The First Age

Oriena was pliant as a china doll as Claire plucked her hand, discarded it, stepped in slow circles around her. Curiosity misted her watching gaze, alongside a healthy dose of skepticism. No light infused Claire, no tell-tale tendrils of power to bring credence to this "fortune-telling." A little disappointment marred her patience when it became clear that whatever game Claire was playing, its supernatural element was not something Oriena could detect.

A motorcycle. A man. Recognition rippled through her brain, but she did not credit the epiphany to Claire. She was wearing motorbike boots, and minutes ago she'd had her hand wrapped around someone's throat. It wasn't such a wild extrapolation for a con-artist to stake a gamble on. The bruise under her eye was not camouflaged with cosmetics either; it was clearly not an injury of which she was ashamed, in fact she wore it like a badge. Violence, to Ori, was a time-trusted companion. An allegiance in plain sight.

"Mmm. And I'm sure he deserved it."
Her lips tipped a generous smile, but she withheld judgement despite Claire's search for a reaction. Of course, Claire might have ripped her heart right from her breast and still would have garnered less response. As it was it did prick at something private, but confirmation of vagueness was a con-artist's currency. The words may not have impressed Ori, but she did approve of the showmanship.

Claire peeked over one shoulder and shrugged as she looked back at Oriena. "It doesn't always work when I want, but I'm pretty good at bullshitting my way through pretty much anything."


They kept walking but Claire wasn't in the mood to sell herself to Oriena. Either the other woman was interested or she wasn't. Claire had other offers.

Finally, she rolled her eyes and halted them in their tracks. This time, when she rounded the taller woman, the heat flashing in her eyes was hardly playful. "Alright, I don't have time for this."
Her gaze was flat, but twisted, "actually I do, but I don't fucking want to."
The look in her eye promised her thinly veiled humor. "Are you offering something or not?"


((awful post, and so sorry it took so long!))


Edited by Claire, Aug 22 2014, 10:15 PM.

((No worries!))

Ori laughed. Her breath misted chill on the air, little puffs of malice. For a second time Claire crossed her path, this time armed with flat irritation. Had she anticipated a more favourable reaction to her performance? Was she frustrated at her own inability to impress? The hostility might have incited something fractious in return, but it seemed Oriena was all docility tonight. In any case, of the two of them, Claire was the one without the ability to access her powers.

"I believe I already offered you a job, Claire. Are you accepting, or not?"
There was a demanding petulance to the woman that she liked, like the sharp side of a blade. Ori knew nothing of her past, but she saw the scars of a survivor anyway. "If you are, I'm sure I'll see you at Kallisti. And if not, it's been a pleasure."

Maybe Oriena had already offered the job, but the only detail Claire knew was that it waited in a place called Kallisti. Whatever the hell that was. Something along the lines of what the job was might be useful. Claire didn't like wasting her time chasing bullshit.

The question was, was Oriena full of shit? Claire liked to think she could read people like a book. Maybe it was the wry glint in Oriena's eye, but Claire felt herself soothed the woman's coarseness.

"Kallisti."
Claire said with a hint of acceptance. She'd never heard of it, even on her small circuit of job hunting this past while. She couldn't accept a job outright without knowing what it was, but "Alright. I'll see you at Kallisti. Tomorrow."
There was a smooth blend of suggestion and demand in her question. She'd do herself the favor and check it out.