Pawns in the game

[Oriena]

She didn't disagree with him. Unless it formed part of a mask, Oriena had little use for jewellery anyway. Growing up it had been a liability, inviting the scrutiny of thieves, else making for an easy target. Earrings ripped from lobes. Necklaces scoring lines of fire across throats. She had little use for the frivolity of pretty, then or now, except when it had a purpose.

Ori laughed drily, watching as the bottle lifted from the table. It still irritated her that she couldn't sense the threads she knew must be responsible. "You've been practising,"
she observed, recalling the ice-bucket's knee-jerk flight across her club. It didn't entice her to show her own hand, though she could feel it humming beneath her skin in response.

Instead it was only a smirk that ignited, devilishly sinful. She clinked her glass against his. "Fuck. Them. All,"
she agreed. A promise.