Fortune Favors the Wealthy || Vash

[Elizaveta Héderváry]

INFINITY (n.) the state of being limitless Vash Zwingli. Son of the illustrious Oliver Zwingli and the beautiful Marie Zwingli. Heir to millions or billions, destined for greatness. An important figure for politics, for business, for the good of the nation of Russia— Etcetera, etcetera. Like Elizaveta gave a shit about Vash Zwingli. However, a certain someone did give a shit about Zwingli. More than a shit actually. A lot of shits. Elizaveta's lip curled with distaste. She hadn't spoken to her mother once in the past four months, a situation she was perfectly fine with. She'd finally been finding a foothold in the Underground, finally proving to all those bastards that she might be a girl, she might be from the upperclass, but she could hold her ground in that despicable place just as well or even better than most of them. So when Elizaveta's phone had rang two nights ago, it wasn't without a flare of anger that she'd realized the caller was her ever so loving mother with a request. A “request”, that was. One spoken in that sweet, manipulative voice her mother possessed, the one that hinted at blackmail and other unpleasantries. Elizaveta had expected it to be another threat for her to return home, to leave the Underground and come under her mother's wing once again. To become the politician and the daughter that she was always meant to become. Like hell Elizaveta would. Instead, her mother had told her to guide the young Zwingli around. The man's family had recently moved from Switzerland and required some guidance. Elizaveta scoffed at the idea that she could provide the “guidance” her mother wished to impart upon Zwingli. No doubt her mother thought of her as a bad influence...which was why her mother's call had confused her momentarily until it was mentioned that Zwingli was her age. Of course. “Still trying to set me up, Mother?” Elizaveta had said in a mockingly sweet voice. “You know I would never, darling,” the Governor replied in the same tone. Sadly, Elizaveta was far from beyond her mother's control, which was why she now found herself here, waiting for a certain Vash Zwingli. Like all good (or rather, effective) politicians, the Governor had told Elizaveta precisely all she needed to know about the Zwingli family and their son. He was an excellent student, bar none. He did not possess the natural political ability or charm that his father did, but that could be trained. He was a more private individual, somewhat paranoid and tense. And precise: the man never arrived less than five minutes ahead of time. Which was why Elizaveta was certain to arrive ten minutes ahead of their scheduled meeting time. As much as Elizaveta rebelled against her mother's life, she had learned it well. Their family was, in all senses of the word, perfect. The politician of a father (whom the Governor obviously had her sights set on as an ally), the gorgeous mother, the smart son, and the adopted daughter. Apparently Vash held an unparalleled adoration for his younger sister and the two were remarkably close. Beyond that, the Zwingli family was simply picturesque, the perfect example of a high class family that was destined for success. How dull. Elizaveta came to a halt in front of their designated meeting point, as ordained by her mother. It was a lovely restaurant by the docks. Scenic, high class...the perfect representation of Archadia. The food was excellent, the servers polite and alert. Really, nothing could go wrong. Except for, well, Elizaveta herself. Her mother had clearly outlined the consequences if Elizaveta did not deliver in settling Zwingli in. Oliver Zwingli was a crucial source of wealth and power, a key ally for whatever the Governor had planned. Not that Elizaveta particularly cared about that. Elizaveta was just annoyed that she had to be caught up in it. It wouldn't do to disobey her mother. The faint scar on her cheek served as a reminder of just that. But t didn't necessarily mean that Elizaveta couldn't have her fun either. Vash Zwingli sounded uptight and potentially pretentious. Hopefully he wasn't actually, but if he was, Elizaveta could certainly entertain herself with that as well. A small smile creeped onto Elizaveta's face. Zwingli, in all honesty, sounded like a man who had dedicated himself far too much to his own studies and far too little to life's pleasures. Her mother wanted her to marry to a wealthy, high class family, didn't she? Why then, it would only be her daughterly duty to flirt with Zwingli. Flirt...and quite possibly embarrass him. Elizaveta hadn't had much fun since she'd been in the Underground trying to prove herself capable. It was high time she allowed herself to relax a little.

words 790 tags #Vash Zwingli notes has anyone ever been far as decided to use even go want to do look more like?

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[Vash Zwingli]

THESE ARE THE DAYS WHEN I HATE THE WORLD HATE THE RICH, HATE THE HAPPY, HATE THE COMPLACENT. TV WATCHERS, BEER DRINKERS, THE SATISFIED ONES. BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN BE ALL THOSE LITTLE HATEFUL THINGS AND THEN I HATE MYSELF FOR REALIZING THAT. BE SAFE, BE SAFE.

1021 WORDS Elizaveta Héderváry TAGGED Vash can't people NOTES

This place was weird. Not just the whole fact that it seemed to be the mutant detainment capital of this part of the globe or whatever, but also the customs and just well…how people went about their daily lives. Or at least, that’s what Vash told himself as an excuse as to why he hadn’t fully well…adjusted to his surroundings just yet. That was also the very excuse he’d given his father after he’d apparently managed to get some odd looks during his first press conference. Vash had thought he’d done just fine—but the Russians on the other hand…not quite so. Russians were weird. Sure, Vash had lived here before he’d been shipped back off to Switzerland (which he had been quite thankful of despite the reason for his being shipped off) when his father had discovered the fact that he was a mutant and sought a means to teach Vash how to hide it. However, one never quite had to worry about cultural adjustments when they were hidden away in the family home and sent to a private teacher for schooling as opposed to with the other children. Vash could only recall having set foot in Archadia city maybe a handful of times when the family had first moved here, and so when he had returned—it was only natural that he felt the need to map out every corner of the city in his mind. But knowing the layout of the city and when and where the police and MIA cameras were in the city didn’t exactly mean he had learned how to fit in. Then, there was the matter of his mutation that he was trying to hide the entire time. Trying to keep his temper in check an also…well…predict every situation so he wasn’t caught off guard enough to trigger an adrenaline spike, and consequently an electrical discharge. Yeah, to say Vash stuck out was a bit of an understatement, and well that was something that his mother and father would simply not accept. If he was to really please his father and do as he said, he had to be able to fit in—had to make the people of Archadia trust him and well…accept his authority over matters that concerned with. Vash also had yet to learn just how exactly he was supposed to act and well…manipulate people like a politician could. Yes, he could lie—he had to in order to keep himself from being caught in this hellhole after all—but that wasn’t to say he was exactly a smooth-talker or even the slightest bit charismatic while doing it. His father’s biggest criticism on the matter was that Vash was far too serious when it came to just about anything and everything he did. Of course you were supposed to make sure everything you did was perfect, and convincing at the very least, but you weren’t supposed to make it seem like it weighed you down. Or well, that was what Vash had been told—whatever that meant. Regardless of Vash’s abilities or well…current limitations, his father sought it fit to have him engage in some form of “social” training. In other words, some sort of “date.” Had Vash and his father had the relationship they did prior to the discovery that Vash was a mutant, he would have groaned and protested. However now he merely accepted his fate with a scowl on his face—knowing this whole ordeal would likely end in some sort of awkward catastrophe that would end up in the newspaper the next day. Okay, so Oliver Zwingli hadn’t actually used the term “date” to describe this outing, rather using the more indirect and emotionally detaching phrase “social training” to describe this…disaster waiting to happen. One was just as bad as the other, however, in Vash’s mind, as no matter what it was, it would go terribly and the press would be all over it. At least, that’s what Vash had convinced himself as he was driven to the location of his meeting with his dinner companion. Elizaveta Héderváry was her name, not like Vash would ever be able to say her last name that is. A Hungarian who currently served as the head guard in the underground as he had been told. She was someone, no doubt, that he would end up having the occasional meeting with on a normal day anyway, and had seen her around a couple of times on his brief visits into the underground. Her mother was a governor who was particularly keen on supporting, and gaining support of his own father’s political party and views. Maybe they could stick to talking about work? Well, Vash could hope, as that was a far more comfortable topic for the Swiss, but nothing seemed to go as Vash hoped either way—so he doubted it. As the car slowed to a halt, and the driver stepped out to open the passenger door for Vash, he stepped out—only to find that his dinner companion was already at the designated meeting space. This caused him to furrow his brow a little at the unexpected turn of events. He pulled up his sleeve ever so slightly to check the time to verify that he had been exactly five minutes early and wasn’t well…late. And he was, at least with respect to the time he had been told. That was enough to fluster the small Swiss, but none the less he regarded his companion—if not now a little flustered. “Elizaveta?” He held out a gloved hand for her to shake, in a very business like fashion of course, and hoping that she didn’t find the fact that he kept his gloves on odd. Which, well he expected her to anyway as it was—at least in Switzerland, considered rude to not remove your gloves when shaking someone’s hand. “I…apologize I’ve developed a slight skin condition here…” He hastily excused, just in case. As well, he would be wearing them throughout dinner too. “I was told the correct time for meeting….right?” This was going to be a nightmare.

deltra of gangnam style

[Elizaveta Héderváry]

INFINITY (n.) the state of being limitless It didn't take a whole lot to pick out who exactly was Vash Zwingli. The upper class had a certain air towards them. The way they walked, the way they talked...and just as importantly, the cars they drove. Or rather, had other people drive. Elizaveta briefly remembered the first time she'd gotten behind a wheel. It'd been in Hungary (really, all of Elizaveta's good memories had been in Hungary). There had been that exhilaration, that thrill. There was an independence that came with driving, one that the wealthy weren't even aware they were being robbed of. Of course, there was responsibility as well, but that was something Elizaveta would happily trade for independence. She'd been reminded of her freedom each day when she sat behind that wheel and turned the key in the ignition. God, what she'd give to go back. She could, she supposed, but Elizaveta somehow felt as if she'd missed her shot. As if she'd blown her one chance to escape from this world forever. At times, she wished she had never returned, had never been found in Hungary. But that just left her feeling bitter, so Elizaveta always ended up pushing those ideas away, reminding herself that the past was the past, and best forgotten. The car pulled up to the restaurant and Elizaveta checked her watch. Exactly five minutes early. Her mother's information had been correct...as it always was. The extent and accuracy of her background checks was never short of terrifying. The driver hastened to the other side of the car and opened the door. Elizaveta pasted a smile on her lips as Vash Zwingli stepped out. ...He was short. Elizaveta's mother had given her plenty of information on Zwingli. His family background, his history, his father's political status, everything. Elizaveta had looked over it, not to be a good daughter, but because Elizaveta knew that information was power, and she would wield it to accomplish whatever she had in mind. Namely, screwing her mother over. And having her fun with Zwingli. She'd failed, however, to look at his physical details. Really that was the first thing that Elizaveta should have examined, but for some reason, it had completely slipped her mind. Vash Zwingli was at least several inches shorter than Elizaveta, and between the furrowed brow and unruly blonde hair, Elizaveta knew she was in for a treat. Zwingli immediately looked concerned upon seeing her and lifted his sleeve slightly to glance at his watch. Elizaveta continued to smile at him. He seemed uptight. Probably hadn't gotten out much, not surprising considering his history. Stuck indoors most of his life, always told to follow a single path...really rather sad. Not that Elizaveta was much different, but at least she had had a small taste of freedom as a teen. “You must be Vash,” Elizaveta said, shaking the man's hand firmly. He was very businesslike, very professional. Elizaveta wondered if that was simply his personality (she wouldn't find it surprising), or if he had simply trained himself to act that way. Either way, Elizaveta would have her fun. She glanced down at Vash's gloves, raising her eyebrow slightly at them. It wasn't that cold yet (or perhaps Elizaveta was simply adapting to Russia's volatile climate). Vash seemed to take the hint though, immediately providing her with an explanation. Elizaveta nodded along to his words, though the gloves still piqued her curiosity ever so slightly. “You're perfectly on time, early even. I just thought it would be rude if you arrived before I did.” Elizaveta nodded as the driver pulled the car out of the parking space and drove off. “Our restaurant is right here...I hope you enjoy seafood. It's this restaurant's specialty, though there are a number of other options if those are more to your liking.” Elizaveta led Vash towards the restaurant, giving the waiter her last name before they were brought to their reserved table. Her mother had made sure to book the very best table in the house, right where one could see the waterfront in all its glory. It was in a corner, allowing them to speak privately as much as possible. “So, Vash...how have you been enjoying Archadia so far?” Elizaveta asked after they were both seated. “You only arrived a little while ago, if I remember correctly. I'm sure it's been somewhat of a transition. Have you had the chance to go out and explore yet? For a fairly new city, this place is bustling with activity. I'm sure afterwards if you have no place to be, I could take you on a little tour.”

words 767 tags #Vash Zwingli notes Liz is gonna have so much fun with Vash.

template by falkyrin

[Vash Zwingli]

THESE ARE THE DAYS WHEN I HATE THE WORLD HATE THE RICH, HATE THE HAPPY, HATE THE COMPLACENT. TV WATCHERS, BEER DRINKERS, THE SATISFIED ONES. BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN BE ALL THOSE LITTLE HATEFUL THINGS AND THEN I HATE MYSELF FOR REALIZING THAT. BE SAFE, BE SAFE.

750 WORDS Elizaveta Héderváry TAGGED All he wants is cheese. NOTES

The man simply frowned at the answer he received regarding the time that he arrived. “Early even” wasn’t a statement he liked to hear as it implied doubt, and of course he was early, that’s just how he worked. He had a feeling however, that this woman did her homework and was why she was here before him. Nonetheless, that tone she’d used was something that didn’t sit so well with him, but he didn’t comment on it. After all, his father wanted him to go on this little…..excursion for business purposes, mainly to maintain existing relationships and potentially improve them. And to test his self-restraint. He’d only been here for a short period of time and he already could tell just how far his father wanted to push him to test if he could truly control himself, act normal and do as he was told. The customs here were strange with regards to all of that—and perhaps being a mutant didn’t exactly help get used to it. He supposed what helped was that in general there were well; a lot of things you just didn’t talk about here. But the strangest thing for him was seeing just how severely segregated the mutants and people were here. The tagging, labeling, all of it was strange to him. Not that Switzerland was a safe haven for mutants, but this sort of extreme simply wasn’t there since it was simply too busy and people were too focused on dealing with more important things. He supposed however, that was why his father had moved here. He could make much more money off of his political views here than back home, and he wouldn’t be seen as such an extremist either. However, all of this just made things much harder for Vash and he needed to be a whole lot more careful—never mind the fact that he was given the position of director of the agency that hunted down mutants of all things. Overall, since his arrival into Archadia and his encounter with the mutant named “Kylan” his desire to leave and just go back to Switzerland only increased. He wanted Swiss food and to hear and speak Swiss German, none of this Russian and he’d even grown sick of speaking English. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the languages well; he did as he caught onto those sorts of things rather quickly. It just wasn’t the same, it was foreign and it didn’t have that same sense of comfort that Swiss German or French did to him. “I can’t say I have seafood often, though I guess it’ll be a nice change.” He answered with a neutral expression and tone. “I admit I probably eat more cheese than considered healthy usually.” He offered her a slight—fake half smile then and it vanished in a mere second of it appearing on his features. All he wanted right now was fondue. He followed Elizaveta into the restaurant and sat down quietly when the waiter seated them, stiff as a board as this was going to be his first prolonged sitting with another human and he really couldn’t afford to give off any signs that well…he might not be just that. “I’ll admit I’m still not used to how they do things here. I think that’s why my father set up this meeting, so I can learn what is and isn’t /Russian./” He snorted a little. “Even as conservative as Switzerland is…the culture is much more liberal in terms of being able to do as you want. Here everyone’s eyes are on you all of the time.” He sighed and looked around for a moment before taking his glass of water. “That also might just be my position though…you can’t help but feel watched an be a little paranoid.” He let out a forced chuckle—trying to make light of it as typical business talk anyway. “I’m much more of a “hiding away in the mountains from the insanity of the city” person to be honest…” He shrugged then, not wanting to lengthen this meeting any more than it needed to be. “But I think my father wants you to teach me how to survive in a Russian city, so we’ll see about after our meal.” At least this way, if he felt his control slipping at all he could make an excuse to leave at the end, and if not—perhaps impress his father with having a decently lengthy meeting with Elizaveta.

deltra of gangnam style