04-20-2014, 09:14 PM
"Honestly? A little."
He set the glass down, and turned to her. "But I think that's just me feeling sorry for myself right now."
Taking control of the power was getting easier and easier as time went on. He seized it, and the vague film of inebriation lifted with it. The darkness receded too. It wasn't that the room got brighter, but rather that the details hidden in shadows became more pronounced. He raised a hand, and a small ball of flame winked into existence. "Killing him was the right thing to do. Only rabid dogs and psychopaths try to burn people to death in the middle of a street. But nothing scares me more than the thought of being comfortable with it."
Before the disasters, American presidents had taken to personally ordering the deaths of innocent civilians so long as one or two persons of interest died with them. Nicholas wasn't so arrogant as to believe he couldn't go down the same road. Wouldn't that be a great punchline? Ten years down the line and there's a second Custody with me at its head?
He closed his fist, and the ball of flame died. Something about that was relaxing; like a stress ball.
---
Reed wasn't offended. If she wanted to be BFF's with Trano, they'd be in their jammies and braiding one another's hair. She was here for one reason, and that was to show him how the world worked. So far, she was doing her job. He was finally waking up a little. "Killing him was the right thing to do,"
she echoed his words back to him.
There was something sickly satisfying with the phrase. A sentence like that didn't belong in the conversations of normal, civilized individuals. "Keep telling yourself that. Soon you'll stop thinking about it and only react. Build those walls, Nicholas."
Since he discarded the glass, Reed brought it to her nose. Whiskey. Straight up. How many had he had? She was getting good at guessing with him, but the melancholia was throwing off her guess. She gestured with the glass, "This is a good way to start."
One smooth motion and she downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow. Helpful lady she was, Reed refilled it for him, and poured one for herself, but rather than return to her seat, she joined Nicholas on his, and offered a toast. "To walls."
---
Any other time he'd have been more interested in the woman herself than the drink in her hands, even if she was a rose with razor wire for thorns. As it stood, he was inclined to agree with her. How could he do what would be needed when he couldn't even stop a murderer without locking himself in a room to sulk? "To walls."
He downed the glass, and winced a little. The power amplified all five senses.
Something about what he'd just said didn't sit right with him. Silence stretched for a while, before Nicholas spoke again. "How do you live like that? Seems like the more you live behind those walls, the harder it must be to leave."
---
They toasted, and a smile ghosted her mouth as she took the mandatory sip. Reed was in less of a hurry to chug straight whiskey. Vodka, perhaps, but whiskey was an acquired taste. So she rested the glass against her chest and leaned back, legs crossed, finger lightly tapping the edge of the crystal while Trano soaked up her wisdom.
Any other time, she might have explained that walls were for people too weak to do the job before them. "Leaving makes you vulnerable, again."
She leaned toward him, the whites of her eyes cast in the alien glow of the Wallet screen, and spoke quietly as though sharing some dark secret. "That makes the job for people like me very easy to exploit."
She crooked a cold smile. "Unless you want to be exploited by people like me?"
---
Well.
He cocked his head at her answer. Some logical part of his mind said that her job was to manipulate him, and that everything she said and did around him was carefully coordinated to elicit a very particular response. The other ninety-five percent of him was more pleased at the prospect of a few hours spent not thinking about complex issues of morality.
"I doubt I could keep you from... exploiting me no matter what walls I built." She was easily the most attractive woman he'd ever met, and even if she would never make a good wife - he'd spent way too much time with her already to think a relationship would last - sharing a night together would do them both good. He went for the kiss.
---
He was right about one thing. People like her could exploit whatever they wanted from the ignorant bastards of the world. Trano was slowly seeping out of that category, but he had a long ways to go before he was shaken from his own illusions. A very specific look crossed his face. Reed curled the glass around her collar in reaction, an almost girlish sort of habit in contrast to the harsh advice and caustic liquor, and set it aside as though reading his mind.
She didn't jump or shove a piece of broken glass into his throat when his lips pressed to hers. Surprisingly, she found herself returning the gesture. His face flushed warm and his tongue tingled hers with whiskey, but his sweetness irked her. He'd killed men. He had the power to topple buildings. And here on this couch, with a woman that proved time again her desire to save him from himself, he was nervous.
Reed wasn't nervous. In fact, she was a fortress of pent up emotion that fell into motions very quickly. She was instantly breathing hard, and fumbled between breaths to rip an already loosened tie from his neck, and neither of them moved fast enough for her satisfaction.
---
He was almost surprised she responded in kind. He'd half expected to get a judo chop to the throat. But after a single tender moment, she set to work stripping him of his clothes. The shirt was quickly ruined, but he was a bit too preoccupied to notice. The power he held amplified everything: her breath on his skin, the silky dark hair running through his fingers, and her hands which were steadily working their way towards their goal.
She was in a hurry, but that was no excuse not to make things interesting. Carefully - or, at least, as carefully as could be given the situation - he used strands of the power to strip away her clothes. With a few clean swipes, her shirt fell away, exposing her pale, perfectly unblemished skin. She practically glowed in the room's faint light. Underneath the smooth exterior he could feel the firmness of well toned muscles, and after a few healthy moments' exploration his hands found their way to the strap of her bra.
So far Reed was winning the race, but with a press and a pull he had the bra off. He didn't feel comfortable cutting anything that close to skin. That didn't stop him from removing the skirt in the same fashion.
---
Air rushed across pebbled skin swifter than it should. Reed paused her own furious de-clothing long enough to examine herself. The results of his experimentation made her glare. "That was a nice outfit, but its good to see you show some initiative."
She'd exact retribution at some point in the near future, and left him to imagine what terrible price he would pay.
High cut lace, black, wove its away across hips that pushed to stand, dangerous and tall, yet still in heels, she leaned over him. A predatory grin beckoned him to follow, and when she turned, the slender case of a combat neck knife showed itself against the small of her back.
Together, they wound their way to the next room. It was just as dark in there but for what light streamed through the center part in the curtains. The blanket of the city lights glowed far below and cast enough residual light to see the shadow of his face, the stubble of a beard, and the cut of his chest. She was likely as appealing a silhouette, but Reed stepped away from him long enough to pull that knife from her back. She waved it at him teasingly, chucked it on the bedside table, and stepped out of her shoes. She was all the shorter than him now, an irritating reminder, but it didn't mean she couldn't kick his ass and cut a vital artery in three steps or less.
Gripping his wrists, she pulled him on top of her, and wanted to scream at him for being such a frustrating pain in her ass! Of all the marks she'd handled over the years, she'd fucked a number of them, but Trano was the most irritating score of her life. She had to assume it was the American in him, but she could forgive him that. Maybe it was the salt and pepper hair, or the glasses that she pulled from his face, but there was something distinctly European about him. He was a reporter, she told herself, a widely traveled American, that was all.
She was slightly surprised he was sober enough to know what he was doing. Although, as he pulled the lace down her thighs, she reconsidered. This was actually probably the drunkest she'd ever seen him. She smiled sinisterly in the dark, and welcomed him to it.
He set the glass down, and turned to her. "But I think that's just me feeling sorry for myself right now."
Taking control of the power was getting easier and easier as time went on. He seized it, and the vague film of inebriation lifted with it. The darkness receded too. It wasn't that the room got brighter, but rather that the details hidden in shadows became more pronounced. He raised a hand, and a small ball of flame winked into existence. "Killing him was the right thing to do. Only rabid dogs and psychopaths try to burn people to death in the middle of a street. But nothing scares me more than the thought of being comfortable with it."
Before the disasters, American presidents had taken to personally ordering the deaths of innocent civilians so long as one or two persons of interest died with them. Nicholas wasn't so arrogant as to believe he couldn't go down the same road. Wouldn't that be a great punchline? Ten years down the line and there's a second Custody with me at its head?
He closed his fist, and the ball of flame died. Something about that was relaxing; like a stress ball.
---
Reed wasn't offended. If she wanted to be BFF's with Trano, they'd be in their jammies and braiding one another's hair. She was here for one reason, and that was to show him how the world worked. So far, she was doing her job. He was finally waking up a little. "Killing him was the right thing to do,"
she echoed his words back to him.
There was something sickly satisfying with the phrase. A sentence like that didn't belong in the conversations of normal, civilized individuals. "Keep telling yourself that. Soon you'll stop thinking about it and only react. Build those walls, Nicholas."
Since he discarded the glass, Reed brought it to her nose. Whiskey. Straight up. How many had he had? She was getting good at guessing with him, but the melancholia was throwing off her guess. She gestured with the glass, "This is a good way to start."
One smooth motion and she downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow. Helpful lady she was, Reed refilled it for him, and poured one for herself, but rather than return to her seat, she joined Nicholas on his, and offered a toast. "To walls."
---
Any other time he'd have been more interested in the woman herself than the drink in her hands, even if she was a rose with razor wire for thorns. As it stood, he was inclined to agree with her. How could he do what would be needed when he couldn't even stop a murderer without locking himself in a room to sulk? "To walls."
He downed the glass, and winced a little. The power amplified all five senses.
Something about what he'd just said didn't sit right with him. Silence stretched for a while, before Nicholas spoke again. "How do you live like that? Seems like the more you live behind those walls, the harder it must be to leave."
---
They toasted, and a smile ghosted her mouth as she took the mandatory sip. Reed was in less of a hurry to chug straight whiskey. Vodka, perhaps, but whiskey was an acquired taste. So she rested the glass against her chest and leaned back, legs crossed, finger lightly tapping the edge of the crystal while Trano soaked up her wisdom.
Any other time, she might have explained that walls were for people too weak to do the job before them. "Leaving makes you vulnerable, again."
She leaned toward him, the whites of her eyes cast in the alien glow of the Wallet screen, and spoke quietly as though sharing some dark secret. "That makes the job for people like me very easy to exploit."
She crooked a cold smile. "Unless you want to be exploited by people like me?"
---
Well.
He cocked his head at her answer. Some logical part of his mind said that her job was to manipulate him, and that everything she said and did around him was carefully coordinated to elicit a very particular response. The other ninety-five percent of him was more pleased at the prospect of a few hours spent not thinking about complex issues of morality.
"I doubt I could keep you from... exploiting me no matter what walls I built." She was easily the most attractive woman he'd ever met, and even if she would never make a good wife - he'd spent way too much time with her already to think a relationship would last - sharing a night together would do them both good. He went for the kiss.
---
He was right about one thing. People like her could exploit whatever they wanted from the ignorant bastards of the world. Trano was slowly seeping out of that category, but he had a long ways to go before he was shaken from his own illusions. A very specific look crossed his face. Reed curled the glass around her collar in reaction, an almost girlish sort of habit in contrast to the harsh advice and caustic liquor, and set it aside as though reading his mind.
She didn't jump or shove a piece of broken glass into his throat when his lips pressed to hers. Surprisingly, she found herself returning the gesture. His face flushed warm and his tongue tingled hers with whiskey, but his sweetness irked her. He'd killed men. He had the power to topple buildings. And here on this couch, with a woman that proved time again her desire to save him from himself, he was nervous.
Reed wasn't nervous. In fact, she was a fortress of pent up emotion that fell into motions very quickly. She was instantly breathing hard, and fumbled between breaths to rip an already loosened tie from his neck, and neither of them moved fast enough for her satisfaction.
---
He was almost surprised she responded in kind. He'd half expected to get a judo chop to the throat. But after a single tender moment, she set to work stripping him of his clothes. The shirt was quickly ruined, but he was a bit too preoccupied to notice. The power he held amplified everything: her breath on his skin, the silky dark hair running through his fingers, and her hands which were steadily working their way towards their goal.
She was in a hurry, but that was no excuse not to make things interesting. Carefully - or, at least, as carefully as could be given the situation - he used strands of the power to strip away her clothes. With a few clean swipes, her shirt fell away, exposing her pale, perfectly unblemished skin. She practically glowed in the room's faint light. Underneath the smooth exterior he could feel the firmness of well toned muscles, and after a few healthy moments' exploration his hands found their way to the strap of her bra.
So far Reed was winning the race, but with a press and a pull he had the bra off. He didn't feel comfortable cutting anything that close to skin. That didn't stop him from removing the skirt in the same fashion.
---
Air rushed across pebbled skin swifter than it should. Reed paused her own furious de-clothing long enough to examine herself. The results of his experimentation made her glare. "That was a nice outfit, but its good to see you show some initiative."
She'd exact retribution at some point in the near future, and left him to imagine what terrible price he would pay.
High cut lace, black, wove its away across hips that pushed to stand, dangerous and tall, yet still in heels, she leaned over him. A predatory grin beckoned him to follow, and when she turned, the slender case of a combat neck knife showed itself against the small of her back.
Together, they wound their way to the next room. It was just as dark in there but for what light streamed through the center part in the curtains. The blanket of the city lights glowed far below and cast enough residual light to see the shadow of his face, the stubble of a beard, and the cut of his chest. She was likely as appealing a silhouette, but Reed stepped away from him long enough to pull that knife from her back. She waved it at him teasingly, chucked it on the bedside table, and stepped out of her shoes. She was all the shorter than him now, an irritating reminder, but it didn't mean she couldn't kick his ass and cut a vital artery in three steps or less.
Gripping his wrists, she pulled him on top of her, and wanted to scream at him for being such a frustrating pain in her ass! Of all the marks she'd handled over the years, she'd fucked a number of them, but Trano was the most irritating score of her life. She had to assume it was the American in him, but she could forgive him that. Maybe it was the salt and pepper hair, or the glasses that she pulled from his face, but there was something distinctly European about him. He was a reporter, she told herself, a widely traveled American, that was all.
She was slightly surprised he was sober enough to know what he was doing. Although, as he pulled the lace down her thighs, she reconsidered. This was actually probably the drunkest she'd ever seen him. She smiled sinisterly in the dark, and welcomed him to it.