#i say yet again...

She was a prettily painted picture book with how easy it was to know what she was thinking. A lip curl of disdain, hooking up over one too sharp tooth as the tip of a tongue slathered across the inside of her mouth as if she tasted something horrid. The tilt of her chin, lifting so high up that one might think there wouldn’t be anyone tall enough she couldn’t look down her nose upon. Her laugh. Her grin. They all said the same thing.

She was better than you. Would always be better than you. It didn’t matter what you did. How you did it.

It made different people react in so many deliciously different ways.

Could they blame her, really? For riling them up? It was only in her nature, though sometimes she felt like it was some addiction she was dipping into, poking at people the way she did. To get them to feel something. It often seemed to not matter much to how they did, just that they did. The quick and painful burn was a temptation to sink her teeth into, a bit of a snack compared to the long, torturous simmer of her favoured companions. It was far too difficult to ignore, that opportunity. To make people feel like they had something to prove - she knew the sort that had little discipline. The sort that lashed out and had nothing to back it up. She could see how their toes teetered the edge, too. On that fine line.

She only wanted to shake it, just a little. Make their tightrope wobble to see what side they would fall on.

Confidence.

Or arrogance.

The floor was a disgusting shade of burnt coffee, the awful squelching sound her boots made as she stepped to the side caused the length of her spine quake unpleasantly. Crawled all the way up from the base to the nape of her neck, making her itch. She scratched it, fingers going scritch scritch scritch into her hair before sliding back under her nose. She held her sleeve there for a moment, though breathing through the fine fabric did nothing for the smell of the place. It was alarming that such a place even existed, and she felt dizzy as soon as the door had opened. There was no doubt in her mind that half the people inside hadn't showered in some time, whilst the others were sloppily treating the dingy drinkhole as if it were some raucus house party with the expectation there would be some loyal housemaid to clean up after them.

Then again she doubted they were aware of that experience. More likely they were just assholes.

And hole in the wall was generous. It was more a shallow grave than anything, the ambient aether full of violence and regret. People came here to die, she just wasn’t sure where. On the floor right where she was standing? Just one sucker punch away from cracking a skull on the corner of a table? A pistol or blade might have been it even if she couldn’t see any weapons on the establishment's wonderfully dressed guests, she knew they were there. Hidden against the flesh, up a sleeve.

Not her own sleeves, of course. Powdery blue and practically see through, she hid nothing of worth up there. Nor under her pretty dress, decorated with pearlescent buttons and beaded strings of silver. Weaponry was not something she tended to tote around besides, even in the worst of places. That’s what the hired hands were for. One of which was now lying on said disgusting floor by her feet, their beer spilled up and across their chest and dribbling down with the blood on their brow to make the floor have all the more…character.

“Oh.” And her mouth made a perfect little circle to match the perfect little sound. Oh. Not surprised in the slightest, but more of a curiosity. An amusement. An amusement that curled her lips up in a very particular way, the crease of her brow only stoking the miasma that hung around her.

Arrogance.

“Oh,” she said again, tongue tutting as her head shook somewhat from side to side, “well aren’t you a big man.” She could feel it, then. The spark of arrogance in him echoing her own, flaring up. She wasn’t talking to him like he was a big man, was she? Even if he was the largest in the room.

At least his head was.

“He was only asking a question!” Indignant, shrill. She nudged a boot tip into the ribs of her hire. They grunted. She sighed. Fluffed out her braids.

“You?”

Delicious, that derision. She could feel the sting of it on her tongue, could feel the heat of it. It took all her efforts to not tremble beneath its weight, instead a hand coming up to tuck a curl behind her ear. Her exhale was long and slow, fluttering of lashes erratic and quick. “Why not me?”

Yes, why not her?

The Seawolf, whatever position he had found himself in, had a very good night of boasting. He had obtained some…position or other - whatever it was exactly was not what she was particularly interested in. For the man’s employer, however…well she just couldn’t help take the bait. It must have been the way the Roegadyn moved, shifted. It was subtle, the way his eyes rolled around the room as if being knocked around by something. Something that felt both exceedingly distant and familiar to her. A treat for the senses.

Paranoia.

F̴̳̊e̵̗̱͉̿ͅả̴̗̹̹̄̉̌̔r̶̩̮̋͠.

Plenty of people boasted in taverns, wove stories and falsehoods to fill an emptiness in their hearts with a something. But not many had a falter in their grin like he did, had sweat gathering at his brow, cheeks turning a bruised purple shade as he flushed from holding his breath. He was waiting for something. A familiar face? For someone to stick him with a knife? There was truth to what he was saying, to whom he was working for. It tickled her interest in the worst of ways. Something told her that the thread in the needlestack she had been looking for was right here. Here in this hole in the wall away from everyone else he knew so he could be like her.

Be arrogant.

He explained as much. Told her that he already took care of her companion easily enough - why would he bother? She was a lover, not a fighter, and he was a...well a newly hired no one to a very important someone. She could work with that.

“Very well,” she sniffed. “How about this instead,” she took a step forward, over her complaining companion, towards the table. Placed gloved hands on it. Leaned forward. She saw his attention dip. “I get one hit on you, just the one, and you introduce me to him.” Her smile was wide and full, eager. Too eager. "I must defend my companion's honour, besides! From trash like you, it would be easy."

“And if you don’t?”

She shrugged, quiet as she made a show of rattling her brain for the what if, as if it hadn’t crossed her mind until then. She felt her companion grab her ankle. Gently. Their thumb moved over her bones as they remained on the ground. She would have to reward them later for that.

She sniffed again. “I’ll do whatever she wouldn’t.” She being a very spicy Hrothgar woman who had the most beautifully wild mane of hair. Fangs of gold. A regular with how comfortable she slouched in a chair that seemed to be moulded to her, playing cards in the corner. Or dice. Marlowe wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that the request was stupid and bold, something that made her laugh at him. Something that made Marlowe laugh at him. With her eyes, at first. Happy little crescents that shone with glee and rose the corners of her mouth like the ocean tide. Then she did laugh, stifled only a second too late as the Seawolf stood quickly, abruptly. Shook the table, shook her skeleton even if her companion anchored her. He leaned over the table, too. She could smell his breath. Some hint of floral on him. An illicit substance.

Her fingers flexed on the table top, teeth clickity click clicking with the excitement of impending violence, of the blooming garden of emotions she was about to rip from the roots.

"That's it? Agre--"

slap!

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Prompt || [ List of Hypothetical OC Situations ]