OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

Comments

betina bechkenbauer | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

[indiscretion]

[ Betina likes guests. Guests means being able to entertain, to pour over the contents of her rather impressive wine cellar and mull over which bottle (vintage, stamp, year) will best suit the visitor in question. Their mood, her mood, something tannic or peaty or lush to smooth conversation along — it's a bit of delightful alchemy, really.

In the end she chooses a white, something floral and bright to combat the rain that spatters against the wide panorama of windows that wrap along one side of her apartment. Her heels click across the hardwood floors as she goes searching for a corkscrew. ]

I imagine trying to flag a ride in this weather was awful, [ she says conversationally. ]

[ins]

[ He shouldn't be here.

Then again, there isn't anywhere that he really is supposed to be. Hollis Frost isn't a man that most look upon kindly and there are many who would gladly have his hide. (She wouldn't mind having him skinned, either, he imagines, but they have yet to get to that stage.

Part of him — most of him — is glad of that.) ]

If I had had to flag a ride, [ is how he elects to respond, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets as he looks about the apartment. ] Then, yes, I wouldn't hesitate to say it wouldn't have been the most pleasant experience.

Rain makes for quite the view, though.

[indiscretion]

[ Betina hums from her perch behind the counter as she goes about fetching things here and there. Corkscrew, chilled bottle, two glasses. They clink together faintly as she sets them on the counter, the sound soft but round and singingly resonant compared to the sharp pitter patter of the rain against the windows. ]

I imagine you're the kind of man who's used to things coming to you, rather than the other way around. [ This gives her an innordinate amount of pleasure to say and Betina makes no effort in hiding it. He had come to her, after all, though the risk this presented to herself was as much if not greater than it was for him. But, she has confidence in her abilities to keep her discrestions discreet. That was one of the benefits of being an indigo (arguably the greatest of them all): privacy. Not the illusion of it, not the vague suggestion of it, but honest to goodness privacy.

When she moves to join him moments later, a wine glass in each hand, she smiling in a knowing way. Offering him a drink, Betina asks: ] Do you like it?

[ She doesn't clarify which she means: the wine or the view or having things come to him. ]

[ins]

[ Hollis takes the proffered glass with a slight nod, the curve to his lips twitching once as he meets her gaze. ]

Just swell, gingersnap. [ (There's only one thing he never calls her, and that's Red.) ] Just swell.

[ It's true, these days things come to him as opposed to the other way around, but he hasn't gotten where he is by being lazy, and even those in his outfit know that, at any given moment, he could cut and run and be no worse off for it. For first and foremost, Hollis is a survivor. (He's survived worse hunters than those who populate Constantinople.)

That smile grows, now, as he raises his glass in her direction, chin dipping once. ]

Cheers.

[indiscretion]

[ Once upon a time she'd secretly bristled underneath those sort of saccharine platitudes, only to discover that they weren't saccharine at all. If anything they were absolutely beastly and it turned out that Betina rather liked that that about Hollis. (She likes a lot things.)

Most men — arguably none at all — are allowed the sort of familiarity with her like the kind that he has and it's the kind of nickname that would earn anyone her jackal smile and a snapped spine, but since it's Hollis, she does nothing of the sort. Her eyes sharpen just so as she tilts her glass to his, chiming their edges together. Another ringing note sound. ]

Cin cin, [ she declares and then tips the glass back. Her mouth leaves a red crescent of lipstick on the rim. ] Tell me you're not here on business, Hollis.

[ins]

Strictly on pleasure, dollface, [ he tells her, and he seems sincere enough. (Or at least, the wolfish grin on his face is nothing if not intent — intent upon her.)

While nicknames and easy words are things he uses on most anybody, with Betina, they're something of a specialty. They're sharp things — details meant to get under the skin and meant to draw closer. Most others, he'd devour and be done with. But since it's Betina, he does nothing of the sort. ]

Not to worry.

[faceforhire]

[ Betina might have a hard sell on her well-manicured hands tonight. But James Janus is a patient man. While she's away, he dutifully upholds propriety and remains standing in her living room, hands laced contemplatively behind his back. His overcoat had been dripping when he'd entered and checked it at the door, and not even the upturned collar could totally save the salt and pepper of his hair from a little dousing. His suit, however, is mostly without blemish.

Dark eyes scan the interior of the apartment as he waits, inscrutable. A home can tell a lot about a person; since she's invited him here, though, it'll be more about what she'd like him to think she is. He looks anyway - it's only polite. ]

I tried using my umbrella, but then opening it became a viable option.