Fisco opened the door of his lounge casually, noting that the hearth had been lit as he had ordered. Though his mansion on Dominaria was certainly his most lavish, his quiet, extravagant holding on the outskirts of Gavony was easily his favorite. He had thought it may be the ambience, or it could be the local decor, but either way, it always helped him to relax. Having just returned from a rather lengthy “business trip”, he wanted nothing more than to smoke a cigar and sit back in a cushioned chair for a few hours. Now, having bathed, dressed, and groomed himself satisfactorily, he was going to do just that. Fisco closed the door behind him.

As he walked over to his ornate armchair, a crushing weariness assailed him. Suddenly, the oaken, papered walls of his lounge seemed cold and uninviting. The fire, ominous and angry. The soft carpet, so plush beneath his feet, now coarse. His freshly pressed bathrobe itched, and his recently washed hair felt greasy. He felt his teeth clench, and finally, after an eternity, he sagged into his armchair with a sigh that shook his body. He had not the will, need, or strength to fetch a cigar from the box that sat upon the nearby nightstand. He stared at the box for a quarter-hour before giving up on it, and turned to look into the fire instead.

Gods, he was tired.

This sudden shift in his mood did not surprise him. It did not catch him off-guard. He had almost expected it, really. He had wondered if he had finally been able to dispel it, but he knew better, at this point. There was no changing this. He glanced idly at the nightstand, pushing the cigar box off of it with one finger and allowing it to clatter to the ground. With a wave of his hand, a bowl appeared upon the nightstand. The one that was enchanted to produce replicas of his beacon coins in the basin whenever one was lit. Right now, it was empty. Fisco’s lips tightened. No deals to be struck. No business to attend to. Everything was going according to plan. He could hardly remember the last time Xeran had acted out. Things in Jakkard were running smoothly. Same with things here, on Innistrad. Kamigawa. Dominaria. No one was trying to cheat the Shark. No one was even trying to disrespect him.

He could feel the threads of his hundreds of contracts, as he closed his eyes and plucked at them. Demons. Angels. People. Everyone who owed the Shark, who were bound to serve him without notice. He could come knocking at any time, and they knew it. He knew they knew it. Spread across so many planes, so many places, and yet… He had done so much, but now, he had nothing to do. One hundred and six years he had been at this. One hundred and six years of intrigue, danger, and profit. Fisco scowled, and pushed the bowl off the table as well. It clattered to the carpeted ground with a sound that was much more satisfying than the cigar box. But not satisfying enough. Fisco rubbed his temples, glaring at the fire, uncomfortable in his own skin. He should just go to sleep.

He watched the flesh of the firewood crack and sear, losing track of time. When he looked up, another hour had passed. The bowl, having rolled half on its side, was still empty. Fisco stood suddenly, ignoring the weary ache in his bones, his foot kicking an errant cigar to one side. He hated sitting alone with himself, and could barely remember why he had decided that was a good idea. He should check up on Malzeth. Maybe Xeran. He could try Ravnica again, maybe if he approached the Boros or Azorius… His thoughts slowed, as though moving through a mire. No, there was no need for all that. There was not really a need for anything. He had everything he could want. He had enough money to buy fifty mansions like this, fifty times over, and still have more money than he could possibly spend. Wealth. Power… He had survived encounters with demons, dragons, powerful sorcerers, and other planeswalkers. He had cheated death. He had dragged himself up from nothing.

And after all that, instead of feeling alive, he was just tired. He steadied himself on the armrest of his chair. Just… so tired. What was the point? What was he even going to do next? Another bargain? Another deal? Another ridiculous scheme birthed from his inability to sit idle? He lowered himself into his chair once more. It was that, or sit here. With himself. With painful memories and regrets he could not escape. With something to prove, and no one to prove it to, even after all these years. He leaned his head against the palm of his hand, hunching over himself. Like a shark, he thought bitterly, he could never stop moving.

He mentally called for Diana.

The angel stepped into the lounge only moments later, nodding deferentially and folding her wings behind her. If she had anything to say about Fisco’s mood, she kept it to herself. Nor did she question why she had been called. Obedient. Really, the perfect servant. The stark, black armor contrasting the golden sheen of her hair and the unearthly pallor of her skin. Beautiful, if Fisco were interested in beauty. Right now, she just stood out from her surroundings, like a statue with its own ambient light. Loyal. Dutiful. He wondered what she was thinking, staring at him, staring at her. What she really thought of Fisco Vane.

Diana remained silent.

“Go get my gun.” Fisco growled. Diana nodded and left, just like that. This would be the fifth time he had asked her for it. After Jakkard, he had taken the liberty of reloading it. Six bullets this time, since it was such a useful thing and had long since outlived what it symbolised. He had not thought about that. That the gun would outlive who it was meant to kill. He had only been thinking about who the gun would avenge.

As he waited, he noticed the wards alerting him that someone had entered his Vault, that far off-plane creation of his. It was Diana, of course, but that did not stop Xeran from alerting Fisco to her presence. He was being “dutiful”, and Fisco let the passive-aggressive jab slide. He was not in the mood to deal with Xeran. They both knew Diana only ever went to the Vault on Fisco’s business anyway. He stared into the fire, trapped in his own mind, and waited for Diana to return. When she did, and the door to the lounge opened once more, she held the familiar box in her hands.

“Fisco.” She said, staring at him. “Where would you like me to set it?” Fisco’s eyes flicked around the room, then he held out his hand.

“Just give it here.” He muttered, and she did so, crossing the room in only a few steps. Fisco envied that sort of vitality, but pushed it out of his mind. He dismissed Diana mutely, and she went for the door. Though, she hesitated. Fisco watched as the angel stood in front of the door, unmoving, for a heartbeat. Maybe two. Then, she left without a word.

Fisco looked down at the box.

A lock without a key. He touched it. There it was. It had been a while since he had held the gun. Six months. It was a powerful, dangerous thing. Gaudy, too, he supposed, but just the way he liked it. He picked it up, and scowled. The weight… it left a bad taste in his mouth, and his stomach turned. He flipped open the chamber. Reminded him of business that he had long since taken care of. Reminded him of all the business he had taken care of. Scores settled. Debts collected. Every memory was like a weight. He snapped the chamber shut once more with a sigh. He pushed the box off of his lap and onto the floor, with the cigars and the bowl. Then, he leaned back in his chair and let his hand, with the gun, hang off to one side.

Sometimes, he could not believe himself. He prided himself on being a man of sound judgement, and yet, time and time again, he did the most ludicrous things. He should never have angered that dragon on on Daravon, all those years ago. Never have taken the job to steal from the Raksashas. Never should have dealt with the Faceless Cult. Never should have held on to Cosette. Never should have agreed to help Daneera. All those things had nearly gotten him killed, like he knew they would. He had known that. He had known that doing those things would be…

He glanced over at his arm, hanging out of sight over the chair. He could still feel the gun in his hand. A guilty weight. Guilt. What was that? Fisco could not remember feeling guilty a day in his life. If there was one thing Fisco Vane always had been, it was vindicated. Justified. All the lives he had taken, all the fear he had inspired, all the gold he had stolen… He knew about morality. He knew that other people clung to it, hoping some sort of honor would save them. As though being nice would stop them from being killed.

Fisco chuckled, suddenly, at a silent joke. All this gold that he had, and he still could not afford to be nice. All the risks he had taken, and being kind was still too dangerous. His laughing dissipated weakly, his lungs deflating as though his chest were being crushed. Really, he just felt the breathless exhaustion again. His mind was wandering, trying to find something to hold on to, and failing. When his mind finally found a foothold, it was an idle musing. As he lifted the gun, looked at the barrel, he wondered if he would do it this time. How fitting it would be, on Innistrad. Another geist story for the people to tell, of the mysterious old man found dead in his mysterious old home. Even in death, he would still scare the children and chill the adults. Was that his legacy, then? His purpose? “Fisco”, “The Shark”, “Mr. Vane”, “Ol’ Smokey”... His name was already a curse on more planes than he could remember, and if he just vanished, they would never know.

He would just go on being a ghost story anyway.

Unsurprisingly, he found the gun pointed at his head, his hand moving almost of its own accord. He would be remiss not to take responsibility for this, though. If nothing else would be said about Fisco Vane, he was at least a responsible man. Credit where credit was due. Many had tried to kill him. They had been yet unsuccessful, and Fisco always felt he should be in control of his own fate. Why should this be any different?

Fisco paused with his finger sliding down to the trigger. He was lying to himself. Trying to empower this action. Justify it. Go through with it. Another layer of himself, saying something he did not understand. Feeling something he did not understand. He tapped the barrel of the gun idly against his head. He wished, perhaps, the gun would go off by itself. He would spend any last moments laughing that, in the end, it had been a mixture of his tepid stupidity and chance that had done in Fisco Vane. But no. The gun was too well designed. If he wanted himself dead, he would have to pull the trigger.

Or do something equally fatal.

“You are not committed to this course of action.”

Fisco nearly pulled the trigger in surprise, but instead jerked the gun away from his head and glared at Diana. When had she entered the room? He had not heard her, or even seen her, a moment ago. He quashed a strange, welling sense of gratitude and instead snarled at the angel.

“I didn’t give you permission to come in here!” He shouted, and Diana nodded.

“You are correct.” She bowed slightly. “Forgive me for intruding.” Fisco’s jaw clenched, but the anger had already fled him, like the coward it was. “More importantly, forgive me for enabling…” She waved her hand vaguely at Fisco. “...This.”

“Get out.” Fisco muttered, turning his back on Diana.

“No.” She replied, and Fisco stiffened in surprise, though he did not turn around. He knew he was radiating his displeasure strongly enough for Diana to feel it. He knew she could see his disapproval in the set of his shoulders. He knew Diana, and she had never, ever, denied him. Not once. “Again, forgive me. I should not have left.” He heard her step forward, but made no move to acknowledge her. “It was negligent of me. But I needed to retrieve something.”

“Leave.” Fisco ordered again, and this time, Diana did not even respond to the command. Her obedience was something he had taken for granted. That she would act in such a way…

“Do you remember this?” She asked, but he could not see what she was holding. “Turn around, Fisco Vane. Look.” And now she was giving him orders? He whirled on Diana, ready to put her in her place, but froze when he saw what she was holding. A simple, leather leash. Harmless, now. Once, there had been a heavy, obsidian stone around the collar. It had been torn away long ago. “I remember,” Diana continued, “the first thing you ever said to me, when I was at my worst.” She took another step closer, implacable, hauntingly pale face stern. Almost angry. “Broken.” A step. “Beaten.” Another. “Naked.” And now she was standing over Fisco, and he was reminded how tall angels were. How much presence they had, but he could not bring himself to speak. Because he shared this memory with her, though he wished he did not. He wished… “...Save for this.” She dropped the leash on the floor.

Fisco could no longer look at the white-hot glow in her eyes, so his eyes followed the leather strap as it fell to the floor.

“You asked, of the demon who ‘owned’ me…” Her voice had become soft, but lost none of its strength. Fisco could feel the words in his bones. “How much it would cost to have me. And he told you. And you laughed.” She leaned in, radiating no heat, unbreathing. For all Fisco knew, staring at the ground, she was a marble statue. “And then you said to me, standing there, the laughter just dying off your lips… You told me…” Fisco’s hand balled into a shaking fist as the cold words brushed over his ear, and into his soul. “Oh, but you’re worth so much more than that.”

She stood over him, impossibly close and cold, for what felt like hours. The fire in the hearth danced, but its warmth was long forgotten.

“Give me the gun.” Diana murmured. Thoughtlessly, he complied. He did not see what she did with it, but moments after giving her the weapon, her arms and wings enveloped him in a stiff embrace. All at once, Diana was soft, cold, and inviting, and Fisco fell wearily into the angel.

“Live for me, Fisco Vane.” Diana whispered soothingly.

And Fisco Vane, old, tired, and regretful, wept silently into the angel’s shoulder.

Yea this story was surprisingly cathartic for me. It was originally supposed to be something else that I scrapped, but the opening scene was so powerful that I decided to make something of it. Maybe the problem with the longer story I had planned was that the setup at the beginning doesn't really work for a longer story. I was thinking about this while driving, and I realized it was the perfect opportunity to really get some insight into how, exactly, Diana feels about Fisco, and what sort of relationship they have.

Fisco<>Diana OTP!!!

Jokes aside, Fisco is a character who I want people to be able to relate to. You can't relate with Ol'Smokey, or The Shark - when they story is told from the point of view of other characters, he's strict. He's cruel. He's all business. When we see things from his perspective, you can begin to appreciate how much certain things mean to him. Honoring a deal, paying a fair price, punctuality, loyalty. At any time, he can subvert these values, but only when he's being cheated or betrayed. I think Diana understands Fisco better than anyone else in the multiverse, and so when she willfully disobeys him, despite knowing how much he values her unquestioning obedience, it shows the lengths she is willing to go to ensure his well-being.

Basically, this is a long way of saying IS FISCO A VILLAIN? WELL, IS HE??? WHO KNOWS. MYSTERY.

Because if we go back through the stories, he's done a lot more good than harm, so far. He's just not very nice about it.

Near the end of the paragraph starting "This sudden shift," you say "Same things with here" when I think it would read better as "Same with things here."

In the paragraph starting: "He watched the flesh," you say "to buy fifty mansion like this," where "mansion" should be plural.

In the paragraph beginning "The angel stepped into the lounge," you say "she just stood out of her surroundings," - This one is more of a judgment call, but I usually hear it "stood out from her surroundings," or even "stood out in her surroundings." This one probably doesn't matter it, it just struck me while I read it.

Finally, in the paragraph "As he waited, he a noticed the wards," you don't need the "a". Just "he noticed".