Choosing Sides

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

Calm hum wafted from the teahouse, familiar faces, a rousing game of dominoes happening in the far corner.  They were people who used to sit on the streets and wonder where their next meal would come from, those that needed a place to get warm or come in out of the rain.  They knew there was a safe harbor here.  The shop was a peaceful place, unless some beastie was trying to blow her up or make her crazy.  Dark woods, luscious scents, the new teas Lisa had just put away in the oversized candy jars that lined the walls- it was her home.  All she knew.  Another newly finished antique card catalog sat proudly along the far wall near the book nook and her fireplace.  Care had brought it back to life, and now it was a brilliant place to store all the small trinkets that were so hard to display.

 

This was her kingdom.  It was comfortable, a pleasant and cultivated illusion that the Shift had never touched.  Customers waltzed in and out, filling the antique building with their laughter and personalities.  At the end of the day, the final lock to shut herself into her solitary tomb had been wearing on her.  She maintained her world, had drawn a line against the storm to keep her own charges safe.  In the end the world outside was still shit, and she was still alone.

 

Gentle frays on the back of her jean cuffs swished quietly on the floor, flip flops inaudible.  White gauzy tunic clung to her frame in places people appreciated, exquisite intricate red embroidery across the bottom that dusted her thighs.  Sleeves were rolled up as she worked, and worried, and pondered, letting down her curls momentarily to gather the wisps and retwist it into the lux updo secured with ornate black chopsticks.  Inventory was keeping her busy, hiking up her jeans from lean hips as she carried a box to the counter.  The damn cell kept dragging down her pants.  Sliding it out and turning up the volume, she put it under the register and kept working.  Work discouraged her mind from wandering to places she was having a hard time coming to terms with.  There was a world outside her shop, a world she’d ignored.  A nudge in the back of her mind, thankfully not Red’s, was challenging her.  What to do about it?  Nothing.  It wasn’t her fight.  She was Switzerland, but she’d tipped a favor to Arma. 

 

Switzerland didn’t do that. 

 

Beastie Red had thankfully been completely absent in her gut today.  Silent, the hot gaze still could be felt occasionally blinking and languidly pleased from within.  After yesterday –and whatever clusterfuck she had set off in the Arma headquarters elevator- the demand to be satiated was so fierce… she had to let the ancient bloodlusting myth drive for a time.  Solitary time locked in her bedroom no less, definitely not something she was going to explain to anyone.  Once in the driver’s seat, it took every bit of self-control she had not to allow Red to wander the streets and find a complete stranger to drag home.   Last time, it was like dragging an attack dog off a target’s leg.  She had a handle on it, or so she thought.  As long as she gave it what it wanted every so often- trips to the gym to beat the shit out of a punching bag, alone time after she’d gone home- Red laid low during the day.

 

She had successfully squelched the burn, happily cooled for now in time for a “date”.  Eyes lingered from last night’s escapades.  The swell of green bleeding out into her irises from black pupils had been noticed after her morning shower- still checking them a few times every hour to see if the chocolate had swallowed up the jade, some kind of fluke?  A byproduct of the new abilities?  Definitely a new development- and a disconcerting one at that.  If physical needs were changing, physical things were changing, temperament was changing… it was a worrisome thought.  Would there be a point when she could no longer say no to Red?  She had no idea, and no clue how to bring it up… especially not to Alistair.  He was understanding sure, but she didn’t want to be seen as a freak and it wasn’t in her nature to ask for help.

 

Eyes blinked finally, hands coming off the box at the cashier’s counter as the door bells twinkled and another regular trotted up the few stairs to the teahouse for something to eat.  She’d been staring at Michael’s skull for several moments, its empty sockets always turned toward the wall.  The candle twinkled faintly, the pale green reminding her of a firefly as it blinked randomly.

 

Then there was that.

 

She’d never, ever strayed.  Other people needed her more than she needed to delve into uncertain waters.  The skull also seemed to be sentient.  It recognized her presence, warned her of danger, knew when she was upset or happy.  She believed all this time whatever was powering the chamberstick could see her- somehow his soul trapped in the strange object speaking to her from beyond.  Hence, the guilt.  Fingers turned it and slid it toward her. 

 

“Are you alive in there?” whisper was so incredibly quiet she could barely hear it herself, thumb tapping on the forehead and getting nothing in return.

 

Movement past the counter behind her launched her heart into her throat, quickly turning and pushing the thing back to the wall.  Attention back to the box, she started to unpack the new mala beads to add to the front window display, breaking down the cardboard and setting the flat thing back on the counter.  Skull was slid over to her again.  Nobody was privy to, save for a very few, the reality that it was not just an amusing prop.  Nina never questioned its presence, knowing Rorye’s reasoning for having it, reminding her every day how dangerous the world was and that she was different.  Changed, altered.  That was a pivot point of her fears.  She wasn’t a mage, could she afford not to be Switzerland?  It silently was slid back to its rest.

 

Finishing up the mala beads, graceful fingers laced them one at a time over the window display.  They smelled amazing, unable to shake the tick of thoughts even through the exquisite smell of sandalwood.  Blades.  She completed the display and retreated to her back room, weapons on her mind.  Something for the forearms, sleek. Maybe a nice boot knife.  So many possibilities.  Sheaths on her back, pulled downward in a cross draw?  Vertical sheaths along her waistband?  Could they actually make something with magic mojo?  If she was not a mage, how would that work?  Could it work?  Looking through her box of blades for inspiration... she paused.  She wasn't sure what she was getting excited about, he was not going to call.  It was okay.. She understood if he didn’t call, he was busy.  She could do it herself.

 

Box was pushed aside, plucking the leather apron from her coat rack near the back door and putting it on.  After she put the pieces of her window project back together, she would go on her own- she had to get the piece of plywood out of the teahouse window.  The stained glass puzzle laid out meticulously across her massive workbench was replacing a window broken during the book fiasco. The shattered glass she'd so painstakingly constructed before the Shift had been destroyed in a brief moment.  It had taken a long time to find the perfect replacement.  Fingers swished the small colored panels around, trying to figure out where they went, a bubbled anger prickling under her skin- anger at again allowing herself to get excited at something that was not going to happen.  Justifying the doubt- instinct to not trust outsiders, protecting herself, and her world.  Fingers stopped, sigh deep to calm, then continued.

 

"Shit," thwpted sharply from her lips, sliced pointer finger into her mouth immediately.  She hadn't been focused on her work.  Careless.  Quickly trekking to the wash basin, she ran it under cold water- the gush of blood halting after a few moments so she could properly wash it out.  Dried, she found her large box of band-aids. It wasn't the first time she'd cut a finger in the workroom- tended to lose track of how fast she was working.  Checking the cut for glass, she found herself breathing in the lingering scent of soap on her skin as it was bandaged, quirked smirk on her lips- memory of soap and smoke rushing a blush up her ears.  Scents were her memories, this memory lingered.  Why was she so torn on where to go with this?  Simple.  She was terrified, used to trusting no one, unsure if what she’d done in that elevator was a mistake or a catalyst to change the lives of those she protected.  She’d never been afraid of anything, or anyone, why was she so terrified of a smartass firecracker?

[Alistair Greene]

The whole affair of going out on a date (or a not date, whatever the fuck it was) made Alistair think of a webcomic he'd seen once.

There was a group of adventurers in generic dungeon du jour, filled with traps, and they came to a wall on which was simply written 'OVERTHINKING' in giant letters. Naturally, the group becomes paralyzed. What does that mean? If they overthink things, will they fail the next step? Is it simply a trick to make them think they don't have to think too much about it? Is overthinking, in fact, the trap itself?

Dating was a lot like that.

Alistair walked down the street, wearing his coat as usual (it wasn't paranoia when there actually were people out to kill you), though he had at least worn a nicer shirt and pants. He was on very rare occasions the sort of guy who dressed up at all... VERY rare. And they were going to look at rather old-fashioned weaponry, which was going to make anything especially fancy like, say, dress shoes, a very stupid proposition and one he didn't want to end up suckered into. Was better to look halfway drab than to look like an idiot where it came to gear like that. He was some kind of Knight in the eyes of some people, if maybe not in his own. He wasn't about to go spoiling that by wearing crap he didn't like anyway.

Alistair had thought long and hard about whether he was going to call, until he realized that he'd forgotten if he was supposed to call or just show up. The final scene of their little visit, in the elevator, had left him not only reasonably 'hot and bothered' but also a fair bit scrambled, and he hadn't quite re-assembled the earlier conversation when another call had come in and he'd been dragged back to the world of work. Which meant... he was just showing up. It was harder to chicken out that way, so that was what he was doing. Wouldn't be the first (or probably last) time he'd messed plans up. Plans were hard.

Combat tactics, by comparison, were fairly lighthearted and fun. 'Outings' with pretty brunettes who liked to run their fingers through your hair and kiss you in elevators before rushing off were hard.

The magus pushed the door to the business open, lifting a hand and smiling faintly at Lisa when he saw her. He recognized that one from before, it was Lisa wasn't it? Rorye had mentioned a name and he was pretty sure it had been Lisa. Pretty sure. Less sure than he wanted to be, now that he thought about it. God but he was horrible with names.

[alistair]Afternoon... Rorye about?[/alistair] he asked, doing his best to seem collected if not precisely cool. He could pull off collected. Nine times out of ten, probably.

Hm. Eight?

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

Whir of power tools denied access to any silly questions and disruptions.  Recent hires had given her a chance to do more maintenance around the place, not that it was run down by any means -quite the opposite- but she had a need to surround herself and others with beautiful things.  The back room was littered in organized fashion and she was elbow deep in her project… completely unaware of the time or the fact Nina in the front shop was studying the new visitor from the small library.  The older lady’s cocked brow finally relaxed over narrowed eyes as Alistair smiled and waved slightly to Lisa.  She couldn’t control what the owner did, but she definitely could give her an earful when she was suspicious.  Unless it was a delivery, nobody asked for Rorye directly.  Rose colored lips quirked and she went back to putting away books from the coffee tables, refolding some of the throws on the plush leather couches when Lisa seemed to have a handle on it.

 

*npc* Sure, I’ll get her.

 

In the back, a bright orange driver zipped to finish the last screw of the new frame.  Glass had been painstakingly put back together, leading finished and cleaned up.  Tools were put away, winding the extension cord and hooking it to the wall.  Stool was slid over to the worktable, picking up a soft brush and small package of gold leaf she had managed to find.  Intense focus began to tap the beautiful accents into the light colors of the finished window, unaware Lisa had been calling her name for several seconds.

 

*npc*  Rorye!

 

Blink profound, eyes snapped up in a blank expression, brush pausing.

 

*npc*  Someone here to see you.

 

Eyes flicked to the calendar on the wall.  It wasn’t stock day.  Curious.  Brush laid carefully on the edge of the window, doing her best to wipe the gold from her hands.  She had a piece of the feathery-type stuff stuck on her eyelash, reaching up to attempt to pull it off as she stepped out into the shop, zeroing in on the mage instantly.

 

Lips parted slightly to say something.

 

She’d convinced herself so heartily he wasn’t calling, let along coming…  Fire needled over her skin- the feeling like she’d done something naughty, got caught and had to face facts rippling a burned blush up the back of her neck.  Swallow thick, instinct reached up and brushed the back of her hand over her cheek to get a lock of hair out of her eyes.  That didn’t go well, pulling her hand back to leave a smudge of gold behind, resisting the urge to brush herself off.  Self-consciousness. Where the fuck had that come from?  Damn it.

 

Um.

 

Smile stupid.

 

Eyes sweetened from their surprise.  Smile, there it was finally… motioning him to follow her.

 

“You came,” words were quiet and slightly curious.  “I don’t have any fancy visitor badges, but you can still come back while I clean up.”

 

Humor was all she could call on at the moment, leaving the door open for him to follow.  The last time he’d been in the back room it was dark and full of evil stupid, in the daytime it was a flurry off happily normal activity- flush with projects in various states of completion.  Thankful for the chance to compose herself under the guise of cleaning up, she discarded her leather blacksmith’s apron, scrubbing her hands and grabbing a towel to wipe her face.  Hands wet, she pulled down the mass of mahogany from its updo and ran some moisture through it, fingers making quick work to return it to its usual plait and toss behind her shoulder.  Sleeves were rolled down, white crinkle gauze almost dusting the tips of her fingers, flip flops exchanged at the door for socks and her favorite old biker boots, heels stomped on the floor to fit properly before bootleg jeans were yanked down over them.  In a few short seconds she looked more than presentable; romantic artist to don’t fuck with me on the street chic.

 

She went to grab her messenger bag from the hook, pausing.

 

“We are going right?”

 

Eyes had fallen to her shirt, wondering if it was the right choice to look at weapons.  Normally she wouldn’t care.  Fingers played with the intricate red embroidery on the hem at her thigh, eyes flicking back up to his.  There it was again, instant as they locked on blue. The nervousness that was so foreign to her.  It was just a business outing.  It was just a sidetrack for dinner.

 

It was just…  

 

“…because I really want to,” soft smile quirked, pulling her bag over her shoulder.  "With you."

[Alistair Greene]

Alistair walked after Lisa a few paces, keeping back to what he hoped was a reasonable enough level. Didn't want to walk into anything he shouldn't, or anything like that. You never knew what was going to be going on in the back room of a place. Had his job ever proved THAT beyond a shadow of a doubt...

A lot of the time he tried not to think about it.

And then Rorye was out... and looking for a moment as though she had seen a ghost. His own voice stuck for a few seconds while he tried without much success to come up with a way to open the conversation, until he finally lifted a hand in greeting, smiling back to her. At her first words he laughed, giving a shrug. [alistair]Well, yeah. Didn't I say I was gonna?[/alistair] he said, a touch incredulous, but he left it at that for the moment, then grinned at her offer before he walked after her, giving Lisa a thankful nod.

He kept quiet, gathering himself a bit again since she seemed to, and looking around at the organized chaos of her workshop. He knew well what that was like - he had a substantial pile of components in the upstairs workshop of his apartment. A lot of them were just for fun, but other parts weren't nearly as much. For instance, it was where he did most of his enchanting, reloaded his pistol rounds, maintained his weapons... One thing about being a wizard rather than an HwA - there was a lot of maintenance and upkeep. Mages were powerful as hell if they were ready for a fight. Unprepared... Well, things didn't always go quite as well.

[alistair]You've got a lot of cool stuff in here yourself you know...[/alistair] he said, letting out a low whistle as he glanced around... though he did steal a few looks her way as she 'adjusted' her appearance to something that could be seen out of doors. He had to admit he rather liked that... she had a confidence to her. Pretty sure she would have stomped anyone who suggested she needed makeup to go out.

Besides. They were going to look at freakin swords.

[alistair]Of course. Weapons first.[/alistair]he said, flashing a grin. [alistair]I called ahead to make sure he'd be around. Got something to pick up for a friend, so the timing works out pretty well actually.[/alistair] He turned to find her looking at him, and he looked back to her eyes until she spoke up again before he smiled too.

[alistair]Likewise. I'm parked out back, it's not too long a drive though.[/alistair] He remembered where the back door was of course, and he pushed it open for her, eyes lingering for a moment on the black spot that still stained the pavement. [alistair]Boy does that shit stain, apparently...[/alistair] he muttered, waiting for her to lock up or whatever else she needed to do before walking her to the Jeep.

[alistair]It's down by Omenwich - he kinda set up with the rest of the not-quite-usual shops when the cottage shops started popping up again. [/alistair] he said, firing up the vehicle and pulling away from the curb. One thing about post-Shift NYC... the traffic wasn't nearly as bad.

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

 "Well, yeah. Didn't I say I was gonna?"

 

She chewed her lip a second, nodding with a smile- the side glance to Nina's watchful eyes produced a shake of the owner's head as she headed to the back room.  She'd called off the dogs, the woman was a godsend in the help department but sometimes tended to be a bit too protective of Rorye.  The fact she'd never had a gentleman come asking for her that wasn't there for a delivery had the woman on edge. She was thankful for the extra set of eyes out for her welfare, but this was something she was having a hard enough time navigating without a "mom glare" to complicate things.

"You've got a lot of cool stuff in here yourself you know..."

 

"I like to tinker too.  The building is old, a remnant.  So many things in Hell's Kitchen are broken, I try to put them back together and give them a home.  This window is for the teahouse, I broke it during the..  book adventure.  You should see what I've done with the upstairs."

 

Wait...  what?

 

Did she just invite him into her home?

 

Throat cleared quietly, fingers rubbing the back of her neck as she snagged her bag.  She didn't have a purse.  Purses were for sissies.  She should have a purse at that moment, she was being a sissy... opening her mouth again to make up for it.  Up front.  She could be up front, relieved he was intending to go and hadn't come to bail out in person.

 

"Let me tell Lisa I'm out," nodding, she stepped out into the shop for a moment, returning to slip through the door he was holding open.

"Boy does that shit stain, apparently..."

 

"In more ways than one," she said quietly.  If only he knew the whole story.  Nobody did, yet anyway.  A key flashed from the side of her bag and she locked up quickly, wary eye on the stained concrete.  Sliding into the Jeep, her bag dropped down by her feet, braid pulled over her shoulder to avoid pressing into her back.  Fingers tapped on her knees gently.  "I should probably fill you in on that."

 

She watched the streets go by, the sight of her neighborhoods always hit hard whether walking through or driving by.  Before the Shift they were a tough place to be, afterward... the world forgot about them.  Neck turned to watch a group hanging out in the doorway of an abandoned building as they drove by.  She knew them, they came in sometimes for food.  She gave it to them free of charge in exchange for cleaning up the back courtyard every two weeks.

 

Eyes turned to study him a moment, a shiver in the depths of her psyche flickering to life.  Attention moved quickly to the dash, then the streets.  So quiet.  She'd been so quiet today.  Dammit.  She hadn't considered that looking for appropriate weapons may be a problem.  Rorye wasn't the weapons expert, her Jiminy Cricket was.  She would want to play, and that would mean...

 

"I should probably learn to drive a car someday too" smile was quick, elbow on the sill as she finally relaxed a bit to change the subject.  Fingers rubbed her forehead, she couldn't change the subject.  This was going to be awkward.  "Okay, I'm just going to get this out of the way.  I've spent the last few months figuring this thing out... a part of that book stayed with me, kinda like how a necromancer speaks to the dead.  She can speak and move through me when I let her.  I haven't gotten rid of her because I think I can use her skills.  I will probably have to let her drive for a time at the shop.  We have this... arrangement.  She's the expert.    So, I apologize in advance... for anything."

[Alistair Greene]

Alistair felt for a moment like the back of his head might start smoking from the way the lady was keeping an eye on him. He very carefully and diplomatically ignored it, since that seemed to be the only decent option left to him anyway.

He grinned when she talked about tinkering, and the fact that her building too was something of a leftover. [alistair]Building I live in is kind of like that. Top four floors ended up pretty much gutted, big problem with an infestation, this demon plant sort of thing. I helped the owner burn it out, so I got a big chunk of it to myself after. Nice, open floor plan... didn't START that way, but I didn't see the point in building more walls, you know?[/alistair]

She mentioned the upstairs then and his brows went up - just a little. That wasn't one he expected so soon, but he kept his smile all the same, nodding. [alistair]Sooner or later.[/alistair] he allowed, and left it at that. He thought that might be a good way to let her off the hook, since she seemed to have been struggling with that just a little, saying it before she was really ready to. He could understand that. No sense making it any harder by making a thing of it.

Hell. If there was someone who occasionally said stupid things exactly when he was trying very hard NOT to do exactly that, it was probably him. Sometimes he thought that was his real talent, forget all this magic business.

He gave her the rest of the time to get ready, then a wan smile when she said he had no idea. He kind of did... but that was past experience. A lot of messes between now and then. And he'd probably never had quite the mess she had, but... Well he could imagine.

[alistair]Yeah, you probably should. Easy to get one anymore, find a mechanic that's half decent. More cars than we can drive, honestly.[/alistair] Unspoken was the reason for that - about a third of the drivers were dead now. She was getting something off her chest then, and he had to try and pay attention to her and the road at the same time - all the more difficult because of what she was saying.

Ordinarily he would consider that a very bad thing. He was still sort of tempted to, and he watched her for a few moments from the corner of his eye - actually Watching her aura before he let that power fade, letting out a long, slow breath all the same. [alistair]I gathered some of that from what you told me before. Surprised she has the capacity for that much control, but... it happens, sometimes. If you feel you can trust her, that's your call to make. I can't go rooting around in your head for her, that's kind of a last resort.[/alistair]

He paused then, and laughed softly. [alistair]Don't worry. I'll manage.[/alistair]

They arrived a few minutes later. He parked outside what looked to be a fairly large, abandoned garage of some kind - definitely a car shop from the wells in the floor, but when Alistair punched a code in the keypad and walked into the back of the place, the huge racks that had once contained tires now contained nothing but weapons. Row upon row of bladed weapons, racks of shotguns and other firearms...

[alistair]Welcome.[/alistair] Alistair said, deepening his voice, [alistair]To the Construct.[/alistair]

A man came out from around one of the racks - he was a big man, taller than Alistair about almost twice as broad, his hair graying and receding to a sharp widow's peak, and he had the enormous arms and calloused hands that suggested exactly the profession he had. The smell in the air also definitely hinted at a blacksmith shop. The man's hands were odd too though... his hands and some of his forearms had a decidedly metallic sheen to them. [npc]Dammit, Alistair, I've been tellin' you, I hated that movie.[/npc]

Alistair grinned, winking to Rorye once and stepping up to face the big man, crossing his arms. [alistair]And I've told you, you have horrifying taste. Christ man, get an air freshener in here.[/alistair]

They glared at each other for a moment, then laughed, clasping hands and giving each other one of those half hug, half handshakes before Alistair drew back, motioning to Rorye - and shaking his hand out a little where the other man had gripped it. [alistair]Rorye, this is Arthur Kane. Art, meet Rorye. She's looking for something sharp and pointy, I figured you'd be the guy.[/alistair]

The man looked her over for just a moment, then beamed. [npc]Well, any pretty friend o' Alistair's is certainly welcome to my sharp-and-pointies. Whatcha in the market for?[/npc]

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

"Yeah, you probably should. Easy to get one anymore, find a mechanic that's half decent. More cars than we can drive, honestly."

 

"Not sure what I'd do with all that freedom," smile was soft.  For most, it may have been a mark of independence.  She liked her neighborhood, liked her streets even at night when nobody was brave enough to venture out but her.  That was freedom; not being afraid to stand your ground and be driven off to greener pastures because you had the means.  Stay and fight, like so few did.  With the ability to travel on her own schedule, what would she do with it?  Go to see Alistair?

 

Vicious blush tinged her cheeks in a rose hue, eyes back to the road, the business at hand taking over.  It was time to come clean, not to ask for help... be upfront about it.  The pseudo-mage was tapping something she was trying to understand and she didn't have all the answers yet.

 

 "I gathered some of that from what you told me before. Surprised she has the capacity for that much control, but... it happens, sometimes. If you feel you can trust her, that's your call to make. I can't go rooting around in your head for her, that's kind of a last resort."

 

"Done a lot of research, it's kind of like a form of 'spirit writing'.  Willing channels, allows muscle control and thought implementation.  I don't fully trust her yet but we have a compromise," the details of which she was not explaining to the Mage.  It was beyond embarrassing, especially to someone she potentially could see helping out with that.  Throat cleared slightly, brows coming down to try and ward off a second round of heat that burned at the tips of her ears.  She was not good at figuring this out.  "Her needs are different.  She's bitter, justifiably so from what I gather in the history books.  Have had a few mishaps, but she's agreed to do nothing I wouldn't do myself."

 

The problems at the gym were just the first issue that had to be dealt with.  Arguments after that disaster were severe, the "poltergeist" for lack of a better term was not allowed to do things the shop owner didn't want just because she could. In exchange, the woman got periods of time to vent.  Her preemptive apology was received well it seemed.

 

"Point is... I have speed she never had, she has skill I can learn.  If I can tap that, it's a good arrangement... despite the quirks.  I'll warn you first."

 

She gathered up her things when they arrived, an odd glance shot to him at the seeming abandoned building.  She couldn't lie and say a streak of panic slithered down her gut, all the spy movies she'd ever watching flooding back in seconds. Maybe Arma interrogated people first.  The first stirring of an amused laugh within her psyche sobered her up, eyes blinking for several moments after the place's introduction.  Tongue slid out absently to wet dry lips, rolling them through her teeth before a smirk lit features.  Stare was content.  Tug instant, an insatiable urge to touch, to handle, to try out... she swore the purr was audible from the depths of her stomach.  Heat bubbled outward from the back of her skull.

 

"You really know how to show a girl a good time," she breathed, eyes fluttered to refocus on the the greetings, smile turned on Arthur.

•npc• "Well, any pretty friend o' Alistair's is certainly welcome to my sharp-and-pointies. Whatcha in the market for?"

 

"Everything," slipped out before she could think, eyes already searching the racks, bag dropped lightly to the floor... everything that had been running through her brain trying to organize before the beastie was set free.  "Blades, just blades," this was payment for her being good.  "Double blades for the big stuff, fast, light... concealed preferably but able to be sheathed on both hips. Perhaps something shorter at the calves, forearms definitely. Concealed, maybe something with a trigger that can be folded back in."

 

She was still talking to them, but was moving through the aisles.  There was so much, so many toys.  Feet slowing to a stop.  Fingers twitched lightly at her sides as dark eyes stared at a pair of gleaming blades.  They looked light as a feather, graceful, elegant, a whisper on the air before a bite that could sever a spine.  They needed to be held, touched.  Played with.  She had no expertise in that arena.

 

"Talk to you in a few minutes, Alistair," she was quiet, almost apprehensive.  Was she embarrassed to do this?  Yes.  Pretty sure the woman would keep their pact, but awkward afterward.  Lashes lowered, unable to keep focus.  She'd barely let go before the woman came blistering through her blood.  It was an odd sensation.  The shopkeeper had a CAT scan once to check for a concussion- the dye, the weird warmth that spread throughout the body as it pulsed through every vein was the only thing she could compare it to. It was without pomp and circumstance, no flashy show of power.  Like sleep, ones eyes closed and reopened to a new impression.  Features were the same, but the air had changed. Metaphorically charged, hairtriggered, intense, the essence of Rorye compressed into a short moment in time.  Without a word or a lick of permission, graceful fingers slid across the hilts and collected them from their perch.  The sound of their motion in the air brought a smile to her lips, twirl of metal a beautiful dance to watch through hands that had held so many crude implements to end life.  Chuckle deep, flicker of panic itched at the woman as her attention moved from the racks to Alistair.

 

This was not the deal.

 

This was NOT the fucking DEAL!

 

"The deal, was nothing you wouldn't do," even the Jiminy Cricket talked to herself, under her breath but still there... Shoulders squared as she approached the man that had allowed her heavy metal fun time, blades tick-tocking in her fingers to match her gate perfectly.  Sly eyes checked that Arthur was off looking for items she could use.  Fingers transferred both blades to one hand, free fingers a whisper's touch across the shirt beneath his protective coat.  Blue was studied at close proximity by the darkly fractured eyes.  It was an agonizing moment, definitely not the grabby, insistent and demanding paw of a woman that didn't know what being a woman truly was.  It was visceral, patient, studying what most women were too impatient to see.  Galaxies, the spindle of color in a man's eyes that could pull in even the hardest of gazes.  Lashes fluttered slightly as she leaned to place a lingering kiss on the mage's lips to breathe him in, teeth tugging slightly at his lower lip before finally speaking.

 

"You taste good," Cheshire cat curl of lips were still on his, lashes flicking open to focus on blue.  Fingers finally tightened into his shirt to claim it, lips moving next to his ear.  "She is making me be good," exhale was long, "she doesn't want to be.  Empty storage room on the way in... just a thought."

 

A mortified gasp echoed through her consciousness.  She took a step back, letting go of his shirt and tapping her forehead with a quirk of brow, braid flipping  to disappear the ecstatic beastie into rows of toys she had to try with an almost sing-song gate.  Everything. She had to try, everything.

[Alistair Greene]

[alistair]Yeah, I suppose that's one way to look at it. But I mean that takes a lot of will for a spirit to be able to work the entire body. You don't see that very much - not outside the initial possessions when the Shift hit. But then again, I suppose just about anything can happen when you get down to it these days. I don't use that 'impossible' word nearly as much as I used to.[/alistair] He smiled faintly at that.

[alistair]Wait. History books?[/alistair] he asked, lifting a brow. By that time they were already moving into the store, though... he had a feeling they were going to have to get into that aspect of her little mess another day.

At her comment once they were inside, the magus laughed. [alistair]I aim to please.[/alistair] he responded, sweeping an elaborate and exaggerated bow that made Art slap his forehead, but that was mostly the end of it. He stood back up, letting her talk to the man while she walked around. He wasn't sure how much of the eagerness was Rorye at this point, and how much was... well... the other one.

And then she came back. He lifted a brow, not sure what she was talking about. [alistair]So, I guess this is the first time we're meeting? I'm-[/alistair] he started to say, to introduce himself, but she grabbed him before he could say much, and he shut up a moment, trying to figure out what to say. It was obvious what was different... this wasn't at all Rorye. And yet somehow it suited her. Unrestrained, was the word he was looking for - especially when she kissed him.

He PROBABLY should have resisted that a little. How awkward was that? Kissed by her lips but not by her... but then, that was something he could deal with later, because at just that moment he was a bit distracted. He kissed her back, matching her pressure and setting one hand in the small of her back, holding her to him a moment before she drew back, and he swallowed once, taking a second to make sure he was breathing.

[alistair]Ah. Thanks. Likewise?[/alistair] he managed, finding his voice perhaps a second too slow, and he took his hand back to rub at the back of his neck, laughing softly at her comment. [alistair]Well... not like I'd mind if she wasn't...[/alistair] he said, watching her return to the weapons racks.

Woo. So that just happened.

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

The warmth, she desperately missed… lost for a moment in the man’s unexpected physical response.   There was no guilt on her part, she knew what was in her gut, perhaps lingering a bit too long when he seemed fine with the juxtaposed consciousness.   He had no idea who was staring back at him through the familiar face, and it was obvious the Celt wasn’t the spindle of his attention; something she was truly jealous of her handler for.  It was well with her; though a bit resentful… she had no place in this world anymore anyway.  Aggressive, vicious… merciless and wicked in life, she was ripped from the world in last moments of violence to hover in the hell of nothingness and unrequited pain.  It had been too long since she had even touched someone, with no end to darkness in sight.  Freed, attached through some fluke of twisted residual spark, and now here.   The soft contented exhale when his hold lingered on the small of her back was not the deathbringer’s reaction, a surly quirk of lips in his direction that was more to antagonize the repressed shopkeeper than anything else.

 

They weren’t really so different, the ancient just wasn’t inhibited about it.

 

"Well... not like I'd mind if she wasn't..."

 

Chuckle was dark at some unsaid humor as she skipped off through the shelves, the unique timbre of a whisky warmed voice answering him from one rack over.

 

“I should tell you what she thinks about …” it was barely a whisper, contemplative as she seemed deep in thought.

 

Flash of eyes moved between the weapons, travelling over a plethora of toys while keeping tabs on the two, sting in her gut from the pissed off and mortified handler, heart pounding in her throat still not of her own reaction.  The man didn’t know how close he was to getting dragged by the nape of his neck into that storage room… even if Arthur was still within earshot.  Her hands may have been moving, she may have been able to feel herself breathe, the sensation of her skin on someone else’s- it was fleeting and she had no time… the temptation stronger because of it.  Rorye’s countenance was too strong to let her peek out for long, and the ancient was grasping at a life she could never have again.  Plus, she’d promised no shenanigans.

 

She wouldn’t promise that again.

 

What she COULD do right now, was suggest the devil where the devil already existed- all it would take was a little push to drag her across the threshold into the wild.  This woman was going to crack trying to hold back her own wants and anger at her lack of ability control for the sake of being seen as a level headed leader, she could feel it… and when she did, the surly beastie was pretty sure this boy would get caught up in the whirlwind unless he somehow did something to spook the guarded woman.  He was already under her umbrella of family for what he’d done to help her community, rightfully so.  No one had any idea what was coming if her buttons were pushed; she was threatened for being seen with him… or heaven forbid someone threatened him or his friends.  The ancient may have guided the hand, but the power was already behind it.  Even the Celt was jealous of the woman’s potential for speed and lack of fear. It would most certainly lead someday to a confrontation beyond comprehension against someone much stronger than the shopkeeper.  But, it was hard to be the stronger party with magic when someone was fast enough to stab you in the brain through the eye socket with a ball point pen before you could will the mana…  it may have been crudely effective, but there were so many more elegant weapons to do beautifully efficient damage with.  It was her job to get them in her hands.

 

…get them in her hands, help her survive the curse of making herself responsible for others- even if she did want nothing more at the moment than to snatch the back of that duster and drag him off for a little spontaneous R&R.

 

Blades laid across her forearms like firewood, bypassing anything that fired.  Guns were loud, they were messy, they ran out of bullets.  Items collected, the determined stride brought her to the nearest counter to lay them down.  Expressive features were unusually smooth as they slid from one man to the other in appreciation for getting to touch the toys.  A flurry of activity was methodical, loading herself with various combinations of selections, some being pulled and returned repeatedly to their sheaths and either kept on her person or put to the side and discard.  A sheath at her back waistband that clipped on and had two small knives accessible by either hand, two short swords that typically fit at her thighs, two forearm sheaths.  She was literally a woman “possessed”, it was instinctual, elegant to watch, knowing exactly what she was looking for.

 

Then she stopped, expression dark she looked at the sheaths on her forearms.

 

“How do we make these more modern, invisible,” voice quiet.  “People don’t walk around with swords on their hips anymore I gather.”

 

Eyes moved to Arthur first, then to Alistair, reaching to both sides and pulling the double blades with a melodic sing.  Eyes fluttered slightly, she loved that sound.  She loved other sounds too, but time was short.  Hilts were reversed rather gracefully, the back of the blades lain along the back of her arms to follow the curve.  If Art the weapons master wanted to see her move and use the things to envision what he could create for her, there wasn’t much time.

 

Then she saw it, the curl of her lips grinch-like as she closed the distance between her and a wall of bows that had escaped her attention.  It was behind a counter.  Big ones, small ones, compound, recurve, crossbows.

 

"If I buy you dinner... do I get to pick the after dinner activities to pay you back for bringing me here?"  it was under her breath, but audible.

 

Air whistled as the blades clicked back in their sheaths and she pointed at a compound bow, lashes lowered at Art and a lick of sultry heat to her words. 

 

"Can I see that one?"

[Alistair Greene]

Alistair lifted a brow at that comment, then he shook his head and watched her move off between the racks, taking a breath and turning back to Art. [alistair]Mind checking the edge on mine? I'm worried I screwed it up on a rock monster last week.[/alistair] he said, reaching into his coat and drawing out the two and a half foot blade, which he set on the table. The smith, after an exasperated look to the magus, sat down and picked it up, looking down the length of the edge.

[npc]Well, the enchant seems to be holding... I'll sharpen her up though, I still have some of the runed blocks you made for me. I still think it's sacrelige the way you misuse this thing.[/npc] The man sounded a bith disgusted toward the end, and Alistair rolled his eyes a bit.

[alistair]Christ, Art, it's a weapon that was made to be used. You realize I can only be so gentle with the thing when there's an onslaught of nasties trying to kill me.[/alistair] he fired back, sitting on one of the stools by the workbench. Art, clearly unimpressed by the mage's protest, took out a whetstone and began his careful work with the weapon. It almost never needed sharpening thanks to the enchantment laid on the blade, but some special circumstances could do it harm. In that case, only special whetstones could do anything about that. Alistair didn't waste them on his own inadequate smithing talents, and it was better for Art to check the weapon out. He would know best if it was beginning to crack on him.

Red was back a moment later, and Alistair glanced over at her, laughing quietly. [alistair]Better take that up with Rorye... don't want to do any more damage, to tell the truth.[/alistair] he said, waving a hand slightly.

Art, meanwhile, handed the sword back to Alistair and stood up, snagging the bow off the top rack and holding it out to her with both hands, smiling warmly as he did. His gruff sarcasm took a while to develop... he was trying to make a good impression.

Alistair just rolled his eyes.

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

She was listening to every nuance, the gruff and hair-triggered temper becoming more foul by the moment. 

•npc• "Well, the enchant seems to be holding...

 

Enchanted?  The man could make the things more than what she ever could have made them?  Jealousy, it was an evil little beastie that was making her handler push back against the fray.  One more sass comment provoked an answer from the firecracker, the green bubbling brighter.

 

"Better take that up with Rorye... don't want to do any more damage, to tell the truth."

 

The glance that paused on his was not the soft mischievous tickle of the shopkeeper's, it was the pure vicious envy of rejection.  Blink changed the focus of her attention to Art as the surly smile slid back on her features and attempted to charm the other man in the room.  Tip of her tongue slid out in concentration over her top lip as she took the thing from his waiting hands with a hunger that rivaled lust.  It was gorgeous.  The things she could do... aimed harmlessly at a wall and drawn back.

 

Brow snapped downward.

 

She didn't want a bow.

 

Fuck that.  Fuck this whole trip.

 

The bow was lowered with a breathless exhale, eyes focused on the floor for several seconds, air stolen from her lungs.  It took a few moments to adjust to the huffed tantrum of an exit that was entirely too soon.  Soft smile focused back on the large man, the kind of smile that lit her whole face and didn't leave her eyes plotting to pull from whomever could give her something.

 

"Thanks, not sure I'm ready for this yet," she handed it back to the man, starting to unbuckle what had been so joyously strapped to her hips and return to the carefully laid out others.  One hand rested on one of the sheathed blades... dark eyes looking to Art.

 

"You said something about enchanted?  I'm fairly new at the whole cool kids club, what exactly can you do with a blade?"

 

Quiet fingers waited for Art's attention to be elsewhere, then reached to the tips of Alistair's as he sat next to the workbench, squeezing softly and lingering a moment in apology before they slipped off and returned to her side.  Warm smile was ready for the blacksmith's explanation, grateful for the distraction, and truly interested in what he had to say despite the blush that had prickled up the back of her neck to her cheeks.

[Alistair Greene]

Alistair's brows lifted just slightly at her reaction. Well he had realized too late what he was doing with the kiss earlier, and he wasn't about to risk... whatever it was when you had sex with someone who was possessed. Okay, he badly wanted to risk that, but it didn't seem the smartest thing, and he had no idea how Rorye would genuinely react.

Red, however, seemed to react Badly. So that was one question answered.

There was only a moment, then the other one was gone, and going by the inflection... she seemed back. He tilted his head just a little bit, trying to place when and how it had happened. But with so much of the energy being purely internal, well... There was only so much of it he could really pick up on. That was just slightly troublesome... left him a bit more to worry about than he had really thought.

He sat back after that, hoping to cool the situation somewhat, but at her question Art chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his hands. [npc]Couldn't do that to save my life. You'd best talk to Alistair about that business. I make the blanks, he and his magicky types do the last touches.[/npc]

Alistair gave a slight shrug. [alistair]Most of us can do a little. I encourage people to do their own, it tends to make the weapons easier to handle. It also reduces the need to charge them up. Which, by the by, sometimes needs to happen. It's reasonably infrequent though, and doesn't always require a magus. It depends on the nature of the enchantment. For me...[/alistair]

He reached out and picked his sword up, holding it edge down. In the right light, the runes on the metal could just barely be seen. [alistair]The enchant is for durability and conductivity. If I ran the sort of electricity through a normal blade that I do through this one, it would melt and deform in short order. For you... we'd probably want to make sure they can handle the impact, fast as you go.[/alistair]

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

Brows dipped at the answer to her question.  She didn't like not knowing the right questions, or the answers.  There was no hesitation in asking, having to ask was what annoyed her. 

 

•npc• "Couldn't do that to save my life. You'd best talk to Alistair about that business. I make the blanks, he and his magicky types do the last touches."

 

Magicky types... as if she needed more of a reminder that she wasn't exactly part of the team.  Maybe this was just a big mistake, trying to be the hero she wasn't with power she'd never have.  No.  Marginalizing her ability to catch a tea-cup in a split second before it crashed to the floor had been a mistake, one she was not going to repeat.  Frown whispered across her features, replaced by an intent focus for what exactly she needed to do.  The world wasn't going to change.  it was dangerous, and violent; her family, the normals and semi-normals left to ride the wave of uncertainty looked to her to make it a little safer to sleep at night.  What she had, had proven itself in the last few months to be substantial, but nothing like the 'twitch your nose' and the world exploded variety.  What she did have, was a lack of fear, and a knack for making things work when nobody else could find a solution.

 

Dark lashes blinked slowly as she pondered, looking to Alistair when he elaborated.  The learning curve was steep and she was far behind the game.  She knew the runes, she ran a magical curiosity shop after all.  Was it that simple?  It couldn't be that simple.  There were some that had a bit of 'magicky type' skills that she might be able to ask, she just needed the blades to get the ball rolling.  Their trip here though, was at a close.  Time for business at hand.

 

"Price is not a problem," the timbre of her voice indicated there was obviously a plan, the business savvy expression of one owner to another ready to talk shop. "I need something like this, length of my forearm," fingers touched the sheaths of the double blades that had just been so gleefully strapped to her hips.  "A back rig, sheathed and released at the hip instead of the shoulders."

 

It was logical.  Like an ice skater in a spin, pulling her arms above her head to reach for something while in motion would slow her down.  Streamlining the draw seemed strategical.  She separated the others.  A set for her forearms, and small ones for her calves that could be put on over or under her sleeves and jeans.

 

"As strong as you can make them, I'll have a 'magicky type' friend do the rest,"  she reached into her back pocket and placed a card on the work bench.  "Let me know what you need from me, if you need to fit anything.  I can be here whenever you need me to.  I'll get out of your hair now,"  smile bright, she shook the man's hand.  "Thanks for letting me play with your toys."  Glance moved to Alistair,  "starving, shall we?"

 

Hands slid into her pockets as she moved toward the keypad door they had come through, turning to walk backward slowly to face him as they passed the infamous empty storage room.

 

"You know, it wasn't her idea."

 

The mild-mannered, yet candid business owner had managed to yank her pride back up from around her ankles in the last few moments from where Red's antics had left it.

 

"Guys aren't the only ones that fantasize about getting laid," the wink was playful, and meant to clear the air before she turned and fell back a bit to walk next to him.  "You're an attractive guy.  I meet attractive guys a lot.  Doesn't mean I'm going to pull them into a storage room and jump on them.  Unless, of course, they ask nicely."

 

Laugh was gentle, relaxed on the outside.  Inside, she was fighting the flushing panic she was doing something wrong, trying to give herself permission to enjoy herself in someone's company- and not feeling guilty doing it.

[Alistair Greene]

Art chuckled a little at her comment about price. [npc]Never was in it for the money, lady, but a guy does have to eat. I'll send you a quote.[/npc] he agreed, grabbing an oil-stained notebook off the table and marking down what she'd asked for. [npc]And anytime. Here's the card, give me a call if you have any other thoughts.[/npc] he said, handing her a business card that looked more professional than anything else in the place.

[npc]Don't know who you were thinking of asking, by the way, but I'd ask White Knight there if I were wanting a weapon. He's a pansy ass engineer, but he's a lot less sloppy than most finger wigglers I know.[/npc]

Alistair rolled his eyes slightly at the backhanded compliment. [alistair]Thanks Art, you're not bad for a hammer wielding barbarian yourself. Go shove your hand in a forge now, why don't you?[/alistair] the magus fired back, his tone completely dry. Art flashed a grin, pulling a set of heavy fireproof gloves on before he sketched a salute and walked into the back room again. When he was gone, Alistair turned to walk out next to Rorye, chuckling quietly.

[alistair]Honestly, more often than not, people who got magic powers weren't... well weren't much of anything before. A lot of them weren't even out of college. I think having actually been building things for a couple years beforehand, being... schematically-oriented gives me a little edge with the whole enchanting thing. I'll work on your blades if you want, give any thought yet to what you want done in that regard?[/alistair]

He stepped out after her, glancing almost involuntarily at the closet all the same, then he almost started when she mentioned it. The mage arched a brow for a second, then he chuckled softly at her wink. [alistair]Do these attractive guys often punt vampires and shadowy hellspawn for you, then take you out for a romantic evening at an armory?[/alistair] he mused, flashing her a cheeky smile as he suppressed his own inner freakout about the whole situation. Thankfully, he was better at that these days.

[alistair]I'll have to remember that...[/alistair] he said at the end. Something told him she was still more than a bit unsettled herself, but before they stepped outside, he put a hand on her arm to stop her. He didn't know how much she'd resist, but he gave her a chance before he pulled her close to kiss her. He let it hang for a few seconds before he pulled back, letting her go and taking a second to gather himself for a moment.

[alistair]Only fair, right?[/alistair] he said after, his expression brightening before he turned to step outside.

[Rorye Shannon-Kearney]

She took the card, sliding a slim antique silver case from her back pocket to tuck it into.  A tiny button flipped it open with its still working mechanism, one side for her own cards, the other for those she was networking with.  She was a businesswoman after all.  Every communication was lifeblood, no matter who wasn't in it for the money.  She could be useful to them in other ways, and vice versa.  Brow cocked as Art offered more, nimble fingers tucking his card into the antique cigarette case.  It still smelled like exquisite old cherry tobacco.

 

•npc• "Don't know who you were thinking of asking, by the way, but I'd ask White Knight there if I were wanting a weapon. He's a pansy ass engineer, but he's a lot less sloppy than most finger wigglers I know."

 

White Knight?  The words plinked a small jump in her chest, her facial expression betraying nothing as she closed the case and slid it into her back pocket.  Pride, memories and guilt, all of which she'd been trying to avoid on this outing tingled on her skin.  It wasn't the man's fault, they were her crosses to bear.  Old protests were on the tip of her tongue, staving the kneejerk anger; she didn't need saving, she didn't need taking care of... she needed... to relax.  She swallowed softly, the damn twinge of conflicted guilt was hidden beneath a warm smile at Alistair's smart-ass banter. 

 

"I'll take the finger wiggling white knight pansy ass engineer's skills into consideration,"  it was hard to say with a chuckle and a smile, but she managed.  She liked Art, a lot; definitely planning on calling on him for some other projects.  "He does have his charms,"  she finished, falling into step next to him as they walked out.

 

"Honestly, more often than not, people who got magic powers weren't... well weren't much of anything before. A lot of them weren't even out of college. I think having actually been building things for a couple years beforehand, being... schematically-oriented gives me a little edge with the whole enchanting thing. I'll work on your blades if you want, give any thought yet to what you want done in that regard?"

 

She caught his glance at the room.  A hot mess, she'd gotten herself into a hot mess... the naughty smirk on her lips surprising even her.

 

"I know you're busy, you have a lot of people depending on you..."  she started, brow ghosting down.  God damn it, she had to get over this pride shit, and the fact that if people offered they weren't seeing her as weak...  "You know what, sure.  If you want to work on them, I'd be happy to have you do it.  Strength, I'm not sure how they'll hold up to hits at my rate.  I don't know if it's even possible, but maybe... bind my fun-friend's skill to the blades instead of me."

 

She was absolutely expecting the beastie to protest from the shadows in her psyche.  There was nothing.  Hm.  She left it alone, choosing to find her own sass, enjoying the cock of the man's brow and soft chuckle.  Bully for her.

 

"Do these attractive guys often punt vampires and shadowy hellspawn for you, then take you out for a romantic evening at an armory?"

 

"Had one ask to take me to the opera once,"  she hadn't thought about that in ages, smirk on her features as she laughed quietly.  "...talk about risking his life."

 

Caught in the rather odd memory, it amused her.  A black tie affair, her in a dress... heels?  It'd been an instant no.  Smile still on her features when he put his hand on her arm.

 

"I'll have to remember that..."

 

Remember what?  She blinked, brow furrowed slightly… to ask nicely?  Had he just called her on her smart-ass comment?  ...unable to clarify before he pulled her close, she expected every shred of her being to scream at the betrayal of her resolve.  There was nothing of the sort.  No guilt, no second guessing, instead a wash of calm as dark lashes fluttered closed and lingered afterward.  Fingers stole a caress at the velvet on the back of his neck, the nuzzle under his ear unconscious.

"Only fair, right?"

 

“Yah,”  blood thundered, her index finger instinctively curled around his pinkie slipped off as he stepped back.  Had he just asked nicely?  Shit…  shit shit shit…  She cleared her throat softly.  “Fair.”

 

She followed him out, cheeks a bit warm as she looked upward and found her hands in her pockets.  She didn’t trust herself at this moment, for good reason, and she ignored herself.   The overcast was clearing, something she’d wanted to suggest earlier now a distinct possibility… in more ways than one, adding to the burn on the tips of her ears.

 

“We should get the Chinese as take-out,”  she found herself saying as she slid quietly into his Jeep and buckled in.  “I have some new toys I’ve been dying to show someone before I open up the space to the public. Put a small café corner on the roof next to my greenhouse, you should see what I found to go up there.  We could eat up there,”   smile was soft, a quiet sideglance that never quite got to him moving to the sky again, “unless you want a nice sit-down dinner instead.”

[Alistair Greene]

Alistair let out a long, slow breath once he was turned away from her, taking special care to fight back the momentary surge in his mana. Sometimes the magic wanted to come out, wanted to do something when he was in an emotional charge. To the human body, after all, there was very little difference between tension due to a threat and tension due to... say, romantic insecurity. Part of the magic, anyway, fed off that. Being a mage involved a constant balancing act on that level. He'd almost let himself slip, just a little.

But... she hadn't been upset. Hadn't given him a dirty or even a funny look. 10/10, top fucking score.

[alistair]Oh?[/alistair] he said, hoping his voice sounded as normal as he was planning for it to. He fired the vehicle up and glanced back over to her. At her suggestion though, he gave a not and a smile. [alistair]Hey, I'm not picky. Honestly I always feel a little weird actually eating IN a chinese restaurant. It seems like a take out place, when I'm actually there with all the decorations and stuff... I don't know, it just feels kind of off.[/alistair]

He flashed her a quick grin, then turned away from the curb and started back on the road.

((End thread, start another?))