tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; Nov. 3 (night)
Rating; PG13 for language
Characters; Christopher Styles

bitingnightmare
Summary; There are only so many escapes in the City, some more secluded than others, some company more private than others.
Log;

Fortunately Cori had managed to succeed in ditching both his dates at the Coliseum. He felt no guilt for it, Elle Driver and the Prodigal needed to rekindle their friendship anyway. Why not over a beer? It helped that neither knew the other would be there, with one nightmare Missing In Action. He smirked to himself as he entered another bar, several blocks away from the pub. It was smaller, a little more sophisticated, dressed in sleek lacquered woods complete with Chinese brocade for the benches. Styles' choice.

The Corinthian pushed his sunglasses up to further hide his teeth eyes from the patrons. They searched for the dark haired American among them.

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"You'd have his wife to worry about," Cori nodded, "all things considered, he's pussy whipped. She, while being a chimera and short in temper, ultimately aligns with Good."

The nightmare rubbed his chin and smirked. There were so many of those in the damned City, people who ultimately chose to remain in the white, completely avoiding the gray area despite their past. Cori embraced being in the ambiguous zone. He tried to think of more names to offer.

"Severus Snape?"

"She's routinely handled by whoever she pisses off in any given week," Styles pointed out. "Not everyone in the City can be the villain." At the very least, maybe it would force the werewolf to grow a pair.

At the suggestion, Styles shook his head. "No, he would never get voted in. He's someone who no one in the City, not even people from his own world, like."

How many people could there be who were universally loved and generally stupid as bricks. "Vash?"

"You're suggesting the vote for Warden is a popularity contest, which in some ways it is, but most of the people who'd garner votes are too damn 'good' to get bent," he smirked. "That includes Vash the Stampede."

Cori leaned back again to order a Long Island then turned to Christopher. "I fucked his boyfriend. They patched things up in a day," the nightmare snapped his fingers, "but they still hate my guts. Don't forget his attachment to Stryfe."

After a moment's thought he upnodded to the dark haired American. "Have you considered a woman?"

"The trick of bending someone who won't is to make sure that they don't realize what's going on," Styles pointed out. "Attachment to Meryl might serve me."

He thought about the question. "A woman would serve, but not Stryfe. She's insufferable." She was loyal, in a way, but she shot off her mouth far too often to be consistent. The women in the City all seemed a bit too emotionally involved with the fact that half the City was gay to seem to manage. "Who were you thinking?"

"Attachment to me won't," he shook his head then tipped his chin thoughtfully.

"Seras Victoria."

The vampire. Young, innocent, naive, fresh-faced and perky, and ready to fight for a cause.

"You know her?" Styles asked, running his head through her list of qualities. "I thought she was generally owned by the Hellsing group."

A group he really would rather not associate with. Ever.

"I know her tits," he grinned before sipping his liquored tea.

"Her superiors haven't sent the girl out on the field for some time. I'm sure she's itching to keep busy for a cause. Her ties to the Hellsing group are flexible, latch key kid or something," Cori nodded. "I can look into it," the white haired nightmare offered.

Styles didn't want to know. He finished off his rum and coke and leaned forward.

"See what you can find out. If she's interested, how much would it take to get her so, and how much the populace would be accepting of her. I'll...find a way to ingratiate her with Rosiel." Probably through Brocklehurst, but that would be tricky.

Damn. Politics always did serve to turn him on. He ordered another drink and asked, "So besides the obvious, what's the recent turn in your life?"

Fortunately her very existence was easy to monitor for a nightmare. Any other ties he might require he could attempt to gain through his most recent hunting acquaintance, Walter Dornez. The Corinthian nodded in understanding, though why it was necessary to involve Rosiel was beyond him. Placating or otherwise provoking the inorganic angel seemed like a snap to Cori. Then again, he'd gambled on his own soul with Rosiel, the garter enthusiast could come to collect any time.

"I'll do that," he smirked again behind the glass rim of his tea, "I'm horny and realizing that I should've known your stiff business Republican principles would bleed over into your personal virtues."

Styles felt another smile tug on his lips. "Thanks for the observation," he said wryly. "It's a talent."

Brocklehurst's behavior, in all honesty, was scaring him, making him unsure. He hated being unsure; it had been his state of life in Washington, and here it was just superfluous.

"As good as your oral ability," he added in a casual and cool manner. "Do you want me to check out what's been going on with your old man?"

Styles let out a rare laugh. "You wouldn't know that, really," he pointed out with a smirk.

He thought about the possibility of The Corinthian investigating what was going on with Brocklehurst. "No," he said, finally, "Consider it a favor towards him. Let him have his privacy." For now, he added mentally. Besides, not knowing was part of their relationship, in any case.

Secrets.

"But I can imagine," he replied, wetting his own lips with the taste of Long Island liquor. Then the Corinthian shrugged, "besides, I have three mouths. What do you think I wouldn't know in the oral department."

At that response Cori just nodded. Styles wanted to grant Brocklehurst his privacy (and probably let the guilt of his secrecy fester, Cori would have considered the same). "If you insist. The offer's always on the table," he ensured Christopher with another sip of his drink.

The flirting was natural, as rare as it was now. "Politician's tongues," he said with a smirk. He took another sip. "But then, I'm sure you know the amount of licking that goes on up on Capitol Hill."

Maybe that wasn't fair, but he didn't care. He wasn't pissed enough to cheat - not yet, anyway, but he was pissed enough to flirt. The Corinthian wasn't stupid. He knew that Styles didn't mean it.

And if he didn't, then Styles' ability to judge character had gone down the drain.

He knew Styles didn't mean it, and that made his pursuit all the more... fun. He didn't have enough of that these days. Saya was someone he could screw without the strings attached, without the secrecy and social niceties. That had been fun. The Wolfwood ordeal as a chaser was more than just mindless entertainment. Vash would be wrong to think the Corinthian was exercising cruelty for kicks, Vash would be right to think the Corinthian was looking for a way to get his jaw blown off without pathetically begging for the gun.

"I always knew you politicians were bunch of cocksuckers," he quipped with a smile. "I think that concludes this meeting, Styles," on top of that Cori was morbidly curious to know if Elle and Destruction had destroyed the Coliseum yet.

The nightmare stood up, not bothering to drop cash on the table to cover his own drinks. The brunette could take it out of his paycheck if necessary. "I'll get on that other project of yours and report with updates as I receive them," Cori nodded, stepping closer to Styles' side of the table.

Styles cocked his head up to look at the tall nightmare and nodded. "Thanks," he said mildly, not bothering to stand up. He was going to finish his third drink and possibly move on to the forth. He didn't particularly feel like going home yet.

"I'll see you in the office," he added.

He too watched Styles for a moment, then placed a hand on the edge of the table to lean forward, almost looming over the shorter brunette.

"A kiss wouldn't hurt would it."

Styles raised an eyebrow. Kisses barely mattered.

He leaned forward to press a kiss to the nightmare's lips.

Open mouth. He wanted to taste the liquor on Styles' tongue. Whether Christopher actually allowed him or not the Corinthian eased his own tongue into the other's mouth.

Styles let the nightmare's tongue in and returned the favor before breaking the kiss a moment later.

The nightmare tasted of Southern Comfort, and tobacco.

At least he'd the decency to not smoke in Christopher's face. He already knew the tobacco policy around the office and how it most certainly applied to Styles' personal space. When the other man broke their kiss he pulled back with a smirk. Styles tasted like a fucking sunset over the Mississippi River. What could Brocklehurst be up to to neglect that?

"Cheers," Cori upnodded to the remaining contents of Styles' glass, then turned to leave.

Styles raised a hand in polite goodbye, and went back to nursing his drink. The nightmare had been good company, and a good kisser, but he preferred someone else's Southern Comfort laced lips.

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Log; Complete

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