Cutscene: Tabiya
IC Details

Things are going well(?) for Warren Worthington. Especially with Cameron Hodge to help.

IC Date: March 29, 2019
IC Location: Worthington Tower, New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted: 30 Mar 2019 00:42
Rating & Warnings:
Associated Plots

Though the secretary at Warren Worthington's door tells Cameron Hodge that he's in for the day, Cameron is nonetheless completely unsurprised to step within and find the office standing empty and silent, with the skylight cranked open. After this long, he knows exactly where to go; without pause, he simply drops the access ladder, scales it to climb out the skylight, and traverses the narrow terrace along the roof.

There is an alcove at the top of Worthington Tower which is built to be sheltered from the cold and the sharp winds that skirl at this height. Not that either bother a man designed by nature to live in the sky. Unlike so many of the other places Warren inhabits, by choice or otherwise, there is no comfort or opulence here: only bare roof and pure privacy. No more than that was ever needed. No regular of Worthington Tower, other than Cameron, has ever had the nerve to follow him up here.

Hodge has always had a good head for heights — an asset, when your best friend has wings and flies around calling himself Angel.

"We need to discuss you staying in your actual office — again," Cameron quips anyway, as he steps into the shelter of the alcove. "I know you like your views, but there's far more comfortable places to get them."

"Those comfortable places are infested with people precisely because they are comfortable," is Warren's easy reply. He moves a step, turning, his wings opening slightly in a gesture meant to shield his friend from the worst of the cold. Cameron's face becomes a studied blank as the rows of white feathers ruffle conspicuously in the wind. "I prefer my private corners, times like this. Solitude is hard enough to get." His blue eyes study Cameron. "You've got some news? You don't usually chase me up here."

"Got the call this morning." Cameron shoves his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the rear wall of the alcove. "M-Tec is coming to the table. The owners became much more amenable to sale once the right words were said," Cameron says wryly. "Of course they swear up and down they didn't know a damn thing about the gunrunning for those Purifiers, but that'll prove out — or not — once we start looking."

"I'll see them jailed if they had any hand in it," Warren replies. His countenance is as calm as ever, schooled to a perpetual blase confidence by a lifetime in front of cameras, but Cameron's eyes aren't on Warren's face; they're on the cigarette held between the blond's long fingers, the burning end cupped in his hand against the predations of the wind. Its presence says more about Warren's mood than his expression. He quit most of his vices five years ago, but sometimes, under stress, a few sneak back. "While we were doing this, there was another shooting upstate. Purifier work. They were watching registration lines." His blue eyes shadow under his lashes. "It lets them pick out the ones that aren't obvious."

Cameron doesn't say anything at first. When he finally speaks, it's only to say, "The sale will be finalized within the next few weeks. It's the fastest we can go. You know any other way would have been much slower."

Warren's expression flickers like he still wants to say 'too slow.' "Thank you," comes out, instead.

"However…" Cameron begins, after a delicate pause, "you may want to consider the optics of WI acquiring and operating a weapons manufacturer. We've never been in that business."

"I mean to keep it that way. …no offense to Tony," Warren insists, frowning. "I don't have any use for firearms peddlers, especially not ones who arm murderers. Once we have it, liquidate it." He puts the cigarette back in his mouth, turning away. "How many employees are there, tops? A hundred? Make sure the ones who are clean are taken care of in the aftermath."

"To the best of my ability," Cameron promises, with a flickering half-smile. A pause, and a pivot: "You know, they arrested Jack Werner," Cameron mentions, offhand. "One of the guys he paid off at Hudson Propane got nervous and opened his mouth. Most people… they're ready to take the money, but not the consequences. There's an entire investigation into AA now."

The line of Warren's jaw stands out briefly. His wings pull in against his back, almost defensively, the reflex born of unpleasant memory. "Let's keep tabs on how that story's broken," he says after a moment.

"Of course," Cameron says, almost offended to need the reminder. His head tips forward a little, light reflecting from his glasses. "This is a delicate time, Warren. You know as well as I do how important optics are, right now. We can't stop the problems cropping up, but we'll do the best damage control we can."

“I trust you to manage it,” Warren says simply.

Cecilia LeFrak, née Worthington, has always gotten the short end of the stick — or so she so feels. The youngest child of Warren Worthington Sr. — and a woman besides — she knew early on what her life was likely to be: marriage out of the family, while her older brothers and their sons carried on the Worthington name with all its prestige and privileges.

Burtram never wound up fathering any sons before he was put in prison, thank Christ… but the abomination that Warren Jr. wound up producing! Warren the Third was plainly unfit for the inheritance which the coincidence of birth gifted to him, even before those horrible deformities came sprouting out of his back, and it burns Cecilia every day to see their family name and business carried by such undeserving hands.

Burtram had been a fool about his grab for power, and he was paying for it now. A life sentence was a light punishment, all told, for fratricide. Cecilia could wish that he had been a little smarter about it, though, and killed off young Warren Kenneth before he bothered with the fledging's parents. It was Warren's claim that was the biggest problem, and it was his claim that vested immediately once his father was in the ground.

Cecilia has plans, though. Her husband — himself a son of little relevance among the LeFraks — has been dead these past five years, and her own son is much more suited to inherit than this mutant misusing his influence on the pet causes of his deformed kin. Cameron has told her — oh, just everything about what Warren is throwing their money and good name away on, and from what he's said, it's clear that things are rapidly reaching the point she must act much more assertively for the preservation of the rest of the family.

Jack Werner and those Purifiers were a wash. But there are other ways.

Surely there are others on the board who are concerned about the direction of Worthington Industries. It is just a matter of getting them to listen.

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