Generating a rogue
Wednesday, 25 January 2006 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keaaluJust some more scrat with Iios. Ideas, opinions etc welcome, just getting stuff down, trying to get his persona to come across how I want him. He's being fairly impolite towards Eri because there's nothing "meaningful" (as he'd call it) between them yet, she's "just another dirty hairy biological" to cause him problems, but eventually "something" will happen... :P I'm thinking he meets Eri first, then Alexa, but the storyline's still up in the air. All depends on "factors outside my control". :P
Eria'dane is a pale-furred Vulline - sort of like "fawn light" in colour - with enough star gene to cause white speckles and blotches over her hips and arms. :) I need to get her colours down sometime, soo...
For a Kiravai he was… different. No, that was a bad description, he wasn’t just different, he was a complete free radical – he wore a smart suit and was the typical gargantuan in height but that was about as far as the similarity stretched. To start with, his skin was green – a pale greyed jade, pleasantly soft and rather understated, but still green. Either he’d had that extortionately expensive cosmetic therapy she’d heard his people were famous for (but still, why pick green?) or it was a birth defect, but if it was he didn’t look ashamed of it, far from it. His feathers – no, scratch that, he had hair, and that was green as well, hanging in fashionably shaggy dark moss-coloured curtains over his eyes. His suit was one of those ridiculously expensive ones, the sort only the mega-rich can afford, and yet the shirt below it was unusually closely cut, showing off his powerful build when he moved. And even that was unusual – most Kiravai seemed to see muscles as vulgar, and yet he seemed to revel in it.
He’d gone outside, when she finally caught him alone; his jacket slung over the back of the nearest chair and his shirt sleeves rolled back, lounging artfully against the wall around the edge of the balcony. That in itself was odd – those Kiravai she’d known (not that she could confess to knowing many, even the defectors, the “Shalyavei”, kept themselves to themselves) were very prim-and-proper, upstanding creatures, and certainly not prone to slouching.
Most surprisingly of all, though, actually bringing her up short, he was smoking – the glitter of red heat from the tip of his cigarette a tiny ember in the moonlight. So few people smoked these days – you were severely restricted in what medical treatment you could get, if you did, and Kiravai were supposedly so delicate when it came to lungs that they shied away from any smoke – it was with genuine shock that she watched him drag on the tiny tube of rolled dried herbs.
“The health police haven’t got to you yet, then,” she observed, pleasantly, resting her elbows on the wall beside him.
He smiled, but didn’t look over to her. “They’ve tried,” he observed, and his voice was a ripple of honeyed velvet. “I… re-educated them.”
He shrugged, offhand. “It doesn’t affect me,” he offered, at last. “Never has. Not the psychoactive agents, not the carcinogens, none of it. Might as well be drinking a cup of water, for all the effect it has.”
“Well if it doesn’t affect you,” she wondered aloud, “why do you do it?”
He grinned, sleepily, looking insufferably pleased with himself, and skeins of moon-bleached mist trailed from his nostrils. “Because they told me not to? Seriously, I like the feel of it – the spice of hot smoke, deep down in my chest.”
“So what brings you to this den of thieves, anyway?” he asked, at last, exhaling a soft wreath. “Can’t be for the sterling company. Can’t be for the conversation either, unless you like being pumped for money everywhere you turn.”
She made a wry look, and tried not to pull a face at the smoke; out of the corner of her eye she spotted him smiling. “Friend of a friend,” she replied. “A colleague of mine works for the cybernetics department at the University. Most of what he does goes right over my head; I’m a horticulturist, myself.”
“Oh really? Little flower girl,” his brows had lifted. “So he brought you along to look pretty on his arm while he regaled the powers that be with his impressive knowledge, and tried to gather a few more lucrative sponsors into his department?”
She made it obvious this time when she pulled a face. “Basically that’s the gist of it,” she agreed. “I got bored with the conversation. Too much technology, not enough speculation.”
“So what’s your opinion on sapient machines, then?” he stubbed the remnants of his cigarette out against the wall. “Good thing, or bad thing?”
“My opinion is entirely dictated by what little Uuvern has managed to teach me and what I’ve gleaned off the television,” she replied, glumly. “So I think I’m being overoptimistic. You know, head full of silly ideas. I think… it’ll be a good thing…” she studied the stone beneath her fingers for a few moments, before glancing sideways to see if he was trying to catch her out, but he was gazing down the garden.
He smiled that knowing, sleepy smile, and moonlight glittered in his pale gold eyes. “I’m sure I could disillusion you.”
“Aren’t you cold out here?”
He pursed his thin lips and shook his head. “You?”
She made a conscious effort to smooth out her fur in spite of the chill that had fluffed her tail like a bottlebrush. “Nope.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a professor, aren’t you?” It made sense – the deliberate disregard for convention, the outlandish clothing (well, for his species). “Here’s me acting like an idiot with my wild speculation…”
“Iios,” he offered a hand. “Or Malachite works just as well, if you can’t get your vocal cords around the Ve-hei’ya.”
“Eria’dane Dawnstep – or just Eri,” she accepted the proffered hand, expecting him to give it a shake, but instead he scooped it towards his face and brushed his thin lips over the back. “Um… pleased to, um… meet you… Iios…”
There was that wicked twinkle in his eye, and she sensed he was insufferably pleased at catching her off-guard like that; he was steadily looking more and more like the sort of male you did not take home to meet the parents. A charming, exciting, devilishly inappropriate rogue, the sort to make lewd jokes at polite dinner parties or show up in a dress purely to shock, leading a rock-star life with all its accompanying excesses, who’d lead you into temptation and get you into all kinds of things your parents disapproved of.
Yes, there he was - green skin, floppy hair, sharp suit that hung open at the front. He was holding court over a little cluster of females – two dark-pelted Vullines, one pale golden Ondraii and an out-of-place flame-haired Nyen hind – apparently regaling them with some sort of humorous story as they hung adoringly off his every word.
Next second and there was a whirl of angry fur and a well-dressed, heavily-clipped Usurian male blustered up, apparently not appreciating the avian in his territory – Eri recognised the big male as the local sha-ev, rich and powerful and with a propensity to be vicious when he was drunk. She’d met him once or twice at official functions at the University – he was a major sponsor of the chemical and mechanical engineering departments, but had a little interest in some of the pharmaceutical herbs Eri’s department cultivated. She held her breath and waited for blows to be exchanged, but Iios lifted his hands and backed off, smiling placatorily.
She turned to point him out to Uuvern and something caught her eye – it was a deft sleight of hand that she barely noticed even looking directly at him, but he sneaked out a slim hand and helped himself to the Usurian’s wallet!
“…Daani? Daani, what? Who? Do I know who?” Uuvern’s finely scaled gold hand waved briefly in front of her face, and she gave herself a mental shake.
“Um, no… never mind… I can’t see him now,” she lied, wondering if she should go directly to Security or confront him first.
“You!” she scolded, finding him at the bar, swapping small-talk with the heavyset Xniki bartender. “I want a word.”
“…and a glass of the best for the lady,” he added to the end of his sentence, without missing a beat. “I’m assuming you don’t dislike bubbly?”
Once again off-balanced she just gaped for a second. “What-?”
“Actually, we’ll take the bottle.” A high-value note decorated in red and silver ink appeared from nowhere in his sleek hand, and was exchanged for two tall plain crystal glasses and a dark bottle that was rapidly becoming decorated with artful squiggles drawn in condensation. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
The hand that closed on hers was cool and firm – she tried to pull her hand free, just to let him know she wasn’t the silly little pushover Vulline he obviously took her for… and she might as well have had her hand set in iron. He had her in a grip so powerful – yet he wasn’t hurting – it almost scared her.
He finally relinquished his grip on her hand once they’d reached the garden – this time he’d thankfully chosen a spot on the main patio, under one of those giant parasol-shaped FusiGen space-heaters. At least it wouldn’t be cold.
“What are you playing at?” she snapped, snatching her hand away, as if it were a great victory.
“Playing at? Nothing. Wine?” He held out a glass.
She was sorely tempted to dash the glass from his hand, but knew she’d only end up treading in the fragments later – one of the curses of going barefoot. “You’re not going to buy me, mister-”
“Buy you?” he laughed, already filling a glass for her. “How is a glass of wine for a pretty lady buying someone?”
“I saw you take that sha-ev’s wallet, earlier,” she folded her arms across her chest, determined to look unmoving.
“What sha-ev?” he was still smiling, pleasantly, still offering her the glass.
“Don’t you try and deny it! You’re just a charlatan, aren’t you, really – that wine, did you use his money to buy it? Is that the only reason you’re here, to mingle with the rich and famous and pick their pockets?”
The smile had darkened, but he didn’t look dismayed. “I think you got the basics fairly well covered, Pet,” he agreed, silkily. “Rich, famous, and too stupid to miss it most of the time.”
The admission was so frank it left her floundering, wondering if he was being genuine or just cynical. “Well-… you can’t…!”
“Oh come on, for the sake of all the holies have a glass of wine,” he almost thrust it into her. “At least partake in this demon’s offerings if you’re going to nag him. Besides,” the grin broadened, and the artful rogue turned into a leering fiend. “He might not snap your neck if you get too drunk to remember what you saw.”
She swallowed, thickly, and stretched out a trembling hand to take the glass. “I have to warn you I don’t respond well to threats,” she argued, thinly, perching primly on the very edge of the seat – to make a quick getaway, she told herself, vainly.
“No? You seem to be trembling well for someone who doesn’t,” he pointed out, relaxing back, hooking his feet up on the back of the chair in front – one foot grasped the top ridge, the other rested atop its twin. They reminded Eri of the talons of some sort of patient falcon, just waiting for her to make the wrong move and close like twin vices in her throat; she tore her gaze away from the flex of muscle and tendon beneath the pale skin and tried not to imagine the strength with which they would tighten in her skin.
The alcohol helped, though – he was lounging back in his chair, another of those damned cigarettes held lightly in his fingers, a glass (untouched) in his own hand, and he’d turned back into that roguish, sleepy-looking young cob. It gave her courage – false courage, probably, but who cared.
“Give the wallet back and I won’t report you,” she offered, at last. “Fair’s fair. Well… as fair as it can be, given that you seem to have me over a barrel.”
There was a lascivious tilt to his eyes when he looked at her, but he shrugged, one-shouldered, and drew on his cigarette. “I don’t think you’re really in any place to be making deals with me, Eri.”
“Why not? I know you stole his wallet because I saw you do it-”
“Stole it? Or maybe just borrowed it from a friend?” he challenged.
She remained silent, and watched smoke trail up from between his thin lips.
He watched her across the top of his glass, but she noticed hadn’t touched a drop of his wine.
“Who are you really?” she asked, at last, tiredly. “Because you’re not a professor at all, are you?” There was something about him that was pushing all kinds of buttons, and all the wrong sort. Perhaps he was a spy. Perhaps he was an escapee from a secure mental health facility. Perhaps he was a terrorist. Perhaps all three - perhaps something worse. And here she was, sat sharing expensive bubbly wine with him in a pool of heat on a garden terrace on a chilly winter night.
“No,” he briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not a professor, although I know more than each and every one of these posturing money-grubbing idiots here. Just… here to check out the competition.” A brief glance over at the rest of the party and a look of distaste flickered across his lips and tightened his brows. “The competition is looking sadly unimpressive.”
“Cyberneticist?” she guessed.
He replied with another of those sly, self-satisfied smiles. “Cybernetic,” he corrected, and touched a finger to his lips. “But shhhh.”
“I’m still prepared to do a deal with you,” she told him, boldly. “If you give sha-ev Rospert his belongings back – or at least give them back to someone who’ll get them to him – I won’t report you to Security. I also won’t tell the powers that be what you are.”
He lifted a brow. “And that’s your solemn vow, is it?”
She drained her glass and nodded.
“You’re just another dirty little biological,” he replied, dryly, looking vaguely disgusted. “All you lot do is eat, fight, and fuck, and in that order. What makes you think I should trust you?”
She ignored the insult. “I give you my word,” she offered, simply. “I don’t make a habit of breaking it.” Plus, of course, she reminded herself, inwardly, if he chooses to do anything I can hardly stop him. He could probably kill quickly and silently.
“All right,” he agreed, at last. “But I’m afraid I need a little more assurance than you can give me.”
She hooked her hand obediently over his arm and tried to ignore the sensation of freefall dismay building in her stomach – the way her heart pounded her ribs and the nausea in the back of her throat. She didn’t know where he was taking her, just that it was probably to somewhere which would be suitable to dispose of her.
“Have all your belongings on you?” he asked, and she nodded, a quick convulsive little jerk of her head. He chuckled, pleasantly, and patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “Good girl.”
He deposited it on the Security desk with a flourish. “I found this in the garden,” he explained – that would explain the artful dirt he’d brushed onto the back of it. “I’m not sure whose it is, but I’d suppose someone’ll come along for it, right?”
“Thank you, sir,” the guard acknowledged, barely looking up, took the wallet and set it down in one of the pigeonholes behind his desk. “We’ll make sure it’s safe until the owner collects it. Have a good evening.”
“We will,” Iios agreed, smiling. “Won’t we, dear?”
Eri felt another of those clutches of nauseating dismay deep in her stomach, but inclined her head and agreed. “Thank you, lieutenant.”
Eria'dane is a pale-furred Vulline - sort of like "fawn light" in colour - with enough star gene to cause white speckles and blotches over her hips and arms. :) I need to get her colours down sometime, soo...
For a Kiravai he was… different. No, that was a bad description, he wasn’t just different, he was a complete free radical – he wore a smart suit and was the typical gargantuan in height but that was about as far as the similarity stretched. To start with, his skin was green – a pale greyed jade, pleasantly soft and rather understated, but still green. Either he’d had that extortionately expensive cosmetic therapy she’d heard his people were famous for (but still, why pick green?) or it was a birth defect, but if it was he didn’t look ashamed of it, far from it. His feathers – no, scratch that, he had hair, and that was green as well, hanging in fashionably shaggy dark moss-coloured curtains over his eyes. His suit was one of those ridiculously expensive ones, the sort only the mega-rich can afford, and yet the shirt below it was unusually closely cut, showing off his powerful build when he moved. And even that was unusual – most Kiravai seemed to see muscles as vulgar, and yet he seemed to revel in it.
He’d gone outside, when she finally caught him alone; his jacket slung over the back of the nearest chair and his shirt sleeves rolled back, lounging artfully against the wall around the edge of the balcony. That in itself was odd – those Kiravai she’d known (not that she could confess to knowing many, even the defectors, the “Shalyavei”, kept themselves to themselves) were very prim-and-proper, upstanding creatures, and certainly not prone to slouching.
Most surprisingly of all, though, actually bringing her up short, he was smoking – the glitter of red heat from the tip of his cigarette a tiny ember in the moonlight. So few people smoked these days – you were severely restricted in what medical treatment you could get, if you did, and Kiravai were supposedly so delicate when it came to lungs that they shied away from any smoke – it was with genuine shock that she watched him drag on the tiny tube of rolled dried herbs.
“The health police haven’t got to you yet, then,” she observed, pleasantly, resting her elbows on the wall beside him.
He smiled, but didn’t look over to her. “They’ve tried,” he observed, and his voice was a ripple of honeyed velvet. “I… re-educated them.”
He shrugged, offhand. “It doesn’t affect me,” he offered, at last. “Never has. Not the psychoactive agents, not the carcinogens, none of it. Might as well be drinking a cup of water, for all the effect it has.”
“Well if it doesn’t affect you,” she wondered aloud, “why do you do it?”
He grinned, sleepily, looking insufferably pleased with himself, and skeins of moon-bleached mist trailed from his nostrils. “Because they told me not to? Seriously, I like the feel of it – the spice of hot smoke, deep down in my chest.”
“So what brings you to this den of thieves, anyway?” he asked, at last, exhaling a soft wreath. “Can’t be for the sterling company. Can’t be for the conversation either, unless you like being pumped for money everywhere you turn.”
She made a wry look, and tried not to pull a face at the smoke; out of the corner of her eye she spotted him smiling. “Friend of a friend,” she replied. “A colleague of mine works for the cybernetics department at the University. Most of what he does goes right over my head; I’m a horticulturist, myself.”
“Oh really? Little flower girl,” his brows had lifted. “So he brought you along to look pretty on his arm while he regaled the powers that be with his impressive knowledge, and tried to gather a few more lucrative sponsors into his department?”
She made it obvious this time when she pulled a face. “Basically that’s the gist of it,” she agreed. “I got bored with the conversation. Too much technology, not enough speculation.”
“So what’s your opinion on sapient machines, then?” he stubbed the remnants of his cigarette out against the wall. “Good thing, or bad thing?”
“My opinion is entirely dictated by what little Uuvern has managed to teach me and what I’ve gleaned off the television,” she replied, glumly. “So I think I’m being overoptimistic. You know, head full of silly ideas. I think… it’ll be a good thing…” she studied the stone beneath her fingers for a few moments, before glancing sideways to see if he was trying to catch her out, but he was gazing down the garden.
He smiled that knowing, sleepy smile, and moonlight glittered in his pale gold eyes. “I’m sure I could disillusion you.”
“Aren’t you cold out here?”
He pursed his thin lips and shook his head. “You?”
She made a conscious effort to smooth out her fur in spite of the chill that had fluffed her tail like a bottlebrush. “Nope.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a professor, aren’t you?” It made sense – the deliberate disregard for convention, the outlandish clothing (well, for his species). “Here’s me acting like an idiot with my wild speculation…”
“Iios,” he offered a hand. “Or Malachite works just as well, if you can’t get your vocal cords around the Ve-hei’ya.”
“Eria’dane Dawnstep – or just Eri,” she accepted the proffered hand, expecting him to give it a shake, but instead he scooped it towards his face and brushed his thin lips over the back. “Um… pleased to, um… meet you… Iios…”
There was that wicked twinkle in his eye, and she sensed he was insufferably pleased at catching her off-guard like that; he was steadily looking more and more like the sort of male you did not take home to meet the parents. A charming, exciting, devilishly inappropriate rogue, the sort to make lewd jokes at polite dinner parties or show up in a dress purely to shock, leading a rock-star life with all its accompanying excesses, who’d lead you into temptation and get you into all kinds of things your parents disapproved of.
Yes, there he was - green skin, floppy hair, sharp suit that hung open at the front. He was holding court over a little cluster of females – two dark-pelted Vullines, one pale golden Ondraii and an out-of-place flame-haired Nyen hind – apparently regaling them with some sort of humorous story as they hung adoringly off his every word.
Next second and there was a whirl of angry fur and a well-dressed, heavily-clipped Usurian male blustered up, apparently not appreciating the avian in his territory – Eri recognised the big male as the local sha-ev, rich and powerful and with a propensity to be vicious when he was drunk. She’d met him once or twice at official functions at the University – he was a major sponsor of the chemical and mechanical engineering departments, but had a little interest in some of the pharmaceutical herbs Eri’s department cultivated. She held her breath and waited for blows to be exchanged, but Iios lifted his hands and backed off, smiling placatorily.
She turned to point him out to Uuvern and something caught her eye – it was a deft sleight of hand that she barely noticed even looking directly at him, but he sneaked out a slim hand and helped himself to the Usurian’s wallet!
“…Daani? Daani, what? Who? Do I know who?” Uuvern’s finely scaled gold hand waved briefly in front of her face, and she gave herself a mental shake.
“Um, no… never mind… I can’t see him now,” she lied, wondering if she should go directly to Security or confront him first.
“You!” she scolded, finding him at the bar, swapping small-talk with the heavyset Xniki bartender. “I want a word.”
“…and a glass of the best for the lady,” he added to the end of his sentence, without missing a beat. “I’m assuming you don’t dislike bubbly?”
Once again off-balanced she just gaped for a second. “What-?”
“Actually, we’ll take the bottle.” A high-value note decorated in red and silver ink appeared from nowhere in his sleek hand, and was exchanged for two tall plain crystal glasses and a dark bottle that was rapidly becoming decorated with artful squiggles drawn in condensation. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
The hand that closed on hers was cool and firm – she tried to pull her hand free, just to let him know she wasn’t the silly little pushover Vulline he obviously took her for… and she might as well have had her hand set in iron. He had her in a grip so powerful – yet he wasn’t hurting – it almost scared her.
He finally relinquished his grip on her hand once they’d reached the garden – this time he’d thankfully chosen a spot on the main patio, under one of those giant parasol-shaped FusiGen space-heaters. At least it wouldn’t be cold.
“What are you playing at?” she snapped, snatching her hand away, as if it were a great victory.
“Playing at? Nothing. Wine?” He held out a glass.
She was sorely tempted to dash the glass from his hand, but knew she’d only end up treading in the fragments later – one of the curses of going barefoot. “You’re not going to buy me, mister-”
“Buy you?” he laughed, already filling a glass for her. “How is a glass of wine for a pretty lady buying someone?”
“I saw you take that sha-ev’s wallet, earlier,” she folded her arms across her chest, determined to look unmoving.
“What sha-ev?” he was still smiling, pleasantly, still offering her the glass.
“Don’t you try and deny it! You’re just a charlatan, aren’t you, really – that wine, did you use his money to buy it? Is that the only reason you’re here, to mingle with the rich and famous and pick their pockets?”
The smile had darkened, but he didn’t look dismayed. “I think you got the basics fairly well covered, Pet,” he agreed, silkily. “Rich, famous, and too stupid to miss it most of the time.”
The admission was so frank it left her floundering, wondering if he was being genuine or just cynical. “Well-… you can’t…!”
“Oh come on, for the sake of all the holies have a glass of wine,” he almost thrust it into her. “At least partake in this demon’s offerings if you’re going to nag him. Besides,” the grin broadened, and the artful rogue turned into a leering fiend. “He might not snap your neck if you get too drunk to remember what you saw.”
She swallowed, thickly, and stretched out a trembling hand to take the glass. “I have to warn you I don’t respond well to threats,” she argued, thinly, perching primly on the very edge of the seat – to make a quick getaway, she told herself, vainly.
“No? You seem to be trembling well for someone who doesn’t,” he pointed out, relaxing back, hooking his feet up on the back of the chair in front – one foot grasped the top ridge, the other rested atop its twin. They reminded Eri of the talons of some sort of patient falcon, just waiting for her to make the wrong move and close like twin vices in her throat; she tore her gaze away from the flex of muscle and tendon beneath the pale skin and tried not to imagine the strength with which they would tighten in her skin.
The alcohol helped, though – he was lounging back in his chair, another of those damned cigarettes held lightly in his fingers, a glass (untouched) in his own hand, and he’d turned back into that roguish, sleepy-looking young cob. It gave her courage – false courage, probably, but who cared.
“Give the wallet back and I won’t report you,” she offered, at last. “Fair’s fair. Well… as fair as it can be, given that you seem to have me over a barrel.”
There was a lascivious tilt to his eyes when he looked at her, but he shrugged, one-shouldered, and drew on his cigarette. “I don’t think you’re really in any place to be making deals with me, Eri.”
“Why not? I know you stole his wallet because I saw you do it-”
“Stole it? Or maybe just borrowed it from a friend?” he challenged.
She remained silent, and watched smoke trail up from between his thin lips.
He watched her across the top of his glass, but she noticed hadn’t touched a drop of his wine.
“Who are you really?” she asked, at last, tiredly. “Because you’re not a professor at all, are you?” There was something about him that was pushing all kinds of buttons, and all the wrong sort. Perhaps he was a spy. Perhaps he was an escapee from a secure mental health facility. Perhaps he was a terrorist. Perhaps all three - perhaps something worse. And here she was, sat sharing expensive bubbly wine with him in a pool of heat on a garden terrace on a chilly winter night.
“No,” he briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not a professor, although I know more than each and every one of these posturing money-grubbing idiots here. Just… here to check out the competition.” A brief glance over at the rest of the party and a look of distaste flickered across his lips and tightened his brows. “The competition is looking sadly unimpressive.”
“Cyberneticist?” she guessed.
He replied with another of those sly, self-satisfied smiles. “Cybernetic,” he corrected, and touched a finger to his lips. “But shhhh.”
“I’m still prepared to do a deal with you,” she told him, boldly. “If you give sha-ev Rospert his belongings back – or at least give them back to someone who’ll get them to him – I won’t report you to Security. I also won’t tell the powers that be what you are.”
He lifted a brow. “And that’s your solemn vow, is it?”
She drained her glass and nodded.
“You’re just another dirty little biological,” he replied, dryly, looking vaguely disgusted. “All you lot do is eat, fight, and fuck, and in that order. What makes you think I should trust you?”
She ignored the insult. “I give you my word,” she offered, simply. “I don’t make a habit of breaking it.” Plus, of course, she reminded herself, inwardly, if he chooses to do anything I can hardly stop him. He could probably kill quickly and silently.
“All right,” he agreed, at last. “But I’m afraid I need a little more assurance than you can give me.”
She hooked her hand obediently over his arm and tried to ignore the sensation of freefall dismay building in her stomach – the way her heart pounded her ribs and the nausea in the back of her throat. She didn’t know where he was taking her, just that it was probably to somewhere which would be suitable to dispose of her.
“Have all your belongings on you?” he asked, and she nodded, a quick convulsive little jerk of her head. He chuckled, pleasantly, and patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “Good girl.”
He deposited it on the Security desk with a flourish. “I found this in the garden,” he explained – that would explain the artful dirt he’d brushed onto the back of it. “I’m not sure whose it is, but I’d suppose someone’ll come along for it, right?”
“Thank you, sir,” the guard acknowledged, barely looking up, took the wallet and set it down in one of the pigeonholes behind his desk. “We’ll make sure it’s safe until the owner collects it. Have a good evening.”
“We will,” Iios agreed, smiling. “Won’t we, dear?”
Eri felt another of those clutches of nauseating dismay deep in her stomach, but inclined her head and agreed. “Thank you, lieutenant.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 26 Jan 2006 06:54 am (UTC)Perhaps I just need to see the right side of him. Not sure what I can say about the party sequence. I'll try that again later.
Though now Eri has my interest as a character. While it's going to be pretty obvious what she'll see in Malachite, what he'll see in her, I have no idea... or maybe that's the point...
(no subject)
Date: 26 Jan 2006 10:29 am (UTC)Mind you, you're just being "foxist". ;) (or whatever the reverse of that is)
(no subject)
Date: 27 Jan 2006 12:52 am (UTC)