Living in the Shadows: IC, your run might be over... Options

[banditf50]

16:20:46 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Auburn, Jonah's building

"Jonah and I never discussed our familes much with each other, I assumed that it was a sensitive area with him." And several painful memories . .

"However in times of trouble perhaps he would have turned to his father for help, do you know how his father can be contacted?"

[Morgannah]

21:53:18 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo paused, waterglass poised halfway to her lips as she considered the best way to answer. As much as she longed to share her story with someone, anyone, she knew that it would be madness to do so. Even as she all but melted when he smiled, there was enough strength of mind left to keep part of her separate. She took a measured sip of icewater and laughed softly, regaining a bit of her former poise.

"Everything?" She arched an eyebrow while a playful smile teased across soft pink lips. "You do not ask much, do you Byron?"

"Very well, then." Her smile turns conspiratorial as she leans in somewhat closer as if to share a secret. "I am very seriously involved with the Law, I'm .. " a soft chuckle, "a legal secretary, or at least, that's what I put on my résuméé. This is my .." she trails a finger across the face of her platinum watch, "second day in the city and I'm already half in love with it."

"What else would you like to know? And what about you, Byron," his name becomes a soft silken caress, "how did you find your way to Los Angeles?"

[WinterRat1]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

She opens her eyes, knowing she’s somewhere different, but unsure where that is. What I want to face least, eh? That’s a no-brainer. Being back in Aztlan, facing…them. I must be in some sort of lab, or Azzie facility, or something like that. Probably going to have to deal with escaping all over again from those twisted fragging bastards. Null sweat. I did it before, I can do it again.

And then she stops to think for a moment, letting the signals her physical senses have been processing and sending to her brain actually register on her conscious thought. Nothing could have derailed her train of thought faster than the simple messages her senses are sending her, leaving her with one overriding thought as she takes in her surroundings, on a conscious level this time: What the FRAG?

Soft, silken sheets cover and caress her body, enveloping her in their smooth embrace. Pale moonlight illuminates the room through the windows and double French doors, which apparently lead out to some sort of balcony. Glancing around the room, Alleycat surmises that it’s some sort of bedroom, probably of a very well to do family, definitely modern, but with a classic throwback appeal to it. Stylish furniture, some of it even real wood apparently judging from its aura, decorates the room, and the four-poster bed is large enough to fit two quite comfortably.

A sudden noise catches her attention, and she turns quickly to see that the bed does, indeed, hold two. Lying next to her, breathing quietly and rhythmically, is a male elf, apparently Caucasian, but it’s hard to tell in the moonlight. And a sudden stab of fear catches her in the chest as she realizes that she knows this elf. How, she has no idea, but she knows beyond a doubt that he’s someone she’s seen, met before, somewhere, sometime, someplace.

Reaching out instinctively to take a pulse, to determine if he’s sleeping, drugged, or simply faking, she feels a strange, unfamiliar weight on her left hand as she extends her fingers towards his throat. The moonlight catches upon the item, and she gasps suddenly at what appears to be a very large, very expensive, and very beautiful diamond ring on her left hand. On the fourth finger of her left hand.

Stirring, the elf props himself up on an elbow, and blinks at her sleepily. “Still awake my love? You always were a light sleeper.” Arching his neck towards her, her reflexes kick in as she automatically lashes out with her right hand, doing her best to keep him away from her. Completely unconcerned, the elf easily catches her wrist and pulls her towards him, smiling.

She instinctively mounts him, and strikes with her left, before she realizes that is exactly what he wants. Deflecting her left arm out wide before circling it into an overhook, he pulls her close and whispers, “Feeling frisky tonight my dear?” She tries to respond, tries to pull away, anything to combat the sudden onslaught of vulnerability, and even worse, of intimacy she feels with this man.

He’s too strong, and apparently used to this, because despite the smoothness and skill he displayed mere seconds ago in deflecting her assault, he pulls her close to him, holding her body close to his, before kissing her tenderly on the lips. They’ve done this before, and recently it seems, because she can still taste herself on his lips, and, she realizes with a start, can taste him on hers.

Suddenly, casually, the elf uses the trapped arm to flip her onto her back in a classic Brazilian Jiu-jitsu sweep, and pins her body to the bed with his own. She’s never felt so vulnerable, so intimate with someone before, and the sudden rush of emotion assaults her every sense. Even her olfactory senses aren’t safe from the sensual assault on her body, as he begins nuzzling her neck, and she can smell his cologne, his scent, as his arousal telegraphs his desire for her. And she can feel her body responding in kind, can feel somewhere in her mind that she’s supposed to want this for some reason.

Murmuring softly into her ear while he kisses her neck, the elf’s words floor her, as he whispers, “I love you Talia , my darling wife.”

[Sedna]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

No brainer, probably, if "Mr Kitty" hadn't already made it absolutely clear that she doesn't know anything -- [laugh] he/she/it is right, of course, but not in the way he/she/it thinks -- but she's curious to find out what they think qualifies. In any case, she's never been one to turn away from the worst. It's far more trustworthy.

So I'm married to -- I can't tell -- Legoran? The auras are oddly distorted here, she can't tell for sure. Doesn't matter really. He's said and done enough that she knows how to respond to him, so deeply trained that her body responds automatically even to the light suggestion of sought-out violence, she'll play with him and fulfill his expectations as she's done with so many before --

But something's off, here. She's supposed to want this.

These ... feelings ... vulnerability? intimacy? They don't belong, not at all. The scent of him fills her, and sends her tottering toward the edge of a cliff she'd never known existed, shivering with the need to escape him, escape this. But physically, she can't, not without risking true injury to one or both of them; and mentally --

How deep does training go? Does it allow her to fall back into her learned responses, escape back into the predictable patterns? And if she can't: how easy, how very simple, just to take that single step, escape into a permanent oblivion?

[Sedna]

16:24:00 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Auburn, Jonah's building

She shakes her head: "Sorry, no. I've never even seen a picture of him. But I don't think he'd have gone to him anyway. Maybe his brother though -- he sounded delighted to find out he had a brother last year. But you know, he never mentioned his name." Something whips her head around then, something that sounded like a crash waiting to happen. "Uh --"

In the meantime Dragon's gotten the fridge out of the way -- no traps, just a sudden fridge-sized space created amid all the ruined crockery and spoiling food -- and the piece of paper flutters free. Unbending it carefully, he discovers a common photobooth photostrip of two guys fooling around, tossled hair, visual gags. One, slight, Japanese-looking, seems a bit uncomfortable, like he's still learning to enjoy this kind of thing. He's the one in a necklock in one of the pictures. The other, dark-haired, Caucasian, robust, already solid and on the edge of stout, is clearly the initiator of these hijinks.

Dragon pauses, stares more closely at the photograph. No, he'd definitely seen it: in one of the pictures where the bigger man's fist ended up uncomfortably close to the camera lens, two light, almost unnoticeable, parallel scars. It's not a piece of cyber he'd ever seen before -- it's far from a common thing in military circles -- but he's willing to make an educated guess that the man has cyberspurs.

He turns the photostrip over. Nothing. Oh well. That would have been too easy. Wonder if Virgil got anything on this?

[WinterRat1]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

Maybe that’s what frightens her most of all. She wants to take that step, wants to go over the cliff and lose herself in these strange feelings and sensations that make her feel warm and…safe. The elf raises himself off of her, just slightly, in response to subtle shifting of her body to readjust his weight more comfortably on her. “Better?” he asks. She nods in response, and as he moves slightly to ease himself back down onto her, the moonlight illuminates his face. It’s not Legoran , but… Sivalius ?

Her shock that such a chance encounter could lead to…this vision, for lack of a better word, immediately leads her to think that perhaps there was more significance to that encounter at the Paradigm Shift than she initially ascribed to it. Before she can contemplate this further, her skin tingles and is awash with anticipation as he gently begins running his hands up and down her body. He continues his assault on her senses by lightly kissing her face, lips, ears, and neck, a trail of kisses designed to tease, arouse, and enrapture.

Talia (for that is almost how she cannot help but view herself at this point, despite her best efforts and training) moans softly and begins running her hands up and down his back, feeling his taut muscles against her hands, and starting to lose herself in his embrace. She’s sure she’s never been here like this with him before. She’s sure she’s been here like this with him before.

Nibbling gently on her ear, he breathes, “We do have time tonight my dear, and you definitely have my attention.” He pauses, shifts his weight, and allows the sudden pressure against her inner thigh to register, then deliberately looks down before gazing into her eyes again and completing his pun with a smile, “All of my attention.”

[Sedna]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

It's a two-fold shock of cold water, seeing his face. You're not Sivalius. I don't think. A wry addition: If you are, I'm in bigger trouble than I thought.

The unfamiliar feelings of warm and safe clash horribly with every instinct she has, disrupting and enhancing sensation. Instinct is allowing her to continue with this, but only within structure she doesn't have. Instinct is shrieking at her to distance her mind from this, whatever the cost. Instinct seeks escape from the incomprehensible, any escape. Nowhere in all her instinct is there a template for just letting herself go with it. That's always been for other people to have, and for her to use.

Her tongue is supposed to say something like "Mmm, that's nice." Her throat's far too constricted for her to choke out a single word: and even if she could have managed it, she has no idea what she'd say. Lost, spinning, maddened: it's a very real effort to step aside from the very real and increasingly desirable option of death-oblivion -- one or both, it really wouldn't have mattered. With my luck, I'd be trapped here forever. That's not the way out.

What would it cost, after all, just to go with it?

Only everything I am.

There's no question in her of half-measures, of pretense: this is an all or nothing deal. This is something she can understand. One commits the whole of one's life, or one abandons. Forks untaken cease to exist. She, Talia, is balanced on the cusp of Sivalius' full attention, and if she steps aside now, that fork will cease to exist. Step through the portal or not, knowing the chance won't come again.

Think of it as a new direction of study in human nature.

That thought, and the nervous, half-insane giggle evoked by it, shatters the barriers holding her back from taking that single step and following sensation and being swept along with it; and, in that moment of non-thought, outside, ex-stasis: Hmm, that was an interesting interpretation.

[grendel]

21:53:35 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

"It is not so much to ask, weighed in the grand scheme of things. It is, perhaps, an impossible question, though. Which is why I enjoy it. More often than not, when I ask it of people, they respond with what job they hold, or what career field they're in. Why? Do people find comfort in such labels? Do they define themselves by what they do for monetary compensation? I find it hard to believe that introspection is such a painful exercise that people must resort to external influences to place themselves in convenient, easy to understand catagories. I think most people are afraid of what they will find when they look inside themselves."

Byron leans close, resting his chin on his hand while he stares at the liquid swirling sluggishly in his wine glass. It's as if he's thinking out loud for the most part, and he only raises his eyes to pin Cosmo with their dark piercing gaze as he finishes.

[paul_HArkonen]

16:49:15 Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Home
continued from Salvation

The line went dead leaving Blaze groggy but awake. I'm not gonna be able to get back to sleep, so I might as well get up. Sliding off the side of his bed Blaze opened himself to the Astral. Blaze's home was surrounded by a paper thin wall of astral energy designed to let him see out, but not let others see in. His eyes ran over every crevace of that wall, checking for cracks or holes. It was still intact, the light red glow from it pervasive inside the area of his home. Looking around Blaze found what he was looking for. The Leaopard form of his watcher sat curled up in the bed behind Blaze, looking for all the world as if it was asleep.

"My firend, I need your help once again. " Reaching his astral and physical hand down he slowly peted the large cat. "Do you remember the Woman I sent you out to look for before?" The watcher shook it's own head, waking from it's sleep. Purring softly while Blaze pet him it nodded it's assent. "That's good. I need you to find her again for me. Can you do that?" Stretching itself on the chunk of matter that was the bed's astral form the watcher growled it's assent. "Thank you. When you find her, please deliver this message, wait for her response, and then return to me." The spirit's ears perked up and rotated forward to better listen to Blaze's message. "This is your cousin, George. Margret asked me to try and find you. If you get this please send a return message with where I find you with this watcher. I hope I can find you, and that you are still safe." Scratching the spirit's head once again Blaze sent him on his way. "Leopard's speed and grace be with you."

Setting his physical body down on the bed, Blaze stepped fully into the astral world. As he pulled free from his body his hands elongated, growing claws, as his feet did the same. His face stretched slightly and his eyes narrowed into almonds with a golden center. Leaving his meat body behind Blaze floated through the paper thin wall of his home to stretch himself in the astral world, as well as the physical.

Leting himself go Blaze zipped out of the city at the speed of thought. Heading towards the few untouched forests of the NAN Territories his spirit became more and more like a full leaopard. Aproaching the edge of the vibrent auras of the forest he had become fully leopard. The bright green of the trees mixed with the blues of the birds and the red of the fish inside a creek. The auras of that life beckonded and he let himself be lost in the spirit of the animal, for at least a short time he was able to forget the worries of the human world and enjoy the vibrent life of the trees.

After 15 minutes Blaze returned to his body. Sliding back into the human realm he stood up, and began cleaning himself up. Standing in front of the mirror he began trying to think of what he should say to Max after such a long time.

[WinterRat1]

16:25:00 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Auburn, Jonah's building

After a last sweep of the apartment to make sure he didn't miss anything that might prove remotely useful, looking especially for any information that might lead them to either of the two guys in the photo, Dragon heads back out where Virgil is conversing with the woman. Motioning his partner away from the woman for a moment so as not to tip the woman off to anything, he conceals the photo with his body from the woman and mutters, "Hey, I found this. Is either one of these guys Jonah, and who do you think the other guy might be?"

He frowns for a moment, and contemplates a third possibility. "Alternatively, if neither of these guys is Jonah, who do you think these two are?"

[WinterRat1]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

The nervous giggle is suddenly, abruptly, cut short by a gasp of pleasure, as Sivalius (she is still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the word 'husband') makes good on his word to devote his full attention to her. Although she is far from an inexperienced lover, even the concept of that word, lover, seems different now.

For her, sex has always been nothing but one of many tools in her arsenal. A means to an end, an option to be considered appropriately for its potential uses, and used when most effective and set back in the toolbox when it is no longer needed.

But this is different. There are no games, no hidden meanings, no double entrendes, no agendas. He loves her, deeply, truly, and from the heart, in every way that matters. She can feel it. She knows it. The intimacy, the warmth, the safety...concepts so foreign to every aspect of her being, and here, in a moment, she feels them all at once, flowing from him to wrap their arms around her in a loving, tender embrace.

Her body had already begun responding, her mind had begun to be swept up in the moment, but now...now her heart had begun to melt under the sudden rush of emotions. Emotions that she had known the words for, understood the technical definitions of what the words meant, but yet held no true personal meeting to or for her.

Urgently, desperately, Talia raises her head to kiss him, to taste him, to express to him with actions what she is completely unable to put into words. Their kiss is fierce, passionate, this is nothing new to her. But intimate, trusting, loving, seeking to give, not to take. This...this is something she has never experienced from a lover, nor given to a lover before.

And then the dam breaks. Unable any longer to maintain the iron self-discipline that has defined her existence for as long as she can remember, she gives herself fully, body, mind, soul, and spirit to him, to Sivalius, to...her husband. Yes, that word feels good...husband.

Passion rises sharply, and time becomes a concept relegated strictly to the land of an irrelevant fact as they lose themselves entirely within one another. Gradually, passion reaches its inevitable culmination, and again, the difference is stark to Talia. There are no post coital games, or teasing, or hints of things withheld that may yet come.

Lying with her back to him, nestled snugly in his embrace, Talia feels a strange sensation she has rarely, if ever, felt. She can only describe it as peace, contentment, two more words that had little definition in her life outside of a textbook one. Nuzzling her neck, he...no, her husband whispers affectionately, "All these years, and every moment with you is something I cherish every second of."

She turns to face him, but the usual responses she would employ to encourage his attention die on her lips, unspoken, consumed by the small, but growing, flames of genuine affection and feeling for him. Looking into his eyes, she sees as well that there is no need. What she would ascribe as empty words to most carry the simple, but undeniable weight of the truth.

In reply, she simply eases him onto his back and cuddles up to him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his steady breathing on her hair. He reaches up almost absently to stroke her hair, and after a few moments she turns to face him, her cheek resting on his chest.

Looking deeply into her eyes, he says three simple words, words that must have been uttered by countless billions throughout time. Three simple words, that for all the times she's heard them, have never frozen her like they have now. Striking in both their simplicity and depth, they carry more with them than she ever would have believed possible. Placing upon her once again, the weight of a decision, the choice of her response to those three simple words that she must make.

"I love you."

[Morgannah]

21:54:40 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo smiled slowly beneath the force of his gaze, the subtle arch of her back becoming a silent invitation as she drew him out, bit by bit. He was absolutely irresistible .. but that didn't mean that she couldn't play with him a bit as well. Her eyes turned a shade darker but sparkled no less brilliantly.

"In most cases, I'd be inclined to agree with you. There is a certain comfort that comes along with 'easy' labels; something readily identifiable that requires no true effort .. a serial number, if you will." She takes another small sip of water to calm her racing pulse before continuing.

"For others, I find, the issue has less to do with introspection than the ability of their peers to accept truths for what they are and look no further. It can be more painful, as I understand it, to share these truths and be feared, reviled even. Most people are not prepared to deal with the consequences of what they request."

[grendel]

21:55:17 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Byron laughs, drinking from his wineglass again.

"Fear and pain, two of the least understood emotions. But you shouldn't fear anything from me, no judgments are passed here." He leans forward, accepting Cosmo's invitation.

"So tell me, sweet Meaghan, tell me all of your secrets."

[Morgannah]

21:55:39 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Well you see, Byron, I'm actually a killer, an assassin, I think, trained by a clandestine organization that vanished almost overnight. They took me in when I was barely fourteen years old and taught me how to blend in with high society, I think to kill high profile targets. Yes, I said "I think" because I don't really know for sure. Hadn't you guessed that I'm missing a few of my memories? No? Imagine that...

A soft chuckle slipped out as she held the cool goblet to her lips for a moment. Cosmo smiles archly.

"What makes you think I have any secrets to tell, Byron?"

[grendel]

21:55:56 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

"All women have secrets, Meaghan, it's what makes them so alluring. The only eternal mystery in life is Woman."

A flash of lasciviousness ignites within Byron's dark eyes, shuttered and banked almost as soon as Cosmo sees it. His hunger is up, now, sensing that she is witholding information, possibly playing games with him.

"Beautiful women always have secrets to tell."

[Morgannah]

21:56:19 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

"I wonder how .. " she pauses to smile up at him warmly, her eyes alight with invitation, "alluring I would remain if I did as you asked and told you everything."

Long slender fingers set the glass of icewater on the table, idly caressing the goblet's stem as she leans a fraction closer, warming to this game of theirs.

"Mmmm, and what's the value of a secret if it's to be given away so effortlessly?"

[grendel]

21:56:32 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Byron laughs.

"Too true. Anything worth having is worth fighting for. Shall we spar then, sweet Siren? Shall I chase you like Apollo after Daphne?"

The two of them are well within lethal range and each knows it, Cosmo can feel the heat from his skin. The inertia of the moment is growing, almost irresistable, as they spiral towards the inevitable conclusion to this dance.

"No god will save you when I catch you, sweet Siren," he whispers, his voice throaty with promise and possibility, his dark eyes aflame.

[Morgannah]

21:56:18 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo's smile deepens into a devilish grin as his throaty threat sends a delicious shudder to the tips of her toes.

"Oh?" She purrs, the tip of her tongue, wildly pink, darting out to whet a plump lower lip.

"And what of a devil?"

[grendel]

21:56:41 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

The smile that graces Byron's lips reminds Cosmo that Satan was once the greatest of all angels.

"Abashed the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her own shape how lovely; saw And pined his loss. But enough, we have settled the stakes in this game, what shall the challenge be? Pistols at dawn? Or something a little more survivable?"

His dark gaze slides from one side of the room to the other, cataloging everything present, weighing the possibilities. Moments later he fixes it once more upon her, intense and fiery.

"Let this be the challenge: one riddle a piece. Whomever answers correctly shall win our battle of wills."

[Morgannah]

21:57:06 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

She draws a soft breath, releasing it as a sigh. Had she ever seen such a beautiful male? Cosmo chuckled and wondered if it would be possible to "lose" in a contest such as this but her competitive spirit asserted itself; she would try to win and let the cards fall where they would.

"Very well, then." Her gaze turned sultry as she leaned forward, her lips no more than a hairsbreadth from the mysterious coil of his ear. Her voice, warm and throaty, was barely above a whisper.

"You can have me but cannot hold me;
Gain me and quickly lose me.
If treated with care I can be great,
And if betrayed I will break.
What am I?"

[Sedna]

16:26:02 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Auburn, Jonah's building

"The guy in the headlock," Virgil answers at once, absolutely certain. That slight sense of awkwardness in an extroverted situation, of trying to learn to like, merges perfectly with what he'd picked up from Cindy. "But I don't recognise the other person at all. And they don't look like they're related ...?"

"Hmm," says Dragon. Virgil maybe suspects something, but we'd better not make waves about asking. If this is a lead to Jonah, we could also be leading others right to him.

[Sedna]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Beneath the Pale Moonlight

She can't say it.

Why not? Truth is relative, and what's another lie? She knows what she should say, what she's supposed to say, what -- in this reality -- she apparently wants to say, what's supposed to be "real": but the words stick in her throat.

She doesn't belong here. She doesn't belong here.

[WinterRat1]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Someone's Thinking of You

And that’s the damnable misery of it all. What’s the fragging point of showing her all this, of putting her in these situations? She doesn’t belong here, so why is she here? What exactly is it that she’s supposed to be afraid of here anyway? Her mind is racing a mile a minute, wondering what Sivalius will say when she doesn’t respond. She expects…what? Rejection? Anger? Hurt? Isolation?

But she receives none of those things. Instead, he just leans forward and kisses her on the forehead, and says, “It’s ok. I know after all these years, the words still come hard for you. It’s ok. One day, you’ll be able to say with your mouth what you always say to me with your heart.” Affirmation? Acceptance? Patience? Even…the possibility of unconditional love? What is this place anyway? Who is this guy? What the frag is going on? Is this supposed to be a nightmare or a fantasy?

A tired yawn escapes from her lips and in response, her husband smiles. Pulling her close to him, they drift off to sleep, in contented slumber as fatigue overtakes her, and as her eyes flutter closed, the only thing on Talia’s mind is one simple concept: peace.

She awakes some time later, and Sivalius is gone. The sun is blocked by thick, heavy curtains that he apparently must have closed before he left, since they were open the night before. That small, caring gesture of his sensitivity towards her needs touches yet another cord in her heart. How could this guy know so much about me? How could he care so much about me? Does someone like him really exist?

Shaking her head, she sternly reminds herself that this isn’t real, that she doesn’t belong here, that he doesn't exist. But part of her knows that Sivalius is real, at least to a certain extent, and does exist, in another world. Still, that is neither here nor there. Apparently she’s still here in this bedroom, and she has to decide what exactly she’s going to do with herself now; since apparently this isn’t over yet, she may as well figure out what to do next.

[Sedna]

?? : ?? : ?? - Saturday, January 6, 2063 - Someone's Thinking of You

Despite the enforced languor, she comes awake all at once. She always has. Even all these years with Sivalius --

She cuts herself off abruptly. There were no years with Sivalius, not in her reality. She's choosing to play by the rules of this one for the time being, but that doesn't change the basic fact.

Idly she wonders where he's off to today.

Up. Awareness of the sun is a deep thing in her, knifing longing ache that sometimes borders on pain. Four strides take her to the curtains, a sharp movement flings them open. After that, it will be the door.

[grendel]

21:58:14 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS

Shutters close behind his eyes, turning them momentarily blank and featureless as he contemplates her question. Then, slowly at first, but with growing conviction the dark fire returns to his gaze. He smiles, a wicked, hungry, triumphant smile. He lets his fingers trail down the back of her hand, his touch light and soft, before turning his face to hers. His lips are close enough that she can taste the merlot on his breath.

"Trust," he replies, lingering just long enough for the fires burning beneath her skin to threaten to rage out of control. Drawing back, he lays out nine white sugar packets on the table.

"You've been given nine marbles that all look identical to one another, but one of them is lighter, being made of steel instead of lead. Your task is determine which one of them is the light marble by using only to weighings on a balance."

Byron rests his butter knife on the raised elbow of his fork, forming a crude balance beam.