A Fool's Hope [Francis Bonnefoy]

[Feliciano Vargas]

It had started out such a normal day.

Feliciano awoke with just enough time to get his cell cleaned up for morning wake-up call and inspection. The guards mussed up his side of the stone room a bit and whacked him for being 'untidy', but they failed to find the Italian's hidden stash of food. Once they dropped his meager plate of 'breakfast', a cold, flavorless porridge that did little to fill his stomach, the Italian hurried to dig up the bits of bread he'd gathered the past few days. It was a bit dirty, not to mention stale, but bread is bread and more than enough to add some substance to an otherwise bland, disgusting breakfast. You'd think after two years of this, the Italian would be used to it--the canteen food at Weeds of Tomorrow wasn't that much better, really. Even focusing solely on the taste of the food didn't help because there was nothing there. Just mush. All sensation with no appeal. It was honestly hard to stay happy with such a disappointing start.

However, something strange happened.

Thankfully he'd had more than enough time to finish eating before the guards came. Just imagining the beating he would've received made his skin crawl. There was no fanfare in their approach; a simple "Come on," and a careless hand dragging him from his cell by his forearm when his feet didn't quite move fast enough. Whether it was Feliciano's small, half-starved form and 'bait' status or the general need to rush spurred on the manhandling down the cells, the Italian didn't know. They continued on in such fashion in heavy silence, staccato footsteps echoing in militaristic ease over his own hushed shuffle as he tried to keep up. The brunette didn't know what was going on. Was he being dragged off for a fight? He hadn't seen the inside of the Arena in at least a month, after his last match had ended with painfully aching ribs--not quite broken but bruised deep in his bones--and enough swelling at his throat that breathing had been a challenge. He'd recovered since then, if only because he'd grown quite used to various aches and pains over the years and learned to mute them into hazy background sensations. Maybe they decided it was time he helped 'show off' one of the Underground's prize mutants.

It was evident once they reached the main corridor and headed inward, towards the center of the Underground, that his final destination was the Arena. "V-Ve, where are we going?" Feliciano asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer but praying to Dio that he was wrong, wrong wrong.

The answering shake and scowl helped keep his mouth shut the rest of the trip.

A rough shove into the small waiting area adjacent to the main Arena and Feliciano was alone. The boy still wasn't quite sure what was going on--he couldn't hear any of the telltale sounds of people in the stands. No rustling cloth, shoes creaking as weight shifts from one foot to another, excited voices placing bets on the future bloodbath, arguments over seating and personal space. No smells of sweat and anticipation, only ages-old blood and must tickled his nose. Nothing was right, here. The guards didn't even bother standing at the doorway to watch. The ominous sound of a deadbolt locking into place rang in his ears before their footsteps wandered away, still with that sharp fashion only proper 'training' could induce. A weak frown tugged at the corners of his lips and he crossed his arms over his chest, distinctly uncomfortable.

What was he doing here? What was going on?

SPOILER: Click to show

I hope this is alright ;; I'm sorry I took so long!

[Deleted]

"Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try"

The business he had today in the Underground was personal.

Not that there wasn't some piece that always was, when Francis visited. The trips were often enough used to his advantage as a clandestine member of the Freedom Fighters; he was able to first handedly observe the held “mutants” here, and interact with them for himself. Many of who he had talked to were belligerent – their behavior completely justified with what torture they had suffered through, but it only made it that much more difficult in conversing. Regardless, he was looking for somebody who could be there, a part of the group in the holding cells who would be able to and was willing to relay information back to him about how they were faring in reality. He was well aware that when the “humans” were around, they acted much more aggressive for the purpose of scaring them away. It didn't help Francis's purposes of attempting to ascertain who was faring the worst, and who needed the most help – along with any other possible perceptions that could be gained of what was really happening in the Underground when he wasn't present.

His intentions were to scope out who he should purchase – giving a brief but repreive all the same to be away from the squalor and the antagonistic aura of this place. He could do cycles to give everybody a chance to have some rest, but it was also for the purposes of being able to propose a plan regarding the Freedom Fighters' intentions of liberating those held captive in private, without being subjected to any unwanted surveillance.

Francis required a person who could act innocently, someone who could convince interrogators they knew nothing – somebody who was blended into the background, without necessarily becoming a part of the action. They had to be reasonable, could think under stressful circumstances, and were willing to risk it. It was a big responsibiility, but very important; he had to consider his options with extreme care. He couldn't afford to have this get screwed up.

After his frequent and many observations, Francis had decided – at least, he had decided on who he would see if they were willing to accept his proposal. If they didn't, he had selected two other options, but he was hoping he would not be rejected.

Feliciano Vargas was pushed into the waiting area by a guard, and the door was shut tightly behind him, the sound of the lock fairly audible as the echo resounded for a moment before fading. From where he was seated across the room, Francis watched the confusion on Feliciano's face spread. It wasn't surprising; he had been dragged here with no explanation, along with the fact no guards were present – Francis had assured them he would be fine, and he would like to enjoy his privacy. The adjacent arena was quiet, as there were no spectators here today.

”Hello, Feliciano,” Francis greeted in a manner so as to not startle the other occupant, but to let his presence be known, ”I would like to talk to you about something today, if you do not mind?”

electric has gangnam style

SPOILER: Click to show

Ahhh, sorry for the wait!! ;;;; Your post was great <333

[Feliciano Vargas]

Surprises in the Underground were never good. Never, ever. Confusion was quickly replaced with discomfort colored with a tinge of fear; what was Feliciano supposed to expect out of all this? Is this some deranged plot the guards had come up with to scare him, or was there a deeper, darker meaning behind the Italian being shoved unceremoniously into the waiting area of the Arena and otherwise left to his own devices? Should he expect the people to come pouring in a few minutes, or maybe a few hours from now, when the young mutant had worked himself into a perfect panic? What was going on? He strained his ears some more, trying to find the guards who'd brought him here in order to eavesdrop on their conversation in hopes of gleaning some more information. However, he had no idea which direction they had gone, due to his distraction earlier, and it was difficult to hunt down Borys and Viktor amidst the rest of the noises all over the Underground.

When he finally gave up, amber eyes blinking rapidly as his pupils constricted and refocused on the room around him, Feliciano realized with a start that he wasn't alone. "Hello, Feliciano," the stranger said softly, and the Italian jerked around to stare at the other in surprise. (How had he not noticed the other when he'd come in?) "I would like to talk to you about something today, if you do not mind?"

Feliciano's heart dropped into his gut.

He immediately recognized the man standing on the other side of the waiting area. A finely-tailored suit of better quality than any outfit he'd seen on anyone, ever, perfectly coiffed blonde hair, bright blue eyes (Feliciano could probably stare at those blue eyes for hours if he wasn't feeling quite so worried right now--if only to try and guess how many different shades and tints there were coloring the man's irises) and just very noticeable good looks with a very professional air to them. Only the truly blind wouldn't be able to recognize the man before him, and that's being a bit mean because they'd probably be able to recognize the scent of the man, or the sound of his voice, or the way he walked, instead. Every mutant down here knows this blonde, at least by face and title. He was the one in charge of the laws, at least in this region of Russia. Not only an adviser to the government, probably even the governor himself, but a man in charge of managing the police force. He could strengthen every legislation laid down about mutant care and strength, if he wanted to. He could make all of their lives even worse than they already are.

And the Attorney General just asked if he could speak with Feliciano.

He wanted to be sick.

It took much longer than it should have for the young man to swallow down the bile in his throat,nervously crossing his arms over his chest. Was this about his refusal to fight in the Arena? The guards always liked to threaten that, should Feliciano continue this streak of stubbornness, his life would get more difficult than he could imagine. Was this what they meant? Having the Attorney General come here and threaten him? No, no; Feliciano quickly dismissed that thought, clenching nervously at his shirtsleeves. There's no way someone as important as this man would stoop so low over a single, simple bait mutant. Maybe they'd caught wind of some of the more...rebellious comments the Italian was prone to making. Talk about how mutants and humans were the same, that they didn't deserve to be treated like pets and slaves and cannon fodder for their perverse love of blood-sport. Feliciano never really made it a secret that he felt strongly about the rights he felt his friends, family, and all mutants deserved: every single right that a 'normal' human had irrevocably, undeniably, and unanimously.

"W-What do you want, ve?" he asked bluntly, trying to be forceful but failing quite miserably as his nerves caught his tongue. "Am I in some kind of trouble? I know who you are, a-and visits from the attorney general c-can't be good, ve."

[Deleted]

"No hell below us, Above us only sky"

The frightened man in front of him did not phase Francis, and he took only a moment to study him. His ability to observe was not the keenest from what he could discern from only being in each other's presence for only a few seconds. It had taken Feliciano time to realize he already had company, and a verbal cue had been required for recognition of another's voice. Not the fastest reaction time, and it could be improved. He made a mental note.

"W-What do you want, ve? Am I in some kind of trouble? I know who you are, a-and visits from the attorney general c-can't be good, ve."

The stuttering was also not a particularly good attribute to possess for what Francis was looking for. Fine enough regarding the acting requirement he needed to see in the one he selected -- but as long as it was acting, and it remained solely that. Feliciano seemed to be quite genuine at the moment, which was something else he added to his already steadily growing observations of his perusal of the Italian.

"Relax, my dear. Please, have a seat." he chuckled, and swept his arm to gesture for the other to take a place next to him. Francis desired to study him up close, to assist further in his selection. "I only have a few questions for you, and if you choose to help me, I am willing to return the offer."

The words were plainly spoken, even, nothing hidden beneath them. It would be best to remain truthful and honest for now, without any vaguely cloaked meanings. It was first his goal to cultivate some trust between them; to relax Feliciano and reassure him that he was safe, and clarify that he was not being threatened. This was an extended courtesy for now, and it would remain that way throughout their conversation. He seemed to be an agreeable fellow, past the attempted act of defiance in the face of potential danger due to Francis's authority. Admirable for being so blunt, certainly -- his bravery was applauded in his book, and it was greatly welcomed with open arms.

electric has gangnam style

[Feliciano Vargas]

The searching way those blue eyes scanned him drew an uncomfortable little shiver out of Feliciano. What was the blonde staring at him for? Was he trying to judge his character? Did he have something on his face? Did the man just have a weird habit of not blinking? Francis, considering his post, should be used the bedraggled state most incarcerated mutants were in. After all, he had a hand in setting up the kind of treatment the officials gave them in the first place. (If not a hand in that, at least the guilt of doing nothing about it.) That thought stirred up a bit more of the Italian's agitation, leading to a defiant glare in the face of that analytic gaze.

However, his attempts at scowling faltered as Arkadiya City's attorney general relaxed, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he chuckled warmly. The sight was as aesthetically pleasing as the rest of the blonde, a rich sound only enunciating that fact, and the combination was so startlingly real that the brunette could only bring himself to frown slightly, a bit perplexed. When was the last time Feliciano had heard someone laugh in genuine amusement, unhampered by bitterness, pain, or cruelty? Beyond the times where laughter was taken for granted, he...honestly had no idea. "Relax, my dear," Francis implored him, a subtle purr in his voice as he gestured to the bench beside him. "Please, take a seat. I only have a few questions for you. And if you choose to help me, I am willing to return the offer."

Any ease the mutant had in the presence of this man, those words scared it away. He did nothing to hide the way his shoulders tensed and pulled in, just a little, or how his fingers twitched with want to clench into fists. The invitation to sit certainly didn't sound like an order, but even with that added please, it seemed less than a request. Perhaps it was the tone of voice, or the inflection of his words? Francis was an important man after all, given his position, and a rich one at that, if rumor was even half-right. It'd make sense if he were used to being given regard, listened to--and that must be the case, given the comfortable slouch of that well-built frame.

In response, Feliciano shifted his weight to one foot, head tilted to one side and eyes narrowed slightly. "Ve, if it's alright, I'm more comfortable standing." A half lie if he ever said one, but just as much a half-truth. Sitting too close to the blonde would put him at a disadvantage, at risk should Francis dislike this 'impudent mutant's' attitude, or his answers, and respond in kind. It was safer to stay here. "What do you want? I can hear you from here."