Thread: Wicked Game

The irony, with some aid of the burbon, was palpable. Hah! He couldn't help but let his face conform to the laugh with it. She needed a spanking, that no one was willing to give, did she? A job much like Frostchild, you say? If Kael had believed in fate, or that Rafe's gods were more than senile metas grown too powerful and lived too long, he'd have attributed a serious sense of humor to something out there. Not that he was sure if he would have wanted to give them a handshake or the bird. Nah, this was just too rich, but he had to try to be serious. Unfortunately, he'd gone and taken in enough of the bourbon that he probably needed something to help rush it out of his system before he ran, but. At least, all in all, Mei Lee was attributing the shot gun to his idea of running to Sam's rescue. Not to his paranoia regarding people he didn't know coming to his house. If this is anything like Frostchild, the shotgun'd be more for my own good. Oh, the multiple meanings he could attribute to that. The rest, he had to listen to thoughtfully. Or, not really thoughtfully. He could try, but if Mei Lee had heard anything about him from Sam she'd know that he was willing to compromise to do another good, think things over. Be flexible and consider multiple approaches. And that once he made up his mind or got involved in something, he was more stubborn than a rock. The gods themselves had literally failed to make him budge on occasion. She was right about two things though. He needed to make a decision. And regardless of what he did, he was bound to be fighting Celeste's pride every single step of the way. Good thing he already knew which one of them was harder to budge in a shoving match. He took the positive test and the bit of paper with the address both in one hand, looking them over. Stone faced until she got to the bit about holding a gun on a man she liked- he had another outburst of suppressed laughter there, choking on the irony of it all. He glanced up one last time as the woman left, and stared at the door. Tiny, exotic. Celeste's friend. He had always been making jokes with her. With that baggy fabric hiding everything it was entirely up to guesswork what she was like underneath, at which point the imagination went wild and- He threw his head back laughing one last time into the empty room, dumping what was left of the bourbon and ice in his glass down the sink. He needed to get ready to go. He'd be set a lot sooner than Mei Lee would recover, but he was probably twice her weight and had a lifestyle built around just how much shit he could put his body through and come out of tougher instead of broken. Including the period where he'd abused his liver for fear of growing into an addiction to his painkillers. He buckled down on his elbows, staring at the ice sitting in the empty glass across the table and the capped bourbon, gloved fingers pattering in rhythm. Fuck. He closed his eyes and breathed out. Pregnant. That was an idea he wasn't going to get used to soon. Fifteen minutes later, one man left the Rayner Veli residence upstairs of the Veli repair shop, in a savagely worn duster coat showing lumps in odd places underneath, over thick forearms and chest, mounting his motorcycle with something large and dark strapped across his back. Now, just to throw himself into mortal peril, and whatever Celeste was faced with. Keys in, and turn.