Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
7
Sitting in the rear seat of the rather luxurious car that Iason had generously provided for him, Chey Neeson glanced at his watch briefly, ensuring that he was right on time, before thanking his driver as the man politely opened the door for him. Alighting onto the footpath in front of the tastefully ornate frontage of the Midas museum of history, Chey smiled even as he drew in a deep breath of mild mid-morning air.
Thus far, his morning had been reasonably productive, he mused as he strode up the low stepped entrance and into the museum lobby. A breakfast meeting in one of the fine restaurants of Partia with his ministerial retinue had ensured that everyone was comfortable with the approach they would take during the negotiations between him and Iason Mink on the second day of the conference. His was a relatively new team of staff this time around, so once they had completed their pre-conference plan, Chey had surprised, even slightly shocked them all, by very firmly instructing them to take their compendiums and notepads back to their rooms and leave them there.
He had told them all that this day was theirs to do with what they wished. Tour the city, simply rest, or find a bar and write themselves off – it would be their own call.
He wanted them fresh and relaxed when the conference began tomorrow and he knew, better than anyone though years of experience, that they would not be able to achieve that by sitting in a room all day pouring over conference plans.
Besides, he had a diversion of his own already penned in.
Admittedly, only an hour's worth, but still... Chey grinned as he spotted Quinn, bustling across the lobby floor to meet him, he figured the amusement he ought to get out of this would pretty much last him the whole day.
"Good morning, Mr. Neeson, Sir," The little man bobbed his head respectfully, taking Chey's proffered hand and shaking it politely. "Welcome back."
"Thank you, Quinn," Chey winked at him. "I imagine you weren't expecting to see me again so soon?"
"Oh...uhm," Quinn smoothed his hand rather nervously down the front of his jacket. "Actually, ah... no. In fact, I didn't realize you had so much influence with his Excellency as to be able to arrange this meeting."
Chey tilted his head. "Iason Mink, you mean?' he chuckled warmly. "Well, I wouldn't say I have 'influence' as such. I simply asked for a small personal favor."
In fact, Chey had to admit, it had been a surprisingly simple matter. During dinner the previous evening at Riki and Iason's apartment, the handsome statesmen had had his hosts almost delightfully tickled by his retelling of his initial visit with Tahna Lam. Riki, in particular, had seemed to enjoy the report, laughing so hard that tears had come to his dark eyes.
Almost casually, Chey had broached the subject of Iason intervening for him on an official level and, almost as offhandedly, the elegant Syndicate leader had immediately agreed to dispatch a directive through to Tahna first thing the following morning. The little glint in Iason's eyes had been pure wickedness, Chey had noted at the time. Quite true, he reflected, that just because Iason Mink was perhaps not the most demonstrative of men, it certainly didn't mean that the Blondie was not blessed with a damn good sense of humor.
Quinn's echoing laugh was slightly strangled. "I uhm, wouldn't say, Sir, that compelling Sir Tahna into a meeting with you is in any way, 'small'... Sir." He gestured with one hand to the same hallway off the lobby that he had lead Chey down the day before. "If you would care to follow me," he said then, "I'll, uhm, lead you to Sir Tahna's office."
"Of course." Falling into step with the curator, Chey glanced down at the neat little man. "So, how is Tahna today?"
"Oh, he's well enough. I supp—" Quinn cut himself off and shot Chey an apologetic little look. "Actually, Mr. Neeson, Sir, he's livid. Absolutely livid." He grimaced slightly.
"Ah." Chey nodded, "Any advice?"
"Other than come back next year?" Quinn stopped at the end of the hallway. "Erm... not really, no." He waved one hand at an open door beside them. "His office is just beyond the ante room. Please go in," Quinn's smile became somewhat sickly. "His is expecting you."
Nodding his thanks to Quinn, Chey entered the ante room and moved to the closed door beyond. He knocked softly to announce his presence before pushing it open and stepping through into the stylishly appointed and spacious office beyond. Peripherally, as he crossed the carpeted floor towards Tahna Lam's desk, Chey's sharp eyes noted the details of his surroundings. Along almost every wall, shelving units held graceful artifact and priceless jeweled pieces from various cultures across both Amoian and federation territories. Some particularly delicate or ancient items were carefully sealed in glass cases, Tahna obviously taking great pains to ensure that no damage occurred to anything that was placed in his office.
Everything was artfully placed, displayed for maximum effect, Chey observed with approval. Tahna was apparently quite the aesthetic master.
He smiled as he reached the clearly antique desk, his sharp eyes now taking in Tahna's appearance.
The Blondie was standing to one side of his desk, ostensibly ignoring his visitor while he looked out of the window at the beautiful rear gardens of the museum.
He looked every inch the tall and elegant Elite, dressed in a fitted black satin undershirt over which was draped a rich velvet sash-coat of deepest blue. The silver Syndicate crest, that visible symbol of his rank and authority, was affixed to the sash-coat's shoulder. His pale golden hair, brushed until it literally gleamed, fell smoothly down his back almost to his lean waist.
And, Quinn was quite right, Chey clearly saw as Tahna slowly turned to look at him.
He was absolutely livid.
Bracing himself, Chey inclined his head politely. He had to admit, he very well might have overstepped the mark a touch by getting Iason to enforce this meeting. But Tahna had unfortunately made it virtually impossible to take any other option. And, the fact of the matter was, he did at least wish to put the New-Vincentia proposal to the Blondie. He had made a promise to his colleagues in the federation department of antiquities and he would, naturally being a professional, see it through.
Besides, Chey lifted one hand briefly to his jacket's breast pocket... he had a secret weapon on stand-by.
"I can't decide," Tahna said without any preamble, his huge eyes narrowing dangerously, "if you actually just have too much audacity or whether you're simply dim-witted."
Chey snorted softly. "My senate opponents would probably tell you it's both."
"Hmm," Tahna moved to his chair, waving a curt hand towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk. "Sit, by all means," he offered, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he gracefully sat down.
"Thank you," Chey took his seat and casually crossed his legs, relaxing against the comfortable cushions. "Now, Tahna," Chey noted the tiny twitch under the Blondie's eye at the use of his given name, "I would honestly like to say that I do appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to see me this morning but, as I effectively forced you into it, I don't think I'll bother."
"Oh. Good," Tahna smiled coldly at him. "And I would honestly like to offer a warm welcome and refreshments at this juncture, but seeing as how you're an insufferable upstart, I don't think I'll bother either."
Silently, Chey began to chuckle. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
"You have a rather unique definition of the word, I see," Tahna glanced down at the open appointment diary on his desk. "Now... I understand you have a proposal to make."
"Yes, I do," Chey sat forward slightly assuming a more business-like manner. "My colleagues in the federation department of antiquities—"
"Your colleagues?" Tahna interjected brightly. "Oh! You mean that overrated collection of inebriated grad-students who couldn't catalogue a collection to save their lives? What about them?"
"—are quite interested in seconding you to a new archeological dig on New-Vincentia," Chey continued smoothly as though Tahna had not spoken at all. "Quite an interesting find, I understand. They feel that your rather extensive knowledge of ancient artifacts would be invaluable."
Tahna glared at him for a moment. "You may inform them, Mr. Neeson, that I am not at all interested." He smiled again, his striking eyes as hard as agates. "Of course you might want translate that message into words of one syllable. Better yet, drink yourself into a stupor and grunt it at them, that way you can be sure they understand."
Chey nodded sagely, extracting his notebook and fishing his pen out of his other pocket. "That was good one, excuse me a moment." He jotted a few lines and lowered the notebook, smiling at Tahna's perplexed little frown as he looked up again. "So you're absolutely certain you don't wish to be involved? I understand some of the finds are extraordinarily ancient and quite beautiful."
Tahna continued to stare at the notebook in Chey's hands for a moment, before giving himself a little shake and looking up to meet Chey's gaze. "Have you any samples of these so-called extraordinary artifacts?"
"I'm expecting an item from the dig to arrive via courier within the next day or so, as a matter of fact."
Tahna huffed an irritated little sigh. "You're operating with the federation government's usual level of grand inefficiency, I see—" he broke off, staring at Chey as he made another note. "Mr. Neeson," Tahna pressed his fingers to his irritably creased forehead. "What... are you doing?"
"...E – N – C – Y," Chey muttered softly, before closing the notebook again. "Just noting down your turn of phrase, Tahna," he replied mildly, "that's all."
Tahna shot him an odd little look. "May I ask why?"
"Well, it's good stuff." Chey grinned at him, "I want to make sure I can remember it for later use."
"Well, stop it."
"Why?"
Tahna shook his head, a grimace of irritation crossing his perfect face. "Because it's ridiculous!"
Well," Chey regarded him benevolently, "I am a representative of the federation, as you know. We're all a bit like that back there."
Closing his eyes briefly, Tahna took a deep breath and composed himself. "Mr. Neeson, I have already told you I am not interested in attending the dig on New-Vincentia. The fact that you are content to waste your own time is of little concern to me. But the fact that you apparently wish to waste mine is."
"Have you ever been on one?"
Blinking again, Tahna peered at him. "One what?"
"An archeological dig."
"No Mr. Neeson, I have not." Tahna's rich mouth curved into a little moue of distaste, "and I thoroughly cherish my ignorance of the experience. I am an Elite. I do not grub around digging through the dirt." He smirked, one elegant brow rising, "I have people to do that for me."
"Well, if you've never actually been on one," Chey said reasonably, "how do you know you won't enjoy it?"
Tahna smiled blandly. "I've never actually stuck a metal spike through my head either, Mr. Neeson, yet I can practically assure you I wouldn't enjoy that."
Chey's laughter filled the office for a moment. "Priceless... I've got to admit it." He opened his notebook again.
Scowling at it, Tahna lifted both hands. "Enough, Mr. Neeson. You have your answer, and I have a very full schedule. If that is all—"
"No actually," Chey pocketed the notebook and set his jaw. "Iason arranged an hour, I understand."
"So?"
"So..." Chey checked his watch, "I believe I still have nearly forty-five minutes left in your inexplicably charming company."
Tahna's eyes widened, a slight flush appeared across his flawless cheeks. "You... You ridiculous, bothersome excuse of a—"
Chey rose to his feet, mid-rant, looking expectantly down at the furious Blondie. "The set-up of your newest gallery, the Ephedrian display, must be almost completed by now. Am I right?"
Tahna gaped at him.
"Would you be so good as to take me through it?" Chey tilted his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I'm sad to say that I won't be able to spare the time to attend the official gala, but I've always held a rather passionate interest in Ephedrian history."
"Are you quite certain you haven't suffered some manner of brain injury, Neeson?" Tahna snapped at him deliberately omitting the honorific of 'mister'. "Did I not just tell you that I was busy?"
"Well," Chey shrugged lightly, "all the more reason to take a few minutes out to enjoy yourself, don't you think?"
Looking almost flustered, Tahna rose to his feet, staring closely at Chey, an almost genuinely inquiring expression crossing his face. "What does it take to actually insult you?" he asked quietly.
"I don't think I've found it yet, to be honest."
Tahna heaved a great sigh. "If I do this... will you absolutely swear to go away and not come back?"
"God's promise," Chey held up one hand. "I will not approach your museum again during this trip."
"Then, by all means, come with me," he strode to the door, gesturing Chey to follow him. "Oh... and Mr. Neeson?" he looked back over his shoulder, his haughty and superior demeanor falling back into place one more.
"Yes?"
Tahna's beautiful eyes narrowed again. "Leave that blasted notebook in your pocket."