Jaxen let the glass stay where it was, a symbol of his momentary surrender to the ridiculousness of the situation. Bode handed the key off was almost admirable. It was a level of commitment to chaos he could appreciate, even if it meant climbing a few more metaphorical mountains. "A heist," Jaxen repeated, testing the words on his tongue. Adrenaline and bad decisions, two of his favorite things.
The Emissary's presence had momentarily faded. She didn't want the key back; she wanted a show. “A peek,” he drawled, mimicking her innocent tone. “Always just a peek with you types. Like saying you only want one bite of chocolate. We both know that’s a lie.”
“You’re talking about the Sanctuary, right?” he asked, his voice a confidential rumble.
He let his gaze wander over the plush room, the dancers, the oblivious, moneyed patrons. It was an utterly gloriously stupid plan. And that was why it was perfect.
“Okay,” he sighed, a dramatic flutter of his fingers accompanying the sound. He made sure the reluctance was visible, the irritation clear, the Marveet of it all on full display. “I’ll play along.”
He pushed himself up and out of the curved booth. He extended his hand, palm up, this time not as a command to give, but as an offer to partner.
“Here’s my deal,” he said, his smile finally widening. It was the smile that launched a thousand rumors and usually got him exactly what he wanted. “You are my little black book for this. And you’ll watch, yes, but you’ll also be the distraction, the bait, the getaway driver, whatever I need, whenever I need it.”
He tapped the Hello Kitty sticker on his chest.
“And when we’re done, you don’t just get to walk away. You’re going to open that puzzle box for me. I want to know the trick, and I want to know exactly what the hell was inside it that has our Emissary friend and a bunch of fanatics shitting themselves to get it back.”
The Emissary’s presence flared, a sudden surge of disapproval. Jaxen ignored it, his eyes fixed on Bode.
“It’s absolutely a lie,” she said. It practically came out a purr, full of amusement. Jaxen wasn’t wrong; she was never satisfied with a single bite. But if he wasn’t going to ask, she wasn’t going to tell. Meanwhile he made an elaborate show of his reluctance, and she was content to play along with it. To his credit she didn’t sense the desperation at all, or even the unseen strings of the Emissary behind his eyes. She gave him a resplendent smile for his effort. Like he was the one doing her a favour. But honestly Nesrin enjoyed the interplay. She didn’t trust him any more than he ought to trust her, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t have some fun.
“Whatever you need, whenever you need it,” she promised, full of coquettish double entendre obviously, though mostly her good mood came from getting exactly what she wanted. Nesrin looked after herself first and foremost, and this venture would be no different, but he wasn’t the only one who relished the thrill of a new challenge. She was a woman of smoke and mirrors, next to impossible to truly know. But that part was always real.
“Discrete and full of secrets, that’s me,” she agreed with a laugh. “It’s like you know me already.” Her lips curled the hint of a smirk now he’d stood up to meet her, and she didn't move away, though she was very aware of their proximity. It wasn't that he was a threat; it was just the world Nesrin had always lived in. The way he held out his hand like they were equals was actually quite endearing, but what surprised her more was how tempted she was to throw caution to the wind to take it. Nesrin blamed it on the weapon of a way he smiled at her. But it wasn’t a risk she’d take.
Her gaze drifted to the sticker as he tapped it on his chest, then moved back up to his face.
“Deal,” she said, once he was done with his terms. Her voice was soft, as sincere as he was ever likely to hear from her. She knew how to open the Key, but of course couldn’t do it herself – she’d tried. Lucien had described the mechanism, though, and while Jaxen still had his little interloper on board Nesrin had every confidence that he’d be able to do it. Probably. And she was certainly going to let him try without confiding about the electric shock it had given her. That was such a tiny detail anyway, and better left thrown to the wind for now – they still had to get into the Sanctuary’s basements and find the thing first, after all.
“But,” she added, voice soft enough for lover’s secrets amidst the club’s din, “I saw it shift in and out of a kid at that party, and we’re not touching while it’s still inside you.” Afterwards Zigzag had spoken about hosts and ethereal connections, and Nesrin had no desire to find out how any of it might work first hand, just so they could shake on it. She was well within his reach of course, and had it been the Emissary’s intention then he’d had plenty of opportunity to pull Jaxen’s puppet strings. But still. She didn't seem inclined to flinch away, just met his gaze eye for eye, and smiled.
She was ballsy, standing eye to eye and well within reach while declaring the inches between them a no contact zone. He kind of liked that about her.
“You can touch me,” he said dryly, that trademark sarcasm intact, “it’s not like I’ve got worms.” He snagged his shirt for a quick adjustment, putting himself back together the way a man does when he’s trying to look unruffled but failing beautifully.
His inner monologue was a riot of half‑formed strategies, but the surface of him, that charming veneer remained intact, like a well‑worn mask he’d polished just for the occasion.
“But we’ll raincheck it,” he said, and a smirk outright promised delayed gratification, withheld just long enough to feel like a dare rather than a denial.
Even as the words left his mouth, he was already calculating the next move, plotting the unseen angles of their uneasy alliance. His mind flicked to his real edge‑in‑the‑hole: those little alien gifts he wasn’t about to reveal to anyone, especially not someone as slippery and unpredictable as Bode. Let her think she had leverage. Let her play with fire. He’d already lit his own little secret aces up his sleeves. And he liked playing with fire himself.
He tilted his head, that grin folding into something sharper, more amused than annoyed.
“So, other than ‘Bode,’” he asked, voice light but curious, “what do I call you? Maybe next time I drop by Kallisti, I’ll ask for you by name.”
He didn’t reach across, not even to prove a point, though clearly he felt her caution was unwarranted. It left a surprisingly poignant impression. Nesrin made light of her past, even in her own head, but her childhood had not been filled with men who knew how to respect a boundary, especially one with so flimsy a deterrent as a request. She’d seen abuse unfathomable as a child, and while she’d fled before it had become an inescapable future, the tension wasn’t something ever forgotten. Refusing his hand hadn’t been a test. But his response was something she’d remember.
She liked the idea that he might come back to ask for her; it made no difference whether or not it was just performative flattery, it all amounted to the same game. Not that she was sure she’d actually be here – Kallisti had only ever been a short term measure. But the intent, at least, made her smile grow slow and feline. She contemplated her answer like she was considering whether to recommend a drink rather than deciding how much of herself to hand over.
“Ness,” she said simply. The name sat lightly on her tongue, practised, worn smooth from use. The sort of name meant to pass beneath notice, belonging to a girl who poured drinks and listened well and went home alone. It was what they called her here of course. None of her aliases were too far adjacent to her legal name. Truth was, Nesrin Aziz was a nobody. But that wasn’t why she used different identities.
She could have left it there. But it wasn’t like Jaxen didn’t know she’d just told him a lie, which made it a more interesting encounter than most.
“And if you ever hear a different name,” she continued softly, eyes glittering, “one I give without you asking – then you’ll know you’ve lasted long enough to deserve it.”
She turned away, headed back to the bar (or in reality, the staff area behind it; she had no intention of finishing her shift now).
“But until then,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wicked grin, “Ness will do just fine.”