[MGW] 142. Tact (RP for
mapetrelli)
Jan. 30th, 2009 09:42 am"Tact is the knack of making a point without making an enemy." - Isaac Newton
Adam had made reservations for 1:00 at Arabelle, an upscale Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side, thinking to put Angela at least slightly at ease by the surroundings. Surely he could have no immediate ill intent over expensive wine and pristine linens in elegant surroundings while dressed to impress, could he? He even went so far as to hire a town car for the afternoon instead of a cab, so that she would neither have to bother her own driver nor deal with the annoyance of truly public transportation. Well tailored suit, nice coat, leather gloves, expensive sunglasses...he remembered how to fit in this world as well as he fit in the East Village and hung around in the bar playing piano and having a glass of whiskey with the bartender. Of course, they could both of them lie with a smile and kill with a kiss and the other knew it all too well, but he was really hoping it wouldn't come to that. He did have that pesky resolution to keep about not killing any more of their parents, and she did have some minor level of protection, he supposed, by reason of their former relationship, but he did hope she knew not to push him too far.
He wanted this to go well.
The balance of power had shifted. He needed her to realize just how far. She might control Primatech, but that alone lost a great deal of significance considering he knew its secrets and knew her so well. It lost even more, when lined up against the power he'd rallied on his side, and she had to see that. He shouldn't have to make threats or be crass about it. They could have a civilized lunch and discuss an amicable settlement. It might not be exactly what Claire or Peter had hoped for when they first discussed destroying the Company, but clearly Pinehearst had risen as the far greater threat. If they could end this without fighting a battle on two fronts...because, really, that never ended well, as both Napoleon and Hitler could attest to, and he'd no intention of losing simply because he overreached.
He might have the most power on his side, but they weren't invincible, no matter what they all thought. Once he'd thought that, and once they'd proven him wrong. She held the Haitian, and he could neutralize even Sylar and Peter. A sniper could take out any of them, and Sylar was the only one with the possibility of hearing the bullet coming in time to stop it. But did she really want to wage war on her sons, on him? Did she want power that much, or did she want peace? Because she had to know she couldn't take them all out, and decimating what was left of what Arthur tried to build despite them had to be her priority as well, didn't it? Weren't they stronger together? And couldn't she see the advantages of ceding the battle gracefully, before they rained fire on what was left of her empire? Did she want to kill her own children to stop him? That, of course, was the point not to be said, but always implied. He held her sons, at least two of them, in the palm of his hand, and the third, his, theirs, wouldn't break with Peter, not again, even if he hated Adam. He wasn't too fond of her, either. She couldn't count on Nathan's support. Her best bet was to stand with them, not against them.
Angela had never been a fool, he mused as he stepped out of the car and moved up the steps to ring the bell. She would see sense, see the advantages of laying down arms, and he could win this front without firing a shot, leaving him free to devote his time to finishing the rest, and rebuilding the a new dream from the ashes of the destruction of the old.
Adam had made reservations for 1:00 at Arabelle, an upscale Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side, thinking to put Angela at least slightly at ease by the surroundings. Surely he could have no immediate ill intent over expensive wine and pristine linens in elegant surroundings while dressed to impress, could he? He even went so far as to hire a town car for the afternoon instead of a cab, so that she would neither have to bother her own driver nor deal with the annoyance of truly public transportation. Well tailored suit, nice coat, leather gloves, expensive sunglasses...he remembered how to fit in this world as well as he fit in the East Village and hung around in the bar playing piano and having a glass of whiskey with the bartender. Of course, they could both of them lie with a smile and kill with a kiss and the other knew it all too well, but he was really hoping it wouldn't come to that. He did have that pesky resolution to keep about not killing any more of their parents, and she did have some minor level of protection, he supposed, by reason of their former relationship, but he did hope she knew not to push him too far.
He wanted this to go well.
The balance of power had shifted. He needed her to realize just how far. She might control Primatech, but that alone lost a great deal of significance considering he knew its secrets and knew her so well. It lost even more, when lined up against the power he'd rallied on his side, and she had to see that. He shouldn't have to make threats or be crass about it. They could have a civilized lunch and discuss an amicable settlement. It might not be exactly what Claire or Peter had hoped for when they first discussed destroying the Company, but clearly Pinehearst had risen as the far greater threat. If they could end this without fighting a battle on two fronts...because, really, that never ended well, as both Napoleon and Hitler could attest to, and he'd no intention of losing simply because he overreached.
He might have the most power on his side, but they weren't invincible, no matter what they all thought. Once he'd thought that, and once they'd proven him wrong. She held the Haitian, and he could neutralize even Sylar and Peter. A sniper could take out any of them, and Sylar was the only one with the possibility of hearing the bullet coming in time to stop it. But did she really want to wage war on her sons, on him? Did she want power that much, or did she want peace? Because she had to know she couldn't take them all out, and decimating what was left of what Arthur tried to build despite them had to be her priority as well, didn't it? Weren't they stronger together? And couldn't she see the advantages of ceding the battle gracefully, before they rained fire on what was left of her empire? Did she want to kill her own children to stop him? That, of course, was the point not to be said, but always implied. He held her sons, at least two of them, in the palm of his hand, and the third, his, theirs, wouldn't break with Peter, not again, even if he hated Adam. He wasn't too fond of her, either. She couldn't count on Nathan's support. Her best bet was to stand with them, not against them.
Angela had never been a fool, he mused as he stepped out of the car and moved up the steps to ring the bell. She would see sense, see the advantages of laying down arms, and he could win this front without firing a shot, leaving him free to devote his time to finishing the rest, and rebuilding the a new dream from the ashes of the destruction of the old.