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[cledonomancy]

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[phillysfinest]

Yeah, Warden. Be a real shame if you were forced to age like everyone else. Fuck you and fuck your freakishly long life. Fuck the edge it gives you, all the plans you can make knowing you've got ages left to live.

What Waxey wouldn't give to put the brakes on aging or regain a few of the years he's lost, even to slow the process down a few hairs. Just to feel a little less like he's living on the edge of an exit. Sure, he's sharp as ever, but it feels like ages since he had any solid energy. Headaches come more constant, sometimes blurring the whole world into a muddle. He tries not to think about his aches (he takes it as a point of pride that he rarely uses the cane anymore), but they're getting harder to ignore. And none of this improves his looks at all--which were, all right, never much to begin with.

"It's been my experience the federal government isn't interested in making our lives easier. And they ain't the only ones."

Waxey settles onto the sofa, trying to piece out Rankin's mood. He notes the eyes without dwelling on them; they're another abnormality Waxey's almost gotten used to. (And they're not the most unsettling eyes he's seen. That honor belongs to the sadist in the alley, reflected recently - only for a moment - in the bizarre broad who claimed to've been with Mickey.)

And then Ira's crossing with the humidor. Of course Waxey has something nice to smoke. Ever since he made his way into the upper echelons, he's made a point of maintaining a stock of costly cigars. Shows he's going to keep living high, no matter what sort of shit his enemies throw. Shows he's still on top.

They don't taste half-bad, either.

"A good cigar's the surest cure I know for anxiety." Waxey nods as Ira opens the case, offers Warden his choice. Thank fuck Ira doesn't make a stink about playing the good lackey. "Just got these in last week."

[runsalbany]

Even though his body is not touched by time, his mind is still affected by it. (One can even say he's less merciful to certain people as time goes by.)

"I swear, couldn't they do something useful for once? The better of us kill and harm no one but our own. This pointless stretch of time called prohibition is nearly over and no one has quit drinking, bums crowd the street and they focus on us. They give me a headache, but... in my case I still have anonymity, in a way." Most still don't believe in the world neighboring them, so that affords him some peace. (And aside from Albany, he doesn't court any civilian attention. Unlike some young men from Chicago.) He swears the only thing more stupid and single minded that a regular human is a human government agent. "But it's true, we have more to worry about than that."

Another reason visiting Waxey isn't bad. He doesn't bogart the nice cigars he smokes. (And after that whole thing with Ty, it's a miracle the man isn't traumatized by his own hobby now.)

"Wonderful, as always." He looks over the selection, and picks one out.

[phillysfinest]

He takes Warden's comment with a flickered smile and selects a cigar of his own. Over time, Waxey's learned to play generous with the small stuff. It was one of the lessons he'd picked up from A.R., a vital piece in the image of the cultivated boss. You show your wealth by sharing it, and let your associates know that you value them enough to share your spoils.

Not that handing out a few cigars has ever kept Waxey from demanding a larger cut of the action or wheedling partners into the short end of a deal. Not that it ever will.

"There's no telling the mind of a fed. Especially the ones who get it into their heads that they oughtta be chasing acclaim." Thank fuck they aren't all like that. Particularly on the level of local law, plenty of assholes're willing to take cash over a few minutes of fame. Those're the ones who recognize they're better off siding with gangsters than with the thankless government, who understand that the horrible awful criminals are the real powers behind each city.

Waxey's never understood why he shouldn't have both fame and wealth. That was the idea of this country, right? You can have it all if you grabbed it by the balls. Not everyone can make it to the top, but there's nothing to stop a guy from trying. And Waxey had done a hell of a job pulling himself from obscurity.

As far as he's concerned, anonymity's the same as absence, as having next to no position. Still, there are days Waxey could admit it'd be nice to be a little less of a target.

"Duty don't mean a thing to them anymore. Not when they got a shot at seeing their name in the papers." It's bullshit, and Waxey stops himself before he can get worked up. He takes a moment to cut the end of the cigar, flicks his eyes back to Warden.

"So. Dare I ask what it is that's got you worried today?"

[runsalbany]

Of course, fame and fortune are the only thing men like Waxey look for. Albany's the only city that allows people of his kind to be open about what they are. Anonymity is survival to him. And he will defend his city until they pry it out his cold, dead fingers.

"If they wanted attention, they should've just become actors."

"Thank you." He takes the cigar to his lips, but before he goes to light it and smoke. "A former eraser of mine has gone rogue. I've been trying to hunt her down and bring her back to Albany." He pauses for a while, wanting Waxey to take this information.

[phillysfinest]

...Nuh-uh.

That is not what Rankin came here to discuss. Please. Not that it especially matters to Waxey one way or another, but... But. Waxey's got a pretty good idea of who the 'her' is Rankin's talking about. He's got a pretty good idea he's met this 'her.' And he doesn't need to be caught up in Albany's drama.

Waxey tells himself it could be someone else. He doesn't believe the coincidence. And he just ain't that lucky.

Accustomed as he is to unwanted surprises and unexpected news, Waxey keeps his expression impassive. For now, he figures it's best to hang back. Let Warden works his way to whatever it is he wants.

When he speaks, his tone echoes with casual disinterest; it's his usual voice for business. "That a fact?"

He uses the moment to light his cigar, taking his time working up an even burn. "Is this something I should be worried about?" Because it's the kind of question you ask when you hear an assassin (such a melodramatic fucking title) has gone missing. Or 'gone rogue.' Whatever the fuck that means.

[runsalbany]

He knows that look. It isn't as obvious as Waxey's usual face, but still. Warden got to capture Aramat, and his people told her she was here some days ago. This is not only for him. Luciano asked that if Aramat can't be killed, to get her alive for the mess she made.

And he prefers Albany handle this mess.

"Depends. Have you heard of any strange things here?"

[phillysfinest]

Eyebrows raised, he watches Rankin for a moment. "Last I heard, strange was your territory." He treats Warden like most any other business partner; that means a little surliness isn't out of place.

It might be easier to mention the broad straight off. But Waxey's still not certain she's the object of discussion here (hey, mostly certain ain't a hundred percent), and he's not in the mood to cough up information like some overeager stoolie. This is his city; if Warden wants something, he can ask directly, never mind the bullshit guessing games. And if Warden's got reason to believe his quarry was in Philly (if he already knows), he can come out and say so.

As soon as Rankin gives him something specific to work with, Waxey'll probably be more forthcoming. It's not as if he's got anything to hide. And much as he'd like to stay away from Albany's bullshit drama, he isn't keen on jeopardizing the relationship with Warden. At this point, he needs to keep all remaining alliances intact.

"I hope you ain't telling me I need to be on the watch for men disappearing under mysterious circumstances."

[runsalbany]

Warden could almost giggle at that. "You could say so, but strange mean many different things, and I can't see everything in my territory. And you may have to, or men dying in way that would give people nightmares." That was the case in the Rumpus. Three dead, more injured and shellshocked.

Warden takes out a picture of a smiling woman at what looks to be a party, her features are uncommon, she looks curvy, nearly chubby, her hair is dark and coiled and she's dolled up in a beaded dress. Despite that, Waxey may know that face.

"I'm looking for this woman, a Miss Aramat Drawdes. She may look a bit different than in this picture. It's a little old. I hear she cut her hair short."

"My sources tell me she's been around your territories. Because if she was around mine, I would know."

[phillysfinest]

He'd be more concerned about the supposed threat if he hadn't already met and dismissed it. Well. Mostly dismissed it. Rankin's words recall a few lingering doubts. Like maybe the broad could still go bughouse in his city. Like maybe Waxey shouldn't have let her off so easy. Maybe he should've put her out of her misery when he'd had the chance.

Thing is, he'd had no reason for it. She'd looked fucking pathetic. And from what he'd heard, his city's not in any trouble. If she's got a beef with Albany or New York, that's their problem, and not a big one. There's only so much damage a half-a-corpse can do. (He's mostly convinced of that. Anyway, she's just a broad, right?)

The woman in the photograph doesn't look like a walking corpse - she doesn't look so bad, at all - but the face is recognizable. It occurs to Waxey that this is the woman Mickey would've known and... done whatever with. Been a half-assed half-husband to. It's a thought he doesn't need to be having.

"Your sources." And how much do Rankin's sources know? About this, about anything. He doesn't like having them in his city.

Whatever they know, Waxey'll answer on his own terms. He gives the photograph another glance. "She passed through here, yeah. A few weeks ago. As far as I know, she's long gone."

Or not. She hasn't caused any trouble that he knows of, but that doesn't mean she's good and gone. Fuck, she'd better be. Waxey does not want Warden's men nosing around his territory.

"We had a nice chat."

[runsalbany]

"My sources." Warden would never give them up. (The population ratio is 1 human to three supernaturals in this country, so if a crime boss had any reason to be paranoid that one of those freaks is in their organization... well they wouldn't be wrong.)

"Did the miserable little cunt do anything to you? Your men? Anyone else? You don't have to lie. I know she doesn't look like much of threat being so tiny and feminine but one of her specialties was mind games. Luring people to a false sense of safety."

[phillysfinest]

'One of her specialties was mind games'? The same could be said about certain people sitting in this room, as far as Waxey's concerned. Maybe the woman'd been running a scheme, but if so it'd been a damned good one, and nothing's come of it. In any case, she sure as shit hadn't looked like she had the energy for heavy deception.

Warden's another story. The man reads like a composition of deceptions, weaving bullshit stories with half the words he tells. Which is fine; that's the nature of this business. If you want to run a city, you've got to be prepared to bend the truth. Knowing as much, Waxey isn't prone to buying Rankin's assertions. Especially when Waxey's had a chance to form his own impressions of the lady in question.

And what the fuck is this, did she do anything to you?, you don't have to lie. What the fuck? As if Waxey requires permission to say whatever the fuck he pleases around Warden or any other prick. As if he could've been... what, scared into keeping mum? As if he wouldn't have been on Warden's ass if he'd been attacked by one of Albany's freaks. What the fuck kind of bullshit is this?

Waxey keeps his irritation at a simmer, takes a draw on the cigar. Tastes the smoke. Releases it. "Next to some of your people, she was an angel.

"You want the truth, I'd be surprised if she's still alive. She didn't look so good when I saw her."

[runsalbany]

Warden is doing a thing he likes to do when it comes to Aramat, gaslight her. It's was good for pure amusement and forming people's opinions about her if they meet her. (It doesn't help that Aramat did use those games in assassinations.) Now it's kind of important, trying to make it look to the other bosses like he isn't some crazy little man chasing after a deeply grieving woman. (For the most part, it's true. But a deeply grieving woman can shrug off bullets and can kill grown men with her bare hands.)

It's because the first time it happened, Waxey was afraid to talk. That's why.

Warden may sigh out loud, expelling smoke. "What did she look like? Sickly? Injured? It still doesn't matter. Gordon... she's a freak." He usually doesn't like using that word to describe his men and women, it reminds him of humans and their blatant misunderstandings.

But Aramat isn't one of his employees anymore, she and that bitter witch are just creatures that need to be found and punished.

[phillysfinest]

You know fucking what. That first time's another story. That first time's ages ago. And at that point, Warden'd been as much a mysterious figure as the cunt who'd attacked Waxey, as much an unknown as all of this supernatural bullshit had been. Waxey had hardly been able to believe what'd happened, let alone put words to it, let alone seek out the unknown boss who might be as dangerous as his bitch of a right hand.

It'd all worked out eventually. Waxey's eye for business had overcome his antipathy, and anyway, finding out what he was dealing with had made more sense than jumping at shadows for the rest of his life. Now that he's got an idea of what he's facing in Warden (more of an idea, anyway), Waxey's more inclined to speak up.

And now that he's got an idea of what he's facing, he finds it very curious that Rankin's calling the woman a freak. It's clear she'd done something to piss him off; the question is what (it could have something to do with the woman's beloved shitheel, her anger over that), and whether Waxey should give a shit. Whether Warden's got hidden motives at work here.

"I know that. Hearing it from you's a surprise.

"I take it she did something drastic to inspire that kind of ire."

[runsalbany]

To be fair, Aramat always pissed off Warden. (He used to find it amusing in a way once the irritation at her constant disobedience subsides, like a cute kitten that shreds the furniture or a puppy that chews your shoes. You can't really get too angry at it.) But his patience for that has worn thin now.

"Very drastic. She destroyed a mutual acquaintance's territory in Atlantic City, killed three men, injured a couple more. And I personally don't want to think about their mental states after that. She used to work for me, so I've been tasked with catching her." He sighs. "Because killing her in the normal way? It's actually tricky, even for my men."

Which leads to the awkward position of telling a newly crowned crime king of New York City and his right hands how a tiny little broad can get riddled with bullets and get back up like was it nothing and continue fucking up men left and right. (At least they took it well, he thinks.)

[phillysfinest]

'A mutual acquaintance.' Uh-huh. A mutual acquaintance (a pair of mutual acquaintances) about whom Waxey gives not a shit. A pair of mutual acquaintances who could use a little shaking down. As far as Waxey's concerned, the woman oughtta be lauded for the damage she'd done. (If it'd been in his town, of course it'd be a different story.)

But Albany and New York have some kind of alliance going (not much Waxey can do about that), so of course Rankin's got to account for his people. There were probably some tense confrontations over what'd happened, and Waxey reminds himself not to smile at the thought. Maybe those confrontations account for Warden's venom. Maybe he's just pissed the broad got away from him. What was it she'd said about Warden, about him saying she'd be pulled back in no time?

"The club." Waxey nods, rolls the cigar between his fingers. "That was, what, half a year ago? You're a little slow." Nothing barbed in that remark; it's just an observation. Er. Mostly.

He's not sure what to make of Warden's final remark, so he smirks. "Anyway, the way you put it, it sounds like the woman's indestructible." Which is absurd. (Yeah? Albany's got its own rules, and sickly as she'd seen, Drawdes'd shown remarkable strength. Maybe he shouldn't think too much about indestructible. Maybe it's a good thing he hadn't tried shooting her.)

[runsalbany]

Warden has made it clear that he isn't throwing his support to any of them right now. Because his support means the one they are united against will be not only be killed but wiped out. (You can ask Masseria on that.)

Pretty much both. He's spent years trying to get New York on somewhat amicable terms with him and this little miserable bitch has to throw a wrench in it over some idiot not worth the ground she walks on. He's even told Luciano that Mickey was lucky that he pissed off Lucky instead of himself. He would've shot him too... in front of Aramat. Just to show her the price of stupidity. (And just to watch to crumble more. It's a vice, he'll admit it.)

He scowls, just a bit. "I'm not." He's been hunting that woman for half a year.

"She can only be stalled, never killed. Bullets do not work."

[phillysfinest]

Half a year sure sounds like time enough. But hey, maybe time runs different in the freak world. Sure. "Clever as you are, I’m surprised, is all. She didn’t seem too concerned about keeping a low profile."

Of course, there's the possibility that she didn't need to be concerned. Because if Warden's telling the truth, it sounds like this woman really can't be ended. It occurs to Waxey that there's got to be humor in that: the immortal broad with a death wish.

Assuming it's true. (It’s occurred to Waxey that Rankin might exaggerate the truth in order to build a more intimidating image of his so-called realm. The maddening fact is that Waxey can neither prove nor disprove his own suspicions. Not yet.) Because it sounds like a stretch, even for Albany. Because that sort of shit shouldn't be possible. And anyway, hadn't she said something about figuring she'd die on the East coast?

If Waxey feels any alarm about this immortality business (of course he fucking does), he swallows it. He's learned to take Albany's ever-unfolding strangeness in stride, accepting each revelation as another potential headache, filing it for future reference even if he doesn't believe it.

(Jesus. What you could do with a lifeline like that. If you gave a shit about it. If you could figure out how to play your cards, adapt to the times. The money you could make.)

"You say she can’t be shot. What does work?"

[runsalbany]

Warden rolls his eyes. "Is she spinning a sob story? Pointing fingers at everyone instead of the eternal dope that was too stupid to get off a obviously sinking ship, even when he was warned early? Oh and herself, because only a love-struck idiot would stay and accept that."

He tries to not let some of his bitterness of 1928 seep in his voice, the fact that he lost one of his best people, the fact that for four years she was out of his control. It nags at him. And now she's back and pissed at him for the doings of humans when he warned her about it when she left.

"Bombs. Things that explode. Her entire body has be destroyed. Thing is you can't really make it stealthy thing. And it isn't cost effective. So the only other option is capture."

[phillysfinest]

"Lucky for me, I'm not big on tears." It might've counted as a sob story, but Waxey doesn't remember a whole lot of blame being flung. Doesn't remember her looking after pity, at all. She'd been well the fuck past that. (It'd been a little bit pathetic. Almost lamentable, not that Waxey'd really given a shit.) When she'd named Warden, it'd seemed more like stating a fact: Warden Rankin is a vicious sack of shit. Which is the truth.

He almost smirks at the vicious sack of shit's reference to 'the eternal dope'; it ain't a bad name for Mickey. And Warden's got a fair point about Doyle: who the fuck knew why the shithead had stayed? He'd always been more of a jump ship type of guy. Maybe he'd gotten sick of running. Maybe he'd gotten to the point of thinking some sleazy boardwalk club was enough. Maybe Nucky Thompson'd been sucking his prick; doesn't fucking matter. Mickey's a whole lotta nothing now, just another corpse in the ground.

(Almost true. Not quite. Because it's pretty clear Mickey's also a memory for Aramat Drawdes. And thanks to her, Waxey ain't entirely forgotten the prick, either.)

And all right, all right, at least the broad isn't entirely immortal. It could be worse, right? "Good to know you got options.

"And that you ain't coming into Philly with those bombs."

[runsalbany]

You have to be a vicious sack of shit to run Albany and the cities connected to it. Full of freaks, killers, outsiders, and people that just don't make any sense to anyone, like the woman in question.

Shows how little the both of them know for now about the little shit. (Eternal Dope is a very good for him, it's seems.)

"I'm not going anywhere with these bombs unless I get clearance. I'm not stupid, people don't like their city going sky high."

[phillysfinest]

Hey. Being a vicious sack of shit ain't the worst thing. Waxey can work with vicious sacks of shit. Waxey can even admire one or two things about vicious sacks of shit. And if he isn't Warden's biggest fan, he doesn't have much active reason to loathe the man. It sounds like Drawdes might have a reason or two, but that's her business.

(And Jesus fucking Christ the eternal presence of the dope is one thing Waxey does not need to know about. Fucking ever.)

"We appreciate your forethought." There's the flicker of a smirk at that, and Waxey takes a few languid moments to take a draw on his cigar. "You understand I gotta ask."

There's another question he could ask - 'when you find her you'll, what, chain her in a cellar?' - but Waxey's pretty sure that falls outside his purview. He doesn't make a habit of sticking his nose into other peoples' affairs, not when it won't bring a profit. It's not good for business. Even if he is a little curious (he wouldn't say 'concerned.')

[runsalbany]

"Of course you do. I understand." Humans are panicky, easily paranoid creatures by nature.

"Are you curious about anything else, Mr. Gordon? Feel free to ask, I'll be as open as I can." Warden says with a smile that... is slightly off.

[phillysfinest]

There's good fuckin' reason to be when you find out you're dealing with a whole world beyond your understanding, especially when that world's full of psychopaths who live too long and could kill you by fuckin' blinking. It was bad enough when there'd been men eager to shove Waxey out of the picture; now he's got Rankin's freak to worry about, too.

Waxey doesn't trust Rankin's invitation for questions any more than he trusts that smile. (When's Rankin's smile been anything but a little off? The guy could make Mickey's grins look almost normal, if the dumb shit hadn't got himself killed.) He watches the man for a moment, eyebrows raised.

"I got questions, I'll ask. Right now what I want to know is what you want from Philly... And if you thought this broad was such a danger, I gotta wonder why you didn't say something sooner."

[runsalbany]

Of course, humans aren't to be trusted either. (Except Ty, but she has a unique perspective none of these people have, so he passes.) Warden knows first hand the irrational fear humans have of something they deem 'different'. His own father locked him away in his own home for year away from the outside world when his own powers started to develop. To this day, he has to wear gloves or his makes thing disappear from this reality.

Humans can't even accept a different skin color or even something as truly petty as nationality or ethnic background. What do you think they would do with long lived people with powers? Warden may be vicious, cold, and sadistic. But he loves his city, one of the few places people like him can be in the light and not the shadow.

They will have to kill him before they take it, and he'll damned before a overemotional little mayse topples it. He'll make a proper example out of her and that horrid witch.

"The men in New York didn't want me talking to you. I had to angle things. And all I want, if Aramat is still in the city, is her location."

[phillysfinest]

Waxey also knows a thing or two about bullshit human prejudices, of which he's been on both the giving and receiving ends. These days, his position shields him from most attacks, but there are always reminders when you don't fit the image of the One True American. (Whatever the fuck that's supposed to be. Waxey like to pretend it's a thing of the past; he isn't always given the chance.)

For all the reminders he's received, Waxey can't quite shake his own unease or antipathies. Can't quiet his mistrust of Albany's residents, can't muffle vague fears of what they might do. He'll work with them, he'll co-operate with them, but he can't find reason to fucking trust them. Not when they bend the rules of the natural fucking world.

He stiffens at the mention of Lansky and Luciano - because who the fuck else could Warden be referring to, the fucking 'men in New York' - feels his breath constrict in his throat. "And you adhered to their desires." Eyes fixed on his cigar, he weights each word deliberately. Maybe it makes business sense to comply with New York. Maybe Albany's got more invested in New York-- Not to mention the fact that New York's got the strings of that Commission wrapped around their collective fuckin' fingertips.

Waxey recognizes the relative strength of their position. That doesn't mean he likes it. And that doesn't mean Warden's got the right to treat Philly like yesterday's garbage.

Turning from the cigar, Waxey favors Rankin with an impassive gaze. "Until it turned out you couldn't track her down yourself. Never mind what she was doing in the meanwhile. Never mind the damage she might have caused." Waxey remains unconvinced that Aramat's as dangerous as Warden claims (not to anyone outside of Warden or Luciano, anyway), but the principle of the thing's got him heated.

"Too bad you showed so late. You'd've checked in a few weeks ago, you might've seen her yourself."