09-07-2013, 11:21 AM
Truth be told, Jaxen wasn’t exactly impressed by the game. Not that he wasn’t intrigued by having power over giving Ori ultimatums. It was tempting. But neither did he shoot down the invitation immediately. The way he watched his two competitor’s interaction, he might as well be drumming fingers with the amount of contemplation he gave the issue.
Was there anything to lose in this? Other than pride, of course. A week ago - hell, a couple days ago - he’d chime on in without a second thought. But recent events left their mark. Nobody walks away from a night of listening to a broad get eaten alive without some skepticism. Then there was the whole revelation about moving shit around with your mind, astral projection, wizarding voodoo. He was still not fully convinced Tony hadn’t just laced that cereal with some new fangled liquid sunshine. Giant LSD conspiracies made more sense than this. Yep. He was in a padded room somewhere. And Oriena wasn’t some cat curling her tail around his leg; she was probably the fat orderly that spoon-fed him pudding. Jon? Jon was probably some white-coated blob holding up rorschach cards and Jax was the idiot that kept seeing teepees, feathered hats, and tomahawks. Made sense; he did have a thing for cowboy and indian flicks as a kid.
So this was probably all in his head. But if this was the blissful ignorance of illusion, he was all for swallowing the blue pill over and over again. Better than the shithole he was probably locked up in. Besides, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore.
Jon.
Nothing was shooting across the room. But that palpable presence was returned. Now that he knew Jon was the source, he couldn’t hardly take his eyes off the guy. Even when Oriena had taken to studying him with enough intensity that Jax almost felt bad for depriving her of returning the favor.
He had to know more about this guy. Was he another Tony? How far did this rabbit hole drop?
Decision made, he placed the glass - in need of a refill - on the table in order to pluck the card from Oriena’s fingers. His smirk wasn’t corrective of her question. He didn’t particularly care about winning or losing, even at the sacrifice of his pride. So long as he won the real objective at hand here.
He dropped the blank card on his knee, swiped a pen and twirled it about the tips of his fingers, intent, and extending the introspection which represented the cards in the air, so to speak. Eventually, he wrote a number, and kept it hidden until after the dice was rolled.
10.
Was there anything to lose in this? Other than pride, of course. A week ago - hell, a couple days ago - he’d chime on in without a second thought. But recent events left their mark. Nobody walks away from a night of listening to a broad get eaten alive without some skepticism. Then there was the whole revelation about moving shit around with your mind, astral projection, wizarding voodoo. He was still not fully convinced Tony hadn’t just laced that cereal with some new fangled liquid sunshine. Giant LSD conspiracies made more sense than this. Yep. He was in a padded room somewhere. And Oriena wasn’t some cat curling her tail around his leg; she was probably the fat orderly that spoon-fed him pudding. Jon? Jon was probably some white-coated blob holding up rorschach cards and Jax was the idiot that kept seeing teepees, feathered hats, and tomahawks. Made sense; he did have a thing for cowboy and indian flicks as a kid.
So this was probably all in his head. But if this was the blissful ignorance of illusion, he was all for swallowing the blue pill over and over again. Better than the shithole he was probably locked up in. Besides, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore.
Jon.
Nothing was shooting across the room. But that palpable presence was returned. Now that he knew Jon was the source, he couldn’t hardly take his eyes off the guy. Even when Oriena had taken to studying him with enough intensity that Jax almost felt bad for depriving her of returning the favor.
He had to know more about this guy. Was he another Tony? How far did this rabbit hole drop?
Decision made, he placed the glass - in need of a refill - on the table in order to pluck the card from Oriena’s fingers. His smirk wasn’t corrective of her question. He didn’t particularly care about winning or losing, even at the sacrifice of his pride. So long as he won the real objective at hand here.
He dropped the blank card on his knee, swiped a pen and twirled it about the tips of his fingers, intent, and extending the introspection which represented the cards in the air, so to speak. Eventually, he wrote a number, and kept it hidden until after the dice was rolled.
10.