power & control

The smile on his lips didn’t falter, even as the other man rejected his kindness. He merely shrugged, and let a slight laugh escape his lips. It was amusing just how much disapproval wafted off of Killian, as if that was going to dissuade him in the slightest. He had a business model of his own that had been working spectacularly, and he wasn’t planning to let some upper class arsehole who wanted to play at being in charge change things.

“If you ever want a chance to experience what us kids do on our leisure time, I’d be happy to show you,” he offered, raising an eyebrow, grin only growing. If that was the sort of game he wanted to play, then Babyface would have his fun, too. As soon as the bottle and glasses and put down, he reaches forward for the bottle and pours himself a drink. He shrugged as he took a sip, before going on. “Simple enough, I want things to stay the same. I’m not looking to make waves with this change in power. I’m doing what my da did, but better, that’s it,” he explained. “In fact, I think you have less to worry about with me. Unlike him, I’m not the violent type; I’m merely pushing freedom. Nothing sinister, also unlike a few other powers that enjoy hanging around this club.”

What left Kilian’s mouth was definitely a laugh, but not a light one for sure. Quite the contrary, the sound seemed tainted with sarcasm and contempt. “Thank you, but I will have to pass. There are certain vices I don’t indulge on. I need to keep my head clear if I want to succeed at all, especially in my field of business.” What exactly was that field? That wasn’t Baby’s business to find out, of course. Most people at the Moulin Rouge didn’t even know he was a lawyer, but they did know he had enough connections to make anyone’s life really difficult if he wanted to, and that was more than enough to go by. 

He smiles. And he smiles, and he smiles, and she hates it. She hates it because she can never quite tell what he’s thinking, can never quite tell what he’s going to do. But as a creature made to adapt, Georgina is always prepared for whatever face he decided to show her. A part of her believes that he has no other intentions at all, his – decidedly obnoxious – means meeting the very end he so wanted. As adamant as she was to entertain other clients, he still managed to snag her for the night. He’s satisfied with himself, she’s sure – what else could a man be when he gets exactly what he wants? Georgina can’t help but wonder if there was ever a time that Kilian Richelieu’s every desire wasn’t fulfilled.

Obliging him is easy, though – it’s always easy, but he should know by now that this would be as easy as it gets, as Georgina prided herself on being difficult. Her rage slowly but surely simmered to mild displeasure by now, as another crystalline flute of champagne is brought to her at his request. The roll of her eyes is poorly hidden as she raises the glass to her lips, the bubbling liquid sliding down her throat. “You think so highly of yourself, mon cher,” her voice is the coo of a lover’s, as if she’d whispered sweet nothings in place of her sugar-coated criticism.  

It’s Georgina’s turn for a chuckle of her own, “Times two is a start.” If possible, her grip tightens, claws sinking deeper, if only to make that dimple in his cheek indent further. With him, she knows money is no obstacle – she could name her price and he’d pay it forward, a willingness that’s only solidified when he beckons a waitress with the curling of his finger. She doesn’t catch it, as he whispers in her ear, but she knows what he’s done the moment ‘It’s a deal, ma belle’ is uttered between them. His evening was hers for the taking, now.

It’s then and only then, that she rewards him with a smile. “It just might. ” 

It’s a game of give and take, and that’s the kind Kilian enjoys the most. It is different with Georgina, though. Most of the times, he is the hunter, looking for some defenseless prey. But the woman next to him is no innocent deer, oh no. She’s a tiger, and she toys with him as much as he does with her. Maybe that’s why they have been doing this for years, without seemingly getting bored of the other. He does pay large sums of money for her time, obviously, but it is more than that now. Kilian would say they have reached some sort of an agreement of mutual respect after all these years, as impossible as it seems for him to treat a courtesan as an equal. 

“I have no reason not to.” He comments, as casual as ever. It isn’t strange for him to see himself like a God in a world full of mortals. He often feels like a child, putting bugs in a jar and playing with them, observing how they behave, who eats who first, who dies last. He doesn’t hide the fact that he thinks himself to be above everyone else either. He doesn’t really see the point in doing it. “Don’t you think highly of me as well?” He asks, the teasing clear in his voice, as he moves closer to her. His tone feels like velvet, soft, wrapping around her slowly. 

His previous smile turns to a smirk as her nails dig deeper on his thigh. It’s then that he realizes that no matter how difficult she’s going to make it, he’s going to get exactly what he wants from her, and she’s going to get what she’s looking for too. Neither of them are going to say it out loud, but they both know pretty well how the night’s going to end. It has happened way too many times before. 

There’s a pregnant pause throughout the room. The sounds of her rage reverberating off the walls, ringing through the air. Surrounding patrons held their breath, servers looking on with widened eyes. Their disbelief is near-tangible. (The gall she must have, to dare touch Monsieur Richelieu in such a way. If only they knew how much he loved it.) They worry. They always worry when she’s concerned, because stunts such as these are liabilities, threats. He could leave, the money could stop flowing from his oh-so-generous pockets. It’s as if she doesn’t think of her actions, or perhaps she doesn’t care. For Georgina, it’s both. As far as Kilian was concerned, this was a game, a game that lasted for years, and would only continue for years. 

And it showed in the way he smirked at her. Completely unbothered. Unfazed by her. God, if she didn’t want to stretch across his table and wring his neck. (Of course – he’d like that too.) 

Just like that, the sound of his voice brings everyone back, everything resuming as if there weren’t a hiccup at all. Still, she stands there – seething, waiting. Georgina, ma belle, he greets her, as if such endearments would have her melt in his palm. But he lays it on thick, and only continues to do so, twisting and presenting his motives in such a way that it seemed he made her client cancel for her benefit. “I deserve better,” she muses, the repeated words falling slowly off her tongue. “And better – of course – is you, non?

Another glass is set before him, a nod of his head given as he invites her to join him. A smile twists at her lips, something a bit sinister curling within it. If this is how he wanted to play it, so be it. The plush velour of the booth welcomes her as she moves to his side, a hand falling from it’s place atop the table. (Now, this would be the part where she drops the lightest touch to this knee, trails her taunting fingers higher and higher along his thigh, but this time she sinks her hooks in, planting him there.)

“I want every franc I lost,” a breathy whisper, an underlying demand, lips ghosting his ear, “Times two. Tonight. If you’re making yourself my scheduler, then I can be yours.”  

There’s nothing revealing on his face but a smile, nothing that would allow anyone to have a single clue about what he’s thinking, what he’s gonna do next. Being unpredictable is something Kilian relies on, both in his personal and professional life. When there’s no way to anticipate the moves of a man, that’s when he becomes deserving of fear, and with fear comes respect. Everyone respects him here, at the Moulin Rouge. It’s obvious by the way people bend over backwards to do as he says, just like the wants to. Even Georgina has some semblance of respect for him, deep down, the same kind he has for her. 

If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be sitting with her right now, offering her hospitality, worrying about her. Some people could call him selfish, toying with someone like that, making her lose her clients and her money for the night. He, nevertheless, prefers being pinned as a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. What use does she have spending time with a lesser patron when she could be with him? In his eyes it’s only logical. 

“Of course it’s me. I’m glad you think so as well.” He comments casually, seemingly not bothered by the entire situation. He knows what’s coming, he knows she can’t just accept what happened and move on, that’s one of the things he likes the most about her. So when she slips to his side and he can feel the pressure of her nails sinking in his upper thigh his smile grows wider, the pain making him feel somewhat exhilarated. 

It wasn’t a secret that not everyone was particularly happy that he had taken over his father’s business. There were plenty of those who wished that no one had taken over, and that all that the old prick had controlled had fallen into other hands. But he wasn’t in the business of doing what others wanted him to, anyway. Still, there were deals that had to be made to keep things in order, and whatever whispered alliances he had already struck with Lysander, there was the problem of less understanding forces. A necessary evil to face to keep things smooth.

And Killian was one of the necessary evils he least wanted to deal with.

“I always enjoy the show, my friend,” he smiled, settling into the booth. He would have much rather they did business in his own private booth, but he understood the move; meant to show power, to intimidate, to tell him that they were on his turf, not Babyface’s. Funny, how he thought that was true, as if the Moulin hadn’t been his family’s turf since long before the snake had slithered in with his not so special money, and his even less special lust. An entitled rich man child who had never been told no in his life, and wasn’t going to start hearing it now. The smile didn’t say that, though, the smile was just as charming as ever.

“Babyface is my name. ‘S not just what I like to be called, it’s what I am called, by friends and associates alike,” he shrugged, the grin on his lips never wavering, despite just how slimy the other was.

“I’m not your friend.” Kilian cut him off abruptly, frowning slightly. He wanted to make a deal, of course, but he wanted the other to realize this was strictly business. The boy mostly thought he could come and go, doing as he pleased because he had some drug to sell. He wasn’t naive enough to believe a lot of the girls probably threw themselves at him, no payment needed, just begging for him to indulge their vices. Kilian didn’t mind that sort of deal to be made in private, as long as Babyface understood there was someone watching now. Any slip up, and he would be done for. That’s why he needed to make it clear there was nothing friendly about this meeting. 

“Interesting.” He muttered, disapproval obvious in his face. 

Kilian was a lawyer. He knew that shady business was everywhere. Mafia, drugs, people, everything could be bought and sold according to the rules of supply and demand. But he was also aware of the consequences of said business, and that was why it was most important to have control over them. This was what this meeting was about. In the past, the drug dealing at the Moulin Rouge had been much less complicated, unified under one name. That was controllable, it was a fire that could be easily put in case of emergency.

It was different now. 

There were many names fighting for dominance, many men behind those names, and Kilian needed to control them all. Perhaps the first step in order to do that was to get to know them, to uncover their weaknesses and see who was replaceable and who was not. Babyface was the first one, whatever that name might be. It was mostly out of respect for his father that he had agreed to have this meeting, since he had always considered the boy rather disposable. But he couldn’t deny he had grown, enough to be a matter of importance. 

“I hope you enjoyed the show, babyface.” He started once they were located in his private booth near the stage. “Is that what you like to be called by your associates?”

Her lips parted, a half gasp leaving her throat. Kilian was as hypnotic as he was terrifying, but the only thing Simone wanted to do right now was to get out of there as soon as possible. She wondered if she was going to have to talk to Esme about this, or maybe to Inspector Bachelet even. What had started as a mild inconvenience, was quickly becoming a problem that she had no idea how to handle. No one was supposed to say no to Monsieur Richelieu, everyone had to keep him happy - and here she was, doing exactly the opposite of that. 

He made her feel like a rag doll, and she wanted to scream. Mona had seen those eyes before; she had heard that voice, it was the attitude of every single man who had thought of her as a possession, as a pretty horse meant to be tamed. It was the way Théo had talked to her from the very beginning, only then she had been too naive to realise. That wasn’t the case any longer. She was stronger now. She could stand up for herself. 

Or so she thought. 

His hands going to her shoulders, spinning her around as if she weighed nothing, made her close her eyes shut. “Leave me alone, please.”, she all but begged, feeling completely cornered against the wall. The air completely escaped her lungs during those few seconds he refused to let go. She blinked a couple of times when he did, feeling her legs weak, her hands shaking. “All right. Please don’t do that. There’s no need to talk to anyone. I’ll go with you, we can talk, but you need to promise you will keep your distance. We can go to the dressing rooms. Fifteen minutes, and that’s it. Do we have a deal?”

“Why are you scared of me?” It was a legit question, one Kilian made looking into her eyes as soon as she opened hers, shaking like a leaf while cornered by his towering height. Mona was so small, so petite, just like her mother had been. He still remembered her on stage, dancing like no one was watching. It was partly because of the passion, that freedom, that he had become completely obsessed with her. Simone danced the same way, even if she was new at the Moulin Rouge she looked like she had belonged on that stage all her life. “I’m only trying to get to you. I could make you a star. I know you used to be an actress, don’t you miss it? All eyes on you again. Please, don’t run away from me.”

Kilian Richelieu never begged, he barely asked for things, he only demanded. What was it about this girl that had him following her around like a lost puppy? Who did she think she was to say no to him? There was a particular brand of violence that pulsed deep inside his chest every time she looked at him like he was a tiger ready to devour her. Maybe that was exactly what she was searching for. If she wanted something to fear, he had no problem giving her precisely that. He leaned in, dangerously close, enough to smell her strong perfume mixed with the sweat caused by the dance she had been performing minutes ago. “I’ll keep my distance, whenever I want to keep my distance Sirena.” He muttered. 

If one were to read the transcription of their conversation, it may almost seem normal. Perhaps it could even pass as nice, small talk among business partners, if you could call them that. It was within the subtle intonations, the looks exchanged between them, that held the truth. Regardless of how hard she tried, or how sweet his words were one instant, the next they returned to more familiar territory. Every lingeringly cold touch, every frown he did not try to hide, served as a reminder that she was nothing more than a fantasy to be sold. “Well, you must know we are happy to have you around,” after all Killian had done for the Moulin, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

She takes note of the downward curve of his lips and tosses the cigarette into the ash tray, letting it burn out. “Apologies, sir,” she speaks softly, her anxious fingers twirling in her blonde hair. The pink-printed cigarette is turning to ash on the bedside table. How she wishes she could do the same in this moment, wither away to ash and bone. Would he even notice that she was gone? The smile on her face feels out of place, but Charlotte was nothing if not a performer. She watches, wide eyed, as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “Please, sir, let me,” she moves to sit atop her legs and takes over for him, slowly undoing each button until she reaches the end.

The new dancers are doing a wonderful job. Certainly this must have been intended to hurt her, but she tucks it away. Such is her life, one of existing in fragile resignation. Perhaps he prefers the younger girls, but she would not wish him and his sharp tongue on any of the other courtesans. It was easier this way, for her to take his harsh words instead of letting them fall on the ears of the girls who were newer to this job. At least, she told herself as much. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” with a quick twist she turns her back to him and looks at him over her shoulder, motioning to the strings of her corset, “would you mind?”

“I’m happy to be around, too.” What did that even mean? Had Kilian ever felt happiness ever since his brother died? Did he know how it was supposed to be? His smiles were plastic, and fake, his face just a mask of sanity threatening to break at every step of the way. His was the cruellest form of charm. He played with people, used them time and time again for his pleasure only. He was never going to make Charlotte happy, but he didn’t care, because in his eyes it wasn’t her job to be - as much as it wasn’t his job as a lawyer to pass judgement whenever he had to take a case. Who cared if he was defending a thief, or a killer? Perhaps the woman in front of him, so desperate and eager to please, had a couple things in common with him after all. 

“No need to.”, he cut her sharply, a sign that the apology had obviously been necessary. The instant reaction he had provoked in her made his lips go up into a devilish smirk. There was something almost tender about the way she hurried to unbutton his shirt for him. Inside his chest, Kilian felt something close to remorse. So he accepted her ministrations, letting her talented fingers undo the rest of his buttons without an issue. Once she reached the end, he shrugged the shirt off, discarding it to the floor.