Not a problem appropriate to his station, mind you.  That would have been quite tolerable.  Maybe even mildy enjoyable, circumstances granting - problems involving beautiful women did so often end up transformed from their original loathsome state.  Once could most certainly count on that.

Well, if one was Baron Crespin Danforth Waverly III, that is.  Rich, eligible, and titled did have such a delicious ring in the eyes of the ladies... though he was, of course, absolutely unaware of that.  In principle, at least.  One musn't act too arrogant when one is aware of proper courtly values.  Humility and all that.

Alas, the point was moot.  The problem was too insignificant for him to point it out without a severe breach of decorum, and involved nothing even closely resembling the laquered damsels of the Highland court. Good manners, of course, were paramount.  In this case that just happened to be a painful and horrific sort of paramount, with said problem having all the attractive qualities of a large and writhing cockroath.  It couldn't hurt him, for obvious reasons, but drew the eye with allarming acumen.  A propensity sourred on by  the sort of fascinating horror one less schooled in gentlemanly behavior might experience upon encountering a carriage wreck or house fire. In short, a creeping mix of amazement and pity mated with an insideous dose of fear.   One might be so afflicted very, very easily....

Half-sighing, a man who was rather more annoyed than regular grace would allow for tugged at ecru cuffs.  Fine Zexen brocade did not take well to incidental creasing.  At least his taste in fabric was informed and...

No.  No, that sort of comment was beneath a Baron.

Where the people in human resources utterly mad?  Either poor breeding or mental imbalance must be behind those blindingly awful yellow pants.

"Inbred idiot couldn't file a document if his life depended on it," a drop of vitrol in the key of low tenor cut through the air.  Pine scented air, to be precise.  There was nothing really like the smell of a new apartment... somewhere between antseptic and welcoming, woodland cheer and cloyingly artificial goodwill.   It's occupant would have to remember to buy some good quality cleanser.  Sterile was ever so much more comforting, espeecially in tandem with the welcoming scent of espresso.

Stretched out on the a slip of the aforementioned pine - a forlornly empty windowsill, to be precise - lay his companion.  Vitrol soon came up against a soft yowl.

"I can't believe this... this is utterly foolish.  Why am I talking to you, anyways?  Those moronic dreams have robbed me of my wits,"  smug bitterness was pacing on polished, virgin floorboards. That normally might have been a problem, but for the room's distinct lack of furiture beyond a spartan bed, jury-rigged table, a decent effort at comfortable chairs.  Not that Jess minded, not really.  Sniping was ever so much more convenient without having to worry about errant supposedly decorative trash strewn about.

The safe was an exception, obviously. Forebding, imposing iron bolted to the floor and guarded by a sphinx of an ashen cat. Jess was fond of the safe.  The safe could stay.  It was useful, and useful was comforting in the absence of such organizational bliss as an office might provide.  Never mind that any other man would have drawn his vague satisfaction from the fact that the safe's contents could buy a good pair of city blocks.  But then, another man with that safe wouldn't be living in a modest, cramped apartment on the mediocre side of town.

"..and there is no salmon here, cat. No salmon.  Do you hear me? None. So I don't want to have any foolish cravings when I get up for my morning coffee."

The Cat Looked at him.  The creature had evolved the skill at some point or other,  turning impassive green orbs into an unbreakable stare which Jess would have loved to be able to mimic. Not that he hadn't tried.  Was the foolish feline psychic?  Great, just great... the politician's only protection against his spoiled theocratic security blanket was Cuddlekins the Wonder Cat.

It was still Looking at him. Damn.  He knew that there was a reason beyond bother and mess and general cringe-worthy affection that he had never adopted a pet...

Jess Looked back, " Yes, I know that I can afford salmon.  But it's expensive, and the owner of that shop said that carp and tuna were better for you.  Salmon is a waste."

Still, still it was Looking at him.

It wasn't working, and the stare was driving him to babble.  Apparently the Dream Rune - or whatever fool pretentious name the thing was saddled with - granted the supernatural ability to refrain from blinking. Stupid rune.  What was it called anyways?  People with runes always gave them the most pathetically self-indulgent monikers.  Like Soul Eater, or Midnight Star Burning Ultimate Tiger, and what have you.  Slackers, the lot of them.  What good did they think that it did to make them sound all mystical and earth-shatteringly important?  Honsetly, he didn't run about calling his book something foolish just to indulge in a petty power trip.

Jess would never understand exactly why he seemed to be consistently surrounded by morons.  Never mind htat the ones in question were immortals of nigh astronomical magical power.  Astronimical magic power was for slackers.

"..... Fine.  I'll get your stupid salmon.  But if I'm chasing mice tonight you aren't to have any catnip for a..."

His eyes pulling a blink form their own rather impressive repetoire, Jess halted in his tirade.  The Cat.  He was actually talking to the ridiculous Cat.  Trying to reason with some mindless creature... but it wasn't his fault that it kept Looking at him.  What else was the politician supposed to do, lock it in the closet?

It would do the Jess's sanity a world of good to get back to work tomorrow.

As if sensing his human's general capitulation - though, if must be noted, surrender was procured under duress - the Cat began to purr.

"Stupid beast... " his master muttered darkly, already perturbed at the grey hairs which marred perfectly pressed ochre trousers. He couldn't have anticipated a second, unrelated ambush from behind.

"Funny.  That was what I was about to say.  Aren't you the perceptive little rat..."

It coudn't be... she was supposed to be having her little muscleheaded girly-toy hustle Anabelle out of Muse.  She was supposed to be spreading the gospel of Evil, Traitorous Jess to the righteous souls of Jowston.  She was supposed to be cursing his name from a barstool a good few hundred kilometers away.

 She was supposed to be acting according to the Plan.

She was not supposed to be standing in his with a set of keys from hell knows where and murder in her eyes.

"Rousseau?"

"Is that all you have to say, you pasty traitorous bastard?  What the bloody hell did you think you were doing," she snapped, stalking up the floorbords.  Accosting him with three weeks worth of of repressed, misdirected rage really was theraputic.

"What are you doing here? " her former employer's eyes narrowed nigh imperceptibly.  The rat bastard was giving her that look.... that look he got when he was mentally sniping at a person while acting all cordial and semi-civil.  What the hell right did he have to question her!?  He'd been the creator of a manipulative little note which pulled her away from her world of happiness...

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

"Revenge, you pathetic worm.  You don't think I'd actually need you help, do you?  Bloody hell, you're an arrogant bastard..."

"That was rude and unprofessional," the lanky man turned away from his pet, sadly holding back any outward emotion at her arrival.   Goddamn rat... she deserved a reaction, dammit.  For all that he'd put her through.  She deserved, craved, lusted after revenge...

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

"Bite me."

"I thought that was....Ouula's job, " he was smirking at her... damn him!  He was purposely trying to distract her from her quest.  What had dragged her relentlessly to the world's most depressingly beige apartment from across a half bloody warzone.  He was a sneaky little prick, hoping to make her forget what she was going to do to him for daring to betray Muse like that.  For daring to treat her like he had.

Madeleine Rousseau had a knack for revenge - a passion and an instinct handcuffed to blunt agression.  And she knew exactly how much that rat was going to pay.  Oh yes, she knew exactly what she wanted to do to him...

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

"Oulan," she snapped.  "You bastard, how the hell did you think that you'd get away with jerking me around like that!?!"

Jess sighed, "Would you desist with the useless melodramatics?  Why are you really here."

"Revenge," she growled.

"And what exactly does the Dread Wrath or Rousseau entail?"

That.. she hadn't quite thought out.

"I have ways, "she sneered in a surprisingly delicate fashion.  " You know I'm as good as you are."

The chamberlain shrugged noncommitally.  Typical.

"I asked you why you're actually here, Rousseau.  I'm assuming that you aren't after my help... no matter how much you apparently need it."

"I....." the petite woman paused as if struck, and then lunged forewards to grab Jess by the scruff of his collar.  For once he'd talk to her at her own level, dammit. " Why the hell would I ever desire your help? You made me leave Muse to come after you!  I was freaking happy there with her... goddamit, Jess, you ruined EVERYTHING!"

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

Her voice rose to a screech, gifted with a will of it's own.

He had, he had, he had.. and she would be angry, dammit.  Jess had blackmailed her, left her to the buzzards.  It had been all there.  A great, long-term relationship with someone real, someone and something Maddy wasn't just using to try and forget...

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

She could have gotten better there, in Muse.  With her.  She would have been happy, she knew it... she wouldn't have felt trapped, or controlled, or jumped at the slightest chance to flee.  She wouldn't have washed it all away in a bottle of vodka.  She wouldn't have had to come here, and she would have been able to miss Muse like she wanted too.  She wasn't the type to use revenge as an excuse to run away...

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

The politician's breath was slowed - artificial as it hit her face. But then he was an artificial sort of man.

"I didn't expect you to call me on my note.  But I said I owed you.  Now why are you really here, Rousseau? I'd thought you more of a survivor than the half-mad neurotic you pretend to be."

"This is your fault," she rasped, clutching his tie like a noose.

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

" Maybe half-mad neurotics and survivors are the same thing, then.  Do I make a good scapegoat for you, Rousseau?  Blackmail, was teh only connection we ever had.  If I recall correctly, you began blackmailing me on the day we met.   Now why are you really here?" Jess wrenched himself out of her grap.  He might have been a pasty, malnourished stick of a man, but he was also a good seven inches taller than her.

Maddy'd make him pay for a remark that foolish, that stupid, that goddamn bloody 'slackerly'.  She'd... she'd... get this over with and go home to Oulan.  Maddy wouldn't feel like running, like breaking away, like she was trapped.  She woudln't.  Not even that  Oulan wasn't about to up and hand her over to some angry mob who'd rip out her life and leave it bleeding on the pavement.

Because Maddy knew that Oulan, unlike a certain other Rockaxe female, wouldn't do that.  Mental heath restored, mum.  Please do let Maddy back out to play with the other girls, she's over the past.  Little Maddy has frigging closure.

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

"I don't have all day, Rousseau.  Do you need me to call the city guard as negative reinforcement? Are you having trouble understanding me? Why did you come here?"

"I don't..."

Eyes rolled in blatant annoyace.  Goddamn it... he'd at least had a bit of decorum when they were working together.  Not that she was being any ruder to him, of course.

"..... I don't know," Madeleine croaked with a broken laugh.

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

"So do you want to keep wasting my time, then?"

Hmph.  She's forgotten how much fun it was to get poor little rat-baby all consternated.  Jess did the funniest thing with his lips and some odd muscle in his forehead, if you caught him off guard.

"Nope, not at all," Maddy smirked, lunging for a nearby leather covered volume.  An nearby open leather covered volume.  Idiot Jesss thought she woudn't notice  when there was something worth think about just waiting to be toyed witgh.  Messing wit his head was about the only useful thing that she could think to do at the moment - amusing and productive.

The fact that Jess probably would have said it in pretty much those same terms almost made the woman ill.  Well, ill on principle, at least.

"You're going to tell me exactly why the hell you've been jerking around with people's lives for teh last moth.  SPecifically mine.  And your'e going to tell me now, becuase it may just be the one frigging fact in my whole goddamn existance that has a prayer of not frigging sucking right now. And I don't bloody care if you think it's a long story, because is the only goddamn place I have to go anyways, you worthless job stealing bastard.  Say no, and Mr.Book meets Mr .Big Ass Flame. Understand?"  she allowed parchment to dip dangerously close to a nearby candle, taunting.

Madeleine Rousseau was a liar.

Even liars tell the truth sometimes.

This was great.  just great.  Rousseau and her crazed, most likely drunken melodramatics.  Juuuuust great.

His Book was glimmering in the candle's wan light.  Red.  Too red.  Dangerously red.

There wouldn't be any harm, the chamberlain supposed.  Ther was too much at stake to do anything but be sensibe - the scent of forgotten ashes taunted his fears in vain.  Fears were unproductive, after all.  It would even be interesting, in a way... just to be able to tell somone for one undoubtable foolish mental excuse or another.

Not that Jess would gloat or anything.  That would be unworthy of him.

Besides, Rousseau looked like hell.  Hair matted, clothing staned with peat... she'd been slogging through the wilderness for two weeks and looked it.  If there were any distubances he'd have no trouble getting her temporarily commited, with a few choice remarks, a few choice fabrications... and a few choice gold coins.

Money was so... liberating.

" So, any more grandiose national coup plots?  Planning to try and steal candy from the big boys, Jesse?"

The annoying slacker woman was quick in regaining her equilibrium.  He'd give Rousseau that much.

"Shut up, Rousseau."

Said slacker saluted.  Mockingly, of course.  Honestly - he'd thought that she of all people would have more of a sense of drama.

" I don't need a country.  The vulerability of Muse made that obvious."

"I'm getting boooored, Jesse..."  she sang, looking for all the world even more annoying than usual.  And dipping his book closer to oblivion.  Bah.  No sense of drama at all.  Or the proper, methodical way to explain things.  Perhaps all that riding had gone to her head.

"We should sit down then... this is going to take a while."

Surprisingly enough, Rousseau complied.

" As I said, I don't need the vulerability of a country.  Muse - supposedly the most powerful city in Jowston - is going to be crushed.  All cities are crushed eventually. I should have realized that earlier.  Obviously, that's highly inconvenient.  I suppose you think that my leaving Anabelle was a case of wanting to 'rule in hell, rather than serve in heaven'... and you might be right, but not geographically. It doesn't matter.  I really don't need to get into some mindless philoshopical debate right now. "

"Alright, you're right.  I was going to say that heaven and hell are stupid concepts.  Can we move on now?"

"Coming here was more just taking the first opportiunity that came up.  Hmph. To think that just by calling up some... sympathetic friends, and setting up a network of informants, I could deal with the High Priest of Harmonia within a month.  Of course I had to make you and the rest of the office despise me, so that my departure might seem less supicious and Highland would more easily accept my intention to defect.  Mostly it was for the benefit of Leon Silverburg... but he's no here now, is he?"

"Oh, don't look surprised.  Honestly Rousseau, give me credit for competency.  And would you stop playing with those matches?"

"Back to the beginning, then.  So I cashed in every single favor ever owed to me - which turned out be worth quite a lot, liquidated.  Set off for Highland with a ransom's worth in gold.  I could have gone anywhere... but where better to find a buyer for information than L'Renouille?  The gold, Rousseau, is the point.  Don't forget that.  The gold makes me unnacoutable, gives me a power that of masses of drooling low-class idiots and petty nobles can't take away.  No pandering to the lowest common denominator, no democratic idiocy."

"Yes, I will get on with the plan.  You're the one who asked me to explain it. Stop whining."

"You profanities wound me to the core, Rousseau."

" In any case, money is what it's all about.  Do you have any idea how many people are going to lose their businesses to this war?  How many governments are going to raise taxes to the brink of public mutiny that they might finance their arms? How many nobles shall one day awaken from their wasteful lives to find that father's fortune is all dried up?  How many soldiers will return home, unemployed and peniless?  How many will have no home to return to? Nowhere to go?  No job to take?"

"That's where I come in."

"The Plan, you see, is to make as much money as possible off of this war.  Sell information, sell favors, embezel... "

"Don't look at me like that.  Muse wasn't your home, and I didn't steal from Muse anyways. Well, not funds, at least. And   no one is going to miss a few missing gold bars in this senseless waste of pagentry, supervised by a lot of incompetent autocrats.  Have you been to the palace yet?  It's like some sort of militaristic confection."

"I suppose it's of no matter.  Once the war is over, I'll be rich enough to retire to a life of Harmonian luxury..."

"Bullshit.  I know you better than that, Jess.  Poooor, forgotten book..."

"When the war is over I will have that amount of money.  And I'll be able to lend it for interest to those moneyless idiots I mentioned a while back..  Open up my very own multinational financiers angency for the war-impoverished.  From which I'll make more money by interest, of course.  Which in turn shall allow me to lend more."

"People care more about money, about prosperity, than borders.  Those idiots would sell their souls for riches, rather than actually have to work for them.  They deserve what they get."

" And that, Rousseau, will put me outside of imaginary political lines and frail democratic systems.  I'll have political influnce on basis of mass economic control alone.  Sytematically taking power over an empire's portion of the economy can do wonders for one's influnce.  Not to mention the people that shall be in debt to me, under my control..."

"Power beyond borders, beyond government... nobody's tried it before.  They won't know what hit them by the time my... "Institution" is one or two years old."

"Hmph.  The public will love me.  Relieving them of their post-war monetary burdens as governments are too busy rising from the ashes to care for them.  And the ones who default on loans shall be stigmatized as irresponsible.  Not that I won't have any opposition, of course.  But it won't matter this way."

"I don't know when I thought of it.  When I realized that I was fighting for a title made up by some forgotten ruler, I suppose.  "Mayor of Muse".  Someone had to make the job and their own power.  And why should I have to fight over publicly mandated scraps? The public is moronic."

"So, Rousseau.. do you still want to mock me?  If this works - which it will - I'll be the most independantly powerful "ruler" on the continent.  No people to look after other than competent employees, and no borders to fear.  Regardless of war, I'll be the force that these poor, easily led idiots need... without even actually having to lead them.  Dictator of the marketplace, a ruler in everything but name."

"I'm afraid, however, that you'll have to work with me now. "

Well....

That hadn't exactly been what she was expecting.

Damn.

Wait a second....

"Work with you?  Are you mad?" Maddy yelped.

"No," Jess almost snorted, voice hoarse after his impromptu little speech.  Or gloat.  Or plea.  Of whatever the hell his deranged mind thought that it was making.  "You know the Plan.  I can't let you disclose that, so I'm asking you to work with me.  I could pay you off, but you'll understand if I don't trust you at that.   Thank you, however, for the book back. "

Madeleine suddenly registered that he had liberated the tome from limp, weary, and rather bony hands.

Damn..

Damn, damn, damn....  but she still had one more card to play.

"Why the hell shouldn't I tell the world?  Revenge is sweet, Jesse-boy..."

"Because if you came here, you obviously have no place else to go.  Muse isn't you home, and Rockaxe is... unsuitable.  Where else is a woman like you ging to survive during wartime wihout some Sugar Mommy like Orleen, or whatever her name was.  And if given any hlaf-reasonable alternative I'm fairly certain I'd not be your first choice of people to flee to. "

"Oulan," the woman grated, knuckes going white on one of the rooms only two chairs.  It was, upon observation, a middling comfortable little confection of pine.  "And I could..."

"Come off it.  There's no place else for you to be.  Nothing else for you to do.  You're lucky..." she could swear that he was attempting to mock her under that bastardly facade of calm.  Dammit. " Lucky that I think you're competent enough to work with me on this. "

Those last words stuck in his throat.  It made her feel better... not much, but a little.

Realizing that he was right always had that kind of depressing effect on Maddy.  But he was right.  Survival.  Madeleine Rousseau survived everything.  Thre must be some kind of sadistic guardian angel looking over her.  Bastard.  He was probably friends with Jess.

"Fine.  Whatever.  Deal."

"What?"  he obviously hadn't expected her to take him up on his offer.  Not that betraying him was still out of the question, but it was always a good strategem to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.  Particularily when distance meant running back to a doomed city with no career prospects, a lover she'd rather not think about, and her tail between her legs.

Sometimes it pained Maddy to not be as goddamn stupid as Jess thought she was.

" I said deal.  I'll help you. Be your 'right hand man' or whatever the hell you want me to do.  Do I need to spell it for you in big block letters? " the corners of Madeleine's lips drifted upwards of their own violation. "We're going to be the vultures on the carcass of this war, and you get to be Lord of Rats.  Blah blah blah, melodramatics....  Do we understand now?  Shall I spell it for you sloooow-leeeee?"

" ..... Don't bother."

Birds chirped.

The clock ticked on.

Breath beat in time.

The breeze made a kamikaze pass at brick walls.

Linen curtains ruffled.

Somewhere, someone's dog was barking.

And the clock completed a revolution as seconds wore away, and two sets of eyes lay at a loss.  The whitewash within Jess's apartment had, apparently, become utterly and completely fascinating.  What were was one supposed to say after a confrontation like that, anyways?

"So... is this where the whole evil laughter bit comes in?"

Jess shrugged, " I suppose.  It's cheaper than going for coffee."