Highs and Lows

[Harlequin]

She cocked a brow and smirked right back. The smoking gun turned into a flat hand, palm up.

"Done," she said, "Pay up."

If he wanted to play that way, she didn\'t have any problems stepping to his game. Sure, the neighborhood wasn\'t the ritziest, but her buddies were still up and wreaking their own havoc. Calling one of them to come get her would be no skin off her nose. And with them, she wouldn\'t have to worry about anybody playing grabass, to boot.

[Existentially Odd]

He frowned, regretting the offer of the money now and contemplating just shoving her out the door without it, because she was too fucking self-satisfied for her own good.  Nothing seemed to faze her and that made the bitch very irritating (the fact that she also wasn\'t in the least interested in appeasing him grated, too)... and intriguing.

She was at least as tired as he was - more, probably, considering how she\'d had to push herself to get back up to the cliff top, even if she didn\'t have the imminent sunrise dragging on her bones - but she wasn\'t backing down.  She also hadn\'t given him one interested look-over, despite blubbering she\'d do anything to get out of dying when he\'d first grabbed her that night.

Maybe that\'s where he was going wrong.  His hands-on policy was going in all the wrong places.  Her throat had worked a real treat last time; the thought of it split his lips in a grin.

"You think you\'ve earned it?  Ten bucks, I mean?  You think you\'ve earned it?" he asked, strolling over towards her, arms still folded across his body.

[Harlequin]

She jerked upright as he approached, rocking the light frame of the bike slightly with the sudden motion. Belying  her confident exterior, the grin flickered and vanished, only to be replaced with a disgusted sneer as he spoke.

This was exactly the reason she hadn\'t been checking him out – guys like him were a dime a dozen. The ones who used their size to intimidate, and who thought that just because they\'d been graced with good looks and charisma they had the right to do whatever they pleased. The apple was beautiful on the outside, but rotted through within.

She\'d played his demented game like a good little girl (though, she wasn\'t about to begin to admit how much fun she\'d had. Up until this point, she\'d even grown to like Tom). Then he\'d turned it around on her once again. On top of that, he had the nerve to back down on his offer, and ask if she thought she\'d earned it?! Fucking right she\'d earned it, but the singer was done playing, as of right now. Now he was just toying with her, and this bitch wasn\'t about to put up with it. She was tired and cranky, and if he was going to keep pulling shit like this, then she was willing to cut her losses and get the fuck out.

"You know what?" she said, too angry now to bother pandering to his predatory nature, "Fuck you." She moved away from him, skirting the bike, "Fuck your gas and your money and your goddamn infuriating motherfucking game. Fucking keep it. I\'m done. Lesson learned, debt paid. You win. Congratu-fucking-lations." Her eyes left his face long enough to scour the floor for her gas canister – which was conveniently located just behind his left foot, "Can I at least keep the shit I came with? Or is that too much to ask?" she spat the words at him, gesturing sharply toward the metal can. She crossed her arms across her chest, an insolent imitation, and glared up at him from across the small room.

[Existentially Odd]

Tom laughed approvingly.  "Well, well," he murmured, looking her over.  "That\'s the thieving bitch attitude I expect from bitches like you - very, very nasty, by the way.  Especially since you won\'t fuck me - but I\'ll just have to work on that," he grinned smugly, as if he had a plan.  Really, he was just pleased that her aloof exterior had finally cracked.

Nonchalantly, he picked up the cannister and fitted it back into the bag closest to him, before tossing her the keys and climbing onto the back of the bike (at the rear, where he would ride best as a pillion).  "Okay then; stop your flaps waggling, drive us to the station nearest your bike and I\'ll buy you some fuel," he said mildly, resting a hand on each thigh.

Now that he\'d managed to force her impatience a little, he was smiling like an angel once more, and looking at her like it was her fault they weren\'t getting anywhere fast.

[Harlequin]

The glare Morgaine fixed on Tom would have been enough to stop a raging bull in it\'s tracks. As it was, however, she simply snatched the keys out of the air when they were tossed and took her place on the bike, choosing not to dignify his remarks by responding.

She reversed out of the garage at an alarming speed, and took off into the waning night. Tom still couldn\'t seem to keep his hands from wandering, despite the high speed at which the traveled, but the ride was over soon enough – she pulled into a 24-hour gas station about ten blocks from Risk, cut the engine, and slid off the bike. Her movements were stiff with pent up anger as she took the can from it\'s hiding place – slamming the saddlebag\'s lid closed harder than was necessary – and pumped gas into it.

While she waited for the can to fill, she glared intently at the numbers scrolling away on the machine\'s readout, arms crossed over her chest, toe tapping impatiently, the keys to Tom\'s bike gripped in one tightly balled fist. Throughout all of this, she refused to throw one glance in Tom\'s direction. She was not speaking to him.

Morgaine knew she was pouting, but goddammit, she was tired, her muscles ached all over – not to mention her throat, where dusky purple bruises were forming under the dark skin in a perfect impression of where the vampire\'s fingers had pressed the hardest – and she was being forced to pander to a man whose infuriating smugness was matched only by his ability to leave her, writhing in pain, to die in an alley. She felt she had a right to pout. Plus, he had made her lose her composure, twice, now, without even trying. This in itself made her more unhappy than she was willing to admit.

It only took so long to pump two gallons of gas, however, so the singer\'s inner monologue was cut short, and she was forced, once again, to interact with her companion. Still glaring resolutely at the numbers fixed on the readout, she said, in a tight voice, "Gonna pay the nice man behind the counter, like you promised?" The man inside the little store was indeed watching them – more accurately, watching Morgaine – with a healthy dose of suspicion.

[Existentially Odd]

Tom considered the guy in question from his casual position on the bike, then got off lazily.  "Pay him... kill him," he shrugged, goading her with a smarmy smile, "whatever\'s easiest."

He wanted to goad her and he was watching her intently, wanting to see her react to the thought that he\'d walk into the station and simply end the worker\'s life, for two gallons of petrol.  He wanted to know what she thought about that and was looking for it in her face, even as he got to the counter and engaged the guy in conversation - just to drag the suspense out a bit.

Tom looked out at Morgaine the whole time, grinning and chatting, but eventually he pulled his wallet out and paid obediently, before leaving teh store quickly.  He headed for his bike, feeling the need to sleep crawling through his bones, no longer just nudging them.  He needed to get home fast, the sun was coming up, but he smiled at his companion as he approached the bike.

"All squared away, sweetheart," he told her cheerfully.  "You can go now.  I know where to find you if I get bored."  His grin was broad and also provocative as he swung a long leg over his bike and held his hand out for the key.

[Harlequin]

The tactic worked. Her foot stooped tapping immediately as his flippant comment sank in. The glare fell slowly from her face, replaced by an expression somewhere between fear, shock, and suspicion. Her eyes slid toward him, only to find that he no longer occupied the space where he\'d been.

Her head whipped around – followed by her body – eyes wide, only to find him already inside the store, where she couldn\'t do anything. Since he didn\'t seem to be doing anything violent, she let her body relax, watching through narrowed eyes. She was aware he was watching her, and when he left the store she was furious with herself for taking the bait. Again.

Morgaine\'s expression only reflected a tight-lipped annoyance, however, as he approached. Glad to be finally getting away, she scooped up her now-full gas can.

"Don\'t get bored," she suggested, and, with a bitchy little smile of her own, let the keys drop to the pavement at her feet instead of tossing them to him. She whistled as she sidled away from him, hips swaying toward the sunrise.

The whistling ceased after a block, the sidle became a tired plod in half that time, but she didn\'t allow herself to begin to relax until she was in sight of her bike.

Despite everything, part of her hoped he\'d pay her a visit, sometime – because – even in this freakshow of a town – she might get bored, too.