Wren and Selina have claws (laminette) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-05-02 13:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, scarecrow |
Who: Wren and Alex
What: An unexpected appointment
Where: Caesars
When: Todayish
Warnings/Rating: A for Alex. V for Violence. AT for Adult Themes. No sex here, but tread carefully anyway.
He had just gotten out of the hospital the day before, and while he had been advised to ‘take it easy’, life just didn’t leave a lot of room for doing that, especially when you were in the process of hiding away to keep the dogs off your heels. But between the security system his brother was working on and the building with 24 hour staff on attendance, midnight visits would be a bit harder for anyone to accomplish. And that was the way Alexander Pierce III preferred it.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy an occasional walk on the wild side, which was the only explanation for the appointment he had made that afternoon with La Minette. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, or maybe he just liked the girl’s claws, but no matter the reason, Alex was standing on the first floor of the Palace Tower, dressed to the nines in a rich, black suit. The left sleeve hung loose at his side due to the casted arm that hung within the cradle of the dark sling, and even that he managed to make look classy. Dark hair was swept back and gelled in place, not a single strand willing or able to escape. He was sharp, well put-together, and no one batted an eye when he informed the concierge on duty on the bottom floor that he was there to see Ms. Maheu.
Of course they asked his name, and with an even smile that bordered on wicked, Alex gave them the answer. Isaac Coleman. Because he was sure that an appointment with her under his real name would have been cancelled in a heartbeat. There was a moment of checking and then Alex stepped into the elevator for the journey to the top floor. Exiting, he was given directions to her room, and as he moved down the luxurious hallway, he made note of every window, every door, every single hiding place for presents in the future. Because there would be a future, threats or not.
Coming to stand in front of the door he had been directed to, Alexander knocked twice and then stepped away, giving his back to the door as he waited, fingers adjusting the knot of his tie and glancing occasionally at the watch circling his right wrist.
Wren had been working in the Palace Tower room for almost a week, and she had been working three and four clients a night, which was more than she was accustomed to. But she only had the room for two weeks, assuming she would have come to some decision regarding the kidnapping situation by then, one that likely wouldn’t allow for very much work. There still existed the possibility that she was wrong, that things would smooth over in some way that didn’t involve jail, but she very much doubted it. She was trying to get as much money in the new account she had opened in Luke’s name in the meantime, and it meant very long nights and very sore arms from wielding the crop.
Too, there were the other worries. Alexander, and his threats to the girls, which Wren very much believed would be followed through on. Brielle, and whatever had happened to her after the fear gas. MK, and the fact that the girl was gone away, somewhere Wren knew she couldn’t reach, a place that had nothing to do with physical distance. And then there was her own growing fears, the one she tried to keep at bay, to shove away from the surface. They were still there, the fears, the ones that had been there since her childhood; she was just better at hiding them now. Gone were the days when she curled up in a ball and let people use her however they wanted, but that girl was still inside her, even if Wren kept her locked away from nearly everyone.
But it was the tail-end of a long night, and she was meeting Luke after, and she called out when the knock came, her voice calm and ice, but with a hint of something like pleasure behind it. She was dressed in black - a corset that bared her nipples when she moved, a simple pair of black panties and ink thigh-highs that clipped onto straps at the end of the corset. Her hair was pulled back, and she still looked pale and delicate, even more so with the austere colors, like a strong wind could break her.
“Come in.”
The door to the room opened some moments later, and he stepped in as though he owned the place, the door closing in his wake with a quiet click. Again, there was the question in his mind over what he was doing here, but he figured it was as safe as time as ever to get some real quality time in with the woman. She wouldn’t do anything to him during working hours, he wagered, other than throw him out in a fit of weakness. He was a paying customer, after all, and very few women did this sort of ‘job’ out of enjoyment. It was always about the money, and his was as good as anyone else’s was.
Stepping away from the door, Alexander took her in in a long look that swept from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, gauging and assessing in one breath before he brought his eyes back up towards her face. “Hello, Wren,” Alex said simply. He didn’t bother with the pomp and circumstance of making a spectacle out of his arrival; he was sure the shock of his appearance would be more than enough for her to handle.
She was looking away from the door when he entered, reaching for a crop, but she forgot that entirely when she heard his voice. Even without turning to look at him, she knew who it was. Two years, and she would remember that voice anywhere. It wasn’t his most recent appointment that the voice brought to mind, and it wasn’t even the fear gas that made terror ice her spine. No, it was waking up in a hotel room two years in the past, and the utter horror she’d felt at her own actions the night before.
She turned, slow, slow, and she forced herself to maintain control and stay calm. He was right about her not harming him then. Luke was right, and she couldn’t risk getting arrested, not for this, no matter how much she wanted to. Alias or not, he was on her books, and that meant he had already paid the hotel for her services, likely with his own card. She couldn’t risk killing him, though in that moment she very much wanted to. She had wielded knives her entire life, and never had she wanted to see the life seep out of someone’s eyes than she did just then.
“Alexander. Eager for another taste of my crop?” she asked, gaze dropping to his injured arm. “Did someone hurt you?” Here, she smiled, all cold and knowing. She could do this, she told herself. It would be an act, but she could do this.
Alexander pulled his hand away from where he had been toying with his tie, head tilted to the side as she turned towards him, his smile lacking any warmth when it was directed towards her. “No one hurt me, dear. I fell. Water skiing over the weekend. Hazards of the hobby. But thank you so much for inquiring.” It was a lie, of course, because he wasn’t about to admit weakness to her. Weakness showed vulnerability, and nothing these people did would make him vulnerable. Ever.
“You look good, Wren. Just as I remember. I’m glad that some things don’t really change.” Alex shifted his weight from foot to foot before moving closer, circling around her, eyes never leaving her face. “And no. I’ve not come for a taste from your crop. I don’t trust your professionalism in such matters any longer, I fear. A bad thing in a dominatrix, I feel, not that I’ve tangled with many like you.” Dark eyes narrowed for a brief moment before Alex gave her his back, peeling the black suit jacket off. “Do you mind if I make myself comfortable? I’d like a drink, please. If you don’t mind.”
She yearned for her suite, for a button to push that would send security running. But, at the same time, she’d never been happier to have followed Luke’s advice and not continue bringing clients to the suite. If Alexander saw Gus- But, no, that wouldn’t happen. He had an hour, and she’d get through it as calmly as she could, even if she fell to pieces once the door was closed.
“You paid for my crop, Alexander, not for conversation. Or did you mistake me for an escort or a prostitute? I’m neither. And I’m sorry to say there are no refunds. But, of course, pour yourself a drink before you go.” She glanced toward the door, and she remained where she was, on the opposite side of the room, the crop in her hand. “I’m not sorry about your injury either. Some people deserve to fall, don’t you think?”
She was looking down at him, very intentionally. It was a careful part of the act, one that was easier for her to hold onto than any other. Difficult clients especially tended to be on the receiving end, and he was certainly a difficult client.
Alex didn’t say anything as he shed his jacket, laying it over a nearby chair, his tie soon joining the jacket before he turned towards her once more, enjoying the way she kept to that side of her room. She was scared, and he could see that, no matter how hard she tried to conceal that. “Trust me. I would never mistake you for an escort or a prostitute. You’re obviously too classy for such jobs. And I know there’s no refunds, but you’re the one who needs the money, don’t you?” His leather shoes made his steps louder than they needed to be, each step bringing him a bit closer to her. “Money doesn’t matter to me, Wren. I’ve plenty of it, so stop acting as though I’m going to ask for it back.”
Stopping just feet away, he slid his hand into the pocket of his trousers, jingling the change that sat in his pocket. “I’ve got news for you, that I thought you might be interested in. It’s important, so do think hard before you tell me no.”
“You misunderstand me,” she said of her need for money, or her fear that he would ask for a refund. Luckily, she had no idea he could sense her fear, and she stayed precisely where she was, not moving away as he stepped forward. He was injured, she reminded herself, and she was armed. There was nothing he could do to her, and her shoulders went straighter the closer he came. She knew the comment about being too classy was a slur, but she didn’t address it, ignoring it. “I meant that I won’t stand here and talk to you for an hour, Alexander. That isn’t what I do. If you want to spend time with me, you pay the price, and you do it on my terms.” Terms which gave her the illusion of the upper hand, which is what mattered just then.
She watched his hand move to his pocket, the quick slip of her eyes giving away fears, a deer in headlights for a mere moment. “What news?” she asked, as if she didn’t care what he said. But her heart beat faster, because she didn’t trust the girls to stay away from him, no matter who tried to ensure it was so. She didn’t think he knew about Gus, so at least she was calm on that front. But MK and Brielle, they were a real concern, one she tried to keep off her face.
Her terms. He liked the way she said those, as if they really mattered, but when it came down to it, they were here because he had the money and she was simply providing a service. “You would use your crop on someone who just left the hospital yesterday?” Alex asked, brows lifting. “You are a cruel mistress, aren’t you?” Stepping closer, he watched the way her eyes widened, that heartbeat of time where fear etched over her face, and he filed that look away where he could cherish it later. “But I suppose people don’t pay you to kiss their aches and pains away, do they?”
Removing his hand from his pocket, Alex reached up to start undoing the buttons of his shirt, the crisp white linen hanging open some moments later, revealing the patchwork design of blues and blacks that covered his torso, skimming up towards his neck before fading, testament to the concealer he wore to hide the fading bruises on his jaw. Pushing the shirt away, he tucked his hand back into his pocket, change jingling once more as he steadied a long look on her.
“Your crop or my news? Which do you want first, Wren?”
“You paid for my crop. Your medical condition isn’t my concern, and I’m not your mistress,” she said, watching him step forward like it didn’t bother her, like it didn’t make her feel like prey, cornered in a pretty gilded cage. She didn’t answer his question, the one about kissing away aches and pains, because it didn’t deserve an answer; there was a difference between what part of her clients received and what part of her people cared about received. He was a client and nothing more, she told herself - not someone she feared, that she’d been drugged into sleeping with, that threatened the people she cared about. Just a client.
She didn’t want him unbuttoning the shirt, but she couldn’t tell him that. Her clients didn’t wear clothing, as a rule, and she had no reason to stop him. Her gray gaze dropped to the map of bruises on his torso, and she wanted to enjoy them, to be glad he’d suffered them, but all she saw was revenge etched in every mark that dotted his skin. She couldn’t look away, and the way he pushed the shirt aside made her feel the kind of terror she hadn’t felt in years, that kind that came with a client she didn’t like and the promise of things she didn’t want to do.
She looked up when he spoke, jerked back into the present by the sound of his voice. “You came to say something,” she said, and she set the crop aside, but close enough to grab if she wanted to. “Say it.”
A person’s face told so many stories, no matter how much effort they put into controlling their expressions. A carefully schooled expression was particularly telling; it just said that there were things there that the person was attempting to hide, and she was hiding so much. “Do you always lack so much concern over your clients? I thought part of being a capable dominatrix was also being able to take care of your clients. Not to worse existing injuries, or would you get off on my pain, Wren? You already told me you wanted to delight in it, so I’m surprised you’re passing up on the opportunity right now.” His lips pressed into a tight line, silence filling the space between them until she spoke again, watching as she laid the crop down, the line of his lips curving slightly in appreciation of that move.
“If you insist,” Alex said, and as he spoke, he peeled his shirt off the rest of the way, a task to keep his fingers busy as he took a seat near her, working the sleeve off over his casted arm, the deep bruising that disappeared beneath layers of plaster, leaving imagination to fill in what was concealed. “I’ve been given... an incentive, if you will, to leave you alone. And you might like to know that I’ve agreed.” His gaze cut over towards her for her reaction, his expression neutral otherwise. “It pains me to say it, I must add, because getting under your skin is something I find absolutely fascinating.”
She knew he was goading her, pushing with the questions about her clients and her work, and she didn’t take the bait, but it was an obvious effort. “I’m very concerned about you right now. Can’t you tell? And you don’t need to worry. I’ll stay clear of your bruises. I’m very capable.” She mocked his pronunciation and his tone, taking back a little control with the intonation. “That’s strange. When did I say I would delight in anything that happened to you?” A smile. “You’re going to have to learn to keep your lies straight, Alexander, not that I expect that kind of intelligence from a coward like you.” Her smile, after the words were said was serene.
It was that serenity that kept her from entirely crumbling when he peeled his shirt off the remainder of the way and, then, about the incentive. “Which one of them agreed?” she asked, all pretense left behind.
She almost sneered when he continued. “You will never get under my skin. Regardless of what you do, of how much you want to, you can’t have that, and you can’t have me, not willingly. You can’t have anything willingly, can you, Alexander?” she asked, and the sweep of her gaze over those bruises was intentional then. Whoever he had threatened, she would make sure it was fixed. He wouldn’t get what he wanted; she wouldn’t let him.
“A coward. You’re funny when you accuse me of those sort of things, and simply because you think you know me so well. As for getting under your skin...” Alexander trailed off, slouching in the chair he had taken for his own, long legs spread, all comfort and relaxation despite the situation. “I’ve already had you once. Under your skin. In you. Been there, done that, no need for a repeat performance.” His smile was lazy as she looked over his bruises, letting her soak them in because they both knew where they came from.
“As for who...” A pointed pause as as the amused expression on his lips faded away. “No one agreed to anything, Wren. It was an offer, willingly given I might add. I simply accepted in exchange for leaving you alone. I thought you’d be happy about that.”
She trusted that he had no idea who had dealt the bruises, not beyond knowing they were associated with her; if she thought otherwise, this would be a very different conversation. “Having sex with me isn’t getting under my skin. We both know that,” she said and that, at least, was entirely true. She wouldn’t have survived on the street if it wasn’t true, and she let him see that, because it didn’t matter what he did, he’d never possess anything real when it came to her.
“No one would willingly give you anything, and we both know that perfectly well. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll find out, and that will be that, and you won’t get to me either. Now, you get on the bed, or you put your shirt back on and take your bruises and find someone whose stomach doesn’t turn when she looks at you.” Her voice was calm through it all, and she reached for the discarded crop, fingers touching it, but not picking it up.
“No, Wren, that’s where you are most definitely wrong. And it’s not something you’re going to find out easily, the deal that was made, because they know the consequences of reneging on the agreement we made. So you can put your bravado away on that one, and simply accept that my attention is off of you, at least unless something changes.” Alex rose to his feet then, laughing at her declaration of him churning her stomach, giving her his back as he moved to the bed, absolutely no intention on leaving. This was his money, and he would milk every moment out of it.
Sitting down on the foot of the bed, his eyes darkened slightly, braced back with his hand on the mattress behind him, his smile lazy and knowing. “Come on, Wren. Come hurt me like you know you want to. Add to the bruises and show me how much you hate me.” His shoes were kicked off, one by one, falling to the ground with heavy thuds. “Or are you all talk and no follow through?”
“I’ll have someone keep them away from you, so help me god,” she promised, even as he rose to his feet. She expected him to go then, and she didn’t expect to need to follow through. But he turned to the bed, and her fingers left the crop behind and reached for the switch that was tucked behind it instead. Cane, flexible, and much more capable of leaving bruises behind than the crop. She normally saved the cane for clients that asked - and there were plenty - but he didn’t get a choice. If he wanted to push her, then fine, let him push her.
She walked up to him as he taunted her into hurting him, because she knew that’s what this was. She watched the shoes slide off his feet, and she kicked at his legs a moment later, stilettos and a promise in the sharp hit of shiny black against his shin. “Are you going to take off the pants?” she asked; a challenge.
The sharp touch of her shoe against his leg had Alexander at her a look that was all charming bravado, but he made no move to remove his pants as she had challenged him to. “That eager to get me naked, Wren?” he asked, giving her a lazy smile, still resting the majority of his weight on his good arm, making a tiny effort to reach towards the fastenings on his pants with his casted arm. “Sorry. Can’t reach. I think you’ll understand.” He didn’t even bother to remark on her threat that she would have someone keep them away from her. It was impossible, and Brielle knew as much. Any hiccup in their agreement would count as the deal being null and void, and that would just open him back up to targeting Wren, something the girl didn’t seem to want to happen. This for that, and he was going to take advantage of that.
“It isn’t a requirement,” she said of his nudity, rather than attempting to help him. She could have done, offered to help, but she didn’t. Instead, she climbed onto the bed behind him, and she knelt far enough back that she could swing her arm without impediment. “I’m not tying you up this time, and I suspect you’ll only last a lash or two,” she said, and she meant it - it wasn’t even a taunt. The cane was rattan, and it stung worse than any belt, and she honestly didn’t think he’d be able to take it, even along his back and shoulders.
She had no idea whether he was focusing on Brielle, MK or Alice, and all she could do was trust the people she had entrusted them to; that was hard, and the stress of it was wound up in the swing of her arm and shoulder as the cane landed against his upper back. She stayed high, knowing to avoid anything that could bruise or rupture organs. Shoulders, shoulder blades and between, and the swings were brutal, all of her stress in each one, the fear gas, the girls, Gus, how much she hated this man in front of her. It wasn’t impersonal, and it was nothing like her other clients, and each landing of the cane promised to leave a mark as long as the cane’s length.
He had been prepared for pain, had even been numbed against it with the painkillers that still coated his nerves, softening the dull throb of his left arm. But this cut through even that, sharp and biting as flesh reddened almost immediately. A hiss escaped him, and where he had leaned back before, now, he leaned forward, his hand pressed into the mattress at his side, fingers clenched in the fabric there. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word lacking his normal conviction, swept away with those few strikes against his shoulders.
But he didn’t tell her to stop, because there was something there in standing up to her, in proving to her that even though she tried, even though she hit him because she hated him, he still was stronger than she would ever be. That was something he had to prove, to show her. This was his game, his choice, not hers.
Under other circumstances, she might have realized this was a losing game, but she had so much fear and anger wound up in the man sitting there, on the edge of the bed. She’d died, she knew, though she couldn’t remember it, and even that hadn’t had time to settle with everything that came after. He’d killed her, and it was only luck she was even alive. The cane came down harder and harder, faster and faster, until she had to swallow back her own sob, exhausted and covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion of wielding it. She climbed off the bed, and she stared at his back, and the angry red marks she’d left there. She backed into the corner, and she pointed at the door with the cane.
“Get out. I won’t take you on again if you come back. Get out,” she said, and there were enough tremor to her voice to indicate worlds of untapped anger, dangerously untapped anger. She’d always kept from going too far, even in those alleys so long ago, but she didn’t want to now, and that terrified her. “Get out.”
Any response to her did not come for some time, aware after a handful of moments that she had stopped, had gone so far as to back away and into a corner. There was pain, and then there was pain, and somewhere along the line, a vague line had been crossed without him even knowing it. Fire coursed along his back, nerves screaming for relief, and there was a period of time where he didn’t trust himself to move without crying out in the wake of it all. But somehow, he held his tongue, even with her orders for him to leave.
Moving as little as possible, he turned towards the sound of her voice, catching sight of that sweat-dappled skin contrasted against the black of her corset and stockings, and somehow, he managed a grin that was purely wicked. “Giving up so soon, Wren?” Alex asked, making sure to use her name, to tie her to this moment instead of La Minette.
It was the grin that broke her, that grin and the use of her name, and she advanced on the bed with the cane raised. She wasn’t thinking, and she lifted it quickly enough that the sound sliced through the air, menacing and angry, and maybe she shouldn’t have been working yet, not so soon after what had happened. Maybe she should have been home, curled up on a couch somewhere, letting the remainder of the rattle leave her lungs and the dark circles disappear from beneath her eyes. But no, she was here, and he was here, and the cane sang as she brought it down against his bruised shoulder and chest.
When that cane came down against flesh that was already swollen and discoloured, Alex did let out a sound, something akin to a whimper that he could not hold back, one hand sweeping up not to strike her, but to push the cane away even as he moved away from her on the bed, clapping his hand over the reddening flesh, pressing to take away the burn. “Attacking a client in anger, Wren?” Alex ground out, and his voice was strained, tight and high. “How very unprofessional of you.” But he didn’t make any move to get up off the bed, not out of bravado, but out of genuine pain, the colour drained away from his face as he leaned forward, bending nearly in half as he breathed through it.
“I didn’t attack you,” she said, her breathing fast and hard, and her grip on the cane not loosening, even when he smacked it away. “Don’t pretend innocence with me, Alexander. You know exactly what you said wrong. You don’t get to use my name, and I struck you in a permitted area.” There were rules, you see. His bruises weren’t covered in them, but that wasn’t her concern. She glanced at the already reddening welt along his shoulder, and she wondered how easily she would cross the line of it wasn’t for Gus, for the situation that was happening now; she’d always wondered that about herself.
She stepped back, away into the corner, cane still brandished. “I asked you to leave.” Because if he stayed, if he kept talking, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to reign it in. “I stopped breathing because of what you did. I should be dead, and you don’t even care. Get out.”
After everything else that Wren said, it was that last bit of information that he zeroed in on, his gaze narrowed, not out of animosity or anger, but actual worry. “You stopped breathing. No. That shouldn’t have happened,” Alexander said, straightening from how he had doubled over, turning towards her though he made no move to approach or even rise from where he sat. “That formula has been tested. Repeatedly. That’s never happened before.” There were many things that Alex was, but a murderer was not one of them. HIs methods were questionable, yes, but physical harm was not something he ever intended.
“I fell into the pool, Alexander. I was terrified, and there is a pool outside my door,” she explained, and maybe that was more than she intended, more personal than she meant to get, but she was angry, and he was there. “I backed up, and I fell, and I stopped breathing. Do you not think about what your stupid gas can do? Do you not realize how dangerous fear is?” She was looking at him like he was a monster, like he was worse than a monster. “There were four of us in that suite, and any one of us could have run into traffic, or drowned or hurt someone thinking they were dangerous.” A pause. “Get out, and stay away from the people I care about. I mean it, Alexander. Find someone else to play with that isn’t me, and that isn’t the people I love.”
And her story was exactly why these things were best done in controlled environments, where there were no variables such as pools, or traffic. But he didn’t voice those thoughts, instead rising to his feet in a manner that held more sobriety than he had ever shown in these sort of situations. There was no smile teasing at his lips, no knowing look in his eyes as he moved over to the chair to retrieve his abandoned shirt, working his way into it with more than a little difficulty. The silence was absolutely as he worked his jacket on moments after that, stepped into his shoes, and moved towards the door.
There needed to be more precautions in the future, obviously. Because Alexander Pierce was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a killer, and he wasn’t going to let the Scarecrow turn him into one. “For what it’s worth, Wren, I didn’t mean for that to happen to you. I won’t apologise, because you wouldn’t believe it anyways. But I’ll leave you alone.” The promise extended to no one else, nor would it even if he was pressured. “Have a good night, if you can.” And then Alexander was gone, closing the door quietly in his wake.