date: 31 october, 2178Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
location: providentia ball, edge of the ballroom
time: 7:34 pm
availability: @orionthayerâ
There had been a time in Kitâs life where heâd been almost as well known for his bacchanalian indulgences as he was for his smuggling abilities, and no matter how far he got from that point in his life, he would always be capable of slipping back into that retired skin.
Like watercolor paint dancing across a blank canvas, Kit wove his way through the crowds, painting the entire room with gold and charm. His heart really ought to have been beating more erratically, some shiver of fear should have kept a degree of ice in his veins, but he was too close to the life heâd spent years dreaming about, too close to a life where currency was cheap and pleasure ran high. He is just slipping from the grasp of a woman with too many bubbles in her veins when he spots them from across the room, Orion Thayer.Â
He pauses, considering, pushing his tongue against his teeth as he fights to urge to approach them. Their relationship was on the edge of some kind of precipice, teetering on top of something sharp. One wrong move, and Kitty would fall onto the blade, Orion simply watching as he bleeds out.
âI must commend you, estrella,â he says when he finds his feet have carried him within their ear short, the curve of his mouth divine in the way only a wicked gods can be. âYou almost look as though you donât belong.â
He had thought perhaps time would be his beneficiary. He should have known better.
Time bows to no one, and neither does Orion.
Yet still, he sits at their table like thereâs nowhere else he belongs.
Beauty comes in the oddest and most complex of forms, seen squarely through the eye of the beholder. Some see it in people, others in places. Orion had always seen it in the way a gun felt in their hand, how their heart rate increased as they ran, in the laughs of Fox and Cosima. Sometimes, they even found in Senecaâs half-certain smiles. And, against all reason, against what they had hoped would be true, they found it here tonight. Orion told themselves that it was because of what was yet to happen â the pronged approach to uncovering the Benefactor. But that would have been a lie. The world of gold and greed did possess an odd sort of beauty, one which corrupted, one formed on the back of the oppressed, full of echoes and emptiness. But even if you could see through it, its aura possessed a certain compulsion, like the Gods upon Olympus.
Among them, Orion felt mortal. They tried to cling onto that feeling, refusing to be lost in the might-have-beens, grateful that they hadnât been chosen to schmooze up to decadent military commanders, who might have known their name. Their true name. Seneca, at least, would be safe, protected by all her falseness.
Trapped and waiting for Pyre - or the others - to indicate where they should go (given he had saved their life, it made sense to fall into line), Orion occupied themselves by pretending to be busy, refusing small-talk. They would have happily continued, had Kit not taken it upon himself to swagger across the room and make conversation. Even before he spoke, they had known it was him â no one held themselves that way, no oneâs eyes could sparkle with such mischief. You look too much like them, they complained, the air of suspicion returning. If only he had been with them, where Orion could have kept an eye. Instead, they had to trust him with Cosima.
Although they knew his words were supposed to rattle them â and therefore didnât want to give him the pleasure â Orion found themselves compelled to reply anyway. âI donât.â They could have, once upon a time, in a universe that saw them embrace darkness and shadows, blood and torture. They would have swapped their bleeding heart for a tin one. âYou, however, slot perfectly into place.â Must be the untrustworthiness. âI hope you wonât let that distract you from committing what lies ahead.â
In their voice, a warning can be detected. And they intend to make Kit hear.
