Not terrible

[Oriena]

He didn't know.

Or he didn't care (and really, why would he?), but ignorance would explain something else. The Atharim were in disarray, but no hounds bayed at her door demanding vengeance. Disappointing, really, even if it played to her advantage to have more time to prepare -- or at least, it was an advantage to those who would be caught in her eventual crossfire. Because Oriena would only wait so long before frustration swayed her hand to make the next bloody move. She courted war, and she would have it.

She smirked at White's stone facade. He didn't ignore her to hook a reaction; he ignored her because she was unimportant, and that distinction pleased her contrary nature in ways even she couldn't explain. Didn't they say cats always curled up in the lap of those who liked them least? "Clearly not riveting conversation, anyway."
She rolled her eyes. "Considering I'm the big bad wolf, I'd thought it's obvious what I want."


There was no boast in her confession. She glanced at Mikhail as she said it, unsmiling. But there was a glint in her eye that said she knew precisely what she was doing.

Carmen would kill her for admitting it; she knew the woman suspected her involvement from how grim her expression had been the night Ori returned stinking of smoke and with a jack o'lantern smile slashing her face. That same night Ori had given her leave to access whatever resources she deemed necessary to protect the people she loved. Ironically enough, Pervaya Iiniya's card was among the first she fluttered beneath Ori's nose, though she had brushed away the details at the time -- all in favour of letting Carmen pull the strings. Yet things had gone awry after what happened to Manix and his men.

If he didn't know, would White care to learn Jaxen used his face to unravel every security measure he'd put in place at the Baccarat? She wanted an answer to that, but perhaps not tonight. An invitation burned a hole in her pocket. Some games could wait. So she took the path of opportunity instead.

"If you've parted ways, I'm glad to know I won't have to kill you."
She said it deadpan, though it was not without the ring of truth to it either; a bare flicker of the heat that burned at the Atharim's heart in Moscow, still unsatiated. Her gaze travelled from the grazes on his knuckles up the length of his arms. Her lips razored a smile. "Or try, anyway. Though it might have been fun; I've seen you at the Almaz. I have a job to offer you, White. Or Pervaya, anyway. But it's you I want."


Scarface made a point of passing through her eye line; made a point, too, of scowling daggers at Mikhail -- though apparently didn't have the balls to act on his apparent offence beyond a few fuzzy looks. She'd felt the crawl of his eyes these last minutes, but was unperturbed by a witness. Hungry or curious or otherwise. She indulged whatever motivation tugged for her attention by watching him in return as he scooped up a boy hanging at the duke box. It had an air of business transaction about it. Clearly Yun thought the same. He might regret coveting Ori's attentions.

Her gaze dropped back to Mikhail, shared a dark hum of laughter at the ire he had attracted from the scarred stranger. "Look at you, making all these friends tonight."