Bode, Interrupted

[Nesrin Aziz]

He watched her with an unnatural and frankly unpleasant focus. It was a duality at odds with his languid posture, which fit far more thoroughly with the decadent surroundings of the club and what little she knew of Jaxen’s playboy persona. She wondered whether the link was live or not – the Emissary had evidently found reason to leave its body unattended and vulnerable at the hacker party, which suggested less omnipotence than the godlike entity Zigzag had described. But better to assume whatever she spoke now she spoke to both man and creepy passenger. The return of Nesrin’s gaze was far softer than the bore of his, but no less unscrupulous in her search for an angle. Fortunately Jaxen was entirely obliging. The curl of her smile was like smoke; there and gone. Not that it mattered whether or not he saw she was pleased to press his buttons.

She was loath to risk a glance at the bar to assess how much time she might have before interruption undermined her advantage. That was the problem with wearing lots of masks; Nesrin was a creature of shadows, accustomed to framing how others were allowed to perceive her. But as comfortable a hiding place as Kallisti had proven to be, she was prepared to lose it. Possibly she already had after tonight, depending on how things now transpired. Either way, Jaxen’s unblinking attention – and the sense of what was behind it – was too unnerving to look away from. He didn’t show any inclination towards movement, but she hadn’t forgotten the way the Emissary had stroked her elbow like a predator toying with a morsel of food, or how fast his reflexes had been in that body. She didn’t want to give Jaxen the opportunity or incentive to come closer to find out if those same things were true. Ultimately, though, the same threat firing her pulse also fired the part of her that lit up at an unexpected opportunity.

“I already walked away,” she told him coyly. There was no boast in it; rather, it was to smoothly point out the poor position from which he made his negotiation. The Emissary had already lost. But she wasn’t in the business of making unnecessary enemies, and none of this had been personal – she didn’t care about the Key, only what she was able to get out of it. “You’ve succeeded where the Emissary failed though – that’s impressive, actually. But believe me when I tell you you won’t find me twice. So I’ll only make this offer once.”

She was content with what she’d gotten from Lucien in exchange for the Key, but she’d be lying if she didn’t also admit it had whet her appetite for what else the Brotherhood might know or be hiding in its halls. Someone of Voxel's self proclaimed calibre would be a boon to any intention she had to dig around there, and she'd twist Jaxen's wounded pride around her fingers to ensure his help, given half a chance. His link to the m’Antinomian seemed imperfect, else it was already chafing; both things she knew she could use to her benefit. Not to mention it was already occurring to her that he might be able to open the fucking key rather than getting his hands fried off, as she had. A peripheral curiosity, that one. She was far more interested in what Voxel could do for her.

“I can take you to it,” she confirmed. Naturally, she watched for signs of a reaction. Jaxen gave every impression of reluctant errand boy rather than someone with a vested interest. The splay of his open palm was impatient, and clearly he underestimated her. She wouldn’t necessarily say he was bored, but he was certainly inconvenienced. Nesrin’s thumb skated the edge of her lip, chin still cupped in her palm. Her smile spread slowly. It was the only dazzling thing about her. “But not for free.”