12/10 - Bahir
12/10/2008
Rain spatters against the elegantly framed glass of the Hellfire Club's many windows. An unseasonable warmth outside gives indoor heating something of a break, while leaving things just a touch uncomfortable for those in usual winter garb. Bahir has traded his heavy sweaters for a lighter one, and then shirt beneath is unbuttoned, open at the collar. He wanders Hellfire's halls as if idle, purposeless. The shields over his mind remain high and thick, but even through a wall one can sense the warmth of a blaze. As he passes by one of the smaller parlors, he glances in, casually. No Emma. He frowns slightly, expectation thwarted, and looks around. She's /somewhere/ nearby.
Indeed, she is. She exits a doorway further down the hall, one that leads back to the kitchens, with a peanut butter sandwich in hand. The bread is oat-colored, and red-colored jelly squeezes to the toasted edges. She lets the door swing closed quietly behind her and looks down the hall as if she'd sensed his presence before emerging. She gives him a quizzical look and shakes the loose sleeve of her own light sweater away from her wrist. Unusually, the color is a brilliant peacock blue.
Oh. There. Bahir marks Emma briefly as his gaze skips toward movement. He regards her long enough for acknowledgement, and then continues along on his merry path, which takes him past her. Casually. He tips his head.
Emma falls in behind him, then steps around and ahead to cut him off before he can turn a corner at the end of the hallway. "Bahir," she says, turning the greeting into something mildly challenging. The sandwich drips a spot of melting peanut butter onto her hand. "How are you doing?" She transfers the sandwich to her other hand and lifts the peanut butter spatter to her mouth, sucking it off the web between thumb and index finger.
"Emma," Bahir bats back, matching her tone with an arch of dark eyebrows. He wrinkles his nose as she sucks peanut butter from her hand, expression somewhat skeptical of her manners even as he marks the splay of fingers and curve of lips. Oh, look. A wall. He watches the wall instead as they continue along. "Busy. I brought Grey in on this project I've been working on, with the aim of triggering latent mutations. We're making progress. You?"
Only somewhat skeptical? That's an improvement, surely. A reflexive spike of spite, more habit than anything else, dances across her shields at the mention of Grey, but she shrugs and watches him from the corner of her eye. "Latent mutations... I wonder how commonplace they are," she says, juggling the sandwich back and taking a bite. She doesn't continue until the bite is swallowed, so at least her manners aren't /that/ far gone. "I think we could say the same. We've closed on property in three different areas. We'll see which climates are the most hospitable."
Bahir watches the wall, and occasionally, his path, so that he doesn't walk into anything or anyone. "At least one parent of every manifested mutant, grandparents, perhaps. I don't really know what kind of sensitivity we'll be looking at, yet, but we're starting to work through /how/." His hands are clasped behind his back, and his manner is quite casual, the shields over his mind remain a stark blank. "Something tropical, or sub-tropical, /please/," he says, a tinge of something playful in his voice.
"If there is anything you need..." she offers vaguely. The SRC is already one of the best funded research centers anywhere, so the possibility is remote. She smiles and starts to say something, but amusement trips over memory, and she changes her words. "Not made for the cold, hm?"
Bahir glances over at Emma, just briefly, before looking forward again. He snorts. "Not particularly," he says, tone mild.
"We have been seeing a lot of you lately," she observes after a moment, then takes a bite of the sandwich. No plate, no napkin. Maybe she really is a heathen.
Maybe she just doesn't care if she dribbles. Bahir's eyelashes shiver as he squashes the twitch of a change in expression. "I'm sure Hellfire's halls are only improved by my presence."
Well, if she does, /she/ doesn't have to clean it up, so... "Naturally," Emma agrees lightly, handing off the remainder of the sandwich to a passing servant who is left staring at the mess in her hands. "Lonely?"
This time, Bahir does not fight the twitch that draws down his brows in a scowl. He gives Emma a sidelong glower. "I have plenty of legitimate reasons to be here, you know." REALLY.
Emma brushes her hands free of crumbs, then mirrors his posture by clasping her hands behind her back. However, the expression she turns on him is wide-eyed and ever so sweetly innocent. Totally opposite his! REALLY. "Of course you do. What are they?"
"/Actually/," Bahir says, somewhat arch as he narrows a suspicious look at that wide-eyed innocence, "I have been thinking about the problems of production and distribution when trials finish on that compound I tested last year, and keeping control. /Also/, sometimes we have ... shared business here. /Also/--." No, wait, he just ran out of excuses. He pauses a moment, wetting his lips as his eyes flick away in search of another excuse. "--it is a convenient midpoint between the lab and my apartment." Which, while true, isn't exactly a reason to drop in.
"I do own a pharmaceutical firm, if you wish to make some kind of arrangement," Emma says, guilelessly deadpan, though a sense of mirth washes across her shields.
Bahir gives Emma a slanted look, losing a measure of irritability and gaining a vague touch of dry humro. "There are limits to how thickly I care to line your pockets. But perhaps -- as you say -- some kind of arrangement."
"You've benefited from those linings," Emma carols out lightly, her voice tripping up in tone, though still keeping their conversation private. She makes a dismissive gesture. "There is time. We won't let it get away from you. When does Percy return?"
"I'd rather line my own. After all, I need a thicker lining to protect from a harsh climate." After a few steps, Bahir's humor bleeds into aggravation: "Still no firm date on his return. Just delayed. I hope whatever it is, it's important."
"I'm sure it is..." Emma agrees in the tone of one who has known far too many of Percy's impulses to be /entirely/ sure. "So," she says, breaking off that train of thought with a renewed focus on a prior bit of conversation. Pleasantly persistent, she continues, "You hang around here looking for lining and shared business and a diversion between the lab and your apartment. Which category do I fall into?"
Aggravation spiking in prickly defensiveness, Bahir hunches his shoulders in a shrug as he brings his hands forward to slouch along with hands in his pockets. "Neither. A category all of your own, surely. The category of people it is impossible to avoid here."
Emma spins and steps into his way, halting their progress and effectively closing the gap between them to something well within personal bubble space. There is no hint of naughty purpose for the intrusion though in her demeanor. "I am easy enough to avoid when you want to. You have managed admirably until now. But the past few weeks, everywhere I turn, you are there. So I am forced to one of two conclusions. Either you have something you need or want to discuss with me, but are unwilling to, or you are merely basking in my presence. Not that I would blame you for the latter..." She tilts her head back, just a little, and smiles, trying to blunt the prickles of his irritation.
Bahir startles as Emma swings around to block the way. As they find their positions, he plants his feet and marks his space with a stubborn squaring of his shoulders. Cranky rises and falls, eventually giving way beneath a somewhat exasperated, reluctant humor. He regards her with eyebrows slightly arched and lips hinting at a curve while eyes express skepticism. "You have a very nice presence," he agrees. "Quite ... /pert/. I've nothing to discuss with you. Perhaps you are imagining it."
/Pert/? Emma hasn't had that adjective leveled at her in a few years. Now they tend to the extremes of lust- or fury-induced ones. She lifts one brow and shifts to settle somewhere in between the boundaries of his squared off space. "Am I?"
Bahir arranges his features into a very bland sort of expression. "I don't blame you for noticing me," he says lightly. "I am very striking."
"Yes, you are," Emma agrees easily, flashes of something dark arcing across her thoughts like black lightening, twining her fingers together behind her back and rocking forward on the balls of her feet. The sweater, a droopy necked affair, catches on her earrings. "But that does not explain why you have been looking for me."
Bahir looks discomforted. The playfulness and teasing falls away, and he looks past Emma, over her shoulder and then along the wall. They sure are nice walls! "I don't know. Just ... checking on you, I guess."
Emma folds her arms in front of her and rocks back on her heels (rock rock). Her expression is checked and guarded, though not defensive. She repeats him flatly, "checking on me?" and her brows dive toward each other, drawing lines between them. She blinks. "Are you worried about--?" An image bubbles up, more sensation and perception, but still undeniably the Shadow King. The memory is stained red with the emotions she can't strain away.
"No." Bahir swats away the implication with a wave of his hand, while the hard walls of his shields rebuff the sharing of any images. "Just -- you know. How you are -- oh, /never mind/," he snaps in an excess of exasperation. He rolls his eyes, gives Emma an exasperated glance, and then turns on heel to walk away. Strategic retreat.
Leaving Emma staring after him in bewilderment. No wonder Adel could handle her so well. He had practice.
Yes, isn't he?
Challenge met: PB&J sandwich! Give me more people!