Chapter 7
Sevic glanced over her shoulder nervously, nodding at the servants following her to stay in the hallway. They complied, and she entered her quarters, her eyes flitting around the darkened room quickly. With shaking hands, she snatched up a pillow, stripping it of the pillowcase, filling it quickly. She counted the seconds, going through a mental checklist as she stashed items in the cloth bag, finally dropping it into the floor and stripping the other pillow, unsteady legs carrying her into the bathroom, which she emptied as well. With hair bands, she tied each pillowcase closed and opened the door, pausing in surprise as the servants took the pillow cases from her and motioned for her to lead them down the hallway. After a couple of blinks, she complied, adjusting the hood of her cloak to conceal her face. Riddick evidently heard them coming, opening the door for them as they came within a few steps of reaching it. He took the bags from the servant and waved them away, holding the door open for Sevic with a foot. She closed it quietly behind her, watching him set the bags gently on the floor.
"Get everything?" he asked quietly. She nodded, wrapping her arms around her middle and shifting her weight from foot to foot, her cloak making a quiet swishing sound that prompted Riddick's eyebrow to arch quizzically.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, staring down at her bags next to him.
"I told you –"
"And I want to know the truth," she interjected quickly. "What does the Lord Marshall care whether one of his whores is safe or not when he's got thirty others to choose from?"
"I'm not the Lord Marshall," Riddick growled. Her eyebrow rose, but she said nothing. "Look," he continued, running a hand over his head, "if you want to go back, fine. Go back. But don't blame me when someone tries to fuck you over."
"It wouldn't be the first time," she spat coldly. His eyes met hers angrily.
"I'm trying to do you a favor here," he said slowly.
"Like the favor you did me last time you called me up here?" It was out before she could stop it, and she instantly regretted it, finding herself pinned to the wall a good two feet off the ground, with a very angry Riddick staring straight into her face, nostrils flaring, veins protruding from his forehead.
"I saved you a beating." His voice was lower than humanly possible, vibrating through the room, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She noticed his grip loosen a bit, his face softening, and she realized her lip was trembling.
"The beatings don't hurt as much," she whispered, her eyes closing at the tremor in her voice. Shit. Do NOT cry again, she commanded herself. She forced herself to open her eyes, feeling a stream of water trickle down the side of her cheek as the silver pools reflected her face back to her. "I never had the chance to mourn my husband," she continued quietly. "They didn't give me time before they forced me into this life." He lowered her slowly, and she slid to the ground as her feet touched, her legs unable to support her. She leaned her head against the wall, biting her lip to keep it still as he just stared down at her.
"Mourn him, then," Riddick said gruffly. She jumped as the door slammed behind him, her surprise breaking her wall just enough to let out a violent sob before silence settled in.
You sure know how to pick them. Riddick paced the hallway slowly, shaking his head, his face turned into a sour frown. Carolyn was reckless and a little too self-sacrificial, Jack was too young, Kyra was too independent, and now Sevic. He couldn't stifle the snicker. Sevic's just too fuckin' needy. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and sighed. What did you expect? he asked himself, not knowing the answer. Hell, you haven't had time to mourn Kyra either. His eyebrow rose. I cried, isn't that good enough? Another weighty sigh. He had to get away from this hallway.
The corridors led him around the ship, and he followed without thinking about where he was going. He passed several Necros without looking at them, and they scurried away quickly, their voices carrying in hushed whispers bouncing off the walls around him. He wouldn't have stopped walking if he hadn't heard his name whispered. His arms hung loosely at his side, his head cocked at a slight angle, ear turned to his back to listen. Then his nose caught the scent.
"Dame Vaako," he said slowly. The click of her heels confirmed his assumption.
"I assume you're settling into your quarters without incident?" she asked lightly. His only response was a quiet growl as she neared him, circling him slowly. "Is there anything you require, Lord Marshall?"
"How about a little privacy?" he asked, his eyes following her slow, deliberate movement. The smug smirk tugging at the corners of her lips started his anger on its descent. She must have sensed it, as she stopped her pacing to stand directly in front of him, one hand on the hip she'd thrust to the side as far as she could without ripping the dress she'd poured herself into.
"I think what you really want is a little company," she said slowly, taking a step toward him. She paused at the slight ripple of muscle as he tensed, her eyes flitting over his body before returning to the silver pools staring down at her menacingly. His eyes never left hers as she reached out, running her hand lightly down his arm as she took another step forward. One more step and she'd be touching more than his arm.
"What would your husband say?" Riddick asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
"My husband is incapable and incompetent," she hissed, eyes narrowing up at him. Riddick only arched an eyebrow and smirked. "He frequents that darkened hallway more than anyone could ever know, and assumes I'm none the wiser."
"Jealous?"
"Hardly," she snorted in the self-righteous manner she'd perfected.
"You should be," he crooned, letting the smirk he'd been fighting surface. Her eyebrow rose, her hand pausing on his arm. "I'd be the second target of yours that hallway took from you." Her face grew dark, and she flounced away from him quickly, her shoes clicking violently down the corridor as she made a less than graceful exit. He snickered, shaking his head before turning back toward his suite.
His steps slowed as he rounded the corner, feet moving silently toward his door as he listened. Silence, and arching eyebrow. His hand hovered over the doorknob, pausing four heartbeats until he turned and pushed, entering the room noiselessly. He closed the door behind him, glancing around the room, the breath leaving him in a sigh. She was still crumpled against the wall, holding her stomach as she cried softly. Fuck.
She started at the contact, the trembling returning as he moved the hood of her cloak away from her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly as she shook her head, tearing her face from his hands. He shushed her gently, wiping her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She sniffed as he moved away from her, letting out a shaky breath, but tensed up as he returned, crouching in front of her.
"Here," he said quietly. She shook her head, not caring what he was offering her, but his hand gripped hers, closing her fingers around a glass tumbler. Her eyes avoided his face as she looked at the glass, filled half-full with a dark liquid. She sniffed again, considering, then giving in, downing the glass in a single swallow, grimacing against the heat. The glass clunked but didn't break as she let it fall from her hand, her stomach growing warm with the alcohol. "Look at me," he commanded gently. Her lip quivered as she shook her head, her brows knitting as he grasped her chin to move her face. "Look at me." She sniffed again, then complied, an eyebrow twitching slightly as she took in his face, set in the most open expression she'd seen him wear yet. Sympathy. He let her shake her head and drop her face as the tears resurfaced, and he reached out, pulling her into his lap as she wept, stroking her hair lightly as his mind flipped through its Kyra album again.
"I'll take the floor." Her eyebrow rose, hands pausing above the pin in her hair as she glanced up at him, eyebrow arched. He forced a small smile and nodded once.
"You sure?" she asked quietly, removing the pin. His eyes followed her fingers as they ran through her dark waves, and he nodded again. She watched him sprawl out on the rug at the foot of the bed before climbing under the heavy sheets, settling in on the left side of the mattress instinctively. He called off the lights, only a 15 % drop, and she stared up into the darkness. "Riddick?" He didn't answer, so she continued. "What did you do before you came here?" A quiet snicker.
"You don't want to know," came the response. Her eyebrow rose, and she sat up in bed, drawing her knees up to her chest.
"I wouldn't have asked," she said softly.
"You really don't want to know." His voice held a bit of an edge to it, but that only served to pique her interest even more.
"Tell me anyway," she pressed. He sighed. The room fell silent. "Okay, let me guess then," she mused. "You're a big, intimidating person who's overly suspicious, even though such a thing doesn't exist, and overly perceptive with some kind of eye enhancement." She couldn't see his grin. "And you like taunting people to the point where they're so pissed off they can't control themselves and do exactly what you want them to do." She scratched her forehead lightly, forehead crinkled in deliberation. "Military?"
"Not recently," he said quietly.
"But previously, then," she guessed. No answer. "Okay, were you a bodyguard?" His snort and chuckle made her smile. "No. Okay." She fell silent, licking her lips as the next guess came to her. "Were you a hitman?" she asked slowly, carefully, timidly.
"Not exactly, no," he answered after a beat.
"What do you mean, not exactly? Either you were a hitman or you weren't. There's not a variance in degree. Just like being pregnant. One can't be slightly pregnant or mostly pregnant. Either pregnant or not pregnant." Riddick laughed. "So were you or weren't you a hitman?"
"You've got the funniest ways of comparing things," Riddick commented, still chuckling.
"And you've got the biggest problem with answering questions directly," she retorted. His laugh halted, smile falling, and she gulped. "Were you a hitman, Riddick?"
"No."
"This game isn't as much fun when you take it so seriously," she sighed, propping her head up on her hand, elbow balanced on a knee.
"What did you do before?" he asked.
"Hmm," she said with a small smirk. "This game isn't as much fun when it's centered on me." He snickered. "I was a carpenter," she answered, her smile falling. "Well, not a carpenter per se," she corrected hurriedly, "more of a cabinet maker type. I didn't do major construction or anything." Riddick glanced toward her, his view obstructed by the footboard. "Mostly just piddled around the house fixing broken furniture we found abandoned curbside or doing smaller projects. Sold them once they were fixed up enough."
"So you made a living that way?" Riddick asked, voice holding a touch of disbelief.
"Oh, absolutely," she answered. "We'd find all sorts of things – couches, tables, chairs, shelves. Everything. Most times it would just take some reupholstering or a new finish. Every now and then I'd get this bright idea to build something from scratch, but that didn't happen often," she added. "Had a little shop in the middle of town. Workshop took the back half and the store was in the front." A soft sigh. "And it's all gone now." Riddick shifted uncomfortably as she let the silence settle. "So what about you?" she finally asked.
"I told you, you don't want to know," he gruffed, rolling onto his side, his back facing her.
"Well, that's not fair," she snickered. "I spilled my secret – more than one, might I add – and you've not told me anything other than you weren't exactly a hitman and you used to be in the military, though what branch for what Council I've no idea."
"It's not nearly as happy a story, Sevic," he sighed, letting his eyes close as the sheets ruffled with her movement.
"Look at me, Riddick," she said softly. He turned toward the bed, taking in the small face peering down at him over the footboard. "I'm a whore, and not by choice. How much worse could your life have been in comparison?" Her face smiled, but her eyes were distressed at the admission. He wished just for a moment he could see color correctly, if only to see her face as it really existed instead of the swirling pinks, grays, and purples that had become his world.
"I was a serial killer," he said quietly. She blinked, but it was the only indication she'd heard him and been affected. She took a breath and paused, running her tongue over her lower lip as she glanced away.
"So when you said you weren't a hitman, you were saying you didn't kill for the money but the kill itself," she speculated. She glanced at his face, his hard stare confirming her conjecture. "Which is worse, do you think?" His eyebrow twitched, and she smiled softly. "For the money or for the pleasure?"
"Never thought about it," he said slowly.
"I would think it'd be worse to kill for the money," she said with a shrug. His eyebrow arched. "When you kill for the money, it's not about people or passion. It's just about greed," she explained. "But when you kill for the kill – just for the pleasure of taking a life – you understand how precious that life is, how fragile." She was staring into space now, her thoughts pouring out of her without censorship. "And whether it's just for the pleasure of taking life or whether it's for your own survival," she paused, shaking her head slightly as though the world just suddenly made sense to her, "you still feel something. Have a passion for something." She glanced at him quickly, as though he'd just caught her in the middle of a crime, and shrugged, leaning her head to the other side with a soft sigh. "But then again, I'm just a whore. What do I know?" She smiled, and he returned it. "What I do know, however, is that despite what people may say about serial killers not having feelings for anyone other than themselves," she paused, eyeing him, "is that you cared for the girl that gave her life trying to save you." Riddick's jaw tightened, his eyes falling away from her. "And another thing I know is that people don't give their lives to save someone they don't care about, so she cared for you as well."
"I don't know anything about people," Riddick gruffed, glancing up at her when she clicked her tongue at him, a scolding smirk playing on her lips.
"Oh, come on," she chided. "You know more about people than you let on." His eyebrow rose. "You know enough about people to manipulate them – and quite well, might I add. You know enough to predict them, guess what they're up to or what they're planning." He flashed back to his brief encounter with Dame Vaako. "You know enough about people to care for certain ones." He swallowed, averting her eyes. "And you know enough to care whether or not you hurt those certain ones, or to attempt to choose the lesser of two pains." Their eyes met and held for a moment before she looked away, focusing on the comforter. "You might be mistaken, but you try, and that's all that matters."
"Sevic –"
"Shh," she interrupted, shaking her head. "That's all that matters." His eyebrow rose. "That you cared enough to try and that you tried, regardless of the outcome." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Do they bother you?"
"Does what bother me?"
"Your eyes. You seem to rub them a lot," she observed.
"Not really. Get tired every now and then," he said with a shrug.
"Forgive my ignorance, but—"
"It's a shine job," he explained, smirking slightly. "Prison surgery." She nodded, but obviously wasn't enlightened. "I'm not really sure how the procedure works, but when it's done, it alters your vision so you see in heat impressions."
"Even in the dark," she said, smiling slightly.
"Exactly. The expression 'I see you' means something down there," he said quietly. "Especially when you can't see the person that said it."
"Oh, I'm sure you never said that," she said sarcastically. He chuckled, watching her smile reach her eyes. "I'm sure you were a model prisoner, weren't you?"
"Depends on who you ask," he said equally as sarcastically. She grinned, nodding as she laughed quietly.
"What do I look like?" she asked slowly. "In your eyes?"
"Pink and purple with little touches of gray," he described, watching her eyebrow arch. "I swear."
"That's got to be annoying," she guessed.
"You get used to it after a while."
"Do you ever wish you'd not done it?"
"No," he answered without hesitation. "Full light's a bitch – hurts like hell – but it's a great asset if you know how to apply it." She nodded, cocking her head as he took a breath and paused as though contemplating whether or not to ask a question. "What color are your eyes?"
"Is the shine job reversible?" she asked.
"No."
"My eyes are brown," she answered. His eyebrow rose.
"Are you lying to me?"
"No," she said with a smirk. "Okay, okay. Fine," she laughed. "I have hazel eyes."
"What's that mean?" he asked.
"You've never seen hazel eyes?"
"I've had a shine job for twenty years. Do you really think I'd remember if I had?" he asked.
"Good point," she said with a chuckle. "Hazel is a little bit of everything. It depends on what I wear, really, what color my eyes appear. Some days they're gray, some days green, some days blue, and I'm sure you get the point." He nodded slowly, and she figured he was trying to imagine it. "Do you know what color your eyes were?"
"My guess would be brown, but I don't know," he answered, shrugging. She yawned, and a silence fell over them. "You should sleep," Riddick finally said quietly.
"Are you sure you're alright on the floor?"
"I don't sleep much anyway," he answered. "Don't worry about me." She smiled slightly and nodded.
"Good night, Riddick."
"Night."
