Re: In-person: Zee/John
[John was used to women dropping on him like a ton of bricks, not the other way around. From the occasional virgin mary to the more likely wicked witch of the west, John usually found himself in situations where he could buy a nice girl a drink, or show a nice girl a coin trick, or display a few acts of synchronicity to an appreciative audience, and find himself waking up with a faceful of musty pillow and a warm arm slung over the small of his back. There wasn't a hell of a lot of work involved on his part, and not much was required to telegraph interest. A look here, a smile in just the right place. He'd been conning people for long enough to know where the beats went in the measure.
Zee was a different story. He remembered dogging her for a bit there, back when they met, because she was smart enough to know better and she'd been raised by a man who knew his way around a good trick. It was something that slid smoothly into mutually assured destruction by back-biting, a healthy dose of respect, and a lot of good sex. Then he had to go and get somebody killed, as usual, and now here they were, two practical strangers from two different outcomes of the big chess game.
He'd met people from different parallel places before. He'd met his own twin brother, the one he strangled in the womb to get to be the man he was now. The experience had put him off to looking down the forked paths in the yellow wood, no matter how many deities and demons tried to pry his eyes open like a clockwork orange and force him to see what could have, should have, and yet might be. Bollocks.
Anyway, none of that had a fucking thing to do with the smooth s of skin that slipped up from under the back of those warm thighs, up beneath her knees, and down to the tips of her toes, splayed on the couch by his thigh. They were just getting acquainted.
This was the Zee he remembered, in her own way. She reeked of magic in the blood the way not many did, the way he didn't, not even. There was magic in his family tree, but it was a blustery, british sort of magic, the kind that kicked the door in and insisted on being given a seat at the table without a reservation. Nobody in his bloodline had ever made bones about learning forbidden sorceries or needing a pedigree to wield a curse. He was very good at curses. Very. But that was a story for another time.]
Mmhmm. [Yes, he remembered her like this. He looked up from the backs of her thighs, where he had been thoughtlessly looking, and he smiled, obviously not caring if she noticed where he looked, not expecting her to care. He lit the cigarette and tucked the scant box of Silk Cuts away in the breast pocket of his trench coat, lifting the cigarette from his lips and expelling smoke in a flat, blank cloud from his nostrils.] Nobody I know likes making me squirm more than you do. [A stupid sexual joke with a veiled, small smirk. They both knew what reasons Zee might have for taking pleasure in her little vengeances on him, despite the affection that remained between them. Nothing with him was as simple as it looked on the surface.
He popped the cigarette between his lips again and leaned forward, reaching out toward her, waiting for her to give him her hand, expectant.] Let's see those hands, then. Those ones you say you know so well.