ofgoldenfruitborn:
It’s a sensible reply, as he’d expected. The question which follows, however, amuses him in its own right, and he can’t help but curl a slow smirk around the rim of his glass, cutting his eyes sidelong and raising a brow of his own as if to say, ‘Oh? Do you need to ask?’
Warmth, not entirely the doing of alcohol, forms a lazy coil in the pit of his belly.
In truth, Tora can think of a number of things he’s taken a liking toward. What he thinks of first – at self-indulgent length, and as if by example – is the noise that he’s learned Wesley can be coaxed to make with little more than a mouth on his neck and arms twined heavy around his middle. What Tora says instead is simply, “It has its perks; easy.” He can see the briefest flash of his own teeth in the glass when he glances through the window. “Mostly though–?”
Beyond the black of the Park, an island of light glimmers back.
“–It’s the churning I like. The, ah–. Marriage of directed intent and chaotic impulse, I think.” A fleeting, sardonic smile twists his mouth. Imprecise, vague words for an imprecise, vague idea. “I’ve seen many cities, all the universes over. And the thing which holds true for quite nearly all of them–? Is that they’re dissatisfied, hungry places, full of people who want something. So. Maybe what it comes down to is that I just find that relatable.”
He nurses again at his drink – a figurative period upon the end of his own sentence – and turns slightly deeper into their shared space, as if following the flitting trajectory of a thought. His more artistic faculties admire the play of yellow light and blue shadow across Wesley’s face. The more animal admires the shape of his mouth.
“Or, in this case–? Maybe I’m just curious about what it is that you could want.“
[ @amministro ]
The answer is almost poetic, in a way he thinks that Fisk would enjoy. It certainly hits the nail on the head; the very reason his ‘job’ even exists: the voracious hunger of this city and the people who fight for control within it. He fills the hands of his employers while tempting lesser, weaker dogs with scraps of meat and watching them fight among themselves for the prize. Fool’s gold.
“We’ve all got our own appetites to appease,” He agrees, washing the words down with the pleasant sting of his drink. Of course, that brings him to the next point, the seemingly elusive question of what a man like James Wesley sought in such a depraved world of crime rings and warring gang leaders.
“What I want...” He pauses, eyes aimed thoughtfully at the view before him, though his mind is elsewhere. “What I want is what my employer wants. I want to see this city run by someone I believe is best equipped to do so. And I want to use my abilities to that end, instead of being trapped in one of those board rooms,” He motions with his glass to the far-off towers that looms beyond the high rise apartments. “Fighting a pointless battle, for men whose goals are as shallow as a puddle of rain. Men who lack a vision beyond the next wrung of the corporate ladder.”
With that, his attention is back on Tora and a smirk tugs at his lips. “Not to say that I don’t have my own more base desires.” His eyes very purposefully flick over the length of Tora’s form beside him, and though he turns back to the cityscape, his reflection shows a very devious facet of James Wesley draining his glass of its last drops of whiskey. He takes care to set it down on the nearest flat surface before turning in the other’s grasp, putting their faces within inches of one another. “And now, what do you want?”
[ @ofgoldenfruitborn ]
