10-29-2013, 08:43 AM
If his own kind lingered floors overhead, Jaxen was little drawn to rejoin the herd. It wasn't animosity that led his path astray. He simply didn't like to think he was cast from the same mold as a thousand other men. Even if those men were gilded elite compared to the billions of aimless souls wandering the planet.
Oriena's angelic lure pulled him willingly close. But the angel became the devil quickly enough. While she teased, he pushed her hair behind one shoulder and traced the arc of her collarbone with a thumb. The band of a thick platinum ring he wore shocked cold against her warm skin.
Her code slammed clearly, but when she drifted away, a disagreeing smirk planted itself on the lips that ached to press onto hers. The absence of touch painfully eclipsed every annoying scrape in comparison. But Jaxen did not chase her. Oriena unfolded herself on the very seat he and Aisha occupied the last time he was in this room. Was that only a few days ago? Talk about a busy week.
He tapped a finger to his lips, squinting thoughtfully. "No, not light. It screams like the birth of the world. Of everything that ever was. Or will be."
He said plainly as his hand dropped confident to his side. Oriena was a distracting target, but compared to what lingered on the edge of consciousness, she was nothing.
"A storm that resists any attempt to control it, and takes every shred of focus to make it comply."
His vision peered far off just then, grappling at the unseen. That she described it as light was an interesting comparison. A wrong one, but interesting nonetheless. Why couldn't he see the same net spitting through the air when she worked it?
He wanted more time to study the phenomenon before venturing into the dangers of experimentation. Instant command over the elusive was tempting to sit and master overnight, but the quickening of vodka livened the need for sport, and Jaxen knew where to find an apt gameboard. One where he held the advantage. Which were always the best kind.
"I'll be right back,"
and disappeared in the distance of a winding hall.
He returned the perfect image of a Moscow lord slicked for the night roaming the castles of his kingdom. The truly magnificent air to Jaxen's suit, the building block of looking damn fine, was the apathy on his lapel. He dressed because he liked it, not to shame the competition, though he would by spades. The fabric was burnt red, snapped across the shoulders, tapered obsessively down the line of his sleeves and nipped at a narrow waist. It took a man with cojones to pull off a red suit, but Jaxen did have a thing for color. Blame Mumbai, but damn if those guys did have great taste for the flashy. The greatest thing about the look was the shoes, though. Wearing boots with a suit does two things: keeps your feet warm in winter, and says that uniforms look best when messed with. That they were royal purple and alligator was just fucking fun.
"Ostentatious does have its perks."
He smirked and slipped a pocket-slim Wallet inside his jacket. "I feel like taking a walk. Up for it?"
Beneath tousled black hair, a hellish smile curved demonic promise across his lips.
Oriena's angelic lure pulled him willingly close. But the angel became the devil quickly enough. While she teased, he pushed her hair behind one shoulder and traced the arc of her collarbone with a thumb. The band of a thick platinum ring he wore shocked cold against her warm skin.
Her code slammed clearly, but when she drifted away, a disagreeing smirk planted itself on the lips that ached to press onto hers. The absence of touch painfully eclipsed every annoying scrape in comparison. But Jaxen did not chase her. Oriena unfolded herself on the very seat he and Aisha occupied the last time he was in this room. Was that only a few days ago? Talk about a busy week.
He tapped a finger to his lips, squinting thoughtfully. "No, not light. It screams like the birth of the world. Of everything that ever was. Or will be."
He said plainly as his hand dropped confident to his side. Oriena was a distracting target, but compared to what lingered on the edge of consciousness, she was nothing.
"A storm that resists any attempt to control it, and takes every shred of focus to make it comply."
His vision peered far off just then, grappling at the unseen. That she described it as light was an interesting comparison. A wrong one, but interesting nonetheless. Why couldn't he see the same net spitting through the air when she worked it?
He wanted more time to study the phenomenon before venturing into the dangers of experimentation. Instant command over the elusive was tempting to sit and master overnight, but the quickening of vodka livened the need for sport, and Jaxen knew where to find an apt gameboard. One where he held the advantage. Which were always the best kind.
"I'll be right back,"
and disappeared in the distance of a winding hall.
He returned the perfect image of a Moscow lord slicked for the night roaming the castles of his kingdom. The truly magnificent air to Jaxen's suit, the building block of looking damn fine, was the apathy on his lapel. He dressed because he liked it, not to shame the competition, though he would by spades. The fabric was burnt red, snapped across the shoulders, tapered obsessively down the line of his sleeves and nipped at a narrow waist. It took a man with cojones to pull off a red suit, but Jaxen did have a thing for color. Blame Mumbai, but damn if those guys did have great taste for the flashy. The greatest thing about the look was the shoes, though. Wearing boots with a suit does two things: keeps your feet warm in winter, and says that uniforms look best when messed with. That they were royal purple and alligator was just fucking fun.
"Ostentatious does have its perks."
He smirked and slipped a pocket-slim Wallet inside his jacket. "I feel like taking a walk. Up for it?"
Beneath tousled black hair, a hellish smile curved demonic promise across his lips.