Final Preparations

[JonathanMercer]

"The wedding planner is here."

The voice spoke quietly in Jonathan's ear, the shape of his earpiece ensuring that the sound came to him alone.  Charles W. Ainsworth IV, who had just settled at his desk in the study overlooking the ocean and its boundless horizon, heard nothing but the creak of his own chair as he pulled himself closer to the desk, the quiet murmur of a drawer on its slides as he pulled it open and fetched out a few sheets of paper.

Jonathan stood behind his employer so that Ainsworth had no obstruction to his panoramic view.  The security expert himself was silent, his hands crossed before him, holding the plain folder that carried the schedules for the days leading up to the wedding.  The wedding planner was seven minutes early, a mark of professionalism that Jonathan appreciated.  The synopsis of the planner's background check was tucked immediately behind the day's schedule, as were the details on everyone else who would be meeting with the groom-to-be that day.  The planner had certainly made for some interesting reading: an avant-guarde fellow whose bold artistic flair was on the cutting edge of fashion; a man whose audacious and non-traditional preferences had led to a number of  questionable choices that would have concerned Jonathan if he had been looking into the fellow as a possible consort for his daughter, but hadn't overly concerned him as far as his potential to be a security risk.  The man was simply high fashion in its current iteration, and that made him the obvious choice for a bride and groom whose wedding was to be the event of the season.

Jonathan stood motionless, only his eyes moving to follow Ainsworth's movements as he arranged the blank sheets before him in preparation for another round of pre-wedding correspondence.  It wasn't until the papers had been properly situated and Ainsworth was reaching for his pen that Jonathan replied "Understood" to the men who listened on the other end of the line – a pause of several seconds that would be utterly unremarkable to the security personnel who never knew when their intel might be interrupting some conversation on the other end of the line. "Send Wallace in."

Before Ainsworth could put pen to paper, Jonathan stepped forward to stand next to the desk. "Sir, the wedding planner is waiting for you in the conservatory.  Wallace will escort you there and I'll join you after I've received the mail" - an innocuous phrase that covered the various security protocols involved in making sure that anything potentially harmful was intercepted and neutralized before it could reach its potential targets – "And Miss Whitestone's bridesmaids have all confirmed that they will be attending the afternoon's tea."  He delivered the information, polite to a fault, and waited stoically for Mr. Ainsworth's answer.

[Lomari]

Bang!

The doors burst open and in waltzed a living ray of sunlight, all tight clothing, big hair, glimmering jewels, high heels and ivory smiles. Behind the glowing orb of light, a much more serious looking man attempted to hide a grimace as he was pushed aside by the power of her aura alone, blonde curls of perfection whipped back in his face.

"Daaaaaarling! That cutie pie wedding planner is here!" Sherrie exclaimed in a high pitched but strangely musical voice, red lips forming each word as though savoring the taste of them. She spoke loudly, clearly used to commanding the attention of everyone within a ten-mile radius. Her tight black dress clung closely to the curves of her body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Artificially curled blonde locks bounced around her shoulders as she walked, creating her own wind in her hair as she moved into the room. The giant diamond upon her left hand glimmered in any light present, seeming to pull light out of nowhere when the room was too dim. By the way she waved her hands as she spoke, it was clear that she was quite proud of this accessory.

Heels clicked rhythmically as the woman made her way toward her intended, flashing all present a million-dollar smile. "Pookums, no more work," she pouted, puckering her lips and tucking her chin toward the expanse of her impressive cleavage. It was time to spend his attention and money on her now, after all, and not on...well...she wasn't entirely sure what it was he did specifically but 'business' seemed to cover it just fine in her mind. As she neared his desk, her hands stretched out toward him, expecting him to take her bedazzled hands in his and submit to her puppy dog eyes. She was quite good at them, you see. The other man in the room was spared only a passing glance. For all she cared, he could have been a lamp.

[RUNE]

"Tea." Ainsworth spit the word out as if nothing more bitter existed in the entire 'Verse. "Oh, there'll be tea alright, Jonny Boy. But more importantly there'll be gossip, candor, and earnest discussion of how best to spend my riches once the deed's done. Still, with a pigu like that I reckon it's worth it. Wouldn't you? Don't answer that. And if you're busy I suppose Wallace will have to do, though I remember a time I used to be your boss."

Ainsworth's expression soured into a deep scowl as he poured over the correspondence sheets spread across his fine maple desk. The encrypted, electronic data parchment flickered beneath his bejeweled right hand briefly as his left drew a gilded stylus across another sheet as he reminded an associate on Persephone how protective most people are about their kneecaps. The thin, liver-spotted hand lifted the sheet behind Charles' head toward Mercer. "Get that looked at. Might be a glitch, might not. I won't have those nāozhǒng in the Moda Tong trying anything to ruin my happy day. Not my fault they don't know how to do business. Heh. Let's just hope their 'product' holds up on my wedding night. You follow? Nevermind. If not, at least I'll get to go out with a-"

Bang!

"Daaaaaarling! That cutie pie wedding planner is here!"

Charles looked up with a barely hidden grimace to see who dared burst into his chambers so presumptuously. Of course, it had to be his fiance Sherrie. Who else would be audacious enough to interrupt his work, let alone with that warble in her tone as if she meant to sing every word out of her mouth.

"Pookums, no more work," Sherrie pouted, but Charles' eyes stared lustily at her abundant and expensive breasts. He imagined getting himself lost between them, wondering if he could convince her to engage in a little pre-marital rǔjiāo. Maybe then he could get her that zhēnzhū xiàngliàn she always wanted. Ainsworth's eyes shined brighter than in nearly a decade previous as he beamed a smile nearly as radiant and artificial as his bride-to-be. "Well now, my dear. What is it you have in mind, hmm?"

[JonathanMercer]

His expression the blank slate of professionalism, Jonathan listened to his employer's complaints in dead silence, knowing Ainsworth wasn't interested in any response that wasn't a 'yes, sir.'  The elderly man was an emotional toddler, using his displeasure to punish those around him.  Jonathan had lived through four toddlers, and he had actually cared what those four had thought about him.  Ainsworth's irritation passed over him without eliciting a response other than the expected, "Sir."

"Get that looked at. Might be a glitch, might not. I won't have those nāozhǒng in the Moda Tong trying anything to ruin my happy day."

"Right away, sir." Jonathan took the proffered piece of paper and scanned it quickly as the octogenarian rambled on, forming a mental to-do list from its contents that was interrupted when his earpiece buzzed with the voice of one of his men.

"Miss Whitestone..."

The rest of the announcement was cut off by the office door banging open.  Jonathan looked over to see the glowing, golden form of Ainsworth's fiance strut into the room, then his eyes flicked behind her to where the agent assigned to guarantee the lady's safety was hurrying to keep up with his charge.  Jonathan caught the man's eye and raised his brow ever so slightly, and the man's face grew a hue more red knowing that his announcement of Miss Whitestone's arrival ought to have preceded her entry.  He was new; the first man hired for the job had quickly found himself a better offer elsewhere, the second had been fit and handsome and Mr. Ainsworth had quickly decided he didn't want the young Adonis accompanying his intended everywhere, the third had been a woman who'd served in the war and then spent time with the federal marshals, and Miss Whitestone had disliked her from the start.  Robert Abrami was the next up to bat, with his appearance on the balding side of average he was a natural at blending in with the background, and thus far no one had noticed him enough to object to his presence.  He'd been on the job three days, and Jonathan didn't blame him too much for his lapse in protocol; Miss Whitestone was a force of nature and took some getting used to.

Wallace followed Abrami in and they took up position on either side of the door.  Jonathan tucked the note from his employer into his folder and stepped back from the desk to give the walking sunbeam the space she needed.  He resumed his imitation of a lamp as Ainsworth and his intended played out their scene, too cloying to be sweet.  The bodyguard was certain there was no love lost between the two; love being a selfless thing, he was sure Ainsworth wouldn't want it if it were offered.  Instead, they had a facsimile gaudy and bright enough to camouflage the truth that they were really two vampires sucking each other dry.

[Lomari]

"Well now, my dear. What is it you have in mind, hmm?" Ainsworth asked.

Sherrie giggled and set her bedazzled hand over her cleavage, fingers splayed in such a way that she hid absolutely none of it, "Oh sugar bear, not here," she countered, pulling up a maidenly blush on cue, twittering on dimwittedly, and playfully slapping her other hand against his chest. She made a big show of leaning away from his affections while simultaneously pressing her hips closer and closer to his, exaggerating the arch in her spine to almost artistic levels.

"We have to meet the wedding planer, snookums! And then my bridesmaids are coming for tea, remember, honey lamb? You said you wanted to meet my friends," she reminded him, moving closer and coiling around his arm like a glimmering snake. She pulled gently at her intended, leading him out of the room and pressing her chest against him purposefully. As she walked, she swayed her hips, ensuring that every step bumped the side of one of them against her honey's, her gaze locked upon his face in what looked like absolute endearment.

[RUNE]

As Sherrie's hips brushed up against his own, Charles's expression displayed his growing interest. Were he a younger man, something else might be growing as well. Fortunately, he kept an expert physician on hand to assist him in such manners.

"Then lead the way my dear!" Ainsworth leered, watching Sherrie's bottom swish back and forth before him as he followed her toward the door of the room. "I can catch up with my busy work later. I trust Mister Mercer can see to his tasks without my supervision. Oh, and Jonny Boy - make sure you get fitted for something really nice for the wedding. I've decided to give you the honor of a seat at our table. Heh. We're practically family now, after all." Ainsworth's smirk bordered on a sneer as he left the room with a wave that conveyed less of a "see you later" and more of a "good riddance."

[JonathanMercer]

As Sherrie began pulling Ainsworth toward the door, Abrami hurried out in the hall, determined not to flub protocol this time.  He stepped outside and,

"The couple is headed to the conservatory,"

buzzed into earpieces around the house.

"I can catch up with my busy work later. I trust Mister Mercer can see to his tasks without my supervision. Oh, and Jonny Boy - make sure you get fitted for something really nice for the wedding. I've decided to give you the honor of a seat at our table. Heh. We're practically family now, after all."

Ainsworth's comment about family set Jonathan's blood to boiling, but none of his perturbation made it to the surface. "Yes, sir," he replied meticulously, reminding himself what it was Ainsworth was doing.  It was animal behavior; the alpha dog goading a subordinate to make sure the hierarchy was still in place.  A beta willing to entertain ideas of knocking the alpha out of his place might growl or bristle; warn that there were limits to what the alpha could get away with without repercussions.  A dog totally off the reservation might snap or bite, even go for the jugular if pushed too far.  A good dog, a cowed dog would smile and wag its tail and take what it was given.

Humans, though, humans had choice.  Jonathan boxed up his roiling ball of fury and stood stoically, properly, letting Ainsworth have his petty victory, until Wallace had followed the couple out and shut the door behind them.

When he'd been hired, Jonathan had reviewed and modified security for the room.  Cameras watched all potential points of entrance and egress but Ainsworth's personal space - the desk where his private business would be conducted, where secrets would be displayed and then hidden again - sat in the center of the perimeter of security, protected by, but shielded from all the watchful eyes.  Still, Jonathan maintained his composure.  He stepped up to the desk, pulled a tissue from its box, and carefully took ahold of the papers on the bottom of the stack Ainsworth had left on his desk.  He lifted them up, simultaneously sliding the top three blank pages, the ones that Ainsworth had touched the most in his writing, off onto the desk, where they landed under the cover of the note Ainsworth had handed his security chief.  Jonathan filed the stack of papers back in the proper drawer – such a good, conscientious butler – and then used the tissue to lift the papers left on the desk and tuck them in the very back of his folder.

Oh, yes, humans had choice...

He crumpled the tissue and tossed it into the waste basket, then strode out of the room.  Once in the back halls of the expansive mansion, the servant's passages that Ainsworth would never diminish himself to enter, Mercer's demeanor changed noticeably.  Instead of a stolid chunk of blank slate, he became confident, commanding, even – even friendly.  He smiled and nodded at the few people he passed.  He took a stairwell down, out of the heated perimeter of the house and into the more maintenance-oriented levels.  A right turn and he'd made it to the mail room – a small, chilly office with a large door into the open hangar where the mail shuttle could park and offload its deliveries. 

"Good morning, Emily, how's Gracie doing?" Jonathan asked the polite, young secretary at the desk near the mail room door, noting with a pleased smile that she wore the scarf he'd knitted her.  He listened to her latest story about her precocious 5-year-old as he grabbed a pair of latex gloves from a box on the desk and pulled them on.  He chuckled as Emily brought her story to a close.  "Sounds like she's taking after her mother," he complimented, then headed out to the hanger.

"Miguel.  Alice," he nodded a congenial greeting to the two security personnel who ran the mail room, then strode over to the shuttle pilot and shook the mailman's hand with a cheerful smile.  "Gabe, good to see you!  What have you got for us today?"  Jonathan flipped open his folder and pulled out the sheet of paper that held a list of all the packages expected to come in that day.  Granted, with the wedding fast approaching, there would start to be an increasing number of unanticipated packages, but the security chief preferred to limit risk by being able to identify potentially risky packages as soon as possible.  Of course, it would help if either Ainsworth or Whitestone were better about informing him of what they'd ordered on a consistent basis...

[RUNE]

Gabe lost himself in looking overlong at the way Alice filled out her uniform until Mercer stepped through the door, then went about the shaky process of shuffling papers and pretending to be extremely busy. The mailman's assignment to the Ainsworth Estate brought little action, as he'd been bribed long ago and continued to receive kickbacks from the Master of the House for making neither notation of nor inquisition into the nature of the number of shipments bearing no officially documented postage information that came into the estate. Still, Master Ainsworth didn't care for having any layabouts on his payroll and Gabe knew the head of security reported directly to the boss. The postman's spine stiffened as Mercer approached the counter. Gabe made to offer an awkward salute before remembering what he was doing and returning Mercer's welcoming gesture of a handshake.

"Gabe, good to see you!  What have you got for us today?"

"Pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Mercer! The post remains awful busy as ever, of course. Reckon we'll all breathe a little easier once the wedding's over. Er, not that I'm not looking forward to the event of course! Or, that I'm not grateful for the work you know. Ha, ha. Ah. Right. Well, here's the invoice for today's deliveries. Everything's accounted for, sure. but I'm just waiting for the groundskeepers to come along and wrangle up all the livestock for Master Ainsworth's next hunting excursion before I get to making my own deliveries. And I'm still keeping an eye out for the peacocks. They were supposed to arrive yesterday but appear to be running a bit behind schedule. Oh! And there's something here for you as well. No return address, though. I can run it through the scanner if you like."

Gabe offered a flat, muppet smile beneath his pushbroom mustache, increasingly aware of the amount of sweat forming on the white shirt beneath his arms.

[JonathanMercer]

"Pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Mercer! The post remains awful busy as ever, of course. Reckon we'll all breathe a little easier once the wedding's over. Er, not that I'm not looking forward to the event of course! Or, that I'm not grateful for the work you know. Ha, ha. Ah. Right. Well, here's the invoice for today's deliveries. Everything's accounted for, sure. but I'm just waiting for the groundskeepers to come along and wrangle up all the livestock for Master Ainsworth's next hunting excursion before I get to making my own deliveries. And I'm still keeping an eye out for the peacocks.

"Peacocks?"  Jonathan's amiable expression went instantly deadpan, and he began flipping through the papers in his folder as he listened to Gabe continue.  Of course the happy couple would make a last minute order for peacocks and not let him know.  Of course.

"Oh! And there's something here for you as well. No return address, though. I can run it through the scanner if you like."

"Of course," Jonathan murmured, seeming to only half listen to Gabe, still sorting through his shipping lists in case the peacocks were there and he'd just accidentally overlooked them.  Miguel took the package and ran it through the scanner while Mercer called Wallace on his earpiece for confirmation on the birds.  By the time he'd gotten the info he needed, his package was cleared - the scan's shapes suggestive of several skeins of yarn and a large, thick book - probably a catalogue.  "The groundskeeper will be taking charge of the peacocks when he arrives," Jonathan informed the room as he picked up his box.  "Same security procedure as the other animals."

The mail taken care of, Mercer headed back into the complex, this time heading down to the security suite.  He touched a thumb to a pad on the wall, then passed through a door and down a short flight of stairs into a hallway.  Two doors marked the wall to the right - another hall branched off to the left.  Jonathan passed the side hall without slowing, though his face dropped into an angry scowl.  The single door at the end of that hallway opened into Ainsworth's safe room, the place where the aging mogul could run for safety, and the place that held his most valuable possessions.  In that room was a little black book - one that Jonathan had only ever seen in passing; the thing that contained the information Jonathan needed to get out from under Ainsworth's thumb.  The room - the entire hallway, in fact, was secure though, with technology Jonathan didn't have the expertise to crack.  Sensors would note anyone approaching the room, and given that Jonathan's biological markers were programmed into the estate's security banks, if he even approached that door, Ainsworth would know.  He needed that book, but he couldn't be the one to get it.

Mercer keyed the thumb pad at the door at the far end of the hall, permitting him entrance to his personal office.  He let the door swing shut behind him, grabbed a letter opener off his desk and slit open the package while he settled into his chair.  Sure enough, there were four skeins of yarn, which he pitched into a basket.  At the bottom of the box was a large catalog, bound more like a book than a magazine, advertising the finest selection of yarns a hobbiest could desire.  Jonathan twirled the letter opener between his fingers, then delicately sliced off the back cover of the magazine.  He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and with a pair of tweezers, separated the edges of the back cover, revealing a pocket containing four sheets of paper.

Again with the tweezers, Jonathan pulled out the papers and laid them out on the desk.  Indeed, as a hobbiest, Jonathan spared no expense.  The papers with Ainsworth's fingerprints that he'd been collecting over his time on this security detail had been going to the finest forger in the business, and Jonathan scanned over the messages that were written, to all appearances, by the old man's own hand.  They continued a saga begun with previous purchases, the records of an old man growing older and more bitter by the day, one whose illicitly obtained heart could give out at any moment, one who knew that there wasn't a soul in the entire verse who gave a damn about him, one whose entire fortune could at any moment be frozen by the Feds if they happened to get proof of his entanglements with organized crime.  It was the confessions of a man who feared and loathed death, yet secretly was beginning to yearn for it more and more.

The first few letters had been destroyed; the forger had written the diary of a sympathetic man, someone no one who knew Ainsworth would believe for a second.  These latest pages were masterpieces, however.  There was a little sympathy for Miss Whitestone, and more importantly the commitment to secure her access to his fortune, even in the event of his demise.  There was fury at news that his listless grandson had sired yet another bastard whose mother had to be paid off...  Jonathan clenched his hands into fists, the fury boiling up in him at the memory of that overheard conversation.  Yet another grandchild tossed aside like garbage while the horrid old man kept Jonathan's grandson as a tool in his back pocket.  He would snap the old man's neck himself, if he could.

But he couldn't.  Not yet at least.  Not until he had that little black book.  Several deep breaths and he was able to tuck his anger away once more.  The pages were placed carefully in a leather briefcase, which was locked and tucked away in a drawer.  If those pages were ever switched with that little black book, then Jonathan would have the information he needed to protect his daughter and grandson, and Ainsworth's heirs would have enough information to persuade them the head of their family hadn't been murdered - or at least persuade them they didn't want to investigate enough to risk the complications that would arise if they did...

Jonathan pulled the order sheet out from the catalog and logged into the cortex.  An order was sent out.  The person who received it would know what it meant; the item numbers for the various yarns ordered would add together to form the address of a secured, encrypted website, the quantity of each item ordered would be placed together in front of the total cost for the order to make the password needed to access the site.  The forger would thus be able to receive the second half of his payment.  Ordinarily, the site would also have the request for the next job, but if everything went the way Jonathan was hoping, after tomorrow, he would never need those services again.

A buzz on his earpiece drew his attention.  It was Wallace, informing him that someone had snuck into the estate with the girls for the bachelorette party.  There was a chance she was here from the Moda Tong, though there was also the chance that she was some party girl who thought she deserved to go to a party whether she was invited or not.  "Bring her to my office," he instructed, wondering who it was he was about to meet.

[Jesse Walker]

It had been some time since Jesse had left the Allure.  Her tenure there wasn't long, or profitable unfortunately. With a need to get back into the business of scamming rich folks out of their cash she headed to one of the largest cash cows in the universe, Bellerophon.  Estates as far as the eye could see, with hackable networks and personal information and money lying around for the steal.  It made sense after all.  So when she landed Jesse tried to determine the best way into one of these places. She wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion, and her 'fancy speak' wasn't on par with some of these socialites. But she did speak drunk girl very well. 

Jesse had found a very loud an enthusiastic group of women stumbling their way around.  They seemed to be moving towards their limo which is where Jesse would find her way in.  Moving casually toward the group of giggling geese and inserted her self with a hair flip and an obnoxiously high pitched laugh that only the dogs could hear.  The group began to move into the limo and Jesse moved towards the center to ensure herself a seat. The women for now were unaware of her presence, even though her attire wasn't in sync with the other drunkards. A bottle of champagne was passed around and made it to her, with a shrug she took a swig and passed it on.  The light  weight in her began to succumb to the festivities as she listened to the different women fawn over the bride to be and her ring, or her dress, or how great the party was going to be.

For some reason the urge over came her to join: "Oh my gosh Melissa you're just going to be so beautiful. Really just the bell of the ball."

The bride looked up at her and squinted uncertain of who was talking to her and smiled, "Thanks Tabatha that was super sweet of you." Who knew drunk women were so easy to confuse.  Jesse took on her new persona with a smile, grabbing another swig or two of the bottle, when they finally came to a stop.  The group left the limo in single file, and a stream of pink manicured, women, with the exception of Jesse, made their way to the estate. At last, some place to steal from. Jesse feeling confident with the help of her new name, friends, and a swig or two of champagne walked forward, until a very large and unfortunate hand came in contact with her arm.

Looking up at the behemoth Jesse giggled and pointed towards the group of geese.  "Dear sir, I'm with them of course..I...I'm Tabatha." The bride stopped and looked back at the security guard, "Yes she's Tabatha let her in." The guard shook his head, obviously he would take a little more convincing.

"Really I'm here for the party,  Martha...I mean, Melissa is getting married. And I'm here to help her celebrate her upcoming nuptials." She had hoped her slip went unnoticed and the "fancy speak" would help her get in.  But it did not.  The guard put his hand to his ear and nodded, two more men came towards her and grabbed her from the other side,

Melissa clearly hearing the misstep became utterly enraged in a matter of seconds, "Who are you, do you even go here." A high pitched scream erupting from her mouth, one might mistake it for a tea pot going off in the kitchen.

Being dragged away Jesse pleaded with the bride, "Melissa please, it was a mistake, I can be Tabatha, I can be whoever you want.  We were going to be best friends. I could feel it in my bones.  We have so much in common. My hair is brown, your hair is brown, were both women.  That's something right? Please Melissa please." The bride scowled at Jesse,

"I'm not the bride, you twit. I'm the Maid of Honor."  With the flick of her hand, the woman dismissed Jesse and turned in a huff towards the estate, while the men carried her away. Hanging her head in despair, the men brought Jesse to some sort of jail presumably, her feet were dragging along the ground while she mourned the loss of her new found friends.

[JonathanMercer]

Jesse was dragged past a secure door, down a staircase, and into a hallway whose plainness was a stark contrast to the luxury of the rest of the estate.  One of the guards broke off and began tapping at a pad next to one door, and the half of the wall that was next to it turned clear, revealing a sterile, white room lit with harsh neon white.  The room held a bed and a cabinet which presumably contained certain facilities necessary for basic hygiene.

Jesse was brought to the end of the hall, to a paneled wooden door more reminiscent of the upper levels.  The guard rapped on the door, and a gruff but cultured voice responded.  "Come in."

The guard opened the door, revealing a small room.  The walls on the far end of the room were lined with sturdy bookshelves, the floor softened by an understated burgundy rug.  Two cushioned chairs sat facing a heavy, mahogany desk with a basket of yarn pierced through with knitting needles to one side.  The man behind the desk wore a tailored suit.  Everything, from the cut of his jacket, to the trim of his hair, to the unyielding expression on his face, advertised 'professional.'

At the knock on the door, Jonathan tapped the button to mute the conversation going on over the security channels.  It seemed there had been some sort of attack on Heraklion.  At the moment, it seemed to be an isolated event and quite distant from Bellerophon, but all the same, Jonathan would need to make a few calls to see what he could learn about the bombings.  Even things that started small could spread...  As the door closed behind the young lady, Jonathan motioned toward one of the chairs, then folded his hands atop the desk.

"It seems we have some confusion to work out, Miss...?"

[Jesse Walker]

Jesse reluctantly made her way into the room, she looked at around the room. It smelled of rich mahogany and had my fine leather bound books. It certainly created an intimidating atmosphere. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen someone so well dressed...except for Elena, that lady was always on point. Jesse made her way towards one of the chairs the man had pointed to and looked at him with what she considered a steely gaze. 

Confidence, you are confident, you are Tabatha, you can totally pull this off.

"It seems we have some confusion to work out, Miss...?"

Jesse straightened her back and tilted her chin upward, she had seen rich people do this before, it seemed like their default position when announcing themselves,

"Tabatha...Tabatha...Wiener..Schnitzel." She hadn't really had time to think of a last name before walking into the room, but that was the first one that had popped into her mind. She was pretty sure that was some kind of food people used to eat, but maybe he wouldn't know. "Yes, I am Tabatha Wiener-Schnitzel of the Wiener-Schnitzel estate.  My father will be very displeased when he learns about how I've been mistreated." Jesse tried to speak as if she was an arrogant heiress, she continued to hold her gaze with the man, seemingly unable to blink. People blink when the lie right? Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink. Tabatha Wiener-Schnitzel would never fear a low class individual.

[JonathanMercer]

Jonathan regarded the young woman who took the chair opposite him and tried to hold onto the hope that she could be here working with the Moda Tong.  The first impression she gave off didn't do much to support the notion, though he knew he shouldn't underestimate someone based on looks alone.  She might be here scouting, or for sabotage, and here alone in this room would be the perfect opportunity for him to set the stage for co-operation on the job...

"Tabatha...Tabatha...Wiener..Schnitzel." She hadn't really had time to think of a last name before walking into the room, but that was the first one that had popped into her mind. She was pretty sure that was some kind of food people used to eat, but maybe he wouldn't know. "Yes, I am Tabatha Wiener-Schnitzel of the Wiener-Schnitzel estate.  My father will be very displeased when he learns about how I've been mistreated."

No.  Not Moda Tong.  It was both a relief and a disappointment and Mercer immediately switched his frame of reference to a new set of expectations.  When the girl gave a name, he pulled up a monitor from his desk and typed in the name, though he was quite certain there was no need.  He watched her as the computer took its few seconds to search for any results on that name, including likely variations on the spelling, and tried not to smile at her unflinching expression.  Her eyes had to be stinging by now...  She could be an aspiring reporter, someone desperate to make their name by contributing to some gossip rag.  Jonathan was certain he'd be kicking out a number of that type over the next 48 hours.  Equally likely was the chance that she was some party girl, thinking she'd found her way in to the ultimate bash.  Of course, he couldn't actually let her off with a stern talking to without investigating the facts.

The computer came up with its predicted lack of results and Jonathan sighed softly, every bit the disappointed grandfather.  "Miss Doe," he said, refusing to grant any dignity to the embarrassment of a name he'd been provided, "We can go through the charade of checking as many aliases as you'd like, but I think we'd both benefit from you being straightforward with me.  As a fully licensed security professional, I have the authority to hold you for forty-eight hours before involving the local authorities.  If you would provide me the proper information to verify your identity, and explain your presence at this estate, we could skip that inconvenience."

[Jesse Walker]

Jesse's eyes were extremely dry at this point, and she finally broke. Attempting to play it off as an overly spastic eye flutter. 

"We can go through the charade of checking as many aliases as you'd like, but I think we'd both benefit from you being straightforward with me.  As a fully licensed security professional, I have the authority to hold you for forty-eight hours before involving the local authorities.  If you would provide me the proper information to verify your identity, and explain your presence at this estate, we could skip that inconvenience."

She squinted at the elderly gentleman and and waited a second or two before deciding what to do.  Exasperated Jesse let out a breath and slouched into the chair. She still didn't want to give away who she was, that would have its own set of ramifications. But she could tell him why she was there...sort of. "So I was party crashing, and maybe some of their stuff would've gone missing along the way. Really would they miss it? Her tiara from her 13th birthday? Please miss priss up there wouldn't miss a damn thing. The rest of us need to eat some how." The truth wasn't that far off, she was going to steal from them...but it wasn't going to be something small like a tiara.

[JonathanMercer]

"So I was party crashing, and maybe some of their stuff would've gone missing along the way. Really would they miss it? Her tiara from her 13th birthday? Please miss priss up there wouldn't miss a damn thing. The rest of us need to eat some how."

Jonathan laced his fingers together, elbows balanced on the arms of his chair as he listened to her story.  The mention of thieving caught his attention more than he let on.  Perhaps... perhaps she was working with the Moda Tong after all.  The fact that she hadn't yet given a name didn't escape his notice, either.  He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, shifting his arms to lay on the desk.  "Well, Miss..."  He let the word trail off, offering the girl a chance to give a name but not seriously expecting one.  "I am going to have to make sure none of our guests is missing anything.  Hopefully, this won't require the involvement of the police and this can be a learning experience." His tone was patient, but his gravelly voice suggested that he would be very put out should he ever find that Miss Doe failed to take the path to an honest life.  "I will need to keep you in custody for the process of the investigation.  I'll have Miss Hitchins bring you lunch." 

Mercer rose, motioning the young lady to the door leading to the holding cells.  If she did happen to be working with the Tong, having her in custody would be an excellent bargaining chip.  It was disappointing not to be able to verify one way or another yet, but real life was rarely convenient.  He'd have someone see if they couldn't come up with any further information on her identity while he went back to his duties.

[Jesse Walker]

Jesse watched his reaction, anticipating his reaction.  She stayed silent as he attempted to get a name out of her, that was one piece of information she would never let slip.

"I am going to have to make sure none of our guests is missing anything.  Hopefully, this won't require the involvement of the police and this can be a learning experience. I will need to keep you in custody for the process of the investigation.  I'll have Miss Hitchins bring you lunch." 

Raising a brow at the idea of lunch, her stomach grumbled for a moment. Sure the police comment made her a smidge nervous, but most cops didn't have the brains to figure out who she was. This guy on the other hand seemed to have the patience and intelligence to wait it out. 

"I could eat." Jesse hoisted her self up out of the seat and went towards the door, presumably to her cell.  At least he was nice enough to feed her.