Marvel: Impregnation System

Chapter 146: Chapter 141: A Date With Madame St. Clair

"Names Bucky Barnes, how can I help ya?" Bucky had a business smile on him, hopping onto his feet and holding out his hand that wasn't that dirty as James took it.

A week or two ago, a couple of James's friends from the factory, who used to play pick-up baseball back in the day with him, ran into Bucky.

They weren't exactly close anymore, especially after that huge scuffle caused Bucky to gradually stop playing baseball with them, leading them to drift apart.

However, Bucky and Ricky had been close while growing up, having lived in the same orphanage which was why James and the older kids looked after them.

"Hey Bucky, I don't know if you remember me, but we used to play ball back in the day, and we'd get scuffed up by kids from other neighborhoods," James said with a smile as Bucky showed a look of surprise before taking a moment to carefully study his features before his eyebrows raised.

"James, James 'Fastball' Robins!" Bucky's business smile transformed into an excited grin as he patted James's shoulder and pulled him into a hug.

"It's been so long, buddy! I haven't seen you in ages. You know, a friend of yours told me you went to work at the steel mill." Bucky said, patting James on the back as he responded with a sad chuckle.

"Bucky-"

"Man, what was that girl's name again-"

Snap

"I remember you were seeing a girl back then-Milly, right?" Bucky wondered, snapping his fingers as the memory clicked as he led James over to a nearby table inside, where they both sat down.

"Tilly, and she's great. Actually, we're expecting a month from now," James smiled, looking down while fiddling with his hands.

"That's great buddy, I'm so happy for you man." Bucky chuckled, nudging James before knocking on the table for good luck.

"As a congratulations present, any of your car problems are on the house, on me," Bucky said, patting his chest as James chuckled at the familiar forwardness he remembered from him.

Even from back then, he recalled Bucky as the guy who always had your back and treated his friends better than their weight in gold.

"Bucky-"

"No, no, no, no, I insist James, you were good to me Steve and Ricky back then-"

"Actually, Bucky, I didn't come here for car troubles or to catch up," James said, his hands gripping his hat tighter as Bucky looked surprised.

"I need help, Bucky." James felt ashamed, coming out of nowhere and asking for help towards Bucky which was why he ducked his head.

"Is it a favor or some money, cause I don't got a lot on me but I can muster up a few bucks if you're really in need-"

"It's about the steel mill, and I think the Steffield factory here, and even the ones in the tri-state area, are closing down and moving to Ohio," James revealed, a staggering fact that took Bucky by surprise before his fist slammed into the table.

"Wha-"

"They can't do that!" Bucky yelled furiously, interrupting his own sentence, his anger flaring as he thought of all his buddies from the orphanage, who had gone to work at the Steffield steel mill.

"Bethlehem Steel just cut back at the shipyard and now Steffield wants to bolt, what the hell!" Bucky was furious, his fist balling tightly as his knuckles whitened.

In 1936, steel manufacturing was a vital industry in New York, with companies like Bethlehem Steel, Steffield Steel, and U.S. Steel operating factories and shipyards in Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx.

The city's strategic location along with its accessibility to raw materials, and transportation network made it a key hub for steel production, fueling sectors like construction, shipbuilding, and especially railroads.

However, by the late 1930s, many steel companies began moving their operations out of New York.

A lot of it actually indirectly had to do with Lucky and his union, the Teamsters, as the rising labor costs, frequent strikes, and the city's limited space for expansion made it difficult to maintain profitability.

At the same time, the Great Depression took a toll, and older mills became less economically viable.

Companies sought cheaper land and labor in the Midwest and South, where new plants could be built more efficiently.

Advances in steel production technology, along with government incentives for relocation to spread out these condensed industries, further encouraged this shift.

As factories closed and jobs were cut, the city's steel industry began to decline, paving the way for New York's transformation into a financial and commercial center in the post-war years.

While the shift was beneficial for the economy as a whole, it was the blue-collar workers in New York who suffered the most.

"Guys like us are just starting to get back on our feet, and they're pulling the rug out from under us, who the hell do they think they are!" Bucky couldn't help but get even more riled up by his own words.

"That's like-" Bucky didn't have a number off the top of his head, halting his words only for James to cast his gaze downwards.

"20,000 workers," James replied, his words swallowing Bucky's original number with the sheer magnitude of it.

"James I-I had no idea-"

"Bucky, I really, really need a favor," James said, ducking his head as Bucky stared at him, astonished, and held up his hands.

"James, I-I'm really out of my element with this stuff, but I can look around for you if it's a job you need. Just ask, and I'll do whatever I can." Bucky's voice was genuine, his eyes softening as he remembered how much blood James had spilled to look out for them back then.

"I need to get in touch with Ricky." James shamelessly asked, his words immediately catching Bucky off guard who widened his eyes.

"Woah James-"

"Just listen to me, Bucky, please." James sank to his knees before Bucky, who flinched, immediately reaching down to help him up.

"James-"

"PLEASE!" James slammed his head into the floor, and Bucky quickly yanked him up, getting him back on his feet.

"Alright, alright man, I'll hear you out!" Bucky quickly yelled, trying to stop him from hurting himself and only after the fact did James halt his actions.

"But you've got it wrong, I was close with Ricky, but after he left, we haven't spoken much since, not at all." Bucky revealed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he glanced down at the ground.

"Listen, Bucky, there's a rumor floating around Staten Island that a production company is forming." James revealed, lifting his gaze to meet Bucky's concerned expression.

"Huh, since when?" Bucky asked, oblivious to most gossip since he was always tucked away under a car.

"I don't know much, because I just heard about it today, but at the center of those rumors and the guy behind that forming company is Ricky!" James pitched to Bucky, who immediately knew where this was heading.

"Oh James-"

"Just think, Bucky, if we can get Ricky to buy the mill, all those workers won't be out of a job," James said, watching as Bucky rubbed his face and shook his head in confusion.

"I'm not much of a businessman, but how's a steel mill gonna help a production company?" Bucky pointed out the obvious, leaving James ready to retort, but the words caught in his throat.

"I know it's a stretch, but if we can just get this to Ricky, get it through the door, instead of sitting around doing nothing," James pleaded, as Bucky's head collapsed into his hands.

"Please Bucky, I'm begging you." James shook Bucky, knowing it was shameless for him to come to him but this was the only thing he could think of.

"This isn't just for me, but for the average joes like us, please," James implored, looking at Bucky, knowing his family had been working at the steel mills in New York for three generations.

James and his family had only ever known life at the steel mill and although hard times had scraped them, they always managed to pull through.

Now, with the world in turmoil and uncertainty looming over America, the thought of losing his job left James grasping at straws as he had no idea how he would take care of his family, let alone secure their future.

"A-Alright, but I can't even promise he'd want to see me-"

"Thank you, Bucky, f*cking thank you man!" James rushed to hug Bucky, who sighed and patted his back.

SIgh

"Don't thank me yet," Bucky sighed heavily, looking at James, who nodded, excitement flickering in his eyes.

But then, realizing he had left his family high and dry, James immediately turned and ran back to his house.

James left Bucky standing there, everything swirling in his mind, with one thought dominating their entire conversation.

"Does he even remember me?"

Meanwhile at a High End Dress Shop,

"So, who is Madame St. Clair?" Ricky asked, sipping a glass of champagne as he leaned back in his chair admiring the view.

Watching with a sleazy smile at Madame St. Clair swayed gently in a dress, her own gaze admiring her reflection in the mirror.

Ricky's words weren't just for show. He had promised a shopping spree, a five-star dinner, and hoped to top it all off in a hotel. But for now, they were at the first step.

In the dress shop Ricky had once taken Alina to for new dresses, the entire place had been cleared out for their VIP client, with the exception of the staff, who were there to tend to every want and need.

This was a designated "White Only" dress shop, a reminder of the still-active Jim Crow laws that were rampant at the time.

But when the staff saw Ricky, his gun in plain view and that look in his eyes that made it clear he wouldn't hesitate to shoot, they made a quick, quiet exception.

"I mean, before I came around, you became a Harlem legend by denouncing corrupt policemen and the mafia," Ricky flattered her, spitting out secondhand words he had heard as Madame saw right through it, a scoff escaping her as she side-eyed him.

"What? I'm just curious about you, can you blame me?" Ricky asked, sipping from his glass as Madame glanced back at the mirror, her expression unreadable.

"So, who are you Madame St. Clair or how did you become Madame St. Clair?" Ricky, wanting to just lure her out of that stone cold businesswoman demeanor she always had to put around herself, before getting to that soft and probably incredibly moist interior.

"Oh, come on, you know everything about me, at least give me a little?" Ricky chuckled, leaning his head on his hand and gazing at her as Madame side-eyed him briefly before turning back to the mirror, her expression unchanged.

"It'll cost you a couple more dresses-and you're staring at my ass." Madame St. Clair turned her head, only to see Ricky's eyes locked on her ass while still shamelessly staring at it.

"I am an incorrigible pun hound, after all." Ricky joked, turning his gaze upwards at Madame St. Clair, who crossed her arms with a raised eyebrow.

"But I do want to know more about you, since all I know is your stint with the numbers game before you came to work for my pops," Ricky said, giving her the floor before Madame St. Clair simply stared at him for a moment before beckoning over a couple more dresses, her silence a clear indication she wasn't ready to reveal much.

"Long or short version?" Madame St. Clair asked, knowing that if he was going to fork up the money then she should at least consider his preference.

"Long." Ricky smiled, Madame St. Clair wanted to simply scoff but she couldn't help but let out a low simmer chuckle, which even annoyed her to some extent.

"I guess before I gained my monocure, I was simply known as Stephanie St.Clair." Madame St. Clair revealed, gazing at her reflection before going to change into another dress and much to his disappointment, it wouldn't be in front of him.

"A little girl, born to a single mother whose husband ran out on her when she was six months pregnant," Madame St. Clair finally opened up, her voice quieter as she spoke, seemingly becoming lost in her own story that no one really ever asked for.

"I was born into the west indies to my beloved mother Felicienne-"

Madame Narration:

I never had any father in my life, one to guide me, look after me, and protect me, I had my mother to do that in his stead.

She was a sweet woman, an innocent woman,someone who believed in the good of everyone, and was left suffering for it.

Even with a baby at her lonesome side, she did everything for me, and I can't help but adore her for it.

Even when we barely had anything, she mustered up enough money to get me into an actual school, but the education was short-lived.

I was just twelve when my mother fell ill, and like a good daughter, I left school to care for her.

But fate is as cruel as the people who had used her and she passed away, after that I scraped together what little I had and left Martinique for Montreal.

I was trafficked under the Caribbean Domestic Scheme, but they always blew it out of proportion.

The government always glorified it, but let's not pretend it was anything glamorous, scrubbing floors and taking orders for dirt pay wasn't exactly a dream come true.

By 1912, I landed in New York, fresh from Montreal with a head full of determination and enough English to get by, thanks to the long voyage and that miserable quarantine.

I thought that my arrival wouldn't be welcomed but Harlem embraced me, or so I thought, until I got tangled up with this charmer named Duke.

He thought he could pimp me out like I was some common girl and well, the universe had other plans for him.

Duke met his end in a gang scuffle, and I took that as my cue to upgrade my life.

I think that's where I really wanted something more for myself, something real, real notoriety.

Then came Ed, sweet Ed or so he seemed, and together, we dabbled in selling controlled substances, nothing legal, mind you, but lucrative.

Within months, I had thirty thousand dollars in my pocket, and that's when I told Ed I was done with him.

He was a sweetheart and always did whatever he could for me, which is why I felt bad using him for my ambition.

But did he take it gracefully?

Of course not, he tried to strangle me, Me.

As if I was some shrinking violet and all it took was one good push, and he met the corner of a table, dead.

But, I don't regret it as it was self-defense, and anyone who thinks otherwise can take it up with the afterlife.

After that, I hired my own men since I didn't need or want anyone else pulling my strings.

I bribed the right cops, kept my business clean, and by 1917, I had invested ten thousand dollars into Harlem's burgeoning numbers game.

Where I turned those dice and dreams into an empire before selling it off to your pops.

Narration END:

"But it was tough for a single Black emigrant woman to make a name for herself on the streets, even tougher when you actually believe in what you're fighting for," Madame narrated, her gaze lingering on her reflection in the mirror before she walked to the side to try on another dress.

"Being independent means that you aren't and cannot be controlled, by anyone for any means." Madame gave her own advice, knowing that she wasn't independent anymore after working with Lucky.

"Does this mean that Madame St. Clair doesn't need no man?" Ricky joked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Madame laughed at those words that people always throw at her, stepping out of the changing room in a completely different dress, her confidence evident as she twirled slightly, letting the fabric flow.

"It's not like that, Ricky. In fact, I value men just as much as I would any woman," Madame smiled at herself, swaying her dress side to side before picking up a few hats to try on.

"There is nothing more noble than a working man, putting in countless hours, earning mere pennies, and using almost all of it for their families," Madame said thoughtfully, then turned toward Ricky, who held up ten fingers with a grin as she smiled and nodded to the side as the attendant began tallying the total.

"You say that but from what I heard you really get in guys face-"

"Just cause they got a housewife at home doesn't mean they can treat me like one, if you talk down to me like I'm supposed to be making you a sandwich when I don't know you, I'm going to get in your face." Madame waved her finger at Ricky, his next joke stopping before she turned back to the mirror.

"But just because I met a couple of assholes, doesn't mean I can bring myself to hate men in general since I've met far more b*tches." Madame raised an eyebrow at her own words, knowing nothing colder than a passive aggressive dish served cold by her so-called woman-in-arms.

"I've seen fathers and husbands sacrifice their bodies, themselves, to do anything they can for the ones they love." Madame explained from her view, dissuading any of the misconceptions about her and simply showing her reasoning.

"Maybe it's why I appreciate seeing it more, since I never got one for myself," Madame spoke suddenly, her voice tinged with a rare sincerity and Ricky caught the shift in her tone before she slipped on another hat, her usual poise returning.

"But the same goes true for any woman, any housewife." Madame clarified, showing there were two sides to any coin.

"When a man strains themselves physically, it is the woman who strains themselves mentally." Madame explained, knowing that although she can't understand a man working ten hours in a factory, none of those men don't understand what it's like to take care of a demonic hellspawn that people call babies.

"They take care of the children, make sure they're well-fed, and nurse them until they can leave the nest. I admire that," Madame revealed, her tone softening as she spoke.

It was clear she didn't look down on women who chose to be housewives, she respected it.

Just because she hadn't taken that path herself didn't mean she didn't understand how noble it was.

"But is it wrong that I wanted to be more, to do more?" Madame seemingly asked Ricky through her reflection, her eyes searching his as he leaned his head on his hand, quietly considering her question.

"No, if anything, I think it makes you even more sexy," Ricky said with a sleazy grin, prompting a small chuckle from Madame as she rolled her eyes, amused but unbothered.

"You think I'm a hypocrite, right?" Madame asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity as Ricky laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he held out his glass for the attendant to fill.

"There's no one here more of a hypocrite than me," Ricky voiced, a hint of honesty creeping into his tone.

"And besides, real change is only made with compromises." Ricky said with a small smile slowly bloomed back onto his face, as if he were reassuring her more than anyone else.

"I mean, unless you're me, so I guess I'm the exception," Ricky said, laughing as Madame walked back into the dressing room, shaking her head at his cocky grin.

"Thanks, Ricky," Madame said sarcastically, her voice dripping with playful disdain but that only made Ricky laugh harder, clearly enjoying the exchange.

"Don't think I don't hear the words on the street, how they talk about how I sold out to a white man-"

"Oh, come on, f*ck them. You did as much as you could by yourself, and it isn't wrong to sell out for what you think was right," Ricky said, his words a bit jumbled but somehow resonating with Madame and despite the confusion, she found something in his blunt honesty that struck a chord.

Madame St. Clair had changed, but whether that change was good or bad depended on who was looking.

She had built herself from the ground up, an independent figure who'd worked her fingers to the bone to create an empire that stretched across all of Harlem.

In every corner of the underworld, her hands had dipped, and double-dipped, into every conceivable business, carving her influence deep into the city's veins.

She had done everything with nothing, battling against the mafia and corrupt politicians/officers who tried to strip her of it all.

Yet, despite everything she fought for and everything she built, it all seemed to lose meaning when she cashed out her numbers game to the Luciano family, securing a 2% stake in the Luciano Legacy Bank.

That deal made her the richest Black woman in America, but in the end, it felt like a hollow victory.

No one thought lesser of her, especially since her actions had empowered Black families to finally access banking services and receive loans.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything she had done had been for nothing.

Even as she stood atop this pillar, looking down on all those who had tried to tear her down, she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness as the higher she climbed, the farther she felt from everything that truly mattered.

"You did it, Madame St. Clair, you did what most women, and even men, could dream of, so why get down on yourself?" Ricky genuinely asked, thinking she should be rubbing this victory in others' faces instead of hatling her words.

But the silence was deafening, and it only made him continue, feeling the champagne really start to flow as he was trying really hard to get into her pants, spewing out whatever he could to get one or two points on the favorability meter he would soon check.

"And don't get me wrong, I'm the same cause there are so many times I just think 'Why didn't I do this' or 'Man, I could've done that'." Ricky waved the champagne glass with his internal monologue, the alcohol splashing onto the rug but he was obvious to the wincing of the staff.

"But it's like Lucky always says: 'Don't harp on the should've, would've, or could've, 'cause nothing about the past changes. It's how you should, would, and could do it differently in the future.'" Ricky spoke of one of Lucky's lessons, and Madame peeked out of the dressing room with a smile.

"You really look up to your pops, don't you?" Madame's lips tugged into a small smile, finding it cute how he tried to cheer her up.

"I'll always respect and listen to my pops, he brought me out of the gutter and did everything he could for the useless trash that was me." Ricky gestured to himself, owing everything to Lucky and never afraid to admit it.

"I think it's only right that I do right by him, by his name." Ricky was really sincere at that moment, his words and tone catching Madame off guard before she walked out with another dress.

"He is a good man, stubborn, but good." Madame smiled before giving Ricky a pose, seemingly letting down those cold walls for a little while.

"What do you think?" Madame asked, enjoying the silk fabric hugging her chocolate skin as Ricky whistled blatantly at her figure.

"Gorgeous."

20 minutes later,

"This way, Sir and Madame," the waiter at the promised five-star restaurant guided them, as Madame held onto Ricky's arm, her gorgeous dress flowing gracefully with every step.

"Alright, my turn, what happened to you?" Madame asked, having her seat pulled out by Ricky as she asked, and he chuckled.

"It seems to be the topic on everyone's mind, right?" Ricky asked back, taking his seat across from her while reaching for a loaf of complimentary bread.

"I mean, how could it not? You leave for three years, and suddenly you're a cardinal, then you're fighting the government, and finally the boss of New York? I think it warrants some sort of question." Madame leaned in, looking at Ricky who returned her gesture, staring right into her eyes.

"Then ask away." Ricky's charming eyes seemingly stirred something Madame, her movements masking it as she took a sip of water before pushing that feeling down.

"What was it that made you decide enough is enough? What made you really want to take control?" Madame asked, her voice laced with curiosity while staring dagger at him.

It was the question that had been bugging her for a while since from her perspective, when Ricky had left, it seemed like nothing could have brought him back on track.

He'd shown glimpses of potential, but one or two setbacks usually sent him spiraling off the deep end and yet now, it was like the old struggles barely even registered with him anymore.

"That's-hmmmm, let me think about that." Ricky paused, the weight of the question hitting him harder than expected as he tapped his finger on the table, his gaze drifting as he mulled over the answer and finally, he nodded, finding the words he wanted to use to explain it.

"Alright, I usually tell people that I had this out-of-body realization about my past and confronted it, but the deciding factor was really afterwards that made me become who I am now." Ricky revealed, spreading butter on the complimentary bread before taking a bite.

"There was this guy, a drunkard named Abraham who was crippled because of his past, his failures." Ricky looked down at his glass, knowing that the only way to get into Madame's pants was through sincerity.

"It was like whenever I looked at him, I saw myself in ten or twenty or even thirty years." Ricky chuckled, looking down at his loaf of bread before looking back at her.

"And he said something to me, before it all, when I was on the ship sailing away from my problems like I usually did." Ricky revealed, telling Madame the truth that stirred that domino effect that changed him to the man he was sitting before him.

"God, I was just a f*cking wreck and he asked me 'What's your problem?'." Ricky retold the story, remembering Abraham on that boat, drinking the flask he had in his suit coat pocket as of right now.

"And I remember this because I gave him the sort of smug answer I usually give and I said, 'I'm an alcoholic and an addict,' and I'll never forget how he laughed in my face," Ricky joked, his tone laced with a bitter sort of humor as he looked down, his eyes distant as if the memory had taken root inside him.

"Then he looked at me, with this stupid-ass grin, and said, 'No kid, that's how you've been treating your problem,' and after that, it really just left me kinda speechless."" Ricky admitted, holding up his hand as if the words were still hanging heavy in the air.

Madame was caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, the way he'd let the walls drop, showing something more vulnerable than she'd ever seen before.

It was rare, seeing someone like Ricky, someone who never took anything seriously, actually open up to her, and it left her speechless for a moment too.

"Then I had that out-of-body realization about my past, but afterward, when I was drowning in my own self-loathing, I knew I had to find a way to fill this hole in me." Ricky chewed the bread slowly, his gaze distant as he reflected on the moments that had led him here.

"I understood that I needed to fill that aching void with something, literally anything or I would probably end up killing myself over some dumb sh*t." Ricky injected some humor into his sincerely before remembering Abraham again.

"What was he like, Abraham I mean?" Madame smiled, resting her head on her hand and watching Ricky who reached for another loaf of bread.

"He was just someone who drifted through life, always trying to make up for a past that was already set, trying to fix things that were long gone," Ricky explained, his tone heavy with the memory.

"Abraham always warned me against clinging to the past, about ending up like him, and sort of pushed me to focus on what's ahead instead of getting stuck in what was already behind me." Ricky internalized his relationship with Abraham, slathering the butter on the new piece of bread since he was actually starving.

"And then he died and it made me stop thinking about the things I had lost, but all the things I stood to lose if I continued the way I was." Ricky said, taking a bite of his bread before wiping his hands against each other to get the crumbs off.

"I really took everything I had for granted, and it blows that I didn't do anything when I was here before, but that don't mean it's gonna be the same right now," Ricky pointed at the tablecloth, Madame handing it to him as he wiped his mouth while she still sat there with a smile.

"Even now, there are things I want to do better, but instead of lamenting what I could've done, I'm going to improve on what I can do," Ricky gestured to Madame, who had her glass of wine filled by the waiter who handed them their menus.

"Wow, look at you," Madame's tone was slightly raised, a hint of admiration in her voice as she looked at Ricky, clearly thinking more highly of him after everything he'd shared.

"Left a boy, came back a man. I'm really impressed," Madame said, swirling her wine as she fixed him with an intrigued gaze.

"Well, how else was I supposed to sweep you off your feet?" Ricky said cheekily, only to receive an actual laugh from Madame.

"I guess it'll be different this time with your manly arms," Madame joked, and Ricky laughed, but their moment was interrupted as a waiter walked over to their table.

"I'll be your personal waiter for this evening. If you need anything, just mention it, and I will attend to your every need," the waiter said, his voice polished but his gaze briefly drifting to Madame before flicking to the sign indicating the white-only section.

"Just get us all the expensive and fancy stuff you have, don't skimp on the caviar or I'll break your knees," Ricky said, waving the menu dismissively at the attendant as the waiter gulped, clearly nervous, before he quickly shifted his gaze to Madame for any sign of objection.

"You okay with that?" Ricky asked with a smile and Madame simply laughed, loosening up with the wine flowing.

"Who wouldn't be?"

The conversation that continued onwards was light, small banter with nothing too deep, as lavish dishes, one after another, were served around their table.

Yet, despite the stream of food, their eyes remained drawn to each other, sharing subtle glances and moments of connection.

An hour passed, almost unnoticed, as the ambiance of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background.

"You're kidding?!" Madame asked, breaking her crab leg with a shocked face, her eyes wide with disbelief as she leaned in slightly, clearly intrigued by what Ricky had just said.

"Swear, I really went down to Sicily and beat the crap out of the families who killed my grandpops," Ricky shrugged, his tone casual as if it were just another day as Madame, knowing the stories, hadn't expected him to claim something so monstrous, thinking it was just another exaggeration.

But the sincerity in his eyes made her wonder if there was more truth to his words than she had realized.

"Then the monsters they always talk about-"

"Ghouls, you can think of them like vampire henchmen," Ricky waved his hand dismissively, as if it were the simplest thing in the world while Madame dipped the crab leg into her truffle butter.

It wasn't all that surprising, given that after the entire incident with Bumpy and Xarus, Madame had slowly become integrated into the supernatural world, but she was still a beginner.

She had heard stories from the families, how the monsters had driven them out, but she always thought it was just a metaphor, just some exaggerated play on words, not real monsters.

Yet, now, hearing Ricky speak with such certainty, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been naive.

"That's where I met one of my pals, Asterion." Ricky continued only for Madame to suddenly know that name from one of her hobbies, holding up her hand.

"You're kidding, do not tell me you know the Minotaur from Greek mythology?" Madame let out a baffled laugh, her words catching Ricky off guard as she was the first person he knew who actually recognized the name.

"You know about Greek mythology?" Ricky asked, astonished, leaning onto the table as Madame let off a prideful shrug.

"Religion folklore is my hobby," Madame flaunted, flicking her hair as Ricky laughed but shrugged.

"Yeah, I don't want to brag, but I will, I'm pals with the forefather of all Minotaurs," Ricky shrugged, clearly bragging, as Madame laughed even harder.

"So let me guess, he's a demonized sweetheart?" Madame wondered, knowing that anyone portrayed as a villain in Greek mythology, especially in a religion that worships the horrid acts of their gods, is either worse than they seem or actually good.

"He is actually a really good guy, and if you ever get the chance, he'd love to explore Harlem with you. You could even talk his ear off, guys really wise and stuff like that." Ricky leaned on his hand, gazing at the woman in front of him, intrigued by what defined her.

"Well I'd love to show such an important figure in folklore about all the wonders Harlem has to offer." Madame genuinely said, really interested in showing something she thought was a myth around.

"What are you staring at?" Madame laughed, sipping on her champagne, as Ricky's sly smile was present, his eyes locked deeply into hers.

"You just keep me wanting to know more about you, all about you," Ricky charmingly said, his tone smooth as he hinted, and Madame chuckled in response.

"Don't all men-"

"But have you ever met a man like me before? Be honest," Ricky sensually whispered, his hand sliding over and gently rubbing his finger on her palm.

"No, I have never met someone like you," Madame said, her words leaving space for interpretation, but to Ricky, it didn't matter how they were meant.

"Why did you even give me a chance? Was it because of the bank, or because you felt like you owed me?" Ricky asked sweetly, his gaze fixed on her and Madame shook her head, then downed the rest of her champagne, the glass meeting the table with a soft click.

"Because I don't go out with boys, I go out with men." Madame's words were clear and concise.

Before, Ricky was just some self-loathing boy in her eyes, but now he was a sleazy, cheesy man, and she wasn't sure which one was better or worse.

"I knew it, you're in love with me." Ricky leaned back, joking, as Madame hollered out a laugh.

"What a conclusion you've brought yourself to." Madame couldn't stop laughing, watching Ricky shrug nonchalantly.

"But let's be real, is there any man that can top me, in New York?" Ricky asked, purposely emphasizing New York, knowing full well that, at this moment, he held the city's power in his hands.

"Oh, I can top you," Madame whispered, the alcohol loosening her lips as Ricky burst into laughter.

"Oh, I wish you would," Ricky leaned in, his words low and teasing as Madame followed his lead, the space between them shrinking until their breaths mingled.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, ready to let the moment take over, she saw Ricky's smile widen mischievously.

"But you know what would be even better?" Ricky suddenly pulled back, leaving Madame high and dry as her eyes shot open, and she let out a cynical chuckle, knowing he baited her on purpose.

"You motherf*cker-"

"Yes, Mr. Luciano." The attendant appeared, interrupting Madame about to cuss Ricky out for skimping on her sugar.

"Here, the rest is your tip." Ricky slammed a wad of crumpled bills into the attendant's chest, shaking the cash with a grin as the man awkwardly looked at the stack as he then stood up, extending his arm to Madame with a confident smirk.

"My lady~" Ricky chuckled madly, watching Madame wipe her mouth with a cynical smile before she slid her arm through his, allowing him to guide her out of the restaurant.

"You think you're so slick, don't you?" Madame asked, her tone teasing yet challenging, aware of his game but eager to see if she could outwit him.

"I mean, come on, Madame, where do you think I got the name?" Ricky grinned, pulling her out of the restaurant.

Their footsteps echoed as they stepped onto the walkway, making their way toward Central Park under the dim glow of the streetlights.

It was beautiful, with the lamp posts casting a soft glow along the walkway, while the entire park seemed to shimmer under the vast blanket of stars above as the gentle rustling of leaves added a quiet melody to the serene atmosphere.

"That was payback when you left, when I leaned in not for a kiss but for the door, wasn't it?" Madame asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied the clever grin on Ricky's face as he just shrugged, unbothered by the accusation.

"What? I'm not that petty," Ricky said, his words insisting innocence, but his tone betrayed him, making it clear Madame's accusations hit their mark.

Sigh

"Oh Ricky, I guess some things never change," Madame teased, tapping his chest as they continued walking, still linked arm in arm.

"But I am proud of you, but at the same time, I pity you," Madame's words trailed off, leaving Ricky immediately puzzled.

"For what, the payback thing?"

"No, for being a man," Madame clarified, her gaze drifting up to the stars and RIcky sort of tilted his head, being pitied for a lot of things but never for being a guy since to him it was pretty awesome.

"Is it because of how manly I am and how I'm currently ruining all other men for you?" Ricky asked, clearly joking but his words had some truth to it, as if he was confident he would ruin other guys for her after their encounter.

"I just think that it's sad that boys get told their whole lives to be a man. Sometimes it's general advice, but more often than not, it's moments," Madame mused, her voice thoughtful as the alcohol spurred on these words.

"Moments when you're told you can't be a man if you cry, if you show weakness, if you fail, if you show self-pity." Madame paused, looking over at Ricky.

"It'll be just a little moment; a man could be everything he's supposed to be, but the second he cries, he's emasculated." Madame sighed, her gaze drifting upward while kicking a pebble.

"I think that's sad. And I want to say it will never change, but that's something you'll have to live with. And I pity you for that." Madame glanced at Ricky, who was still looking forward, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Uh, I guess thank you," Ricky said, unsure of how to respond to such a deep conversation.

Sometimes he would know what to say but others he never quite knew what the proper reply was, but he felt a strange sense of gratitude.

Madame hadn't dismissed his struggles or only focused on the man he'd become; instead, she had acknowledged the moments of weakness that had shaped him.

It was through those very weaknesses, the pain, the self-reflection, that Ricky had become who he was standing before her now as he might regret certain things, but he would never feel ashamed of them.

"I guess it ain't all that pretty for broads either," Ricky wondered aloud, his words thoughtful as Madame smiled at his statement, her fingers lightly tapping his chest in a playful acknowledgement.

"Honey, you don't have to level with me-"

"But I will, because your father was a fucking idiot for running out on your mother," Ricky spat out, his anger rising, almost self-relefcting as he thought about all the bastards he had who still believed he'd abandoned them.

"Thank you, honey," Madame's tone was warm despite the cold night as she turned to him.

Ricky smiled, leaning down as the moment they shared seemed to connect, their breaths meeting in the still air.

"Oh look, a shooting star," Madame suddenly turned her cheek, receiving a kiss right there as she smiled at the sky and Ricky turned to her, a cynical smile crossing his face as he watched her.

"I guess I had that coming," Ricky muttered, lowering his head onto her shoulder, gently tapping his forehead against it.

"But that isn't the only cold thing here, isn't it a bit chilly?" Ricky turned his head to Madame who looked at him with a raised eyebrow, her lips curling into an amused smile as she met his playful look.

"It's nothing I can't handle." Madame knew what he was doing, but for some reason, played along. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I know, but if only there was a place with a luxury room that had heating-"

Gasp

Ricky let out an exaggerated gasp, Madame rolling her eyes in the direction where Ricky was looking to see one of the most famous hotels, the Plaza, laying right next to Central Park.

"Ha~" Madame let out a long, drawn-out laugh that formed into a sigh.

"Alright, come on." Madame grabbed his hand with a side-eye, the alcohol getting the better of her as she wanted a man to keep her warm tonight, and she wanted Ricky to keep her warm.

"Sweet." Ricky didn't think that would work with Madame, but you miss all the shots you don't take, and he swished this one.

"Then which view would you prefer Madame-"

"The penthouse and tonight don't call me Madame."Madame stopped before the entrance, gazing back at Ricky's stupid smile and raising her gaze.

"Call me, Stephanie."

Author's Note: Yeah, you're seeing it right, I posted this early.