Chapter Text
What a wreck the day has been. When that maid came to the Rust Syndicate with a personal invitation for only its two top members, the last thing either of them had in mind was… Well, most everything that transpired outside of the battling, really. What a train wreck the tournament wound up being- first those Team MZ brats arrive late, and then they have the gall to walk out before the tournament even begins? Though to be fair, had he the choice, Corbeau would have- and should have- done the same. Instead, Taunnie and Paxton left the rest of the party to experience the absolute “delight” of the “Jacinthe Zone.” All his plans and scheduling for the day had been utterly derailed. It was only after the two came back long after the sun had set, utterly disheveled and battered, did things finally proceed.
To Jacinthe’s credit she at least had fantastic taste in fine wines and champagnes. More impressively so, there was never a shortage of hors d'oeuvres. Especially considering just how much some of the guests had managed to scarf down between shallow conversations and platitudes to kill the time. In any other circumstance Corbeau would have chastised Philippe’s lack of manners in eating so many of the bite sized offerings, but as the brunch affair stretched into an entire day of imprisonment he ultimately cannot blame the man for needing to eat. Agitation and nerves kept Corbeau from doing the same, only eating just as much as he needed to keep the hunger pangs and fatigue at bay. The wine at least subdued him enough to hide his frustrations behind his usual glare, even if it had left him just slightly more inebriated than he would have liked when it came time for his battles. Not to mention Lysandre’s surprise intrusion; he’d have to dwell upon the man’s ominous warning later.
Once the tournament was finally over, Corbeau made sure to waste no time in giving terse goodbyes out of social obligation. Much to his own surprise, Philippe even struggled somewhat to keep up with his boss’ speed walking out of the hotel and straight to the valet pickup where a sleek black car had been pulled up. Settling on an awkward pace between a power walk and a jog, he had barely managed to beat Corbeau to the car with enough time to have the door opened for his boss to take his seat in the back of the vehicle. As the admin of the Rust Syndicate, Philippe wears many hats in service to his boss- including chauffeuring. He tips the valet well before taking his seat behind the wheel, pulling the car through the lot and down the street before stopping in a parallel park before the corner.
“Would you like me to take you home, sir?”
Philippe uses the rear view mirror to look at Corbeau as he mounts his Rotom phone to the dash of the car, already starting to pull up the address. Though he should have expected it, the immediate shake of his boss’ head stops him dead in his tracks.
“No, no. Take me to the office. I need to at least see what has been rescheduled for tomorrow… Ugh… I cannot believe we spent, what,” Corbeau pauses to pull up his sleeve and glance down at his watch, “Over twelve hours trapped in that room? Are you kidding me?” His eye twitches, his anger and exasperation over the situation clear as day. There’s no use getting so worked up over it right now. Corbeau takes a deep breath to find his center once more.
“To the office it is, then. Do you want me to call the office and have anything prepared for you while we return?” Philippe switches the GPS to direct him to the office before switching over to a list of contacts, his finger hovering over the number for the building’s reception line. “You’ve hardly eaten all day, I could send someone to get you a proper meal, or some coffee to perk you up. Just say the word.” While he may not always be the sharpest knife in the cabinet, he can at least pride himself on the quality of his service to Corbeau, always knowing just what the man needs…
“That won’t be necessary, Philippe.”
… Even if Corbeau may reject those needs, more often than not. Philippe nods and swipes over his phone one last time to the navigational screen, and double checks the placement of the side mirrors briefly before pulling back into the street to begin the drive back to the Rust Syndicate office.
While no further words were shared on the ride back to the office, Philippe would catch glances of Corbeau in the rear view mirror. His boss looked exhausted, and yet still so tense. Behind the blackout tint of the car’s windows, Corbeau could let his head tilt back against the leather cushion of the bench style seat as he finally rested his eyes. Nearing midnight there are few cars on the road, and fewer pedestrians out and about. Most trainers have flocked to the battle zone while the rest of the city sleeps, making for a thankfully smooth drive.
“We’re nearly there, just about five minutes away.”
No response.
“… Boss?”
Still nothing.
Philippe stops at the intersection for the light and takes the chance to turn, looking back to check up on Corbeau. The poor man has fallen asleep. Though still sitting up straight, Corbeau’s head tilts to the side and rests upon his right shoulder. Even in his sleep, Corbeau hardly looks at rest. His lips are pulled back into a thin line and his jaw is clenched tight. His thin brows are furrowed, and the harsh yellow lighting of the street lamps only darken the shadows of the wrinkles across his forehead. Philippe returns his attention to the road ahead as the light finally changes. His fingers flex around the lacquered wood of the steering wheel as he thinks carefully on how to approach the situation. He knows how much Corbeau loathes being caught in such vulnerable positions like this, regardless of who witnesses such rare moments. Though… It is good to know that Corbeau trusts him enough to let his guard down like this.
He clears his throat softly, just loud enough for Corbeau to flinch and be pulled from his slumber. Pretending to have not seen anything, Philippe stares ahead at the road, flat out refusing to make eye contact with the reflection of his boss’ narrowed eyes for his own sake. He rounds the final corner and pulls up to a gated entrance at the backside of the Rust Syndicate office. He reaches up to click on a fob clipped to the overhead visor, and the gate opens automatically.
“We’re back, boss. Allow me to escort you to your office once we’re parked. If you’d have me dismissed afterwards, just know I am a call away when you are ready to leave.”
“Thank you, Philippe. You’re welcome to have a seat in the office while I get things sorted. I shouldn’t be too long. I insist you have a well deserved break, relax a little on one of the couches, or get yourself some coffee, whatever you do once I am settled, I really do not care right now.”
Admittedly Corbeau greatly enjoys Philippe’s company. He has many enemies, and while he can more than easily fend for himself, having Philippe at his side as his body guard gives him an extra sense of security. While he knows regardless of the freedom of choice Philippe will stay loyally at his side, he does feel slightly guilty that Philippe has been on duty for so many hours straight even if most of that time was spent socializing among company he seemed to enjoy. Philippe really seemed to take a shine to the young man who insisted he come to his dojo at some time for sparring. He’ll have to reach out sometime to the Fist of Justice, perhaps see if they are in need of any renovations or improved training equipment in exchange for training services. Surely learning how to properly fight and battle would do many of the grunts good, at least.
The gated passageway leads down to an underground garage lit up by bright fluorescent lighting. It’s spacious, housing multiple cars- most of them classic, all of them some form of luxury brand, each one of them kept cleaned and pristine enough to be showroom ready. Carefully, Philippe pulls into the car’s designated spot and puts the vehicle in park before pocketing the keys and his phone. He then exits the vehicle and circles around to the rear of the car, opening the door and offering Corbeau his hand. His boss less holds onto his hand and more uses his palm as a platform to push against as he rises from his seat. The smaller man’s neck pops loudly enough to echo off of the concrete walls as he tilts his head to each side, and he winces as he stretches his arms above his head, his back sore from standing around for so much of the day.
“Is everything alright boss?”
Philippe’s brows furrow as he looks down at Corbeau with concern. The smaller man simply waves him off and leads the way to the elevator.
“I’ll be fine. I’m just… A little bit sore from the day, is all. You don’t need to worry about me.”
That’s a task certainly easier said than done. As much as he respects Corbeau’s prowess in battle and strengths in intelligence, he can’t help but feel that physically… Quite frankly the man is rather fragile. So much smaller than himself, more delicate, not once has he seen Corbeau raise a fist at someone- let alone get into a physical altercation himself. He knows Corbeau would not win in a brawl, he had tried for years to pummel him personally once upon a time. Each and every time he had been outwitted, outmaneuvered, and out battled even with a very obvious type disadvantage in a clash between poison and steel. As the years have passed and he has only seen Corbeau claw his way to the top, he’s grown rather fond of those traits.
He’s also noticed how the stress of their “unique” line of work will at times leave Corbeau looking wilted at the end of the day, mentally and physically drained of energy surely beyond what could be considered healthy. In spite of this fact, Corbeau’s own pride and workaholic habits refuse to let himself slow down and relax much to Philippe’s disapproval.
Finally back in the comfort of his own office, Corbeau makes a beeline straight to his desk, nearly flying into the plush velvet of his office chair. There’s no time to pursue any creature comforts, however. Corbeau wastes no time in opening the laptop upon his desk, clicking away on the keyboard as he logs in and navigates to his scheduling program. The amount of red that eats at the day’s block for missed business and appointments is an aggravating sight to say the least. He sighs as he begins to review his scheduling, finding each rescheduled item and trying to search for any spaces between plans to squeeze them into to catch up as quickly as possible.
Philippe in the meanwhile takes a seat as he had been invited to, settling into the couch and letting his body finally drop the tension and posture his work demands of him. He sits facing Corbeau from across the office space, but takes the soft dismissal he had been given as a chance to check through any messages waiting for him on his phone. While Corbeau does the technical and civil work, Philippe leads the dirtier business, commanding grunts more directly with assignments and tasks given to him by his boss first. Thankfully it seems everyone managed to keep it together today, for the most part. One of the “volunteer” groups charged with taking care of an alpha Fletchinder terrorizing a park got properly thrashed, if the string of increasingly less coherent and more panicked messages is anything to go by. Maybe if they focused on actually handling the situation rather than live messaging the entire ordeal things would have gone smoother, but that’s something to address tomorrow. As far as he’s concerned, he’s off the clock for grunt wrangling.
“Damn that tournament… Completely ruining my day, now I need to double book the next three days to make up for it, ugh… Maybe I could move this- no, that won’t work…”
Corbeau’s muttering catches Philippe’s attention enough for him to tune into the frustrated rambling, though he sticks to staring and scrolling through his phone so not to give it away to Corbeau that he’s paying attention to the other speaking to himself.
“Those Team MZ kids couldn’t have possibly gotten their business handled any faster, could they? And the audacity of that woman to trap us all like that- I ought to teach her a lesson in ruining the plans and affairs of others for her own vanity… Though the less I have to deal with the SBC, the better. It’d be wise of them to avoid involving myself in their invitations for a long while.”
The frustrated clicking of keys and buttons ceases as Corbeau sighs and props his elbow upon his desk, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He’d have an easier time if he let the secretaries simply handle all of the scheduling, and for the most part they do, but Corbeau is a very particular type of person, who likes things scheduled in very particular ways. Disturbances to such scheduling like this throws all of that out the window. He grinds his teeth as he mulls over the screen, hardly even realizing how worked up he has become.
It’s nearing one in the morning by the time Philippe has decided Corbeau has had enough time to stress and fret over scheduling. He rises from his seat and steps behind his boss, placing a hand over the back of the desk chair.
“With all due respect it’s getting real late boss, it’s almost one, and you got yourself all worked up and stressed over this when you can work on it in the morning. Don’t you got an appointment starting at eight tomorrow?”
Corbeau turns to shoot a harsh glare up at Philippe for daring to try and tell him what to do, but when he meets the man’s eyes he quickly realizes just how sincere his admin is being. Philippe doesn’t look tired or frustrated with being kept so late, nor did the tone of his voice imply that. Instead he seems concerned.
“I know how you like things done well enough by now, if it’s really that important I can look it over for you and give you a draft of a new schedule in the morning for your approval. You should rest. Let me drive you home. Please, sir.”
Oh he wants so badly to be mad over even the slightest insinuation that he’s being coddled with Philippe insisting he puts his work down to go home and sleep. His patience is already beyond paper thin, and it is so very tempting to take his tension and just lash out, but… Philippe is his most loyal subordinate- his right hand man, even. He knows that Philippe is right and is only looking out for what’s best for him. Corbeau’s glare breaks into a defeated look, his shoulders dropping from the tense hunch he had been developing over the last hour or so.
“I-… You’re right, it is late. I’m exhausted and stressed and still so wound up and spent… I feel like a wreck, and I’m sure I’ll look it tomorrow, too. I just don’t think I can get any sleep until this mess is sorted. We missed some very important client meetings today- I’m talking some big lending, the kind other loan Sharpedos would kill a man over. I don’t want to lose those clients and have them go elsewhere- Arceus forbid somewhere worse, for that matter.”
It’s a valid concern. Despite the Rust Syndicate’s reputation, the intimidation is merely a front, and the violence is only from absolute necessity either in defending territory from other upstart gangs, or for teaching only the most dire lessons with the most dire consequences. Everything they do on paper is technically legal under contractual obligation, and while crushing debt is no light matter, Corbeau mercifully offers an out through working to pay off the debt. It’s not the most glamorous grunt work, but ultimately it’s for the improvement of Lumiose city, and the benefit of the people. The shady activity is merely a means to a noble end goal. Some even choose to stay with the Syndicate long after their debts are paid.
Philippe understands Corbeau’s point of view- hell, if he were in the same position he would not be remotely as kind or noble. He’d be the very type of gang leader that Corbeau simply resents- in it for just the money regardless of the well being of others. Under the layers of venom and vitriol, Corbeau is a good man, a much better man than he is for sure. Years of working with him have only cultivated a fondness for his determination to better the city by any means possible. Perhaps even something of a fondness for Corbeau himself, though he couldn’t dare address that in risk of their professional relationship, could he?