[A/N: In an unrelated note: from ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rahmbamarama comes another daily dose of [omfg Rahm (”http://i53.tinypic.com/wgyd7c.jpg”)].]
III.
Emanuel’s office had expanded into a few adjacent, previously empty rooms that had been immediately behind the reception, and contained a set of familiar faces which all assumed identical, guilty expressions at Harry’s astonishment.
“Uh,” Billy looked uncomfortable in what was evidently a crisp, new collared shirt, as did several other members of the pack who were pretending to be absorbed in annotating a set of local Chicago publications. “Hi, Harry.”
Harry looked around sharply, but Emanuel’s usual staffers seemed to be busy running about in a weird sort of disciplined chaos, sleeting tension and stress, buzzed on caffeine and trailing reports and paperwork. Probably a normal state of mind around the city’s notoriously short-tempered new Mayor. Vaguely, Harry could hear Emanuel’s voice, raised and muffled and snarling, then even as Billy winced, the Mayor subsided.
“Okay,” Harry growled. “I came here to back up Murphy, but you guys now have my undivided attention.”
“Hello, Harry,” Georgia squeezed past him, a cardboard tray of tea and coffee in hand, distributing caffeine with aplomb. Harry stared.
“Georgia, whatever Emanuel could have talked Billy into, I thought you would have put your foot down.”
Georgia and Billy exchanged glances, then Billy said, in a soft voice, “Harry, haven’t you met Mister Emanuel?”
“He’s not here, you don’t have to tiptoe, Stars,” Harry narrowed his eyes. “And I have. Why?”
“Didn’t you sense something about him?”
“No.” Harry paused, as he cross-referenced werewolf abilities. “What, did he smell weird or something?”
“Not, well, not really,” Billy said awkwardly, and seemed frustrated when Harry visibly tried to parse how it was possible for someone to ‘not really’ smell ‘weird’ enough to skeeve a werewolf. “It’s hard to explain. But we have to help him out.”
“‘Have to’? Look, Billy, if he has something over you, I’m going to go into his office and-”
“Don’t,” Georgia said quickly, even as Cindy and Marci inhaled sharply and Alex rose to his feet from the table.
“Guys,” Billy’s voice had a note of warning, and Alex sat back down, though with a sidelong, none too friendly glance at Harry that shocked him. Hell, only a week or so ago, he’d been hiking the Goblin mountains with Alex, squabbling over the right way to do d10 search checks in a magical hailstorm, and they’d ended up having a roll off, surrounded by boozing, potato-chip guzzling Alphas. “Okay, Harry. Calm the hell down. You know we’re part wolves, right?”
“Yes...?” Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. Getting angry at the Alphas wouldn’t solve any problems, and he reminded himself that if anything, he would have to be here to help.
“And wolves have this thing about territory, right?” Billy had a pleading expression, as though he was willing Harry to understand.
“And?”
“That’s just it. Mister Emanuel, he’s the territory.”
Harry stared askance at Billy for a conspicuous period of time, during which Georgia rolled her eyes and at the table, Cindy stifled a snigger. Marci smacked her across the elbow, if playfully, and they bent quickly over their coffees when Billy glanced back over at them.
“Do I want to know what you meant?” Images of werewolf group sex games began to creep inexorably across Harry’s imagination. Hell’s bells.
“No! It’s not like that! Harry-” Billy paused, when a staffer approached them, a petite, fresh-faced strawberry blonde, with a folder clutched across her chest like a shield.
“Mister Dresden? Mister Emanuel says that ‘time’s...uh... wasting’.” The ‘uh’ had plainly been substituted for a far more bracing adjective.
“I’ll be right there, thanks.” Harry relented in the face of the staffer’s wide-eyed, you-have-to-go-or-I-must-commit-seppuku expression, and glanced at Billy as she fled in relief. “We’ll have this talk again later, Billy.”
“Mister Emanuel is Chicago, Harry.” Billy said evenly, though he looked away quickly out of habit before a soulgaze started. “We can’t ignore that.”
3.0
Rahm waited calmly until Dresden had finished ranting. Murphy kept shooting quick, darting glances between them, as though she wasn’t sure if she was legally obliged to intervene. When Dresden finally ran out of breath, Rahm arched an eyebrow. “Finished?”
Dresden reddened in anger, and the radio in the corner of the mayoral office on the mantlepiece died a lonely death. “I don’t know what you talked about with Billy and the others, but I don’t like people lying to my friends.”
“That’s possibly defamation right there, Dresden.” Rahm drawled. People like Dresden were too easy to rile - the lights in the office flickered gently as Dresden growled. “I didn’t lie to them.”
“Then what did Billy mean when he said that you were Chicago?”
“A misdescription. But if you truly want to know, I do have a hereditary understanding with the genius loci.”
“The genius loci of what?”
“Chicago,” Rahm said, and smiled, all teeth, when Murphy frowned, puzzled, and Dresden sputtered.
“That’s not possible.”
“You of all people, Dresden, should be aware that what’s possible and what’s impossible is often a fine and easily blurred line. But I told you before that I don’t intend to prove anything to you.” Rahm leaned forward in his chair, his hands folded on the desk. “Miss Murphy is here to decline my job offer.”
“What?” It took Dresden a moment to recover from his previous shock, then he rounded on Murphy quickly. “Karrin...”
“Thanks for setting this up, Harry, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it,” Murphy said stiffly, as though she was conflicted on whether or not to sound polite, “But I’ve never taken a political favor in my life and I don’t intend to.”
“It’s not about political favors, it’s about you getting your job back,” Dresden argued. “The city needs people like you in the force.”
“Maybe,” Murphy conceded. “But to come back as a lieutenant or higher? That’s not going to look good, Harry. Nobody’s going to want to work with me. Mister Emanuel here isn’t popular with the police union.”
“Didn’t get endorsed,” Rahm explained, when Dresden shot him a confused look. “The city’s going broke, it’s massively in debt. I wanted to reform the pension system.”
“I can see how that would have been popular,” Dresden said dryly, but he turned back to fix his friend with a frown. “Karrin, look. I think ‘Mister Emanuel’ is an asshole as well. But get over it. All the things that went down over the last few years, they would have been much worse if we didn’t have someone like you with the police.”
“I’m right here, by the way,” Rahm pointed out, amused by the ‘asshole’ comment, but both Dresden and Murphy ignored him. Damn. He should have found these two gems before he up and left for Washington.
“Thanks, Harry,” Murphy said, sounding skeptical, though she smiled. Definitely some sort of past lover, Rahm thought privately. “All those times where you refused to share information or only called us in at the last moment, they sure feel better now.”
“Karrin...”
“Okay, Harry. Okay. But I’m not coming back fully reinstated.”
“Sergeant?” Rahm suggested, and Murphy wavered a little, before nodding sharply.
“Sure. I’ll try it out. But if I find that going back just creates more trouble than me staying out, I reserve the right to quit.”
“Naturally.” Rahm smiled, shark-like now that he’d had what he wanted. “I’ll make the calls.”
“Anything else, Mister Mayor?” Murphy said dryly, almost on the edge of sheer insolence, and Rahm smirked back at her. Someone as fearless as Murphy - just like her father had been - would be invaluable in the ‘black cat’ aspect of the police force.
“No. You may go, Sergeant.”
“I didn’t vote for you,” Murphy informed him flatly, by way of a parting shot, and swept regally out of the office.
“Dresden,” Rahm said, as Dresden looked after the quickly receding policewoman’s back and seemed to be wavering on whether or not to follow her. “About that meeting with Maeve?”
“Maeve’s back in Winter right now. Got on the wrong side of Mommy’s skirts,” Dresden’s tone was acerbic, and Rahm recalled being advised by Luccio that Dresden was Winter’s Knight out of necessity, not pleasure. “Do you really have an understanding with Chicago itself? There’s no actual spirit that you could have the invocation with. Nothing that I’ve ever sensed.”
“Maybe you never knew how to look.” Rahm drawled, picking up the phone. “Now get going, Dresden. I have a few calls to make.”
IV.
John Marcone had known many politicians, including Emanuel’s predecessor, Daley, and had been his usual meticulous self prior to the agreed meeting by getting primed on the ex Chief of Staff’s history and notorious personality quirks. Still, the entire matter had still smelled like a badly primed trap, when Hendricks drove him to the designated location - a deserted park in the north side of Chicago. He stayed in the car as Hendricks quietly instructed the men to spread out and secure the perimeter, frowning to himself. The shadows in the park, under the crowns of snow-laden trees, were thick and dark.
Eventually, Hendricks knocked on the window, and John scrolled it down an inch. “Clear,” Hendricks said, sounding skeptical. “One heat signal in the park.”
Curious. Either Rahm Emanuel was fearless to the point of foolishness, or there was something else up his sleeve. Still, John had not reached his current position at the top of the Chicago Outfit without resolve, and he nodded curtly, stepping out of the car into the chill night air. Behind him, Gard glided out with her feline grace, looking alertly around her, as though the night’s shadows were no barrier.
Together, they walked deeper into the park. John expected at any moment, morbidly, for traps to explode from the shadows behind the trees or beneath their feet, but they trudged through the snow and frosted pavements to the center of the park unchallenged. A white stone fountain had frozen over, its ornaments unrecognisable under the cover of snow, and beside it, hands sunk deeply into the pockets of his thick parka, was an unmistakable silhouette.
“Mister Mayor.” John smiled thinly. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Marcone. I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.” Emanuel flashed him a brief, shark-like smile, all bared teeth and aggression. “What with all your people bumbling about waking the fucking dead. Can we talk, or do you need babysitters?”
Hendricks muttered something behind him, but John gave the mayor’s question careful thought. If Emanuel was here to kill him, he should know that he would never make it out of the park alive. Inclining his head, John said, “Gard, Hendricks, leave us for half an hour.”
“Fifteen should do it.” Emanuel said, smirking as Gard and Hendricks, in particular, retreated with ill grace. “Don’t want you to feel too lonesome.”
“Do not think that because the Outfit has modernised that we have changed,” John usually disliked playing to stereotype, but the mayor’s obstinate confidence was disconcerting at the least, beginning to irritate at the worst. “You are here alone, and I would have it on good money that you told no one that you were here.”
“I don’t need babysitters,” Emanuel shrugged. “But I’m freezing my balls off, so let’s move on from the pointless sniping. I’ve been told that you’re a mafia don and the Baron of Chicago all at once.”
“Harry told you that?” John asked, a little surprised. Harry had always seemed extremely close-mouthed on wizard matters.
“Among many less flattering things, yes.” Emanuel said brusquely, as if that wasn’t important. “Daley told me about you, and in any case, I don’t have the funds to get into a public throw down against the mafia right now, not with the city as broke as it is. So I’m going to offer you a deal.”
“What deal?” John asked, as mildly as he could, unsure for a rare moment as to how to react.
“You’re going to scale down on black market trade and street prostitution, as well as weapons dealing, and drop the drug lines. Also, Chicago has a lot of schools. And a large number of them have sub par facilities. You’ve got cash to spare. I want you to stock schools that don’t have libraries with libraries. Computers. Basic learning facilities. Dresden said you had some sort of kiddie policy.”
“I have a policy against harming children. Educating them-”
“Think about it this way, Marcone. Either you make the Outfit indispensable to me in some way,” Emanuel smiled again, in that disturbing, toothy way that he did, like he was about to go for the throat, “Or the Outfit becomes immediately dispensable.”
“You mentioned that you had no funds for a confrontation.”
Emanuel pointedly cracked his fingers. “Not a public one, no.”
“I do not enjoy threats,” John said coldly, just as in the distance, a dog - no, a wolf - began to howl. Unperturbed by the way Emanuel’s smile widened, he added, flatly, “And I could have you killed before your cavalry arrives.”
“The cavalry? You mean those kids?” Emanuel chuckled, harsh and barking. “Nah. It’s going to take them some time to find me, anyway.”
“A sniper on the roof, perhaps?” John asked, in distaste.
“Do you know what that’d cost me in overtime?” Emanuel took a step forward, then another, and the snow around his feet began to melt, the ground humming, shifting, as though in pre-earthquake minor tremors. John hastily drew out his cell phone, and was unsurprised to find that it had stopped working.
“You’re a wizard.”
Emanuel merely held his smirk, even as Hendricks and Gard came running, weapons at the ready, visible in John’s peripheral vision. “You want some time to think about my offer?”
“My answer is ‘no’, Mister Mayor.” John said evenly. “But out of good will, and because I’ll hate to see my vote go to waste, I’ll allow you to walk away.”
The howls were growing louder, and Emanuel chuckled again, tipping John a mocking salute. “Vadderung gets really fucking pissy whenever one of his Valkyries get hurt, so I’ll let this go for now. But the next time I ask,” Emanuel straightened, and the ground seemed to shift again, this time with a deep, unnatural and ominous subterranean rumble, making Gard step back with a startled curse in Scandinavian, “I’m not going to be so nice.”
4.0
Rahm had expected the Outfit to double down and/or turn aggressive when threatened, not send him flowers and a nice card. Sending the bouquet off to get checked for anthrax, Rahm glanced surreptitiously out of the window, where an unmistakable black car sat at a street corner in clear view of the mayoral office exits, with what looked like two Outfit thugs sitting pretty inside it.
Leaning back, Rahm pressed his bare palm against the wall of his office, closing his eyes. Using a conduit, particularly an inanimate one like human architecture, always took him a little longer - he’d never been as good at it as Ari - but the connection pulled firm eventually, and he took in a deep breath as his heartbeat slowed.
Outside, a flowerpot affixed to a windowsill abruptly jerked loose, plunging down to smash on the hood of the black car, setting off the car alarm. Smirking to himself, Rahm straightened back up in his chair, and brought up last year’s fiscal reports on the computer once it started back up.
-tbc: someone in round 1 mentioned that their mental image of Marcone was Jon Stewart. Have a [2006 interview (”http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-november-27-2006/rahm-emanuel”)] on the Daily Show with then-congressman Rahm Emanuel. ;3 Also,[on Rahm (”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6w1D1QjZDcs”)] at the White House.-
rahmbamarama comes another daily dose of [omfg Rahm (”http://i53.tinypic.com/wgyd7c.jpg”)].] Emanuel’s office had expanded into a few adjacent, previously empty rooms that had been immediately behind the reception, and contained a set of familiar faces which all assumed identical, guilty expressions at Harry’s astonishment.
“Uh,” Billy looked uncomfortable in what was evidently a crisp, new collared shirt, as did several other members of the pack who were pretending to be absorbed in annotating a set of local Chicago publications. “Hi, Harry.”
Harry looked around sharply, but Emanuel’s usual staffers seemed to be busy running about in a weird sort of disciplined chaos, sleeting tension and stress, buzzed on caffeine and trailing reports and paperwork. Probably a normal state of mind around the city’s notoriously short-tempered new Mayor. Vaguely, Harry could hear Emanuel’s voice, raised and muffled and snarling, then even as Billy winced, the Mayor subsided.
“Okay,” Harry growled. “I came here to back up Murphy, but you guys now have my undivided attention.”
“Hello, Harry,” Georgia squeezed past him, a cardboard tray of tea and coffee in hand, distributing caffeine with aplomb. Harry stared.
“Georgia, whatever Emanuel could have talked Billy into, I thought you would have put your foot down.”
Georgia and Billy exchanged glances, then Billy said, in a soft voice, “Harry, haven’t you met Mister Emanuel?”
“He’s not here, you don’t have to tiptoe, Stars,” Harry narrowed his eyes. “And I have. Why?”
“Didn’t you sense something about him?”
“No.” Harry paused, as he cross-referenced werewolf abilities. “What, did he smell weird or something?”
“Not, well, not really,” Billy said awkwardly, and seemed frustrated when Harry visibly tried to parse how it was possible for someone to ‘not really’ smell ‘weird’ enough to skeeve a werewolf. “It’s hard to explain. But we have to help him out.”
“‘Have to’? Look, Billy, if he has something over you, I’m going to go into his office and-”
“Don’t,” Georgia said quickly, even as Cindy and Marci inhaled sharply and Alex rose to his feet from the table.
“Guys,” Billy’s voice had a note of warning, and Alex sat back down, though with a sidelong, none too friendly glance at Harry that shocked him. Hell, only a week or so ago, he’d been hiking the Goblin mountains with Alex, squabbling over the right way to do d10 search checks in a magical hailstorm, and they’d ended up having a roll off, surrounded by boozing, potato-chip guzzling Alphas. “Okay, Harry. Calm the hell down. You know we’re part wolves, right?”
“Yes...?” Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. Getting angry at the Alphas wouldn’t solve any problems, and he reminded himself that if anything, he would have to be here to help.
“And wolves have this thing about territory, right?” Billy had a pleading expression, as though he was willing Harry to understand.
“And?”
“That’s just it. Mister Emanuel, he’s the territory.”
Harry stared askance at Billy for a conspicuous period of time, during which Georgia rolled her eyes and at the table, Cindy stifled a snigger. Marci smacked her across the elbow, if playfully, and they bent quickly over their coffees when Billy glanced back over at them.
“Do I want to know what you meant?” Images of werewolf group sex games began to creep inexorably across Harry’s imagination. Hell’s bells.
“No! It’s not like that! Harry-” Billy paused, when a staffer approached them, a petite, fresh-faced strawberry blonde, with a folder clutched across her chest like a shield.
“Mister Dresden? Mister Emanuel says that ‘time’s...uh... wasting’.” The ‘uh’ had plainly been substituted for a far more bracing adjective.
“I’ll be right there, thanks.” Harry relented in the face of the staffer’s wide-eyed, you-have-to-go-or-I-must-commit-seppuku expression, and glanced at Billy as she fled in relief. “We’ll have this talk again later, Billy.”
“Mister Emanuel is Chicago, Harry.” Billy said evenly, though he looked away quickly out of habit before a soulgaze started. “We can’t ignore that.”
Rahm waited calmly until Dresden had finished ranting. Murphy kept shooting quick, darting glances between them, as though she wasn’t sure if she was legally obliged to intervene. When Dresden finally ran out of breath, Rahm arched an eyebrow. “Finished?”
Dresden reddened in anger, and the radio in the corner of the mayoral office on the mantlepiece died a lonely death. “I don’t know what you talked about with Billy and the others, but I don’t like people lying to my friends.”
“That’s possibly defamation right there, Dresden.” Rahm drawled. People like Dresden were too easy to rile - the lights in the office flickered gently as Dresden growled. “I didn’t lie to them.”
“Then what did Billy mean when he said that you were Chicago?”
“A misdescription. But if you truly want to know, I do have a hereditary understanding with the genius loci.”
“The genius loci of what?”
“Chicago,” Rahm said, and smiled, all teeth, when Murphy frowned, puzzled, and Dresden sputtered.
“That’s not possible.”
“You of all people, Dresden, should be aware that what’s possible and what’s impossible is often a fine and easily blurred line. But I told you before that I don’t intend to prove anything to you.” Rahm leaned forward in his chair, his hands folded on the desk. “Miss Murphy is here to decline my job offer.”
“What?” It took Dresden a moment to recover from his previous shock, then he rounded on Murphy quickly. “Karrin...”
“Thanks for setting this up, Harry, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it,” Murphy said stiffly, as though she was conflicted on whether or not to sound polite, “But I’ve never taken a political favor in my life and I don’t intend to.”
“It’s not about political favors, it’s about you getting your job back,” Dresden argued. “The city needs people like you in the force.”
“Maybe,” Murphy conceded. “But to come back as a lieutenant or higher? That’s not going to look good, Harry. Nobody’s going to want to work with me. Mister Emanuel here isn’t popular with the police union.”
“Didn’t get endorsed,” Rahm explained, when Dresden shot him a confused look. “The city’s going broke, it’s massively in debt. I wanted to reform the pension system.”
“I can see how that would have been popular,” Dresden said dryly, but he turned back to fix his friend with a frown. “Karrin, look. I think ‘Mister Emanuel’ is an asshole as well. But get over it. All the things that went down over the last few years, they would have been much worse if we didn’t have someone like you with the police.”
“I’m right here, by the way,” Rahm pointed out, amused by the ‘asshole’ comment, but both Dresden and Murphy ignored him. Damn. He should have found these two gems before he up and left for Washington.
“Thanks, Harry,” Murphy said, sounding skeptical, though she smiled. Definitely some sort of past lover, Rahm thought privately. “All those times where you refused to share information or only called us in at the last moment, they sure feel better now.”
“Karrin...”
“Okay, Harry. Okay. But I’m not coming back fully reinstated.”
“Sergeant?” Rahm suggested, and Murphy wavered a little, before nodding sharply.
“Sure. I’ll try it out. But if I find that going back just creates more trouble than me staying out, I reserve the right to quit.”
“Naturally.” Rahm smiled, shark-like now that he’d had what he wanted. “I’ll make the calls.”
“Anything else, Mister Mayor?” Murphy said dryly, almost on the edge of sheer insolence, and Rahm smirked back at her. Someone as fearless as Murphy - just like her father had been - would be invaluable in the ‘black cat’ aspect of the police force.
“No. You may go, Sergeant.”
“I didn’t vote for you,” Murphy informed him flatly, by way of a parting shot, and swept regally out of the office.
“Dresden,” Rahm said, as Dresden looked after the quickly receding policewoman’s back and seemed to be wavering on whether or not to follow her. “About that meeting with Maeve?”
“Maeve’s back in Winter right now. Got on the wrong side of Mommy’s skirts,” Dresden’s tone was acerbic, and Rahm recalled being advised by Luccio that Dresden was Winter’s Knight out of necessity, not pleasure. “Do you really have an understanding with Chicago itself? There’s no actual spirit that you could have the invocation with. Nothing that I’ve ever sensed.”
“Maybe you never knew how to look.” Rahm drawled, picking up the phone. “Now get going, Dresden. I have a few calls to make.”
John Marcone had known many politicians, including Emanuel’s predecessor, Daley, and had been his usual meticulous self prior to the agreed meeting by getting primed on the ex Chief of Staff’s history and notorious personality quirks. Still, the entire matter had still smelled like a badly primed trap, when Hendricks drove him to the designated location - a deserted park in the north side of Chicago. He stayed in the car as Hendricks quietly instructed the men to spread out and secure the perimeter, frowning to himself. The shadows in the park, under the crowns of snow-laden trees, were thick and dark.
Eventually, Hendricks knocked on the window, and John scrolled it down an inch. “Clear,” Hendricks said, sounding skeptical. “One heat signal in the park.”
Curious. Either Rahm Emanuel was fearless to the point of foolishness, or there was something else up his sleeve. Still, John had not reached his current position at the top of the Chicago Outfit without resolve, and he nodded curtly, stepping out of the car into the chill night air. Behind him, Gard glided out with her feline grace, looking alertly around her, as though the night’s shadows were no barrier.
Together, they walked deeper into the park. John expected at any moment, morbidly, for traps to explode from the shadows behind the trees or beneath their feet, but they trudged through the snow and frosted pavements to the center of the park unchallenged. A white stone fountain had frozen over, its ornaments unrecognisable under the cover of snow, and beside it, hands sunk deeply into the pockets of his thick parka, was an unmistakable silhouette.
“Mister Mayor.” John smiled thinly. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Marcone. I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.” Emanuel flashed him a brief, shark-like smile, all bared teeth and aggression. “What with all your people bumbling about waking the fucking dead. Can we talk, or do you need babysitters?”
Hendricks muttered something behind him, but John gave the mayor’s question careful thought. If Emanuel was here to kill him, he should know that he would never make it out of the park alive. Inclining his head, John said, “Gard, Hendricks, leave us for half an hour.”
“Fifteen should do it.” Emanuel said, smirking as Gard and Hendricks, in particular, retreated with ill grace. “Don’t want you to feel too lonesome.”
“Do not think that because the Outfit has modernised that we have changed,” John usually disliked playing to stereotype, but the mayor’s obstinate confidence was disconcerting at the least, beginning to irritate at the worst. “You are here alone, and I would have it on good money that you told no one that you were here.”
“I don’t need babysitters,” Emanuel shrugged. “But I’m freezing my balls off, so let’s move on from the pointless sniping. I’ve been told that you’re a mafia don and the Baron of Chicago all at once.”
“Harry told you that?” John asked, a little surprised. Harry had always seemed extremely close-mouthed on wizard matters.
“Among many less flattering things, yes.” Emanuel said brusquely, as if that wasn’t important. “Daley told me about you, and in any case, I don’t have the funds to get into a public throw down against the mafia right now, not with the city as broke as it is. So I’m going to offer you a deal.”
“What deal?” John asked, as mildly as he could, unsure for a rare moment as to how to react.
“You’re going to scale down on black market trade and street prostitution, as well as weapons dealing, and drop the drug lines. Also, Chicago has a lot of schools. And a large number of them have sub par facilities. You’ve got cash to spare. I want you to stock schools that don’t have libraries with libraries. Computers. Basic learning facilities. Dresden said you had some sort of kiddie policy.”
“I have a policy against harming children. Educating them-”
“Think about it this way, Marcone. Either you make the Outfit indispensable to me in some way,” Emanuel smiled again, in that disturbing, toothy way that he did, like he was about to go for the throat, “Or the Outfit becomes immediately dispensable.”
“You mentioned that you had no funds for a confrontation.”
Emanuel pointedly cracked his fingers. “Not a public one, no.”
“I do not enjoy threats,” John said coldly, just as in the distance, a dog - no, a wolf - began to howl. Unperturbed by the way Emanuel’s smile widened, he added, flatly, “And I could have you killed before your cavalry arrives.”
“The cavalry? You mean those kids?” Emanuel chuckled, harsh and barking. “Nah. It’s going to take them some time to find me, anyway.”
“A sniper on the roof, perhaps?” John asked, in distaste.
“Do you know what that’d cost me in overtime?” Emanuel took a step forward, then another, and the snow around his feet began to melt, the ground humming, shifting, as though in pre-earthquake minor tremors. John hastily drew out his cell phone, and was unsurprised to find that it had stopped working.
“You’re a wizard.”
Emanuel merely held his smirk, even as Hendricks and Gard came running, weapons at the ready, visible in John’s peripheral vision. “You want some time to think about my offer?”
“My answer is ‘no’, Mister Mayor.” John said evenly. “But out of good will, and because I’ll hate to see my vote go to waste, I’ll allow you to walk away.”
The howls were growing louder, and Emanuel chuckled again, tipping John a mocking salute. “Vadderung gets really fucking pissy whenever one of his Valkyries get hurt, so I’ll let this go for now. But the next time I ask,” Emanuel straightened, and the ground seemed to shift again, this time with a deep, unnatural and ominous subterranean rumble, making Gard step back with a startled curse in Scandinavian, “I’m not going to be so nice.”
Rahm had expected the Outfit to double down and/or turn aggressive when threatened, not send him flowers and a nice card. Sending the bouquet off to get checked for anthrax, Rahm glanced surreptitiously out of the window, where an unmistakable black car sat at a street corner in clear view of the mayoral office exits, with what looked like two Outfit thugs sitting pretty inside it.
Leaning back, Rahm pressed his bare palm against the wall of his office, closing his eyes. Using a conduit, particularly an inanimate one like human architecture, always took him a little longer - he’d never been as good at it as Ari - but the connection pulled firm eventually, and he took in a deep breath as his heartbeat slowed.
Outside, a flowerpot affixed to a windowsill abruptly jerked loose, plunging down to smash on the hood of the black car, setting off the car alarm. Smirking to himself, Rahm straightened back up in his chair, and brought up last year’s fiscal reports on the computer once it started back up.
-tbc: someone in round 1 mentioned that their mental image of Marcone was Jon Stewart. Have a [2006 interview (”http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-november-27-2006/rahm-emanuel”)] on the Daily Show with then-congressman Rahm Emanuel. ;3 Also,[on Rahm (”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6w1D1QjZDcs”)] at the White House.-
I've just been struck by how much Harry Dresden resembles John Crichton: snarky to power, frequently beaten, pushy bottom, inappropriately wiseassed, etc.
I'd love to see someone go somewhere with this, maybe into a crossover space. (Scorpius = Marcone? Zhaan = Michael?)
(Scorpius/Marcone would be a hilarious pairing, my god.)
I'd love to see someone go somewhere with this, maybe into a crossover space. (Scorpius = Marcone? Zhaan = Michael?)
(Scorpius/Marcone would be a hilarious pairing, my god.)
The Dresden Files/Quincey Morris crossover
Tall snarky occult detectives unite!
Besides, if Justin Gustainis had put any more of a shout out to the Dresden Files in Evil Ways he would have been in violation of copyright laws.
Tall snarky occult detectives unite!
Besides, if Justin Gustainis had put any more of a shout out to the Dresden Files in Evil Ways he would have been in violation of copyright laws.
I WISH THIS WERE REAL AND TRUE SO HARD.
Butcher has already invoked this classic trope for Harry and Thomas, which is delightful, but what kind of crazy circumstances would it take for Harry Dresden and John Marcone to pretend to be romantically/sexually involved?
Who would they be pretending for? Whose idea would it be? And would it stay a pretense?
(Completely optional extra: set it in a genderswap AU in which one or both has always been female.)
Who would they be pretending for? Whose idea would it be? And would it stay a pretense?
(Completely optional extra: set it in a genderswap AU in which one or both has always been female.)
You left out the massive issues subscriptions libraries. Including a history of consent issues.
(For future reference, crossover just means the two canons interacting in some way. The ones where characters from one universe are replaced by characters from another universe are called fusions.)
(For future reference, crossover just means the two canons interacting in some way. The ones where characters from one universe are replaced by characters from another universe are called fusions.)
Would be nice, but not necessary. I was always a bit pissed at the treatment of Mercedes, though, so Marcone/Harry happy ending preferred.
Rahm took a long, meandering jog in the direction of Harry and Mac's. He wasn't planning to wait outside the door, more...saunter in a few minutes after they opened. He'd scheduled his run purposefully to manage that.
A too-tall man was fiddling sleepily with the lock on the storefront. Rahm checked his watch. 10:02 a.m.; supposedly they should be open. The man's key finally found its way in, and he grunted as he shoved open the door. Rahm followed him in quietly.
The man poked around with a few things, flipping a sign to "open," slipping behind the counter to start tending a gleaming, well-cared-for antique coffee maker. Seriously, the thing had to be at least 90 years old, and it was huge.
"I take it espresso's not your thing," Rahm said casually. The man yelped, jumped, and smacked his knee loudly into the cabinet in front of him. He whirled around, muttering furiously under his breath.
"Who - whoawhoa. Mayor Emanuel?" he blinked.
"That's what they call me," Rahm said with a grin.
The guy gulped.
"And what do they call you, sweetcheeks?"
He turned beet red. "Harry. Harry Dresden, nice to meet you," he mumbled to the floor. "What brings you here?"
"One of my staffers let me have a sip of her coffee. Your coffee. I decided I'd get a cup of my own, but you're not open mornings on weekdays. This displeases me."
Harry took a small step back. "I work late nights in the pub, to pay for using the space," he told the floor.
"Not on Fridays, though?"
"Friday's my day off. I work long Saturdays to make up for it, though," he shrugged one shoulder.
"How much is the coffee, kid?"
"Dollar for straight black, extra fifty cents for anything fancy."
Rahm's jaw dropped. "How the hell do you live with the prices that low?"
Harry blinked, and shrugged. "Well, the service is always kinda slow since there's only one of me. But the tips are pretty good and business is picking up. I got this cheap," he patted the coffee maker, "'cos it was broken. Me and Mac fixed it. I pay Mac in kind for the space and utilities, so I'm making some profits."
"How long have you been open?"
Harry tilted his head. "Uhhh. Three weeks or so?"
"Jesus. Alright, kid. Gimme some coffee."
"What kind?"
"Black."
Harry grinned. "What about a dash of cinnamon? You look like the type."
"What does that mean?" Rahm asked, eyes narrowed.
"It's hard to explain, I guess. Just...unique. And a little surprising. If you don't like it I'll make you a new one, no extra charge," he smiled. The coffee was almost done brewing.
"Sure," Rahm shrugged. Harry poured one for himself and one for Rahm, and gave Rahm the one with cinnamon.
It was better than the staffer's milky, sweet soup. He couldn't believe how much he'd enjoyed that crap when there was something this perfect in the world. The tensions melted away again and he hummed.
"Would you like to stay for a while?" Harry asked.
"Mmm." Rahm sat at one of the bar stools. "You should think about selling pastries, kid. If you're gonna do this much longer."
"I did think about it, but it would be one more thing to pay attention to, and buying them somewhere else and selling them here isn't the same as making them on my own. Cheaper, in terms of time, but..." he shrugged.
"Maybe it's time to hire an assistant, then," Rahm suggested.
Harry shifted his weight uneasily. "I don't know if I have enough for that."
"If you can get more coffee out, you can make more money. An assistant could open in the mornings, too." And then Rahm could get his fix when he really needed it.
"I'll think about it. I've never really done anything like this before. I, um, grew up on a farm in Missouri and my, um, guardian got me a job with Mac. Mac was the one who encouraged me to do this instead of just working for him for the rest of my life."
"How old are you?" Rahm asked. Harry's height made it impossible to believe he could still be growing, and his face and eyes had the look of a man who'd seen a lot of things, not all of them good.
"Twenty-four."
"How long have you been in Chicago?"
"About four years," he shrugged. "I helped Eb out on the farm before he said I should go, y'know, do my own thing."
"Never went to college?"
"Didn't have the money. I got a GED when I was, I dunno, fourteen? But it wasn't like I could do anything with it then."
It sounded a lot like people were taking advantage of an innocent foster child. Rahm took a slow sip of his drink. "You realize you could probably charge five dollars for just black coffee and people would still line up out the door, right? This is Chicago. We reward good products with our continued business."
"I don't know about that, sir. I don't buy all that much, except groceries. And anyway, the markup is already at least 30 percent. More than that feels like robbery."
"Harry. I have had a lot of coffee in my life. Some has been good, some terrible, some overpriced, some hilariously overpriced. I have never had coffee even approach this quality under $3 a cup."
Harry licked his lips. "Maybe I'll try that. I just like being able to give people the coffee that suits them best. It's a guessing game. I don't need the money so much."
"But you could hire staff, or buy a new coffee maker..." this was frustrating and confusing. Someone who didn't want to make money off his customers.
"I can use the tips for that, I think. If I wait long enough."
"Maybe you should have folks vote. Whether they want faster service even if it costs a little more," Rahm said.
"Voting is a good idea. And a suggestion box." Harry beamed. "Thank you, sir."
"Call me Rahm. What you need, kid, is an investor."
"Investor? Why?"
"So if you want to make a purchase, you don't have to wait until you have the savings - you get the investor to do it and pay them back at a little bit of interest."
"But I don't mind waiting..."
"Your customers might. And then they might not recommend you to their friends - all the little coffee mysteries going to the wrong shop. You got me?"
"Hmm. I never thought of it like that."
"I've handled all kinds of investments before," Rahm said, starting to feel like he was getting somewhere.
"Shouldn't I go to a bank for something like this?"
"At your age, with this kinda establishment? And I bet you don't have a credit score. Probably not a good idea. Besides, if you can't trust your mayor, who can you trust?"
Harry snarked back, "Because the Chicago political machine is sooooo trustworthy."
The kid had a sense of humor. Rahm grinned wider. "Haven't you seen the ads, kid? I'm not part of the machine."
"But you know how this city works. We run on cronyism and nepotism."
"Then let's be friends," Rahm offered his left hand, his right being too busy with the coffee. "Hell, someone makes me coffee this good, they've got to really work to get me pissed off at them."
"Friends with the mayor? I'd rather not. He sounds like a vicious politician," Harry said, teasing. "But I'll be friends with Rahm, sure. I mean that, no - I don't want any favors. Those can kill a guy's reputation."
"Have it your way. The only favor I'll do for you is telling my friends to come try the coffee," Rahm smiled.
A too-tall man was fiddling sleepily with the lock on the storefront. Rahm checked his watch. 10:02 a.m.; supposedly they should be open. The man's key finally found its way in, and he grunted as he shoved open the door. Rahm followed him in quietly.
The man poked around with a few things, flipping a sign to "open," slipping behind the counter to start tending a gleaming, well-cared-for antique coffee maker. Seriously, the thing had to be at least 90 years old, and it was huge.
"I take it espresso's not your thing," Rahm said casually. The man yelped, jumped, and smacked his knee loudly into the cabinet in front of him. He whirled around, muttering furiously under his breath.
"Who - whoawhoa. Mayor Emanuel?" he blinked.
"That's what they call me," Rahm said with a grin.
The guy gulped.
"And what do they call you, sweetcheeks?"
He turned beet red. "Harry. Harry Dresden, nice to meet you," he mumbled to the floor. "What brings you here?"
"One of my staffers let me have a sip of her coffee. Your coffee. I decided I'd get a cup of my own, but you're not open mornings on weekdays. This displeases me."
Harry took a small step back. "I work late nights in the pub, to pay for using the space," he told the floor.
"Not on Fridays, though?"
"Friday's my day off. I work long Saturdays to make up for it, though," he shrugged one shoulder.
"How much is the coffee, kid?"
"Dollar for straight black, extra fifty cents for anything fancy."
Rahm's jaw dropped. "How the hell do you live with the prices that low?"
Harry blinked, and shrugged. "Well, the service is always kinda slow since there's only one of me. But the tips are pretty good and business is picking up. I got this cheap," he patted the coffee maker, "'cos it was broken. Me and Mac fixed it. I pay Mac in kind for the space and utilities, so I'm making some profits."
"How long have you been open?"
Harry tilted his head. "Uhhh. Three weeks or so?"
"Jesus. Alright, kid. Gimme some coffee."
"What kind?"
"Black."
Harry grinned. "What about a dash of cinnamon? You look like the type."
"What does that mean?" Rahm asked, eyes narrowed.
"It's hard to explain, I guess. Just...unique. And a little surprising. If you don't like it I'll make you a new one, no extra charge," he smiled. The coffee was almost done brewing.
"Sure," Rahm shrugged. Harry poured one for himself and one for Rahm, and gave Rahm the one with cinnamon.
It was better than the staffer's milky, sweet soup. He couldn't believe how much he'd enjoyed that crap when there was something this perfect in the world. The tensions melted away again and he hummed.
"Would you like to stay for a while?" Harry asked.
"Mmm." Rahm sat at one of the bar stools. "You should think about selling pastries, kid. If you're gonna do this much longer."
"I did think about it, but it would be one more thing to pay attention to, and buying them somewhere else and selling them here isn't the same as making them on my own. Cheaper, in terms of time, but..." he shrugged.
"Maybe it's time to hire an assistant, then," Rahm suggested.
Harry shifted his weight uneasily. "I don't know if I have enough for that."
"If you can get more coffee out, you can make more money. An assistant could open in the mornings, too." And then Rahm could get his fix when he really needed it.
"I'll think about it. I've never really done anything like this before. I, um, grew up on a farm in Missouri and my, um, guardian got me a job with Mac. Mac was the one who encouraged me to do this instead of just working for him for the rest of my life."
"How old are you?" Rahm asked. Harry's height made it impossible to believe he could still be growing, and his face and eyes had the look of a man who'd seen a lot of things, not all of them good.
"Twenty-four."
"How long have you been in Chicago?"
"About four years," he shrugged. "I helped Eb out on the farm before he said I should go, y'know, do my own thing."
"Never went to college?"
"Didn't have the money. I got a GED when I was, I dunno, fourteen? But it wasn't like I could do anything with it then."
It sounded a lot like people were taking advantage of an innocent foster child. Rahm took a slow sip of his drink. "You realize you could probably charge five dollars for just black coffee and people would still line up out the door, right? This is Chicago. We reward good products with our continued business."
"I don't know about that, sir. I don't buy all that much, except groceries. And anyway, the markup is already at least 30 percent. More than that feels like robbery."
"Harry. I have had a lot of coffee in my life. Some has been good, some terrible, some overpriced, some hilariously overpriced. I have never had coffee even approach this quality under $3 a cup."
Harry licked his lips. "Maybe I'll try that. I just like being able to give people the coffee that suits them best. It's a guessing game. I don't need the money so much."
"But you could hire staff, or buy a new coffee maker..." this was frustrating and confusing. Someone who didn't want to make money off his customers.
"I can use the tips for that, I think. If I wait long enough."
"Maybe you should have folks vote. Whether they want faster service even if it costs a little more," Rahm said.
"Voting is a good idea. And a suggestion box." Harry beamed. "Thank you, sir."
"Call me Rahm. What you need, kid, is an investor."
"Investor? Why?"
"So if you want to make a purchase, you don't have to wait until you have the savings - you get the investor to do it and pay them back at a little bit of interest."
"But I don't mind waiting..."
"Your customers might. And then they might not recommend you to their friends - all the little coffee mysteries going to the wrong shop. You got me?"
"Hmm. I never thought of it like that."
"I've handled all kinds of investments before," Rahm said, starting to feel like he was getting somewhere.
"Shouldn't I go to a bank for something like this?"
"At your age, with this kinda establishment? And I bet you don't have a credit score. Probably not a good idea. Besides, if you can't trust your mayor, who can you trust?"
Harry snarked back, "Because the Chicago political machine is sooooo trustworthy."
The kid had a sense of humor. Rahm grinned wider. "Haven't you seen the ads, kid? I'm not part of the machine."
"But you know how this city works. We run on cronyism and nepotism."
"Then let's be friends," Rahm offered his left hand, his right being too busy with the coffee. "Hell, someone makes me coffee this good, they've got to really work to get me pissed off at them."
"Friends with the mayor? I'd rather not. He sounds like a vicious politician," Harry said, teasing. "But I'll be friends with Rahm, sure. I mean that, no - I don't want any favors. Those can kill a guy's reputation."
"Have it your way. The only favor I'll do for you is telling my friends to come try the coffee," Rahm smiled.
Anoning required more effort than I was really willing to expend.
do whatever with the pairing and kink
just put the characters in a boarding school
magic optional
just put the characters in a boarding school
magic optional
This is the best excuse for an orgy ever.
I'm delighted to know someone besides me likes the idea. :D
I would really love to see this. Mmm, artisan!love.
Th-thirty percent?! That's it?
Oh my god, Harry. Why do people let you out?
Oh my god, Harry. Why do people let you out?
Because while they may hate to see him go, they luuuurve to watch him leave. *SHOT*
*pets him* For being so smart sometimes, he just isn't very bright a lot.
Dresden Files does Dark Shadows. I mean come on Thomas is de-interred after centeries to find the re-incarnations of his beloved Justine and his baby brother Harry? How would that not rock? Supernatural Soap Opera for the win!
Whew! [fans self] Hot! and very amusing too. I wonder how pissed Mab is going to be...
Bob and Maeve both like to present themselves as having their minds permanently resident in (or beneath) the gutter. If they meet and enthusiastically continue their usual behavior patterns would it be possible for them to sexually harass each other? How filthy can their attempts get?
Re: OP - Re: Harry/everyone, the apocalypse made them do it
(Anonymous) 2011-02-24 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)New anon likes the idea too!
Oh lord, I'm so tempted to do this, but I'm thisclose to finishing another project. If anyone else wants to grab this prompt, please feel free!
Otherwise, I'll come back and try it in a few days.
Otherwise, I'll come back and try it in a few days.
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