08-07-2018, 08:56 PM
They left the currents of chaos behind, the crowd drawing in around Jensen like the maw of a hungry beast.
Much like everything else here the bathrooms were a feat in architectural marvel. Marble and gold inlaid vaulted ceilings and pristine floors; more space than the entire apartment Ori had spent her childhood. But she was more interested in scrutinising her own skin than her surroundings. In front of one of the gilded mirrors she pulled the lace from her shoulder, running curious fingers over the unmarked flesh, where moments before had hidden a constellation of bruising. The only place she could easily inspect, though she knew what she'd find once the dress peeled off.
Nothing.
When Jaxen spoke her gaze tugged up to watch his reflection. He'd not called her Ori before; only Carmen used the familiarity with any regularity, but the longevity of that relationship was underpinned by Kallisti -- and even those foundations crumbled. Everything had an expiry, after all. The connections Oriena pursued were only ever on a visceral level, usually fleeting. Her palms pressed together in the perfect picture of piety. Bloodstained fingers and a careless smear across her cheek ruined the image somewhat. That and the toxic smirk. She laughed. "He's been usurped."
Her mother prayed to angels and feared the demons that stalked the shadows outside their house. As a child she remembered Dezhda worrying at her rosary beads until her fingers cracked and bled. But God did not save her mother. Nor did the Ascendancy. It was Oriena who clawed them both out of the gutter.
Her lips daggered a sharp smile as she ran the faucet, aware but mostly disinterested as Jaxen leeched pinprick bubbles of blood from his shirt. Jensen preached the difference between light and dark, but to Ori that was a meaningless distinction. When the crowd witnessed the work of miracles, it was no god they'd worship, but Jensen himself. He thought he wielded something pure, but for a man like him, it was more likely to end up the rope around his neck.
Pink swirled against the porcelain while her thoughts twisted along the paths of curiosity. She wanted to know where Ascendancy kept transgressors. And she wanted to know who else might languish in such a prison. Ori was not opposed to direct methods, as her bloody fingers attested, but her gaze moved to catch the eye of the devil in the mirror, considering. Only to then notice the globe of red.
"What's a little more blood? Try it. See if you enjoy the consequences." She was smirking, but the words wavered between a challenge and a threat. He might invoke nothing more than the playful swipe of a kitten. Or the swift snap of a vicious temper.
Much like everything else here the bathrooms were a feat in architectural marvel. Marble and gold inlaid vaulted ceilings and pristine floors; more space than the entire apartment Ori had spent her childhood. But she was more interested in scrutinising her own skin than her surroundings. In front of one of the gilded mirrors she pulled the lace from her shoulder, running curious fingers over the unmarked flesh, where moments before had hidden a constellation of bruising. The only place she could easily inspect, though she knew what she'd find once the dress peeled off.
Nothing.
When Jaxen spoke her gaze tugged up to watch his reflection. He'd not called her Ori before; only Carmen used the familiarity with any regularity, but the longevity of that relationship was underpinned by Kallisti -- and even those foundations crumbled. Everything had an expiry, after all. The connections Oriena pursued were only ever on a visceral level, usually fleeting. Her palms pressed together in the perfect picture of piety. Bloodstained fingers and a careless smear across her cheek ruined the image somewhat. That and the toxic smirk. She laughed. "He's been usurped."
Her mother prayed to angels and feared the demons that stalked the shadows outside their house. As a child she remembered Dezhda worrying at her rosary beads until her fingers cracked and bled. But God did not save her mother. Nor did the Ascendancy. It was Oriena who clawed them both out of the gutter.
Her lips daggered a sharp smile as she ran the faucet, aware but mostly disinterested as Jaxen leeched pinprick bubbles of blood from his shirt. Jensen preached the difference between light and dark, but to Ori that was a meaningless distinction. When the crowd witnessed the work of miracles, it was no god they'd worship, but Jensen himself. He thought he wielded something pure, but for a man like him, it was more likely to end up the rope around his neck.
Pink swirled against the porcelain while her thoughts twisted along the paths of curiosity. She wanted to know where Ascendancy kept transgressors. And she wanted to know who else might languish in such a prison. Ori was not opposed to direct methods, as her bloody fingers attested, but her gaze moved to catch the eye of the devil in the mirror, considering. Only to then notice the globe of red.
"What's a little more blood? Try it. See if you enjoy the consequences." She was smirking, but the words wavered between a challenge and a threat. He might invoke nothing more than the playful swipe of a kitten. Or the swift snap of a vicious temper.