to. Someone he didn't fully trust in the first place. Someone he was certain was mainly responsible for how he got those scars at all.

His hands were clenched into apprehensive fists as he crossed the floor of the cabin, low heels clicking on the wood. Moreover, aside from his doubts, he didn't know what he could possibly be wanted for. He'd done what he was told, taken the appropriate time off as he'd been instructed, and was back to his shifts at the clubs and brothels when he was well enough to do so. He wasn't enthusiastic about it (not that he'd ever been very enthusiastic about that part of the job, but even less so now), but he lied well enough, and he'd spoken to no one about his fantasies of revenge. There was no way they had any reason to get him in trouble.

At least he hoped.

He sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth when he reached the boss' office. They hadn't expected him to live in the first place, so maybe this was the moment they'd get rid of him for good. God knows he had enough secrets about the Phantoms' debtors to pose a threat–but, no, if that had been the plan, they wouldn't have put in the effort and resources to provide his treatment. Perhaps I'll live to see another day, he thought, with no particular optimism. He raised a fist and knocked, loud enough to be heard through the thick door–once, twice, thrice–then dropped his hand and wiped them both over the front legs of his trousers. He would be the perfect imitation of calm, despite the cool prickling spreading over his neck and back.

Given permission to enter, he inhaled through his nose and pushed the door open, stepping inside. He even managed a smile at the man sitting before him, though he felt no honesty in it at all. He wouldn't try to employ the sickeningly sweet voice he used with clients–at the very least with them, he had the encouragement of money–but this was just... pure formality. Nevermind that Francis was far from the sort of person he wanted to be sweet to–he was much too cold for that, it was like trying to coax an iceberg into melting–but he would be polite. If only so attention would be off of him as quickly as possible.

He pressed his voice into something as natural as possible–smooth, unaffected. "Hey... You wanted me for something?"

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Francis Bonnefoy : Let me know if you need anything changed!

[Francis Bonnefoy]

Shifting the papers around on his desk, Francis could feel the frustration building in him. There was something about the last case he had someone sent out on that sat like a rock on his stomach. They had gotten what they needed, yes, but something wasn’t right. Everything looked fine on the paper, but he had his instincts from years in this position to tell him that something was off. The man.. this… Mihai… Sundew… Perhaps that codename was fitting for him. Moving more papers and looking over expenses, he frowned. The bills from this weren’t something to blink at…. Didn’t the man read that the mission could have been deadly? Hell, didn’t he realize that a lot of the ones could be deadly. Didn’t Mihai know that the more skilled they were, the more likely they were to be sent on the more dangerous missions because they were that good? But perhaps that wasn’t the problem. Perhaps this mission was above his skill in some ways. But the point was that he had gotten the information, and he was still alive. Francis knew that the man had already been debriefed, but he needed to see how things were for himself. There was much he could tell based on what he saw; body language that he could read. Humming to himself, he organized his desk, making sure anything he may need was at the tips of his fingers.

Looking up at the knock, he arranged himself in a relaxed position, his glass of wine on the desk beside him, a curious look on his face. Telling him to come in, he smiled when he say it was Mihai, his Sundew. Moving to get up, he pulled a chair out for the man on the other side of his desk, moving to sit across from him, trying to create an atmosphere of trust and one of mutual understanding, of being equal for the moment.

"Hey... You wanted me for something?"

“I did, please sit. I apologize to drag you out here, but this is the only location I trust for any type of talk that in somehow relates to business. Please, how is my Sundew doing? Are you feeling better? I actually do worry about my men when they’re out on a dangerous mission. Is there anything I can do to make the transition from hospital back to work easier?”

Some of those questions were just formality, some of them he did want answers to. He had his own part to play in this, and now he was showing the concern a boss should for injured employees. He did want to know how the man was doing, how he was faring. While it was for a debriefing and to get the feeling out of his spine, he wanted to see if they still had a solid worker or not too. Perhaps he should have Arthur check in as well.

“Forgive my manners, would you like something to drink?”

Moving with grace, he moved to pour some wine out of the decanter, filling a glass for Mihai before refilling his own glass and sitting back down, putting both glasses on the table.

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Mihai Roșu

[Mihai Roșu]

The questions made his skin crawl. 'My Sundew,' was it? It was too familiar—sickeningly so—affecting a closeness that Mihai wanted none of, and at the same time reminding him to whom, exactly, he'd signed his life over when he'd dived, headfirst and naïve, into this business. Now he was getting asked these cloying questions, as though the man sitting in front of him hadn't been responsible—to whatever degree—for the bullet that had torn through his organs and exited an inch from his spine. This sham of caring was just another layer of humiliation, as though a few paltry words and a fake warmth would have him trotting back like a pup.

Nevertheless, he made himself to do as he was told. Regardless of what he would decide for the future, he was still, at the moment, under the Phantoms' charge, and the person before him was its boss. A few steps took him to the chair opposite Francis, where he slid in and crossed his legs, primly clasping his hands on his knee. No one else needed to see his fingers digging hard into his skin. Before he had a chance to answer, Francis had gone on to prepare drinks—two—which Mihai would have accepted anyway. He couldn't say 'no' to a drink, even if it came from someone he currently had no faith in.

As Francis poured, Mihai took some time to consider his questions. What would he say? Platitudes, no doubt, but he needed for them to sound sincere, for Francis to believe that he had someone who still firmly stood in the Phantoms' ring—perhaps a touch upset or shaken, which would be a normal reaction, but loyal nonetheless. That was all fine; he was in no mood to mount a challenge anyhow, nor to spin an elaborate lie that his answers didn't need. He had worked out the gist of it by the time Francis set his drink down in front of him. "Thank you," he said with a smile, polite, though not yet reaching for the glass before he could unclench his fingers.

"I appreciate your concern," he began, "and for covering for me at the hospital. It was good of the group to step in to help." Surely it hadn't been cheap. "The doctors are no longer concerned, though they don't want me to perform any... strenuous activities just yet." Hah. Francis must know, too, that meant a reduction to his income given what he typically did. At least Mihai had saved enough that starvation and homelessness weren't immediate concerns, though he supposed he was going to have to cut down on any extravagances. A shame, really—one wanted nothing more than luxuries when on a sickbed.

Having said that much, Mihai finally reached for the glass in front of him. He swallowed the alcohol in sips that may equally have been consideration or nervousness—and, truthfully, he felt both. Too little curiosity could raise as many eyebrows as too much, and other than that, the answers he wanted were real. "I didn't even probe him about the debts, when..." That happened. "How did he find out? And the lot of you got to him, in the end?"

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Francis Bonnefoy : Feel free to make something up, if you want lol.

[Francis Bonnefoy]

"The doctors are no longer concerned, though they don't want me to perform any... strenuous activities just yet”

Nodding as he had figured as much, he moved to reach over on the table and grab a sheet of paper. Tapping a pen to his lip, he started writing something down as he listened to him, thinking over what he was being told. Nodding as he figured out what he wanted, he wrote something down before folding the paper over and handing it to Mihai.

“Here, I do realize that this is a… inconvenience to you and you’re livelihood, but that’s part of the system we have. You’ve all pledged your life to this organization and have given you’re all to it. It’s only fair that we give back what you have given us, to take care of you in your time of need. So here. I’ve written out a slip our treasurer should understand. I’ll give you a stipend every other week, for a total of two months. This should be a good time frame for being able to get back to work.”

He knew he might seem cold, but he knew that he was nothing without the whole origination behind his back. That if they all went down, he went down too. He didn’t care what people thought, but he was trying to get a read on this man still, and so far, he wasn’t getting much of a read. Hearing the question, he shrugged, still looking at him.

“Who knows. It wasn’t us who informed him. Since this has been happening, I’ve been starting feeling out the network, trying to see if we have a leak somewhere. It’s a slow process unfortunately. And oui, we got the man, no worries. He won’t be troubling anyone, anymore. Thank you for doing everything that you’ve done so far Mihai… but I must ask... in these circumstances… would you like to change jobs? You don’t have to work at the brothels and such. We can find another position for you.”