Out of the alleyway and into the open he walked, seamlessly bleeding from dark to light as if he'd been a scrap of shadow one moment, and something flame-born the next. Mesteno was sun dark and wild eyed, trouble stamped into his skin in myriad scars, too deep to thicken, more often in furrows bisecting the clean lines of hard earned muscle and sinew. His hair was a riot of autumnal colours, wolf's gold for the eyes, an altogether leonine quality to him which his movements did not contradict. The newspaper beneath his arm seemed a joke, too civilised a thing to be in his clutches, and yet there it was anyway, the print smudging his bare bicep, the pages neatly rolled. In cliche black (it looked good, it suited) he went wandering up the steps, and slipped inside silent as a spook.
Riley, on the other hand, was feline and it showed in her stalking, long-legged, and ultimately elegantly confident movements. Dressed today in a blue-and-white striped t-shirt, a short, white skirt, and white penny loafers with actual pennies in them, the Jaguar passed through the streets silently, like the stalk-and-ambush apex predator that she was at her core. She caught a flash of someone familiar coming out of an alley and ascending the Red Dragon's porch steps. She paused in the street, leaning against a building and an internal, eternal struggle started anew. Jaguar knew what Mesteno could provide but Human shied away from it. Taking a deep breath and slamming shut the mental cage into which Jaguar had been shoved, she continued her way to the Inn.
Porch steps were taken two at a time and then she pushed inside, taking a deep breath of that initial rush of air, parting her lips and rolling the scent of the gathered patrons around on her tongue. The Jaguar continued on her silent way to the bar, where she slipped around behind the counter and rummaged in the cooler for a bottle of Badsider.
Familiar voice, cause enough to glance up from the monochrome of the pages, and when he caught sight of Seirian he gave the night-born woman a surreptitious wink. Then there was Riley of course, just out of reach beyond the bar, and his eyes fastened on her back, dead centre on her spine.
Feeling an itch right between her shoulder blades, she turned around slowly, and met Mesteno's heavy gaze with a raised eye brow. She uncapped the beer, took a long sip from it and then leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter, still holding Mesteno's eyes.
A slow, somnolent blink later, and he leaned forwards, hair trailing carelessly over the counter and the edges of the newspaper, a hiss of a sound and his voice lowered intimately, confidential. "Why is it do you think?" he asked, golden eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, "that whenever you come here I get the urge to do something bad enough to rile you up and get you really, really into hot water?" And oddly he wasn't goading. It sounded like a genuine question!.
She gave him a feral, fierce, tiny smile, showing her teeth and leaned forward closer to him, her voice lowering to match the intimacy of his. "It's probably because you enjoy leading us into temptation and delivering us unto evil."
His focus slipped from her eyes to her smile, as if there was just as much to read in it as there was her unwavering gaze. He seemed to consider her words, feeling no particular hurry to reply, though he did at length, still sotto voce. "Ministers of Justice should make a stand against that kind of thing, you know. Not encourage them." As if she'd somehow dangled a carrot in front of his nose.
The timbre of her smile changed into a secretive, slightly smug smirk, the corner of her mouth lifting and curling. She chuckled softly and her voice became honeyed, soft, the kind of thing meant for after midnight and between the sheets. "Oh? And shall I begin with you? I'd dearly love to make an example of you."
"I guessed as much," he admitted, tone touched with mirth. "Maybe it'd be more fun if I corrupted you instead. You don't really want the weight of politics on your shoulders. Think of all the fun you could be having," he purred, making it sound like something delectable and indulgent. "C'mon Minister, break some rules. Gratias tibi," aside for the barkeep who set down another bottle of water, though he'd not finished the first yet. Barely touched it in fact.
Her brow arched challengingly. "And what, pray tell, makes you think that I'm not up to my painstakingly sculpted rear in fun already?" She nodded her unspoken thanks to the ad-hoc bartender when he placed the Badsider next to her.
"If you were, I wouldn't be so keen to drag you into it. And you wouldn't show up in moods like this, talking to men like me," he countered smoothly, reaching for his bottle for a slow, cool sip.
"Moods like this?" Her eyes narrowed appraisingly. "And you know me well enough to name my moods?"
"You're challenging, antagonistic and other things I ain't mentioning. I'd bet my *ss what you really want to do is go out there and crack some heads open and maybe get laid after. Maybe draw some blood while you're at it. If I'm wrong, s'fine. Maybe I'm reading you wrong," his shoulders hitched in the barest of shrugs, and he straightened from his stoop, resting his weight on a scar riddled forearm.
She took a deep breath, the only tell that his words had hit home. She kept her face and eyes carefully neutral. She took a deep draught of that beer, draining the bottle in one and then chucking it sideways into the bin. "If you ask my lovers - either one, in fact - they'd willingly admit to that being pretty much par for the course. They call it being prickly." She shrugged and opened the second beer. "Did you ever claim those bodies?" she asked, ostensibly changing the subject.
He didn't miss a beat. It was too sharp a change from the fierceness, the attitude she'd worn about her like a shield before. His grin flared bright, not victorious, but pleased that she'd something more feral boiling in her blood. "Maybe you should go track one down, hmm? Or don't they handle you right, Minister?" Provocative and shamelessly so. Not the kind of thing he should have asked anyone, but least of all her. "The bodies...no. Not yet anyway. I'll need you of course."
"You need me? Aw, well, ain't that sweet? I do love to be needed." She moved out from behind the bar and settled on a stool just two down from the Sadist. "I assume you've already tried going to claim them on your own?"
"No...not that," he corrected, and like someone flicking a switch, he was abruptly professional, his expression leaning towards grim instead of wolfish. "I'll need you to do the questioning. You will have to be there when I do the work. So no I have not tried. Not until I can take you...as well as the bodies."
"Take me? That sounds...interesting. Where are we going? And whom will I be questioning?" The sudden change between leering, stranger with candy to professional bad guy was jarring, uncomfortable.
Mesteno fixed a hard look on her. Indeed, not leering, but judging. Her question seemed to have left him with a quandary and he wasn't entirely sure how to go about answering it. All at once, he looked away, focus flicking about in search, and when he found what he needed, he slipped right off his stool and went stalking off. A crouch had his knees crunching like shotgun cracks as he scooped something up off the floor and prowled back over to her, leaning close and nudging the stools she'd left between them aside with his toe. He'd turned his body to guard what he did with his hands, but it was easy enough for her to see the delicate, ruined specimen in his palm. Dead and half decomposed, a tiny, golden winged moth.
Riley, on the other hand, was feline and it showed in her stalking, long-legged, and ultimately elegantly confident movements. Dressed today in a blue-and-white striped t-shirt, a short, white skirt, and white penny loafers with actual pennies in them, the Jaguar passed through the streets silently, like the stalk-and-ambush apex predator that she was at her core. She caught a flash of someone familiar coming out of an alley and ascending the Red Dragon's porch steps. She paused in the street, leaning against a building and an internal, eternal struggle started anew. Jaguar knew what Mesteno could provide but Human shied away from it. Taking a deep breath and slamming shut the mental cage into which Jaguar had been shoved, she continued her way to the Inn.
Porch steps were taken two at a time and then she pushed inside, taking a deep breath of that initial rush of air, parting her lips and rolling the scent of the gathered patrons around on her tongue. The Jaguar continued on her silent way to the bar, where she slipped around behind the counter and rummaged in the cooler for a bottle of Badsider.
Familiar voice, cause enough to glance up from the monochrome of the pages, and when he caught sight of Seirian he gave the night-born woman a surreptitious wink. Then there was Riley of course, just out of reach beyond the bar, and his eyes fastened on her back, dead centre on her spine.
Feeling an itch right between her shoulder blades, she turned around slowly, and met Mesteno's heavy gaze with a raised eye brow. She uncapped the beer, took a long sip from it and then leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter, still holding Mesteno's eyes.
A slow, somnolent blink later, and he leaned forwards, hair trailing carelessly over the counter and the edges of the newspaper, a hiss of a sound and his voice lowered intimately, confidential. "Why is it do you think?" he asked, golden eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, "that whenever you come here I get the urge to do something bad enough to rile you up and get you really, really into hot water?" And oddly he wasn't goading. It sounded like a genuine question!.
She gave him a feral, fierce, tiny smile, showing her teeth and leaned forward closer to him, her voice lowering to match the intimacy of his. "It's probably because you enjoy leading us into temptation and delivering us unto evil."
His focus slipped from her eyes to her smile, as if there was just as much to read in it as there was her unwavering gaze. He seemed to consider her words, feeling no particular hurry to reply, though he did at length, still sotto voce. "Ministers of Justice should make a stand against that kind of thing, you know. Not encourage them." As if she'd somehow dangled a carrot in front of his nose.
The timbre of her smile changed into a secretive, slightly smug smirk, the corner of her mouth lifting and curling. She chuckled softly and her voice became honeyed, soft, the kind of thing meant for after midnight and between the sheets. "Oh? And shall I begin with you? I'd dearly love to make an example of you."
"I guessed as much," he admitted, tone touched with mirth. "Maybe it'd be more fun if I corrupted you instead. You don't really want the weight of politics on your shoulders. Think of all the fun you could be having," he purred, making it sound like something delectable and indulgent. "C'mon Minister, break some rules. Gratias tibi," aside for the barkeep who set down another bottle of water, though he'd not finished the first yet. Barely touched it in fact.
Her brow arched challengingly. "And what, pray tell, makes you think that I'm not up to my painstakingly sculpted rear in fun already?" She nodded her unspoken thanks to the ad-hoc bartender when he placed the Badsider next to her.
"If you were, I wouldn't be so keen to drag you into it. And you wouldn't show up in moods like this, talking to men like me," he countered smoothly, reaching for his bottle for a slow, cool sip.
"Moods like this?" Her eyes narrowed appraisingly. "And you know me well enough to name my moods?"
"You're challenging, antagonistic and other things I ain't mentioning. I'd bet my *ss what you really want to do is go out there and crack some heads open and maybe get laid after. Maybe draw some blood while you're at it. If I'm wrong, s'fine. Maybe I'm reading you wrong," his shoulders hitched in the barest of shrugs, and he straightened from his stoop, resting his weight on a scar riddled forearm.
She took a deep breath, the only tell that his words had hit home. She kept her face and eyes carefully neutral. She took a deep draught of that beer, draining the bottle in one and then chucking it sideways into the bin. "If you ask my lovers - either one, in fact - they'd willingly admit to that being pretty much par for the course. They call it being prickly." She shrugged and opened the second beer. "Did you ever claim those bodies?" she asked, ostensibly changing the subject.
He didn't miss a beat. It was too sharp a change from the fierceness, the attitude she'd worn about her like a shield before. His grin flared bright, not victorious, but pleased that she'd something more feral boiling in her blood. "Maybe you should go track one down, hmm? Or don't they handle you right, Minister?" Provocative and shamelessly so. Not the kind of thing he should have asked anyone, but least of all her. "The bodies...no. Not yet anyway. I'll need you of course."
"You need me? Aw, well, ain't that sweet? I do love to be needed." She moved out from behind the bar and settled on a stool just two down from the Sadist. "I assume you've already tried going to claim them on your own?"
"No...not that," he corrected, and like someone flicking a switch, he was abruptly professional, his expression leaning towards grim instead of wolfish. "I'll need you to do the questioning. You will have to be there when I do the work. So no I have not tried. Not until I can take you...as well as the bodies."
"Take me? That sounds...interesting. Where are we going? And whom will I be questioning?" The sudden change between leering, stranger with candy to professional bad guy was jarring, uncomfortable.
Mesteno fixed a hard look on her. Indeed, not leering, but judging. Her question seemed to have left him with a quandary and he wasn't entirely sure how to go about answering it. All at once, he looked away, focus flicking about in search, and when he found what he needed, he slipped right off his stool and went stalking off. A crouch had his knees crunching like shotgun cracks as he scooped something up off the floor and prowled back over to her, leaning close and nudging the stools she'd left between them aside with his toe. He'd turned his body to guard what he did with his hands, but it was easy enough for her to see the delicate, ruined specimen in his palm. Dead and half decomposed, a tiny, golden winged moth.