human
Boredom.
To a woman like Roberta Cart, it was a word that meant death. Yet, it was a sensation she was never able to shake. People going about their boring lives, talking about their boring problems, their boring families, their boring hopes and dreams. It always made her hate them, watching normal human beings mill about without any concept offun.
Of course, she managed to get her amusement, from time to time. Her special little ability came in handy for shaking things up, bringing on a bit of excitement. She never stopped to consider that they might not want it; they just didn't know better. When she put on the charm, they always ended up liking it. At least, until the spell wore off and their life was left in ruins. But Bobby was long gone by then.
That was what she was: a hurricane. She flitted in and out of people's area, their personal scope, ripping up the very foundation that their dull little existence was built on. For some, she would be the only escape from the mundane of their day to day. Shouldn't she be thanked for that?
She was out of liquor, her glass empty. Resisting a sigh, she looked over at the barman. He was pretending not to stare at her from the mirror hanging over the back of the bottle racks. They always pretended not to stare, but she could always feel their eyes. Several more sets were trained on her now, and she plucked the olive from her empty tumbler and sucked on the rounded, bitter end.
The man stiffened (she was sure in more imperceptible ways than just his shoulder), and he immediately began to make her another drink. She didn't have to ask, she already had her talons in him. She felt a wave of disdain, quickly hidden in her beautiful features.
It had not been until she hit puberty that she discovered the bizarre - and rather subtle - mutation. Her family, bigots until the end, never would have accepted her had her abilities come with physical side effects, or been easier to prove. But by the time she understood what she was, they had been just as easy to manipulate as anyone else.
For years, she had experimented with the desires of others. Until one day she had been able to shift the perceptions and loyalties of the people around her so easily that they bent to her will in seconds. Eventually, her ruse had been discovered thanks to contact from some 'school'. That had alerted her parents to what their daughter was, and she couldn't take them all at once, not at that point of her youth. So she had left with every cent to their name, and set off to travel the world.
Now, at the age of twenty-nine, it was completely under control. Though the secondary side effect that had not kicked in until a couple of years out of her teens, the one that seemed to slow (or completely eliminate, she wasn't sure) the process of aging would raise eyebrows even in her own forgotten brood.
Taking the drink when the bartender shakily gave it to her, she smiled up at him without any warmth. Her fingers brushed his hand, and she watched him shiver. "Thank you," she said, and he numbly nodded, eyes glassy. She sneered slightly at his back when he turned again.
Pathetic.
"You -- you think you might need another of those?"
The man, a middle aged, twitchy fellow, had been watching her from a few seats down for awhile. She didn't bother to look at him; she wasn't interested. Pulling her thick, dark hair over one shoulder, she could almost feel him sweat at the sight of olive skin barely covered by the little red dress.
"No," she said with cold disinterest. The man looked at her for a moment, apparently deciding if he should say anything to argue. Then he shambled away, crestfallen.
God, she fucking hated them.
gpt
"Wine," he said. "Vin jaune- a Chteau-Chalon 83 would be best. Two glasses."
The speaker was tall and deceptively lean, wearing a hunter grean trench coat over a black suit. His hair was long and dark, his eyes piercing and of indeterminate color, and the faint smile on his lips made him appear to be amused by some private joke.
"Uhm..." the bartender said, considering. "We don't have anything like that."
The man in green and black have an elaborate sigh. "What barbarians. Could you, at least, be more specific?"
"More specific?"
"Yes." The man in green and black rested a hand on the bar, close enough for Roberta to feel the warmth of his skin. "Is it Chteau-Chalon 83 you lack? Or is it any form of avin jaune? Or, All-Father forbid, is itwine?"
"We have wine," the bartender answered. "Not much call for it here, though. I'd have to look and see what..."
"Spare me." The man in green and black considered the five different beers on tap, and the multiple bottles of liquor, and shook his head. "Let me see... I believe I'll have..."
Here, he made a great show of seeming to have just noticed Roberta. "The lady!" he finished. "I'll have whatever she has, and I'll offer her another of the same."
The bartender looked confused, and the man in green and black sighed again. "Bring me," he said, speaking slowly and clearly, "a glass of whatever it is my lady here is drinking. And bring her another glass as well. Youexistto take orders, do you not? How do you make a living, unable as you are to comprehend simple instructions?"
The bartender's eyes flashed angrily and he might have said something, but the man in green and black made a gesture and sent him on his way. Then he seated himself on the stool next to Roberta and gave her a smile. "You are hardly alone," he said with a smile. "I... how did you phrase it? I fucking hate them, too." A pause. "Whyever would you lower yourself to mingling with the likes of these... these cattle?"
human
Normally, Bobby wouldn't respond to the whole "what's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this" style of flirtation. But this man did it with such style that the moment he slid onto the barstool, all pomp and arrogance, she found herself intrigued. It was clear that he was not playing a part, but completely dominated the room with the force of his personality. He was certainly the most interesting man in the bar.
She watched him order what she was having - another tactics that would have only worked for him - before he turned his attentions on her entirely. Her eyebrow flicked up at his question, amused.
"They are all cattle," she replied simply, running a finger along the rim of her glass. "Not just here, but everywhere. If I were to stop lowering myself, I would have to find a deserted island to build my home. Besides..."
The barman had returned with two glasses and was glaring. She batted her lashes and smiled at him, immediately watching the tension in his shoulders melt away, his face taking on a stupid, lovesick grin. Her finger flicked, as though flipping him away, and he turned to do her bidding at once, leaving them to their conversation. Her smile turned to a look of distaste.
"...playing with them is so much fun. Usually."
She took a sip from her fresh drink, turning to face the man fully. One leg crossed over the other as she considered him. He was attractive and well dressed, his pale face a picture of certainty. But it was the air about him that interested her the most. That, and the fact that she had no doubt that he had picked up on the secret behind her control.
Most assumed she was just some femme fatale able to control men through the power of sex appeal. The way he was looking at her, she was sure he knew she was a mutant. Was he one, as well?
"Speaking of which, why are you sitting here among the chaff?"
gpt
He laughed delightedly at her final question. "What am I doing among the cattle? Why, Bobby, I have been going up and down in the Earth, walking too and fro." He sipped his drink, and the laughter died away. "What is this excerable beverage? No, no, don't tell me. I doubt I wish an answer."
He traced a pattern above his glass, and the liquid within changed color. He sipped it again, and sighed in pleasure. "Much better. I never did master the 'water to wine' trick, but 'rotgut to mead' serves quite well."
He took another sip, then turned a little to face her. "But, to answer your question, I've no interest in the Carpenter's sheep at all. I merely mingle with his flock, seeking wolves."
Quite frankly, he looked her over. But this wasn't - entirely - the sort of look that a beautiful woman in a little red dress ordinarily gets from a man. Oh, of a certainty he took his time looking at long, shapely legs and dark, lustrous hair and all points of interest inbetween. But there was an appraisal in his look as well, as if he were considering a new car or a new partner.
"A wolf," he continued. "A bored wolf who dresses as a sheep, enticing them to come willingly to their dooms, and who longs to do more." He raised his glass, drained it, and lifted an eyebrow. "Would you know anyone like that, Bobby Cart?"