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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 1, 2014 20:37:36 GMT -5
Slade bristled slightly before exhaling in a rush and murmuring back, ”I know it's just a tactic. Rationally, I know that. It's working really fucking well though.”
She watched him through her lashes, letting her expression relax when he finished off the cipher and turned to address her again. That he hadn't reclaimed his seat was silently observed, but not remarked on.
”If I find anything pertinent in the documents I'll make sure to give you a heads up. I'm not expecting to find anything compromising to anyone else─ it's all Ouroboros' docs, after all─ but just in case.”
No, Slade had no idea that Jax was worried about Virhees and their connection to Ouroboros, and she was speaking in very broad terms. Who knew what Ouroboros was connected to? Who they paid, what they dealt in that wasn't a matter of public record. The Journalist was just letting her longtime friend know she wouldn't do anything to put him at risk. Though, again, that was probably more out of self-preservation than anything else.
”Well,” she started, picking up her coffee mug and peering into it, first admiring the bright, golden color the liquid turned to before tipping the cup to show it to Jax, ”If it works half as nice as it looks, I'm ready to lose a few hours.” She stifled the wince that threatened to overtake the small smile curving swollen, bruised lips.
She wet the wound deliberately with her tongue before tossing back the rest of the drink, keeping the remainder of the ball from entering her mouth with her teeth, and then set the mug down. It bubbled on the way down, which was a pleasant surprise. The Journalist leaned forward to stare into the emptied container for a moment before glancing over at her Dealer.
”Tastes good. Texture like champagne. No dry burn though.”
She stood in one smooth motion, grabbing the still-folded clothes from the table on the way up.
”So. I need a shower. Or a bath. Since it's my first time with this shit, maybe you should come with.”
Slade didn't wait for a response though she did wonder if she should pour more liqueur and coffee mix for herself. Instead, sock feet stepped silently across hardwood to the wall without windows, opening the door to the reason she'd wanted the studio in the first place. Fuck Cityscape views. Her bathing room and shower were hard to beat, penthouse or no.
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 1, 2014 22:58:22 GMT -5
Jacob believed Slade when she said he didn’t have anything to worry about, even without her knowing what she might be looking for. The truth was, the Virhees connection might well be in the documents Slade wrangled from her psychotic source, and if that was the case there may well have been some sort of byline somewhere indicating the off-the-books revenue they were getting from local dealers in the illegal aftermarket. Slade would be able to put two and two together and connect Jax to Virhees even without his name ever being listed, but compared to what Slade could potentially glean from the massive company’s internal data, Jax was small fish, and therefore not worth writing about. The public wouldn’t bat an eye at Virhees selling side-stock in aftermarket pharmaceuticals – the bigger scandal of Ouroboros owning Virhees had already been broken. No, Jax worried more about his supplier just being shut down entirely, or being put under enough pressure that it decided it was a great idea to shut down anything not considered entirely on the up-and up, which would leave the dealer high and dry for just shy of half his monthly product supply. Importing from elsewhere got expensive fast, and Jax liked the status quo of his supplier business enough that he was adamant as to not allowing it to change. Slade didn’t threaten him specifically in that regard – just generaly.
“Thanks.”
Jax smiled over the last sips of his second cup of coffee, finally setting the mug down as the journalist took the plunge. The dealer himself had never partaken of that particular product, but at the rate the shit was selling it was a wonder half the city wasn’t up in it already. It was rare to get something so effective without any serious drawbacks to taking it – Jax wasn’t sure how the drug even worked, and therefore made the assumption it had some kind of mystical underpinnings. A lot of recent new drugs of that nature had been hitting the market, but most of them were dangerous – this one was safe and highly effective – that, combined with it being apparently pretty cheap tp produce made it a real winner in the dealer’s book. Maybe he’d try it out himself someday.
As Slade stood up, Jax felt the change in energy in the room, and the dealer kept his stare relatively even as she gave him her little invitation. In the back of his mind, Jax had wondered if things would go this way based on her message, but once he had gotten to her place and seen how shaken up Slade was, the dealer hadn’t really expected this particular turn of events, and therefore the preparation he usually did for it was absent. Jax tried reminding himself of the importance of his early-morning duties at the same time he attempted to convince himself that she really wasn’t in a state to handle what she was implying, and that he should be a good man and leave well enough alone. Hell, he knew where his payment was – he could take it and leave, and maybe even have time enough to com Christy.
Jax also knew that his attempts to convince himself to not follow Slade would ultimately be in vain. The man allowed himself to watch the journalists body as she walked away for the first time all night, letting slip his chivalrous friendliness for just long enough to know that his decision had been made for him.
What the hell.
The thought was half internal admonishment and half casual situational acceptance, and both meanings easily coalesced into Jax casually unbuttoning the top clasp of his dress shirt and making to follow Slade toward her shower. He decided it was best not to say anything – she tended to be less fidgety if he stayed quiet after a certain point anyway.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 2, 2014 0:00:32 GMT -5
Jax's silence didn't offend her. He was right: it really was better that way. No awkward fumbling or emotional reactions. Slade steeled her slender frame against the shivers that threatened to betray her sudden nervousness. The drugs hadn't kicked in yet and she wondered if she'd spoken prematurely. . .
The door was left open, the lights flickering on at her movement. The interior was far more spacious than one would expect given the modest size of the rest of the studio. Directly across from the doorway was the waist-height counter protruding from the wall as if it had been carved rather than attached. There was no storage capacity under it, just empty space. Almost everything was steel or polished stone. A full-length mirror stretched to the left, where a couple more steps revealed a walk-in shower that was completely enclosed and had enough area for two or three people to do the whole communal shower thing─ if that was even a thing. The glass had a beautiful, frosted finish that had always appealed to Slade, but it was the large, fairly deep pool of a bathtub to the right that had really sold the Journalist on the place and made her willing to compromise on not securing one of the upper floors. She had no idea whose design it was that demanded these spectacular accommodations, but they were definitely the reason she'd never opted to move to a “nicer” place when her salary increases had allowed it.
Slade tossed the clean clothes onto the stone counter, directly next to the raised steel bowl that functioned as the bathroom sink. She didn't need to glance into the mirror to know Jax had followed her. Hands that were already going numb pulled off the sweatshirt and long-sleeved shirt covering her upper body, leaving only a too-loose tank top with a delicate cotton bra under it. The garments were tossed into the tall wicker basket behind her, next to the door frame. One hand leaned against the counter for balance as the other yanked off her socks in quick succession, sending them to follow the rest of her clothes.
”Shower, or bath?” She couldn't look at him yet, but gave him the option─ whatever made him more comfortable.
A slow inhale told her the effects were fairly rapid. Her lip didn't hurt anymore and the numbness that had been rapidly spreading throughout her frame was shifting to sensitivity. By the time she twisted the tank over her head, her bared skin was reacting to the difference in temperature. She could hear every one of her breaths like it was isolated, like time was slowing just so she could appreciate the cadence of her respiratory system. Those gunmetal eyes fell closed and her head tipped back into a slow neckroll that ended with her staring into the dim lights set deep into the ceiling. She reached back and untied her hair, letting it fall down her back and experiencing each fiber like it was the first time she'd noticed how long it had gotten. Slowly those eyes opened and everything was better for it: the colors were softened and Jax's scent penetrated her senses for the first time since he'd come into the apartment. She let her chin drop, the shiny exterior of the bowl catching her attention and inviting the tip of her finger to run along its rim. The sheer sensation of the tactile contact made her sway on her feet, but the Journalist was in no danger of losing her balance. Somehow she managed to unbutton the waist of her trousers, letting them drop to the floor, savoring the brush of fabric against the smooth expanse of her naked flesh before finally stepping out of them, listening to the soft scrape of them as they slid across tiled floor. She could hear the pattern in the sound, could feel every rib and seam as if it were an auditory map. Slowly, painfully so, she released the pants with her foot, mourning the hint of warmth as it escaped her body and left her chilled. The palms of both hands pressed to the flat planes of her lower ribs, pushing downward until slender fingers snaked under the laced edge of dainty panties printed with tiny flowers. The way the elastic stretched and dragged over the curve of her backside drew steel focus; Slade almost didn't want to take them off. . . At last the sheer fabric was released, allowed to fall and expose more of her body. The small, black resin rose positioned directly on the center of her tailbone─ a landmark that should have been familiar to Jax─ glinted in the subdued lighting. She could feel the anchor, the steel tab that resided in her flesh, and the realization raised goosebumps across her willowy form.
Slade traced her lower lip with her tongue, experiencing the pain of the fresh wound in an entirely different headspace─ a bearable one, for certain.
This stuff was amazing, the thought faraway and as if it came from someone else. This was the kind of high she could get lost in. . .
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 2, 2014 18:13:46 GMT -5
Jacob took his sweet damn time following after Slade. Considering that the Journalists movements were getting more fluid and smooth, he could tell that the drug was already taking effect, and he knew he didn’t have to hurry – she would be at the point where she was getting accustomed to whatever new sensations she was feeling as it was. When he did step into the bathing room, though, the dealer had already begun unclasping the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, absently moving his fingers to tug at the garment’s hem and unseat it from being tucked in his dress pants while he watched Slade herself disrobe.
Jax slowed his movements in comparison to Slade’s, taking the time to watch her body as she revealed it to his intense gaze. Apparently all his time spent this evening trying not to notice Slade had been to be repaid to him after all, and Jax wasn’t going to muss the show. Her inked skin slid into view with each new movement, and Jax took in the sights so carefully that he had only managed to unbutton his shirt in its entirety by the time the Journalist was already entirely naked.
Carefully folding his shirt over in the middle to prevent creases, Jax lay the garment over the top of the door and ran his fingers through his grey hair.
“Bath.”
The dealer knew that the shower would have been the wrong feel for the trip Slade was currently taking, but even besides that particular preference, Jax was already imagining what was about to go on in Slade’s bathtub with acute mental detail. He would let Slade set the water. Jax instead unbuckled his belt and took his time removing his pants, folding them much in the same way as his shirt and laying them overtop of the door in the same manner – he had to work in the morning, after all. Glancing left, Jax caught a sight of himself in Slade’s full-length mirror: though middle-aged spread was seemingly determined to set in on Jax’s body, the dealer still managed to feel good about the image he was looking at, especially as he noticed the thickness in his legs that he had developed over the past few months of increasingly-heavier exercise. Jax smirked to himself and looked away, turning his attention fully back to Salde, who hopefully had taken his hint and begun to run the bathwater. Jax would step up behind her and put his hands on both of her shoulders, his calloused palms exerting firm pressure on her sensitive skin, but not so firm that she’d bruise. Slade bruised easily, and Jax could even see new places where he assumed her contact had pressed too hard on the center of her chest.
“Not too hot.”
He was referring to the water, of course – Slade herself could behave in as hotly a manner as she preferred.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 2, 2014 19:30:08 GMT -5
Bath. . .
The single word floated through the air like it was caught in a lazy current, tickling her skin with a reverberation she couldn't perceive otherwise. The tips of her fingers traced the lines of her abdomen, letting the delicate chains connected to the piercing directly under her navel lightly brush against them. The sensation was distracting. Slade inhaled, letting her face upturn as she let go of the fragile-looking threads in favor of reaching around and unhooking the last garment shielding her body. She knew Jax was watching: she could feel the weight of his gaze like a caress against her lean, long form. There was no move made to stop cotton from catching on every curve─ no matter how slight─ on its way to rest on the floor. Just about instantly sensitive flesh reacted to the exposure. . . Slade resisted the desire to cup both breasts against the chill, letting one hand trace a path between them and up to the hollow of her throat instead.
One slender foot and then the other stepped over and away from the small pile of underwear and toward the panel that controlled waterflow to the tub. Still the Journalist hadn't glanced the Dealer's way, but she listened intently to the sounds of him undressing. Every rustle of fine cloth and scrape of leather might as well have been a soothing touch on her body. Jax had a calming effect even with the high.
Slade was comfortable in her nudity, but being under the influence inspired a sensuality in her movements she wasn't capable of otherwise. She might not have intended to issue an invitation to her body, but that had been when she was sober. Then, she cared more that Jax wouldn't let her drown if she had a bad reaction to her first time high on a new drug. Now? Now she wanted to drown and only in all the ways Jax could leave her breathless, surrendering to his touch and intense stares in a manner that wasn't possible when her head was clear and her body was cold. He'd learned relatively early in their longstanding 'relationship' that he couldn't watch her the way some women liked to be watched. She couldn't abide the little touches or the whispers of desire. It didn't make her heart race to know that he wanted her; it just made her frigid and earned him caustic sarcasm and biting derision. She'd tried more than once to express what it meant to her that he'd never abandoned her for all her coarseness and inability to convey appreciation for him: it had always ended a disappointment for both of them. Slade, the award-winning, insightful, articulate Writer was egregiously bereft of all of those qualities when it came to her own personal connections rather than the subjects she chose to observe.
The sound of water pouring into the smooth basin drew grey eyes. If she strained she could hear every individual drop slipping and sliding against all the others, rolling and tumbling to make way for more. The feel of his hands closing around her shoulders─ a sensation that would have been perceived as entrapping about five minutes ago─ was electrifying. Slade wondered, and it probably wouldn't be for the first time that night─ why she avoided physical contact so doggedly. She could map out his handprints based on the way his flesh settled against hers. His cologne intoxicated her, persuading her spine to lean backward and arch against him, skin to skin, as both arms raised over their heads to allow fingertips to rake through silvered hair. She breathed in the steam rising lazily from the swelling water level.
A quiet whimper hung suspended in the air above them as the heat flowed off the water and slowly changed the temperature of the room. . .
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 2, 2014 21:42:47 GMT -5
Jacob Davenor let out breath in a long, slow controlled way. The journalist’s body was just close enough to create a tingling sense of electricity against the dealer’s naked skin, and as the stem started to rise in the room and Slade began running her fingers through his hair, Jax leaned down and planted a kiss where the woman’s neck met her shoulder before stepping just around her, removing himself from her contact to step towards the large bathtub.
In front of the collecting water, Jax bent down to remove the last article of clothing he was hearing, letting the fabric undergarments slide down his legs and collect unceremoniously on the bathroom floor. Stepping over the edge and into the hot water, Jax would carefully settle his feet and legs beneath its surface, letting his skin adjust to the temperature as he turned back towards Slade, holding out one hand to take hers and lead her into the bath after him. Pulling gently on her fingers with an even expression on his face, Jax would lead Slade to the edge and, once she stepped over it, Jax would sink himself down into the water, taking a seat on one of the raised edges, letting the water rise up to the lower portions of his chest. Keeping hold od Slade’s hand, Jax would reach up toward the woman’s slender waist as she neared him in the water, and as she inched closer Jax would coax her directly forward, incentivizing the intoxicated journalist to settle herself into the water, sinking down to sit, facing him directly, in his lap and the water level continued to rise. Should Slade comply, and Jax was highly certain that she would, the dealer would reposition himself as she sank down so that their two bodies met immediate in the most intimate way, likely to a slow exhalation from both of them.
Jax looked the woman directly in the eye, face to face. This was a common cycle the two seemed to repeat over and over, and were Jax one for more robust levels of introspection he might have wondered just why he kept allowing this situation to take place again and again, but the answer was obvious even before the question could be internally voiced: he wanted her. Not in a long-term, committed way that would cause both of their atypical personalities to self-destruct and emotionally implode, but in a way they could both seemingly handle – short, pleasure-filled bonding sessions. Right now Jax was more than committed to bonding with Slade, and as he canted his head down just enough to take a bite into the woman’s fragile shoulder, carefully tonguing the skin between his teeth, Jax would also lean back just enough to press upwards with his hips and cause Slade to rise a bit higher in the water, Jax’s body pressing into her in a very deep, intimate way. At this point, Slade wasn’t really required to do much on her own – Jax was perfectly content to take charge and let his partner enjoy the ride.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 5, 2014 14:20:30 GMT -5
Slade's face upturned, her stare distant when his mouth warmed sensitive skin so near her neck. The chill that replaced him as he maneuvered around her to strip away the last barrier between them sent a strong shiver through her. A sigh passed between her lips as both arms slid downward lazily, savoring the rise in temperature. Her waif-like frame straightened as her heels lifted and she balanced lightly on the balls of her feet.
When Jax held out his hand Slade let hers rest against it, reveling in the sensation of his skin touching hers. One delicate foot rose carefully to step into the water, the woman pausing to sense the strength of her foundation before she drifted forward, drawn by his guidance. She watched him sink down, grey eyes bright and glazed with desire she was incapable of expressing otherwise, and let him pull her inexorably toward himself and into the welcoming rush of water. Slade offered no resistance, following as Jax silently led her into straddling his thighs. Finally, weightlessly she sank with him, her lips parting─ the lower still swollen and bloodied─ when he filled her.
Instantly Slade felt like she'd caught fire and didn't bother to quell the moan that slipped out breathlessly. Their eyes locked together and eons passed, her hands taking an eternity to find a hold on either side of his face. For a moment he might consider that she intended to press her mouth to his; her eyes dropped to his lips as she leaned forward. Her face turned slightly and there was no hesitation as her cheek found his, her upper body curling forward and toward him so the swell of her breasts molded to his chest. She couldn't stop the shudder that shook her when his teeth found her flesh or the resulting slow grind of her hips at the feel of his tongue soothing the gentle nip. The water level stopped rising soon after, coming to an automated halt when the tub was full─ the churn of steaming liquid quieted, replaced by soft cries of pleasure and sharp intakes of breath at every slow, deep thrust. Probably for the first time ever, Slade leaned into Jax when he adjusted their position and held him close, both arms circling his neck and betraying whatever vulnerability she felt even through the euphoric haze of whatever he'd given her.
”Mm. . . Jax. . .”
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Jacob Davenor
Initiated
Posts: 18
Title: Street Pharmacist
Quote: "Don't fuck with the system."
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Post by Jacob Davenor on Dec 17, 2014 14:56:56 GMT -5
Jacob Davenor let out a long, slow breath as he pressed himself into Slade’s body in the heated water, her arms wrapping around him with an aire of sensuality that wasn’t often displayed in their late-night meetings. Slade’s closeness, the clutching and pressing of her body against him was also irregular, but Jax couldn’t bring up the thought of complaining – their level of intimacy in past rendezvous had been, at best, fleeting, but now Slade seemed to have abandoned all pretense, the drug taking over her system and stripping away her emotional inhibitions to let them settle on the floor next to her clothing. Jax wrapped his own strong arms around her back and shifted his weight, establishing a slow, deep rhythm of controlled body movements designed to give his partner the exact kind of sensory pleasure that would quickly heighten to a fever pitch in her intoxicated state. Jax, unlike Slade, was highly controlled, his own inhibitions as in-place as they ever were, but the man’s way of relating had always been more open with her than she could normally reciprocate, so in the grip of the warm water, Jax felt as though both of them matched each other, at least momentarily. The man wasn’t keen on abandoning that sense of compatibility quickly, and therefore he kept his movements slow and deliberate, tantalizing the woman’s flesh with his while slowly, carefully indulging in his own desires.
After unknown minutes passed, Jax clutched Slade’s body even closer and leaned himself forward, settling his feet more firmly on the tub’s smooth bottom and pressing upwards with his legs, lifting Slade and pressing her across the short distance from one side of the tub to the other. Jax settled Slade’s bottom against the opposite underwater seat and pressed himself over her carefully, his body allowing her back to arch as he settled into a new rhythm, forcefully moving himself in and against her such that the water around them splashed over the bathtub’s high lip. Jax pulled just far enough away from Slade to look at her, his arms resting on the tub edge at either side of her as he pressed against her more forcefully, letting his own intense want begin to take some precedence in his actions. Slow, deliberate motion was giving way to more frenzied, wanton passion, and as Jax looked down on Slade’s peculiar, yet stunning facial features, he couldn’t help but smile. He would keep up his motions until Slade reached well past initial satisfaction and longer, or until the water got so cold that they would be forced to take their passionate lovemaking to other venues in the woman’s apartment. Jax wasn’t planning on letting the woman go any time soon: now that she was this close, she would be able to ride out the drugs effects with wave after wave of pleasurable sensations, never mind the water that would undoubtedly be soaking into the living room carpet soon enough.
Jax intended to take his time, but he knew soon enough he would have to put the woman to bed and be on his way. Until then, however, her pleasure was his primary focus, because while it was, he could momentarily forget every one and everything else that existed outside those walls. {End Scene: Location change for Jax Davenor - Third District/A Judicial Affair: thecache.boards.net/thread/24/judicial-affair}
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Post by Slade Bronden on Dec 21, 2014 15:59:29 GMT -5
Slade sighed into the rumple of cotton sheets, reveling in the scent of clean linens as the long, lean lines of her body stretched onto the warmth of her bed. She wasn't alone─ she could feel the warm breath of her lover behind her, the gentle scrape of teeth where the curve of her backside became most prominent. The corners of her mouth curved as full lips parted, unable to catch the soft whimper and keep it from escaping. Another quiet sigh met cotton as her hipbones dug against the firm mattress, spine arching in response to the hands that firmly gripped her waist. An exhale caught in her throat when hot wetness circled the black resin rose and the anchor pulled against her flesh, captive between teeth.
Ping. . .
Her fists clenched, fingers tangling in the sheets as the heat traveled up the line of her back and the strong grasp of a hand in her hair made its presence known. Every touch sparked, encouraging the slickness between her thighs and loosening whatever inhibitions she might have had about the relative quiet.
Ping. . .
A small cry shattered the quiet and accented the sound of rustling fabric. Her chin dropped nearly to her chest when the tip of her lover's tongue started tracing the thin lines of ink on the back of her neck─ its shape a stylized sitting cat. Her body writhed when the fist in electric blue hair clenched tighter, forcing her face to upturn and her neck to strain enough to partially lift her upper body up and away from the comfort of the bed.
Ping. . .
Her thighs spread easily around the knee suddenly coercing them apart and the curve of her backside lifted as the angle of her hips was forced to change: Slade struggled to rise to her hands and knees at the insistence of the hold on her hair. The Journalist had just enough time to idly wonder between all the delicious sensations just what had gotten into Jax to make him be so assertive when the low-toned voice sliced through her haze of euphoria.
”Told you I'd be checking in on you, Sla-ayde Bronn-den. . .”
Ping.
The Journalist jerked awake, her body half-sitting up by the time she could properly register the four walls of her apartment. Blood pounded deafeningly through her head until the very normal sounds of her apartment started to take precedence to her sleep-disturbed, adrenaline-rushed senses. Dax stretched out at the foot of the bed and flopped a paw across Slade's exposed ankle, her purring suddenly loud. Slade finished sitting up, glancing around the apartment to reassure herself that she was alone before she let herself slump, rubbing at her face with both hands. Sharp pain lanced through her lower lip as she remembered too late to be delicate. Her expression darkened as she began to calm down, briefly reviewing the now-muddled dream that had caused her to awaken prematurely.
”What the hell. . .”
Ping.
Slade straightened, squinting down at Dax as she carefully extricated her leg away from the temperamental feline and slid out of the lingering warmth to touch both feet down on the cold, hard floor. Gunmetal eyes honed in on the nightstand and she leaned over, opening it just enough to confirm the envelope of documents lay within. The drawer slammed shut with more force than the Journalist meant to apply and Dax meowed reprovingly at the disruption.
Ping.
Before the alert finished sounding off Slade stood up, leaning just enough to see down into the studio where a tiny blue light flickered at her terminal. There was a message waiting, probably from Slovchk making sure she'd gotten home okay. Slade let out a sigh, using it to push some of the tension out of her, knowing that she was just keyed up because that Odette woman had shown up in her dreams. It was bad enough the woman had gotten to her in the waking hours, and surely knew it, but to be still affecting her now was enough to make Slade's teeth crack from clenching. The Journalist was usually imperturbable. Maybe the new shit Jax had given her wasn't her speed. . . The stairs were cleared fairly quickly and Slade went straight for the bathing room. She couldn't remember all of the night before─ most of it was just a blur of pleasure-filled high points that she wouldn't ever analyze too closely─ but judging from the collected droplets of water on the floor and the general disarray of her apartment Slade could guess that she'd not actually finished her bath the night before. That, and the feel of her limp hair told her it hadn't been washed yet. The Journalist started the water, intent on taking a shower before she settled to do anything else. . .
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Post by Slade Bronden on Jan 2, 2015 16:41:11 GMT -5
Slade stared up at the recessed lighting in her bathroom ceiling, breathing in steam as she slowly allowed her body to lean against the marbleized interior of the spacious shower. Hot water ran down her body in sheets, rinsing away cedar-scented soap and carrying it into the miniature swirling maelstrom above the silvered drain. Her hair and skin were finally clean, holding no scent of cherries, or pastries, or coffee. She was herself again, untouched by anything─ or anyone─ else.
A few minutes later the freshly-showered Journalist re-entered the main living space of the studio, leaving the door cracked behind her so the steam could escape, the heat diffusing into the apartment. The towel she was using to soak the excess water out of her hair was dropped onto the floor where she'd noticed the collected droplets earlier─ only mildly annoyed that water had been sitting on the wooden floor for who knows how long: she did have a deposit to think about getting back if she ever decided to go somewhere else. Bare feet padded silently into the kitchen and the familiar rustle and clanging of the morning's coffee-making ritual drew Dax to rub against still-damp skin. She could still hear the ping going off, signaling that she had a message, but there were things that needed to happen to make Slade suitable for possible human interaction in the morning. Her kitchen was relatively clean, which was a little surprising. A quick check of the ice box settled where the extra food had gone: Jax wasn't kidding about not taking any of it back. At least she wouldn't have to cook breakfast. Dax began insistently meowing about that time and rather than spend any time glaring at her furry companion Slade simply filled her food dish and set it on the floor, taking a moment to scritch the cat behind the ears. The sound of boiling water draining quickly followed by the smell of brewing coffee made her mouth water.
Ping.
Slade sighed and pulled a container of noodles out of the ice box, grabbing a fork from one of the drawers and using it to shovel a couple of bites of cold, squishy goodness into her mouth. By then, there was enough coffee brewed to pour the first cup. Dax finished her food and jumped onto the counter, purring in Slade's direction. The Journalist fixed her she-demon of a cat with a steel gaze and pointed to the ground.
”Down, Dax.”
The jet-black feline eyed her reproachfully, but turned tail, sashaying along the edge of the stone counter before jumping off and scampering back up steel stairs and into the loft.
”Fucking cat.”
Slade inhaled the last of the noodles and closed the container, dropping it into the trash as she worried at the fork with her tongue, scraping off all trace of noodle from it before tossing the utensil in the sink. Finally she poured that first cup of coffee for herself, quickly setting the pot back into the main body of the appliance so it could finish brewing.
She'd showered. Eaten the first installment of breakfast. Dax had been fed. She had coffee. Now she needed to put clothes on.
Ping.
Her jaw clenched. And then clear that message from her terminal before it drove her insane.
When the Journalist returned to the bottom floor she was the perfect picture of stay-indoors comfort: sweatpants, cozy socks, and an oversized sweatshirt that threatened to slide down both shoulders draped on her tall, slender frame. A moment was taken to sweep up the towel on the floor, and all the water with it before it was thrown into the hamper in the bathing room. A quick survey told her the steam had dissipated enough to close the door and Slade finally walked over to her terminal, pulling out the chair and settling before getting her network out of sleep mode. Her eyes adjusted easily to the bright blue interface and she minimized the scrolling feed, pulling up her messages immediately.
There was an urgent tag on it, it being from Bel Merenska─ the Peacekeeper girlfriend Slovchk had been having problems with recently but that Slade knew to be his serious long-term significant other.
Slade,
Tëruan 's dead. I found him this morning.
The Journalist froze, suddenly feeling like there wasn't enough air in the room. From far away she saw herself carefully set down the coffee mug: the shock had already set in.
I would have told you in person if I could: I know you two went way back. Right now, though, there's no way I can get away from the office with everything that's happening - those fucking hawks have already run the story, and pretty soon every fat cat and low-level dealer will be talking about it.
Slade's jaw went slack as she continued reading, some part of her grateful she didn't have to interact in real time with anyone after receiving that kind of news. It was highly possible Merenska was aware of that despite her apology. Slovchk must have shared quite a bit with her about Slade's tendency to make a swift exit when someone else's emotions were involved. . .
I know you are somehow involved in what Tëruan was working on, and I'm sure you know how high-profile his last article was. I need you to come to my office in Fifth District: time is critical to the investigation, especially if we are going to have any hope of catching whoever did this.
Let me know as soon as possible if you can stop by.
-B. Merenska
Now that the initial shock was waning somewhat, the panic set in. The kind that's instinctive, unable to be quantified rationally. It was the knowledge that her acceptance of Slovchk's message the night before had set into motion a chain of events the Journalist had not been prepared for, and the dread-filled knowing that it wasn't even close to being over. . .
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Post by Slade Bronden on Jan 8, 2015 7:40:01 GMT -5
Tëruan's dead.
Tëruan's dead.
Tëruan's dead.
Slade stared at the screen blankly, both hands palm-down against the edges of the desk.
I found him this morning.
It occurred to her that she'd probably been the last person to see him alive. The last one.
Tëruan's dead.
To see him alive. The Journalist didn't realize she was hunching forward until she caught herself staring at a point in space just below eye level and where the leaning bookcase met the wall behind it. She let the line of her spine soften, both elbows resting on the tops of her thighs so her hands could support her face.
”Fuck. “
Tëruan was dead. Bel wanted to talk to her. Tëruan had just handed her a source for potentially dangerous work. The source had turned out to be insane. Tëruan had turned out to be dead. The tips of her index fingers pinched the inner corners of her eyes before separating to rub at either temple. What the fuck. What the fuck?
If Bel wanted to talk to her then Tëruan's death had to be suspicious. They weren't close. They'd only interacted through him, and if had been up to Slade they wouldn't have been involved even to that degree. The stormy ups and downs of close relationships were a strong deterrent: Slovchk had stopped trying to make her more friendly toward Bel about the fourth time she'd flaked on a dinner date with the three of them. Now there weren't three of them. There was just Bel, just Slade. The Journalist let out a long breath, straightening and taking a moment to push damp strands of bright blue out of her face. She should tie her hair up in a bun while she was thinking about it. If she didn't it would dry frizzy and she'd have to shower again to make it look decent. Her coffee was going to get cold too if she didn't finish it off. That reminded her, she'd left her traveling mug at his apartment the night before.
She'd never be able to add one of his pastry bombs to her coffee again.
Slade stood, moving purposefully toward the coffee table. The drawer creaked when she pulled it, pausing to rummage through its contents, newly filled after Jax's visit. Ciphers would give her the focus she needed, but would sharpen everything. The small, glowing blue orb would make everything better, but would render her useless for any meeting with Merenska. She'd forgotten to ask Jax what that stuff was called. . . The dimer in the bright pink pill packs would give her exactly the kind of numbness she wanted, but would dull her to human interaction. There was the same kind of problem with using kace-alpha: the drug's effect was intense and impossible to hide, and Merenska would immediately recognize it. It would clear her mind though, and make her feel invincible. She'd be able to gloss right over the fact that a man she'd known for several years and worked with regularly at one time was dead at 36. Fuck. None of these would work. Not if she needed to go to Fifth District and have a chat with her freshly-dead colleague's girlfriend─ a woman who happened to be a decorated member of the Peacekeepers.
The drawer was slammed shut. She'd have to wait until after she met with Merenska to catch glimpses of oblivion. Another slow creak marked the opening of a second drawer, the sound of rustling papers attracting Dax to peer around the corner of the couch, manifesting like some sort of cat ninja. Slade spared a glance in her cat's direction before finding what she looking for: a still-sealed box of her favorite cigarettes. She should probably reply to that message first. . . The Journalist rose, reluctantly returning to her terminal and setting the box on the desk. Eyes of slate stared at the interface for a moment before she tapped out a quick response.
I can be there in the next hour. Will that work?
Bel must have been active just then because there was an immediate ping.
Yes. I've let reception know you're coming. Thanks.
Slade took a breath and pulled her feeds back up. Sure enough, if she'd paid any attention at all to them earlier, before she'd checked her messages, she would have known immediately that Slovchk had bit it. Gunmetal eyes narrowed as she read through the initial statement from one of the Peacekeepers on the case.
As of two hours ago we've identified the body as Tëruan Slovchk, who is the resident of that unit. The investigation is ongoing, and we have nothing further to report.
Her stomach sank. There was nothing to indicate they suspected he'd killed himself or that it was an accident. They didn't say he'd been murdered, but the fact that there was an investigation with no possible theories offered pointed in that direction. Perhaps it was time to consider who would have motive to take him out.
She needed a cigarette, and she wasn't going outside for it. The Journalist decided that Slovchk's death was a good enough reason to break her own rules about smoking in her apartment. Besides, the vents in the bathing room happened to be really fucking good. . .
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 8, 2015 13:19:16 GMT -5
Slade reflexively grimaced when she stepped out of one of Tower Twelve's many entrances and into the cold. Almost instantly her expression sharpened with a distinct hiss of air passing between her lips. She'd almost managed to forget the bite wound the crazy bitch with a vendetta against Ouroboros had gifted her, and the realization gave her reason to pause. The Journalist was on her way to meet with a Peacekeeper and the oddity of a split lip would not only draw unwanted attention but probably a question or two. How exactly she'd handle both required some thought: Slade had no intention of being unbalanced by Merenska─ especially right now when they might both have a more emotional reaction─ but also no desire to tell her anything about Odette.
Speaking of, Slade adjusted the wide strap snug against her right shoulder and pressed a hand to the wide form of the messenger bag attached to it. The envelope Odette had given her was there. For whatever reason the Journalist felt uncomfortable leaving it in her apartment. . .
The foreign sensation of warm liquid gliding slowly down her chin drew dark blue brows down into a furrow before Slade tore off one of her fingerless gloves to touch the bright red trickle.
”Fuck.”
Was it normal that the wound was still bleeding off and on? She supposed it couldn't be too far out of the ordinary. The injury hadn't exactly received the sort of care that was condusive to a proper healing, and─ not for the first time─ it occurred to her that there was a pretty high risk of infection. Well, Fourth District was on the way to Fifth. Merenska could wait a few extra minutes. . . .
{ End Scene - Location Change - Fourth District: thecache.boards.net/thread/23/doctor }
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