02-07-2014, 04:27 PM
“You mean you didn’t get the invite?”
His facetious comment was met with flat deadpan; she was as unwilling to engage a conversation in that direction as he was, but if he was going to glower hostility at the sincerity of her warning, she was going to start picking at wounds. Insecurity being the most obvious of his. He sat in Kallisti, alone. Wore garish colours to avoid blending in, but still catered to the most cutting edge of fashion. Treated his peers with contempt, but still attended their parties. Couldn’t bear the thought of being just another man, but did precisely nothing to differentiate himself . A perpetual outsider, keen to own the rejection with superior spite instead of some fucking substance.
She did see it Them and Us. Very clearly. And the flippant scorn of his comment spattered a trail of gasoline.
She wasn’t entirely convinced he believed her, though it didn’t exactly matter. When Cara had told her, in a far more furtive and painful manner than this, Oriena had not believed her either. She’d scoffed, rolled her eyes, and eventually come to tolerate the paranoia weighed against the benefit of their allegiance. It was fucking crazy, after all. But experience eradicated doubt. She’d learned a fucking hard way, but not the hardest. She still had breath in her lungs, a beating heart that railed against the idea of being prey. Five years later, she was still alive. It was going to stay that way.
He retreated from the door. Either she’d appeased his curiosity, or he’d decided she was grade A crazy. The dark contemplation of his brow lightened abruptly to a veneer of charm – with a healthy dose of mocking, but she didn’t mind that in a sense of humour. She didn’t analyse the change, nor dwell on the heaviness of what she’d just told him. The seeds had been sewn, she was sure. “Such a gentleman.”
The reciprocal mock was self-evident, her smile playful. Mischief glinted in her eyes as she slipped on her shoes, sharp as a blade, and then she was gone.
His facetious comment was met with flat deadpan; she was as unwilling to engage a conversation in that direction as he was, but if he was going to glower hostility at the sincerity of her warning, she was going to start picking at wounds. Insecurity being the most obvious of his. He sat in Kallisti, alone. Wore garish colours to avoid blending in, but still catered to the most cutting edge of fashion. Treated his peers with contempt, but still attended their parties. Couldn’t bear the thought of being just another man, but did precisely nothing to differentiate himself . A perpetual outsider, keen to own the rejection with superior spite instead of some fucking substance.
She did see it Them and Us. Very clearly. And the flippant scorn of his comment spattered a trail of gasoline.
She wasn’t entirely convinced he believed her, though it didn’t exactly matter. When Cara had told her, in a far more furtive and painful manner than this, Oriena had not believed her either. She’d scoffed, rolled her eyes, and eventually come to tolerate the paranoia weighed against the benefit of their allegiance. It was fucking crazy, after all. But experience eradicated doubt. She’d learned a fucking hard way, but not the hardest. She still had breath in her lungs, a beating heart that railed against the idea of being prey. Five years later, she was still alive. It was going to stay that way.
He retreated from the door. Either she’d appeased his curiosity, or he’d decided she was grade A crazy. The dark contemplation of his brow lightened abruptly to a veneer of charm – with a healthy dose of mocking, but she didn’t mind that in a sense of humour. She didn’t analyse the change, nor dwell on the heaviness of what she’d just told him. The seeds had been sewn, she was sure. “Such a gentleman.”
The reciprocal mock was self-evident, her smile playful. Mischief glinted in her eyes as she slipped on her shoes, sharp as a blade, and then she was gone.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)