Fever

[Ruby Ryder]

Fur was one of Ruby Ryder’s favourite things. It was so luscious, so sensual about feeling it across her exposed cleavage that was sinful and she bathed in the feeling as her limousine pulled to a gentle stop outside one of Gotham’s most elite clubs. Her newest goon opened her door at precisely the same time that she swung her dark plum-coloured stilettos to the pavement. Handing a hand gloved to the elbow to the goon Ruby stepped out and offered a coy smile to any - and there would be someone – waiting to see her arrival before she was ushered into the club. It was all for show, the hand-holding and herding. Ruby was strong and decisive, but tonight she portrayed herself as a spoiled little rich girl who knew of very little of the ways of the world. If she’d been aware of the many dual-personalities already existing within Gotham City she might well have recoiled. Ruby hated following the trend.

Stroking the full stole draped around her swan-like neck, Ruby headed for her usual table where she handed the stole regretfully to the maitre ‘d and waved him off. The sultry glimmer of a ruby-encrusted cigarette case flickered briefly in the dim light of the booth and she lit up in short order, elegantly exhaling the smoke into the already hazy air. She loved the upmarket feel of the bars surrounding the Opera Shell. They were classy, not like the dives her sisters so often frequented. But then again, her sisters hardly had a reputation of her magnitude to maintain.

“Wine, Ms Ryder?”

“Yes. The usual.”

“Very good.”

Waiting for her wine, Ruby ignored the gentle hum of conversation around her and focused on her own inner thoughts.

[Mario Falcone]

Some nights Mario Falcone was a businessman. He met with crooked cops, or fellow mobsters, or smugglers, or traffickers, or money launderers, or whoever might be beneficial to his operation. Other nights he wined and dined fellow mobsters to find out what deals they were in on and what he might be able to get a piece of. Still other nights he merely reinforced his presence in the city by showing up where he wasn't expected and taking up way too much space.

Tonight, luckily, he was not a businessman. Tonight, he was a reveler. Gotham was not just a place of crime, deceit, and money. It was also a place of leisure, pleasure, and occasionally, if one was lucky, a place of sin. He was hoping that on that night he could find all of the above. He and his pack of cronies slash goons headed out on the town and began to make the rounds. They were in neutral territory tonight, the bars around the opera house, where the women were high class and expensive but, in his mind, only tidier versions of what one could find on any street corner on The Narrows. Anyone who thought otherwise was just fooling themselves.

By the time they reached the bar where Ruby Ryder was putting on her show for the night, he was already a few drinks into the evening, and his judgment was as cloudy as his vision. Nevertheless, as they approached the bar and he saw her being led inside he knew. He had to buy her a drink. In his tipsiness and wanderlust he didn't recognize that he knew that face. That would have been difficult even sober, for he had barely looked at her face.

Smirking at the shocked look on his friends' faces, he told them to stay put. They tried to warn him off, but Mad Mario was in top form that evening. Hell, he might have approached the woman even if he did remember who she was. It was his kind of risk. Smirking down at his pressed three-piece suit, he shoved one hand into his inside jacket pocket and strode jauntily up to her table. He pulled a tin of cigarillos out as he walked, picking one out and snapping the expensive case back closed. As he tucked the tin back into his pocket, he paused before her table as if by coincidence.

"Miss," he asked, his brown eyes cheeky, "can I get a light?"

[Illiam Berk]

Illiam was in the black car with tinted windows just behind the limo of Ms. Ryder. His earpiece poised and at the ready for any sort of security hazard that came from the building. His short dark hair had the sheen of pomade to it while his fresh-pressed suit covered the body of a man who seemed coiled for a fight. His lips strained in its frown while he briefly checked his watch, his headset, and his personal cell in case his daughters were to call. They were in the custody of their grandfather for the night and he was certain he wouldn’t get a call from home. Well… he hoped not. The last time he had thought that, his late wife was sprawled on the ground with a bullet in her head. His hands clenched around the cell phone briefly before he pocketed it and pulled out the Blackberry he used for work. Quickly he clicked through the schedule just as the car he caravanned in slowed behind the limo. The newby in the back seat writhed nervously; not entirely used to coming along on outings like this. They had to break him in. After all, how else were they supposed to find a sub incase Illiam had to be with his family.

“She’s going to be getting to the door of the car in a few seconds. You know the drill,” he said absently while he mentally timed how long it took for Ms. Ryder to get out of the car. The rookie sprung from his feet, leaving the car and steadily walking to the limousine in front. Two second late, he mentally marked against his new co-worker. He suppressed an annoyed sneer as he looked over at the driver. “Lead the car around to the side alley. I’ll radio when Ms. Ryder’s finished here,” he instructed before exiting the car to follow a safe distance behind Ruby Ryder and into the club.

He made a quick round to make sure that the exits were secure with at least one of their people per door. The rookie, Petrellia, waited by Ms. Ryder’s table while each checkpoint was inspected. Illiam took another moment to check his personal cell phone and put it on silence before he slipped it inside his jacket; hearing the plastic against the .45 in a concealed holster. He double checked the blackberry before making is way to the table where Ms. Ryder sat. “All exit posts, can I have a check please?”

“Check.”

“Check”

“Check.”

“Check.”

“Copy that,” Illiam said in a militant voice into his headset as he seated himself across from his employer; giving a nod and a slight expression that resembled a smile. “All clear Ruby,” he said simply before he heard over the headset of the movement towards their table. His expression soured a tad as his dark brown gaze caught the approaching gentleman and instantly found the name in his encyclopedia of Gotham’s big names. Falcone, he identified to himself as his broad-shouldered posture straightened in his seat and he watched for any signs of aggression. His hand went inside his jacket casually, as if to straighten his tie, while he saw the approaching gent reach for something in his pocket; ready to pull his gun if the mobster was so bold. His hand moved away from the gun to feign straightening his tie when he saw the cigarillo being pulled out and the tin being pocketed. His expression remained vigilant whilst he heard Falcone’s question and a brow simply shot up and he glanced at his boss out of the corner of his eye for any sort of signal to escort the man away.

[Ruby Ryder]

Although she had come into the good part of town technically for the same reasons that Falcone had tonight, she could not relax once she noticed a sudden influx of assholes infiltrate her chosen place of leisure. Ruby was the type of woman who was always switched on, ready and waiting for the penny to drop so that she had a better chance of catching it. She openly stared at the gaggle of crooks as they caroused in another section of the club, closer to the bar, averting her eyes eventually to maintain her grip on her sanity and not give Illiam the order to waste the scum here and now, she let her smoke burn away as she cradled the arm supporting it to her upper body but still aloft. Her curls licked at her face and her other arm had slipped instinctively to cover her now flat tummy as she faltered. Illiam’s voice seemed to come to her as though they were underwater and she gave him no response. Her confidence was shattered.

Luckily, Falcone then did her a rather large favour. Ruby didn’t notice him swagger over to where she was sitting, but the unmistakable quality in his voice that she would know anywhere made her sit up straight in her chair as she raised her penetrating ebony glare to pierce him with it. A light!? A light!? She noticed the horrified looks on the faces of his friends and realised two things. First, that he was drunk and second that he didn’t know who she was. It must have been nice to have the luxury of murdering a person’s whole family and future all in one night and then not having their faces haunt you every night before you slept.

The waiter chose that moment to bring her wine. He began to pour the glass, noticed who was standing at the table and left it half poured. Regaining her old compsure, Ruby took the bottle and filled her glass a little too much, taking a sip and smiling coldly up at Falcone before she stood. “Sure,” she said in as level a tone she could manage. With her wine glass in hand she jerked her arm forward, throwing the dark burgundy contents all over her ridiculous rival, much to the gasps of the people surrounding them. “In Hell. That ought to help.” And if it didn't, she was fully prepared to flick her cigarette at his crotch.

[Mario Falcone]

There's nothing like having your favorite suit ruined by some broad's PMS-y lash out to bring a guy back down from his delightful buzz. "What the--?!" he cried, jumping back. "You crazy b----, what the hell do you think you're doing??" he asked her , swiping at the wine angrily as if his pathetic swats would undo the stains she had just caused. He had dropped his smoke on the ground and he gestured at it feebly now. Damn it. He was going to enjoy that. He was going to enjoy his entire evening off. Not now.

He took a deep breath, tilting his head to the side which created a pop in his neck. He was pissed. He was really, really pissed. Who in Gotham was this insane little harlot, who had just killed his stag night? No, correction, tried to kill it. For now he was determined that within an hour he would be having the party of the century within his own home, where women like this nutjob weren't allowed in. But before he retreated to his haven for a little custom-ordered fun, he wanted to know where to send his bill. His suit was done for and someone would pay.

When he spoke he didn't make eye contact and his tone was that of someone who was barely restraining themselves. "Thanks for that," he responded through a clenched jaw. "May I ask who you are and what I did to deserve..." He paused, lifting his jacket lapels outward. "Is that Chinon?" he finished questioningly, lifting his gaze to challenge her dark glare with an equally infuriated look of his own. The aromatic wine, whatever it was, had made his lightly colored suit tinge red. He might as well have been shot.

[Ruby Ryder]

Even though it was a relatively feeble action and even though it hardly satisfied her lust for his blood, Ruby’s words had been packing the dull, slow-burning heat of real hatred as she has raked her eyes over the man in front of her. Where did he get off, with his foolish behaviour following the loss forced on her by his word or the word of one of his own? It went to show that there was no honor amongst thieves, and even though once upon a time her father and his father may have worked for a common cause the rift between the two well-known families was jagged and deeper than even her resentment for him. If she’d been in possession of a gun before she’d had a chance to collect herself, he would have been shot.

Standing three feet away in her killer dress that was cut just for her, she felt untouchable – no, sorry. Pretended to be untouchable. Her designer shoes, perfect hair and expertly applied makeup gave her plenty to hide behind. She drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms, her smoke showing signs of fatigue even if she didn’t as she drew on it and then let it merely adorn her hand. After his eyes met hers, dark on dark, she blew the smoke arrogantly right towards him and quirked a brow. “Grange,” she countered emotionlessly. She was at a loss how to remind him of who she was and what she felt he owed her (his life). “Illiam,” she said, not taking her eyes off of Falcone for one second. “Get everyone at the front exit. And bring the car around, please. Apparently, they let just anyone in here.”

As she waited for her bodyguard to obey, she let the tip of her nervous tongue wet her lips, hoping to redistribute some of the bitterness in her mouth. She didn't owe him an explaination, or anything else for that matter. Possibly with the rather small exception of a .45 slug lodged securely in his head. "Go fuck yourself, Falcone."

[Mario Falcone]

He nodded his head in rueful acceptance when she continued to insult him, a bitter smile forming on his chiseled features. In his eyes a fire burned with new found hatred. Before Ruby Ryder was a woman who had been injured in some way by his father's regime, forgettable to him because he had never really had to deal with the consequences of his father's business and because he had never been very involved until he'd gone insane. Ruby was just another name in a long list of people who had a death wish for his father and consequently him, and he was by now used to it. He had no particular reason to remember her, and even now she didn't jog his memory.

And he would have remained blissfully unaware if his cronies, seeing the commotion, hadn't tentatively started to approach to save him from any imminent butt whoopins he might have been earning himself. (He was clearly not in a state to defend himself, and a mob boss rarely did their own dirty work anyway.) One of his more loyal goons, a Falcone cousin who had served his father well but didn't quite have the brains to advance, spoke up.

"Watch your mouth, Ryder," he spat. That's when the lightbulb went off in Mario's head and he realized that he recognized her. Prior to her decision to throw wine at him and insult him he might have forgotten the bad blood between them. As she had never been a personal project of his - and because he was horny - he could have easily overlooked it. Now, however, his heart had turned completely cold to her. She was clearly holding a grudge, and he was not the sort to back down from a picked fight.

"Ms. Ryder!" He began, slipping his hands back into his pockets and leaning slightly back as he looked at her, as if pushed off balance by the shock wave of her revealed identity. "Well pardon me," he continued, head bobbing as he spoke with careful sarcasm, "I didn't realize I was in the presence of one of my father's former business associates. It's unfortunate that your husband's untimely death cut their dealings short." The corner of his mouth crooked slightly in a threat of a smirk, his dark eyes glued to hers with a chilling lack of regard for her feelings.

[Illiam Berk]

“Yes Miss Ryder.”

Well, Illiam had not seen that coming. Well, that was a lie. What had unraveled in front of him was really a more timid version of the scenario that blew up in his head. He had pictured shooting and possibly something like Ms. Ryder severing Falcone’s head with a butter knife. Ultimately, something much more fun than wine. His stoic features clenched his cut jaw while he radioed for the car and Ryder’s own men to collect to the door. His dark brown eyes narrowed and with a quick movement, he brought a hand to the gun at the inside of his coat.

His hand clicked off the safety while the thugs yelled. “Goes both ways bub,” Illiam barked back. The stern tone called attention to Ruby’s own cronies; including the rookie from before. Illiam’s own bone to pick with the mob family was enough to make him forget that he had a job to do. He wanted to waste that entire group right there but he then remembered the situation and the two kids waiting at home. His heavy brow furrowed and the broad-shouldered bodyguard lips contorted in the nastiest smirk. He stepped between Miss Ryder and Falcone’s little whelp.

“Indeed,” he replied to the cut Falcone volleyed Ruby’s way. How’s your dad doin’? he thought to himself; wanting badly to get in a few jabs of his own. Remembering what his wife’s body looked like on the floor of his apartment in a pool of her own blood was enough to keep his mouth shut while in the presence of his boss and Falcone’s little brat. “Well, got places to be. Good runnin’ into ya Falcone.” His lip curled as he spat the name. He offered an arm to his employer to make sure no one had access to her. His muscles tensed; coiled to use his bare hands against these assholes if he could. “Tell your dad we said ‘hi’,” he added with a low snarl.


((gah! Sorry a suck!))

[Ruby Ryder]

The bravado the Depiazzi maintained in front of her enemy was credible but not entirely impenetrable. Her coffee colored gaze snapped to the goon who had told her to watch her mouth, and a nasty smile spread over her lips as she mentally committed his face to memory. No one spoke to her like that, which was a rule that she monitored hard and fast. Falcone’s antics were enough to divert her attention, and she watched his inebriated theatrics with a cool detachment. He was a fool, drunk and pathetic.

As much as she hated Carmine Falcone, Ruby knew that Mario would never have the clout his father had and that realization was something that spread her smile into something much more sinister. She refrained from barking a command at Illiam – she knew he was doing his job and that such a confrontation was a great temptation to her bodyguard – but she would be speaking to him in the car. As her posse prepared to leave, Ruby ground out her cigarette in a silver ashtray on the table next to her.

“We’ll have to keep in touch,” she told Falcone in a voice disguised as companionable. With an inclination of her head, Ruby turned her back on him without fear and sauntered towards the door.

[Mario Falcone]

He rolled his brown eyes laboriously at her little goon. Just like an idiot beefhead to talk about what happened to his Dad like he had been the one to do it. Boasting about someone else's triumphs was the worst sort of marker for a chump. But he understood why the guy had to reach into the Bat's pocket to pull out his insults. Though she'd had years to coordinate some kind of revenge, Ms. Ryder had yet to do so. Her threats, and his, fell empty thanks to that. She and her goons were, in a word, entirely inconsequential.

He turned his coffee gaze back to her, his lips pulling into a smirk again. "I'm sure we will," he told her in an equally personable voice as she made her way to the door, and unlike Ryder his was not an empty threat. He had henchmen all over this city. He had no fear from anyone in this town save for the Bat, and maybe now this crazed lunatic he'd created, Two-Face. The police didn't scare him, with their hundreds of people. The other mob bosses didn't scare him, with their brutality. And Ms. Ryder, a silly little woman who thought herself very powerful because she had a cute little limousine to ride around in and a couple of thugs who did her bidding, didn't scare him.

Death didn't scare him. Playing with fire, and he was sure insulting Ruby was exactly that, was right up his alley.

He stared at her retreating back, his smile curling deeper. "Sooner than you think."