It was one of the coldest nights of the year. It was the middle of the winter, and there was a thick layer of ice and snow on any and every outside surface. From the concrete of the sidewalks and streets to the metals of bike racks and street signs to the bark on the trees that lined downtown Manhattan; bitter yet beautiful coats of frozen water.
So when Bianca found herself underground in a large steel cage without gloves on, she didn't know exactly what to do with herself.
As she sat in a dark, dank corner in an unnecessarily large contraption freezing her nipples off(because this fucking coat is too fucking thin), the thought of "what the hell am I doing here?" sprinted through her mind thousands of times. She scanned the area, memorizing and analyzing her surroundings well enough to have the slightest hope of getting out of this mess. But then again, her ADHD was pretty bad; so bad that whenever the littlest movement of a rat scurrying along or the continuous (and frankly annoying) plip-plop sound of water drops entered her ears, Bianca would forget about planning the escape and focus on telepathically murdering the damned rodent or drying up all the water in the city so she wouldn't have to listen to that awful noise anymore.
It's not like she knew the drug deal would go south. It's Manhattan, y'know? Drug deals happened everyday. Kidnappings happened everyday. The marriage of the two wasn't too out – of – the – ordinary either, really. Bianca just wasn't prepared. She wasn't prepared for the big, ridiculously yellow '60s Volkswagen to screech to a stop at her corner. She wasn't prepared for the driver of said Volkswagen to be a gorgeous, raven-haired young woman with silvery skin and lightning blue eyes so intense that they seemed to delve into the deepest parts of her soul and rummage around until it grabbed hold of her darkest secret and exposed it for all to see.
She for damn sure wasn't prepared when the chick threw a potato sack over her head and chucked her into the backseat of the yellow atrocity. Without her gloves, at that.
But hey, that's Manhattan for you.
Bianca must have been there for hours before she finally heard footsteps echo through the large space. And in a small matter of time she watched as the – absolutely fucking ethereal - woman from before emerged from the shadows like a villain from those cliché mystery novels her little brother loves to read. As she came into the light, her features became more and more defined. Bianca could now see that the woman's hair was in a neat pixie cut. She had a tattoo on the right side of her neck: a very intricate design of a notched bow and arrow with lines flowing through the open gaps between the string and its hold, and gracefully wrapping around the arrow like a loose ribbon; those lines favored the wisps of smoke that embers of a fire leave as a trail. Words could not describe how...fascinating it was.
"You stole from my boss." The sound that came from her was like gravel but had a long, deep yet womanly drawl that sent shivers down Bianca's spine. It was almost soothing to the ears. Almost.
"I ain't stole shit, lady. But that's some nice ink you got there. How much did you cry after it was etched?"
The unduly comment was not appreciated. Bianca's smugness was rewarded with the piercing burst of a gunshot and clang of a bullet coming in contact with the cage. She doubled back, retreating as far as the cell would let her.
"You stole from my boss," she repeated, the gun pointed at Bianca this time.
What a quaint young lady, Bianca sneered in her mind. She started to feel her hands become numb from the cold, so numb that they almost hurt. Shoving her hands deep enough into her pockets where she could feel the unraveled stitching, Bianca eyed the woman's leather gloves, lusting for a taste of their warmth. Soon, she forgot all about the pistol that was aimed at her head and instead tried to concoct a scheme to get those 'hand ovens', as her younger sister called them.
"So, hey," Bianca began, crawling on all fours from the back of the cage to get closer to the dim light. Maybe she could lure the woman with her puppy-dog look. "I'd be much more inclined to talk about that thing I stole from your boss if my hands were warmer." She pulled a chapped extremity from her pocket and swept her cold, slender fingers along greasy strands of dark hair to reveal her wide, dark eyes. She tried her best to replicate her brother's best method of convincing, poking out her bluing bottom lip for good measure.
The woman didn't falter. If anything, the gun was more steady now, her gaze steely enough to pierce the metal hull of any ship. Bianca could tell that she was considering, though. The woman bit her lip and ever so slowly tapped her foot. Bianca observed her as she weighed her options. The woman peered down at her gloves then at Bianca's nearly frostbitten hand and back again.
"Please miss," Bianca begged in a sweetened tone, "I'll tell you everything I know." She was really laying it on thick now. With her perfected childish countenance and ace negotiation skills, there was no way the woman would refuse her. Not when she looked this raggedy and cold and helpless.
"Fine," the woman grunted. She flipped a switch on the gun (presumably the safety control) and nuzzled the gun under her armpit. She snatched the gloves off, handing them to Bianca through the bars of the cage. The prisoner never snatched something so quickly in her life. Feeling the soft fur lining of the gloves tickle her palms was orgasmic. Bianca was enraptured by how comforting they were. She swore, right then and there, that she would never take advantage of a nice pair of hand coverings again in her life.
"You have a good heart." The compliment was genuine. Most would use the threat of frostbite to extract information. This – this absolutely terrifying, undeniably stunning woman didn't. Of course, Bianca had offered information in exchange for them, but to put herself at the mercy of below zero weather? No, there was something more to her than her tough exterior. Understanding? Maybe. Compassion? Definitely.
The woman withdrew the weapon from her armpit, switched the safety back off and, albeit gracefully, set the nozzle back on the brown haired girl's forehead. "Now that you're satiated, tell me where it is."
Bianca nonchalantly shrugged. "Sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The hell you don't! Where is the aura?!" She was yelling now. Her insanely straight teeth were gritted in irritation; her knuckles were white from her tightened grip on the pistol.
"I don't know what that is! I'm a dealer not a thief!"
"You're lying!"
Bianca was losing her patience. After taking a few moments to calm herself, she answered in a huff, "I'm locked in a cage with some stranger waving a loaded gun in my face. If there were anything to tell, I would have spilled by now."
The expression on the woman's face didn't change, but when she lowered the gun, Bianca knew that her reasoning had won her over. She sat back against the cage, waiting for some sort of reaction. But she just stood there, staring Bianca down with those oh – so glorious stormy irises. The dealer shifted under her gaze. She didn't understand why, but a wave of self-consciousness swept over her like a tempest. She smoothed her hair back and straightened her coat. Her appearance hadn't mattered before, but now she was mimicking the actions of someone who wanted the eligibility of gaining one's affection.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Bianca shoved her hands back into her pockets and shied away to the very back of the cage.
"I'll return later."With that, the tattooed beauty went back into the darkness from whence she came.
"Dear Lord, give me strength," Bianca whispered to herself. The migraine that was festering in her head since she woke was now wreaking havoc. She closed her eyes to relieve the pain. The darkness behind her lids was welcoming for a while; until she popped into her head. Her eyes, the smooth curvature of her face. The permanent scowl that her incredibly defined pink lips provided. The image of being kissed by those lips was too much, dammit.
What she wanted more than anything right now was to run her hands down that utterly stupid and impossibly perfect waistline. Cup that face in her hands and pepper kisses everywhere; Bianca mapped it all out in her brain: down her tatted neck she would lick, up to her pierced ears she would nip, across her jawline she would slowly drag her hot mouth until the woman begged for more.
No, Bianca had no idea what to do with herself. But she did know one thing:
"Nico and Hazel are going to slaughter me."