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Jack Napier
This was an entirely new experience for Jack Napier, and then all at the same time … it wasn’t. Four walls enclosed him in a small space, a fact that might have disturbed him were he not already used to small spaces from when he had been a child. His four wall cell at the time had not been near so literal as it was now but rather a closet, one his mother would lock him in when his father came home drunk and belligerent and one he would later volunteer himself for when the three of them became two and there was no one left to buffer the drunken onslaughts. So Jack Napier was quite comfortable at the moment, you see.
This cell was slightly larger and had better lighting. The easier for him to read whenever he was permitted. Mostly he just meditated. And occasionally he chatted with his guard through the small slit in the door that was used to bring him food. Well, Jack chatted anyway. It was mostly a one way conversation.
Mostly.
He had managed to get a few words out of his guard. And what interesting words they were. They were about someone else, but they spoke entirely of his own infatuation with the woman in question. And the woman in question had just walked through the door. Dr. Harleen Quinzel. He saw immediately how young she was. Mid-twenties. Could not have been older than twenty-seven. How curious that someone so young should get a case such as his. Either she fucked the right people or she was some kind of prodigal genius. There was only one way to find out.
“Hello Harleen,” he greeted jovially. If she was alarmed by the fact that he knew her first name, she masked it well enough. “So you’re the lucky one that gets to crack the nut that is The Joker.” He said the moniker that had been given to him as if he were reading it straight out of a newspaper for the first time. “How very fortunate for you.”
Sydney Jordan
Sydney had only the sound of her soft footsteps on the pavement for company and she wanted to believe she had at last reached a point where she could remain indifferent to anything he might chose to do or not do, yet she listened hopefully for the sound of an extra set of footsteps all the same. She was fully prepared to accept the fact that her invitation had been ignored when that extra pair of footsteps sounded behind her. Her gaze fixed on the blinking red hand across the street as he moved in behind her, his breath warm at her ear as he spoke. The hair at her arms stood on end in that moment as she continued to watch the pedestrian signal at the far end of the street, willing it to change before she inevitably regressed and her mind called to memory all the other places on her body those lips at her ear had traversed before.
When it changed, the breath she'd been holding came out in a hiss.
Her gaze remained fixed on a point far off in the distance even as he fell into step with her. More questions about Jonathon, more baiting. She paused just as they reached the curb at the far end of the street to fiddle with the pins in her hair, fixing him with another agitated glare. Yet there was a glint of satisfaction there as well. Christian could be both vexing and thrilling all at the same time, which must have made her a masochist or why else put up with it? She denied him the satisfaction of an immediate response and resumed her brisk walk once her hair had been freed from its confinement.
Long, dark locks fell over her shoulders and she combed the snarls out idly with her fingers. “Yours was an exclusive invitation.” Wasn’t he the lucky one? “Whether or not your company proves charming remains to be seen,” she added sounding doubtful. Until she peeked over at him, her lightly painted lips teasing a genuine smile.
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Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.
Last edited by degausser; 05-18-2015 at 01:02 PM
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