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He wasn't drunk. Not in the conventional sense. It was not his way. But this woman wove words and movement as easily as he did. The body divorced from the mind. She had played to an audience too. He wondered if she was another like him. Anathema. He did not think there were any like him. That there was anything but him. At least until recently.

He tried to remember what it was that had made Ana so special. As he thought about it, it was very similar. Though if he had to put his finger on it, Meera was more calculated, as opposed to Ana's earthy nature.

Still, it was close enough he felt a stirring.

She was a way to Daiyu's whereabouts, of course. So that was enough. But there was more, here.

Her mood flashed and suddenly she spoke of the newly revealed channelers with contempt. He found himself fascinated. Was she a fundamentalist? She spoke as one. Did he hear jealousy? In general, those who rejected fact for myth deserved nothing but his scorn.

And yet...there was something in the way she spoke. A hint, perhaps, that there was something she knew.

The humility Ana had taught him still lingered. There was something else out there. Something shifted again within his mind. For a moment, he glimpsed It shining through a set of eyes. As if reality had been wiped away in two small places and the one he sought watched him through that vessel.

His head tilted slightly, intrigued. Unlike the others, this one held promise.

To her question. "I was a lawyer in the United States. For the last 10 years I worked for the Department of Justice." He smiled at the pedestrian thought. "I was on track to be the next Attorney General. Before the world changed." He shrugged as if it were no loss. "Trivial, now. This is the center of the world, as far as I can tell. For now." For him and for what he sought.

Her hand rested on his thigh. He made no effort to hide any interest. But neither did he make any move to reciprocate. He peered into her dark eyes, that enigmatic smile that seemed to say she knew all the secrets.

After a moment, the question in his mind solidified. "Tell me the truth of God, then. If these beings are not gods, what is?"

Despite his control, a hint of desperation tinged his voice. "I need to find it. No matter the cost "
Meera’s eyebrows shot up despite herself. Attorney General to the United States of America? The man had said ‘almost,’ but that was good enough for her. Clearly, the man had deeper connections than what she had initially assumed. Perhaps not the kind that would gain her access to the Ascendancy, but certainly useful in their own right. This was something she would have to consider at a later date. Beto had just saved his own life and he was not even aware of it.

                Still. She could have fun with him.

                With a flutter of the eyelash, Meera recovered quickly. She swirled her drink before taking a small sip and murmuring agreeance at the appropriate moments. Meera’s other hand still rested on his thigh and the man made no motion to push away her advances. She idly wondered how big it was, shocking herself in the process. Meera was not a shallow woman, but beyond her – unique – tastes, she did have a certain liking for powerful men. Listening to Beto’s words, it was clear that he no longer possessed said power, but it also sounded as if he recently dropped the reigns of control. Any useful connections he had would still be fresh enough to pick back up and – she drew her mind back to the present.

                “I need to find it. No matter the cost,” Beto said with a slight urgency.

                Meera’s lips curved up into a hungry smile, eyes flashing dangerously in his direction, “Be careful what you wish for.”

                The Light of God pulsed behind her shoulder; it would not abandon her so long as she stayed in the moment, craving the flesh. Meera ran her tongue along her teeth unironically.

                “The truth of God… It is not something one can tell. It is something that must be seen,” Meera continued on in a breathy tone, “Are you spoken for this evening?”

"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile." 
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan
Despite the alcohol, his mind was clear...enough. Her eyes seemed to shift, as if they had acquired depth, inviting him in. The play of her tongue on her lips. The feel of her hand on his thigh.

He was sure his pupils were dilated, the scent of her- the vodka and the smoke and the perfume and her musk- a fingerprint he imbibed with each breath.

He was aware his heart pounded. Yet curiously, time had slowed, each bat of her eyelash in slow motion, the slight movement at her throat, so subtle he almost needed to reach out and feel, to be sure. To squeeze.

Her words lulling him as if she knew, as if she was plugged in. A conduit. The connection he hungered for; the proof.

Her promise she could show him. He touched her hand, an answer to her question. "I am. By you." he said simply, swiping his wallet to cover the bill. He would pay any price to know that connection again.

Any price.
Meera smiled hungrily at Beto. Without saying a word, she took out her Wallet and sent a message to Gaston, her manservant.

                “Come,” was all the message said.

                Not a moment later, the big oalf was striding back to the bar, pushing her chair without a care for anyone standing in his way. The man hit quite a few people with the chair, but none uttered a challenge or a protest once they saw just how large of a man he was. Gaston came to stand behind Meera, wheelchair before him. He said nothing, he simply waited for her next command.

                How Beto reacted to the revelation would determine how the rest of the night went, but should she have wished it, Meera would have been able to ‘convince’ him with the Light of God. She made no move to explain the sudden presence of Gaston with a wheelchair. Instead she cocked an eyebrow and licked her lips.

                “Your place or mine?” Meera asked in breathy tones.

"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile." 
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan
Her movements registered peripherally. The picking up of her wallet. The rapid fingers flashing. Maybe his mind was fuzzed over more than he realized.

Or maybe the glint in her eyes promised him a chance at touching what was behind it all. He couldn't help but glance at the way the carotid threaded against her skin.

No!! he thought violently. He was not that! Never!

But he needed to be noticed. Acknowledged. Someone had to recognize.

A shadow loomed over them and he turned, ready to tell him to fuck off. Instead, the man wheeled Meera back from the bar. Her eyes were a silent challenge. His heart thundered in his chest, desire already clouding his thinking.

She was a big girl. She knew what she wanted. And he'd admit it to himself. He was curious how this worked. And she seemed to know a secret.

"Yours,' he said with a slow smile.

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