Today’s fanfic prompt was a White Lie or a Hard Truth. I chose to go with lies, and to explore his relationship with his “ex-girlfriend”, Zia Cordier, a bit more closely.
Reyes goes a bit dark again today, and shows himself to be a bit of a douche before Ryder met him. (What can he say, he’s a handsome bastard, right?)
Lies.
Little white lies, total misinformation and misdirection, twisting the facts, subconsciously planting suggestions, lies of omission… Reyes Vidal was a master of them all.
Especially the little everyday kind of lie.
“What are you doing later?”
“I’m busy,” Reyes replied, not bothering to look at Zia as he pulled on his gloves. “Business deal. Might run late, but I’ll call you when I’m done.” Three short sentences, and three little lies: he was planning to work all night, but he didn’t have a meeting. There was nothing to run late. And he definitely wouldn’t be calling her later.
Fully dressed, he finally turned and gave her a charming smile… a smile that didn’t quite reach his cold bronze eyes. Zia was naked, lying on her side in bed, her eyeliner smudged, her bright red hair in disarray as she smiled up at him. Reyes liked Zia. That is, he liked her as much as he liked any other attractive woman: enough to sleep with her, enough to work with her, but not enough to be bothered otherwise.
He leaned down and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the lips, then headed towards the door. “I’ll call you,” he promised, then left with a casual wave goodbye.
Another lie. Easy as breathing.
Reyes gave a heavy sigh of annoyance and ended his omni-tool call. “Fuck’s sake, Zia,” he muttered.
Reyes and Zia had worked together on a few trades and deals, but she was slipping in her role with their current ongoing ‘contract’: smuggling ammo. They stole from the Nexus and the Outcasts’ supply lines, then sold the ammo back out to Kadara’s exiles (and the Collective, of course, unbeknownst to Zia), as well as to H-047c and the exile shuttles that stopped by in the port.
Zia had introduced Reyes to the primary ammo supplier they worked with. And somehow she thought that entitled her to 50% of the profits, Reyes thought snidely, when in reality, that had been her only significant role in this deal: Reyes had been the one to arrange the trade routes, vet and hire the pilots, grease Colt Dalton’s palms and the other port staff to ensure they’d look the other way, set up the Collective spies to infiltrate Sloane’s ranks, and pay Kian to hold the ammo in Tartarus. All Zia had to do was tell him when the new shipments were due to arrive, and this was the second time she hadn’t done so.
She was lucky I even agreed to give her as much as 15% of the profits in the first place. She’s not worth what she’d paid, he thought, anger starting to simmer. He’d just received an irate call from Dalton complaining that other shuttles were being held up, and when the fuck was someone going to come and pick up the definitely-not-a-shipment of definitely-not-stolen goods that Colt definitely knew nothing about?
Reyes pursed his lips. He did not like when his business drew attention. He was going to have to cut her out of this deal. And dump her, of course. Nothing turned him off faster than laziness, sloppiness, and stupidity, and it seemed that Zia might be a combination of all three. He sent her a message asking her to meet him at Kralla’s Song for drinks that evening. As he knew she would, she sent him back an affirmative almost immediately.
That evening, he arrived at Kralla’s late as per his usual, and sat down at the corner table where she was waiting. “Reyes,” she purred, her face lighting in a flirtatious smile. She shifted towards him on the bench until their knees were touching, but Reyes moved his knee away. “You failed to tell me about the shipment yesterday,” he said without preamble, not even bothering to greet her.
Zia sighed, then swore. “Merde!” She tapped her omni-tool. “It’s that asshole Robert. It was his job to notify me. I’m sorry, Reyes. I’ll take over that job. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s true; it won’t. You’re no longer a part of this deal. This little fuckup proves that it would run more smoothly without you. I found another contact who will tell me when the shipments come. I’ll send you your cut for this week, then no more.”
Zia stared at him, her face slack with disbelief. Then she laughed - a hard, grating sound. “You’re fucking joking, right?”
Reyes stared back at her, his face blank. Even if it wasn’t her mistake directly, it meant she didn’t have control over her people. And Reyes couldn’t respect someone who didn’t have the respect of her own employees. “Nope. We nearly got outed because the shipment sat there for almost 24 hours without being picked up. It’s bullshit, Zia. I can’t have that.”
Zia slammed her fist on the table. Nobody noticed; slammed fists, yelling, and scuffles were a dime a dozen at Kralla’s. “You wouldn’t even have that fucking business if it wasn’t for me, you greedy son of a bitch!” she hissed. “You’re just trying to cut me out of my own goddamned deal!”
Reyes shook his head pityingly. “If I hadn’t cleaned up after your mistake, twice, neither of us would have any profits, and Sloane’s people would probably be beating our asses for quietly stealing from them. So, no. You’re out. I’m sorry.” Another lie; Reyes didn’t care, but an apology could sometimes soften the blow.
Zia laughed bitterly; apparently his sorry wasn’t enough. “You selfish, greedy, traitorous motherfucker,” she hissed. Reyes noted the tears in her eyes. “So what, that’s it? You’re finished with me? Just like that?”
Reyes nodded again; both of them knew that this meant the end of their liaison as well as their business. “I’m sorry, Zia.” More lies.
Zia shook her head, raising her eyes to the ceiling to fight back the fall of tears. She gave a little snort of laughter, and Reyes could hear the tiny sob hidden there. She stood and slid out from behind the table, then looked down at him, her face twisted with pain. “You’re a selfish, cruel fils de pute, and one day you’ll be sorry. Did you hear me?” she yelled as Reyes didn’t bother to look at her. “I said you’ll be sorry!” She raised her fist to strike him.
Reyes sighed inwardly, his anger starting to boil, stirring the darkness of the Charlatan. He could grab her fist, tackle her to the ground, even slit her throat before she even knew what was happening, but he had to keep up his appearances as the simple, charming, well-connected smuggler. The time wasn’t right to show who he really was. So he took a deep breath through his nose, swallowed his anger and allowed her to swing at him, blocking her fist with his forearm. She hauled her arm back again, and Reyes permitted her to slap him across the face. Then he stood slowly, his patient, calm persona masking the violent darkness of the Charlatan just beneath. “Just leave, Zia,” he said, his voice purposely dripping with pity. “Before you embarrass yourself further.”
Zia’s chest heaved with emotion; indeed, they had collected a small, drunk audience of melodrama lovers. Zia swallowed hard, her eyes still hot with tears, then finally turned on her heel and stormed towards the stairs.
“Take care of yourself,” he called after her, rubbing salt in the wound… and purposely reinforcing his reputation as the always-joking, never-serious fuckboy. Lies. All lies. He strolled over to the bar and held up a finger for Umi.
Umi rolled her eyes and slid him a cup with two fingers of whiskey. “That was cold,” she said. There was no judgment in her tone; only a statement of fact. He liked Umi for that; she was blunt and matter-of-fact, and didn’t seem to give a shit about anyone. Reyes shrugged. “I know. I’m such a mean bastard,” he said, and gave Umi a flirtatious grin. She stared back at him, her arms folded, totally unimpressed. “You’re also a cheap bastard,” she replied. “You never pay your damn tab.”
“And yet, you’ve never threatened to cut my balls off like you have all the others,” he chuckled, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Why is that, Umi?”
Umi scoffed and opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a scathing reply, but a crowd of salarians stumbled over to the bar and started yelling orders. Umi threw him a look of deep annoyance, then started filling orders. Reyes chuckled, chugged his whiskey, then turned to leave. “I’ll pay you next time,” he called to Umi as he walked away. “I promise!”
He heard her colourful curse of a reply and chuckled again. Another little lie; unfortunately, he rarely paid Umi, all for the sake of his reputation as a shady wastrel. But what Umi didn’t know was that she actually got a major discount on all her stock, thanks to him (and with some enthusiastic help from Coleman Barnett, who was obviously smitten with her). A benign deception, for once.
As he reached the top of the stairs of Kralla’s Song, a salarian at the railing stopped him. “Hey. Interested in joining the Collective? We might be able to use someone who can keep a cool head and quell such a - shall we say... emotional display... with your kind of calm.”
Reyes smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t want to get involved with turf wars. But thanks for the offer.” He walked out the door and headed for his apartment in the port.
That was the biggest lie of all. Nobody was more involved in the Collective than Reyes Vidal. And when the time was right, the Charlatan would reveal a truth-bomb that nobody realized: that Sloane Kelly was a dead woman walking.
