Art of the Hunt [semi-closed]

Hostages were almost invaluable these days. Those at Beata could be bothersome, annoying for certain, but if you had your trump card, someone they cared about, someone they loved, then you had free-reign to do just about anything you wanted. Common sense. It absolutely made Argona's job easier, and lightened the load on her gangly-ass lackey's, but it was nothing a bitch for the rest of them. How many of their people were fucking taken now? Four? Five?

He was never one to stay in one place for too long, but swinging by the same college now and again, looking at the same old people, doing the same old shit over and over... it made things boring. Not many other words for it. Dull? Torturous? His cute little side cover job didn't make things any easier.

The young man lingered against some crummy old wall, janitor's uniform all brown and greased and covered in dirt, a lit cig held between long, slim fingers. He was a straight damned mess, but she seemed as radiant as ever. Easy to spot across the main courtyard. Standing out from the crowd, as always. What he did, it'd always felt like stalking to him; dropping in in to watch her every so often. The dear old Headmaster had his own way with words, picking out something more pleasant sounding, more elegant: Guardian.

Yeah, whatever. It was creepy.

None-the-less, he kept guarding on all the same from a careful distance. After months of adapting to his new craft, he'd started to recognize the many faces she'd kept around: her classmates, her admirers, her toys, her friends, her enemies... It seemed like she'd constantly had a crowd following her wherever she'd go. With nothing out of the norm, he'd thought to finish his light and find himself somewhere else, crushing the cancer stick under his heel and beginning to turn away - that was, until he spotted a new face coming up behind her.

Long blonde hair, a near silver, running straight down her slim back. Her face and her smile was pure, quite sweet and welcoming, but something about her stare, her crystal blue gaze, left him feeling unnerved. She was dressed far too nicely compared to the others, elegant black dress, black coat, black gloves, jewelry, heels, earrings, black. His eyes narrowed.

"Pardon me," the stranger had chimed, tapping away at the brunette's shoulder. "But you would be Miss Andrews, yes? I will be needing you to come with me."

"Verona we have to stop..." His voice was heavy against her ear. His hands roamed hungrily across the back of her shirt. He didn't mean it, she know he didn't. He never did. "I'm your teach-" He started, but somewhere within the course of the last few months it had lost it's meaning, and he tapered off, choosing to kiss her neck instead.

Verona took the moment to look around his office. She always chose something different to look at, last week it was the stack of ungraded papers by his chair, and the week before that it had been the framed picture of him with his arm draped over an average looking blonde women. Today her eyes focused on the organized row of books on the shelf nearest her. They were large volumes of works she knew she would never read, but she liked to picture what they were about, and sometimes she would even ask him to explain them to her, just so she could watch him talk.

He was so smart, and perhaps that was what drew him to her. She liked watching his brows furrow when he explained the books he had read or the philosophers he thought she should know. She loved running her fingers through his peppered black hair, as he talked about the places he had seen and the people he had met. His mind was a collection of experiences Verona knew she would never truly understand, but she admired him anyway and she knew he admired her too.

She also knew he loved his wife. She tried not to think of her in these moments, but it was hard not to imagine the lives she was destroying each time she returned for another "after-office-hour tutoring session". And deep down, Verona knew the true reason for his affections. Her gift had grown incredibly powerful since her departure from Beata Academy, and she had easily captured his attention with the slightest touch of her hand. She was a drug he couldn't escape from, and Verona couldn't bring herself to let him go, because he was different. He was smart, and kind, and funny, and he cared about her more than most of the guys she attracted in order for them to do her bidding. Even now, as he hurriedly buttoned his shirt and slid on his shoes, he stopped to kiss her on the forehead before running out the door to make it home in time for dinner.

Verona sighed, taking a minute to look back at the picture on his desk, before pulling out her compact and reapplying a layer of red lipstick. She had maybe an hour before her date, but she didn't care, her body burned with the memory of his touch; and as she swaggered out off the office she picked out one of the volumes on his shelf, tucked it under her arm, and softly closed the door behind her. She wanted to impress him.



Verona sauntered down the hall, her heels making the customary click-clack sound against the tile, which drew the attention of nearly everyone around her. Some people waved or smiled at her direction, but most people just stared, not that Vera really noticed, she had grown used to it.

She made her way outside and spotted an open bench near an antique looking tree, offering a subtle smirk to any brave soul who dare say "Hello" to her, before she quickly sat down. Verona opened the book immediately upon her arrival, and although the volume on Ralph Emerson's essays were far too boring and advanced for her to truly enjoy, she tried focusing on it anyway. That was, until she felt a light tapping on her shoulder. Relieved to no longer have to busy herself with the contents of the page, Verona slammed the book shut and turned to inquire after the person vying for her attention.

"I'm sorry, what?" Verona stammered, clearly taken aback by who she saw. The girl before her was definitely not what she expected. She stood out in a way only Verona herself could match, the dark contents of her dressing sticking out like a black sheep in a field of cookie cutter college students, clad in sweat pants and t-shirts.

Verona didn't bother standing up, but she gave the girl a once over. Something about this stranger seemed almost familiar to Verona. "Do I know you?" Of course it seemed crazy, but something about this stranger reminded her of her past. Perhaps she was someone from the school- of course that was impossible... wasn't it?

The stranger smirked, the corners of her lips twisted into a curl. She drew her hand back, brushing her hair around over her shoulder and giving the young woman a simple, courteous nod of her head. "Ja," she said. "Your parents are sending for you. A plane and your things will be ready when you leave." Light as her voice was, her words were curt and too the point. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, tapping her finger repeatedly across the flat of her opposing hand.

He was quick to sweep up his broom, slinging it over his shoulder and striding through the card, shoving past a few dully unaware students. The one in black there, she wasn't alone, he quickly noted. Another in the back, behind the nearest building. Another up high, watching from a window. Trained eyes swept over the clearing, skimming all angles. He'd felt his heart skip a beat or two. This wasn't some phony drill, the school wouldn't have bothered. This shit was real. They wouldn't bother to do anything in broad daylight. He told himself he couldn't afford to start a scene, but then neither could he.

"Damn it..."

If he were lucky, she would smart enough to see through this bullshit.

"If you'd please," The woman made a limp gesture towards the nearest exit, towards one of the more secluded buildings, a short-cut through to the campus exit - or so she was quick to assure the sweet Verona.

Verona stared at the stranger with narrowed eyes, sizing her up and weighing the truth of her statement. Her suspicion had of course been true, this woman was definitely from her old world, but why had she followed her here? Verona had remembered pleading with her parents not to tell anyone where she was going. The whole point about moving away for college was to start over. No family, no freaky gifts, no preconceived notion about who she was. Her family seemed to grasp that concept fairly well too, her mother almost relieved that there was one less child to worry about, one less problem to solve.

Verona shook her head. No, no, things didn't make sense. Her dear mum wouldn't do this, she was far too loud and hands-on to send someone else to collect Verona without so much as a call, even if she was completely wrapped up in her new life at Beata. Something was off here. The girl looked the blonde over once more before doing a sweeping inventory across the courtyard. People were staring, the always did, but Verona tried to single out the faces that didn't fit. Nothing really stood out to her.

"I'm sorry," The girl finally said, feigning a rather convincing frown. "You must have confused me for someone else, my parents are dead. I don't have anyone that would send for me."

Verona looked around again, trying to catch the eye of any person she could find and will them over. She needed a way out of this conversation. She knew something was off about this strange woman, but Verona wasn't sure she wanted to find out what was really going on.

Any normal person might have least hesitated, shown a hint of concern, regret, empathy, anything. Instead, the blonde had brought up a dainty hand, laughing into the back of her wrist. Her bright eyes glinted down at the younger girl. "They had been saying that you would be quite the adorable one," she near sang, letting her fingers brush again just across the back of the girl's shoulder, leaving behind an icy chill. "Verona, was it?" The stranger took a subtle step back, reaching into the breast of her coat. "Don't worry, we will be keeping you very sa-"

"Ah, so this is where you've been hiding?"

The "janitor" had snuck up behind them, staring past the woman in black and keeping his warm gaze hooked on the brunette. He could feel the stranger's biting glare boring into him, but he did well to stay composed, for the most part anyways. His posture, his droopy smile, down to his own voice was dropped to a lazy lull, but he couldn't deny himself from knowing how frenzied his heart was beating, no matter how cool his demeanor may have seemed.

He ran a few gangling fingers through his sandy hair, doing his best to act casual. "You thought you could hide in a place like this? Stupid." Yes, they must have known each other for sometime? And she had so many places to be? His eyes darted aside for a mere moment, catching the shape of another dark man, shifting just out of sight.