PRODIGAL SON [private]

[TETRIS]

As the combination lock clicked mechanically, third time around, the dial stopped at '29' and a narrow rectangle of light fell into the cubical. Gladstone made short work of the insurance ads, discarding them in a waste-bin as he sauntered slowly back to his room, across the hall from the mailboxes.

He stopped short in his doorway, slowly lifting an ordinary white envelope from the pile, eyes narrowing as he perused it. All of his mail was addressed to
Mr. Gladstone, Jr.
Verge Apartments, Room 101

That was the address he gave, if he ever gave one out. This white envelope listed 'Mr. Gideon Gladstone' on the recipient's line. No prizes for guessing who was writing him. Gladstone tossed the envelope on his desk, unopened. Then, on second thoughts, he transferred it to his bed, at least for the time being. He would rather not have the typewritten letters watch him as he attempted to catch up in his paperwork.

There was a formidable pile of manilla sitting stacked neatly, and he took the first sheet gingerly, scanning the paragraphs of dense text, each one obligingly equipped with blank boxes and lines where he was expected toenter numbers, sign, and fill in information that held no relevance to anyone, would probably be lost somewhere in transit, and would be asked of him in another four months. It was no use. Just looking at the script irritated Gladstone, and drew his thoughts back to the envelope now on his bed. He supposed this was his "father's" idea of a treat. A cushy job as manager of an apartment complex, where he would have time to practice his social interactions, clergical abilities, and all other skills absolutely necessary for an aspiring CEO or politician, but hardly for someone like himself.

What he actually did want to do, he wasn't sure. But he had been increasingly restless with this life. It had been entertaining in the beginning, undoubtedly. Some meager sensation of power, which certainly appealed to him. But it was empty responsibility, hollow authourity. The building would function quite as well without a manager. His people, so to speak, the tenants, were hardly a difficult bunch to deal with. Besides breaking up the infrequent party that was getting out of hand, he had no other taxing responsibilities. Unless you counted actual taxes, and filing IRS return statements. Gladstone did not count that work.

There were many reasons why he should just stay here and cool his heels. Among them, was the self-sufficiency it involved. No doubt there was a generous check waiting for him in his father's mail. He no longer needed that. He couldn't live quite as comfortably or carelessly on the income he made as a manager, but what was the sacrifice of convenience for freedom? Likewise, he had entered into a contract with Peach Greene, and Gladstone hardly liked to renegade on his promises.

"Should I?" He eyed the envelope. Estimating, wondering, just how much was in there. If it was a sufficiently large sum... well, he could cash it and run. It would be weeks, months even, before his father had a reason to suspect anything. In the worst case, he was quite comfortable living on his own in the wild. He might not even need all the money. If there were only a thousand in the envelope, he could buy a ticket to Europe, and from there, disappear. As for the consideration of his managerial position, Greene couldn't complain if he found someone competent to replace him. Like King. Or that Schwarzenblatt woman. Hell, the job didn't even have stringent requirements. Any of the loitering milksops in Verge would do.

He reached for the envelope, opened it, skipped the sappily paternal greeting, and grimaced at the first order of business. Again with the 'baptism' deal. Well, fug.

[Pax Ricci]

The front room was turning into a mess, as the gaggle of shifters that lived in the building argued over a movie to watch in the living quarters. Pax sighed, placing her head heavily on her hand. Her choice, Hannibal, had been shut down almost immediately, and now two of the other residences were arguing (rather loudly) about whether to watch 13 Going on 30 or Star Wars. She didn’t mind either of the movies, but she was in the mood for something different than the chick-flick, classic fantasy hodge-podge they watched every Friday afternoon. What she really wanted to do was go upstairs and rifle through her collection. Maybe grab 30 Days of Night or Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Sure, not classics, and definitely not the best-made movies in her collection, but they were the most bloody.

Sighing again, Pax rolled her eyes at the two arguing before her before standing, done with the petty argument. She could handle people on a regular basis, but she felt out of place in the arguing. Unlike some of the more “shy” shifters at Verge, she wasn’t much for words when it came to fighting; she was all action. And teeth. That streak wasn’t one she showed publically, of course, but the inner turmoil of her “other self” was somewhat violent today, and staying in a room teeming with hostile auras wouldn’t be good for her. Or the other tenants, for that matter.

Grabbing her copy of Hannibal from the coffee table, she moved out of the living room and headed for the stairs. Pax’s musical nature took over as she walked, barefoot, over the wood, using her footsteps as a resounding beat to create a tapping with the DVD against her thigh, drumming out a simple snare beat. It was involuntary, the drumming, but Pax enjoyed the sound all the same, making up an accompanying melody in her head. It wasn’t anything special, just something she would strum out later on her guitar. D, F# major, D, F# major, B major, G, A, B major…

Before she could reach the foot of the stairs, Pax caught the click and bam of one of the mailboxes opening. Doubling back, she peeked around the corner into the hall, curious as to who had come out of their room. Seeing Gladstone, she leaned against the wall, slowing the tapping of the DVD on her thigh. Would he be interested in watching the movie with her? He’d always seemed like the type who enjoyed a good horror flick, from what she caught off his scent when he ordered around the rest of the building. Pax’s wrist stopped bouncing, the DVD coming to a halt against her jeans; she lifted the case up to look at the cover. Weird, how you can get a glimpse of somebody from their eyes. People always referred to eyes as the window to your soul, but as Pax looked into the photoshopped eyes of Hannibal Lector, she just saw the essence of the character, not the actor.

Guess even your eyes could lie, of you trained them right. Was that why she got along so easily with people? They couldn’t see past her eyes?

Pax lifted her gaze from the DVD to look back down the hall; Gladstone had disappeared into his room. He was always guarded with the way he stood, walked, talked… What kind of eyes did he have? The window, or the door?

Deciding that watching the movie with someone was better than watching it alone (and it never hurt to ask) she pushed herself off the wall and walked to Gladstone’s door, knocking swiftly on the wood. “Hey Gladstone, it’s Pax. I have a question, if you’re not too busy.”

Besides, she was curious about his eyes.

[TETRIS]

If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Gladstone's eyes accurately reflected his soul - dry, indifferent, drained of colour but for the way a shaft of light could catch them and throw a spark on the pile of firewood. The soul wasn't a single thing, not even layers like onions, but more like a mirror. It caught and reflected light, but shed none of its own. At least, Gladstone's soul was like that.

It was one of the reasons that he didn't care to meet his father. Neither for a baptism, nor as the second paragraph suggested, for lunch. After almost half a decade of intellectual training, both academic and otherwise, he could pass quite well in upper-class society. There had been a time when he'd let himself get soft, enjoying the parties, the food, the women, the cash that flowed as liberally as the bottles of wine.

The consequences, however, remained with him in the twinge every time a storm came. Each time the glass trembled with a shock of thunder, a visceral ache, cold and vague, would travel along his leg. He was retired from the arena, from the only place where he had really met anyone worth his befriending, and the absence of an atmosphere he had come to consider home only further emphasised how empty human conventions really were. He had tried, but couldn't return to his original thrill, that of a barbarian exposed to the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. Now that he'd seen it, done it, been there, he wished he could muster some of his original enthusiasm, but found himself harbouring detest that he had to check, lest it turn into violence.

He opened the door at the knock, letter still in hand. Having scared off the first tenant who knocked when he'd taken up this job as manager, Gladstone had since then learned to tailor a more or-less neutral expression on his face. When he was in a positive mood, he even manage to look interested and helpful. He wasn't particularly sanguine at the moment, but Pax was one of the tenants who he preferred, as a tenant. She was quiet, neat, self-sufficient and intelligent - at least, from what he could see. At least she hadn't ever come yet to plague him with stupid questions about any of the facilities.

"Less than busy," he assured the golden-haired girl standing outside his room. "I have an appointment that I'm rather desperate to override. Good afternoon, by the way." She had golden hair. From his peripheral vision, she might have been any blonde girl, built extra-lithe, with extra poise. But now that he actually looked at her, she had a surprisingly direct gaze. Her eyes seemed darker than their green-gold depths revealed, and he blamed it on her dark, arched eyebrows, the short fine hairs a shade more shadowed than their flowing, sun-streaked counterpart.

Gladstone managed his slow smile, which started with some reluctance before reaching the corners of his mouth, his eyebrows, tugging at them with amusement.

[Pax Ricci]

Gladstone looked… less than thrilled, as to her stopping by. Maybe she had come at a bad time, and he was just being polite by opening the door. What if he yelled at her, for asking a petty question? Or worse… what if he insinuated that she meant something more than just relaxing and watching a movie… What if she thought she was asking him on a date? Her mind continued to string a thousand different reactions to his stoic expression, the neutrality making her slightly worried. It didn’t show on her face, but she adjusted her feet so she was more relaxed, trying to calm herself down before it was apparent she was giving herself a panic attack. Moving helped, and the young woman was calm as Gladstone began to speak.

She was surprised by the attention he gave her. He was forward, and actually looked at her eyes rather than something like her hair, or breasts, as other men his age did. Startled for a second at the direct gaze he put forward to her eyes, she blinked once, twice, before opening her mouth to speak. “Yeah, sorry, good afternoon.” Pax replied, slightly uncomfortable with the formal way the words were formed. She had always been relaxed with speech, and somehow the words “good afternoon” put together in a sentence just felt awkward on her tongue. “Well, if it’s an important appointment, you shouldn’t blow it off. Not unless you call first, anyway. My excuse isn’t that exciting,” she lifted the Hannibal DVD case up, tilting her head slightly sideways while a bright smile erupted on her lips. “I was just wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me.”


In the space between her question and his answer, her eyes drifted slightly to his smile. He was amused with her, the way the tight-lipped curve twitched, then spread slightly, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. Like a laugh without the sound. Amusement was good, then, she had at least gotten past the point where she didn’t infuriate the fellow, as some other tenants here did. Pax wondered, briefly, if any of the other tenants bothered with asking Gladstone to do things with them. Sure, he seemed all rough-and-tumble about the edges, concrete and emotionless, but if that was true amusement on his lips, then he couldn’t be all marble.

But his eyes, as Pax took this chance to look at them, were solid. A desert amongst the rivers and lakes of the other residents of the building, they seemed to reflect Pax’s face, rather than emit any sort of clue as to who the man before her was. Was he an actor, then, like herself, or truly an emotionless man? But if he was an actor, why reflect this discouraging persona? Why not reflect something more…cheerful, like her?

Before she could stop herself, she let loose a small “hm” as she contemplated the meaning behind his colorless, listless eyes.

[/blockquote]

[TETRIS]

He did actually laugh at her suggestion that he call first before blowing his appointment off. "It's just my, uh, father." Gladstone always paused briefly before the word 'father'. It seemed such a strange word to apply to the executive officer. Indicated a connection thick (thicker?) than blood; implied inheritance, shared traits.

It would be hard to imagine two men any different if they were placed side by side. Gladstone Sr. was refined, benevolent in a grandfatherly sort of way, with a soft voice and rather dense, rapid way of talking. Combined with his diplomatic nuances, and the man was hypnotically persuasive. Gladstone instinctively didn't trust the slick precision, could not even think of such a polished, sleek figure as a colleague or peer, let alone a father.

"Have you seen Silence of the Lambs yet? Jodie Foster is Clarice Starling." He'd seen the thriller classic, but had never followed up with the sequel. It was bound to be disappointing; such was the principle of any film franchise. All the more so, since Foster had been replaced by a soft-faced girl. On the other hand, the alternatives weren't attractive. "Do you have a tv?" He sort of half-waved at his room, displaying the lack of any DVD or VCR player. It had seemed too much of a luxury - a personal television - when he'd furnished his room.

Pax had met his gaze, and Gladstone re-examined that particular golden-green colour. It seemed a more hazel at first, but maybe because human eyes only bore that clouded hue in general. This particular colour seemed richer, more animated. She was a jaguar - he had a list of all shifters somewhere in his desk, and he'd always given an extra glance at fellow felines. Yes, her gaze seemed singularly uncanny.

Or maybe he was just over-thinking things.

At her slight exhale of air, his smile twisted crookedly, somewhat abashed at what he took to be a commentary on his staring. "What?" he asked, feigning ignorance, ready to deny any and all charges.

[Pax Ricci]

Pax noticed, with understanding, the pause between his words as he spoke about his father. So, she wasn’t the only one in the building with daddy issues. And by the way the pause was situated, Pax could only imagine the relationship between the stony Gladstone and his father. She doubted, however, that any sort of tiff Gladstone had with his father had the stink of vengeance that boiled between she and her Padre.


Eager to stray from a mindset that would only spiral her farther into anger, she pushed the thoughts of her father out of mind, and spun the cogs of her brain to answer Gladstone’s question.


She scoffed playfully; “Who hasn’t seen Silence of the Lambs? It’s a classic! It’s on my top shelf, next to The Shining and Frankenstein.” Pax smiled. “Sure, this one isn't as good as the first, and Julianne Moore wasn’t as great as Jodie Foster, but you can’t rag on the lady for her performance—she made the part, really. Since the movie’s different, and all.” Glancing about his room as he directed his hand over it, she shook her head slightly. No TV? What did this guy do when he was bored? “Yeah, I got a TV.” She said plainly, shrugging a bit. “It’s not very big, but it’ll do. And if you don’t want to watch this, I’ve got a whole collection.” Her smile crept up again, tinged with a morbid curve. “You should be able to find something.”


Realizing she had sighed, and Gladstone had called her out, recovery was in order. “Oh, nothing.” She caught herself, slightly embarrassed. “Just thinking.” As a slight rosy blush hinted her cheeks she turned, waving the DVD case to beckon the man. “Do you get the munchies during movies? I don’t think I have anything except popcorn.” She called over her shoulder, starting to lead them down the hall to the stairs.

Pax silently berated herself for embarrassing herself like that. Why did she have to stare? Staring was rude; she had been taught that much in her old music class. But she’d let herself slip, staring into the eyes of a man she barely knew. Sure, curiosity had driven her, but that was no excuse to try and peer into the man’s soul.

Not that she had gotten much from him anyway; he had a set of mirrors.

[/size]

[TETRIS]

"If you're going to start naming Kubrick films, A Clockwork Orange is my choice pick of his repertoire." A seamlessly choreographed and acted piece, that muffled the screams of brawling and torture, replacing them with an ironically juxtaposed soundtrack which brought out the aesthetic in sheer brutality. Turning violence into an art-form in and of itself. "As it should be," he said softly, to himself. For the verbally inarticulate but physically eloquent.

"But now I need to watch Hannibal, seeing as you recommend it. And if I don't like Julianne, I'll keep it on the down-low." He didn't watch many films - most were crap. The romantic comedies were insipid. The thrillers and action flicks were apparently directed by someone that failed his science courses. And the newest horror films made him yawn.

Nor was television any better. Between the ad breaks, any show or series seemed to be a grotesque, misanthropic caricature of real life, portraying humanity at its most uninspired, most uneducated. Far and wide (and now mostly delegated to older classics), there was something worth watching, even owning. Odd, how he'd never considered owning any of the aforementioned classics.

"A whole collection? Does that include my personal favourite, The Princess Bride?" He kept a straight, almost nonchalant face, tossing his letter carelessly on his desk, though his eyes strayed to observe Pax's reaction.

"Actually, I've been meaning to buy the 'Coen Collection'." No Country stood out as the flagship of a fleet of superbly bleak, darkly ironic, and mockingly bloody films. He couldn't think of one he hadn't enjoyed. Even the relatively conservative insofar as action was concerned, resonated with his world view.

Pax acted embarrassed, brushing his question away; it stirred a note of confusion but Gladstone dropped the matter, perfectly content to let his odd behaviour slide past. You need fava beans and Chianti with Hannibal, he was tempted to say. It was a teasing remark, and he considered the proximity of his relationship to Pax. Were they "friends"? It was something he might say to a "friend" - to Torque - but he didn't know her that well, and it might sound uncharacteristic (which admittedly, it was) or critical, if interpreted the wrong way.

And so, the moment for a jibe passed as Pax turned to leave, and Gladstone let the unspoken words die on his tongue. "Sure, popcorn's good."

The fug was that? He felt ridiculously old and stiff, suddenly. Is this what a life of ease did to him? Of social care? There had been a time he didn't care what he said. Let the words flow thoughtlessly from his lips. And he'd have been one hundred percent against any abominations he uttered, ready to defend what he said, to stick to his word. He had never - never - been the sort to double-guess himself, hesitate, falter. Neither verbally, nor in the arena.

Gladstone decided Pax was to blame, with a stubborn dig of illogical conviction (because really, Pax had done nothing at all) that felt more like his old self. And he'd make damned sure that didn't happen again.

I get more human every day. In the worst possible sense of the word. fug you, 'father'.

[Pax Ricci]

[[Crappy post is crappy. Stop writing so much, haha you make me feel inadequate. :P]]

“Well, Hannibal’s good, but it doesn’t have the same feel as Silence, or the artistic violence of Clockwork. She shrugged, letting the DVD case fall to her side. Maybe they could just watch another movie, and he could pick something he’d rather watch? She’d seen all the movies on her shelf dozens of times; heck, she could quote half the repertoire. She didn’t really mind what they watched, so long as it had something dark in it. There was a hunger in her chest for blood; and if she couldn’t get it in any sort of physical manner, then mentally would do.

She wondered, briefly, why Gladstone had never seen the movie she was holding. It had come out a few years earlier (almost ten, in fact, now that she thought about it), and had caused quite the rage from critics and skeptics, both good and bad. Sure, they had been twelve, thirteen years old, but that hadn’t stopped her from sneaking in R rated films. Actually, she was pretty sure that most of the movie tickets she had stashed somewhere were from ‘kiddie’ movies like Monsters, Inc and such; but her memories were of Don’t Say a Word or The Others. She never understood the rating system of some of these movies. It must have something to do with realism; the more real a film was, the higher the rating, it seemed.


Did he really just say Princess Bride? Pax’s eyes became somewhat slit, her fingers drumming on the DVD case. “I hope that’s sarcasm.” She stated, before brightening her face once more. “Because you won’t find that babble in my house. The closest thing I have to a romance movie is Dracula Rising.” A quick toss of some stray hair over her shoulder and it was back to Gladstone speaking, chatting about the Coen brothers. They were decent; her favorite was probably O Brother, where Art Thou?. Not the darkest movie she’d seen, but hilarious with a few great historical points. After all, if was based off Homer.

“Ok, good.” She bounded up a few steps, resting her free hand on the banister gracefully. “I also don’t have much in the way of drinks… I think there’s some wine coolers left over from the fourth, but I don’t know how you are with those… Aside from that, water. If you’re feeling super fancy I could crack open a bottle of wine?” She laughed, turning her head around slightly to look down the stairs at Gladstone, who had suddenly seemed to turn serious. “It’s the cheap stuff, but it’ll give you a good buzz, if that’s what you’re after.” Pax turned her head back around and skipped up the last few steps, jumping over three before turning the corner to head up the next flight.

That was the only bad thing about living on the third floor. Good exercise, but a long way up if you were with someone who wasn’t very talkative.

[/blockquote]

[TETRIS]

GLADSTONE

---

Gladstone hadn't meant to criticize Pax's choice of movie, but he allowed her compromising remarks to lie as the ground of mutual agreement, his thoughts rather leaving her words and the upcoming movie. Instead, he watched her; she was very lively, but gracefully and lithely so, never wasting an odd motion even though, if you thought about it, she seemed to move restlessly with no definitive purpose except to dissipate some nervous energy within her.

From the constant tapping and drumming on the DVD case, to her mobile face which flashed from pensive to disdainful to enthusiasm, all within a matter of minutes, she was fluidly expressive.

"A toast then? To your excellent taste in cinema."

He laughed at the irony, which he'd make sure didn't escape Gladstone Sr. if he ever got around to meeting with the man. He should have been spending the afternoon at a high-end restaurant with steak and a Talbot or d'Yquem, in the company of a refined, bespectacled, silver-haired executive. But here he was, anticipating (rather eagerly, he was surprised to note) a psychological thriller sequel and cheap wine, with a, pardon the trite comparison, golden sunbeam of a girl.

Gladstone her as she bounded up the stairway, turning only fleetingly to look behind at him. And for no particular reason, he called after her, "Pax!". He didn't have the words to follow, whatever thought now lost between brain and mouth. He might have said, 'Wait up', except that he was too proud to make the request, even concealed as a demand.

Besides, that hadn't been his aim. He'd lost the fleeting thought he'd had, something about the lines of her figure all converging. "Do you work out a lot? Or do you get all your exercise from climbing the stairs?"

[Pax Ricci]

Pax let out a chuckle, reaching with the DVD case to scratch at an itch at the base of her neck. “Not many people find these movies exactly ‘excellent taste’. But toast, we shall!” She put on a face of mock determination, over-exaggerating the frown and pout. Although she was fairly certain Gladstone couldn’t see her face, as it was turned in the opposite direction, she still felt it necessary to over-dramatise the situation.

”Pax!"

She froze mid-step, turning her body so she mostly faced the man behind her. With a slightly shocked expression at the sudden outburst, she raised her hand to her hair. “Sorry, I tend to move up the stairs pretty quick... I didn’t think about, uh…” She mumbled into silence, annoyed with herself that she didn’t think about her guest. What if Gladstone had some kind of health issue, and found it hard to keep up with her sprinting? She was being kind of callous, jumping ahead like she was. Pax thought about asking him if he wanted to wait a second, to catch his breath, when he spoke again.

A surge of heat washed to her face and she turned around, continuing up the stairs with her mouth slightly open. He stopped me to talk about my body? What?! Blinking roughly, she managed to choke out a few words, still slightly in a shock from the question. “Uh… I run, too…” Maybe she was just being paranoid, and Gladstone was just being friendly. Yeah, that was it. Just a friendly question, not a comment about her body. Jeez, Pax, way to think the worst of someone. The blush washed itself from her face and she turned her head around once more, walking up the last few stairs out of base instinct rather than vision.

“The University downtown has an obstacle course set up; I run that every week. Aside from my morning jogs, anyway.” She smiled, hoping he hadn’t felt awkward like she had. After all, she reminded herself, he had just asked a simple question.

They came upon her door and she opened it; she never locked the thing, seeing as how there was nothing valuable in there someone would steal. Or want to steal, anyway. The room was plain, the afternoon light fading as evening approached, cloaking the room in a dusty glow. Her bed was put away, and the small cozy apartment was relatively clean. Pax gestured to the olive couch with the DVD, throwing the box onto its plush cushion. “You can sit, while I get the popcorn and stuff ready.”

Once she finished her sentence she moved to the cabinets next to her miniature Frigidaire, pulling out a bottle of red wine, a 17 dollar 2005 Vizcarra Tempranillo Ribera del Duero. Fancy name for a bottle, but it was something she preferred on the list of wines she kept hidden from the rest of the apartment complex. She probably had three bottles of the stuff buried between cups, bowls, and other dishware, concealed from sight. Cheap stuff, but amazing taste (hence Pax buying in bulk). For there were days when nothing but a few drinks could ease the pain of her other self, and repress some of the darkness that wished to be expelled.

Setting the bottle and two glasses on the counter, she turned to stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave she kept on top of the Frigidaire, placing the bowl for it on top of the microwave. As the popcorn cooked she filled the glasses, halfway, just in case Gladstone wanted something different, or didn’t like the wine. She sipped at hers as the popcorn finished, the microwave beeping angrily. She jabbered quietly back at it and pulled the bag out, emptied it into the bowl, and grabbed Gladstone’s wine glass. “Here you go,” she said, handing him the glass, before turning around to grab the popcorn bowl. Setting her glass on the small table near the couch and the popcorn bowl on one of the cushions, she picked up the DVD and plugged it into the player, turning the tv on manually.

Pax moved back to the couch, plopping down onto the seat. She turned her face to Gladstone, a mock serious mask over her features as she held the player's remote out, arm pointing at the tv, straight as an arrow. “Are you ready for this?”

[/blockquote]

[TETRIS]

GLADSTONE

---

He had to smile wryly at her surprise. "I've been thinking that Verge would benefit from a gym; a few exercise machines, at the very least. Though then I want to know that they'd be used."

Before entering Pax's room, Gladstone tried to guess what he'd see. He couldn't quite categorise the girl, which was a welcome change from the routine acquaintances he otherwise had to deal with. Though she was good-humoured, open, and casual, she lacked the diva tendencies her fellow female felines seemed to all exhibit. And then, of course, her 'excellent taste' in movies...

Pale and olive greens, with white trimmings, brought a surprise vibrancy to the room, simple but expansive and breathable. He hadn't realized until just that moment the immense weightiness of his own dark oak decor. It felt rather odd to be stepping in here, as incongruous as finding a tank or chopper - sleek chrome artillery - resting in an innocuous sun-streaked glen. From the furnishings alone, Gladstone saw no indication that a jaguar shifter lived here. There was nothing reminiscent of jungles, dark shadows cast by overhead trees, nothing that would necessarily appeal to or soothe the girl's feral counterpart.

On second thoughts, I suppose Hannibal would appeal. It might also explain the rest of the DVD collection.

"I'm hardly a judge of wine," he warned Pax. "So you can tell me it's a vintage Pinot noir and I'll believe you."

Gladstone didn't really like strong tastes and spices; the odd scents and smells would play with his senses, which was a harrowing trial. But he found Pax's room more relaxing than his. More welcoming, safer, a more human environment where lions seemed completely out of place. It couldn't hurt him to act normal, live normally, for one afternoon.

At any rate, wine was better than beer, which tasted like what it was - fermented malt. He took another mouthful, swallowing it along with the questions that he wanted to ask Pax, which would sound interrogative to the point of accusatory.

"Give me a moment," he replied with equal mock gravity, closing his eyes and taking a breath. "Alright, go."