Welcome to Gaia! ::

this rp continued from here: x

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Proustite teleported with Olga to the edge of the city and what looked like a wide-open park, but what was actually just a fancy golf resort blanketed in the dark. He twinkled at Olga, and waved his hand across the sky as though he could push the clouds out of the way of the moon with his power alone.

Nothing happened.

"Eh," he shrugged and released her, "it comes and goes."

Behind them was a shed with large garage doors. He turned to examine them with his hands on his hips, and then walked around to the side entrance. It was locked. He busted it open with a powerful kick. Stepped inside, and vanished.

Would Olga follow, or flee?

"Thank you for not running away."

Proustite spoke to her from the darkness. The moonlight outlined her profile in the doorway. From where he crouched, exmaining the battery of a golf car, Jack could see how brave she was. Peering into the unknown with a cat's curiosity.

"I would have had to chase you, if you had."

He was only half-serious. Pursuing Olga anywhere would have meant effort-- and he was not the sort of soldier inclined to hunt. Work smarter, not harder. That was the preferred ethos of planet Proustite. Population: one. He fished a pocket flashlight out from somewhere in his blazer. Turned it on, and came around to examine the dash of his golf car.

"Aha! They left the keys. See?" He grinned at Olga. Turned the golf cart on. He gestured for her to get inside, but moved away to busy himself with the massive garage doors. They were electric, just like the golf cart. Proustite pressed the button the button that he believed would mean the key to their success.

"Excellent," he said as the door started to grind upwards. A sliver of moonlight painted the cement at his feet. He turned back towards Olga, smile splitting his face in two. "Would you like to drive?"

Her curiosity was flattering. It took a moment for his answer to come. Not because he did not want to give it, but because he had to pause and count the years that he had spent in the service of the Negaverse on his fingers.

One.

Two.

Four.

"Six. Six years." He said, sliding into the golf-cart beside her. The door was open now. The park outside illuminated by the stars and the moon. There was nowhere for them to go but forward. Proustite slung one arm across the back of their seat, behind Olga. He gripped the steering wheel with the other hand and dropped his foot on the gas.

They whirred out of the garage.

"Why?" he was grinning, looking at her instead of the world outside of them, cruising straight for a tree. "You interested in signing up?"

The tree loomed closer in the dark.

"It's a pretty good gig," he said, cranking suddenly on the wheel just moments before they were due to impact. The golf cart whipped sideways. The frame and awning rattled around their heads. "You'll have to take things from people, but most of us get over that after the first year. Not that I ever struggled with the moral implications of my work."

He grinned sideways at her.

"Don't worry about the cameras. You can tell them I threatened you at gunpoint if you didn't do everything I said. Maybe they'll haul me in for questioning."

They were exiting the park, now. Cruising along a paved road, and moving deeper into the city again.

"Maybe there will be a trial."

He was smiling with his teeth. Fingers drawing along her shoulder, scooping out a little of her life.

"Can you imagine? All that energy in one place, Sol." Proustite moved his arm so that he could show Olga what he'd taken from her. It glowed in the palm of his hand.

Olga managed to seize the little orb of concentrated energy. Proustite did not even tease her by pulling his hand away so that she would have to reach for it again. It was hers in an instant, and he was grinning, about to speak, and then distracted by her question.

"Sure there is," he said, as though she'd asked if he had a book that he preferred to other books. There was a twinkling in his eyes. "You say that like selfish people don't have feelings."

He thought about what to tell her. Wasn't anymore affected by her curiosity than he was her fear. Sol was nice. Proustite did not think that he would hurt her, but what he felt was nothing so sympathetic as fondness. He was amused.

"My sister has a little boy." Proustite took both hands off the wheel. Fished a crumpled piece of paper out of one of the pockets on the inside of his jacket. The golf cart cruised steadily down the wrong side of the road. There was no traffic up ahead. Proustite steadied their vehicle with his knee, and unfolded the paper to show Olga what Little Freddie had drawn for him. It was a picture, scrawled in limited colour by an artist who struggled to hold his crayons the proper way.

"That's me." Jack indicated the stick-man in the red jacket, and then the little stick-boy beside him. They were holding hands. "And that's my nephew."

His gaze returned to the orb in Olga's hands.

"You know. If you really want that back you have to eat it."

Do it. He dared her. With his eyes and his teeth. Do it now.

Ooooooh Sol was so uncorruptible.

Jack was so seldom surprised by anyone that he did not recognize the sensation of shock that flickered inside of him when Olga tossed the orb of energy -her energy- out the side of the car. He stared at her, disbelieving. And intrigued.

He folded the picture that Freddie had doodled for him, and returned it to the inner pocket of his coat. Eyes on the road again, finger tapping thoughtfully against the wheel, he chose not to answer any questions about his family. For Proustite personal safety sat at the epitome of importance. Just below that ranked the safety of his loved ones, and Freddie sat at the top of that list.

"Do you think it's still cannibalism if you eat yourself?"

A thoughtful pause.

"Would it have been self-mutilation, to have tasted the orb? Or preservation?"

He asked because he did not know. Watching Olga out of the corner of his eye, Jack considered, for the first time, the fact that she seemed to understand an awful lot about what he was and where he came from. She had confessed to being kidnapped, he supposed, but.

Jack took his eyes off the road to look Olga square in the face.

"Are you a sailor scout, Sol?" He pressed a hand to his breast, just above his heart. "I'm not sure they'll let us be friends if you are, you know."

Proustite mulled over Sol's explanation. Swished his response around in his mouth.

She just knew things, did she?

She was just just curious, was she?

"I'm not sure that I believe you," he said, at least, though her explanation was plausible enough. It mattered little to him. Proustite liked sailor scouts. And their skirts. He was more concerned about being outsmarted. Would have been less inclined to let her live if he found out she was playing him. The possibility was almost enough to make him reconsider hurting her.

Almost.

A pair of lights blinked up ahead. There was a car on the road, headed towards them. Proustite did not turn the wheel of the golf-cart. He and Olga cruised forwards.

"Sounds like you make a real pest of yourself."

The car honked. Proustite did not flinch.

"Asking all those questions."

Proustite did not swerve. His arms were relaxed, hands confident on the wheel. The car on the road blared it's horn. Proustite did not flinch. His heart quickened more over the high-pitched quality of Sol's voice. He liked that she was frightened more than he was concerned about dying.

They were moments away from impact.

"Five."

Jack turned to look Sol in the eye.

"Four, three-

There was the sound of tires squealing, and a woman's scream. A flash of red. The car cranked itself into the passing lane. Whizzed by them like a rocket.

Proustite snapped his fingers when it was gone and then slapped the top of his thigh.

"We got lucky that time, Sol."

Sol was right. He did have control over the direction of the golf cart.

"You got lucky then," he amended companionably, as though she'd helped him understand the difference between a baked potato and yam fries. "If I'd died it would have been suicide. If you died it would have been murder."

The lights on the golfcart flickered, and the vehicle started to slow.

"Oh," Proustite said, "The battery's going."

Could he use Sol to recharge it? Proustite stared hard at her chest- at the place where she rubbed, knowing that her starseed lingered underneath. I could hook her up to the golf-cart with a jumper cable, maybe. I don't think it'd work. But it'd be fun to try.

They coasted to a stop. Proustite turned off the lights.

What's up, Jack? Figured you'd touch my life in other ways, tonight?'

He smiled.

"Have you ever hitch-hiked before, Sol?"