when the sun goes down // corinne & henry
When Corinne had agreed to come to Annapolis, it had been with the understanding that her primary goal was to find Violet Bernard and bring her back to France, so that she could take her rightful place as the heir apparent to her familyās mafia empire. Originally that was to be herĀ onlyĀ goal; but the opportunities that having someone they trusted in America presented to the mafia were too valuable to ignore. So she would be given jobs to do - things like establishing connections, visiting old friends, exchanging information. Jobs that were valuable enough that someone of her rank was necessary to do them, but had the advantage of seeming innocuous enough that they wouldnāt attract the unwanted attention of the law enforcement. The kind of jobs thatĀ wouldnātĀ end with Corinne scrapping with some arrogant white boy in a dark alley somewhere. And yet.Ā
Corinne rolled her eyes as she spun away and easily kicked the gun heād - in what he probably thought was a subtle move, the stupid boy - tried to pull on her. He was probably too old for her to be calling him a boy, in reality, but she couldnāt help think of him that way. He, and whoever had given him his marching orders, were displaying the common sense and survival insticts that were better suited to a ten year old boy than an aspiring criminal. It was a cliched story on all accounts; one of the groups the Bernardsās were on good terms with in the states had suffered a forcible change of managment; the new head of the organisation wanted to meet and ensure that the relationship remained strong, and Corinne already being in the area, she was a perfect represenative. It was all very standard, in the world they lived in. Until the man Corinne should have been discussing terms with decided that it would be in his interest to attack her, subdue her and - what? Torture her for information, whisk her away somewhere and ransom her, kill her to send a message? Each idea was more ridiculous than the other, and she didnāt particulary care.Ā
The boy had underestimated her; something that hadnāt happened back in France for a long, long time. To his credit, he was a proficient fighter - heād managed to lay a few hits on her, as evidenced by her bloodied lip and the scrapes and soreness around her collarbone - but sheād been doing this for a long, long time. She could kill him, she knew; snap his neck, shoot him with his own gun, stab the knife hidden in her boot right through his heart. It wouldnāt be very hard. But it would also be unnecessary, and whatever else Corinne did, she didnāt kill people just because she could. And in any case, sending him back alive and looking like heād gone a round with a brick wall would be a much better message.Ā
Kneeing him hard in the stomach, she took advantage of his breathlessness and took hold of both his arms, spinning him around and twisting them back in unnatural and painful ways. Though she couldnāt deny that getting some hand-to-hand combat in after a long stretch of sitting around passively was a welcome refreshment, it was time to bring this little episode to an end. Pulling the man in closer to her, she leaned close enough to whisper directly into his ear. She didnāt hiss or growl; she never did. Her voice was as smooth as ever.
"I donāt know what you thought you were going to accomplish. I canāt say I particularly care. It was very stupid of you. I think youāve learned that, havenāt you?" She didnāt wait for his reply. "Now, what youāre going to do is this: you will go back to your employer and tell them that our professional relationship has been terminated. And that it would do you all good to keep to yourselves, from now on. My friends and I wonāt be so kind should you try anything like this again." With that she kicked him away, making sure to press where she knew sheād cracked a rib. The man spared her one nervous glance (good, she thought, he should be nervous) before getting away as quickly as his newly-bruised legs could carry him.Ā
Shaking her head at the whole ordeal, she started the routine assessment of her injuries (she winced as she rotated her left shoulder; it would likely bruise), and stopped cold, as she quickly became aware of another presence close by. She turned sharply and saw a man standing right at the entrance to the little alley. She didnāt think heād been there long - surely she wouldāve noticed sooner - but couldnāt be sure, and cursed inwardly. Missing something like that could mean the difference between life and death; she was better than allowing a simple mistake like that to get the better of her.Ā
For better of for worse, however, the man didnāt seem to be any sort of threat, as all he was really doing was standing there looking at her with an expression of mild shock etched on his face. A civillian, likely, but Corinne had met some very good actors over the years and didnāt allow herself to relax quite yet. Assuming her best languid-yet-deadly stance, she tilted her head softly and called out to him, her lips quirked in a half-smile to match her raised eyebrows. āYou alright there?āĀ
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