Patriot
New Member
CODE BY SEROBLISS
Jean-Leu
Cormier
Jean-Leu Cormier
July 8 - Lumiose City, Kalos
Smoke clung to the air, wafting up from a trio of men huddled around a table and coalescing in the cramped warehouse’s rafters. Their voices were hushed, as though each didn’t want even the other two to hear their conversation, and the crinkling of paper and scratching of pencils were the only interruptions to the murmurs.
Finally, another sound cut in.
CRACK!
“Fuck!” One of the men threw his broken pencil across the room, and ran his marred hands over his weathered face out of exasperation. His eyes were screwed tight, as though in desperate need of a reprieve from staring at the same two documents for so long, and their crows’ feet came into full view.
“Don’t blow your load, Michel,” another of the men said, his eyes never leaving his work. They were wide, soaking up the entirety of the two documents below them, and they flickered back and forth between the two with an unyielding scrutiny.
“I ain’t blowing nothing,” Michel grumbled as he stalked over to his discarded utensil, and as he snatched it up he added, “Not when we’ve already been at it for days.”
“And we’ll stay at it for as long as it takes.”
Both men looked up when the third voice spoke. The boss was just as tired as the other two of the task at hand, but the fire behind his piercing eyes burned just as bright as when the work began.
Cormier was almost finished with his section, anyway. Hours upon hours poured over the two documents, all so they could move forward with his master plan. On top sat his toil, a collection of lines that snaked and sprawled within a circular boundary. Beneath sat the thing that made his toil possible—the Tangrowth Bloom.
“Tell me Antoine,” Cormier began without looking up from his pencil strokes. “What did you think of the painting when you picked it up from Montagne?”
Always quick with a response, the younger lieutenant cracked a grin and answered, “I thought ‘Wow it’s a picture of a Tangrowth.’”
Michel’s laugh, the loudest sound the warehouse had heard that night, boomed and the older man added, “I thought the same thing, boss!”
A smile graced Cormier’s face as he continued tracing. “And yet it’s so much more! Do you think the vines are just woven randomly?! Non, they all correlate to—”
“To tunnels in the old catacombs,” Antoine finished the boss’ sentence with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve only been ranting about it for two weeks now.”
“Et quoi? We have the last surviving map of the Lumiose Catacombs, completely overlooked by everyone except for me, and you don’t want me to rant and rave?” Cormier was getting heated up, and his lieutenants exchanged a glance that said ‘here we go’.
“For sixty years this painting has been sitting in those rich pricks’ art collection, gathering dust, when they had no idea what they were holding. The last painting produced by a famous anti-establishment artist with a penchant for urban exploration? And she called it her magnum opus, when its style is completely different from the rest of her work?”
Cormier scoffed. “The only thing I can’t believe is that it took me so long to find! A year spent digging through civil engineering records, only to find a map of the catacombs in an Arc-damned painting!”
Antoine set his pencil down with a rattle and a relieved sigh. “Yeah, real brilliant, boss. I’m done tracing out the lowest level.” The younger lieutenant slid his parchment paper off from his copy of the painting, and the boss took it to compare to his own.
Cormier’s smile grew wider as he examined Antoine’s work. “That only leaves the top level. Michel?”
“One second…,” the older lieutenant was laser focused on his paper, and with a final stroke slid it to the boss. “Finally finished.”
Palpable excitement swirled through the warehouse and intermixed with the cigarette smoke clogging the rafters as Cormier put the three pages together. A year of time and dedication poured into this, the true first step toward his family’s decades-overdue revenge in the palm of his hand!
The only thing left to do was— “Did Khastil say how much longer he’d be out galavanting when you picked up the painting, Antoine?”
A sly grin spread across the younger lieutenant’s sun-kissed face. “Him and his girls were headed down the Rivière Walk last I heard from him.”
“Girls?” Michel, ever the gossiper, sidled close to this comrade. “What, the brothel wasn’t enough for him?”
“Apparently not,” Antoine chuckled and lit a fresh cigarette. “He’s been diversifying his interests, though. All week he’s been running around with a foreign girl and an academic.”
“Not really his type, eh?” Michel quipped.
“I didn’t think so, either. The academic especially. I ran into the pair of them at my tailor’s shop last week, and she…piqued my interest.”
Cormier raised a brow. Antoine was his chief intelligence gatherer and a womanizer notorious even in their ranks, but the man’s tone hinted toward his interest being piqued in the former regard. “Care to elaborate?”
“I did some digging,” Antoine began, leaning close on the table. “Ms. Azumi Towers, raised in Azure Bay, and rapidly approaching her graduation from the Lumiose Police Academy.”
The smile fell from Michel’s face, and both lieutenants looked to their boss for his reaction.
“And you said she’s been with him for a week?” Cormier’s tone was neutral, but his eyes were furious. When Antoine nodded yes, the boss’ face contorted into a twisted scowl.
“That stupid bastard.” Cormier’s voice was a low growl. “Putting our entire organization in jeopardy so he can get his fucking rocks off.” The boss took a deep breath and sparked a fresh cigarette of his own as Michel spoke up.
“He’s a smart kid, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” The old man had always had a soft spot for their youngest beaux voyou, and Antoine wasn’t far behind him.
“He didn’t sing through four months in La Santé, I doubt he’s spilled anything to one girl in a week.” It was a much better point than Michel’s, and it seemed to convince the boss.
“I’ll let him have his fun, then,” Cormier stated as smoke poured from his nose. “As long as he’s getting stronger, he can keep his enemies as close as he wants.”
An uncharacteristically dour expression overtook Michel’s usual jovialness. “With where we’re sending him, he’ll need to be as strong as he can get.”
The finished map of the Catacombs sat between the three of them, and each man looked down at it apprehensively.
Cormier took a final drag. “He’ll go down there whether he’s strong enough or not.”