Shinobi and Warren, backdated to Friday
Aug. 10th, 2018 03:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainRich boys at play did not expect to hear from their fathers...
Warren tipped back his champagne--in a coupe to give it that 1920s feel, apparently--and reached for the bottle to pour more. "And then, she asked if she could touch my wings! I mean, how is that okay? I'm here for a photoshoot. Plus I'm underage! Well, okay, I'm not anymore, but I was at the time! And she had to be, like, my mother's age. So weird."
"If it were any one else, I would suggest that just because she wanted to experience the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to touch the wings of a flesh-and-blood angel, it doesn't mean she was actually entertaining any inappropriate May/December intentions," Shinobi pointed out amiably. He was dressed in his typically over-the-top Club regalia--hose and buckled shoes, and all--and drinking from a more traditional flute. The last little while had seen the two blueblooded teens put away more than one bottle of extremely expensive, imported alcohol, and neither showed much sign of slowing down in the immediate future. "But it's you, so obviously. Congratulations on having defended your virtue so valiantly, when others of less-gallant inclination would have just happily succumbed to the temptation. And by 'others', of course I mean me."
Warren laughed out loud. He laughed a lot with his boyfriends, but there was just something about drunken revelry at the club--even if it wasn't on his own membership, tonight, since that was technically his parents'--that meant instant unwinding. Probably his inner snob talking. He might not be quite as Hellfired up as Shinobi--he'd gone for the waistcoat (which had been a bitch to tailor around wings) but had opted for trousers... and a pocketwatch, obviously--but still had a Hellfire heart. "That's one way to get over Tamara..." The thought obviously amused him, though.
"Of the two, I think our excessive consumption of alcohol is probably the surer balm," Shinobi smirked. "Waters of the Lethe, and all that." He had arranged for the two of them to have a private room--a music room, in fact, as he rather enjoyed the presence of the imposing instruments occupying the space, even when they were silent--but had made a point of showing off Warren through both the main hall and the central dining room. It was a calculated jab at Worthington, Jr., and would probably annoy Sebastian, as well. That made it all the more appealing, given that his main objective had been a very public display of solidarity with his oldest friend.
He held up his champagne suddenly. "To parting gracefully," he suggested, one dark brow cocked with amusement. "And to those who continue to tolerate us, despite the many reasons we give them not to."
Warren raised his glass in reply. "I will drink to that, man!" And he did... almost all of his new glass, in fact. He was drunk. It was epic. Not that he needed rich boy debauchery, but he'd always have a soft spot for it, and Shinobi knew it. Shinobi was the best. "And to more moments in the sunshine, regardless of commitment involved. To be fair, we're probably least likely to be committed..."
"I had no idea they were compiling a list," Shinobi replied mildly, immediately after downing the contents of his own glass, and almost absentmindedly reaching for the bottle again. "Who do you suppose will be voted Miss Congeniality? My money's on Summers--his face brightens up a room whenever he appears." Sitting back again with his refreshed libation in hand, the Shaw heir sighed contentedly. "I'm so glad we can continue to enjoy moments like these," he reflected. "I was a bit worried, I admit, when you heroically decided to throw yourself upon the hand grenade of public opinion the way you did. You've done extremely well, too. I'm not too proud to admit I brag about it at every opportunity."
“Aw, you’re gonna make me blush,” Warren lied happily. “I think you’re right about Scott for Miss Congeniality. Or that Inu-Yasha guy. Or Jean-Paul.” He laughed, and there was something sappy about the fondness in it. “He and Simon helping me cover the grenade helped.”
"Don't get me wrong," Shinobi was quick to add. "I still think it was the height of insanity for you to come out at all, and triply insane to make yourselves a more visible target by being an uncloseted homosexual triad, but it does sap a significant amount of air time away from those Friends of Humanity lunatics. If I could figure out where there money was coming from, I would happily arrange an appropriately embarrassing scandal."
"Okay, but the triad thing is currently unofficial and just a thing that exists in fanfiction--which by the way is kind of horrifying, but also makes me feel like I'm on some kind of hallucinogenic drugs, that it's even a thing people do." Warren snorted out a laugh into his champagne, then guzzled some more. Seriously, that fanfiction even existed, let alone had guessed at the secret truth.... "But yeah. Fuck those guys. There has to be a way to ruin them. With money. Or just general ruin."
"I'm sure your unofficial triad is the envy of internet fan sites the world over," the half-Japanese teen grinned, helping himself to a little more alcohol, too, at Warren's pause. "And believe me, money is the surest way to ruin anything, whether it be an individual or an organization; social and political pressures are likely to change at the discretion of the broader public's mayfly attention span." His nose scrunched up thoughtfully, and he continued, "It's very peculiar, though. I've made some discreet inquiries, and I can't seem to figure out where the Friends' funding is coming from--which, believe you me, is not usual. Oh, they make a great deal of noise about donations from private citizens, of course, but I just can't see how John Q. Bigot can scrape together enough disposable income after a month of Taco Tuesdays and subscriptions to Fried Foods Weekly to finance the kind of political clout and public-relations campaigns they employ. It's a mystery, and I abhor mystery."
Warren gave a hearty laugh (okay, more of a drunk giggle) for Shinobi's show of snobbery--which wasn't exactly a show when it came to bigots, but if Warren didn't laugh he'd have to cry, because for real. "Too bad we can't talk to Tessa about that kind of stuff anymore. Bet she still has her finger on all the pulses..."
"We'd only understand one word in five," Shinobi huffed. "One in three, given our present condition. It would be all 'accounting irregularities' and 'anomalous influxes of capital into the group's general fund'. Practically gibberish, lacking a dictionary close at hand to assist with the translation." He tilted his head. "I'm a bit surprised she didn't leave her contact information with anyone. I could check Nolan--I think the two of them were sort of close-ish before she went and jumped ship."
Warren wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that he understood that sentence entirely, even drunk. He was relatively certain Shinobi had too, but the guy had an image to keep up. Sorta. Warren chuckled. "I might. But lemme know if I can help. Not tonight, but you know, in general. Tonight I am helping absolutely no one but myself." He held up his glass... and sloshed. Then reached for the bottle again.
"Well, you're also helping me," Shinobi protested, half-draining his glass and waiting for Warren to finish refreshing his own before making a move on the bottle--they would probably be needing to uncork another one soon, but that was hardly an issue. A half-dozen untouched ones sat chilling in a silver tub of ice, and the staff would be happy to provide more a their request. The cellar wasn't likely to run out, and his credit was fairly inexhaustible. "You're helping me murder a very large quantity of Dom Pérignon, thus ensuring it will not fall into the hands of less responsible minors incapable of appreciating its refinement as a vehicle of intoxication. It's a public service, really."
"See, I don't even know why I want to be a superhero--I could do public service right here with you!" Warren was all cheer as he poured for them both and started drinking again. "I can just see my father's face when he finds out I'm here with you. And your father's! Man, they're the worst!"
"I don't know why you want to be a superhero, either," Shinobi replied dryly. "Certainly, there are safer and at least equally interesting alternative lines of work you could try. But far be it from me to harp on a topic that's already closed." He raised his glass to his mouth and drank deeply again. Sighing as he came up for air, he offered a grin that was just faintly on the hazy side. "And our respective father's dissatisfaction is most definitely something I will drink to. Because, yes. The worst. Though ... Sebastian has been unusually accommodating of my whims recently. I suspect he's up to something."
Warren made a face. "Uh oh. That's never a good sign. Got any clues?"
Shinobi shook his head. "No, and that is part of what irritates me. The old man has never really been all that subtle before. The fact that he's figured out how to keep something from me is the most worrying part of the whole thing. Though I suppose I can admit to a certain grudging admiration--I never imagined the grizzled badger had it in him."
Though Warren gave a small, drunken giggle for the descriptive, he was trying to think seriously about the situation. "It is pretty disturbing when you put it in context." Warren's phone buzzed--he fumbled in his pocket with his free hand to pull it out. "This would all be way less annoying if we were already eighteen." At least their asshole parents would have slightly less power over them.
"At least you have the advantage of being undeniably legitimate," Shinobi noted, taking another long drink from his glass. "A point which I'm sure causes WW, Junior, all possible consternation. I, on the other hand, could be disinherited at time. Though it would run counter to Sebastian's pride to admit an error, so I suppose I have that going for me."
Warren nodded seriously, leaning forward and fixing Shinobi with an intense look of super serious consideration, glass in one hand, phone in the other. "That's true. Also, what is this bullshit where it matters whether our parents were married at the time of our conception and like whose dna we share? That's fucking weird, man. How can they not see..."
Warren blinked, trying to read his phone. Did that say... "Dad"? How drunk was he?
"Well, speak of the devil," Shinobi grinned into his glass. "Did you want me to take it? That would be a start for the old buzzard."
Warren giggled again and handed the phone over immediately. "Yes! Do it! That's awesome!"
"Moshi moshi, Shinobi Shaw desu," he singsonged into Warren's phone cheerfully. "Oh, hello, Mr. Worthington. I'm so sorry, I must have picked up the wrong phone by mistake." There was a pause. "Mmhmm." Another. "Mmmmhmm." And another. "Give me just a moment, won't you?" With that, he muted the blond teen's phone and held it out to him. "Not surprisingly, he'd like to speak with you. If you'd rather forego that dubious pleasure, I can always lose this in one of the ice buckets."
Still giggling, Warren held out his hand for the phone and put it to his ear. "Warren Worthington the Third desu," he said in his best Shinobi impression.
Warren Jr. was not amused. "Warren. I won't bother asking why Shaw is answering your phone."
Warren considered pointing out that since his father wasn't paying for it anyone, he'd let anyone he damn well pleased answer his damn phone. But he was too busy being delighted at having annoyed his father to bother. "Good," was all he said, stifling yet another giggle.
"Your mother and I would like to see you," Warren Jr. said.
"What, like, somewhere other than on the cover of a magazine?" Warren shot Shinobi a wide-eyed yet comical look of surprise.
Shinobi tilted his head inquisitively, but didn't interrupt. Why WWII suddenly wanted to contact Warren was anybody's guess, but he was certainly not about to impose. His own phone began buzzing, and he ignored it for a few moments before bringing it to his ear. "Bonjour. This is Shinobi Shaw."
Warren Junior, meantime, was quiet for a moment before asking, "Are you drunk?"
"Yes," Warren said immediately. "Very."
"Then write this down," WWII replied, voice sour as vinegar. "One week from today, 9am, my office. Try and present yourself like a Worthington."
Warren's head spun. Suddenly, this wasn't some stupid game anymore. Through his drunken haze, he was starting to feel the weight of this call... and now a summons? When they hadn't spoken to him in months? Had cut him off, money and communication wise?
"Jesus," Warren said, glancing over to see how Shinobi was faring. "This sounds dire."
"Not dire. Just serious. We'll be expecting you, Warren. Don't disappoint us."
Warren didn't even reply, just hung up the phone and sat there looking at it.
Having already finished his own, extremely terse phone call, Shinobi was studying Warren as the winged teen appeared lost in his cell. "That bad, hmm? What does the old robber-baron want?"
“Me.” Warren looked up, face screwed up in confusion. “He—they want to see me. Shit.
“What was yours?” He nodded at Shinobi’s phone. “Ah, Jesus, not him?”
Shinobi grunted an affirmative, trying to--and not quite succeeding at--keeping the tension from his posture, though he managed to keep his typical light, irreverent tone well enough. The alcohol, perhaps, helped with that. Somewhat. "Who else? When it rains, neh?" He sighed and shook his head, jostling the ridiculous tangle of his long black bangs. "I'm to encourage you to accept your progenitors' invitation using all the considerable charm at my disposal. Obviously, not in those words; Sebastian's choice of diction was considerably more ... earthy."
"Dude. Our dads are the actual worst." Warren didn't want to think about what Sebastian Shaw had just said, but he couldn't help it. His sigh echoed Shinobi's perfectly. "What the fuck is going on with them? There's not enough alcohol in the world for this."
"Certainly not enough in the Club, which is something I never thought I'd hear myself say," Shinobi concurred, sipping on his champagne in more subdued fashion now. "As for what's going on, I have no idea. But it's unusual enough--and I'm nosy enough--to want to find out. Give me a little time to ply my usual contacts, see what I can turn up." With luck, it wouldn't be anything too much more horrific than the norm.
Warren scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Can I help? I mean, I’ve got shit for connections at this point... fuck me, I have no idea if he wants to officially disown me or bring me back into the fold. What even.”
Reaching across the small table between them to pat his friend companionably on the arm, Shinobi said, "You just worry about keeping your pretty head down, and weathering your upcoming audience with WWII. I'll deal with the unsavory, intelligence-gathering part, for now. I mean, you know how much I love the unsavory. It'll be like a special treat from me to me."
Warren chuckled, slightly reassured by the arm pat, for some reason. "I appreciate that--and you. But bro, you know I worry about you. Like, you should let me help sometimes." Okay, he was drunk, which sometimes made him sentimental. Shinobi didn't have to do everything alone, though....
The pained look that crossed Shinobi's delicate features at the return to "bro" was brief, but definitely there. He didn't address the endearment of questionable pedigree directly, however. One of his thin, dark brows rose skeptically. "Are you actually interested in diving into Club politics, Warren? Or do you just feel the prick of a guilty conscience at the prospect of sending me into the lion's den? If it's the latter, I assure you I'll be perfectly fine; I'm hardly a cub, myself, however long I might have been in exile. If it's the former ... well. That might be worth further discussion. But only if you're certain."
For a moment, Warren actually considered. Then he realized he was drunk. "I... okay, maybe not now. Someday, though. I feel like I should use everything at my dis--uh, disposal.
"I'm just having feelings right now. Some guilt, yes." And some dawning horror. Oh shit... what did his father even want...?
"Sou desu ka," Shinobi murmured. "Let's work on getting those feelings properly drowned, shall we? It's not as if it's an imposition; I would have stuck my nose into it sooner or later, either way. As the scorpion said to the frog, 'it's my nature'." Chuckling, he moved to refill his glass yet again.
"You're not wrong about using all your assets, however. You've done much better than I would have expected, so far, but ... Well, I know it's awful to say it, but what the hell? I'm drunk enough. You could stand to be a little more exploitative, in general. Being so well-intentioned all the time must be positively exhausting."
Warren laughed and knocked back some more champagne. Shinobi was right. Dealing later. Drinking now. "It kind of is? It's good that there are two really awesome, really hot guys to make me forget sometimes. That helps. A lot. But you know, once the blood goes back to my head I start thinking again. Super annoying." Maybe there was something in what Shinobi was saying...
"Then I suppose, in that case, you should give the prospect--our world is extremely cutthroat by nature, as I'm sure you've noticed, and sometimes cruel intentions lead to better outcomes. But that's just food for thought." Shinobi shrugged. "Your other option is to spend the rest of your life in a perpetual orgasmic haze. I honestly would not judge you in the slightest if you decided on that route. In fact, I'd probably be cheering."
"I mean, to be fair, you'd cheer for me even if I kept being insufferably selfless," Warren pointed out with a dopey grin. As if, for the moment, he'd managed to forget just as surely as if Simon and Jean-Paul were there to help in... other ways. "But in a different way if I just spent forever getting fucked." He could talk like that around Shinobi. That was awesome, too. Shinobi was the best.
"True," he noted, without a trace of shame. "I am an extremely supportive friend. Though I'll admit that inclination would be much easier to maintain if you did let go of that insufferable selflessness, a bit. Even if it means spending the best years of your life in a sweaty, naked tangle with Beaubier and Simon. At least that would be fun."
Warren had to admit, "God, that sounds so good right now..."
"Why spend time pondering how it sounds, when you can live the experience?" Shinobi mused rhetorically. "My point is! A little selfishness now and then isn't such a terribly damning thing. Nobility just gets tiresome after a while--and anyone who doesn't suspect your motives will inevitably begin trying to use you to the fullest extent you permit."
"That's... totally true." Warren frowned. "But it's hard to know when to stop. Or how. I mean--if I don't do it... I guess I could take a vacation now and then? At least?"
"I suppose that's something," the other teen conceded with a nod. "As long as it's a decadent vacation. None of this working-vacation nonsense."
"Deal," Warren said. Then his face fell again. "Oh shit. I have to see my parents. Ugh, pass the next bottle."
"If you're going to insist upon dwelling on that," Shinobi told him, pulling another bottle from their rapidly-diminishing stockpile, "we'll need something quite a bit stronger than champagne. Which, given our consumption so far, I can hardly recommend."
Warren looked bleakly at the bottle of champagne. "Well. Another of these, then. I'll deal with it tomorrow. There, a mini vacation from responsibility."
Once he'd finished pouring each of them a fresh glass, Shinobi raised his in toast to Warren. "To the worse angels of our nature," he declared cheerfully. "And confusion to the previous generation!"
Warren tipped back his champagne--in a coupe to give it that 1920s feel, apparently--and reached for the bottle to pour more. "And then, she asked if she could touch my wings! I mean, how is that okay? I'm here for a photoshoot. Plus I'm underage! Well, okay, I'm not anymore, but I was at the time! And she had to be, like, my mother's age. So weird."
"If it were any one else, I would suggest that just because she wanted to experience the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to touch the wings of a flesh-and-blood angel, it doesn't mean she was actually entertaining any inappropriate May/December intentions," Shinobi pointed out amiably. He was dressed in his typically over-the-top Club regalia--hose and buckled shoes, and all--and drinking from a more traditional flute. The last little while had seen the two blueblooded teens put away more than one bottle of extremely expensive, imported alcohol, and neither showed much sign of slowing down in the immediate future. "But it's you, so obviously. Congratulations on having defended your virtue so valiantly, when others of less-gallant inclination would have just happily succumbed to the temptation. And by 'others', of course I mean me."
Warren laughed out loud. He laughed a lot with his boyfriends, but there was just something about drunken revelry at the club--even if it wasn't on his own membership, tonight, since that was technically his parents'--that meant instant unwinding. Probably his inner snob talking. He might not be quite as Hellfired up as Shinobi--he'd gone for the waistcoat (which had been a bitch to tailor around wings) but had opted for trousers... and a pocketwatch, obviously--but still had a Hellfire heart. "That's one way to get over Tamara..." The thought obviously amused him, though.
"Of the two, I think our excessive consumption of alcohol is probably the surer balm," Shinobi smirked. "Waters of the Lethe, and all that." He had arranged for the two of them to have a private room--a music room, in fact, as he rather enjoyed the presence of the imposing instruments occupying the space, even when they were silent--but had made a point of showing off Warren through both the main hall and the central dining room. It was a calculated jab at Worthington, Jr., and would probably annoy Sebastian, as well. That made it all the more appealing, given that his main objective had been a very public display of solidarity with his oldest friend.
He held up his champagne suddenly. "To parting gracefully," he suggested, one dark brow cocked with amusement. "And to those who continue to tolerate us, despite the many reasons we give them not to."
Warren raised his glass in reply. "I will drink to that, man!" And he did... almost all of his new glass, in fact. He was drunk. It was epic. Not that he needed rich boy debauchery, but he'd always have a soft spot for it, and Shinobi knew it. Shinobi was the best. "And to more moments in the sunshine, regardless of commitment involved. To be fair, we're probably least likely to be committed..."
"I had no idea they were compiling a list," Shinobi replied mildly, immediately after downing the contents of his own glass, and almost absentmindedly reaching for the bottle again. "Who do you suppose will be voted Miss Congeniality? My money's on Summers--his face brightens up a room whenever he appears." Sitting back again with his refreshed libation in hand, the Shaw heir sighed contentedly. "I'm so glad we can continue to enjoy moments like these," he reflected. "I was a bit worried, I admit, when you heroically decided to throw yourself upon the hand grenade of public opinion the way you did. You've done extremely well, too. I'm not too proud to admit I brag about it at every opportunity."
“Aw, you’re gonna make me blush,” Warren lied happily. “I think you’re right about Scott for Miss Congeniality. Or that Inu-Yasha guy. Or Jean-Paul.” He laughed, and there was something sappy about the fondness in it. “He and Simon helping me cover the grenade helped.”
"Don't get me wrong," Shinobi was quick to add. "I still think it was the height of insanity for you to come out at all, and triply insane to make yourselves a more visible target by being an uncloseted homosexual triad, but it does sap a significant amount of air time away from those Friends of Humanity lunatics. If I could figure out where there money was coming from, I would happily arrange an appropriately embarrassing scandal."
"Okay, but the triad thing is currently unofficial and just a thing that exists in fanfiction--which by the way is kind of horrifying, but also makes me feel like I'm on some kind of hallucinogenic drugs, that it's even a thing people do." Warren snorted out a laugh into his champagne, then guzzled some more. Seriously, that fanfiction even existed, let alone had guessed at the secret truth.... "But yeah. Fuck those guys. There has to be a way to ruin them. With money. Or just general ruin."
"I'm sure your unofficial triad is the envy of internet fan sites the world over," the half-Japanese teen grinned, helping himself to a little more alcohol, too, at Warren's pause. "And believe me, money is the surest way to ruin anything, whether it be an individual or an organization; social and political pressures are likely to change at the discretion of the broader public's mayfly attention span." His nose scrunched up thoughtfully, and he continued, "It's very peculiar, though. I've made some discreet inquiries, and I can't seem to figure out where the Friends' funding is coming from--which, believe you me, is not usual. Oh, they make a great deal of noise about donations from private citizens, of course, but I just can't see how John Q. Bigot can scrape together enough disposable income after a month of Taco Tuesdays and subscriptions to Fried Foods Weekly to finance the kind of political clout and public-relations campaigns they employ. It's a mystery, and I abhor mystery."
Warren gave a hearty laugh (okay, more of a drunk giggle) for Shinobi's show of snobbery--which wasn't exactly a show when it came to bigots, but if Warren didn't laugh he'd have to cry, because for real. "Too bad we can't talk to Tessa about that kind of stuff anymore. Bet she still has her finger on all the pulses..."
"We'd only understand one word in five," Shinobi huffed. "One in three, given our present condition. It would be all 'accounting irregularities' and 'anomalous influxes of capital into the group's general fund'. Practically gibberish, lacking a dictionary close at hand to assist with the translation." He tilted his head. "I'm a bit surprised she didn't leave her contact information with anyone. I could check Nolan--I think the two of them were sort of close-ish before she went and jumped ship."
Warren wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that he understood that sentence entirely, even drunk. He was relatively certain Shinobi had too, but the guy had an image to keep up. Sorta. Warren chuckled. "I might. But lemme know if I can help. Not tonight, but you know, in general. Tonight I am helping absolutely no one but myself." He held up his glass... and sloshed. Then reached for the bottle again.
"Well, you're also helping me," Shinobi protested, half-draining his glass and waiting for Warren to finish refreshing his own before making a move on the bottle--they would probably be needing to uncork another one soon, but that was hardly an issue. A half-dozen untouched ones sat chilling in a silver tub of ice, and the staff would be happy to provide more a their request. The cellar wasn't likely to run out, and his credit was fairly inexhaustible. "You're helping me murder a very large quantity of Dom Pérignon, thus ensuring it will not fall into the hands of less responsible minors incapable of appreciating its refinement as a vehicle of intoxication. It's a public service, really."
"See, I don't even know why I want to be a superhero--I could do public service right here with you!" Warren was all cheer as he poured for them both and started drinking again. "I can just see my father's face when he finds out I'm here with you. And your father's! Man, they're the worst!"
"I don't know why you want to be a superhero, either," Shinobi replied dryly. "Certainly, there are safer and at least equally interesting alternative lines of work you could try. But far be it from me to harp on a topic that's already closed." He raised his glass to his mouth and drank deeply again. Sighing as he came up for air, he offered a grin that was just faintly on the hazy side. "And our respective father's dissatisfaction is most definitely something I will drink to. Because, yes. The worst. Though ... Sebastian has been unusually accommodating of my whims recently. I suspect he's up to something."
Warren made a face. "Uh oh. That's never a good sign. Got any clues?"
Shinobi shook his head. "No, and that is part of what irritates me. The old man has never really been all that subtle before. The fact that he's figured out how to keep something from me is the most worrying part of the whole thing. Though I suppose I can admit to a certain grudging admiration--I never imagined the grizzled badger had it in him."
Though Warren gave a small, drunken giggle for the descriptive, he was trying to think seriously about the situation. "It is pretty disturbing when you put it in context." Warren's phone buzzed--he fumbled in his pocket with his free hand to pull it out. "This would all be way less annoying if we were already eighteen." At least their asshole parents would have slightly less power over them.
"At least you have the advantage of being undeniably legitimate," Shinobi noted, taking another long drink from his glass. "A point which I'm sure causes WW, Junior, all possible consternation. I, on the other hand, could be disinherited at time. Though it would run counter to Sebastian's pride to admit an error, so I suppose I have that going for me."
Warren nodded seriously, leaning forward and fixing Shinobi with an intense look of super serious consideration, glass in one hand, phone in the other. "That's true. Also, what is this bullshit where it matters whether our parents were married at the time of our conception and like whose dna we share? That's fucking weird, man. How can they not see..."
Warren blinked, trying to read his phone. Did that say... "Dad"? How drunk was he?
"Well, speak of the devil," Shinobi grinned into his glass. "Did you want me to take it? That would be a start for the old buzzard."
Warren giggled again and handed the phone over immediately. "Yes! Do it! That's awesome!"
"Moshi moshi, Shinobi Shaw desu," he singsonged into Warren's phone cheerfully. "Oh, hello, Mr. Worthington. I'm so sorry, I must have picked up the wrong phone by mistake." There was a pause. "Mmhmm." Another. "Mmmmhmm." And another. "Give me just a moment, won't you?" With that, he muted the blond teen's phone and held it out to him. "Not surprisingly, he'd like to speak with you. If you'd rather forego that dubious pleasure, I can always lose this in one of the ice buckets."
Still giggling, Warren held out his hand for the phone and put it to his ear. "Warren Worthington the Third desu," he said in his best Shinobi impression.
Warren Jr. was not amused. "Warren. I won't bother asking why Shaw is answering your phone."
Warren considered pointing out that since his father wasn't paying for it anyone, he'd let anyone he damn well pleased answer his damn phone. But he was too busy being delighted at having annoyed his father to bother. "Good," was all he said, stifling yet another giggle.
"Your mother and I would like to see you," Warren Jr. said.
"What, like, somewhere other than on the cover of a magazine?" Warren shot Shinobi a wide-eyed yet comical look of surprise.
Shinobi tilted his head inquisitively, but didn't interrupt. Why WWII suddenly wanted to contact Warren was anybody's guess, but he was certainly not about to impose. His own phone began buzzing, and he ignored it for a few moments before bringing it to his ear. "Bonjour. This is Shinobi Shaw."
Warren Junior, meantime, was quiet for a moment before asking, "Are you drunk?"
"Yes," Warren said immediately. "Very."
"Then write this down," WWII replied, voice sour as vinegar. "One week from today, 9am, my office. Try and present yourself like a Worthington."
Warren's head spun. Suddenly, this wasn't some stupid game anymore. Through his drunken haze, he was starting to feel the weight of this call... and now a summons? When they hadn't spoken to him in months? Had cut him off, money and communication wise?
"Jesus," Warren said, glancing over to see how Shinobi was faring. "This sounds dire."
"Not dire. Just serious. We'll be expecting you, Warren. Don't disappoint us."
Warren didn't even reply, just hung up the phone and sat there looking at it.
Having already finished his own, extremely terse phone call, Shinobi was studying Warren as the winged teen appeared lost in his cell. "That bad, hmm? What does the old robber-baron want?"
“Me.” Warren looked up, face screwed up in confusion. “He—they want to see me. Shit.
“What was yours?” He nodded at Shinobi’s phone. “Ah, Jesus, not him?”
Shinobi grunted an affirmative, trying to--and not quite succeeding at--keeping the tension from his posture, though he managed to keep his typical light, irreverent tone well enough. The alcohol, perhaps, helped with that. Somewhat. "Who else? When it rains, neh?" He sighed and shook his head, jostling the ridiculous tangle of his long black bangs. "I'm to encourage you to accept your progenitors' invitation using all the considerable charm at my disposal. Obviously, not in those words; Sebastian's choice of diction was considerably more ... earthy."
"Dude. Our dads are the actual worst." Warren didn't want to think about what Sebastian Shaw had just said, but he couldn't help it. His sigh echoed Shinobi's perfectly. "What the fuck is going on with them? There's not enough alcohol in the world for this."
"Certainly not enough in the Club, which is something I never thought I'd hear myself say," Shinobi concurred, sipping on his champagne in more subdued fashion now. "As for what's going on, I have no idea. But it's unusual enough--and I'm nosy enough--to want to find out. Give me a little time to ply my usual contacts, see what I can turn up." With luck, it wouldn't be anything too much more horrific than the norm.
Warren scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Can I help? I mean, I’ve got shit for connections at this point... fuck me, I have no idea if he wants to officially disown me or bring me back into the fold. What even.”
Reaching across the small table between them to pat his friend companionably on the arm, Shinobi said, "You just worry about keeping your pretty head down, and weathering your upcoming audience with WWII. I'll deal with the unsavory, intelligence-gathering part, for now. I mean, you know how much I love the unsavory. It'll be like a special treat from me to me."
Warren chuckled, slightly reassured by the arm pat, for some reason. "I appreciate that--and you. But bro, you know I worry about you. Like, you should let me help sometimes." Okay, he was drunk, which sometimes made him sentimental. Shinobi didn't have to do everything alone, though....
The pained look that crossed Shinobi's delicate features at the return to "bro" was brief, but definitely there. He didn't address the endearment of questionable pedigree directly, however. One of his thin, dark brows rose skeptically. "Are you actually interested in diving into Club politics, Warren? Or do you just feel the prick of a guilty conscience at the prospect of sending me into the lion's den? If it's the latter, I assure you I'll be perfectly fine; I'm hardly a cub, myself, however long I might have been in exile. If it's the former ... well. That might be worth further discussion. But only if you're certain."
For a moment, Warren actually considered. Then he realized he was drunk. "I... okay, maybe not now. Someday, though. I feel like I should use everything at my dis--uh, disposal.
"I'm just having feelings right now. Some guilt, yes." And some dawning horror. Oh shit... what did his father even want...?
"Sou desu ka," Shinobi murmured. "Let's work on getting those feelings properly drowned, shall we? It's not as if it's an imposition; I would have stuck my nose into it sooner or later, either way. As the scorpion said to the frog, 'it's my nature'." Chuckling, he moved to refill his glass yet again.
"You're not wrong about using all your assets, however. You've done much better than I would have expected, so far, but ... Well, I know it's awful to say it, but what the hell? I'm drunk enough. You could stand to be a little more exploitative, in general. Being so well-intentioned all the time must be positively exhausting."
Warren laughed and knocked back some more champagne. Shinobi was right. Dealing later. Drinking now. "It kind of is? It's good that there are two really awesome, really hot guys to make me forget sometimes. That helps. A lot. But you know, once the blood goes back to my head I start thinking again. Super annoying." Maybe there was something in what Shinobi was saying...
"Then I suppose, in that case, you should give the prospect--our world is extremely cutthroat by nature, as I'm sure you've noticed, and sometimes cruel intentions lead to better outcomes. But that's just food for thought." Shinobi shrugged. "Your other option is to spend the rest of your life in a perpetual orgasmic haze. I honestly would not judge you in the slightest if you decided on that route. In fact, I'd probably be cheering."
"I mean, to be fair, you'd cheer for me even if I kept being insufferably selfless," Warren pointed out with a dopey grin. As if, for the moment, he'd managed to forget just as surely as if Simon and Jean-Paul were there to help in... other ways. "But in a different way if I just spent forever getting fucked." He could talk like that around Shinobi. That was awesome, too. Shinobi was the best.
"True," he noted, without a trace of shame. "I am an extremely supportive friend. Though I'll admit that inclination would be much easier to maintain if you did let go of that insufferable selflessness, a bit. Even if it means spending the best years of your life in a sweaty, naked tangle with Beaubier and Simon. At least that would be fun."
Warren had to admit, "God, that sounds so good right now..."
"Why spend time pondering how it sounds, when you can live the experience?" Shinobi mused rhetorically. "My point is! A little selfishness now and then isn't such a terribly damning thing. Nobility just gets tiresome after a while--and anyone who doesn't suspect your motives will inevitably begin trying to use you to the fullest extent you permit."
"That's... totally true." Warren frowned. "But it's hard to know when to stop. Or how. I mean--if I don't do it... I guess I could take a vacation now and then? At least?"
"I suppose that's something," the other teen conceded with a nod. "As long as it's a decadent vacation. None of this working-vacation nonsense."
"Deal," Warren said. Then his face fell again. "Oh shit. I have to see my parents. Ugh, pass the next bottle."
"If you're going to insist upon dwelling on that," Shinobi told him, pulling another bottle from their rapidly-diminishing stockpile, "we'll need something quite a bit stronger than champagne. Which, given our consumption so far, I can hardly recommend."
Warren looked bleakly at the bottle of champagne. "Well. Another of these, then. I'll deal with it tomorrow. There, a mini vacation from responsibility."
Once he'd finished pouring each of them a fresh glass, Shinobi raised his in toast to Warren. "To the worse angels of our nature," he declared cheerfully. "And confusion to the previous generation!"
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Date: 2018-08-14 07:48 pm (UTC)Cough-giggling at this is why I probably should not be reading logs at work. :D
Ominous phone calls! Parental contact! I am positively gripped for the next episode of this unfolding drama.
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Date: 2018-08-14 08:24 pm (UTC)That said, this was insanely fun! Which brings us full circle to the part where I want to know what happens next!!
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Date: 2018-08-14 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-08-24 02:38 pm (UTC)