This forum uses cookies
This forum makes use of cookies to store your login information if you are registered, and your last visit if you are not. Cookies are small text documents stored on your computer; the cookies set by this forum can only be used on this website and pose no security risk. Cookies on this forum also track the specific topics you have read and when you last read them. Please confirm whether you accept or reject these cookies being set.

A cookie will be stored in your browser regardless of choice to prevent you being asked this question again. You will be able to change your cookie settings at any time using the link in the footer.

Thread Rating:
  • 0 Vote(s) - 0 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Walkin' down the my street
Her words cut through him. A knife through melting butter. Dismissive. Her back now to him.

The playful look on his face remained, pasted on, as he watched her go to the kitchen. His eyes had darkened though. The game. All a game. He knew that. It was the walk he walked. The constant amusement in all of it.

The fucking universe was a joke.

But he was in on the joke. And that makes all the fucking difference. All the difference in the world. It made it HIS place to play.

And he didn't leave. Oh, he would. But not at her dismissal. Not yet. Not like that.

The joke was the joke. He could laugh at himself. And he did. All the time. And so could others. He didn't mind amusement. But not dismissal.

She turned, the hint of a smile there. And it didn't make him happy to see, not now. She was in front of him, looking up at him, hooded eyes staring into him. Mocking him. He knew it. He knew what she was doing. Mikhail knew what manipulation looked like.

A game. It was all a game.

So.....did he play her game? Do what she had in mind? See where this went and let her think she pulled the strings?

Or did he tell her "probably not" and leave, off to find something new to do.

He made his decision. Perhaps foolish, but what was life without a gamble.

His smile remained, but the playfulness was gone, drained out of him as easily as it had come. The endless goof and joke and chatter that hid the reality, cast aside, the used costume. The truth clear. That he did matter. That he did have the power.

Cryptically, seriously, he said, "The man who sees behind the curtains has all the cards."
It was the truth of him, though he doubted she understood what he was talking about. And that was alright. He'd explain one day. If he felt like it. Or not.

He wasn't sure why he was letting her see behind the mask. Maybe it was her cold eyes, eyes that hid a rage boiling like a storm, a glittering firestorm, a fire that sang the same song as the one just moments ago, clouds reflecting the blacks and greys and oranges of the conflagration. Because maybe, just maybe, he was seeing the same thing he saw in his own heart. To watch the world burn. He didn't know.

Well, the die was cast.

He touched the lighter, channeled, danced the flame above his fingertips, a smaller storm, unpredictable, the firelight glinting off both their eyes. So hypnotic. He could imagine, could see it spread, the beautiful chaos, lighting up the cracks and seams, and his nostrils flared at the vision, the best joke of all. To let everyone else see it all.

His voice was the quiet dance of a flame on a cold night. "Doll, I am the game."

And looked into those stormy depths.

Edited by Mikhail, Feb 1 2018, 09:57 PM.
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
He changed. Darkened. Clouds scudding over all that blithe sunshine until no light remained. She'd pressed a nerve. Not knowing how, nor caring. At least for now. The playfulness drained from him, but it sparked her smile more mischievous; feeding off the way his mask flattened until the lie broke away completely. "Ah, so not just a pretty face."
The flame danced across his knuckles once more; close enough to feel the heat of it on her skin. When the fire finished consuming; when the skin blackened and the flesh crisped away, these were the bones of what remained. The ugly honesty. Such a dangerous thing to share with one like Ori.

Fucking with you, sweetheart. The words were there, on the tip of her tongue; the desire to push a little more, to mock the stark truth of his stare with nothing short of amusement at how easily she hooked under his skin. To dismiss the truth of him. Or to crush it. See how much it took to coax even more of a visceral reaction. Her eyes lit eager. She teetered. Then the coin dropped, spun, landed. And instead she grinned, a spark of wickedness that on whim sough ally instead of enemy. Today anyway. Though she did laugh, and it was at his expense, it was not entirely unkind. "Then Mikhail, I am dying to play."

She was standing close, eyes upturned, careless of the fire. Her hand flattened against his chest, feeling the hollow thud within, blurring the lines of exactly what sort of playing she had in mind. But then she pushed, shoving him back enough to brush passed. Ori leaned to kiss her mother's hair, murmuring low words in the mother tongue. Get some rest. The demons will be gone when you wake. Then the upturned chair straightened itself, and she did too. The crook of a finger beckoned his attention.

"Move you ass then, Sergeyev, we're leaving. I'm in need of a stronger medicine."
...stared into those stormy depths....and saw the flash of heat lightening, banishing all the gradations of color, the greys and oranges and shadows and reds, turning everything bright, illuminating everything in blinding flash that existed for only a moment.

And with it came a laugh, husky and yet light, layers of meaning he'd need to decipher. The laugh lit up the face that looked up at him, that ignored the heat she surely must feel. And her words- acceptance; challenge- flashed through him.

And as suddenly as it had gone, the play returned. The fun. Everything dropped into place.

A slow smile spread across his lips, one side quirking up. So....heh....this, now, this could prove to be very interesting.

She pushed forward, closer to the flame. "Carefull, Doll. Wouldn't want to mess up that gorgeous face. Even with the bruises."
He waggled one eyebrow.

But of course, she didn't listen. Cuz clearly men don't know shit. Her hand went to his chest and held it there for a moment. Oh? A single eyebrow raised as his smirk deepened. He didn't look, but he was aware of her mama at the table.

Girlie was playing with him. Doing that pretty eyed dollface thing, hook some guy, breaths deep, quiet, get lost in her eyes and then your brain clouds over because holy fuck! This chick totally wants me right now! and then that chump leans in, already thinking with his dick, is moron enough to bend down, to try to kiss her- AND DID YOU HONESTLY THINK THAT SHE WAS GONNA GET YOU TO MACK ON HER WITH HER MOM RIGHT THERE IN THE FUCKING ROOM?! Idiots.

Yeah, so other morons might do that. Not him. Not when it was what she wanted him to do. When she was clearly playing that cat and mouse game that came downloaded into women's brains the moment they popped out.

Aaaaaaaannnnnndddddd....yep. Just as he thot. She drew out the moment, stretched it out, and then boom! Pushed him away, went over to mama, kissed her and then.....

....and then his world is blown and he bursts out laughing. Doll face channels! He looks at her with amused accusation. "And here I was thinkin I had lost my control with the fire. With fire!! And it was you the whole time. For shame, Doll, makin me doubt my awesomeness."

So....medicine huh? "You just want me to walk in front so you can stare at my ass. Which I totally don't mind. So....medicine aye? There's a bar a couple blocks over. Pretty rough, but I know you can handle yourself. We can get some meds for your lip and shoulder there. The liquid kind. Pool. Hmm....channeling pool. That could be interesting. And....maybe think about what games we can play tonight.....Oh-."

He paused. Duh! The whole reason the game started. "Your name. Unless you like Doll, I'm gonna need a name."
Not that he was gonna stop calling her that. Porceline face like that, even with the lip? Fucking hot.

He had been bored. Soooo fucking bored. But now.....nope. All kinds of ideas were coming to him. That little rift between Mordvinov and Kolomov he'd caused would look like children playing in the streets, if he did this right. No way could it be swept under the table by the media this time.

The game would be good tonight.

Edited by Mikhail, Feb 4 2018, 02:02 AM.
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
She stood by the open door, hands on hips, the picture of impatience as he burst out laughing; finally putting two and two together and revelling in the understanding. Then he spoke of a nearby bar like she didn't even know her own fucking neighbourhood, but she chose to shrug that off too, and led the way herself -- throwing out her name like an unimportant scrap, with a wicked twist of her lips.

[[continued here]]

Edited by Oriena, Feb 5 2018, 06:32 PM.

Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)