[Orig] Ghost Café Snippets: Selene & Wilson
Ghost Café Snippets: One Good Reason Why Selene Wants to Kill Wilson
A/N: Written while I'm in the toilet. I have this bad habit of bringing the laptop into the CR whenever nature is calling me and take advantage of the sudden influx of dialogues while I do my toilet business. TMI much, I know. But anyway.
Wilson is Selene's unnamed officemate, officemate being the person who shares the office rent with her. He's a journalist and is the one usually referring Selene to his clients. Basically, without Wilson, Selene will never be able to meet her end of the rent.
Aaaaand he harbors a fondness for the girl and dislikes Jeremy Reiner simply because the latter steals much of Selene's attention, even when he's not around.
There is something, judging from the heavy thumping from Selene’s office, that tells me said lady isn’t in a good mood. Not that she’s usually in a good one, considering that her good mood is almost the same as her bad mood. But anyway, I still trudge on, never mind asking permission to enter the lion’s den.
As it turns out, she’s not in a good mood.
I open the door to her part of the office to find myself shutting it close immediately. Something thumped against the wood. I can see the very little glint of silver in my line of sight. I wait for one solid minute before twisting the doorknob, pushing it open inch by inch until I have it opened halfway, my eyes trained on the ground. When no knife came flying straight at me, I let it open fully as I draw my eyes up at her.
As per usual, she has her legs propped up on the table, ankles crossed, a gun on one hand. The door is heavily stabbed with more than a dozen of knives.
“I see someone ran out of darts.”
“Pipe it, Wilson,” she growls. She cocks the gun right at me, aiming for my head. I only smile, a very slight one, but still wary of her gun. I know she can chuck that gun at me with her back turned and still hit, as much as she shoots it blindfolded. “Now, give me five good reasons why I should not kill you.”
There’s not a day she wouldn’t ask me that, you know. Every single bloody day of our lives spent together, she’ll ask me why she hasn’t killed me yet. And every single time, I answer her, “Why is Jeremy Reiner still alive?”
Bullets are my answers. As usual. But the question remains, and thus the answer still the same. She needs me, as much as she needs Jeremy Reiner as her sole purpose to live. Selene has already gone well past the point of ‘living for money, fame and grandeur’. She doesn’t dream of a happy ending anymore, with the white picket fence, or the red and white checkered picnic blanket with kids, or even the sundried road she’d like to have outside a lovely home somewhere outside the city hub of London. Most importantly, her hopes of having a piece of mind, a peace in mind, is out of the window as long as she keeps holding her guns or throwing her knives, and we both know very well it’ll take her a lifetime to let them go. We aren’t even sure if that’s even possibly, considering her iron-strength will.
“Now, Wilson. The reasons, please.”
And God knows why I find myself attracted to her; so bossy and demanding, she’s the last woman in this world any man would die for. Yet here I am, sticking up with her orders and so unfairly ways and sardonic view in life.
“Alright, since you gladly ask…”
“Wilson, no stalling.”
I sigh. “One, because he always outsmarts you even if you think you’re the one outsmarting him.”
A blast occurs next to my ear, sending off a few knives flying and landing next to my shoes. Ah, there goes the door.
“Two: no matter how hard you try, you can never beat him in the game, and this infuriates you beyond measures.”
Another blast sound off, this time at the ceiling. A few cement plasters land on my shoulder, and calmly, I brush them away. “Also, he happens to have much more publicity than you, especially when you’re both sharing the same mission, or covering the same issue.”
“Is that supposed to be one reason, Wilson, or two?” She asks, tapping her bottom lip with the nuzzle of the gun.
“That’s two, my dear girl,” I dully note. “Fourth reason is… hm… Oh, yes. Your brother happens to favor him more than you. And lastly, the sight or the thought of him drives you crazy like a mad feline on heat and you hate this fact and thus, you want to murder him and get him out of your life.”
And oddly enough, the bullet I expected to be sending me off to the next world didn’t come. Instead, she gave a good, amused stare, lips quirked into a haughty smile as she twirled the gun on a finger. Then she asks, “Really, Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
She snorts before throwing the gun right at me. I duck in time.
“Wilson, what was my question again?”
“…why you want to kill… Oh.”
Her smile breaks into a very wide grin as she pulls herself up, feet landing on the floor with a loud thud. A second later, she has her signature guns out and ready. “Now, Wilson, stay still. I believe I just found my reason to kill you.”
A/N: Written while I'm in the toilet. I have this bad habit of bringing the laptop into the CR whenever nature is calling me and take advantage of the sudden influx of dialogues while I do my toilet business. TMI much, I know. But anyway.
Wilson is Selene's unnamed officemate, officemate being the person who shares the office rent with her. He's a journalist and is the one usually referring Selene to his clients. Basically, without Wilson, Selene will never be able to meet her end of the rent.
Aaaaand he harbors a fondness for the girl and dislikes Jeremy Reiner simply because the latter steals much of Selene's attention, even when he's not around.
There is something, judging from the heavy thumping from Selene’s office, that tells me said lady isn’t in a good mood. Not that she’s usually in a good one, considering that her good mood is almost the same as her bad mood. But anyway, I still trudge on, never mind asking permission to enter the lion’s den.
As it turns out, she’s not in a good mood.
I open the door to her part of the office to find myself shutting it close immediately. Something thumped against the wood. I can see the very little glint of silver in my line of sight. I wait for one solid minute before twisting the doorknob, pushing it open inch by inch until I have it opened halfway, my eyes trained on the ground. When no knife came flying straight at me, I let it open fully as I draw my eyes up at her.
As per usual, she has her legs propped up on the table, ankles crossed, a gun on one hand. The door is heavily stabbed with more than a dozen of knives.
“I see someone ran out of darts.”
“Pipe it, Wilson,” she growls. She cocks the gun right at me, aiming for my head. I only smile, a very slight one, but still wary of her gun. I know she can chuck that gun at me with her back turned and still hit, as much as she shoots it blindfolded. “Now, give me five good reasons why I should not kill you.”
There’s not a day she wouldn’t ask me that, you know. Every single bloody day of our lives spent together, she’ll ask me why she hasn’t killed me yet. And every single time, I answer her, “Why is Jeremy Reiner still alive?”
Bullets are my answers. As usual. But the question remains, and thus the answer still the same. She needs me, as much as she needs Jeremy Reiner as her sole purpose to live. Selene has already gone well past the point of ‘living for money, fame and grandeur’. She doesn’t dream of a happy ending anymore, with the white picket fence, or the red and white checkered picnic blanket with kids, or even the sundried road she’d like to have outside a lovely home somewhere outside the city hub of London. Most importantly, her hopes of having a piece of mind, a peace in mind, is out of the window as long as she keeps holding her guns or throwing her knives, and we both know very well it’ll take her a lifetime to let them go. We aren’t even sure if that’s even possibly, considering her iron-strength will.
“Now, Wilson. The reasons, please.”
And God knows why I find myself attracted to her; so bossy and demanding, she’s the last woman in this world any man would die for. Yet here I am, sticking up with her orders and so unfairly ways and sardonic view in life.
“Alright, since you gladly ask…”
“Wilson, no stalling.”
I sigh. “One, because he always outsmarts you even if you think you’re the one outsmarting him.”
A blast occurs next to my ear, sending off a few knives flying and landing next to my shoes. Ah, there goes the door.
“Two: no matter how hard you try, you can never beat him in the game, and this infuriates you beyond measures.”
Another blast sound off, this time at the ceiling. A few cement plasters land on my shoulder, and calmly, I brush them away. “Also, he happens to have much more publicity than you, especially when you’re both sharing the same mission, or covering the same issue.”
“Is that supposed to be one reason, Wilson, or two?” She asks, tapping her bottom lip with the nuzzle of the gun.
“That’s two, my dear girl,” I dully note. “Fourth reason is… hm… Oh, yes. Your brother happens to favor him more than you. And lastly, the sight or the thought of him drives you crazy like a mad feline on heat and you hate this fact and thus, you want to murder him and get him out of your life.”
And oddly enough, the bullet I expected to be sending me off to the next world didn’t come. Instead, she gave a good, amused stare, lips quirked into a haughty smile as she twirled the gun on a finger. Then she asks, “Really, Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
She snorts before throwing the gun right at me. I duck in time.
“Wilson, what was my question again?”
“…why you want to kill… Oh.”
Her smile breaks into a very wide grin as she pulls herself up, feet landing on the floor with a loud thud. A second later, she has her signature guns out and ready. “Now, Wilson, stay still. I believe I just found my reason to kill you.”