09-14-2013, 10:18 AM
Loyalty. It could be bought. Spectra wasn't so naive as to think hers extended to the United States as a whole, but she recognized the trade she made with a few of their special agents. They gave one another what each needed. The CIA flew back to Langley with an encyclopedia of information and Spectra soared into New York with a modeling contract. It was up to each party to make something useful of the trade. As Hood so deliberately described, Spectra made excellent success with her opportunities; self-acceleration was a talent of hers.
Trust, on the other hand, was as impossible to purchase as a star in the sky, and once captured, ought not ever be betrayed.
Spectra withdrew her palm from the soft panel of Hood's suit sleeve and slid bonelessly to a seat alongside him, close enough to appreciate the glint warming his usually chill blue eyes and drink in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Content, she rested an elbow on the bar and delicately perched her chin on the back of the same hand and examined him as his greeting tickled her ears like a whisper meant only for her. How many women could boast the same dedication he now shown only to her?
As a younger man, Hood was fixed in her memory as a soldier rather than a businessman. And he dressed as one as well. She appreciated the attire of both images to be certain. One, the hard eyes of a shadow that came and went as he pleased, blending into his surroundings and disappearing or appearing at will. A ghost. A spook. The moniker was well earned.
Yet the man who shared her company now was not the same as he which occasionally resurrected from the graves of long-buried memories. In presence as well as in action, for she had noted with long, flickering glances between the mundane conversations of the last twenty minutes, Hood was dedicated to owning the room itself, if not the entire club. He dismissed everyone as unworthy of his attention for more than a moment; almost everyone. How pleasing.
He was the aggressor between them without so much as having to make a single offensive move; Hood, chieftain, alpha, was content to sit and let the pack circle. A river Spectra was more accustomed to navigating herself, but was amused to witness his attempt at coursing her domain.
That he knew there were maneaters lurking beneath the surface elicited a series of surprised flutterings of her feathery lashes. She hardly referred to the maneaters as friends, but there was one or two piranha she'd bedded before. A particularly ferocious one in current company. She knew what he meant, however much as she was apathetic to the implication. She had no reason to betray his fortunes to those who thought him dead; Spectra was not needlessly cruel.
She rewarded his compliment with an assured twinge of perfect lips stained vixen red. "If I had a dollar for every billboard, I would have millions. Oh wait, I do."
Her devilish face murmured a soft, melodious laugh genuine as his former smile which danced forth to wrap him with tendrils of sarcasm, sharp as a pleasant electricity, the graze of a sparked touch rather than the sting of some painful discharge.
Moments following her arrival, the space beyond the bar filled with the outline of a crisp, handsome bartender trained to attend to every need of the females in his kingdom. That a queen graced the throne when he was used to waiting upon plainer courtiers, he was prostrate with the desire to serve. To Hood, he gave only a passing glance. Powerful men did not scoff at the price of scotch, though by sheer association with the goddess in his company, he was not treated as poorly as he perhaps deserved.
She uncurled from the former position in response, straightening with all the boneless wonder of an orchid reaching for the sun, or, more accurately, of a cobra called forth by the sensual sounds of music, until the falls of her hair slid beyond the slopes of her shoulders and down the arch of her back, bare to the very lowest point to of being indecent; though for a woman of her career, solicitation rather than decency was the reason for such architecture. The light of their surroundings shone on her dress and every curve to which it hugged her coppery skin. A potent highlight of her own as though a photographer whispered his inner desires straight to her ear. The bartender barely peeled his eyes off her.
Silent as the wallpaper, he placed a slender column of sparkling water before her, centered atop a black napkin embossed with gold foil lettering for Block One, Manifesto. The napkin cost more than the entirety of the tip Hood was likely to leave behind. As before, the water floated a bright pink raspberry and the scent of fresh cucumber wafted with the effervescent bubbles escaping their crystal prison. Though, this time, Spectra was content to leave the lustful symbol between them as some ever present reminder of what was once theirs. And could be once more. There were few men in this world capable of truly satisfying her rather than her bank account.
The business card won her expensive attention for long enough a moment for her frosted green orbs to graze the name printed there. If she recognized the name, it was quickly forgotten in the way foreign words never adhere long to one's mind. "For me? What a thoughtful gift."
She teased and tugged the card from between his fingers until it was wrapped firmly in her own, firm enough to hold the paper steady, yet not so rough as to crumple a single corner, a perfect combination of finesse and rigorous passion. At the symbolism, Spectra smiled expertly.
She quickly flattened it to the bar and slid it back toward his scotch glass. "Sadly, there is no more room in this dress. Mind holding onto this for me?"
He could give it to her later when she was free to deposit it with the thousands of others hoping to win her generosity. Assuming the implied invitation was accepted of course.
Trust, on the other hand, was as impossible to purchase as a star in the sky, and once captured, ought not ever be betrayed.
Spectra withdrew her palm from the soft panel of Hood's suit sleeve and slid bonelessly to a seat alongside him, close enough to appreciate the glint warming his usually chill blue eyes and drink in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Content, she rested an elbow on the bar and delicately perched her chin on the back of the same hand and examined him as his greeting tickled her ears like a whisper meant only for her. How many women could boast the same dedication he now shown only to her?
As a younger man, Hood was fixed in her memory as a soldier rather than a businessman. And he dressed as one as well. She appreciated the attire of both images to be certain. One, the hard eyes of a shadow that came and went as he pleased, blending into his surroundings and disappearing or appearing at will. A ghost. A spook. The moniker was well earned.
Yet the man who shared her company now was not the same as he which occasionally resurrected from the graves of long-buried memories. In presence as well as in action, for she had noted with long, flickering glances between the mundane conversations of the last twenty minutes, Hood was dedicated to owning the room itself, if not the entire club. He dismissed everyone as unworthy of his attention for more than a moment; almost everyone. How pleasing.
He was the aggressor between them without so much as having to make a single offensive move; Hood, chieftain, alpha, was content to sit and let the pack circle. A river Spectra was more accustomed to navigating herself, but was amused to witness his attempt at coursing her domain.
That he knew there were maneaters lurking beneath the surface elicited a series of surprised flutterings of her feathery lashes. She hardly referred to the maneaters as friends, but there was one or two piranha she'd bedded before. A particularly ferocious one in current company. She knew what he meant, however much as she was apathetic to the implication. She had no reason to betray his fortunes to those who thought him dead; Spectra was not needlessly cruel.
She rewarded his compliment with an assured twinge of perfect lips stained vixen red. "If I had a dollar for every billboard, I would have millions. Oh wait, I do."
Her devilish face murmured a soft, melodious laugh genuine as his former smile which danced forth to wrap him with tendrils of sarcasm, sharp as a pleasant electricity, the graze of a sparked touch rather than the sting of some painful discharge.
Moments following her arrival, the space beyond the bar filled with the outline of a crisp, handsome bartender trained to attend to every need of the females in his kingdom. That a queen graced the throne when he was used to waiting upon plainer courtiers, he was prostrate with the desire to serve. To Hood, he gave only a passing glance. Powerful men did not scoff at the price of scotch, though by sheer association with the goddess in his company, he was not treated as poorly as he perhaps deserved.
She uncurled from the former position in response, straightening with all the boneless wonder of an orchid reaching for the sun, or, more accurately, of a cobra called forth by the sensual sounds of music, until the falls of her hair slid beyond the slopes of her shoulders and down the arch of her back, bare to the very lowest point to of being indecent; though for a woman of her career, solicitation rather than decency was the reason for such architecture. The light of their surroundings shone on her dress and every curve to which it hugged her coppery skin. A potent highlight of her own as though a photographer whispered his inner desires straight to her ear. The bartender barely peeled his eyes off her.
Silent as the wallpaper, he placed a slender column of sparkling water before her, centered atop a black napkin embossed with gold foil lettering for Block One, Manifesto. The napkin cost more than the entirety of the tip Hood was likely to leave behind. As before, the water floated a bright pink raspberry and the scent of fresh cucumber wafted with the effervescent bubbles escaping their crystal prison. Though, this time, Spectra was content to leave the lustful symbol between them as some ever present reminder of what was once theirs. And could be once more. There were few men in this world capable of truly satisfying her rather than her bank account.
The business card won her expensive attention for long enough a moment for her frosted green orbs to graze the name printed there. If she recognized the name, it was quickly forgotten in the way foreign words never adhere long to one's mind. "For me? What a thoughtful gift."
She teased and tugged the card from between his fingers until it was wrapped firmly in her own, firm enough to hold the paper steady, yet not so rough as to crumple a single corner, a perfect combination of finesse and rigorous passion. At the symbolism, Spectra smiled expertly.
She quickly flattened it to the bar and slid it back toward his scotch glass. "Sadly, there is no more room in this dress. Mind holding onto this for me?"
He could give it to her later when she was free to deposit it with the thousands of others hoping to win her generosity. Assuming the implied invitation was accepted of course.