Post by victoriousscarf on Apr 4, 2011 19:42:23 GMT -8
Heading out to work for the first time since he went to the hospital, Mistoffelees left early and lingered off Main Street for a while, almost hoping Tugger would show up. He fished his deck of cards out, shuffling through them as he sat on the bench, enjoying watching the cats walking around. He missed being able to watch life milling around him.
He glanced up when a shadow fell across him. He winced when he saw who it was. “Did you or my uncle need anything?” he asked mildly, trying to hide the sudden fear in his stomach.
The lackey smirked at him, and Misto tried to keep from shuddering. He remembered this same cat driving his paw into Misto’s stomach.
“He wants to see you,” the thug answered.
Misto glanced over at the clock over the courthouse. “I don’t have time,” he said, rising. “If I go, I’ll be late for work.”
The cat’s smile only got colder. Misto could see several of his uncle’s other thugs lurking in the area. “What made you think you had a choice?”
Misto looked from him to the other cats and shrugged. “Whatever you say then.”
Jones looked up as his nephew was escorted into the room and shoved into the chair in front of his desk. “Would you like something?” he asked, gesturing to his well stocked side board.
“No,” Miso replied coldly, his ears flat.
“Now now, can’t we talk like family?” Jones asked, his smile sticky.
“No,” Misto said again. “What did you want? I’ll be late for work.”
Jones scowled. “You know, I was hurt when I heard you had taken a job at the Demoniaque. Truly hurt.”
Misto’s eyes narrowed.
“I couldn’t understand why you would do such a thing—and then Coricopat Zimmerman walked into my office.”
Misto’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Jones stood and walked his bulk around the table. Misto flinched back, his ears twitching. “Well, see, I was angry at you, and hurt. So I may have done something… rash. But then who walks in but Zimmerman himself. For just a card dealer? The second in command himself?” Jones leaned forward and Misto tried to crawl backwards through the chair. “And then, the best thing was, it was about you. Not any other employee, but you. His last threat wasn’t just directed at any employee at the Demoniaque, but it was how… how did he put it? If he gets hurt again I’ll know where to look so you had better hope he doesn’t.”
“So?” Misto swallowed. He tried for nonchalance and failed.
“So,” Jones said, picking up a drink and cheese wedge on a little toothpick. “He has some attachment to you, does he not?”
“No,” Misto said. “None at all. I see him at the card room sometimes but I never—”
“So, you two meeting on the street a while ago and arguing was you meeting him for the first time? I did have a man on the scene you know.”
“He must have been mistaken,” Misto replied.
Jones waved a hand. “At any rather, whatever either of you say, there’s something there. Which brings me to why I brought you here.”
Misto’s eyes narrowed again.
“I want you to spy on him for me. Try and regain some of my trust that you lost so terribly.”
Misto blinked and hunched his shoulders over as he began to laugh. “A-are you kidding? You want me to what?”
“My god Mistoffelees, it’s not that hard of a request—”
Misto stood abruptly. “No,” he said. “There is no way—”
“You ungrateful—” Jones slammed his glass down against the table so hard it almost broke it. “Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”
“Actually,” Misto drawled. “A pretty damn good one, yes. And what you fail to take into account was that if Mr. Zimmerman was threatening you, he was threatening you. If you threaten me, do you have any idea what you’ll be facing? I’m not just someone you can push around uncle, I am an employee of the Demoniaque now. That gives me a pretty strong protector doesn’t it? Stronger than you are.”
“How dare you?” Jones growled.
Mistoffelees hissed at him. “How dare you?”
Jones lunged forward, grabbing Mistoffeeles by the tie and trying to lift him up by it. “If I killed you now, it would be the same to you, whatever happened.”
Mistoffelees snarled, his ears going completely flat. “You would never risk that. Now, let go of my tie. I’m already later for work.”
Jones released it and watched at the other put himself to rights, smoothing out his clothes. “You always did take too much after your father,” he growled.
Mistoffelees’ eyes darted over to look at him. “Too bad I’d never know,” Misto growled back. “Was there anything else, uncle?”
Jones waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll regret this, you know.”
“Not as much as you might,” Mistoffelees replied, turning on his heel and breezing out of the room, his broken tail held high.
Jones glared after him. He crossed his arms over his fat bulk and considered. He might have misjudged, he decided. But, he hadn't misjudged the relationship that seemed to have grown between the two, which had been the point of threatening his nephew in that way in the first place. He smirked slightly, going back to what he had been working on.
He glanced up when a shadow fell across him. He winced when he saw who it was. “Did you or my uncle need anything?” he asked mildly, trying to hide the sudden fear in his stomach.
The lackey smirked at him, and Misto tried to keep from shuddering. He remembered this same cat driving his paw into Misto’s stomach.
“He wants to see you,” the thug answered.
Misto glanced over at the clock over the courthouse. “I don’t have time,” he said, rising. “If I go, I’ll be late for work.”
The cat’s smile only got colder. Misto could see several of his uncle’s other thugs lurking in the area. “What made you think you had a choice?”
Misto looked from him to the other cats and shrugged. “Whatever you say then.”
Jones looked up as his nephew was escorted into the room and shoved into the chair in front of his desk. “Would you like something?” he asked, gesturing to his well stocked side board.
“No,” Miso replied coldly, his ears flat.
“Now now, can’t we talk like family?” Jones asked, his smile sticky.
“No,” Misto said again. “What did you want? I’ll be late for work.”
Jones scowled. “You know, I was hurt when I heard you had taken a job at the Demoniaque. Truly hurt.”
Misto’s eyes narrowed.
“I couldn’t understand why you would do such a thing—and then Coricopat Zimmerman walked into my office.”
Misto’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Jones stood and walked his bulk around the table. Misto flinched back, his ears twitching. “Well, see, I was angry at you, and hurt. So I may have done something… rash. But then who walks in but Zimmerman himself. For just a card dealer? The second in command himself?” Jones leaned forward and Misto tried to crawl backwards through the chair. “And then, the best thing was, it was about you. Not any other employee, but you. His last threat wasn’t just directed at any employee at the Demoniaque, but it was how… how did he put it? If he gets hurt again I’ll know where to look so you had better hope he doesn’t.”
“So?” Misto swallowed. He tried for nonchalance and failed.
“So,” Jones said, picking up a drink and cheese wedge on a little toothpick. “He has some attachment to you, does he not?”
“No,” Misto said. “None at all. I see him at the card room sometimes but I never—”
“So, you two meeting on the street a while ago and arguing was you meeting him for the first time? I did have a man on the scene you know.”
“He must have been mistaken,” Misto replied.
Jones waved a hand. “At any rather, whatever either of you say, there’s something there. Which brings me to why I brought you here.”
Misto’s eyes narrowed again.
“I want you to spy on him for me. Try and regain some of my trust that you lost so terribly.”
Misto blinked and hunched his shoulders over as he began to laugh. “A-are you kidding? You want me to what?”
“My god Mistoffelees, it’s not that hard of a request—”
Misto stood abruptly. “No,” he said. “There is no way—”
“You ungrateful—” Jones slammed his glass down against the table so hard it almost broke it. “Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”
“Actually,” Misto drawled. “A pretty damn good one, yes. And what you fail to take into account was that if Mr. Zimmerman was threatening you, he was threatening you. If you threaten me, do you have any idea what you’ll be facing? I’m not just someone you can push around uncle, I am an employee of the Demoniaque now. That gives me a pretty strong protector doesn’t it? Stronger than you are.”
“How dare you?” Jones growled.
Mistoffelees hissed at him. “How dare you?”
Jones lunged forward, grabbing Mistoffeeles by the tie and trying to lift him up by it. “If I killed you now, it would be the same to you, whatever happened.”
Mistoffelees snarled, his ears going completely flat. “You would never risk that. Now, let go of my tie. I’m already later for work.”
Jones released it and watched at the other put himself to rights, smoothing out his clothes. “You always did take too much after your father,” he growled.
Mistoffelees’ eyes darted over to look at him. “Too bad I’d never know,” Misto growled back. “Was there anything else, uncle?”
Jones waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll regret this, you know.”
“Not as much as you might,” Mistoffelees replied, turning on his heel and breezing out of the room, his broken tail held high.
Jones glared after him. He crossed his arms over his fat bulk and considered. He might have misjudged, he decided. But, he hadn't misjudged the relationship that seemed to have grown between the two, which had been the point of threatening his nephew in that way in the first place. He smirked slightly, going back to what he had been working on.