Kings of the castle

[Oriena]

Jon was incredibly verbose, and Ori wondered if it were a result of the alcohol firing his veins or if he just took everything so seriously. Her lips twisted in a smirk, casually dismissive. She wasn't interested in engaging in a drunk philosophical discussion on the nature of fate; she'd been looking for answers of a different kind. "Fate can go fuck herself."
She shrugged and flipped Jon's card over with the same decisiveness with which she'd rolled the dice, and laughed at the stark single digit it revealed. She didn't view it as losing, perhaps because she'd dragged another down with her. She did, however, view it as a challenge, and the brunt of it glinted in the gaze she set on Jon; daring him to do his worst with a downright wicked grin.

Her look tempered somewhat at the question, a measure of surprise but not quite interest. Happy? What had Jon perceived of her to make him think such a question would dig under her skin? For a drunk game of chance it was far deeper than she might otherwise have expected, and as Jaxen answered without hesitation she considered it. Not the sharing, but the motive behind it. She certainly wasn't interested in getting to know either of these two beyond surface level, nor particularly of sharing anything of herself beyond the ephemerality of things forgotten by morning. She wasn't looking for friends. She wasn't looking for connections.

As such she wasn't initially interested in Jaxen's answer, until he began to loosen a cuff and tug back his sleeve. A languid gaze followed the tattoo curling up his arm; the extent of it she could see at least. A snake. A fucking snake. Her brows narrowed to a faint look of contemplation, and though it lacked fear her silence was tense. The irony didn't escape her, and once the cold flood of reaction had eased a thin smile replaced the serious set of her expression. The only good snake was a dead snake; he had that right. "I'll drink to that."


A shame he insisted on being such a dick.

Oriena picked the ice-scoop off her knee, ignoring a flash of irritation at the coercion of power. A drop of frigid water slid its way down her leg, though she didn't wince at the cold trail it left. Jaxen wavered between playful and entitled, and the latter would get little from Ori. She was not fond of the nouveau riche pricks at the best of times, let alone when they could not even be bothered to erect a pretence of charm. So she ignored his order, bar a dry look, and toyed with the scoop instead.

The answer to Jon's question was easy of course, if not one that was simple to share with strangers. He had asked for a description, though, and she took that at face value - omitting to name the thing she described. Not that she even had a name for it. She let the power wash in, and it resulted in a terribly decadent smile. Her gaze set on Jon. "Teetering on the brink before a flood of pleasure. In a heartbeat you stand atop the world."
If it sounded sexually suggestive -- or even like the words of an addict -- then it was supposed to, but the kick was of course in the private subtext. Ori didn't care for their judgements; the layers of meaning amused her, as did her manipulation of what was asked for. Ironically it was probably the most honest she'd be all night.

Confession offered, her gaze flickered to Jaxen. "I seem to recall needing help to get my hands dirty. And you didn't even say please."