Calling in Favours

[Oriena]

There were many places in the city - and outside it - that Ori visited regularly, a web of connections and refuges utterly diverse in spectrum, from the glittery upper echelons of Moscow to its shadowy underbelly. A thousand tailored masks greeted a thousand faces; she rooted herself into both affection and trust, and used the resultant friendships ruthlessly. Until they broke, as they so often did, and her mastery became not friendship but, quite often, bribery. People were easy to discard when she cared for so few of them, and if they were easy to deceive then she considered it their own fault. She only ever used their own sins against them.

Whatever her many acquaintances thought of her, if any of them truly were fond of her dry smirks and sharp tongue, then for her part it was purely business. She played a role; she smiled, joked, flirted, and offered the selectiveness of her company like a guarded secret. It was the consciousness of the time, the need to feel superior, to feel important, to feel unique. It made her fucking despair, but it was so effortless to exploit. Few were perceptive enough to see beyond the smoke and mirrors, to realise how little sincerity coated her charm. Of those that did, Oriena found the sparse individuals that catalysed an actual interest, however often it turned out to be short lived.

Gus didn't quite fall into that category, but he was one of the few people in which she placed a modicum of trust. His bar - and actually, it had no name above the door - was a place she felt comfortable, and if its clientèle erred towards the brash side it had never particularly bothered her. He'd scowled when she'd leaned against the bar, and scrutinised her black eye - or what remained of it - with the same displeasure as Carmen, though unlike her he saw fit to make comment. "The fuck did that?" The swelling had gone, and the bruising had faded to mottled shades of grey and green. It no longer twinged with every flutter in her expression, so she smirked darkly and pressed the bottle of cheap beer he passed her to her lips. He got no explanation, of course. She didn't owe him one, and he wasn't vying to protect her honour or anything so absurdly overprotective. Ori liked that about him. When fights broke out in his establishment he diffused them with strict efficiency. He took no sides. He saw no victims. The quick gleam of his smile as she walked off, the bark of laughter that followed, suggested that he probably understood she had deserved it.

The pool table had the best view of the door, so it was where she'd stationed herself. Ingratiating herself with the current players wasn't challenging; men slightly glazed with booze were the easiest to wrap through her fingers, and they seemed happy enough to watch her stretch out across the table. She wasn't dressed for occasion, but tight jeans tucked into leather bike boots made an invite of her curves. Every so often dusky blue eyes glanced up, but otherwise she was concentrating on kicking their asses. And waiting.

Ori had called in some favours.

[[Open thread]]