These Things Happen (Rina and then Kitsy/vampireness)

[Anonymous]

Liv's terminal screen winked to life.  

Mission assignment: Pilot S. Llown.  

"I refuse to believe it."

"They are hard-pressed to make assignments, and it seems you and Llown have this shift."

"But I'm incompetent."

Nothing.

"I'm a coward with two left feet, and one of them's always in my mouth, too."

No answer.  Liv was once again on his own, and, as always, on his own when he least wanted to be.  You'd think the Dragon might occasionally make himself useful for something.  But no.  Some Pilot Noble with too little time for common sense had decided to pair the spares.  Never mind that Sabela was useless and he, Liv, was less than entirely comfortable with the role of usefulness.  Ah, for the Good Ole Days, when no one trusted him and he got to hide behind Pilots Echo and beyond.

He got dressed, aiming less for ostentation and more for function--not that he oughtn't let Sabby know what she was missing, naturally.  

They were meeting at the exit station.  Liv tromped along hallways, pushing himself belligerently off the walls as he passed them.  Heard some interesting things about his old mentor, he had.  If that hadn't been the going issue he would have petitioned dear old Mack for a reassign.  He heard Those Sorts had All Sorts of say in all sorts of things these days.  

"Well, hello there, L-l-l-llown."  He keyed in his exit code and stepped smartly toward the door as it opened to let them out.  "It's so fancy to see you today.  Are you excited?  Hours and hours of Sulo.  I'm excited.  You may need to leave me alone with myself for awhile but oh--forgot--you can't."

[Anonymous]

You are kidding, right? Sabela stared at the massage on her screen. This was just some stupid joke by Camael. Who was far to amused by it. Smug bitch.

Nope darling. That is real. Hate to disappoint.

Sabela fumed, throwing her clothes around as she stripped. Her wardrobe cost a pretty credit, but right now she could care less. Tugging her pants on over her butt, she found them a little tighter then she remembered. Damn, she was going to have to make sure she ran some extra laps. She had no tits, so her ass and legs were what she had going for her.

Even when dressing for a mission, Sabela always looked good. It was a rule. There might be cameras. And at her core, Sabela was just far to vain to look bad. Besides, there was no way she was going to let Liv look prettier then she did.

Once dressed, her hair done and a pair of stylish running shoes slid on, Sabela gave herself a once over. Perfect. She blew her reflecting a kiss and headed out to the main entrance of the Citadel. Giving him a bright, acidic smile, Sabela stepped through the door, "I can hardly contain my joy. I shall have to make sure I avoid any dark alleyways with you."

Hunt down some potential psychic. Joy. Why couldn't they ever just turn themselves in. At least that should be simple enough that not even Sulo could mess it up.

[Anonymous]

Liv settled into a lolloping stride next to Sabela and reached out, upon her remark, to ruffle her carefully-coiffed hair.  Oh, not ostensively so, but Liv knew.  He jolly well knew hair.  He yanked back his hand before she could bite it off.  And yet another reason, Livvy luv, not to go There again.

Even if she did give rather good--who was it, or was it no one, who'd suggested some sort of competition between them?  And did it matter?  Why yes, it did, because who would win...

The problem with this whole deelee-oh was that it reminded Liv of the other time.  A guy could hardly be blamed if he had a bit of a twinge when he remembered things like that.  And it hadn't been right out sporting, had it, taking in that sort of a guy, charming sort of a guy, full color, totally Livlike.  And then with the TRIM.  Just ghastly, darling.  But not to worry, he was only doing his job.

And looked good doing it, too.  Vests were the greatest invention in Aedolian history.  Or whenever.  "Don't worry, dear, I can defend myself in dark alleys should your temptation grow too strong.  Incidentally, we may have more success if we set up some sort of cover story.  Right, right, bear with me, I'm the estranged boyfriend and you're the mad-for-sex mother of my sextuplets..."

[Anonymous]

Smacking at Liv's hand, Sabela gave Liv a dirty look, doing her best to repair any damage he had done to her hair, "Just because I don't have your like...cowlick thing doesn't mean you should try and mess with my hair." Reaching over, Sabela tugged at the hair at the nape of Liv's neck.

Sabela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was not sure could take 8 hours with Liv, no alcohol to make it any easier. And he was in that god aweful vest too. "Are you aware that all that vest does for you is show off how...spindly you arms are? Can't you at least try and look somewhat decent if I have to be stuck on patrol with you?"

Sabela gave an unladylike snort and started toward the elevator. The potential was on the lower mid levels or so the briefing had said. She was pretty good at finding other psychics, as she had some great range on her abilities, but still, that was going to be one massive headache, "Lv darling, I don't think anyone would believe you were able to father one crotch dropping, let alone several. If you must have some cover story, make it a believable one. Like that you are a flaming homosexual."

[Anonymous]

"Ouch!"  Liv laughed and stepped after Sabela into the elevator, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.  He didn't care what anyone said--vests were wondrous.  No one could spoil the appeal of vests.  They made him look like a dashing pirate captain.  In a vest.  It was also mystifying--well, not so mystifying--that Sabs thought calling him gay could really hurt his feelings.

Now, the cowlick thing, just a little.  Man, he had thought the cow jokes over and done with back in the good ol' Candidays.  

"I thought flaming homosexuality was your believable cover story.  No--wait, sorry, we can't be too obvious, after all."  He leaned against one side of the elevator as it rocketed down, scuffing one foot nonchalantly against the floor, adjusting one sleeve. "So--I think, considering it's Lower City, we shouldn't split up.  Your range is greater than mine, though."

In point of fact, he didn't often try.  He--

"Sulo, if you compromise this mission--"

"Shut up."

"Very mature.  Listen to me, the previous incident is on record in its entirety."  

"--or maybe we should.  It's up to you."  She had seniority, sad as it was to say.  Well, at least it meant she was officially in charge of protecting him.  The elevator stopped; they stepped out into the street.  A tinge of orange-pink stained the grimy horizon.  It was just about sunset.

[Anonymous]

Smirking slightly, Sabela felt smug about getting to Liv about his hair for all of a minute. Then her cheeks took on a slightly angry flush, though she did her best to cover that with a casual indifference, "Oh please. What are you going on about? Just because you beat off to lesbian fantasies of me and Fala or...whomever, doesn't mean that I'm gay. So sorry to disappoint

What the fuck was with every ones obsession that she was some carpet eating dyke? She was comfortable enough in her heterosexuality that she was fine with having threesomes with Cross. That didn't mean anything. And she could admit when a woman was good looking. That didn't make her gay!

She paused, frowning slightly and giving Liv an odd look. That...was just a little suspicious. She arched an eyebrow at the other Pilot, stepping out of the elevator, "Split up? ....why would we split up?"

Camael? I hope you have made a lovely mental note of that question.

My my. Paranoid are we love?

Not paranoid. Cautious. I do not want to be on a mission with some crazed Gospel!

Yes yes. I'll make a note of it. If you go missing, I will know who to blame.

I'm sure you would be heartbroken.

Terribly.

Bitch.

Sabela made a slightly frustrated noise. Sometimes Camael could be such a cow. They were a perfect match really. "As much as I loath you Sulo, I really think it would be a bad idea to split up. Never know what might happen to a lone Pilot. Now do shut up for a few seconds. I need to see if I can feel anything."

She didn't need to get farther from the elevator, but she did anyway, taking a few steps out of the way to avoid blocking traffic and took a deep breath, concentrating. It was hard to find individuals with so many people crammed in. But she could get lucky. And for once, she was.

There was a small tingling sensation that meant psychics. It was going to be a little bit of a walk, but gods she hoped it was the guy. With so many people's thoughts buzzing around, she might be wrong, "Well, lucky us. I think I might have something." She pointed to the northeast, "That way. It's hard to be sure. Too many people." She could already feel a headache building.

[Anonymous]

Liv stood by, arms dangling loosely, while Sabela brushed off his insult.  He was about to continue, something nervous building like static in the tense tendons of his neck, when he saw her face snap into that blank expression.  Dragon time.  Oh well.  No need to be nervous, or at least no need to be obviously so.  And no need to keep razzing Sabs, she'd stopped responding well.  It was Business Time.  He could do that.  Get some Pilot points.  

He waited out the Dragonspiel, dancing from foot to foot in the foggy late-afternoon chill.  Nearby, customers streamed in and out of a glass-walled supermarket.  Its facade, hit by a crepuscular glint, blinded him momentarily.  He blinked, shaded his eyes, and did his own tentative psychic sweep.  Too many people.  It was almost like tuning into a radio frequency.  He bounced from one wave to another, unsteady.  Psychic detection wasn't his strength, thank the Gods.  

"Have something?"  Her voice snapped him out of it, and Liv jerked around, staring in the direction she'd pointed.  "There are always too many people.  This one must be close.  I didn't feel a thing, but."  An expressive gesture excused his ineptitude.  Spotting psychics wasn't easy.  It'd have to be a strong one, if Sabela had gotten a read through the crowd; even if Liv could see her forehead crimped in headache.  Lovely, something to sweeten that already-toothsome temper.  "Fine, fine, might as well."

Liv checked his blaster to make sure it was set to stun, and started off in the way Sabela had pointed.

[Anonymous]

Of all the people to eat on a day like this.

Amelia Benfield. Just the name sounded upper caste and filthy at the same time. It fit her well. She reminded him of the one who had given him this life. Her blond done up hair, her fancy clothing. All of it reeked to him, but drew him closer to her at the same time. He had met her at a gala, where you would of course meet people like this. Filthy rich, and filthy personality. Just the term gala should be considered a warning. Though in a way he couldn't help but enjoy those fake conversations and smiles. Those shallow nods at each other as they spoke of business and things that were old, when they had no idea who knew the most about older things in that room, Jericho.

His eyes were slowing turning from red to black, his hunger fading as her blood rushed down his throat his fangs breaking into her skin. He dropped Amelia onto the horridly designed couched he had led him to. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his suit still staring at her face, his expression unreadable, but somewhat intrigued. Her tan throat was torn and still bleeding slightly. He felt her memories tickling at the edge of his mind already. That high of finishing a meal felt fantastic, he was warm, and comfortable.

Rising off of the couch he grabbed his red trench coat from the back of the couch sliding it on. He adjusted the collar and sleeves before heading anywhere else. He looked down at her. At this moment she looked like she was just asleep. Her face just slightly pale, she had gone down easy, completely unaware of what he was. Exactly as he had expected her to. She thought she found a man to join her in her castle. Instead he was the villain waiting in the shadows.

He set to walking about her house sliding his pale hands over things and feeling her memories of them. Like these disgusting paintings. He stopped crossing his arms in front of him as he looked up at the wall in the brown wallpapered hallway. A worn gold frame, no...a frame made to look worn. The picture itself was of a girl, in a huge white dress, surrounded by...flowers? They looked ghastly, some flower by the artist's bad imagining. Jericho shook his head as he looked at his feet and put his hands on his waist. No accounting for taste.

Continuing down the hall he found the room he was looking for. Compared to the rest of the house this door was very modern. He had found what he was looking for, the late husband's room. He placed  hand on it closing his eyes. Some sort of locking mechanism, guiding it with his mind he heard a click then he pushed the door opened slid in and closed it behind him locking it again. He was hit out of nowhere with memories as he looked at the technological room. Well not out of nowhere exactly, out of Amelia.

He walked over to the bar steadily, with a purpose like he was being directed to. Memories flashed through of fights, this was the man's bedroom...the man being...Stephen Benfield. They broad casted a perfect life, one that everyone envied. At home they slept on other sides of the house. A small smirk tugged at Jericho's lips. More memories of Stephen clutching a glass of scotch weakly a cigarette in his mouth completely ignoring her as she fumed about his choice of design, claiming he had done it only to cause her pain, what would their circle think? They all held on to something they never could have known. What would the other wives say to her about her out of the times husband? Jericho rolled his eyes.

He found himself at the bar, where a stronger memory hit as he started reaching for a glass. Suddenly his fingers were thinner, tan, painted nails. He moved without controlling it. He looked down seeing a younger version of Amelia's body in a dress and high heels. She was getting ready for a party. She was grabbing the bottle of scotch her rage boiling out of her, her scheming. Her first successful scheme about to take place, up until this point it was all not up to her level she told herself. Marriage, children that never measured up. Never enough power, always one person holding her back. Stephen Stephen Stephen. In the other hand a poison that Jericho recognized quickly. She had planned this, that was not an easy poison to get hold of.

He came back his hand clutching the bottle of scotch, he felt the thin layer of slippery dust under his fingers. He growled at the bottle letting it go. He lifted his fingers to inspect then and his nose wrinkled in distaste. Filthy. He looked around and rubbed it on a towel nearby when out of the corner of his eye he spotted what he had been looking for the whole time. The late king's closet.

Walking over to it quickly he pressed his hands against the metal door. He had a brief feeling of wondering why the heat from his hands didn't leave fog against it anymore.

Amelia, keep it down in there, you'll mess with my mind.

He pushed both the doors open like he had someone to impress with a dramatic entrance but it was only himself. Suits...everywhere. How fortunate. He gave a wicked smile at the dark and flipped a switch on to see better. Varying colors and styles. His hands came together happily in front of him. Then his face went dead pan and he looked down at his hands. A habit of Amelia's...she deserved to be punished now.

The vampire walked around the closet examining the suits of black and gray, and white. How Miss Amelia must have loathed him for that. He had a little fantasy of forcing her to endure the memory of every suit as he walked through them watching them from her mind's eye. What a miserable woman.

[Anonymous]

"Fuck." Sabela swore, hands coming up to rub her temples, "I lost it." It was hard to stretch her senses that far. And with so much mental chatter going on, it made it that much worse. Damn headache. She had never been able to mess around and fix her own headaches, though she could do it for other people. Go figure.

She tried feeling around again and didn't really feel anything, "Ugh. I wanted this over with. I don't want to have to wander around the city with a fashion reject all day." She kept going in the direction she had felt it earlier, still searching for it, but a much shorter range. It was too hard to concentrate on that wide a range and walk.

"Now, Liv darling. I hope you aren't going to insist on that stupid undercover thing. Because, unlike you, people actually know who I am." And it was true. Most people know who she was. Their opinions of Sabela Llown might vary all over the place, generally in the direction of stupid slut. But they did know who she was. And Sabela was fine with that. She didn't give a fuck if people had a high opinion of her, just that they knew who she was. She loved attention far more then she loved affection.

As they continued, Sabela got another tingle at the edge of her range, "Yes! Found it! Damn I'm amazing." She turned slightly, striding toward the energy, her movements purposeful now.

[Anonymous]

Liv had just opened his mouth to reply to Sabela's barb when he felt Falstaff slide into his mind, numbing, sour, and disorienting.  Then everything warped, snapped into greater clarity, and tasted orange.  The weak pulses of his scan flickered and tightened.  He saw double, treble, and then in singular again, but everything had gone lurid around the edges and faintly unreal.  It wasn't anything like Network connection.  It was only the sense that something had worked its way inside and was using his abilities, but using them in an extra dimension, using them better than Liv could.  He'd felt something similar only as a Candidate--similar, not identical--when Hasdrubal had reached into his mind and switched his pyrokinesis on or off.  This was not quite the same.  Not.  Quite.  Pilot or Dragon, it's funny how hard it is to tell the difference.

"The fuck are you--"

"Not now."  It was an absolute dictum.  Liv shut up, hands twisting in his pockets.  He realized he was still walking in Sabela's wake--only a blurry instant had passed.

Falstaff's compulsion was not, he found, after a moment of tentative exploration, really a compulsion or a supervention.  It only shifted his perspective, broadened his range, and allowed him to focus on several areas at once.  It felt different, as though he'd been given a hallucinogen that made everything brighter and blurrier around the edges.  In Dragonvision, he sensed--not minds--but thoughts, jumbled and detectably connected.  He followed the thread of a thought and stopped.  

"No," he told Sabela, putting out a hand to stop her.  "That's not a psychic."  

Shutting his eyes, he sent a stronger pulse rippling down his mental web.  He had never done something like this one his own.  Clarity and power were hard to refuse.  He caught on a familiar snag.  Frazier?  

Liv's eyes opened.  He fit uncomfortably into his own skin.  He felt too plural.  

"Fuck you."

Falstaff's shrug resonated blankly out... and out... and this time the cling of his mind didn't lift.  It settled like white noise somewhere in the back of Liv's brain and shrank to fit.  Liv gagged and spasmed, hand tightening on Sabela's arm.

"Wait.  Hang the fuck on."  His voice came out a croak.  "I have--shit."  He shut his eyes--flash--Frazier, the weak signal of a memory.  "That guy."  Frazier--he saw it in a way he'd never seen something psychically before, in synesthetically colored thought--was sitting in a nearby cafe.  Liv (or notLiv, fuck) reached out carefully and touched his mind, implanting the suggestion: stay.  It was done in a second; non-psychics were trivially manipulable, but then everyone is, aren't they, laddie?

What

Gone.

"Right direction, wrong--"  He came back to himself and realized he'd stopped breathing.  "Wrong--in there."  Café Retro, directly to their left.  Buildings in this district were ubiquitously designed with translucent exteriors, 'cause we're always watching.  Oh, and it was pretty, of course.  

He felt dazed.  "The fuck are you looking at.  Ladies first."

[Anonymous]

No. Nope. Not interesting. Oh really I never would have guessed. Now that's just strange.

Frazier was flipping through one of the tabloids. Compared to this drivel about which Pilot was dating who he'd much rather have the obviously fake tabloids with cats giving birth to horses and things like that. He was waiting impatiently in a coffee shop for a buyer. He had a drink sitting in front of him in a clear mug. It was all done up with chocolate syrup and a heap of whip cream. He liked sweet things, and even though he hated coffee shops like this one thing they did have? Fucking delicious barely tasting like coffee, coffee. He just wished the sweet thang he was waiting for would get here.

Jericho had promised she was sweet, and well worth the wait. However sitting in one of these snooty coffee shops was not Frazier's idea of a good time. Next sell to this Bitch would be by his own rules on her time and not his. He'd allowed some wiggle room because of Jericho, however he would have to regretfully tell Jericho his women weren't something that he was interested in anymore. He chuckled to himself though, once he saw her all that would go out the window, Jericho knew Frazier's tastes.
[center:13i691ri]------[/center:13i691ri]

Jericho was still caught in a memory of one of the many suits that belonged to Stephen. This one was different than the others. The others had very few interesting memories trapped in the fabrics, dinner parties over and over again. The same thing on and on into forever. It seemed that Stephen rarely wore suits unless Amelia had forced it onto him. Jericho found this rather displeasing, a man with such an attitude should not have such a fine collection of suits to choose from in this case.

The one Jericho was trapped in at the moment however was a deep dark blue suit. The suit was how Jericho imagined the ocean would have been when it was there. A color that could easily be mistaken for black unless you look close enough. In the memory Amelia was wearing a blood red tight sort of dress. Jericho could tell by the lack of wrinkles across Stephens face that it was an old memory, one before they stopped seeing each other as lovers. He could feel the warmth in Amelia in the memory. Her cold voice however cut across his mind.

And it's the last time we would be lovers.

The memory fast forwarded around skipping unimportant parts like introductions to random upper caste crust. It slowed down whenever Stephen would look at Amelia then it would race forward again. Jericho was breathing in the closet match Amelia's rise and fall of her chest, her heart racing whenever Stephen touch her in a certain way the whole night, across her fingers gently, sliding his hand across the small of her back. Then, he kissed both her cheeks and walked off.

The rest of the memory was painfully slow. Jericho could feel her dread, she did not want to relive this snapshot. He pushed it forward wanting to see it all. Amelia was watching Stephen out of the corner of her eye then at one point in the night she lost him, one of his business partners talking on and on about some sort of something she found interesting. Jericho tried to push past the memory but she clung hard trying to stop the fast forward to what she did not want to see.

Then he found what he wanted. Her tanned thin fingers reaching forward grasping around a doorknob. The memory blurred around the edges the tell tale sounds she knew by heart. The way his breath sounded ragged and deep when they were in bed. It was all she could hear in the off to the side bedroom as she pulled open the bathroom door. Stephens skin, someone else...the memory faded into following what Amelia had done to the girl but Jericho was not interested he pulled it back to watch the crashing of the Benfield's.

That's what had happened to Amelia, interesting. It pushed her into a trophy wife, one that decided not to stay that way.

...
Well that is not conducive to viewing at all.

A siren went off in his mind almost painfully pulling him out of the Benfield memory banks. It was Frazier, a Pilot was touching his mind sensing him out. Frazier would have no idea. Jericho however had left a little security system in case a Pilot brushed over Frazier's mind. With narrow eyes he grabbed a few of the suits and flung the door to the closet open, no doubt the servants would have discovered the body, or they would when the Pilot or Pilots arrived.

He pushed his way out of the room the suits in hand. Luckily, Amelia had asked for lots of time with Jericho the servants were making themselves scarce. The better for him. He came to the room where his bag and katana were left. He snapped the katana into place on his belt and then stuffed the suit in the bag, apologizing as he did so. He would iron them when he was safe again.

He took slow steps over to the window his feet sinking into the carpet. He pulled the two glass panes open and stepped out onto the balcony and up onto the railing. He balanced with ease there for a moment looking down below him.

Time to get moving.

[Anonymous]

Focused on trying to pinpoint the one psychic twinge amid all the normal, dull ones. All the static made it hard to concentrate on it. So Sabela hadn't noticed Liv's little moment until he spoke, his hand on her arm.

Glaring, she jerked her arm away, ready to snap at Liv for touching her. But there was something in Liv's expression that made her uncomfortable. This didn't feel right. And she could feel the power he was using. That she knew wasn't right. Liv wasn't that good. The scrawny loser still lit his sheets on fire.

"Liv? What the fu-Ow!" Sabela winced as Liv's grip on her tightened as he started gagging. Being the kind, caring individual she was, her reaction was to move quickly away in case he actually vomited, "Gods! What is wrong with you? Must you fuck everything up?"

Things were starting to get weird. Sabela did not like this. Liv was acting really weird. It was a little frightening. Reminded her of how dark Liv could get. The Pilot shivered a little, turning to face to make Liv had pointed out, "Him? You are right. He's not psychic. But...he knows one. Or one knows of him anyway."

Wanting to get farther away from Liv, Sabela started over to the cafe, heading right to the man's table, sliding into the chair across from him, sending delicate tendrils into his mind at the same time, "Well hello there." Reaching over, Sabela used her finger to steal some of the whip cream off Fraizer's drink.

[Anonymous]

Liv hawked and spat, several times, until all the bile had gone.  It burned out its aftershock and he shook himself, hands skittering over his vest down to his pockets.  Ah well.  Nothing to be done about it, anyway.  He swung his way after Sabela, into the café, avoiding the sideways reflection he glimpsed in its mirrored front, and came to a stop behind Frazier.  

He watched with interest, only slightly feigned, as Sabela slid her finger in and then out of her mouth.  It came away damp and pink.  

Fine, not feigned at all.  

At length he cleared his throat.  

"Enjoying the view?" he said, hands coming down on Frazier's shoulders.  He worked his thumbs back and forth, shaking the taller man, and leaned forward to offer him a sideways grin.  The man might not be able to see it, but he'd feel it--the stretch of the side of Liv's mouth against his cheek.  Liv's eyes stayed on Sabela... but whose wouldn't?  

"--now, while my dear pal Sabela's rummaging around in your brain, you lucky fox, I just want to assure you it's not you we're after.  Probably."  He let out a happy-half breath, which skimmed Frazier's hair before it cut itself off.  "It's your friend, what's his name..."  Pause, and a pluck from the twanging, close psychic ether.  "... Jericho."

[Anonymous]

Multi-colored eyes lifted up when he sensed the approach of someone, a woman namely. A very delicious looking woman. He let his eyes roam over her for a second and leaned back more in his seat. Watching her walk he very much hoped that she was the exact person he had been waiting for. There was a strange feeling though that he had seen her somewhere before. Then, before he could think too far into that she sat down at his table stealing some of his whip cream.

Frazier watched her finger as well, closely a small smile appearing on his face as she greeted him.

"Hey there yourself..." Then there was a coughing he turned his head in time to catch that it was Liv behind him, then the Pilot's hands came down on him tightly, moving him. He resisted the urge to snap at Liv, Frazier didn't like people sneaking up on him or touching him without his permission. He had personal space that he closely guarded. Then Liv's face was pressed against his. Frazier's sight being directed back to Sabela.

"Yes Liv it is quite the view. She certainly pleases the eye." He answered grinning at the green haired woman, looking her over again still feeling comfortable. "Though I have a feeling Liv darling, that this isn't a social call." Which Liv quickly confirmed.

Jericho.

Frazier swallowed hard.

Oh Perfect.
Frazier was one of the few people that Jericho trusted, he knew where Jericho stayed most of the time. It made it easier to find him when Frazier had a new batch, when something was going on. He also happened to know exactly where Jericho had been heading today. Miss Amelia's, that sad widow. Today hadn't been looking to good for her. Though really it never did.

The fairy knew he had no choice in the matter. He couldn't resist even if he wanted to. Frazier felt his skin crawl, it was obvious they were probably already inside his head and he couldn't even feel it. Frazier didn't like to be reminded that in this city he wasn't the top of the food chain, that there were people above him that could swat him down like he never existed. He swallowed again. Pilots, they were the one thing that made him nervous.

[Anonymous]

Sabela's smirk widened as she watched the two men stare at her. Boys, so easy to manipulate. She relaxed a little more, pushing the earlier weirdness with Liv out of her mind. He was just a creepy little shit, that was all.

"Sorry little boy. This isn't a social call." Sabela snorted at that. Like she would be seen with some shitty little dealer. Please. She got her drugs from someone with class. He was a little puffed up bird that thought he was far more interesting then he was. Like the other puffed up bird rubbing his shoulders.

It was almost pathetically easy to mess around in the fairy's mind. Even Liv could have handled it. Maybe. The thoughts in front were simple, dirty thoughts about her. It was a lovely ego boost to be sure. Sabela couldn't help preening a bit as she shifted through his thoughts.

Pulling back from his mind, Sabela smiled and stood up, blowing him a little kiss, "Thanks for the information. Come along Sulo. Leave your little gay toy alone."

She had a few ideas of where the guy would be. And he was supposed to be at some widows house. A quick question to Camael and she had the location of the woman's house. If she was lucky, the stupid shit would be there and she could be done.

[Anonymous]

Liv would've felt worse about Sab's messing about in Frazier's mind if he hadn't already marked the man as one of his sort.  He patted him familiarly on the shoulder once again, because he knew it'd piss him off.  He liked that, the energy you got off anger, even other people's.  

"See you, toy."  He raised one eyebrow, mocking the tepidity of Sabela's taunt.  "--and I am sorry--" and followed her outside, avoiding the last threads of (was that contempt?) he felt gathering in Frazier's mind.  Well, naturally.  Contempt.  It was the poor man's revenge.

"Right, Fally," he said, catching up to the other Pilot.  He fell in beside her, but why talk to her, anyway.  "What's the story?"

He detected a soupçon of reproach in the Dragon's reply, but it faded before he could tell how intentional it had been.  Whatever that meant, anyway.  "We have a few locations, one definite."  For an odd instant Liv saw the information Sabela must have passed on to the Dragons, compressed into quickly accessible data, and then he blinked and caught his stride again, skirting a strolling couple.  

Fucked it might be, but Dragonvision came in handy.

"Place sounds swank," he said to Sabela, once they'd gotten to the elevators once more.  And off to the Upper Level once again... back and forth.  Impressive mobility for a psychic in hiding.  "With luck we'll walk on this guy canoodling with the lady and all will be painless.  By the way, you really need to find a new angle, the gay jokes are getting old.  And... inaccurate."  He pressed upon her an imprint of just a few of the things he'd been thinking of in the coffee shop, and stepped back to let her into the elevator.  "Ladies first."

[Anonymous]

His knees bent as he hit the ground, his coat flying up. He heard a couple people scream in surprise. They silenced as he stretched to his full height, some of them took off others just looked at him like he was insane.

"Are you crazy?! From that height...." He ignored the woman speaking to him and pushed in the other direction, away from the elevator.

He was moving quick passed people, pushing them as gently as he could out of his way. Being mindful to keep a low profile, not knock into anyone too hard. His hands gently touching people's arms moving them out of his path. He could have darted around them, but this was much quicker. His eyes locked onto their faces carefully, a Pilot could be anywhere. He was not sure how fast they could move, with those dragons who knew. They could already be waiting for him. He just had to hope he was faster and smarter.

Without knowing it Jericho was leaving small marks of psychic energy on people and buildings that he touched. The psychic energy he left behind him was like a fingerprint to any Pilot paying enough attention. He wished he could have interacted with a Pilot just once so he might know what some of them looked like, what they might feel like when his energy touched them, but it was no good. His caution had bitten him in the ass. He was sure of that.

He brushed against a diner his coat snagging for a minute and he growled at the wall. Then he spotted what he had been looking for. One of the many houses he knew, that he kept for himself to hide in. He moved quickly, but slow enough to avoid attention. He came up to the door his fingers closing around it. Memories snapped into his mind as he called for them to see who had touched it recently. No one but the former occupants and the crew that had been working to make the house livable again. The locks broke under his pressure and he slunk inside closing the door behind him.

Stairs met you at the door with two rooms open to either side. The downstairs had a kitchen, a living room, a parlor type place that doubled as a library. Upstairs would be all the bedrooms. This was more than a safe house, it was where his last child had been born. He gritted his teeth and went up the stairs. The stairs did not creak at all from the climb he made up them. When his foot hit the top step and crunched against glass he gripped the railing slipping into a memory of his own.

He was flying through the window glass spraying out around him. He had felt that the house was empty but as soon as the air from it hit his nostril he could smell the scent of humans like just sprayed perfume. He could smell her most of all. Delilah. He picked tiny bits of glass from his skin, while he waited. She had been locked away in the room right next to the window. He remembered her scent perfectly. He growled the memory away and turned the broken knob to her room and shut the door behind him. He pushed one of her broken bookshelves in front of the door.

He remembered how she looked in that bed. The bed was just a frame now. Her smell was still strong in the room, the old stench of blood everywhere. He blinked once as he looked around the room. She was young, too young. He pushed the memory of her face as she saw him away from his mind. He moved to sit in a corner. He'd wait it out here. Hoping that they would lose his scent. His fingers gripped tightly around the hilt of the katana, like it was his security blanket.

[Anonymous]

Liv's comment got a smile from Sabela and she moved closer to the other Pilot, pressing up against him, close enough for him to smell the light scent she wore. It was delicate and slightly sweet and very, very expensive. Glancing up at Liv through her thick lashes, Sabela's lips stayed curled in that little smile. Fingers slid along the male's unimpressive chest, her voice low and breathy, "It is really too bad that you will, never, ever know how great I am in bed Liv. I can do some really amazing things." Her fingers slid lower, along his belly, nails lightly scraping over his vest, "Rape just really doesn't give you the full picture."

Leaning over, Sabela pressed her full lips against Liv's cheek, leaving a light lip mark there. Then she pulled away with a little smirk, "But if you don't like gay jokes, I can go with rapist ones. Or would you like ones on your lack of ability?"

[Anonymous]

Liv wavered, caught between two thin walls.  His skin burned where he'd felt Sabela's lips, and he felt it all the way down.  Why not just take a step forward and grab her wrists and it would be a matter of the physical... which, suggested a very present part of his brain, made up merely another layer of the game.  Language or the language of fear and pain: all the same, kid.

Here's the problem, kiddo, you don't enjoy it.

'Cause you're on life's losing side.

Really, it'd been the world's most poorly-planned revenge.  He wound up guilty, she wound up... well, where he'd been, flirty and manipulative.  Nothing so bad about that.  He had to admire the snark.  She knew where to strike, which was, of course, the point and the paradox.

The elevator slid to a stop at the upper city drop point.  Fuckin' coward.  He'd gone halfway, that was it, but why regret it?  It is what it is.  No, yeah, because he'd lost the bigger game.  Hey, didn't they have a mission?  Never mind, this was more fun.  At least Falstaff had kept out for the last few minutes.  Liv took a breath, shook his head, and stepped away from Sabela.

"Any of the above, babe."  He managed a tooth-baring smile.

[Anonymous]

Sabela gave a small, husky laugh, smirking at Liv. She had won that one hands down and she knew it. Turning away, she sauntered over toward the direction of the elevator. Stupid men. So easy to control. And Sabela needed that control over Liv.

"Let's check on the rich bitch first." And that would be so much nicer to find him there then having to mess around in the lower levels. Those people were gross, "You have the other places right? I was thinking we could work our way down from there."

As she waited for the elevator to arrive, Sabela took the time to check her makeup. Pulling out a tube she reapplied the lip gloss she had managed to lose between the whipped cream and Liv's cheek. Perfect yet again.

It wasn't a long trip to the house. But even as they got close, Sabela could tell that there wasn't a presence there anymore. Just the remnants one, still clinging to the house, "Well, looks like someone had more money then taste."

Sabela wrinkled her nose, "Totally garish. Some people should not be allowed to spend their money. I wouldn't be caught dead in that place." Sabela didn't bother knocking, Camael just opened the lock for her. She scanned the area for a presence at all, "Liv? I don't think anyone is here."