06-19-2019, 05:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-19-2019, 05:46 AM by Meera Alam.)
The man to Meera’s right was certainly going through… something; he said as much. Under normal circumstances, she’d have slid him her business card but now was not the time. She was off the clock. That meant no mental resuscitation for anyone but Meera.
Had he noticed her legs?
She didn’t think so. She hoped not. Men were like clay, but it seemed harder to work them when they noticed the… imperfection first… but they could still be worked. True. It took a little more effort, but Meera had always found a way. The look on all of those faces once they realized just what she could do…
“God can be found in the most unlikely places,” she answered, casting her gaze in his direction with a playful smirk, “I too have fought my share of demons, something only the strong can live through.”
It took a great effort not to laugh at her own comments. She was being completely serious, but he would never know. How easy it was to speak one’s mind so long as proper care was taken with inflection and expression. Meera had learned at a young age how to hide her sacred mission in plain sight.
They never did notice in time.
Pushing lightly off the polished wood of the countertop, Meera angled her stool so that she sat angled in the mystery man’s direction. She took another gulp of the sweet, tangy liquid; her cigarette following shortly after.
“You just need to find the pleasure in it, my dear,” Meera reached out to lightly, ever so lightly, stroke his hand. She withdrew quickly, bringing her hand to her lap with grace, “I’m sure you know how to use those.”
Human contact helped elicit the proper feelings in men. Just another part of the hunt. Don't lay it on too thickly or the prey might get frightened and escape. No. A gentle touch was best here, and perhaps a few choice words.
Meera pulled herself away from the man, facing forward again. She made the motion as smoothly as humanly possible, trying to hide the imperfection. The copper mug was at her lips instantly, the cigarette replacing the cup after.
Smoke leaked from her lips. A haze coalesced above their heads, casting a hazy atmosphere softly around the pair.
“Oh, and, you may call me Meera. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
She drank from the mug again, her cigarette following suit.
Had he noticed her legs?
She didn’t think so. She hoped not. Men were like clay, but it seemed harder to work them when they noticed the… imperfection first… but they could still be worked. True. It took a little more effort, but Meera had always found a way. The look on all of those faces once they realized just what she could do…
“God can be found in the most unlikely places,” she answered, casting her gaze in his direction with a playful smirk, “I too have fought my share of demons, something only the strong can live through.”
It took a great effort not to laugh at her own comments. She was being completely serious, but he would never know. How easy it was to speak one’s mind so long as proper care was taken with inflection and expression. Meera had learned at a young age how to hide her sacred mission in plain sight.
They never did notice in time.
Pushing lightly off the polished wood of the countertop, Meera angled her stool so that she sat angled in the mystery man’s direction. She took another gulp of the sweet, tangy liquid; her cigarette following shortly after.
“You just need to find the pleasure in it, my dear,” Meera reached out to lightly, ever so lightly, stroke his hand. She withdrew quickly, bringing her hand to her lap with grace, “I’m sure you know how to use those.”
Human contact helped elicit the proper feelings in men. Just another part of the hunt. Don't lay it on too thickly or the prey might get frightened and escape. No. A gentle touch was best here, and perhaps a few choice words.
Meera pulled herself away from the man, facing forward again. She made the motion as smoothly as humanly possible, trying to hide the imperfection. The copper mug was at her lips instantly, the cigarette replacing the cup after.
Smoke leaked from her lips. A haze coalesced above their heads, casting a hazy atmosphere softly around the pair.
“Oh, and, you may call me Meera. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
She drank from the mug again, her cigarette following suit.
"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile."
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan