Pinkgothic played:

Dread and Nechku

The texture of her towel dragged across her face, wiping the final remnants of water from the shower off it, and revealed her reflection on the window displaying the obsidian depth of night - along with dark curls not her own, and a second pair of eyes. A feather sculpted as if from the night outside pressed against her neck, its edge unusually straight and sharp. Navy lips upturned in a casual smile not trying to mask the probing stare. The soft hint of warmth crept up her back and a thin, pale arm looped itself around her midsection, ending up covered by the towel that had not yet fully descended. She froze.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you." His gaze rested on the reflection of her face.

Nechku drifted her eyes closed, grappling inwardly for calm. 'Hi, Dread,' she inwardly prepended to the conversation. While death was an actual option, her instincts protested and the animal core of her mind sought to tear her into flight, only stubbornly yielding to the persistant destruction at the hands of her rational thoughts. Something knotted into her gut, spawned by the sudden surge of adrenalin, refusing to budge, infusing her breath with a tension. 'Slowly. Think slowly. Retorts don't come easy when you're stressed,' she told herself. Of course, there was a blade at her throat and she'd witnessed him kill someone before - slow was great in theory, but surely she shouldn't be testing the patience of a killer? Still, something about him inspired to preferring answers with thought behind them to swift ones. Perhaps that was just a distant echo of her thrill-seeking nature, though, potentially fatal edge-play.

While there was an erratic note to her own breath, jolted into her by that sudden appearance and the context she now found herself in, his was slow and steady, offering, perplexingly, an anchor for her to attach herself to. Monotony, calm. His stare wasn't waning.

"I imagine Wildcard would be increasingly disinclined to accomodate for you if you killed one of its financial pillars of support," Nechku found herself saying, voice barely a whisper, but the words otherwise steadily delivered. For a moment, the resulting silence wound itself up along her spine constrictingly, seconds ticking by like on a bomb's timer. Had she said the wrong thing? Was it going to end now? She didn't doubt he was serious.

An exhale preceded his words, embrace of her loosening a touch, blade drifting away from that vital area by two inches. "Very good," he said, a bit of reluctance woven into the associated purr, as if he'd had to convince himself to let her pass.

The audible sigh of relief had escaped her even before she could think to contain it. It seemed misplaced, like a delicate insight into her that should have been differently delivered, instead clumsy in its presentation. But what did it matter? She'd passed a crucial test, allowing her to talk to him, as she'd earned the right to. The blade didn't fully budge, that tangible illusion remaining wrapped around her as if there weren't a more comfortable posture in the world. Her toes tested the tiles, only subtly shifting her in the embrace.

Silence.

There had been topics she'd meant to speak to him about, next time. That time was now. After their last encounter had ended in a discussion on Wildcard's interests and not about his as initially hoped, again, that time was now. "Why did you kill Sirena?"

"That's not for you to know," Dread remarked in half a mumble, dark eyes drifting closed as he set teeth loosely against the side of her neck as if casually undecided whether to bite her.

"You proffered to trade motivations with Cyrex," she pointed out, watching her own expression in that reflection, quite proud with the lack of fear it exhibited now that the immediate threat had waned. They almost looked like they belonged, bladefeather notwithstanding. "You would need a vessel for that," she continued. "Surely you wouldn't want to use one of your victims, would you?" she reasoned. "So tell me." A soft chuckle wound itself out of her, against all odds. "After all, who would I tell?"

A moment's pause passed, his lips parted, pulsing subtly, and a sceptical expression manifested upon his face, nearly glaring daggers at the slab of night beyond the glass, as if seeing some uninvited onlooker disturb the serenity of their embrace. Whether that was a pondering whether to bite or not to bite, or to speak or not to speak, however, was unclear. A grin abruptly flowered across his face. "You are remarkably isolated," he confirmed, before chuckling dismissively. "But I won't tell you. One wrong word spoken, even unintentionally, just born from the knowledge, and you could undo so much work."

"Then why did you offer Cyrex that trade?" she asked, twisting herself in his embrace, just enough to cast her gaze across her left shoulder rather than continue that mirrored exchange of glances.

"Because I would tell him. He's a machine. They do not do anything 'accidentally'," he mused, resting his head against hers lightly, motion nudging hers back forward to large degree. "And messengers, vessels? Do not need to stay alive after delivering a message," he purred past her ear, casting a thoroughly charming smile at the reflection like in a flirt, but the subtext was clearly there - 'You don't want to volunteer for that job, Nechku, do you?'