11-28-2013, 10:09 PM
It didn't take clairvoyance to know Tony was screwed up. No doubt in the head, Claire thought sarcastically, but physically as well. She never would have guessed it when they met earlier. Although perhaps a guy that's out drinking at eight in the morning should raise a red flag or two. He was exactly the sort of man Claire's mother warned her about. As they approached the dilapidated entrance to his 'home', the rebellious need to dismiss her mother's advice wavered. Heaven knew Claire wasn't skiddish, but she was glad Tony was the one to pull the handle. She could get her hands dirty when necessary, but chivalry wasn't entirely useless.
She followed him indoors and a surprised gasp escaped her lips. The stylish room was far from what she expected. There was a leather couch positioned before a wall of tech screens. Marble lined the kitchen. Stainless steel gleamed an industrial design across the space.
"You're just all kinds of surprising,"
she smirked and dropped her bag on a chair almost as heavily as Tony's plopping down. Concern crossed her expression briefly. She didn't buy his tight smile, and turning in a slow, studious circle, hands on her hips, she didn't buy the facade of the run-down scoundrel he presented himself to be. He was far more than that, and he was good at keeping his identity hidden.
She glanced at the kitchen, but no desire to rifle through the cabinets lured. Tony looked in need of something to drink, but this was his house, and Claire ended up lounged in the tufts of a chair rather than fetching him alka-seltzer.
She studied him, brows furrowed. He hadn't really answered her question beyond a vague 'we're similar' - whatever that meant. Could he sense something from her such as what Claire knew from June and the girls? They'd felt like sisters to her, warm and drawn toward one another. Perhaps Tony's power was so strong that he could sense the same from Claire? Had she mistaken attraction for something else?
"It's nice to hear someone admit that this power isn't evil."
She sighed, eyes rolling. "My mother, the poor woman, never much liked what we did, but she didn't stop it either. She was always open-minded. Babika encouraged me, though. She used to tell me stories of the gypsies before the War"
(WWII that was), "when our family passed down stories of those who could read the spirits, listen to the wind, and imagine the future tapestry of the world...."
Her voice trailed off: a strange mix of time stretched back along the tree of their family until the roots delved so deep their tips peeked through the other side of the world and a touch of sadness that said she knew inevitable mortality all too intimately, and death did not keep a woman warm at night.
Warmth crept beneath her jacket and she soon shrugged it off, revealing bare shoulders and a pile of necklaces dangling above a strapless top.
She laid the jacket across her lap. "So how did you get started? My friend June found me. She said I had the gift, and well, I was open to it. By that point, I'd tried out every religion on the planet, I think. I like the idea of fate, but I don't like the idea of not being in control of it."
She followed him indoors and a surprised gasp escaped her lips. The stylish room was far from what she expected. There was a leather couch positioned before a wall of tech screens. Marble lined the kitchen. Stainless steel gleamed an industrial design across the space.
"You're just all kinds of surprising,"
she smirked and dropped her bag on a chair almost as heavily as Tony's plopping down. Concern crossed her expression briefly. She didn't buy his tight smile, and turning in a slow, studious circle, hands on her hips, she didn't buy the facade of the run-down scoundrel he presented himself to be. He was far more than that, and he was good at keeping his identity hidden.
She glanced at the kitchen, but no desire to rifle through the cabinets lured. Tony looked in need of something to drink, but this was his house, and Claire ended up lounged in the tufts of a chair rather than fetching him alka-seltzer.
She studied him, brows furrowed. He hadn't really answered her question beyond a vague 'we're similar' - whatever that meant. Could he sense something from her such as what Claire knew from June and the girls? They'd felt like sisters to her, warm and drawn toward one another. Perhaps Tony's power was so strong that he could sense the same from Claire? Had she mistaken attraction for something else?
"It's nice to hear someone admit that this power isn't evil."
She sighed, eyes rolling. "My mother, the poor woman, never much liked what we did, but she didn't stop it either. She was always open-minded. Babika encouraged me, though. She used to tell me stories of the gypsies before the War"
(WWII that was), "when our family passed down stories of those who could read the spirits, listen to the wind, and imagine the future tapestry of the world...."
Her voice trailed off: a strange mix of time stretched back along the tree of their family until the roots delved so deep their tips peeked through the other side of the world and a touch of sadness that said she knew inevitable mortality all too intimately, and death did not keep a woman warm at night.
Warmth crept beneath her jacket and she soon shrugged it off, revealing bare shoulders and a pile of necklaces dangling above a strapless top.
She laid the jacket across her lap. "So how did you get started? My friend June found me. She said I had the gift, and well, I was open to it. By that point, I'd tried out every religion on the planet, I think. I like the idea of fate, but I don't like the idea of not being in control of it."