Ammina watches her leave. The faint ruefulness and frustration fade from his features as the smoke drifts after her, intangible and invisible, drifting into the pocket of her jeans. The smoke and ash reknits together once again into rice paper - this time, a thin, flexible card with a seven digit number upon it.
With that thread set into place, he turns to move the next piece, reentering the resturant and gliding to a spot with a view Devon's table with effortless grace. The couple has lapsed into full denial mode, giggling with each other as they steadily get more and more drunk - even Devon, who cannot get drunk as mortals do, through steady, stealthy sip of Jessie's blood and drowning in the numbness therein. The combination of blood loss and alcohol has left her dizzy and redfaced.
It is no effort to puppeteer Devon once again - he has little self-control, now or ever. He is so remarkably unaware that he doesn't even understand that it's not a random whim until his hands begin to write a message on the napkin before him that he'd never imagined.
Negotiations have failed
Persuade and turn her
Appeal to publicity
I will handle fallout
The message leaves Devon a little paler, oddly reassured, but with an ominous feeling of impendent doom.
If Mercy will not comply freely, then the proper response is to limit her freedom until she does. He can crack the base of Well's power in multiple ways, and the concilatory approach was merely the quickest to try and be lost. With the firestorm that will result from Jessie's announcement, the Senator's house will crumble, and his purpose will be achieved nonetheless. If that doesn't accomplish it, the tattoo is enough to force the divide open by itself. Her reaction was enough evidence.
He's not entirely certain why he left the number. It's probably because what he's setting into motion will turn her life into wreckage, and he prefers to tidy his own affairs. There will be at least one more conversation with Miss Battle, he's certain, but depending on how she reacts she may not walk out a free woman still.
The prolieo is not inert, and if need be, he can command her through it. The fate of one human is not a thing that burdens his conscience overmuch.
With that thread set into place, he turns to move the next piece, reentering the resturant and gliding to a spot with a view Devon's table with effortless grace. The couple has lapsed into full denial mode, giggling with each other as they steadily get more and more drunk - even Devon, who cannot get drunk as mortals do, through steady, stealthy sip of Jessie's blood and drowning in the numbness therein. The combination of blood loss and alcohol has left her dizzy and redfaced.
It is no effort to puppeteer Devon once again - he has little self-control, now or ever. He is so remarkably unaware that he doesn't even understand that it's not a random whim until his hands begin to write a message on the napkin before him that he'd never imagined.
Negotiations have failed
Persuade and turn her
Appeal to publicity
I will handle fallout
The message leaves Devon a little paler, oddly reassured, but with an ominous feeling of impendent doom.
If Mercy will not comply freely, then the proper response is to limit her freedom until she does. He can crack the base of Well's power in multiple ways, and the concilatory approach was merely the quickest to try and be lost. With the firestorm that will result from Jessie's announcement, the Senator's house will crumble, and his purpose will be achieved nonetheless. If that doesn't accomplish it, the tattoo is enough to force the divide open by itself. Her reaction was enough evidence.
He's not entirely certain why he left the number. It's probably because what he's setting into motion will turn her life into wreckage, and he prefers to tidy his own affairs. There will be at least one more conversation with Miss Battle, he's certain, but depending on how she reacts she may not walk out a free woman still.
The prolieo is not inert, and if need be, he can command her through it. The fate of one human is not a thing that burdens his conscience overmuch.