[ ρѕℓ ]

[unflagging]

[Herein shall there be PSLs and goings-on.

Please exercise caution if you so choose to read this. Flagg being Flagg, I cannot guarantee everything that goes on here will be safe for work or even safe for life.]

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[ rooms ]

[unflagging]

Such a strange thing, a room. Conceptually, of course. That this space could exist in and of itself, nameless, formless, and without boundaries until such time as boundaries are established. That is, walls, floor, ceiling, door (if applicable). The space has forever existed. Like a gesture made, the gesture's existence cannot be denied and its existence will continue long after stillness and even after the destruction of the hand that made it. The room existed without existing long before it existed. And should the roof be removed, should the walls fall, the room will still be as it had once been a room. That it should only take on a name when it is enclosed, that it should essentially come into being by the establishment of boundaries--a room is a strange thing.

Hooray for the hardness of walls.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall.

Something there was inside this room that didn't love a wall. Or four. Now, in this instance, he was himself on the outside of the door and of the room. He had in other instances been on the other side of the door, but so it was this time that he was on the outside and in possession of the key (keys unlock things) and content to come and go as he pleased from this room--unlike anyone or anything contained therein. Such is the nature of a room.

He crept back to the door (heavy, oaken, set with metal bands) in its stone doorframe, with its lock, and with its guardianship of the lightless (nigh lightless--a little lantern high in the ceiling of this little room threw some light) room behind it. Well done, door. The flexible aspect of the room: that it exists is not enough; it must also be used.

He put the key in his pocket and crept inside.

[advancedbosoms]

She knew pain. A throb in her head, a sudden creak of a door that seemed like it came through a megaphone, and then a light so bright, it made her eyes ache.

Cordelia moved her fingers, feeling the cool of the stone beneath her. Not the carpet or the bedding that, for a small moment, she'd been anticipating. No Los Angeles, no Angel Investigations, no home.

Nothing good.

"Hello, Rory," she said without turning to see who entered. She knew who put her in here, who had locked the door.

"But, really, if we're getting this intimate, I should probably stop calling you that." And now she did turn, craning her neck, fixing an annoyed expression on him as only she could. "What do you prefer? The Wizard is what Bert insists on, but that's a little L Frank Baum for me."

[unflagging]

He leaned against the door (locked) and shrugged (casually).

"You know, I haven't given it much thought. So I guess I don't care. Call me whatever you like. But maybe that's a dangerous thing to tell you. I think I kind of like being 'The Wizard.' Maybe it's because of the L. Frank Baum, you know?"

[advancedbosoms]

She sat up slowly, craning her neck from side to side. Damn crick.

Okay. No need to panic, right? She'd been in worse situations than this. Knocked up with a litter of demons, held hostage by someone who wanted to pluck her eyes out and sell them on the black market, possessed by the spirit of ancient lovers.

"So what names have you gone by before?"

Cordelia took a moment to look around the room, debating what her best exit strategy would be. No windows, stone walls, runes on the walls and an altar. Some sort of room for worship.

Or sacrifice. That was more disturbing. Stick with the worship.

[unflagging]

"Was I too rough with you? You look like you must ache."

For no reason at all, perhaps as much for show as anything if a reason must be given, he took to examining his fingernails. It was something to do.

"I've gone by a few names. More of a litany than I think I'd care to give and you'd care to hear. I've seen your eyes glaze over at me before."

[advancedbosoms]

"Can you blame me? Not sure I've ever met someone who loves the sound of their own voice quite as much as you do."

Okay.

Okay, so he was finally being honest. No point in pretenses once you'd kidnapped someone and locked them in a room.

"So. What are you, then? I've known real wizards and they don't have quite this level of-- whatever. So, demon? Vampire? What?"

[unflagging]

Again, he shrugged--in lieu of a spoken answer. If she didn't want to hear him talk, well, then of course he wouldn't.

[advancedbosoms]

Right. Great.

Silence.

She hated silence.

"I can start glowing again, you know. I've taken you out once, I can do it again."

No. No, she wasn't very good at controlling that particular power, but there was no need for him to know that.

Cordelia pushed herself up, slow and steady, to her feet. God, her head ached. Her eyes were focused on him now, waiting for him to make some move.

[unflagging]

"You could try."

He matched her gaze, let his eyes drop (blatantly gazing not at her face but at everything else about her), then brought his gaze back to her eyes.

"But I know what's coming now. Now I know better. I know such things as would drive most mad. I've read whole books that can make a man lose his sanity and his soul. I can sleep a thousand nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. I can break a man's mind in his own dreams. I can cut a passage between places thousands of miles apart with naught but crystal and chalk. Do you think I can't stop you this time?"

[advancedbosoms]

"See, there you go again!"

As if she were scolding some anybody, some high school boy that was bragging over a homecoming game touchdown:

She had many faults, but a lack of cojones wasn't one of them.

"I've faced bigger and badder than you, Rory. So quit the poetry, level with me, and tell me what your end game is here."

[unflagging]

He sighed--the sort of long-suffering sigh one hears from parents when they're having to deal with their particular bundle of joy on a particularly difficult day.

"Why should I tell you anything?"

[advancedbosoms]

"Well, if you're going to kill me, I think I deserve the story. Besides, don't villains love to monologue, or have Disney movies lied to me all these years?"

Because that had to be the end goal, right? He couldn't shove her away, tell her everything, and then let her go. She'd have proof, something to report.

Or was memory wiping another of his skills, what along with the chugging rivers of blood?

[unflagging]

"Isn't it a sad thing to learn you've been lied to all these years?"

He could, of course, tell her lies about everything and then let her go. She'd have something to report, all right, but it wouldn't be the truth.

"I could just keep you locked up, you know. I don't have a problem with that."

[advancedbosoms]

"From what Bert's told me, you don't have a problem with most things."

She began walking. Slowly. Walking around the length of the room, dragging her palm along the grooves in the carved stone wall, hoping someone had built some kind of secret passageway into the space.

"Besides," Cordelia continued, eyes on her captor, "I wouldn't make a very good pet. I bite, I bark, and I need constant grooming."

[unflagging]

"It's all right."

He watched her as she walked, not stirring a foot himself, only trailing along with his eyes.

"I'll cut off your hands and your feet--perhaps even your arms and your legs. I'll take out your eyes. I'll deafen you--at least on one side. I'll pull out your voice or break it enough to suit me. I'll pull out all your teeth. And then I'll keep you."

[advancedbosoms]

That, finally, gave her some pause.

She stopped, hand against a carving of smoke and fire. Cordelia's mother had always told her that she was too careless with the men she associated with. She had probably been right, but Cordelia was fairly certain that she hadn't been referring to men who would threaten to turn her daughter into a stump.

"Shakespearean," she finally said. "And creepy, I'll give you that. But I've had people try to take my eyes out before. Didn't go so well."

[unflagging]

"Pity," he said quietly. "They do seem like fine eyes to take."

[advancedbosoms]

"Place them on a jar, put them on your coffee table, make a great conversation piece for parties back home in Arkansas?"

Back to tracing a path along the room now, perhaps pressing against the stone a touch harder than earlier.

"Maybe I'll take your eyes instead. I don't have nearly enough evil body parts in my collection."

[unflagging]

"Make 'em into cufflinks. You know. Whatever's clever."

He grinned.

"I'd almost like to see you try. Almost. As it stands, I've a little too much use for my eyes at the moment." Another meaningful look at her, at her shape. "If you kennit."

[advancedbosoms]

"You know, a lot of people over the years have said I'm stupid."

As she approached the altar at the head of the room, she placed her hands onto it, palms down. She leaned her weight against te cool stone, feeling somewhat safer behind the barrier of the object. Not that it could really offer much protection. Maybe a few seconds of it.

Still, it was something.

"I'm not, for the record. I got a 30 on my ACT and I graduated in the top 10% of my class. People think being blunt automatically makes you an idiot, and I get that the whole attractive fashionista vibe doesn't help things. Then again, I don't really give a shit about what assumptions people make. Point is, not a idiot."

She sighed, turning her attention away from the altar and back to him. "But I think it's probable that the very stupidest thing I've done involved that threesome. You broke serious character and I should have realized you weren't a sweet old widower right about then. So, shame on me for not figuring this whole thing out sooner. Can't blame you entirely. Mostly, but not entirely."

[unflagging]

"'Sweet old widower,' huh?" He mused on it, turned the words over in his mouth. "Sweet. I can be sweet. I can't promise I'll ever be nice. But I can be sweet." As if to prove the point, he gave her one of his more charming smiles.

"But the widower part? That part's absolutely true. Surprise." And he sighed again. (What was she doing with that altar, anyway? I suppose it's always nice to have something to do with one's hands at a time like this. But that's what pockets are for, really.)

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I did misjudge you. I thought you were bold and, more than that, I thought you were shrewd. But perhaps I didn't hold your intelligence in as high an estimation as I should have. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. But yes..."

And now he crept forward across the room, one step at a time, bootheels clicking out the steps like clockticking seconds (such a familiar sound, a familiar thing, these clicky-clocky bootheels and how many miles they'd clocked for him on highways and backroads in another time and another place), slowly stepping, sliding across the room.

And now he stood on the other side of the altar from her. Let the barrier stand as it did for now. He had no objections.

"Yes, perhaps that was the very stupidest" and he pinched up his face as he said it, "thing you've ever done. You didn't realize. You let it happen. You brought it on. But I thank you for it. Innocent ignorance isn't a sin. You hadn't yet caught on--and why should you have caught on by then? I hadn't even sent that--" a giggle "--loveletter to your paramour yet. Even he didn't know then. But I should thank you for your ignorance. And his, for that matter."

He leaned closer, over the altar but not completely across it.

"You asked me to take him--for your pleasure and enjoyment. And so I did, for your pleasure and enjoyment and even for his. You didn't know then what you asked of me, nor did he. You squealed and mewled 'I want to watch you fuck him' but what you said was 'Go. Go and take him and ruin him again.' So I did my lady's bidding, as was her pleasure. And for that, yes, I think I should thank you."

[advancedbosoms]

In the litany of stupid decisions she had made, maybe the next one could have fit in the top ten.

When in a locked room with a man who has threatened to dismember you, you:

A.) Run
B. ) Call for help
C.) Find a distraction
D.) Try to hit him
E.) Any of the above except D, fucking avoid D, really please try to stick to A through C.

"You're welcome," she said, after a pause that went on just a fraction too long. And then, a punch and a heated glare were both thrown his way.

[unflagging]

The glare didn't hurt. The punch did. It landed, so good job there, Cordelia. Just a hit on the jaw, something for a bruise or two. Well done. Well done, indeed. And no need to glow or anything else. Splendid.

He took the obligatory stumbling step or two backwards, the half-crouch, the hand to his face, the usual. No real damage--but a very solid hit. Okay, okay.

A moment or two. And then he pulled himself back up to full height.

"Are you content now?"

[advancedbosoms]

"Can't say I'm content, but I can't say that didn't feel pretty awesome."

And yes, she was definitely looking pleased with herself as she rubbed her fist. More smug than full on Cheshire kitty, but no denying it.

"But if you are interested in making me content, I could name a few things. A night with Pierce Brosnan, the Prada spring line, the key to that door."

[unflagging]

"No, no, and no."

He rubbed at his face a moment more, considering.

"You know, seeing as you've injured my face, I wonder what it might be like to wear yours for a while instead."