I was struggling to get that one drawing prompt connected to the rest of the drabbles Iâve written about this pair, so have a short one here.
Pairings:Â Non-romantic Vincent / MC, implied TJ / MC
Description:Â Emile wasnât always a private eye, and she didnât always work alone. Vincent was about to have a taste of his own poison.Â
Notes:Â Set directly after S1, no spoiler. My Cage is Porcelain and Gold verse.
She came to him when the hallways were still shrouded in grey lights.
It was early, too early for a conventional visit. But it wasn't a conventional visit, and neither of them was (is) (will ever be) something as quaint as conventional.
He didnât startle, not exactly. In fact, if she didnât know better, she would think he was expecting her.
âWell, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?â Purred the supposed Devil.
"A contract," Said his visitor. She leaned on the bars, study him. His eyes sparked with interest, though he didn't let up; no faltering smirk, no quirk of questioning eyebrows. Doing as well as she expected.
âOh, donât be coy,â Said Vincent, his voice tinged with amusement. When he came closer, the officer who led her here (sandy blond and baby-faced) twitched just so towards his baton (obviously new to the scene). Vincent didnât even bother sparing him a quick glance; from his expression alone, Millie knew he wasnât impressed.
âDo our mutual friend know you visit criminal convicts this time of night?â
âHe sent his regards.â
(TJ absolutely did not, but words are just words, and Millie was banking entirely on her past habit of pulling the rug from under Vincent and his grasp of that tendency to ensure he came up with⊠less accurate conclusions.)
And because Vincent rarely ever failed her even in their short time knowing each other, his only response is a noncommittal âis that soâ whilst he contemplated her words. Satisfied that they were through with the pleasantries, Millie cut to the chase. âYou and I both know neither your excuse of a sentence nor this prison can hold you for long.â Behind her, the officer drew in an offended breath. Millie paid him no mind.âSo Iâd like to think I can draft up a better offer.â
"Better than lounging around in this fine accommodation wherein my reach of influence permeates top-to-bottom?" Vincent pondered out-loud, probably just so that the officer could fume, âWhatever can be better?â
âA less boring job, for starter.â She gave him a grin. âI believe thereâs always an end-date to being a neo supervillainous capitalist.â
The thin skin under Vincentâs eye spasmed once. Her grin grew.
âWhy, you believe this job of yours is less dull, my sweet?â He drawled with a tone that suggested he was calling her anything but. His hand moved forward a touch as if on reflex to fix his tie before he remembered and lowered them again. "Enlighten me."
Millie knew the answer to this inquiry by heart, though five years ago if anyone had told her she would be saying it to another person she would have laughed in their face. âOften, you donât live long enough for it to become dull,â She told Vincent simply.
His gaze skipped straight pass comprehension and surprise to suspicion. He chanced a glance at her chaperone, evaluating; whatever he found drove him to meet her eyes again. âAnd you think I would be interested because?â
âBecause you canât seriously want to play Faust's Devil till the rest of your days. Because you have ties and information, and those things are worth lives nowadays." Â
Millie hadnât actually rehearsed this beforehand. She normally would, but there were too many things happening at once- labs to destroy and TJâs hands on her waist, kisses and promises to press into skin. Everything sort of became a blur. It wasnât until yesterday when she had the time to gather her thoughts.
Vincent regarded her wordlessly; his face was blank, perfectly schooled, and the suspense weighted heavily between the two of them.
In him, she has seen many things: knowledge, influence, wits, and a desire for control so great it almost became everything he could be. In her, she hoped, he would see not an adversary, but an opportunity.
Vincent narrowed his eyes. âWhat are you trying to drag me into, Ms. Saxton?â
Millie took from her pocket a plain white card and offered it to him.
âSelling your soul,â She replied.
