Kings of the castle

[Oriena]

A bashful man would have looked away. A licentious man would’ve shown some indication of interest; particularly a drunk one. But he didn’t smile, and he didn’t leer; just raised a brow and his drink. There were other booths to watch, if that was his thing, but there wasn’t so much heat to his gaze as simple attention. The gesture he made was more acknowledgement than anything else. Of being caught? Or something else? She could hazard a guess, and it cleared the scrutiny in her eyes to something more amused. A wry smile touched her lips as her gaze moved away. An informed audience didn’t faze her; on the contrary, it stoked her sense of humour.

Until another possibility occurred to her; a decidedly less pleasant one.

His shirt was cuff-linked neatly about his wrists, and there was no way to tell if the left sleeve hid a tattoo. If that were the case, his toast took on a macabre significance. Coolness pebbled her skin, trailing a path of fear where before there had been pleasant heat; reminding her that despite the absurdity -- despite how it often felt like little more than a dangerous flirtation with paranoia -- even within her own kingdom she had reason to be vigilant. The sentiment quickly fisted into resolve, soothed by the caress of power easily within her grasp if she needed it. She would not hide, the way Cara had. And she would not be hunted.

Karmen didn’t look particularly pleased to be subtly signalled with an empty glass –they were busy, and Oriena had legs – but her head bobbed a brief acknowledgement all the same, and her attention lingered a moment longer before being swept away with other business - as if Ori were an errant child who needed to be watched. Her refill might be a while, which she supposed was fine; her thirst had dried a little with such a sharp reminder, and she was still pleasantly numb to the frustrations that had set her on the path to Kallisti this evening in the first place. And she had other useful distractions.

In the span of those few heart-beats it felt like lead had settled in Ori’s chest, though little changed in her manner. She laughed dryly at Jaxen’s assessment of their voyeur; probably not quite the sultry agreement he could have hoped for, since it was his conceit that earned her amusement and it wasn’t an altogether kind reaction. Oh, she could have purred pretty words in his ear; offered to give their observer a show worth watching. Fuelled by alcohol, her libertine attitudes would have enjoyed both the game and the control of it. But if Ori was provocative it was on her own terms, and those terms did not include fawning. Brandish an inflated ego and she was more inclined to sink her claws in until it cried for mercy than to play nicely with it. Considering which, she was being rather well behaved.

"Dangerous taste, maybe."
And perhaps she wasn’t talking about Jaxen either, by the wry amusement in her tone. She imagined he would find the remark suggestive - there was fire in her eyes when she spoke, and promise. But her meaning touched a subject he could have no understanding of. If the man at the bar was a hunter, he’d picked a dangerous prey. Ori wasn’t the sort to shy away from confrontation, nor sit idle and let fate work her interference. She did not look at him again, but she was aware. When a question mark like that entered your head, it was a hard thing to shake off, and she suddenly understood why five years ago Cara had cornered her in that corridor and wrenched up her sleeve to see her arm. Before the evening was out, friend or foe; Oriena would be sure.

So, as she leaned back into her chair, re-crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap, she did something potentially quite stupid.

Light and heat rushed into her system, heady as the most potent drug and alighting every sense to exquisite detail. She drew almost to capacity, until it felt like every atom might tear apart in blissful destruction. A beautiful kind of pain – and one she instinctively pulled back from when she teetered right at the edge, letting the feeling settle like cool mist on parched skin. She felt invincible, and it made her more playful than predatory, the mischievousness sparking sharply in her gaze - like perhaps she was still amused at the prospect of an audience.

Power fizzed beneath her skin. Ori had some control, when she could reach the light at all, and she used it to knock Jaxen’s feet from the table.

If the man at the bar was a hunter, if he was looking for signs of anomalous behaviour, then it was a blatant message. I am not afraid. And if he wasn’t? He’d be none the wiser, and at least Jaxen’s shoes were off her bloody furniture.