The Art of Playing Coy

September 14, 2014: Elektra and Phobos meet at the Museum of Modern Art.

Museum of Modern Art



  • None

Mood Music:

People had been trying to kill Alexander Aaron. Which is, sadly, not too terribly unusual. Of late it's been a myriad of individuals, from demons, to operatives, to now… ninjas? Or at least people who had some training as ninjas. Yet the thing that stood out about them is that when they made their runs at the young deity, they didn't seem to have the intel they would have needed to have been sucessful, which led one thought to the other. A few possibilities were eliminated and it left the strange woman he had met several days ago who had engaged in some cryptic comments.

Luckily, Phobos had some of her contact information and offered to meet her at a place of her choosing. She accepted and named the art museum near closing. He accepted, though he did arrive early.

So now at the designated time, the young man finds himself settled upon a benchseat beneat some early renaissance works even as an older security guard gives him an eyeballing. Alex feigns a lack of notice and simply sits there with his backpack at his feet, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees and his fingers interlaced.

Much like Alexander Aaron, Elektra Natchios had come to the museum early. Not to bide time. Not because she thought she'd be late. But because this was her thinking place before she'd left the city. Slow steps take her from one painting to the next, admiring the subtle brush strokes, the blend of colours, and the sea of inspiration.

She stands a few paces in front of the bench, admiring a Renoir with a small cant of her head — the visiting exhibit leaves a sense of satisfaction and air of confidence across her features.

Nothing about her suggests that she's here for a meeting. The security guard pays her no mind, the lack of patrons actually makes the activity seem normal: staring at a painting.

"My father always liked art," she says to the painting rather than the man on the bench. "I used to paint." Finally she catches him in the corner of her eye as she peeks over her shoulder, "That was a lifetime ago."

Not moving from his place, Alexander turns his attention upon the painting that has hers. He watches calmly with eyes of crimson that would seem to appreciate little beauty save perhaps in bloodletting performed well. Slowly he lifts his head, and then he offers her quiet words in that calm and controlled tone of his, "I envision a canvas with strong brushstrokes and severe colour." He turns his head to the side, as if trying to contemplate a different angle on the artwork or perhaps the woman. "Then again perhaps that was before."

Before what, he does not elaborate. Instead he presses past the introspection to ask her upon the matter that has brought them here. "Your patrons." He begins, then he asks, "Have they rivals?"

There's a flicker of a smile. "For my paintings?" Elektra asks quietly. "They were… dramatic." She smirks. Her arms fold over her chest as she studies the Renoir for a lengthier amount of time. "I almost feel the artist's pain in each clipped stroke. Can you see it?" Her head cants to these ice to study the image from another angle. "Before?"

She strolls to the next painting after he asks the question, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere and she observes, "Everyone has rivals."

"Before whatever changed you," Alexander says this easily, as if sure something changed her. Though perhaps he is merely throwing words into the wind and seeing which stick. Or perhaps it truly is some measure of insight. He gains his feet slowly, standing behind her and walking towards the artist's work. He takes up a place at her side and seemingly so at ease it could almost be as if they naturally belonged there, one of those beautiful couples in the city enjoying its art.

"There have been attempts on my life by some who have been trained in particular forms." He says this lightly, as if unconcerned. "They strike not knowing who I am, perhaps more concerned with whom I have spoken with."

Elektra hmmms as she examines the colours of the next piece. She clucks her tongue disapprovingly. "I think this one's unfinished." Her eyes squint and she attempts to explain. "The artist didn't achieve what they wanted. Or maybe incompletion is what they shot for?" Her lips twist to the side indecisively. "It's possible. Like the Mona Lisa. Everyone ooos and aaaahs over an unfinished painting."

The last has Natchios shrugging, "I'm in a risky line of work. And those I work for, well, they have their own agendas." A sparkle of mischief reflects in her eyes. "I'm sure you handled them well enough."

A small gesture is made to the side, as if Elektra's words were immaterial to what he was speaking on. He falls into step beside her as they turn their attention from one piece of work… to the next. Yet when he speaks his thoughts are not spared for the painting, "If there is a rival faction in the area, I would know their allegiance. Any information you could spare would be appreciated."

He grasps his wrist behind his back as he moves, "Unless you feel it might be your colleagues. Or an elaborate attempt at manipulation. Which, of course, would be mispleasing."

"Does anyone know anyone else's allegiances?" Elektra asks lightly. But she's not dissuaded from her admiration, she continues in her slow steps from one painting to the next. "To be honest, I'm not sure many know their own on any given day." Her eyebrows draw together and she leans closer to the next painting, her nose wrinkling. "This one needs better preservation. You can see the paint cracking on the edges." She frowns. "It's possible over time it'll just flake off altogether leaving nothing left."

The last earns a smirk. "My colleagues don't cross me." There's no hesitation in the words, and not even an iota of doubt.

"My aunt enjoys preserving works of art." He comments off hand as he moves with her and his gaze rests upon the current point of her focus. Tilting hs head o the side, he considers some aspects of preservation that she told him of as he remembers old weekends from years past. It's a curious memory to come upon him in that moment. One of those memorys that one has not given thought to in many years. It makes him smile for a moment. A smile he shares with her. "That is good to know, then. If you find out anything of others working against your goals and mine, well. I would appreciate word."

There's a slight smirk, the smile shifting slightly. "I'd take my leave of you, unless you'd care to spend an evening toying with each other vebally and then playing at love through the night." He looks at her askance, smirking as if already knowing the answer. "I know I risk much, but I do enjoy the danger."
From afar, Alexander Aaron pokes

It's only at the last that Elektra finally has her attention moving away from the art. With the slightest smirk and shake her head, she clucks her tongue. "You don't want to get involved with me." The words are matter of fact. "I'm not what you think I am."

And that's all there is to it.

With another cluck of her tongue she reiterates: "You, on the other hand, have a perfectly acceptable future ahead of you. University seems to do that to people." Her hands drift into the pockets of her dress as she strolls along further. "I suspect those you encountered have their own interests in moving forward. There's lots of other show would want my assets." Even if they're done chatting about it, she chooses to tag that much on.

"Ah, because you are so dark and twisted that you would corrupt my innocence." At that his smirk curls wry as he walks by her, moving towards the bench where he left his backpack. "Perhaps some day in the future then, when we both realized how damaged we are." He slings the pack over his shoulder and then adds, "Or perhaps some day when we're terribly bored."

He starts to walk away, then pauses to walk away from her backwards, "Just grant me perhaps… a name of the rival clan. Something I can perhaps grasp on to focus my negative feelings upon." His lip twitches, but he says no more.

"It's not quite a clan. It's a collection. And my own intel has so far failed me to undercover one centralized identity," Elektra states evenly. "I suspect it's multiple folks aiming to oppose the people I work for." Her eyes shine alight and she shrugs.

"But keep paying attention." She slides back towards one of the other paintings. "If they become more focused in their purpose…" She shrugs again.

That having been said, Alexander gives a short precise nod… then turns around to stride out of the museum.

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