|| The Sweet Sting ||

[Wolfbane]

The association had debated long and hard before Bane had agreed to come to this meeting. Being recluse members, it’d been a nearly impossible task to get them to speak to one another - much less ask them to confer amongst themselves on who would be the face of their dirty, underground organization when the time came. Bane had been a part of it all, had been a part of everything from the very beginning, which made the silence of this moment seem louder in comparison to the arguing that’d taken place long before it ever came to fruition. Straia had no idea.

Or maybe she did, cunning woman that she was. The movement of her legs and the sweeping gesture of her palm towards the seat opposite her came unexpectedly, so much so that Bane gave her a confused sort of glance when she offered it. For some absurd reason he’d expected there to be someone inside the room waiting for him; not the someone who’d met him in the elevator and played the part of an attendee.

He sat anyway, as quickly as he could.

“The organization caught your attention, you mean.” He corrected her, tugging at the stiff lapel of his buttoned shirt. The outfit had not been of his choosing; relaxed was more his style, but the orchestra behind this little rendezvous thought a trim appearance necessary and so he’d trimmed the hard edges until they were acceptably soft. Having met those silver half-moons before, he found it easier to glance sidelong at her and meet them again.

He was nervous. Anyone would be when confronted with the person pulling the strings of such a massive puppet as New Tomi, but he wouldn’t have her thinking he was one unit alone. Bane wholeheartedly believed in the association of so-called terrorists he’d been working with the past seven years. Their efforts in calling attention to the disparaging inequality of classes and human rights in New Tomi was his life. He truly considered their actions and recent string of attacks justified, despite what the tabloids would have the commonwealth think. As he squared his drab olive eyes with hers, there was an underlying current in them that thought Straia might feel the same - or at the very least, consider them a usable sort of puppet in her grand scheme.

“We want leverage.” He murmured, leaning back uncomfortably into the overstuffed chair. His was a spine more accustomed to the hard ground or sleeping upright if need be. “And all of the underbelly of New Tomi knows you’re the one to talk to about things like that, even if they don’t know you personally.” He told her, admitting to his earlier surprise at having been duped by her little stunt in the elevator. There was even a part of him that wondered if the woman he was speaking to really was Straia, or if the act was still in play.

She’d gotten a step ahead of him already. He’d need to tread carefully from here on out.

“There’s talk.” He said, on the level. “About impossible things: Magic, powers. We want in.”

@[Straia]