March Logs to date
Hellfire Clubhouse - Sauna
From above, just inside the sauna's entrance, comes water flowing in misty rain and thick streams, as if from some waterfall well beyond sight, splattering on the marble floor to give rise to a heavier, thicker fog. The water is pure and perfectly clear, carrying no scent or no murky color or even the smallest particle of silt or sand. Past the antechamber's archway, no water splashes or flows; instead, it pools within the small wading area in the center at a gentle depth of a single foot, just enough to draw the legs down with weight and force the body and mind to relax in the calming steam and wonderful heat.
Emma is alone. Alone with her thoughts and her powers and her meditation and her attempts to combine all three, losing her physical senses in the steam's shroud as she lays across a slab, on her stomach, towel open and strategically draped. Her arms fold under her cheek, her face turned in toward the pooling water, eyes closed.
Not alone for long. The door opens, allowing entry for the White Knight, devoid of his usual dark garb, and wearing naught but a towel around his waist. The door closes just as quickly, and he settles onto the wood opposite her without a word.
Emma tenses against his presence, but otherwise doesn't move, just asks "What can I do for you, dear?"
"Just a point of clarification," Travis replies, inhaling then exhaling slowly, his head resting in his hands in relaxed stance. "You wish me to reveal my hand. Knowing that may tip the target."
"Yes. However, do not tip it all. Maintain the appearance of focus. Question her if you wish, even. She's the one person who might even actually know where he is." Emma opens her eyes slowly and moves to rest her chin on her arms as she looks across at him.
Travis doesn't look up, though there's a slight nod at her words. "If she does, she won't tell me directly. Her loyalty's not that deep," is the snide commentary. "I should be able to decide if she /does/ know, though, and we can plan accordingly. I assume the intent is not primarily to further our search for the rogue bishop."
Emma smiles, and the expression chills the air. "You're a very bright boy, darling."
"But not so bright that you care to elaborate at this moment... Or perhaps you just like making men wait?" Travis glances up, a slight smirk playing the corners of his mouth.
"They tend to rush things if I don't," Emma murmurs, pushing up and swinging her legs over the side, capturing the towel before it falls to the floor. It gets lain across her lap. "I want to see what use she makes of the information. I want to remind her of her loyalties."
After a few moments inside, the steam begins to have its affect, and Travis wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his one hand, then brushing his hair back with both hands. He leans back against the wall, staring into the space between them. "Do you want an underlying threat, simply message, obvious probing, or up to my discretion?"
"Your discretion has always been adequate, Knight."
"And my pacing, from what I gather," Travis comments, folding his arms across his chest.
Emma slants a glance toward him, and returns his smirk. "Well, I can always make you wait when it isn't."
"I can be a very patient man," he shrugs, letting his posture fall into a relaxed slump. "To wax melodramatice, sometimes, lives depend on it."
Emma stands, taking the towel with her and slowly winding it into place as she murmurs, "Sometimes even your own. You live dangerously, after all."
Travis makes no attempt to move, his eyes following her motions. "I'd not have it any other way."
"I told you you were bright," Emma approves, laughing with her eyes as she splashes through the puddling water en route for the door.
Greenwich Apts #330 - Sabitha(#2470RCA)
There's three slow raps bang loudly on the door to Sabitha's apartment. The echoes down the hall no doubt cause some annoyance around the dinner table of her neighbors, but Travis just doesn't care. Or maybe he does and it's for that reason the slow raps are followed by a series of short ones, each as loud as the last. Through the peephole, one would see him, one hand propped on the doorframe, leaning in slightly as the other continues to rap loudly, waiting for a response.
Sabitha is within, flipping absently through mail with her feet slung up atop her coffee table, scattered with paperwork and pictures and eighteen sheets of black paper written on in white verse. She rolls her eyes upward as she pushes herself up from the couch and rubs hands down denim-covered thighs, announcing as she goes, "I can /hear/ you, man." Several steps. A pause at the peephole. Brows rise and gaze narrows, wary, as she swings the door open. "Hi."
"I have a problem, and you are going to help me solve it," Travis states by way of greeting. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushes his way in--only to be stopped short by the invisible shield in the doorframe. "You might want to rekey that," he growls, stepping back ever so slightly. "Now."
Sabitha tips her head at Travis and considers. She blinks once. "Actually," she says quietly. "I'm not entirely certain I do."
"I don't talk business in the hallway," Travis says, unblinking as he stares at her. "After all. Who knows what your neighbors might think? If only they knew what I know."
"Funny," Sabby says, watching him with wary calm. "I don't think it's my neighbors who would mind."
"Well, if not them, and not me..." Travis trails off. "So. Are you going to invite me in? Or should we just stand and stare at each other a while longer."
Sabitha taps thoughtful fingers against the edge of the door, one after the other in trailing rhythm. Eventually she steps back, wordless, to rekey her security system.
Travis gives a single nod as the only semblance of thanks before stepping inside. He waits for her to shut the door before speaking. "I'll be brief, as I can't imagine you wanting me here any longer than necessary. And as a foreward, I may not be as cultured as certain acquaintences of ours, but there are...signs...when someone is not entirely truthful." He pauses just long enough so that can hang in there are before proceeding. "Jason Wyngarde. Do you know where he is?"
Sabitha turns against the closed door (not latched, just yet) to stare at Travis with a sudden, sharp laugh. "This is about /Jason/?"
"You were hoping for something else?" Travis says levelly, not so much a question as observation with a hint of distain there.
Sabitha smiles disbelief, leaning back against the door, and tells him with firm emphasis, "I have no idea where Jason's gone. I doubt I'll be hearing from him again."
"Good. Then since I know you're not harboring the fugitive, you can aid in the search," Travis concludes. "When did you last see or speak to him?"
"She's not letting him go, then." Sabby watches Travis carefully in time to quiet words that are mostly statement, just slightly question.
"In a matter of speaking."
Sabitha leaves her door unlatched. She moves forward from the door to cross to her livingroom and takes a seat, silent, on her couch. A hand tips toward the chair nearby. Invitation.
There's a moment of indecision, then Travis follows, settling down onto the edge of the seat. "Did you know he was attempting to disappear?" Loaded question. Russian Roulette, and from the look on his face, Travis appears to know it as such.
"It wasn't the first time he tried."
"Try the last," Travis says cooly.
Sabitha smiles slightly. "I hope so."
"Mr. Wyngarde was by no means coerced into his position," Travis says, on hand idly clasping the wrist in his lap. "And our benefactress," there's a slight leaning on the word 'our,' "wishes to make it clearly known that while admittance is voluntary...resignation is not."
"Bullshit," Sabby says, clear and sharp.
"That is precisely what it appears Mr. Wyngarde thinks as well," Travis replies. "I intend to dispel that misconception."
"I meant about the coercion," Sabby says firmly. "He didn't resign. He ran. Come on, Travis. What is it you really want to know?"
"Where he went," Travis states. "And if, in the process, the Why reveals itself, that will be an added benefit. In preventing similar situations, of course."
"I don't know where he went. I do know why."
"I don't expect it will change matters, but would you care to elaborate?"
"Surely," Sabby says, eyes fixed on Travis with firm, flaring green and a rising sense of impatient irritation, "You have noticed the trend of this Circle to eat its members alive."
"Jason seems highly capable of holding his own," Travis replies. "If not intelligent enough to realize he could have done so."
Sabitha stares at Travis with disbelieving eyes. "Do you pay /attention/?"
"When it suits me to do so."
"Jason was tired. He was hurting, he was depressed, and he was near on suicidal. He wasn't holding his own, he was dying. Tell your Queen to leave him the hell alone."
"/Our/ Queen, Sabitha," Travis says coldly. "And I am not /our/ Queen's advisor. That was Mr. Wyngarde's right. And if I recall, for being so quick in your /own/ refusal of the position, you seem quite eager to offer your own opinions now."
Sabitha smiles. It's a cold, bitter expression. "Ah," she says, watching him. "I see. I'm just a pawn. I shouldn't have opinions. Or thoughts. Disagreements. Unhappiness. Questions." She tips her head at him. "You, though. You're her Knight. Do you have another question for me?"
"There are avenues for disagreements and the like," Travis shrugs. "But randomly speaking your mind and expecting compliance, well, that is reserved for the bishop." There's a pause before he continues. "So Jason said nothing of his destination. I don't think he's foolish enough to take refuge in family, which I am still confirming their identities..." again, a slight pause, perhaps a opportunity to provide information, "And the college studies seem to be a failed option. So what would be Jason Wyngarde's highest aspiration. Had he not found himself burning in this Hellfire."
"Bullshit," Sabby says again, and she's still smiling. She tells him, "Jason's greatest aspiration was to get the hell out of dodge, in one piece. You're not going to find him, Travis. You're not that good." Her eyes flash, bright and satisfied. "You're not as smart as he is, or as gifted."
"You always did underestimate me," Travis says, standing. "Needless to say, this conversation is entirely classified. And I'll thank you to let me know, through Ms. Frost, if you prefer, if Jason /does/ contact you. Or if you happen to recall any details you may have...momentarily forgotten."
"Oh no, Travis." Sabby remains where she is, pratically grinning now. "I usually overestimated you. Come on now. Is that it?"
"It's to my benefit to let people think that," Travis says, his mouth twisting into a cruel grin of his own. "Then, when it comes time to prove otherwise, they're left with gaping disbelief, wondering how they didn't see it coming. And yes, that is it. I think... we have a clearer understanding of the situation." The 'we' is left ambiguous.
"That's not what I was talking about," Sabby tells him evenly. She stands, then, echoing Travis as she moves toward the door. "Well. Thank you /so/ much for coming by. Travis."
"We should do it again. In a few years," Travis says, pausing beside the door just a moment. "Though I'm sure I'll run into you sooner around the clubhouse." There's more than enough certainty there to pose a veiled threat.
"You know," Sabby tells him, smiling, "I never have been very fond of that place." She pulls the door open for him.
"The sacrifices we make for life and liberty," Travis winks, stepping into the hallway.
"Is that what you think they're for?" Sabby's still smiling as he leaves. "You really /don't/ pay attention, do you?" She shuts the door, firm and fast, and steps aside to reset her security. Smiling.