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WHO: the phantom of the city and the rat king
WHERE: some fancy cool place on the upper side of town
WHEN: whoops backdated to foreverrrr ago after this
WARNINGS: um. Cross Marian? and a bit of crossdressing.
SUMMARY: This is what happens when you take someone who doesn't bother to check names and/or genders before asking people out and someone who is a troll who doesn't mind going to extremes to make his point and let them get together under false pretenses.
FORMAT: pick your poison

Oh, Silva has the distinct feeling that a certain Cross Marian doesn't know what he's in for. That he probably thinks he just invited some charming, beautiful, and most importantly, gullible woman out on something that isn't exactly a date. And Silva's more than willing to play along. What was it again, the coat and high heels look? He could do that.

He'd been practicing with his handy little technopathy skill he apparently was granted upon arrival (thank you, Lachesis; you're not so bad after all). And since a mere $200 wasn't going to get him anywhere fast, well, he just had to figure out ATMs quickly. He'll graduate to banks soon enough, but best just pretend to be a cop attending to a malfunctioning machine for a little free cash hardly anyone will really miss for now.

He still goes for the cheap wine, though. Why bother going for the good stuff? And flowers, well, just any old bouquet will do. Nothing special. It's the heels he can't help but go all out for. He can't help it; Prada is a bit of a weakness whenever he wants to look particularly nice. (It's probably best not to ask why he can walk in heels. Really.)

Really, he's somewhat glad that the City is so analogous to NYC, where nobody ever notices anything strange. It's so freezing cold, but it still feels like just the look on this man's face will probably be worth his legs half frozen and such a draft up his coat. Let it never be said that Silva half-asses anything.

Now, all he has to do is spy that bright red hair...

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For someone who was normally overly cautious about people, when it came to the idea that he might meet someone gorgeous (read: a woman) Cross never really thought with his head. Besides, thinking with his dick never really got him a lot of trouble - usually. Despite the fact that Lilian was vehement that he was probably going to cheat on her, the fact was that Cross just liked to flirt.

This one, however, might be interesting. There was only so much he could handle being the hapless drunk or the maths teacher that didn't quite scratch the itch. Besides, this beauty (he presumes) was probably good with computers.

Cross already stands out, long hair that usually comes to his waist that's around his shoulders wearing and a "vintage" suit. Sitting in a lounge, sipping red wine with his back to Silva, he's ... definitely in for a huge surprise.

Silva can't wipe the wicked grin from his face. This is the most fun he's had since bickering with that AI he'd been asking about, even if things don't pan out for the best.

What gorgeous hair! And quite the...interesting...outfit. Not exactly what he was expecting, really, with that kind of voice, but then again, that seems to be the theme of the evening. Cross might be able to hear the click-clack of some fancy heels, but given their locale, that's hardly something that will stand out.

He struts up behind Cross, clears his throat. "Mister Marian~" and oh he can't help the delighted lilt in his voice--that's a lie, he could absolutely help it, but it amuses him a little too much to care, "you have a visitor."

A small smirk on his lips, Cross' fingers twitched with the need to put a cigarette between his lips to make the experience all that more pleasurable; not all change from the Victorian ages were good ones.

The moment he heard that voice - he'd had sex with women with a deeper baritone, he'd admit - he turned slightly. Odd, he hadn't given his actual name (not that it wasn't hard to find out what it was.

He turns, hair falling away just to reveal the barest hint of a mask before he gives "her" a wide smile.

"Well you found -"

The instant he sees Silva, it drops.

"I'm sorry, you've found the wrong person."

"So I came all this way in these heels for nothing?" Silva feigns a scandalized tone, but he can't clear the amusement off of his expression. He hefts his 'gifts' in either hand. "Now who am I supposed to gift wine and flowers to--Lachesis? She'd teleport me into the middle of the Atlantic, I hear."

Argh, why does this keep happening to Cross? He really does want that cigarette because by the looks of things, it was about to get worse.

"I'd say have a seat, but that would imply that I want you to stay."

Despite that, he grabs the wine. "Now you can go."

Silva gives a little roll of his eyes. How childishly rude. Go, at the start of this not-really-a-date? Hardly. He will, in fact, take a seat, almost daintily crossing his legs (because really, no need to flash people at this stage). "It looks like you've already gotten a head start on the drinking, darling. Perhaps we could share? You did invite me out, after all."

He shaved his legs. Cross sneers slightly, hiding it behind the big glass of wine before he drains it of all of its content in more than one gulp. He waves a waiter over and orders something a lot harder.

"I heavily suggested." He interjects, as the waiter pours the other man a glass of wine.

"Certainly hope you weren't going to try and seduce the Porter like that."

"You gave me a time and place. That's more than a suggestion."

Silky smooth just for you, Cross. You know you want to touch them. Go on, he won't mind. He takes a sip of wine and leans closer. "As I recall, it was also your idea to go seduce a computer programme." The bouquet is waved a little in Cross' face. "Like I said, whatever is she going to do with these, hm? I hope you aren't allergic."

"A heavy implication."

He knows what smooth skin feels like, please. It takes a lot of work to look as magnificent as he does. "Well, I was actually joking."

And he was actually hoping that it was someone more lovely. "Besides, I like orchids."

"A heavy invitation that you still gave freely to me. It's hardly my fault if I'm not what you expected. That's the thing about a blind date, isn't it, that you never know what you'll get."

This is a lot more fun than he anticipated. Even if Cross doesn't seem to want to banter all that much. He hasn't even up and left or tried to kick him out. Silva shrugs and sets the bouquet down. "Orchids, delightful. I'll remember that for next time." What next time? The next time he's going to pretend is going to happen, even though it won't. (He'll at least store that away in case he wants to have a little fun with Cross at a later date.)

"That or you're - oh, what's the word they use - an internet predator. I'm just a victim of your lies."

Ironically, it really wasn't the first time that he'd been lured like this. More thankful that he actually didn't have to shoot someone or do something to ensure that he had to get out alive, Cross was rather irate and frosty rather than downright hostile.

"Next time, do me a favor and actually bring a woman with you?" He finally glanced down at the shoes, "Hopefully she's wearing those, yeah?"

"Lies?" Silva brings a hand to his chest with a slight gasp. "My dear Mister Marian, I never said one word to you that wasn't true. Were you expecting someone with a few more feminine curves to them? Mm, I'm afraid you never asked, darling. Oh~ did you make an assumption? How dreadful for you."

He makes a little humming noise, bouncing his foot and letting the studs sparkle in the light. "Are you proposing a threesome now? You seem so fickle, but I can be rather accommodating."

"Try not to be so offended." Because really, what was there to do now?

Though, at Silva's proposition, he actually chokes on his wine. "Sorry, what?"

Not that he hadn't been propositioned before but, this definitely took the cake.

"You just asked for me to bring along a woman next time. Unless you were going to bring someone yourself and were proposing a double date...which then could always turn into a foursome, but then it starts getting complicated."

"Alright, allow me to rephrase. Next time, send a girl and not you." Wait, he's dating someone now and he waves his hand, "Never mind."

"No, no, do tell." Silva leans his elbows on the table, chin propped in his hands. "Nevermind what, sending a gorgeous woman in my place? I'm sure I could do that, just for you."

"Already so established? I'm impressed." He sighs, despite the fact that one of the most beautiful women in the city waits for him, old habits die hard.

"One does not have to be well-established to be able to send a woman wherever one pleases. I'm sure there are plenty of gorgeous sex workers on the corners, even with as cold as it is."

That earns an eyebrow raise (well, his only eyebrow) before takes a drink. Patron Saint of Prostitutes, Father Cross Marian judges thee.

"Sadly, no. But, thank you for the thought."

He doesn't look down on the street walkers, not after being around the Macau sex houses, the Hong Kong red light districts. He's even taken a few away from that sort of life. Though whether one could use the word 'saved' or not, well, that's always up for debate... (He's sure Sévérine would have a lot to say on the matter, but unless the Porter's sense of humour is that black, he won't have to hear anything from the dead woman's lips again.)

"Always glad to be of service." Silva tilts back more wine, considering his 'date'. "Do you sleep with many women, Mister Marian, or do you like to just be a tease at them and promise them adventures if they bring you wine?"

He would argue that he was a kiss of death, many a brothel madam-come-support of his and his cause. Anita, though one could have argued that he loved her so, was a casualty of him.

Cross laughed out loud before smugly finishing his drink. "We're all searching for that one person, are we not? I just search in all the wrong places."

"They could be the right places and you just haven't found whoever you're looking for." Love, don't ask Silva about love, or about that one person. He's sure he'd sound a little bit insane or a lot cynical. "It's a large world. And now we're in another. What if here was where you were meant to find them all along?"

Not that he believes that for a moment. Nobody was meant to be here, as far as he's concerned. Maybe he'll change his mind later on, but what sort of sense would that make if it was true?

"Call me a romantic, or a harlot- I don't really care, but there's just so much to experience. If you find them, keep them. If you don't, keep searching."

He shrugs. "Think of this world as a blank tableau. Sins absolved, destiny altered. You'd be a madman not to take a chance here to do all that you've never done. Who would think that a priest would be sitting in America overlooking such a skyline sitting across for a man with a penchant for heels and trenchcoats?"

Well, he did. But, it sounded more poetic if he just lied.

Sins absolved, now isn't that too funny a thought. He hates to think of what he left behind, what he was pulled away from, but even a world away, nothing could wash some sins away. His included. He's started again too many times to do it once more, and what would happen if he were to go back? Apologize, say he's had a change of heart, he'd really rather be locked in some high security prison cell for the rest of his much too long life?

Cross doesn't strike him as a priest, at least not in the most traditional sense. But then, nothing much about this man screamed 'traditional'. "Sounds like New York to me," Silva eventually lightly scoffs. "You make it sound like this is a normal day for me when all I did was dress up special for you."

But his serious side bleeds through, his intrigued side, curious. "Were you a man in need of a clean slate when you arrived here? Did some power above decide you needed a second chance?"

Sometimes, the Vatican's vernacular seeps in. Cross might be a drunken louse, but the Pope paid for it; really, using it to describe ungodly behavior was mandated (perhaps instead of trying to err people from prostitution, he supported the oldest profession).

"New York for me was a different place," He muses out loud, "A lot smaller and very hard to get to."

Nothing says fun than a several month boat ride, even with his connections. Silva's question makes him ponder slightly, thinking it over. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell the truth, it was that he wanted to tell it in a way that didn't answer the question at all.

"This? This is my liberation. I got to leave my old job behind, all the responsibilities that I wanted to shirk but couldn't are now left behind."

And he wasn't under house arrest anymore, nor did he have to answer to any Cardinals for his involvement in matters deemed unsavory towards the higher ups. Life, was good.

"Are you going to indulge yourself in the opportunity to leave everything behind?"

Leaving things behind isn't something Silva's ever been particularly good at unless they're useless to him. In fact, some might say he's very good at clinging on, much like life, annoyingly.

There's no guarantee of how long he'll stay here. He could be back in London in a week, or he might be here for years and years. What would he do with a new life, aside try to avoid Bond until the proper moment? Try a new MI6, see if things are different? Go back to his little island and take it over all over again? What's the point of restarting his little cyberterrorist kingdom if the reason is gone? (And there's the rub, isn't it?)

"Hm..." Silva puckers his lips in thought, staring Cross down. He does like honesty as the best policy--just enough that it's honest without being a bleeding heart. It's clear he's not the only one. "The real question, I think, is if there's a choice in the matter. We have been ripped from all that we previously knew. Everything has already been left behind."

It must be weird for him to think about this in that way. Cross only stayed in one place for a year maximum before picking up and disappearing like he was never there. To think that no one could do it was strange, or maybe some people don't know how to apply themselves.

Or rather, it was strange that it was that he could settle down without the mark that of an Exorcist General following him around. Things were strange without the enemy around, and he wasn't too sure that he could adapt to the life.

"There's always a choice. You can always start from scratch and rebuild the life that you always wanted or you could think that you can't start over and loiter."

Grabbing another drink, he makes a small face; this got serious far too quickly.

It's not a dichotomy Silva likes being slapped in the face with. The past or the present, dear, which will it be? How can he just let go of the man he's become and hope for the best? It's not the same kind of situation that he's been faced with in the past; he hasn't lost everything, has he? The uncertainty of the duration of his stay may very well kill him.

It's not that he outright refuses to think about it. He must, of course, consider all possibilities and make his choices from there. But this really doesn't seem like the time or the place or the company with which to consider that more deeply.

"And the life that you wanted," he replies, swirling the remaining contents of his glass idly, "is to invite potential women to wine and dine with you at high class establishments so that you can find the one?"

He doesn't know; he doesn't know what he'd do if one of them showed up here. And even though he doesn't think about it, he does sometimes wonders if it would be more normal if he started to play that chess game that they were embroiled in.

The one, huh. Lilian was probably out doing Lilian things, and really he was sort of hoping that it would delve into him being able to flirt and then go home to her. Cross ponders for a moment, wondering if it's the universe sending him a message.

"The life I want is a happy life. I have a wonderful woman waiting for me at home, terrible decisions to flirt aside, I have a job and I have a world to discover. I think it's good."

"So you weren't happy where you came from. You forged happiness here. You were content to let everything go and start fresh because there was nothing of home left."

It's not quite the same for Silva. All of the trappings are the same. It's the details...

"What is it that makes you flirt if, as you say, you have a wonderful woman waiting? She's not enough for you?"

"I came from the 1800s; your time treasures the era for just how miserable everything is. What do you think?"

He had been so surprised that people were fascinated with the time. As far as he was concerned, it was just as miserable as it should be remembered.

"Habit. Besides, before I found out you were a weirdo, you seemed quite interesting."

Brutal honesty was also good for the soul.

"Please, as if I am no longer interesting now that we've been introduced." Silva waves the insult aside with a wave of his hand and a little laugh. "As for what these modern times treasure, I don't know why. The future seems the best place to live, eh?"

"I can think of three several criteria that you've failed to meet expectations on." He retorts with snort.

"Any place with beautiful women, wonderful liquor and fantastic smokes is the place I want to be in."

"Failing to meet expectations doesn't necessarily make me uninteresting, merely unexpected. Likewise, you aren't what was anticipated, and yet I'm fascinated~"

Even footing all around. But at least he knew what gender to expect, so, point to Silva?

"Mm, the simple life. Expensive tastes, simple needs. Probably well-deserved." As far as Cross thinks. "You'd never want to get sent back."

"Being female is an criteria that I find you highly lacking in, and I think by definition that you can't meet."

Cross throws an arm on the back of the chair before nodding in agreement, "The Vatican pays well, what can I say?"

It doesn't pay well, it pays shit. He's just really, really good at conning people into doing things that he wants.

"Oh, don't say can't, Mister Marian, but that would also involve quite a bit of surgery and hormonal treatments, and I have no interest in such matters." Meh. Silva just waves the whole silly 'whoops you're not a woman my bad get out' thing aside. It's all a little restrictive for him, but oh well, many people only have a taste for either/or.

"So what does the Vatican pay you for, hm~? Are you Father Marian? Shall you hear some of my confessions?"

Pardon his Victorian sensibilities when he wrinkles his nose before motioning for Silva to let him see his face, for scientific purposes.

"I doubt you have the bone structure for it." Well, he could try and see it. As always, he avoided the question of what he does for a living.

"I do the opposite of whatever it is the Pope wants done." A small smirk, "I really only joined to meet the cute nuns."

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