Kings of the castle

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon bobbed his head in response to Jaxen's return to the table. "Very well done,"
he said. He glanced over Jaxen's shoulder toward Oriena, who was making her way back as well. "I trust you agree he satisfied his forefit?"


Jon reached for where he'd left his glass. Problem was, it wasn't there. He turned his eyes back to Jaxen, who was downing a glass in one great swig. Jon's glass. How had Jon missed that? Drunk as he was, his awareness of his surroundings were still heightened by his connection with the Great Spirit. Well, then. It seemed the man possessed deft fingers as well as feet. Who are you, strange wielder of the Great Spirit?

It was just as well. Jon had probably surpassed his limit on alcohol several drinks ago. He cocked an eyebrow at Jaxen's suggestion of a third round of the game. Truthfully, he was already starting to feel fatigued, and was somewhat concerned with how he'd get himself home at this point. But since he'd won both the previous rounds, there was one thing he hadn't learned -- what would either of those two do if they held the victor's spoils? That alone was worth staying for a bit to find out.

"I'm up for another round of the game,"
he said. "I think I'll pass on another round of drinks, however."
He grabbed another blank index card, and pondered for a moment what the best play this time would be. Twice now he'd picked the right numbers when combined with the chance dice roll. First low, then high. With what had been played already, what would they choose? Properly guessing that was as much a key to winning as anything else, excepting the whim of chance.

He scribbled down a number and turned his card face down.

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15

[Oriena]

Amusement laced the brush of breath against her ear, tightening ripples of pleasure in her stomach, but she only answered with a wicked smile. Upon finding a worthy adversary Ori was a lascivious tease, although whether the whisper of her promises were built of steel or sand depended entirely on what she intended to get out of it. The burn of her gaze beneath the curve of dark lashes made no mistake of that; she offered him shameless fantasy tied with a bow, if he could navigate the barbed wire nestled sedately amongst the ribbon. Irrespective of her own whim, irrespective of her own intention, she’d brand him with reflection of his desire until his blood pounded like fire. And he wasn’t so complicated to read. Please tipped her tongue, shivering in the breath she pressed close to his ear, but it was a taunt of low, provocative laughter that left her lips. Such an easy weakness to exploit, such a fun weakness to exploit.

As Jaxen retreated she pushed herself up languidly on her palms, unhurried, and finally stood. She didn’t follow him from the stage though; instead she sank into the shadows of backstage. Karmen was already there, smoothing over the disruption to the schedule with the efficiency Ori had hired her for. The decadent interior continued beyond the stage door; brocade and velvet and heavy dark wood shamed only by the exquisiteness of the men and women who earned Kallisti’s golden reputation. Her gaze swept over them, inured to the beauty, until discovering what she sought; the ornate metal frame of a mirror.

“Playing nicely?”

She caught Karmen’s gaze beyond her reflection, and smirked. “Maybe just playing,”
she said, sweeping a waterfall of dark hair over one shoulder and checking the lines of her dress with minimal fuss before turning. By the look on her face, Karmen had more she could have said – if she’d thought doing so would have any impact on Ori’s unflustered exterior. She clearly knew better than that, though, and instead held out a Wallet. Ori’s. Which she’d left in Karmen’s office, with the rest of her stuff. And Ori didn’t need to swipe open the screen to guess why. Irritation bled treacherously into coiling wreaths of power, fighting retaliation against the frustration, until pain burned brighter than pleasure and she dropped her grip on it entirely.

“It keeps ringing.”

A short sigh, not aimed at Karmen, was the only indication of the stirring danger and its subsequent loss. She took the Wallet, powered it down, handed it back – all in one smooth motion. Then began to thread her way back to the others. Jaxen had already made himself comfortable – feet on the floor, fortunately for him – and the cut of his smile basked in self-satisfaction, though her gaze naturally sunk lower, to the distracting tease of flesh he had neglected to cover. Jon looked slightly bewildered, like the vodka was finally seeping sluggishness into his veins, though he roused himself quickly enough. “Satisfactory,”
she offered in answer as she slid back into her seat, the mechanical gears of her mind already pressing forward to the implications of another round. A final round, probably, given Jon's pass on another drink. These things were no fun without a lot of alcohol.

A devilish spark accented her retrieval of a card. No hesitation marred the scribble of her number, though she hoped to fuck she remembered the previous rolls correctly. Five to keep, one to go left. Should have listened more carefully in the beginning.

Ori's Number
Twenty

[Jaxen Marveet]

With a self-satisfied smirk, Jax plopped in a seat. The euphoric mood continued as Oriena sauntered back from wherever she'd disappeared. Was it too much to hope that her docility was going to continue? If you could call a hyena docile, he waggled his brow and lifted Jon's glass. The ice cubes clinked loudly as he jostled it her direction, unsoftened by the heavenly pillow of crystal vodka.

"Unlike Betsy, I will take another."
He shot Jon an unapologetic grin while sliding the glass Oriena's direction. Whether or not she actually filled it was only relatively unimportant. The pass was that he expected her to. He still felt the way she puddled in his arms. The way she clutched and pawed at him. Since the first caveman clubbed his first cavewoman over the head, every game of mental dominance between men and women ended the same. And Jax was content to continue letting Oriena think she was calling the shots.

Hands free, he plucked a card and scribbled down a number almost instantly. Then, plucked upward by an idea, he took hold of that flicker in the corner of his head and checked it into submission. After that brief show of strength, that small H bomb of power simmered down to something manageable, pliant to his will.

His awareness swelled violently. Alcohol and body sweat, Oriena's perfume and Jon's drunken pallor. Most importantly, Jaxen discovered with a pleased little smile, that he was nearly able to guess his opponents numbers by the waving of their wrist on the card alone. Almost. Floating cereal boxes around the kitchen was one thing, but spying over someone's shoulder was another. Nothing is impossible. It would be almost like planting a series of mirrors.

Mind tuned, he blacked out his previous number and supplied another, turned the card down and maliciously sent the die rolling. After their previous round, he chose a safer bet.

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10


Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Oct 5 2013, 06:33 AM.

[Oriena]

Two glasses of watered vodka, and one empty; which Jaxen slid across the table to her. A curl of flame heated in her gaze, then benignly doused to cool compliance. Not exactly a good sign of her intention, the way she obediently tipped in a generous helping with barely a flicker of defiance. “Me too.”
Her fingers curled around the glass, and lifted it: to her own lips, smirking around the rim as she sipped. Seriously. Too easy. Though she didn’t especially waste time revelling in satisfaction. It had been a predictable move, and she was more interested in ensuring she didn’t miss the flick of dice from Jaxen’s hand than twisting his patience.

Five to keep, one to go left. Light ignited her from the inside out, and she let it burn her to submission until it finally relaxed and smouldered biddable to her will. Contrary to the previous rolls, this time she watched closely – and the bastard had to send it out at speed, didn’t he? Instinct guided more than any teaching; remnants of her time with Cara, as well as the results of curious experimentation. Some things she found easier than others, and fortunately this kind of manipulation numbered among them, though she’d never particularly tried a task so subtle, or with an object on the move. Or while verging on the edge of drunk.

Well, maybe the die twisted a little oddly to settle on its final number, leaning a little too far on its axis before tumbling back the other way. Though it did land as she intended.

Oriena wasn’t cheating to win.

1.

A gratified smile briefly lit her expression, before hardening to something more devious. Delight at secretly controlling an aspect of chance blazed brighter at the things she couldn’t control; like which one of them was going to lose. Jon, hopefully, though it didn’t entirely matter. She’d swiped Jaxen’s vodka, but she did offer him an unusual gift in return, and she wanted to see what he’d do with it. She slid her card, still face down, back towards her, but flipped it over as she held it out for his eyes only. Amusement touched the edges of her composure, lifting the corners of her lips like the promise of a secret.

[Jaxen Marveet]

Suddenly, shivers nearly wracked his body. It sent every hair on his body prickling in steamy contrast to the slick of sweat still evaporating from the previous saunter around the stage.

If that weren't enough to set him on edge, the die he eyed with extreme suspicion. It teetered one way, then another. He'd focused on it with nearly as much intense concentration as he had the locked gate at Baccarat, until something flickered and retracted on the edge of his vision. Without knowing the number he needed to win, the fibers that seemed to come out of no where shriveled and died without so much as touching the die. I did that, the realization startled fascinating.

But not so stunning as Oriena's rabbity look. The chills subsided after that without fully disappearing. Orienting himself to the absurdity of the anomaly, Jax spied out Jon. Was he chilled too? Or was it all figments of a guy lost in his own padded room?

So many curious perplexities one after another were enough to distract him into overlooking Oriena's lack of service. In fact, Jax was more interested in solving the mystery than drinking. Not that surprising, really. He drank in the spotlight when it suited him, but Jaxen was content to sit back, drum his fingers, and watch affairs unfold as puppetmaster. All the better when the puppets didn't know who pulled their strings.

Narrowed eyes did not miss the glimpse at Oriena's card. Though he was unsure whether she'd previewed him on purpose. He was more forthright with his sharing, though. Flipping his own card around for all to see. They would be passing to the left. Which meant the automatic win landed in his lap. Phenomenon or happenstance?

Eyes lit with anticipation, he leaned forward and offered Jon his card, "That's more like it,"
he smirked roguishly, then relaxed in his seat, crossed one bare foot across the other knee and perched a splay of fingers to his mouth in ornery contemplation.

What a nice little turn of events. The twice winner now the loser at the hands of his former conquest. Oh the evil ideas that came to mind. Sinister indeed.

But there was one thing Jaxen wanted more than anything. Children could humiliate one another, but it took a man to extract something useful from this kind of situation. And Jaxen preferred to gather any and all things that might propel his goals in the long-run. He was a patient man, after all. The longer the wait, the sweeter the pay out.

He fixed Jon's drunken glaze with a dare. "Tell us about the time you had --- the Sickness, Jon."
A triumphant little smirk twisted Jax's lips. He knew the man must have had it, but now, he was going to make him admit it. In front of Oriena. A dangerous move these days, admitting to something that could get you -- at the very least -- hauled off for quarantine. Or away in a body bag.

But hooking Jon and baiting him over shark-infested waters was only part of the fun. The man was another cultish freak that could do magic. Like himself, Tony and Michael. And who knew how many other people? Maybe everyone that had the Sickness was one of them.

Jax was on track to learning everything there was about this handy development, and fuck if magic wasn't handy to wield. And if he were going to be better at it than everyone else, he was going to soak up knowledge like a sponge.

[Jon Little Bird]

That prickling sensation of goosebumps swept across Jon's skin again as Jaxen threw the die. Oriena watched it closely as it bounced -- odd, she hadn't much seemed to care for how any roll had gone before. When it had been her turn to roll earlier in the evening, she'd practically just flipped it on the table without a second glance.

And then Jon felt a surge in the power of the Great Spirit from Jaxen. First the goosebumps, then -- separately -- Jaxen doing something with the power. Translucent threads sprung up around him, but they weren't doing anything that Jon could tell. The weaves -- separate elements, with different hues of color -- looked the same when coming from Jaxen as when Jon harnessed them.

The die made one final bounce, and teetered as if to turn once more in its forward motion, but then fell back the other way to fall with a single pip showing on its face. That -- that wasn't possible. The physics of motion wouldn't allow for the die to move in that way unless some other force Jon couldn't see had acted upon it and pushed it backward.

Jaxen hadn't done anything to the die. Perhaps he'd been about to attempt to manipulate the roll, but Jon had seen no weaves from Jaxen touch it. They'd merely dissipated.

The cards were revealed. Oriena had a small smile on her face as she handed the win over to Jaxen. And it would be Jon's turn to pay a forfeit.

No, no, no. That dice roll had been manipulated, Jon was certain of it. Thoughts of Noah sprung into his head, the last time he'd allowed himself to be tricked. It wasn't that he had an issue with losing, but he was not going to be cheated here, not without gaining something out of it.

Think, Jon. You can figure this out. Okay. So the only player who'd written down a winning number was Oriena. By that action, she could control some part of the outcome. But the die roll had given the win to Jaxen. Now, it was possible that he'd been able to figure out what she had written down, but although he certainly had the means to manipulate the die, he wasn't the one who did it.

That left Oriena as the likely culprit. Jon could easily dismiss the fact that she had handed away the win. She could have a host of reasons why she wanted Jaxen to win the round. Great Spirit, could be a thanks for a good time on the dance floor for all Jon knew. But did she have the means to do it? Was it possible...she could also wield the power of the Great Spirit, but for some reason -- maybe as mundane and separatist a reason as that she was a woman and Jon and Jaxen men -- that he was unable to feel it filling her as he could with Jaxen? While he had absolutely no argument to discount that, he had no evidence it could be the case as well, and because of that he wasn't convinced. Just because Noah had told him of several women who'd been Afflicted wasn't a reason to go jumping to the conclusion every woman he ran into harnessed supernatural powers to their will.

Jon turned his head to Jaxen as the man offered his demand. So. The man knew the truth about the Sickness, and wanted Jon to admit he'd suffered it. So Jaxen wanted to poke that particular elephant in the room. Truthfully, he'd wanted it to come out between the two of them. What did the man know about the Great Spirit -- and did he know of others? Obviously the man wasn't going to go running off to the Atharim, knowing that Jon knew his own secret. Oriena, though...who knew what she might do?

"The Sickness, you say,"
Jon said to Jaxen. Those goosebumps had subsided somewhat, but that chill was still there. He leaned back in his chair and undid his cuff links, baring his arms to the elbows, and rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm them.

And then it hit him. The goosebumps. Aside from the odd behavior of the die, they'd only been so prevalent once before -- when Jon had seen Jaxen's feet knocked from the table. Great Spirit, if he hadn't drunk so much it would have been obvious several minutes ago.

Oriena had done that. And she'd been the one to change the dice roll. Perhaps there were differences in the ability to perceive the use of the power between men and women.

The prickling on his flesh was the connection there. Which meant --

"Truthfully, I couldn't tell you anything of the Sickness that anyone at this table doesn't already know,"
Jon said. His gaze turned from Jaxen to Oriena during his statement and he arched an eyebrow at her.

Maybe Jon should have had that other drink. He considered ending there and perhaps pushing Oriena as the judge in the round to stop the request. With what he'd figured out, it would probably be a simple matter to press her to end the conversation. But there likely wasn't anything to fear by paying the forfeit, not when Jon knew what he knew about the other two, now.

"But there's no friends to snakes at this table,"
Jon continued, having not lifted his eyes from Oriena's -- "So I'll tell you."


He turned to Jaxen. "This was about two years ago. It was the morning after I'd been attacked by some strange creature. I met a man who said he'd had a dream about me. I went with him to his house and --"
Jon paused. This memory was a painful one to bring up. He still wanted to throttle the old man for what he did. "--He drugged me. Kept me asleep for eight days, an unknowing prisoner in his house. When I awoke, I experienced such agony I hope no one ever has to go through. I think my mind has blocked the worst of it. Afterward, he told me he'd seen in his dream that if I had gone to a hospital I would have died. He'd known two that had been sent for medical care and had been met with 'accidents.' And one other that had died under his care."


Jon shivered, a response from his body that had nothing to do with the goosebumps. He really should have had another drink if he was going to take his memory down that particular rabbit hole.

"I hate that man for what he did to me. But he was right about one thing. It wasn't a physical affliction. You just have to gain control over what sparks the reaction.


He turned to Oriena and shrugged. "Like I said, nothing anyone here doesn't already know."

[Oriena]

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."

[Jaxen Marveet]

The man rolled his sleeves and warmed chilled arms.

Jon was cold.

At least, the shivering bothered him at the same time it annoyed the hell out of Jax. The greater annoyance than a shot of cold air blown across wet flesh, was the lack of a fucking breeze! There was no explanation -- no reasonable -- explanation for their chill. No gust of air ruffled anyone's hair -- though Jaxen's was too perfectly styled to be ruined by air conditioning. No blowing portals leaked winter indoors -- that and it was still summer. What was crazier was Oriena's apparent immunity. A dozen times his dark eyes skinned her legs, and never once did a ripple of goosebumps pucker pale skin. If that weren't enough, not a soul in the entire place was shriveling up like they opened the balcony door in January. Actually, there were times when that wall of icy air felt fantastic.

Back to the point. Jon was cold. At all the same times as Jaxen. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the connection. Either both their minds were about to get brain-fucked by the Sickness at the exact same time, or they were both sensing the same source of a chill. Or they need to turn up the fucking heat in our padded rooms, he thought with a wily grin.

Strangely, if Jon had figured out the same revelation, he wasn't too interested in it. Jax followed the man's line of sight and discovered an obnoxiously sudden interest in Oriena. 'Nobody at this table doesn't already know---' Behind the mask of his fingers, Jax pursed his lips thoughtfully.

He'd figured it out. Either the vodka goggles finally fell off his face and realized Oriena was fucking hot, or Jon was punching her with the blame. Guess he wasn't as drunk as he looked -- or he always looked that dopey.

Jax was content to watch the two's interaction. In turn, Oriena fell gravely serious. Daring still glinted her expression, but she was on the verge of smothering the conversation. Why are you so bothered by the topic? She should be bothered. Any sane person would be. Sickness camps probably fell short of his idea of camping. But Oriena looked like she was about to impale Jon between the eyes with the heel of her stiletto. Overreacting? Probably. Or she knew something he didn't. His own incomprehension vexed.

A good, what? Fifteen years ago, when the Sickness started quietly circling the world, it was always women affected. Teenage girls to be exact. It may have comforting to think himself safe, but clearly what leeched life out of the female half finally latched on the men. The list of questions for Tony was quickly growing, but what was obvious was the Sickness being connected to crude flailings of power. As soon as it was brought to conscious control, the green mile march ended.

Which meant only one thing.

Oh the foxy, foxy grin that split his face. He tried to hide it behind the splay of his fingers, but there was no point. Slippery as a snake, fucking snakes, he stretched out his arms long and straight behind his head for a stretch, picked his bare feet off the floor and plunked crossed heels atop the table with enough limp weight the glasses rattled.

He played his palms behind his hair and lay stretched out practically flat, smug and studying the ceiling. "I suppose that answer will do,"
he replied ponderously upward. Kidnapped, drugged, even hints of ominous creatures. Jon's story prickled Jax's curiosity, but there was someone else he was dying to torment. Just for idle amusement.

He rolled his gaze toward Oriena, toes waggling. "You know doll, this table is terribly uncomfortable. You should really get some ottomans or something."
Foxy grin crinkled his eyes with amusement. "I think I will fold my game this round. I like to end on a high note."

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon shrugged at Oriena's question. Truthfully, he hadn't done anything to Noah over what the man had done. Revenge wasn't exactly a useful thing, though -- not unless it served some other purpose aside from assuaging hurt feelings. "I suppose I did, in a sense,"
Jon said. "I extracted myself from his plots and refuse to be drawn into his schemes. Though, if he was honest with what he told me, he did save my life."


Jaxen kicked up his feet again. Undoubtedly, he was trying to provoke Oriena again. He must have figured something out as well. Which meant -- if Jaxen knew to ask Jon about the Sickness, Oriena knew about the both of them as well. So there it was. All three of them at the table knew each other's deepest secret.

He nodded to Jaxen. "Yes, I think this game's run it's course. It was quite...entertaining."

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon's front left pants pocket vibrated suddenly. He was getting a call on his Wallet. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his Wallet to check the number. He didn't recognize it.

"Please excuse me a moment,"
he said briefly.

He answered the call. Muffled voices in the background."Hello?"
No response that he could make out. Had he been pocket dialed? And if so, who was this person who'd gotten his number?

That voice...it was so garbled and washed out by the sound of crinkling pants and...running water perhaps?...Jon swore that voice was a dead ringer for Nick Trano. Of course, he'd only had one interview with the man, so it was hard to pin down a voice with that little to go on.

Jon removed his Wallet from his ear and turned to his companions at the table. "Very sorry, I need to attend to this call."


He rose from the table and took a few steps back to make himself private. Well, as private as anything would be in a place like this. Perhaps it'd been a client, or a prospective one, or perhaps something entirely unexpected. There weren't many people who had his phone number.

Jon hit resend, and called the number back.


Edited by Jon Little Bird, Oct 19 2013, 12:54 AM.