This is great! I love Marcone POV.
I've tagged this fill before, but I know nothing about the canon of Pern. I think I've placed the wrong pairing tags. What are the pairings in this fill?
The Secretary
The Secretary
Of course Rashid times it. Thank you, this was great.
The pairings were Harry/Marcone/Sheila and Bob/Lashiel
yeah, he gave $5000 to Young Chicago Authors, the guy's charity.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/02/rahm-emanuel-dan-sinker-m_n_830577.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/02/rahm-emanuel-dan-sinker-m_n_830577.html
[A/N: The Rahmbamarama community is [at it (”http://pics.livejournal.com/foreverroam/pic/0000670e")] again... :3]
V.
Harry was still working on getting a new office; his new rental apartment was a tad higher than the previous one, possibly because he had pets. The Warden stipend had stopped now that he was the Winter Knight, but he wasn't yet desperate enough to try and get some sort of pay from Mab or Maeve. That meant odd jobbing again. To a certain extent, what with Chicago being quieter of late on the arcane front and Mab occupied in resolving a recent, minor border dispute with the Erlking, mundane exorcisms and pet retrievals felt... restful.
He was walking out of the bank, a fresh couple of thousand in his account, when one of Marcone's black cars slid to a halt against the pavement. Pointedly, Harry ignored it, turning sharply to his left, but the window to the passenger seat scrolled down.
“Harry.” Marcone said, his tone amiable where his eyes remained coolly neutral. “Lunch?”
“No thanks.” Harry continued walking, and the black car kept up pace at a purring crawl.
“I would like to discuss a mutual acquaintance.”
“We have many. The memory of a handful of them keeps me up at night sometimes.”
“The mayor,” Marcone clarified, his money-green eyes narrowing slightly. “Try not to have me announce this as Accords business.”
Harry grimaced. Mab was not in the best of moods for formalities, right now, and should Marcone truly decide to pull rank, it could prove... embarrassing for Winter, a political, juvenile slight. “Fine.”
Marcone edged to the other side of the car as Harry folded himself carefully into the vehicle, minding his head, and took a mild pleasure in hearing the mobster's Blackberry buzz to a quick death as he did so. Marcone's expression didn't change, slipping the dead device back into an inner suit pocket. “He's the White Council's new Warden. That makes him the Council's representative in Chicago.”
“Yes, and yes.” Harry shrugged. “Stepped on your toes already?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Marcone admitted quietly. “That earth... magic that he did, how powerful is he?”
“Frankly? I have no idea. What he seems to be able to do – from what I've heard – it isn't possible.” Harry had managed to call through to Ebe yesterday, but his mentor had also been a little vague on the topic. “Apparently it's hereditary.”
“I've made enquiries about his brothers. There are no reports on any sort of arcane use by any of them.”
“So they've been careful.” Harry said, attempting to sound bored. “It's not uncommon. Most practitioners try to fit in as normal people. Many of them succeed.”
“But mages at a Senior Council level?” Marcone shot back.
“Less likely, but it's happened before,” Harry allowed. “Why the sudden curiosity? Finally found another wizard in your backyard to pester?”
“We've met,” Marcone said, after a studied pause, as though he was deliberating how much to tell Harry.
“And he told you to listen up, or pack up?” Harry guessed. He'd been around to act (perhaps ironically) as a mediator when Emanuel had met Lily and Fix, but as it turned out, he hadn't really been needed – Summer apparently had no further plans for Chicago at present, and Emanuel could be very charming and expletive-free when he wanted to be.
“In essence.” Marcone inclined his head, his expression a little distant. “After Miss Gard explained the potential nature of the mayor's abilities to me, I thought it expedient to make a few overtures.”
“And?”
“He hasn't responded well.”
“Dead fish in the post?” Harry had done some belated homework.
“Severed heads of stuffed toy horses in the post.”
Harry swallowed a guffaw, but he couldn't help grinning at Marcone's pinched expression. “The retired ballerina has a sense of humor.”
“This isn't amusing to me, Dresden. I don't appreciate being threatened.”
“What did he tell you to do? Get out of town?”
“He told me to scale down on, or get rid of, some of our most lucrative venues of income,” Marcone said flatly. “And to stock the schools of low income neighborhoods with decent libraries. I have conceded to the latter.”
“But not to the former.” Harry concluded. “And he wasn't satisfied?”
“I'm not certain,” Marcone said, with a faint edge to his tone. “He refuses to take any calls, and so far it has not been possible to contact him.”
Emanuel was playing with the tiger. Either the man wasn't aware of how dangerous the Baron of Chicago could be, or he didn't care. Harry wasn't sure which option had more potential for disaster. “I don't have much sympathy for you, by the way. Saving criminal enterprises isn't exactly on my 'to do' list.”
“I wasn't asking for sympathy, Dresden. I need your assistance in acting as a courier to pass a message to Mister Emanuel. Tell him that I would like to negotiate terms. A neutral venue is preferred. McAnally's, if possible.”
“And if he says no?”
“I am well aware of his status as the White Council's representative.” Marcone said, his mouth set in a thin line. “But there are many ways that I could make his tenure as Chicago's mayor very difficult for him, politically. Tell him that.”
“Somehow I'm not sure that threatening him in return is a very good idea.” Particularly since Harry wasn't very sure if Emanuel might decide to shoot the messenger. “Besides, what makes you think that I'm going to help you? I hope this doesn't come as some sort of shock, but maybe, just maybe, I'd also rather that criminals scale down on being criminals.”
Marcone stared at Harry thoughtfully for a long, silent moment, then he said, flatly, “Are you so certain of his motives?”
“You mean, his motives in getting you to stop drug trafficking, racketeering, or whatever it is mobsters do in the twenty-first century? Gee,” Harry said sarcastically, “I wonder what that could be. Maybe we should try 'common decency'.”
“And could you ever apply that phrase to a politician?”
“I'm not sure, but I'm pretty certain it doesn't apply to members of the Outfit,” Harry shot back, though his conscience stung him immediately for the retort. Marcone wasn't exactly totally lacking in that area, after all. Mafia business aside. “Look. I'll get your message to Emanuel. But I'm not going to be responsible in any way for his response. And I'm not going to take sides in whatever beef you guys have between you.”
“You would still trust in your White Council? After all that has happened?”
“Nope. But given 'all that has happened' to me up to date, I'm always willing to give someone the benefit of doubt. Stop the car, Marcone. I'm walking.”
“At least allow me to drop you outside-”
“I'm not your lap dog. I have other things to do right now,” Harry retorted. “I'll get around to talking to Emanuel when I have time. Stop the damned car.”
“Very well,” Marcone said, though his tone was considerably frostier. “Thank you in advance, Dresden.”
5.0
Rahm was wrapping up a budget meeting when Marci sidled into the room with a message that Harry Dresden was in his office. Barking out final instructions to staffers, he nodded at her and marched out of the meeting rooms, shaking his head when she tried to help him with the folders of service contract copies in his arms.
Billy and Dresden were talking quietly in his office when he strode in and dumped the files at his desk. “I have about fifteen minutes before I have to have lunch with Hilliard, so make it quick.”
Billy glanced at Dresden, then at Rahm, then he nodded and filed out of the room with Marci when Rahm inclined his head. Dresden narrowed his eyes at this, but made no comment, instead tossing a stuffed plush toy horse at him. “Thought I'd save you some time.”
Rahm turned the horse briefly over, then connected the dots. “What did Marcone have to say for himself?”
Dresden grinned at him, though his posture remained wary, tense. “That he'll like to negotiate terms, and that he'd been good. Did you do something to him in the park? Hunt him down with the pack and tie him to a chair?”
“Stop watching gay porn, Dresden,” Rahm said dryly, smirking as Dresden reddened in indignation, stalking over to his desk and rummaging in the drawer for the scissors. “Did he agree to everything else?”
“Nope.” Dresden took a few deep breaths, then seemed to decide that an outburst wasn't worth it. “Said he could make your life as mayor very difficult.”
Deliberately, Rahm snipped the head off the toy horse at the shoulders, and tossed the rest of the carcass into the bin. “If you see him, tell him to give me his best shot. I'll have this posted to him later. Thanks.”
“Don't mention it.” Dresden seemed pleased. “I don't need to warn you about playing with fire, do I?”
“Can't be worse than wrangling the motherfucking Senate.” Rahm opened the first of the folders onto his desk.
“Want me to be there when you talk to him?”
“What makes you think I'll talk to him?” Rahm glanced up, though he smirked again.
“You're a politician. You might not like what he does, but you think you need to use him, especially since the city's broke. Otherwise you probably would have found a way to get rid of him in the park.” Dresden wasn't as stupid as the Merlin seemed to think. “You're just waiting to see whether he'll cave first.”
“Getting rid of Marcone would cause far too many problems,” Rahm admitted. “Not only because of the Accords. Besides, I'm not entirely sure that She'll let me.”
“Who?” Dresden asked, blankly, then he frowned. “You're talking about Chicago?”
“He's one of Her favorites, believe it or not.” Rahm said, making a face. “Can't always understand Her.” Genius loci didn't exactly entertain finer emotions, not the way that people understood it, but for want of a better word, Chicago had felt... confused, when Rahm had silently instructed Her to shake up the mob boss in the park. She'd obeyed anyway, with a underground rumble, but it was the very least of what She could have done to frighten someone.
“That's... that's... Hell's bells,” Dresden said, wide-eyed. “What about me?”
“The next time She's up to providing me with an impression, I'll let you know.” Rahm said, a little evasively. Actually, now that he'd linked back up with the city after the stunt outside the werewolves' den, the version of intellectus that the family blood allowed was pretty obvious on Chicago's opinion of Harry Dresden. But it was never a very good idea, politically or otherwise, to let someone know that you couldn't hurt them, at least until it was unavoidable, by which time any politician worth his salt would already have tried to tide that someone over. “The Sergeant mentioned that you used to have a retainer with the police.”
“Used to.”
“I'll have that reinstated if you assist Special Investigations whenever they need it.” Rahm flipped the pages on the folder until he got to the police budget. It was strung thin, but he could see a few ways just offhand to get more out of it. “Salaried.”
“I won't be bought, Emanuel.”
“You're not. If the Sergeant so much as complains about you, consider yourself fired.” Rahm shot back. “Now go and see if she needs coffee or fucking donuts.”
“I have a job already,” Dresden said mulishly, though he backed a couple of steps to the door.
“I've heard. Problem?”
“Bite me,” Dresden snapped, and stormed out, making the overhead lights fizzle briefly.
Rahm waited until he could hear the distant sound of a door slamming shut, then he buzzed Carl the intern. “Get Hilliard and tell him that I'm going to be late for lunch. And mail the stuffed head on my desk to you-know-where. Card? Yeah. Pink Card, with 'Water leakage serious problem in Monroe and Monterfiore. Kennedy Elementary needs renovation. Don't fuck this up, xoxo, bye'. Yes. Word for fucking word.”
Rahm checked his watch, finished the tepid coffee lurking in a corner of his desk, and glanced out of the window. The black car was carefully positioned away from any flowerpots, but it was right next to a fire hydrant. Smirking to himself, Rahm reached for the nearest wall.
-tbc... not sure where I'm going with this really. A Rahm/Marcone? Hm. Will make the next few chapters less seemingly one-sided. Marcone is canonically highly resourceful, after all.-
Harry was still working on getting a new office; his new rental apartment was a tad higher than the previous one, possibly because he had pets. The Warden stipend had stopped now that he was the Winter Knight, but he wasn't yet desperate enough to try and get some sort of pay from Mab or Maeve. That meant odd jobbing again. To a certain extent, what with Chicago being quieter of late on the arcane front and Mab occupied in resolving a recent, minor border dispute with the Erlking, mundane exorcisms and pet retrievals felt... restful.
He was walking out of the bank, a fresh couple of thousand in his account, when one of Marcone's black cars slid to a halt against the pavement. Pointedly, Harry ignored it, turning sharply to his left, but the window to the passenger seat scrolled down.
“Harry.” Marcone said, his tone amiable where his eyes remained coolly neutral. “Lunch?”
“No thanks.” Harry continued walking, and the black car kept up pace at a purring crawl.
“I would like to discuss a mutual acquaintance.”
“We have many. The memory of a handful of them keeps me up at night sometimes.”
“The mayor,” Marcone clarified, his money-green eyes narrowing slightly. “Try not to have me announce this as Accords business.”
Harry grimaced. Mab was not in the best of moods for formalities, right now, and should Marcone truly decide to pull rank, it could prove... embarrassing for Winter, a political, juvenile slight. “Fine.”
Marcone edged to the other side of the car as Harry folded himself carefully into the vehicle, minding his head, and took a mild pleasure in hearing the mobster's Blackberry buzz to a quick death as he did so. Marcone's expression didn't change, slipping the dead device back into an inner suit pocket. “He's the White Council's new Warden. That makes him the Council's representative in Chicago.”
“Yes, and yes.” Harry shrugged. “Stepped on your toes already?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Marcone admitted quietly. “That earth... magic that he did, how powerful is he?”
“Frankly? I have no idea. What he seems to be able to do – from what I've heard – it isn't possible.” Harry had managed to call through to Ebe yesterday, but his mentor had also been a little vague on the topic. “Apparently it's hereditary.”
“I've made enquiries about his brothers. There are no reports on any sort of arcane use by any of them.”
“So they've been careful.” Harry said, attempting to sound bored. “It's not uncommon. Most practitioners try to fit in as normal people. Many of them succeed.”
“But mages at a Senior Council level?” Marcone shot back.
“Less likely, but it's happened before,” Harry allowed. “Why the sudden curiosity? Finally found another wizard in your backyard to pester?”
“We've met,” Marcone said, after a studied pause, as though he was deliberating how much to tell Harry.
“And he told you to listen up, or pack up?” Harry guessed. He'd been around to act (perhaps ironically) as a mediator when Emanuel had met Lily and Fix, but as it turned out, he hadn't really been needed – Summer apparently had no further plans for Chicago at present, and Emanuel could be very charming and expletive-free when he wanted to be.
“In essence.” Marcone inclined his head, his expression a little distant. “After Miss Gard explained the potential nature of the mayor's abilities to me, I thought it expedient to make a few overtures.”
“And?”
“He hasn't responded well.”
“Dead fish in the post?” Harry had done some belated homework.
“Severed heads of stuffed toy horses in the post.”
Harry swallowed a guffaw, but he couldn't help grinning at Marcone's pinched expression. “The retired ballerina has a sense of humor.”
“This isn't amusing to me, Dresden. I don't appreciate being threatened.”
“What did he tell you to do? Get out of town?”
“He told me to scale down on, or get rid of, some of our most lucrative venues of income,” Marcone said flatly. “And to stock the schools of low income neighborhoods with decent libraries. I have conceded to the latter.”
“But not to the former.” Harry concluded. “And he wasn't satisfied?”
“I'm not certain,” Marcone said, with a faint edge to his tone. “He refuses to take any calls, and so far it has not been possible to contact him.”
Emanuel was playing with the tiger. Either the man wasn't aware of how dangerous the Baron of Chicago could be, or he didn't care. Harry wasn't sure which option had more potential for disaster. “I don't have much sympathy for you, by the way. Saving criminal enterprises isn't exactly on my 'to do' list.”
“I wasn't asking for sympathy, Dresden. I need your assistance in acting as a courier to pass a message to Mister Emanuel. Tell him that I would like to negotiate terms. A neutral venue is preferred. McAnally's, if possible.”
“And if he says no?”
“I am well aware of his status as the White Council's representative.” Marcone said, his mouth set in a thin line. “But there are many ways that I could make his tenure as Chicago's mayor very difficult for him, politically. Tell him that.”
“Somehow I'm not sure that threatening him in return is a very good idea.” Particularly since Harry wasn't very sure if Emanuel might decide to shoot the messenger. “Besides, what makes you think that I'm going to help you? I hope this doesn't come as some sort of shock, but maybe, just maybe, I'd also rather that criminals scale down on being criminals.”
Marcone stared at Harry thoughtfully for a long, silent moment, then he said, flatly, “Are you so certain of his motives?”
“You mean, his motives in getting you to stop drug trafficking, racketeering, or whatever it is mobsters do in the twenty-first century? Gee,” Harry said sarcastically, “I wonder what that could be. Maybe we should try 'common decency'.”
“And could you ever apply that phrase to a politician?”
“I'm not sure, but I'm pretty certain it doesn't apply to members of the Outfit,” Harry shot back, though his conscience stung him immediately for the retort. Marcone wasn't exactly totally lacking in that area, after all. Mafia business aside. “Look. I'll get your message to Emanuel. But I'm not going to be responsible in any way for his response. And I'm not going to take sides in whatever beef you guys have between you.”
“You would still trust in your White Council? After all that has happened?”
“Nope. But given 'all that has happened' to me up to date, I'm always willing to give someone the benefit of doubt. Stop the car, Marcone. I'm walking.”
“At least allow me to drop you outside-”
“I'm not your lap dog. I have other things to do right now,” Harry retorted. “I'll get around to talking to Emanuel when I have time. Stop the damned car.”
“Very well,” Marcone said, though his tone was considerably frostier. “Thank you in advance, Dresden.”
Rahm was wrapping up a budget meeting when Marci sidled into the room with a message that Harry Dresden was in his office. Barking out final instructions to staffers, he nodded at her and marched out of the meeting rooms, shaking his head when she tried to help him with the folders of service contract copies in his arms.
Billy and Dresden were talking quietly in his office when he strode in and dumped the files at his desk. “I have about fifteen minutes before I have to have lunch with Hilliard, so make it quick.”
Billy glanced at Dresden, then at Rahm, then he nodded and filed out of the room with Marci when Rahm inclined his head. Dresden narrowed his eyes at this, but made no comment, instead tossing a stuffed plush toy horse at him. “Thought I'd save you some time.”
Rahm turned the horse briefly over, then connected the dots. “What did Marcone have to say for himself?”
Dresden grinned at him, though his posture remained wary, tense. “That he'll like to negotiate terms, and that he'd been good. Did you do something to him in the park? Hunt him down with the pack and tie him to a chair?”
“Stop watching gay porn, Dresden,” Rahm said dryly, smirking as Dresden reddened in indignation, stalking over to his desk and rummaging in the drawer for the scissors. “Did he agree to everything else?”
“Nope.” Dresden took a few deep breaths, then seemed to decide that an outburst wasn't worth it. “Said he could make your life as mayor very difficult.”
Deliberately, Rahm snipped the head off the toy horse at the shoulders, and tossed the rest of the carcass into the bin. “If you see him, tell him to give me his best shot. I'll have this posted to him later. Thanks.”
“Don't mention it.” Dresden seemed pleased. “I don't need to warn you about playing with fire, do I?”
“Can't be worse than wrangling the motherfucking Senate.” Rahm opened the first of the folders onto his desk.
“Want me to be there when you talk to him?”
“What makes you think I'll talk to him?” Rahm glanced up, though he smirked again.
“You're a politician. You might not like what he does, but you think you need to use him, especially since the city's broke. Otherwise you probably would have found a way to get rid of him in the park.” Dresden wasn't as stupid as the Merlin seemed to think. “You're just waiting to see whether he'll cave first.”
“Getting rid of Marcone would cause far too many problems,” Rahm admitted. “Not only because of the Accords. Besides, I'm not entirely sure that She'll let me.”
“Who?” Dresden asked, blankly, then he frowned. “You're talking about Chicago?”
“He's one of Her favorites, believe it or not.” Rahm said, making a face. “Can't always understand Her.” Genius loci didn't exactly entertain finer emotions, not the way that people understood it, but for want of a better word, Chicago had felt... confused, when Rahm had silently instructed Her to shake up the mob boss in the park. She'd obeyed anyway, with a underground rumble, but it was the very least of what She could have done to frighten someone.
“That's... that's... Hell's bells,” Dresden said, wide-eyed. “What about me?”
“The next time She's up to providing me with an impression, I'll let you know.” Rahm said, a little evasively. Actually, now that he'd linked back up with the city after the stunt outside the werewolves' den, the version of intellectus that the family blood allowed was pretty obvious on Chicago's opinion of Harry Dresden. But it was never a very good idea, politically or otherwise, to let someone know that you couldn't hurt them, at least until it was unavoidable, by which time any politician worth his salt would already have tried to tide that someone over. “The Sergeant mentioned that you used to have a retainer with the police.”
“Used to.”
“I'll have that reinstated if you assist Special Investigations whenever they need it.” Rahm flipped the pages on the folder until he got to the police budget. It was strung thin, but he could see a few ways just offhand to get more out of it. “Salaried.”
“I won't be bought, Emanuel.”
“You're not. If the Sergeant so much as complains about you, consider yourself fired.” Rahm shot back. “Now go and see if she needs coffee or fucking donuts.”
“I have a job already,” Dresden said mulishly, though he backed a couple of steps to the door.
“I've heard. Problem?”
“Bite me,” Dresden snapped, and stormed out, making the overhead lights fizzle briefly.
Rahm waited until he could hear the distant sound of a door slamming shut, then he buzzed Carl the intern. “Get Hilliard and tell him that I'm going to be late for lunch. And mail the stuffed head on my desk to you-know-where. Card? Yeah. Pink Card, with 'Water leakage serious problem in Monroe and Monterfiore. Kennedy Elementary needs renovation. Don't fuck this up, xoxo, bye'. Yes. Word for fucking word.”
Rahm checked his watch, finished the tepid coffee lurking in a corner of his desk, and glanced out of the window. The black car was carefully positioned away from any flowerpots, but it was right next to a fire hydrant. Smirking to himself, Rahm reached for the nearest wall.
-tbc... not sure where I'm going with this really. A Rahm/Marcone? Hm. Will make the next few chapters less seemingly one-sided. Marcone is canonically highly resourceful, after all.-
What would the Dresden Files be like if they were set in another city or country?
Does Harry distrust the Council because they are british and he's Indian? Does John Marcone control all the crime in Rome? Is Michael the Knight who follows Buddism?
I want to know Nonnies
Does Harry distrust the Council because they are british and he's Indian? Does John Marcone control all the crime in Rome? Is Michael the Knight who follows Buddism?
I want to know Nonnies
I wanna see Harry fall down the rabbit hole, whether he's dreaming or not is up to anon. Bonus points if Marcone/Dresden is worked in somehow.
I got to Marcone's place and asked to see Hendricks, on the basis that whatever cover they'd got for Marcone, Hendricks would still be looming behind him. I didn't get more looks than usual from the random wiseguys and "associates" waiting for whatever Marcone decreed, but they were different. More dismissive, maybe, and--
--okay, so maybe it was just me, but I was aware of how I looked in a different way than I'd been as a kid; I was skinny as hell, on edge, and going to see a drugdealing scumlord kingpin. The only point in my favour is that I wasn't pretty enough for anyone to think I was there for anything worse. Not that I knew if Marcone or Hendricks went for that anyway.
Gard waved me into the office and she looked the same as ever. Maybe her hair was longer, but nothing obvious. Same as Kincaid, then.
Hendricks was sitting at the desk and Marcone was on a seat next to it, looking like he was taking notes. It was weird seeing them like that, because it seemed wrong -Hendricks should have been looming behind him, Marcone to sit in the big chair and give orders- and because part of me was seeing it like it actually was, and it looked normal. The boss's second in command giving orders to some junior boss, someone trusted enough to be allowed in to the circle, maybe being groomed for a higher position.
"Have a seat," Marcone said. He looked me over and I resisted the urge to shrink back in my coat or cross my arms and glare back at him. "Christ, Raith was right. You're nothing but skin and bones, are you?" he said, sounding faintly disgusted.
I stretched my fingers and let a little flare of power run over them. "There's more to me than that."
He leaned forwards and looked at my hands with interest. I had that same contradictory set of urges, to curl my hands back in my sleeve and avoid notice and to make something burn, make him back off. I didn't listen to either of them,instead turning to Hendricks and saying, "So how are you enjoying being in charge while the boss is what, on vacation? You wanna be careful, Marcone. Maybe he'll start getting ideas above his station." Which was ridiculous, and we all knew it, but Marcone's irritated expression was the only reason I'd said it in the first place. I counted it as a win.
"I'm officially at a meeting elsewhere, but answering my phone," Marcone said. "Fortunately, my people are equipped to cope if I'm unexpectedly absent."
That made sense. Marcone still sounded like himself, more or less. Maybe a touch less measured in his speech, but not anything you'd notice. "And you get to hang around and see how they act when you're not around, huh?"
Marcone raised an eyebrow. "Really, Harry, you think I don't know that already." His expression changed. "Besides, I look too much like myself," Marcone said, sounding disgusted. "The assumption is that I'm a nephew or something. My own younger brother."
"Or a bastard son," I offered helpfully.
He frowned at me, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I have seen some people doing some desperate calculations. And getting the wrong answer, judging by their reactions. So..."
"So?"
He looked irritated again and either I was better at this than I thought or he was just more susceptible now. "So I'm assuming you're here for a reason. You've found something out, I take it?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I think... so tell me, Marcone, how are you feeling?"
"you want me to talk to you about my feelings?" Marcone said in disbelief.
I nodded. "Just think of me as a therapist or a priest you wouldn't lie to."
"Frustrated, obviously," he said. "Irritated, but..." he shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. I have more energy than normal, but not an unreasonable amount. No loss of memory, so I'm obviously not actually the age I appear. Fine."
I leaned back in my chair, balancing on the back legs. "Okay, so magic likes a metaphor, okay? It's better at, oh, turning a mother into a maiden than just knocking off ten years. Or turning teacher into a highschool student, that sort of thing."
"Milestones rather than calendars," Marcone said, nodding.
"Ten points to the Mafia Kingpin. Princepin?" I said.
"Get on with it, Dresden," Marcone said.
"Tch, impatient, aren't we?" I grinned, because I thought it would probably annoy him more than anything else I did. "Okay, so it's not so weird that you dialed back to your twenties. Mature dignity to youthful vigour, very Shakespearean. It's not that strange that I'm sweet sixteen again-- slightly surprising that I'm not a little older or a little younger, a young man or an adolescent, but not totally weird, because those are sort of subject to interpretation. But Thomas..."I hesitated. "Thomas isn't different enough and it's really fucking weird, magically speaking, that Kincaid and Gard haven't changed."
"'Really fucking weird'" Marcone echoed. "Is that the technical term?"
"I'm dumbing it down for the non-specialist," I said. Marcone's expression suggested I was a trial he was learning how to bear. "Anyway, doing it like they did isn't impossible, obviously, but it's an awkward way of doing it."
"Really fucking weird," Marcone said, smiling slightly at me, like he was impressed. I felt my face go red and I was glad that I had so much experience avoiding looking anyone in the eyes.
"Right," I said, nodding and looking down. "So, uh. So theoretically, that's why we-- I haven't been able to make it snap it back into place. It's the wrong metaphor, you know? So for it to have worked-- they would have had to establish a base time and then referenced everything to that." I waved at him and almost knocked over a carafe of water on the desk. "Probably you. Like I said, maturity to youthful vigour. I think if we can flip you back to normal, we'll go back to."
He frowned. "You think that's what happened?"
I shrugged. "Don't know for sure. They could have used another base reference, but I didn't see animals back there. That's how I'd do it, chicken into egg. Or maybe not a chicken, maybe something like a parrot that lives longer, but you get my drift."
"I think I do," Marcone said. "But I was the last one through the door, so I don't see why--"
"Ah!" I said, holding one hand up like a pleased teacher. "But you were the last one through the door when it triggered. The rest of us were inside and fine." I smiled, because even when it's true, I rarely have the evidence for it, and said, "so this is all your fault. The fact I've blown practically my week's budget on food in two days, that's all on you."
"Mr Hendricks, can you arrange a suitable compensation for Dresden's food budget?" Marcone said, practically rolling his eyes. "And maybe throw in something extra so he can treat himself?" He smiled at my expression.
"I don't want your money," I said. "And for the record, it's even sketchier, you trying to buy me when I look like I'm sixteen than normal."
Marcone's expression went blank. "You overestimate your appeal in your current state."
I shrugged and started to get up. "Should I be insulted?"
"You should be--" Marcone bit back whatever he was going to say. "So when do you think you'll a solution?"
Good question. "Maybe a few days?" And then honesty forced me to add, "maybe longer, if I need to find someone else to power the spell. I have the know-how, but my control is..."
"Is imperfect at the best of times," Marcone said.
Couldn't argue with that.
The banter. I approve. Moar please?
Chicago likes Harry! and Marcone! Not really surprising, but it's still fun to hear Rahm admit it. I personally think he's asking too much from Marcone.
Harry playing the messenger can either make things better, as he's the only one who could do it without being intimidated to death by this two, or it could backfire. Playing the messenger between two people who are poking at each other is dangerous.
lol at the reference to The Godfather
I'm voting for Rahm/Marcone/Harry threesome, if votes are allowed. XD
Harry playing the messenger can either make things better, as he's the only one who could do it without being intimidated to death by this two, or it could backfire. Playing the messenger between two people who are poking at each other is dangerous.
lol at the reference to The Godfather
I'm voting for Rahm/Marcone/Harry threesome, if votes are allowed. XD
...I'm not sure there's anything in there I don't like. Love Chicago being more appreciative of the boys than Rahm, and adore the toy horse heads.
my god, the chemistry you've got between the two of them in this. And I love how you've thought out how to do the spell.
I now have a theory that the spell reset everyone to the age they were when they lost their virginity. That's a milestone! It totally works! And how awesome would it be that Marcone lost his later than the others? Come on now. 8D
I would like to read it.))
Re: Johnny and Rahm [4&5/?]- Question about posting pics
(Anonymous) 2011-03-05 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)so I couldn't manage tposting it here (I'm not very technologically apt- sorry) So I posted it in the scarpbook for my deviant art account for the moment and I'm giving you guys the link- I'd love work with some of the wonderful people here who gave suffestions on how to post it but for the meantime anyways
http://snakeyear.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=scraps#/d3ayqyf
http://snakeyear.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=scraps#/d3ayqyf
After giant magical throw-down (author's choice if they want to write it or not) Injured!Harry has just enough magic/lucidity to cast a spell to take him somewhere where he will be safe and able to recover.
His magic? Drops him at Marcone's feet.
Don't care if it's in the middle of a meeting with the Mayor, or while Marcone is having dinner, or even while he's in bed.
Make it happen Anon!
His magic? Drops him at Marcone's feet.
Don't care if it's in the middle of a meeting with the Mayor, or while Marcone is having dinner, or even while he's in bed.
Make it happen Anon!
Hmm at his feet? I'm for on top of him in Marcone's bed *grin*
Re: Johnny and Rahm [4&5/?]- Question about posting pics
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flit_df_fanfic
2011-03-05 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
8D *snuggles artsies*
Awesome sauce!
Me liketh your story! :)
Me liketh your story! :)
Yep yep. Met with him, donated to Young Chicago Authors, and apparently liked the guy. :D Rahm's awesome like that.
I love it <3333333 Harry's all srsbsnsface <3333
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