deadlydelicacy | ☆BACKLOG☆ - Reborn and Bianchi history

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☆BACKLOG☆ - Reborn and Bianchi history

Who: Reborn and Bianchi
What: Their first real mission together
When: Two years before the start of the game. ☆BACKLOG☆
Where: A place a lot like New York

To say Bianchi was nervous would be an understatement. It did not help that she'd been paired with Reborn for this mission and was still trying to decide if it was a test or someone just didn't think she could handle it on her own. None of that was making things easier. And she was pretty sure Reborn remembered her little obsession with him from when she was twelve. Her eyes darted sideways for a moment, the dark fedora hard to see but the orange band blazing even in the dim light. There was no way she'd let on she was on edge. Reborn wouldn't treat her differently and she didn't want someone she had great respect for to think any less of her. It was her job to prove herself regardless of what this evening was about.

Both their heels clicked on the sidewalk as they moved toward the building their target was supposedly inside. The expensive black Ferragamo shoes Reborn wore had a hollower sound from the wider heel. And Bianchi's made that higher pitched, focused sound of a three inch stiletto. Her arm was curled lightly at his elbow and they certainly made a fine looking couple as they approached the gallery, the lights from the building throwing the shadows crossways to those cast by the streetlights outside. The cars passing by threw their own shadows making light dance around dizzyingly. As they grew closer, the bouncer at the door was visible. The show was invitation only but of course they didn't forget that detail, Reborn had the invitation in his jacket, Bianchi's clutch was obviously too small to carry it without having to fold the fine paper. Her eyes lifted up the tower of the building and she took note of the windows that were lit. Then let her gaze fall back to the building looking for other exits. "Looks like quite the party." She murmured, voice lazy more because of effort on her part than any real state of calm. Her hand was just a little tight against Reborn's elbow. Madonna it was like having your teacher by your side while you took the SATs.

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It would have been utterly gauche of Reborn to even mention the importance of the omertà and he wouldn't insult Barelli by saying it; whatever else the man was, he was a professional. He didn't check Bianchi's work either; after all, so was she. He simply opened the door, Alessandro beside him, both of them making a good show of distress as the police hurry over to see what was going on.

Barely half an hour later, they are dismissed along with the rest of the crowd as an ambulance pulls up to the back entrance.

"Well, if you don't need me any longer-" Alessandro started off as if to go in a different direction, only for Reborn to grip his wrist.

"I really don't think so," he said in an almost sweetly reasonable voice. "Until this is entirely over, I don't believe I'll let you out of my sight. Bianchi," he said, his tone reserved and polite, "I think we have some wrongs to redress, don't you?"

"Wonderful," Reborn stated, looking over Alessandro - who stands his ground, more or less - his own slow smile mirroring Bianchi's, even as he lets go of the other man's wrist. "I'm sure you understand where we're coming from, don't you?" He murmured, his tone urbane and almost courteous.

He started to lead them all in the direction of the hotel he and Bianchi had checked into when they'd arrived and left their few necessary items. While they had managed to extricate themselves from the fiasco at the art gallery, there were still about a million ways this could go wrong. They had a lot to plan and prepare for, if this was going to go properly. Things were more than just a little tense after all: in a foreign territory, with their whereabouts known by not-entirely-trusted people,. and a half-willing hostage to deal with as well. A veritable land mine to navigate more or less blindfolded.

"Why don't we go get ready for that then?" He said just under his breath, his smile a little more genuine this time.

"I can be quite persuasive when the situation calls for it," he said with a little smile, with only the slightest irony. This was going to be an ultimatum situation, after all; no matter what ended up happening, there needed to be reparation for the insult paid to them by these families. They had multiple deaths to answer for, as well as the utter recklessness of involving the civilian authorities in this completely internal affair.

"I don't think we have enough time for that," he said, after considering her suggestion briefly. "Considering how behind schedule we are at this point. Besides," he glanced at Alessandro, whose face was carefully neutral, "I believe we can manage to handle an army - it would be a good lesson, in any case." He hefted the weight of his gun, as if testing it. "It's hard to believe they would be so foolish, but this entire trip has been a refutation of intelligence on their part."

"I always endeavor not to be boring," he said with a genuine smile and sets the gun on the table within easy reach.

The building is dark and mostly empty, an old warehouse with bad lighting (just a bare bulb above the single table). There are two intact chairs and very little else in the way of actual furniture. The windows are large, the light flooding in from the street and passing cars just a bit eerie in the night.

Through some contact or other, their opposition had managed to get a hold of Barelli again. To be perfectly frank, Reborn was surprised that they even valued him enough to agree to a risky meeting for an antidote... But wheels within wheels, and likely they felt that there was no way that two foreign operatives working alone could manage to pay back the insult that had been laid down by the powerful local families. So they would be coming into this meeting overly confident and expecting acquiescence - perhaps just a little posturing, for the sake of pride, but we must make allowances for our foreign guests, shouldn't we? After all, Reborn and Bianchi were basically impotent in this little game that was being played out, the sacrificial pawns in the larger chess game; a shame about Marco's death, but he succeeded in setting up the blame. Our excuse is set, we can discard these already used pieces; kill them here or let them go, it doesn't matter which.

Reborn had been playing this game for much longer than any of them. Whether the leaders chose to come alone, as specified, or break the bargain by bringing their support, no one that mattered would be leaving the building alive.

The knock on the door was right on cue.

"Please do," Reborn said softly, his posture casual, but his gaze is intent as he takes in the room, checking that everything and everyone is in place, from the placement of Bianchi's soda cans to the exact angle of shadow from the pale moonlight flooding through the grimy windows. No doubt their "guests" would have people wandering around the building in search of anything even vaguely suspicious.

He is impressed by Bianchi's poise and deft handling of the situation, defusing the obvious tension with nothing more than a touch and a few murmured words. He'd expected nothing less, of course, but it was always nice to have his high expectations confirmed. It didn't happen very often, after all.

He watched as the various bosses, subordinates, along with the usual subterfuge of subordinates pretending to be bosses, and vice versa, walked confidently into the room to sit around the plain wooden table, feeling entirely in control of the situation. But it was a brittle confidence, and Reborn had already planned to exploit it.

His usual fedora was tilted forward, his signature dark suit impeccably pressed, his long legs propped up at the head of the table as he sat back in the surprisingly sturdy wooden chair, the perfect picture of easy insolence. He could see as the more hot-headed among the delegation bristled at the insult offered by this calculated gesture. When he judged the timing to be right, he reached for his own can of soda, popped the tab casually and took a sip.

"It's really quite good," he said mildly, when none of the group followed suit, instead watching him suspiciously, and at Bianchi and Alessandro nearby.

"Cut the crap, hit man," one of the men snapped angrily, pushing his offered can out of the way and into the center of the table, where it tilted and overbalanced, falling onto its side. It then rolled, due to a slight tilt, down to tap gently against Reborn's shoe. "Look who your partner is - the Poison Scorpion! Of course we're not going to touch any damn thing you offer us!"

Reborn shrugged and took another sip for himself. "Well, if you didn't want it, you only had to say so."

"We're here to talk terms," another of the group said, with the overblown confidence of a decoy boss overacting in order to persuade. "So talk. We're reasonable people, I'm sure, and we can come to an agreement-"

Reborn met the eyes of each and every person sitting at the table, his expression nonchalant. They were all tense, dealing with the strange situation and unfamiliar operatives, but they were also confident in their own ability. How wrong they were; he would just have to strengthen that incorrect assessment. "Women," he said with an elaborate shrug, and set his near-empty can of soda down while glancing at Bianchi for her signal, though it looked completely natural. "Unfortunately we don't have the facilities to allow her to primp in private here. We are just visiting, after all," he said with the very slightest emphasis. "We had to make do."

One by one, those around the table relax; how foolish of them to be worried about anything happening. Hadn't their security teams cleared the building before they'd even arrived? They had people posted everywhere; no matter what happened, these two wouldn't be able to escape. There weren't any air ducts for things to be piped in from, and they'd even remembered enough to refuse anything offered by the Poison Scorpion!

"Really, darling," he said softly, still watching Bianchi, "couldn't that have waited until later? We do have guests to deal with."

He smiled again, and then looked around the table. His tone of voice is almost pleasant, but the words themselves were far from it. "Imagine my surprise," he began, "to learn that the Families in this city do not respect even the most basic rules of hospitality. We have always been on the best of terms with your operatives, both allied and neutral."

"What business is it of yours?" One of the heads retorted. "We conduct our business our own way, and you foreign-types have no right to-"

Reborn continued as if he hadn't heard. "To drag a completely uninvolved Family into your petty little sandbox power play is not the bending of some obscure protocol to your own ends, but a violation of the most basic courtesy afforded to your fellows. Murdering two visiting operatives in cold blood while in the midst of an approved and beneficial enterprise is more than criminal," his mouth twisted sardonically on the last word, "it's bad manners."

No one spoke up, though quite a few looked quite murderous.

"Luckily," Reborn said, voice soft, but perfectly distinct, "we managed to not get ourselves killed, which means you can make amends."

"Since, of course," Reborn picked up from Bianchi's line of thought with a shrug, as if he didn't really care much either way, simply stating a fact of life, "the discourteous actions which we have been subjected to from the moment of our arrival in this lovely city could not possibly stem from an organization-wide conspiracy of..." A delicate pause, "idiocy."

Though no one was rude enough (or stupid enough) to actually outright contradict him verbally, the room suddenly seemed less quiet, the subtle sounds and movements of outrage as loud as an actually spoken message to those who knew how to read the situation.

He took another sip from the near empty can of soda and tossed it behind him carelessly to clatter almost deafeningly in the corner of the room.

"But there are other ways in which you can - will," he corrected himself, his voice so soft as to be nearly inaudible, "will be making your amends to us."

The reaction to Bianchi's statement was gratifyingly violent and loud, as every single person around the table voiced their outrage and their own threats for retribution. Not a one of them looked repentant, thoughtful, or even slightly frightened by the current situation. It was as he expected, but far less than he had hoped. He hated the idea of reporting back that the entire contingent in this city, which his boss had held hopes of doing business with in the future, was made up of nothing but a group of petty, childish thugs who could not even stop posturing for a moment to see the overall picture.

And to be underestimating a person of his reputation and caliber, even if some of it could be honestly mistaken for mere hearsay and rumor, was just another measure of their lack of judgement.

He made a gesture to Bianchi, their agreed upon signal, while those around the table continue shouting at him, at each other, at their aides to prepare retaliatory measures.

"There's very little point, I should think," Reborn said coldly, standing and engaging with one of the half-hearted attempts to attack his person physically; a few blurred movements later and the man is doubled up on the floor, gasping for breath. "Reasoning with them has already proved to be an exercise in futility, as they don't seem to even possess such higher functions."

"Nature abhors a vacuum, as they say," he said, his eyes watching as the strongest of the assembled members succumbs to the inhaled poison. "But our work here is done." His gaze is clinical and impersonal as it settled on Alessandro, who is looking clearly terrified. "Save for a few loose ends. What have you to say for yourself?"

"Yes," he answered simply, still keeping a close eye on Alessandro. But it seemed that he wouldn't have to worry about him suddenly turning on them; there was shock, yes, a just a bit of disbelief, but Bianchi's expert handling throughout the situation had kept him in line. He wouldn't slip the leash now, after this demonstration. Reborn so hated to lose a colleague to this kind of in-fighting.

"We still have some work to do," he reminded the two of them.

"Why don't we do something a little more...dramatic?" He asked with a brief smile, slipping the key into his pocket, fingers brushing briefly against the detonator next to it. He gestured to the charges set at strategic points throughout the room. "And cover our tracks, as it were?"

He led them out of the building, shutting and locking the door behind him - he wanted the explosion contained within the area after all. Fireworks factories and the like were always constructed with fragile roofs in order to give the force of the explosion room to go, rather than trying to bottle it up.

"I've heard absolutely lovely reviews about the area's restaurants," he said with a casual shrug as he draws his gun to shoot down the near-invisible single look-out posted by the Families before they'd entered the building; two shots for insurance, his manner completely professional and unmoved - it was just another part of the job after all, and to be expected. "So our trip won't be a total loss, my dear." He said this last with a little upward curve of his lips. "I hope you don't mind if we don't ask you to join us, Alessandro," he said coolly. "You have your own report to make, don't you?"

Reborn watched until Alessandro was in a car (mentally making a note regarding his easy skill at hot wiring the vehicle) before he took Bianchi's arm chivalrously, pressing the detonator into her other hand. "Would you like to do the honors?" He said with extravagant gallantry, motioning towards the locked building behind them.

He took the detonator from her slack hand and tossed it overhand into the fire burning merrily away in front of them. "Let it go," he said, his voice a low, commanding murmur in her ear, perfectly audible despite the background noises: the sirens of the rushing fire trucks and the cracking of fire-burned wood as the steel struts of the building screech and warp under the stress of the explosion and the heat. "Death is the greatest of equalizers."

His grip tightened slightly on her arm, not quite tugging her away, but certainly urging her to follow him. With a slight smile, "And we're between jobs now, after all, and our flight isn't until the morning. I would much rather enjoy the company of a charming, competent and beautiful woman than dwell on what's already done."

"I am mortally wounded," he said with a teasing note of hurt in his voice, putting one hand to his heart mockingly. He scanned the cars available to them, but none of them were any nicer than what they had started out with, so he leads them in that direction. "Is my company not good enough for you then, Bianchi?" He unlocked the car casually, reaching out chivalrously to open the passenger-side door for Bianchi.

Reborn took his seat at the wheel, starting the car with smooth, practiced motions, the engine erupting into an almost aggressive purr; it was a sound he enjoyed very much. "I'm entirely at your disposal tonight, my dear. This is your area of expertise, after all." Besides which, it was nice to see how very well Bianchi had grown up over the years. To be perfectly honest, he was proud of the way she'd handled herself on this assignment.

The car is stopped at a red light when Reborn finally answers Bianchi's question, leaning over to whisper in her ear, "whatever you'd like to," followed by the faintest ghost of a kiss, before the light changed and let them speed through the streets on their way to dinner.

"I'm not a very nice man," Reborn replied mildly, almost like a gentle warning, but also matter-of-fact, just stating a simple concept. "Would you like to go back to the room to clean yourself up a bit first?" Considering their chosen method of execution, the two of them were only very slightly askew. But it would be appropriate to allow Bianchi to choose the type of venue they would frequent, depending on her choice of clothing.

He tilted his head a precise fraction of a degree in acknowledgement of her words as they pulled up outside the hotel. A uniformed valet hurried over to take their keys, but Reborn waved him off with a folded bill. "We'll be right out," he explained coolly, opening the door on Bianchi's side and offering her his arm. "Leave the engine running."

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