Femme Fatale Pt. 12

>You spend a disconcerting few moments gobbling down that bread.
>Maybe one day you’ll regret your addiction to carbs, but at the moment you indulge in your inner post-war Russian and savor that bread while you have it.
>You’re halfway into your second piece of bread when the table’s drinks arrive.
>It’s enough of a distraction to pull you from your stupor, and you start slowing down back to civilized levels of consumption. That bread is damn good, though.
>Out of the six people at the table, three ordered alcohol. Valorie is smiles politely as a server pours her glass of red wine, while Alan and Jackson salute each other for both ordering an identical Jack and Coke.
>Samuel went with more water, citing a rocky relationship with him and booze in the past.
>You and Terrin are the only ones to order soda. He had asked for, quote, “any kind of lemon and lime pop.” Whatever they gave him is clear and bubbly, so it looks like he got what he wanted.
>Meanwhile you asked for a Dr. Pepper, and while it does come with the expected twenty three flavors you can’t help but feel out of place asking for a soda at such a fanciful gathering.
>You could probably take a picture of the area around you, and convince your family that you made it to the high life on a grocery bagger’s budget.
>Still, you can’t afford to be inebriated at a time like this. You’ve always been one for having some modicum of control, and getting tipsy in what could possibly qualify as a crime den seems like a poor choice.
>Actually, what is the point of all this? Is there a big announcement to be made? Is just the organized crime take on a backyard barbecue? Does this Grandpa have a daughter that’s getting married?
>You can’t exactly flag down that butler fellow from earlier and grill him with questions until your curiosity is sated.
>You need someone who won’t mind your naivety as you try to get a grasp on what’s going on.
>That immediately cuts Terrin out, since he knows just as much if not less about tonight than you do.
>Alan and Samuel are both actual criminals, though Alan is more white collar than the otter. They might be less than enthused to share what they know even about surface level knowledge.
>Jackson is just someone’s favorite mechanic. While you could probably spend the next hour chatting about what super cars he’s been under the hood of, that isn’t what you’re interested in.
>Which just leaves the one person who understands your position more than anyone else.
>When you turn to the ermine next to you, she’s already looking at you while sipping her wine. Valorie exhales softly as she places the glass back on the table, “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Anon?”
>”Yeah, uh,” You start, trying to not seem to taken aback from her mind reading abilities, “What is the point of this dinner? Is something special going on, or is this just a regular thing for the Family?”
>Valorie looks at you for a few moments before her eyebrows raise, and she nods to herself as if having solved a problem before speaking, “This is your first dinner, isn’t it? I would have already heard about Aunt Ariannis having a…companion if you weren’t new to the Family.”
>You nod in confirmation. The way that she said that has you wondering if she’s really a Cousin or some kind of plant placed among the Cousins to spot of signs of misbehavior.
>Valorie makes a waving motion with her hand as if brushing something away, “There’s no real reason for these dinners. Sometimes announcements are made, but a gathering like this is held once a month.” She explains.
>” Grandfather Ivers truly believes in the idea of all of us being an extended family. So dinner parties such as these are mostly so we get to know each other. We don’t exactly carry cards as members of the Family, after all.” The ermine plucks her menu off the table while speaking.
>You do the same, finally taking a glance as to what’s on offer.
>”Ah, I suppose I should offer this as a tip to a fellow ‘companion,’” You hear Valorie whisper, “Eat something light. Chances are we both will be ‘working’ this evening.”
>You’re not sure how she spoke so clearly, since in your periphery you can tell that she’s nose deep into the folded menu.
>Maybe screwing higher ranking members of the Family gives one ventriloquism?
>Regardless of Valorie’s skill set, you take her advice to heart. Everyone else at the table is just going to go home full when dinner is over. Much like the ermine next to you, you’ll probably get taken further into the manor to play as Ariannis’s second round of dessert.
>If Eileen didn’t kill her mood entirely, you add.
>You don’t know if you’re upset or relieved at the fact that Eileen may have potentially cockblocked you and Ariannis tonight.
>You push the thought out of your mind as you peruse the menu.
>Christ this is a lot of French. Some Italian, too. Or is that Spanish? There is a lot of those little accent marks here.
>Turns out, you can’t read the real names of most of the items on offer. Thankfully someone in charge of designing this menu had uncultured troglodytes like you in mind, because underneath each listing is a description of the dish in plain English.
>You can feel your poorness screeching in confused anguish as you read some of these.
>Truffle dusted steaks served with lobster tail that comes with a dish of imported French butter.
>Four kinds of pasta dishes, and none of them are macaroni or spaghetti.
>There is a cheeseburger on this menu, but you don’t recognize the type of cheese it mentions. And you’ve never had a cheeseburger where the cheese was described as a ‘crisp.’
>”Hey man, don’t even worry about it.” Samuel says, noticing your confusion. “It’s all good, I swear. Just get anything with meat and you’ll be good. Just be careful with the oyster plate.”
>”Wait, what’s wrong with the oysters?” You ask, half folding your menu.
>”Fuck man, nothing. I’m just giving you a warning before you accidentally stumble into the same mistake I made.” The otter laughs.  “It’s an addiction. One day I’ll learn where they source their oysters from, because I’ve had oysters that I’ve plucked myself right out of the sea and they don’t taste as fresh.”
>”That good, huh?” You realize that Samuel hasn’t even picked up the menu as you ask. He simply just grins and nods.
>Risking it on seafood doesn’t seem too bright to you, though. Valorie has a point; he’s just going to go home after this. You have a performance to manage after the meal.
>Flicking the menu open again, you descend down the list of items once more.
>Grilled chicken breast, served with a pineapple and pepper sauce on a bed of seasonal rice pilaf.
>Well, chicken is light. People eat that on diets. And rice is literally rice. How bad could it be?
>That, and it’s a simple enough dish that you can actually understand what you’re getting.
>You’ve never heard of an eggplant dish described with ‘wrapped in a lattice of long pasta’ before, but you’re not in a rush to see what the fuck that means. Is it a pie? Is it a wrap? A social construct designed to oppress Italians? Whatever it is, you’ll pass on it.
>Placing the menu onto the table, you look back towards the main table. A rumble rolls across your thigh and you catch yourself mid-jump from the sudden sensation.
>Remembering that cellphones are a thing, you calm yourself down while fishing yours out of its pocket.
>The lock screen says you have a text from Ariannis. After you swipe the code pattern, the device jumps straight to your message center.
>”I see you” - Just Now
>You blink, and turn to look at the main table.
>Sure enough, the Last-Supper-esque behemoth is suddenly populated.
>Where Jesus would be is an old, old human man who could have possibly known Jesus personally.
>You find yourself biting your tongue immediately just for having such a stupid thought. You just made a mental joke about the head of the Family.
>He’s talking to some species of canine seated to his right, and judging from the looks on their faces, they’re both in a good mood. You guess the meeting wasn’t all doom and gloom.
>Immediately to Ivers’s left is the person responsible for almost every rise in blood pressure you’ve experienced in the past week.
>Ariannis is looking right at you, her long braid resting on her shoulder as she holds her phone up with both hands.
>To the far right of the table is Eileen, back straight and hands folded together as she waits for…something. Despite Ivers good mood, she has her poker face on and isn’t engaging with anyone.
>Scratch that. As you watch you see the twin foxes from earlier approach the council’s table, and they make a beeline straight for Eileen.
>They were Eileen’s girls? Fuck, that fashion amazon really doesn’t trust you if she had a sting operation set up and waiting for you in between leaving that small office and going to the council meeting.
>Your grumbling will have to wait as you receive another text.
>”Making friends over there?”
>The second chirp of your phone has drawn the attention of the other people at the table.
>You wonder if you’ve broken a rule by having your phone out, but Ariannis is the one texting you, so….
>Still, better explain yourself. “The boss lady wants to know if I’m making friends.” You say to your fellow cousins.
>Jackon’s feather crest raises, “If you say yes, do you think she’ll let me under the hood of her convertible?”
>Samuel nods quickly, “If there is even a chance of that happening, then yes, I consider my best friend now and forever.”
>”What’s so special about her car?” You ask. It was obviously fancy; you’ve never seen it without a coat of wax, with a reflection on the red paint so clear and clean you could the trunk as a mirror. That’s just what rich people did with their cars.
>Well, it had an older design and you could definitely see it rolling up to a drive in movie, but you’ve never actually cared about the make of the Labbate-mobile. It was just her car to you.
>Jackson leans in on the table, and starts speaking in hushed tones. “That thing is a nineteen-sixty-one Oldsmobile Starfire running god knows what under the hood.”
>You can see Valorie rolling her eyes from behind her glass as she takes a drink. Terrin is completely invested in whatever he’s about to hear, while Alan is just laughing at this sudden enthusiasm.
>Samuel picks up the moment Jackson stops talking. “Anon, you don’t understand: less than eight thousand of those things were made. And whenever something happens to that car, Aunt Ariannis ships the whole thing to this guy in Arkansas and it comes back in a couple days good as new.”
>You sit back in your chair, “Did I just walk into some kind of Family urban legend?”
>Your phone vibrates as you get another text.
>”They seem fun.”
>”They want to see your car” You text back to Ariannis.
>A few seconds after you send the text you can hear the distant laughter of a certain one eyed feline behind you.
>When you glance back you can see it caused a stir. More than a few people are wondering what the hell the third chair has found so amusing.
>All they see is Ariannis grinning as she taps away at her phone.
>”Tell them I brought it here and that I’ll have one of my nephews show them it during the after dinner mingling.”
>Both Samuel and Jackson are staring intently at you when you look up from your phone. “There is an after dinner, uh, mingling? I thought we couldn’t go into the deeper parts of the building?” You ask.
>Alan shrugs and nods, “Well, they basically let everyone off the leash to do their thing around the place. There are a couple doors with guards to keep nosey cousins out, but it’s free game everywhere else. They got this sports bar down in the basement, an arcade somewhere on this floor, uh…”
>”The vineyard tours are quite enjoyable in the evening light, if you get the chance.” Valorie adds in.
>Interesting. You wouldn’t mind exploring if you could. Maybe stumble on that hidden zombie laboratory that’s no doubt hidden three floors down.
>”Well,” You look towards the otter and cockatoo, “She said that her car is here, and that she’ll send someone to show you it.”
>The two of them reach across the table to high five before fist pumping. “Fuck it, Anon. My shop is down in the Wayfarer district back in town. If this happens, you get the primo discount for life.” Jackson gives you a strong thumbs up as he scoops up his drink.
>”I don’t exactly have a legitimate business, but I’ll owe you one. For real, I’m good for it.” Samuel insists as he cheers with his glass of water.
>”Look at you, Mr. Anon. Already forging relationships.” Valorie hums with a soft smile. “This is why we have these dinners, after all.”
>”Yeah,” You say, “I guess they have a purpose after all.”
>Before the conversation goes any further, you see the fleet of hosts and hostesses leave the twin doors of the kitchen. They move in formation until smoothly scattering into the tables. It’s oddly satisfying to see the way they glide past all the guests and furniture.
>It only takes a few moments before Adrian is standing next to your table. “I trust everyone has had enough time to make up their mind? Who should I start with?” She asks as she pulls out a notepad, slipping a pen out from the binding rings and clicking it.
>Valorie casually raises her hand, “I will be having the marinated rabbit, please.”
>After some rapid scribbling Adrian looks to you. Guess things are going clockwise. “The grilled chicken.” The hostess nods, scribbling into her notepad once more.
>Samuel gets the oyster platter, asking specifically for an additional half order.
>Alan orders the cheeseburger you had been eyeballing on the menu. You’ll have to make sure to see what this ‘crisp cheese’ situation is about.
>Terrin asks for some sort of seed and berry loaf or cake, and Jackson gets the very same. You wonder if they’ll get different sized portions. Jackson has a good foot over the hamster, after all.
>While the table finishes orders, you turn around to see what’s going on with Ariannis.
>To your surprise, every person at the head table has their own individual waiter.
>Adrian bows her head once again, “Please give me just a moment to relay your orders to the kitchen, and I’ll be right back with your meal.”
>Just as she walks away, another staff member slips in right behind her with a replacement drink for everyone at the table.
>Samuel toys with his glass for a moment, before blinking a couple times as he looks at you and Alan. “Can you two answer a question for me? It’s about human things.”
>You share a glance with Alan before turning your hands over, “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
>”So like, what’s up with the rings when humans get married?” The otter asks before setting his drink down. “I have a niece who’s been married to a human, but the dude didn’t really consider official until they got some matching rings.”
>You dig through your memory and come up blank. You don’t actually know why humans are the only species that bothers with a material display of relationship status. Well, some birds and hoarding species do too, you guess.
>Any hope of Alan knowing is dashed when he shrugs.
>”Maybe it’s because we’re not too into the whole scents thing? We don’t actually mark our mates with anything besides jewelry.” You offer.
>”Well, we also sometimes mark our skin. I have my wife’s name and our anniversary tattooed onto my shoulder.” Alan adds.
>The anthros at the table visibly recoil at the mention of tattoos. Granted, only a few species of anthros actually have enough skin on display for it to be an option.
>”Do you really stab yourself with needles a bunch of times? Is it really, actually permanent?” Terrin gasps with a near childlike wonder.
>You exhale sharply, “Yeah, it is basically just getting stabbed with a pen several thousand times. And it’s only kinda sorta permanent? You can get it lasered off if you’re willing to pay for it.”
>Alan sucks his teeth, “Most people just get their bad tattoos drawn over, though. It’s cheaper than lasers. I know a guy who specializes in cover ups, and he’s always booked with appointments.”
>”Disgusting.” Valorie dismisses the entire notion with a huff as she plucks a carrot from the vegetable tray.
>Your discussion stops when you hear several repeated chimes of different pitched ring out. It’s not the meal bell from earlier, and instead of coming from near the kitchen it came from the council’s table.
>You turn to face the source, and one of the lead butlers is standing behind Grandpa Ivers with a set of bells on some sort of trolley. You imagine the range is meant so that everyone can hear them.
>Suddenly the elderly man stands up. Right afterwards the butler steps to his side and obediently holds a microphone up to his face.
>”My dear children, it is wonderful to see you all tonight. Don’t worry, I will not bore you with a long winded speech as I did last month.” Ivers voice is relayed over an intercom. When he chuckles to himself, it’s the only sound in the hall.
>The air in this massive room has become stiff, and you’re afraid to even cough. Even Ariannis isn’t wearing the smile you know her for, keeping an iron gaze that puts even Eileen’s to shame as she looks towards Ivers.
>”I just thought that, besides your usual reasons to enjoy tonight, you all would be glad to hear that thanks a deal Ariannis settled a few days ago the supply issue that has been troubling our family has been dealt with.” Ivers smiles gently as he speaks, before gesturing over to the feline with one hand.
>As she stands, the man who had been holding the microphone corrects himself and has the mic to her lips before she’s even completely standing.
>”I will spare the details. Everyone should just enjoy tonight with the knowledge that for many of us, especially those under Jackson and Eileen, will have an easier time getting a hold on what they need to work.” Ariannis smiles as she finishes speaking.
>But it’s not the smiles you know of. Her usual smile grows on her face like a weed without restraint. The one she is wearing stops on a dime without going an inch over.
>And the tone she used isn’t the flirty, wink-and-a-nod tone of the landlady-cum-crime-boss that you’ve become accustomed to over your years living at her apartments.
>It was cold, and without the warmth of her usual amusement. That was the voice of a someone who would tell some poor soul that the sky was green and didn’t want to hear a murmur otherwise.
>Almost militaristic in its oppression. It was a tone that fit Eileen more than it did Ari. In fact, it was close enough that you weren’t sure if Eileen’s manner of speaking was an attempt at mimicry or just how she was.
>You take in a deep breath as you examine that last thought. What Ariannis did you know? The real one, hidden underneath a business first persona? Or was it a playful mask that she wore when dealing with the softer side of business?
>Ariannis sits down while you roll this mystery over in your head. When she does, the first thing she does is look right at your table, and from across the hall you can tell the two of you have locked eyes.
>For someone who’s been teased about wearing his mental state on his face, you’re not sure what Ariannis is seeing. All you know is that you’re forcing yourself to stay tight lipped.
>The mic goes back to Ivers. “An easier job and an easier life are definitely worth celebrating. I’d offer a round of applause, but we know that Ariannis isn’t a fan of those.” Once more the old man laughs at his own joke, and again he laughs alone in front of a silent audience
>”I’ve been told we have a few new faces joining us for dinner tonight.” The old man says, and you find yourself holding your breath. Did Eileen point you out to Ivers? You can’t be THAT important, can you? “It might take awhile because there are so many of us, but I assure you the food is definitely worth the wait.”
>You exhale, but your gut still hasn’t fully recovered from the dive it just took.
>”Oh man, I hope so.” You hear Terrin whisper. Instantly Valorie hisses through her teeth and you hear the hamster whimper an apology.
>”I won’t take up anymore of your time. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening, and get to know your fellow family members. From Cousin to Niece or Nephew, and maybe even one of the friendly Aunts and Uncles, eh?” Ivers smiles as he waves away the mic wielding butler.
>You can go a whole ten years without hearing that old man chuckle to himself ever again. And on the eleventh year it would still be too soon.
>When he takes a seat, the air hangs with uncertainty. No one wants to be the first one to say anything.
>It must be a reoccurring problem, as moments after Ivers sits down a few carts with instruments are pushed into the hall.
>After a couple seconds you realize a live band is setting up. Some hushed whispers are spreading across the tables now, but when a raccoon starts tapping on the drums the volume of conversation begins to simmer up again.
>You turn back to the table to a defeated Terrin and visibly exhausted others. It’s almost morose as everyone busies themselves with the bread or vegetables.
>”I need a drink.” You sigh as you shake your head.
>”Anon, I’m surprised you’re sober in the first place. I’m eight months dry, but I don’t think I would be able to pull off three days in your, uh, ‘positon.’” Samuel taps the edge of his glass as he talks.
>There are nods from the other men at the table. Valorie stays out of it, keeping her mouth full with another carrot that she is chewing at a deliberate pace.
>You don’t know what to say that makes you seem not like a crazy person, being Ariannis’s companion. “I just - hmm…” You split a slice of bread in half as you think. “I’ve never heard her talk like that before.”
>You hear a hum of understanding from the ermine, but from the looks on their faces nobody else at the table is buying it.
>You’re not sure if you buy it yourself after seeing Ariannis like that.