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

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[rattle_thecages]

Rachel hasn't been back to the park since what happened over a week ago.

She spots Christopher Clark and considers just walking on by. There's something about him she doesn't like, and it's kept her at bay during their short interactions. Short because she keeps them that way.

Something about his posture, not to mention the files, gives her a moment's pause. Rachel's a curious soul. "You look like a man on a mission," she murmurs thoughtfully.

[silkandstone]

The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.

It's a quote he's thought of in irony several times in their previous conversations. Today, his blood is up, caution tempered by the sort of eagerness that he knows to keep a rein on. Patience. The cornerstone of success. Patience, patience, patience.

But there's something in her address and expression that tells him he won't have many more chances with this one. Maybe it's the eagerness talking. Maybe not.

"It is your turn now,
you waited, you were patient.
The time has come,
for us to polish you.
We will transform your inner pearl
into a house of fire.
You're a gold mine.
Did you know that,
hidden in the dirt of the earth?
It is your turn now,
to be placed in fire.
Let us cremate your impurities."

He looks up at her, snapping the folder shut with a warm smile. "Rachel."

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel listens while he recites the poem, one she has heard before and it is only now she has a sinking feeling while listening. She is careful. She is always so careful, never leaving anything ignored, especially not her instincts.

Her instinct is telling her he is not to be trusted.

"Mr. Clark," she says, not quite returning his smile. "I wouldn't have thought it was poetry you were up to. In any case I seem to always interrupt something."

[silkandstone]

"Life is full of interruptions. I've learned to make the most of them. Do sit."

He motions to the bench, his smile not altering an iota. His mask is more or less abandoned for time being--that one, at least. Christopher Clark. Sadly a short-lived persona, though he'll keep the name for now. "How have you been? I'm afraid I've been a bit distracted--I've neglected to retrieve my umbrella from you."

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel doesn't sit.

"I've been busy. Deeply disturbed about recent events, but unfortunately I come from a similar city." It only makes her more determined to stick around and help.

At the last bit, she takes another step back. "I'm actually on my way back there. I'll go get it for you and that neatly solves the problem."

[silkandstone]

He stands smoothly, stepping up next to her before she can back away again. "The park is quite dangerous, particularly given recent events. I'm afraid I must insist upon accompanying you this time, Rachel."

Den bows, fractionally, licking his lips to spread the tingle of saliva over them. He can feel the liquid change from harmless to toxic. His ability is, however he employs it, rather crude--but he can't say that it's not useful. He catches Rachel's bare hand in his own and kisses the back of it, lingering a moment to let the neurotoxins transfer to her skin. "Please."

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel is brought to a painful stillness, as if anchored to her spot. Rachel didn't even have time to pull her hand away before he's touching her, he's touching her and her skin crawls. Rachel takes a sharp breath. "Don't."

It's the only word she manages to gasp.

Sadism. Cruelty. Amusement. All of the emotions twisting inside her, like needles pricking her skin until something fractures. The pieces are adrift, somewhere within her, twisting and pulling and breaking further and she wants to scream but she finds she can't.

It's poison leaking into her until she can't breathe, until the name Rachel loses its meaning and there's only Den and she can't take another step before she starts feeling numb even as she trembles. She's reeling inside, every pore of her screaming move.

[silkandstone]

There's a slight crease between his brows as her reaction to his touch spirals into something far outside his expectations.

Something there he can't see. Something there he doesn't know.

Oh, dear. Dear, dear, curious Miss Dawes.

He puts a gentle arm around her waist. "Steady, now, Miss Dawes. There's a bug going around. Perhaps you should lie down for a while."

He helps support her, almost carrying her toward the street. It takes one hand a little maneuvering to avoid dropping her while he signals the watching sparrow with a subtle hand-gesture; there will be a car waiting.

Den tuts to himself. He didn't have a room ready for this one. He'll have to fix that.

He has just the thing.

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel tries shoving him away. She needs to get to her journal. Robin, Martha, Bruce, someone.

His nearness is making her physically ill and once he's put an arm around her waist she makes a retching noise. "Get. Away. Sick, twisted - "

We gain control of our body from nearest to farthest. You can control your arm better than your fingers. Head is controlled first, then feet.

Rachel starts losing sensation of everything backwards.

Her hand reaches out, and she doesn't know what she's reaching for.

Then it's all swallowed into the darkness.