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Strictly Business [Closed] - Printable Version

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Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-07-2016

[Image: prV8cYe.png]
megs && saronym
r u really that surprised?



RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-07-2016

Drusilla’s ears twitched to the sounds of keys in the door. She cocked her head, waiting to hear further confirmation that her roommate was home. The door opened and Drusilla rolled on her stomach, sheets tangling around her calves. She sat up on her elbows, ears standing at attention. More like a dog than a cat. She heard Aphrodite leave things in the foyer, before moving to the kitchen. The fridge opened and closed, and Dite’s footsteps drew closer. Dru bounded out of the bed, intercepting her friend in the hallway as the blonde made her way towards her own room.

Aphrodite startled with a small yelp, nearly spilling root beer all over her yellow blouse. “Drusilla,” she sighed, when she realized her assailant wasn’t some kind of murderer-rapist. “You scared me. What are you doing?”

Dru smiled, tail flickering around her knees. The silver furred appendage quickly appeared behind her head, swaying gently. “Just saying hi. How was your day?”

Looking past Drusilla and into her bedroom, Dite noticed that the bed wasn’t made. She looked back at the darker haired woman who was very clearly wearing her pajamas. “Did you...did you do anything today?” She asked before taking a sip of root beer. Drusilla only blinked at her, the wry curve at the corner of her mouth answering the question in her silence. Shaking her head Aphrodite started walking away.

“I read a book!” she called to the blonde’s retreating back. “I took a shower!” she continued. “I know what you’re thinking! These are not the same pajamas!” Huffing Drusilla turned and disappeared back into her room.

Sometime later her roommate reappeared with wet curls and a slightly more casual appearance. Slightly. She had replaced her root beer with a glass of red wine and carried a newspaper under her arm. Setting her glass on the nightstand, Dite jumped into the bed and wiggled until Drusilla moved to make room for her. “So, I was thinking that you should get a job,” she announced.

Drusilla blinked at her wordlessly, brow furrowing as her eyes looked at two purple ones in turn. “A what?” she monotoned.

“A job,” she repeated.

One ear fell lopsided.

“What...what do you think I do all day?”

Dru shrugged and Aphrodite barked a short laugh. “Oh my god,” she said, spreading the newspaper out in front of them on the bed. Dru moved closer, shoulders touching, and looked down at the paper. “A job,” said Dite. “You do something and get paid for it. You can start paying some bills.”

“I don’t need a job to make money,” Drusilla pointed out.

“No, but you need something to do. You can’t just lay about here all day.”

She didn’t argue, but her expression said she did not agree. Dite wasn’t looking at her regardless, eyes already scanning the job postings. There were a lot of them, unsurprisingly. They lived close to the CAF base in the area and the militant operation always needed people for one thing or the other.

“Here.” Aphrodite pointed to an ad.

Personal Assistant to the Lieutenant Colonel,” Drusilla read out loud, brows disappeared behind her bangs as she continued. “Must be literate. Must handle confidential and critical details with discretion. That’s not a lot of information. It doesn’t even say how much I’d get paid.”

“It’s negotiable.”

Drusilla frowned. “It’s the Central Command in the CAF,” she argued.

“You have an entirely new identity. They’re not particularly bright over there.”

Drusilla still did not look enthused.

“It’s perfect. You can read. You can handle deadly secrets.” Dite wiggled her eyebrows. “You even know how to cook and clean. That’s, like, all of your talents.”

“Wooow!” Drusilla drew out the vowels of the words to punctuate her offense. Aphrodite was already reaching for Dru’s cell phone while she pouted. Ignoring her.

“I’ll get you an interview.”

She hummed noncommittally as she flopped over in the bed and buried her face in a pillow.

_____

Thanks to Aphrodite, Drusilla had her interview the next morning. She still only had a title but had been grated an address. The Lieutenant Colonel, apparently worked out of his home on the CAF base. Ears falling to either side of her head, she doubled-checked the address on the paper Dite had given her, before shoving the slip into her purse and double-checking the time on her watch. She was ten minutes early, but that was probably a good thing. The house was large, it loomed over her, stark and intimidating.

She was starting to regret letting Aphrodite talk her into the whole thing.

She had no idea what she was doing.

With a resolute exhale, she fixed the collar of her fitted blazer and brushed the wrinkles out of the matching black pencil skirt that was clinging to her curves. She had chosen cream-colored pumps to match her blouse and her opaque stockings had a subtle geometric pattern. The outfit had been pre approved by Aphrodite, who was unwilling to leave room for error on the parts of the equation she could control. The interview itself was up to Dru and if she was honest Dite hadn’t seemed all that confident when she’d ushered her out the door that morning.

Drusilla knocked on the door, running fingers through her straight fringe of bangs to set them to rights while she waited.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-07-2016

When the alarm woke him, Owen considered not getting up. He vaguely recalled having to meet a candidate for an interview that morning. He had only placed the job ad at the behest of the Major who insisted he needed help. That was the exact word. 'Sir you need some help.' Owen snoozed his alarm for an hour. He couldn’t remember the time the interview started anyways. Maybe they wouldn’t show.

Needless to say, Owen wasn’t prepared for the interview.

He couldn’t even remember the name of the person. Donna? Dani? Darla? Something with a D. He’d written down the time somewhere on a paper in his office. He thought he’d gotten a resume emailed or faxed to him but he wasn’t sure where it was.

Not to mention, he’d also never hired his own assistant before. That was something CAF Human Resources had always done for him. However, after so many failed matches they’d authorized him to seek his own assistant. 'Sir, you've depleted our administrative resources applicant pool. You're on your own from now on.' They'd given him a template to write a job posting and sent him packing. He'd used a truncated version. An Owen version. A few lines was all he needed to express his requirements.

What he could remember was speaking to a woman with a captivating British accent. Which had really become the entire reason he’d promised to interview this woman. He supposed he should get up then. For the accent. He had already planned to call himself just to hear her answer the phone and then hang up. Again, for the accent. He supposed he’d already planned to hire her (for the accent) so long as she wasn’t a complete wreck.

If only for the purposes of the interview, Owen dressed up that morning in his dress military uniform. It was all black, well-tailored, and with a rather excessive amount of decoration. His name was printed on the left breast Lieutenant Colonel Owen R. Hart. He frowned in the mirror, placed his contact lenses in his eyes, and combed his hair to order.

Was that the door? Was someone knocking already? There was no time to shave the healthy stubble that had sprouted along his cheeks and chin. Now he looked incongruent. In military dress with only partial military grooming standards.

He rushed downstairs anyway.

Owen checked his watch. 9:50 a.m. Why would he schedule an interview at that oddly specific time? He hadn’t even made coffee yet. He huffed as he trotted down the stairs.

Without checking the peephole, Owen unlatched the bolt and doorknob locks and pulled open the door to reveal the woman on the other side. She wasn’t a wreck, at all, but was almost too put together. If that was possible. He felt his pulse increase, not because she was good looking she certainly was, but he instantly recognized her. His mind flashing back to the past. Owen managed to keep any expression of surprise from his face. He maintained a mask.

Play it cool.

“Are you the interview?” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “Are you late or are you early?”

Owen moved aside to hold the door open for her to enter the foyer. “I’m still getting moved in. Excuse the boxes."

In truth, Owen had lived in the home for near 6 months and hadn’t found or made time to unpack everything. When he missed something he would simply search the boxes piled in the corners of the living, sitting, and dining areas. This was his process for unpacking. Apparently, being rather spartan in his lifestyle, there weren’t many things that had been missed. Owen seriously considered throwing out the rest of the boxes. He could purchase anything he needed.

The home was furnished richly in synchrony with the Modern Tudor architecture of the home. If this made him look put together, it was an illusion, because he’d made an unrefusable offer to buy the home furnished from the previous owner.

The neighborhood had come to know him as the strange young officer who lived alone, who came and went at odd hours, and who rarely smiled or entertained their small talk.

Owen moved into the home heading for the kitchen expecting her to follow him. "Would you like some coffee? I haven't had any myself.”

Was it normal to offer coffee to an interviewee? Owen didn't know the protocol or etiquette.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-08-2016

Drusilla stopped fidgeting with her bangs when she heard the door begin to open. Her hand dropped quickly to her side and she did her best to look poised and composed. When the owner of the house was presented to her, she felt her entire body tense up. She stopped breathing, ears pricked to attention, but her face was a passive mask to match his. How could it have been him?

He was a face she would never forget. They had a history that would never be erased. It could have been anyone but him.

Her own memories came back in a wave crashing into her. Not that dreadful night decades ago, she had not been privy to the incident, but the aftermath was still burned fresh and stinging in her mind. She stared back at those stormy grey of his eyes.

“Early,” she said finally, unsure of how long she had been silent. Her tail curled against her spine, but her breathing resumed somewhat normally. Owen didn’t seem to recognize her, stepping aside to allow her entrance into his home. She absolutely should not have taken the invitation, should not have crossed the threshold, heels clicking on the stylish tile flooring. There was something in the back of her mind demanding that she run, that she disappear and hide like she always did, but the door closed behind her with a click that echoed in her ears and she stayed.

“It’s not a problem,” she replied in reference to the boxes. Her own voice sounded foreign in her ears as she followed behind him. The fingers curled around her matching clutch were white-knuckled with the extra effort. Her subconscious was still yelling at her to run. “You have a lovely home.” She was surprised at the evenness of her tone, gentle and melodic as she complimented the residence as if he were a perfect stranger.

Ears swiveled to the crown of her head, threatening to make her look guilty. To give her away. She should leave. “No, thank you.” Phase. Turn around and run. Literally anything. “I don’t drink coffee.”

She continued to dig the hole deeper.

It had always been hard for Drusilla to stay away from him.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-08-2016

Grey eyes swept over the woman in his doorway. He couldn’t confirm whether she recognized him. It had been a long time, and he’d changed much more than her. She hadn’t changed a bit. Except her hair. She seemed tense but it could have been that he was nearly looming in the doorway in his most intimidating dress accusing her of not being precisely on time.

And indeed she wasn’t. She was early. “Good.” He said curtly even though her overly prompt arrival had inconvenienced him.

As she complimented his home, Owen remained silent, his mind working out how to capitalize on this serendipitous opportunity. He recalled an assignment dossier for an assassination with her photograph in the package. Her Royal Majesty. Wanted for killing Reinhold and Ishara Hart. Wanted more for being politically inconvenient to the CAF by denying them key naval access routes.

Owen didn’t care for the political reasons the Covenant wanted this woman dead; he wanted revenge. However, he’d always been more curious about why she did what she did. It had eaten at him for years. He lost sleep over it.

Somehow, he had ended up chatting with the woman about coffee.

An incredulous frown broke the mask, “Really.” His voice was flat with disapproval for her disfavor of coffee. “You at least know how to make a good cup of coffee right?” He moved into the kitchen and opened a cupboard revealing a tin of coffee beans. “I suppose you should learn if you want to work for me.” His hand extended with the tin out to her for a demonstration of her skills.

Owen moved out of the way, behind him was a cappuccino maker, a regular 12 cup coffee maker, and a grinder. He leaned casually against a counter across from the coffee-making accessories and crossed his arms over his chest decorated in gold and brass. “So why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself. Starting with your name and what happened to that charming accent? Aren’t you supposed to have an accent?”

He’d completely neglected to introduce himself. Owen had a bad habit of that, especially in uniform, being used to people automatically knowing who he was or reading it off his chest.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-09-2016

Owen was silently plotting and Drusilla was foolish enough to think that he just didn’t recognize her. As if a haircut and a dye job were enough to render her unrecognizable. They’re not too bright at the CAF, Aphrodite had reassured her. Certainly, he was an exception to the rule? The organization had made attempts on her life in the past, and she was putting herself alone with a member of their special recon corps, one who readily wanted her dead more than anyone else.

Running was still an option.

She remained quiet, staring at the back of his head during their short walk to the kitchen. The way he said ‘really’ towards her preference for coffee would have caused her ears to fall had she not been exerting a great effort to keep them where they were. Lips parted to defend herself, closed again as he held the coffee beans out in her direction. “Of course,” she said, because drinking and making weren’t the same thing, and she did know. Being in charge of breakfast at home seemed to be working out for her. Dropping her clutch on the counter she takes the beans from him, and turns to the equipment lining the counter.

Her tail swayed around her knees as she measured beans into the grinder, twitching towards the sounds of his questions. “Drusilla Haven.” She paused as she switched on the grinder and the noise filled the kitchen. She resumed when it was finished. “The accent belongs to my roommate,” she explained. In a stroke of luck she assumed coffee filters would be in the cabinet above the equipment; where he had gotten the beans from. She undid the button on her blazer to have full range of motion, revealing the wrap cut of her top. Thumbing thin paper out of the package, she settled it neatly in the coffee maker. “She’s the one who set up the interview.” There was a pitcher for water, picking it up she moved to the sink to fill it. Admittedly, she was not entirely sure what she should say about herself, and his lack of questioning left the ordeal on her.

“I recently moved to Winter Heights a few months ago. As per your requests I believe I’m qualified for the position you’re looking to fill.” She repeated the words Aphrodite had said to her that morning. Having never been on an interview in her life, she’d relied on the other woman for advice. “I’m literate, and capable of discretion.” The water disappeared into the reservoir of the coffee maker. “Do you prefer your coffee stronger?” she inquired, glancing at him over her shoulder before she switched the machine on.

“I can also cook and clean, and am capable of various amounts of executive office work.”

Drusilla didn’t know what executive office work was, but Dite had reassured her she could do it.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-09-2016

When her alleged name fell upon his ears, Owen disciplined himself not to snort and and ridicule her for insulting his intelligence with her flimsy faux identity. He was a mess, but he wasn't an incompetent idiot. “Uh huh.” It sounded a touch too disbelieving to his ears so he quickly moved on to pleasantries. “Pleased to meet you. I, of course, am the Lieutenant Colonel Owen Hart.”

His eyes followed her as she maneuvered with ease around the kitchen. When she opened the jacket his eyes tracing her curves accentuated by the top she wore. He made sure she didn’t catch him looking. She seemed competent enough that it wouldn’t seem unreasonable for him to hire her. But, he didn’t want to seem too eager to close the deal. That would be suspicious. They’d spent all of five minutes in each other’s company. An interview was supposed to be more thorough he supposed.

He moved up behind her, reaching over her shoulder his chest brushing her arm, to open the adjoining cabinet next to her. He pulled out a black mug with the Special Reconnaissance Corps seal on it. “I prefer it strongish. No fixings. Black is fine.” He said before setting the mug on the counter in front of her and moving back a pace out of her personal space.

Owen settled back against the counter opposite the coffee pot, crossing his arms again over his chest, in the exact position he’d moved from. He nodded appreciatively as she ticked off her so-called skills. She at least knew the appropriate buzz words and had sense enough to quote his listing.

“Well Miss Haven, you seem capable and confident enough to claim as much. But tell me this, why should I hire someone who needs assistance securing an interview for a position which is expressly to assist someone else? I don’t suppose your roommate is looking for work.”

He was curious to see how she’d handle the question and how well could she put a spin on things.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-09-2016

“A pleasure.” It was not, but her tone did not convey as such. She had noticed the derisive response he was attempting to cover up. The matter of her name was not a specific insult to his intelligence. She would have given anyone else the same. It was for her protection, even though she was doing a terrible job of being in hiding. Standing in the kitchen of a Special Recon officer instead. She had noticed the bars and the patches, had been running from the CAF long enough to know what they meant.

Had been running to and from Owen Hart for years.

He moved closer. Much closer. She froze, though her tail brushed against his shins when she went to move it out of the way. Drusilla tried to focus on the way he moved behind her, wary of any gestures that seemed threatening. She pushed the button on the machine, and instead she was distracted by the way he smelled. Soap and cologne and skin; the possibility of a knife in her back far from her mind. Her gaze remained fixated on the coffee steadily dripping into the carafe.

Drusilla was no expert, but this did not seem like a typical interview.

The tension disappated from her shoulders when he moved away. Though not as far as he had been before. “Black is fine,” she repeated, committing the detail to memory and curling a finger around the handle of the mug to bring it closer. There was a moment where she was without a task to distract her as the liquid percolated, so she turned to face him. She didn’t smile, mostly because he didn’t and secondly because he seemed interested in someone effective, not cheerful. Taking her cues from him, there was an air of cool confidence about her. Even his pointing out the arrangements of their interview didn’t cause her to flinch.

“Initial intimidation,” she answered, turning to the coffeemaker once more when it beeped a little signal to alert its finish. Filling the black mug just below the brim, she handed it off to him. “Working beneath the Lieutenant Colonel is quite a position to fill. Your reputation precedes you.” The statement was not entirely true. It was very possible that he did have an infamous reputation, but that isn’t the reason she knew him so well.

“Previously, I had doubts of my ability to meet your expectations. Those doubts have been erased.” Not quite an insult, but could have been inferred that way if he desired. She’d weighed the possibility and ultimately ignored it. If the boxes piled in the other rooms were any indication, he needed help. “Setting up the interview was her way of being supportive.” She buttoned her jacket again, and picked up her clutch when she was no longer occupied with the task of coffee. Surprised by how easily the answers had come to her, she waited to see if he’d accept them.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-09-2016

Though he made a mental note of the way her body contracted and relaxed as he moved closer and away again, Owen didn’t know whether that should be filed under the she-recognizes-me tab or the she’s-nervous-about-the-interview tab.

The corner of his mouth curled up when she claimed she had been ‘intimidated’ to call for the interview. That intimidation could have saved her life. He accepted the cup with a gracious half bow of his head when she handed it off. Regarding her with express little emotion, he sipped at the coffee, as she lauded him for his ‘reputation.’ She wasn’t being subtle and he didn’t mind. Flattery went along way with Central Command officers and he was no exception.

“Good.” This curt expression gave no clues as to whether he was complimenting the coffee or her flattery of him. Perhaps both.

Owen held out his hand indicating they should move from the kitchen. He chanced placing it in the middle of her back, a firm touch, to guide her. “Let’s talk in my office.” The hand was gone from her spine, falling back to his side, burning with the contact. How long had he waited to ‘get his hands on her’ and there he was simply escorting her into another room?

He led her through the adjacent dining area. The fine length of the formal dining table was cluttered with a protective tarp, an expensive looking sniper rifle in several pieces, schematics, several tools, and various parts. “I tinker with modifications.” Hardly a place to mess with tools and weapons lest he ruin the table’s finish. Owen maneuvered past the boxes also piled in that room leading Drusilla into a hallway.

A brief trek through the hall and Owen opened the door to a room leading off towards the back of the house. A large office with stately furniture, half empty bookcases, a desk littered with papers and files, a drafting table pushed against the wall with a map on it, and a view overlooking the backyard. Owen gestured that Drusilla should sit in a large chair across from his desk. He waited for her to settle before he moved into his chair.

He sipped at his coffee again, regarding her over the rim. “I appreciate your confidence in your ability to fulfill the position. However, I think you are failing to understand that this job is more than just picking things up for me.” He set the coffee down onto the desk with a little more force than was necessary as if to emphasize his displeasure at her earlier suggestions that the work was so simple.

“In this position, there is necessarily a mingling of my professional and personal life. I work from home. And I spend a lot of my time working. I will not tolerate the exposure of my private life to someone who I cannot trust. Additionally, if I were to hire you, you would know my travel arrangements to and from my assignments. You will potentially assist me in procuring fake identifications, putting together mission dossiers for those under my command, and managing files with classified military information. I may even need for you to arrange discrete medical treatment in the event that I am injured on assignment. Those are examples of some more critical functions I expect my assistant to execute. In the beginning, for the large part, yes, you will be responsible for essentially keeping my life straight until I can trust you with the life-and-death stuff. If we build that trust.”

Through his entire monologue, Owen's voice was stern. His Central Command voice. His eyes bored directly into hers. He hadn’t noticed before that her eyes were a rather rich shade of green. Much lovelier in person than the photograph in the CAF file on her did justice to. He pushed that detail from his mind. When he finished up his lecture, a smile cracked through his stony exterior, “Keeping up with me is no easy task.” The expression was gone in an instant.

He leaned forward to pick up his coffee cup again, holding it with both hands as if to absorb the warmth. As if the cold man could be warmed. Owen leaned back in his chair again, the creaking of the leather was the only sound in the office. “That having been said, if I haven’t intimidated you out of finishing this interview, I would like to hear, in your own words, some reasons why you think I can trust you. And some reasons why you think I shouldn’t trust you.”

For the latter, he could think of a few. His mother’s heart in her hand being chief.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-10-2016

Drusilla was hyper-aware of his hand against her back even through the layers between them. A slight push. Directive, authoritative, and when he pulled away the spot felt colder as if he had siphoned with warmth from her skin. But, perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps it was only fear that made her so attuned to his movements; had her honed on the rhythm of his breathing. She wouldn’t be able to decipher any change in his motives by observing him. He was a trained killer, she wouldn’t know of any murderous intent until it was too late.

The sharp click of her heels was the primary noise as they retreated to his office. The sound was too loud in her ears, echoing in the cavernous space of the sparsely furnished home. The house was much too big, she thought, for one man. One who likely had no intention of filling it with a family such as the one that had lived there previously. She was almost starting to regret her choice of footwear, if only because of the noise. Otherwise, she liked the way they made her taller.

She was staring at the back of his head again. Not for any particular reason. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Aware that she was moving, but not feeling entirely in control. His voice brought her back to herself, and she spared a glance to the table as she passed it. “Impressive.” Drusilla had no acquaintance with guns; didn’t know anything about the pieces spread across the polished wood. Her concerns mostly revolved around the fate of that table if he kept using it for such hobbies.

Dru walked past him and into the office, surveying the room as she moved towards the desk. If she had to guess he spent more time in here than anywhere else. The drafting table caught her attention, and she stared at it for a little too long. Her thoughts were clouded with the perfect image of a little blonde boy sitting in front of her. Asking her name and where she was from. She had given him an antique map. That seemed like forever ago, now. She wondered what had become of it.

She perched gracefully in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, tucking her clutch into her lap. She folded her hands on top of it. His lecture grated. Though the information was critical and not unwarranted she found that she did not like his tone. Her expression remained passive, but her ears pinned backwards for a fraction of a second. Clearing her throat, she unclasped her hand to smooth the lapels of her blazer across her chest. “It appears I misspoke. It was not my intention to imply that the work would not be difficult.” Finding the right things to say was becoming easier. An interview, not so unlike negotiations at court. Those she could handle, a back and forth until both parties got what they wanted. This whole thing would have been easier from the beginning if she’d made the connection before.

The difference was she could not be nearly as haughty as she would have been in a crown.

Owen’s brief smile still did not pull one from her. She did not expect that it had been for her comfort; he did not advertise himself as lenient. Drusilla briefly lamented her denial of coffee, then she would have something to do with her hands.

Eyebrows shot up behind her bangs at his line of questioning, otherwise nothing changed on her face. However, in that moment she was entirely sure that he knew exactly who she was. She should have never doubted it. Belial had taken something precious from him and blamed it on her.

Do you remember my name?

Pushing the hazy memory of fear-stricken faces from her mind, she inhaled slowly to gather her thoughts.

If this was the game he wanted to play with her then so be it. “Certainly not an easy question to answer,” she admitted, briefly looking away from him. “You can trust that I have no ulterior motives and that I have no loyalties that lie elsewhere enough for me to betray you. Money is not a motivator for me so your secrets could not be bought. I’m resilient enough that they could not be forced from me either.” She ticked through the points as if extortion and torture were casual conversation points. “I have abilities, most importantly a sort of teleportation that would permit me to get details to and from you without the lag or dangers of traditional travel.” She paused, if only to give time for her lengthy answer to sink in.

The second half of his question was certainly an easier point to address. “You shouldn’t trust me, because you shouldn’t trust anyone. You’re in a dangerous line of work Lieutenant Colonel. I do not have the benefit of being employed by the CAF, so I have nothing backing me but my own word. However, you’ve found yourself in need of an assistant, and I have found myself willing to assist. Despite the dangers I, too, could potentially face. The only way to prove that I can be trusted is to give me the chance.”

Earlier that morning she had planned to make a teleportation joke about getting a missive to Milan and a margarita in Mexico simultaneously, but now it didn't seem to fit the atmosphere.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-10-2016

Every subtle change in her countenance was marked by Owen. His eyes flicked to her ears when they moved, they made small staccato movements over her face when her expression altered. Had he given himself away? He thought so. If he did, she was incredibly foolish to remain in his presence or incredibly confident in her ability to escape if needed.

When she began to answer his question, he swiveled in the office chair. A slight movement, no more than 15 degrees to the right and back to the center. He did this over and over, his eyes focused on a spot behind her head as he attended carefully to what was said. He stopped abruptly when she mentioned teleportation. A frown passed over his face and he cocked his head as his mind worked to process the information.

Leaning forward again Owen placed the coffee cup back on the desk in front of him. He rested his elbow on the wood and his lips against his fist - a posture akin to a poker player trying not to betray his hand. He was in disbelief at the intelligence he was collecting in this brief meeting. He had only ever known what the Covenant files had on his parents’ killer. Her official name, her birthdate according to royal records, scarce family tree information, her public appearances as queen. There was also a brief section warning of ‘unknown special abilities with a potential to be deadly.’

Very little was known about Julianna, the woman who also called herself Rylan and now Drusilla. He had never forgotten the name she’d uttered to him when he was a boy. It had echoed in his mind for years. Briefly, he wondered if he’d collected all of the names she liked to use. To top it off, he and he alone (as far as the CAF went) knew about her ‘teleportation’ as she called it. He remained silent, nodding his head that she should continue her answer, which bought him time to plan his response. He had to be careful.

When she finished an approving smile spread over his face and lit his cloudy grey eyes. “It seems I underestimated you, Miss Haven.”

He was silent for a while after that. Eyes left her face while he studied the steam rising from his coffee mug, his visage turning somber. “You have given me the feeling that you are ... a difficult woman to pin down.” He risked speaking with more double meanings - there were so many things he had wanted to say to her for so long. This might be his last chance. “You claim to have no loyalties, no ulterior motives, no interest in money, no interest in betrayal, and an ability to teleport. I am left wondering what makes you tick. Perhaps you've simply gotten all that you want in life.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment. The silence pregnant with the underlying meaning and other things he had left unsaid. A strange interview, indeed.

“Even so, here you are willing to work for me in a position which you have already understood could be dangerous for you. I can’t trust you as you say but I’m intrigued. And yes, I could use the help.”

He clapped his hands together as if it were decided, clasping them before his chest. The movement dissipated all the tension that had set into his face and shoulders. “So be it. You should at least be comforted to know that I wouldn’t allow anyone to harm you while - if- you are in my employ.” Anyone other than him, of course. That honor would be his alone. “We will see if you accept my forthcoming offer.”

Suddenly rising from his chair, Owen opened the desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys. His hand brushed against a pistol stored there that he had no intention of using. His curiosity had taken over.

“But before that, I would like to see this teleporting for myself. If you already thought this interview was a bit unusual just wait until I lock you in a room so you can dazzle me with your skills. You aren’t opposed to me locking you in a room, are you? Certainly you could get out?”

He had a rather mischievous look on his face as he rounded the desk and moved to open the door to his office again. His frame filled the doorway and Owen extended a hand to her indicating that she should come to him and follow to the next stage of the interview.

“Did you say abilities - in the plural?” He asked unable to keep the curious intonation of his voice in check.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-11-2016

Drusilla figured he would latch onto the bit of information about her abilities. He was as terrible at masking his curiosity as he had been as a child. He leaned forward and she didn’t budge, legs still crossed and hands still folded as she continued talking. He was toying with her because he wanted to know more about her. She had spent many years eluding him, he was taking all he could get. Though she was pleased that he seemed impressed with her answers. She wasn’t so bad at interviews. Even if this one wasn’t the norm.

For the first time she seemed to fidget under the weight of his gaze, switching the position in which her legs were crossed. Trading one for the other. “Not that difficult, Lieutenant Colonel. I assure you.” She wondered if he was referring to the one time she had escaped Covenant capture, or if he just meant in general. Regardless, they both seemed to be toying with each other now. A verbal back and forth laced with hidden meaning.

“Not all that I want.” Her even tone breached the silence. She knew what he was implying, but her position and her power could not truly fulfill her. That would require actually know what she wanted and being able to fix past mistakes. “Some things are harder to get than others.” The response meant nothing and he could take it however he chose. Drusilla had no grand ideas that he would be allowing her to live much longer. Let him think of her what he would.

She suppressed a startle as his hands came together. She was already intimidated by the sheer size of him, but didn’t need to advertise the fact to the room. “I appreciate you saying so,” she replied. Letting the fact that he really couldn’t do anything about it if someone got it in their head to hurt her go unsaid. Because they both knew what it really meant. No one else would be allowed the privilege to harm her. There was something comforting about it in a messed up way.

Drusilla blinked up at him as she stood, tilting heard to keep her eyes on his. “I could get out... yes,” she replied, sounding dubious and turning in the chair to watch him as he circled around behind her. She rose at the beckoning of his hand and crossed the room to where he was waiting. Tail swaying behind her head. Something about the look on his face, though boyish, made her uncomfortable. The entire concept of being locked into a room by a man that undoubtedly wanted her dead should have made her uncomfortable. It was however like he said, she could get out. She could still run away from this whole thing at any point if she wished.

Hearing the unasked question in his voice, she did not hesitate to share more details. “I have heightened senses, and enhanced speed and strength. I can see in the dark. I know one hundred different languages and I have an eidetic memory. Those last two aren’t supernatural, those are just me.” The rest were common abilities of Veridian Lynxes, and she deliberately failed to mention any her other ‘special’ powers. Couldn’t give herself away all at once. He would have to exercise patience if he wanted to learn any more before killing her.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-12-2016

Owen pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, some things in life we wait a long time for. Others we never get. And sometimes things just fall right in our lap.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t explain the mysteries of life. As if the conversation was about such things and not about the history they shared but wouldn’t air out. “Life is weird like that.”

He hesitated at the door of his office, eyebrows lifting as she listed off her talents. Particularly impressive were her language skills which would certainly be handy in his line of work. He was positive at this point, because of her profound memory, that she had to know him. Realizing he was staring in a sort of shock, Owen let himself ease back out of his thoughts. “Well, fortunately or unfortunately, being that I am very human, with me what you see is what you get.”

He surveyed her face to see how his last comment would go over before placed his hand again against her back. His touch was firm, but gentler than before, less insistent. He hoped to convey the idea somehow with his touch that she would survive this encounter with him. If just this encounter and if only for his rabid curiosity about her.

“This way Miss Haven.” He said cordially leading her into the hall and deeper into his home. He stopped at a door some ways down the hall before the stairway and let his hand slide away from her. He sorted through the keys on his ring before selecting the one to fit the lock. “This room,” he explained as lock mechanisms clicked, “is my personal arsenal.” He shoved open the door with his shoulder. It was clearly a heavier than an ordinary domestic door would be. Clicking on the lights, he gestured for Drusilla to enter and followed behind her. “It houses top secret files and will, at some point, house my work server.”

“This is a perfect room for a demonstration. I’ve had the walls and door reinforced for heavy blast resistance. And the locks are state of the art. So when I lock you in, I can be sure you aren’t tricking me with shadow play or some illusion when you do your teleporting.” The mention of shadow was intentional so she’d know he knew she left it out of her list of skills. Had she forgotten her demonstration for him so many years ago? She had snatched a map out of a shadow in front of his own eyes. He had saved the map and stared at it for hours as a boy. Memorized every district, municipality, and water way. The map had been sent out to be restored and framed. He had plans to hang it in his office at some point. A macabre reminder of the past.

“I’m going to lock you in here and in oh, let’s say 30 seconds, I’ll see you in my office.” He was beginning to worry that this would be the last time he saw her.

The room he left her in was likely the only one that had changed since the previous ownership. The fine furniture that had been housed there removed and replaced with far uglier things. A file cabinet in the corner was the most innocuous. The walls were lined with metal mounting racks on which various rifles and pistols were secured. Along the tops of the racks was a gas mask and several boots and helmets for a variety of combat situations. An empty metal cage sat on the floor awaiting the future server. There was also a half-assembled work-bench, a tool box, and a safe anchored to the floor.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-13-2016

“I certainly doubt that, Lieutenant Colonel,” she replied, policing her expression to pleasant neutrality, because he was watching her. Even in her heels she had to tilt her head to look up at him, but she held that steel gray gaze anyway. “I’m sure there is more to you than meets the eye.” The second time his hand drew no reaction from her. In the short distance between them she had prepared herself for the contact. He liked touching things, pushing them around, being in charge of them. That was fine. She could tolerate it. His hand guided her forward and kept her awkwardly close to him, positioned at his side as he lead her through the house.

Drusilla watched his fingers sift through keys, following them to the look. When he spoke she looked back to him, one brow raised. She looked into the room as she pushed open the door, then back at him. When she stepped inside it her heels echoed off the reinforced walls, and the space seemed larger than it was. She turned full circle, surveying the armory as he explained it’s purpose to her. Her ears pricked higher at the mention of shadows and she stopped her circle to look at him again. She’d been notably silent since entering the room.

“Thirty seconds,” she repeated, staring him down as he left the room and locked her into it. Thirty seconds was entirely too long, she had already taken note of every shadow in the room while he had been talking. She blew the bangs out of her face with a sigh, and walked towards the wall. She slipped into a shadow cast by the filing cabinet as easily as if there were a hidden door.

The umbra was cold when she stepped into it, matching her emotions. Unliving but conscious of her fear. The hazy darkness was the space between worlds that allowed her to manipulate shadows the way she did. She looked down at her watch again, and the second hand moved visibly slower. Almost not at all. Time moved differently in the umbra, sometimes slower, sometimes faster. Intuitive, the darkness showed her a shadow that led back to her room in Aphrodite’s apartment; knowing that her best interest was to run. She walked past it, looking for an opening into Owen’s office. She didn’t feel like cowering at home today.

Thirty seconds had been entirely too much time. So much in fact that she had been able to go the kitchen, refill his coffee and be seated in his chair behind the desk before he’d made it back to the room. As he stepped across the threshold, she gestured to the mug with one hand. “I brought you fresh coffee.”

She was doing a marvelous job of not smirking at him.


RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-13-2016

Owen felt the weight of her gaze on his back as he turned to close the door. Meeting her eyes as the door separated them made something like anguish sweep over him. The determination and resolve in her gaze was palpable. She seemed so full and he felt so empty. He had been woefully unprepared for the interview and much less an interview with his mother’s killer. Life was strange like that.

The locks clicked into place and Owen turned on his heel. Straight-backed and resolute he walked the course of the hall back to his office forcing down whatever emotion had been dredged up. For whatever reason, Owen felt that he’d closed the door on her for good and that he’d be left again without the proverbial closure he needed to move on from his parents’ untimely deaths.

Rather wrapped up in remorse, Owen startled slightly when Drusilla greeted him from behind his desk. His surprise was subtle marked only by his sudden halt in the doorway and a brief raise of his shoulders. She was just sitting there. In his chair. He had just locked her in and she had time to go for more coffee? Why did she even bother continuing the interview when she knew who he was? He'd even left her in a room full of weapons and ammunition and she hadn't even bothered to take one and try to kill him? Not even for preemptive self-defense? The teleporting left him with even more unanswered questions. He was beginning to think she actually wanted the job.

Though she were trying not to look smug, Owen sensed that she was basking in her victory over him. He found her gloating at his expense entertaining. Even more so, he admired the effort the rather petite woman made to fill up his over-sized chair. That resolve he'd seen in her eyes played out in her confident posture.

Though she kept her face composed, a grin illuminated Owen’s face and eyes. Remaining silent he moved into the office and stopped in front of his desk looming over it and her for a moment. He merely took his coffee cup and seated himself in the chair in front of his desk that she had previously occupied. His size dominated the chair and Owen lounged in it as if it were a throne. One long leg stretched straight out in front of him and an arm draped across the back. He sipped leisurely at the beverage and balanced the mug against his thigh.

“I’m impressed.” He said the hand that dangled lazily over the back of the chair gestured that he’d given up. “The position is yours if you want it. I’d be a fool not to offer it to you.” He paused to let it sink in watching her carefully for any signs that she might be playing him. “What are your salary requirements? Don’t be shy. I’m prepared to be generous to ensure I retain you.”

Now that she’d won him over, he felt it was his turn to court her.