08-18-2013, 01:14 PM
Jaxen certainly glanced twice at the hovering drinkware. Enough that he crossed his foot up and across the opposite knee and settled back in the chair, one finger tapping the glass thoughtfully, as though trying to determine whether or not to believe his own eyes.
The saner parts of his head told him it was a trick. These guys were good. Too good. The cynical part of him rolled his eyes studiously to the ceiling, seeking evidene of whatever invisible fiber-wire was intricate enough to float shit around the room. Spandexed cirque du soleil freaks could fly around the ceiling. Why not vodka? Super fast burning lighter fluid that could consume a body in seconds. Sure! Didn't they use that kind of stuff on space station incinerators? The floating in mid air thing was harder to rationalize, but Jaxen could soar through randomized laser grids without tripping an alarm, but that was more like parkour than finger waggling, Ouija board bullshit. His eyes narrowed while Tony went about this latest showmanship. The rational part of his mind was exhausted. He took another drink and listened without interruption.
The sickness huh? His fingers advanced from thoughtful tapping to considerable drumming. Luck. He thought back to the lock that opened in his hands the night he escaped Baccarat. He thought of the ache still burning the back of his throat from last night's puking party. If that was the Sickness, and it was suppose to get worse, well Jaxen wasn't too keen on sticking around long enough to learn how things could possibly get worse. Supposed he could have shit his pants and spewed out both ends? Let his eyeballs drain out of his sockets? Tossed in a pit and be mauled by snakes? He shivered at the sudden insertion of imagery seemingly out of no where. A part of him would prefer those former fates to the latter; fucking snakes.
Lovely. He took another drink.
Tony enlightened him with details. No snakes. Thankfully only convulsions, violence, and screaming yourself to death.
"Oh? That's all?"
Jaxen smirked and shook his head, but he wasn't quite as dismissive of the notion this time.
"So this -- what'd you call it? Power? -- you can't use it to magick up some chips or something can you? Now that'd be handy."
The joke to his voice contradicted the narrowness of his gaze. Was he was seriously considering these jokers? He glanced thoughtfully at Michael.
"So you two survived it huh? What do you have to do? Affordable monthly payments to your favorite neighborhood cult? This involve killing a chicken? Or chanting? Because I'm all for not dying,"
he swept his hands through the air, "but I have to draw the line somewhere."
The saner parts of his head told him it was a trick. These guys were good. Too good. The cynical part of him rolled his eyes studiously to the ceiling, seeking evidene of whatever invisible fiber-wire was intricate enough to float shit around the room. Spandexed cirque du soleil freaks could fly around the ceiling. Why not vodka? Super fast burning lighter fluid that could consume a body in seconds. Sure! Didn't they use that kind of stuff on space station incinerators? The floating in mid air thing was harder to rationalize, but Jaxen could soar through randomized laser grids without tripping an alarm, but that was more like parkour than finger waggling, Ouija board bullshit. His eyes narrowed while Tony went about this latest showmanship. The rational part of his mind was exhausted. He took another drink and listened without interruption.
The sickness huh? His fingers advanced from thoughtful tapping to considerable drumming. Luck. He thought back to the lock that opened in his hands the night he escaped Baccarat. He thought of the ache still burning the back of his throat from last night's puking party. If that was the Sickness, and it was suppose to get worse, well Jaxen wasn't too keen on sticking around long enough to learn how things could possibly get worse. Supposed he could have shit his pants and spewed out both ends? Let his eyeballs drain out of his sockets? Tossed in a pit and be mauled by snakes? He shivered at the sudden insertion of imagery seemingly out of no where. A part of him would prefer those former fates to the latter; fucking snakes.
Lovely. He took another drink.
Tony enlightened him with details. No snakes. Thankfully only convulsions, violence, and screaming yourself to death.
"Oh? That's all?"
Jaxen smirked and shook his head, but he wasn't quite as dismissive of the notion this time.
"So this -- what'd you call it? Power? -- you can't use it to magick up some chips or something can you? Now that'd be handy."
The joke to his voice contradicted the narrowness of his gaze. Was he was seriously considering these jokers? He glanced thoughtfully at Michael.
"So you two survived it huh? What do you have to do? Affordable monthly payments to your favorite neighborhood cult? This involve killing a chicken? Or chanting? Because I'm all for not dying,"
he swept his hands through the air, "but I have to draw the line somewhere."