The Conquerors bloodline

Arriving at the bar, Parc leaned onto it, raising one hand and one finger to catch the black-haired boy in a neat, short-sleeved vest and top. "One leg spreader for me," Parc began, the bartender boy bobbing along calmly even as Bleu made his own order of a simple scotch and soda.

"Oh, and one more actually," Parc snorted and caught the tender before he could head to his drink making. Bobbing a hand over his shoulder, Parc made one final order, "could you send my kitty lady friend over there a Screaming orgasm." The bartender blinked profusely for a few seconds before chuckling and shaking his head and said he would.

"Quite crude of you," Bleu commented with what moral superiority he thought he had.

"It's not crude when I'm giving her those every night." Parc's finger tapped, rising hollow thunks from the wooden gazebo bar. "Multiple times I should say. Normally I don't stop till that 'screaming' turns into weak little whimpers as she's shivering between lucidity and a nice, long, catnap."

The bartender dug through his reserves of alcohol, collecting the scotch and a can of soda first and quickly filled up a glass with them both alongside a bit of ice before setting it before Bleu. Parc's drink was just a tad bit more complicated, though not by much. Filling up a long, wide topped glass with ice, the tender poured in a Mistralian spiced rum as well as a Vacuan coconut rum alongside some peach schnapps and topped it all off with pineapple juice before stirring and blending it all together. Pouring it into a long glass in a single, laminar flow, the tender cut a strawberry halfway down the centre and slotted it on the edge of the glass.

"Have you no shame?" Bleu exclaimed, not even realizing his drink was there.

"Shame requires me giving a damn about your opinion. Which frankly, I don't." Lifting his drink, Parc toasted the bartender as he filled up a copper shaker with vodka, coffee liqueur, amaretto and various other creams and milks and vigorously shook it all together, filling the area with the sound of ice sloshing around in the milk cocktail within. Bringing his Leg Spreader to his nose, Parc smelt the soft mellow scent of peaches and spice rum. After a sip, Parc hummed, surprisingly pleased with the taste. "Mmm, delicious," he toasted the bartender once more and the man gave him a short head bob in thanks.

Parc peeled from the bar and turned to the pool, five short steps he was at the thick bartop railing and settled himself on a stool beneath it. It took Bleu a moment to grab his drink and join him.

Down beneath, Parc scanned the several men and women and soon fell to Blake who was half-submerged till her eyes were nigh the only thing on display. Constantly darting around as she pushed herself against the wall not wanting to get anywhere near the other rambunctious swimmers.

A low nasally snort escaped him as he said, "take it you want to talk to me?" he asked, knowing full well how right he was.

Bleu clamped his glass and downed a mouthful, caring little for the taste and sting as it went down and glared at Parc. "Yes. I do. Do you enjoy trying to ruin my relationship? Saying that I hit my wife."

"But you do."

Bleu rolled his head, offence clear on his expression, "I do not. And I will ask you respectfully to refrain from insinuating such nonsensical lies."

"It would have to be a lie for it to be nonsensical." Parc took another swig, foot-tapping pleasantly as he watched Blake's water cloaked body escape the water, her skin now glistening causing her swimsuit to conform tighter around her body than before. Arriving by their seats, she grabbed her towel and began drying herself off. When she moved to sit, she then balled herself up and wrapped herself in it like a blanket.

"Yet it's a lie. I have never once hit Marigold."

"And yet, she's limping."

"She broke her leg when she was young. It left her with a limp."

"Right. I'm sure that's what happened. Next, you're going to tell me all those bruises she's hiding are because fell down the stairs."

"You would be right."

Parc scoffed and shook his head. It took all his strength to keep himself from crushing his glass to pieces and shoving them one by one into the bastard's face. "Bull. Shit." Clearing his throat, Parc looked to the woman in question. Huddled opposite the pool to Blake. Sat like a dog in a box with her head inclined their way, her eyes filled with worry as she latched to Bleu, waiting for him to do something… anything.

"Marigold has always been clumsy," he said, "a trip over her feet here, running into a poll there. She's always been like that. Add that with how easy she is to bruise and just about anything ends up leaving a mark on her."

"And you haven't bothered helping her fix that?"

"How am I to do that?"

Parc shrugged, "unlock her aura for one. If she really does have such a weak constitution having a natural shield and enhanced healing would do her good."

"Please," the old man puffed through his nose and threw Blake another look and quickly shook his head slightly. "As if unlocking an aura is so simple. Not just expensive but idiotic. No sane man wears their soul on their sleeve. It's just asking to be killed by a stray pebble."

"That… isn't how auras work." Parc could only exclaim, dumbfounded by the man's logical loophole. "It's a shield."

"And when it breaks, you fall unconscious. Then you collapse, hit your head on rock and die. No. I'm not unlocking Marigold's aura for her to hurt herself, fall unconscious and snap her neck because she can't catch herself."

"Aura's aren't that fragile," Parc argued, his irritance with this man boiling to an all-time high. Surprising even himself that he hadn't ripped the man a new one quite yet.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." The mogul bobbed his head side to side and swilled another large sip of his scotch and soda. "Still, aura's are a crutch for the weak. Those too scared to feel pain and learn from it. Better you get hit with a rock and learn not to anger your bullies than to get hit and feel nothing at all. You learn nothing like that. What's the point to having a brain when you can better have experience." Tapping his forehead, Parc's expression dropped in response, his eyes hollowing to coldness.

"Is that what it is? A learning experience? You abuse your wife to make her learn something?"

"I do not abuse her. I have asked you kindly to refrain from accusing me of such idiotic things boy."

"Don't call me boy. I'm more of a man than you'll ever be."

"A man who doesn't know how to keep his dick in his pants, right? What was it that little lady said? A wife, daughter, and multiple mistresses? Does your wife know about this? Or did you tell her you're going on a business trip? One you get to screw around and cheat on her with another woman?"

Unable to help his lips from quirking upwards, Parc inclined his eyes to the side, seeing Bleu staring at him with this overbearing smile indicative of a man thinking he'd won. "She knows." He blankly put, "she even joins in when I sleep with the other girls. Did I mention she's also not the mother to my daughter? No? Or how about the fact that back home, in Vale, I've got three beautiful women waiting for me to come home and leave them quivering? Or the fact that I've got many other women in Vale ready for me as well?"

Waiting for Bleu to respond, the man's expression filled with doubt and condescension.

"Then again," grown tired of the man, Parc focused on Blake just as one of the poolside waiters brought her, her creamy white drink. Confused, she looked up to him then back to the waiter and asked what it was. Unable to hear her, the way her lips moved, he already knew what it was she was saying. The moment she got her response 'A screaming orgasm' steam puffed from the top of her head and she went beet red and buried her face beneath her towel. "I don't think you're anyone to be complaining about cheating."

"Excuse me? I have never cheated on my wife."

Parc hummed along to the man's words as splashes and raucous from below send the smell of chlorinated waters aloft, aching at his nose, "I see. I wonder how Catalina would feel about that?" Just like that, Bleu's eyes bolted open then just as quickly lowered halfway.

"Who?" he asked, pretending not to know.

"Or Harley? What about Maru? Oh yes, there's also that little mouse, Cabbage, was it? And… and… what else, what else, oh yes! Aera! Marigolds only actual friend."

With each name, the sweat crossing Bleu's brow thickened till it began trickling in droplets down his brow. "How do you-"

"You know, when you own a quaint little restaurant popular with the rich pricks of Vale, you tend to collect rumours and hearsay. See a few as well. I mean, it wasn't hard getting my ladies to send me their profile on you, god, it was fat. Bleu Brandy, sixty-three, CEO of Brandy & Co Defense and Security Operations. Lead producers of Vales third most trusted home security systems but also one of the most hated due to the numerous rumours wafting around about their CEO embezzling funds and protecting a known rapist and murderer, Vester Brandy, the very CEO's younger brother. Who, after escaping a life prison sentence, mysteriously disappeared just a day later and has since never been found. Miraculous don't you think? Your own brother, just up and fades into obscurity while you go around saying 'he ran away.' My, if he wasn't guilty before, he sure is now."

One more sip and silence reigned supreme, Bleu trembled like a newborn fawn caught in the headlights. How did this boy…? "You looked me up on the internet. Brilliant detective work boy."

"Told you not to call me that, Old man. While yes, I did look you up online, I also like doing my own work. Call it a hobby of mine and my ladies." A frigid gust of wind ran across Bleu's body, sending hairs and goosebumps to raise across his body. "See, we don't like secrets. Least, not the secrets of other people. We dig, and dig, and dig, and dig until those secrets aren't so secret anymore. Then we keep it, log it, ready it for whatever we need it for. And you know what, apart from those young, young girls you drag around to hotels and restaurants around the world on 'business trips,' there's also this one special girl, now isn't there? Your daughter, Capri of course."

Bleu stumbled, barely catching himself on the counter as his head hung, trickling heavy sweat on the table. His drink knocked over, dying the bar with its amber hues and raising a thick alcoholic stench even more so than his Leg spreader.

"Funny her," Parc continued calmly, not bothering to offer Bleu the slightest look, "she's what? Thirteen now? Her mother, Bei Diam, being only thirty in a few weeks. Having given birth to Capri just three months after her seventeenth birthday. I mean, I'm no expert on pregnancy and all that, even with my own daughter out and about, but that took nine long months. Not three. Wouldn't Bei have been sixteen when she got pregnant? That's a little young." Parc's speech halted, letting the whirlpool envelope Bleu more thoroughly drowning the man. Sadly, no one knows who her father is, though he isn't quite out of her life. After all, he's paying her through secretive drops and shell companies, isn't that right, Bl-"

Suddenly, Bleu smashed his fist down on the table and silenced Parc. "Shut up." He growled, "just… shut up…" and so Parc did. "What… what do you want to never speak about her again… to anyone…"

"Marigold." He replied simply and without hesitation.

Bleu's hands flattened on the wet counter, uncaring to the chilly ice cube digging into his palm. "That…" sucking in a breath that rose his chest high, he let it out with a hiss and straightened his hunched back, "…can be arranged. What else then? Marigold isn't worth such a secret."

"Nothing. Just Marigold."

The man's lips pursed to lines, cold in breath and gaze. His wife looked up to them, worry and fear in her eyes at seeing her husband's actions. When he locked onto her, she trembled, his eyes were empty of emotion. No love, no hate, no anger, just empty… like he didn't even know her.

Shutting his eyes, Bleu dropped his head, "I will file the divorce proceedings once we return from this cruise. Then she is to disappear. Completely." Pointedly, the man twisted, his back to Parc ready to descend the slope to his side of the pool but cast a glance over his shoulder.

"I don't think you get what I mean by 'I want Marigold.'"

Chewing his lip, Bleu nodded and turned away. "I… will send her to your suite this afternoon. I was growing tired of her patheticness recently either way." Without more to be said, Bleu lumbered heavily and without soul away. He arrived by Marigold's side, collected his stuff in silence and looked down at his wife for nearly a minute before saying something to her that made her quickly stand and rush away behind him.

All the while, Parc sipped coldly on his drink. Never fading his gaze from the mans back, unable to hide even the slightest sliver of his scowl.

"I'm going to ruin you."

It was a vow, and one he'd ensure would come to fruition.