Careful, be careful; this is where the world drops off [Locked]

[silkandstone]

Den Varlis is in the park. He's sitting, legs crossed, on the bench he's designated as Christopher Clark's favored reading spot, leafing idly through a file that contains pages of notes and pictures of buildings and surveillance shots of faces, hard to distinguish upside-down. He's making no secret of his presence or the file's contents. There are

Comments

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark has spent most of his time over the last few weeks absorbed in finding out who sent those damn flowers. The CLF or whoever crucifying a girl is, apparently, just one more tiny blip of unpleasantness in a large assortment of them as far as he's concerned and does not need his notice. Bristow's been investigating it on his own, as if he's afraid of even sending the agents he doesn't like into it

[silkandstone]

"Ragnar Gustaffson Coeur de Lion, isn't it? Possibly a show cat in his past life. His name is ridiculous enough."

Den opens the folder again, leafing through the pages to one covered in neat, hand-written and entirely foreign symbols. He finds it handy, writing in his home language. It's a ready-made code with no cipher but a linguist's skill. "How do you do, Mr. Sark. Lovely weather we're having, wouldn't you say?"

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark can't help but tense at that. Knowing the location of April's grave is bad enough, but knowing his cat is another thing entirely. Rather than sound appalled or shocked, he chooses to sound bitchy and arrogant, given that it's his default state in situations like this. It always makes him sound like he still has the upper hand someone, or so he believes.

"Don't patronize me, Mr. Clark," he responds dryly, stepping forwards, but still not crossing over in front of him. Never let it be said that Sark doesn't keep himself in the position best suited for stabbing the opposition in the back. "I think we're far past the point of playing games. Tell me, was I truly so obvious?"

His heart is racing in his chest. How much else does Clark know? He cranes his neck to see the pages, but the language isn't anything he recognizes. The cryptography genius in him would love to spend hours pouring over those ciphers, however. Whether he'd get anywhere or not is another story, but he'd be willing to try. That's getting way ahead of himself.

[silkandstone]

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Sark. Patronizing you." The degree of sincerity in his voice makes the statement sound ridiculous. Den smiles up at him, an empty-eyed expression of cheerfulness.

"There's a bit of Paradise Lost that reminds me of you, you know. Well, actually, a great deal of Paradise Lost reminds me of you. But the bit in the twelfth book--''till one shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart; who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
Concord and law of nature from the earth;
Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game)'."

His eyes widen, slightly, an expression that on someone else might seem like innocence. "Honest opinions, really. What do you think of the weather we've had of late?"

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark's jaw twitches in response, his lips almost pulling back in a vague snarl. "The devil can cite Scripture for his own ends," he replies and that's all he has to say to this. He's not playing that game with this one. Those little games are for when people are tapdancing around what the first move is going to be. The first move has been made.

All Sark wants to know is what game Clark is playing exactly. He has every right to know- after all, Sark's the one who walked right into it just to see what would happen.

He takes another step forward. "Does that work on everyone? That disarming act? I can assure you that whatever you perceive me to be, I am not the sort of person who is easily beguiled."

There's only one thing Sark hates than being disrespected by someone who hasn't proven themselves as his match and that's being treated like he's some idiot who doesn't know when he's being played.

[silkandstone]

"Oh, my dear man. I wasn't trying to beguile you." He gives the impression of someone looking over spectacles at Sark, almost purring the words. Temper, temper. So like Xyan. "I wouldn't waste my time doing something like that. I have other ends to pursue

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark's fists clench at his sides and he's about to make a retort to that, but at the subtle bit movement, he waits, staring at the paper that Den's about to begin reading from with a wary eye.

He keeps his cool through the entire recitation, though his fingers are itching to go for his gun. Anyone who could obtain that level of information on him in such a short amount of time (who even would bother) is a man on par with McKenas Cole.

By the time, Den's done, his nostrils are flaring and he's tilted his head so that he seems to be looking upwards at Den, despite being taller at this moment. It would be a look of submission, save for the way his eyes are lidded. I acknowledge that you've taken me by surprise and I'm the one with the lower hand in this circumstance, but I have not yet submitted to you and don't think that I'm not pondering how many ways I'd love to break your fingers right now.He drops his gaze and swallows, resuming his cool facade, although everything about him is hard edges and danger. He's pissed, he's unhappy,

[silkandstone]

"Well," Den says, apparently weighing the statement carefully. "I appear to be getting at you."

He tucks the paper back into his folder with a good deal more care than the task requires, inspecting his papers and looking down as he speaks. "I would advise against doing me any immediate harm--you could, of course. I'm sure you're armed. However, should you choose to act out at this particular moment, someone for whom you do have a certain amount of care will be forced to mourn the loss of a dear friend. As you've clearly come to guess by now, I have the resources at my disposal to manage a task as simple as abduction and execution with a minimum of exertion." He tilts his head. "That almost rhymed."

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark sets his jaw and tries to relax for a certain degree of relax. He can talk his way out of almost anything if he tries, or so he's convinced himself. "So arrogant, Mr. Clark. I played a convincing enough part to get you intrigued. I could just as easily be giving you precisely what you want."

He crosses around to the front of the bench, keeping his eyes on Clark, not quite glowering, but definitely threatening. "If your files are that extensive, then surely you must know what happened to the last person who placed their threats on uninvolved parties."

He stops directly in front of the bench, clasping his hands behind his back. "If you wish to start a war with me, then a war is precisely what you'll get. Now, at the risk of sounding repetitive, I am going to rephrase my original question. What do you want from me?"

[silkandstone]

"My attitude simply mirrors your own. Mr. Sark." Yes, he thinks. Yes, yes, exactly what I want.

He doesn't react to the posturing now, sinking back into the apathetic gaze he first employed as the semibenign sociological researcher. Watch the bug posture, watch the bug wag its stinger and prod at its enemy's flesh. "Mr. Cole was a bit excitable, wasn't he? And to say I want a war with you is--well. A touch egotistical, really. Who's to say said parties are uninvolved? Whose to say you aren't the weak link, the first step in a grander endgame?"

Den stands, spreading his hands. "Your estimation of your own importance is what gets you in trouble, I think. Insurance benefits its purchaser--I know enough about you to know that those for whom you care are not people you'd want to alienate or damage via personal loss. Few of them as there are. To say 'if I die, one of them suffers' is a logical move to make."

He smiles and clasps his hands around the folder in front of him. I want everything from you. "That's all."

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark almost smirks a bit. "Mr. Cole was a spoiled child who was rather accustomed to getting precisely what he wanted and about as good at breaking people as a hammer- effective, but hardly elegant. He does, however, remain an object lesson." Never mind that one person was successful in breaking him, but no one's cut it since and Sark doesn't want to think of things like that

[silkandstone]

There's such a temptation to tell him something, to give him something. I knew someone like you, once. Pleasure, such pleasure, such fun. He doesn't back away when Sark moves into his bubble--just the opposite. He takes Sark's chin between his thumb and forefinger, giving the younger man a half-stroke with one fingertip.

"What if," Den replies, "the value I place on you is all the value you have?"

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark jerks so violently that he might as well have been reacting to a slap than a simple caress. The words don't register at first, just the feeling of unfamiliar hands on his skin and he can't get away fast enough, but he is fast. Fast enough to put a few feet worth of distance between them, fast enough to pull his gun. It doesn't matter that this is a public park, that someone might see him. All that matters is making sure that doesn't happen again.

He doesn't allow himself many irrational reactions. He's trained to keep cool in the face of anything, but there are some things he just can't allow and that is one of them. It's so ingrained in his head that he can barely remember why. Glockner and his eager hands, so desperate to break- you can't really forget your first real torture session, the one that comes after you've been conditioned. Cole and his lack of inhibitions and no understanding of personal boundaries. Possibly something before that, just blocked out.For a moment, just a moment, he's well and truly angry- teeth gritted

[silkandstone]

Den is already fighting a smile when Sark pulls the gun--when Sark speaks, Den tilts his head back and laughs. It's a rich sound, as honest as it is rare. His eyes are bright--twinkling--when he looks at Sark again.

"Here, yes," he says. "Now, yes." Another quiet laugh, a shake of his head, like Sark is a child who just did something unexpectedly clever. "Do take care until-- Well. Just take care."

He turns and starts to walk away, the gun on his back no more of a threat than the flock of birds wheeling (watching) overhead.