Mutants & Masterminds: The Indigo Children - [Prologue] Jordan

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Glancing at clock on the back wall of the converted den, Jordan saw it was nearing seven AM and decided to bring her session to a wrap. She'd been filming and taking photos for her website since four o'clock in the morning and she had lots of other things to do today. She stowed away the backdrops and lighting equipment, packed the digital camcorder in its case, then headed up stairs to her ensuite to change.

Reflected in the vanity mirror and the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door was a petite, exotic woman, barely five feet tall with a remarkably curvaceous figure. She had a smooth, honey-hued complexion, pale blond hair cut in a pixie style, and huge amber eyes, with features blending Tibetan and Nordic ancestry flawlessly together. Wearing an artfully torn dress that revealed far more than it concealed along with thin golden chains hanging from a pair of like coloured bracelets and a tight collar, the cute and stunning woman presented the image of a damsel in distress or possibly a slave girl.

Jordan wondered how Amber Gold was going to be received on her site. Womenbyrequest.com only had a modest number of subscribers so far, but they were a verbose lot and weren't shy about sharing their comments. She was sure she would find out soon enough. Jordan had first thought without face-to-face interaction, it would be more difficult to judge people's reactions, but was finding out that the anonymity of the internet gave many people the courage to say anything. Anything.

Jordan shrugged, pushing that line of thought aside for now, she had plenty of other things she had to take care of today. Facing the mirror, her hands tight on the edge of the sink, Jordan tensed, picturing the woman she was coming to think of as her natural form, envisioning everything that needed changing, then relaxed as the shift began. Her height smoothly increased by nearly a foot, legs lengthening, size increasing, curvaceous proportions altering somewhat as the shredded dress melted into a pair of skin tight jeans and a snug v-neck shirt. Her eyes changed from amber to an intense turquoise flecked with gold as her hair lengthened and deepened to a vibrant auburn. On a whim, she decided to streak her just-pass-shoulder-length hair with some blond highlights.

Seconds later, a new woman was standing in the bathroom, if anything, even more attractive than the previous one, almost too good looking to be real. She was tall and sleek, perfectly proportioned with stunning features that seemed to blend the best that Hollywood had to offer. She was incredibly beautiful, glamorous, yet maintained a sassy, girl-next-door approachability. Jordan had worked hard to get the dual quality. She was aware that the appearance she had was perhaps a little too... dramatic, but it was one she had worked with, tinkering and modifying, for years and she was proud of it, like a masterpiece.

She did an instinctual once-over, making sure she got all the details right - the breasts were slightly larger, maybe half a cup, and of course she had added the blond highlights, and decided to keep things as they were - then left the bathroom. She put on a sporty yet feminine watch, added a few rings, bracelets, and several ear studs, then gathered up the laundry hamper.

Jordan headed down the hall, stopping to knock on Jaime's door. "Rise and shine, Sis, it's seven, and you have that soccer tournament today. You get dressed and cleaned up while I start the wash and make breakfast, 'kay?" Jordan grinned, hearing the muffled retort through the door and countered, "If you're not down at the table when the omelets are ready, I'm coming back up here with a bucket of cold water. I have things to take care of too, you know."

Jordan was just placing the omelets on the plates when her fifteen year-old sister sat down, grabbing the glass of OJ and chugging half the contents before saying thanks and digging in. Jaime loved Jordan, as brother and sister, but man she was annoying sometimes, always so bright and energetic in the mornings, not to mention ridiculously gorgeous, at least most of the time. She didn't like to bring any boys to the house, it was bad enough when Jordan drove her to school. Maybe I should've had my 'brother' become my legal guardian... Nah, that would've been worst, I bet. Girltalk... that would've been just too weird.

When breakfast was done, Jaime took care of the dishes while Jordan moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer. Jordan slipped on a comfortable pair of running shoes and her stylish sunglasses, carefully copied from a Bvlgari design, then got behind the wheel of the Rav4. Jaime was right behind her, dressed in her soccer uniform, tossing her gym bag in the back before getting in the front seat.

With year long familiarity, Jordan drove from their home in Sunnyside, across the 278, through Castleton Corners, and up Todt Hill to the Staten Island Academy, the private school Jaime attended, and that Jordan was striving to pay for. With a promise to be there for Jaime's last game, Jordan drove off to attend her other errands.

She went to the bank to deal with some bills and shuffle some accounts with the income starting to accumulate from her website. Tuition this year for Jaime's school had been a little tricky, taking up most of what their mother had left them in her will, but she had managed it. At least she was able to save a bundle on clothes for her and her sister. Other than having a very eventful adolescence, there had been other benefits to her shifting ability.

Then she drove over to Queens for her short shift at the Major World used car dealership. That was mostly uneventful, other than talking to a woman and her boyfriend about their hair - hers was streaked with a really nice shade of blue and his had been a wide crested mohawk - and fending off the advances of the manager, Frank Dolgetti, though she did manage to sell off a barely used Dodge Charger to a man deciding to go on a mid-life crisis. Men were so easy, when you knew exactly how they thought. The commission was nice.

After that, she did a bit a of grocery shopping, stopping off at Dino's Deli for a couple of nice steaks that Dino had promised her last time she was there. Jordan was planning on trying a new recipe, grilled boneless strip steaks in a bacon-mushroom sauce. She hurried back home, dropping off the groceries, then filled several bottles with ice cold water, grabbed her camcorder, and headed back to Staten Island Academy to see how Jaime was doing.

She made it there fifteen minutes before the final game of the round robin, which she was glad to note Jaime's team was in. Jordan handed most of the bottles of water to her sister while getting a recap of the day, then wished her good luck as the game started, holding up the camcorder to start filming.

In between cheering her sister on and filming the game, Jordan looked around at her fellow spectators. Besides the other students, there were several drivers, ranging from bored to attentive, and not that many parents, nearly all mothers, as likely to be accompanied by their husbands as not. She noted with a wry grin that most of the men found some excuse to focus their attention her way, and her ears caught the whispers of the teenaged boys that had come to ogle the girls playing soccer and had now found something else to ogle.

Jordan didn't fault any of them, she had designed her appearance to be physically appealing after all. The venomous glances from some of the women gave her a thrill of vicious amusement. Fuck'em! It still hurt, after almost two years, when Stacy had dumped her - him, then - when her mother's cancer returned and she wouldn't go to LA with her. She wasn't looking for a girlfriend at the moment. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much else for her here either. The teenaged boys were teenaged boys. She had had enough time being one and fucking them in high school, she was pass that now. The drivers didn't proceed pass looking, probably had orders to keep their attention on their charges, and the other grown men were shackled to their wives by sharp nailed grips of feminine envy.

Jordan shook her head ruefully, wondering what they would think if they knew she had been solely a boy until she was fourteen. Probably pull their hair out in furious jealousy. Jordan was about to give up on looking for anything to draw her interest when the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome came to her side.

A surreptitious glance showed no wedding ring, only a very faded patch. A widower than, or maybe divorced for some time. Good. Late thirties, but vigorous and in very good shape, strong, lean muscles. And tall, half a foot taller than her, and she wasn't short. Black hair slicked back from a square jawed face with penetrating grey eyes. He dressed well, high quality but not ostentatious. He definitely peaked her interest. She could tell she definitely peaked his.

While watching Jaime, Jordan and the man began flirting a bit. His name was Nico Bellic, his deep voice flavoured with Eastern Europe, and he was widowed, here watching his daughter, Isabella, play. Jordan knew Isabella somewhat, she was a friend of Jaime's. Nico called himself an 'entrepaneur' and that he was in 'resource management' which really, could have meant anything, but he was charming and darkly humorous, and most of all, had the guts to actually come up and talk to her, instead of staring in slack jawed lust. His attention was admiring without being blatant or creepy. Impressive and a little arousing, she knew very well what she looked like.

She eyed him up and down in return, telling him that she stuck around New York instead of trying to find her fortune in LA after her mother came down with medical complications. Nothing more had to be said, it was understood. They flirted some more, chuckling as they made mocking observations of the excesses of the trophy wives and kept women watching their daughters play soccer.

As the game was coming to a close, Jaime's team having won on the strength of her two goals, the tying and go-ahead ones, Nico mentioned that he had to attend a function tonight. Would she like to accompany him? The function would most likely be deadly dull, but perhaps after, they could go for drinks and see how the night went. Since becoming her younger sister's legal guardian, Jordan had gone out far less than she was accustomed to and this was a perfect excuse. She assured him that she would be more than happy to go out with him. After a slight hesitation, she gave him her address and he said he'd pick her up at seven. Isabella had been to their place several times before, so it wasn't like Nico couldn't find out where she lived.

Heading back home with her sister, Jaime couldn't help but notice Jordan's chipper mood. Back at the house, Jordan's hips swayed and she hummed along with the radio as she grilled the steaks on the barbecue.

"What is up with you, Jordy? You get the part in that play you were talking about?" Jaime finally asked, silently damning her curiosity.

"Hmmm? Oh! No, they were going in 'another direction'," watching from the deck, Jaime saw Jordan making air quotes, "which meant they wanted Melissa Archer. Always her! Some day, I should audition as her double, Elissa Marcher, and see if that gets me the part." Jordan glanced over her shoulder at Jaime as she flipped the steaks. "No, I have a date."

"A date?!" Jaime sputtered. Considering that Jordan looked like she had been designed with the wholesome - and not so wholesome - fantasies of men and women in mind, which she sort of was, really, she really shouldn't have been surprised. Yet, she was. Go figure. "With who?"

"Nico Bellic."

"Nico Bellic? Mr. Bellic?! Izzy's dad?!"

"Yes, that's him. He's... nice."

"Uh-huh. Well, you know, he's like, forty-five, and owns a strip club or something. Izzy told me."

Jordan placed the steaks on a platter and carried them to the patio table, giving her younger sister a disapproving look as she added some garlic-mashed potatoes and a side of caesar salad to her plate. "Listen, sis. Yes, many strip club owners are complete sleaze, I can tell you first hand, but not all of them. And Nico is only forty-three. We're only going out to charity function or something, maybe some drinks after. It's not like we're moving in together, don't worry." Jordan took a bite of the steak - this turned out really well - the nodded a question at her sister. "What do you think?"

"This is amazing, Jordan!"

"Thanks," Jordan smiled back, taking another bite. "Anyway, how about you don't worry about my sex life, and I'll try not to worry too much about yours, hey?" Jordan grinned at Jaime's snort, then added, "I'm being picked up at seven, and I'll leave you some money if you want to order out or something, 'kay? I'm not sure when I'll be back, but if you have anyone over *cough* *cough* a boy *cough* I want them gone by midnight, alright? I don't want to have to go all 'big brother' on him. Oh, and speaking of sex lives, there are condoms under the sink at the back, in the powder room. Y'know, just in case." As much as she didn't want to have to worry about this, Jordan didn't really have much room to talk, considering when she had first done it, then how much she had done in high school.

Jaime scowled as she felt a blush coming to her cheeks and stuck her tongue out at her older sister, who responded in kind. It was a delicate relationship they had, with an older sibling, who could be by turns a brother or a sister, trying to hold the role of a parent at the same time. There were some rough patches, but they were getting by.

After cleaning up the dishes and grill, Jordan went to get ready for her date while Jaime hopped online to chat and talked on her cellphone at the same time. Standing in the bathroom, Jordan began shifting her clothes from style to style before settling on the classic little black dress, a nice sweater dress, and a pair of over-the-knee boots with a four-inch heel. To complete the ensemble, she added a turquoise sash around her hips to match her eyes, a broad bangle to each wrist, and exchanged one of her pair of ear-studs for an delicate pair of golden hoops.

Click to reveal..

She swept her vibrant auburn hair up in a simple and sassy updo, held in place with golden pins, then altered the colour around her eyes in imitation of professionally applied, yet subtle eyeshadow. Another once over, she added a bit more colour to her lips and nails - which she lengthened slightly - and she was ready to go.

When Jordan came clacking down the stairs, Jaime nearly choked on her drink. She liked boys and even she almost wished she could fuck her Jordan. That's so unfair! No woman should be allowed to be that sexy without being the slightest bit slutty or whoreish. Gotta remember, any boy I bring over can't be allowed to ever see Jordan dressed to go out. Not if I want him to ever look at me again.

"Wow."

"Guess I look good then, hmmm?" Jordan said with a smirk and an arch to her brow as she slipped her imitation Gucci handbag over a shoulder. "I'll have my iPhone with me, so call me if anything happens, and anyway, I expect you to call at least once-"

Jordan was interrupted by the prompt knock on the door, rapid and precise. "Later, sis. Try not to burn down the house." Jordan bent over and gave Jaime a tight hug despite her squirming then clicked-clacked her way to the door, swinging it open with a greeting that began ebulliently.

"Hello...?"

[jameson (ST)]

Nico stood on the other side of the door his mouth apparently forgotten. After a moment he managed to blink and say a vague, "Wow." That elicited an annoyed grumble of frustration from Jamie as she all but stormed out of the foyer. Finally snapping out of it Nico managed to recover, "You look quite stunning." He offered a grin that was altogether too dopey but Jordan managed to laugh just the right amount to allow Nico to recover. Offering his arm he asked, "Shall we?"

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Jordan's eyes cut to her departing sister and she covered a sigh with a scintillating smile that nearly knocked Nico from his hastily restored equilibrium. She grabbed a long coat, folding it over her arm, turned to lock the door, presenting Nico with her delectable backside, then linked her free arm with his. "We shall."

As Jordan let herself be led away by Nico, adding a bit of extra hip to her smooth and sensual stride, she studied her date in turn through long lashes. He was really quite dashing. His tailored, Mandarin style suit highlighted his tapered waist and V-shaped torso, the pristine black broken by a flash of crimson at the breast pocket and the glint of gold at the cuffs. It was a very nice suit, wrapping up a vigorously attractive man - she would have to ask him where he got it.

Seeing his style, and having been told that they were going to a charity fundraiser, Jordan had been vaguely assuming that their mode of transportation was going to a limo or high-end Lexus. The gleaming black Dodge Viper was a pleasant surprise and she gave a low whistle of appreciation.

"You like?" Nico asked with a smile as he got the door his date, his eyes lingering on her phenomenal legs before returning to her eyes. "The car, I bought it for fun and prefer driving it when I can. It's a D-"

"Dodge Viper SRT10," Jordan finished in her velvety purr, running a hand across the dash as she sunk into the plush leather seat. "8.4 liter, V10 engine, zero-to-sixty in three-point-five seconds. A 'Final Edition' I think." She glanced at Nico as he sat down in the driver's seat, chuckling at the stunned expression on his face. "I work part-time at Major Worlds, though they've never had a used Viper in lot, and I have a garbage-pit mind. Trivia gets dumped in, and never leaves."

"You are a most amazing woman, Jordan."

"You have no idea," Jordan countered, lips curving with feminine mystique, then murmuring in appreciation as the sports car rumbled to life. "I would love to get the behind the wheel of this beast."

Nico glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he headed for the ferry to Manhattan. "Oh, I think that can be arranged. How do you handle stick?"

"I handle stick just fine." Her grin was wicked.

The drive to the Stuyvesant room at the Marriot East Side, where the event was taking place, passed quickly, the two of them sharing opinions on cars, which segued into sports. Nico found himself reappraising his companion, she was much more than a devastatingly gorgeous piece of eye candy and as easy to talk to as one of the guys.

She was a perfect companion for the event. I'll have to keep an eye on her, to make sure none of the other men try to make a claim, he thought, a hand surreptitiously brushing an ankle and what was hidden there.

Pulling into the underground garage of the Marriot, Nico got the door for Jordan again, giving her a hand up, then tossing the valet the keys and handing him a folded bill. The valet tore his eyes off the stunning woman then looked at the bill, giving Nico an enthusiastic nod when he saw the denomination.

Before entering the Stuyvesant Room, the couple were stopped by a pair of over muscled men in undersized suits who probably didn't have half a brain between the two of them. Jordan raised an arched brow in surprised inquiry when they insisted on frisking them.

Nico shook his head ruefully, though he submitted to the search with good grace. "Alas my dear, since the Event, New York is not like it once was, and many here have substantial wealth. I'm sure you understand."

Jordan nodded, though a niggling trace of unease was developing in the pit of her stomach. She was about to submit to the goon's ham-handed touch, well aware that he wasn't hoping to find any weapons, when Nico caught his eye with a steely gaze. He gave him a minuscule shake of the head and the goon stepped back, waving them both into the room.

The Stuyvesant Room was occupied by a sea of men in dark suits, about half of whom were occupied by women, who more than made up for the lack of colour. Most of the women were quite young, especially in comparison to the men, and noting the dresses (or almost lack of), Jordan began wondering if she was a bit overdressed.

Nico took her around the room, mingling, Jordan circulating with ease. She soon realized that most of the women were of the hired sort, escorts, ranging from mediocre to high class, though there were several genuine wives. Those tended to be the ones with the more expensive jewelry, and less taste as far as she was concerned, Especially this one woman, half a foot shorter than her and twice her weight, wearing way too much perfume and way too much clashing jewelry, including a necklace of diamonds and sapphires that had to be worth more than her house. Ostentatious, much?

Getting to their seats before the opening presentation of the Event Event for Cancer Awareness, Nico flagged down one of the waiters to order some drinks. The waiter, nose in the air, deigned to hand the wine. Nico took it with a scowl.

"The staff here, they are more than competent, true, but their attitude leaves much to be desire, hmm?" Nico glanced down the list, mulling over the choices. "Their list is extensive, however. Jordan, might I suggest-"

"I'm not much of wine girl, I'm afraid, Nico. Over priced grape juice, really." Recrossing her legs and tilting her head just so, Jordan harpooned the waiter's attention, and she gave him a cool smile. "I'd like a Scotch. Glenfiddich, if you can manage it."

"A woman after my own heart," Nico said, giving her another admiring appraisal. "Make that two." Nico handed the waiter the wine list with a sharp flip of his wrist, then waved him off.

The waiter was back briskly, with two tumblers and a bottle of Glenfiddich 1937. Nico nodded at him to leave the bottle, then poured a drink for Jordan himself. Jordan savoured the heady spirit, chatting idly with Nico as her gaze roved over the rest of the room.

It was only long practice at wearing a large variety of appearances that keep her face smooth as her eyes fell on a familiar figure, a sharp, piercing pain beginning to radiate from between her breasts. She glanced covertly at the mirror bright cutlery, trying to catch her reflection. There is no way he can recognize me, right? Other than approximate age and the length of my hair, I look nothing like the woman he shot.

With an indolent casualness she didn't feel, Jordan nodded at the man with her delicately pointed chin. "Nico, do you know who that is? He seems vaguely familiar. A football player maybe?"

The man she indicated was dressed in a grey pin-striped Armani suit, which was the nicest thing about him. He was just under six feet tall and probably more than three feet wide, with a face that looked like it had been beaten flat with an iron skillet. Repeatly.

Skillet-face was seated protectively next to a man sitting otherwise alone at a table in the back corner, wearing a stylish white suit that he pulled off with reserved elegance.

[jameson (ST)]

"Which? The one who looks like he took a steamroller to prom or the one who looks like he runs the entire mob as a hobby?" Nico asked as he studied his date.

"The former. Or both." Jordan tried to make it sound innocent enough, and given the look that Nico had he bought it.

"The former is Salvatore 'The Slab' Gambini," he said nonchalantly and looking at Jordan for recognition of the name. To his surprise he caught a glimmer or recognition in her eyes before she turned and studied his face again.

Sal the Slab had been a heavyweight boxer, and had at one point been the heavyweight champ before being forced into early retirement. Sal the Slab had killed seven opponents in the ring and thought none of them were ruled anything but accidents, boxing was a violent sport and even with safety precautions deaths happened but Sal had been forced out because nobody wanted to risk facing him and the league couldn't sell tickets to championship fights if nobody wanted to fight the champ.

"Sal the Slab, wow..." Jordan breathed, wondering how it was that she hadn't recognized him that night, or if indeed her memory wasn't wrong.

"Something wrong," Nico asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

"Hmm? Oh, no it's, nothing. So what about the mob boss?" she responded.

"Him? That's Brendan Shreveson. So if you belive the media, he is the Mob. Of course the media is so often wrong. Mr. Shreveson has never been so much as indicted, let alone found guilty of a single crime, but he's wealthy, powerful, and looks the part so instead of a well respected businessman they paint him as a well respected businessman who secretly runs the Mob in New York." Nico shrugged, "But enough about our host, I'd much rather get to know you instead."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Sal the Slab's head began to turn her way and Jordan quickly averted her gaze, hiding a wince behind her tumbler of scotch. His arms were bigger around than her current waistline. The Shreveson name she had heard more than once, when she was a teenager and dancing in clubs for quick and easy money, clubs where they didn't look too closely at ID, or look at all. Shreveson looked like the archetype of the successful and untouchable mob boss, but Jordan well knew the value of appearances. People tended to let themselves believe in their expectations, regardless if they had any merit.

And The Slab... she was sure he had been there, she remembered those eyes, those huge hands. She had been dancing in the champagne room, then the next thing she knew, cold steel had been pressed against her breastbone, the gun and the hand holding it buried in her over-abundant cleavage. The ache between her breasts flared at the remembered pain.

She took a deep, steadying breath and another long sip of the smooth scotch then set down her tumbler, tilting her head just a bit, giving Nico a teasing grin, a feather light brush of her foot on his calf for an extra distraction. "Oh, you're right, I'm much more interesting than those two. Why, I wager you've never met a woman like me before."

"There are no women like you, just you."

"Oh, my! Well played, sir," Jordan said, voice rich with amusement. She tapped her full lips pensively with an elegant finger, turquoise eyes gleaming with a mirth she wanted to feel. All work and no play makes Jordan a dull boy. Girl. Whatever. Makes Jordan a dull Jordan."Now, what can I say, while retaining a requisite mysterious allure, hmmm? Let me think on it while I go to the ladies' room."

Her grin deepened as she slid gracefully to her feet and sashayed to the bathroom, keeping her pace decorously sedate with an effort she carefully kept from her face. Focused inside, Jordan didn't notice the avid gazes turning her way, though Nico certainly did.

In the bathroom, Jordan immediately went to the sink and sprinkled her face with cold water, wrapping her arms around her torso, suppressing a shudder. Get a grip you stupid bitch! As far as they know, the woman they knew you as is dead, thrown in the Hudson and never resurfaced. Besides, you know better now, can do more. If you want, you can make yourself big enough and strong enough to bend Sal over and fuck him up the ass like a little girl. Forget about him, it's Nico you're with, and he's been nothing but a great evening companion. I'm sure he'll be a great after-evening companion too.

Her confidence restored, the pain between her breasts a fading memory, Jordan studied herself in the mirror with a smug smile, making a pretense of primping. Her sharp eyes studied the rest of the bathroom in the reflection from the mirror, and finding it empty, she tensed, willing the shift.

Moments later, a girl believed to be dead stood in the ladies' room. Several inches shorter than the auburn-tressed beauty, she had bleached blond hair, corn-flower eyes, a face that would have been cute if it hadn't been so overdone. She wore skyscraper heels of clear plastic and a gauzy genie outfit that strained to constrain a monumental bustline.

"Candy's dead!" the refugee from a porno flick declared in a breathy soprano even as her features began shifting once more, platinum locks darkening. "Jordan Cavanaugh - Jordan Johansson - lives on," she finished in a her rich, velvety alto, once again resembling the woman who had entered the bathroom a moment ago, though retaining an extra suppleness to her movements.

She gave herself a quick look-over, making sure everything was in its proper place, with the proper proportions, then nodded with satisfaction and strutted out of bathroom. She glided pass a pair of chattering escorts, giving them a small smile, smirking to herself as they fell silent with envy.

She nodded graciously as Nico pulled her chair out for her, murmuring her thanks as he handed her a refilled glass of Glenfiddich 1937. "Now, wanting to know me... Let's see, you might find it a surprise, but I used to be quite the tomboy. I know, I know, I hardly seem the sort, right? My father had always wanted an athletic son. We used to watch boxing together, that's where I know The Slab from." A pall fell over her eyes, and her curved lips turned sad, but she waved Nico's concern away with a negligently fluttering of her fingers, obviously not wanting to go into details. "He left us when I began to... blossom, you could say."

Jordan's smile turned coy once more and she arched her back, shoulders drawn back, pulling Nico's eyes down to her feminine charms. "Here, a secret... My boobs aren't completely real."

Nico had seen more than his fair share of female flesh and had thought Jordan's breasts seemed a little too perfect to be real, but they seemed too exquisite to be man-made as well. His mouth dropped open before he could catch it when he heard the corollary to her statement.

"I had a breast reduction." She giggled at his reaction, then pantomimed her old measurements. Heh, and this is more or less true. "I was pretty huge in high school, but I wanted to be an actress. A legitimate one. And no one takes a G-cup seriously. Besides, they were a nuisance, though they had their fun too, and were beginning to cause back problems. What about you?"

"I take G-cups very seriously," Nico claimed with melodramatic gravity, though he couldn't keep his lips from twitching.

"Funny. I'd pay to see you wearing a pair of tits that big," she chuckled, swatting playfully at the hand she found on her thigh. "No, I meant, what's interesting about you? What do you do?"

Nico gave her a steady look. He couldn't bring himself to tell her everything, but he was willing to gamble with one truth. Many women, unless they wanted to get in the business, looked askance at such businesses, but Jordan was turning out to be a very surprising - and delightful - woman, besides being beyond gorgeous. I wonder if she dances?

"I buy and sell businesses, smaller ones, not multinationals or anything like that. Among other things, I do own a very respectable, if I do say so myself, gentleman's club."

Jordan's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Despite The Slab being present, and the way her last dance had ended, Jordan had actually enjoyed her time on stage. Sure, there had been bad moments, other ones, but only a rare few of the women and patrons had been stereotypes. And many of them were quite interesting, each with their own quirks and appeal. "A strip club? Really? Tell me more..."

They talked some more, trading anecdotes and details from their respective experiences, ones they were willing to divulge, flirted some more. The opening statements were made, the host, Brendan Shreveson thanked, and the two of them barely noticed, though they became aware when the charity band, a respected local group hired for the event, began to play.

"Would you like to dance?" they asked simultaneously, sharing a delighted grin.

[jameson (ST)]

Nico laughed, "Ok, I'll take that as a 'yes' then." He stood up and offered Jordan his hand, and then led her out to the dance floor. Stereotypically, given the apparent organizer of the event, the music was Rat Pack classics and similar, still it was music that was meant to be danced to and danced they did. After a while of just enjoying the movements and the music Nico asked, "So, what exactly does a young, attractive, and intelligent woman like yourself do to support herself and her sister?"

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

With Nico's smooth coordination and Jordan's sinuous grace, the tall and attractive couple drew more than their fair share of eyes on the dance-floor. There was one little hiccup at the beginning when she had tried to lead. She had first learned dancing around a brass pole and had taken dancing lessons in other styles after that, but she had learned swing posing as a guy, but a mental flexibility that had grown second nature let her readjust and flow with the rhythm and Nico's direction. Admittedly, that she could manipulate her nerves and muscle connections to make her movements that much more fluid help too.

"Oh, this and that. I thought about moving us out to LA - I'm sure I could make it in Hollywood, don't you?" she asked coyly, glancing up and over a shoulder at Nico behind her. "But our mother's life insurance policy and will payed off the mortgage on the house and Jaime's friends and school are here, so I can wait until she graduates before looking at moving to LA again."

She whirled, facing Nico again, pressing close with her arms around his neck, his hands on her swinging hips. "So right now, I work at Major World, the world's largest pre-owned car dealer." Jordan's sultry voice took on a mocking tone of rote at the claim, but Nico could feel her shrug it off. "I don't get that many hours, which is okay I guess, gives me more time with my sister, but I seem to be a pretty good saleswoman and the commissions add up." Her lips curled with a slightly self-deprecating smile. "I tried getting a job at one of the high-end car dealerships, but the managers let it be known not so subtly that the only position I'd get is on my back and the other salesmen certainly didn't want the competition. That market has taken a real hit in NYC, after the Event, like most luxury markets."

"Besides that, I grab a few extra shifts at Best Buy, where a good friend is a manager, I used to work there myself, and I look around for local modeling and acting jobs when I can. Not as many of those as there used to be either and I really prefer movies rather than theater." Nico saw his stunning companion's brow furrow with annoyance. "Seems like they always want the same... person for the starring roles, too."

She wasn't precisely embarrassed about her time stripping, but she had always used faked IDs - and fake appearances. Besides, how could she tell him she was stripping since she was fifteen, even if she had looked twenty and older? She didn't know Nico that well. Her newest venture was under Jordan Cavanaugh's name, and how would she explain where she found all those incredibly hot women anyway? Better keep quiet about 'womenbyrequest.com' too.

"It's not a lot, I know, but we get buy." Her eyes sparkled with an impish twinkle and she deepened her voice in parody of a marble-mouthed Marlon Brando. "Why, are you making me an offer I can't refuse?"

[jameson (ST)]

Nico rolled his eyed and opened his mouth to reply, "I-," but was interrupted by a thick hand on his shoulder. The hand connected to an arm that was thick as a leg of lamb at the forearm and a small ham at the bicep. Sal the Slab's hand looked like it had been constructed from concrete and bad attitude.

"Mistha Shrev'son would like to talk wit' you Mista Bellic. I kin keep yous date comp'ny for ya ifn ya like." The Slab's voice was a middle bass rumble that somehow conveyed an apologetic manner even as it sounded like a hungry ogre looking for a meal. Despite his oft mashed face and his brutish voice his bearing was as considerate.

Nico deflated some and turned to look at Sal. The reply died on his lips as he spied Shreveson at his table behind the retired boxer, and he nodded disengaging from Jordan. "My dear, if you would excuse me for just a short minute. I assume you, you couldn't be safer with Salvatore here."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

"It's not a problem, Nico. I'll be waiting," she assured her date with a smile. As Nico left them to speak to Mr. Shreveson, Jordan stood straight, forcing herself to keep her smile on lips when she turned to face Sal the Slab. With her heels on, she had several inches on the former prize fighter, though he was more than twice as wide. She felt her skin paling, but couldn't do anything about it. She hoped he simply took it as a delicate woman's response to his fearsome aspect. Relax. You're stronger than you look, faster than you look. All the Slab sees is a hot piece of eye candy. You're fine.

"Mr. Gambini, would you care to keep to me company on the dance floor?" Jordan asked graciously, holding out a long-fingered hand. She couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eye. It was hard to reconcile his apologetic demeanor with the last time she recalled meeting him - however fuzzy that recollection.

"It woulds be my's pleh'zure, Miz..." he rumbled, her hand disappearing in his meaty paw, though despite callouses, his grip was surprisingly deft and gentle.

"Miss Johansson, but please, feel free to call me Jordan."

"Miz Jo'ansson."

Sal the Slab led her onto the dancefloor. They waited for the beat then joined the rest of the dancers. Despite sounding and looking like an squat ogre, the Slab was surprisingly light on his feet and Jordan recalled seeing him surprise opponents with unexpected footwork and a burst of speed.

She was even more surprised that the huge hand at her waist didn't try to wonder and whenever his eyes weren't on Mr Shreveson they met hers, rather than settling lower. He looked the part of the stereotypical hired goon, but hardly acted the part. For a moment, Jordan considered the possibility that he was as much a shapeshifter as she was before dismissing that as silly.

As they continued dancing, the silence stretching between was wearing.The Slab's admittedly decorous scrutiny felt intrusive, as if he could see the woman she once was. Jordan found herself saying something, anything to break the silence.

"Mr. Gambini, I remember seeing your fight versus Malone at Madison Square Gardens with my father when I was a young... girl. I don't think I've ever seen twelve rounds so fierce, before or since." Stupid! Stupid! I can't believe I almost slipped up.

[jameson (ST)]

Sal smiled and Jordan couldn't help but find it oddly charming. "Malone was one ov da best. One ov da few who gave me a run fer my money. Yous musta been jus' a little tyke, dat was ten or twelve years back."

Jordan nodded and smiled, "I wasn't always the picture of womanhood. I was a tomboy as a child."

Sal nodded, "Well yous tha picktah now Miz Jo'ansson. Yous quite a sight. I don' know that I evah seen a wommun quite like yous tha wasn't no floozy." Jordan shuddered involuntarily as she recalled that dim memory. The champagne room. The feel of cold steel on her naked chest. The hot burning pain that faded into blackness. It was him. Wasn't it? "Yous trembling Miz Jo'ansson, are yous OK? Nobody'll hurt yous here, I'd never let dat happen."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

"..." Jordan opened her mouth, but no words came out. To her horror, she almost asked him - demanded to know - if he had been there, if he had been the one that shot her, if he knew who did. Even more bewildering, when he said he wouldn't let anyone hurt her, she found herself believing him. Not that she wasn't capable of protecting herself, of course. Of course.

The compliment didn't hurt either. She was used to them, but still like them. They were a validation of the effort she put into her appearance, far more than what other women did, or could.

"Oh, I'm... fine. Just an old memory and a sudden chill. A short dress and high AC, right? It's nothing." She waved it away with a blithe laugh, putting herself on autopilot. This was who she wanted to be - at least for now - the gorgeous, glamorous girl next door, that every man wanted and wanted to be around and that every woman wanted to be.

Jordan offered Sal another grin and nodded at her and Nico's table. "Actually, would you mind terribly if we sat down, Mr. Gambini? Perhaps another glass of Glenfiddich will warm me, especially if you will share one with me."

"As yous like, Miz Jo'ansson." Sal linked his arm with Jordan's and led her back to her table. Jordan could feel the solid strength radiating from him. Men turned, their eyes lingering on her, more than one stepping forward to ask her to dance, but the stopped after a glance from Sal the Slab. He didn't glare, did growl or threated, just looked at them, and they suddenly decided they had something else to do.

Sal got her chair for her, then filled her glass halfway and poured himself a conservative two fingers worth of the high quality scotch. She took a long sip, studying him over the rim of her glass. Sal the Slab was in no way an attractive man, but his face was full of character, painted with mars and scars from scores of fights. Reality and experience was written on every bone and inch of flesh. It was a quality she filed away, something to add verisimilitude to other appearances she developed. His body was heavy with muscle, not the cut and bulging figure of a bodybuilder, but the thick slabs of workman's muscle, an immense strength meant to be used rather than admired.

"You're a very fine dancer, Mr. Gambini."

"Aww, shucks, Miz Jo'ansson, I's just followin' yous lead. Graceful as a cloud, yous are. An' a fine lady as youself, yous can call me Sal."

"Sal." Jordan took another sip of scotch, letting the smooth warmth ease the tension in her chest. She let her turquoise gaze pass over the ballroom, though it came again and again to the table in the back corner. "Nico and Mr. Shreveson, they've known each for a long time?"

[jameson (ST)]

Sal shrugged, it was like watching plate tectonics, "Dunno. I think maybe they go back some but I's only knowed Mistah Shreveson for about five years. He offered me a job after the Boxing Association made me retire." Sadness slewed over his features like a rock slide but were quickly covered over as he looked down at the drink but didn't touch it.

Curiosity piqued Jordan asked, "Something wrong with your drink?"

Sal looked up and pushed the glass away, "Only ifs I drink it." The stunning young woman offered a querulous raised eyebrow and he smiled, which oddly softened his features in ways she'd have not expected. "I don' drink no more. When I boxed I got pretty into it cause of the pain, when I got out I fell alls the way inta the bottle. But dat was den, I been sobah now fer, umm, a little less dan three yeahs."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! You see something, you do something that the drink couldn't drown? Heart fluttering beneath her breasts, Jordan kept her expression politely curious, her smile sympathetic. If she was careful, subtle, this might be a chance to find out what happened that night, if she was willing to try. If she was willing to hear the answer.

Jordan set her drink down next to Sal's and slid both of them to the side, along with the bottle of scotch. She leaned forward, placing a delicate touch on his massive, scar-knuckled hand. Lips curved just so, her turquoise eyes gleaming with an innocent, empathetic interest. And her interest was genuine, if not for the reason Sal might have thought.

"That's very commendable, Sal. Very few manage to overcome the drink. Few enough even realize they have a problem." Her velvety voice was intrigued, enticingly urging. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, slender fingers deceptively strong. "I completely understand if you don't want to talk about it, but did something happen to make you face your problem? Or did you simply see yourself in the mirror and realized how far you'd fallen?"

[jameson (ST)]

Sal the Slab, a boxer who's punches were strong enough to cause the death of multiple opponents by way of cerebral hemorrhaging, started to cry. "M-mu-ma-my w-wife left m-me. Sh-she was m-my whole w-world," he managed around silent sobs. The one time toughest man in boxing had been reduced to little more than a blubbering mass of man-giant by the probing questions of a beautiful woman. He took a hanky out of his coat and blew his nose, then quickly wiped his face. His eyes were watery and red but he seemed to be at least holding back if not recovering. "She, she said I'd never see my kids again until I was sobah. So I hadda clean up. Mah kids is alls I gots now that I can't box no more."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Jordan was shocked, watching this tank of a man weep. And to her annoyance, she felt the sympathy she was offering Salvatore grew more genuine. He was supposed to regret the young woman he watched being killed, that he may have in fact killed. Not lose it after being left by his wife. At least he changed for his children. That's more than what my own father did.

Jordan moved over next to him, giving him a one-armed hug - well, putting one arm around him as far as it would go - the thumb of her other hand gliding consolingly across the back of his hand. There was so little artifice to this man. It was rare and unique appealing. Few men were willing to show tears, even she was mostly the same, when she was an outtie instead of an innie.

"You're a better man for you what you had to overcome, Sal. Too many take their children for granted. I'm sure now, you appreciate them more, and they appreciate you more, too." Jordan chewed her full lip pensively, a melancholy gleam in her eye, and it wasn't wholly feigned either. "My own father never made the effort to reconcile with us..."

Jordan shook her head, not willing to say more - for a variety of reasons. Nico still seemed to be occupied by Shreveson and what Sal hadn't said piqued her curiosity once more. She released her hug, but kept her fingers resting lightly in his massive hand, giving him another smile, urging to keep talking. "I'm sure your wife was happy to have the man she married back again, as well?"

[jameson (ST)]

"Ha," he muttered, venom dripping off the word. "Found out she'd been cheatin' on me da whole time. Tha booze wuz jus' an excuse. Least I got my kids back tho'." He wiped his eyes clear and looked at Jordan, "Yous real nice Miz Jo'ansson, sorry ta go all blubbry on ya like that."

Jordan waved a hand, "I should be the sorry one for leading you down those painful memories." She thought about her own painful memories, and physical pain, psychosomatic though it was, that accompanied them. Could this man have done the deed? Yes, she knew that he was capable of intense violence, and he'd killed before, though with his hands and in such a way as it at least appeared accidental. There was also no discounting that her memory of that night was hazy at best. Still, she felt like there was a significant connection between that night and this man.

"Miz Jo'ansson? Yous OK?" Sal was looking at her with a puzzled, worried, expression. "Yous looked like ya checked out fer a seccon'."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

"Oh... sorry. Something you said, it reminded me of... of something." She gave her head a little shake, loose auburn tresses swinging around her face, then offered Sal a rueful grin. Normally, she preferred to play it say, especially now that she was Jaime's legal guardian, but she had to know about that night, and the role this man had played in it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"A few years ago, a little over three now, I guess, my... neighbor's girlfriend disappeared. He thought she had runaway with another man, but I've always been worried something... something bad happened to her. She was a dancer, you know?" She arched a brow at him and Sal nodded, understanding, though he wondered how classy woman like this knew a stripper.

"Her name really was Candy, bleached blond hair and very, mmmm, womanly, very pretty. She was always nice to me. Helped me grow up from a tomboy into a woman." Jordan dropped her eyes, breaking eye contact with Sal, a pained look crossing her fine features. "One night, she left for her shift at the Triangle Club and never came home."

And she hadn't. Jordan hadn't taken a female form for several months after the incident, had refused to be less than over six feet tall, kept her strength near her upper limits the entire time. The first time she had worn the identity of Candy again had been just a short while ago in the bathroom.

[jameson (ST)]

"Sorry ta hear dat," Sal shook his head. "This city ain't what it used ta be. That 'splosion back twenny years ago killed it but good. New York jus' ain't willin' ta roll ovah an' die though." He patted her hand consolingly, "Maybe she got out whilst the gettin' was good ya know? Sometimes that's easiest an hardest at the same time. Leaving your loved ones behind I mean." He seemed about to continue when he looked up and saw Nico returning. "Mistah Nico, welcome back. We was jus' havin' a drink an a talk we wuz."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Too subtle, he didn't get the hint. It's even more annoying that Sal's concern seems genuine too. Is he just playing me, or did he really not get the reference? Before she could continue to dwell on that horrid night, Nico returned, to her relief. And, oddly, to a tiny pang of disappoint. Despite what he represented - may have represented - she had enjoyed her time with Sal.

She carefully composed her face and turned to Nico with a teasing grin. "Ah, Nico, glad you made it back. Sal here was just about to claim me for his own." Jordan laughed lightly, grasping Sal's hand briefly in thanks. "Honestly, Sal was enjoyable company." She turned back to Sal and gave him a gracious nod. "Thank you, and I hope we can talk again some time."

Sal stood up, like a mountain moving, giving Jordan a ghastly, yet somehow endearing little smile. "I'd like that, I sho would. Miz Jo'ansson, Mistah Bellic." He gave them a nod, then headed back to Mr. Shreveson's table.

Nico watched The Slab shuffle off then glanced at his date with a quirked eyebrow. "Should I be jealous?"

"Only if you want to be, though I should warn you, for some inexplicable reason, men try to find the oddest excuses to speak with me." Her grin was playful, eyes wide with mock confusion. "Seriously, Sal just told me about his family." She stood up smoothly and took Nico's hand in hers. "Shall finish our last dance?"

"Anything you wish, my dear. For some inexplicable reason, I find myself willing to make any excuse to be with you." Nico lead Jordan onto the dancefloor for another dance. And it was only a single dance, as the charity function dinner - more per plate than Jordan was willing to ask or that Nico wanted to admit to - was being served soon after.

During the meal, they banter was light, a little flirtatious, though Jordan kept an teasing tone to her voice. "So, what was so important that Mr. Shreveson was able to drag you away from this?" Lips curved mischievously, she straightened her shoulders, arced her back, head tilted, taking a studied pose that drew Nico's admiring gaze, and several more. "He wasn't threatening you with waking up next to a severed horse head, was he?"

[jameson (ST)]

Nico laughed politely, "No, not so much." He took a sip from his glass, "I was just business, I run some of his enterprises for him. It's boring stuff, hardly interesting at all unless its your money that's involved." He quickly moved on changing the subject away from his relationship with Shreveson. "How is the salmon? The duck is really quite amazing, but then one would expect these high end fund raisers to be staffed by the best."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

"The chefs certainly deserve their compliments, this salmon is excellent. The cheese in the breading - asiago? - softens the bite of the herbs, an odd, but unique and very tasty blend." Jordan took a savoury bite of salmon then speared another morsel on her fork, raising it and waving it with tantalizing motions in Nico's direction. "Want a taste? I'll trade you for a piece of duck."

"How could I refuse such a fair trade?" Raising his own fork, Jordan leaned forward, lips wrapping around the piece of duck and sliding it off the utensil with her tongue and a small moan. "Mmmm, very good."

When it came to Nico's turn, Jordan kept pulling the fork just out of reach with a playful smirk, until he almost tipped over. With a growl, Nico caught her wrist and bit savagely on the salmon, eyes sparkling with arousal.

After more light conversation - not so light flirtation - a more than half empty bottle of scotch, and a truly delicious tiramisu for dessert, Jordan patted her lips with a napkin then stretched with a hand on the back of her neck, making interesting things happen under her tight, little black dress. "Have you put in enough time here at the function, Nico, or can we leave for other... pursuits?" Jordan asked with a sassy grin and bright eyes.

Enough with Sal and Shreveson, I came out to have fun, not dwell on painful memories. I'll talk with Sal another time, whether he knows it or not.

[jameson (ST)]

Unfortunately Nico shook his head, "I need to be here for ... a little while longer." He was drinking coffee as the dinner dishes were cleared away. Jordan had a dainty cup of espresso from which she occasionally sipped. The conversation in the room was beginning to grow once more and the band had moved back to the stage and was preparing for another set.

With a sigh Jordan picked up her cup. "Something interesting or just more face time with the rich and powerful?" she asked before taking another sip of the strong dark liquor within.

"Actually, I'm not really sure. Brendan, err, Mr. Shreveson, asked me to stick around. Typically, he didn't explain why." Nico shrugged, "Besides, what makes you think I'm so easy as to do other pursuits on the first date?"

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Brendan, hmm? More than just business partners, methinks. At the very least, long-term ones.

"Men!" Jordan snorted delicately, then gave him a playful smirk of feminine superiority. "Nico, I got a good grasp on how men think and all men are that easy, even if they deny it." Her coy tongue darted out, licking at the cream floating on the surface of her espresso, then giving Nico a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I don't see the big deal myself. By other pursuits, I meant a movie, perhaps a play or lively nightclub."

Her words were questioning, but her tone was far from uncertain and the twinkle in her turquoise eyes was far from innocent. "What did you think I meant?" Her grin deepened, a dimple appearing and she held up her cup in a mild toast. "Anyway, here's to something interesting, we can hope."

[jameson (ST)]

Nico affected an innocent look and actually whistled idly. Jordan smirked, suppressing a giggle which seemed to signal Nico, he smiled and winked, "I was thinking of mini-golf, I don't know what you were thinking."

"Mini-golf?" Jordan asked, a teasing sparkle in her eye.

Nico nodded seriously, "I take my close game seriously. It's all about control. A skilled player can make each stroke count for two, maybe three, if they're practiced."

Jordan caught on, "So you practice playing the curves and boundaries then?"

"Of course."

"That's nice to hear. Perhaps you can show me later," she smiled seductively as her free hand twirled her hair idly and he uncrossed and recrossed her legs.

The dark man took a long sip from his cup, watching Jordan over the rim. He set it down and wiped his mouth with a napkin, "Perhaps, if its not too late."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Jordan chuckled huskily, greatly enjoying the banter and Nico's wit. It had been long since she had been on a date - before her mother died, a year ago - and even longer since being on one while on the distaff side, having been in a several month relationship prior to her mother's relapse. Maybe it was her first time being with her best friend Peter, sneaking around in her room, but she had always had a slight preference fucking as a woman. Or maybe it was the multiple orgasms.

She finished her espresso then leaned towards Nico, her fingernails grazing his wrist, her grin wicked. "Well, then, let's make sure it's not too late, hmmm?" Her turquoise eyes cut to the table in the back then focused on him once more. "I'm sure Mr. Shreveson will understand that you have to see to your dinner companion, don't you?"

Nico's eyes followed Jordan's to Brendan Shreveson and back, lips tightening slightly as he mulled it over, then smiling back at his dinner companion. So vivacious, so ravishing, anyone would indeed understand. "You are quite right, my dear. Shall we say our goodbyes to the guest of honour and see what the night holds for us?"

Jordan nodded, accepting Nico's hand up and letting him settle her coat on her shoulders before linking her arm with his and approaching Mr. Shreveson's table. Sal receiving a stunning smile and a gracious nod, along with a murmured, "Sal," before turning a polite expression on the man in white.

"Brendan, I regret that I can't stay longer, but I'm sure you can see why..." Nico said, reaching out and shaking his hand, then The Slab's. "Salvatore."

"I do indeed, Nico. We'll speak later. Miss Johansson, it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance." His expression was composed, only the slight curve to his lips showing his appreciation for her stunning countenance. He took her extended fingers in his hand and gave them a precise squeeze.

Sal repeated the gesture, his huge hands engulfing Jordan's elegant hand. "Miz Johansson, I's hope we's can talk agin, some time."

"To be sure, Sal, and thank you. Mister Shreveson, this has been a lovely evening." Jordan replied with another smile. As she and Nico turned to leave the Stuyvesant Room, Jordan pocketed the slip of paper she found in her hand.

In the hall outside the room, light glinting off hair in a shadowed corner - a lighter shade of red than hers - caught her attention. The hair belonged to a face she recognized from the Network, Velocity. From what she knew, she was one that usually ran when she should walk. Though the face Jordan was wearing wasn't one she shared with the Network, she still tried to give Velocity a warning shake of her head behind Nico's back. Jordan really wasn't sure if everyone - or even if most of the people - at the benefit were on the up and up, but why take chances, right?

In the garage, when the valet pulled up in Nico's Viper, Jordan snatched the keys before they fell into his hands, dangling them in her fingers. "Ah, ah. You said I could have a chance behind the wheel."

Nico hesitated, aroused and a little annoyed by her audacity, but relented with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand as he got the door, powerless in the face of another flashed dimple. "As the lady wishes."

Jordan settled in the plush leather seat with a sultry giggle, the tips of her breasts poking against her dress as she felt the thrumming power beneath her. I can't afford a sweet pair of wheels like this, but the thrumming of a motorcycle between my legs might be just as good. I'll have to look into that.

Before Nico could offer some considerate advice in handling the powerful beast, Jordan's high-heeled boot pressed down on the gas and she peeled out of the underground garage with more speed than Nico was expecting. Or fully comfortable with. Jordan's rich laughter pealed out of the open windows of the Viper and into the night air.

[jameson (ST)]

"Try not to get us in an accident or to catch a ticket hmm?" Nico settled himself and offered directions sending Jordan to Long Island and then out of New York itself. Apart from his sarcastic comments at the start of the drive he offered no unsolicited driving tips other than directions. The pair made idle small talk as they went, their words often needing to be repeated over the sound of the engine and the wind.

As the city gave way to suburbs Jordan looked to Nico, "Were are we going? I didn't think you lived this far out of the city?"

"I don't," he replied with a mysterious smile, "you'll see though. Turn left here and the place will be on the right." Jordan turned left across a vacant intersection, down shifting as the car slowed and then saw their destination.

"A mini-golf course?!" She sounded incredulous. "I thought that was a euphemism, that ..." she lets the words die on her tongue as in the face of Nico's sly grin.

"I never joke about my golf game."

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

"Evidently not," she said, looking up at the neon sign of A Putt Above.

Jordan tried to sound prim in response to Nico's sly grin, but it come out wry, liberally tinged with barely restrained amusement. Her only regret was that she hadn't thought about doing this first. She'd have to remember this for next time she was playing on the other side of the gender-fence. More determined than ever to have him tonight, Jordan leaned over with a wicked smile, her hand teasingly high on his thigh and brushed her firm, yielding lips across his in a featherlight kiss.

"Let's go see your skills then, hmmm?" she teased, pulling away before the kiss could become anything more. Her long legs slid out of the car to a whistle from across the street, followed by the rest of her.

A moment later, after 'adjusting' himself, Nico followed her, taking the proffered keys dangling from her fingers and leading her toward the mini-golf course, his date held close to his side with his arm around her trim waist. "You'll find my skills quite... experienced, I'm sure, my dear," he murmured with quiet confidence.

Stepping inside the black-lit interior, the rock music and the excited babble of voices washed over the couple as their dark clothes turned them into shadowy figures save for Jordan's sash and Nico's handkerchief flaring turquoise and crimson at waist and breast, respectively. They were both considerably over-dressed for the activity and environment, but with their delight with how the evening was progressing, they didn't mind.

Nico paid for their eighteen holes, collecting their putters and balls. As a pleasant surprise, the place was also fully licensed, though the stock wasn't extensive - Jordan got a screwdriver, stating with a grin that it seemed appropriate, while Nico got a rum-and-coke.

They stepped up to the first hole, Nico noting by the glow of the course the wistful curve to Jordan's lips. "I haven't played mini-golf since I was a little- since I was little, before my father..." Jordan said to the politely inquiring tilt to his head, trailing off into a bark of laughter that she hoped didn't sound too bitter.

An arched brow asked who was going first, Nico gesturing her forward. "Ladies first."

"Of course." Jordan stepped up to the first hole, trying to get a comfortable stance. After a moment, she slid off her high-heeled boots, her bare feet cool, but not uncomfortable on the synthetic turf of the course. Getting into position once more, Jordan glanced over her shoulder at the man admiring her impeccably designed rear. "It's been a long time since I last played and last time, I was lacking certain... obstructions. Perhaps you would like to guide me through a few strokes?"

"It would be my pleasure." He sat his drink down next to hers on the small table the beginning of each course seemed to have, then came up behind her, his strong arms going around her, his hands sliding down her slender arms to rest atop her hands.

Holding her so close, Nico could feel that her supple and curvaceous figure hid a surprising, unexpected strength, the perfumed scent of her shampoo filling his nose. Her shifting hips pressing against his pelvis was a pleasant distraction. "Now, shift you grip like so. What you want to do is..." he began, explaining the basic techniques in a most tactile fashion.

[jameson (ST)]

Nico moved in close, his arms wrapping around Jordan. He pressed in and Jordan gave a start at the sensation of firmness at her rear. "Is that ...?" she trailed off leaving the question obvious in its ambiguity.

"What? Oh! No!" He stepped back and reached into his pocket and pulled out a five inch long two finger thick epi-pen. "Epinephrine. I'm deathly allergic to peanuts. Sorry." He actually flushed a bit as he fiddled with the needle, trying to find a different place on his person to stow the life saving device. "Ah, um ... heh." He shook his head and quickly grabbed his drink, downing it in one gulp as he reclaimed his composure.

Moving back over to Jordan and smiled, "Where were we?"

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Jordan raised her brows, amused by his blush, lips curving into a moue of playful disappointment. "Aww, and here I thought you were glad to see me." Her voice was rich with barely restrained mirth. Her turquoise eyes sparkled as she bent over her putter again, teeth flashing under the blacklights. "You were sharing your vast putting experience before something came between us."

"I assure you, Jordan, I'm more than just glad to have met you today." He came up behind her again, guiding her through the movements of several practice swings. When she seemed comfortable, he reluctantly stepped back, giving her a bit of advice on angles and proper force. Just as Jordan was taking her first putt, he added, "And I'm equally sure there is something growing between us right now."

Jordan sputtered, her putt going wild with unintentional force, the glowing pink golf ball bouncing crazily. It bounced all the way around the L-shaped course, off the rim of the hole, and back, nearly to where it started. Jordan turned slowly, giving Nico a narrowed eyed look, though her lips twitched. "Of course, you know, this means war. Game on, Nico, your turn."

Nico stepped up, steadying himself for his putt. He kept looking over his shoulder at Jordan, trying to catch in her retaliation, but she simply stood calmly, arms folded beneath her breasts and a smirk on her face. The game was on.

The first two holes got off to a rough start, with both of them trying to distract the other. On account of having the more impressive anatomy, Jordan claimed victory in the first two holes, though Nico called it a draw. He was still one stroke ahead.

After that, the game grew more competitive, though both were greatly enjoying themselves. They stayed closer than Nico expected, considering Jordan's claimed inexperience. Jordan's grace and coordination was remarkable, but his skill was still giving him the edge, if a minor one.

At first, Jordan had been a bit concerned that Nico wasn't liking being challenged by a novice - who was sort of cheating by enhancing her natural manual dexterity, though he didn't know it. But to he relief, he seemed to be enjoying the competition as much as she was.

Hole fourteen, and her hair-do was beginning to unravel. Jordan grunted and pulled the pins free, shaking out her glistening auburn hair in perfect shampoo commercial fashion. Then she focused on her latest putt, tapping the golf with hopefully the right amount of force. Her eyes tracked it excitedly, watching it go up the gangplank of the pirate ship and down the other side, glancing of the treasure chest....

"Boo-yah! Hole in one!" Jordan squealed, jumping up and pumping a fist in the air. She smiled widely at Nico, pointing at him with her putter. "I'm only one putt behind now, Nico. I'll catch you yet."

[jameson (ST)]

Nico narrowed his eyes, suddenly Jordan could see that behind the nice single father was another person altogether. He smiled, rakish and shark like, "Are you saying it's on?"

Jordan blinked and the sudden impression was gone, replaced by a normal charming smile and an apparent challenge. "Oh it's on, like Donkey Kong!"

Nico raised an eyebrow, "Donkey Kong?" he waived a hand, dismissed the implied interrogative, "Nevermind, it's on. Let's do this."

They moved to the next hole where Jordan shot first and managed to get within a easy put of the hole. Nico made a show of examining the green, the turf, the obstacles, until Jordan finally exploded, "Shoot already! Unless you're too a-scared?" Nico's head turned to look at her and he smiled, swinging his club and sending the ball rolling even as he appeared to smirk at her outburst. The ball rolled down the "fairway" bounced around the corner and ringed the cup before falling in.

"Oh. Did that go in? I wasn't looking." He affected an innocent smile that made Jordan set her shoulders as she moved to birdie the hole. It was indeed fully on.

The last three holes went by tensely with the two trading escalating glances of challenge. Jordan amped up her own dexterity and visual acuity to the maximum, to the point where the neon and black lights were edging on uncomfortable and managed to pass Nico by two strokes after she one-putted the par three 18th hole.

As Nico stood preparing his own eighteenth she bent over provocatively in front of him to put her shoes back on. "You know Nico," she said in that perfectly husky voice as she looked past her legs to the man standing behind her. Nico looked up getting one hell of view of her perfect long legs and firm rear. "Three strokes and I win. Two strokes and we tie. You need to just make one stroke to beat me? Can you beat me with. Just. One. Stroke?"

Nico swallowed hard and swung the club. The ball sliced wide and Jordan hide a triumphant smirk. He followed it up with a second stroke that took an unexpected bounce off an artifact within the turf and then holed it on the third with a growl. The growl turned altogether different as Jordan snuggled up against him and purred, "Three strokes. I win. Thank you Nico."

"A wise man always let's the woman finish in fewer strokes," he replied as he took her club and they walked back to the little attendant shed. They were headed back to his car, his hand far more familiar on her waist and hip, "So where to ne-" He didn't get to finish when both of their phones rang.

[Tharra of the Katjaa]

Jordan gave a small mew of frustration as their phones rang, Nico's hand leaving her hip. She didn't delay in answering her phone either - glancing at her watch, it was well pass time her sister called anyway. She and Nico traded apologetic glances and turned slightly away from each other.

"Sorry, it's my sister, Nico," Jordan said.

Nico gave his gorgeous date a sharp nod. "Perfectly understood, I have my daughter here." His expression turned just a tad concerned and he saw the same concern mar Jordan's stunning face. "Weren't they spending the evening together?" Without further delay, they answered their phones.

The voice on the other end was somewhat slurred and speaking too fast, almost babbling. It was also her sister's voice. She felt her vague concern deepen into something more concrete, tinged with anger and disappointment.

"Slow down sis, what's the problem?" Jordan asked when she could get a word in, distantly aware of Nico responding to his phone as well. "Easy hon, tell me what's wrong."

"<...>" "<...>"

"You what?! A rave?!" Jordan and Nico exclaimed simultaneously.

"<...>" "<...>"

"Where are you?" Both of them were still speaking in lockstep.

"<...>" "<...>"

"Okay, Jaime, if you can, stay right where you are okay?" Jordan insisted, trying to keep her voice mild instead of yelling at her sister. "Unless you see someone you think is following you, or you don't like the look of, then keep moving, we'll find you. How many bars do you have left on your phone? Hmm, that's it? Okay, listen to me, I know it's scary, but I want you to hang up and only use your phone in an absolute emergency, okay? We'll be there as soon as we can."

Nico gave similar directions to his daughter then turned back to Jordan.

"The Bowery." Their voices shared an identical crispness, the restrained fear and anger for a child or younger sibling.

Not waiting for the niceties, Jordan got the car door herself as Nico got behind the driver's seat, who was shifting the car into gear before seat belts could be fastened. Jordan brushed loose strands of auburn hair from her face, full lips pressed tight. As much as she wanted to rush there immediately, she had to think about this logically.

"Nico, can we make a small detour to my place so I can get my car?" Jordan asked, turning towards him and placing a hand on his forearm. "We'll never get both girls into your viper and we'll be able to split up to cover more ground. If we're quick, we'll be able to catch the midnight ferry."

Nico gritted his teeth, but nodded. "That is most reasonable, Jordan. It'll probably save time in the long run." Nico took the next turn, heading for Staten Island instead of Manhattan.

Continues in Prologue 2: Jordan & Isaac & Ross