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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 26, 2014 16:42:28 GMT -5
{ Location: Tower 32 }
The Journalist took the steps two at a time, hurtling forward until she was back out into the cold air on the street, struggling to catch her breath. The comunikay was fished out of her jacket pocket and flipped open to display the timer. 07:46. . . 45. . . 44. . . She was so not in good enough shape for this. According to the map in the transit hub Tower 32 was twelve blocks away: there was no way she'd make it if she slowed down even just to catch her breath. Thank the Goddess it was getting on toward the dead of night and the streets were mostly clear. The only excitement happening in the Trade City at this hour would be below ground. Slade drew her hood up and used her scarf to shelter the delicate skin of her face from biting cold as she settled into an easy jog, her long legs covering ground quickly against the wishes of her lungs. When this was over she vowed to take up at least one good habit that would keep her from dying in situations like these because not smoking anymore really wasn't going to work for her. Maybe she'd start going to the gym in the basement of Tower 12 again. . .
Six blocks down─ she was already halfway there. The comunikay was held up again so she could see the screen. 03:22. . . 21. . . Slade groaned, the tone dark enough to come across as a frustrated growl. Six more blocks and only three minutes. She could feel sweat soaking through the warm pullover and drying almost as quickly as it appeared. Well, drying was a bit of an exaggeration: the cold had a hand in why it felt that way. More than once it crossed her mind to wonder why she was doing this in the first place. She kept promising herself it was going to be worth it, that there was something huge just waiting to be uncovered. After all, there was already enough published to act as blood in the water─ now she just needed to watch for the frenzy while she dived deeper for the real scoop. Slade pushed herself to pick up the pace, ignoring it when her calves started cramping in protest. She'd have time to walk it off later, she rationalized. Two more blocks. 00:58. . . 57. . . She could see Tower 32, the very top of it completely obscured by fog. Her lungs burned and she felt like she might be sick.
”C'mon. Almost there."
It wasn't the most motivating speech, but somehow it kept her going. Having the end in sight was probably helpful as well. Any moment she was going to just drop. By the time she was stepping through the set of steel doors marking the entry to Tower 32 Slade considered the likelihood that she might actually pass out─ her cardio quota for the year had been met. It was a struggle to catch her breath, but Slade forced herself to inhale through her nose and regain some semblance of normalcy. That her heart felt like it was going to explode was another matter, but she had to focus. There was almost no one in the lobby area that was noteworthy; Slade checked her comunikay one more time before putting it away. The timer was flashing at 00:00.
Of course it was then, when her hands were empty that she realized she forgot her pastry bombs at the drop box.
The Journalist pulled her hood down and ran her fingers through electric blue hair, gunmetal eyes sweeping the interior of the floor level as she moved further in, stuffing her hands in her jacket pocket. There was no identifying information on the comunikay key: whoever this source was would hopefully be able to spot her. . .
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Post by Odette Marquis on Nov 26, 2014 19:54:37 GMT -5
In a dark room two floors above the out of breath journalist, eclipsed in the darkness of a bare, run-down apartment with only the city lights streaming in from the small, half-shattered corner window sat Odette Marquis. With one leg crossed over the other, the woman silently caressed her slate-colored eyes over the papers in her lap, even in the dim light apparently able to read their minute, nearly-unspaced type without any difficulty – these were what the journalist had come for, and while Slade Bronden had not been the particular journalist that Odette was expecting, she would surely be interested to get her hands on the documents set carefully in the dark woman’s lap. Within the files lay secrets – financial ties between the overlarge Ouroboros Corporation and other companies, budgeting trends, and staff rosters, the sort of financial data not often seen outside the secret internal communications of board members. While dense, the information contained a treasure-trove of potential leads that, if investigated carefully, could lead to some very interesting questions being asked with regard to the corporation’s dealings, and therefore its place in Vascxious Sigma’s delicate infrastructure.
Odette found the documents dry, but her crisp visual memory retained the words on each page nonetheless. She understood them, of course, and could make easy sense of their value, but having the capacity for understanding and caring to take the time to do so were two different things. Odette herself had little care for the corporation, though she possessed considerably more interest in its CEO . . . something about the man made the Chainer’s tongue trace across her lips absently when she thought of him, a sort of animalistic defiance that provoked certain desires within the woman’s mind. That was the reason for her interference more than anything – Odette intended to compromise the man, make things difficult for him . . . make him squirm. He was as good a target as existed within the city of Vascxious Sigma, and as Alpha had known when he brought the woman to the misty metropolis, her games were a requisite part of her continued presence.
A small chime erupted from the comunikay that Odette had left sitting on the table beside her, and smoothly the woman rose from her chair, tucking the documents into a small, sealed folder before picking up the device and flipping it open. Chainer had the key that she sent to Slovchk set up to alert her device when it had reached the given destination, a strange bit of technological wizardry that Odette hardly understood, but could appreciate in its application. The ping had informed her of the key’s arrival at her chosen meeting place, and then it would wait from a command from her in order to relay the second half of the message to the key’s holder, that being the specific directions to the room that Ms. Marquis was currently waiting in. Odette tapped the button absently and slid the comunikay into a pocket of her long, black trench, but downstairs, Slade’s own device would become much more active. The device would buzz until the woman opened it to view the message, which would read:
Left-hand maintenance door. Two flights up. Left hallway, second door.
The directions to the apartment were precise, and if followed, would take Slade through a marked maintenance door on the far lefthand side of the building’s lobby, which led immediately to a whitewashed, dimly-lit set of maintenance stairs, which in turn led to the various floors on which the mechanical works that ran the building and the cleaning and administrative offices lay. All were abandoned at this particular time of night, and if Slade climbed the stairs she would arrive in a hallway lit only by the city lights from the window at the corridor's end, much like every other room on the floor. The second room, the one indicated in the message, used to be an apartment for maintenance staff to live in, but it was currently vacant, meaning the one room living space, with it’s tiny kitchen, tiny bathroom, and only tiny mice as usual residents, was home to little more than a table and chairs left from its last occupant, and when Slade arrived, the dark shape of a mysterious woman near to the window.
Odette drew her fingers absently down the center of her chest, her fingertips grazing the latticework of criss-crossed metallic cords wrapped around corset lovingly. She felt the flux of the city’s energies like most beings felt the changing directions of the wind, and she had picked this place specifically for the thinness of its unseen barriers. Within the depths of her mind, she beckoned quietly, to her visitor . . . she was certain she would make this encounter add interest to her evening.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 26, 2014 21:49:02 GMT -5
Slade loosened her scarf and rolled her shoulders, trying to work off the tension her prolonged adrenaline rush had gathered there. Tower 32 was similar in make to most of the residential towers, and the Journalist wondered if there was any street access for the lower floors that didn't require lifts. It was right about the time she was leaning toward skepticism about the location outlined in the key that her comunikay started buzzing in her back pocket. Slate eyes thinned as she retrieved the device and flipped it open.
Left-hand maintenance door. Two flights up. Left hallway, second door.
She exhaled slowly, exacerbating the burn still ravaging her chest after that torturous run, before surveying the lobby for a maintenance door. The well-constructed boots made a dulled sound on the plush carpet as she moved toward the otherside of the room, keeping an eye out for anything labeled 'maintenance' or 'employees only.' It didn't take long for the door, painted the same color as the walls around it to catch her attention. Another furtive look around told her no one was watching her and she slipped through the exit quietly, onto the landing of a stairwell. The dim lighting made her mouth twitch: these sources always wanted to meet in the most hair-raising, dingy places. Like they couldn't share information in the brightly-lit safety of a public park or something. . .
Slade swallowed hard, finally settling into a somewhat regular breathing pattern. Two flights up. Of course there were stairs involved: it wasn't like she hadn't had to run a fucking marathon to get here. Her thighs screamed as she pushed to clear the stairs quickly but silently, remembering to breathe at the same time. This shit was really pushing her heart: her pulse felt like it was thrumming hard enough to rupture something. The hallway to her left drew her focus and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The screen of her comunikay was glanced at one more time, confirming the last direction before she shut it and returned it to her back pocket. Second door. Slade hesitated, glancing at the window on the far side of the hall. It was so quiet here. If shit went down there was a good chance no one would be around to note anything out of the ordinary. Gunmetal eyes stared at the door and she raised a fist, obviously debating on whether or not to knock. Sure, she'd gotten explicit directions, but would it be rude to just walk in? This whole backalley, down-low dealing wasn't usually her thing. . .
Tap, tap.
The door was given a curt greeting from her knuckles─ an announcement that she was opening the door─ a door that fucking creaked like she was kicking it in. Slade's teeth clenched at the sound. Well, she wanted to announce her presence. . . It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the change in lighting.
”Hello. . ?”
What the hell was she supposed to say now? 'Hey, I'm not the guy you were sending stuff too, but he handed it all off to me, so we're good, right?' Slade was afraid to immediately close the door behind her, especially when her gaze fell on the not-at-all-foreboding human-looking shape over by the window.
”Slovchk sent me. . .” Slade started, hoping that was enough to settle any displeasure.
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Post by Odette Marquis on Nov 26, 2014 22:24:52 GMT -5
Odette Marquis felt the approach of her guest before they could be seen, the waves of her body’s movement through the nearby space disrupting the flow of silent energies surrounding them all enough for Chainer to catch the currents. This one was different – not who had been expected, a betrayal that led the darkness-cloaked woman to grit her teeth together as she flexed the strange, otherworldly controls of her ability. The Call was coming, rapidly, and Odette felt Karvir’s chains begin to form in her clenched fist.
The newcomer tapped on the door, and slowly entered, cautiously calling out her reasons for appearing as if they were relevant. They weren’t: Slovck had made a grave error in his choice to flee and send another instead. Now all that could be done was damage control, and Chainer licked her lips in the obscuring darkness as she imagined just how the blood might taste.
Odette took her time in answering the woman who waked into the room, keeping her face in the shadows long enough to get a gauge for just who it was who stepped through her door. The light cast in a slant from the nearby window across the room in the direction of the doorway, and it, combined with the slight sliver of pale light filtering from the hallway window through the door from behind the woman, illuminated her enough that the Chainer could make out many of her features. She was older, slightly, than Odette herself, but only just, with a thinner body and spindly, modeline figure. She wasn’t strong, and Odette seriously doubted she was carrying a weapon. She wasn’t here to be a threat – on the contrary, compared to the profile of the man she had initially reached out to, Chainer could have easily considered this woman more vulnerable than Slovchk himself would have been. That he had ‘sent’ her in his place indicated his fear . . . Odette was surprised. She had taken him for a braver soul. Perhaps she had misjudged.
“Who are you.”
The phrase might have been a question, but the smooth, low vocal tones of the Chainer didn’t bother to phrase it as such. Odette knew her accent didn’t place her as a Vascxious Sigma native – its scalding, rough quality was difficult to place outside the moniker of foreign, but the sound it made as it traveled across the room was still pleasing, if sharp and cutting like a well-cared-for blade. Finally the woman chose to step forward, letting her features slide into the cast-off light from the window.
“Sent you? Arrogant shit, isn’t he, to think I’d give this kind of privileged information to anyone.”
Odette’s features were hard, but lovely, and enhanced by the deep grey of her eyes and the menacing, smirking turn at the edges of her full lips.
“Close the door. Explain who you are. Then I might be inclined to give you what you came here for.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 26, 2014 23:03:18 GMT -5
Slade froze at the question and its distinct lack of an uptick. The fine hairs on her arms were beginning to raise. Everything about this situation set off her internal alarms and made her want to run. She just barely opened her mouth to respond, deciding to answer the question that wasn't a question when the feminine-voiced shape stepped into the light. The Journalist couldn't stop herself from stiffening visibly when the woman continued, enunciating and inflecting her words in a way that wasn't entirely familiar. It was off-putting that aesthetically-pleasing features could be paired with not-so-subtle threat. Slade started to take a step backward, knowing that something was off and that she was disturbed but not being able to necessarily articulate why.
The curt orders set Slade's teeth on edge. This was all wrong. Sources were sketchy little figures that sniveled and snerked─ scorned lovers, unfairly treated former employees─ what they all had in common was that someone had crossed them and the way to get even, to mete justice, was to expose they who had hurt them. This woman was nothing like that. There was no fear, no near-obsessive need to be heard. She was starting to set off more than just the Journalist's internal danger alarms. And really, she was actually afraid to close the door and seal herself in with her. . .
Hopefully this source of Slovchk couldn't see so sharply as to know that Slade's hand suffered a tremor or two as she shut the door behind her and took a deep breath against her racing pulse.
”My name is Slade Bronden. I'm an Investigative Journalist and I do a lot of writing for the Sigma City Tribune, a sister─ and much larger─ publication to the one Slovchk writes for.” She paused carefully, watching for comprehension before she continued.
”Slovchk's editor told him in no uncertain terms to shelve the story after the article he published today. He passed me the key to the drop box because he thinks I can do more digging: I don't have the same kind of collar he does. . .” Amazingly her voice wasn't shaking at all.
”You don't have to give me anything if you don't want to. I can just walk away. “ Her voice remained very even despite the gentle rolling nature of her accent.
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Post by Odette Marquis on Nov 26, 2014 23:44:24 GMT -5
Odette watched the woman’s lips as she formed her words, carefully taking note of the slight fluctuations her pretty little vocal tones took at certain bends. Slade was afraid: the Chainer could detect her fear much in the way an animal detects the pheromones of a potential mate in heat, and that fear had been what Odette was looking for. Traitors felt fear, but of a different kind, and assassins felt no fear when they looked their enemy in the eye. As Slade spelled out her qualifications very straightforwardly and honestly, having followed Odette’s initial orders quite obediently, the Chainer made the choice to hold the Call in careful stasis: Odette could feel Karvir’s presence in the room, only inches from crossing through, but she held him just slightly back, waiting first to determine if he was needed. Perhaps Slade would notice the way the darkness seemed to get thicker from the space of the kitchen beside her out of the corner of her eye, but Odette doubted it. Normal people so often missed those sorts of phenomena entirely, especially when they had other worries on their mind.
Odette stepped slowly forward, bringing her entire body into the light to stand inches before Slade’s. The Chainer stood half a head above the journalist, though as Odette leaned carefully inward that height difference began to fade, though any imposition it might have placed on Slade’s confidence would quickly be replaced by the imposition of a loss of personal space. At this distance, Slade would be able to make out the intricate nature of the corset that Odette was wearing underneath her long, black trench, the metallic-cables of the cross-work glinting in the light like the webs of an enormous arachnid. The way that Odette watched Slade’s mouth more than her eyes might have been unnerving, but the behavior could also be considered but one of many unsettling factors the woman brought to bear on the situation.
“You don’t have a collar. Good.”
You’ll look wonderful in the one I put on you.
Odette reached smoothly upward and slid her fingers into the folds of Slade’s scarf, pulling the garment forward and creating a light sense of pressure around the woman’s throat. The Chainer’s expression didn’t change in the slightest at her sudden physical motion, and the smooth, practiced nature of her fingers closing and her arms sweeping travel were nearly mesmerizing in their dance-like precision.
“I’ve read your work, Sla-ayde.”
The way Odette’s rough voice extended Slade’s name struck a tone akin to someone trying out a new word for size, taking ownership of its sounds and passing judgment on it all in one motion, like the careful inspection of a new garment when one first slips it on, deciding whether to take it off and discard it or keep it as a new favorite.
“You’re better than Slovchk, but you don’t write about money, do you. You write about more fascinating things – people, social movements. Psychology. You’re smarter than him. Clearly, since you came and he didn’t.”
Pulling tighter on Slade’s scarf, Odette rocked her left hip forward, bringing it smoothly in contact with Slade’s lower body as her left arm slid firmly around the woman’s waist, holding with very startlingly-solid pressure at the small of the journalist’s back.
‘The documents on the table behind me have a lot of information in them. They are from inside the Ouroboros Corporation’s private offices. They are financials, internal employee lists, and much more, assuming you can sort through them.”
Odette leaned forward even as she would pull at the scarf even tighter, bringing her lips close enough to brush past Slade’s lightly as she spoke, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“It’s dry. Boring. But valuable. It will give you a world of avenues to investigate just how many tails the serpent has, and what they are wound around. And since you haven’t yet been collared by those you work for, you seem to be just the person to make use of them. I’ll have to remember to thank Slovchk . . . when I see him.”
The way that Odette’s lips slowly drew back, exposing her perfectly-white teeth made her, for a moment, seem as though she were an animal ready to take a bite out of Slade. The Chainer’s eyes were even with the journalists, each set the same color, but there was no fear in Odette’s gaze. There was hunger.
All at once, the pressure on Slade’s delicate body was gone and Odette had turned, the click of her boots signaling her move to pick up the documents off the table. Odette would step close again, pressing the envelope with the documents to the center of Slade’s chest with splayed fingers.
“If you have questions, now is the time.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 27, 2014 0:42:57 GMT -5
Slade barely kept from gasping when the other woman advanced. It wasn't that she was several inches taller than the Journalist─ Slade was accustomed to working around plenty of people that were taller than her. It wasn't even that this woman was so casual about invading her personal space, though certainly it factored in. It was the little touches. The focus on her mouth. The set expressions on her features. Slade felt like she was caught in the stare of a predator rather than another human being. When she finally replied the blue-haired Journalist had to really resist the urge to lean away and step back from her. Too late she realized the invasion wasn't over: her lips parted slightly in surprise when the other woman's hand wove itself into her scarf and used it like a handhold. Slade didn't miss the implication: she was using her scarf as a makeshift collar in place of the one she'd proclaimed not to have. Gunmetal eyes widened, but not in a way that was unfiltered. Slade wasn't openly terrified: she was fairly restrained in her terror, actually.
When she spoke, Slade dropped her mouth open to respond but quickly realized no response was required. She felt the tension on her scarf increase and as her brows drew together the Journalist wanted to push her away, but somehow sensed that such a plan was a bad one and wouldn't end very well. Unfortunately, that was when it actually did get worse and the source─ disturbing and off-kilter as she was─ got way too close and hands-on with Slade. There's no way it escaped her notice that Slade didn't react incredibly well to being touched by someone who was so threatening. But what could she do? Remaining frozen was really her only option now that she'd apparently passed whatever served as a litmus test for this certifiable crazy. Annnd now she was talking about Ouroboros which captured Slade's attention almost well enough to make her forget this strange woman was handling her like a prospective date instead of a professional contact. Speaking of, Slade inhaled sharply when the woman's mouth brushed against hers, the feel of her scarf tightened at her neck and the hand at her lower back sending an involuntary shiver up the line of her spine. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry, pinned as she was by a stare that was as pale as her own─ and far more predatory. She was hard to look at without flinching and Slade had no idea how she'd managed thus far. . . Her heart was already beating loudly enough that there was no way the other couldn't hear it.
Slade wanted to collapse when she was very suddenly released from both that haunting stare and that iron grip. To her possible dismay the relief would not last long: she'd returned only to press the documents to the center of her chest. Both hands rose carefully, avoiding touching the other woman's as she secured a hold on the envelope. She was having a hard time thinking past the fact that her flight-or-fight response had been triggered and she was really, really trying to behave as if it hadn't.
”Just one,” she somehow found a way to speak around how dry her mouth had become.
”Why Ouroboros? Is there something the company has done personally to affect you?”
What's your angle? Is this for all for fun or is it functional? Not that exposing dirty practices and illegal trading wasn't motive enough, but Slade needed to have a better understanding of why she was being given something so damaging. She wasn't just going to press buttons she knew to have deadly effects without understanding the reason slightly better. She needed it to make sense. . .
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Post by Odette Marquis on Nov 27, 2014 11:01:19 GMT -5
Odette didn’t let up her hand’s firm, unyielding pressure on Slade’s chest when the journalist got her handhold on the documents. Instead, the taller woman stepped closer again, her push of presence and actual physical force undoubtedly making Slade back up against the closed door. Even if Slade decided to resist the pressure and stand her ground, she would find her space robbed from her once again by Odette’s body, which if she was against the door would press firmly against Slade’s front with the Chainer’s free left hand extending past the journalist’s head to rest on the solid surface behind her, effectively caging the woman in. Again the Chainer brought her face just before Slade’s own, so close that their lips almost touched. The journalist would be able to smell the sweet cherry of Odette’s breath as she exhaled, her grey eyes narrowing as the corners of her lips magnified her smirk.
“Because Ouroboros is the only game in town. There are no other targets.”
Odette lingered on her words, stretching the sounds so sensually that they seemed to fill the tiny space between the women, as if the Chainer’s careful ministrations had somehow made them real shapes instead of only ethereal sounds.
“There is no personal stake for me. No hurt done to Odette.” The word hurt was accentuated with both reverence and laughter in the Chainer’s tone, implying the concept of even something so massive as the corporation harming Odette was in itself laughable. “In a city like this, no one should have so much power. No one should break the balance. Read the documents. You’ll see.”
Odette allowed the silence after her words to linger, her eyes locked on Slade’s. The Chainer’s gaze slowly drifted downward, dragging across the journalists features with a heavy finality until they reached her mouth. Suddenly, Odette lurched forward, surrounding Slade’s full bottom lip with her teeth and pressing down sharply to split it, drawing blood. The contact would linger only long enough for Odette to quickly sweep her tongue across the hurt vessel before pulling her body away from Slade’s entirely, taking a step back.
“Have a safe trip home, Sla-ayde Bronn-den. I’ll be checking in on you.”
With an air of definite finality, Odette turned her back on the woman and stepped back toward her chair, letting the darkness slip over her body like a cloak. The Chainer smiled, letting the taste of Slade’s blood linger on her tongue, picking apart its notes as if it were wine – she might have lucked out with Slovchk’s cowardice. Time would tell.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Nov 27, 2014 12:37:24 GMT -5
To her credit Slade's sudden, intense urge to yelp was translated into a short gasp that was marginally less undignified. Obviously her could-be source had no sense of personal boundary but the Journalist hadn't quite expected to find herself slowly but tightly sandwiched between the much taller woman and a closed door that was her only escape. Her face turned to the side both to escape the too-close orientation of the other woman's face and to watch in muted horror as her hand splayed against the door, entirely too close to her neck and reinforcing the sense that she was being restrained. Slade instantly pressed herself back to the door─ fighting for every millimeter of distance she could create between herself and possibly the most disturbed woman she'd ever met. Her right palm kept a tight hold on the envelope as her left instinctively slid in jerked motions, desperately searching for the handle and forgetting in blind panic that the door would only swing inward. The words barely penetrated the raw, visceral fear that demanded immediate flight─ fear that Slade no longer made any effort to disguise.
When her speech continued the Journalist returned too-wide eyes so fucking reluctantly to her interloper, forcing herself to try to calm down. Every heartbeat echoed deafeningly, and she had to strain to make sense of what this 'Odette' was telling her. There were ideas there, concepts of things like balance and justice that rang true with the Journalist's principles, but Slade couldn't think past the cold grip of terror long enough to acknowledge them.
In the following silence the only sounds were the rustling of suede as Slade finally found the handle to the door, stiff fingers closing around it and shaking it helplessly: the angle of her body and grasp prevented her from being able to do more than clutch the thing like it was a lifeline.
She watched, frozen in place, as Odette's unforgiving stare drifted down to her mouth, her entire body tensing when it became fixed.
”MmmMMF!”
There was no stopping the muffled cry of surprise from turning into a covered scream when Odette jerked forward and fucking bit her. There was the sensation of skin tearing and warmth sharpening the sting unpleasantly. Slade violently bucked against her captor, struggling to wrench herself from her hold and open the door at the same time. The taste of blood in her mouth triggered actual blind panic─ because before that point she still had some degree of clarity─ and the second Odette backed off enough to physically allow it Slade turned and fought for the leverage to rip the door open and squeeze into whatever inch-age of an exit she could get. The sudden explosion of movement actually caused her to drop the envelope full of documents, inciting a flurry of frenzied motion that had Slade dropping to scoop the prize back into her clutches but also get the fuck out of there at the same time. Lurching back up to her feet, she almost tripped again in that way of overcompensating human beings tend to do when they're provoked by primal things like a fear response.
She didn't remember clearing the stairs, having a vague sense of flying down rather than hitting each step with a boot. By the time she burst back into the well-lit lobby she thought her heart would burst. At this point Slade couldn't summon the decency of giving a fuck about how suspicious she looked and really just focused on getting back to the street where, theoretically, Peacekeepers patrolled and kept insanely deranged women from biting anyone.
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Post by Odette Marquis on Nov 27, 2014 13:19:58 GMT -5
The smile that crept across Odette’s lips, had Slade bothered to stick around long enough to see it, would have only added to the fear clutching at her insides – there was a sick tinge to the expression, tainting the supposedly-pleasant expression with a dark, hungry quality that was every bit as threatening as it was unsettling. The Chainer looked over her shoulder in order to watcher he new friend leave, enjoying the taste of Slade’s blood in her mouth, careful not to swallow it down just yet. Later, when the journalist was replaying this experience in her head, she might try and convince herself she had made it up, a dream of terror in a late night, a strange imaginative explanation for what was otherwise a normal transaction of information. The tenderness of her lip, the slices that Odette had put there with her teeth, the feeling of the Chainer’s saliva in her mouth – these things would remind Slade of the reality of their interaction.
Odette let out a long, slow breath as she was reminded of the other presence in the room. Karvir’s impatience was felt within the Chainer’s mind, and even though he had yet to cross through, Odette tightened the grip on his chains to remind him of his place.
Don’t worry. I’ll let you out to play soon . . . just as soon as we get to Third District.
Odette heard the impatient clack of Karvir’s claws on the hard tile floor of the kitchen and smiled, imagining the beast’s twisted canine features and leathery, black flesh. She had always thought Karvir a wolf of human nightmares, with glowing yellow eyes and far too many rows of teeth in an enormous, engulfing mouth. He would get a chance to feed – Odette checked the outside screen of her comunikay in order to remind herself of the time and turned toward the door. The Chainer would take the same pathway out of the building that Slade had, turning toward the transport station and quietly following the normal means in order to reach Third District. Slovchk would be surprised to see her, she was sure . . . but his surprise would be even greater when he laid eyes on Karvir . . .
{ End Scene: Location Change for Slade Bronden - Second District/Tower Twelve: thecache.boards.net/thread/18/tower-twelve Location Change for Odette Marquis - Third District/Street Level: thecache.boards.net/thread/19/street-level }
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