She watched him carefully, studying his reaction with her mismatched eyes. She knew before he moved that he was readying himself to leave. She could see it in the way he finished his drink, the way his eyes darted.
The unfamiliar location sparked a mental searching within the wiry young woman. Saint Patricks... unbidden, images of shamrocks and tiny bearded men sprang to mind, memories that she'd never bothered to encounter before. Saint Patricks... a cathedral. Water from a church. Shadows drawing round...
Holy water?
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Again, a dozen half familiar connotations flooded to mind.
Surely he was joking.
Her legs unbent, and she found herself standing to follow, eying the barkeep warily and offering a curt nod. She didn't buy it. What she knew of this world, what context spoke- demons were a thing of her former life. This place was supposed to be different. Colder, more brutal. God was a desperate hope, prayer was delusion. She was done with the ethereal and the otherworldly; this place promised hope of a different definition of normal. John had just taken that from her.
Rhainn's jaw clenched as she moved for the door, no longer looking directly after John. Her steps were blind, mind churning. A vague sick feeling wrestled with the whiskey in her stomach- the physical sensation of hopes being quashed. Well fine. If this world wasn't what had been promised by her contextual memory- then she would simply have to adapt. She was tired of running, anyway. Time to move on to find something to stand against, and fight. Da would be so proud of her, battling demons and evil whole world away from the reality she knew; what a good little paladin's daughter she was.
A bitter growl parted her lips through clenched teeth as she pushed open the door and moved back out into the rain, oblivious to where John was or was not.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
One Man's Treasure - 37
She didn't meet his eyes as he spoke, his voice as smooth as silk across her frayed nerves. Her mismatched eyes swept the surroundings, and she tried hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. Mortification burned within her, despair tempered with aching- she had to find him. She had to find Dante. Again and again, her mind hammered out the details of her barely formed plan; ask Adrian to help, and find Dante. Then figure out how to get home.
Still, as he spoke, his voice quiet and smooth, she peered over to him timidly through a fringe of misplaced white hair, timid and cautious. She watched him place his hand upon her tearstain... and even as she obediently stared at the spot, it vanished before her eyes.
Her heart beat faster, and her eyes grew wide. This wasn't right. Things like this- and things like her- did not have a place here in this world. All of her strange new knowledge said that this wasn't possible.
She felt fear- and hope. So Adrian wasn't what he looked like, either!
Her lips parted in a startled gasp, and a frail sort of smile crept over her features. A timid, tired expression, as she studied the place that her tears had marked not moments ago. "I- I see." She stammered.
"S-so you're... not like everyone else here, too?" She asked quietly, daring to meet his eye with hers. Her heart began to hammer frantially against her chest. She was taking a risk... but Light, if it were true, just imagine! Maybe he came from back home, too! Maybe he knew a way out?
Possibilities rose and fell beneath a tide of hopes, dreams beginning to form before fading. She didn't know anything yet.
Still, as he spoke, his voice quiet and smooth, she peered over to him timidly through a fringe of misplaced white hair, timid and cautious. She watched him place his hand upon her tearstain... and even as she obediently stared at the spot, it vanished before her eyes.
Her heart beat faster, and her eyes grew wide. This wasn't right. Things like this- and things like her- did not have a place here in this world. All of her strange new knowledge said that this wasn't possible.
She felt fear- and hope. So Adrian wasn't what he looked like, either!
Her lips parted in a startled gasp, and a frail sort of smile crept over her features. A timid, tired expression, as she studied the place that her tears had marked not moments ago. "I- I see." She stammered.
"S-so you're... not like everyone else here, too?" She asked quietly, daring to meet his eye with hers. Her heart began to hammer frantially against her chest. She was taking a risk... but Light, if it were true, just imagine! Maybe he came from back home, too! Maybe he knew a way out?
Possibilities rose and fell beneath a tide of hopes, dreams beginning to form before fading. She didn't know anything yet.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dingy - 36
John inspected his current cigarette for how dead it was. After flicking off some of the excess ash into the ashtray, it was only half dead. He accepted the new drink and this one he didn't bother with taking his time. As much as he wanted to get to know the woman, he knew he had to keep moving. He knew a few more places that big guy liked to hang around, and he needed to be stopped before he could take another victim. Or, at least too many more. There were too many skinned and gutted bodies being found around the city. The officials chalked it up to a serial killer with a hunting fetish, leaving human carcasses after taking their hides. They weren't too far from the truth, really.
Letting out a hiss of breath as the alcohol burned down into his stomach, he dropped his glass onto the bar. It needed to be his last.
He got to his feet, and looked at Rhainn. "Try Saint Patrick's," he muttered, referring to the cathedral further north. "Best chance of finding the real stuff, there." He would have told her to go to any church, but he had encountered a few chapels that had absolutely nothing holy about them. Most of those were in places like Las Vegas, but on his last visit to the Big Apple, he'd tried to use a small chapel one night when trying to evade a rather vicious, foul natured beast. Not only did the creature follow him inside, but the water inside the door was just plain water. What he didn't know was the place was set up by a con artist who was ordained by nothing more than the internet.
Nodding to the bartender, he brushed a few stray ashes from his jacket and headed for the door. If Rhainn was truly interested in what was going on, she would follow. But if she were more of the gawker sort, she would stay behind. Idle interest would not last beyond where she sat.
His own interest her was different. He didn't want to walk away until he found out what was so off about her. But he couldn't pry with the angel listening in to them. And he had more than a few methods of finding her later. That sense of something missing set her apart from everything else.
Letting out a hiss of breath as the alcohol burned down into his stomach, he dropped his glass onto the bar. It needed to be his last.
He got to his feet, and looked at Rhainn. "Try Saint Patrick's," he muttered, referring to the cathedral further north. "Best chance of finding the real stuff, there." He would have told her to go to any church, but he had encountered a few chapels that had absolutely nothing holy about them. Most of those were in places like Las Vegas, but on his last visit to the Big Apple, he'd tried to use a small chapel one night when trying to evade a rather vicious, foul natured beast. Not only did the creature follow him inside, but the water inside the door was just plain water. What he didn't know was the place was set up by a con artist who was ordained by nothing more than the internet.
Nodding to the bartender, he brushed a few stray ashes from his jacket and headed for the door. If Rhainn was truly interested in what was going on, she would follow. But if she were more of the gawker sort, she would stay behind. Idle interest would not last beyond where she sat.
His own interest her was different. He didn't want to walk away until he found out what was so off about her. But he couldn't pry with the angel listening in to them. And he had more than a few methods of finding her later. That sense of something missing set her apart from everything else.
One Man's Treasure - 36
He could feel it as that transition occurred. A residual wave of emotion that surged through that unseen field around her, and with her pressed against him there was no way he wouldn't feel it. She was fragile. Perhaps too fragile for what he might use her for. But that wasn't anything he couldn't take care of. There were plenty of people to aide in training her, to temper her against what might come. And in the end, she might not be nearly so blindingly pure and white, but she would be of much more use than her raw power could be on its own.
He looked down at his suit at her words, seeing a patch of dampness from her crying, darkening the charcoal pinstriped jacket. He offered her a soft smile with an easy laugh. He wasn't mocking her in the least, but seemed to find it endearing. A perfect act as inside he raged about a perfectly good suit needing to be cleaned. Tears were far easier to remove than blood, but the salinity tended to damage the material. He was going to--No. He could use this. He wasn't one to assume a job done until he added a few extra layers to ensure the deal was sealed.
"It is okay," he said smoothly, drawing his hands away from her. "Allow me to show you..." He was taking a huge chance. She had yet to verify her suspicions of her being from another world. But with a power like hers, he was willing to bed she'd had a run in with things that were at least a little out of the ordinary. Pressing his fingers to the damp spot on his jacket, he focused his attention downward.
At first, nothing happened.
A few moments passed, and a steam started to rise from under his finger. And like a splash of water on scalding hot pavement on a midsummer day, the dampness evaporated from his jacket, radiating from his fingers. He lifted his gaze slightly to watch her reaction.
Once his jacket was dry, he brushed his hand over the lapel, straightening it out. "There," he said, looking quite proud. "Good as new." He looked at her as if trying to say 'see, I would believe anything.' But he was ready for her to bolt from the car or assume herself gone mad.
He looked down at his suit at her words, seeing a patch of dampness from her crying, darkening the charcoal pinstriped jacket. He offered her a soft smile with an easy laugh. He wasn't mocking her in the least, but seemed to find it endearing. A perfect act as inside he raged about a perfectly good suit needing to be cleaned. Tears were far easier to remove than blood, but the salinity tended to damage the material. He was going to--No. He could use this. He wasn't one to assume a job done until he added a few extra layers to ensure the deal was sealed.
"It is okay," he said smoothly, drawing his hands away from her. "Allow me to show you..." He was taking a huge chance. She had yet to verify her suspicions of her being from another world. But with a power like hers, he was willing to bed she'd had a run in with things that were at least a little out of the ordinary. Pressing his fingers to the damp spot on his jacket, he focused his attention downward.
At first, nothing happened.
A few moments passed, and a steam started to rise from under his finger. And like a splash of water on scalding hot pavement on a midsummer day, the dampness evaporated from his jacket, radiating from his fingers. He lifted his gaze slightly to watch her reaction.
Once his jacket was dry, he brushed his hand over the lapel, straightening it out. "There," he said, looking quite proud. "Good as new." He looked at her as if trying to say 'see, I would believe anything.' But he was ready for her to bolt from the car or assume herself gone mad.
Dingy - 35
He was probably right. Rhainn’s knuckles had punished many a face for lesser transgressions; she wasn’t really the wind and dine or the cheap motel type. It had taken broken bones, weeks of knowing each other, fighting back to back, countless kisses stolen and then forcibly punished for… her only previous lover had been run through the gauntlet before securing her trust and affections. And it was less of a gauntlet, and more of a naked run in subarctic weather along a path of razor blades with randomly targeted detonations while pursued by angry nests of killer bees.
It was amazing Makis was still alive, even before his betrayal.
She had thoroughly beaten the shit out of him no less than three times in the long arduous trial of their quirky courtship. The man had clearly been mad to pursue her. Most men had more sense than that. Rhainn had a reputation, one which she upheld with great pride. It didn’t even occur to her that such thoughts might still be running through John’s head. He’d seen her knee Crawford, he knew she was one for fighting- most would have lost interest in pursuing anything more than a conversation, if even that much. She hadn’t realized she would have to work to re-establish the status quo; no touch-y the angry ice queen.
Still, these were thoughts that were far from her head as she examined the facts laid out before her. John very obviously knew more than he was telling. She wanted to know how that man had so easily gotten the best of her. There was something special about the water he’d used, something that hurt her assailant, but had no effect on her. Or perhaps it was something special about her assailant as well.
She wouldn’t have been horribly shocked to know the truth. After all, out of no where she’d found herself here, and the dragon’s voice in her mind was nothing but a memory. She was filled with new knowledge, and had a chance at a new life- a chance she’d never asked for, never wanted, and didn’t care about.
Rhainn wanted to be back home. She wanted to exact punishment on the ones who deserved it, not random thugs in a bar. Too tired to be alarmed, and too broken to feel afraid, she didn’t know about the problems in this world, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to fight until she couldn’t fight any longer, and to die on her feet, fists flying. If things went really, really well, she would kill the dragon first, and make Makis pay for giving in. For being weak. For letting them take him, for not fighting back, for bartering with the one enemy she would gladly give anything to destroy.
Her expression grew sour, and she looked again to the door that the man with shadows had fled through.
“So then where does one go to get water that makes big ugly men with bad teeth run screaming out the door?”
Her real question, however, lay unspoken. Where did one go to find big ugly men who she could subsequently weaken and spend hours fighting until one of them died… preferably the big ugly in question?
It was amazing Makis was still alive, even before his betrayal.
She had thoroughly beaten the shit out of him no less than three times in the long arduous trial of their quirky courtship. The man had clearly been mad to pursue her. Most men had more sense than that. Rhainn had a reputation, one which she upheld with great pride. It didn’t even occur to her that such thoughts might still be running through John’s head. He’d seen her knee Crawford, he knew she was one for fighting- most would have lost interest in pursuing anything more than a conversation, if even that much. She hadn’t realized she would have to work to re-establish the status quo; no touch-y the angry ice queen.
Still, these were thoughts that were far from her head as she examined the facts laid out before her. John very obviously knew more than he was telling. She wanted to know how that man had so easily gotten the best of her. There was something special about the water he’d used, something that hurt her assailant, but had no effect on her. Or perhaps it was something special about her assailant as well.
She wouldn’t have been horribly shocked to know the truth. After all, out of no where she’d found herself here, and the dragon’s voice in her mind was nothing but a memory. She was filled with new knowledge, and had a chance at a new life- a chance she’d never asked for, never wanted, and didn’t care about.
Rhainn wanted to be back home. She wanted to exact punishment on the ones who deserved it, not random thugs in a bar. Too tired to be alarmed, and too broken to feel afraid, she didn’t know about the problems in this world, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to fight until she couldn’t fight any longer, and to die on her feet, fists flying. If things went really, really well, she would kill the dragon first, and make Makis pay for giving in. For being weak. For letting them take him, for not fighting back, for bartering with the one enemy she would gladly give anything to destroy.
Her expression grew sour, and she looked again to the door that the man with shadows had fled through.
“So then where does one go to get water that makes big ugly men with bad teeth run screaming out the door?”
Her real question, however, lay unspoken. Where did one go to find big ugly men who she could subsequently weaken and spend hours fighting until one of them died… preferably the big ugly in question?
One Man's Treasure - 35
A choked sob escaped her, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed, willing the world to go away. Unbeknownst to Kestrell, his hand descending on her frail back was as a hammer, sealing her fate. The pieces slid into place. Kestrell placed her trust into this knight, with his shining car and elegant business suit. She had no where else to run to, and no reason to hide, aside from the knot in her stomach and the fear in her heart. The worst that could happen was that he’d think her crazy- or so she believed.
Her poor heart wrenched with missing and pain. She clung to him for a moment longer, shoulders drawing up to her neck in a protective motion, blind emotion flashing through her mind- memories of fire, of Their laughter, of pain and tears, of Dante’s face as her hand twisted the knife, of blood and suffering… all these things, she’d known in her short span of memories that consisted of ‘life’. She hadn’t grown up as others had; she didn’t have memories of childhood, or parents. Just a long grey fog, and then a short, vibrant burst of color, of light and feeling. She only knew the past year of her life, as it had occurred. All of the pain and fear, and joy- her existence was one of extremes, and then quiet nights tinkering with drafts, sketching extravagant plans, pouring hot metal into molds and bringing brilliant creations to mechanical life…
Maybe she was crazy. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, and this newest incident did nothing to dissuade it.
With a deep breath, Kestrell opened her eyes, and looked up shakily at Adrian, searching his features. A tear leaked from her one green eye, and she cautiously lifted the handkerchief to wipe it aside, then glanced apologetically at his suit.
“Oh… I- I’m sorry… I seem to have gotten you wet.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she looked away, a flush on her features. Her skin burned, and she looked out the window quickly, though her body language betrayed her. She was still angled toward Adrian, and the remnants of her unease had been ripped apart. Kestrell was an open book to his intentions…
Her poor heart wrenched with missing and pain. She clung to him for a moment longer, shoulders drawing up to her neck in a protective motion, blind emotion flashing through her mind- memories of fire, of Their laughter, of pain and tears, of Dante’s face as her hand twisted the knife, of blood and suffering… all these things, she’d known in her short span of memories that consisted of ‘life’. She hadn’t grown up as others had; she didn’t have memories of childhood, or parents. Just a long grey fog, and then a short, vibrant burst of color, of light and feeling. She only knew the past year of her life, as it had occurred. All of the pain and fear, and joy- her existence was one of extremes, and then quiet nights tinkering with drafts, sketching extravagant plans, pouring hot metal into molds and bringing brilliant creations to mechanical life…
Maybe she was crazy. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, and this newest incident did nothing to dissuade it.
With a deep breath, Kestrell opened her eyes, and looked up shakily at Adrian, searching his features. A tear leaked from her one green eye, and she cautiously lifted the handkerchief to wipe it aside, then glanced apologetically at his suit.
“Oh… I- I’m sorry… I seem to have gotten you wet.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she looked away, a flush on her features. Her skin burned, and she looked out the window quickly, though her body language betrayed her. She was still angled toward Adrian, and the remnants of her unease had been ripped apart. Kestrell was an open book to his intentions…
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Dingy - 34
John had no intent of telling Rhainn any details about what had just happened. At least, he didn't want to tell her. He hadn't even told his now very much ex-apprentice everything. But there were always those people that came along that just begged the details from him. Dragged them out, was more like it. And this one was well on her way to doing just that. But that didn't mean he was going to give it all up right away. Especially not somewhere so public. Okay, so he had told someone the whole deal in a very public place. But there had not been an angel looming over him at the time. At least, figuratively speaking. The bartender was listening intently to them, but he was at the other end of the bar, dealing with a few unruly drunks.
"Soap won't do a damn thing," he said, after draining off the remainder of his drink. Alcohol had a short life when in his possession. "I just happened to get my hands on just the right water." Setting his glass down, he dug around in his pockets until he found his wallet. Squinting down at it, he managed to thumb through the items in the main portion until he found the right bill to hand over. Not all of what he had in there was American money. Remnants from being dragged every which way across the globe. His line of work wasn't exactly tied to one location. It had a nasty habit of roaming.
Dropping the bill next to his glass, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and just called for another drink. He ran into trouble if he just kept a tab for the night. As he waited for his next drink, he gave thought to inviting Rhainn along for a bite to eat. But she didn't seem to be the wine-and-dine type. But the again, neither was he. He was more of a cheap burger and even cheaper motel type. And the idea of getting a black eye for even breaching such a topic was not at all appealing to him. Or so he assumed her reaction would be.
"Soap won't do a damn thing," he said, after draining off the remainder of his drink. Alcohol had a short life when in his possession. "I just happened to get my hands on just the right water." Setting his glass down, he dug around in his pockets until he found his wallet. Squinting down at it, he managed to thumb through the items in the main portion until he found the right bill to hand over. Not all of what he had in there was American money. Remnants from being dragged every which way across the globe. His line of work wasn't exactly tied to one location. It had a nasty habit of roaming.
Dropping the bill next to his glass, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and just called for another drink. He ran into trouble if he just kept a tab for the night. As he waited for his next drink, he gave thought to inviting Rhainn along for a bite to eat. But she didn't seem to be the wine-and-dine type. But the again, neither was he. He was more of a cheap burger and even cheaper motel type. And the idea of getting a black eye for even breaching such a topic was not at all appealing to him. Or so he assumed her reaction would be.
One Man's Treasure - 34
Mild surprise crossed his features as she so suddenly grabbed him. It was a genuine emotion, if it was just a flicker. He had not anticipated such a sudden, jolting shift. But he did not stop her. It was what he wanted, in the end. He wanted her to trust him. Because once humans gave their trust to a person, things became so much easier. They stopped questioning strange things. Stopped looking for motives. Stopped demanding answers. It was a thread which led to directly to a person's heart, and if tugged just right could make them do just about anything.
He moved an arm around her, going through all of the motions to convey hesitant comfort, as if uncertain of what had just occurred. He braced himself on the seat for a moment with one hand, as she tugged him forward. His other hand came up to rest on her back, between her shoulders. And in small increments, he relaxed, accepting the position of a shoulder to cry on. His other hand came up to embrace her as well, gently rubbing over her back. Unseen to her, his expression twisted to show the utter disgust he felt inside himself. How the angels could do these things on a daily basis he could never understand. Humans were pathetic the way they gave in to such weaknesses and those do-gooders encouraged the release of emotion and all of that.
"There there..." he said, mimicking the tone he'd heard from them so often. That comforting, warm, soothing near whisper. Any number of the god-slaves would have added the added benefit of their own brand of influence. To give strength and courage, to inspire toward all that is good. That was not something he could do. Even if he could disguise his touch enough to get past her defenses, he could never bring himself to push anyone in that direction. Helping the other side, in even such a trivial way, was something he would never allow himself to do. It was something he would never even fathom. "...let it all out..." he added, as he at last brought his expression under control.
He moved an arm around her, going through all of the motions to convey hesitant comfort, as if uncertain of what had just occurred. He braced himself on the seat for a moment with one hand, as she tugged him forward. His other hand came up to rest on her back, between her shoulders. And in small increments, he relaxed, accepting the position of a shoulder to cry on. His other hand came up to embrace her as well, gently rubbing over her back. Unseen to her, his expression twisted to show the utter disgust he felt inside himself. How the angels could do these things on a daily basis he could never understand. Humans were pathetic the way they gave in to such weaknesses and those do-gooders encouraged the release of emotion and all of that.
"There there..." he said, mimicking the tone he'd heard from them so often. That comforting, warm, soothing near whisper. Any number of the god-slaves would have added the added benefit of their own brand of influence. To give strength and courage, to inspire toward all that is good. That was not something he could do. Even if he could disguise his touch enough to get past her defenses, he could never bring himself to push anyone in that direction. Helping the other side, in even such a trivial way, was something he would never allow himself to do. It was something he would never even fathom. "...let it all out..." he added, as he at last brought his expression under control.
Dingy - 33
A bad day? Rhainn was familiar with bad days. She’d had her fair share of them, and had caused more than her fair share in return. Her wiry body was riddled with scars and bruises from ‘bad days’. Property damage, destroyed lives, broken bones and missing teeth- these had all followed in Rhainn’s wake, from bad days.
A teensy bit of water did not a ‘bad day’ constitute, in Rhainn’s world. Her lips pursed skeptically, and she arched one auburn eyebrow, then grunted. Yeah, he knew more than he was tellin’… and she intended to learn.
She rolled one shoulderblade back, then leaned her head slowly to one side, twisting to jerk the vertebra with a series of loud crunches, back into place. A slow intake of breath, and she drew her posture a bit straighter, turning her head to study the place where the strange man with his shadows and unnatural strength had been.
The corner, now vacated, held no more than its fair share of sour spilled beer and broken glass. Nothing that would have caused the strange lighting, though she supposed that could have merely been a trick of the eye. Her eyes did another sweep of the bar, but found nothing interesting. She turned back to John, and offered him a small smile. It didn’t meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the drink.” She paused, and the edge of her lip twisted up in a smirk; this expression seemed to fit her better than an honest smile. “And your lesson in how to drive away men was enlightening. I’ll remember to keep soap on me.”
A teensy bit of water did not a ‘bad day’ constitute, in Rhainn’s world. Her lips pursed skeptically, and she arched one auburn eyebrow, then grunted. Yeah, he knew more than he was tellin’… and she intended to learn.
She rolled one shoulderblade back, then leaned her head slowly to one side, twisting to jerk the vertebra with a series of loud crunches, back into place. A slow intake of breath, and she drew her posture a bit straighter, turning her head to study the place where the strange man with his shadows and unnatural strength had been.
The corner, now vacated, held no more than its fair share of sour spilled beer and broken glass. Nothing that would have caused the strange lighting, though she supposed that could have merely been a trick of the eye. Her eyes did another sweep of the bar, but found nothing interesting. She turned back to John, and offered him a small smile. It didn’t meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the drink.” She paused, and the edge of her lip twisted up in a smirk; this expression seemed to fit her better than an honest smile. “And your lesson in how to drive away men was enlightening. I’ll remember to keep soap on me.”
One Man's Treasure - 33
Stay strong, stay strong, find Dante and stay strong… the words chanted in her mind, a prayer of fortitude, her heart a marble pillar. She could handle this. She would find him, and save him, as he’d saved her so many times before. It was going to be okay…
At Adrian’s slightly hesitant hand on her arm, she felt her control slip, and her shoulders shook. A small sob escaped her, and her eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from them.
She felt as if her heart would break. It was –not- okay. She didn’t know where Dante was, she didn’t know where –she- was, and it was simply too much. All alone in a strange city, no where to go, no one to turn to, barely understood the new reality in which she stood- and here was Adrian, from no where, her savior.
Kestrell had never been very good at self control. Abruptly, she let out another choking sob, and all the hurt inside of herself seemed to boil to the surface. The pain, the fire, the missing hand, the missing lover- her remaining hand jerked up, catching Adrian’s arm, thin fingers gripping it. Without any more warning than that, she jerked towards him, and threw her stump arm about him, burying her face in his shoulder as she wept.
In that moment, her mind was made. She would tell him. She had no where else to turn… and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t think she was crazy. Maybe….
At Adrian’s slightly hesitant hand on her arm, she felt her control slip, and her shoulders shook. A small sob escaped her, and her eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from them.
She felt as if her heart would break. It was –not- okay. She didn’t know where Dante was, she didn’t know where –she- was, and it was simply too much. All alone in a strange city, no where to go, no one to turn to, barely understood the new reality in which she stood- and here was Adrian, from no where, her savior.
Kestrell had never been very good at self control. Abruptly, she let out another choking sob, and all the hurt inside of herself seemed to boil to the surface. The pain, the fire, the missing hand, the missing lover- her remaining hand jerked up, catching Adrian’s arm, thin fingers gripping it. Without any more warning than that, she jerked towards him, and threw her stump arm about him, burying her face in his shoulder as she wept.
In that moment, her mind was made. She would tell him. She had no where else to turn… and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t think she was crazy. Maybe….
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Dingy - 32
Rhainn's reaction to the situation was most decidedly unexpected. John was far too accustomed to people who brushed off proof of demons staring them in the face as something else. Something normal. Drugs tended to be everyone's favored explanation. That person wasn't possessed by a minion of hell, they were just high. Never mind that it was a seven year old girl. She as on acid.
He took his time in lighting another cigarette, letting her question hang between them. With the stick burning between his lips he inspected the remains of his pack. Four left. He would need to stop on his way back to the hotel. He could hunt down that demon and be heading back to LA before he needed another pack after that. Or so he hoped.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips to speak. "What you fought was a guy who's had a very bad day." With the words, a cloud of smoke puffed out of his mouth.
The bartender set the glass down on the bar in front of John, who picked it up almost immediately. The angel was warning him, as he took a long draw from the glass. But that angel knew John by reputation alone, and the last two hours which he'd spent drinking in the corner. He certainly had a wide range of sources of information available to him, and they all told him that John tended to be something of a loose cannon. So maybe he took some things a little personally. But who wouldn't when Lucifer himself was saving a seat for you?
He took his time in lighting another cigarette, letting her question hang between them. With the stick burning between his lips he inspected the remains of his pack. Four left. He would need to stop on his way back to the hotel. He could hunt down that demon and be heading back to LA before he needed another pack after that. Or so he hoped.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips to speak. "What you fought was a guy who's had a very bad day." With the words, a cloud of smoke puffed out of his mouth.
The bartender set the glass down on the bar in front of John, who picked it up almost immediately. The angel was warning him, as he took a long draw from the glass. But that angel knew John by reputation alone, and the last two hours which he'd spent drinking in the corner. He certainly had a wide range of sources of information available to him, and they all told him that John tended to be something of a loose cannon. So maybe he took some things a little personally. But who wouldn't when Lucifer himself was saving a seat for you?
One Man's Treasure - 32
This was his chance. He had to seize it or it might slip through his grasp. But he had to be careful. There was a fine line between appearing concerned and pushing too hard. He didn't know what her defenses were. Would he be able to reach into her mind if she tried to run? She would most certainly sense him, but could she stop him? And if she could, he would never reclaim the opportunity.
His look of concern deepened further, despite how his insides rebelled against such a thing. The coin vanished as his full attention turned on her. He was quiet for a moment, watching her. She still had his handkerchief so he could not offer it again. As she struggled to not cry, he forced his expression even further, appearing to almost hesitate, as if afraid he might overstep his bounds. As much as it went against his nature to actually care, he was so very good at faking it. Nothing put humans off their guard as much as deep concern from another person.
Drawing a deep breath, he reached out and placed a warm hand on her arm. He avoided the one that was missing a hand, to show he was aware how much it bothered her. His touch was gentle, barely brushing over her skin and not allowing the full weight of his hand rest on her as if he feared breaking her. Every movement was controlled and calculated to play to her fragile state.
"I would believe far more than you might think." He said, softly. "Sometimes, things seem worse when they are kept inside. If you let them out they are much easier to believe. "
His look of concern deepened further, despite how his insides rebelled against such a thing. The coin vanished as his full attention turned on her. He was quiet for a moment, watching her. She still had his handkerchief so he could not offer it again. As she struggled to not cry, he forced his expression even further, appearing to almost hesitate, as if afraid he might overstep his bounds. As much as it went against his nature to actually care, he was so very good at faking it. Nothing put humans off their guard as much as deep concern from another person.
Drawing a deep breath, he reached out and placed a warm hand on her arm. He avoided the one that was missing a hand, to show he was aware how much it bothered her. His touch was gentle, barely brushing over her skin and not allowing the full weight of his hand rest on her as if he feared breaking her. Every movement was controlled and calculated to play to her fragile state.
"I would believe far more than you might think." He said, softly. "Sometimes, things seem worse when they are kept inside. If you let them out they are much easier to believe. "
Dingy - 31
Rhainn’s abdomen contracted as she let out a derisive exhalation, a smile jerking at her lips. Thoughtfully, she swirled the whiskey in the plastic shotglass, tilting her head slightly at the sound of the ice quietly clicking against itself. She rolled one shoulder back, enjoying the feeling of her muscles stretching, and followed John’s glance about the bar.
Her eyes lingered on the passed out man in the corner, frowning.
What sort of place was this, that the men could so clearly not hold their liquor?
Unbidden, a memory of another man, asleep and oblivious to the world about himself, passed before her mind’s eye. Her grip on the shotglass tightened. She abruptly drank, her stomach clenching at the burn of the liquor, the amber liquid washing away her memories of Makis and his fearless sleep habits.
She glanced back to John, a slight scowl replacing the amusement at what she perceived as his slight on the club scene. Her ragged, not quite so damp hair stuck up in odd places, and a strand curled limply about her cheekbones.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any intent to tell me what it was I just fought…? And why water sent it screamin’?”
Her eyes lingered on the passed out man in the corner, frowning.
What sort of place was this, that the men could so clearly not hold their liquor?
Unbidden, a memory of another man, asleep and oblivious to the world about himself, passed before her mind’s eye. Her grip on the shotglass tightened. She abruptly drank, her stomach clenching at the burn of the liquor, the amber liquid washing away her memories of Makis and his fearless sleep habits.
She glanced back to John, a slight scowl replacing the amusement at what she perceived as his slight on the club scene. Her ragged, not quite so damp hair stuck up in odd places, and a strand curled limply about her cheekbones.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any intent to tell me what it was I just fought…? And why water sent it screamin’?”
Dingy - 30
At Rhainn's question about others, John cast a glance around the bar. He really was taking assessment of the place for just such people. Several people had left and others had shown up since the fight. It took some effort, shifting the focus of his vision to see the other world and not just the physical one. But he saw no one who might pose a threat in a demonic sense. There were a pair of gentlemen taking up John's previous table in the corner, looking like both had recently stepped out of a construction site. They were both human, but they were far from normal. Nothing of concern to him unless they tried something.
John turned back to order his own drink before answering Rhainn. A jack and coke for him. As he said it, the bar tender gave him a strange look. Before John adjusted the things he, so he only saw the physical and nothing more, he caught a glimpse of the bartender's wings--an impressive span of white and gray feathers. There was an exchange there, completely unheard by anyone else in the bar. The bartender was concerned too many people would have seen, and that the demon would come back. John just shook his head with a shrug. If it happened, it would get dealt with.
"Nope." John said to Rhainn at last. "The club up the street's more their style." Realizing at last that he was still gripping the small medallions, he pushed them back into his pocket. Patting his jacket, he searched for his cigarettes, not certain which pocket he had put them in, or if he had put them down somewhere.
John turned back to order his own drink before answering Rhainn. A jack and coke for him. As he said it, the bar tender gave him a strange look. Before John adjusted the things he, so he only saw the physical and nothing more, he caught a glimpse of the bartender's wings--an impressive span of white and gray feathers. There was an exchange there, completely unheard by anyone else in the bar. The bartender was concerned too many people would have seen, and that the demon would come back. John just shook his head with a shrug. If it happened, it would get dealt with.
"Nope." John said to Rhainn at last. "The club up the street's more their style." Realizing at last that he was still gripping the small medallions, he pushed them back into his pocket. Patting his jacket, he searched for his cigarettes, not certain which pocket he had put them in, or if he had put them down somewhere.
One Man's Treasure - 31
She felt her insides writhe, like snakes in her belly, and a deep sense of shame pervaded her mind. Lying was a terrible thing to do, and after he’d been nothing but kind to her… but how could she possibly tell him the truth? After all, she hardly knew what had happened, herself. Her shoulders sagged dejectedly, and she swallowed hard, abruptly unable to make eye contact with the man.
A soft sigh parted her lips, and she looked down at her hand, which rested absently in her lap, the chalky whiteness of it a stark contrast to the faded blue of her jeans.
“Adrian… you wouldn’t believe me, if I told you. I- I don’t know if I’d believe me.”
Her voice was a whisper, and her gaze moved morosely to her missing hand. She felt the gorge rise in her throat as she studied the stump, resisting the powerful urge to look anywhere but directly at the severed end of her arm. Her pulse fluttered, and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead as she forced herself to examine it… Light help her. Had she gone mad, and simply not noticed.
She couldn’t look any more, and wrenched her gaze away, but was intensely aware of the missing limb. Her shoulders trembled, and her eyes filled with tears that didn’t yet spill over the barricade of her alabaster eyelashes. I must be strong, she thought to herself, trying to master the sobs trapped in her throat.
Too much. Too soon. Too confusing. God she missed Dante… mustn’t cry, must stay strong, the word repeated like a mantra inside her mind.
A soft sigh parted her lips, and she looked down at her hand, which rested absently in her lap, the chalky whiteness of it a stark contrast to the faded blue of her jeans.
“Adrian… you wouldn’t believe me, if I told you. I- I don’t know if I’d believe me.”
Her voice was a whisper, and her gaze moved morosely to her missing hand. She felt the gorge rise in her throat as she studied the stump, resisting the powerful urge to look anywhere but directly at the severed end of her arm. Her pulse fluttered, and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead as she forced herself to examine it… Light help her. Had she gone mad, and simply not noticed.
She couldn’t look any more, and wrenched her gaze away, but was intensely aware of the missing limb. Her shoulders trembled, and her eyes filled with tears that didn’t yet spill over the barricade of her alabaster eyelashes. I must be strong, she thought to herself, trying to master the sobs trapped in her throat.
Too much. Too soon. Too confusing. God she missed Dante… mustn’t cry, must stay strong, the word repeated like a mantra inside her mind.
One Man's Treasure - 30
The fact that this girl was so obviously lying was both frustrating and intriguing. But it still left things a little too open ended for him. Her little lie of taking the wrong bus could be used to cover something shameful to something far more mystical. The near-blinding power she projected was a heavy counter weight against any mundane reasons she landed in the city. They were in a place where magic and psychics were scoffed at and those who actually possessed true power were few and far between. For someone to have grown to her age in such a place, her power would have grown dim from lack of use. He could not believe that she had any skill in using it, or else she would have hidden it--or been able to see him for what he really was. Her innocence was too complete to be an act.
Distracted now, he had stopped feeding instructions into the driver's head, and the driver just kept going straight, heading north. Traffic wouldn't let him get too far, but for now, Balthazar was not paying any mind to where they were headed, just so long as they did not arrive at the hotel too early.
He pushed his brow into the idea wrinkle for deep concern, a slight frown forming as he looked at her. "Miss Kestrell...I will not judge you, should you tell me your real reason for being here." He said it the softest voice he could muster. "I have seen a great deal more than most in this city. You have nothing to fear for telling the truth."
It was a hit or miss thing to do, at such a pivotal moment. But he had to take the chance. He worded it just right, so should he be off base with his estimation, it could be taken as implying she had been mixed up in some less than favorable activities. He made certain his voice stayed calm and soothing. He didn't want to scare her, too much, by prying.
Distracted now, he had stopped feeding instructions into the driver's head, and the driver just kept going straight, heading north. Traffic wouldn't let him get too far, but for now, Balthazar was not paying any mind to where they were headed, just so long as they did not arrive at the hotel too early.
He pushed his brow into the idea wrinkle for deep concern, a slight frown forming as he looked at her. "Miss Kestrell...I will not judge you, should you tell me your real reason for being here." He said it the softest voice he could muster. "I have seen a great deal more than most in this city. You have nothing to fear for telling the truth."
It was a hit or miss thing to do, at such a pivotal moment. But he had to take the chance. He worded it just right, so should he be off base with his estimation, it could be taken as implying she had been mixed up in some less than favorable activities. He made certain his voice stayed calm and soothing. He didn't want to scare her, too much, by prying.
Dingy - 29
Rhainn rolled her eyes at John’s words, grunting. “Bah. I could’ve taken him.” She felt her lips twist in a sour expression, a grimace stealing over her sharp features. Jerking her head at the bar tender, her eyes met his, and narrowed. The man swept his beer-sodden rag over the glass John had returned to him, and grudging held her gaze.
“Whiskey. On the rocks, if you please.”
Her voice was a mockery of sweetness, and she bared her teeth in an expression that pantomimed a friendly smile- but poorly. Resting her elbow on the bar, she turned back to face John, studying him with a guarded expression.
None too forthcoming with information, he’d chosen to point out she’d nearly gotten her ass kicked. And yet, he’d downed the man with nothing but a glass of water… that irked her, and she felt a swell of impatience rising within herself, but suppressed it. She’d lived to fight another day, right? What did this stranger’s borderline scathing tone matter to her?
It didn’t. And besides, she wanted to know how he’d done it. Maybe if she played nice and didn’t kick his ass on principle, she’d figure out what had happened. Truth be told, her pride was more bruised than her neck. While it would be incredibly satisfying to smear the impassive expression from his face with her fists, her curiosity got the better of her in this situation.
Rhainn glanced around the bar, eyes now seeking out anyone else who looked vaguely suspicious- no, not suspicious, to her mind; ‘interesting’. The woman’s sense of adventure won out over any self preservation instincts. They swept across the man lying in a puddle of spilt beer, then back to Crawford. He looked sullen, she noted, but didn’t appear interested in coming back for more. Too bad. She really did need to work on suppressing the urge to hurt as much as possible- she’d tried to knee the other man, too. No wonder fights were so sadly short.
She looked back to John, and leaned back slightly on the ripped pleather barstool. “Anyone else ‘round here allergic to cleanliness like that fucker was?”
“Whiskey. On the rocks, if you please.”
Her voice was a mockery of sweetness, and she bared her teeth in an expression that pantomimed a friendly smile- but poorly. Resting her elbow on the bar, she turned back to face John, studying him with a guarded expression.
None too forthcoming with information, he’d chosen to point out she’d nearly gotten her ass kicked. And yet, he’d downed the man with nothing but a glass of water… that irked her, and she felt a swell of impatience rising within herself, but suppressed it. She’d lived to fight another day, right? What did this stranger’s borderline scathing tone matter to her?
It didn’t. And besides, she wanted to know how he’d done it. Maybe if she played nice and didn’t kick his ass on principle, she’d figure out what had happened. Truth be told, her pride was more bruised than her neck. While it would be incredibly satisfying to smear the impassive expression from his face with her fists, her curiosity got the better of her in this situation.
Rhainn glanced around the bar, eyes now seeking out anyone else who looked vaguely suspicious- no, not suspicious, to her mind; ‘interesting’. The woman’s sense of adventure won out over any self preservation instincts. They swept across the man lying in a puddle of spilt beer, then back to Crawford. He looked sullen, she noted, but didn’t appear interested in coming back for more. Too bad. She really did need to work on suppressing the urge to hurt as much as possible- she’d tried to knee the other man, too. No wonder fights were so sadly short.
She looked back to John, and leaned back slightly on the ripped pleather barstool. “Anyone else ‘round here allergic to cleanliness like that fucker was?”
One Man's Treasure - 29
Her two-toned eyes moved to the coin dancing along the tops of his knuckles. Such an elegant, practiced motion; she admired it beneath her pale eyelashes, studying the graceful way the coin moved. Adrian seemed a creature of habit to her, meticulous, and kind. She found herself liking the sound of his voice, the soothing words he chose- it would be easy to listen to him talk about his work, which intrigued her. Kestrell possessed a voracious appetite for knowledge, and was willing to apply herself to almost any topic that could be taught in an interesting way. Though she was weak in many areas, the young woman was capable of understanding things that her clueless exterior might indicate she couldn’t possibly get.
She took in his words, still studying the coin, and offered a smile at his comment about graphs and statistics. She liked graphs. They made sense to her. She liked seeing the information, all laid out in tidy boxes and lines, all organized and neat. “I don’t think it’s boring at all…” She mumbled quietly in response.
His next words caused her to look up sharply from his hand, and the tips of her ears reddened at his comment about damsels in distress. She could feel a flush rising as she considered her next words carefully.
It wasn’t as if she could tell him the truth. After all, she’d already started crying in front of him, and she’d run from a trick of the light without any explanation; he’d think she was crazy… or crazier, anyway. She didn’t want to be locked in an asylum… the idea of that much quiet frightened her. It would be like being placed upon a shelf, and forgotten. And while in some ways, the thought was comforting- They probably couldn’t find her, in a place such as that- she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She had to find Dante. There was too much to do, and she couldn’t afford to be labeled insane.
Kestrell bit her lip, and tried to come up with a lie. A hundred equally implausible stories flashed through her mind- ‘I was looking for my bunny’ ‘I hit my head and don’t remember anything’ ‘I live here’ ‘I’m on vacation, and was looking for a box of crayons’ ‘I’m a rockstar!’
She took a deep breath, and looked guiltily back to Adrian, nibbling her lip and offering a weak smile. Her cheeks turned bright red, and she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. What a wicked thing, to lie to someone so kind… but the truth was impossible.
“I, um… I think I took the wrong bus.” Her voice was feeble.
She took in his words, still studying the coin, and offered a smile at his comment about graphs and statistics. She liked graphs. They made sense to her. She liked seeing the information, all laid out in tidy boxes and lines, all organized and neat. “I don’t think it’s boring at all…” She mumbled quietly in response.
His next words caused her to look up sharply from his hand, and the tips of her ears reddened at his comment about damsels in distress. She could feel a flush rising as she considered her next words carefully.
It wasn’t as if she could tell him the truth. After all, she’d already started crying in front of him, and she’d run from a trick of the light without any explanation; he’d think she was crazy… or crazier, anyway. She didn’t want to be locked in an asylum… the idea of that much quiet frightened her. It would be like being placed upon a shelf, and forgotten. And while in some ways, the thought was comforting- They probably couldn’t find her, in a place such as that- she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She had to find Dante. There was too much to do, and she couldn’t afford to be labeled insane.
Kestrell bit her lip, and tried to come up with a lie. A hundred equally implausible stories flashed through her mind- ‘I was looking for my bunny’ ‘I hit my head and don’t remember anything’ ‘I live here’ ‘I’m on vacation, and was looking for a box of crayons’ ‘I’m a rockstar!’
She took a deep breath, and looked guiltily back to Adrian, nibbling her lip and offering a weak smile. Her cheeks turned bright red, and she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. What a wicked thing, to lie to someone so kind… but the truth was impossible.
“I, um… I think I took the wrong bus.” Her voice was feeble.
Dingy - 28
In some sense, it was a setup to at the very least get her attention. If there was no interest on his part, he would have let her walk out of the bar with out uttering a word to her. But it was hardly to get into her pants. He wanted to see what she was capable of--if that weird sense of something missing was some sort of mask to hide one strength or another. Okay, so maybe there WAS a small hint of getting into a particular garment. But that was the underlying force behind so much of what he did.
He followed her to the bar, to reclaim his previous seat. He handed the glass back to the bartender without a word. The look he gave said it all: "Kept my word, didn't I?" The bartender was unimpressed and just rolled his eyes as he took the glass back.
"Alright. So he was throwing YOUR weight around." He offered no explanation as to how it had been possible to get such a reaction with "just water." Several other patrons gave him questioning looks, having similar thoughts to Rhainn's previous assumption. It was some sort of setup. One or two had even around for a hidden camera.
Crawford, though not fully drunk yet was close enough to it to fog his head. He just turned to look at Rhainn and John. At least she had found someone else to pick on. Silently, he wished John the best of luck and hoped he was smart enough to have worn a cup. After a few moments he just turned back to his drink.
Further back in the bar, someone had noticed the man slumped over the stable, face in a puddle of spilled beer.
"Hey!" The guy said, shoving him hard "Hey buddy! Ya can't sleep here." He wanted the table for himself. "HEY! Wake up!"
Another shove.
No response.
"Fuckin' drunks..." he muttered before wobbling off to find another seat.
He followed her to the bar, to reclaim his previous seat. He handed the glass back to the bartender without a word. The look he gave said it all: "Kept my word, didn't I?" The bartender was unimpressed and just rolled his eyes as he took the glass back.
"Alright. So he was throwing YOUR weight around." He offered no explanation as to how it had been possible to get such a reaction with "just water." Several other patrons gave him questioning looks, having similar thoughts to Rhainn's previous assumption. It was some sort of setup. One or two had even around for a hidden camera.
Crawford, though not fully drunk yet was close enough to it to fog his head. He just turned to look at Rhainn and John. At least she had found someone else to pick on. Silently, he wished John the best of luck and hoped he was smart enough to have worn a cup. After a few moments he just turned back to his drink.
Further back in the bar, someone had noticed the man slumped over the stable, face in a puddle of spilled beer.
"Hey!" The guy said, shoving him hard "Hey buddy! Ya can't sleep here." He wanted the table for himself. "HEY! Wake up!"
Another shove.
No response.
"Fuckin' drunks..." he muttered before wobbling off to find another seat.
One Man's Treasure - 28
He watched her as if casually maintaining eye contact during conversation, his coin tumbling over his fingers in slow repetition. But he actually watched her very closely, every twitch of expression even those which she tried to hide, were glaringly obvious to his well trained eyes. It was those hidden shifts which he preyed upon. The names of locations confused her, but she was able to pull out a phrase like "market trends." The expression on her face as she found those words was most intriguing, as if she had not been fully confident in even knowing such a term existed.
"I have a particular insight to what people want, to what particular demographics desire. It really is quite a specialized field."
At least, this time, he spoke the truth, if if it was an incomplete truth Being able to root around in people's heads did lend itself to a deeper understanding of them. And it really was all in the interest of driving people to do something they would not otherwise do. Sometimes a well placed advertisement with just the right imagery was just as effective as an old fashioned demonic nudge.
"But what I do is of little interest. Quite boring, actually. Just a lot of looking at graphs and statistics." And there go the lies once more. "I would much rather know more about you. How you came to this city and what you intend to do from here, " The request was offered with the most friendly smile he could summon. "Damsels in distress is one of the few demographics I have not yet had the pleasure to study."
"I have a particular insight to what people want, to what particular demographics desire. It really is quite a specialized field."
At least, this time, he spoke the truth, if if it was an incomplete truth Being able to root around in people's heads did lend itself to a deeper understanding of them. And it really was all in the interest of driving people to do something they would not otherwise do. Sometimes a well placed advertisement with just the right imagery was just as effective as an old fashioned demonic nudge.
"But what I do is of little interest. Quite boring, actually. Just a lot of looking at graphs and statistics." And there go the lies once more. "I would much rather know more about you. How you came to this city and what you intend to do from here, " The request was offered with the most friendly smile he could summon. "Damsels in distress is one of the few demographics I have not yet had the pleasure to study."
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Dingy - 27
Rhainn felt her pulse begin to return to normal, and glanced at the water still pooled in the folds of her leather jacket. She lifted her arm, and sniffed it cautiously- then tentatively dabbled a finger in it, before grimacing and thrusting her finger in her mouth. Water. Nothing more than plain as day tap-water. She’d missed what the demon had screamed, being as she had been rather busy being dropped on the ground and recovering from being choked.
Her eyes flickered to John again, studying him a bit more warily now. Okay, so he wasn’t just your average pervert, she’d give him that. It was possible that this was all some overly elaborate setup to get into her pants, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it occurred, a derisive snort almost escaping her. Her eyebrows lifted at his offer, and she shook herself, taking stock of her various aches and pains. Her throat still burned, and she could tell that the skin was still red and irritated; there would be bruises, later. Her lip was split, but that was hardly worth noticing. She was still a bit shaky from being choked, but time would mend it.
Grudgingly, Rhainn jerked her head in a short nod to John Constantine, still regarding him warily. Voice hoarse, she grunted, then responded.
“I could use another drink ‘bout now. But don’t bullshit me, John. That was more than just throwin’ his weight around.” Her scowl broke into a small grin, and she lifted a hand to massage her throat. “If I’d of known it was –that- sort of trouble, mayhaps I would’ve avoided it.”
She paused, thinking, then laughed. “Then again… naw. I probably still would’ve done it. Heh. Some fight.”
A low, almost content sounding sigh echoed through her, and she stiffly moved to the bar, sneaking glances at John the whole time. Water. It had been nothing but –water-… this needed investigation.
Her eyes flickered to John again, studying him a bit more warily now. Okay, so he wasn’t just your average pervert, she’d give him that. It was possible that this was all some overly elaborate setup to get into her pants, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it occurred, a derisive snort almost escaping her. Her eyebrows lifted at his offer, and she shook herself, taking stock of her various aches and pains. Her throat still burned, and she could tell that the skin was still red and irritated; there would be bruises, later. Her lip was split, but that was hardly worth noticing. She was still a bit shaky from being choked, but time would mend it.
Grudgingly, Rhainn jerked her head in a short nod to John Constantine, still regarding him warily. Voice hoarse, she grunted, then responded.
“I could use another drink ‘bout now. But don’t bullshit me, John. That was more than just throwin’ his weight around.” Her scowl broke into a small grin, and she lifted a hand to massage her throat. “If I’d of known it was –that- sort of trouble, mayhaps I would’ve avoided it.”
She paused, thinking, then laughed. “Then again… naw. I probably still would’ve done it. Heh. Some fight.”
A low, almost content sounding sigh echoed through her, and she stiffly moved to the bar, sneaking glances at John the whole time. Water. It had been nothing but –water-… this needed investigation.
One Man's Treasure - 27
She took another few deep, stilling breaths. She would be strong for Dante. She would find him, and help him, no matter what. Even if she had to figure out how to leave this place; she wouldn’t think about what that might take, or whether or not it was even possible. Later, later.
Kestrell tried to focus on the matter at hand, peering up at Adrian from beneath a lock of hair that had somehow become displaced, the long ivory strands falling to frame the edge of her eyes. The upper lobe earrings jingled merrily as she ducked her head and tucked the loose hair again, trying to hide the small, puzzled frown that flickered over her features.
He’d said the street names as if it was a given that she would know them. Well, she didn’t; a small grimace stole across her features, and she absently rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand, fingers gently tapping her forehead, before looking back to Adrian and nodding. “I see.” She said in response, and listened intently as he spoke of his job, puzzling over the strange- and yet, familiar- verbiage.
She went over her mental inventory of the new things she knew, and thought a second before forming a marginally intelligent question, genuinely interested to learn more about her mysterious savior.
“How do you know what the best thing to do is? Isn’t it difficult, to understand the…” She paused a moment, a small flicker of a frown passing her features. “Market trends and all the information available out there? What makes you understand this stuff better than other people?”
Her eyes were wide and awed. He must be incredibly smart, to know these things. He must have gone to… college… and gotten a- degree. The unfamiliar words caught her up a second, before she offered a bright grin, pleased with her new knowledge.
Kestrell tried to focus on the matter at hand, peering up at Adrian from beneath a lock of hair that had somehow become displaced, the long ivory strands falling to frame the edge of her eyes. The upper lobe earrings jingled merrily as she ducked her head and tucked the loose hair again, trying to hide the small, puzzled frown that flickered over her features.
He’d said the street names as if it was a given that she would know them. Well, she didn’t; a small grimace stole across her features, and she absently rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand, fingers gently tapping her forehead, before looking back to Adrian and nodding. “I see.” She said in response, and listened intently as he spoke of his job, puzzling over the strange- and yet, familiar- verbiage.
She went over her mental inventory of the new things she knew, and thought a second before forming a marginally intelligent question, genuinely interested to learn more about her mysterious savior.
“How do you know what the best thing to do is? Isn’t it difficult, to understand the…” She paused a moment, a small flicker of a frown passing her features. “Market trends and all the information available out there? What makes you understand this stuff better than other people?”
Her eyes were wide and awed. He must be incredibly smart, to know these things. He must have gone to… college… and gotten a- degree. The unfamiliar words caught her up a second, before she offered a bright grin, pleased with her new knowledge.
Dingy - 26
John watched her get to her feet before he could reach to help her up. In his hand he gripped the item he had reached for. It appeared to be nothing more than a set of strange keychains to most people. Two dozen charms, each slightly larger than a dime, cast in metal displaying obscure figures. It was quite easy to mistake them for keychains since he did have his keys dangling from one end. But each of those small things each bore the image of a saint. A useful tool in banishing evil on the fly. He kept it out just in case the demon decided to wander back. But as the bar crowd settle back into their drinks, there was no sign of the think that had fled.
Now there was the matter of the woman and that thing she seemed to be missing. That had his attention now that the action was over. "I warned you," he said flatly, avoiding the 'i told you so' tone. "Guys like that just love throwing their weight around." He glanced toward the bar, still gripping the glass. A small dribble of water that hadn't made its exit earlier tumbled to the floor. "What do you say I buy you a drink?" He offered, as if it were perfectly acceptable to offer such a thing after dispatching a rather large man with a glass of water.
Crawford was just returning from the bathroom, having missed the entire fight. He didn't return to the table he had been at before, one of the guys was gone and the other looked as though he may have passed out. Which wasn't exactly true. When the demon's focus was broken, he pulled out of the people's heads a little too quickly and left a few mentally scarred, but the collapsed one was a fatality. No one had noticed yet.
The redhead found himself a seat at the bar and just ordered himself a whiskey before settling in for a long night of heavy drinking in the hopes he might not remember leaving the bar but wake up in his bed--or on the street--the next morning.
Now there was the matter of the woman and that thing she seemed to be missing. That had his attention now that the action was over. "I warned you," he said flatly, avoiding the 'i told you so' tone. "Guys like that just love throwing their weight around." He glanced toward the bar, still gripping the glass. A small dribble of water that hadn't made its exit earlier tumbled to the floor. "What do you say I buy you a drink?" He offered, as if it were perfectly acceptable to offer such a thing after dispatching a rather large man with a glass of water.
Crawford was just returning from the bathroom, having missed the entire fight. He didn't return to the table he had been at before, one of the guys was gone and the other looked as though he may have passed out. Which wasn't exactly true. When the demon's focus was broken, he pulled out of the people's heads a little too quickly and left a few mentally scarred, but the collapsed one was a fatality. No one had noticed yet.
The redhead found himself a seat at the bar and just ordered himself a whiskey before settling in for a long night of heavy drinking in the hopes he might not remember leaving the bar but wake up in his bed--or on the street--the next morning.
One Man's Treasure - 26
He let her pull away, his hand lingering on her shoulder for only a moment too long. He was well aware of the boundary between being friendly and being creepy. It was something he often stepped past, fully intending to make those around him draw back or respond with disgust. But such things had a time and a place. He would not have gone as far as he had if he did not know when to reign it in. But, then again, humans were so oblivious. So often, someone in a meeting would feel a chill or a something crawling up their spine. Even so much as the feeling of an insect that wasn't actually there. And none ever suspected the source of their discomfort as the listened to their consultant speak.
She he drew his hand back, he looked a little worried. this could be taken as concern over her tears, but there was much more to it than that. He needed to get into her head to find out why she had the sudden change in attitude, but if he so much as attempted it, she would feel it as firmly as if he had grabbed her head with both hands. She was almost too sensitive and he was going to need to find a way around this. With all of the spells and relics out there, he should be able to find something, some how, which would lower her sensitivity but keep her just as useful.
He brought his hand back to his lap, his other hand lifted as that coin appeared once more. An idle gesture that he barely registered he was doing. The coin flipped down the backs of his fingers one direction and then back the other.
"We are..." He said, peering out the window as if he were checking signs, "Near 38th street and 7th avenue. Not too far south of Times Square." He didn't want her to know that he had considered she was quite literally dropped into the city from another world. He played at the idea of her being dragged there from somewhere upstate by family or friends and had become lost. Even people in other countries knew what Times Square was. "As for what I do, I offer advice to companies when they need it. Everything from budget concerns to marketing campaigns."
She he drew his hand back, he looked a little worried. this could be taken as concern over her tears, but there was much more to it than that. He needed to get into her head to find out why she had the sudden change in attitude, but if he so much as attempted it, she would feel it as firmly as if he had grabbed her head with both hands. She was almost too sensitive and he was going to need to find a way around this. With all of the spells and relics out there, he should be able to find something, some how, which would lower her sensitivity but keep her just as useful.
He brought his hand back to his lap, his other hand lifted as that coin appeared once more. An idle gesture that he barely registered he was doing. The coin flipped down the backs of his fingers one direction and then back the other.
"We are..." He said, peering out the window as if he were checking signs, "Near 38th street and 7th avenue. Not too far south of Times Square." He didn't want her to know that he had considered she was quite literally dropped into the city from another world. He played at the idea of her being dragged there from somewhere upstate by family or friends and had become lost. Even people in other countries knew what Times Square was. "As for what I do, I offer advice to companies when they need it. Everything from budget concerns to marketing campaigns."
One Man's Treasure - 25
She took a shaky, ragged breath, and tried to pull herself together. Again, she felt a shrill of alarm as he touched her, and a sinking, nauseous feeling of suspicion flickered through her awareness. Was he trying to trick her…? What did he want from her? Why was he being so kind?
Past experience had taught her to be afraid of strangers, and that not everyone had motivations that matched her ideas of what was right and wrong. She felt a pang of guilt at her suspicion, and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. God above, she missed Dante. Everything was so confusing, without him there to guide her; she didn’t know light from darkness, and the world was full of creeping shadows. Her imagination was running wild with her, and she didn’t know where to turn or who to turn to. She needed him there, to guide her foosteps… and he needed her.
Dante’s past was none too kind. Before the Mark had been placed upon her, she had been taken by the Thing, and had hired him as a bodyguard while she did things that couldn’t bear recollection… but when Khanz had put that mark upon her hand, he had stayed. And she’d taken care of him, in her own small ways- making him smile made her heart race and cheeks flush. He was a man of so few words, yet she’d drawn them from him… he would never leave her like this. Not of his own choosing.
She would have to pull herself together. She couldn’t cry any more. It was too much, but he would want her to stay safe, to stay smart. For him, she would muster the strength. For him, she wouldn’t cry, would suppress the fear and seek him out until he stood safe beside her once more.
Kestrell took another shaky breath, and swiped her hand across her eyes, smiling a brittle sort of smile. She pulled away, drawing herself up straight, and met Adrian’s kind gaze.
“S-still… there’s- there’s no need to cry. It –is- a bit much to take in, though, Adrian. I’ve never been to a city like this before.”
She peered at him.
“What do you do, anyway? And where are we?”
Past experience had taught her to be afraid of strangers, and that not everyone had motivations that matched her ideas of what was right and wrong. She felt a pang of guilt at her suspicion, and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. God above, she missed Dante. Everything was so confusing, without him there to guide her; she didn’t know light from darkness, and the world was full of creeping shadows. Her imagination was running wild with her, and she didn’t know where to turn or who to turn to. She needed him there, to guide her foosteps… and he needed her.
Dante’s past was none too kind. Before the Mark had been placed upon her, she had been taken by the Thing, and had hired him as a bodyguard while she did things that couldn’t bear recollection… but when Khanz had put that mark upon her hand, he had stayed. And she’d taken care of him, in her own small ways- making him smile made her heart race and cheeks flush. He was a man of so few words, yet she’d drawn them from him… he would never leave her like this. Not of his own choosing.
She would have to pull herself together. She couldn’t cry any more. It was too much, but he would want her to stay safe, to stay smart. For him, she would muster the strength. For him, she wouldn’t cry, would suppress the fear and seek him out until he stood safe beside her once more.
Kestrell took another shaky breath, and swiped her hand across her eyes, smiling a brittle sort of smile. She pulled away, drawing herself up straight, and met Adrian’s kind gaze.
“S-still… there’s- there’s no need to cry. It –is- a bit much to take in, though, Adrian. I’ve never been to a city like this before.”
She peered at him.
“What do you do, anyway? And where are we?”
Dingy - 25
Rhainn didn’t bother responding to his taunts; not that she could. His grip tightened about her throat, and she aimed another vicious kick at the closest bit her feet could reach, a choked snarl emanating from her. Her pulse raced, heart hammering like a trapped bird, and she continued to thrash and struggle.
She didn’t see Constantine and his water glass. She didn’t see anything, completely focused on the fight at hand. Deep inside herself, there was a part of her that shrugged, shoulders dropping. Defeat? Death was only the next step. A weary mental sigh perforated the red haze; though her body still struggled, her mind withdrew, analytically noticing the sensation of his hand gripping her throat, eyes seeing pin points of light as her lungs ached. So this was what it felt like it…
Her hands still furiously clawed at him, and she tried desperately to lift her leg high enough, knee drawing upwards to her chest, foot striking at his chest, but unable to reach his head, which was her aim. Lips etched in a rigid snarl, her mis-matched eyes were wide and raged, and her body jerked madly in his grasp, doing everything it could to try to break his hold, nails raking at his arms now.
She didn’t even notice what he said, but she did see John step within the demon’s range. She paused, and considered aiming a vicious kick to the back of his head, but somewhere, she could hear his words distantly, through the roaring in her mind. It was as if they echoed down a long tunnel, and she used the last of the breath in her lungs to let out an irritated growl. Stupid fucker was going to get himself killed, too. Would bloody serve him right.
And then the thorny hand crushed against her larynx, and she found she had more pressing matters to attend to. Her vision began to dim slightly, and her arms rained blows upon his enormous fore-arms, legs jerking wildly.
Abruptly, she found herself on the floor. The smoke-ridden air of the tavern tasted sweeter to her gasping lungs than any crisp mountain vista ever could; a welcome flood of life filled her, the slight oil-slick smell of stale beer and cigarettes like the tolling of church bells. Time seemed to speed up. Suddenly aware that she was wet, alive, and that the thing was clutching at its face and hollering, Rhainn rolled to her feet, legs weak from lack of air. She staggered as she did so, nearly unbalancing, but lurched after the figure- he was weak, now was the time to take him down!
The floor abruptly welcomed her face, and she tasted blood as her lip split with the impact. Still reeling from her several minute bout with increasingly less oxygen, she looked up in time to fail to find the fleeing demon. She let out a low, hoarse slew of curses, and struggled to stand again.
John seemed to remember she was there at about the same time she remembered he existed still, too. Her mismatched eyes darted to him, narrowed mistrustfully as she found her feet shakily beneath her once more. She lifted her hand to swipe the blood off her chin, and spat what remained in her mouth on the floor, grunting. Though her eyes were narrowed and her lips maintained their permascowl, there was something in her features that betrayed her sudden interest in this man who had just saved her life. Who the hell was John Constantine, and how had he sent that thing running from the tavern like a twelve year old girl denied a pony…?
She didn’t see Constantine and his water glass. She didn’t see anything, completely focused on the fight at hand. Deep inside herself, there was a part of her that shrugged, shoulders dropping. Defeat? Death was only the next step. A weary mental sigh perforated the red haze; though her body still struggled, her mind withdrew, analytically noticing the sensation of his hand gripping her throat, eyes seeing pin points of light as her lungs ached. So this was what it felt like it…
Her hands still furiously clawed at him, and she tried desperately to lift her leg high enough, knee drawing upwards to her chest, foot striking at his chest, but unable to reach his head, which was her aim. Lips etched in a rigid snarl, her mis-matched eyes were wide and raged, and her body jerked madly in his grasp, doing everything it could to try to break his hold, nails raking at his arms now.
She didn’t even notice what he said, but she did see John step within the demon’s range. She paused, and considered aiming a vicious kick to the back of his head, but somewhere, she could hear his words distantly, through the roaring in her mind. It was as if they echoed down a long tunnel, and she used the last of the breath in her lungs to let out an irritated growl. Stupid fucker was going to get himself killed, too. Would bloody serve him right.
And then the thorny hand crushed against her larynx, and she found she had more pressing matters to attend to. Her vision began to dim slightly, and her arms rained blows upon his enormous fore-arms, legs jerking wildly.
Abruptly, she found herself on the floor. The smoke-ridden air of the tavern tasted sweeter to her gasping lungs than any crisp mountain vista ever could; a welcome flood of life filled her, the slight oil-slick smell of stale beer and cigarettes like the tolling of church bells. Time seemed to speed up. Suddenly aware that she was wet, alive, and that the thing was clutching at its face and hollering, Rhainn rolled to her feet, legs weak from lack of air. She staggered as she did so, nearly unbalancing, but lurched after the figure- he was weak, now was the time to take him down!
The floor abruptly welcomed her face, and she tasted blood as her lip split with the impact. Still reeling from her several minute bout with increasingly less oxygen, she looked up in time to fail to find the fleeing demon. She let out a low, hoarse slew of curses, and struggled to stand again.
John seemed to remember she was there at about the same time she remembered he existed still, too. Her mismatched eyes darted to him, narrowed mistrustfully as she found her feet shakily beneath her once more. She lifted her hand to swipe the blood off her chin, and spat what remained in her mouth on the floor, grunting. Though her eyes were narrowed and her lips maintained their permascowl, there was something in her features that betrayed her sudden interest in this man who had just saved her life. Who the hell was John Constantine, and how had he sent that thing running from the tavern like a twelve year old girl denied a pony…?
Dingy - 24
The demon laughed loud and deep as Rhainn's attacks landed on him. He was tempted to keep her around rather than just use her for parts. Usually, people rolled over when he got this far--panicking, crying, begging for their lives. And yet, she still tried to fight.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he rumbled as he tightened his grip on her neck.
At the bar, John had been busy. As Rhainn was picked up, he called to the bartender for an empty glass. Seeing the spent bottle, the man was suspicious. But a quick snap of "You'll get it back," made the man behind the bar comply, if reluctantly. From one of the inside pockets of his jacket, John pulled a small flask. It was a plain thing, having more sentimental value than anything.
Once the small glass was put before him, he unscrewed the top of the flask. He dumped a portion of the contents into the glass. It appeared to be nothing more than ordinary water. Putting the flask back into this pocket, he stood from his stool and stubbed out his cigarette in the nearly overflowing ashtray.
"Should I kill you slowly," the demon continued, "Or keep you around to watch you squirm?"
"How about neither?" Came John's voice from slightly behind Rhainn. The demon's face twisted. Most everyone in the bar was under some form of influence or another. No one payed attention to the fight. Even the two that gave consideration to helping Rhainn had turned away. He became even more confused as John stepped around the woman. He had a reputation, but hell didn't have the greatest PR department, so his face wasn't known to all. There were descriptions that circulated, but some were less than accurate. There was one rumor that said he was a blond British guy. Where that came from, he had no idea.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" The demon growled.
"I'm the guy that's going to make you put her down."
"MAKE me?" The demon growled, tightening his grip on her throat enough to cut off her breathing.
Rather than explain further, John just said, "Catch." He hurled the contents for the glass at the demon's face.
Confusion twisted into anger then into agony. The excess that splashed over Rhainn's face would have no effect on her, but the demon screamed as if he ad been doused with acid. He dropped her in favor of clutching his face. It wasn't just her that he dropped, but he lost his focus on everyone else, as his scream tore through the bar. "Holy water?!" the thing growled "How--"
"The name's John Constantine, asshole." His face wasn't know to all in hell, but his name certainly was.
John reached into his jacket for what he would need to finish this and send the demon packing. But before his fingers could close around it, the demon shoved him out of the way and bolted for the door John would have followed, but the bar patrons had grown far too curious and in the shifting crowd, he lost sight of the demon. He reached out with his other Sight, but he couldn't pick up on the demon's trail. He could have pushed it further, but he decided perhaps he would need slightly bigger artillery than what he could fit in his coat pocket for this one. He just hoped Midnite would hurry up with that gun.
Turning to Rhainn at last he asked, "You alright?"
"I'm going to enjoy this," he rumbled as he tightened his grip on her neck.
At the bar, John had been busy. As Rhainn was picked up, he called to the bartender for an empty glass. Seeing the spent bottle, the man was suspicious. But a quick snap of "You'll get it back," made the man behind the bar comply, if reluctantly. From one of the inside pockets of his jacket, John pulled a small flask. It was a plain thing, having more sentimental value than anything.
Once the small glass was put before him, he unscrewed the top of the flask. He dumped a portion of the contents into the glass. It appeared to be nothing more than ordinary water. Putting the flask back into this pocket, he stood from his stool and stubbed out his cigarette in the nearly overflowing ashtray.
"Should I kill you slowly," the demon continued, "Or keep you around to watch you squirm?"
"How about neither?" Came John's voice from slightly behind Rhainn. The demon's face twisted. Most everyone in the bar was under some form of influence or another. No one payed attention to the fight. Even the two that gave consideration to helping Rhainn had turned away. He became even more confused as John stepped around the woman. He had a reputation, but hell didn't have the greatest PR department, so his face wasn't known to all. There were descriptions that circulated, but some were less than accurate. There was one rumor that said he was a blond British guy. Where that came from, he had no idea.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" The demon growled.
"I'm the guy that's going to make you put her down."
"MAKE me?" The demon growled, tightening his grip on her throat enough to cut off her breathing.
Rather than explain further, John just said, "Catch." He hurled the contents for the glass at the demon's face.
Confusion twisted into anger then into agony. The excess that splashed over Rhainn's face would have no effect on her, but the demon screamed as if he ad been doused with acid. He dropped her in favor of clutching his face. It wasn't just her that he dropped, but he lost his focus on everyone else, as his scream tore through the bar. "Holy water?!" the thing growled "How--"
"The name's John Constantine, asshole." His face wasn't know to all in hell, but his name certainly was.
John reached into his jacket for what he would need to finish this and send the demon packing. But before his fingers could close around it, the demon shoved him out of the way and bolted for the door John would have followed, but the bar patrons had grown far too curious and in the shifting crowd, he lost sight of the demon. He reached out with his other Sight, but he couldn't pick up on the demon's trail. He could have pushed it further, but he decided perhaps he would need slightly bigger artillery than what he could fit in his coat pocket for this one. He just hoped Midnite would hurry up with that gun.
Turning to Rhainn at last he asked, "You alright?"
Monday, April 20, 2009
One Man's Treasure - 24
Balthazar's immediate impulse to the girl's crying was to sneer at her for being so very weak. But he had to suppress such an urge. He found it repulsive on many levels. But what he found even more reprehensible was what he forced himself to do next. He was a high ranking demon, on Mammon's direct orders currently. He was far from some lowly underling lurking in the shadows or on the edges of human consciousness. He could tear down multi-billion dollar enterprises with a single word in the right ear.
Swallowing the twist in his gut, he maintained that warm demeanor and actually leaned closer to Kestrell. His arm moved around her shoulder, urging her closer. "There is no need to apologize. You are just overwhelmed, is all."
Think of the power, he reminded himself as he spoke to her. Think of how you can use her.
Swallowing the twist in his gut, he maintained that warm demeanor and actually leaned closer to Kestrell. His arm moved around her shoulder, urging her closer. "There is no need to apologize. You are just overwhelmed, is all."
Think of the power, he reminded himself as he spoke to her. Think of how you can use her.
Dingy - 23
Rhainn didn’t see his hand catch her fist, nor did she hear his guttural chuckle. She only felt and reacted. One hand was trapped? The other fist went flying, a vicious motion aiming directly at his gut, even as his words buzzed in her ears, the sound of thousands glassy wings rattling. Somewhere inside herself, Rhainn felt an abrupt sense of alarm, and became aware that the outcome of this battle was not likely to favor her. She had toyed with something more than she’d be capable of handling.
This didn’t stop her, though. Logic and fear had never been a part of her mindset. Act, react, motion and in motion- one thing followed another followed another, two sabers flashing, no time to think. Rhainn was a creature of instinct, and she didn’t bother with anything so clever as planning ahead. Quick to judge, quick to move, and lucky to have survived as long as she had.
So when her blow collided solidly with his gut, she was already lifting her knee, even though she’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t end a fight so quickly again. Rhainn was a creature of habit, and she didn’t think about things before doing them.
Her kneeing, however, was abruptly thwarted by his hands reaching out about her pale neck. She felt a moment’s surprise, the first conscious thing to break through the red haze of battle that obscured her vision. She thrashed wildly- she wasn’t done fighting- but he lifted her as easily as if she was a baby. Not that most people lifted babies by the neck, but her muscular frame seemed no boundary to his unnatural strength. Her hands reached to claw furiously at his, and her heart thundered just behind her ribcage… this was no average bar bully. There was something wrong with his hand about her neck. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been choked, but it was the first time she’d noticed anything like –this- in an opponent.
She wasn’t about to go out without a fight, however.
A feral roar ripped itself from her throat, slightly strangled by his grip. Her knee lifted, and her well-muscled leg thrashed out, the steel-toed tip of her boot lashing at his ribs, her fingernails trying to bite into the not-quite skin as she struggled.
In a hate-filled corner of her mind, there was a small part of her that hated Makis all the more for this. It looked like she wasn’t going to get her revenge, after all.
This didn’t stop her, though. Logic and fear had never been a part of her mindset. Act, react, motion and in motion- one thing followed another followed another, two sabers flashing, no time to think. Rhainn was a creature of instinct, and she didn’t bother with anything so clever as planning ahead. Quick to judge, quick to move, and lucky to have survived as long as she had.
So when her blow collided solidly with his gut, she was already lifting her knee, even though she’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t end a fight so quickly again. Rhainn was a creature of habit, and she didn’t think about things before doing them.
Her kneeing, however, was abruptly thwarted by his hands reaching out about her pale neck. She felt a moment’s surprise, the first conscious thing to break through the red haze of battle that obscured her vision. She thrashed wildly- she wasn’t done fighting- but he lifted her as easily as if she was a baby. Not that most people lifted babies by the neck, but her muscular frame seemed no boundary to his unnatural strength. Her hands reached to claw furiously at his, and her heart thundered just behind her ribcage… this was no average bar bully. There was something wrong with his hand about her neck. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been choked, but it was the first time she’d noticed anything like –this- in an opponent.
She wasn’t about to go out without a fight, however.
A feral roar ripped itself from her throat, slightly strangled by his grip. Her knee lifted, and her well-muscled leg thrashed out, the steel-toed tip of her boot lashing at his ribs, her fingernails trying to bite into the not-quite skin as she struggled.
In a hate-filled corner of her mind, there was a small part of her that hated Makis all the more for this. It looked like she wasn’t going to get her revenge, after all.
One Man's Treasure - 23
His kindness was too much. It was all too much. She was in a strange place, with strange new knowledge; her hand was gone, an absence she felt profoundly. Dante was gone, possibly forever, and her home was lost… she didn’t even know why or how she was here. And here was this man, who had stopped out of no-where, had offered her a towel and a ride to somewhere to stay… why was he being so kind to her? What had she ever done, to deserve such goodness in the world?
Her throat ached with suppressed sobs, and she carefully accepted the handkerchief, lifting it to cover her face, fingers splaying… her stump lifted, as if to help hide her sudden deluge of tears, before she quickly moved the missing limb away from herself, and let out a choked sob.
“I- I- I’m sorry…” She whispered, trying to control her voice, which was raw and ragged. “You’ve b-been so kind…”
Her throat ached with suppressed sobs, and she carefully accepted the handkerchief, lifting it to cover her face, fingers splaying… her stump lifted, as if to help hide her sudden deluge of tears, before she quickly moved the missing limb away from herself, and let out a choked sob.
“I- I- I’m sorry…” She whispered, trying to control her voice, which was raw and ragged. “You’ve b-been so kind…”
Dingy - 22
John wasn't watching the fight. At least not in the conventional sense. He was staring at his bottle of whiskey, as if trying to will it to refill. That was one spell he had yet to find. He could banish demons, summon creatures, turn stationary stairs into a form of an escalator, but he could not make alcohol spontaneously appear before him. So he slowly drew upon his cigarette, watching the woman and the shadow manipulating demon through his psychic peripheral vision. He didn't really have to worry until the thing tried to drag the woman out. Or so he hoped.
The demon's face split with a wide, hungry grin as Rhainn's expression twisted with such intense rage. Her wild punch struck him, but only as he brought him a hand to stop it. His fingers curled around her fist so she couldn't pull it away as he stood up to his full height. He towered over her, letting out a deep, guttural chortle. The sound lacked any sort of warmth or mirth, giving the sense of insects buzzing in one's head to anyone who was sensitive to the unseen.
"So feisty and yet so weak," the demon said, still grinning.
His free hand shot out with inhuman speed, fingers gripping her around the neck and hauling her off the ground. He didn't choke her just yet, but it would be far from comfortable, his fingers digging up against her jaw. His hands looked normal enough, if overly rough. But each finger seemed to be made of bony plates, covered with dulled spikes.
He let go of her hand once she was of the floor, holding her high enough that her head was only inches from low ceiling of the bar. This drew the attention of the two men who had rushed to jump into the fight earlier before Rhainn had floored Crawford. The redhead himself was nowhere to be seen--having stumbled off to the bathroom. They gawked, one turning in his chair to see what his friend and pointed out. They didn't know whether they should be cheering it on or helping her. You were supposed to help a woman in trouble, right? But what about when the woman got herself into the trouble? Even they knew, in their drunken states, that you didn't mess with a guy that looked like that unless you wanted to spend the next six weeks with something in a cast.
The demon's face split with a wide, hungry grin as Rhainn's expression twisted with such intense rage. Her wild punch struck him, but only as he brought him a hand to stop it. His fingers curled around her fist so she couldn't pull it away as he stood up to his full height. He towered over her, letting out a deep, guttural chortle. The sound lacked any sort of warmth or mirth, giving the sense of insects buzzing in one's head to anyone who was sensitive to the unseen.
"So feisty and yet so weak," the demon said, still grinning.
His free hand shot out with inhuman speed, fingers gripping her around the neck and hauling her off the ground. He didn't choke her just yet, but it would be far from comfortable, his fingers digging up against her jaw. His hands looked normal enough, if overly rough. But each finger seemed to be made of bony plates, covered with dulled spikes.
He let go of her hand once she was of the floor, holding her high enough that her head was only inches from low ceiling of the bar. This drew the attention of the two men who had rushed to jump into the fight earlier before Rhainn had floored Crawford. The redhead himself was nowhere to be seen--having stumbled off to the bathroom. They gawked, one turning in his chair to see what his friend and pointed out. They didn't know whether they should be cheering it on or helping her. You were supposed to help a woman in trouble, right? But what about when the woman got herself into the trouble? Even they knew, in their drunken states, that you didn't mess with a guy that looked like that unless you wanted to spend the next six weeks with something in a cast.
One Man's Treasure - 22
The tear and the attempts to hide it did not go unnoticed by the demon. He needed to know what had set her off so, other than simply being reminded of where she had come from. But he could not go prying into her head. Not yet, at least. She was far too sensitive to even the slightest brush of his less than pure psychic field and given her fragile mental state, pushing further would more than likely send her screaming from the car. She had far too much potential for him to allow that.
As much as he thought himself different than his kind, innovated and forward thinking, he still was a demon. It was in his very nature to force the situation to what he wanted. But he could be extremely patient when need be. Some of the lesser demons may have had no tolerance for such delays, but he felt himself much higher than all that. There were some of those above him who had the patients to count their time in eons while awaiting something. He was not willing to wait quite that long to shape this one to what he needed, but he was going to give it a reasonable amount of time.
Humans were, after all, so very susceptible to the subtle guidance of a gentle, supposedly friendly, hand. No better than sheep.
Reaching to his breast pocket, he tugged out the cream colored handkerchief which had been poking out of his breast pocket. It was monogrammed with a loopy B on one corner.
"Dry your eyes," he said, soothingly. "This city may be large, but it is not all high class and daunting lavishness. There is a niche for everyone to feel at home."
As much as he thought himself different than his kind, innovated and forward thinking, he still was a demon. It was in his very nature to force the situation to what he wanted. But he could be extremely patient when need be. Some of the lesser demons may have had no tolerance for such delays, but he felt himself much higher than all that. There were some of those above him who had the patients to count their time in eons while awaiting something. He was not willing to wait quite that long to shape this one to what he needed, but he was going to give it a reasonable amount of time.
Humans were, after all, so very susceptible to the subtle guidance of a gentle, supposedly friendly, hand. No better than sheep.
Reaching to his breast pocket, he tugged out the cream colored handkerchief which had been poking out of his breast pocket. It was monogrammed with a loopy B on one corner.
"Dry your eyes," he said, soothingly. "This city may be large, but it is not all high class and daunting lavishness. There is a niche for everyone to feel at home."
Dingy - 21
Rhainn felt the small hairs on the back of her neck rise, and her body grew rigid. Okay. So it wasn’t a trick of the light. She could see the shadow oozing around them, and she knew it wasn’t just the alcohol.
She paused to look back at John. Huh. So maybe he’d been right.
Too late now. So what if she was fucking with things beyond her capabilities? She wasn’t going to back down. So what if this man could fuck with shadows? Finger wiggling and tricks of the mind. Useless.
She paid no attention to his rumbling reply as she looked back to him, studying his creased and sallow features. Ugly brute. But big, and strong- and that was all that mattered. Maybe, just maybe, beating the shit out of him might make her forget the ‘him’ she really wanted to beat the shit out of. Probably the best challenge she’d found since she’d… well… fled.
Her heart wrenched, and her fists tightened at her sides. The pain of betrayal drove into her. She’d seen him submit, she’d seen him become a facsimile of himself, and for what? A puppet. He’d stopped fighting.
A quick, sharp breath- she burned with anger. How dare anything make her feel this way. She felt the pain turn to rage, and her ears stopped hearing properly- there was a dim roaring inside of her mind, like the endless flow of a waterfall crashing to rocks, like the din of a distant fanfare. She was gonna kick this fucker’s ass, and there was nothing anyone else would do to stop. She was gonna get even with the whole goddam world now.
She didn’t wait for an excuse or a pretense. Rhainn drew her white-knuckled fist back, and launched herself into the swing, the full force of her body behind those scarred and knobbly knuckles. There was no caution. There was no slow build up. Only white-hot anger and a desire to hurt.
She paused to look back at John. Huh. So maybe he’d been right.
Too late now. So what if she was fucking with things beyond her capabilities? She wasn’t going to back down. So what if this man could fuck with shadows? Finger wiggling and tricks of the mind. Useless.
She paid no attention to his rumbling reply as she looked back to him, studying his creased and sallow features. Ugly brute. But big, and strong- and that was all that mattered. Maybe, just maybe, beating the shit out of him might make her forget the ‘him’ she really wanted to beat the shit out of. Probably the best challenge she’d found since she’d… well… fled.
Her heart wrenched, and her fists tightened at her sides. The pain of betrayal drove into her. She’d seen him submit, she’d seen him become a facsimile of himself, and for what? A puppet. He’d stopped fighting.
A quick, sharp breath- she burned with anger. How dare anything make her feel this way. She felt the pain turn to rage, and her ears stopped hearing properly- there was a dim roaring inside of her mind, like the endless flow of a waterfall crashing to rocks, like the din of a distant fanfare. She was gonna kick this fucker’s ass, and there was nothing anyone else would do to stop. She was gonna get even with the whole goddam world now.
She didn’t wait for an excuse or a pretense. Rhainn drew her white-knuckled fist back, and launched herself into the swing, the full force of her body behind those scarred and knobbly knuckles. There was no caution. There was no slow build up. Only white-hot anger and a desire to hurt.
One Man's Treasure - 21
She nodded at his words, taking a quick glance out the window and marveling at the sky-scrapers that hemmed in the streets. How could anyone live in such a place, and not feel lost all the time? It was a mystery to her. She’d gotten lost just trying to find her way out of a cave with one path- a fact that Dante liked to bring up every time they got into a play argument.
A stirring of guilt roiled in her stomach. Where –was- he? Was it her fault that he’d vanished…? Had she done something?
There was no way of knowing. Her mark was gone, along with her hand… and there had been long spans of time, in her past, that she simply wasn’t aware of. Could it have happened again?
She felt her gut clench, and her gaze fell to her remaining hands. For a moment, she recalled the sensation of the dagger she had held, the coursing triumph she’d felt as she twisted the blade in his back, the way her lips had formed those treacherous words… the Thing inside her laughing and laughing, as she could only watch helplessly from behind her own eyes, as she pushed his bleeding form back…
No, no. She couldn’t think about that right now. It would be fine, he would come back, he always did. He always did.
Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t done anything. There was no blank time. She hadn’t been taken by the Thing.
Quickly, Kestrell looked up. She’d missed what he’d said, too absorbed in her guilt and memories. Her hand fluttered nervously to tuck her hair behind her ear yet again, and she blinked at his question, feeling her cheeks redden.
“Th-the place I came from?” She sputtered, swallowing back the hard, painful lump in her throat, and moving her hand to try to subtly brush away the tears that had formed. It wouldn’t do to cry, not at all.
“It, uh, was small. Nothing like this place!” She said, a little too quickly. “Nothing so grand and, um, fancy.”
A stirring of guilt roiled in her stomach. Where –was- he? Was it her fault that he’d vanished…? Had she done something?
There was no way of knowing. Her mark was gone, along with her hand… and there had been long spans of time, in her past, that she simply wasn’t aware of. Could it have happened again?
She felt her gut clench, and her gaze fell to her remaining hands. For a moment, she recalled the sensation of the dagger she had held, the coursing triumph she’d felt as she twisted the blade in his back, the way her lips had formed those treacherous words… the Thing inside her laughing and laughing, as she could only watch helplessly from behind her own eyes, as she pushed his bleeding form back…
No, no. She couldn’t think about that right now. It would be fine, he would come back, he always did. He always did.
Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t done anything. There was no blank time. She hadn’t been taken by the Thing.
Quickly, Kestrell looked up. She’d missed what he’d said, too absorbed in her guilt and memories. Her hand fluttered nervously to tuck her hair behind her ear yet again, and she blinked at his question, feeling her cheeks redden.
“Th-the place I came from?” She sputtered, swallowing back the hard, painful lump in her throat, and moving her hand to try to subtly brush away the tears that had formed. It wouldn’t do to cry, not at all.
“It, uh, was small. Nothing like this place!” She said, a little too quickly. “Nothing so grand and, um, fancy.”
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Dingy - 20
John watched over his shoulder, cigarette burning between his lips. When she approached the demon and made such a blatant mockery of flirting with the monster, he cringed, hand rubbing over his unshaven face. Part of him had wanted her to be smarter than that. To actually take his warning and just leave the bar. Not to flaunt the warning by shoving herself in the demon's face. He was going to need strength for this.
He emptied the last of the whiskey into the shot glass, but it only filled it halfway. "Fitting," he muttered to himself before swallowing the small portion.
The man at the table grinned wide at her words. It was not an attractive smile in the least. His teeth were yellowed and crooked, his gums visible above and below. His face creased with wicked delight. "Hard to break a tooth on something so tender," he rumbled.
As he spoke, the bar seemed to darken. Not so much that the lights were dimming, but that something were swallowing them up. As if darkness were some tangible, inky substance that was starting to fill the space. This was a treat just for Rhainn. The only other person in the bar that could see it was John.
He emptied the last of the whiskey into the shot glass, but it only filled it halfway. "Fitting," he muttered to himself before swallowing the small portion.
The man at the table grinned wide at her words. It was not an attractive smile in the least. His teeth were yellowed and crooked, his gums visible above and below. His face creased with wicked delight. "Hard to break a tooth on something so tender," he rumbled.
As he spoke, the bar seemed to darken. Not so much that the lights were dimming, but that something were swallowing them up. As if darkness were some tangible, inky substance that was starting to fill the space. This was a treat just for Rhainn. The only other person in the bar that could see it was John.
One Man's Treasure - 20
He turned his gaze out the window, something faintly sinister leaking into his smile. A magnet for trouble? She had drawn in trouble personified, this time. And that simple comment of hers spoke volumes to him. It proved just how innocent the girl really was. The more bitter people grew, the more cautious they grew, they less trusting the would be. It also revealed why she would at least be hesitant and those small glimpses--his brief reflection, that brush of his probing energy. But it also opened up so many questions. How much ad she attracted in the past? Would his Dante be the over bearing protector that would mess up all the plans Balthazar was already working through in his head?
He looked back to her, keeping his hands folded in his lap. "In this traffic, it will be some time before we reach the hotel," he explained calmly. Another lie. He was filling the driver's head with orders, making him circle around several long blocks before coming back and heading in a broad circle toward the hotel. "Why don't you tell me about the place you came from?" It was an honest, small-talk type question. She had opened the door for him. And he was so very curious.
He needed to keep her off the subject of this guy she seemed to think of as her hero. For all he knew, she was an escaped mental patient and Dante was her ratty stuffed bear. He had no problem with the mental patient aspect. Mental patient had a tendency to be ripe with psychic abilities and energies, and no one believed them when they screamed that a demon was messing with their head. Sure, it lacked grace and subtlety to make it so obvious, but sometimes it was required. He hoped it wouldn't be required in this case. He had big ideas about what could be done here.
He looked back to her, keeping his hands folded in his lap. "In this traffic, it will be some time before we reach the hotel," he explained calmly. Another lie. He was filling the driver's head with orders, making him circle around several long blocks before coming back and heading in a broad circle toward the hotel. "Why don't you tell me about the place you came from?" It was an honest, small-talk type question. She had opened the door for him. And he was so very curious.
He needed to keep her off the subject of this guy she seemed to think of as her hero. For all he knew, she was an escaped mental patient and Dante was her ratty stuffed bear. He had no problem with the mental patient aspect. Mental patient had a tendency to be ripe with psychic abilities and energies, and no one believed them when they screamed that a demon was messing with their head. Sure, it lacked grace and subtlety to make it so obvious, but sometimes it was required. He hoped it wouldn't be required in this case. He had big ideas about what could be done here.
Dingy - 19
Rhainn scowled at the stranger’s words. She arched one delicate eyebrow, and mockingly lifted a hand to toy with one of the bedraggled strands of sodden red hair that framed her face, twirling it about one finger. The corners of her lips lifted, and her eyes fell half shut, like a cat.
“Morsel, hmmm?” She purred, almost flirtatiously. Her half smile vanished, and her eyes opened wider. She leaned in.
“Careful not to bite off more than you can chew. Wouldn’t want to break your teeth on somethin’ you can’t handle.”
She looked him up and down. He was big. Bigger than the man she’d floored, who’s scuffle Rhainn had failed to notice. He might stay upright for longer than three minutes. She might even sustain some injuries. There was even the mild possibility she might be the one left on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, or worse.
Here was a battle worth fighting.
Perhaps the stranger at the bar wasn’t entirely worthless after all. He had such –good- ideas.
She glanced back at John, and arched an eyebrow, then returned her scrutinizing gaze to the stranger with his weird shadows. Immediately, she dismissed it as a trick of the eye; she was a bit drunk. She’d had too much, too soon, and frankly didn’t give a damn about weird lighting right now. She wanted a fight.
“Morsel, hmmm?” She purred, almost flirtatiously. Her half smile vanished, and her eyes opened wider. She leaned in.
“Careful not to bite off more than you can chew. Wouldn’t want to break your teeth on somethin’ you can’t handle.”
She looked him up and down. He was big. Bigger than the man she’d floored, who’s scuffle Rhainn had failed to notice. He might stay upright for longer than three minutes. She might even sustain some injuries. There was even the mild possibility she might be the one left on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, or worse.
Here was a battle worth fighting.
Perhaps the stranger at the bar wasn’t entirely worthless after all. He had such –good- ideas.
She glanced back at John, and arched an eyebrow, then returned her scrutinizing gaze to the stranger with his weird shadows. Immediately, she dismissed it as a trick of the eye; she was a bit drunk. She’d had too much, too soon, and frankly didn’t give a damn about weird lighting right now. She wanted a fight.
One Man's Treasure - 19
She’d realized right away that something was wrong, when she found herself standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk, blinking in the abrupt deluge of rain. It had taken a fraction of a second for her to conjure her protective bubble, a reckless thing to do, but at the time she was sure it had been a dream. Asleep in her bed, safe with friends and family close to hand, it was unthinkable that something like this could actually happen.
Her world had been very different, and yet, she found herself fundamentally unsurprised by the changes. Thinking hard on it, she recalled no cars, no electricity- nothing even remotely familiar to what she knew now. She should have been shell shocked. The words she spoke, if she thought hard, were unfamiliar as well- and yet, she could recall no others.
It was as if she’d been uprooted from a previous reality. As if her entire life had been nothing but a dream, up to this point… a very clear, and distinct dream. But a dream nonetheless. The days of sorcery and dragons seemed less real, and more a fantastic story- yet she could still recall the mingled scent of leather and blood, crushed grass warmed by sunshine, the metallic jangle of Dante’s chainmail as they fought side by side.
Or rather, as he fought, and she guarded him with everything she knew how.
Before Dante, there had been the nightmares. She was often… not herself. She’d done terrible things, when under Their influence. She’d even killed Dante, once, and they’d laughed as she screamed, forcing her hand to twist the dagger in his back.
But then, Khanz has placed the mark on her hand, sealing her powers of mind inside of her, keeping anyone from entering… or leaving. Kestrell was aware she was gifted in ways that others were not, but it wasn’t something she wanted to think about. It wasn’t a gift she ever intended to use. The nightmares had stopped. She’d grown to control herself, and was free.
Yet here she was, in a city full of cars, heavy black powerlines overhead, glittering towers of glass and stone, filthy smoke pouring everywhere and concrete replacing grass and true earth. What was this? Why did this feel more real, than the life she’d known forever?
Dante was here. He had to be here. It was the only reason she would have been brought here, the only hope she had left to cling to. He would know what to do. He would protect her. He always had.
Kestrell startled from her thoughts, looking back up to the kind face of Adrian. She offered him a timid smile. He’d think I was crazy, if he knew what I know.
“Hm? Oh… just a feeling.” She smiled coyly. “He never leaves me on my own for very long. I tend to get into trouble; he says I’m a magnet for it.”
Her world had been very different, and yet, she found herself fundamentally unsurprised by the changes. Thinking hard on it, she recalled no cars, no electricity- nothing even remotely familiar to what she knew now. She should have been shell shocked. The words she spoke, if she thought hard, were unfamiliar as well- and yet, she could recall no others.
It was as if she’d been uprooted from a previous reality. As if her entire life had been nothing but a dream, up to this point… a very clear, and distinct dream. But a dream nonetheless. The days of sorcery and dragons seemed less real, and more a fantastic story- yet she could still recall the mingled scent of leather and blood, crushed grass warmed by sunshine, the metallic jangle of Dante’s chainmail as they fought side by side.
Or rather, as he fought, and she guarded him with everything she knew how.
Before Dante, there had been the nightmares. She was often… not herself. She’d done terrible things, when under Their influence. She’d even killed Dante, once, and they’d laughed as she screamed, forcing her hand to twist the dagger in his back.
But then, Khanz has placed the mark on her hand, sealing her powers of mind inside of her, keeping anyone from entering… or leaving. Kestrell was aware she was gifted in ways that others were not, but it wasn’t something she wanted to think about. It wasn’t a gift she ever intended to use. The nightmares had stopped. She’d grown to control herself, and was free.
Yet here she was, in a city full of cars, heavy black powerlines overhead, glittering towers of glass and stone, filthy smoke pouring everywhere and concrete replacing grass and true earth. What was this? Why did this feel more real, than the life she’d known forever?
Dante was here. He had to be here. It was the only reason she would have been brought here, the only hope she had left to cling to. He would know what to do. He would protect her. He always had.
Kestrell startled from her thoughts, looking back up to the kind face of Adrian. She offered him a timid smile. He’d think I was crazy, if he knew what I know.
“Hm? Oh… just a feeling.” She smiled coyly. “He never leaves me on my own for very long. I tend to get into trouble; he says I’m a magnet for it.”
Dingy - 18
John said nothing as he threw back the shot at last. Something in the back of his mind said that he should warn her. That he shouldn't let this stranger run off to start trouble just so he could do his job. He was neutral, right? It was those on either side that shoved the humans around like pawns on a chess board. He was human, too. And yet he may as well have shoved the woman into the path of a runaway train.
He found himself regretting that his favored weapon, that gleaming gold shotgun that had blasted away his most loathed enemy, had to be left behind due to security concerns. Demons waited in the shadows to claim every possible human soul, and those airport bastards were concerned about a weapon in checked baggage and the post office had a heart attack at the idea of sending something explosive across the country. He had yet to find a suitable replacement while he waited on Midnite to transport it for him.
He kept his ear out as she moved away from the bar, his eyes on the bartender. He just gave a helpless shrug as if to say "Hey, I tried to warn her." And he really had sounded as though it was out of true concern rather than trying to goad her into attacking the man.
Crawford, now mildly inebriated, glanced up as Rhainn walked by. He stared at her, face more or less blank. Was she going to attack again? But even more, did he want to attack her? The questions warred in his mind, under a blanket of drunkenness. But before he could do anything, the scarred face man grabbed his arm and he tried to promptly punch the man in the face. It fell short, glancing off his cheek bone. The man shoved him and he almost fell off his chair. But the man on the other side, back from the bathroom now, stopped him from toppling, and the fight ended there with the two other guys laughing heartily.
The man in the corner leaned forward after a slight hesitation. Interesting choice of words the woman had to greet him. As he leaned forward, the it wasn't so much that he emerged from the dimness but rather that the shadows slid away from him in the way that water fell away from someone breaking the surface of a pool of water.
"Just waitin' for the right morsel to come along," he said in a voice deep enough that it almost seemed to make the table tremble.
He found himself regretting that his favored weapon, that gleaming gold shotgun that had blasted away his most loathed enemy, had to be left behind due to security concerns. Demons waited in the shadows to claim every possible human soul, and those airport bastards were concerned about a weapon in checked baggage and the post office had a heart attack at the idea of sending something explosive across the country. He had yet to find a suitable replacement while he waited on Midnite to transport it for him.
He kept his ear out as she moved away from the bar, his eyes on the bartender. He just gave a helpless shrug as if to say "Hey, I tried to warn her." And he really had sounded as though it was out of true concern rather than trying to goad her into attacking the man.
Crawford, now mildly inebriated, glanced up as Rhainn walked by. He stared at her, face more or less blank. Was she going to attack again? But even more, did he want to attack her? The questions warred in his mind, under a blanket of drunkenness. But before he could do anything, the scarred face man grabbed his arm and he tried to promptly punch the man in the face. It fell short, glancing off his cheek bone. The man shoved him and he almost fell off his chair. But the man on the other side, back from the bathroom now, stopped him from toppling, and the fight ended there with the two other guys laughing heartily.
The man in the corner leaned forward after a slight hesitation. Interesting choice of words the woman had to greet him. As he leaned forward, the it wasn't so much that he emerged from the dimness but rather that the shadows slid away from him in the way that water fell away from someone breaking the surface of a pool of water.
"Just waitin' for the right morsel to come along," he said in a voice deep enough that it almost seemed to make the table tremble.
Dingy - 17
Her scarred hands tightened about the small wad of cash. He couldn’t possibly have the first clue what she’d been through. Who she was. All he saw was what she let him, and the rest of the world, see. Her lip curled in dislike. Her pulse quickened, and her cheeks flushed, the slight fuzziness at the corners of her vision taking on a red hue in her mind’s eye.
With visible effort, Rhainn looked aside, gritting her teeth and emitting a noncommittal grunt. “You don’t have a clue.” She spoke hoarsely, throat tight.
He gestured to the man in the leather jacket. She looked.
There was something peculiar about him. Something she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Even as John warned her not to a pick there, she unclenched the bills from her hands, and set them upon the counter. “Keep the change.” Rhainn growled to the barkeep, who had heard the interchange, and saw the dangerous direction her eyes kept flickering. He set down the grubby rag he’d been using to polish a plastic shotglass clean.
“’Ey, we don’t want no more damn trouble round here tonight, bitch.” He warned, reaching under the counter.
But it was too late. Rhainn made a bee-line for the corner, trotting, head lowered like a bull ready to charge. She slowed to a swagger as she examined the man and his shadowy corner- then leaned over, placing her hands on the table.
“The hell you doin’ here, all by your lonesome in this corner?”
She asked softly, voice venomous. It was pretty clear from her manner that she was just itching for an excuse to hit him.
With visible effort, Rhainn looked aside, gritting her teeth and emitting a noncommittal grunt. “You don’t have a clue.” She spoke hoarsely, throat tight.
He gestured to the man in the leather jacket. She looked.
There was something peculiar about him. Something she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Even as John warned her not to a pick there, she unclenched the bills from her hands, and set them upon the counter. “Keep the change.” Rhainn growled to the barkeep, who had heard the interchange, and saw the dangerous direction her eyes kept flickering. He set down the grubby rag he’d been using to polish a plastic shotglass clean.
“’Ey, we don’t want no more damn trouble round here tonight, bitch.” He warned, reaching under the counter.
But it was too late. Rhainn made a bee-line for the corner, trotting, head lowered like a bull ready to charge. She slowed to a swagger as she examined the man and his shadowy corner- then leaned over, placing her hands on the table.
“The hell you doin’ here, all by your lonesome in this corner?”
She asked softly, voice venomous. It was pretty clear from her manner that she was just itching for an excuse to hit him.
One Man's Treasure - 18
Her comment was enough to raise one of the demon's eyebrows, even if just a fraction of an inch. Brought here. That opened up to a multitude of meanings. Was she physically transported here against her will, dragged from another city? Such things were not at all uncommon. Cheap labor. Prostitution. Drug trafficking. All of it he'd aided in at one time or another. But she lacked the terror and trauma of such events. His gaze had followed briefly as she pulled the poncho off. No visible bruises. No track marks. Pure and clean. Which led him to a less common idea of being brought here. But that left so many questions. He knew of heaven, of hell and of the plane upon which they existed at that moment. He was aware others existed. Worlds and universes beyond their reality. But he had never had experience with any such place. The idea had always tantalized him. A world untouched by God or the Devil. A world where The Rules didn't apply. A world that didn't require him to walk around in a pseudo human vessel.
It took all he had to not grin at the idea. He might be wrong his this assumption. It was very possible she had merely been brought by a family member when she would have preferred to stay in her small suburbian town. Her too-trusting attitude and her manner of dress certainly suggested having come from somewhere upstate rather than another world all together. And that wallet she pulled out added to just such an idea. A sheltered girl raised by well-off parents, perhaps.
But her having money was going to put a slight hitch in his plans. He needed to keep her close if he wanted to find out the extent of her power. He couldn't have her finding this Dante fellow, whoever he was. The more support a person had, the more difficult it would be for him to get his influence in there. It was far too easy to shrug off doubt and paranoia when there was someone there to hold their hand.
"It is of no consequence. A monthly gathering designed more for appearance than achieving anything of worth. " He waved his hand slightly, as if the idea of attending the meeting were nothing more than an irritating insect in his face. "Tell me, what makes you think this gentleman you speak of might be here in this city?"
It took all he had to not grin at the idea. He might be wrong his this assumption. It was very possible she had merely been brought by a family member when she would have preferred to stay in her small suburbian town. Her too-trusting attitude and her manner of dress certainly suggested having come from somewhere upstate rather than another world all together. And that wallet she pulled out added to just such an idea. A sheltered girl raised by well-off parents, perhaps.
But her having money was going to put a slight hitch in his plans. He needed to keep her close if he wanted to find out the extent of her power. He couldn't have her finding this Dante fellow, whoever he was. The more support a person had, the more difficult it would be for him to get his influence in there. It was far too easy to shrug off doubt and paranoia when there was someone there to hold their hand.
"It is of no consequence. A monthly gathering designed more for appearance than achieving anything of worth. " He waved his hand slightly, as if the idea of attending the meeting were nothing more than an irritating insect in his face. "Tell me, what makes you think this gentleman you speak of might be here in this city?"
Dingy - 16
It wasn’t so much that John felt like he was shouldering the weight of the world. He was no Atlas. Atlas stood between Earth and the heavens, bearing the weight of the celestials so that it would not touch down upon the human world. If those above were his biggest concern, he would have been far better off, and marginally more personable. No, the weight wasn’t on his shoulders. It was more that he guarded the door. A flimsy, splintering door behind which the legions of hell teamed. The weight he bore came as he flung himself across the threshold in a last ditch attempt to keep the door closed. Should there be a mirror opposite companion to the man with the heavens on his shoulders, it could very well have been John. There were others, of course. He wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t exactly something every human dealt with.
He watched Rhainn through the corner of his eye as he poured himself another shot. He actually smirked slightly, as she got up so abruptly.
“Maybe not,” he said, tugging the cigarette from his lips. “But I know lots like you.”
He knew he should keep his mouth shut and just let her walk away. Don’t get her involved, he told himself. But with that shot almost to his lips, he spoke, the haze of alcohol making self control something of a moot point.
“Just, whatever you do, don’t pick a fight the guy in the leather jacket in the back there.” He gave a slight nod toward the back corner with out looking. The guy was hard to miss. Six and a half feet tall, broad shoulders, heavy brow, looking as though he had managed to wrap the shadows around himself. Which really wasn’t far from the truth. He was the reason John was in that bar that night. A demon he had been keeping his eye on, just waiting for it to step out of line. This one preyed upon humans, harvesting various organs to trade with others of his kind. At least, that’s what his sources said. He just needed the bastard to step out of line. He knew full well what such a warning to a woman like Rhainn would do. And he knew saying it was just following his usual pattern of turning those around him into mere tools to reach his goal. But like the cigarette and shot glass in his hand, old habits died hard.
He watched Rhainn through the corner of his eye as he poured himself another shot. He actually smirked slightly, as she got up so abruptly.
“Maybe not,” he said, tugging the cigarette from his lips. “But I know lots like you.”
He knew he should keep his mouth shut and just let her walk away. Don’t get her involved, he told himself. But with that shot almost to his lips, he spoke, the haze of alcohol making self control something of a moot point.
“Just, whatever you do, don’t pick a fight the guy in the leather jacket in the back there.” He gave a slight nod toward the back corner with out looking. The guy was hard to miss. Six and a half feet tall, broad shoulders, heavy brow, looking as though he had managed to wrap the shadows around himself. Which really wasn’t far from the truth. He was the reason John was in that bar that night. A demon he had been keeping his eye on, just waiting for it to step out of line. This one preyed upon humans, harvesting various organs to trade with others of his kind. At least, that’s what his sources said. He just needed the bastard to step out of line. He knew full well what such a warning to a woman like Rhainn would do. And he knew saying it was just following his usual pattern of turning those around him into mere tools to reach his goal. But like the cigarette and shot glass in his hand, old habits died hard.
One Man's Treasure - 17
Kestrell relished the warmth of the car, though she wondered at it. Her relative dryness, aside from the taxi-cab, was the result of some subtle ‘cheating’… Kestrell absolutely despised being wet, or cold. When the rain fell, it had a strange habit of avoiding her, sliding about an invisible barrier when she thought no one might notice.
Still, it was a bit warm for comfort. Awkwardly, she began the process of shrugging out of her wet white poncho, moving carefully so avoid to avoid depositing so much as a drop on the tall man seated beside her. This process was yet again hindered by the fact that she tried to pretend she didn’t own a left arm; her left shoulder shrugged unhelpfully as her right arm struggled with the light plastic, finally freeing one half of her body from it. She pulled it from herself, and wadded it in a corner, looking embarrassed at the amount of effort it took to do so.
Beneath the poncho, Kestrell wore a light blue knitted blouse, with ivory buttons buttoned neatly in a three inch line down the middle of the neckline, and a demure half circle scoop that exhibited not even a hint of bosom or womanly figure. It was comfortably loose, but not baggy. Her collar-bones stood out against her paper-white skin, almost unhealthily. She inhaled deeply, and folded her arm across her lap, looking up at the conversation between Adrian and his driver- Malcolm? Malcolm.
A small flush stole over her cheeks. Adrian was a busy and important man, and yet he was taking time out of his day to help her. Truly a white knight, indeed! She scolded the small lump of fear in her stomach, and felt a hint of shame for being so suspicious of him.
“I-if you need to go somewhere, it- it isn’t a problem, really!” She assured Adrian, forehead furrowing in concern. She was oblivious to the tiny interchange between Balthazar and the newsman; oblivious to the danger she had unwittingly placed herself in.
Kestrell flushed a little more deeply at his question, and reached into her jeans pocket for the small wallet. It had cash in it. A decent amount; Kestrell had never questioned where her money came from, it had always just been there. Never something she had to worry about. A tiny frown stole over her. Perhaps it was something she –should- worry about. At any rate, there ought to be enough for a few nights in a hotel…
“I’m looking for somewhere that- that maybe I can find someone to help find Dante. I’ve looked everywhere I can think… so maybe he’s here.” She smiled a strained smile. “Maybe that’s why I was brought here, is what I think.”
Abruptly, Kest realized her over-information, and blinked. “Errr… came here.” She corrected, just a minute too late.
Still, it was a bit warm for comfort. Awkwardly, she began the process of shrugging out of her wet white poncho, moving carefully so avoid to avoid depositing so much as a drop on the tall man seated beside her. This process was yet again hindered by the fact that she tried to pretend she didn’t own a left arm; her left shoulder shrugged unhelpfully as her right arm struggled with the light plastic, finally freeing one half of her body from it. She pulled it from herself, and wadded it in a corner, looking embarrassed at the amount of effort it took to do so.
Beneath the poncho, Kestrell wore a light blue knitted blouse, with ivory buttons buttoned neatly in a three inch line down the middle of the neckline, and a demure half circle scoop that exhibited not even a hint of bosom or womanly figure. It was comfortably loose, but not baggy. Her collar-bones stood out against her paper-white skin, almost unhealthily. She inhaled deeply, and folded her arm across her lap, looking up at the conversation between Adrian and his driver- Malcolm? Malcolm.
A small flush stole over her cheeks. Adrian was a busy and important man, and yet he was taking time out of his day to help her. Truly a white knight, indeed! She scolded the small lump of fear in her stomach, and felt a hint of shame for being so suspicious of him.
“I-if you need to go somewhere, it- it isn’t a problem, really!” She assured Adrian, forehead furrowing in concern. She was oblivious to the tiny interchange between Balthazar and the newsman; oblivious to the danger she had unwittingly placed herself in.
Kestrell flushed a little more deeply at his question, and reached into her jeans pocket for the small wallet. It had cash in it. A decent amount; Kestrell had never questioned where her money came from, it had always just been there. Never something she had to worry about. A tiny frown stole over her. Perhaps it was something she –should- worry about. At any rate, there ought to be enough for a few nights in a hotel…
“I’m looking for somewhere that- that maybe I can find someone to help find Dante. I’ve looked everywhere I can think… so maybe he’s here.” She smiled a strained smile. “Maybe that’s why I was brought here, is what I think.”
Abruptly, Kest realized her over-information, and blinked. “Errr… came here.” She corrected, just a minute too late.
One Man's Treasure - 16
The inside of the car was a great deal warmer than it was outside. Almost to the level of being uncomfortable to humans, unbearable to those that preferred cooler climates. But being from one of the hottest climates in all of creation, he had a preference toward the warmer side of things. But if one were to get past the near desert level temperatures, the interior of the car was the picture of luxury. The seats were deep with ample enough leg room to accommodate his six-foot-one height and leave room past his knees as he climbed into the seat beside her. A little rain water wasn't nearly enough to deter him from following her into the car.
"To the hotel, Malcom," Balthazar said smoothly to the driver.
"But, sir, you have--"
"The Board of Trustees can wait until I am ready for them."
"But, sir, you have already kept them waiting an hour."
"If they wish to waste my time as the did in our last meeting, it is within my power to waste theirs. Now drive."
The conversation was completely fabricated. He had such a hold on the driver that he could have made the man drive headlong into traffic with out a glimmer of resistance. Granted, if anyone were to detect such a thing, he would have holy relics crammed down his throat before he could blink. But this human was of little consequence to anyone.
The car pulled away from the curb and headed up the street. At the corner, they turned and went past the news stand. The short, round man there in the newsboy cap watched them, gripping a stack of magazines. His eyes narrowed, seeming to take on a pale green glow in the pupils as Balthazar glanced at him with that arrogant smirk. The angel had his chance, but it had slipped through his fingers.
He turned to Kestrell. "What manner of place to stay are you seeking?" He didn't want to outright ask what she could afford. It would be too obvious what he was fishing for.
"To the hotel, Malcom," Balthazar said smoothly to the driver.
"But, sir, you have--"
"The Board of Trustees can wait until I am ready for them."
"But, sir, you have already kept them waiting an hour."
"If they wish to waste my time as the did in our last meeting, it is within my power to waste theirs. Now drive."
The conversation was completely fabricated. He had such a hold on the driver that he could have made the man drive headlong into traffic with out a glimmer of resistance. Granted, if anyone were to detect such a thing, he would have holy relics crammed down his throat before he could blink. But this human was of little consequence to anyone.
The car pulled away from the curb and headed up the street. At the corner, they turned and went past the news stand. The short, round man there in the newsboy cap watched them, gripping a stack of magazines. His eyes narrowed, seeming to take on a pale green glow in the pupils as Balthazar glanced at him with that arrogant smirk. The angel had his chance, but it had slipped through his fingers.
He turned to Kestrell. "What manner of place to stay are you seeking?" He didn't want to outright ask what she could afford. It would be too obvious what he was fishing for.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Dingy - 15
Rhainn frowned at his not-answer. ‘Things you’ve probably never heard of’? Bullshit. The man was trying to make himself look more impressive. She’d encountered his kind before, and wasn’t about to back down just because he thought he could pull the wool over her two-toned eyes. She rolled them, and let out a derisive snort, the very picture of unimpressed. Her eyes followed him sidelong, wary, as he lit another cigarette. The smoke of it curled from the end, drifting upward to further foul the air. It was a foul habit, but not one that ultimately meant a damn to Rhainn.
She studied the lazy trail of smoke, glancing curiously at the ornate looking lighter. This sealed him firmly in a pattern in her mind: there were only so many types of people. John was the sort who thought himself world-weary, and acted it. Woe is me, the fate of the universe rests upon my poor shoulders, I am Atlas almighty. She felt her eyes roll again, a hint of scorn flickering across her features.
The third shot is set before her. She eyes it, and then the barkeep. His bloodshot eyes narrow in a brief moment of resentment, before looking aside mutinously. Rhainn continues to watch him for a long moment, aware of the tenseness between herself and the occupants of the room.
For half a moment, a twinge hits her- brief, oh so brief regret. Not so long ago, she could have felt at home in a place such as this. The blows exchanged could have ended in laughter; the fight would have lasted longer, and would have filled her body with adrenaline.
Rhainn shook her head. Those days were done, burned to the ground, over. She was done. She was more than done. She’d opened herself up to someone, and felt betrayal that drove her to her knees. Her eyes had cried all the tears they would; she knew better than to expect anything more than the life she owned now. This was what she was. This was who she was.
With such thoughts flickering through her head, Rhainn blinked at John’s next words, and responded in a knee-jerk sort of way-
“You don’t fuckin’ know me.”
She growled, a brief moment of vulnerability behind the heavy bitterness. She tossed back the shot, and slammed the cup on the bar, standing abruptly and jerking at her jacket.
He’d struck a nerve. She didn’t like being predictable. She didn’t like people trying to understand her, or her motivations- it was like they were getting closer, but in a sneaky, sideways sort of fashion. Rhainn jammed her hands in the pocket of the leather jacket, and pulled out a wad of damp bills, beginning to count them out. She ignored John after her outburst, but her hands shook ever so slightly. Some hapless fucker was going to pay for his comment.
She studied the lazy trail of smoke, glancing curiously at the ornate looking lighter. This sealed him firmly in a pattern in her mind: there were only so many types of people. John was the sort who thought himself world-weary, and acted it. Woe is me, the fate of the universe rests upon my poor shoulders, I am Atlas almighty. She felt her eyes roll again, a hint of scorn flickering across her features.
The third shot is set before her. She eyes it, and then the barkeep. His bloodshot eyes narrow in a brief moment of resentment, before looking aside mutinously. Rhainn continues to watch him for a long moment, aware of the tenseness between herself and the occupants of the room.
For half a moment, a twinge hits her- brief, oh so brief regret. Not so long ago, she could have felt at home in a place such as this. The blows exchanged could have ended in laughter; the fight would have lasted longer, and would have filled her body with adrenaline.
Rhainn shook her head. Those days were done, burned to the ground, over. She was done. She was more than done. She’d opened herself up to someone, and felt betrayal that drove her to her knees. Her eyes had cried all the tears they would; she knew better than to expect anything more than the life she owned now. This was what she was. This was who she was.
With such thoughts flickering through her head, Rhainn blinked at John’s next words, and responded in a knee-jerk sort of way-
“You don’t fuckin’ know me.”
She growled, a brief moment of vulnerability behind the heavy bitterness. She tossed back the shot, and slammed the cup on the bar, standing abruptly and jerking at her jacket.
He’d struck a nerve. She didn’t like being predictable. She didn’t like people trying to understand her, or her motivations- it was like they were getting closer, but in a sneaky, sideways sort of fashion. Rhainn jammed her hands in the pocket of the leather jacket, and pulled out a wad of damp bills, beginning to count them out. She ignored John after her outburst, but her hands shook ever so slightly. Some hapless fucker was going to pay for his comment.
One Man's Treasure - 15
Kest’s two-toned eyes found the driver, and she started a bit at Adrian’s voice, quickly drawing back to offer him a weak smile. She shook her head. She was being silly, and his comment only emphasized it. She lifted her good hand, and ran it nervously through her hair, before quickly moving to edge into the car. She flinched a little as her mucked up poncho drew across the flawless upholstery, all too aware of how wet and dirty she was compared to the perfect tidiness of her new surroundings. Kestrell was the sort who held a great appreciation for being clean and orderly, though her own abode fell contrary to this. Or had, before whatever it was that had happened. A flicker of a frown crossed her features as she quickly moved over to the far side of the seats, flushing as she made space for Adrian as well, unsure where he intended to sit, but certain she was going to be as polite as she could.
Her pale hand shook a little bit as she reached for the seatbelt, but the familiar new-car smell put her at ease. Something so comfortingly familiar, she couldn’t help be feel reassured by it. It made her heart twinge with longing… but where was home any more, anyway? With Dante gone, and the protective mark on her hand severed, the place she had lived was no longer safe, or a sanctuary.
The seatbelt slid firmly into the buckle with a metallic click, and she looked out to the door, waiting for Adrian to make his move, resting her knees primly together and sitting up a little straighter.
Her pale hand shook a little bit as she reached for the seatbelt, but the familiar new-car smell put her at ease. Something so comfortingly familiar, she couldn’t help be feel reassured by it. It made her heart twinge with longing… but where was home any more, anyway? With Dante gone, and the protective mark on her hand severed, the place she had lived was no longer safe, or a sanctuary.
The seatbelt slid firmly into the buckle with a metallic click, and she looked out to the door, waiting for Adrian to make his move, resting her knees primly together and sitting up a little straighter.
Dingy - 14
Crawford was feeling marginally better. As the vicodin and beer spread through him, the ache dulled enough so that he could at the very least sit normally. The remaining guy was currently telling him a story about his ex-girlfriend, laughing deeply as he did so. He slapped Crawford hard on the shoulder, making the redhead tense visibly. He glared at the man, trying to convey pure venom with just a look. The man mistook the reason for the look and apologized, withdrawing his hand. He thought perhaps Crawford was still physically sensitive after the hard blow. But the man was far too drunk to think about it too hard, and continued slurring through his story, saying something about falling down the stairs. Crawford just sort of rolled his eyes. As long as this guy kept buying him beer, he was fine to pretend to listen.
"Things you've probably never heard of," John said to Rhainn.
Calmly, he stabbed out his cigarette in the already crowded ashtray on the bar. Reaching into an interior pocket of his less than well kept coat, he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. Fumbling in an outer pocket with his other hand, tugged one of the sticks out with his lips. As the pack went back into his pocket, he managed to pull out a rather ornate lighter. It was gold, intricately carved on all surfaces. On the front was what appeared to a sort of stylized cross, worked over with the same detailed patterns as the rest. Putting the flame to the end of the cigarette, he drew the smoke into his lungs.
Only after he exhaled and put the lighter back did he speak again.
"You won't find a fight here." He didn't need any sort of supernatural perception to know what she was looking for. Or perhaps he had just grown accustomed to people looking at him like they wanted to find out just what his internal organs looked like.
"Things you've probably never heard of," John said to Rhainn.
Calmly, he stabbed out his cigarette in the already crowded ashtray on the bar. Reaching into an interior pocket of his less than well kept coat, he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. Fumbling in an outer pocket with his other hand, tugged one of the sticks out with his lips. As the pack went back into his pocket, he managed to pull out a rather ornate lighter. It was gold, intricately carved on all surfaces. On the front was what appeared to a sort of stylized cross, worked over with the same detailed patterns as the rest. Putting the flame to the end of the cigarette, he drew the smoke into his lungs.
Only after he exhaled and put the lighter back did he speak again.
"You won't find a fight here." He didn't need any sort of supernatural perception to know what she was looking for. Or perhaps he had just grown accustomed to people looking at him like they wanted to find out just what his internal organs looked like.
One Man's Treasure - 14
He may have been suspicious if she had been fully trusting. With a strength like hers, it was impossible to mask himself completely. Faint flickers here and there. If her trust was unquestioning, he would worry that she not only suspected him but planned to act against him. That wasn't how things usually worked. Demons and angels alike walked among people on a daily basis. There were some who were even friends. He'd met a pair in London upon a visit, strangely neutral gentlemen. An angel and a demon as friends, almost inseparable. It was unfortunate what happened to the angel's library, though. Books were so flammable.
He did have people that wanted him, personally. Several people. Some of them may have already been informed of his arrival. But they were the exceptions. Sure, demons were the minions of hell. But they were just the opposing forces to the angels. And in the long run, heaven and hell nothing more than opposing teams. Good and evil were just different perspectives. Balthazar sneered at the idea of living eternity in quiet peacefulness just the same as any angel would balk at the idea of bathing in blood. And the rules said that just because they were on different teams, they couldn't outright attack each other. Just as one team couldn't detonate a bomb under the opposing team's tour bus before the game started. It was a game. In the end, which ever side had the most souls won. More or less. It wasn't a game he was interested in playing, really. Because once the human world was over, most of his enjoyment would go with it. Who wanted to deal in souls of the damned when one could deal in large sums of cash while pitting one company against another? And the human plane did have much cleaner bathrooms than Hell ever would.
The rules didn't stop everyone from attacking one side or the other directly, so he would have grown suspicious had she gone blindly. An agent of the opposing side, planning to trap him. But her reluctance was enough to reassure him that this wasn't a trap. It didn't stop him from double checking the area, though. The man at the news stand was growing uncomfortable the longer Balthazar lingered, but none others seemed to notice him.
The interior of the car was as black as the outside. It still had that new car smell, the dark upholstery plush and flawless. The driver in the front peeked over his shoulder at the pair, growing mildly impatient. But this was his job, and he was being paid quite a bit just to drive the demon around where ever he wanted. It wasn't any of his business what he intended to do with young girls he picked up off the street. The driver would have been quite a bit more worried, having young daughters of his own. But Balthazar had a firm hold on the man's mind, keeping it from thinking too hard about such things.
"Nothing's going to bite, I promise." He offered, jokingly.
He did have people that wanted him, personally. Several people. Some of them may have already been informed of his arrival. But they were the exceptions. Sure, demons were the minions of hell. But they were just the opposing forces to the angels. And in the long run, heaven and hell nothing more than opposing teams. Good and evil were just different perspectives. Balthazar sneered at the idea of living eternity in quiet peacefulness just the same as any angel would balk at the idea of bathing in blood. And the rules said that just because they were on different teams, they couldn't outright attack each other. Just as one team couldn't detonate a bomb under the opposing team's tour bus before the game started. It was a game. In the end, which ever side had the most souls won. More or less. It wasn't a game he was interested in playing, really. Because once the human world was over, most of his enjoyment would go with it. Who wanted to deal in souls of the damned when one could deal in large sums of cash while pitting one company against another? And the human plane did have much cleaner bathrooms than Hell ever would.
The rules didn't stop everyone from attacking one side or the other directly, so he would have grown suspicious had she gone blindly. An agent of the opposing side, planning to trap him. But her reluctance was enough to reassure him that this wasn't a trap. It didn't stop him from double checking the area, though. The man at the news stand was growing uncomfortable the longer Balthazar lingered, but none others seemed to notice him.
The interior of the car was as black as the outside. It still had that new car smell, the dark upholstery plush and flawless. The driver in the front peeked over his shoulder at the pair, growing mildly impatient. But this was his job, and he was being paid quite a bit just to drive the demon around where ever he wanted. It wasn't any of his business what he intended to do with young girls he picked up off the street. The driver would have been quite a bit more worried, having young daughters of his own. But Balthazar had a firm hold on the man's mind, keeping it from thinking too hard about such things.
"Nothing's going to bite, I promise." He offered, jokingly.
Dingy - 13
Rhainn drummed her fist on the counter, ignoring the grime of it. The bartender glowered at her, then poured another shot her way. She felt the reassuring weight of the full plastic shotglass in her hand, and smiled mirthlessly, sneaking another glance back at Crawford.
She’d definitely have to restrain her baser urges when fighting next time. She hadn’t even begun when the fight had ended, and it felt like an itch that still needed scratching- a place she couldn’t reach, the back of her shoulder blade. Her features twisted in a grimace, and it was only then that noticed John was still watching her. Leering, as it were.
A surge of annoyance swept through her, and her eyes narrowed. Stiffly, she tugged the leather jacket more firmly over her shoulders, and fumbled with the zipper. Fucking perverts. What was on his mind, wasn’t happening. Her upper lip curled in disdain, revealing teeth- if he thought he was going to get within three feet of her, he was wrong. If he tried anyway, he was more than wrong- he was dead.
Her fist curled, and she deliberated a moment, glancing between her shot glass and her scarred knuckles. He looked scruffy, drunk, and scrawny. Would it even be worth starting a fight? She eyed him sidelong, debating a moment before catching his comment.
She blinked, and studied him more intently. Most people would have been intimidated. Most people would have taken the hint, and backed the fuck off. But he didn’t seem all that concerned by the idea of missing his kidneys. That was marginally interesting about him. Perhaps there –was- something worthwhile to beat the shit out of in this dump.
His shot glass hit the counter with soft thunk, reminding her of her own. Her fingers wrapped about it, and she lifted it, feeling the hairs on the back of her spine rise at the sour, pungent scent of the amber liquid beneath her nose. She paused a moment, still considering his words- then let out a grunt that was almost a chuckle, and tossed back the shot.
Her hand slammed the plastic shotglass back down on the counter, and she jerked her head moodily to the barkeep for another refill, then returned her attention to the stranger.
“What sort of things you talkin’ bout?” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tugged into a villainous smirk. “Most people take their kidneys very seriously.”
She’d definitely have to restrain her baser urges when fighting next time. She hadn’t even begun when the fight had ended, and it felt like an itch that still needed scratching- a place she couldn’t reach, the back of her shoulder blade. Her features twisted in a grimace, and it was only then that noticed John was still watching her. Leering, as it were.
A surge of annoyance swept through her, and her eyes narrowed. Stiffly, she tugged the leather jacket more firmly over her shoulders, and fumbled with the zipper. Fucking perverts. What was on his mind, wasn’t happening. Her upper lip curled in disdain, revealing teeth- if he thought he was going to get within three feet of her, he was wrong. If he tried anyway, he was more than wrong- he was dead.
Her fist curled, and she deliberated a moment, glancing between her shot glass and her scarred knuckles. He looked scruffy, drunk, and scrawny. Would it even be worth starting a fight? She eyed him sidelong, debating a moment before catching his comment.
She blinked, and studied him more intently. Most people would have been intimidated. Most people would have taken the hint, and backed the fuck off. But he didn’t seem all that concerned by the idea of missing his kidneys. That was marginally interesting about him. Perhaps there –was- something worthwhile to beat the shit out of in this dump.
His shot glass hit the counter with soft thunk, reminding her of her own. Her fingers wrapped about it, and she lifted it, feeling the hairs on the back of her spine rise at the sour, pungent scent of the amber liquid beneath her nose. She paused a moment, still considering his words- then let out a grunt that was almost a chuckle, and tossed back the shot.
Her hand slammed the plastic shotglass back down on the counter, and she jerked her head moodily to the barkeep for another refill, then returned her attention to the stranger.
“What sort of things you talkin’ bout?” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tugged into a villainous smirk. “Most people take their kidneys very seriously.”
One Man's Treasure - 13
His reaching did, indeed, register to her- but she thought no more of it than she did of the quiet voice inside her screaming at her to run. Just another figment of her wild imagination. Just another dreaming of the nightmares, like she used to have.
Still, it phased her. It more than phased her. Something inside herself clenched into a knot, her insides writhing like boiling spaghetti noodles. She felt queasy, and a cold, nervous sweat broke out over her forehead. Her hands grew clammy. Kestrell knew with a sinking sensation that she would not be sleeping tonight.
She eyed Adrian with marginal worry, face pale and ashen. He was kind… too kind. There was a part of her that knew she should be more concerned. There was a part of her that withdrew from his too-friendly smile. But the undiluted fear and strangeness of her predicament caused Kestrell to push it aside. She would worry about that later. Right now, she –needed- help. She couldn’t make heads or tales of this place, and maybe, just maybe, she was wrong to feel so nasty and suspicious. After all, if she’d come across someone in her condition, she would help- wouldn’t she?
The pale girl paused for a moment, considering this. Of course she would. And anyways, she was always very prone to seeing things that weren’t actually there. That’s why they placed that mark on her. It kept the nightmares away.
But the mark was gone now, and they’d returned with a vengeance.
Couldn’t think about that. It was all her imagination, really.
Kestrell smiled hesitantly at Adrian, though her features now held a hint of wariness. He was right, of course. She was soaked, and… well… she didn’t really have many options. Slowly, the girl nodded, and took a step closer, the faded grey of her blue jeans making a soft rasping sound as she crept towards the car. Her two-toned eyes didn’t break contact from him. She was more guarded, now. After all, he’d been understanding… surely he’d understand if she was a little nervous. It wouldn’t do to be too trusting. She’d been burned- she cringed from the word- by that in the past.
Very shaken, she timidly approached the car, and glanced inside, as if willing more monsters to appear from the interior, peering with wide eyes and a hesitant heart.
Still, it phased her. It more than phased her. Something inside herself clenched into a knot, her insides writhing like boiling spaghetti noodles. She felt queasy, and a cold, nervous sweat broke out over her forehead. Her hands grew clammy. Kestrell knew with a sinking sensation that she would not be sleeping tonight.
She eyed Adrian with marginal worry, face pale and ashen. He was kind… too kind. There was a part of her that knew she should be more concerned. There was a part of her that withdrew from his too-friendly smile. But the undiluted fear and strangeness of her predicament caused Kestrell to push it aside. She would worry about that later. Right now, she –needed- help. She couldn’t make heads or tales of this place, and maybe, just maybe, she was wrong to feel so nasty and suspicious. After all, if she’d come across someone in her condition, she would help- wouldn’t she?
The pale girl paused for a moment, considering this. Of course she would. And anyways, she was always very prone to seeing things that weren’t actually there. That’s why they placed that mark on her. It kept the nightmares away.
But the mark was gone now, and they’d returned with a vengeance.
Couldn’t think about that. It was all her imagination, really.
Kestrell smiled hesitantly at Adrian, though her features now held a hint of wariness. He was right, of course. She was soaked, and… well… she didn’t really have many options. Slowly, the girl nodded, and took a step closer, the faded grey of her blue jeans making a soft rasping sound as she crept towards the car. Her two-toned eyes didn’t break contact from him. She was more guarded, now. After all, he’d been understanding… surely he’d understand if she was a little nervous. It wouldn’t do to be too trusting. She’d been burned- she cringed from the word- by that in the past.
Very shaken, she timidly approached the car, and glanced inside, as if willing more monsters to appear from the interior, peering with wide eyes and a hesitant heart.
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