Re: Newspaper office: Cat/Jack
[So this was the woman inside the bar-host. Cat went for knife rather than dart, less the needle and more the bloody great attack and whether that was because the tail-lashing had swept on toward a leap to the juglar or because her own flank was exposed. She went for what she thought was carotid and Jack laughed.]
There's not a thing you can say that I haven't said myself, so stop trying. My league, you don't know it. You've seen what's left after I took a sledgehammer, so if you're set on destructive, my ego included, I've already done the damage, love, you're out of bloody luck.
[He looked at the bewildered men who'd entered a warzone without flak jackets and if Jack looked a little more alive now than he had at the beginning of the little interlude, he'd thrived once on warzones.]
But I don't pretend to be anything I'm not, washed up hack with a guilt complex the size of bloody Asia. I lay it out. You? Tell me how far out of my league in life you are when you're ready to knock down your own bloody walls. You came in here because that kid with the creepy complex pissed you off badly enough that you'd take revenge in capitals in a column you don't give a shit about.
[She threw around money like it was water, and he shook his head.]
No. I said printer ink. Not the computer, you were clever the first time. You're getting cocky. The layout program runs on that and it won't on whatever high-end thing you drag in. Send it back. That's if you want your revenge to run. [And he'd miss the column, if it didn't. It felt clean, like something long rusted opened up, but Cat took whatever lay in sight. If she took the piece? He wasn't giving her the satisfaction.]