11-26-2013, 10:12 AM
Tony's grimace shot Claire with a new wave of concern. They were breaching the casual bonds of empathy, and were approaching a well of straight up worry. Claire may tug the threads of her puppets with an experienced hand, but that wasn't to say she was unfeeling of the effects.
She swallowed, hesitant to touch him, but also to bring it up. He behaved as though the reaction was not unexpected. Which led Claire to believe his ails were longstanding. Was it the Sickness? Or something else entirely? Most importantly, how does one find the answer?
She swung both directions. It made her bangs fall erratically across her eyes, which she fished from view with a practiced sweep of the hand she barely knew she was doing. "First you're going to have to tell me where we're going."
She could very well punch in an address and get simple directions to the location, or he could lead the way. She didn't care which, but if he did take the lead, that was not equivalent to her not paying attention to how they got there.
She kept pace with him. Neither leading ahead nor dawdling. Whatever discomfort kept doubling him over, she wasn't going to push him to speeds beyond his ability. She detested the sounds of vomiting. Just the idea of it and her stomach flopped.
Theirs had certainly been a more than unusual conversation. It had distanced far from where they started, and curiously, Tony was uninterested in the fact that she had followed them. Uninterested in the why of it. That only heightened Claire's need to know the why of it herself. She would have made a good spy .. like the heroine in some best-selling novel. Instead, she was stuck with a mysterious lineage, witchcraft, and strolling the Moscow streets with a handsome stranger. Okay, so her life wasn't that dull.
She had plenty of questions, and no shortage of words to formulate them, but Claire occasionally turned contemplative. She was hardly an introvert, but there was much to consider, and she liked to plan out every step before leaping stone to stone over treacherous waters.
One of the many bangles had fallen low on her wrist where it dangled at her side, and she began to entwine between her fingers a long feather which hung there. It belonged to a blue jay, the sort of bird with a bright blue plume dotted with soft white streaks. It matched the color of her biker's jacket, and the smokey set of her eyes, but its selection was hardly for fashion. One might say the color of her attire was shaped to match the accessory rather than the other way around.
So far, theirs had been a very shallow interaction. They discussed intimate secrets, yet she did not so much as know Tony's last name or anything else about him really. The flirtation had passed, however. Dulled by the reminder of harsh realities: sickness, death, conspiracy, and pain. It was hard to recapture the moment when she'd teased him about the exchange of phone numbers.
There was something that bothered her. Finally, it formulated itself into a question. "You keep saying you are aware I have 'powers'."
She shot him a suspicious glance. "So I am psychic, and I told you that freely. In fact, I have nothing to hide about it, and in New York made a good living off it. But you seem to imply something more than that. What? And why?"
She swallowed, hesitant to touch him, but also to bring it up. He behaved as though the reaction was not unexpected. Which led Claire to believe his ails were longstanding. Was it the Sickness? Or something else entirely? Most importantly, how does one find the answer?
She swung both directions. It made her bangs fall erratically across her eyes, which she fished from view with a practiced sweep of the hand she barely knew she was doing. "First you're going to have to tell me where we're going."
She could very well punch in an address and get simple directions to the location, or he could lead the way. She didn't care which, but if he did take the lead, that was not equivalent to her not paying attention to how they got there.
She kept pace with him. Neither leading ahead nor dawdling. Whatever discomfort kept doubling him over, she wasn't going to push him to speeds beyond his ability. She detested the sounds of vomiting. Just the idea of it and her stomach flopped.
Theirs had certainly been a more than unusual conversation. It had distanced far from where they started, and curiously, Tony was uninterested in the fact that she had followed them. Uninterested in the why of it. That only heightened Claire's need to know the why of it herself. She would have made a good spy .. like the heroine in some best-selling novel. Instead, she was stuck with a mysterious lineage, witchcraft, and strolling the Moscow streets with a handsome stranger. Okay, so her life wasn't that dull.
She had plenty of questions, and no shortage of words to formulate them, but Claire occasionally turned contemplative. She was hardly an introvert, but there was much to consider, and she liked to plan out every step before leaping stone to stone over treacherous waters.
One of the many bangles had fallen low on her wrist where it dangled at her side, and she began to entwine between her fingers a long feather which hung there. It belonged to a blue jay, the sort of bird with a bright blue plume dotted with soft white streaks. It matched the color of her biker's jacket, and the smokey set of her eyes, but its selection was hardly for fashion. One might say the color of her attire was shaped to match the accessory rather than the other way around.
So far, theirs had been a very shallow interaction. They discussed intimate secrets, yet she did not so much as know Tony's last name or anything else about him really. The flirtation had passed, however. Dulled by the reminder of harsh realities: sickness, death, conspiracy, and pain. It was hard to recapture the moment when she'd teased him about the exchange of phone numbers.
There was something that bothered her. Finally, it formulated itself into a question. "You keep saying you are aware I have 'powers'."
She shot him a suspicious glance. "So I am psychic, and I told you that freely. In fact, I have nothing to hide about it, and in New York made a good living off it. But you seem to imply something more than that. What? And why?"