10-08-2013, 03:04 PM
The Sickness.
A muscle flexed in her jaw, but for now she held her silence. It was not a safe subject, and Jaxen either had nothing to fear from such blatancy or he was fucking ignorant. The only thing that prevented her from ending the whole conversation – not as the round’s judge in their petty little game, but as owner of the fucking establishment – was the way he wielded it like a taunt. Victory cast his grin sinister, like he’d just shoved Jon into the spotlight fully expecting him to make a fool of himself. Ori’s gaze squared on Jon as she sorted through her thoughts, and though her expression remained neutral there was an uncomfortable intensity to the way she stared. Not because she lay in wait like a sharp-eyed predator, but because she was wondering: why.
Jaxen’s invitation had been sudden; one minute unconcerned, the next buoyed by awe. Since then there had been so many subtle glances between the two, undercurrents Ori could sense but not fathom beyond a feeling of exclusion she’d chosen to ignore. They were strangers, of that she was sure - so how could Jaxen know that of Jon with such smug certainty? The question had an obvious answer. She wasn’t slow, even plied with drink; she’d met others of her kind. But if it were the case, why had she felt none of it? And why were they both ignorant of her? For that she had no answer, so for now she was content to let her perspective adjust to this new information. And measure the difference it made to her investment - or so far lack thereof.
Though her suspicions that Jon was a hunter had eased, her gaze still razed the flesh of his left arm as he exposed it, and she felt a grim wash of relief to have that final confirmation of his innocence. At the same time epiphany seemed to dawn on him - clearly she’d been too careless with the die. Jon knew, and if he wasn’t a hunter then it meant he had understanding no regular person had. Oriena didn’t wilt under the directness of his gaze, nor the blatant rise of his brow. Cara had always insisted they keep to themselves, but wise as it might be in the world they lived, it had always chafed. She had nothing to hide, and perhaps the only reason she didn’t lean in and smirk sly confirmation was that she wanted to witness the moment Jaxen pieced together these subtle inferences and understood exactly what she was by himself.
She sat back, entertained by the way Jon recycled her earlier words about snakes. Two years ago? That was all? She’d been fourteen, a child, when she’d first gotten Sick, and not much older the first time she’d realised the power at her fingertips. Almost a decade had passed since then. Her gaze slid momentarily to Jaxen, and she might only have been gathering his reaction but for the shrewd tip of her lips; the subtle light of calculation. She remembered the brief flash of wonder to cross his beautiful face moments before he called Jon over, and it prompted a suspicion. He was new to this. Not that she was any more interested in being a teacher than a nursemaid, but there were some things she could show him.
The rest of Jon’s story was fucking crazy, and honestly she was surprised by how forthright he was. It didn't exactly look to be a comfortable topic - drugged? - and in a rare moment of solidarity, or maybe just to provoke a discord of jealousy, she pushed her still half-full glass across the table. "If that's any part true, I hope you at least made the fucker pay."
A muscle flexed in her jaw, but for now she held her silence. It was not a safe subject, and Jaxen either had nothing to fear from such blatancy or he was fucking ignorant. The only thing that prevented her from ending the whole conversation – not as the round’s judge in their petty little game, but as owner of the fucking establishment – was the way he wielded it like a taunt. Victory cast his grin sinister, like he’d just shoved Jon into the spotlight fully expecting him to make a fool of himself. Ori’s gaze squared on Jon as she sorted through her thoughts, and though her expression remained neutral there was an uncomfortable intensity to the way she stared. Not because she lay in wait like a sharp-eyed predator, but because she was wondering: why.
Jaxen’s invitation had been sudden; one minute unconcerned, the next buoyed by awe. Since then there had been so many subtle glances between the two, undercurrents Ori could sense but not fathom beyond a feeling of exclusion she’d chosen to ignore. They were strangers, of that she was sure - so how could Jaxen know that of Jon with such smug certainty? The question had an obvious answer. She wasn’t slow, even plied with drink; she’d met others of her kind. But if it were the case, why had she felt none of it? And why were they both ignorant of her? For that she had no answer, so for now she was content to let her perspective adjust to this new information. And measure the difference it made to her investment - or so far lack thereof.
Though her suspicions that Jon was a hunter had eased, her gaze still razed the flesh of his left arm as he exposed it, and she felt a grim wash of relief to have that final confirmation of his innocence. At the same time epiphany seemed to dawn on him - clearly she’d been too careless with the die. Jon knew, and if he wasn’t a hunter then it meant he had understanding no regular person had. Oriena didn’t wilt under the directness of his gaze, nor the blatant rise of his brow. Cara had always insisted they keep to themselves, but wise as it might be in the world they lived, it had always chafed. She had nothing to hide, and perhaps the only reason she didn’t lean in and smirk sly confirmation was that she wanted to witness the moment Jaxen pieced together these subtle inferences and understood exactly what she was by himself.
She sat back, entertained by the way Jon recycled her earlier words about snakes. Two years ago? That was all? She’d been fourteen, a child, when she’d first gotten Sick, and not much older the first time she’d realised the power at her fingertips. Almost a decade had passed since then. Her gaze slid momentarily to Jaxen, and she might only have been gathering his reaction but for the shrewd tip of her lips; the subtle light of calculation. She remembered the brief flash of wonder to cross his beautiful face moments before he called Jon over, and it prompted a suspicion. He was new to this. Not that she was any more interested in being a teacher than a nursemaid, but there were some things she could show him.
The rest of Jon’s story was fucking crazy, and honestly she was surprised by how forthright he was. It didn't exactly look to be a comfortable topic - drugged? - and in a rare moment of solidarity, or maybe just to provoke a discord of jealousy, she pushed her still half-full glass across the table. "If that's any part true, I hope you at least made the fucker pay."
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)