ISAAC. @replicaticns • 13 November / Coffee Shop
Using Isaac for information was supposed to be a short-term thing. A brief assignment for the sake of seeing what he knew about the peace treaty in the tense, uncertain weeks that had followed its initial proposal; a seemingly accidental meet-cute that had been entirely orchestrated and sweetened all the more by her influence over his emotions. But it proves all too easy to send him a message whenever she needs something ( intel; conversation; attention ), choosing the same coffee shop ( our coffee shop, she makes a point of calling it, because -- well -- she’s played this game before, knows which strings to pull to let this marionette show dance to her own tune ). Fingers wrapped around a white-china mug, the heat of her pumpkin spice latte warming, she watches the Blackburn mutant sit down and feels the usual rush of adrenaline at her own affiliation being unknown to him. “I had a dream about you last night,” she muses in greeting, a faint smile toying across her lips. “We were being chased through my old high school and hid in a changing room-- it was weird.” The lie is easily spun. Anastasia pushes a second mug towards him. “If it’s still hot, it’s a latte. If not, it’s an ice latte minus the ice.”
