'Sweet creature!' said the Spider, 'you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.
Cori’s smile grew wider… Grant thought he was a witty one, how lovely. Cori had dealt with arrogance like this before, too many times. As a human, working in the field of law allowed her to observe arrogance at its best and worst… through this, Cori learned and learned well. Cori could play the game…
She pushed her chair back and moved it to the left of Grant, she swung her right leg over the left ensuring that it was placed specifically at an almost perfect 90 degree angle...she took her index finger and traced a line from the tip of her boot, all they way to the top, she gently played with the laces that had been tied so tightly… “ These boots Grant? I simply grabbed them in a rush to get here on time… I am glad that you like them.” Cori sat back in the chair keeping her legs crossed as they were, facing in his direction. “ Cori ignored his cheeky comments about her hobby, disemboweling zombies was not the topic for the eve..she surely would not go into detail about it.
“ I am glad you kept yourself busy, sitting idle is not something I ever do.” The thought of ever just sitting and relaxing never entered into Cori’s mind, not as a human or a vampire. If she was not doing something, she felt less than productive. It may be why she took about her new hobby...to fill time...as of late, she had plenty of it.
Cori stared at the man in front of her, trying to size him up. They were both here to get something...Cori wanted intel, she wanted to learn how to steal and become proficient at it. What did he want? She wanted to find out...
Cori reached in her back pocket and withdrew the tube of expensive gloss that she had slid in, prior to leaving the haven. Trahir hated that she wore the stuff...and Cori never knew to ask why. She felt a bit naked without it, it was part of her routine. She slowly rolled the ball of the tube over her lower lip first, then on her top lip, bringing them both together to distribute the gloss evenly. She was about to place the tube back into her pocket…” Grant, would you like to use some, seems you have a thing for being manicured and such?” With that, a smile came over Cori’s face, one that had not made is presence in quite some time.
“I was not designed to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Stonehouse loved to play chess. He was by no means a Grandmaster, but found the strategy involved in a game truly fascinating and mentally challenging. Whether choosing to go for an all out assault, or to grind down one's opponent, the possibilities and combinations of moves were almost infinite. The knowledge that millions of master tacticians had played the game before him throughout the centuries, since its origins in ancient China and India, made Stonehouse feel like he was part of an ongoing epic tournament.
The business manager often viewed life as a giant game of chess. There were people, pawns, who could be manipulated, used, sacrificed in order to make greater gains. Some people were rooks, solid and dependable like a castle, while others were knights or bishops, the movers and shakers who scurried around. All these folk were useful, valuable allies, but ultimately they were all still disposable. Then there were the queens. They wielded power and influence, had genuine worth, and made both invaluable comrades and potentially thorny adversaries. But there was often a problem with queens: they thought that they were more important than they actually were. Even the greatest, most successful queen could be thrown into the fire like a sacrificial lamb if the correct circumstances arose. Yes, the queen was important, but when it came to the crunch, only one piece really mattered... the king.
An outsider, unfamiliar with the game, could easily assume that the king was a relatively insignificant piece, as it often did very little and had limited mobility across the squares. They would be wrong. The king was everything. The entire game revolved around capturing the king, and so long as the largest piece on the board survived, the contest was alive. The other figurines simply did the bidding of their monarch, attacking when commanded, but primarily defending. Stonehouse used to be a knight, bold and aggressive, leaping around the grid of life, overcoming hurdles. Prior to his recent monumental lifestyle shift upon arriving in this strange new city, he had progressed to the rank of queen, holding an impressive amount of sway and authority. Now he was alone, the solitary king, with Harper Rock as his board.
As Stonehouse observed the blonde femme fatale who sat across the bar room table, he wondered if she were playing a game of chess with him. It was reminiscent of the famous scene from the movie "The Thomas Crown Affair" starring the effortlessly cool Steve McQueen and the eternally stunning Faye Dunaway. Stonehouse was tempted to ask "Do you play?" half expecting the response "Try me" to leave Cori's freshly glossed lips. Women used gloss to draw attention to their lips, to make them more luscious and appealing, an enticement to attract a mate. Was the assassin from the catacombs applying the war paint in readiness for battle, like a Celtic or Pictish warrior applying blue woad dye? Her use of gloss could, however, indicate something completely different. The application of additional gloss, in fact the very act of taking out the tube, could be a nervous response, a defensive action. Was it armour rather than war paint? The next few minutes would surely determine the course of action, but Stonehouse suspected, perhaps even hoped, that he had a contest on his hands. Fool's mate - checkmate in two moves - was rarely gratifying.
Stonehouse smiled politely in acknowledgement of Cori's comment about being manicured. How very strange that he was indeed partial to a manicure every now and then, although life in the sewers was taking its toll on his cuticles. Appearance mattered to Stonehouse, and his infrequent lover back in Manchester, Gina Ross, had hooked him up with a great beautician to help keep him in pristine condition. He also had his hair cut every three weeks, applied moisturizer to his face each morning after shaving, and had even been known to use a seaweed mask on occasions. Back in the "real world", the search for eternal youth, immortality, was big business. What situational irony.
Stonehouse replied to the wannabe comedienne in typical fashion. "Thank you for your generous offer," he said dryly, "but it's not really my colour. Besides, I prefer my lipstick to be applied second hand. Maybe later, perhaps?"
Leaning back against the wooden frame of his chair, Stonehouse offered up another smile in Cori's direction before deliberately gazing at her boots. Her didn't look at her as he continued to speak, remaining focused on her footwear. "Yes, I like the boots," he said casually, despite the fact that his thoughts momentarily drifted to the image of her finger glazing seductively across the leather, "they suit you. What amazing luck that you chose them this evening."
He raised his head suddenly, looking directly into the killer's eyes. Stonehouse had no idea if she had randomly chosen the knee-high boots, or if they had been carefully selected from a vast array of classy apparel. Either way, she possessed a sense of style. Perhaps she was also some kind of executive, a businesswoman? Stonehouse hoped that was the case, as business, trade, was at the forefront of his agenda for the evening. He wanted information, training and tuition in the finer arts of killing, and knew full well that his counterpart required something in exchange. After a brief, yet clearly noticeable, glance down at his fingernails, Stonehouse concluded his banter. "I don't think that all this burglary and messing around in the sewers does my nails any good," he said as he regained eye contact. "Perhaps you could help me out with some French polishing?"
Both players had delivered their opening gambit, and the game was underway.
Corentine Ann was not one to back away from any challenge, let alone a little game of cat and mouse. She pondered a bit, as she gazed at the man across from her. She took the time to uncross her legs and place her feet squarely upon the floor. Cori pulled herself up to the table and rested her arms, at a perfect angle..aiming her torso at the little mouse that sat across from her. “Grant, I unlike other women, are not fond of applying fake color to my nails. I prefer a more natural hue...at times, I opt for a clear coat of polish, that shows off the flesh beneath my nails. It seems less “ fake” to me.”
Cori had met many men, like Grant, whilst she was human. She even had the pleasure of representing many in the courtroom. They were all well dressed and had surely lived a privileged life… expensive shoes, tailored suits and manicured nails. Their outward appearance screamed power, money and influence… but she knew differently. Every human has an Achilles heel, even if it was just a tiny one, they all had them. Cori’s heel was curiosity, an insatiable need to know why, how etc. Her common sense was thrown out the proverbial window when she was on the quest for intel...sometimes it bit her in the ***, sometimes.
Cori still did not know what Grant wanted from her...what he would gain from teaching her how to rob and steal with style. Was it the power that he thought he could have over her while instructing? Was it that he was a genuine nice vampire that liked to help out his fellow brethren? The latter seemed to be a stretch..surely. Maybe, Cori could help him out. He seemed a bit out of place in the sewers and had taken a keen interest in her abilities as a killer..maybe he wanted to be instructed, as well. The thought of this brought a smile over Cori’s face...a mutually beneficial venture. An opportunist feeding another opportunist, both benefitting in the end. It was perfect!! Mutual satisfaction and both parties walking away fulfilled and with knowledge...along with some loot and maybe a bloody zombie head.
Cori’s thoughts then went back to Grant's comment about her attire...her boots were chosen because they were her favorite pair. She had always been particular to heels, and boots were perfect for traversing the slums and catacombs. Of course, being a woman, allowed Cori to capitalize upon her sexuality, when the time was right...this was not one of those times. She never was overt, never. Did he think that these boots were chosen for another reason? Cori’s brow furrowed a bit and her arms immediately crossed across her chest. Her movements were defensive and she was well aware of it...she just did not know what to think of this one in front of her.
“So, Mr. Stonehouse...we met here for a reason. I know mine, may I ask what your intent was/is?” Cori’s posture relaxed a bit, arms unfolded...she placed both hands upon the table palms down...her nails were painted a beige like hue, the bottle had read “ Camouflage”.
“I was not designed to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Stonehouse was enjoying the little game that the two of them were playing. He wouldn’t let it show, of course, as that may hand his opponent a slight advantage. He needed to play with a straight bat, keep his poker face on display to mask his true emotions. Stonehouse was internally amused at the blonde’s defensive posture as it informed him that he had her slightly rattled, even a little confused. Although he ultimately wanted something from the woman, and therefore needed to keep her very much on his side, the mischievous mind of the control freak that was Grant Stonehouse, couldn’t resist indulging in some mental foreplay. He was mildly disappointed when Cori changed her demeanour and approach, and got straight to the point, skipping the striptease and going directly to the *******. Then again, there was often too much dilly-dallying in business when straight talking would do the job more than adequately. He respected her change in tempo. After all, this was purely a business meeting, wasn’t it? Her use of his surname was very perplexing, almost indicating that she didn’t want to get over familiar with him… or was afraid to do so.
Stonehouse shuffled forward, blocking out a few of the noises from elsewhere in the pub that were floating in and out of his mind like trains passing through a station. He was trying to control the numerous sounds and scents that bombarded his senses, attempting to filter them out as if he were the station master, altering the tracks with a giant mental lever to divert their flow. Perhaps the fact that the assassin had cut to the chase and was ready to lay her cards on the table was a good thing, as Stonehouse would soon be able to leave and wallow in silence once more. He had been nervous at entering a relatively crowded public building, but so far was coping… so far.
Time to get down to business. Stonehouse smiled at his counterpart “I need your help, Cori,” said Stonehouse, “I’d like you to teach me some of your skills, please.”
Stonehouse wanted to make Cori feel special, to make her fully aware that he required her assistance. Butter her up a little bit, use flattery, but not so obvious that she could see straight through his words. She was clearly intelligent and wouldn’t be fooled easily. Then again, Stonehouse was being fairly transparent with his request, as he really did want to be taught. “I’ve seen your skills in action," continued Stonehouse, “seen what you can do with a gun. You are very good! I want to be your pupil, to learn the art of killing.”
Stonehouse gazed in Cori’s eyes as he uttered the word “killing”. Was she really the cold-hearted assassin who thrived on death? He hoped to find out, he simply had to offer her something in exchange that she needed. “You teach me how to shoot, how to kill,” said Stonehouse with a more professional sounding tone to his voice, “and I’ll teach you how to steal. We both win.”
Cori listened to the male that sat in front of her. He had an aura of arrogance about him, it was apparent by the way he carried himself when he walked in the door of the bar...and it showed when he spoke. He wanted to learn how to kill? Damn, he was a vampire and he had no idea how to kill? That seemed a bit odd to Cori… more odd than that sparkle in this males eyes.
Cori stood up from her chair and looked down upon Grant… a small smile came across her face and she pulled her chair closer to him and sat back down. She was now inches from him..maybe a tad too close. cori laughed..as surely he may take this as some kind of advance, a flirt in a way. It would be lovely to advise him to the contrary. “ so you want to learn how to kill, Grant? I figure if you want a discussion, here, that I move a bit closer. Killing and maiming is not the typical idle chatter at a bar.” Cori tilted her head a bit, and a small strand of blonde hair came from the tight bun upon her head...there was something about this one..he seemed uncomfortable in a way.
Cori had become an expert at body language, when she worked at the law firm. She took classes on being able to read and decipher the movements that people made in certain circumstances. it gave her the upper hand..it gave her an edge. Grant’s posture and the slight nuances that he gave off with his body..told her something was a bit off..something that made this man uneasy. It sparked Cori’s curiosity...she wanted to know what he was hiding and she would find out..soon enough.
“Ok Stonehouse...maybe it is best that we skip out of here for another locale. If you want to learn the ins and outs of my hobby...it is best we are in a more secluded location. Are you willing to come with me, now?” Cori stood, once again and outstretched her hand to Grant..” So are you coming?”
“I was not designed to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Cori's sudden movement towards him intrigued an ever-inquisitive Stonehouse. She was very close to his personal space, like a military reconnaissance plane straying a little too closely to a rival country's airspace. Was she trying to intimidate him, trying to make it clear that she was the killer, the deadly assassin? Stonehouse was well aware that he had been fidgeting during their conversation as he tried to block out the mental distractions that had constantly been passing through his mind. It was perfectly plausible that the blonde sharpshooter had mistaken his sensory overload for nervousness, and that she was attempting to use his apparent anxiety to gain the upper hand in their discussion. Stonehouse had used similar methods, on rare occasions, to gain a better vantage point during business negotiations, although he tended to prefer charm and flattery as his weapons to court favour. He tried to put his counterparts at ease and relax them, making them more pliable, not stress them out. Then again, despite his thirst for acquiring skills with weapons, Stonehouse really was no killer, and intimidation was not his game, whereas the woman inches away from him really was deadly. He wondered what bullying tactics she had hidden away in her arsenal, how forceful she could be given the right circumstances. Stonehouse would need to remain vigilant and not underestimate the femme fatale.
There was, of course, a much simpler explanation for Cori's actions. It could be that her words rang true, that caution was the order of the day and that discussing killing and maiming in a public place was not the greatest idea in the world. Yes, that was a sensible explanation, concluded Stonehouse to himself. She was a trained assassin; she'd probably had discussions like this before. She must have a set routine, a way of not blowing her cover and exposing herself as a lethal markswoman. That's what Stonehouse would do if he were in her shoes.
A switch of venue to a more private, secluded, place could prove to be a blessing, thought Stonehouse, as he would be able to focus on the matter at hand. No distractions, no background noises, no prying eyes and ears, and the murmuring of idle chat-chat. Ideally Stonehouse would have the keys to a luxury mansion complete with a fully stocked firing range, but alas, he could offer nothing more than a damp corner of a sewer tunnel. Stonehouse tilted his head to one side, maintaining the slender distance between Cori and himself. She smelled good, hardly giving off the odour of a cold-hearted killer, whatever that scent may actually be. What was the smell of death? Was it pungent, fear-fuelled sweat mixed with the metallic coppery tinge of blood? Overtones of slightly burnt flesh as the heat of a bullet cauterized the skin of the victim? Clearly it was an alluring aroma for assassins such as the one sitting opposite Stonehouse.
The temptation was to reply to her questioning with something cringeworthy such as "your place or mine?" but the time for idle banter had passed. It was time to get down to business. "Sure, take me, lead the way," said Stonehouse, gesturing towards the door of the bar with his hand and a twist of his neck. "Do you have a place in mind, some kind of office or training grounds?"
Seriously, thought Stonehouse as soon as the words lefts his lips, who the hell has a hitman's office? I suppose a hitman does, pondered the eager apprentice as he turned back to face his trainer-in-waiting.
She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes were bright and tender with a smile as they glanced up into his; and her lips looked hungry for the kiss which they invited.
Kate Chopin
Cori stood with outstretched hand…
Did the “Chanel” boy seriously think she had some training area that she took wayward vampires to teach them the way of the steel and sword? Cori merely wanted to vacate the bar...eyes and ears were always open and she had learned not to discuss things like this out in the open. This type of conversation would be better had in the sewers. Zombies and the others that trolled the tunnels..well, they did not speak, so they can not tell.
“I was thinking that we would head to the sewers, Grant. We could jump right into your training and you could get your hands wet...so to speak. I will run through the basics on the trek down..”
Cori wondered if the well dressed man was ready for what she was going to show him. Her mind flashed back to the suit he wore the night they met, the scent of Chanel and the well manicured nails. The mere thought caused a giggle to escape from Cori’s glossed lips. She visualized Grant ripping apart a zombie and when he was done...wiping the black ooze from his suit and requesting a towel for his hands from her. What the hell did she get herself into? Does this pretty boy seriously think he can become a killer...does he think that he can even handle the darkness that begins to take over after every kill? Time would certainly tell..and luckily for Cori..she would be there to see it.
Cori realized that Stonehouse was not going to take her hand… she took a step towards him and lowered her face to his. “ Are you ready big man?” Another smile came over Cori’s face… it may have been that shine emanating from his eyes, or just the thought that she knew his game and just took his queen. Checkmate was right around the corner.
“I was not designed to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Once again Stonehouse sensed that in some way his new business partner was trying to gain the upper hand on him with mild intimidation. The way that Cori had stood above him and leaned down to his level, indicating that she was superior to him and held the upper ground, was a classic sign. Stonehouse gazed into her icy eyes as trails of silky blonde hair drifted across her beautiful face, trying to get a glimpse of the true killer inside. His ears perked up when she called him “big man” with a certain smug tone to her voice, which was another clear suggestion that she was attempting to belittle him. Internally, Stonehouse was aching to laugh out loud at his instructor’s antics. The psychology graduate knew exactly the game that she was playing with him, because to be fair, he was playing the same game with her. Stonehouse just preferred to play the long game as it was always more entertaining. The tactician had no qualms about losing the odd knight or sacrificing a bishop or two, because he knew that even a humble pawn could cause his opponent’s queen to come crashing to her knees and leave her king piece ripe for the taking. He would lure her in to his net, there was little doubt in his mind about that, but for now he would have to play second fiddle to the assassin. After all, Cori the killer would still require his services after she had satisfied his needs, at which time Stonehouse knew that the tables would be turned, and that he would be firmly in control. Whether the feisty weapons specialist wanted to agree or not, she was his partner now, his equal. It was a case of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, or perhaps you shoot my gun and I’ll steal your loot would be a more appropriate phrase.
Stonehouse directed a broad, warming smile towards Cori, allowing his eyes to widen almost puppy-like. “Oh, I’m ready for anything,” replied Stonehouse, maintaining eye contact at all time, “I simply cannot wait to get back into the sewers and get my hands dirty.”
He held Cori’s gaze for a moment longer, before slowly shuffling his wooden chair backwards from under the bar table. As Stonehouse lifted himself upright, arching his spine slightly as he stretched, he offered his trainer another smile, this time while he looked down at her, his 6’2” frame allowing him a reasonable height advantage despite the heels on Cori’s boots giving her a boost. “I totally agree that you should run the basics past me on the way to the sewers,” continued Stonehouse as he straightened his jacket. “After all, I am a bit of a slow learner and I’d hate to leave you frustrated.”
An eyebrow on Stonehouse’s forehead raised ever so slightly as he finished his sentence, but he knew that it would be enough to be noticed by the keen eye of the killer. All games aside, Stonehouse wanted to learn, and he would have to place his full attention in the palms of Cori’s hands. He knew that he’d have to bite his tongue on occasions, but he also knew that the rewards would be well worth the effort.
As the pair made their way towards the exit, Stonehouse quickly scanned the pub one last time. In another life he would love to spend hours in a place like this, drinking, laughing, having fun with old friends while crazy stories were regaled, but now the noise, even on a fairly quiet evening, was tough to stomach. The relative quiet and solitude of the sewer tunnels would be strangely welcomed, but the addition of his partner in crime would surely add a most interesting twist. Stonehouse reached the doorway, swinging the large frame open and gesturing to his teacher. “After you, Cori,” he said with a smile.
There was still a gentleman in there somewhere, but Stonehouse wondered if a new life of killing supernatural creatures in a murky underworld would slowly erode that away like a lingering rust.
