Hero And Witch Pt 05 3 Heroine Falls

Jon's smile was even faker than usual, putting on a good face for the staff when he wished he'd taken the day off to be just by himself for as long as he could. It was another small miracle that he saw no sign of the women who caused him distress, directly or indirectly. Every chance he got to be alone for the first half of the day, he took it. He spent his break alone, trips to check on things in other parts of the buildings were excuses to not hear anyone else's voice. He ordered his lunch for take-out, something the restaurant wasn't used to, but decided to make an exception for as he wasn't the "loud American" they'd thought he'd be. He smiled and gave the excuse that it was a busy day and he wanted to eat and work with their shepherd's pie, tipping them generously for indulging him.

Under a tree with good shade, he sat and ate his pie, coming to terms with Psiana's thoughts of him and Scryer. Much as he didn't want to admit, he did make concessions for the witch that he shouldn't have, but did anyway. Attraction was there for sure, and it was more than just her being better at it than Psiana, it was more than the mystery behind the woman who toyed with her, who never revealed much about herself except for how much she was into him. He didn't let himself dwell too long, still fearing where his thoughts might take him. The rational part of his mind told him he should focus more on the case, the reason Striker was there in the first place. He wanted to dismiss it outright for the time being, expect his mind pulled at a thread he just realized existed.

Filled with renewed energy, he happily returned to the restaurant again and asked if they knew of a stone masoner in town. The rest of the day Jon didn't have to fake enthusiasm as much because he was late returning from lunch due to a visit to the town masoner, inquiring about the designs he said he curiously found in the area, asking if it was custom work. Apparently it was, and the stone masoner made mention of a red-haired beauty who paid well for his work, actually getting him back into his love of crafting after talking with her. He even had a contact number for the hotel she was staying at in London.

Everyone at the office was finally glad Jon decided to join them for a round of drinks. He laughed with Mark and all the others about how the progress stared to make it feel more like a paid vacation, and how they considered a career change along the lines of "global office construction builder," pending the salary of the average high-level contractor. They spoke of all their dreams, and Jon was happy to report he negotiated something special for their hard work, that on the last day, if everything was finished timely enough, it'd be a paid day of sightseeing around London or wherever close by before the trip home. Jon had to endure a round of badly sung "for he's a jolly good fellow," but still loved seeing anyone under him happy. It was the perfect way to send everyone back early to get an early start, to keep them from bar-hopping like they wanted to.

He told them he wouldn't be taking his own advice and wanted to stroll a little through the city. Mark's look made it clear he thought his true intent was looking for companionship. "What will Jesse say," he asked, already a little tipsy. Jon didn't comment as he sent his friend on his way, waiting before he called his own taxi.

Less than a half-hour later, Jon had entered the room Scryer was using after "borrowing" a key from the front-desk. He waited for a while to listen in and make sure the it sounded vacant from with before, and was surprised to find he wasn't alone.

"Psiana?"

He found the plain-clothed heroine on the other end, looking like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"What are you doing here?"

"Me? What are you doing here?"

"I asked first," he replied. "How did you even find this place?"

"Stone masoner?"

Jon shook his head. If he found it using her inquiry, he shouldn't have been too surprised that she would've found it too.

Both seemed at a loss for words for being in the same room again, Jon a little more so for being in a room filled with Scryer's scent.

"Ok," the hero righted himself. "What did you find?"

"Look, first. Let me get this out of the way. I need to apologize for last night."

"Don't worry about it."

"You saying 'don't worry about it' isn't going to cut it. Seriously, let me get this off my chest."

"Now is not the time," is what he should have said, but what ended up coming out was "be quick."

"I messed up. Real bad, I know that. I was out of line, about everything I think."

"I shouldn't have questioned you like that, and I shouldn't have violated your thoughts like that; they are your own, and they told you what you really wanted. I should've respected the fact that maybe I'm not what you want. I mean, I guess I can see why; I'm kind of plain Jane-ish. The straight, blonde ponytail can't stand up to fiery red hair. She wears the mystery better than anyone. You have a bit of mystery to you, the sort I never expected to be attracted to."

He couldn't help but look at her strange.

"Don't ever tell anyone, but I wish I could talk like her sometimes, the way her voice could descend just to that slow whisper that slows down thoughts to where you're analyzing what she's saying word for word, letting your subconscious parse the words together, and finding out how receptive your subconscious, and by extension all of you is to her words, and before you know it, you're relying on her words to function, because otherwise, you're just still, stuck in place, waiting for more words to tell you what to say, to think, to do, to feel, to be, able to enjoy the oblivion in-between."

Somewhere along the line, she'd gotten closer to him, speaking slower gaining an accent as unmistakable as the scent covering "Psiana." He'd caught her arm at the wrist before it could reach him. He stared at her at the smile he knew on a face it didn't belong to. How she wasn't deterred by his anger proved is fears correct, and he waited for the charade to end.

She snapped her fingers, making him blink several times, and he found Scryer's hand in his grasp, and the rest of her covered in a pink satin robe.

"Nice to see you too, Striker."

"Why do you all keep..." he stopped himself before he'd have to explain his words. "Did you do that to her?"

Scryer gave her trespasser a surprised look, knowing exactly what "that" meant.

"'That,' was all her," answering as directly as she received it.

"Why I should believe you? You knew enough of what happened-"

"I don't care if you believe me about that," she forcefully wrenched her hand out of his grasp, standing off against his looming posture with one unwilling to kowtow. "Especially since that's not the answer you're looking for. A number of spells could've already been cast on you to make you swear of my innocence and her guilt in everything, or even ones to make you forget why you heroes or here, and I bet you'll never ask yourself why I haven't cast them. You don't want to believe she's fully capable of what she did, just because she's a hero. Sorry to break this to you, but not everyone who call themselves hero or heroine will ever fully aspire to the standard you set. Power can corrupt anyone, virtuous or not."

"Is that why you revel in messing with me? Because you think I'm a standard, or virtuous?"

"One reason of many. You're the only one worth giving any attention to. Positive attention, as opposed to what heroines crossing lines they shouldn't will receive."

"Jesus, what is it going to take for you two to bury this thing?"

"More than you think. Witches can be very unforgiving, and don't take well to-"

"Encroaching on what yours?"

"Exactly."

"The big assumption being that I am yours."

"Something you haven't really refuted. That plus how you kicked her out of your room was the only thing keeping me from paying her a visit she'd regret."

"For now though, you taking a shower would be enough to satiate me. You smell of bad omen, stronger than usual. Or, I'm told a sexy musk can clear that right up."

"What are you doing here? Seriously."

"These are my accommodations, hero. What are you doing here, technically uninvited?"

"I meant this area. London, the countryside. Why are you out here?"

"Is there flexibility on heroes being heroes across international waters? Breaking and entering is grey area off your home turf?"

"I could ask the same about witches being wicked worldwide." Deep into the exchange, he wondered how they slid so easily into the banter they shared everytime.

"The difference being heroes have a reputation to uphold. Witches don't have to care what other people think, especially when thoughts tend to be so subjective. But back to the issue of your unlawful entry..."

"Something you started at my hotel."

"Again, significant difference. Can you persuade the lodging staff of who belongs where like I can?" She casually walked over to the room phone, picking it up and dialing.

"Front desk, can you contact security for me? Someone's broken into my room and is still here. I have a feeling it's one of those heroes from America. Yes. Which one? Hold on please."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"He won't say," she spoke into the phone again.

The uncooperative phone sounded off a dial tone just as she was about to describe the hero so security could identify who to take care of. Her honest unprepared reaction got Striker to smile a little, even utter a quip.

"I suppose next comes the spell get me to believe you actually did call security, or will it be the one that makes me forget that I can take them?"

"Striker the brawling vigilante making jokes instead of baseless threats? I'm starting to think all those suggestions of pleasure are actually rubbing off on you."

As if on cue, his expression fled right back to serious, and her smile turned rueful as a result.

"Just for showing me this side of yourself on your own, I'm going to indulge you a little bit. For an undetermined length of time, you may ask questions which I will answer honestly."

"The catch?"

"'Undetermined length of time,'" she repeated.

"Why are you suddenly being honest with me?"

"Hmm, good question to start with. I think you've earned honesty."

"What are the stone formations?"

"The best term to give them is 'portals.'"

"They do more than transport things or people, right?"

"Yes, consider them hubs for witches, of sorts. Long-distance communication, essence-boosting, scrying, long-range spell-casting; they have all sorts of uses. Anyone who trespasses on them get a joyride of pleasure in the circles, and a visit from a witch to help them forget about such things, as you well know."

"Why are you out here?"

"Witches like to travel, the countryside is beautiful this time of year."

Striker stared hard at her as if expecting a more thorough answer, which gave way seconds later.

"And this is pretty close to my ancestral homeland."

"Ireland."

"Yes, the accent of course."

He continued staring at her, his face growing in consideration. She was about to speak more to elaborate, but was interrupted.

"Do you have a name besides Scryer?"

It was the last questions she expected to be asked, neither expecting the naked interest on his face.

"Sabrina."

The corners of Striker's mouth tugged, almost producing a smile. He remembered her saying something about her name being impossible to pronounce, but it seemed like she was more insecure. It created some levity as she didn't even try guarding that part of herself.

"Nice name," he spoken in a voice softer than she's ever her him use, while conscious and aware.

Scryer enjoyed the moments of silence that followed as he had another, more intimate name to put a face to the seductress.

"What's your end-game with me, with Psiana, with anything?"

"Pleasure and adventure, for anything. I have no end-game with the psychic as long as she leaves you be."

"Begging the question..."

"And I so love when you beg," she couldn't help but add. "I want you to want it what we have as much as I do. Willingly, of your own volition. Toying with you, setting that resistance in you aside will probably never not be fun, so there will always be that. But sooner or later, you're going to have to admit to yourself that it's not just me drawing you in."

"Can you even name a relationship that's worked out, similar to the one you're proposing?"

"Batman and Catwoman," she said without missing a beat.

"Fictional characters," he complained

"That are still an apt example. You're familiar with the comics?"

"Vaguely. Catwoman wasn't the only love he had. There was Zatanna, Talia, Wonder Woman, probably others I'm missing. They didn't even stay together, did they?"

"Depends on the writer. But anyway, in your narrow view, heroic Batman and villainous Catwoman should have never been a thing to begin with, no matter how much she flaunted and sashayed at him. Yet all that stubbornness, determination, and strength still gave way to her offering, over the offerings of other villainesses offering the same, sometimes with more persuasive means. He had to want it too; no other woman, other villain, other person period, got to Bruce Wayne like Selina Kyle did. That's how they became and stayed a thing for as long as the writers allowed, which if I'd gotten to the writers in charge would've been forever. Go ahead and try to tell me some of these circumstances don't sound familiar."

"Over-imaginative head-cannon."

"And you had a good imagination when it came to me before I was in that head of yours, you proved that the night we met. Throughout the night."

"What are your plans for the distant future?"

Scryer yawned involuntarily.

"Sleep."

He hesitated, hearing the single word, questioning whether he or his body would respond to it, but nothing came as she walked toward her king size bed.

"And..."

"And I've determined that we've reached the conclusion of asking questions tonight."

"You can't answer that simple question, or you just don't know?"

"You are insatiable at night, you know that?"

"Persistent," he corrected.

"I might reward that persistence upon the insistence that you tuck me in. Maybe you'd prefer it that way since you get fussy with my invitation."

The covers on the bed were pulled, and the robe was tossed on a nearby chair, revealing her evening negligee. Temptingly standing next to it, one hand at her side expectantly, the charming witch awaited his response. She let his eyes take in the near-naked sight of her from head to toe, noticing every descriptive detail on his face. Eventually he walked away without a word and closed the door behind him. Slightly frustrated, but still smiling, she turned off the lights and tucked herself in. Her last thoughts were of how much longer he hesitated in deciding whether to resist, before dreaming of when he'd finally succumb.

***

Sunlight gleamed into Jesse's room through the narrow gap of the almost-closed curtains, shining in her eyes. Shifting avoid the brightness, she tried forcing herself back to sleep, before the alarm clock sounded and her eyes popped open automatically. The psionic slumberer yawned and stretched, pulling the covers off of her, and setting herself in the middle of her bed, legs crossed for her morning meditation. She closed her eyes and scanned her surroundings as usual, getting her usual lay of the land, sensing people, animals, anything she could sense. It was a necessary mental exercise she needed when she first found her power. A quiet moment alone to orientate herself with having powers, to secure a moment where she could block the thoughts of others out completely for literal alone time. Once she got a handle on them, the meditation time was used to stretch them out and see how far to she could see with her mind. Miles upon miles she could see without it being a strain.

That morning was more of a reorientating period. After scanning the number of people in her vicinity, she looked to see her potential for controlling multitudes at a time, something Psiana had no need of, but Lacine, the current conductor behind the heroines body was very interested in. Lacine as a whisperer to the heroine for the last few days thought she understood enough of the mind to cajole and manipulate, but using Psiana powers, she realized how ineffective whispering seemed by comparison, surprised she could even affect the heroine with such an understanding of the mind. She had struck gold in acquiring this body, a means proving to be as valuable as the end she sought.

A body was sensed approaching her door. She smiled as she got off her bed, hearing footsteps get close. She smirked at surprising the person knocking on the other side of the door with a swift opening of the door.

"Woah," the man that looked familiar to Jesse said.

"Good morning," Lacine scanned Jesse's memories. "Mark. How are you?"

"I'm..good, I'm good Jesse. Didn't see you down at breakfast, and figured you didn't want to miss the breakfast service before the grind started."

"Ah yes. I must've overslept. Still feeling a little tired. You know what that's like right?"

Lacine furrowed Jesse's brow, trying to access the concentration powers Psiana often used.

"Yeah, I know what...that's like." Mark didn't know a polite way to tell a manager that she looked fussy all of a sudden.

Lacine stopped for a second, and pressed on the part of Jesse tucked away within herself. After a moment, a smile accompanied the furrowing brow, and Mark suddenly stopped worrying about her expression. He knew everything was fine, thanks to her.

"'Seize the day,' as they say. And everyone in it."

***

Everyone at the office was working with the most vigor they'd had since they arrived, back into a groove they not experienced in years, doubling the rate they'd thought they'd be moving, nearing the completion of the last floor of cubicles to build. With a few electricians visiting to do extra checks on the building's wiring, high spirits were abound as everyone believed they were close, ready to enjoy the day off in London they were earning. Jon or the other managers barely had to help motivate anyone, as they all felt the end within reach.

Lots was done by the end of the morning, and they tried working through lunch even though Bevy and Jon had to force everyone to take a break and get food instead of over-working themselves all day. Jon got a quick lunch from his favorite spot, and rushed back to the office in the middle of their lunch hour, feeling the need to check on things, and to make sure people were actually taking their break. Coming up the stairs to the landing of the second floor, he thought he heard voices coming from the floor they'd already finished. It could've been the electricians, or the programmers with headphones on again, he thought randomly. But he was still curious enough to investigate the man's and woman's voice he heard as he opened the door to listen in and try to identify things.

It didn't take him long to recognize Bevy's voice, and the female one bearing an accent. The Striker prowess in him surged quickly as he stealthed his way toward the sounds of the noise, inside a vacant office. The door slightly ajar, he saw Bevy on his knees, but could barely see the other person. He sounded exactly like someone who's mind was being influenced, which led him to believe Scryer was having more fun, except the accent sounded stranger than he was used to. Domineering commands of obedience, control, and superiority sounded familiar, yet still odd to him.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

A voice whispered in his ear out of nowhere; he rolled his eyes at the advice given, believing Scryer wasn't looking to be disturbed while she played.