KISMET ─ vento aureo.

▹ TEN ;

☆ ⁺ « 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

★˚⋆ YOU HAD TO ADMIT IT was impressive how easily Zero had managed to get your entire crew into this room. A matching set of mag-cuffs to the one Trish and Narancia had been dragged here with was now suspended around Fugo and Mista's wrists, the two of them flopped over a chaise. Sheila was just finishing settling Narancia and Trish on the opposite couch. She was ridiculously strong for someone so slight.

For some reason, you were left unrestrained. Not that you wanted to join the mag-cuff party, but something slimy squirmed in your chest at the sight of your crew being cuffed. All the while, Zero sat across from you on a tiny rose-wood stool watching your movements. His lips were curved just shy of a smile as he watched you fume.

Your chest felt like it was going to explode. It was as though this was your first job, just a day off from being a fledgling crew. Didn't you know to read your clients better than this? To anticipate their movements? To never let them flacking catch you with your pants down? What part of you had allowed you to underestimate Zero of all people?

He would laugh if he saw you like this. You had never fumbled an initial meeting this badly.

"Thank you, Sheila." Zero nodded once the girl had finished restraining your crew. "You may go. Please inform my guests that I will be occupied for the next little while."

"Sure thing," Sheila said. "You just let me know if something comes up." She slipped out of the room, but not before shooting a wicked grin in your direction.

For a few minutes, neither you nor Zero said anything. You wanted him to make the first move. You'd already made a fool of yourself. No need to give him more ammunition.

"You look nice, Captain."

Your jaw ticked. You couldn't bring yourself to thank him for his compliment. Zero himself looked nice as well. The black robes he was wearing were reminiscent of traditional ones worn by the Imperial family—which was probably the point for that prick of irony. A richly embroidered overcoat draped over his shoulders, the design of leaves and tassels glimmering in the low light. A debonair hat sat on Zero's head, complete with a plume of green feathers that drooped lazily. His brocade mask melded to his face like a second skin, the teardrop jewel swinging with each subtle movement.

"I won't negotiate without the input of my crew," you said, thanking the stars that your voice sounded steelier than you felt. "At least, I assume that's why you have us here instead of kicking us out of the party."

Zero had retrieved the brick phone from Trish and Narancia. He rotated it in his gloved hands, considering every angle of it. Eventually, he set it on the coffee table.

"It was impressive that you got as far as you did. That you managed to get your hands on the Nokia. You could've left right then, no?"

"The phone wasn't my goal," you said.

"I had a feeling." Zero flicked his fingers. In unison, all of your crew perked up, suddenly wide awake.

"What's going on? Who died?" Mista whipped his head around, nearly knocking out Fugo.

"Cap, you alright?" Narancia asked.

"Where's the phone?" Trish cried.

"Stars, would you sit still? Moron," Fugo growled.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather them be unconscious?" Zero asked pleasantly.

A weight seemed to slough off your shoulders that your crew was alright. You made contact with each of them, trying to communicate for them to work with you. To make it seem as though you had some modicum of control in this situation.