In Your Darkest Hour (Seven x Pocket)

[PocketFullOfPosies]

New York City.

If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere…Perhaps.

In the most remote villages of Russia, if you lived…then it was a miracle in itself. If you could survive the filthy home birth or even filthier hospitals, acquire enough food not to starve to death growing up and find a job that would not require signing your soul or a member of your family to the higher ups…then perhaps you could make it. Maybe. Crime would be unavoidable...No one is guilty of crime, if everyone participates in it… It would not be regarded so much as crime as it would be day to day living..If your neighbor has more potatoes than he can consume, and you have starving children to feed…take it. You could offer something in return, but desperations breeds greed more often than generosity. Your neighbor would want something outlandish…
Better to nourish his fields with his blood, than filling his pockets with your own..

New Yorkers knew nothing of desperation. Their city was nothing in comparison to the corrupt cesspool that formed an entire country..Even in Moscow, where even the slightest glimmer of hope could be seen through the polluted fogs lingering overhead, even there the greatest dream you could have was escape…Some disease or enraged cutpurse would claim you if the secret police did not..But Moscow was where Russians went, girls in particular, if they wanted to find means of escape. Plucking up young maidens from villages often went unreported for those seeking to sell brides or generate a few more bodies for the human trafficking business, but just because it happened in a major city didn’t mean the crime would be looked into with any more care, than if it were out in the middle of nowhere. Besides..for the people in such a business, it was far more alluring to tempt a desperate girl with a career in modeling or acting than to simply snatch them up. It was all part of the twisted game..The more those eager doe-eyed girls believed that they would soon be on the covers of international magazines, the more sadistic gratification their sellers received from the deal…

No one played the hero in Russia..You wouldn't last a day as one..

The country was populated by villains, and victims...And at times, it was difficult to tell them apart.

Magdalena Ivanov had packed what little belongings she had brought with her to Moscow, into a worn and tattered duffel bag, and boarded one of those planes with an American man named Harrison. She had thought their meeting to be a God send…Only a few days in Moscow and an American man had stopped her as she came out of Mass to comment on how beautiful she was! How her deep gray-blue eyes were like the sky before a summer storm…How her dark hair flowed like silk curtains around a lithe body carved from the most perfect and fair stone! A sign for sure! The cathedral bells chiming in the background to serenade this moment! Oh and how this man had laid it on…Thickly too, with his charming American accent. Musing of angels and heaven and how God must have made her beautiful for the world to see.

To outsiders, the man’s pinstripe suit and greasy black hair would have sent up red flags immediately..So would the way he had snatched back his business card and shuffled through a portfolio of clients that he just happened to have with him at that moment. Russian models he claimed to help, fashion designers who were eager for the face of a liberated Soviet girl..Oh he would have been an obvious rat to anyone, except to a young girl starving for fame as much as food. To her, he was offering a chance she would be a fool to pass on…

After the plane would land in John F Kennedy Airport on October the 19th, 1979, she would know how much of a fool she was to think that God would send her anything but punishment for her vanity...For her pride...For her sins.

A sleek black limo with tinted windows was waiting outside on that brisk autumn evening. Magdalena’s bag was tossed somewhat carelessly into the trunk by a driver who would not look directly at her. Harrison told her to wait inside, and no sooner had she settled into a set close by the window, two tiny Asian girls wearing matching clothing came inside, whispering and giggling to each other. Were they models too? Magdalena had wondered this for a moment…Then another girl with a beautiful olive complexion and thick black hair braided down to her thighs hesitantly entered the limo. She was clutching her slightly rounded stomach, as if it were paining her..But from the shape of the colorful sweater she was wearing, Magdalena could not tell if it was simply weight or..

The car door opened again. Along with Harrison, two other men dressed in similar garb with equally greasy hair came inside with grins as devious as foxes. They sat beside their ‘respected’ ladies, and attempted small talk in base English about the landmarks they were passing by. The Asian girls stared with their hands covering their mouths in disbelief, and admittedly Magdalena had lost herself in the glittering sparkle of the New York night lights...but as she glanced at the dark skinned girl clutching her stomach with such stress upon her face, the charm and wonders of this new place seemed to fade…

Very soon, it would come crashing down entirely.

**
Shhhmmm! A small couch pillow came whizzing through the air, crashing down upon a neatly placed group of white tea cups that clattered against the glass coffee table they had been set upon. The sudden noise caused nine skinny timid girls who had been in the cramped lounging room, to flinch defensively. Most all closed their eyes, some covered their faces...but all of them cowered and held their breath, awaiting a sharp blow to come from anywhere.
This time, there was nothing…Just a smug chortle from a lanky man in a pinstripe suit who stood in the doorway. His hair was far too thin to maintain any amount of grease. A gnarly finger pointed towards Magdalena, who had been sitting on the windowsill, gazing through the iron bars that had been installed for “safety” measures... “Destiny, you got a John tonight,” The man sneered, running his tongue against his yellowed teeth, “Cab’ll take you to the place. Be down in five,” And with that, he turned and morphed back into the dimly lit hallways..The familiar echo of “Move your fuckin worthless ass!” brought the girl to her feet, wrapping the red blanket she had curled up in closer to herself. In two months, she had seen plenty of villains..plenty of victims. Were there no heroes left? Had God deemed mankind beyond saving..? She smiled lightly to the girls around her, who had reanimated after the man had left, returning to their nail polish and magazines.

She had, remarkabely, kept her faith...Despite everything, for the most part. If one could be religious in Russia, they could be here as well..There had to be hope somewhere in this city of dreams...

Destiny, as she was now, walked across the hall into her room. Destiny..A name picked for her by him. He picked all of the names for the girls...Candy, Ruby, Angel...All of them. Something short, sweet..Something the clients will remember.

Curled up on a twin sized mattress sitting in the corner of the room, was the olive skinned girl whose tummy had rounded considerably in the last two months..Her breasts were swelling beneath the tiny pink tank top she wore, damp in the spots she made the most money from for the cliental with more..specifictastes. Destiny took the red blanket from her own shoulders , leaned over and draped it over the sleeping girl, kissing her forehead affectionately before standing up once more. Placing two fingers between the broken horizontals over the window, she peered out into the foggy city..Rain, again. Never had she missed snow so much…Rain was horrible. She would have to pack extra to touch up her hair and make up before the client arrived.

Her duffel bag long since gone, a pretty black tote bag with ‘American Dreams’ embroidered in red white and blue cursive along the sides was used to pack her things. It sat upon the oak dresser that she and the girl she knew as Baby, shared. It was a long dresser, that would have stretched between the tops of the two mattresses, had Destiny’s mattress still been there. It was filled to the brim with clothes, costumes, jewelry..Anything and everything they had was either on the floor or in that dresser. The room was barely big enough for the two of them, the size of a walk in closet maybe. These had been storage rooms once..and in a sense, they still were.

Into the large bag she packed a royal purple negligee, in case her client had opted for her to spend the night. Removing her jeans and I Love NY t shirt, she slipped on a corset of the same color, with black lace to match her garters. Black elbow length gloves, sheer black knee highs and stiletto heels that pressed her toes together too tightly, but they were the only pair she could fit in since the two girls who shared her shoe size refused to lend her their shoes. Her long black hair had been cut since arriving, styled with layers and blonde highlights..More of an American feel...He wanted her to be exotic, but not so much to put off the clients... A make-up bag was placed inside with shades picked out for her by crotchety Rita who worked alongside of him, as well as a bottle of wild orchid perfume that Destiny had bought from a vendor on her own.

She also slipped her rosary off of it’s nail upon the wall, kissing it softly before tucking it away inside of the bags inner pocket. Making her way towards the stairs, she held the rail tightly as she walked down the narrow, creaky stairs..One flight down and through the a door, the light was almost blinding. Taking a long gray military style trench coat from the closet immediately outside of the door, Destiny placed it on before taking one of the larger bags from the bottom of the closet...A bag with the ‘American Dream’ logo written a bit more boldly with a phone number printed, as well as her name, filled with items that could be used throughout the night..if paid for.

The stairs going downstairs felt more stable, but still she held tightly to the railing..The first floor always had soft classical music playing at all hours. The hallway adorned with statues and paintings of nude women, giant flower arrangements. It looked like a parlor to a private home..but the door to the left of the stairs read OFFICE in large gold letters, and the come-hither looking stare from the half nude, blonde haired, blue-eyed girl upon the poster beneath, stuck out significantly in the otherwise seemingly elegant atmosphere. As she made her way towards the front door, Destiny heard the door open behind her.

“You…”

She froze, not daring to look back. The voice was deep, hoarse..

“You offend again, and I will be taking you out..You understand?”

Her lips quivered.

“English..You understand? You’re on thin ice. Thin fucking ice after your last stunt. I hear anything back like that again and you’ll be the next fucking Romanov, got it?”

..

“…Y-yes.”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Arms held behind his back, Dan paced.

Night had fallen hours ago and some distant, long-buried part of him ached to get out, to go into the shadows where he belonged, where he could fit in because he always looked uncomfortable during the day, out of place in any atmosphere. He wasn't himself anymore - he hadn't been since '77, not that he would admit it.

He had told himself every day that the Keene act had been the best thing for them - sometimes he even managed to convince himself it was true, that a life as a superhero wasn't normal, wasn't healthy. It was something crazy people did, and he was reformed. He wasn't a hero anymore.

Sometimes he even wondered if those days had really happened, if maybe he truly was insane, if he had made the whole thing up in a flight of fancy to get away from the mind-numbing monotony of daily life. Sometimes, he was convinced it had all been in his head. Sometimes he could carry on and be sure that this was how life was supposed to be - dull. An empty existence that consisted of going from day to day, writing articles about aeronautics, focusing as much obsession as he could into the study of ornithology.

Sometimes he could even forget - or at least, push it all to the back of his mind. Act like it never happened.

But then he would come home and find his front door ajar just a little, or he might smell something that was raw and familiar - the smell that came with dirt and grease and terrible hygiene, and he always knew what he would find inside. It was the reason he always left the can opener in the same spot; if Rorschach couldn't find it, there was no telling what he might do to crack open a can of beans.

It was good to see his old partner sometimes, good to know he was still alive - just, Rorschach always came with complications. Even when he had little to say - which was usually the case - Rorschach had a way of reminding Dan of how things used to be, reminding him of what he left behind.

And after Rorschach had left he would inevitably find himself standing in his basement, catch himself starting longingly at the suit, and he would always have to fight the maddening urge to put it on, start up Archie and just - go. Leave behind the lonely, pointless life of Daniel Dreiberg.

Have meaning again.

But then he would come to his senses. That's what he told himself he was doing, when he resisted. He just just being reasonable, obeying the law. The city didn't want heroes, they had made that clear, and only Veidt had been the exception in the whole thing, making a mint from his moonlighting days while Blake and Laurie and Manhattan had become government hires.

The rest of them had faded away. They might even pass eachother on the streets sometimes and not know it.

Though, some of them were hard to mistake. Dan swore he had seen Laurie just the other day, there was no mistaking her hair and the way it moved in sync with her hips - no mistaking that. Ever.

But she was with Superman, that was how life worked anyways - he accepted it and moved on. But not really. For the last three years, it felt like he was stuck in one spot as one day blurred into another, nights of eating dinner alone and reading books until he was too tired to turn another page - which sometimes wasn't until sunrise.

Days of being alone, broken up only by his weekly visits to Hollis, which he wasn't sure were healthy either, but it was all either of them had anymore. Some days Dan wondered if the rest of them were having the same trouble he was, if letting go seemed so impossible.

He wondered if any of them had become as afraid as he had become. Fearful that they were insane.

Dan removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose for a long time in an effort to settle his nerves. That night had been one of those rare visits from Rorschach, he had come and gone in a whirl of ink and dust and had left Dan feeling as though his world had been overturned all over again because he could swear he could taste the blood and the sweat and the dust of the streets and the fires and the war. He could feel the breeze on his face, the comfort of his suit pressed to his skin - the familiarity of it all. The feeling of being whole.

And he was looking at the suit again, seeing his reflection in the glass that covered it. He put his glasses back on and took a good look at himself and suddenly - suddenly he felt angry. He felt miserable. He felt useless, and pathetic and lonely because he was thirty-four and empty and living by himself, wishing for days that wouldn't come back, days that he knew he shouldn't want.

The suit had to stay where it was. He had to stay where he was.

But god, that night, being alone was too much - he couldn't stop thinking. He needed - he needed -

something. Someone.

So he did something monumentally stupid, something he wouldn't have done in his right mind, he was sure of it.

Too shy to go out and risk being turned down, Dan found an escort service - the first four times, he dialed the number but hung up before anyone could answer and between each call he would find himself sitting and staring at the phone for a longer period of time. By number five, he managed to wait for someone to pick up before he slammed the phone back down on the reciever.

Six was the charm. A raspy, bored-sounding female voice asked him what he wanted and Dan had stammered and stuttered that he was looking for someone to come over; the silence on the other end convinced him he had said something stupid. After an uncomfortable wait, the voice prompted him:

"Are you looking for anything specific, sir?"

"Specific?" Dan repeated, "I - I'd prefer she was. You know. Female."

Silence again. Dan could feel his face heating up.

"Yes sir. They're all female."

"And, you know. Whole. One piece."

"Alright, sir. We've confirmed you would like a woman who isn't an amputee. Perhaps you could narrow it down a little more."

Briefly, Dan had considered slamming the phone down again and hiding under his kitchen table until the shame went away, but he forged onwards,

"Brunette." he blurted out, "I'd - I'd like a brunette. A girl with, with big -"

Dan shifted uncomfortably on the couch,

"- eyes." he finished lamely.

After the fact, Dan had panicked because - well, he had just hired a call girl.

He dropped his head into his hands and asked himself what he had been thinking; he was sure this was a new low.

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

It would have been easier to walk. Even in five inch heels, she would have moved faster than the traffic they were currently caught in.

The fifteen minutes it should have taken to get to this John’s house, would double easily. Her drive would be serenaded by the charming background sounds of the city; blaring horns, screamed obscenities and the occasional siren…

Just like home.

With a large round mirror on the back of the passenger and driver’s seat and an airplane-esque dashboard for make up to be set upon fastened to the chairs, the backseat of the white cab was like a motorized vanity. The time in the back of the company’s exclusive cab often served as primping time, or time to look over the conversation the secretary had had with the John in case something specific was mentioned. Destiny’s English was base at the very best, but she knew key phrases.

“ Big…eyes?”

She said this aloud, hoping it would make sense that way as it certainly hadn’t within her head. Dark brown eyes with flex of green and gold, turned upwards towards the mirror. She placed her fingertips against her eyes, trying to measure them..Were they big? Or was this some slang term she was unfamiliar with..Something the few actual American girls who worked for the company, had yet to mention to her.

This man had not been specific at all. But that was the way some John’s were..Her first client, but not her first first..He took that privilege upon himself for every girl. No, her first John had been very specific. Right down to the shade and brand of lipstick she would wear, he gave the secretary a list of requirements that he personally inspected at the motel door before letting the cab driver leave. Some John’s were like that…

Using a charcoal base color, Destiny tried to accent her eyes with a smoky look. Blending the dark with a shimmery white to allow herself to sparkle a bit more than the sparkly orchid lotion she used on her skin that only glittered in the right light. Candlelight usually. Most girls overdid the sparkles, which got their Johns in a lot of trouble. Lipstick could be washed off, and perfume covered by cologne…But those goddamn flecks of glitter were more condemning evidence than fingerprints on a gun.

Destiny’s sparkles were applied just right..So that they would make her shimmer in dim light, like the ethereal and forbidden being she was supposed to be.

Secrets…The world was filled with secrets. The Johns kept secrets from their significant others about where they were going at night. If they had none, they still wouldn’t admit to anyone else that they knew about seeking a call girl..But those people denied the confession had secrets of their own. Darker ones perhaps. Something that in comparison, made indulging in the company of a fantasy seem miniscule. Not all of the Johns were corporate sleazes with a kink their wives wouldn’t satisfy…

Most of them were, but not all of them.

Destiny lined her lips with a soft red, glossing on a clear peppermint glaze to plump them out slightly. A pouty look was almost always endearing to a man..A subtle mark of innocence, vulnerability…Need.

Twenty five minutes, almost double time. The driver parked, but kept the engine going as he took out an umbrella and expanded it. Making his way to her door, the tall chauffer adjusted the sunglasses that all of the drivers insisted to wear despite the weather or time of day. It was like a mask…

As they approached the door, Destiny’s heart began to race. It always did. Every new John was a clean slate… As the driver rose his large hand up and rapped three times upon the wooden door, Destiny drew in a deep breath. Slipping a few gloved fingers through her layered tresses, she glanced towards the windows, trying to peer through the little opening in the curtains. There was light flickering inside…A television maybe? Or a camera flashing..

It wouldn’t have been the first time, or the strangest request she had received by far...

She wouldn’t know how to approach him until she met him, and waiting out in this deathly rain served as a bleak backdrop for the arrangement. It was dark out…The lights on the streets were flickering. Some John’s were ready to go as soon as she arrived, others were as hesitant as if she was their girlfriend and foreplay was necessary for her to say yes.

Most got over that rather quickly…As soon as their blood rushed to the right places.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan had only just managed to settle himself down onto the couch, to calm his nerves enough to stop the endless pacing lest he wear a hole through the sitting room carpet - but he couldn't seem to get comfortable. He settled with leaning his chin onto his fist and flipping through television channels only to find that nothing could truly calm him - even the discovery channel couldn't supply a decent distraction, despite the fact it was presently airing a show on the moon landing.

He had been twenty-five when Apollo 11 had landed on the moon in 1969 - everyone he knew had witnessed the original broadcast of it at 10:39 p.m. He had watched a re-run of it on the news because he had been out that night, breaking the jaw of a bank robber.

Of course, Manhattan had witnessed it first hand. He had been on the damn moon with them.

The sound of gentle rapping shook Dan out of his reverie, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin; suddenly on his feet, he stared at the front door, expression briefly anguished as he struggled between the maddening urge to run in the other direction, and the absolute need to be polite and answer the damn door.

No running, Dreiberg. You've faced terrorists, crazed gunmen and neo-nazis.

Dan took hold of the doorknob and very gradually turned it, opening the door half an inch, enough for him to peer out with one enormous eye, magnified by the thick lens of his oversized glasses.

Yeah, but neo-nazis didn't ever have legs like that.

A woman stared back; thin and brunette, she seemed almost like she was glittering from the low blue lighting emanating from his house, but he told himself his eyes were just going funny.

"I - uh," Dan said, pointlessly, and then looked at the floor for a long moment, embarrassed, before he stepped back and opened the door entirely with a helpless, "Come in?"

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

When the door opened, it opened slowly..Hesitantly. The light from the house blocked out by a shadow that took up a good portion of the doorway’s height. An eye came into view, peering out searchingly, carefully observing through a thick lens. Studying..Wide, as if afraid.
Destiny inclined her head slightly to the left, a light smile upon her lips as she tried to catch this wandering eye. “Hello,” She said softly, her accent apparent from the simple word. She could hear the door knob shaking from the inside, as if he was gripping it with all of his might and was unable to let go.

As the man stepped back, asking her to come inside, the driver returned with his umbrella to the cab. She would call him to pick her up when the John was finished, and he would be billed appropriately for the time spent. Crossing the threshold, the last wind chill from outside seemed to linger even as the door was shut. Not enough to bother the Russian girl of course..Winters in Mother Russia froze the very blood in your veins after all..This chill here was just enough to send a shiver up ones spine and tingles throughout the body.

A lot of John's liked the room cold...Helped them to sleep better after, and kept them from leaving sweat stains on their underthings.

As he tended to the locks on the door, curiousity urged her to glance around. Usually these...encounters, took place in a pre-paid room. It was rare to actually be invited to someones home. This home felt very empty, but there was plenty inside. Even within the hall, there were books lined up neatly in shelves and photographs of various birds framed neatly and hung in a perfectly straight row upon the wall. Nothing seemed out of place...Save for the painted up woman in the long coat, dressed scantily beneath and the man behind her fumbling with the locks on the door.

An air of dissatisfaction lingered heavily in this home...A potent emptiness that was present in some way with all of the John’s she had met. But this one….She could almost feel it..

As an object that's purpose was to sate that sorrow..She could sense it easily now..Most would have recognized the tidiness and passed it off as a compulsive disorder or something of the likes. But this poor Russian girl could sense that the meticulous placements were meant to cover for something..To distract, from something..

Maybe someone.

Elegantly, she turned to face him. Her ankles crossed slightly, her wrists folded in front of her as she stood in an almost childish pose, still smiling to him with her head inclined ever so slightly.

He was cute.

A little round in some places, but hey, it would help keep the bed warm. His clothes were well kept, no wrinkles and no stains. His face well shaven, and from the meek smile he had flashed her way as she walked in, his teeth were in good condition as well. A lot could be said about a John by the way he dressed when answering the door for a call girl. Robes were expected, but this man was fully dressed as if he was on his way to work. It was…refreshing.

Extending her hand out, she gently moved her fingertips to caress and straighten the collar of his shirt which had been upturned perhaps while anxiously rubbing his neck. Smiling, she took a step closer to him, closing in the proximity slightly..Her eyes turned upward beneath lashes that needed no mascara to be full and long.

“I am Destiny.”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan had never been good with women; in grade school he had been gawky, the kid with the glasses and the acne and the good grades, but genetics had given him the good fortune of being too tall to stuff into a locker and persistence had given him the kind of cardio that got him away from potential bullies with minimal effort.

But girls had always been interested in the jocks; that was just the way it went. Senior prom had him shyly asking out a girl from the chess club, a night that ended with an awkward front door kiss and nothing else.

His freshman year was when Dan first started hitting the gym - it was also the year when girls started noticing him. At first he had figured there was something on his face they were staring at, and when he looked back, they often continued to stare; it hadn't made much sense to him at the time - he had been used to being a nobody.

His first had been that same year; a girl he had a sticky tryst with in her dorm room, something indelicate and too quick, but enough to show Dan what he had been avoiding - he kept shyly avoiding it anyways. Something about women did that to him -

- and this one was no different. She was small and pretty and smelled good, the way all women seemed to; it was the sort of smell that made him want to lean in and discover where it was coming from. Her hair? Was there perfume on her neck?

Dan's eyes dropped to the pale edge of a collarbone that peeked out from beneath her jacket and instantly averted his eyes as though he had been doing something terrible,

"Destiny," he repeated; of course that was her name. She stepped closer, her fingers brushed his neck; Dan immediately flushed and gave a small, nervous smile - he stepped back he offered out a hand - for a handshake. "Daniel. I mean - Dan."

Smooth.

He did his best to recover,

"Can I take your coat for you?"

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

The outstretched hand puzzled her. Formality? Nerves?

Perhaps a bit of both.

It was not unusual to be nervous when receiving an individual such as herself. Nerves were part of the thrill. It added to the adrenaline rush that some of the John’s craved so desperately. This guy though…He didn’t strike her as the sort thirsty for an adrenaline kick.

The handshake was new though.

Nevertheless, she moved her soft gloved hand against his. Her hand significantly smaller in both height and width, so to make up for it, she clasped her other hand warmly on the other side of his. Intertwining their fingers briefly as she made the hesitant hand shake far more intimate than it was intended. Trapping his hand for a moment between her delicate fingers as he spoke his name, her fingertips outstretched to stroke along his wrist.

“Dan.”

She repeated, coordinating her nod with a gentle pressure made by her hands. Her fingertips stroked over his knuckles before releasing , turning around gracefully upon that thin black heel, so that her back would face him. One by one, she unfastened the round black buttons of her coat, before sliding the thick material off of her slender shoulders which became quite apparent quite quickly, were hardly covered so well beneath such a conservative piece of outerwear. Had he gripped the shoulders of her coat in just the right manner, he would have brushed against her skin…

She stepped forward, shedding the coat like a wolf shedding it’s sheep skin to reveal something far more menacing to the innocent lamb standing by. No claws or shaggy coat, no watering jowls and sharp teeth…But black lace and garters, and very long legs..

Turning her head to glance over her shoulder towards him, she smiled somewhat, running her hands up her arms and onto her shoulders, giving a playful shiver.

“So chilly in here…”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

It occurred to Dan that he had probably gone for far too long without human contact because the slight brush of Destiny's fingertips against his calloused knuckles was cause for a small shudder to run through him, though he did his very best to cover it up.

You need to get out more often, Danny-boy.

His hand lingered for a moment after Destiny released it and it took a moment for Dan to realize he had left it hanging there before he curled his fingers in and withdrew it entirely; he watched as she turned away, unbuttoning her jacket,

"Can I - get you something to drink?" Dan asked, "It's not very nice out - something to warm you? Maybe a cup of tea? Coffee?"

A can of beans and an opener?

What the hell?

Dan was sure his brain fell out somewhere along the way because as Destiny slipped off her jacket and he moved to take it for her, he ended up frozen in place and missing the coat entirely; it slipped past his outstretched fingertips and pooled onto the floor.

Instead of doing anything remotely useful, Dan gaped; in front of him, Destiny was scantily clad in lace and frilly things and the retired hero felt his entire face go hot - his ears felt like they were on fire. He closed his jaw with an audible 'click' and swallowed hard,

"Oh." Dan said meekly and then fumbled to pick up the jacket, only to find his hands weren't being entirely obedient, his fingers suddenly clumsy; he dropped his eyes to the ground, a difficult task with her stocking-clad legs so close to him, "Um. Sorry. It's - yeah it's a little cold in here. I sometimes forget. Would you - would you like a sweater?"

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

Laughing at the John’s was not advisable by any means, but Destiny could not help herself but to giggle as the man completely lost his grip upon her coat. His eyes as wide as an owls gawking, despite himself, from beneath those thick lenses.

It was a wonder she had not seen his heart leaping into his throat! Or, perhaps that was what he was attempting to swallow back down..

Was his blood rushing yet?

After observing him for a moment fumbling about with the jacket that seemed to be as allusive to grasp onto as smoke, Destiny turned and stepped towards him. One leg outstretched elegantly before her, so that as she bent forward, the muscles of those shapely stems became all the more noticeable.

As did the swell of her cleavage promptly placed no more than a few inches away from the already thoroughly embarrassed man’s face.

If his blood wasn’t boiling yet…That should move it along nicely.

“A cup of tea would be nice….” She said softly, placing her hands on the jacket’s shoulders, picking it up as she regained her posture. “But…” A mischievous quirk of her brow, a coy and playful pout upon her lips that women in her…field, mastered quite easily, without coming off as desperate and rehearsed. Instead, the intent was to lure the John out of his initial defenses…Ease him into allowing that carnal urge which bid him summon her forth, and permitting it to take control..If only for the night, if only just for her.

“I think you could keep me much warmer than a sweater..”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan's expression was akin to a deer in headlights as he froze mid-reach for the jacket, eyes wide when Destiny shifted a lean leg forward, her thigh exposed; unable to help himself, his eyes instantly followed the line of her leg up to that beautiful dip of muscle where the thigh connected to the hip, up to the thin and ornate lace panties that were barely covering a body that already didn't need any adornment.

And if his face wasn't red enough, he was promptly given a very generous view of milky skin and gentle curves when she bent forward, her breasts within inches of his nose. Dan jerked back into a fully standing position, goggle-eyed as she picked up her jacket, a simple motion that he was sure shouldn't be doing such ridiculously pornographic things to his brain.

Only a cave man would call up an escort, he reminded himself.

I am such a knuckle-dragger

He carefully took the jacket from her and half-stumbled to hang it up, barely daring to look back at her as he put it on a hanger and into the closet - though he certainly heard her.

"I - I'll get you that cup of tea." Dan managed to get out, nearly sprinting for the kitchen, pausing mid-way to search for something he should say, "Please - make yourself comfortable. There's - I mean, the sitting room is warmer."

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

Despite the bashful expression upon his face being quite flattering, Destiny was uncertain of whether or not this man wanted anything to do with her at all. She half expected him to hide himself away in the closet alongside of her coat! He had been the one to call the service…right? Practical jokes had been played on unsuspecting friends of John’s back when the company first started…Leading to fuming wives and one of the girl’s getting a broken nose from a frying pan to the face.

The company only permitted a girl be sent, and charged, to the John making the phone call..

He had to have been the one to call…And yet he tiptoed around her as if she was some dangerous wildcat loose in his home. One that would pounce upon him and rip him to shreds at the slightest offense!….Did he want that? Was he being timid because he wanted to be controlled?

No…

Destiny had seen many closet masochists and this man, with his owlish eyes and two left feet as he seemed to stumble over himself, did not seem like the sort wanting to break out the whips and chains…But there was a sense of…lacking, in the air. Something Destiny could not quite describe as she made her way into the sitting room, sitting down upon the leather couch, barely making an indentation, though she observed that the cushion upon the left side of the couch was very comfortably worn in compared to the rest...Everything piled upon the coffee table seemed to be organized in reaching distance from that spot.

A smile curved upon her face.

Placing her hands upon her lap after combing several fingers through her hair, knees bent inward to touch one another, Destiny glanced to a book with several pieces of paper sticking out laid upon the table. National Avian Society Field Guide: Birds of Eastern Europe. The title was printed across a picture of a large Eurasian Eagle Owl, of which Destiny recognized from the forests of her village. Her smile brightened, moving her fingertips between the pages of the large book so as not to disturb the carefully placed torn bits of paper lodged near the spine.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan tried to still the strange shaking in his hands as he waited for the water to boil, staring intently at the stove as though he might will it to go slower - because, because -

- well because he wasn't sure he wanted to go back out there. She was soft and pale and she smelled good and she was so, so - pretty. Too pretty, even. Dan had stared down the barrel of a gun without so much as a trembling lip, but beautiful women scared the shit out of him, and this one was no exception to the rule.

The kettle began to whistle and Dan damned it before pouring out two steaming mugs of tea; he stepped out of the kitchen hesitantly and peered around the doorway, magnified eyes looking at the woman who was currently perched on his couch - completely silent, he observed as she flipped curiously through the book. She wasn't just poking around - she looked genuinely interested, a fact that nearly startled Dan.

He realized then that his fingers were in agony as some of the boiling hot tea had managed to spill onto his hand,

"Ngk!" Dan said, and hurriedly put the tea down onto the table, standing upright and shaking out his hand with a soft hiss, "Haaah."

He briefly sucked on the burnt skin and gave it another shake before asking, as casually as possible,

"You're Russian?"

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

Curiously peeking between pages, being mindful not to disturb anything, absentmindedly subsided as she drew the heavy book onto her lap. Her fingertips curled slightly around the torn pieces of notebook paper to keep them in place as she looked more at the pictures than the actual words. Language was far more than words, written or spoken…The photographs of each species of wild bird captured their essence just as well, if not better than the words that described them in the paragraphs below..

The twisted beaked vultures drawing strings of ligaments and meat from half frozen corpses buried deep in the snow…Plump wrens curled up with their chicks in a nest made of twigs and stolen ribbons…The Loons mating..

Ngk!

Destiny’s eyes shot up, shutting the book immediately and placing it back on the table with a panicked start, as if she had been reading his journal or some other lewd personal confessional. John’s typically didn’t enjoy having their items snooped over- understandably so.

As he approached the table, placing down the apparently lava filled tea cups, Destiny stood up and produced, of all things, a kerchief from, of all places, between her breasts. A dainty almost doily embroidered looking cloth, with white lace and the initials MAI stitched in English lettering with purple thread upon the lower corner.

“Are you ok?”

She frowned, stepping close to him as she moved to wipe the kerchief against the drops of tea still upon his hand and cuff of his sleeve. As he sucked upon his finger, hissing slightly, she couldn’t help but to giggle again. It was not funny to burn oneself by any means, but his mannerisms were…refreshing.

Sitting again, closer this time to that indentation on the opposite end of the couch, Destiny wiped at the dripping tea cups, smiling still as he asked a question typically posed for an icebreaker.

“Not many people guess right on their first try. They are thinking I am German or Polish…Even French!” She giggled, wrinkling her nose up slightly as she shook her head. Her eyes wandered back up towards him, setting the kerchief down on the table beside the book before patting the cushion beside her.

“Please, sit. I am not going to bite...Unless you ask of course”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan froze with his fingers halfway to his mouth, watching as Destiny retrieved a kerchief from a spot that, all things considered, was incredibly convenient. Also distracting. He stared as she stood and approached him, gentle hands blotting away the droplets of tea that lingered on his skin, leaving the retired superhero feeling a little like a clumsy kid.

I must look like an idiot.

He was used to it by now - despite being of above average intelligence, Dan had been a member of the watchmen and had thus been exposed to both Adrien Veidt and Dr. Manhattan on a daily basis. It was enough to make anyone feel like an idiot.

But feeling stupid in front of women was a completely different thing; this made Dan feel bashful, a feeling he wasn't particularly fond of - he barely kept himself from scuffing his slipper against the ground like an embarrassed child would do or giggling about the fact he could see cleavage.

I'm so immature. Christ.

"That's probably because most of the people around here aren't exposed to other cultures, except for what they see on the television." Dan said, jerking his head towards the screen for emphasis; he looked back and found her curled up on the couch, patting what was clearly a well-used spot on the couch. Dan swallowed down his nervousness and edged his way over, settling into the spot with a nervous laugh,

"So then," Dan said conversationally, "Your name isn't really Destiny."

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

As he sat down, she scooted just a little bit closer to him. Nothing drastic, as she didn’t wish to make him more uncomfortable than he already seemed to be, but just close enough so that her left thigh was pressing lightly against his right. She inclined her head slightly as she watched him, her long hair veiling over her shoulder, brushing against his arm slightly as she smiled; watching as his eyes darted back and forth beneath those thick lenses, trying to settle somewhere, anywhere but on her.

And then he mentioned her name, and she reclined slightly. Her hands settling upon her lap as she smiled, forcing a soft laugh as she looked away, towards the Bird book on the coffee table. The light from the muted television flickering upon her face, casting shadows across them both before flooding them with temporary light, repeating itself as the pictures changed on screen.

“No, it is not…” She smiled, a twinge of momentary melancholy to her voice, before she turned her head back towards him. Not one of the John’s before him had ever questioned about her name…Mostly because they didn’t care, or had thought that her accent was put on to sound more exotic. To think she actually struggled with their language and wasn’t from their country was not really a concern considering for the service they paid for…

As long as she had the parts, clean parts, her name could be anything and they wouldn’t seem to care.

Maybe if she had a boys name there would be more of a reaction, but as far as Destiny was concerned, it sounded like a name good enough to f----

“You…really want to know my name?” She asked, her brows furrowed in disbelief, but a soft smile still parting her glossy lips.

His interest, whether forced or not, was most unexpected and yet incredibly….charming.

Or pehraps she was just too dazzled by the fact he had actually noticed her name, or bothered to ask where she was from, that if he was feigning sincerity...that she didn't seem to care.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Superheroes were not average citizens, this was a fact; any one person who donned a cape or a mask to save lives could never be considered common - but as far as Dan was concerned, amongst heroes, he fell directly on the line of mediocrity, it was a complex that came from years of working alongside the likes of the smartest man in the world and, well, Superman. However, Dan had settled himself with the idea long ago - he was of above average intelligence, but Veidt would always be more brilliant; his strength was impressive, but Manhattan's was immeasurable; he was determined, but Rorschach would always be more dogged.

This was all fine, because Dan Dreiberg was humble enough to accept it, but he was also capable of acknowledging that he had provided a service that few other heroes could - he was the mediator, the leftist amongst right-wing extremists.

As socially awkward as he was, Dan was perceptive.

And he was perceptive enough then to see that there was much, much more to the woman who was sitting beside him, and yet again he hated himself for - ordering her. Like take out.

"I want to know your name." Dan replied sincerely, his fingers entwined with eachother, a nervous attempt to keep them occupied, suddenly unclear on what he should do with them.

 

[PocketFullOfPosies]

As he affirmed her question, her purpose for being there seemed to traipse fleetingly from her mind. It was almost like they were having a conversation…an actual conversation that neither party feigned interest in for the sake of awkward small talk before business was taken care of…

For a moment she seemed to forget, or at least ignore, the fact that he was a John and she was a call girl.

For a moment she forced herself to believe that she had a life outside of the ‘Dream.’

“My name is Magdalena,” That radiant smile widening upon her painted lips as she picked up a notepad and pen from the coffee table, writing neatly in the margins of the page ‘Magdalena Ivanov’ in elegant cursive loops. The first letter of both her first and last name slightly larger than the rest, and the first stem of the ‘M’ had been looped into a small heart that she colored in with black ink as she looked up to him. “Magdalena Ivanov, with ‘v’ not ‘f’” she giggled slightly, tilting the paper towards him. “Many people say “Eefahnoff”” she pursed her lips slightly, to emphasize the ff’s

“I suppose they are not use to such spellings…Russian is harsh sounding language to some…” Twirling the pen between her lean fingertips, she placed the notepad on his lap, slipping the pen between his clasped fingers before gesturing to the page. “How do you write your name?”

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Dan Dreiberg frequently had cause to feel clumsy and cumbersome, and the situation he presently found himself was no different in that regard; as Destiny - Magdalena - scrawled her name across the margins of a notebook, he had to pause to observe the elegance of it. The more introspective part of his brain observed that she had clearly spent a long time writing and had put a great deal of thought into every stroke she made with the pen - which was more than any American could say, most of them stopped using cursive in grade school.

Not to mention the tiny little heart made his own ache a little, for reasons he wasn't sure of. Maybe because it reminded him of a girl in high school, doodling in her notebook at her desk. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that she was likely quite young - but even with all of his social ineptitudes, Dreiberg knew better than to ask a lady her age - it was rude.

Instead, he gently took the proferred pen and scribbled his own name down - left handed, the words all tilted to the right, written out with little flourish, the legible but untiny writing of a man who has spent years writing out painfully long papers - usually about physics or birds. Or sometimes both.

He held out the notebook for her to see, feeling for all the world like Tarzan trying to communicate with Jane,

"Magdalena." Dan repeated, "It's a beautiful name."