06-28-2014, 07:28 AM
She watched Claire's playful retreat. A shipwreck smile curled her lips, sparking chaos in her eyes. "Both, sweetheart."
She was aware of the heated eyes of their audience, and the boys' reaction only exacerbated her provocativeness. A hint of feral touched her seduction; the faded black eye and motorcycle boots juxtaposed against feminine curves and a decadent command over her allure. Ever the exquisite performer, the tease of a smile greeted Viktor's loss of the table. A blush crept up his neck, half hidden by his collar.
She was not as naturally a skilled player as Claire; she'd been cheating to win the previous games, to maintain her place at the table and thus her advantageous eye on the door. Despite the monetary stakes, her interest in winning this game - at least the one of pool - was thin; she had her eye on other prizes, fuelled by an exhilarating recklessness that supplanted every promise she'd ever made to Cara about keeping safe, staying hidden. The light rushed into her veins, catching alight in the paleness of her skin. Dusky blue eyes lifted up to Claire as she lined up the shot. Her smirk was a secret; she did not use her gift to guide the balls. The rest of the stripes sunk. The black she missed.
Ivan chuckled vindictively, drowned out by Vitkor's more good-natured whoop. "Fancy your chances, huh?"
The dare lit incitement in her eyes as she brushed passed in a vaguely confrontational manner. Ori wound him up inch by sorry inch, and revelled in every bit more she crawled under his skin. She scooped up her beer, and took a stance leaning against one of the surrounding tables. Her gaze held Claire's for several seconds, a gin playing on her lips as she pressed the bottle to her lips, before she turned her attention to watch Ivan take his turn.
Chords of light edged the balls along at odd angles; even if Claire couldn't see the mischief, she'd realise what Oriena was doing. The balls potted, one after the other, no matter how physics dictated otherwise. Viktor cheered, giddy with each ball that found its mark, "That's my buddy!"
He grinned at Claire, waving his beer bottle towards the man in question. Ivan's brows slashed down low over his brows, frowning, until the fugue of alcohol convinced him to just claim the small miracles as skill. Soon, only the black eight-ball remained.
He missed; the fucker bounded strangely off the edge of the pocket. "Mother fucker."
The game returned to Claire.
The way the black and white cue ball had "ended" on the table, a clear shot was difficult. Of course, the most difficult thing for Claire was going to be that, unless she embraced her gift, submitted to it, Oriena just wasn't going to let that ball in.
She was aware of the heated eyes of their audience, and the boys' reaction only exacerbated her provocativeness. A hint of feral touched her seduction; the faded black eye and motorcycle boots juxtaposed against feminine curves and a decadent command over her allure. Ever the exquisite performer, the tease of a smile greeted Viktor's loss of the table. A blush crept up his neck, half hidden by his collar.
She was not as naturally a skilled player as Claire; she'd been cheating to win the previous games, to maintain her place at the table and thus her advantageous eye on the door. Despite the monetary stakes, her interest in winning this game - at least the one of pool - was thin; she had her eye on other prizes, fuelled by an exhilarating recklessness that supplanted every promise she'd ever made to Cara about keeping safe, staying hidden. The light rushed into her veins, catching alight in the paleness of her skin. Dusky blue eyes lifted up to Claire as she lined up the shot. Her smirk was a secret; she did not use her gift to guide the balls. The rest of the stripes sunk. The black she missed.
Ivan chuckled vindictively, drowned out by Vitkor's more good-natured whoop. "Fancy your chances, huh?"
The dare lit incitement in her eyes as she brushed passed in a vaguely confrontational manner. Ori wound him up inch by sorry inch, and revelled in every bit more she crawled under his skin. She scooped up her beer, and took a stance leaning against one of the surrounding tables. Her gaze held Claire's for several seconds, a gin playing on her lips as she pressed the bottle to her lips, before she turned her attention to watch Ivan take his turn.
Chords of light edged the balls along at odd angles; even if Claire couldn't see the mischief, she'd realise what Oriena was doing. The balls potted, one after the other, no matter how physics dictated otherwise. Viktor cheered, giddy with each ball that found its mark, "That's my buddy!"
He grinned at Claire, waving his beer bottle towards the man in question. Ivan's brows slashed down low over his brows, frowning, until the fugue of alcohol convinced him to just claim the small miracles as skill. Soon, only the black eight-ball remained.
He missed; the fucker bounded strangely off the edge of the pocket. "Mother fucker."
The game returned to Claire.
The way the black and white cue ball had "ended" on the table, a clear shot was difficult. Of course, the most difficult thing for Claire was going to be that, unless she embraced her gift, submitted to it, Oriena just wasn't going to let that ball in.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)