06-07-2014, 09:12 AM
Dane did not like the room he was in. The walls were hideous block cement splashed with monotone paint color and the ceiling pebbled with outdated texturing. His seat was terribly uncomfortable. There was no cushion beneath him, and the metal bars behind dug like rods into his back. There was a cup of tea on the table, but after a preliminary sniff, his disgust pushed it aside. In fact, he seemed to have pushed it as far across the table as possible as malodorous as he found it.
Steam long ago ceased to release pale curls from the surface. The water that brewed this tea was overly boiled, as though having come from a commercial coffee dispenser. Dane shuddered to imagine when the last time those wretched aluminum pipes had been cleaned.
It was cold in here as well, as he quickly learned once the agents took his coat, gloves and scarf from him. He knew exactly why they did it, but when it was requested of him, he slipped from the winter wear like the truly congenial gentleman he should be. Back in the metro station he'd attempted, with some measure of trepidation, to discard the silken treasures in his pocket, but agents swarmed too fast for him to do so discreetly. He could still feel their hands palming their way down his body; the memory cast crude shadows over his expression. Dane did not like to be touched, particularly by strangers, less so by the police. Of course, such thoughts inevitably turned to elsewhere. The black haired monster. He smiled to himself.
But the smile quickly faded. Such thoughts did not sustain his interest for long. Dane sighed. His head fell backward, both a posture of boredom and one of stretching. In doing so he could feel his own adam's apple protruding from the center of his throat. His back and limbs were growing restless. He did not like this room; boxy and lackluster, like a coffin for the impoverished.
His gaze fell upon the flat, cold tea, stagnant in its snowy Styrofoam, for many long moments. Soon, his eyes ceased blinking. He became a hunter intent upon his target, and the majesty of powers limitless swarmed like a storm only he could sense. The tiniest whips of heat he forced to dive into the tepid drink. Though the liquid remained still to his gaze, he knew what microscopic riptides were building beneath the surface; he was their master, after all.
Steam once more curled from the surface of the tea, and Dane smiled satisfactorily to himself. If he weren't so disgusted by the source of the drink, he would have sampled his own work. However, such was not to be today.
The sound of footsteps lifted his gaze from the steaming tea. He sat straighter in the chair, hands gently folded on the table, and was otherwise well prepared, groomed, and stately when a black gentleman entered.
They looked upon one another a moment until Dane stood to offer a handshake. The beastly man's palm dwarfed his. "Good morning, Mr Gregory. I am Chief Inspector McCullough. I have a few questions for you about what happened today in the metro."
His accent was familiar to Dane, which of course made him concentrate on perfecting his own posh voice. A filthy coastman, a brute, the Chief Inspector was; a constable interrogating the noble class. Dane returned to his seat content with the status of their interaction thus far.
"Good morning, Chief Inspector. I am happy to be of any help."
He maintained his grip on the power, but at such a low level the focus barely divided his attention at all, and the enhancement of vision showed him exactly every wrinkle in the man's face and highlight every cringe of expression. This would require all of Dane's skills with manipulation to walk out of CDPS without needing to post bail to do so, and he had no intention of blighting his perfectly innocent criminal record today.
Steam long ago ceased to release pale curls from the surface. The water that brewed this tea was overly boiled, as though having come from a commercial coffee dispenser. Dane shuddered to imagine when the last time those wretched aluminum pipes had been cleaned.
It was cold in here as well, as he quickly learned once the agents took his coat, gloves and scarf from him. He knew exactly why they did it, but when it was requested of him, he slipped from the winter wear like the truly congenial gentleman he should be. Back in the metro station he'd attempted, with some measure of trepidation, to discard the silken treasures in his pocket, but agents swarmed too fast for him to do so discreetly. He could still feel their hands palming their way down his body; the memory cast crude shadows over his expression. Dane did not like to be touched, particularly by strangers, less so by the police. Of course, such thoughts inevitably turned to elsewhere. The black haired monster. He smiled to himself.
But the smile quickly faded. Such thoughts did not sustain his interest for long. Dane sighed. His head fell backward, both a posture of boredom and one of stretching. In doing so he could feel his own adam's apple protruding from the center of his throat. His back and limbs were growing restless. He did not like this room; boxy and lackluster, like a coffin for the impoverished.
His gaze fell upon the flat, cold tea, stagnant in its snowy Styrofoam, for many long moments. Soon, his eyes ceased blinking. He became a hunter intent upon his target, and the majesty of powers limitless swarmed like a storm only he could sense. The tiniest whips of heat he forced to dive into the tepid drink. Though the liquid remained still to his gaze, he knew what microscopic riptides were building beneath the surface; he was their master, after all.
Steam once more curled from the surface of the tea, and Dane smiled satisfactorily to himself. If he weren't so disgusted by the source of the drink, he would have sampled his own work. However, such was not to be today.
The sound of footsteps lifted his gaze from the steaming tea. He sat straighter in the chair, hands gently folded on the table, and was otherwise well prepared, groomed, and stately when a black gentleman entered.
They looked upon one another a moment until Dane stood to offer a handshake. The beastly man's palm dwarfed his. "Good morning, Mr Gregory. I am Chief Inspector McCullough. I have a few questions for you about what happened today in the metro."
His accent was familiar to Dane, which of course made him concentrate on perfecting his own posh voice. A filthy coastman, a brute, the Chief Inspector was; a constable interrogating the noble class. Dane returned to his seat content with the status of their interaction thus far.
"Good morning, Chief Inspector. I am happy to be of any help."
He maintained his grip on the power, but at such a low level the focus barely divided his attention at all, and the enhancement of vision showed him exactly every wrinkle in the man's face and highlight every cringe of expression. This would require all of Dane's skills with manipulation to walk out of CDPS without needing to post bail to do so, and he had no intention of blighting his perfectly innocent criminal record today.