the mountains.

witch

Said she could get something if she wanted.

Said he'd get this for her, because she wanted it.

Looks at them like he's going to kill them, so he can take it to her.

Right now.

--

Outside. Standing at the edge of a red carpet. Waiting for a black car. Mirror is still in Rafael's hand; not a rejection. She has a bag, and a shawl. Night got darker so night got colder. His arm comes around her and she leans into it, tucking herself between the lining of his tuxedo jacket and the now-wrinkles of his shirt.

Sighs. Breath coils and curls visibly in midair. She watches it; maybe reads the future in it.

Franklin pulls around. Not a long wait, but long enough for her legs to hurt from the cold. Soon as it's there she's reaching for the door. Soon as it's open, whether by her hand or Rafael's hand or their hands together, she's inside. Interior is warm enough; intermittent running in the hours they were inside. Waste of power. Waste of gas. Could replace the word 'luxury' with the word 'waste' easy enough.

Not going to complain about it, though. Heated leather welcomes her legs, her ass, her back. And it makes her sigh again, sinking into the seat as Rafael follows her. Her shoes slip half-off.

He gets in. Door closes. Car moves. She's looking at him. Doesn't say anything, though.

--

Wants to kiss him. Put her still-cold hands on his now-shadowed jaw and pull him to her, eat at his mouth. Not sure what she would mean by that, though. Feels like it'd be trying to prove something. Doesn't know what. Afraid to look any closer.

Rafael turns the mirror over and over in his hands before he holds it out to her. Sees her watching him. Hand comes over, slips around the handle, draws the gift back to her lap.

Keeps looking at him, though. Lots of things she isn't doing, and isn't saying. They're all there, though, under the surface.

"You still wanna go?" she asks him quietly, after a moment. "To the other house?"

wolfman

Mirror looks right in the girl's slender hands. Small and oval, with a beveled edge that makes the reflection jewel-like. Set in gold. Ornate and filigreed, set with precious stones. Looks classic. Looks ageless. Looks like it belongs to the ages.

Sometimes the girl does too. Nevermind her hyper-modern makeup, clothes. Maybe that's why he likes stripping her bare. Strips her down to her skin, and then he can't tell she's a child of the twenty-first century. Could be some witch from Salem. Some lady of the moors, centuries gone.

Wolf's a bit startled when girl asks what she does. Looks at her quickly, eyes reflecting light under those heavy eyebrows.

" 'Course."

Monosyllabic answer turns over in his mind a while. Then he adds a bit more details.

"Thought maybe we'd stop off. Let you pack some things. Then drive up." He glances at her. "If you still wanna go."

witch

It's enough. The monosyllabic. She takes it in and looks back down at the mirror in her lap, turning it over, looking at the backside of it. Touches a stone, and touches a small empty place where a stone once was, now lost to time. A faint smile flickers over the left corner of her mouth, then away.

Looks at him when he speaks again. Lifts one eyebrow, slightly, at the end.

"Said I'd think about it," she murmurs, reminding him. Leaves that there in the space between them, hanging on the thread of her amusement. Then her face changes, subtly. Her eyes stay on his.

"Want to," she whispers. Not like a secret. A little like a confession.

witch

[DLP!]

witch

It's enough. The monosyllabic. She takes it in and looks back down at the mirror in her lap, turning it over, looking at the backside of it. Touches a stone, and touches a small empty place where a stone once was, now lost to time. A faint smile flickers over the left corner of her mouth, then away.

Looks at him when he speaks again. Remembers, suddenly and starkly what she had almost forgotten in the drinks and the dancing and the weight of strangeness between them that came after the sex. After she rode him on the floor. After she gasped that she'd go with him.

After he said her name. He's never said it, when he's inside her. He never says anything at all, really. But that.

Her face changes, subtly. Her eyes stay on his.

"Still want to," she whispers. Not like a secret. A little like a confession.

wolfman

His eyes and her eyes and the darkness in between. A silent pause; then a nod.

"Okay."

Wolf leans forward and thumbs the partition down. Tells Franklin where to go. Sits back, looking out the window, watching the street slide by. Doesn't take them long at all to get back to the townhouse, where Franklin pulls into the drive but not the garage.

"I'll just wait out here," wolf says. "Unless you need me to help carry your things."

witch

He lives close. Barely worth driving, but for the cold. Her heels. Their finery. The shame of something like public transport or walking. James might actually protest anything like that. Then again, with a heated and chaffeured Cadillac waiting, so would Devon.

At the townhouse, he says he'll wait. In his tux and all. Devon gives a small half-smile, then slips out of the car. She leaves the mirror on the seat between them and goes inside. Not wearing her shoes. They dangle from her hooked fingers.

--

Takes her a solid twenty-plus minutes before she comes back out. When she does, she's changed clothes. She's in gray sweats -- her own, which fit her -- which are hiked up a bit and almost-tucked into those fake Uggs of hers. Looks like she's in a t-shirt -- white one, with Sid and Nancy in black and white on the front -- with a flannel shirt she's worn before as a jacket over it. Her hair is still curled, if fallen a bit. Her makeup is still on. She's carrying that backpack of hers, with the duct-taped strap and the pink stars. And like this, she hops back into the Cadillac, exhaling a bit, because she did hurry a little.

Not a lot.

After he's signaled Franklin to take off again, she looks over at him. "How long does it take?"

wolfman

Ten minutes into it wolf decides waiting is a dumb idea. Girl hears him coming in: thudding open the front door, thumping up the stairs. Feels him too. The pressure in the ears, the weight on the shoulders.

Leaves five minutes later. Is waiting in the car when she comes out. Wolf's changed too. There's a pile of finery on his bed; now he's wearing heavy jeans and big hiking boots, sits with his feet wide apart. Also a tshirt. Also his battered old bike jacket, armor plates pulled out.

Looks up when she gets in. Picks the mirror up so she can put the backpack down. Finds a slot or a zippered compartment or something to put the mirror in. Wolf sits back as she does. Franklin pulls away. Wolf keeps the window rolled down just a crack -- a sliver of cool fresh air in the heated cabin.

"Like three hours and change," he admits. "I'll switch for Franklin about halfway. Not fair to make him drive all night." Wolf glances at his watch. "We can stop for Denny's or something too, if you get hungry."

witch

He finds a zipper. Opens it and a stuffed giraffe face peeks out at him.

She's looking at him, then hides a bit from the sliver of cool fresh air. Cold icy death-wind.

"All right," she says, half-burrowed between his bicep and the back of the seats. She closes her eyes, inhaling. Exhales.

Draws back, and twists around, knees tucked up. Her pashmina is still in here, rumpled up; she tugs it out and spreads it over herself like a blanket.

Lays her head down on his leg.

Closes her eyes without a word. Apparently she intends to nap.

wolfman

Stuffed giraffe.

Nonplussed, the wolf closes that compartment again. Opens another one. Puts the mirror in. Girl reacts to the cool air like it's knives of death and doom. Wolf snorts a bit, rolls the window back up.

Girl goes horizontal. Lays her head on his leg. Wolf doesn't know what to do for a second. Doesn't know how to react, how to behave. After some time his hand touches her hair, strokes it back gently. Then he lays his arm over her, heavy and warm.

They drive.

--

And drive, and drive, and drive. Some two hours later the car pulls off the freeway. They're in some tiny town called Silverthorne. There's no Denny's but there's some 24hour pitstop there, where Franklin stretches his legs, where they take their turns in the bathrooms, where the wolf buys some chicken tenders and a large coffee for himself. Gets some food for the girl too. And hot chocolate.

They get back in the car. Wolf drives this time. James might disapprove, but James isn't here, and James isn't the goddamn boss. Franklin rides shotgun, grateful for the respite. Girl has the spacious backseat all to herself, the leather heated, the minibar stocked, the air warmed.

Another half an hour, and then they leave the interstate. Last hour or so of the drive is all winding mountain roads. Black trees silhouetted against a star-strewn sky. Higher and higher they go, into more and more remote areas. In the end they're the only people for miles.

Turnoff to the wolf's estate is subtle, unmarked. No towering iron gates or anything of the sort. Just a little T-intersection; a little road that slopes down to a lakeshore. Water is black as can be by night, but across the expanse is the shadow of a house. A mansion, really. What few exterior lights are lit reflect across the lake. Snow on the roofs catches starlight, throws it back.

Wolf pulls the car up to the front door and stops. Switches places with Franklin again so his driver can put the car in the garage. Wolf opens up the back door to retrieve the girl, holding a hand out to take her bag.

It's three in the morning. Air is staggeringly cold, crisp as a knife's edge. More stars than anyone could possibly count burn overhead. House is dark and quiet, a little imposing in the dark. Architecture is pure Colorado Rockies: rugged timber, slanted roof lines. Stone chimney. Big bay windows, double-paned to insulate.

witch

Intention becomes reality; she relaxes as his hand strokes her hair. She relaxes as his arm comes down around her. She falls asleep. Her breathing is steady, her body warm under the makeshift blanket. She yawns a couple of times against his thigh, but always goes still again.

He wakes her, halfway up the mountains. Her ears want to pop from the altitude. She sniffs a few times, blinks a lot, asks where they are. Smiles dimly at the name of the town and goes to the bathroom, peeing for what feels like forever. When she comes out he has fries and a burger for her. And hot chocolate. She smiles at him and doesn't argue; she takes the backseat again.

Eats, stretched out on the back seat. Plays annoyingly with the partition a few times. Drinks water. Plays with her phone for all of five minutes before putting it down and

falling asleep again.

--

The road changes. She feels it and wakes. Senses the darkness encroaching, heavy and total, with the moon hidden. She licks her lips and puts the pinwheel peppermint that came with her burger and fries in her mouth, the cellophane crackling like a signal that she's woken, she's back there.

As they drive into the estate she sits up, arms folded across the back of the front seats, looking through the windshield at what he and Franklin can see, too. When the car rolls to a stop she all but bursts from the back, pashmina wrapped like a scarf around her neck, backpack already on, feet stuffed in her boots again. She searches in the dark with her hand, for his.

wolfman

Girl doesn't have to search long. Wolf's hand takes hers. Rough warm palm, big bones, firm flesh. He wraps fingers around hers, takes her up a step or two to the front door. Someone must've called ahead, told the house staff he was coming. Door's not locked. Cold's so intense that it's frozen to the jamb, but wolf sets his shoulder to it. A sharp, audible crack, and then the faintest whine of hinges as the door opens inward.

Smells like wood inside. Wood and wool and furs and lit hearths. House this big can't possibly be kept seventy-six degrees throughout in this weather, but it's still much warmer inside than out. For a moment nothing but blue shadows. Then wolf flicks a light on.

Townhouse is nice, but could easily be the home of some moderately successful city professional. This house is something entirely different. There's a muted, aged grandeur here. Everything is quality, through and through: from the dark oak floors to the hand-carved banisters to the solid rafters overhead. The lights in their sconces. The spotless windows looking out on the alpine lake, the mountains. Not much flash or glitter, but luxury's there if they look for it. State-of-the-art thermostats on the walls. Stainless steel appliances and vortex-flame gas stoves in the kitchen. Gorgeous dark countertops, thick-piled rugs beneath soft leather couches.

Wolf doesn't exactly give the girl a tour. She doesn't get to see the ballroom he promised, or the movie theater. Or the garage, for that matter, with all manner of motorized entertainment. Wolf kicks his boots off at the door and heads upstairs, her hand in his. Traditional floorplan in this place: closed rooms, long halls. Girl glimpses a library, but they go the other way, past a few closed doors. Wolf opens up the room on the south end, and it's the master suite: all enormous windows and roaring hearth, a four-poster bed piled with comforters and pillows.

"This is my room," wolf says. "Can stay here if you want. Empty bedrooms too if you'd rather."

witch

Not sure why there are external lights on. Door unlocked. Maybe it's remote. Not sure there's a whole other staff.

Walks in and it's warm. Er. Warmer. She breathes in. A light goes on; she almost resents it.

Takes a look around, takes a few things in, but not much. She keeps her boots on, hand in his. Follows. Looks into his room, then at him. Doesn't say anything; doesn't know for sure what she wants yet. Usually she does. When it comes to him, she doesn't always. It changes.

She's quiet.

"It's you I thought about all night," says it quietly.

wolfman

Head turns. Wolf's frowning again. Looks at her a long time, frowning, puzzling over her words. Sniffing them, pawing at them, turning them over, gnawing at the innards. The meaning.

Lets go her hand. Comes over closer, puts his hands on her face. Heavy, pawing. Pushes her hair back and lifts her chin and kisses her, no rhyme or reason. Just his mouth on hers, heavy and thorough as his hands.

"Never thought you were thinking about that other guy," he says after. Presses his lips to her brow. Steps back.

witch

Wasn't expecting him to kiss her. Accepts it, though, her eyes closing, her mouth opening. It doesn't last long. Her eyes open again as he stops; her hand tightens when he begins to step back.

Frowning.

"What I meant," she says, "was that I was thinking about you while you were gone." Her brow is still furrowed, her eyes glittering even in the dim lack-of-light. "Why did you leave?"

wolfman

Wolf arrests. Hand in hers suddenly feels stiff, uneasy. His frown matches hers.

"Wanted to smoke," he says. "Didn't want to stand in there."

witch

[I call bullshit: perc + subterfuge]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

wolfman

[well, it's not an outright lie, but it's an incomplete truth. there are reasons why he didn't want to stand in there that he's not voicing.]

witch

[Rannumlee: I wanna change earlier line to "It's you I spent all night thinking about."]

witch

The wrinkle between her brows deepens. She doesn't say anything. Slips her hand from his, which is stiff and awkward anyway. Heads off down the hall, looking for another guest room.

wolfman

Just like that girl leaves. Wolf watches her go, frustrated, silent. Hall is long. Grand staircase comes up the middle; master suite on one end, library on the other. All the doors in between: closets, rooms, bathrooms.

"Second, fourth and fifth on the left," wolf says. "Take whichever you want." His door stays open. Ajar, really. He withdraws into his room, though: a sliver of light cast out on the floor.

witch

She does. Doesn't look back: takes whichever she wants. Ends up fifth on the left, closest to the library. All the way down the hall, really. Just like at his townhouse.

But that's smaller.

Door closes behind her when she goes inside.