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  • Not so warm homecoming...


    Derrick Mason Gray

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    February 4, 2019 - 2pm

    Bakkhos headquarters then cemetery

    (takes place after Sands of Time thread that is incomplete so assumptions are made)

     

     

    [gaspari]I told you to take a few weeks off… not to fall off the fuckin' radar DeeGee![/gaspari]

     

    She had flinched at the name that she had buried before the Nevus. Gaspari was the only one that dared use her name from that past life and he only used it when he was fire-spitting mad. And he was in a blind rage as she stood in his office and silently took her licks. She had known this would be ugly. She had vanished without a trace when he had put her on the forced vacation to recover from her trip to Italy. Not only had she gone radio silent, but she had done so with a Pharos agent and been awol longer than her forced vacation. Her research with the Nord had been only mildly eye opening and not appreciated by the family.

     

    [gaspari]…half the damn family was out lookin' for you![/gaspari]

     

    Hands were crammed into her jean pockets as she stood there. She refused to cower before the head of the family, nor would she apologize. But she also wouldn’t act like there was no fault in her actions. She had known the moment she left with Atticus that she would be breaking trust with the family and have to fight to earn it back.

     

    He had tiraded for over thirty minutes at her before she finally slid the left hand out of her pocket and used the right to push the sleeve of the hoodie upward, exposing the ebony braille that wrapped her flesh all the way to the back of her hand, "tattoo" that had not been there the last time she had seen him. She could hear the change in his breathing as he drunk it in. Gaspari was one of the very few that knew she sported similar braille on her abdomen from the injury she had suffered in the fall beneath the old club. That it had spread was an ominous sign.

     

    [derrick]… I had to know what was happening…. and I wasn’t sure if I was a danger to the family.[/derrick]

     

    Her voice was quiet but unapologetic. He had come around the desk instantly, hand taking her arm resulting in a flinch through her shoulders. Gaspari was about the only person that got away with manhandling the headliner in any way. Still didn’t mean she liked it. His finger had run over the ebony design, drinking in the faintly abrasive texture, like extremely fine sandpaper.

     

    [gaspari]Mason….[/gaspari]

     

    She despised the concern in his tone as she pulled her arm away.

     

    [derrick]…it stopped spreadin' and dun think its a threat t' me or others.[/derrick]

     

    It was a mostly true statement. That had been where the tongue lashing had stopped. Where they had come to an agreement that she was coming back to work in a few days and that she had to check in twice a day to let the family know where she was pretty much all the time. At least for the next month.

     

    Babysat…….it could have been worse.

     

    Which had led her here, to the cemetery she had found their ammo dealer in once. The place was a retreat where she could find peace and quiet. Where Bakkhos wouldn’t come seek her out. She had hid out here several times when she had still been in town.

     

    Breath curled in white wisps as she lay on the top of the three foot tall mausoleum. She had brushed the snow off of the death bed top and laid her duffle down as a pillow. Hands folded on her stomach she was the perfect mimic of what the body beneath the concrete likely was posed as. The effect was unintentional as she lay in the still of the afternoon light listening to the rustle of air in the winter dead trees. Dark mahogany tail trailed down the side of the concrete to graze the snowbank below, sharp contrast against all the winter white. She had a gray turtle neck under her black hoodie, hardly warm enough for the winter weather but she had yet to get a new winter coat. She had stopped wearing the cop's leather bomber after their last encounter. It was cold, but the sun made it bearable... for now.

     

    Boot scraped the concrete gently as the right knee drug upward, threadbare spots in her jeans forcing chilled air against her skin. Deep breath once more was released to curl white wisps of fairy wings above her pale lips.

     

    In the quiet she was allowed to let her mind wander, the Cajun coming to mind as he had introduced her to this place. The family had not reached out to him in her absence and since then his place had been shuttered from what Cage had told her. Gone back to the Big Easy? Their last conversation here had made it clear he pined for the place.

     

    Brows dipped over the dark shades that wrapped the sides of her temples against the sunlight. She needed to find another dealer which wasn’t going to be easy. He had been one of a kind. No one was making product like his.

     

    An excuse to head down to New Orleans perhaps?

     

    Gaspari would kill her.

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    Every outline was etched into his memory, the city scape of a home recognized. This cemetery he’d claimed as his, he knew every peak and valley, every stone and color.  His interest in the place was somewhat morbid perhaps.  In the city where he’d grown up death was merely an inconvenience- sometimes even a means to an end, but it WAS part of life and now the only place he could feel at home.  It was only because he’d spent so much time here -this by far the most like his back home- that he knew something wasn’t right.

     

    Something had changed.  It FELT different.  It looked different, and he knew instantly why.

     

    He stood at the fence, not stepping into his haven.  Pause was eternal.  He’d been having odd dreams lately, maybe she definitely was dead, now a haunt in his favorite place.  The wisps of breath said otherwise.  Normally clear eyes stared into his safe space, pondering life and death.  He’d lived as a prince and died as one, only to be reborn and wander the world.  Into the rabbit hole where most others had ceased to come back from.  If he had, it was entirely possible she could have too.  Right?

     

    Bottle should have been in his hand, it wasn’t.  He was incredibly too sober for this, not a drop to be found in the spicy, sultry blood of his.  Dressed down, quite a bit.  Doors to the shop had been shuttered, and he’d essentially become the same rich recluse that had followed his exodus from the Easy before the end of the world.  Scruff, a dark beanie pulled tight around his features, hiking boots, khakis, layered clothing… the visage one of a hiker and not a suave gentleman.  He could be both.  Right now, with the shop closed and he only working for his own need to keep his hands busy, he’d slipped into the other end of the spectrum; only re-emerging when Cheshire needed a workout and he needed to don his sharp duds.

     

    She also seemed to be the same chameleon.

     

    Hands slid into his pockets.  Most definitely not ready for a conversation.  He could go home, but then he wouldn’t satiate the curiosity perking as to where the hell she’d been all this time.   Wrist turned quietly, adjusting the cords, one foot now in front of the other in a leisurely stroll through the tombstones toward the chosen mausoleum.  Snow was still an oddity, eyes watching his feet.  He’d been all over the world and now in New York, still enthralling.  She was wearing almost nothing. He could warm up the entire place if he wanted to, and he did want to.  Not a good idea, so he settled for just the cold stone she was lying on and the monstrous tombstone he was content to lean against for a moment until he figured out whether or not he would stay.  No sense in them being cold during a potential “break-up”.

     

    Quiet, the muffled silence as only snow could bring.

     

    I got another angel in my haunt or are you actually breathin’ over there?

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    Breath had slowed, heart had slowed, even blood had slowed. Perhaps it was the cold, perhaps it was the peace that she had finally been permitted to feel washing over her. Either way, the intervals between fairy wing white dusting over her lips grew further and further apart.

     

    Ears were crisply focused on the sound of a Snow Bunting on the statue to her right. Leathery feet skittered on the snow with the softest crunch as the beak flicked through the snowy covered branches above its head seeking nourishment that might have forgotten to fall from the tree in the fall. So transfixed that the woman that normally could catch a roach trying to sneak across her floor had missed the first steps into the snowy gate by an intruder.

     

    But somewhere between the gate and stroll through the tombstones her unnatural ears had caught the shift of cords on flesh and in the blink of an eye long fingers scorched on the back in ebony shard tendrils had slid inside the black hoodie zipper. The woman didn’t seem to have moved and yet now chilled appendages were curled around the grip of her glock, the end tilted up under her arm in the direction of the sound as she continued to lie still on her coffin retreat.

     

    Fingers itched on the trigger right up until a moment before the stone beneath her began to warm. The scent…. the wind shifted and sensitive nostrils flared at the spiced musk of male skin that was trying to warm itself against the cold. Most people didn’t understand that even without perfumes and colognes, they had a distinct smell all their own. That was why dogs could always tell the hand of their master over any other. Problem was unless the odor turned foul, most couldn’t distinguish the smell. Her olfactory senses were not like most people.

     

    Corner of her lips tipped slightly upward as frigid marble began to shift in temperature confirming what her nose had already told her.

     

    Boudreaux.

     

    So he hadn't left town.

     

    I got another angel in my haunt or are you actually breathin’ over there?

     

    Chuckle was barely audible as she released the curl of fingers over the custom grip, letting the weapon sink back into its holster under her hoodie. The soft sound bubbling from her chest caused the Bunting to flutter its wings before rocketing off its perch with a chatter of complaints at realizing she wasn’t a statue in its garden.

     

    [derrick]….been called a lot of things Boudreaux ….angel ain't one of them….[/derrick]

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    Itch.

     

    It fluttered over his skin the way electricity would, not in the way his powers left him a potentially catastrophic magus, but in the way his human side had responded with a “sixth sense”.  Even despite all the charms from all the different hoodoos in the world tangled around his wrist, it was just that.  The feeling prickled up the back of his neck in an exclamation point as he got closer.

     

    Danger.

     

    The gate of his footsteps didn’t change, but his senses did, eyes sliding through his land of the dead to search for the point of note.  Nothing around him weirdly electrical… nobody new had entered the picture that he could tell.  It had to be coming from her.  Definitely his human senses sparking in response to one he was starting to think was inhuman.  He was a magus, he knew the intricacies of things that weren’t exactly right.  She wasn’t exactly right for a human.  He couldn’t put a finger on it quite yet…

     

    ...still none the wiser she had taken up arms, but it wouldn't have been unexpected.  He was close enough to hear her breathe; the slight smirk caught his eye, then her chuckle to his words.

     

    "….been called a lot of things Boudreaux ….angel ain't one of them…."

     

    His lean on the stone was relaxed, smirk pressing dimples into his chilled and scruffy cheeks with a soft exhale. There was no chuckle though, an oddity for the normally always playful Cajun.  Maybe playful wasn’t the right word… impish.  Eyes cast to the snow, tiny little tri-toed footprints through the light fluff interesting for a moment.

     

    “We must be thinkin’ about different angels then.”

     

    Voice was barely a breath, as if he was hallucinating and she’d float away on the cold air that swept the dry snow with it.  Somehow the timbre still managed to hold the warmth of his hometown.  Angels weren’t fluffy skirts and sexy Halloween costumes.  They were powerful, dark, vengeful, vicious, watchers of souls and the sins of man even in death.

     

    “Last time I checked the devil was an angel.”

     

    Stance shifted slightly from shoulder to hip, hands sliding into his pockets and ankles crossing in his relaxed state.  He let it sit for a long moment.  He wasn't going to ask where she'd been.  It wasn't his business.  It reminded him of the first time she’d walked into his shop.  If she wanted something, she’d ask.  Granted, his shop was shuttered so that made it a bit difficult when one couldn’t ask.

     

    “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

     

    It was exactly the same greeting, but this time he wasn’t in his shop and he didn’t have something to occupy his attention.  This time it seemed- more of a passing greeting from a friend that had been stood up, definitely not the easy invitation for business it had been before.  He did have somewhere to be. Cheshire business and all.  Board had to be paid and reviewed for another year, boring things like that.

     

    She’d burned him.  Maybe not in the sense of someone finding out about him, but in the clear abandonment of their negotiations and agreement without a plan to let him know he was still safe. Maybe he wasn’t and was right to shutter everything.  Still, the easy temperament had an aloof quality to it. Always. Blood ran hot, but he never chased, and he never scolded. Ever.

     

    Maybe there would be an explanation, maybe not.  Regardless, she knew where to find him.  She had about thirty seconds for conversation before he’d be moving on.  Other business, and all.

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    He kept his distance but there was a tone of humor in his voice, albeit a bit chilled.

     

    "We must be thinkin’ about different angels then. Last time I checked the devil was an angel. "

     

    The tilt of her lips reversed, a darkness crossing her brow as hand finally slid out of her hoodie completely, the right coming to rub unconsciously at the ebony tattoos on the back of her hand that normally she hid away from the world. Response soft at the second revelation.

     

    [derrick]…that….I have been called before….[/derrick]

     

    Probably closer to one than she had ever been. Furl of the brow lingered before the hands slid into the side pockets on either side of the silver zipper. Breath pulled deeper finally into her lungs, trying to wash the shadow away once more.

     

    “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

     

    It was all business. Very different from the last time they had been here. He had not been expecting her here…. in turn, she had not been expecting him here. Ships that just happened to pass too close in the night…. only it was day…wasn’t it? God she was off her game. Deeper breath again focused her so she could register the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and set her mind at ease that it was still daytime.

     

    [derrick]Doin' business now among the dead?[/derrick]

     

    Abs tightened to pull her shoulders from the faintly warmed marble, sitting a moment before legs swung to dangle off the side, heels scraping the base despite its height. Left hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose, dark shades pushing up over closed eyes, dark circles underneath exposed a moment before the shades dropped down once more. Her smaller lennon shades never would have hid the evidence of exhaustion and lack of rest, perhaps the wider set of aviator shades had been selected on purpose.

     

    Hand fell to grip the edge of the tomb lip, long fingers wrapping over the thick curve of marble to let the stone warm the chill out of her digits.

     

    [derrick]…that why you shuttered yer place? Workin' out here now?[/derrick]

     

    Question was quiet as head tilted left and right trying to loosen the stiffness out of her muscles.

     

    [derrick]…was worried that because the idiots didn’t seek you out while I was gone you had left the city and I would need to find another supplier.[/derrick]

     

    Hands on either sides of her knees she leaned forward, rock in her torso faint but noticeable as head shook slightly.

     

    [derrick]… but if all you did was move shop to out here… well then… I approve of the change in décor.[/derrick]

     

    Hand reached for the thick duffle, the fabric drug to the side of her hip as her tone half apologized.

     

    [derrick]…was just out here looking for a place to…….[/derrick]

     

    Voice trailed off, unable to finish or wondering why she was confessing anything among his angels.

     

    [derrick]Didn’t mean to camp out in your new shop.[/derrick]

     

    Lips ticked upward again finally.

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    "…that….I have been called before…."

    He had been just about to leave.  Somehow he knew she’d been called that, noting her change in mood.  People radiated spectrums, auras and the like.  It was all energy, different bands of light.  Though he couldn’t really “see” them per se, everyone had a certain “feeling” to him… chalked up to electrical impulses…. science… blah blah.  She’d always had a strange fuzz around her though.

     

    "Doin' business now among the dead?"

    “They don’t complain much.”

     

    He hadn’t moved even though his brain had wanted to, watching her sit up.  She was in rough shape, he didn’t have to see beneath the glasses to notice.  Movement different… again, the aura-ish hoodoo.  It made him wonder if she could really make good on her promises of protection.  There were too many other things that spun through his mind, his fault?  In trouble for making a deal with him?  Product had failed?  None of it though percolated into a conversation.

    "…that why you shuttered yer place? Workin' out here now?"

    Wasn’t she chatty?

     

    "…was worried that because the idiots didn’t seek you out while I was gone you had left the city and I would need to find another supplier."

    He blinked quietly.  Answer, or excuse?  He had no idea.

    "… but if all you did was move shop to out here… well then… I approve of the change in décor."

    A soft suck of a tooth predicated relaxed hands sliding from his pockets to cross over his chest, thumbs tapping at his biceps.

     

    “Careful now.  Them’s fighting words, took me a long time to collect all those antiques cher,”  he was equally as quiet, but there was a lick of the familiar imp in his voice.  He rarely went full Cajun, there was an unhealthy obsession with the stereotype in the general population.  She wasn’t the general population.  “But, the décor here is quite nice too.  Thought you more than anyone would see that when things are closed, they ain’t really closed.”

    "…was just out here looking for a place to……. Didn’t mean to camp out in your new shop."

    “Place is meant to be visited,” wrist moved slightly to adjust the cords, an unconscious habit, watching the smile finally come.  It was rare.  Almost as rare as he was.  “My Joie de vivre is used to new anyway... New, old… the world changes. Things change, people change, circumstances change.  Faces, shores, even stone meant to last the rest of time.  Can’t stop it.  Shuttering a shop…  is change.  Maybe I’ll move, maybe I won’t.  Ain’t no skin.  I got my bourbon, it’s all I need.”

     

    He was quiet a while.

     

    “Worried about you,”  the confession was almost silent.  "Just a little though,” lip quirked, again the dimples flicked.  “Got bills to pay, hurt a little.  Just a little...”

     

    He was teasing her, but telling the truth. Fuck his bills. She’d dropped off the face of the earth, bills were a good cover excuse to wonder where she went.  She had after all, ruined a pair of his shoes and he'd forgiven her. That made them friends, no?

     

    “Taking a ride out to the beach skims to take care of some business at a country club.  Welcome to ride along iffin you need to go somewhere.”  He was expecting to get some shit about going to a country club, it would give her a chance to explain a bit… if she wanted. If not, she knew where he’d be.  In the winter his stupidly impractical car was traded out for a sleek Cad he parked  a block over. He'd probably get shit about that too.

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    [josef]They don’t complain much.[/josef]

     

    Twitch of her lips was faint but there. He had said something similar the first time they crossed paths here. Muscles were disgruntled that she made the move to sit up. They had been content to lie there for the rest of the afternoon. As she complimented him on the décor she listened to the sound of skin sliding on fabric, arms likely folding over his chest. Mad he hadn't been held on retainer by Bakkhos? Held her responsible? Wouldn’t be a stretch. She probably should have given someone explicit instructions to keep up their deals. Bakkhos didn’t renege on their deals but truth was their deal had barely been made at the time she left.

     

    Still. Kind of her fault.

     

    [josef] Careful now. Them’s fighting words, took me a long time to collect all those antiques cher,[/josef]

     

    This time the twitch of her lips came with the softest rumble in her chest. A rare chuckle as he slipped into that sing-song cadence that seemed to bubble up when he relaxed. Maybe not as mad as she thought.

     

    Hips slid off the warmed edge of the marble, thick soled boots dropping with the faintest crunch down into the snow piled at its base as she pulled the zipper up higher on her chest. She was going to need to concede defeat against the cold soon. New coat… fuck…. shopping was SO not her thing.

     

    [josef]Place is meant to be visited.[/josef]

     

    Nod was a bit distant as she pondered the words. Perhaps it was. She liked, though, that it seemed to forever be deserted. She had come a number of times before she had set off for Egypt and each time she had been fortunate enough to get to enjoy the place alone.

     

    [josef]…..Maybe I'll move, maybe I won't. Ain't no skin. I got my bourbon, its all I need.[/josef]

     

    Nostrils flared a bit, white exhaust billowing from their edges as the tickle of a grin came again. Man after her own heart. Which reminded her, that bottle of Reserva De La Familia Serralles was in her duffle…. Peace offering from Gaspari. It had been his way of saying "I get why you ran off but I wont apologize directly for reading you the riot act".

     

    Truth was Gaspari kept the best bottles he came across for her. Few had the hyper sensitive taste buds she did and could truly appreciate the difference between a good liquor and an amazing one. Oddly enough the arms supplier was likely one of the very few she could think of that could appreciate such fine spirits.

     

    [josef]Worried about you,[/josef]

     

    Frown was instant over the dark shades… mutter mostly under her breath.

     

    [derrick]…lotta that goin' around[/derrick]

     

    [josef]….just a little though. Got bills to pay, hurt a little. Just a little…[/josef]

     

    The flicker of a grin returned as head shook slightly, fingers sliding onto the duffle she had pulled to the edge earlier to snake under the strap and pull it over her shoulder.

     

    [derrick]…guess I forgot to tell you…. am a giant cockroach…. I always survive…. I always come back…[/derrick]

     

    Smirk broadened a bit as a brow lifted over her shades.

     

    [derrick]….and I usually pay my bills.[/derrick]

     

    [josef] Taking a ride out to the beach skims to take care of some business at a country club. Welcome to ride along iffin you need to go somewhere. [/josef]

     

    Brow lifted higher, upper lip on the same side doing the same in a taunting "disgusted" expression.

     

    [derrick]….country club?....[/derrick]

     

    Arms went out a bit from her sides, "glancing" down to "assess" herself in the turtleneck and hoodie, jeans threadbare in places with skin peek-a-booing out. Mentally she ticked off what she was wearing, trying to recall if there was blood potentially on any of the layers. They were from the clean basket… but blood didn’t always come out in the wash.

     

    [derrick]…isnt this slumming it a bit for your posh crowd?[/derrick]

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    Fog.  They’d described them as fog or some such- the observation of some old woman he’d run into once on his way back through the cemetery after a night of where he definitely should not have been.  Coming out of nowhere, she’d blocked the playboy’s path… a few moments of sobering up to realize she wasn’t just one of the ghosts that absinthe created in his mind.  The fog rolling off the ‘Ol Man she’d said, lit with lights and laughter after the rest of the world had ceased to live in the realm of consciousness.  In a blink of inebriation, she was gone just as quickly.  It stuck with him all this time, irises the color of midnight haze, absinthe and ghostly fog.  Mason’s laugh reminded him of that woman, an odd mix of new and old sliding through his thoughts at the weirdest of times. Maybe not so weird.

     

    They watched her get off the stone, the odd soul seeming to listen to his tepid words. They were warm and inviting to an outsider. Mason knew his quirks, she was no outsider. Warm and inviting were a mask, but even he was surprised he confessed to worrying about her.  He didn’t worry about anything, not really. Of course he DID care, he wasn’t an asshole, but he tended to let sleeping dogs lie…fate would sort’em out.

     

    "…lotta that goin' around"
     

    Or not.

     

    "…guess I forgot to tell you…. am a giant cockroach…. I always survive…. I always come back…"

    It was his turn to chuckle, lips twisted in a surly smirk as he cast a long glance over his shoulder, then at his feet.

    "….and I usually pay my bills."

    Sure, that was left to be seen. But, she amused him at least.  He could mention the shoes that didn’t get replaced, but it wasn’t kosher to revisit something that had previously been forgiven.  So…. onward he supposed, enjoying her odd confusion when he mentioned country club.  Did she only think he was imagining himself an emperor with no clothes?

     

    Psh.

    "….country club?...."

    It was turn for the brow to quirk.  Arms were still in a relaxed cross as he leaned on the stone.  It was sudden when it hit.  IT.  Her self-assessment was met with an odd tingle in his spine, as if he knew the answer to some long lost question that had bit at him before.  Her next words cemented the lump in his throat.

     

    "…isnt this slumming it a bit for your posh crowd?"

     

    Fuck.

     

    Flippin’ fuck.

     

    Eyes narrowed in and out at her as she “assessed” herself.

     

    Every expletive in this language and every other he knew slipped through his mind in a flood.  How in the hell had he not noticed this before?  Why?  Because she’d made it almost impossible to notice.  Either she was messing with him, or she had no idea he looked like a bumming hipster at the moment too.  Maybe she had no idea he normally was in a suit or polo?

     

    Of course she didn’t.

     

    Head cocked slightly.

     

    Well holy hell.

     

    “Posh crowds always have room for eccentric money and their guests.”

     

    Voice betrayed nothing.  Hands slid smoothly into his pockets, brain a whir of their every encounter flipping through his head like a rolodex to make each miniscule snapshot blend into a complete picture.  Damn.  No confirmation, but a helluva hunch.  It just didn’t make sense otherwise.

     

    “C’mon. Cold as hades out here.”

     

    He’d been in colder places, but he’d grown up with smolder in his bones. If he didn’t have to be, he’d rather avoid it.  She was either going to follow, or she wasn’t, making the trek fairly quickly to the parking lot where he kept his car.  His other, more impractical piece was stored for the winter. Not a chance in hell it would be out in this.  Keys were fished, the small blip of the alarm hinting he wasn’t exactly slumming in a posh crowd despite what he, they both, may have looked like.  People paid attention to money, no matter what one looked like.  As long as bills were paid, and sometimes some shiny extra, people tended to look the other way. Especially with those that had expensive tastes.

     

    He opened the door for himself, leaning on the top of the doorframe with his forearms to see if she was feeling like a field trip… and also, just to watch her for a moment.

     

    He had her game… at least he thought.

     

    “Cold enough to make my brown eyes blue," they were definitely, not brown.  "You look fine, c'mon'"

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    That chuckle again. It had a lyrical quality that whispered his Cajun heritage. It was a good sound. There were not a lot of people whose voice didn’t eventually grate the sensitive ears. His reminded her of good bourbon.

     

    The pause after she asked about slumming was too long. Hairs on the back of her neck tickled.

     

    [josef] Posh crowds always have room for eccentric money and their guests. [/josef]

     

    Snort was soft in response as she shook off the strange feeling that had itched her alarm bells.

     

    [josef] C’mon. Cold as hades out here. [/josef]

     

    That she couldn’t argue with. Standing the wind was caressing around her and it bit straight through the hoodie and turtleneck. Hands had shook gently to let the cuffs of the hoodie half cover her chilled hands.

     

    She listened to him move away. She was supposed to be resting and getting ready to go back to work in a couple days. Of course laying out catching her death of cold while on her list of ways to relax, probably was NOT what Gaspari had in mind. Warm car wouldn’t hurt for a bit, particularly as the etching of ebony down her left arm was itching. Weight of her duffle was adjusted as boots followed in the snow.

     

    She could turn after the wall. She knew exactly the number of steps to take her to the outer wall. A left there and she could start walking home. Of course it was over four miles from here. Fuck it.

     

    She followed the soft crunch of his steps in the snow, brow quirking as the alarm went off. She didn’t recall an alarm on the car she had driven him home in. Of course that car was likely not great in the snow. It practically sat on the ground from what she remembered.

     

    Ears caught the shift of sound. The car suddenly muffling the steps. He had gone around it. Again those little fingers ran up the back of her neck.

     

    [josef]Cold enough to make my brown eyes blue. You look fine, c'mon'[/josef]

     

    There was something odd in his words and she didn’t know what it was, but the hairs on the back of her neck never lied. She had been too relaxed around him. Hand ran over the dark mahogany, catching the stray wisps that had yanked free of the tail at the back of her skull as she paused in the snow well off on the other side of the car from him.

     

    Color….. he was referencing colors. Why color? Fishing?

     

    Fuck.

     

    [derrick]….live in black, white and gray…. so the colors of your peepers don’t really wet my drawers Boudreaux. [/derrick]

     

    She had learned when she was little that if people thought she was color blind they didn’t get suspicious when she didn’t notice a new pair of "red" shoes or that someone dyed their hair. It also wasn’t a lie… at least…. she didn’t think it was. Gaspari had asked her about her ability once, asked her to explain what she saw when she turned it on. He guessed what she saw was the equivalent of a black and white flat map. Maybe it was just an innocent statement from the Cajun, but something had alarm bells ringing and she still had just a small circle of people that knew she couldn’t see. Hell, majority of Bakkhos didn’t know.

     

    Did she trust him enough with it? She wasn’t sure yet.

     

    If he was testing the waters, she needed to "see", which was a pain. She was supposed to be resting. Fortunately she had not been using her abilities for several days. But that also meant that to see enough to make out finer details she needed a couple minutes. Hopefully a cursory glance would suffice.

     

    She "glanced" over her shoulder at the cemetery as if still debating if she was coming with him, taking a moment to breath deep and flush her mind with the first tickle of awareness. The rustle of the dead branches was the first echo that began bouncing the small white ants over their edges. The walls took two dimensional shape in her outlined map world before she turned back to him, head tilting slightly. His form seemed taller than she had recalled. Of course, she wasn’t exactly at her game best so she could be forgiven.

     

    He was standing on the other side of the vehicle from her. Door was open on his side. Towards the right. That meant the front of the car was…. god this was far too much work for as tired as she was. Opened to the right so the front was…. the right. He was at the driver's side then?

     

    Testing her? Or just not sure she was coming?

     

    Now she was doubting the hackles on the back of her neck. She was just a near stranger to him and he was being polite to invite but half expected her not to take him up on it.

     

    Damn…. last few months had made her downright paranoid.

     

    White breath curled from her lips as she huffed at herself and walked towards the vehicle, letting the gift begin to shut down, white lines fading around the solid surface. Arms folded on the roof of the car as she "looked" at him over the surface, dark shades reflecting the sun on their opaque surfaces as the jaw finally relaxed and the corner of her lips played upward just enough to notice.

     

    [derrick]….if I didn’t know better… might think you liked my company.[/derrick]

    Link to comment

    He was happy to hear her follow him, he really was.  Sure, he had friends. Regulars at bars he frequented, customers in his shop that he knew quite well that had come and gone.  But never really any witty companions of sorts.  People that didn’t need anything from him.  Well, she did, in a business sense.  Personally? There were no hitches here.  He could speak frankly, and she could toss it right back at him.  They wouldn’t speak for months, but still had an ease of humor in less than seconds.  They both were kinda still a mystery to each other he supposed.  Mystery was good, it was how he liked his world.
     

    She rounded the car, two fingers on the keypad to start the thing without getting in.  The faster it warmed up, the happier he was going to be.

     

    "….live in black, white and gray…. so the colors of your peepers don’t really wet my drawers Boudreaux. "

    He watched her cast a glance back toward the cemetery.  Chuckle was quiet as he got in and closed the door.  Seatbelt, because well, seatbelt.  The quiet amusement didn’t betray anything in his thoughts.  She could be baited, there was a vulnerability to that sharp exterior.  The Cajun would never tell though.  He knew enough of the world to realize she could be completely telling the truth, or lying off her ass to save face.  Why would she have even addressed it if it hadn’t been on her mind?  Curiouser and curiouser.  His question peeled back for the moment, turning on the heat, fingers over the vent and waiting for her to join him.  He'd made a poke, she'd poked back.  Pad of his middle finger gently touched a panel, the window sliding down slightly on her side.

    "….if I didn’t know better… might think you liked my company."

     

    “You’re worth talking to,” the smirk was surly.

     

    He clicked the lock a few times to makes sure it was open, but also as a final invitation.

     

    “As necessary as it is to let this beast warm up, the longer you stay out there the less amused I get.”

     

    Pause was long, reaching to flip the visor down and slide on a pair of vintage Maybach Barons.

     

    “Got a honey that won’t wait to be fed,” voice was low, words full of riddles as they always seemed to be.

     

    It was vague enough to be intriguing.  She would either get pissed he was taking her to take care of a potential “girl companion”, or follow along and later be smitten with his sweet Cheshire as much as he was.  Or not.  He didn't really care.  He just wanted to hang out with her.  It was only fair, he’d caught a glimpse of her life, and he realized she knew nothing about his other than he had expensive tastes and could make great bullets.  Of course, she might just care less.  He’d given her a chance at least; she could wait in the warmth of the car while he paid the bills if she really wanted.

     

    “Last chance…”

     

    Window zipped up and he pressed his foot to the brake, ready to put it in gear.

    Link to comment

    [josef]You're worth talking to.[/josef]

     

    There was an edge of surly humor in his words and yet she still found herself surprised by the sentiment. She had never been much of a talker, she was known for being the "strong silent type" by Bakkhos.

     

    Go home. Get some sleep.

     

    Get in the car. Mend a bridge?

     

    She could always say she was mending the bridge Bakkhos themselves had busted by not reaching out to their new ammunitions dealer.

     

    Ya… that was what she was doing. Not being reckless and wanting to get the fuck out for a bit without a chaperone… of course not.

     

    Long fingers hesitated before finally reaching down the side of the door to pop it open as he noted the longer she waited the less amused he would be. It was her turn to smirk. He was definitely in a surly mood.

     

    [josef]Got a honey that wont wait to be fed.[/josef]

     

    If he was expecting some form of indignation he was going to be sorely disappointed. She worked for and lived within a family full of Italian and Sicilian machismos. Getting their "honey" on was half their existence. She lived around more tail grabbing than a baby in a box of fluffy kittens. She had always been fairly indifferent to it since that sort of sexual forwardness was never turned on her, at least not overtly. In her world she had too much "balls" for the men to be comfortable flirting with.

     

    [derrick]… best not leave your honey lying out too long…. just collects yeast.[/derrick]

     

    Snort was soft as she finally pulled the door open as he tossed a "last chance" at her. Duffle was dumped on the floor of the passenger seat as she huffed at him.

     

    [derrick]….damn impatient for an old lady that collects antiques.[/derrick]

     

    Jab came with an uptick of her lips as she dropped into the seat, long limbs folding into the car to tuck on top of the duffle as the door was yanked closed. Shiver ran up her spine as she let the beginning embers of warm air blasting out of his ducts touch the slightly blued flesh. She had been colder than she had realized.

     

    [derrick]…for the record… I refuse to hold your dentures while you take a piss.[/derrick]

     

    Hands stretched out to the vents to warm heavily battle-marked digits, oblivious that the back of her left was facing him now, the ebony thorns of tribal "tattoo" curving up the back of it to lick at the base of her fingers.

     

    She was quiet as the warmth began to finally penetrate her skin. Breath pulled deep before releasing queitly.

     

    [derrick].. am sorry nitwits didn’t keep up business with you while I was gone. First trip was planned but the second one wasn’t, hadn't meant to be gone that long.[/derrick]

     

    Hand slid into her front jean pocket, pushing the button on the side of the phone to turn the thing off. Supposedly they didn’t have her GPS'd.. but she trusted Gaspari about as far as she could throw him when it came to something like that.

    Link to comment

     "… best not leave your honey lying out too long…. just collects yeast."

     

    The door opened and the always present innocent smirk flicked dimples even deeper.  Some days he just didn’t feel like being alone and there wasn’t anyone he had around him that could scratch that itch.  Women at the bars always wanted drinks and an escort home.  Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t, but there were always strings attached in some way.  He wasn’t a relationship guy.  Clients at his shop were fairly uncouth, not the greatest conversation and always looking for deals.  The club was a constant barrage of cigars and scotch by men who thought they were charming, and gold-digger pity sex begging from women who loved his accent and the fact he rode in full suit.

     

    Mason was, refreshing.

     

    “Not a chance, I take care of her every chance I get.”

     

    "….damn impatient for an old lady that collects antiques."

    He chuckled,

     

    Jab came with pressing another button that would warm up the leather seats.  He wasn’t bragging, not at all.  He loved luxuries, just didn’t need them to survive, flipping back and forth from pauper to prince on a whim.

    "…for the record… I refuse to hold your dentures while you take a piss."

    “Where’s the fun in that?” he put it into gear and stopped at the gate, rolling down the window in a whiff of cold air to punch a card and place It back in his visor.  “I’ll hold my dentures, you help me piss.”

     

    It was bawdy, but the delivery wasn’t the locker room humor it sounded like.  Something about his demeanor and innate personality made it quiet wit instead.  He also didn’t miss the tattoo, hazel behind the dark shades had already picked them up.

     

    ".. am sorry nitwits didn’t keep up business with you while I was gone. First trip was planned but the second one wasn’t, hadn't meant to be gone that long."

    “No worries,”  had other reasons to shutter shop.  There actually were.  Dickheads.  The rash of ammunition shops getting torched.  She didn’t need to hear him complain about that.  She either already knew or didn’t need to know.

     

    The sleek car barely allowed any sound in, quiet hum and shocks that absorbed even the bitchiest of potholes. It was like a calm parlor, warm now to boot.  He hated getting out of it into this mess.  Enjoyed the hot summers when everyone else was melting.  He’d left the radio on, perking to life when the car started.  Talk radio of some kind cut with jazz so soft it barely registered. It reminded him of walking through streets of home, hearing things through walls and across blocks.  He was quiet a while.

     

    “You said to only deal with you anyways,”  the words were true.  “Someone showed up saying they were there for you, someone woulda’ died.  Glad you didn’t.  Know your boss is big’n all.  But…  my flavor is a bit dangerous.  Wouldn’t have been pretty.”

     

    He wasn’t lying that first moment she came into his shop.  Although words were never spoken about it, there was a reason the Order had been so meticulous in his training.

     

    “Waves,” he said.  He didn’t have to, but it didn’t really matter.  He was in the privacy of his car. Plus… it didn’t really fucking matter.  “Light spectrum.  Order had me pegged pretty quick.”

     

    Fingers tapped on the wheel to something he was listening to in his head.

     

    “I can be radioactive,”  the words were drawn out in the thickest drawl he had, pure Orleans' heat, under his breath and matter of fact.  “Didn’t think Order should have that kinda’ pull, so I checked myself out of the asylum.”

     

    He moved onto the highway toward the coast, making quick work. Barely any traffic, made it a nice ride.  Pulling into the parking lot, he turned off the engine and paused a moment.

     

    “Don’t embarrass me cher, upper crust don’t like their dentures rattled.  Wanna meet my girl?”

     

    Again, the surly humor.  If it hadn't been obvious all the time she'd known him, it was now.  He was a trouble maker… though an innocent one, and he was definitely inviting her into his party.  Sunglasses were replaced in their snapped case on his visor and he got out.  It definitely wasn’t the country club proper, that was several hundred yards off… fancy pools and golf course tucked in for the winter.  The stables were down the hill, just as fancy in their own way, the track kept up as much as possible over the winter with tilled dirt, the polo court covered as well for the winter.  Even in the summer, it left a lot to be desired.

     

    He made his way to the small office that sat off the massive span of stables like compact cottage, the bell dinging as he stepped in already pulling out his wallet.  The Cajun hated this part.  The woman that worked there was insufferable.  Always found ways to keep him talking.  A hopeless flirt, smile already on her face. 

     

    *npc*  Here for your Cat?

     

    Of course he was. 

     

    "Mhm."

     

    He went through his regular barrage of questions.  Fed?  Yes.  Hooves checked?  Yes.  Anything unusual?  No.  Stables warm enough?  Yes.  The ease at which he made conversation was nothing short of a miracle.  He was preened for this type of chat.  Yes, he knew about her new car.  Yes, he knew that her parents had purchased her a house up the coast.  Yes, he knew she had a new horse she was going to use for stud services.  Brow quirked a bit as he signed the boarding agreement papers she slid across the counter.  Damn horse wasn’t getting near his Cat.

     

    “You have a good day now,”  his smile brought a blush on her cheeks.  He wasn’t encouraging her by any means… but he wasn’t exactly discouraging her either.  He didn’t have it in him.

    Link to comment
    • 2 weeks later...

    There was that chuckle. That lyrical sound that had caught her attention the first time they had wandered the cemetery. Brow quirked upward musing that she wouldn’t hold his dentures as she noticed the seat beneath her was warming up. It was a bit ostentatious but at the moment, with the bones currently chilled, she wasn’t complaining.

     

    [josef]Where's the fun in that? I'll hold my dentures, you help me piss.[/josef]

     

    The rare rumble in her chest came as chuckle fought to escape, head shaking slightly.

     

    [derrick]…. you owe me a helluva lot more than a warm ride and a trip to some old people's shmooz club before I am doing that for you Boudreaux. [/derrick]

     

    Smirk remained on her lips as she pushed cold fingers towards his vents again. Nod was faint as he seemed to accept her apology for him getting ditched by Bakkhos while she was gone. The faint sound of the jazz on the radio drew an unconscious soft hum in her chest, the sound like dark rich rum as it resonated.

     

    [josef] You said to only deal with you anyways, someone showed up saying they were there for you, someone woulda’ died. Glad you didn’t. Know your boss is big’n all. But… my flavor is a bit dangerous. Wouldn’t have been pretty. [/josef]

     

    Quirk of her lips lifted again, nod betraying she actually got the concept. Truth was, she probably would have been the same.

     

    If the revelation of the Order surprised her, she didn’t show it, silently listening as he seemed to feel the urge to relieve himself of secrets. It was odd, but they both seemed at ease despite barely knowing each other. Brow quirked as his words set in, faint tick upward on her lips.

     

    [derrick]….radioactive huh?.... somehow that explains a lot. [/derrick]

     

    Quiet words were playful without any harmful bite as her head rested back on the chair, enjoying the warmth that was finally enveloping her in its entirety. It was a disappointment when they pulled in and he turned off the engine, evidenced by a very soft unconscious sigh.

     

    [josef] Don’t embarrass me cher, upper crust don’t like their dentures rattled. Wanna meet my girl?[/josef]

     

    [derrick]…upper crust tend to have too many sticks up their asses.[/derrick]

     

    She said it with a soft chuckle even as she opened the door and slid out of the car. The moment she breathed the afternoon air in however she was drawn up short.

     

    Animal scent. Strong animal scent. It reminded her of…. of….. shit… of the casino!

     

    Horses.

     

    Inwardly she groaned. Animals were not her thing. Caesar was an absolute anomaly that chose her rather than the other way around. She had never been around animals growing up and even with her enhanced mapping she couldn’t tell the differences in a lot of their shapes to determine at a distance what the creature was.

     

    [derrick]….. and you better tell her she has to have the bottom.[/derrick]

     

    He wasn’t the only one with a bit of surly humor. Hot breath curled as she pushed hands into the pockets of her zip up and followed behind him. Nostrils made a soft huff as they approached the counter. The woman's perfume was on too strong for the sensitive senses that were already being assaulted by equine, not to mention the moment he started to "shmooz" the woman's pheromone levels peaked. Gross. She listened to the "friendly" chit chat with nary a soft muscle in her features, long tale of mahogany swinging as she glanced behind her to allow her senses to rest, drinking in the fresher air of the outside winter winds.

     

    There was a layer of sugar over the conversation that she really had no desire to be a part of. Patiently she waited as he finally said his good day. She waited until they were out of earshot of the woman having her wet dream.

     

    [derrick]….far too much honey in that old milk.[/derrick]

    Link to comment

    "…. you owe me a helluva lot more than a warm ride and a trip to some old people's shmooz club before I am doing that for you Boudreaux. "

    There it was, a truly deep laugh that ran with a charm that couldn’t be bought.  It was real, clever, a lyrical quality as dark as the nightlife that he loved.  Humor cultivated by too much to drink after last call with friends that now were just empty chairs.  It lngered long after in silence as her humming settled around the quiet car before he confided that he was fine with her not sending anyone.  Really.  He hadn’t wanted to kill people.  He would have if he had to.  He was more upset at the fact she'd just poofed.

    "….radioactive huh?.... somehow that explains a lot. "

    “Could be worse.  Saw some really short end of the stick mojo while I was there.”

     

    It was the only time his voice became dark, hazed with a smoke that wasn’t avoidance, it was reluctance.  He was okay with talking about himself if he knew the world wouldn’t know, but there were a whole lotta secrets that would horrify anyone if he ever got the urge to talk.  Up to this point, he never had anyone he trusted enough to listen.  She entertained him, but he was still far from that even though he got the distinct impression it would never leave her confidence.  The ride was too short.  Reluctant to leave the warmth of the car, it had to be done.

     

    "…upper crust tend to have too many sticks up their asses."

    “That’s why I started drinking,”  he quipped before closing the door as he got out.  He really wasn’t expecting her to follow, Spidey senses tingling when she seemed to pause.  Hm.

     

    "….. and you better tell her she has to have the bottom."

    Again the chuckled smirk, senses still on high call.  He really wasn’t sure why.  Curiosity he supposed. Admiration maybe. He wasn’t lying when he’d said there was some fucked up shit around him at the Vatican. Her brand, if he’d pegged it right, was simply fascinating.  She was incredibly interesting when so few things were anymore.

     

    "….far too much honey in that old milk."

     

    “You’re terrible,”  again the smirk bled through his words as he walked toward the actual stables proper.  “It’s just the money, my prince of Orleans ass never been much to look at anyway.

     

    He stepped through the main handler entrance, a rush of warm air from the blower overhead keeping the winter at bay.  The stables weren’t incredibly warm, but not cold either.  The foyer was swank, almost indistinguishable from an actual high end abode.  It was the gate beyond the leather couches that gave it away, stepping in with an echo.  The ceiling shot up almost immediately, metal roof three stories above their heads.  Each magnificent animal had what could be described best as their own “hotel room”.  A stable proper, and a side room for their owner to just chill.  Decanters and all..  Actual small trees lined both sides next to black wrought iron antique lanterns, the same style chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.  The place was immaculate, and lavish.  Sadly, not as nice as the one on his estate at one time.

     

    In the corner pad, was his Cat.  The best digs in the house.

     

    A soft whistle brought the beast immediately to the Dutch door, nibbling at his hand before her forehead bumped his. Scritches were had and he lifted the latch to step inside and make sure everything was in order.  He nodded toward one of the swanky benches beside her stalls.

     

    “Iffin you’re not a horse person…”  his voice muffled slightly as he leaned down to check her wraps, then each hoof.  He was not a hands off owner, much to their dismay.  When he wasn’t happy, they knew.  She was stiff.

     

    “Got time for a walk, or you need to be somewhere?”  he asked.  “She needs a walk, not a ride, but I can take you home first.”

    Link to comment

    The deep laugh bubbled up and actually enticed her lips to turn faintly upward once more. It was a good sound. A really good sound. It had been a while since she had heard a person make a really good sound, such things were only coaxed out of her instruments these days. People's noises…voices….. were too full of sanctimonious self righteousness, malice, false bravado or lies.

     

    His laugh was honest. As was the soft darkness that crept into his words as a dark memory passed a shadow over his comment.

     

    His voice shifted as he spoke to the woman behind the counter. Not exactly dishonest, just not…..real. As they moved away she couldn’t help but comment.

     

    [derrick]…far too much honey in that old milk. [/derrick][josef]You're terrible..[/josef]

     

    Her turn to snort a faint laugh as she added…

     

    [derrick]….pretty sure she help you piss and lick honey off ya at the same time… all for free.[/derrick]

     

    Words smirked quietly as head shook, following slightly behind his left shoulder. She had not only heard it in the woman's voice but could smell it on her as well.

     

    [josef]It's just the money, my prince of Orleans ass never been much to look at anyway.[/josef]

     

    Snort came again.

     

    [derrick]…trust me… that reaction was no cream for your cash.[/derrick]

     

    Back of her neck bristled as the gush of warm air came from overhead. But it wasn’t the warm air that really caused the small hairs to raise. It was the sudden assault of animal.

     

    Feet paused as senses were assaulted. Hot breaths escaped flaring nostrils all around her, hoofs stomping on the soft hay covered earth, heady scent of large equines nearly enticing her to pass out.

     

    Fuck…..fuck fuck fuck…

     

    Lips barely parted as she took the next several breaths through her mouth instead, a trick she learned long ago when scents became overwhelming. It took the edge off.

     

    She was relieved he had kept walking to his animal. She took the seconds to get her wits before feet moved again on the cobblestone path to follow. As he undid the latch of what she had to assume was its stall, she kept a healthy distance. As he moved in a large beast behind her stomped against its door, the pounding of hoof against wood causing her to whip around, her own tail of mahogany fluttering in a curve behind her as she scowled at the creature as though it had done it on purpose.

     

    [josef]Iffin you're not a horse person…[/josef]

     

    [derrick]….huh?..[/derrick]

     

    It took a second to register what he had said as her back remained to the cajun, scowl at the dark animal behind its door still present as it snorted and kicked the ground again. Mutter was faintly under her breath.

     

    [derrick]….. not an animal person.[/derrick]

     

    [josef]Got time for a walk, or you need to be somewhere? She needs a walk, not a ride, but I can take you home first.[/josef]

     

    [derrick]…and miss lady hot pants try to convince you to chat her up again? Never.[/derrick]

     

    Words were still a bit under her breath as she turned to "look" his way, shoulders flinching as the big black stallion behind her kicked the door once more, the scowl deeply etching as head snapped around to half growl at the creature, fingers itching to pull the hidden glock from under her sweatshirt. As though pointing it would even register as a threat to the damn thing.

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    • 2 weeks later...

    "….pretty sure she help you piss and lick honey off ya at the same time… all for free."

    “…who says she hasn’t…  the honey part anyway..”

     

    It was his turn to smirk and let the dog lie, her snort at his comment about money scrunching his face.  This was bad.  He was not supposed to be this hilariously catty with anyone, at least not sober.

     

    "…trust me… that reaction was no cream for your cash."
     

    “Always found it hard to tell the difference.”

     

    It always had been hard to tell.  It wasn’t as if who he was could ever be a secret until now.  Maybe the mob was right, maybe she wasn’t after his funds.  But, there weren’t many people that could afford to keep a “frivolous” luxury like his Cat in this nice of digs anymore and she knew it.  He didn’t miss the strange creep up his skin when they went in. It was one of those “can’t quite place it” moments.  Something was definitely not quite right in Dodge, but he was too much of a gentleman to ask… for now anyway.

     

    …but…. he could have left it alone if that was the end of it.  The distance between them increased, he could feel it.  People were magnetic, little bats of breeze against the hair of your skin.  She was dropping back slightly.  Nothing made her pause… except, his horse?

     

    Maybe she just didn’t like horses.

     

    "….huh?.."
     

    The Cajun was intricately observant.  He was a prince after all, of sorts.

     

    “Not a horse person,”  he repeated.  “Not all are.  S’okay, Cat won’t take it personal.”  The clink of tack was light as he dressed her for an “outing”, nodding toward the beast that was the one thing on this earth that was close to pissing him off lately.  “That one might.”

     

    "….. not an animal person."
     

    He smirked lightly, the soft snort of air through his nose betraying amusement.

     

    “Cat’s not an animal,” he pushed open the slide door, hand on the halter to walk her out, “Cat’s a work of art.”

     

    He turned the large animal easily, putting space between them and the swanky “apartment” stall he’d just come out of.  Unable still to keep the Cat from stealing a quick nuzzle on the mob’s cheek.

     

    “Iffin’ you want to come along there’s a jacket and a few scarves on my coat hooks on the back wall.  Gloves are in the pocket.  Ain’t leather and swank.  My old riding jacket and digs… bit on the old pudgy side I am.”

     

    Chuckle was light.  Truth, sort of.  He wasn’t the lean party goer he used to be.  Surviving and hiking would do that to you.  Her, they’d fit just fine.  True to form, he led the animal out the main door, same warm air blower activating the moment the he pushed the double doors open, and down the lane to the main track to begin a few laps around the track.  He left her to decide, the pace slow enough for her to catch up.

     

    Afterward?  A good rub down, and a few words with the main office about the stud brute she put across from his Cat.  The Cajun didn’t get angry, he got quiet.  When he was quiet, there was truly a thunder.  That trolling for business shit was gonna stop.

    Link to comment

    [josef]Always found it hard to tell the difference.[/josef]

     

    [derrick]….ya…..there is that….[/derrick]

     

    There was something in her tone. Something dark and far too understanding of his statement. That had been her whole life… wondering what people wanted her for… her talent… her money… or just to steal a moment in her spotlight for themselves. It had been better since the Nevus… but there were hints of that life returning to haunt her.

     

    Frown marred the brow above her shades before head shook a bit to wipe the shadow away. Muscle through her spine flinched at the clink of the tack, stepping again away from the snort of his "Cat" only to get way too close to the stallion that slammed the stall door just a foot behind her causing a jump and spin that had a glock leveled at the black nostrils flaring at her before anyone could blink.

     

    The stare down lingered, her nostrils flaring almost in sync with the stallion whose wild eyes glared down the barrel of her weapon. She finally exhaled with an exasperated snort and slid the glock deftly back under her sweater where it disappeared as though she wore no harness beneath. Mutter under her breath was clearly annoyed.

     

    [derrick]…stupid animal….[/derrick]

     

    [josef]Cat's not an animal. Cat's a work of art.[/josef]

     

    Her frown was skeptical as she continued to glare at the stallion only to be surprised by the wet breath on her cheek. Jump back had the reflex of a feline, back slamming the stable door only to have the stallion slam his hoof against it in return. Thick 'oof' escaping her lips as the wind half knocked out of her.

     

    [derrick]…why you….[/derrick]

     

    She turned, hand cocked to punch the damn beast.

     

    [josef]Iffin’ you want to come along there’s a jacket and a few scarves on my coat hooks on the back wall. Gloves are in the pocket. Ain’t leather and swank. My old riding jacket and digs… bit on the old pudgy side I am.[/josef]

     

    Hand fell to her side as she listened to his chuckle. Mutter under her breath unheard in words but whose tone was clearly swearing like a bawdy sailor as her steps quickly followed his own. Head shook at the offer. No way in hell she was staying in there with that….. thing.

     

    [derrick]….am fine.[/derrick]

     

    Half under her breath the words came as she stuffed her hands deep into the joey pocket to stave off the bite of winter as they exited the building. Her steps a good fifteen feet off to his right to ensure she could get a head start on that beast he was walking.

     

    She was SO not an animal person.

     

    As they walked silently she slid her hands out of her pocket to flip the hoodie up, tucking the miles of mahogany tail up into its depths before hands vanished again. Ears kept careful track of their steps and any drift in her direction was matched by her own feet with a drift away.

     

    [derrick]….never um… was around animals… not so much as a goldfish growing up.[/derrick]

    Link to comment

    "….ya…..there is that…."

    She knew.  She knew exactly what he was talking about.   There was that one conversation they’d had about her being famous or some such.  Truth was, he thought he’d heard of her.  Maybe he had, there was a time he was really disconnected from reality.  He hated the social circles, he hated the media, he drowned himself in clubs and music.  Somewhere along the way, he’d heard of her. 

     

    She knew.

     

    Brow quirked at the sudden altercation, hand tight on the halter to keep the Cat from shifting.  Horses got spooked easier than most people thought, he was fortunate his had a solid temperament.  His response was unusually calm for a situation that could get quickly out of hand.

     

    “Relax luv,” hum of his voice was quiet.  “He’s just interested in my Cat, dun give two shits about you.”

     

    His took its cues from him, they were sensitive.

    "…stupid animal…why you…."

    It was his turn to calm the other half, his palm lifting to cover her fist and squeeze softly, the unusually warm skin humming with inert power he rarely used.  His offer of a coat refused, his temperament hadn’t changed, still the soft conversation that was slowly bringing down a skittering Cat as he spoke to her quietly.

     

    “Track is a flat field, not sheltered buildings or mausoleums.  Wind gonna whip across it and bite like a gator.  Last chance.”

     

    She seemed disinterested in his offer; such was the pity, noting the retreat into her hoodie and distance.  Clearly avoiding.  Why exactly DID she come out here?

    "….never um… was around animals… not so much as a goldfish growing up."

     

    “Cat’s not an animal,”  he said calmly.  The horse paced slowly, she just wanted out.  “She’s an extension of me.  Polo player and traditional rider, not many good polo games anymore though.  Now you know my deep, dark secret.”

     

    It was weird with her walking so far away.

     

    “Don’t seem like the kind to piss yourself at a pony Mason,”  the comment was quiet, a lick of tease to the tone.  He stopped the beast, motioning her over.  “Now you have a chance to be around one, one worth knowing.  You woman enough to touch, I’m man enough to keep her still.”

     

    Brow quirked with pure impish malice, running his hand over the beast’s neck.

    Link to comment

    [josef]Relax luv.[/josef]

     

    There was a soft snort at the term, skittish muscles jumping under the sweater almost in time with the stallion. The two had more in common than she realized. She wasn’t that different from a wild stallion and at times just as difficult to approach.

     

    [josef]He's just interested in my Cat, dun give two shits about you.[/josef]

     

    Another snort from her nostrils was mimicked from behind the stall door. She would have let it go except….

     

    It happened so fast and her fist was drawn back. She had enough sense to not throw the punch but it was so tempting until the warmth of his skin wrapped over her knuckles. Flinch that ran through her cheek was violent as she froze. She had decked people for less.

     

    She didn’t deck him. Why didn’t she deck him?

     

    Hand fell when he let go, stuffed away in the joey pocket as he talked about how cold it would be outside and offered a last time the jacket she didn’t see. Did he miss the part where she had been half asleep on a tomb in the snow. The cold helped numb her skin, helped temper the hyper sensitivity that she had suffered from most her life. It was one of the reasons her clothing tended to be so incredibly soft and smooth.

     

    Head shook as she followed him out. The bite of the cold drew a deep breath, enjoying its nip in her lungs as she kept an "acceptable" distance from the massive creature.

     

    [josef]…she's an extension of me…[/josef][derrick]….like my guitars….[/derrick]

     

    The words were soft… not really meant for him as she thought out loud. It was odd to think a creature could be that extension like she felt when that resonant chamber cradled in her arms.

     

    [josef] Polo player and traditional rider, not many good polo games anymore though. Now you know my deep, dark secret.[/josef]

     

    Polo?....that sounded sort of familiar. It was a game of some kind with horses right?

     

    [derrick]…cant say I have ever been fortunate enough to take in a..um… polo?...game[/derrick]

     

    He stopped. The lack of steps caught as she ended up slightly ahead of him and the beast. "Glancing" over her shoulder she quirked a brow at him.

     

    [josef]Don’t seem like the kind to piss yourself at a pony Mason.[/josef][derrick]Fuck you Boudreaux[/derrick]

     

    There was a tilt upward of her lips as she bantered at him. She was more relaxed but there was the ever present threat of a skittish stallion under her skin.

     

    [josef] Now you have a chance to be around one, one worth knowing. You woman enough to touch, I’m man enough to keep her still.[/josef]

     

    Nostrils snorted at the goading. She didn’t goad. However……. she didn’t back down from a dare either. He had knowingly or unknowingly walked her into a no win situation.

     

    [derrick]…hey… I don’t have anythin' against your Cat. It's you I think I don’t trust.[/derrick]

     

    Smirk played over her lips. It was rare her features were this relaxed, the scowl normally an almost permanent etching over her brow. He was between her and the beast, that she knew. Didn’t make it feel any "safer". Breath huffed between her lips as she pushed her gift outward, white ants beginning to crawl over the edges of the man and horse making them one large shape. Faint frown stained her brow as she tried to decipher the two. Step closer was hesitant, the tilt of her head clearly skeptical. She stepped again, this time also slightly to her left because she recognized his head above the amalgamated mass. He was staying between her and that thing.

     

    Several more tentative steps closed the distance as her heart rammed in her chest. Before he could do anything she was slightly behind him. There was no family around, they were in the middle of nowhere, she was ok with showing a little "weakness". Hand reached out and snatched the back of his coat, curling the fabric inside her tight fist as she pulled herself close to his back. She didn’t get this close… to anyone.

     

    Her breath wisped near his ear a bit rapidly as she refused to let go his coat.

     

    [derrick]….happy…?[/derrick]

     

    There was the slightest tinge of strain in her tone. She faced a werewolf without fear. This… this had her heart thundering in her throat.

    Link to comment

     "….like my guitars…."

    “Mhm”  he agreed. Of sorts he supposed.

     

    "…cant say I have ever been fortunate enough to take in a..um… polo?...game"

    “Don’t think you would like it much.  Place for overly privileged people to flaunt their over privileged lifestyles to other overly privileged people.  Think garden party for assholes while ignoring a rugby game,”  he smirked lightly.  “It’s the game that’s incredible.  Soccer, croquet, horse racing, all rolled into one.  Not something you can just jump on a horse and do.  Shame it never gets paid attention to over the caviar and ridiculously big hats.”

     

    It ultimately was the enjoyment of riding, making split second decisions with something you could only communicate with on instinct.  Too much pondering the universe for the moment, the playful lick back enough to goad her.  She had after all agreed to come with him, wasn’t really sure how to take that given she admittedly didn’t like animals and was now steering clear of both of them.

     

     "Fuck you Boudreaux"

    His laugh was instant, dark and bright at the same time.  Crinkles licked up on the outside of the always mischievous eyes.

     

    “Now there’s an honest reaction I don’t get often, usually the words are a bit more of a question.”

     

    He was being boorish, if that was even possible for him, he somehow always managed to make it charming.  Even his teasing seemed charming in the warm chuckle.

    "…hey… I don’t have anythin' against your Cat. It's you I think I don’t trust."

    “Ouch, that hurts,” he held his chest.  She was right though, he had a way of teasing out things he wanted to see.  Relaxation, a good time, good conversation.  In that regard, he most definitely was not trustworthy.  He would get what he wanted no matter what… this time it seemed it would be another win as she took up his challenge.  Hand shifted on the halter to hold the beast still, the odd prickle over his skin as she seemed to contemplate her moves.  There it was again.  His curiosity was killing him, unusual for the incredibly patient Cajun.

     

    She was hesitant.  She was never hesitant, gripping him so quickly it was like she was learning to swim and grabbed someone’s hand in the last few feet to make sure she was okay.

    "….happy…?"
     

    His neck ran in goosebumps as she claimed victory into his ear.

     

    “Are you?”

     

    That was the point after all.  It was nice walking with someone, but he couldn’t lie and say it was bumming him out that she wasn’t comfortable.

     

    Eyes cast over his shoulder where the voice had come from.  “Ain’t gonna push ya to do something you don’t want, but this is progress.”

     

    He wasn't really sure why he cared, it wasn't normal for him to teach life lessons.  She was unusually close, and cold.

     

    Cat shifted slightly at that moment, tail whisked.  He was so tempted to ask about her sight, that’s what was bothering him, but he was too much a gentleman to take advantage of a vulnerable position.  After all, he wasn’t really sure how someone would react to a sudden question of capacity.  She seemed fine with her place in the world, if indeed there was something flying under the radar, until now.  But, she seemed so content on being one that couldn’t be rattled…. she was rattled now- he could feel it on the back of his jacket.  Heaven be it his responsibility to help anyone really… but…

     

    God he had to stop rationalizing shit.

     

    “Couldn’t ask for a better temperament to break that barrier though.  Not the greatest weather, but… not many people around either.”

     

    It was a hint perhaps, that he knew she cared about how she was seen to others.

     

    “I can keep walking with you attached, you can wander over there again, or you can just walk next to me.  Up to you Mason.”

     

    Eyes flicked toward the stables, movement catching his eyes.  Mother of holy hell.  He really hoped it was not what he thought was about to happen.

    Link to comment

    She really did like when he laughed. The sound was delicious, his accent came through with a natural tone that was melodic in a way that she rarely heard anymore.

     

    [josef]Now there's an honest reaction I don’t get often, usually the words are a bit more of a question.[/josef]

     

    Smirk quirked a brow up over the dark shades.

     

    [derrick]…don’t go holdin' your breath.[/derrick]

     

    His feigned "pain" at her not trusting him only drew a bit bigger smirk from her lips before the great challenge was laid before her. Heart thundered in her chest as she clung to his back to ensure he couldn’t place her beside the beast.

     

    [derrick]…happy…?[/derrick][josef]Are you?[/josef][derrick]…not particularly at the moment.[/derrick]

     

    Words brushed across his ear and neck with a husk that had dropped an octave, betraying a hint of the wide range she had.

     

    [josef] Ain’t gonna push ya to do something you don’t want, but this is progress.[/josef]

     

    The single laugh was faintly strained.

     

    [derrick]Progress?...and here I thought it was a new brand of torture.[/derrick]

     

    Breath was less strained the longer she stood there. The beast wasn’t trying to eat her so that was something. No… there weren't many people around. Her current posture would cause more than one raised brow in the family. That thought made her fingers begin to relax as well. This was compromising, not in the found in bed with the Boss's girl compromising, but for the pit bull that kept the family safe, this was compromising.

     

    As he offered to walk with her latch-keyed to him her nostrils huffed hot along his neck with more of her old self beginning to settle the shiver in her spine. Fingers were just beginning to unwind their grip on his coat when the sound caught her, hooves echoing on wood and metal giving way.

     

    They had not made it far down the track and the locomotive was covering the distance faster than a damn racecar. It was amazing how fast fear of the creature beside him turned into a protective battle stance. She had barely time to pivot to face the charging stallion when he was there, rearing up, hoof hitting her shoulder and sending her flying back. She narrowly missed hitting the cajun but the hindquarters of his Cat were not as lucky. Ribs hit the horse before being spun around towards the ground. Hip hit the track with enough violence that had the snow not been layered a couple inches it might have fractured her damn bone. Instead it drew a thick exhale of air as the wind temporarily knocked out of her, sunglasses lost into the bank at the edge of the track as she turned onto her back and drew a deep settling breath. Hands planted behind her head as feet rocked up before springing back up onto her feet with an unnaturally feline grace as she dropped a hand nearly back to the ground between her knees, once more between the stallion and her walking companions.

     

    Hoodie had fallen back and ponytail half pulled free releasing mahogany tendrils into the biting wind like a winter witch as she pulled up to her full height.

     

    [derrick]…back up!....[/derrick]

     

    The snap of her tone was directed at of all things, the stallion, not the Cajun she now seemed to be protecting. Power had amped up and in the blink of an eye the stallion staggered sideways as though something had struck it. The only evidence something had happened was the few stray flakes of snow that drifted in front of her had suddenly travelled horizontally towards the stallion. Snort was explosive as the full body reared on her, hooves snapping at the air.

     

    [derrick]…just like every other little dicked pissant showin' off like he's somebody![/derrick]

     

    Her snarl was half under her breath as she took a menacing step towards the dangerously airborne hooves. This time the effect was more pronounced, thicker snowfall was struck by her telekinetic shield as it pushed forward and slapped the stallion on his exposed underbelly forcing the hind legs to stagger and the front to drop back to the ground.

     

    She had never appreciated how unnerving it was to be stared down by sightless eyes that somehow still managed to track accurately thanks to her nutter mother. More than one person had asked her not to do that to them, just another reason she hid behind her shades. Gaspari was one of the few that didn’t care and preferred her glasses off when they were alone. He respected however that even half the family had no clue she was blind and thus did not enforce the request when others were around.

     

    Apparently people were not the only ones that found it unnerving. The stallion pawed the ground as his head swayed in front of her, the woman's shoulders rising and falling with powerful breaths as she glared white orbs at the creature. The stallion shifted forward as though to charge and she shifted forward right with him, unblinking sightless eyes daring him to cross some invisible line. Nostrils flared on both sides of the line but only one set finally lowered and as they did her own snorted with a faint satisfaction.

     

    [npc]…oh my god![/npc]

     

    The woman was running out towards them, instantly the headliner turned away from the approaching caretaker, aware that in doing so she faced the Cajun and exposed clear as day her secret. Frown crossed her brow when her gaze came to rest where she knew he was as she tugged her hoodie up and down over her head to shadow her features and unnatural eyes from the hysterical female. She left the bitch to the Cajun as the stallion paced still agitated back and forth nearby. Hand moved to rub on the shoulder that was angry from the strike. The patterns beneath her sweatshirt shifting and burning around the blossoming bruise.

     

    Well this was just perfect little afternoon stroll….

    Link to comment

    "…not particularly at the moment."

     

    Well that was a first.  Not the grouchy thing, she was always two shakes short of a good time, the panicky thing.  She was nervous, the mob was never nervous.  What a good Samaritan he was…

     

    "Progress?...and here I thought it was a new brand of torture."

    It was unnerving, not because he minded being this close to anyone, but because she wasn’t comfortable.  He didn’t like being surrounded by terse.  It was different when he was showing some newbie around the Easy that was mesmerized with the exoticism of danger and magic.  She seemed as if she was settling, but he couldn’t quite tell if that was a byproduct of the death grip on his coat, or otherwise.  He might get a walking companion after all.  That’s all he really wanted.  People that were nervous made life stressful. Things were taxing enough with the crazy of the world.  Cat was nothing to be afraid of, about to share the thought when the clusterfucks of all clusterfucks happened.

     

    He knew he should have done something about the blatant obsessive nudging before taking out Cat.

     

    Normally he would have, but mob seemed nervous, and he wanted to get it done ASAP.

     

    The Cajun’s mind worked in odd ways.  Danger, violence, threats.   A man that got insanely quiet and was lethal with a calm grace.  Training.  Training plus who he was.  Made him a bit of a wild card, an audible whine in the air when he powered up the second the back of his neck bristled.  He was fast, ridiculously fast… not at this moment.  Interesting… people he would have no trouble singeing to the bone.  An animal?? …it made him pause a split second.  Split seconds were all that were needed to kill.  He knew that.  Before he could turn Cat had lurched to the side to keep her balance when the mob slammed into her.  Hit of muscle mass, scatter of glasses, the dangerous subsonic whine of his power… 

     

    “…git horse…” was murmured under his breath to his own animal… the incredulity of how well trained it was missed by the world as it separated itself from the situation to move further down the track and out of harm’s way.

     

    "…back up!...."

    His own hazel had turned crystalline, hands lowering at his sides, the mob in between him and his target.  She was in the way.  He couldn’t “curve bullets”, so he or she would have to move. Moving somehow didn’t seem prudent, the Cajun wasn’t entirely sure her brand of hoodoo wouldn’t singe his eyebrows off either. 

     

    It was a strange moment, the world in its muffled silence from the snow, the aggressiveness of an animal that was clearly bent on being a snarky bitch- or a murderous psychopath, the decision whether or not to move next to her or stay behind her.  Arms crossed…. and that... whatever that -her twinkling- was.  She had it under control.

     

    •npc• "…oh my god!"

    Calm features were well, calm, in the face of aggressive chaos.  Inside though?  Broiling, the anger dashing when the mob turned away from the woman.  Answers abounded, hand so swift into the snow bank it was a cheat in a card game. Lenses were spun under his thumbed scarf to dry them off, finger on her palm to open her hand in case she didn't know he had them.

     

    “Well ain’t that a daisy,”  he said to her, almost inaudibly, the dark warm timbre one only an Easy could produce, passing off her glasses into her hand with a smooth motion as he moved to deal with bullshit central.  As slick as an Ace up his sleeve.

     

    He didn’t bother with Jeanette, the gushing apologies on deaf ears, Cajun moving to the agitated beast as he managed to get a hand on the halter and start speaking under his breath.  Pawing started to calm,  agitated shifting started to calm.  He had that effect on everything it seemed.  Not quite sure where it came from, hand sliding up the sides of its neck as he continued talking to it.  When the gushing apologies turned to the mob, his words were audible to Jeanette for the first time.

     

    “You dun wanna do that,” he said quietly.  “She’s very good at not being kind.  If I were you, best keep yourself talkin’ to me, you won’t like the outcome if you don’t.”

     

    The pawing ended with a decided snort, and he walked the brute back to the stables with Jeanette in tow, leaving the most definitely injured mob to her own recognizance.  End of the stables, clipped to the wall cleat, Jeanette still gushing, he locked the stall up himself.

     

    “Git back to your desk,”  he said, for the first time a hint of something other than calm in his features.  “If we have a conversation now you won’t like the outcome of that either.”

     

    He left her there, hyperventilating, and moved back out. Soft whistle brought his girl back to him.

     

    “Get back on the horse,”  he said quietly.  It was like nothing had happened, until… “I know you’re hurt.  Fallen off enough to know what sounds make bruises.”

     

    Cat nuzzled the side of his neck, he reached up and slid the lead rope around his hand.

     

    “Finish the circle, I take you home and get something on that shoulder, or I take you home and get something on that shoulder now.  If we finish the circle, you’re takin’ the lead rope.”

     

    …then they had a lot to talk about. The car was going to be an interesting place very soon.

    Link to comment

    Fingers against her lethal hands drew the softest growl in her chest before it silenced again, her dark shades recovered and now pressed into her fingers.

     

    [josef]Well ain't that a daisy.[/josef] [derrick]….its nothing.[/derrick]

     

    She didn’t need anyone's help.

     

    No….. that wasn’t what rankled her skin. She didn’t need anyone's pity. It was more than that even. She liked his company. It was the thought of his pity that had the anger in the pit of her gut.

     

    Every gushing word from the woman fueled fire. Her fault. For the observant, sound had dwindled and the snow falls were pausing in the air in a thirty foot radius as snow clumps that sat loose on the ground had begun to rise into the still air.

     

    The huff of nostrils near her caused the chin to faintly tip towards his Cat as she tossed her head gently, animals far more aware of the change than humans who tended to miss the warning signs when her anger was raging and not fully under control. Caesar was smart enough to find a hiding place when it happened.

     

    [josef] You dun wanna do that. She’s very good at not being kind. If I were you, best keep yourself talkin’ to me, you won’t like the outcome if you don’t. [/josef]

     

    Seemed Cat wasn’t the only one that knew the danger. Strangely enough that it was acknowledged by him brought a smoothing to the hackles bristling at the back of her neck. Clumps of snow had drifted downward again as she breathed deeper.

     

    She listened as he walked the demon spawn back to the stables. Breath finally huffing from her lips as the air once more moved, snow fell again and Cat shook her head and stepped closer a hoof pawing the ground once as if demanding the headliner come over.

     

    [derrick]…what?.... [/derrick]

     

    Hoof hit the ground again, the sound light, not aggressive but communicative. Frowning she tilted her head to side glance to where the animal stood.

     

    [derrick]….I said what?...[/derrick]

     

    Hand was rubbing the damaged shoulder, acutely aware that tattoos were "crawling" over her skin, extending further across her collarbone and up the side of her neck in agitated protest of the damage.

     

    Heat of nostrils that were extending towards her injured arm exploded across her cheek despite the distance still between them. It knew. Somehow it knew what was going on under the cover of her clothing. Frown huffed back at the animal. Soft words grumbled at the creature.

     

    [derrick]..stop that… people are entitled to their secrets.[/derrick]

     

    His whistle shivered her shoulders as she stepped away from the animal that trotted to his side as he approached.

     

    [josef]….. I know you’re hurt. Fallen off enough to know what sounds make bruises. [/josef]

     

    Head shook a she let go the shoulder. Quiet words spoken to no one in particular.

     

    [derrick]…cockroach….remember…. I survive.[/derrick]

     

    She listened to the animal near him, scent of his skin suddenly warmer on the cold winds. That hot breath she had felt from so far away must be right on his skin. Musk and cinnamon.

     

    Take care of her shoulder. Brows knit slightly downward as she shook her head. Hand falling away from the angry injury, acutely aware the ebony tattoo had crept far up the side of her neck in protest.

     

    [derrick]…. just a bruise.[/derrick]

     

    Glance over her shoulder as she murmured the words was dangerous because it wasn’t pointed towards the stables, but the front office they had originally come through. The Bakkhos pit bull was not so narrow minded as to blame the horse, her attention was right where the blame should go. The injury was only half the blame. Exposing her was a downright unforgiveable offense. And "family" didn’t tend to forgive…… nor forget.

     

    "Gaze" came back around to him, shoulders shrugging as hands slid into the soft front pocket, seeking some warmth on the chilled digits.

     

    [derrick]… weredogs do lot more damage that some undersexed horse.[/derrick]

    Link to comment

    "….its nothing."

    “Then there’s nothing to hide… is there cher,”  comment was incredibly quiet before turning into a veritable “horse whisperer” and averting potential disaster.  The day was just getting more and more interesting.  Both issues safely put to rest, he could come back at a later time and set the ground rules that would determine if he stayed here… truth be told there really wasn’t any other place in the city that was as nice as this.  That was the problem.

     

    Then there was this problem, watching the two in some sort of interplay as he returned.  Lips quirked slightly.  Cat had a personality, and a fantastic temperament.  Responsive.  Empathetic.  It was why they’d bonded so well, the prince had ridden for so long he had a gift for picking and training them. Leave it to his darlin’ to soften the mob’s shell.  She was really a silly thing after all, but she was his silly thing… calling her to him and watching grouchy pants nurse her wounds.

     

    "…cockroach….remember…. I survive."

    “Survivin’ ain’t livin’,”  he wrapped the lead quietly around his hand, other sliding down the neck of his aging companion.  It had a melancholy to it.  Ghosts.  He was a survivor too.  He’d survived where almost everyone had died. He knew there were more Easies out there, there had to be, just had never one. But, he was right.  There had to be more than just surviving.  “That shoulder needs ice.”

    "…. just a bruise."

    “Bullshit,”  he caught the glance toward the main office, patting Cat on the neck and bundling the lead to hand to her, “…and holster that aura… dun’ much give a shit what your beef is with her.”  He had a really good memory, her comment to him some time ago in his shop lobby still in embedded in his brain.  He didn’t give two shits who she was or who she worked for, he had no problem telling her what needed to be heard.  “I’ll take care of it, don’t be gettin’ your pistols in a twist, ‘specially if it’s nothing.  She doesn't know you from Adam, and there's no reason to get worked up about something that's done and finished.”

     

    There was something else though, something odd that triggered a hum against the frequencies he was always so in tune with.  Like music perhaps, everything was waves… and the light he manipulated was no different than what stretched across the sky.  She had hoodoo, that was a given from the moment they met, but there was something else too.  It sloshed against his field like impatient waves on the side of a pool.

    "… weredogs do lot more damage that some undersexed horse."

     

    Now that was something he’d never encountered. Was probably one of the few around that could actually attempt to survive.

     

    He handed her the lead,  “she walks just fine if you’re the one in charge.”

     

    They had a lap to finish and a rub down for his girl afterward before they left.  Then ice.  Non-negotiable.

     

    "Lap. Rubdown.  Ice.  Then maybe a drink somewhere.  Life's too short to be sulky and pissed at the world Mason."

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    • CURRENT RESONANCE DATE

    • RESONANCE - 18+ 3/3/3

      • A modern/fantasy, intermediate+ collaborative writer's rp. Caters to an experienced player base (25+) with a slower, more relaxed pace.
    • HELP GETTING STARTED? TRY A CANON!

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