Jon sat in the passenger seat of his car, checking over some documents from work when he noticed Sabrina returning, probably from the five-star hotel she said she wanted to check on, for some reason. He didn't ask at the time why she had her eye on such a place, as if either of them, or both of them combined could reasonably afford a room there. He figured he'd ask about it later, until her expression became clearer as she approached the car. The hurried, flustered gait of her approach gave away how upset her face turned out to be. "Annoyed" looked like the tip of the iceberg.
"And the hits just keep on coming" is what he thought he heard from her as she got in the driver's seat and started the car. There was silence between them as she pulled out slowly into traffic. To Jon, it didn't look like Sabrina was going to indulge in any road rage, but the clear look of controlled anger on her face scared him a little.
Against his better judgment, he decided to speak.
"I don't know what is upsetting you, but is there any way I can help?"
Sabrina turned in his direction at the next red light, looking indignantly at him. They both knew he believed the question to be a futile attempt to appease her, and that he had balls for even trying to ask with the vibe she put out.
"No," she replied evenly. "Not yet."
"Ok," he said simply, accepting the mercy he was granted, curious about the "not yet."
Jon never knew he'd heard Sabrina correctly as she approached the car. She'd run into a string of inconveniences in the past few weeks, a few months after she began her role-playing adventures. The hotel she'd come out of had been the latest bust in her plans, a failed back-up, apparently one of many. A world-famous celebrity band had come to town, taking the penthouse suite she planned to "borrow" soon for her games, and it seemed every hotel in town worth Scryer's attention had become suddenly full. Her initial choice of play was an abandoned building she scouted that was just recently set for early demolition. The suite balcony she'd found in her venue scouting surpassed her previous expectations as it would seem like exactly the kind of place a powerful sorceress would appropriate for herself, certainly worth the effort of convincing the concierge, maids and whatever other staff was necessary that it was hers for a night or two. But hopes of that dream setting were dashed as quickly as they were realized.
Besides that, Sabrina had planned to revisit Jesse, or more specifically her heroic alias in the past two weeks for more playing. But in prepping those meetings, as a means of fairness, if for some reason she didn't show, Jesse would have a daydream where Scryer and Psiana would face-off to a stalemate, or Psiana would somehow become victorious, and the witch would flee. All four times in the past two weeks Sabrina couldn't make it. The first time was more her fault, as Jon spontaneously took her in his arms one night, kissing behind her ears, which distracted her long enough to take Sabrina's lips in a fiery kiss. In one of the first post-hypnotic triggers she'd installed in him, it was all too easy to turn that kiss to her advantage, but she forgot he could be as compelling as she was when it came to enticing the other. In the kindled heat produced, she forgot about Jesse and everything else that night. The next three times though, either Jesse had been unavailable when Sabrina was free, or work somehow interfered.
It felt like the bad omen of clustered disappointments were descending upon Sabrina once again. Occasionally in her life, a series of random setbacks, obstacles, or defeats would descent upon her. As a kid, she never understood why it would all come her way in a short period of time. As her life usually went swimmingly well, she could hardly complain about it often, though she found herself being superstitious because of it, watching out for and dreading any sign of disappointment, expecting a domino effect to follow. She hoped she would've left the omen behind after immigrating to America, considering how at least one occurrence among the cluster always had to do with a relative of her generation deliberately doing something; it'd been no such luck outside of Ireland. The last string she could remember ended with the loss of a boyfriend, and it scared her a little that things were happening again revolving around another, a better one, the best she could ever remember having. Scary enough the omen seemed to be indirectly aiding a woman she grew to like less the more she knew, but still strung along like a puppet.
Sabrina looked over at Jon as she pulled to another red light.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what," he asked.
"For asking."
***
She'd felt better later in the day, spending time at his place, watching him react to her suggestions. Sabrina sat cross-legged on her side of his bed, in one of his buttoned work shirts, brainstorming with pen and paper in her lap, stack of comics nearby. His surface thoughts were nearly bare except for when she asked him questions, and the only thing that could pass for clothing was Scryer's witchy hat, covering his crotch. Like the night of their characters' first introduction, he was sexually besieged by the hat's interior, sinking his crotch and by extension all of him into a familiar state of inescapable bliss.
She never thought using it like that would be more than a one-time fun gag, until he tried surprising her once at her place with it. Laying across her sheets coyly, nothing more than a rose in his mouth, and the tall hat's pointy end phallically, suggestively pointed at her did entice her as intended. His plan worked, and yet backfired as he didn't consciously remember what Jon or Striker was supposed to feel under those conditions. She arrived to find his hands gently gripping the hat's rim and the rose nearly pruned from biting down hard when his mouth wasn't moaning, riled up and confused as Sabrina quickly figured out his play and his error, turning it all into a power play for Scryer.
Neither were really fulfilling their role as vigilante or sorceress during her brainstorming; it just helped her creative juices flow with the air of their sensual play permeating the bedroom. She'd accidentally spent the night before planning until dawn, excited in what she thought was to be the perfect set-up she could arrange, before it became a bust. She was surprised she wasn't sleepier at that point, but time grew short for the game she wanted to play in the next few days, so she needed all the inspiration she could get, especially with no set venue. Sabrina had a general plot for their next scene, or scenes in her head. Being an amalgamation of some referenced mind control scenarios plus ideas she came up with in her youth, it was the most complex endeavor she had yet. But her confidence in the role kept her from worrying about how she would pull it off once she became Scryer. The other details were more worrying question marks on the pad of paper in her lap. There was no place satisfying enough she could think of to settle on, whether there would be any guess appearances like Psiana, whether there'd be any new tricks to play, or suggestions to embed.
The redhead sighed sourly in her palms, feeling the mounting disappointment omen loom over her more and more, a disposition mismatched next to Jon's delicious stupor. Unfortunately he didn't have anything substantial to contribute for options either, whether lucid within a light trance or locked in a buzzing arousal of caresses that kept him hard but not on an edge under her hat. Settling for another standard fare of their role-playing was by no means a disappointing idea on its own, but she opted for something special to combat the potential letdowns coming the following week.
Sabrina's vibrating cell phone shook her from her thoughts. Seeing the familiar number on the screen, she stroked Jon's chest tenderly and kissed his forehead, urging him to keep enjoying the power of her hat. He smiled and gently nodded as she left the bedroom.
"Hi Mom," Sabrina replied cheerfully. "Isn't it late over there?"
"Evening my little rose," a cultured, accented voice intoned. "Wedding planning can be an all-hours job. You seem to be up in the wee hours yourself. Burning the midnight oil?"
"You could say that," Sabrina smirked, ears perking at faint moans behind the closed door. "A busy few weeks ahead."
