Connections, Money and Secrets [Almaz]

[Oriena]

[[that was a wise edit, Mik *wink*]]

Ori didn’t recall suggesting bruises were bad things, but beyond a coy flicker to her expression as she looked Mik up and down she said nothing. She watched the display of intimacy with open interest. Jaxen rather spoiled it with the sly glance in her direction, though. She doubted Mikhail would enjoy the sensation of use, but maybe he would play along for the amusement of drawing battlelines. Ori didn’t care who either of them were fucking; each other or otherwise.

As for Ryker, she only shrugged, toying with the glass in her hand as Mikhail ordered a replacement. The reaction was genuine. It must have looked like Ryker completely flipped while they were up on the platform, and had it been the case Mik wouldn’t have been wrong to assume vengeance boiled in its wake. But she’d courted every inch of that vitriol and pain when she snipped the strings of his self-control. In fact she hadn’t fought back at all until she realised he was a channeler, and then the diversion became something else entirely. Yet whatever obsession had raged like a furnace before, it petered to nothing by now.

“Last I saw him was the same as you, when he was being hauled by a Dominion into a Custody van.” She smirked darkly in amusement, but it was for the taunt about her keeping someone in a cage, not for whatever fate had awaited the man in question. She ignored Jaxen’s questions entirely, though she did meet the challenge of his stare when he spoke. His quips were designed to tap all over her pretty claws soliciting the swipe. But it wasn’t much to crow about. Two of those three fucks had been largely unsatisfying.

In fact it was nothing Jaxen actually said but the dismissive way he glanced away from her scars that succeeded in flattening her expression. The ghostly memory of Ascendancy turning away from the worst moment of her life flashed behind her eyes, which of course started the buzz in her head, striking like bullet holes through the armour of drugs and alcohol and mindless distraction. She finished the rest of the vodka while the cacophony of the ijiraq roiled like thunder in the back of her mind.

After Jaxen rose, she caught him by his throat. Her palm fit neat; firm, but not threatening, her body seductively close yet not otherwise touching. Submission or retaliation; she gave him the moment for either. The hook of her eyes sank deeper than the pressure of her fingers, meeting the darkness of his before dipping to the wet sheen on his lips. “It excited you,” she said. Her voice was low, meant for him alone, though she did not care if Mikhail was listening. He was certainly sat close enough to where they stood, but it wasn’t like either of them minded an audience. Her grip flexed a little tighter, nails scoring a promise of what exactly she meant. She smiled red lips, looked for a moment like she might be about to lean in and lick the vodka right off his. 

“But if I was too much, sweetheart, I understand.” She let go to pat him lightly on the cheek, and then pushed his face away with a smirk. Afterwards she stole the joint from Mikhail, and perched on the barstool Jaxen had vacated. The long draw she took didn’t settle much, though she didn’t offer to return it. If he was sensible Mik would follow his friend. The edge felt like lightning in her teeth.

[[Some presumed modes there. If I need to change anything let me know]]