2012-08-16 The Timely Mrs. van Tilburg

Another shimmering evening under glittering chandeliers, a wave of the wealthy and the pretentious sweeps from room to room with the social tides and the events of the night. While many who attend are impressed or inspired and some have longed to be here, others have come like weary soldiers do to a long march--prepared, focused, and unwilling.

Clusters of guests build and break over and over while some focal points remain fixed. One of those points is the German Ambassador-at-Large and, in his orbit, his Charge d'Affaires, Alexander van Tilburg. As is appropriate, of course, van Tilburg's wife is in orbit around him, an ivory moon circling a black and white world.

Bethany is dressed simply and modestly in an off-white silk gown, showing off to best advantage van Tilburg's wealth and his good fortune in having a well-behaved wife so much younger than himself. She doesn't hang off his arm like other women, though. She laughs and flatters and holds court, a task that sometimes falls to her with the Ambassador-at-Large presently being in need of a wife of his own.

Alexander looms on the edge of her bright presence. He excuses himself at one point and returns no happier and a great deal more irritable, as though his wife's presence grates on his skin like a haircloth shirt. When he asks her to dance, his grip is too tight, his eyes too hot. Still, none of it quite breaks the smooth surface of etiquette they both maintain.

Among the guests is Sebastian Shaw. The man is not really fond of these sorts of parties-- he sees them as stuffy and full of people pretending at airs of wealthy decadence. Minor officials and secretaries and a handful of people with real power for them to orbit around like a pack of freshmen trying to prove themselves 'edgy' enough to hang out with the seniors.

Unfortunately for the billionaire, he sticks out like a mountain of raw power and wealth in purposefully anachronistic dress-- the slacks and dress shirt are modern enough and impeccably tailored to his tall frame-- but the dark vest is subtley patterned rather than solid, and the choice of silk cravat blends in quite well with the centerpiece of his outfit-- a long coat in a style not typically worn since the days of tall sailing ships. It's a throwback, and largely at odds with most of the room with its deep navy and bright gold-colored thread, but Shaw owns the look entirely, and noone seems willing to take issue with it.

Somehow, the industrialist has managed to get cornered near the balcony doors by an excitable government official who is trying desperately to talk to him about the incentives his country is putting forward for businesses such as Shaw's and they could work together to secure an enormous amount of profit and... Shaw isn't really listening. He nods on occasion, and occasionally murmurs some short acknowledgement, but he swirls his drink like a man that is contemplating whether he can drink enough alcohol to either make the other man pass out or dull the pain of a leap off the balcony into the night air. "Monsieur! There you are, did you not wish to speak to someone in the Ambassador's party?" The timely Mrs. van Tilburg descends upon the gentleman in question and grabs his attention immediately with her dazzling smile and outstretched hand. "I believe the person you wanted to see is immediately to the left of that general just there. He mentioned he was going to the smoking room."

The annoyance kisses her hand and departs in a flurry of profuse thanks. "Oh, no," Bethany says, waving him off. "Not at all." She turns to Shaw and her smile is undimmed but tempered with knowing amusement. "Another drink?" she offers, gesturing at nothing in particular--only, as though she had conjured one--a member of the waitstaff arrives.

Shaw is somewhat pleasantly surprised by the interruption, eyes tracking down to give Bethany an evaluating once-over. Well, if nothing else, she's nicer to look at than the previous irritation. Also far more important, and that is something of a relief. He tilts his head in a polite acknowledgement of her helpful intervention that still somehow manages to reserve judgement about being happy to see her. Perhaps it's the way the warm, polite smile doesn't quite hit his eyes. He accepts the drink, trading his mostly-empty glass for the fresh one. "Mrs. van Tilburg," the greeting implies an invitation to stay if she wishes, and his voice drops just a touch, and the smile inches towards his eyes a little. "Or do you perhaps prefer Ms. Cabe?" "Bethany, Mr. Shaw." Bethany extends her hand to him in greeting. She has a strong grip and calluses from hard work that remain in spite of the work of frantic manicurists. "Because you were so kind as to inquire."

She lifts her chin just enough to look challenging but softens it with a curious tilt. "To what do we owe the honour, Mr. Shaw?" There is nothing sly or sarcastic about the question, nor is she flirtatious. Everything about her seems forward and forthright, fearless. She certainly doesn't appear intimidated by his stature even if she is respectful of his station. Shaw has a large hand to go with his large frame. Unlike some men in his position, he doesn't feel the need to crush people in his grip, though he clearly could. "Bethany, then," he decides, approving of the feel of her hand and the tilt to her head. The smile slowly becomes somewhat more genuine. "Keeping up appearances. Aren't we all?" he muses, glancing pointedly out across the party. "It's a skill, that's certain," Bethany says easily. "Another set of tactics. But it's not all bad, is it?" She takes a sip of her champagne. "There's work to be done and ground to be covered. Accomplishments are something to enjoy no matter what form they take." That much is true--she may not like some aspects of all this but she does love doing her job.

Sebastian Shaw gestures over the crowd with his glass. "That I would agree with. But this-- and I mean no disrespect for your efforts-- is the semblance of accomplishing things. They say that these are the places where things get decided, that you must ciculate and mingle here to get things done. Tonight is about putting on a show for everyone else, and anything that does get decided will be forgotten in a half-drunken haze and a night of mistresses." He shrugs, gives her a light smirk. "And of course, next week, in offices and meetings, they shall discuss them all again and actually make progress." He raises the glass towards her. "But it really is a lovely party, Bethany. It's really too bad about the guests. But I can't find fault with the execution. It's been exquisite."

"Thank you. I -was- talking about me, of course, when I mentioned accomplishments." Bethany laughs, a genuine peal of amusement, mostly at herself. "Every one of these parties is a bit like the meet and greet at a dog park. Everyone must sniff each other thoroughly to determine who they'll play with when the balls come out."

Something catches Bethany's eye and she sets a hand on Shaw's arm, lightly, before she steps away. "Excuse me, I loathe being rude, but I must go and... " She turns to keep facing him as she departs. "...I hope we can continue this conversation." With that, she deposits her empty glass on a passing tray and slips away into the crowd. Shaw raises his glass to acknowledge her point with a little salute. "Of course, my dear. I'll look forward to your convenience." He lets her go a fair distance, spots another minor bootlicker waiting to monopolize his time, and this time makes essentially no pretense about shouldering the irritant aside. He passes a couple of people noteworthy enough to give passing attention to-- "General, good to see you. Yes, my assistant has that pencilled in--" and manages to recuse himself to the quiet of the balcony, where he sets down his glass and lays hands on the railing, giving himself a pensive view of the night sky.

It could be difficult, spending evenings with such petty, bothersome sorts. It made his skin crawl to be in their company and playing by their cheap little social rules. But it was a necessary evil for long-term gain. And there were of course brighter points. Running into van Tilburg's wife could yet make the evening reasonably productive. He cares precisely not at all for her husband's position. It was her own activities that made her a valuable contact to gain. Yes. They would definitely continue the conversation, Shaw decides, scooping up the glass to finish the remainder of the expensive champagne. After a moment to enjoy the clear night air, he turns to hunt down a replacement for the empty glass again. "There you are." Bethany comes toward him, two glasses of champagne in hand. "I thought I might find you enjoying air you don't have to share with anyone else. I hope I'm not intruding but I wondered if you'd like another drink." It's possible that she saw him go out and has a nearly perfect idea of how long it takes a man to pensively drink a glass of champagne. Or, perhaps her people have eyes on this area. The possibilities are endless but the result remains the same. Perfect timing.

Either way, Shaw is suitably impressed, and accepts the fresh drink. "Not intruding at all, my dear lady," he assures her. "In fact, I was just contemplating inquiring as to whether your other job might be permitted to impinge upon your current undertakings." Announcement: Aladdin shouts, “Last call for Gotham Scene. Emit drops in 5 mins.” "The Ambassador's Under Secretary has arrived, so I am my own woman again. I'd be happy to speak to you about my day job." Bethany leans on the railing, facing him, stem of her glass held lightly in her fingertips. "I like that work far better. They frown on shooting people at these parties. Shame." She takes a sip of champagne and gives him a mischievous glance. "It would so lighten things up." "Delightful," Shaw smiles. He might mean the idea of shooting up the party-goers, or he might mean her freedom to do as she likes. Knowing him... both at the same time. "I understand your firm provides quite a few services," he notes. He did his homework, of course, before showing up to the party. "It has come to my attention that there was an incident of sorts at Three-Mile Island just the other day. It has left me with some... concerns as to whether I've done all I can to protect our own facilities." "I completely understand," Bethany says easily. Now her brightness is slightly muted but it's replaced by intensity, the eagerness of expecting a new challenge. The idea of working for Shaw is definitely a kick. His interests are on a larger scale--and in more dimensions--than most clients. "Did you have something specific in mind that I could help with?"

There's a smile and a firm nod. "I would like to know more about my employees, under the circumstances. In fact, I would like to know everything there is to know about them. ALL of them," Shaw says promptly. "I'm... not entirely impressed with the government's security checks. What would you say to devising a rigorous screening process?" Bethany doesn't jump in to agree right away. She does the math in her head--Shaw's company size, her own resources, the strain they're under already preparing to handle Stark's needs. However, this is an easier job to ease into than increasing her very exclusive agent pool by twenty percent.

"I'm certain that we can give you more certainty about your employees," she says, once she's mulled it over. She looks Shaw in the eye and nods. "We can use a variety of checks, surveillance methods, human operatives, and stress testing to expose weaknesses in the human components of your business. I suggest you select a department or pool of employees where you'd like us to start and if you're satisfied with our progress there, we'll expand operations."

Few things please Shaw more than competence, speed, and a willingness to do the distasteful out of necessity, and it shows in the genuinity of the smile. "Excellent. I assume you have a standard set of contracts for these occasions for our respective assistants to handle," he muses. He's quite sure that someone as resourceful as Bethany and her staff can find contact information for a company as public as Shaw Industries. "Provided that this first venture goes well, I think there is room for more long-term arrangements. Perhaps in the vein of an advisory consultant?" "I'm open to discussion," Bethany says, offering him her hand again and giving him a warm smile. "You'll find that the documents won't be terribly specific regarding our role. I'd prefer, for efficiency, that the nature of the engagement be between us. For this kind of action, I generally only expose the scale of the operation to my closest advisors--if you plan to do the same, please keep me apprised of those informed. It keeps my people from second-guessing themselves as they work and your people from second-guessing at all. You or someone you trust can provide the target sector information to me either personally or by courier."

Shaw nods, and shakes the hand. "In that case, I do believe it will be a pleasure doing business, Bethany. I will have a short initial list to you soonest. I would like my assistant prioritized. She has been much more heavily vetted than the rest, so you may look upon it as a particular challenge to find new material." Arguably, she is also the most dangerous of his employees, for all he trusts her. "Are you familiar with the club on Fifth Street?" Bethany gives him an amused look, then nods. "It's my duty to be familiar with such things, Mr. Shaw. I've never had the pleasure of attending, myself, as I am so rarely in America."

"I have a vested interest in the establishment," Shaw explains, permitting her the amusement. "Among other things, it is a useful place for quiet meetings off the radar. Consider it an open door, since I rather think my office draws too much notice." And honestly, he spends as much time in one place as the other. "I'd be happy to meet you there," Bethany says, as graciously as though he had offered to meet her on a yacht or at the summer house. In truth, she's more comfortable with the idea of that club than those other places.

"I have your number, I'll ensure you have mine. Now." Bethany tilts her head and listens a moment. Yes, the music from the ballroom has shifted to a stately pace. "Would you care to dance?" She offers him her hand. If nothing else, being seen associating in public means she can visit him without raising anything but--perhaps--a few eyebrows. Also, she hasn't gotten the chance tonight.

If nothing else, the sheer bravada, as well as cleverness, of asking seems to win Shaw over and he smiles. He straightens up somewhat formally, takes her hand in a thoroughly genteel manner, tucks his other hand behind his back, and bows over her hand in a wholly courtly manner. "Why, I would be delighted, my lady."