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"Let's make a deal."
The words fall so easily, too easily, from Daryl's lips, almost like water.
"A deal?"
Diplomacy is an interesting thing.
Daryl knows better than anyone that it is best thought of as a game of chess; two sides of a conflict strategically dance, pushing and pulling, across the checkered land before them.
"There should be an aircraft nearby, ready to save us. Seeing as we haven't been boarded. . ."
Somehow, though, standing here, eyes locked on the Original himself, he can't help but perceive it as something different: Russian roulette.
The gun is loaded with a single bullet and neither Daryl, for all of his calculating, nor Chaos knows where it will land. They can really only watch it spin and say a prayer to whoever will listen.
It's a gamble, simply put.
"I would like you to release the other hostages in this room."
It's convenient: Daryl has been known to be quite good at poker, at least against Leo and Ky.
Unfortunately, he can tell by the glint in Chaos' eye that he's the sort to count cards. Perhaps he already has, weighing the outcomes quietly with a devilish smirk.
"And what do I get out of this?"
But Chaos is a simple read, so simple that Daryl's certain he's already clocked him. Chaos doesn't give a damn about winning or losing- he doesn't mind a bullet to the shoulder for the sake of his own entertainment; he counts cards not to win but to see if the others at the table catch on.
It doesn't matter for whom the gun seeks.
"Isn't it obvious?" Daryl shrugs casually, the cold steel of Chaos' pistol still in hand, "You'll have someone to match wits with."
"Is that right?" Chaos raises a brow.
"Well, you're looking at him."
-
"Looking out that window won't bring them back, you know." Daryl mutters, mostly to himself; Chaos couldn't possibly be listening to him.
They're the only two in the conference room, sitting across the room in the wreckage of what should have been the G4. The door leading in hangs off its hinges, tilted at an angle Daryl isn't nearly smart enough to calculate. The windows are undamaged, but the table in the center of the room has cuts taken out of it, with its chairs and centerpieces around it looking disasterously strewn about.
Daryl pushes himself out of his chair at the table- the only chair that remains on its four legs. Chaos stands at one of the windows in the room, watching pensively as an aircraft flies farther and farther from view.
He's relieved- the other ambassadors have escaped this threatening situation without much physical harm.
"You think I want to bring them back here?" Chaos asks suddenly, turning to give Daryl a wide-eyed look. The sunlight from the window frames the back of his head in a halo of warmth, unbecoming of his deadly demeanor. "What good would they do me?"
"I'll admit that I don't know, but hostages can be a good bargaining chip." Daryl replies, slow and steady, swallowing lightly. "You could have used them as leverage while they were in your care. It's what I would have done."
Chaos cocks a brow. "You don't consider yourself a hostage?"
"No, I don't,"
"And why's that?"
"You don't consider me one." Daryl shrugs. He takes a step closer to Chaos, tedious and ambitious, but he doubts the man will hurt him. While they're alone in the room, the conversation feels much more like chess once more.
"Is that right?" Chaos leans against the window casually, clearly enjoying the banter.
"If you saw me as a hostage, you would have shot me by now. I know I've got quite the mouth on me and I assume a clever man like you doesn't like his plans being in scrutiny."
"It's that mouth of yours that's keeping you alive, you see?" Chaos chuckles, though there isn't mal intent. "You're right, of course- you're no hostage in my eyes."
Daryl hums. "Right. And as for the others?"
"I was wondering why you didn't go with them. Surely, you don't think you're safe up here, Your Highness?" Chaos taps his upper lip with his teeth.
"Oh please, you won't hurt me. I'm certain of that at least, otherwise I wouldn't have made that deal with you."
"I won't?" Chaos steps towards him, dramatically waving a hand as he closes the gap between them. "That's easy to say from a distance, sure, but how do you feel *now*?"
"The same, Chaos." It's Daryl's turn to laugh, fanning his warm breath across Chaos' cheeks. "You're not as hard to read as you wish you were. You enjoy me. You enjoy the attention I give you, the ways I can debate you."
"Awfully assumptive."
"But it's true, otherwise you wouldn't have accepted my offer. I held you at gunpoint and you me, but only one of us can regenerate. If you wanted, you could have shot me through the head and carried on with whatever sinister plan I-No's assigned you. Instead, you listened to me, when I could have shot you and achieved nothing save for a small, quick spike of pain in your temple. Not to mention, you released seven hostages in exchange for me to stay here with you. What was it. . ? Because of my mouthiness?"
Chaos turns away, taking a step back.
"I know your type; you like drama and attention, which I'm able to provide to a certain degree. We match wits well and I don't pull punches out of fear like my fellow ambassadors did. This makes you not view me as a hostage, but something of a prize. A prize you won by being quick on your feet and sharp-tongued. Nobody wants to damage their hard-earned trophy, do they?"
"A trophy, huh?" Chaos smirks. "You've certainly got an ego, Your Magesty. I find you intriguing, that's all. You know what I can do, but you don't seem scared at all. You think you're safe, so much so that you offer yourself up to me for the wellbeing of stuffy aristocracy that you probably can't even put a name to. And, after everything, you think you the one in control here?"
"I'll take intriguing." Daryl huffs. "You're the first man to call me that."
Chaos snaps his fingers together triumphantly. "You see, I know your type too; you're a noble, but you're just not treated like it. With little to no power outside of diplomacy, you like to bask in every opportunity to use your honeyed tongue. You think it gives you value. . . which I don't disagree with. You're good at these little mind games, but you don't like the chase as much as the reward, do you?"
"An endeavor isn't with it if there isn't something to be gained by doing it." Daryl nods along. "That's where we differ, Chaos. The destination and the journey are not of equal or similar value to me."
"And what is the destination you hope for out of all of this? More praise? Someone to notice your capabilities?" Chaos flicks his hair away from his forehead. "The second king's trust?"
"I. . ." Daryl blinks, his throat dry and hoarse. Why *is* he doing this?
"We aren't so different, I don't think. I'm intelligent, you're intelligent. . . I crave attention, you crave attention. . . I want a prize to win, you wish someone would see you as their prize. . ."
"Do you see me as your prize?"
"Have I won you?"
Daryl's eyes flutter closer, squinting. His gaze drops up and down the blue figure before him; he's wearing a guard's jacket but no shirt, so his abs are all on display, not to mention those stiff khaki pants that are tight in all the right places-
"You can't win me." he somehow manages, head swimming with thoughts unwanted but deeply understood. "It would be a fun adventure for you, wouldn't it? But there's no destination on that path. I'm a king and you're. . ."
"What am I?" Chaos asks, clearly following Daryl's wavering line of sight.
"I don't know quite what. A terrorist? An idealist? An attention whore?"
"Ouch!" Chaos puts a hand to his chest in mock pain, playing up his offense. "You think I'm a terrorist?"
Daryl chuckles. "That's the statement you find offensive?"
"I don't care much for destruction or construction. I-No's plan is her own goal- I'm merely a powerful pawn in it. I don't want what she does, per se. I just like to do my chores with a flourish!"
"So that's what this is." Daryl lets a small frown slip from his teeth, masking his selfish disappointment. "A chore. A duty."
"This?" Chaos points down to the ground. "No, no, it was a chore to corral you rich types into this room to retrieve the tome. This is more of a. . . passion project, I'd say. It's a slight detour."
"You don't gain anything from holding hostages?" Daryl thinks aloud. "So I was correct. You could have used them, but you didn't need to or want to. Well, except for me, I suppose."
"Now you see it. You're quite the man, o Third King of Illyria." Chaos lifts his hands in an overstretched display of faux respect. "The hostage I needed was our lovely president, but he was taken, rendering the rest of you to be quite purposeless."
"Why didn't you chase him down, then? You let him escape."
"I like the chase, you said it yourself! Plus, my attention was stolen from me at the time by this charming, mouthy blonde. Heard of him?"
Daryl feels a small rush of heat climb his throat. How inappropriate for a time like this. . . "I'm making your journey more playful, huh?"
"The other hostages were boring, but you. . . You're a delight on the eyes and the ears. I'll find that Sol Badguy and our president soon enough- they can't run very far, if at all- but until then, why not add to the fun?"
"Won't you ask about what I think of it? The fun, I mean."
"Oh, I think I can tell what you think." Chaos grins, coyly fluttering his short eyelashes.
"Try me," Daryl raises a brow. Daring.
"Okay, okay. You're entirely interested in it because you love how I see you. You love hearing another finally praise you because, let's be honest, do you ever hear that when the first two kings are in the room? You love it and hate that you love it because you know you can't- remember that 'no destination' bullshit? You know I won't hurt you and you know that I'm enticed, so you're drawn too. Or, am I wrong?"
Daryl scoffs, eyeing the muscles along Chaos' arms and lower torso. They flex when he speaks, does he notice? "Hung up on that praise bit, aren't we?"
"My eyes are up here." Chaos gestures to his blue irises, masked slightly by the sunglasses he wears. "Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."
"You *are* enticed by me, then?" Daryl slowly lifts his head to meet Chaos' gaze. "I thought you might be. Oh, and you said it yourself, so don't go trying to rescind it."
Checkmate, so to speak.
Chaos' eyes widen, surprised. ". . . Clever. I hadn't expected that. They do call you the King of Groundwork for a reason."
"You remembered that?" Daryl recalls their meeting, only hours before at this point. He had introduced himself using the title, egotistical as he could make himself seem to cover up the fear. "I should be flattered."
"Was this your point?"
"You could say that." Daryl grins. There's danger settling between the two of them, thick like settled butter, yet almost ignorable. Perhaps Chaos has noticed and perhaps he hasn't. Either way, his head is tilted to the side, mops of grey hair falling about his forehead.
"What else is there?" Chaos asks, slowly, as I'd genuinely curious.
"I'm an ambassador first and a flirt second, so that's a tediously wide category." Daryl runs a hand through his hair. "Of course, I could have been working to protect my country and fellow diplomats-"
"I'm sure the King of Groundwork can multitask, can't he?"
"Certainly," Daryl takes a step forward, fingers hovering over Chaos' shoulders, eyes fluttering dazily, "but this situation doesn't call for it."
"You've already ambassador-ed enough, right?" Chaos gripes, hands quickly settling around Daryl's waist- eager, curious, foreign.
"Ambassador-ed?" Daryl frowns. "That's not-"
"Quit talking and just enjoy the damn journey for once, *Christ*." Chaos rolls his eyes and draws in close. Any sort of retort is quickly snuffed out between their lips; Chaos' are chapped and rubbed raw, but somehow near addictive. He tastes like coffee, unsurprisingly, which Daryl never really cared for, but in this way, it's sweeter, more appealing.
Chaos' hands slide to Daryl's back. In the latter's eyes, the destination isn't visible and the journey seems like it might bring difficulties, but despite that. . . it almost seems worth a try.
After all, in this moment, Daryl is more than just a silver-tongued, charming man with a knack for hiding in the background amongst his fellow Oligarchs. He's intreguing, enticing, and exciting. He may even be loved.