The problem, Neph realizes with rage's pure clarity, is that Samson saw her small and afraid early on. He caught her by surprise and nailed her in a vulnerable spot, flipped all the switches in her brain from 'competent, capable' to 'confused, scared'. He knows, or probably thinks he knows, what she can do, but he had power over her once, and that's created some bizarre default that makes him think he can get away with more. Makes him think he can talk to her like he knows fuckall.
If this is what comes of being vulnerable, even for a split second, then Neph wants no part of it. She and Samson weren't friends, but she'd like him okay, worked with him well enough, laughed and joked with him, and now look. He saw an opening, he took it, and here they are. All because she stopped watching for warning signs for, like, a minute and a half. If she doesn't even know what to look for, she shouldn't risk it at all. What if, one day, Hannibal--not the same way, but--
What if.
How much worse would it be if.
Hannibal ever.
Neph's stomach lurches, metals a bare inch away from coming up altogether. They will if she opens her mouth to tell Samson how wrong he is, to try and correct him again, she knows it as well as she knows he'll interpret her silence as weakness. Her jaw clenches, teeth creaking together as she weighs her options, her observers, her capacity to step out of her spiraling thoughts. If this really is a lesson in how she oughta mitigate things with Hannibal before she exposes herself any further, then she'll deal with it la--
Crushed limestone crunches under Hannibal's shoes as he stalks forward. Neph tracks him with her eyes alone, stomach slowly climbing down from her throat. He speaks so low and flat, she could almost miss the menace there. If not for the way his burn, black naptha outrage. He parrots Samson's empty threat and follows it with one she knows to be perfectly real: No one would ever see me touch you.
Neph can't help her sharp breath. That, more than anything, seems to convince Samson that he's in some legitimate danger, from the way he actually looks away from Hannibal to study her reaction. His anxious gaze bores into her temple, but she's too engrossed with Hannibal, with the memory of that young priest falling to his knees. But that was Lecter, older and stronger and more accurate, with the means to cover his tracks. Here there are security cameras, bystanders...Will, fuck, there's Will and his perception-feelers. She may have already blown her own cover, but Hannibal shouldn't have to risk his. Neph shakes her head once, a small motion that Hannibal intercepts with a flicker of his eye.
Then Will steps right into range, behind Hannibal but within her arm's reach. She allows herself a full doubletake at the harsh growl that comes outta him, at the anger contorting his face. Why's he--no. Oh. No, no no. Horror and shame knot her gut, put that pressure back on her throat, and Neph has to swallow hard and wrench her face away. She takes a breath and pushes that worry aside for later. Better, now, to focus on the way he's backing them both up instead.
"That's a good idea," she says, only slightly hoarse from all the abrasive emotions she's been choking down. I wouldn't stay to see what happens next, if I were you. In fact, the longer those words hang on the air, the more she likes them. The more she sees the shape of something else. Her eyes flash wide, smile returning. "You should go."
Samson stares at her in disbelief, verging on anger, "I'm not going anywhere until you--"
"No, I mean, go away," when the stare only flattens out, she adds, "From Baltimore. Get out. I don't want to deal with you, ever again."
His mouth falls open. He looks, for a minute, like a sandy-haired catfish. "You can't--"
"No, what I can't do is go tell Anansi you didn't--didn't do what you did," Which is, she's finally realizing, what he wanted of her. To recant her statement. To go to Anansi and say I made it up, he never touched me, it's all good. Hot, frustrated tears prickle behind her eyes, but her newfound conviction burns them away quickly enough. "There's no work for you here. And if I can blacklist you without even trying, I can sure as fuck kick you outta my city. Go south or west or whatever, but you don't come back here again."
She's never staked territory before. There's no real ceremony to it or anything, just intent and the will to make it obvious. Samson knows that as well as she does, knows that there are no rules for enforcing who stays and who goes. Unless, except, the one doing the staking's Mistborn. Then the possibilities blow wide and precedents get set. His eyes drill into hers, and Neph sees her own impotent rage reflected back at her. Something in her chest sings out.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-01-18 09:11 pm (UTC)If this is what comes of being vulnerable, even for a split second, then Neph wants no part of it. She and Samson weren't friends, but she'd like him okay, worked with him well enough, laughed and joked with him, and now look. He saw an opening, he took it, and here they are. All because she stopped watching for warning signs for, like, a minute and a half. If she doesn't even know what to look for, she shouldn't risk it at all. What if, one day, Hannibal--not the same way, but--
What if.
How much worse would it be if.
Hannibal ever.
Neph's stomach lurches, metals a bare inch away from coming up altogether. They will if she opens her mouth to tell Samson how wrong he is, to try and correct him again, she knows it as well as she knows he'll interpret her silence as weakness. Her jaw clenches, teeth creaking together as she weighs her options, her observers, her capacity to step out of her spiraling thoughts. If this really is a lesson in how she oughta mitigate things with Hannibal before she exposes herself any further, then she'll deal with it la--
Crushed limestone crunches under Hannibal's shoes as he stalks forward. Neph tracks him with her eyes alone, stomach slowly climbing down from her throat. He speaks so low and flat, she could almost miss the menace there. If not for the way his burn, black naptha outrage. He parrots Samson's empty threat and follows it with one she knows to be perfectly real: No one would ever see me touch you.
Neph can't help her sharp breath. That, more than anything, seems to convince Samson that he's in some legitimate danger, from the way he actually looks away from Hannibal to study her reaction. His anxious gaze bores into her temple, but she's too engrossed with Hannibal, with the memory of that young priest falling to his knees. But that was Lecter, older and stronger and more accurate, with the means to cover his tracks. Here there are security cameras, bystanders...Will, fuck, there's Will and his perception-feelers. She may have already blown her own cover, but Hannibal shouldn't have to risk his. Neph shakes her head once, a small motion that Hannibal intercepts with a flicker of his eye.
Then Will steps right into range, behind Hannibal but within her arm's reach. She allows herself a full doubletake at the harsh growl that comes outta him, at the anger contorting his face. Why's he--no. Oh. No, no no. Horror and shame knot her gut, put that pressure back on her throat, and Neph has to swallow hard and wrench her face away. She takes a breath and pushes that worry aside for later. Better, now, to focus on the way he's backing them both up instead.
"That's a good idea," she says, only slightly hoarse from all the abrasive emotions she's been choking down. I wouldn't stay to see what happens next, if I were you. In fact, the longer those words hang on the air, the more she likes them. The more she sees the shape of something else. Her eyes flash wide, smile returning. "You should go."
Samson stares at her in disbelief, verging on anger, "I'm not going anywhere until you--"
"No, I mean, go away," when the stare only flattens out, she adds, "From Baltimore. Get out. I don't want to deal with you, ever again."
His mouth falls open. He looks, for a minute, like a sandy-haired catfish. "You can't--"
"No, what I can't do is go tell Anansi you didn't--didn't do what you did," Which is, she's finally realizing, what he wanted of her. To recant her statement. To go to Anansi and say I made it up, he never touched me, it's all good. Hot, frustrated tears prickle behind her eyes, but her newfound conviction burns them away quickly enough. "There's no work for you here. And if I can blacklist you without even trying, I can sure as fuck kick you outta my city. Go south or west or whatever, but you don't come back here again."
She's never staked territory before. There's no real ceremony to it or anything, just intent and the will to make it obvious. Samson knows that as well as she does, knows that there are no rules for enforcing who stays and who goes. Unless, except, the one doing the staking's Mistborn. Then the possibilities blow wide and precedents get set. His eyes drill into hers, and Neph sees her own impotent rage reflected back at her. Something in her chest sings out.
"Fine," he grits out. "Keep this shithole."