02-17-2016, 04:04 AM
Oh, she wants that. Dan is discussing going in and taking Alexander back by force and there's that scratch and illumination, like a match-head drawn against the side of the box. That flicker of fire that dances through Kiara's dark eyes where she stands cradling that wine glass against her chest. She's silent for much of this - the debate, the turning over of decisions and probable routes.
In her mind's eye she sees it: the reckoning.
The laboratory up in flames, Alexander freed and the others - fleeing like rats from a sinking sink. Cowering and ruined.
There's little room for mercy in the Verbena's fantasy, in the hot-blooded whiplash of it as blood and vengeance play out their pretty imaginings in her grim little tucked in expression; the fine pull in of her brows as she pours another glass of wine. It trickles out with a tidy little glug, droplets of dark red painting the sides of the glass.
Then she frames the bench with one hand. Lets the wine scrap away the edges; dull the roar of payback. The jangle of it against her nerves; pulsing in time with her heart.
It doesn't have to be a daring rescue - but part of Kiara Woolfe desperately wants for it to be. "Faking her death might not be impossible if it comes to that. With the right tools. Manipulating certain aspects. It just has to be convincing, not perfect." She lets her eyes tick to the Doctor, then Kalen. "There are ways we could probably pull that off." Kiara doesn't offer details on what that idea might require. DNA altering. Pattern changing on a base level.
"Especially since at least two of us have medical training." Her dark eyes tick away, she breathes in sharply. Says no more.
In her mind's eye she sees it: the reckoning.
The laboratory up in flames, Alexander freed and the others - fleeing like rats from a sinking sink. Cowering and ruined.
There's little room for mercy in the Verbena's fantasy, in the hot-blooded whiplash of it as blood and vengeance play out their pretty imaginings in her grim little tucked in expression; the fine pull in of her brows as she pours another glass of wine. It trickles out with a tidy little glug, droplets of dark red painting the sides of the glass.
Then she frames the bench with one hand. Lets the wine scrap away the edges; dull the roar of payback. The jangle of it against her nerves; pulsing in time with her heart.
It doesn't have to be a daring rescue - but part of Kiara Woolfe desperately wants for it to be. "Faking her death might not be impossible if it comes to that. With the right tools. Manipulating certain aspects. It just has to be convincing, not perfect." She lets her eyes tick to the Doctor, then Kalen. "There are ways we could probably pull that off." Kiara doesn't offer details on what that idea might require. DNA altering. Pattern changing on a base level.
"Especially since at least two of us have medical training." Her dark eyes tick away, she breathes in sharply. Says no more.