Rebirth of Slick

[Spectra Lin]

Dems strong arm snaked around her waist and started to pull her back.

Oddly, a sensation struck Spectra like sunlight on her skin. Her suspicions rankled, but she was dangerously perched far overhead. She'd search for the source when she was safely back on the bridge.

Spectra had twisted to circle her arm around his neck when she felt the creak. Her weight shifted and she felt Dems' arms tense. In a heartbeat, she was weightless. The heel of her shoe broke off in the railing. A gasp poised itself on her lips. The whites of Dems' eyes flared wide as saucers and she twisted like a snake to hang onto him.

[Marcus DuBois]

The photographer had pulled back and was busying himself with putting his camera away. His assistants scurried about putting up the lenses and reflector kits and stands and arms. Spectra had been photographed from every angle and had appeared to almost float in the middle of the mall.

Marcus sense of irritation drifted away. If he'd been struck by the pure mathematically perfect beauty of the receptionist at the Imperial Clothiers, then Spectra Lin was in a class all her own. Of course, he watched her move and knew that she was not just beautiful. She was shrewdly calculated in her movements, always aware of what drew the eye. Even as his own eyes dutifully followed and picked up on the flashes of skin peeking through her large lush coat, it was clear that she was performing. He knew of her past. He'd seen her films and the constructed artifice of her personality struck home with him. He recognized it. After all he saw it in the mirror every day. She was a living performance.

He certainly didn't begrudge her that or think less of her. So was he. Life was performance, really. His very life was one big construction, the very clothes he'd purchased yet another tool in his presentation. No one knew the real Marcus and he doubted anyone ever would, not even Ascendancy himself. And he was fine with that. What people didn't know could not be assessed.

A large muscled man, skin as dark as his own, went to Spectra to help her down from the rail. He now could see that a transparent platform had been rigged to support her while giving the illusion of her floating above the empty space below.

Somehow, with all the movement, he found himself at the front, steps from the photographer and from Spectra herself. His coat was forgotten in his hand as he watched her curiously. The platinum cloth of his vest was cool against his skin, leaving his arms and chest exposed. A chill passed through him and he felt goosebumps raise his flesh.

Spectra's assistant was leaning over the rail precariously as he helped her. Without the support of the platform, it would have been an odd angle as the rail was only at waist height and he was leaning over it. Suddenly something shifted and the man's arms went around Spectra's waist. He was leaning over the rail and while he was no doubt strong, the sudden loss of support was unexpected. Spectra's arms gripped him tightly as he tried to regain his balance.

Marcus flew forward and grabbed the man and pulled him back with one arm while the other- jacket dropped to the ground- went around Spectra's back to support her. It was only a moment and everyone seemed ok. He wasn't sure why he had acted. Even more surprising, he'd not seized the Force instead. For some reason he felt a perverse pleasure at that. It felt, in a way, that mastery of the Force was as much deciding not to use it when he chose as much as it was making it do what he wanted. He was beholden to no one and nothing, not even the Force.

The scare had been momentary for them- for him it had been just seconds- and his heart had slowed to normal quickly. "Are you both alright?"

[Spectra Lin]

Spectra was yanked abruptly backward. Slender fingers, long as roots, wound around a new pair of arms. The edge of her severely angled shoe caught the floor and her weight buckled. Fur flushed across her jaw, and her fingers dug further for support. Dems, and someone altogether new, lifted her from certain fall and sprain. Her ankles were strong from a lifetime in perilous heels.

What fear tensed her bones rigid now hissed as the rage of sunlight poured through her soul. The snarl that pulled her lips back was venomous, but the poison slid across the newcomer and impaled itself into Dems.

He immediately released her and stepped away. His brooding, muscled flesh quivered beneath Spectra's silent accusation. She held the coat closed with one hand. She'd not raise the other against him, if only to save her palm the slap of pain. Instead, power whipped out and branded the flatness of iron against his cheek.

He yelled and spun away, holding his face. He hurried off the bridge without looking back.

Spectra turned to the second of the two men, judging whether or not he was partially to blame.

Her voice shattered the air like a crowbar taken to glass. "Something else to say?"

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus and the man helped Spectra down, though with perhaps more force than necessary. The platform she'd been on now hung askew. If they hadn't gotten to her very likely she would have rolled off out into empty space.

Her beautiful face contorted in rage and she directed her anger at her assistant. Marcus found it amusing that such a big man quelled so easily under her gaze. Curiously, goose bumps covered his arms again and the man reeled as if slapped. Marcus' eyes narrowed. She hadn't touched him. The man turned with a yell and hurried away.

Suddenly that terribly beautiful face turned, the full force of her fury now directed at him. Her voice was sharp. "Something else to say?"


Marcus looked at her impassively. Her rage was impressive, of course. But he had faced rage before, Ascendancy's most recently. What was more curious to him was what he apparently had witnessed. His mind churned as he processed what he had seen. Somehow her assistant had been struck without hands, very clearly at her direction from the the way both he and she had reacted. And yet he'd felt nothing. There was none of the tell-tale menace when another called upon the Force. Of course she was a woman. Up to now, the only Force users he'd known were men. Was it possible that for women it was different? He reminded himself again about making assumptions. Was Spectra Lin, beautiful queen of media, the object of lust for so many men and quite a few women, a Force user?

But she wanted an answer? Something else to say? Very well. He was irritated at her attitude and yet intrigued at the opportunity before him. "Something else? You mean in addition to 'are you ok?' Alright."
He stepped forward so that he was right in front of her. He looked into her eyes, letting her see the anger that always churned behind them. "You're welcome."



Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 25 2014, 11:16 PM.

[Hood]

Koloman had never gotten a straight answer, but he was fairly confident White was the reason why he had landed the Spectra Lin contract. The two men got along well, considering their line of work, and while neither had any delusions of real friendship, both accepted the other was good at their job. If Koloman couldn't take a contract, White was his first suggestion.

Part of what made Pervaya so highly sought after was that they were less hands-on then other companies. Of course, that was because they were so preemptive about trouble. If they thought someone was fixing to take a shot at one of their clients, they would find the person and set them straight (or horizontal and six feet under) before it came to needing to jump into the line of a bullet bound for their client.

He shadowed Miss Lin on her daily errands, and made a point of giving the woman her space. She was a dangerous one, the sort that if crossed would see their perceived enemy destroyed. And he had little interest in being embroiled in that. He could see why White liked her. The two were of a kind in that regard, although White's hands were covered in blood, while Spectra seemed the type to have someone like Koloman do the work for her.

The day's photo shoot wasn't exactly his cup of tea. He stood a bit removed from her entourage, tired of being chastised by the photographer for getting in the way of his light, or disturbing the wind or whatever ridiculous bullshit the fruit had been rambling about, but more importantly, because Miss Lin's image did not include large, imposing bodyguards, and the image of his client was important. So he stood to the opposite side of the bridge, and watched the crowd that passed by and looking more like a guy waiting for his date then like a professional bodyguard.

It was quite the feat when a man as large as Koloman could go unnoticed in a crowd. He leaned against the rail, looking around from time to time or glancing at his watch, his Wallet, back to looking around. Too bored and relaxed to be a dangerous man. Of course there was the occasional glance Spectra's way; he was a man, after all, and the way she lounged along that narrow rail was impressive to say the least.

When the trouble finally stirred, it was not the sort that Koloman was there to counter. A simple accident, a ruined shoe and various shoot assistants panicking and rushing to her aid. Then there was a crowd, and Koloman stood from the rail. The people nearest him started in surprise, glancing up at Koloman as he strolled past and into the small crowd of sycophants and gawkers, but Koloman's gaze was locked on the man that was not one of her photographer's assistants, a man who nearly had hands on Miss Lin.

He elbowed past the photographer, and the yappy little man snapped insults at Koloman's back. Some people did not fair well in a crisis, no matter how imagined it was, so he would let the pansy little cameraman's insults go without incident. The fleeing assistant that had first come to her rescue was casually pushed out of his path; another one that apparently did not do well under pressure.

When he reached Miss Lin and the unknown man, Koloman's hand rested on the stranger's shoulder, his seemingly casual grip painfully tight, fingers pressing against the man's collarbone, and carefully eased the man back from Miss Lin. In most professional fighting circles, it was an easy grab to break free of, but a careful eye would likely notice that Koloman's other arm was partly raised, ready for a sharp jab to the stranger's ribs if he made any sudden moves to try and break free. The stranger was built for speed, but Koloman was larger, more solidly built.

"Excuse me, sir. Miss Lin needs a moment."
He studied the stranger's face a moment, having subtly stepped into the space between Marcus and Spectra, such that she was out of Marcus' line of sight and reach, but then cocked an eyebrow. A flash of recognition and he let go of Mr DuBois' shoulder. It was the American accent that confirmed it for him. It was the Ascendancy's newest Sigma that had swept in to save the day. "My apologies, Sigma Marcus DuBoiss. Yours is a new face in Moscow."
While he might have recognized Sigma Dubois, there was no hint of concern in his features.

He of course intentionally mispronounced Marcus' last name. It would give Spectra a chance to correct him, and he could become a bit of a lightning rod for any animosity that was growing between the two in their former anonymity. He had no doubt she would realize who Marcus was once Koloman had said it, and that would likely check her attitude before she caused a scene. There were, after all, many witnesses about with Wallets and cameras, although Koloman made an impressive wall against those infernal wanna-be paparazzi's.


Edited by Hood, Aug 29 2014, 10:04 PM.

[Spectra Lin]

He stepped into her circle of personal space and loomed larger than life. The shadow that Spectra was in grew black as the abyss in her heart, and light and power coiled and sparked off her skin. The claws of her supernatural senses edged toward his chest, eager to grip the beating organ within and crush it into juice.

Luckily for him, Kolomon was suddenly between them. The warning in his eyes gleamed like sharp granite and a hint of pride glinted across Spectra's gaze. The posturing reminded her of Hood, but she bore no illusions of his potential to save unless compensated for that particular purpose.

Rather than wrestle the man from her sight, Kolomon retracted, apologetic. Spectra's risen disappointment was quickly replaced with awe when she understood the reason.

A Sigma? She was not familiar enough with CCD politicians to know the magnitude of the title, but she knew it was important. Before her was a man apprenticed to the Ascendancy. And he was handsome. And young.

Spectra gasped, showing off her naiveté. The innocent mistake of a small, golden-skinned child blinked repentant eyes. Her apologetic tongue dipped honey. "Señor DuBois,"
she touched Marcus on the arm, and glared sharply at Kolomon for the breech in pronunciation. Although her own was lost in the jungle of her exotic accent, "You must forgive me. I was quite a fear, and behaved hasty. You will forgive me, sí?"

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus looked into her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror. The same rage boiled behind them. It gave him a chill and his chest and arms pebbled. A tight smile formed on his lips.

Sharp fingers dug into his shoulder and he broke his gaze to see a large man trying to pull him back. The pain was just an irritation though and he allowed himself to be moved back, the man stepping between them. His smile remained. The man could die with just a thought if he'd wanted. He did stare at the man placidly, unperturbed at the interruption. The man was doing his job and had no notion of the danger he was in if Marcus so chose. Which, of course, he would not. Not in so public a place, anyway. People milled about, no doubt taking pictures of Miss Lin and the altercation. His smile deepened.

After a moment recognition dawned on the man's face and his hand dropped as he apologized. Marcus shrugged it off as if nothing. It was Spectra he was interested in, that glimpse in the mirror.

As if a summons, she stepped to him this time, shooting a glare at her guard before adopting contrition as her garment. As always, she was stunning in what she wore.

"Señor DuBois, you must forgive me. I was quite a fear, and behaved hasty. You will forgive me, sí?"
Her accent was as entrancing as she was. Quicksilver. She was an exotic golden-scaled serpent, languorously coiled and enticing as she looked at him through those smokey pleading eyes and words forming on those luscious lips. She was deadly with her venom, ready to rip the heart out of any man stupid enough to dismiss her, her innocence a play.

Oh yes, he liked her a lot. And there was something familiar about her. Suddenly a memory came to his mind, Elena. One of his only friends back in the homes. They were both nine. She wasn't like Spectra at all, except for the accent. She had been his friend, teaching him the Spanish she knew, their secret language to communicate in Mr. Swirlin's house under his nose. It had been his mistake to use it where he heard. She had paid for that, for teaching him. And later, again, when Mr. Swirlin came to her room. Exactly the same accent as Spectra. They had continued their talks in secret. It was theirs. It was special. He smiled thinking of her, thanking her. It had been a pleasure to visit Mr. Swirlin a couple of years ago. He hadn't expected Malik. A low rumbling chuckle began in his chest. Nope, he hadn't expected to see Malik at all. It was his gift to Elena.

His smile was genuine through the low laugh and he inclined his head to her. "Por supuesto. Debo que perdonar algien como si."
Perhaps he butchered it. It had been years. Still, it didn't really matter. It felt good to feel the words on his tongue. "Your fear is quite understandable. And I apologize for being upset. I am glad you are safe now."


He took her hand- it was soft and warm- and kissed it. "I am Marcus DuBois. It is an honor to meet you."



Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 30 2014, 04:14 PM.

[Hood]

Koloman looked appropriately apologetic and he stepped away from Marcus and Spectra, calmly adjusting the jacket of his suit as he turned his gaze to the surrounding crowd. Now that the two weren't at each other's throats, it wouldn't due to disrupt any efforts being made to catch the pair together; it would do Spectra well to be seen in the company of the Sigma, and it would do the new Sigma well just to be seen out and about.

And in turn, it would do well that a member of Pervaya liniya Security seen just off the edge of some of those pictures would do the company equally well. A claim to fame, with their employees seen in the presence of someone like the Sigma.

Equally so, hopefully, Miss Lin would give him a sparkling review to his employers for helping cover that little awkward moment. Such a review would likely land him a nice little bonus, after all.

It was impressive how bold the Sigma could act in his presence; rich, pampered kids were always like that. They lived in a world were privilege and money kept them safe from any and all threats. But he had a suspicion the man could probably back it up. Sigma Dubois had the air of someone who had clawed to be where they were, and left a pile of shattered dreams in their wake. He'd probably do quite well in the CCD. And the thought of he and Spectra together? Chilling.

[Spectra Lin]

Kolomon slid away and all but dissolved from Spectra's view. She had languid eyes only for Marcus. The young Sigma transformed himself as she had, burying all animosity far away like a crocodile fading beneath swampy waters. But the memory of fury remained when Spectra peeled her palm from his luscious lips.

"Allow me to make it up to you?"
Somehow she managed to pose at just the right angle so photographers might catch the gleam of friendship blooming between them. In hours, blogs, news, and tabloids around the world would be talking about the two of them. Particularly with the way she massaged a hand down the pelt of her collar, beginning at her neck and ending at the naval.

"You know they say the Ascendancy does not eat or sleep. That he is not human, flesh and blood like you and I are, forbidden, like a curse, to maintain his youth,"
ridicule perched on the tip of her tongue, subtly inflating the great Sigma's ego, "But surely you eat and sleep and fuck?"
She leaned in to whisper a secret, "you cannot possibly be a sixty year old man also?"
She let her hand linger on his arm before briefly brushing his hip. "Let me take you to dinner. The best Moscow has to offer. I'll be good,"
she said sweetly, tugging her collar open ever so slightly and drawing a fingernail across her chest.

"Cross my heart. Hope to die."

[Marcus DuBois]

He pulled his lips away from her tiny hand and saw her peering at him through smokey eyes, all fury now veiled behind seduction, a serpent lazily uncoiling herself so that the beauty of her golden scales could glisten in a infinite number of gradations of color, stretching out sinuously, drawing the eye to every mathematically perfect curve. She was a master and he let himself appreciate the display. He did have a man's desires, after all.

She spoke, seeming unthinking as she positioned her body this way and that, the placement or movement of her hand on his arm, brushing his hip. Her body was an instrument that she played to cloud the senses. Malik slithered in his heart, hissing at him. This woman was far more shrewd and crafty than people suspected. Her manipulations were more than just the casual ones that most women used to entangle men. Hers were honed to razor sharpness, and used with the skill of a surgeon. She was dangerous.

But the danger drew him. He sensed they hungered for the same things from this world. And there was also the matter of the assistant. If she possessed the Force, then that only made her more dangerous....but also more interesting. Completely aside from his perhaps learning more about the Force, this was a person with whom he might be able find common cause. He had no illusions that she wouldn't betray him if it suited her. No more than he himself wouldn't do the same. But that didn't mean they couldn't come to some arrangement.

"You know they say the Ascendancy does not eat or sleep. That he is not human, flesh and blood like you and I are, forbidden, like a curse, to maintain his youth,"
the subtle derision clear. "But surely you eat and sleep and fuck?"
She leaned in whispering, "You cannot possibly be a sixty year old man also?"


Malik's nostrils flared, as if a new scent presented itself and he laughed softly. Opportunity. He stepped forward, his brown eyes peered into the deep green of hers, voice low and vibrant. "Indeed. Aside from possessing it for its own sake, power should be savored in every way."
He paused, eyes widening slightly, the silence emphasizing his next word. "Eaten."
He licked his lips. "Slept with."
A curve of his lips as he glanced at hers. "Fucked."


After drawing the moment out, he stepped back. "Yes. I would like that very much."
He looked down at her outfit, the near nakedness of her body peeking out through her coat. More than likely she'd change. But a mischievous thought came to Malik. "I predict, dressed as you are, that every waiter in the place will drop their trays at least once. And that, too, I would like to see."


She opened her coat slightly- the inner slope of her breast just visible- and crossed her heart, promising to be good. It was a tantalizing glimpse. His smile deepened. "Not too good I hope."


He went to his jacket and picked it up from the ground, dusting it off. "I'm ready whenever you are."