Dinner with Val

by **krzy** Thu Sep 17, 2020 4:10 am

A cameraman walks into a lavishly decorated dining room adorned with a mix of victorian and contemporary furnishings by somebody with a fine eye for decor. Above an oak table big enough to seat a large family hangs a beautiful crystal chandelier. The light it emits bounces off the walls--covered in various portraits of Tailcoat Val and her subjects--and is mirrored in the three large windows that reveal night has long fallen. Thousands of stars dot the skies like freckles to make up for the weak light casted by a crescent moon.

Tailcoat Val sits at one end of the long table, eyes fixed on those stars as if trying to make sense of their existence. Behind her, flames in a fireplace crackle--the shadows it casts somehow seem more sinister than it would if that shadow were attached to any other person. Val has ditched her namesake tailcoat jacket, replacing it with a black dress with a modest cut around the neckline. She’s also retired the plague doctor mask for the evening, instead wearing a fancy hat adorned with silk ribbons and daffodils.

However, what Jason Spade first sees when he walks into the room is the bronze winged man on the pendant attached to Val’s necklace. The man is in a tragic descent--its significance clear.

Spade, in contrast, has on a hoodie, a pair of pants, and his finest sneakers. He crosses his arms across his chest in defiance as Val has yet to acknowledge his presence. She’s still staring out of the window--lost in all the possibilities.

Finally she lifts her gloved arm, the fabric long enough to cover her elbows, and snaps her fingers. Though the gloves soften the snap, four masked figures enter the room. Spade turns toward the direction of the footsteps, tensed for the fight to come. He’s either relieved or disappointed when Val’s underlings walk around him on their way to the table.

One of the figures sets a large platter down in the center of the table. A lid obscures the contents, but the smoke that slips between it and the platter fills the room with a pleasant aroma. Another masked figure sets down an ice bucket and nestles a bottle of wine between the cubes. While the food and drink was being brought to the table, the third mask figure set down a silver plate and a wine goblet in front of Val and on the other side of the table. There’s enough room at the table for at least ten occupants, but this appears to be a one on one affair.

“Tardiness reflects poorly on your character,” Val finally says, shooing away the figure who inconsiderately blocked her view of the window. “Though I’m surprised you came at all. And alone at that.”

Val turns to face him. She takes him in with a flick of her gaze, then sighs in disappointment.

“Dressed for the occasion, I see. Though perhaps that is in fact your finest ensemble--in which case, I am flattered.” She adjusts herself in her chair and straightens the placemat in front of her. “Social media is simply no place for civilized conversation, I’m sure you’ll agree. Which is why I’m thrilled you’ve chosen to humor my request to host that civilized conversation.”

Val closes her eyes and inhales the scent of the cooked meat wafting through the air.

“If you’ll have a seat, we can begin.”

The first three men stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the room’s middle window. The fourth stands by the chair where Spade is expected to sit, towel in hand to place over Spade’s lap so that he doesn’t make a mess of himself.

“Against my better judgement, here I am,” Spade says, cautiously sitting down in the chair. The fourth man tries to drape the towel over Spade’s lap, but Spade waves him off dismissively. The man hesitates for a moment, before stepping back. “And yeah, I guess I’m late, but I generally don’t make it a habit to rush into a trap. Last time I came to a meeting like this, I ended up in the ocean off the coast of Los Angeles.”

Spade pauses, eyes surveying the room. Val can tell immediately that he’s forming some kind of escape plan in his mind, and the thought amuses her.

“So what are we doing here, Val? You gonna threaten me? You gonna have your masked buddies put the boots to me? Poison me, maybe? Or are you just gonna sit there all smug-like and brag about how much smarter you are than me?”

“Bragging about the obvious would be unbecoming of someone of my stature.” Her half-smile reveals that the comment wasn’t made entirely in jest. “Inviting you all the way out here simply to attack you is a waste of both of our time.”

She pauses deliberately. “And besides, poison is a tool of those who lack imagination.”

Again, that delivery--it isn’t just banter.

“I wonder which says more about you, Mr. Spade. Your paranoia that something is bound to go wrong, or that your past history justifies such thoughts?” She places both elbows on the table, interlocks her fingers then rests her chin on top. “I could assure you that no harm will befall you, but I think a more interesting course of action is to ask: What do you have planned that would lead me to have my subjects ‘put the boots’ to you?”

“Why Val, are you implying that I’d deliberately do something to ruin such a lovely dinner?” Spade asks, sarcasm dripping from his words like oil. He leans back in his chair, kicking one of his feet up onto the table, and adds, “I would never. You’re the lady with the plans. And since you haven’t answered my question, I’ll ask again; what are we doing here, Val?”

She studies his face, noting his intense expression. Her gaze drops down, looking annoyed as bits of dirt fall from the sole of Spade’s shoes onto the fine linen draped over the table.

“I suppose we can do away with the foreplay,” she replies, chin still resting atop her fingers. She meets his stare. “We’re here to talk about you. Specifically, this alliance of yours to oppose me--and how you’re the only one in it with something to lose.”

Spade chuckles- a humorless laugh- and brings his foot back down, leaning forward with his arms on the table.

“I’ve lost a lot, Val. Blood, titles, the respect of some of my peers, even my favorite car- blown up by an Australian hitman, believe it or not. But I’ll bite… What makes me so special?”

Almost immediately, one of the masked servants cleans the spot on the table where Spade had his feet. Val orders all four to the center of the table with a wave of her hand.

“I find it fascinating how disproportionality you come out the loser given how often you find yourself at odds with others,” she says evenly like a therapist might say to a long-time patient. “Perhaps it’s shortsightedness? You’ve tucked yourself in tight when many would second guess getting into bed with the man who sparked all of this--that is, assuming Shay Hoxton was acting alone.”

Val lets the allegation hang in the air--the implication damning. Spade readies a rebutting quip, but a conveniently-timed clatter steals the spotlight. The servants make a show of unveiling the food, the centerpiece being a mouthwatering braised lamb. Within the surrounding bowls and plates can be found sizable portions of vegetables, stuffed shells, soups and one baked potato. Val would have had her work cut out for her in finishing this all if Spade never turned up. She flashes a smile at one of the masked figures.

“Do tell the chef that she has simply outdone herself, this all looks marvelous.” To Spade she says, “Don’t be shy. You’re the guest here. Help yourself.”

Spade fills his plate with food, not taking his eyes off of Val.

“You know better.” He says simply, voice cold. “Nobody’s watching us, Val. It’s just you, me, and your sheep. Your mind games are falling on deaf ears. Are you really going to accuse me of something we both know I didn’t do?”

Spade jams a fork into his piece of lamb before adding, “I have no love for Hoxton, but respect. Yeah, he ‘started’ all of this, and I knew right away you’d make a fuss over me joining up with him, but we’ve known each other for a very long time. You can’t deny a bond like that, and luckily for me, our goals happened to align. That’s the difference between us, Val- you’ve got servants, I have allies. Friends? No. But allies by association, and allies by necessity. Did you really think you could go around sticking your fingers in everyone’s pie with no repercussions? I’m not the first enemy you’ve made- I’m just the first one who’s fighting back.

“And unfortunately for you, I’ll be the last.”

"The last, yes," Val says coolly. "However, it will only be unfortunate for me if you succeed."

She peels off her gloves and drapes them over the arm of the servant setting down a full plate of food before her. Val’s hands are covered in cuts and scars--some look fresh. She watches another servant fill her glass with wine knowing exactly where to stop without her intervening. Her table etiquette on display, Val picks up a knife and fork then slices off a piece of lamb.

“If you succeed,” she repeats, a stronger emphasis on the “if” the second time around, “do you think it would have all been worth it? Do you think he would forgive you? Shay? You’ve convinced yourself he’s in immediate danger. I saved him. I healed him. And you would undo all my work so you can play at being the hero.”

She scoffs. “Indeed, if either of us is playing a game, Jason, it’s you. I take my work, my research, seriously, and I do so with the knowledge that it won’t be until after I’m gone that my efforts will be appreciated.”

“I don’t play games,” Spade says simply. “You’re not the first two-bit supervillain I’ve come across, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Maybe you don’t think you are- maybe you’re not so evil after all, and maybe you really do think you’re saving these people you take in. Not sure how sticking chemicals down their throats that turn them into raving lunatics is ‘saving’ them, but what do I know?”

“Supervillain? Ha!” Val almost looks genuinely amused. Almost. “I suppose if squeezing me into that archetype brings you peace of mind. An incomprehensible enemy can be terrifying.”

Spade takes a piece of lamb, sniffs it, and very carefully inserts it into his mouth. He chews for a moment before saying, “My compliments to the chef.”

Val raises her wine glass. “Are you familiar with internal decapitation?”

The question comes out of left field, and the suddenness of it causes Spade to choke on his bite of lamb. He recovers quickly, spitting the meat into a napkin before replying, “Yeah, I know a thing or two about it. What, is the food supposed to rip my spinal cord in half?”

As if to answer his question, Val helps herself to another bite and washes it down with her wine. “I wager if Shay had a little more meat on his bones, that kick to Suraci’s head may have done irreparable damage.”

Another sip. “Then, of course, there’s what Schmidty did to Randy Borton. A broken neck. Luckily, for Borton, it was before Schmidty gained an affinity for vehicular assault. Both are alive and well--while the perpetrators escape the slander that is incessantly slung in my direction. Tell me, should I have left them to rot? To suffer?”

“Who am I to judge?” Spade asks, waving off a servant's offer of wine. He instead reached into his hoodie pocket and produced a bottle of water, which he took a sip from before setting it down on the table. “I’m not a good person, Val, I think we both know that. Neither is Shay Hoxton- and he’ll get his, in the end. Most of us do. I’m sure I will too. Do you think that’s what I’m here for? That I wanna be a superhero, crush the villain underfoot and drag her to jail, kiss some babies and smile for a beautiful, intrepid reporter? No.”

Spade takes another bite of lamb before adding, “You picked this fight when you took Suraci. He’s a better man than either of us could ever hope to be, and I owe him a debt… And I care about him. I’m not a hero, Val, and I’m not here to pass some sort of moral judgement on you. I’m a fighter, and you put yourself in my path.”

“I think you’re here,” Val considers her next words carefully, “because you’re confused. It’s like clockwork for you, isn’t it? You make an enemy, you confront them, you puff out your chest and sprinkle a little bit of bravado in your words--then you get thrown out of a plane or through a glass table, and all is right in the world.”

Apparently done eating, Val gets up and walks to the window. She leans against the frame, gazing out at the stars.

“You hate them. They hate you. In that simplicity, that black and white--”

Her voice trails off. She removes her hat and pulls a daffodil out of the band. She twirls the flower between her fingers while she speaks.

“I think you’re here because you want me to attack you. Right here, right now.”

She snaps around to face Spade, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Because that removes the ambiguity. Whether you want to admit it or not, there are shades of gray that cloud the minds of those who have watched this allunfold.”

In a dramatic voice, not unlike that of an intrepid reporter, “‘Tailcoat Val responds to Jason Spade’s unrelenting barrage of truths by...’”

Val drops the voice and adopts the classic “thinking” pose, hand on her chin, index finger stroking her cheek. “What do you think would get them to pity you more? Hmm? We’re only on the first floor; throwing you through the window wouldn’t be worth the time it would take to clean the glass afterward. Perhaps you would have fit in the fireplace before you stuffed yourself full of lamb. Either way, if I laid a finger on you tonight...suddenly, you’re no longer responsible for the role you played in delivering Suraci to me, and this crusade of yours becomes just.”

She sighs and softens her gaze. “Whatever feelings you harbor for me, know that they are not reciprocated. I don’t view you as an enemy or a threat. Like most, you're misguided, and, in ignorance, you act out. Your talent and your passion for this business...you have the potential for so much more despite what you’ve already accomplished. Much like Brett Angel, you’ve allowed petty squabbles and insecurities to weigh you down. I’m in the process of cleansing him of his troubles. A few more meetings like this, and you--”

“And what?” Spade asks suddenly, cutting Val off, leaning forward again. “You turn me into a dog, like Zero? A mindless animal, like Danger Cat? is that your idea of enlightenment, of being free from ignorance?”

Spade stands up, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, you’re right about one thing. It’s easier that way; find someone who’s wronged you, fight them, win or lose, move onto the next. It’s always how I’ve done this- even when I was fighting Hoxton and Proudfoot, I was thinking about what would come next. I was thinking about what I’d do after I won, or if I lost. And along the way, I got selfish. I called on the one person in the world who didn’t hate me, and lead him right to you. You’re the only one here who seems to be under the impression that I don’t know what I did. When you took him, for a while I even thought about dropping everything else and coming after him. Maybe I should have. And when I get him back, I’ll have to apologize for that.”

He pauses, lost in thought for a moment. “It would… It’d be so much easier if you were just the black-and-white bad guy, and I was the squeaky-clean baby-faced hero. But it’s never that easy, is it? So I’m not gonna puff my chest anymore, Val. No more threats, no more bluster. I put him in danger, and I’m reaching right into the fire to pull him out, because it’s the right thing to do- it’s what he would do.”

Spade looks around the room for a moment, as if searching for something.

“You have him here somewhere, don’t you? What’s to stop me from tearing this place apart, brick by brick, and ending this whole thing right here and now?”

He steps out from behind the table, nothing between him and Val. Before he can decide which brick he’ll tear out first, someone rests their hand on his shoulder. Spade whips around, ready for the fight of his life..only to find himself face to face with...him.

Val slowly walks over to them.

“You speak of saving him as if he were tied up in a dungeon, being tortured and starved, covered in welts, begging for his life. I’d say he’s in better shape than Shay Hoxton left him. Does this truly look like a man in danger?”

Running her hand through Suraci’s hair, Val fails to mention the thousand-yard stare in his eyes.

“The sweet irony of it all is that it was you, Jason, that I had my sights on for quite some time. Perhaps you sensed that the walls were closing in at Cause & Effect and offered up Suraci in your stead.”

Spade doesn’t look amused.

“Men. You know, you remind me of Ken Donahue. He made such a mess of ‘saving’ Ashley Rayne only for it to culminate with a broken leg and her never reaching the heights that she once did. One of my greatest disappointments. I will not let you do the same to Suraci.”

She leans at the edge of the table, glancing once at Spade’s unfinished meal.

“So we’re going to have to do things your way. Unfortunate. I think these championships have made you bold, it’s a shame Joseph Santos was not yet ready for what I have planned for him. On the other hand, your choice of words regarding Zero was apropos. He was like a lost puppy before I found him. I took him in, I trained him, and there’s nothing more fiercely loyal to its owner than a dog. Once he fetches that title, maybe then you’ll be more amenable to my earlier proposition.”

Spade looks at Suraci, letting a pained expression fall over his face.

“I’m gonna get you out of this.”

To Val he says, “The thing about dogs, Val, is that they don’t last long. Zero won’t be an exception. You want my title, you want my soul? You’re on. And after I beat Zero, I’ll be back for you, and everything else you’ve built. I bet your mask would look great in my trophy case… What do you think?”

She doesn’t immediately answer, instead she eyes the daffodil she’s been holding all this time.

“Do you know what this is?”

Heavy with sarcasm, Spade says, “A flower?”

“More than that. It’s a symbol. They say a daffodil symbolizes rebirth--like a phoenix, but it’s much more delicate.”

To emphasize the point, she plucks a petal and lets it fall to the ground. It slowly sways from side to side before silently landing on the ground.

“Or like how Suraci will be reborn once my work is complete. However, it represents you as well. Myths tell the story of how Narcissus drowned trying to capture his reflection, and daffodils grew along the riverbed where he met his untimely fate. Drowned. Like Icarus. It’s so fascinating how much the fates of you and Suraci continue to intertwine, for it truly takes that amount of arrogance to believe that you, Jason, you will be the one to stop me when so many have tried and failed. I pulled Suraci out of the waters--who will do the same for you?”

She holds out the flower with the expectation that Spade will take it.

“This is no mask, but consider it a token of my appreciation for accepting my invitation tonight.”

Spade takes the flower, before crushing it in his hand and smiling.

“If there’s one thing I’ve earned in the years I’ve been doing this… It’s a little bit of arrogance.”

He takes a final glance at Suraci, before walking away, his back to Val and his eyes on the door. A servant rushes to open the door for him as he approaches it, but Spade ignores them, content to simply continue walking, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks out into the cool, autumn night.