Up. Up. Up. Up. And still, he looked up. The headquarters of Jaager worldwide were much like many other towering headquarters towers in New York, save for one thing he immediately saw. They were much taller. Hell, they even loomed over Trump tower. Elliott had a feeling the company's CEO felt pretty good about himself. He noted one other thing as he entered the building. It had excellent security. There were two armed guards with earpieces by the entrance, and at least one visible security camera. Where there was one, there were sure to be others. He didn't make a show of looking for the others. Instead, he walked in with purpose, like he belonged. 

He he took a moment to speak with the secretary at the front desk, and gave her his information. There was a name and a phrase. He had a mission directive. It was a delivery for someone named Mr. Ambrose. He hadn't looked up who that was but it probably was some middle level NPC in an office halfway up the skyscraper. You always need a middleman. The Cerberus sisters were always good to count on for having their ducks in a row and having things planned out. Cybele, especially. That woman was scary with her precision on things. It was almost like she could see the future... But that was ridiculous. Then again, he would never trust Megara around his cellphone, and Kineta was scary strong and had lightning punches, so it was possible. They were keen criminal minds. This was their assignment. It was surely important. 

He had no idea what was in the envelope. Information and intentions, no doubt. With a place as sweet as this skyscraper, the owner was not hurting for money. The fact the sisters were interested in him sent signals to Elliott that he might be crooked somehow, or that at least someone in the operation was. This Ambrose guy, maybe, buuuuut... He'd see where it lead him. He had dressed discrete. He could be discrete. He was green with red eyes and an odd number of fingers on each hand, but hey! He could be discrete as hell. Gray rental suits and cheap ties, notwithstanding. 

The secretary took the details he gave her down, and made a brief call. He waited, looking around and wanting to whistle uncomfortably, but he did not. Discretion, people. He had it. She finished talking to whoever it was (a Mr. Jagger, maybe? Or another more important secretary, more likely), and turned her focus back to him. A minute later, he started on his way. 

The path to the elevator had seemed straightforward, but after that, things got labyrinthine in detail. Sterile white hallways and turn after turn. He had asked for a post it note. She had not obliged. If you can't remember the details, you deserve to get lost. It was good he had plenty of experience in memorizing directions quickly. Fifteen minutes later, he reached a sterile exterior office. A tiger woman and security gave him pause. He spoke politely and summarized his point of business. He was being expected. She flexed her claws as she directed him to enter an office. He had the feeling he would not want to disappoint her or disobey. He followed her instructions to the letter. This seemed to please her, or at least render her less severe. 

"Madeline!" Ambrose shouted out of his office, towards the general direction of where his secretary was sitting. A couple seconds later, his phone beeped, and he absentmindedly flipped it over.

Please keep your voice down. This is a place of work, the text read, sent from a contact labelled "Mom." Ambrose frowned. He hadn't done that. He'd question Madeline later, and maybe Panu. Probably Panu.

He swiped at the screen, unlocking the phone, and started typing a response. My calendar says I have a delivery in half an hour.

You do.

There are people to pick up deliveries. Why is it on my calendar?

It's a delivery for you.

Ambrose sighed heavily, and then relegated himself to getting up. He winced as his limbs creaked and something sloshed beneath his skin - he wasn't getting old, but he'd gotten back into human form not an hour before he came to work, and his body wasn't particularly fond of going from human to monster back to human in one night. But he'd had to, because there had been a situation of sorts that he'd needed to deal with, and it had unfortunately been a 4 AM situation. He'd left for work at around 6:30 AM, because he lived outside fo the city, and so that had been tiring and painful.

He limped over to his office door, making heavy use of the carved cane he unfortunately had to rely on once in a while. "Thank you, father," he muttered under his breath as he made his way out.

Madeline was, as per usual, typing away on her computer. To be very honest, Ambrose didn't even know what she did most of the time - Ambrose ran JW in a way that would allow greater individuality, so he'd have to do less (he just demanded weekly updates on the big projects, to be honest). "What delivery?" Ambrose asked, as he dragged his way over to her desk.

"The sort of delivery that shouldn't be given to the people who usually pick up our deliveries," she said under her breath, but Ambrose's enhanced hearing picked it up easily. He dropped his voice too, in response.

"Those sort of deliveries aren't supposed to be delivered to me directly, especially not at work," Ambrose growled quietly, growing slightly peeved at whatever idiot had arranged this. Madeline just shrugged in response, before a notification popped up on her screen. She glanced at it.

"The messenger is here," she said, and Ambrose sighed.

"Make sure anyone who asks or checks sees that he's applying for an internship," Ambrose ordered, and Madeline nodded, immediately returning to her computer. "I'll be in my office."

Around twenty minutes later, Ambrose heard the familiar ding of the elevator opening, and hushed talking outside. (The office was meant to be soundproof, but the door was cracked ever so slightly). Moments later, the delivery boy entered the office. Although, to be frank, Ambrose hesitated to call him a boy.

While it didn't show in the slightest on his face, Ambrose was momentarily put off by the messenger's appearance. He looked like something that had walked straight out of some conspiracy nut's head and into the real world, except in a suit. Ambrose was mostly accustomed to seeing physical mutants, especially as he was one himself, but seeing something so... unusually normal? was off-putting. He was pretty sure that he'd be less shocked if a distorted embodiment of body horror had walked in, versus this very alien-like alien.

Although it was hard, Ambrose resisted the urge to make any "take me to your leader" jokes, but that would've been gold.

"You're the messenger, I presume?" Ambrose said, looking decidedly and very determinedly unperturbed. "Who sent you?" Now that he'd gotten over his surprise, he was more focused on what idiot decided to send him a package here. Especially since his being Jörmungandr wasn't public knowledge, or even underworld knowledge. A lot of people just assumed he was a mutant affiliated with Ragnarok, probably through bribery because of his power, and not their leader-pretending-to-be-second-in-command at all. So this - this was what he called a "security breach," especially since the delivery was made in plain view.

Security breach was a good phrase, but not quite true. In truth, Megara had wanted to use her powers to infiltrate Jaager to dig up more information on the man, the myth, the company, but she had been foiled. Foiled. Mechanical spiders made of metal scraps and the best real world technology she could fit on their tiny mentally animated metal bodies were great, but there were no match for Jaager worldwide building security. Panu would have been pleased, had he known, though it was unlikely he would have played a part in the waylaying of her plan.

Tiny metal spiders made it easily past the entrance defenses through way of clinging to those entering the premises. From there, it got hairy.

She had wanted to go through grates. Panu was not in charge of the grates. He would not have sensed the artifices on any computer networks, as they were on Megara's own personal psychic wifi, but he would have seen them on cameras if they had stepped out in view after jumping off the hitched ride. Their goal wasn't to waltz down halls, however, but to go through vents. And while Panu might have seen them if they had entered the vents in front of a camera, he DEFINITELY would have noticed once the motion detection and laser grid caught them in the act. She had called the intelligence-gathering mission off. If Cybele had told her that she had seen that coming, Megara would only have replied with disdain.

The precognitions that led their eyes to focus on Jaager and his company (as well as the memories attached to any items she managed to attain connected to those therein) was cheating, as far as her two sisters were concerned. Kineta hated them especially. She would have done a full frontal assault. They don't let Kineta make the plans.

The precognition was simple. Ambrose was a man. No. He was a dragon. A dragon man, but he was still Ambrose! It went on to show buildings potentially on fire and uncertainty about a new world order and rebirth and even more uncertainty. It could have been dreams of fire or dreams of a new world or dreams of a new world engulfed in fire (or dreams of a new world, being engulfed in fire). Really, the fire and dreams seemed the only certainty, other than the man at the center of it. They had no idea it was anything to do with Ragnarok, just that it was a vision from a "visionary". But the sisters wanted in.

Visions of the future are mysterious and confusing. What might be may change and the thought of measuring what may and might might change it, but one thing is certain. Good money is to be made in the business of supporting new world orders. Just look at the history of America if you want a single example. You won't have to look hard.

Money was why they had expressed interest in Jaager. But not blackmailing. Information business. And that business requires putting the right foot forward to earn trust. They had chosen Elliott's. He knew a whopping zero percent of the background leading up to this job.

It was highly unlikely Ambrose had heard of the Cerberus sisters. After all, that WOULD have been a security breach. The appointment on the calendar had been for CERBERUS, inc., but while they went by the Cerberus sisters, that wasn't their real last name. Why would your last name be Spot?

The envelope felt light in Elliott's hands. Whatever was in it had to be important.

"Yeah, I'm the messenger." He said politely. He added "Sir" a moment later.

His sneakers were not dress shoes and did not match the garb. He was suddenly conscious of that fact. For some reason he felt that this man was not some middling middle-aged middle manager man, and that he should mind his manners.

He had not been asked his name. He had been the name of the person who sent him. It would be bad manners to tell someone who doesn't care about your name that very thing, so he kept his answer succinct. The sisters had instructed him on this. They had told him to answer all questions honestly whilst maintaining anonymity for them and their dealings as best he could. He was to call them by a certain name and say a certain catch phrase. Cybele had insisted. He did so now. "I was sent by Cerberus, inc. I am here about an internship."

He passed Jaager the envelope. Somewhere, Cybele was probably cackling at her foresight.

The envelope contained official Jaager worldwide paperwork about an internship, all filled out without Elliott's knowledge, even though he had signed it. After the paperwork in the folder, there were letters of recommendation written in code language, detailing Elliott's excellent and trustworthy service for Cerberus, inc. His exceedingly dutiful work as a delivery boy and gofer. His time spent interning. The wide range of business contacts he has access to and developed during his time with the company. Art collectors, jewelers, dealers. Museums. Bankers. Etc. Other shining words of praise. Listings of his exploits. That was basically it. Light envelope. Very official. The rest was on the "cellphone" he was supposed to hand Ambrose after he had looked over the very official paperwork, when the time was right.


(( OOC: the cellphone has way more interesting stuff for once Jaager is done being befuddled by a very routine internship application. Feel free to decline on the basis of not knowing this Cerberus and having never done dealings with them before. That sets things up nicely.))

"Yeah, I'm the messenger," the alien boy said. "Sir." Ambrose didn't say anything; he just stared at the boy, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "I was sent by Cerberus, inc. I am here about an internship."

...what?

Now Ambrose was really and truly confused. He didn't know the exact details, and he'd get them from Madeline later, but he had been sure that this was a delivery. And now it was apparently an internship application? And the potential intern was sent by another company...?

In the back of his mind, Ambrose could vaguely remember hearing something about a proper attempt at a security breach a while ago. Something had tried to go through the vents and had hit the laser grid, and had backed off once caught. While he'd suspected foul play of some sort, there was no follow-up attack or anything like that. Perhaps this was the follow-up; what it was supposed to achieve, though, he had no idea.

Ambrose took the envelope warily from the boy, opening it in one smooth motion with the hardly visible tip of a barely protruding claw. The papers inside were almost shockingly mundane. They were the right forms for an internship, and everything about the application seemed to indicate that this boy - Elliott Thomas, the form said - would be an exceptional addition to his company. The letters of recommendation were strange, though. It took Ambrose a few moments to recognize that it was well and properly coded, but once he had realized it, he figured out the letters' true meaning relatively quickly. They were just more glowing endorsements of Elliott, about how he was an amazing delivery boy and the slew of business contacts he had, and now Ambrose was even more confused than he'd been when he started.

Once he'd finished reading through all of the papers, he sat there for a moment, completely and utterly baffled with the situation he'd been presented with.

"Um," he said after a moment. "Are you - I thought this was a delivery, not an internship interview?" And who in the world was Cerberus Inc.? He'd never heard of them, but if they'd allowed this kid to get as well-connected as the letters said he was, then it must be relatively influential. He made a mental note to do some research later.

An internship application? Well yeah, that was the code phrase, but-- he kept his face very still for the moment, while Mr. Ambrose and him mentally went over the past ten seconds. If the sisters wanted him to be an intern with this place, yeah, he could do that. There was probably good money there, and new business contacts were always good for business. Mr. Ambrose's confusion was also the perfect cue to deliver what he assumed was the real package. He found himself smiling a crooked zipper smile.

"Oh, it is, Sir." He drawled. "I'm going to reach into my pocket in a moment to pull out a cellphone. My hunch says it is probably going to contain valuable information on it from my business partners. My thought is that they wish to do business with you and desired an excellent cover story. They likely assumed you would use something like an internship when I walked off the street, as walking in like this is probably the sort of thing that might seem odd. Aren't deliveries usually handled by middlemen, handed to middlemen? My thought is that you aren't a middleman. Otherwise, why would you be involved in handing out internships, and why would you act so odd about the delivery, in-general?"

He paused long enough to get some sort of visual confirmation. A look. A nod. A word. Anything. He knew the things he had said would elicit some sort of reaction. He wanted to make absolutely certain he had permission to continue before he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket, because some types take things pulled from pockets as a threat, especially when they're caught off-guard.

"Deliveries are my game," he explained. "I'm good at my job. I can be discrete, and I know about the looks of things. They obviously want to make a good impression with you and wanted to look professional by making this interview legit. This cellphone I have in my pocket. May I?" He really wanted to whip it out. He gestured to his breast pocket, where it stayed. "I haven't looked at it. I never look at my deliveries unless instructed to. Privacy for my employer is very important to me." He nodded to himself, at the thought. "It's probably going to turn into a spider or something. Don't be shocked when it does. They like putting people off guard."

Now how would Mr. Ambrose reply to that?

"Oh, it is, Sir," Elliott said, and Ambrose ignored the spike of annoyance that he felt at the boy's tone of voice. "I'm going to reach into my pocket in a moment to pull out a cellphone. My hunch says it is probably going to contain valuable information on it from my business partners. My thought is that they wish to do business with you and desired an excellent cover story. They likely assumed you would use something like an internship when I walked off the street, as walking in like this is probably the sort of thing that might seem odd. Aren't deliveries usually handled by middlemen, handed to middlemen? My thought is that you aren't a middleman. Otherwise, why would you be involved in handing out internships, and why would you act so odd about the delivery, in-general?"

Ambrose really had to tamp down the urge to raise an eyebrow now, because seriously, had this kid never watched the news? He was an actual famous person. But then, the thought that Ambrose wasn't a middleman should've crossed Elliott's mind ages ago, as soon as he was given instructions to go to the top floor of the building where the only office was Ambrose's. Ambrose almost started to speak when he realized that Elliott looked as if he were waiting for confirmation, so Ambrose just sighed mentally and outwardly waved his hand, indicating to Elliott that he should continue. And continue he did.

"Deliveries are my game. I'm good at my job. I can be discrete, and I know about the looks of things. They obviously want to make a good impression with you and wanted to look professional by making this interview legit. This cellphone I have in my pocket. May I? I haven't looked at it. I never look at my deliveries unless instructed to. Privacy for my employer is very important to me. It's probably going to turn into a spider or something. Don't be shocked when it does. They like putting people off guard."

Ambrose had never been fond of doing this sort of business to begin with - it put too much scrutiny on JW, which was why he did his best to keep the company itself as squeaky clean as possible. If he had even the slightest sense that even a low-level lackey was dealing in less-than-legal affairs, he'd go out of his way to fire him. So he was very, very displeased that this arrogant Cerberus company was trying to needle its way into his affairs. Who did they think they were? Ambrose didn't want whatever business connections Elliott might provide if they weren't a hundred percent legal. His first priority was Ragnarok, and it seemed as if Cerberus was clumsily trying to needle its way into Ragnarok by assuming Ambrose either needed or wanted their assistance. Nothing against Elliott, of course; the boy had said it himself - he was just a middleman. No, the mistake that Cerberus had made was sending in the squire to fight the dragon while the knight stayed safely at home. No fairytale ever went like that, and it was for good reason.

For a moment, Ambrose just looked at Elliott with an unreadable expression as those thoughts flitted through his head. And then he spoke. "I'd like to speak to your employer," he said, his voice so calm and even that some who knew him would grow uncomfortable just hearing that tone of voice. "What was it? Cerberus, correct? I don't know what your employers expect from me, but Jaager Worldwide is a legitimate company. We don't deal in that sort of thing." Only Ragnarok did. And that was why he'd been so irritated in the first place - he'd thought that the package was weapons or something for Ragnarok that had been delivered to him as a threat or something. This was debatably worse - somebody knew something, but judging by the fact that the name "Ragnarok" hadn't come up once, they didn't know enough. Meanwhile, the scenes he'd been playing out in his head of worst-case scenarios didn't include Elliott in the slightest, so he'd all but forgotten about him. He wasn't particularly important in Ambrose's mind at this point.

Legitimate business. Right. Extreme denial. It sent red flags up. He'd gotten cocky but that wasn't going to phase him. Unfortunately, speaking to them at the moment seemed impossible unless the cellphone was really a cellphone.

What would be useful to this man?

"I understand, sir." He had come off presumptuous and He wanted to apologize for that. Such apologies would be most professional done through actions rather than words. This is what happens when you put a person in a situation without all relevant data. They make mistakes. "We're a legitimate company that works in data management as well as research and development. Cerberus, inc. sent me to give this to you."

He had not been given permission to pull out the phone. He pulled out the phone. It was a metallic shade of gray black. Surprisingly, it did not turn into a spider. Instead, it rang. Elliott looked at Ambrose. "You wanted to speak with Cerberus." He said simply, and offered Jaager the phone.

He idly hoped the man chose to hang up, just so he could see what happened. Operating in the dark was starting to bug him. He had come off looking unprofessional and gotten cocky. It had shown. He was better than that. If he were truly being set up to take some sort of position here, he should have been a part of that. The whole thing was poorly handled. The sisters were better than that. He was better than that. And he was coming off looking like some middleman unimportant to the conversation, when really, he felt like he should be anything but.

You know what. He made the decision. He hung the phone up himself.

"Before you talk to them, you should know that I really despise the unprofessional attitude they showed here today putting me on the spot like this without giving me every detail. They're worth listening too, for sure. Their leader has a real eye for the future and a knack for sound business predictions. They have someone who is excellent at learning things and making decisions. She has drive, that one. The last one is a real people person. She handles business contacts and contracts. The fact they are cocky and have a weird sense of humor can be endearing, but I sense your patience is running thin, and wanted to apologize for that. You are a businessman and this has been handled poorly. Your time is valuable. I'm just going to take the lead and tell you what I think. I think Cerberus is a valuable source of information and can help your company. I think that I can show this, and better, I can answer your questions. Because this whole thing feels like a botched job interview, and I think we could be useful to you. Especially me. Their decision to handle things this way when they could have arranged things better just bugs me. If I'd been arranging this, the last thing I would ever have done would be come to your place of business, put you on guard, and confuse you." It's simply bad for business. "It just feels like Chaos."

He didn't want to be the employee who asked no questions and did everything by what people said. He wanted initiative. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be more than a dumb delivery guy, because he was. Not a squire. Maybe a knight.

"I understand, sir. We're a legitimate company that works in data management as well as research and development. Cerberus, inc. sent me to give this to you." He pulled out the cell phone. Well, at least he'd seemed somewhat forgiving, but Ambrose was getting the impression now that Elliott was working double-time to salvage his employers' messy attempts at getting on Ambrose's good side. That was something Ambrose could appreciate.

The phone was ringing, and Elliott held it out to him. "You wanted to speak with Cerberus." Ambrose didn't take it quite yet - his attention had now shifted to focus less on the company that'd sent him the delivery and more on the delivery boy himself, and he was staring down Elliott with an unreadable expression on his face. He could tell when someone wanted a specific outcome to happen, and it looked like Elliott wanted him to react in a very specific way. So he held off on doing anything, until suddenly Elliott went and hung up on his employers themselves. Now Ambrose was mildly impressed, even if he didn't show it.

By the time Elliott had finished his little tirade, Ambrose had entirely lost interest in Cerberus, but his initial assessment of their delivery boy had completely changed. He had initiative, and that was something Ambrose liked in his employees. (Partially because that meant he'd have to do less work himself, but he never said that part of it out loud.) If Elliott said that Cerberus might be useful, then Ambrose would believe him, but Elliott also didn't know about Ragnarok. JW was perfectly stable from a business perspective - they'd all but monopolized the mutant goods market, and while they weren't the largest government weapons contractors out there compared to companies like Lockheed Martin and Boeing, their mutant-specific weapons were nothing compared to JW's. So Ambrose doubted that Cerberus could be that helpful in that regard. But now, he had a better idea.

He'd been reclining in his desk chair this whole time, but now, he straightened up before leaning forward, holding out a hand to Elliott. "I realized that I never introduced myself," he said pleasantly, changing the subject very suddenly. He did this sometimes, without realizing, as a way to put people off guard and remind them that he was in control. That wasn't necessarily the goal of doing it this time around, but he'd gotten so used to it that he didn't even realize how strange it must look to someone else. "Ambrose Jaager, CEO of Jaager Worldwide. And normally someone who's rather fond of chaos, but not this time around." Ambrose leaned back again, tilting his head to the side a bit, and looking at Elliott rather critically. "Tell you what. Call your employers back, and let them know that I'd like to renegotiate whatever deal they had in mind." Ambrose tapped his fingers on his desk, his nails clacking on the burnished wood, staring out the window before suddenly turning back to face Elliott. "On an entirely unrelated note," he said, deceptively innocently, "how much do you get paid?" Ambrose hadn't even heard Cerberus's pitch, but he didn't care. He'd accept any reasonable demands of theirs as long as he got Elliott. He had the feeling that the delivery boy was a better orator and negotiator than his employers would ever be, and so if there was one asset that he really wanted to get out of this deal, it was Elliott.

An outstretched hand was a positive reaction, where previously there had been anything but. He would take it! He took the outstretched hand and gave it a brief, firm businesslike handshake. Introductions were made.

Mr. Ambrose was actually Mr. Ambrose Jaager. See. This is why you give employees enough information to work with. A split second memory of something he'd said just a minute earlier sent a brief pang of embarrassment through him, which he stomached seamlessly. Not even a flicker of it crossed his face.

"Nice to formally meet you, Mr. Jaager. My name is Elliott Thomas." Elliott replied professionally.

He hadn't given his name prior to this. And he had just given his real name. Not a code name or an alias, a real definable name one could look up on the Internet. They probably would not find much in their research.

Most of his life had been lived offline. There was an Elliott Thomas who was a runaway. A missing person. His birth certificate was nonexistent or forged, he didn't know. But he was born on the same day as the crash of a small meteor in Roswell. And there were foster records which likely corroborated a birthdate and point of origin in Roswell, New Mexico. The point of impact was his point of origin.

Okay. You might also be able to find a juvenile criminal record. It was possible. He made a point not to use his real name to avoid this possibility. He had given it. On purpose? Yes.

He had extended his trust to Cerberus when they had contacted him knowing more about him than the average bear. They had told him to be truthful here. No doubt his trust needed to be extended. Also, that was most likely the name on the application and he wasn't an idiot. Point in fact; it was.

Jaager wanted him to call the sisters and give them a message. That was good news! "Of course," Elliott didn't jump for joy. Cool like a cucumber, that was him. He was just about to dial them up. He had the phone to his ear hole. Jaager's deceptively innocent question made him pause. Why would the man want to know that? The only conclusion he could immediately draw was that people often get ideas of how much one wants to be paid so they can match or raise it... Which meant this just might be a paid internship.

Elliott didn't see the harm in saying. He told Jaager the amount he was getting paid on this particular job. It was a modest sum. Fair. Not exorbitant. "It varies depending on job, though." He explained honestly. "Some can be more. Some less. It depends on how much goes into it. Kind of like a PI." It wasn't like A flat shipping rate at all.

Elliott Thomas. Well, he'd known that already - it'd been plastered all over these internship papers - but in their line of work, telling someone else your real name was either a sign of trust or of stupidity. He was betting it was trust, in this case, and he appreciated that gesture. Ambrose was going to get Panu to do some research, once they'd left this meeting. He didn't expect that it'd be too hard to find records of someone with Elliott's appearance, especially for Panu.

"Of course," Elliott said, immediately pressing the phone up to where Ambrose assumed his ear was. But as for his second, more important question. "It varies depending on job, though. Some can be more. Some less. It depends on how much goes into it. Kind of like a PI." Oh, that was easy. There was nothing more unreliable than a case-by-case salary, and Ambrose could easily match that. Elliott seemed too young to get a regular, paid job, so that limited Ambrose (people would get suspicious of an intern paid more than some employees), but not all too much. The paid internships at JW were notoriously amazing, but he supposed Elliott wouldn't know that, considering Elliott didn't even recognize him immediately.

Ambrose nodded to indicate that he'd heard, but he didn't say anything else. He'd wait until Elliott had his embarrassment of an employer on the phone, and then he'd speak.

Well, okay. He had answered the question and got nothing back on it. Yet. He stores that thought away for a rainy day, and made the call.

The thing about hanging up on employers is this. Either they hate you for it and sit waiting for your call, or they don't. Megara was drinking coffee and having a donut. Cybele was reading the paper. Only Kineta was free to answer and answer, she did.

"Hello!" She sounded chipper. Wood chipper. "Why'd you hang up?"

"I've spoken with Mr. Jaager, and he would like to renegotiate the terms of the deal." Elliott said coolly.

"Super," Kineta said. " Why don't you put him on speaker?"

Elliott did.

"Hello," Ambrose said. The phone was on speaker now; it didn't matter to him, though, because his hearing was more than enough for him to make out Elliott's employer's earlier words. And she did not sound happy. At least Elliott was keeping his calm. The boy would make a wonderful negotiator, and that was something Ambrose was slightly lacking in. Eloquent people, that was. Most Ragnarok members were delightfully brutish, but sometimes a bit of a softer, less bloody touch was needed.

"Am I speaking to the employer of Elliott Thomas?" Ambrose said, politely but in a way that indicated that all of this really was a great inconvenience to him. He waited for the woman's assent, and then continued. "Splendid. Now, I'm aware that you have not yet informed me of the terms of your deal, but - and excuse me, but to put it bluntly - I don't care. I don't know how or why you decided to come to me, but I'm afraid that I must inform you that Jaager Worldwide does not deal in illegitimate matters. We are, however, hiring interns. So these are the terms of my deal. Elliott Thomas here will be given a paid internship at Jaager Worldwide. He will no longer be listed as an employee of Cerberus something-or-other, and he will no longer be contacted to perform any jobs for outside parties such as you." Ambrose was fully aware that while his words sounded perfectly nonchalant, his voice was positively laced with venom at Cerberus's clumsy attempts to get his attention. "I would also ask that you please cease any future attempts to breach JW's security, because it is an inconvenience to us all." He leaned back in his chair, finally ending his barrage of words. He wasn't quite aiming to humiliate them, especially in front of one of their employees, but - okay, that was exactly what he was trying to do. He was just hoping that it worked, because he hated dealing with amateurs and didn't want to deal with these specific ones in the future.

"Those are my terms. Now let's discuss what you want."

"Yes," Kineta replied politely, if succinctly. "You are." She didn't quite see the relevance, and it showed ever so slightly in her tone. She was the negotiator, though. Her skills at communication weren't wholly worthless. If you hadn't been looking for unprofessionalism, you wouldn't have even detected the faintest hint of it in her tone. A pity Mr. Jaager most likely was, and had been expecting it.

In their office, somewhere in the city, Megara stopped mid-sip. Cybele folded get newspaper over to focus intently on the call that was now on speakerphone on both ends. She watched her sister's handling of it, ready to jump in at the drop of a pin.

She did not like the words Mr. Jaager was saying. None of them did. It sounded like he had taken them as weak indeed simpletons focused entirely on illegal dealings. If they'd wanted that, they would have got in touch with a Colombian drug cartel-leading Adapted, or dealt with one of the many other shady enterprises in the city. And they did, and often, but that was beside the point. Sadly, many companies that had shown promise had faltered lately. Mondragon labs had boldly led the charge. It seemed like it would be followed shortly by Faust pharmaceuticals, but that was still to be determined. The man wanted Elliott, and... It seemed that really was his entire interest in this conversation.

Megara contemplated this alongside her sisters. It figured. They really had thrown Elliott to the hounds. He'd performed admirably, though. She didn't want to lose him.

Kineta spoke for the group. She seemed to read both sisters minds. Just a side effect of constantly working alongside family, nothing supernatural or mutant at all. "I understand," she said carefully. "Those are good terms. Fair. Of course, Cerberus is completely legitimate. I apologize if something led you to believe that we are not. On that phone's SIM card, you will find information that will be incredibly useful to your business. You've impressed us, Mr. Jaager. Leading a worldwide company that leads the market on mutant goods, with all the contracts you have, and everything else. We expect great things for a visionary like you. With our information, and continued intelligence, we believe that you can really change the world. Make it a better place. If you work with us, you'll find the information we can gather through our research useful. If you ask us to look into a company or an individual, we can do that. If you want stock advice, we can do that. I'm not sure what you speak of when you talk of security breaches."

Megara sipped her drink.

"Everything we do is completely on the level. We are simply good at gathering information. As you will see if you agree to employ our services, from time to time. We will give you the password for the SIM card. I think you'll be impressed. And that's just information given in good faith. It'll work on the cellphone just as easily as in any computer. We don't expect repayment in any kind for the gift." Kineta let that sit for a moment, then continued. "As for Elliott, an internship is fine, but we don't really want to cut ties with him. Good help can be very hard to find. We don't wish to inconvenience you. Perhaps we can make an arrangement that suits both Jaager worldwide and Cerberus, inc.'s needs?"

What she was talking about sounded like some sick form of joint custody to Elliott. He spoke up. "I expect to have some say in this as well, Ma'am." Elliott said briskly. "It being me he wants to employ."

Ambrose listened. Well, he tried to. He got distracted seconds into their speech by the fact that his phone had lit up with a DragonVale notification. He glanced up to make sure Elliott's attention was focused elsewhere before silently collecting all his gold.

He fed his acid dragon. He'd named it Madeline. (The apocalypse dragon was named Ambrose. He'd paid real money to get that one.)

By the time he'd tucked his phone away, the woman on the other end was wrapping up, and he'd missed all of it. He did catch Elliott's words, though, and those were the ones he chose to acknowledge.

"Well," he said, sitting up straight again. "Your little courier has a point, you know; can't let the kids see mommy and daddy fighting, right? Elliott and I are going to have a little talk, and then we'll get back to you."

He was about to make a motion that would've obviously indicated to Elliott to hang up, but then he realized that there were no "hang up" motions for mobile phones (shame - that was the only reason he had a landline at home, because slamming the receiver down was so satisfying), and that gesticulating wildly would just make him look like an idiot.

He stood up, walked around to the other side of the desk, and ended the call.

"Right," he said brightly, vaguely realizing that he said that so very often. He should cut down on the "right"s. It made him sound... peppy. And/or British. "Clearly, you want to know what you're in for. That's great. I can do that."

He went back around his desk as he spoke, sitting back down by the time he'd finished. "Obviously, if it isn't yet clear, I have no use for your employers. Whether you have a use for them is a separate thing, although if you're really attached, I've got counsellors on hire to help you with that sort of thing." He gave an almost mocking sympathetic frown. "Stockholm Syndrome is so sad, isn't it? Anyway." He brightened up on the last word again. "You decide what happens with them, because I sure don't care. As for you! High pay, good benefits, whatever else you want because I don't know exactly what 'benefits' entails. Your cover will be as an intern, obviously, but you'll really be serving as a courier."

He got very serious, all of a sudden, even if very little changed visibly. But his demeanor was a bit... heavier, now. "Have you ever heard of Ragnarok?" he asked. His tone was lighthearted, still, but even a blind, deaf, and dumb person would've sensed a difference.

Again, the sisters got hung up on, and again he was alone with mr. Jaager. A line from a poem came to him unbidden. He wasn't sure why.

The time has come, the walrus said. To talk of many things.

He stuck a pin in the thought of what to do to the women he now considered to be his ex-employers for the moment. Jaager had said it himself, he had no use for them. Despite himself, Elliott felt similarly. They had used him just as he had used them, for business. To further their careers or for power. A stepping stone. There was no Stockholm syndrome here, only practicality. Still, he felt some sort of contractual obligation to at least get them a small piece of what he had come for. Maybe a couple hundred dollars for the information and "referral fee." If something else came to mind, he'd be sure to bring it up.

Elliott focused keenly on what the man of power said. His face was a mask of kept composure. Another night have been perplexed by Jaager's manner and tone. It seemed unpredictable, even capricious at times. The man had wealth and power. He had not accrued both by collecting bottle caps. There was something there beneath the skin, something that desired the power for itself. But then, that's how it is with any driven man, isn't it? A desire for money, strength, be it fame or something else, for self or others. Elliott himself had a similar drive.

High pay, good benefits, whatever else he wanted. What ever else.
Jaager was excited about the prospect of Elliott's employment. Elliott was enthusiastic about the money side of things.

He'd be an intern on paper. A cover. Courier in practicality. He had no problem with that. They were speaking the same language. Then all of a sudden, Jaager started speaking French. Tone changed. Emphasis changed. He was talking about something else. No actual French came out of his lips but it certainly wasn't the same business language he'd been speaking moments before. Or maybe it was.

Serious, but easygoing. Like a berry bramble. Sweetness. Thorns. Ragnarok. Had he heard?

Ever since he'd moved to New York, Elliott had kept vigilant about groups in the city. He'd dug, he'd learned. You live longer when you know about these kinds of things. He'd learned about the order, he'd learned about the X men, he'd found out about various crime families, living and defunct. Someone had mentioned some sort of cabal at some point, but it had fallen apart. The order too, apparently. Working in the city, he had also seen marks. Signs. Plus, he'd watched the news.

"Ragnarok is a Norse mythology story about the end of the world," Elliott said innocuously. "It's also a group in New York that has been in the news lately, claiming credit for various things. Bombs. Information leaks. I've even seen their symbol tagged on buildings. Talk is they have a leader named after a Norse god, but nobody has seen him yet, because he flies below the radar. Low-key." Rhymes with Loki. He kept his eyes on Ambrose Jaager for any reaction.

"There doesn't seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to what they do other than chaos, as far as I've gathered. But that Ragnarok story. It's also kind of a creation story, isn't it? It's been a long him since I've read my Norse mythology. Creation. Rebirth?" A Re-creation recreation, as it were. Maybe that was Ragnaroks aim? Fun through chaos, breaking down the old world to make room for the new? But what did he know? He was just an alien painting a picture based on jumps of logic and rumors. Some day assumptions and misreading situations would be the death of him.