Walkin' down the my street

[Oriena]

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

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


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

"Move you ass then, Sergeyev, we're leaving. I'm in need of a stronger medicine."