10-24-2019, 10:41 AM
“Not in Moscow,” he agreed without opening his eyes. “She is a long way from home.”
The suggestion of Morven’s office roused him, with some irritation, for he’d been expecting Nina to see to the gathering of answers while he caught some of the rest she seemed so insistent he needed. He watched her for a moment from the enthronement of the chair, lounged for all appearances as though the office belonged to him rather than her. His gaze had a mildness to it, yet most quickly discovered discomfort in being the object of his attentions when he looked at them like that, all consideration.
After a beat, he heaved himself to his feet and followed her furtive gesture. No one stopped them, despite Nina’s by now clear unease and possible regret. Sören showed little concern of his own as she slipped them into the office. The pain by now was a distancing memory, as the tech in his eye socket finally won the battle to right whatever malfunction existed in its circuitry. So far there had been no discernable pattern to it. For now he didn’t dwell on it, nor the certainty that it would happen again.
He traced his fingers over some of the loose papers littering the desk. He doubted Morven had returned to her office after her suspension, and he might have assured Nina this step was unnecessary. But he hadn’t. While he showed a modicum of interest in his surroundings, he finally reached for the tech. The faded numbers on his arm itched for attention, but he refrained from beginning anything so time consuming. A simple search to test the eye remained functional would do for now, especially while in company. Sage Parker.
While the search ran (and ran) he watched Nina. Sweat popped on her brow and she muttered quietly to herself. She had come this far, and he doubted she would bail now. It wouldn’t even matter if she did, and truthfully Sören did not care for whatever inner turmoil plagued her over her own actions. He had hardly been coercive, nor even particularly demanding. But it was a useful trait, and Sören could probably do without the complication of her resolve softening. He sat in Morven’s chair, swiping a finger across the desk’s main screen, currently revolving the Guardian’s logo.
“Have you ever been to India, Nina?” His voice was softer than it had been, the first stirrings of a storyteller’s cadence. A cynic might note it as a distraction, which it was, but even if she recognised it as such he thought the curious pull would be stronger than the fear of rolling heads. “There’s a lake in the Himalayas, surrounded by rock-strewn glaciers and snow-capped mountains, isolated from the touch of man. Peer into that lake, as I have, and once you would have found the ancient, frozen remains of hundreds of human skeletons. Their death is a mystery I chased, but it was a different answer I found. There was something else in that lake.” He watched her, expression limned by the light of the screen, seeking the captivity of her attention. “Do you know why I checked your wrists, Nina?”
The suggestion of Morven’s office roused him, with some irritation, for he’d been expecting Nina to see to the gathering of answers while he caught some of the rest she seemed so insistent he needed. He watched her for a moment from the enthronement of the chair, lounged for all appearances as though the office belonged to him rather than her. His gaze had a mildness to it, yet most quickly discovered discomfort in being the object of his attentions when he looked at them like that, all consideration.
After a beat, he heaved himself to his feet and followed her furtive gesture. No one stopped them, despite Nina’s by now clear unease and possible regret. Sören showed little concern of his own as she slipped them into the office. The pain by now was a distancing memory, as the tech in his eye socket finally won the battle to right whatever malfunction existed in its circuitry. So far there had been no discernable pattern to it. For now he didn’t dwell on it, nor the certainty that it would happen again.
He traced his fingers over some of the loose papers littering the desk. He doubted Morven had returned to her office after her suspension, and he might have assured Nina this step was unnecessary. But he hadn’t. While he showed a modicum of interest in his surroundings, he finally reached for the tech. The faded numbers on his arm itched for attention, but he refrained from beginning anything so time consuming. A simple search to test the eye remained functional would do for now, especially while in company. Sage Parker.
While the search ran (and ran) he watched Nina. Sweat popped on her brow and she muttered quietly to herself. She had come this far, and he doubted she would bail now. It wouldn’t even matter if she did, and truthfully Sören did not care for whatever inner turmoil plagued her over her own actions. He had hardly been coercive, nor even particularly demanding. But it was a useful trait, and Sören could probably do without the complication of her resolve softening. He sat in Morven’s chair, swiping a finger across the desk’s main screen, currently revolving the Guardian’s logo.
“Have you ever been to India, Nina?” His voice was softer than it had been, the first stirrings of a storyteller’s cadence. A cynic might note it as a distraction, which it was, but even if she recognised it as such he thought the curious pull would be stronger than the fear of rolling heads. “There’s a lake in the Himalayas, surrounded by rock-strewn glaciers and snow-capped mountains, isolated from the touch of man. Peer into that lake, as I have, and once you would have found the ancient, frozen remains of hundreds of human skeletons. Their death is a mystery I chased, but it was a different answer I found. There was something else in that lake.” He watched her, expression limned by the light of the screen, seeking the captivity of her attention. “Do you know why I checked your wrists, Nina?”
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)