08-05-2018, 06:28 PM
Where would they take him? What aptitude did the Custody have to safely hold someone with their brutal gifts? Ori's gaze followed the cop's retreat, at least until the press of bodies closed the gap and stole her view. Then only Ascendancy filled her vision, and her attention found another outlet before the sneer could sting her expression.
Her bloody fingers eased their grip on Jaxen's shirt front as another ducked to take his place. Petty vengeance, and one she'd be disappointed not to suffer in like kind before the evening finished. She didn't doubt it would annoy him; he was the vainest man she'd ever met, though rather than stoke the flames with a twisted glance her wide gaze set instead to the stranger come to her aid. It didn't escape her attention that he sought another's permission to help her, like her sex made her property; fortunate then that she was for now content to play the lamb.
Though the platitudes were meaningless. What did he think he could do?
Then Ascendancy's directive cut a chill command. Kind as it was she visibly flinched from the cupped palm Jensen placed around her arm. Her muscles corded tight, and for a moment it was a caged predator he touched, not a frightened woman. The cadence of his accent, the soft words, did not console her. Only macabre curiosity kept her still.
Heat bloomed.
It eased through her like the warmth of a bath after a hard sparring session, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. The wrench in her shoulder melted to nothing; the tightness in her chest at every breath eased like a vise released. Each hard earned vent of frustration, erased. The flat line of his mouth suggested he was not ignorant of the violation. She did not care what he thought.
When it was done she accepted the help to her feet; used the moment to study him unabashed. The earnestness of his words amused her husk of a heart; just the sort of beatific soul that might linger over bruises on a pretty girl. Jensen would turn to ash in hands like Oriena's. She squeezed his grip in acknowledgement of her thanks, but purposefully shied away from the question. Her hands broke free and she shrugged away his words before he turned to capture the crowd. "God is dead."
Jensen basked in the adulation, and Ori was glad to ease from the spotlight before it included her part in the spectacle. She ran a palm smoothly over her cheek, almost expecting the sharp bite of pain. But it did not come. She turned to find Jaxen, wondering if he'd yet noticed the deathly attention of his father's disapproval. "All this blood." The flicker of a sly smile. "I'm feeling quite faint. Come and help me clean up?"
Her bloody fingers eased their grip on Jaxen's shirt front as another ducked to take his place. Petty vengeance, and one she'd be disappointed not to suffer in like kind before the evening finished. She didn't doubt it would annoy him; he was the vainest man she'd ever met, though rather than stoke the flames with a twisted glance her wide gaze set instead to the stranger come to her aid. It didn't escape her attention that he sought another's permission to help her, like her sex made her property; fortunate then that she was for now content to play the lamb.
Though the platitudes were meaningless. What did he think he could do?
Then Ascendancy's directive cut a chill command. Kind as it was she visibly flinched from the cupped palm Jensen placed around her arm. Her muscles corded tight, and for a moment it was a caged predator he touched, not a frightened woman. The cadence of his accent, the soft words, did not console her. Only macabre curiosity kept her still.
Heat bloomed.
It eased through her like the warmth of a bath after a hard sparring session, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. The wrench in her shoulder melted to nothing; the tightness in her chest at every breath eased like a vise released. Each hard earned vent of frustration, erased. The flat line of his mouth suggested he was not ignorant of the violation. She did not care what he thought.
When it was done she accepted the help to her feet; used the moment to study him unabashed. The earnestness of his words amused her husk of a heart; just the sort of beatific soul that might linger over bruises on a pretty girl. Jensen would turn to ash in hands like Oriena's. She squeezed his grip in acknowledgement of her thanks, but purposefully shied away from the question. Her hands broke free and she shrugged away his words before he turned to capture the crowd. "God is dead."
Jensen basked in the adulation, and Ori was glad to ease from the spotlight before it included her part in the spectacle. She ran a palm smoothly over her cheek, almost expecting the sharp bite of pain. But it did not come. She turned to find Jaxen, wondering if he'd yet noticed the deathly attention of his father's disapproval. "All this blood." The flicker of a sly smile. "I'm feeling quite faint. Come and help me clean up?"