Jack Priest (
bitten_notshy) wrote2010-02-23 10:34 am
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Room 632, Atlantis Resort, Late Tuesday Morning
Jack had toured the aquarium and then gone back to his room with the vague intention of finding a swimsuit to finally get to the beach. (He knew that was where he should be, he just ... hadn't felt up to it. There was a lot of malaise in Jack this week, and he couldn't snap out of it despite a general urge to roll his eyes at himself. It wasn't exactly news that vampires were not fluffy puppies, after all.)
He wasn't showing any signs of making it this time, either. After a half-hearted search of his drawers, he'd opened yet another tiny bottle from the minibar and was nursing a scotch as he flipped through a book on criminal profiling. He was sure it would be very interesting, if he could actually focus on the pages.
[OOC: For anyone who might want to track him down.]
He wasn't showing any signs of making it this time, either. After a half-hearted search of his drawers, he'd opened yet another tiny bottle from the minibar and was nursing a scotch as he flipped through a book on criminal profiling. He was sure it would be very interesting, if he could actually focus on the pages.
[OOC: For anyone who might want to track him down.]
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He almost halfway meant it.
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"Are you encouraging me to use my powers in unscrupulous ways, Mr. Priest?" Emma asked, brushing just along the outside of his mind. Nothing invasive, just a telepathic 'hello'.
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He was momentarily startled by the brush of her mind, then -- <<Oh. Hello, you.>> It was more resigned than warm, but he wasn't trying to block her out.
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<<If you don't want to 'talk' about it, that's fine, but show Emma what's wrong, darling.>>
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After only a moment's more hesitation, he let himself remember. Pictured the confrontation in Mitchell's office, the phone calls, the horrible moments on the street with Becka and Lauren, the gloomy aftermath. He was brief about it, but complete, and, while he didn't dwell on Mitchell's face, he also made no special effort to conceal it.
"So," he said, feeling curiously lighter when he was done despite his concerns as to how she'd taken it all. "That was -- that."
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<<You tried to chat up Little Miss Snacking Psycho? Seriously, darling? I ought to throw the lotion bottle at you.>> Emma was going to focus on the bits she could deal with right now, thank you. Mitchell himself was... something for another time.
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Wishing Sebastien out of existence. It felt like blasphemy.
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If he'd known the slang meaning of cougar, he would have been amused at the double meaning.
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"Both, maybe?" she suggested. "A cat is still a cat, after all, and who knows what nine lives can do?"
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A 120-year-old vampire was positively prepubescent when a 1,100-year-old one was your standard of comparison.
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"Well, they've had longer to get used to being around people," she agreed, being nice and not pointing out that meant they also had more experience in hiding bodies. "Although I think you shouldn't really trust any besides your Sebastien, but you know I'm biased."
Someone was going to have a bit of a problem going to class next Monday, yes.
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Jack raised his head slightly to look at Emma. "So you would trust Sebastien."
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Big difference. At least to Emma.
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At least, he thought he knew that.
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"How long have you known?" she asked instead, regarding him curiously. "About Mitchell?"
No judgment, just curiosity. They both had plenty of secrets they didn't share.
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Tony knew, true, but Tony didn't hear it from Jack.
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He considered that was exactly what he had just done, and amended, "... unless the circumstances change."
A dead girl was a big changed circumstance, yes.
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She let her hand drift to the small of his back, her fingers lightly tracing circles against his skin. "What now?"
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Jack -- who squirmed lightly under her touch -- didn't know, was the truth. He knew he believed that a vampire with a job, friends and a life among humans was less dangerous by far than one with none of those things, and (lingering loyalty aside) he would have wanted Mitchell to stay on the island for that reason alone. He also knew the only thing that would keep him from yelling his head off the next time he saw Mitchell was the utter futility of the exercise.
"I had promised to take a girl to the beach."
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