by evilgrin on 27 Dec 2005, 02:34
::FIVE::
The hulk of the Midorian rises before us. Petrie has no problem docking, the resort was built at a time when the notion of a small ship was unheard of. We have no way of knowing what dock they’re using. Petrie will stay here, with the ship, for now. He doesn’t complain. I have the feeling you could kick Petrie in the head and he wouldn’t complain much.
Davis has an itch to scratch. Seems he can’t get that picture of Riddick’s girl out of his head. He’s going to be useless to us until he burns it off somewhere, although I pity any woman he runs across. The Midorian has more than her share of whorehouses, which is where, at one point, a search for an escaped Riddick would have started, as he sought to deal with his own itch. Even then, I feel sorry for them. It’s got to be a hard life, and I don’t think clients like Davis would make it any easier. Part of me hopes that he gets arrested doing something stupid, just so I can see the back of him.
Vaughn is a whole other matter. Vaughn’s never showed much interest in women, or he hides it pretty well. With his face cut to pieces, and his eye gone, sure, he’s no prince charming, but I’ve seen worse. Vaughn is consumed by anger, in a different fashion than Davis, but with no less intensity. You were twenty two, cocky as hell, when you ran into Riddick, then eighteen, who cut you to pieces. It’s the price you paid for underestimating him, and one you’ve been pushing to make up for in the eight years since. I’d hate to see what’s you’d do to Riddick with a knife if you ever got the chance.
You’re off on your own. To quietly prowl the station. Don’t trust the old man to find anything interesting on his own. I said I was going to the bar for a drink. You were more than glad to leave me in disgust. I never told you everything. Never said anything about this weird “dating” that Riddick seems to have come up with.
The Midorian has several restaurants. I search for the darkest one I can find. Try to look past the whole ridiculous notion of Riddick dating in the first place, and think of where he would take a girl, a beautiful girl at that. Settle on a dark lounge. Candlelight. Quiet. Only a few tables, couples, dining quietly, their heads close together. Guys, like me, drinking alone. I don’t stand out.
Seen better days. You’d want a place close to an exit. There’s a dark booth, at the back. You could make a break through the kitchen, and be gone in the warren of tunnels that run through the ship. Easy enough for you to watch the door.
I find a comfy seat at the bar, far enough away. Wear my sad drunk face. I don’t have to try too hard. The whiskey is good quality. The bartender keeps it up, saying nothing, isn’t looking to be my friend or confessor. I guess here he doesn’t have to worry about me driving, so doesn’t much care if I get smashed. I wait. It’s what I do best.
~~~
Patience is a virtue, my sweet Louise always told me. I’m four drinks in, the room a soft glow, getting to like the quiet music, when you walk past me. If I hadn’t have seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. You haven’t changed at all, Riddick.
A massive, menacing, evil looking hulk of a man. A cruel, impassive face. A quick cat like grace. You’re a hell of a lot faster than you look. People that forgot that paid dearly for the mistake. Dark, sleeved dress shirt. Not your usual attire. No goggles. They’d draw attention. That’s why you picked such a dark room. Don’t even want to think about catching your eyes. I’m not stupid. I’m just here to watch and wait.
Your hand, possessively, on the hip of a very beautiful woman. Wives and girlfriends scowl at their men as you walk past, as eyes follow you across the room. Corn silk hair, tousled, just touches your shoulders, falling around your ears in a way that makes you wonder what it would look like fanned out across a pillow. Cool, pale grey eyes. Ivory skin, with an inner light. Slender. Curves, but not showy. Your lip a perfect light rose, soft. Scent of jasmine and musk. A slim black skirt, with the lightest shadow at the side. A knife strapped to your thigh, I’m guessing. Our assassin.
Like I said, if I hadn’t have seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. What the hell would a woman like that be doing with Riddick? What the hell does she see in him? I know I’m not the only guy in the room thinking the same thing. Yet you seem to have absolutely no fear of him, resting easily into his hand, completely at ease.
An ancient waiter directs you to the booth at the back. Guess I haven’t completely lost my touch. Watch as the woman leans over to blow out the small candle at the table. Make you more comfortable, I guess.
You sit close to each other, talking softly, intimately, before reaching over to kiss her. My drink is forgotten. I have to remind myself to drink it. Throughout drinks, and dinner, you never once stopped touching her, in some way. You stayed in constant contact. Not that I could blame you. Hell, I think most guys would have a hard time keeping their hands off her. It’s possessive, but, damned if I can understand it from you, it’s gentle too. I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it. Makes me wonder what sort of damned game you’re playing, or if that girl’s as bad as you are, for letting you get away with it.
If I didn’t know you better, you murderous bastard, I’d say you had the look of a man in love. I know you’re not capable of it. Not capable of any emotion. But looking at her, I can see why a man would try. For a split second, I feel sorrow for you. You’ll never see her as she really is. I’ve talked to shined men before. Everything in shades of palest pink to fuschia to purple. You could never look at her and see her the way the rest of us do. Then again, you’re the guy holding her jaw and kissing her over dessert.
You give her a present, when everything is done. She smiles at you. Hell, that’s a face that could melt even you, I’m thinking. She opens it, a soft laugh. A glint of steel. A switchblade. She tucks it away again, quickly. A kiss that would stop time.
You leave after dinner. I don’t want to think about where you’re going. Don’t want to think of the heat I felt, even here, across the room, at that last kiss. Professionalism tells me I should follow you. All I want to do is continue drinking. Hell. Riddick in love. Who the hell would have imagined that. No one’s going to believe me anyways.