Paused above a course of apricot Herdwick lamb, Loki has steepled his fingers. The chef’s table at Marcus seats ten, and yet they’ve been granted utter privacy sans the need to demand it. Loki alone appears as to devour space enough for the eight guests they lack; his shadow reaches the far end of their table even in low light. Behind the glossed black bar over his shoulder, the skeleton crew of chefs he’d ask for work silently as they’ve found possible. Nothing to disturb them, she has been gifted his fullest attention, if only for what manifests itself as intrigue. His tongue runs the line of his teeth, and Loki glances the device she’s invasively hung afore him. ‘ I’d say I’ve garnered control well enough. ’
Tsks. Her phone is now perched upon the tips of his fingers, the hand furthest from her. He’d not even reached for it, but eyes it now with disdain. Eyebrow piques. It is a delicate thing, not unlike the notebook she has tucked snugly betwixt her thighs. He’d favour the latter moreso, however. Her phone sits again between them, should she make to lift it again she’d fail. ‘ It’ll record me where it is. ’ A sup of red wine. ‘ Whose word are you more interested in, Ms Barnes? ’
zoe barnes hates london. the city itself doesn’t bother her, though. it’s the constant battle & unexpected storms. her head is spinning around. wild. with no rest … there’s no rest for the wicked. she used to praise this quote. back then, when her bony ass was secured by the washington herald’s desk. the young reporter shared a pale smile, barely noticeable. she hated her life back then as well. maybe it’s not about the surrounding but her as a person ?
hard-glassed windows mute the rainy weather’s symphony. the slow move of her head follows the man’s voice. he’s this type of a man. he doesn’t have to yell, he doesn’t have to move. he barely opens his mouth and the whole room is ready to SURRENDER.
am i going to do that too ? what can i get out of it ? if i smiled would he smile back ? i’m not going to push the boundaries of a possible connection. not without knowing the price of my benefits.
she doesn’t reply to his first comment. a steady gaze focused upon his features. yes, she can feel it too. oversized sweatshirt seems to float around her petite body. no, it’s not the air conditioning. it’s not some random whiff. IT’S HIM.
’ to be honest, i don’t give a single fuck. as long as it’s recording ... ’ bullshit. her answer didn’t convince even her own self. raspy voice, barely finishing the last part of the sentence. she’s not scared. she’s rather … F A S C I N A T E D. with her hangover memory she takes a few steps back. black headphones tucked in her ears. she’s crossing a random street in new york city. a portable, touristic copy of her favourite book surrounded by her forearm. she’s ready to waste her whole day on reading and drinking cheap wine from carton. the same kind of fascination gripped her mind. she was free, she was calm, she was … ALIVE.
a smooth breeze of carelessness brought her back to the Marcus’ table. blow out those sparkles in your eyes, reporter ! you’re not supposed to be fascinated by terror. if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you - now, that’s a new quote.
a sudden grasp around her own glass of wine. red, semi-dry. she swung its edge towards her lips devouring every drop of it.
/whose word are you more interested in, ms barnes ?/ my own, asshole. ’ i doubt there’s anyone around us who’d like to share a comment. ’
i won’t speak as you want me to. not now. give me something and i’ll give ALL OF ME in return. REVIVE ME. put a pen in my hand and let me write again. and i swear - i’ll be the best hunter you’ve ever got.
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