Hero And Witch Pt 05 2 Heroine Falls

The next day was a bit of a strain for Jon. As it turned out, his body disagreed with the angle he slept, somewhere between upright and leaning on his side. So paranoid about Scryer's return that he ended up sleeping in a state he didn't mean to, trying to keep himself as alert as he could, before a hazy mind gave way to light sleep, and then the heavy sleep his body had wanted all day since arrived in the UK.

Hiding the fact that he was hurting gently among his co-workers wasn't as effective as he'd hoped it would be. A few eyebrows raised at his occasional wincing of lifting walls to arrange as cubicles. Though it was a refreshing change of pace from boring memos, eyes strained from being fixed on screens, and working just short of carpel tunnel syndrome, the delegation of becoming free labor of building an office, paid or not, took its toll early. It made sense for their workplace back in the US since it was their start-up, but the pride from maintaining their own office wasn't present. Most hadn't seen a day's worth of physical exertion since their own office years ago. And worse yet, Jon Task, their symbol of strength and determination for getting the job done the first time, who'd volunteered to do it all over again, seemed less determined as he took it slower than he wanted to, fighting minor aches in his back, and distractions.

From the moment he stepped in the building, he swore he'd caught the occasional flash of red hair. Out of the corner of his eye, she'd be walking by, in and out of the room. In a blind spot, it'd feel as if he could turn his head and come face-to-face with her, leaving him scared to look anywhere but in front of him. All the faint catches of her around the constructed space gave him the impression that she'd infiltrated his place of work to toy with him, maybe. Instead of the witchy get-up, an image of a business-disguised Scryer came to mind, walking around, inspecting with a clipboard in her hand, checking off names and tasks as if she was really doing work, or making a checklist for who or what she would toy with. Detest surged in his mind because he really couldn't tell if it was only his mind playing tricks on him, or he had help. Assuming she was really there, showing herself, as much as he really didn't want to engage her, he would have to before she turned her attention toward others.

He thought the mental tricks were getting worse as he caught an additional flash of blonde hair tied into a ponytail, Psiana's signature look as he remembered it. Hers was more frequent, much more interactive as he swore her form was literally talking to people. He almost dropped one of the walls on his foot as Psiana's form looked right at him, knowingly, until someone called out "Jesse," to which she responded and walked over. Jon tried to keep his eyes from going wide as he realized she was actually there. It unnerved him to think of how she'd used her powers to encroach on his alter ego, heroine or not, using her own alter ego or not.

"I guess the work is even getting to the managers," Mark, probably Jon's best friend at the office spoke at his side.

"What?" Jon turned his head.

"You and Jesse; that look you two gave each other. Looked like you two were in on something; planning a mutiny, are we?"

Jon outwardly shook his head, knowing Mark loved to poke fun at the idea of a less-than-exemplary manager Jon. Inwardly, he frowned at how Psiana was imprinting into everyone the idea that she not only belonged among his co-workers, but that they all worked under her. Smart, yet overkill, depending on what she was planning to do, which Jon hoped was very little. If Bevy would run into her, Jon hoped his boss would only see her as another manager and not the CEO or anything.

"Ok, no mutiny. My next guess is rendezvous."

"Tell me you mean 'business meeting,' like coordinating when the PCs are supposed to arrive."

"Sure, if that's what the kids are calling trysts these days. Yeah. But I'm not sure there's much need to meet on how on how to motivate the team on how to put the walls up faster, or for getting the memo out on how to screw things in properly."

Mark' face lit up with the pun he almost missed, leaving Jon with the need to quickly dispel it.

"Trust me, man. You'd have a better chance," is what he almost said, a desperate gambit in getting Mark off his back for fear of office politics, and a greater fear of perpetuating the idea of "Jon and Jesse," or "Striker and Psiana" where Scryer could show her face. Were it not for Mark's womanizing, or "woman appreciating" as he called it, he would've settled for that, but Jon took a breath came up with as diplomatic a statement as he could.

"If you start improving yourself on the work level, maybe you'll learn what we managers really deal with. Same work as you plus more, for maybe better pay," Jon said while lifting a wall, trying to set an example while he talked.

"Jon?" A female voice directed his attention away from Mark. Jesse stood a few feet away, wiping sweat from her brow.

"I'll leave you managers to it then," Mark walked away with a smile on his face.

"Hey...Jesse," he said before lowering his voice to an angry whisper, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"Just seeing if things are as hard for you in our line of work," she said, making Jon want to facepalm for her conspicuous wording. "We need to talk soon," she spoke quieter than Jon's whisper, but heard loud and clear in Jon's head.

"Yeah, they're pretty hard for me. Will be even harder if I don't keep at it," Jon faked a smile, brushing her off to resume his work.

She walked away to continue more of her "work," leaving Jon alone.

Out-of-sight of anyone else, he banged his head gently against a wall in his grasp, hoping his day wouldn't be anymore trying.

***

Jon found a small, quaint restaurant for lunch. He ordered a shepherds pie and sat by himself with some work documents, trying to keep his mind focused on work and the investigation he had planned later that day. He shifted in his seat, parts of him feeling sore for having slept on a bathroom floor, the pain reminding him of the comfort that almost happened, and whom he would've shared it with.

"Wow, small world!"

Jon didn't bother looking up at his "fellow manager," the hope of having lunch alone dashed. He kept his cool as she took a seat without being offered one.

"Funny how you run into the same people lately, isn't it?" Jesse spoke like an old friend. "Hi, what's good here?" She asked the waiter.

"One shepherds pie for the lady then?" he asked with a thick, local accent.

"Sounds...good, thanks."

The waiter went off to give their order.

"What the hell is shepherd's pie?" she whispered to Jon.

"Meat and mashed potatoes pie."

"Thank god. I was thinking sheep entrails or something."

"Sheep entrails can be considered meat, too," he joked, not looking to meet her frustrated stare.

A look just short of a scowl never left Striker's face as he regarded the other American.

"Why the hell did you follow me here?"

"I figured you could use some back-up."

"For what? I'm here on business."

"Right. Hero business."

"No-."

"No need to bullshit," she interrupted. "A business trip to a part of the world where your wizard...acquaintance, we'll call her. Her accent isn't so uncommon. I didn't even need psychic powers to put that one together."

"Don't you have a day job back home that's missing you right now?"

"Are you one of those workaholics that forget the word 'vacation' exists?"

The banter between them felt even more annoying than when he engaged Scryer, like he wanted to be done with the psychic as soon as possible. They were on the same side in principle, even though he liked working solo, but her mental intrusions unnerved him more than Scryer's oddly enough.

"Ok, look. The times Scryer messed with...my head, the more it happened, the more I saw things."

"Saw things...?"

"Like shared information," he elaborated so she wouldn't have to look. "The signal or link between us, at times it became less one-way and more sharing a similar consciousness. She could see things just like I could. I saw, or maybe just felt, things she knew, places that could be identified by feeling. Like this place."

"What's special about this place?"

"I have no idea. It's not like I can just look on a map and point out a place that's significant to her power. I just know, I can feel it right now. How significant, or what I expect to find, I don't know."

"But you don't want her to be a total mystery; looking for weaknesses. I get it."

"What's your stake in this?"

"It goes without saying that I don't like her, right? I almost don't need anymore reason than that,"

"She told me that she'd sensed you because you were tracking me with your power, and didn't like it."

"But of course," Jesse continued "I have more. She's trouble, the kind of threat I'd like to be able to take care of anyway I can. That's no secret to you, right?"

"I'm not going to jump to conclusions with her, but..."

"Are you kidding? You want to give her the benefit of the doubt? You don't see a bad situation with her just waiting to happen? Everything in me, and I do mean everything, is telling me she needs to be dealt with asap."

Strange as some of her statement seemed, he tried addressing the main points. "I see that just like I see kicking the hornet's nest just because it's dangerous, even though it hasn't bothered anybody. Do I need to point out to you how some heroes started out as villains based on misunderstandings, how a super found me and assumed I was a bad guy based on the guy I had to take down, never seeing the civie I saved? You really want to start stuff with her?" Striker tried reasoning with her.

"Do I need to remind you she's already done some, 'bothering' as you call it, herself? You're not exactly burying your head in the sand and ignoring the long view. You want to know more, so we can do something about her if we need to. And the day will come when we need to."

Jon said nothing about her prediction as he sipped on his water, and saw their orders had arrived. He satisfied his hunger, considering Jesse's words. She may have been psychic, but he didn't necessarily trust her passionate long-view about Scryer. The witch's name, suggestive of being a seer, made him wonder how she might see things if roles were reversed.

"None of what she's saying really seems to matter, does it?" a voice rang deep into his ear, echoing in his mind. Jesse never noticed Jon's momentary freezing from shock, collecting himself quickly before she could sense something was wrong. The playful smile in the voice's timbre quickly indicated it wasn't the psychic engaging him in mind-speak.

"It's fascinating how all of Jessica's concerns, all her fears about me could be true, proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, coming closer to that point with her every word. You'd be amazed at how just hearing her discussing me, with disdain, with speculation and bias, trying to figure out how to fight me, in vain, how all of that just stirs my cauldron in a bad way. Makes a sorceress want to flirt with that darker shade of grey, to live up to the hype."

Jon reacted with a loud gulp, hoping that wouldn't incite the psychic to scan his thoughts. She was thankfully busy, letting her taste buds decide whether she liked what she'd ordered or not.

"I would be quite the threat, wouldn't I? Such a convincing, malefic femme fatale. Watching her digging her own metaphorical grave, mouthing off against a force she, none of you, can stop. Among your silly little cabal of collected heroes, I've sampled all of you and humbled and thoroughly enticed the two who could make the most difference in fighting me. Whatever war, conflict, or squabble could be had is pretty much expired; fire preemptively extinguished before a spark could be ignited. Of course, I'm speaking rather in generalizations. The numerous, weak-minded spandex lovers amongst you makes any fire you could produce too small to see. Hers would be like blowing out a candle; simplicity itself. Your fire, on the other hand, I am inclined to let that burn. A small but meaningful burn that resides deep within the substance that makes you up. Sparked from the moment we met, and will never die out if I have anything to say about it...and I have everything to say about it."

Jon tried to calm her down with his inner voice, needing to assuage her for fear of the genuine excitement in her voice. He could barely hear himself speak as she ignored his weak pleas; they were too silent to disrupt her descent into villainy.

"'Is she truly benevolent, or was that a fib and she's pure evil? Or does she lie somewhere in-between?'" Hot, antagonizing, pertinent questions that toss fuel on that already deep fire, setting you ablaze in my presence, or even right now. You hear my voice, and are vulnerable to any random idea I vocalize. The ridiculous psychic nearby rambling on, words being drowned out like white noise while my voice takes over, making you wish I was in her place. And oh how you'd love that, wouldn't you? Of course you would. Speaking to your mind while we silently gazed at each other like ardent lovers. Your adoring gaze trapped in my eyes as if that journeyed trigger hung in the air, wishing I'd use the other red-hued suggestion on you. What was that? Crimson...something," she teased sensuously, mercilessly, "requiring you to lean closer. And I swear there was one that would make you slip under the long table cloth. Mmmmm, such a delicious burn, I know. You're so fixated on a voice now that you've completely disregarded the existence of an entire person talking to you nearby. I have to remind you that she exists now, I control your world so. Perhaps she is the candle that I blow out, right before bed, but not before I see what letting hot wax spill onto that chest of brawn and power, making it feel as hot as it looks to me bare."

Jon blew at the bites of shepherds pie on his fork, pretending it was still hot, masking feeling another heat. His imagination betrayed him as he knew it aided in making him feel the strike of the hot liquid burn his chest slightly, feeling it bunch up and harden over his nipples. He saw her hands claw at it to break the cooled wax off of him, watching her lips slowly purse to blow out the candle that was Jesse, commencing pitch black sensual, intimate playtime.

"Though not as fun as the real thing, how about a little foreplay? I wouldn't recommend refusing it, for the simple fact that you can't. You've already started with the wax, but this will be even better. That top button on your shirt, you'll start to notice it being moved, circled with a fingernail, toyed with. Under that handsome tie, the top button comes undone. You'd think otherwise, looking down, that what I'm saying is nonsense. Maybe that will be how you resist me this time - if you can't see it, then it isn't so. A sound tactic in lots of different scenarios, and you just need to believe this is one of them. So go on, believe that it isn't happening. Believe that what I'm saying is nonsense. Believe it to be nonsensical that a velvety hypnotic voice isn't the only thing that you can hear. Believe you can hear the blonde in front of you now, heeding the words of caution from the voice's owner. Believe that the hands aren't moving to the next button, trailing down your chest in a straight line."

It could've been a deterrent for him, but Scryer suggestively prattling on about how she should weakened his confidence in it. He'd be playing into her hands, even if it did work, so a surge of pride made him sit there and take it. Memories of Karate training were summoned on command of taking blows from fists and wooden weapons while maintaining a still stance. It helped keep him still in front of Jesse and the few other patron in the restaurant, barely so as he wasn't used to contending a touch and voice designed to break him down from within.

"You are so steadfast and attractive in your disbelief, sweetie; you just don't know how hot. I might as well be unbuttoning a shirt sheathing granite behind it for how solid and unaffected you look. Another button down, and your belief increases. Maybe this voice in your head isn't really there, maybe it's a figment of your imagination, and you're only imagining me saying these things. And far be it from me not to congratulate you on correctly imagining me, or yourself not to congratulate yourself, with...me congratulating you later? Hard to keep that straight as another button comes undone, and then another. Just enough of a gap so a hand can reach in to feel what's underneath. Is your belief still as strong or as hard as this granite chest I'm feeling now? Caressing you in the middle of a public restaurant where your alter ego needs to compose himself, to be the upstanding citizen Striker fights to protect, only now he's fighting a hand loving the flesh against her fingertips, lightly scratching, wanting to bite those hard pecs, feeling the most granite thing about you seems to be those rock hard nipples that get pinched between fingers and pristine nails. So hard to not make a sound, to not give our interaction away. So hard to tell which one got pinched first, which one will get pinched last, if it will ever stop, and how do your beliefs and eyes deceive you from what you feel, from what I feel. That fire in you making you start to sweat through your pores, or is that just me?"

The hand not being used to eat had gripped one of the legs of the wooden table, controlling himself so he could grip and exude power somewhere, but not rip it off to impulsively slash the table in-half out of frustration.

"I wonder if these buttons are being undone faster or slower than the average superhero's mind. So hard to calculate; well, not so hard with no one to stop me. Doesn't stop you from being hard though, does it? Oh my, I've never known granite to quiver, to shudder like that. Oooh yes, just like that. Do it again, for me. Mmmmm, excellent. I wonder if your lunch companion can tell what's happening to you. Does she realize how you're feeling? Does she think she's the one causing it? Such a hauteur. Hopefully a superhero would at least be curious enough to investigate what you're sensing, her energies running into the magical barrier I've cast around you that leaves her spellbound and out of sorts for a few moments. Yes, you can see it on her face, can't you? How she tried, just like that, and now embodying the blonde air-headed stereotype she could model on a regular basis for. Not bad for the work of a voice you don't believe in, eh? Or...do you believe now?"

"It's merely timing. Has to be," Jon told himself, how Jesse just spaced out for a moment. "I don't believe...no. I don't...what do I...believe?"

"Still no? Well, with that hand deep in your shirt, roaming south, let's see if you don't believe in handjobs..."

Business-dressed Striker nearly bolted from his seat, explaining how he needed to visit the restroom nearly in gibberish. Fingers of that hand made it just beyond his belt buckle before he stood up. He did his best to hide the half-mast in his pants, just like he did his best to go no further than half-mast for that voice. He could only hope cold water splashed on his face and time to build mental composure would do the trick.

He entered as calmly as it could, fortunate to find himself alone. Several deep breaths started to help bring back his composure, taking off the wireless headset he forgot was attached to his ear, unable to remember if it was an impulse buy or a gift as he didn't use them often. He wanted to take his shirt off to fully vent the heat built up from Scryer's words, but stuck to cold water on his face and at the back of his neck. He took a few minutes of standing at the sink with his head down to force her words out of his head, regaining control of his breathing and rattled nerves. It seemed all for naught as was suddenly embraced from behind.