The Phantom Seventh

The Phantom Seventh
Date of Scene:	01 December 2012
Location:	Manhattan - Twilight Detective Agency
Synopsis:	A mysterious Frenchman confronts Mercade and Celina in unusual circumstances.
Cast of Characters:	Deidra, Mercade Alexander, Celina Duvalis, Maximilien

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Maximilien has posed:
It's the middle of a dim morning at the Twilight Detective Agency. A thick blanket of fog lays across the area, giving the eerie place an even darker feel than one might expect. The door's painted over, the windows tinted so one can't see through them. There are a few lights on inside the windows, but this simply enhances the eeriness - it's like staring at a giant monster with a thousand eyes ready to devour unwary travellers in an instant. The door is thoroughly locked, as it always is; there is nothing different, nothing changed, nothing even the slightest bit out of place.

The computer inside is on, humming quietly to an empty room; the posters and dart boards are undisturbed, the pizza boxes untouched, the discarded ramen unmoved. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that anything has gone wrong during the time the Detectives were out and about doing whatever it is they were doing, out and about; not a trace of any sort of disruption.

So why are the lights on in Mercade's back office, and why has the smooth jazz on the radio turned to the haunting sounds of O Fortuna?

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade comes home! It's been a busy few days. Heartless activity is up. People are getting scared. But the work of the TDA never stops. The Detective pops in the door, closing it. He reflexively reaches to his brow to pull off his hat... And stops. He still hasn't gotten used to not having it.

Damn that Mistress of Games.

He looks over at the hatrack, glancing at that hat at the top like he always does. The black silk tophat, with two bulletholes in it. No one touches it in the TDA. Everyone knows who it belongs to.

He sighs, heading past the lobby and towards the office area where he does all of his work... And he stops at the door. His hand is at the knob, and he frowns.

Something's off.

He tilts his head, listening to O Fortuna, and he blinks in confusion. No one goes in his office but him. Tom's too... Tom, and Celina is usually busy keeping people from dying from malnutrition or doing forensics. Will never liked classical, and Naveen couldn't even reach the knob. He sighs, inwardly. Someone's in there, that much is obvious.

So he enters, just before the song goes into the famous climax, as he stands in front of the desk and folds his arms with a frown.

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina Duvalis had been taking a very nice nap on the couch out in the main area.

She eventually wakes up, her head tilted to the side as she strains to recollect herself; finally, her tired brain manages to mutter to her, 'that's not smooth jazz on the radio anymore'. About five seconds later, den mom is on her feet ... and walking towards Mercade's back office. It can't be Mercade - he likes smooth jazz.

So instead of knocking, she sort of walks right back in behind Mercade.

Maximilien has posed:
The office door swings open; Mercade's office is pretty much exactly as it always is, exactly the same in every detail except for the man sitting in his chair, feet up on his desk, tapping away at his computer.

Recordscratch.

The man sitting in Mercade's chair is a tall, handsome fellow; it's hard to tell just how tall he is sitting down, but he's certainly quite tall, with a sort of lanky, stretched-out look to him. He looks thin, though not malnourished - the sort of thin you become when you're incredibly precise about your own appetite and get plenty of exercise, and are, of course, quite stretched out. He's fiddling with the computer with one hand; in the other is a long black cane, tucked under his elbow as he types. His shoes are black, his slacks - nice-looking, expensive-looking slacks - are white, and his suit follows suit, a cleverly trim three-piece. A tie dangles from his neck; it's matched by an outrageous opera cloak, hanging down the back of the chair and in fact brushing against the floor; it puffs up around his neck, as well, making it seem as if he's wearing quite a high collar. His face is smooth, unscarred, and well-kept; his nose is somewhat sharp, his eyes sharper, and his lips are quirked upwards in a bit of a smile. Cropped red hair crowns the man currently sitting in Mercade's throne; it, too, is meticulously kept, clean and straight.

The man does not look up as the door opens. His smile simply widens a bit.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle et monsieur, comment allez-vous ce beau matin?? Ne pas attention � moi, je me suis laiss� entrer."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade's eyes narrow. "Well, that's new." He says to no one in particular. He examines this man intently, taking in his features with his usual detective's senses.

And his senses say 'trouble'. Not the fun kind of trouble that comes in the form of a woman who smells of lilacs and has whiskey-scented breath. No, this trouble is considerably less pleasant.

His eyes roll up as he tries to remember a half-semester of high-school French. "Uhhh... Parlais Anglais?" He says, and then frowns and coughs. "Okay seriously, what are you doing with my computer? There's nothing useful on there."

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina's eyes narrow. She finally smiles, however, especially as Mercade french fails.

"Je fais tr�s bien, merci de le demander. Comment �tes-vous?" The French rolls off of her tounge, the polyglot looking ... a little smug. You have to be sort of smug to French, it's a thing.

Maximilien has posed:
"Bien s�r que non. I was merely playing Minesweeper and awaiting your return, mon ami. Assez bien, mademoiselle; merci le demander." The frenchman's half-quirked smile goes full sly, and he clicks the computer to the side and turns to give his full attention to the pair. "Please forgive me for not standing, monsieur et madamoiselle; your chair is quite comfortable, you see, and I would be loathe to leave it and shuffle about in such a small office, oui? It would probably be very messy and difficult to get about, and we would have to squeeze around or walk over your desk and if I may be frank, monsieur, that sounds quite unappealing and unpleasant."

The frenchman's cane slides out from under his elbow, and he waves it at whatever passes for chairs in Mercade's office anyway. "Veuillez vous asseoir. We can talk once everyone is comfortable, I think - much more friendly and open that way."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
MERCADE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND FRENCH. He's just going to have to let Celina deal with the Frenchisms as he goes ahead and sits down in the client chairs. May as well see where this is going. Besides, Mercade is one of the people who believes in making the client chairs more comfy than the guy behind the desk. Not that his is bad, of course. "You're not really leaving a great impression on me, but if you're who I think you are, that's not really going to matter now, is it?" Not that there's a plethora of insufferably French phantom thieves around.

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina, bless her heart, doesn't even need a second invitation before she plops down in one of the chairs. She does tuck herself into it further so that her feet are underneath her, so she takes up even less space.

Celina is still smugfacing, by the way.

She does it so rarely.

"Well, then." She says, flapping a hand. "Go ahead, ma peche."

Maximilien has posed:
"And who do you think I am, Monsieur Alexander?" The man asks cheerfully, leaning forward and tapping his cane thoughtfully on the desk. "Or why you think I need to impress you?"

"I am Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne, and I have decided that I am going to be staying here and working with you for the forseeable future for various reasons, mostly my own. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, monsieur Alexander, madamoiselle Duvalis. Forgive me, but I took the liberty of checking through your personnel files when I had the chance. Can never be too careful, yes? The worlds are *most* dangerous these days."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade folds his hands. "Well, you exhibit the flamboyant disregard, overbearing personality and attention to style that matches the type. Meticulous clothing. Controlled movement. No sign left of your method of entrance. If you didn't want us to know you were here, you would have done your job and left without us being any the wiser. You didn't fall for the various precautions I have around my workspace."

He gestures at the computer. "You also managed to break into the computer without locking out the account, and I'm not an idiot who writes down my passwords or leaves hints on my desk. You've done your research."

Mercade gestures. "Combine that with the obvious allusion in your name, and you would have to be none other than the infamous interdimensional Phantom Thief MARS." He deadpans, "A pleasure to meet you. You've made a bit of an impression on people."

He sighs at that. "So, what brings someone like you to an organization that would generally be hired to seek you out and arrest you?"

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina shares a glance with Mercade - it's the one that reads, in the many years she's been around, she's never heard of anyone in the TDA actually walking in, saying they're going to be employed by the TDA, and it not be a dream.

Hnh.

"You're good, Monsieur Renaud-Sylvianne." Celina finally says, softly. "A little too good." There is a calmness to her, one that she normally radiates... that works as a very nice poker face.

She then shakes her head at Mercade. She doesn't know the right question to be asking here, but that's probably not going to get them anywhere.

Maximilien has posed:
"I should certainly hope that I have made an impression on people, monsieur Alexander; impressions are priceless in addition to being free. A reputation can never be bought; only acquired or lost, built or destroyed. Moreover, it must be made or destroyed by one's own hand at heart - others might be involved, but lies inevitably fall apart, oui? In the end, only one's own actions define one's reputation." Maximilien spins his cane back under his shoulder and crosses his legs once again. His smile remains incredibly relaxed; he seems utterly unconcerned that he functionally is breaking and entering in plain view of a bunch of supernatural investigators. Of course, he's also pretty sure that he could escape relatively unscthed, so there's that.

"Your reputation claims you are quite skilled. It claims you are some of the best detectives around, and some of the only ones who deal with the worlds as a whole. It claims that you are also most familiar with those creatures we call 'Sans Couer' - 'Without Hearts'."

"And I have a vested interest in Les Sans Couer, monsieur. Regardless of how you feel about my extra-legal activities, I think we can both agree that these creatures need investigating. In fact, I understand you have been doing a bit of that yourself, yes?" He raps the desk with his cane again. "So I am joining you."

Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Syvianne dips his hand into his suit pocket; from it, he pulls a stack of dollar bills, laying them on the table in front of Mercade. "Here is my first bit of rent, monsieur. It should be sufficient, I think."

He leans back in the chair once more, tucking his arms behind his head and reclining a bit. "I am quite good, madamoiselle; if I were not, I would not be infamous. Then again, I could be anonymous, but I think I prefer being infamous - it is much more fun to let people know you are coming ahead of time."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade listens to Max's response, tapping the side of his head. He nods to the Frenchman and sighs. "Yes, we're researching the Heartless. They're a major danger to the world. All worlds. And they need to be stopped. I mean, your skillset could be useful, but..."

He squints at the wad of bills laid on the desk, and he picks them up, flipping through them. "These look familiar." Mercade says, offhandedly. "Did you take them out of the cash safe?"

He tosses them back on the desk. "You're good, no doubt. But what I want to know is why we should trust you."

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina stares at Maximilien for a few minutes, then she smiles and reaches underneath her turtleneck and jacket, pulling off her necklace, letting it fall to Mercades' desk.

"Psi Sigma, Maximilien. Veritas vos liberabit - now." The necklace starts glowing bronze, and Mercade knows that Latin phrases trigger her magic. However, Celina is a smugface, and a cheat, and didn't actually do anything but start it up.

"Yes, please. The truth."

Maximilien has posed:
Maximilien laughs. "I did indeed." He digs into his coat again and produces another stack, one decidedly less familiar, and settles it on the desk. "This one, however, is far more legitimate. I merely wanted to see if you are as good as is claimed. And it seems that, indeed, you are."

Maximilien raises his own cane, hanging it in front of Celina gently. He makes no offensive motion; however, if she does start casting a spell, she's going to find quite a surprise when he triggers his own. Namely, that he's a spellcaster too - of a decidedly non-local nature.

"Madamoiselle, please, let us not resort to such things. It is a lovely morning, far too lovely for violence. Moreover, I am not by nature a violent man, and have no wish to break that by striking a woman."

Still, he doesn't lower the cane, instead continuing to smile politely. "Why should *I* trust *you*, really, is the question. If there were anything I sought from you, I could have it now; I could have simply walked out with all of your files and all of your money, and you would never be the wiser, given your...security." He purses his word at that. "I have already proven that I am more than capable of that. No, I think the question is more whether I should trust you or not - you stand to gain a substantial amount of money if you turned me in, though perhaps actually restraining me would be quite difficult. At the same time, you are likely armed; I am not, except for my trusty cane, which I assure you is not any sort of hidden weapon - though it does contain a few spare lockpicks. That said, the same can be said of all my clothes. You never know when you will be stripped down to your underwear and held hostage, oui?"

"So I will leave it to you, detective, to tell me both why I should trust you, and why you should trust me. Surely you have enough clues by now; you are not incompetent, or you would hardly be worth my time."

Deidra has posed:
Deidra has had a hell of a night with will. Mutants, human experimention victems more like it. She's looking a bit beat up, too as she makes her way into the office. her wings are folded up about her body, but it's clear she ain't human and Maximilien gets a look over for a moment. It seems she's sizing him up or her gender radar is going error for a second there. Who knows, "Err I got a report to give ran into some troub..." She looks again at Max "Umm hi there!" She gives him a sheepish little wave and tries to look as non threatening as a gargyole can.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade just glances at the second stack, arching an eyebrow. "I haven't had that problem yet. I suppose it would be a danger in your line of work." He rubs his chin, and sighs, holding up a hand. "Celina, enough. He has some good points."

He considers Max for a little longer. "We should trust each other, because we need each other. this much is fairly obvious."

He glances over his shoulder as Deidra appears. "Hello Deidra. Meet... Our newest member. We'll get you a room. Just two things to keep in mind." He holds up a finger. "Don't touch the hat on the top peg of the hatrack." And two. "And two, don't sit in my chair."

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina looks up at Maximilian, her brown eyes sparkling underneath her fringe of bangs. "Magic." She breathes. "You too, huh."

She then waves a hand, and the bronze blaze disappears, as she gathers it back up again, twirling the thin chain over her head as the symbol disappears back down her turtlneck.

She looks at Mercade. "He's not going to tell us anything he doesn't want us too, and face it, he could have likely either killed us all in our sleep with how easily he got in here. We /have/ to trust him."

"He'll tell us all in time, won't you, ma peche?" She drawls to Max.

"And three, there's no space left up stairs, Mercade."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade sighs and facepalms. "God dammit. We haven't gotten those renovations done."

Celina Duvalis has posed:
"Yeah, and Will's taken over the one available space - the top of the bookshelves." Celina says cheerfully.

Maximilien has posed:
"I have picked up many things, madamoiselle. It pays to be...versatile, oui? Bonjour, madamoiselle; Comment etes-vous?" He waves his cane at the gargoyle, then cheerfully tips a non-existant hat at her. "I am Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne; un plaisir de vous rencontrer."

He stands, and now they can see that, yes, Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne is quite tall; not unnaturally so, but definitely tall, stretched thin. Of course, if he hunched over a little bit, put on a hat, and changed his clothes, he could vanish into a crowd with ease; his features may be outstanding, but not so unique that they couldn't be erased with some skillful acting and clothing. Hell, a pair of big square glasses and a cockney cap would practically erase all the individuality the man had in an instant.

"Ah, I am not terribly worried about space. I do not tend to stay in one place for terribly long. Besides, you would not wish it to get out that a Detective Agency was harboring a criminal, even one as charming as myself. It would not do too well for your reputation, oui?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"That's true. It won't." Mercade sighs. "All right. Well, welcome to the Agency... Max." Mercade grins a little at that. "I'm sure you've already picked up your kit from my desk, so you should be fine with that. Besides that, anything you know about the Heartless we should know? Every little bit helps."

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina waves at Deidra cheerfully, then turns to Max.

"Touch my office downstairs, and they'll never find your body." Whether Celina actually means this or not, it's very hard to tell. But she has a gun, she knows how to shoot it, and she had quite a magic touch when she was poking Max's wards earlier, so...

"Just... letting you know." Perky voice and all.

Deidra has posed:
Deidra seems to know a bit of french as she gets the basics of what he's saying or so she thinks. Well even if he's so hyperly french he's not screaming monster so he mostly all right. "Ah good to meet you." she looks a little sheepish but she's relaxed enoguh as it is now nothing bad has happened. "Humm I see, just don't try to grab the roof is all I ask. I already lost the couch to Tom." She slinks back a bit as there may be more talk that she doesn't have input on.

Maximilien has posed:
"As mentioned, I will not be remaining here for terribly long; it would do you ill to have a criminal in your walls, and it would do me ill to live here where I could be found by more...bounty-concerned individuals, shall we say." Of course he has people after him; fortunately, none of those people actually know what he looks like. His picture has never appeared on a wanted poster, ever; in fact, no one's ever seen his face. The only way people know he takes credit for things is his unique calling card, which is incidentally plastered on every poster, as if somebody could find him based solely on that.

"So you need not worry about me becoming a live-in resident or anything of the sort. If you need me, please do call; I have already made my way onto your frequency as well. I thought it most wise to do so."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"I'm sure they won't be able to... But I appreciate the concern." Mercade says. Okay, maybe he's not a complete jerk. Maybe there's /some/ kind of redeeming factor to this guy. Maybe he even has a good reason for what he's doing!

.... Naaaaaaaaaah. The detective nods at the request. "We'll be sure to do so. This was a very... interesting meeting, Max. I think our continued relationship is going to be very interesting." In the Chinese sense.

Celina Duvalis has posed:
Celina looks at her watch idly, then over at Mercade. "Speaking of, we need to get everyone moved out of the rooms upstairs. If they need to, let me know and I'll cover hotel costs; the renovation folks are going to be in here soon, to switch the apartments around to give everyone more room in less space."

She preemptively holds up a hand. "Yes, I know what that sounds like, don't ask me."

"Also, I'm converting a couple of these unused downstairs rooms as transient rooms, with bunk beds and showers like you'd see in a shigh school or something. It'll help with the ... chaos around here, especially for people like Will and Max here that don't stay all that long."

To Deidra: "Tom shouldn't be crashing on the couch again. If he does, kick him."

Maximilien has posed:
"Puissiez-vous vivre en des temps int�ressants," Maximilien replies as he moves for the door.

May you live in interesting times.