We are the In-Between

Say That Again?! [PROMPT]

Three long seconds later, she swallows the gulp of water she'd taken, and then holds up a finger, "... we're going to unpack that statement at a later time. First things first, I'm going to look up how much it costs to DIY blackout window screens." She's already reaching for her laptop tucked under the edge of the coffee table, setting the cup on the side table before she spills it out of disbelief.

            this chick is weird  .  no  ,  not weird  .  W E I R D .  should he call the cops  ??  sounds like a good idea … information  ??  what is this  ??  some sort of reality t.v show  ??  he had to stop a scoff from passing his lips  .  turning on his heel  ,  he leaves the consultation area for a few minutes before returning to set the check she issued back  .  “  don’t want your money  ,  don’t want your business  ,  ”  grayson says  .  he doesn’t exactly have the authority to kick people out  ,  but when he’s the cakery’s breadwinner  ,  what can the owner say  ??  

            arms indignantly crossed over his chest as he watches her pull out a large binder  ,  “  you sound as if i KNOW who my boss emails and shit like that  ,  ”  grayson scoffs  .  he’s just a BAKER  .  that’s all he is  .  24/7  ,  non-stop baking  ,  non-stop designing  ;  sleep and eating is just an after thought for him  .  he doesn’t care about what his boss does  ,  he doesn’t care what the bakery does  .  as long as he can bake and design cakes and earn some profit  ,  that’s all he cares for  .             “  lady  .  i don’t know what sort of crack you’re on  ,  or what kinda dumb reality tv show you’re doing or whatever the fuck show you’re trying to replicate  ,  ”  grayson says  ,  “  but i got things to do and deadlines to meet  ,  ”  he continues  ,  “  this INFORMATION you’re looking for  ,  i have no clue in hell what you’re talking about  .  all i’m here to do is bake  ,  i’m not even on as a permanent staff  ,  i rent out their kitchen once in a while and i design some cakes in return  ,  ”  he waves his hand  .             “  ‘m not hurtin’ for money anyways  ,  ”  grayson continues  ,  truthfully … he’s just leeching off his brother and earning a large bit of coin with commissions he gets online from time to time  ,  so honestly … as enticing as the paycheck is  ,  the only reason he’s in the bakery is the equipment and being able to NOT waste his failed products by selling them  .             “  have some cake  ,  it’s on the house  .  ”  he continues  ,  moving to grab a cupcake from the display fridge  ,  “  made it today  .  and threaten me again  ,  i’ll call the cops  ,  ”  he states  ,  “  i want nothing to do with your interrogation shit  .  find someone else in the bakery to hassle  .  ”

She follows him with her eyes, watches the door, until he comes back and then stares down at the refused check. Whatever humor she’d been displaying drained so suddenly from her face it could give a bloke whiplash. 

“No, I am not threatening you, Mr. Grayson. But what I’m hearing right now is that, you’re possibly okay with the fact that the company you’re associated with is suspected of human trafficking and illegal organ smuggling? Is that what you’re telling me?” Reaching over, she opened up the binder, fingering through the pages until she landed on news clippings of freighters getting caught with live people in their cargo containers, the brand of the containers blurred but still readable if you squinted hard enough. The shipping company, up until this incident five years ago, having been a vendor for the UK parent branch that oversaw this business. There was far more than that sitting in that binder. Copies of ledgers, encoded offshore accounts, pictures, documents, emails that were suspicious, but not incrimidating--all pieces to a terrifying puzzle year in the making.

“If it is, that’s perfectly fine. I can get the information on my own, I just can’t guarantee you won’t be on the list when the FBI, the BJS, MCI and every other international party comes bearing down on this place.” She stood suddenly from her chair, “Now I’m fucking threatening you,” and smashed the binder shut, “in case you missed that,” shoving it back into her bag before tossing a card on the table. It fell atop the discard check. “If you change your mind.” Not that her tone made it sound like she had any hope of that. 

“Oh,” just before she walked out the door, “and I’ve had better cupcakes from a Baskin’-Robbins!” 

    There was a blink and subtle, curious tilt of Zelda’s head as the guard voiced her thoughts. She supposed, truthfully, that she had not expected an answer. But she hoped for one. Hoped for some alternative perspective from someone so supposedly well-traveled and experienced. 

     Zelda wasn’t sure what she had wanted to hear, but she still felt the bitter sting of disappointment in her chest regardless. Gods seek strong mortals to bestow Divine gifts… 

     Is that what it was? 

     Was she simply not strong enough? 

     The wind felt cold and uncomfortable, and as Zelda looked away, it blew her golden hair across her face. She tucked it behind an ear, closed her eyes, and breathed. 

    “It’s quite alright,” she excused, slipping back into the familiar confines of her role as Princess of Hyrule, heir of Nothing. “Thank you for your thoughts.” She paused then. What was it the girl had said before her hasty apology? Gods are nothing without prayer— ah. Areille was right to be mindful of such words. Had Byron heard… 

    “It’s getting late,” Zelda stated, before taking back to walking. “I’d like to return to my chambers now, please.” 

Very much did Ari appreciate the dismissal of the matter. So much so that she gave a quick, curt nod and kept her mouth shut, like she’s supposed to, as she followed the princess back into the keep. 

Ever since she was small, before the monastery even, Ari had the articulative capacitlies of a hamster. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and looking back on what she said made her want to groan. And loudly. Being thankful that she didn’t continue with that line of thought was about all she could do to keep the rouge from burning the embarrassment onto her cheeks and ears.

Only bad things come from insulting one’s gods and goddesses. Even if you personally believe most divine beings to be cowards, bestowing gifts on mortals because they’re too weak or scared to do it themselves. Thinking themselves above it all when they started the mess.... A familiar pain pinched in her chest at that moment, reminding her that demons too, bestow gifts on their chosen few. Not that she could ever forget, not even if she wanted to.

Wrong place, wrong time, as per usual.

Interactions; accepting

A wounded prisoner, a new one brought to her mountain prison. People didn’t like to tell her everything, merely thought it was fine to toss any type of sinner straight into one of the cells. Sinithra, the owner and the main prison guard of the whole place enjoyed talking to her prisoners. Let them tell her what they did or let them lie or try to convince her for their innocence. Which one was this one? One wrongly accused or an actual sinner to be locked up?

“Quite crazy indeed, they beat you up quite well, little sinner.” Sin replied calmly, her lips spread into a v-shaped grin. Her body neared the bars, her long tail swung from side to side as she placed her hands upon the bars. “Will you heal by yourself or are you in need of medical treatment? Not that I should care for any one here, I want to have a long enough chat and letting you die in the middle would be unfortunate.” Her demonic looking arm’s claws tapped against the bar while her golden eyes stared towards the prisoner with interest.

She wanted to help the poor creature, but she had been tricked before as sinners can be quite the good liars to get their chances to escape. “So… What did you do? Murder? Wrong place at the wrong time?” Sin questioned with raised brows.

Hocking a congealed ball of bloody phlegm at the opposite wall, Ari watches it slide down, leaving a shiny mucus trail in its wake. “I’ll manage just fine. Wouldn’t want all this,” a broad is the cheeky smile and stroke of her arm, well as broad as she could muster in the claustrophobic space, gesturing to herself, “sin to get on you.”  

The cold of the wall was a comfort against the back of her head, soothing the pulsing ache. Exhaustion weighing heavily, but sleep, it seemed, was going to ellude her a little while longer. It took considerable effort, but she peels her eyes open again--not sure when she had actually shut them--and turns her head to cock a brow at the strange entity leering at her through the bars. 

“Why do you...” she hesitates, pursing her lips. What good does it serve her to be tight lipped about it? Either she dies in this cell, dies from torture, or starvation. Deep down though, that tiny voice cautioned against the locked chapters of her tale, to let the cobwebs and dust remain undisturbed. It takes a bit to mull it over, searching for some hint of a trap in that vixen mask staring back at her, before she eases back up against the wall. “Yeah, let’s go with murder. I murder those who would kill me and those close to me. They just happened to get lucky this time.” It is far more than just killing her pursuers, at times it is the carnal release of teeth rending meat from spirit... crushed bone and ruined wills... it was whatever she deemed necessary in order to win.