Calling in Favours

[Oriena]

The death-glare only prompted a sly smile. She sensed the mood turning sick, and revelled in it. Claire reacted to the loss gracelessly, but with all the aggressive feistiness that continued to stoke Oriena's interest. Though, why the fuck did Claire think she cared? If she was too weak to secure the win on her own, then she didn't deserve the help. It was a game, and one against inferior competition to boot; the two men had no idea of the real way in which they'd been hustled. She retrieved her phone and spent a moment sending a message before slipping it in her pocket. Ori was not a creature wedded to a premeditated plan, and her plans for the evening had just changed.

By now Claire had already snatched up her things. Viktor looked surprised at the way the evening had turned sour, and a little wounded at the way his playful poke of Claire with the pool cue had prompted a vicious reply. From the bar, Ori was aware of Gus' hard stare, summing up the swell of conflict, assessing the moment he'd need to step in and kick them all out. She flashed him a dark, knowing smile. Whenever there was trouble and she was here, she was inevitably at its centre.

"The fuck? Where'd you think you're going?"
Ivan blocked Claire's retreat, muscles corded tight in frustration. His volatilty had smoldered promisingly all evening, encouraged here and there by Oriena. Fuelled by alcohol, and now this betrayal, his skin flushed red with anger. His was not quite angled for violence - perhaps because he was staring down a woman - but his voice was heated and loud. The area around the pool table became a stage.

"Uh... Ivan..."


"No. A pair of nice tits, a pretty fucking smile - and she thinks she can just fuck off without paying up? A bet's a bet. You fucking lost."


It was only money, a commodity Oriena had not had to worry about in years. The sharp reminders of an impoverished childhood did not stoke any empathy for the reasons Claire might not be able to pay up, nor did she diffuse the situation as she so easily might have by offering up the stakes for them both. For a while she watched, amused. She had no delusions that Claire was unable to take care of herself, but ultimately she was not willing to let the woman go.

Vitkor was no problem, judging by the distance he kept and the uncomfortable way his fingers still clutched the pool cue, so Ori barely glanced at him as she passed. Claire too she mostly ignored, except to place herself close enough between her and Ivan to wrap her fingers against his cheek. For a moment he misinterpreted the gesture; by the hungriness of hs gaze, he perhaps thought she was offering recompense of another kind.

"And what're you going to do, Ivan?"


Her hand slipped lower, over his jaw and down to the tenderness of his throat. Stubble prickled her skin, the bob of a swallow rolling against her palm. Power wreathed her flesh, bringing the eerie light of a predator to her gaze, and apparently the seriousness of her threat translated. His jaw flexed. He said nothing. Ori's skin itched. She almost willed him to throw a punch. When he instead did nothing she pushed him away, discarding him along with her disappointment.

His hand cupped where her's had been protectively. "Crazy fucking bitch."


Oriena's fingers tangled in Claire's, welcome or not, to tug the woman out of the bar. Ivan didn't have it wrong. In fact, crazy bitch was probably about right.