A Blind Eye

[Oriena]

The fresh air enlivened Ori’s senses, spiking through her pleasant haze of intoxication. Entwined with her grasp on the warm buzz of power, it made her feel very alive. The lights illuminating Kallisti’s grand exterior punctuated the soft velvet of the night, its imposing architecture casting insignificance on the line snaking its way from the doors - or promising exclusivity, depending on how you looked at it. She paid them little mind, and the ignorance was mutual. Ahead, Jaxen had already started down the steps, and Ori followed; she wasn’t sad to leave the club and the people in it behind.

She didn’t seem fazed by the pull up of a rather ordinary cab; nor did she pause in expectation of Jaxen opening the door – for much the same reason she’d been unaffected by his abandonment of her on the stage. Lessons learnt of self-sufficiency trailed all the way back to childhood, and she was loathe to rely on others even for the smallest things. It irritated her more when those choices were taken away under the guise of manners than when guys circumvented convention to take a dig. Respect she insisted upon, but it was the respect of an equal; chivalry in men was an often empty gesture, and not something she coveted in a stranger. She wasn’t after a prince; her intentions were far baser. Still, she appreciated the game for what it was, and smirked dryly at him over the top of the cab before slipping inside.

Jaxen’s hand on her knee garnered little reaction. The faint possessiveness of it vexed, but since the cabdriver was the only witness, and he knew better than to flick his eyes to the rear-view mirror, it earned little in the way of chagrin. Otherwise it was a reticent gesture, or perhaps she was just used to a different calibre of man. Jaxen hadn’t struck her as the type for subtlety, though granted her impression was both hemmed in by such a short snippet of time in his company and the weight of a shit load of prejudice against those of his ilk. She wondered if he held onto that sense of power while he idled the fabric, if every incidental brush of flesh shuddered a sensory flood. A good reason to savour the little things; she certainly recalled the first time she’d discovered the implications of that particular enhancement.

For someone whose entire business revolved around the perfection of image, its cultivation and manufacture and sale, she was surprisingly indifferent to the surrounding opulence when they arrived. She had never belonged to this elite society, had only ever been a shadow of its underbelly, but the bright lights of wealth provided little lure - even power waned in and out of her motivations according to circumstance. She waited patiently while Jaxen sated his curiosity concerning the extra security, until they were humming up the floors in the elevator. “Weren’t invited, huh?”
For once the mock in her tone did not angle razors in the direction of his ego; she wasn’t pointing out his exclusion. Not that she was motiveless, either. Mischief edged her wayward smile; a conspirator’s smile. The question she really asked: so what are you going to do about it?

Ori wasn’t that interested in Jaxen’s décor, though she took a cursory sweep of it in a somewhat disinterested manner. There were flashes of archaic amidst the modernity, though otherwise it might have been the interior of any lavish hotel, and she had seen the inside of plenty of those. “Ostentatious,”
she remarked, straight-faced but for the barest curve of her lips. Her fingers tangled in the tie looped either side of his neck, winding in the fabric, inching herself closer. She’d let go of the power some time ago, when it had begun to burn at the outer edges and instinct had commanded her with the shrill warning of naked flame against flesh. She knew her limits; she could only hold onto it for so long in one sitting – like holding your breath – before it strained. Neither did she allow herself the luxury of submitting to it now –not yet anyway. She was as masterful at teasing herself as others.

Her lips hovered by his, and she didn’t need an enhancement of senses to feel the tug of temptation to just skip the dialogue. Her limbs felt like liquid, and heat tingled her skin. But knowledge of the party on the top floor stamped defiance on an otherwise lack of inhibition; the faint stirrings of predatory jealously. Up there, he’d be amongst his own, and she was of an all or nothing persuasion, even for a single night. “It feels like light. Every touch is magnified.”
They were alone, but the words were whispered, clandestine; she assumed he’d know exactly what she meant. Her fingers unravelled in one fluid motion as she stepped back, catching one end and slipping the tie from his neck. A devilish smile marked her retreat into his home-sweet-home; she did indeed make herself comfortable.