A Blind Eye

[Oriena]

A lighter hardly warranted the tension rife as pregnant rain clouds about the two men. Perhaps the fact it had been lifted in the first place had more to do with it, but most probably it was Jaxen himself who coaxed the storm about his own head, through the obstinate desire to provoke. White’s severe blanket disapproval provided all the fodder and all the motivation required for a guy like Jaxen; he latched on to the dislike White displayed in every rigid line of his expression, and twisted to get a reaction. It was entertainment and risk to its own ends – childish – but Ori saw no reason to interfere with the stage once set. Her gaze drifted instead to the silent woman at White’s side, by far the more interesting of the company, if only by virtue of their... affinity.

Presence clung to every shapely curve of her body, making poor imitation of every billboard upon which her face was plastered and every movie in which her flesh was bared, but power subject to the whims of others was no power at all. Spectra crested the apex of her profession, but all it meant was that the chains about her throat were gilded. She invited the highest bidder to hold the leash, perhaps not always for the simple currency of cold hard cash, but it was still herself she sold, her value negotiated by the lusts of men; and most of those fuckers probably hardly worth the time Spectra invested. Pride was too deep an infection in Ori to consider the notion with little other than derision. Power, real power, infused the veins beneath that golden skin. Yet she still chose to make an object of herself.

The coolness of her smirk faded when Spectra shifted her sultry gaze, replaced by a glint in her eye. Ori could feel the undercurrents of the game being played, and she did so love a game. Jaxen was a toy; one she might easily discard, and not one she would fight for the attentions of if he got it into his head to rally a war. Not a man alive had the capacity to dig so deep under Ori’s skin as to ignite that kind of care. Rejection was met with the cold mask of indifference and the swift poison of retribution, but the sin of indecision fared little better. Genuine or an artifice to garner a reaction, she was still disposed to turn her back on the man who wavered. As such Spectra offered the wrong stakes, but Oriena was willing to play anyway; her spine would snap before she walked away from a challenge.

But either Jaxen didn’t notice the subtleties around him, or he was too caught up in toeing the line with White. The tautness between them faded when the other man refused to engage the pettiness, and Jaxen chose to pluck triumph from the impasse. Not that it quite looked like victory to Ori; White tolerated with the grace of a man who knew full well how easily he could crush, and his staunch silence did not have the air of submission. It was an anti-climatic finale, and she was somewhat disappointed nothing escalated from the confrontation. Not because she particularly cared of the outcome, but simply because it would have broken the harmonious monotony and clinking glasses and polite laughter.

By that sinful grin, it seemed Jaxen was done with his pissing contest. Truth told, Ori was reluctant to leave the sport. Spectra lounged like a lazy predator, but the exotic languidness of her suggested volatility when roused. Jaxen’s loyalty would probably gutter like a candle in the wind under the smallest pressure – and Spectra was sure to offer some very delicious pressure – but it wasn’t for pursuit of him that she’d test herself against Spectra’s claws. It would just be for the thrill of conflict, to exacerbate the sensation of being uninvited company. Draw some blood. It was probably testament to the calibre of the party that such juvenile entertainment offered so much temptation.

But then Jaxen had to open his unruly mouth, and priorities changed. He’d spoken of a history with White that darkened suspicion in her mind; that, and what White had said about being paid at the time. Dungeons spoke of the Undercity, a place Jaxen had little right and even less motive to be; down there, his silver-tongue was like to get him a knife in the gut or a bullet to the head. Ori dealt in secrets, and Jaxen hinted carelessly at a very dangerous one. The hard lines of White’s form held like coiled springs, and there was a flatness in his eyes she did not trust.

She laughed dryly, either at what Jaxen had said or the lost shrug that followed it. He’d taken a dozen liberties with her tonight, and she didn’t refrain from repaying the courtesy. The alcohol loosening her limbs added authenticity to the flirtatious way she snaked closer, brushing her fingers at the back of his neck, wilfully ignorant as to whether White and Spectra still bothered to watch or had already vacated. This close, the rest of the world blocked out, lust licked liked gentle flames against her expression. Oriena might be casually dismissive of her surroundings and the people who populated her peripheral like shadows, but her shroud of apathy served a purpose. When her interested was stoked, it was to the detriment of everything – and everyone –else. Her intensity was a force to be reckoned with, and more importantly, was a favour that could not be bought.

Buoyed by his ego, he’d probably assume it a possessive reaction to Spectra Lin. She didn’t give a fuck, but he wouldn’t be entirely wrong. The distraction did serve another purpose, however. She pressed a finger to his lips, teasing. There was steel amongst the silk, a flash of shut the fuck up warning amidst the raw desire. “You’ll get used to it.”
Ori liked him enough to whisper the hint of advice, though it was not all kindness. The fucker happened to be privy to her secret, too.

She was blatant in her hushing of him, but unless White had reason to suspect anything untoward of Jaxen - and there was nothing she could do about that - she doubted he would think much of the display. Drugs flowed freely at these events, and neither Ori's dress nor manner truly fit with the landscape. It wasn't difficult to imagine how she might be leading him astray. Well, further astray. He wasn't exactly all angelic wings.

She was tempted to eke a reaction from her actions, to see just how far she could push him. It would be fair recompense. But then something clicked, and she smiled at him instead. Not the habitually cold smirk she so often used to deride the world around her, but something that sparked a kaleidoscope of brilliant chaos. Mischief breached her indifference as she toyed with the secret Jaxen had inadvertently revealed, to her. These eruptions of power he could sense were like flares in the pitch black night. He doesn’t know who’s doing it. Which meant he couldn’t sense others the way she could.

She withdrew, though the wickedness remained. Brief as Jaxen encompassed her entire world she stepped back into apathy. Some men would pursue that provocative mirage until they bled, but she doubted Jaxen was one of them. He wouldn’t chase – for that matter neither would she – but it was just as well; he was fucking trouble. Fun trouble, granted, but not the sort to last much beyond morning. Which of course meant her smile was still sharp as a blade as she turned. “You can tell me about the dungeon later.”



The party they returned to was more subdued than the one they had left. Whispers filled the quiet spaces between the melodies of music, but the disquiet nonetheless rippled interest through her – if Jaxen’s quip was met with little more than a look. Having arrived on the tail end of the disturbance, it would not take either of them long to discover the cause.

The guy who had stormed away earlier had tangled himself in some very interesting company, and Ori laughed scathingly the moment her mind began to piece together a picture. For now a distance surrounded the so called fucking leader of the CCD and his retinue – clearly he had not been expected – but it’d only be a matter of acclimatisation before the elite internalised the unusual circumstances and calculated the advantage. Every eye glanced the same direction, and already the guy in the brown suit, with whom Jaxen had pocketed the diamond ring, made an easy route through the crowds. They parted naturally for him, one not only not of their kind but a reminder that even the aristocracy must ultimately answer to the law: few others would be so blatantly contrary in dress and manner than a cop. Once the breach had been made, though, the Ascendancy would not find himself bereft of gentile company for long; those who had not been aware of his apparently quiet entrance now were, and these people would clamour for the attention. Ori had little intention of stepping anywhere near the carnage. But her mind did spin a malicious idea.

“Exactly how good are those fingers, Jaxen?”
His name had barely passed her lips all night, and now it dripped with sweet, poisonous challenge. He'd never get a better target.