Hargomme and Eve get intimate

<Out of Character> This story was an e-mail exchange between Karen Alfrey – Eve’s player – and Russ – Hargomme’s player. Karen Klutzke added comments on occasion, as GM. 95% of what is here is straight out of the original messages, but some of it had to be cleaned up for perspective and such. In fact, there’s probably some that I missed… </Out of Character>

Hargomme approaches Eve during the journey to Tonga, at a point when there was no one else around. He sits beside her, looking down at his hands. With a concerned - or possibly just troubled - look on his face, he says, "You had mentioned that you were willing to let me try... whatever it is I did during the interrogation back on Bliss." He pauses, then continues, "Are you sure you... are willing to do this?" Turning to look at her, he says, "I... I don't understand what it is that I'm doing, and I appreciate the offer to learn. I just don't want to... to hurt you, I suppose." He gets a quizzical look. "Is that possible, though?"

Eve smiles a small, mock-smug sort of smile. "Well, sure, in theory," she says. There's a glint of impish amusement in her eyes as she adds, teasingly, "What, you think we need a safe-word?"

Hargomme isn't familiar with the concept, but he can tell she's implying something of the sort one doesn't usually discuss in polite company.

Hargomme maintains a straight face - a look Eve equates with the fact that he doesn't know something but is going over possible meanings in his mind.

If it wasn't so sad, it'd be comical.

In a more serious tone, she continues, "I'm not sure what it is you're doing either, but I've got an idea, even if I'm not sure how it works. I've heard rumors -- warnings -- that some in our family are capable of mental attacks, and that you're especially vulnerable during Trump contacts. Now that there are trumps of me floating around out there -- not to mention a known psycho uncle with a predilection for such things -- I'd like to know what it feels like so I'll know what to guard against and maybe how to fight back. So really, I'm doing this as much for me as for you.

This seems to visibly relieve some of Hargomme's worries.

Until the moment - a very obvious moment - when he realizes just what she’s saying, and the implications of that on the entire group. That look only lasts a moment before he regains complete control, again.

Eve smiles the sort of half-smile one might give a pupil who'd finally grasped a fundamental lesson.

"And I'm not too worried you'll damage me. I mean, come on, I've lived the better part of the last decade with the Queen of Manipulation, and I survived. So, y'know, give it your best shot. I can take it." She smiles in friendly challenge.

Hargomme smiles wryly at the jab at Flora...

"D'you think you could describe what it is you do, though, so I'll have an idea what to expect?"

Losing his smile, Hargomme turns back to looking down at his hands. He pauses a moment.

"I... No, I don't think I can. In the past, I've always thought I was just overbearing them with my personality, to put it bluntly. I... With that soldier of Thelbane it was... different. As though I..." He turns to look at her, with no emotion on his face, "As though I were simply removing his will to resist. As though I were forcing him to do what I wanted, just by pushing."

He turns back to his hands again, rubbing them together as though there were a stain to remove. "I can't imagine that it will be the same with you, though. We are both of Amber, which I assume will probably make it harder - or at least different."

Eve nods. She's watching him closely.

"Why don't we head to your quarters to do this - it may be easier in a private, quiet location. Well, as quiet as it will get on a ship at sea, with a Captain who likes singing as much as Gerard." He whispers, "And I use the word 'singing' loosely," Winks.

That gets an amused, conspiratorial smirk from Eve.

He stands, still smiling, and offers his arm.

She hesitates, staring at the proffered arm like she's considering saying something sarcastic about stupid chivalrous boys, but then she thinks better of it. She shrugs, takes his arm, and heads toward her quarters.

Which get them a number of knowing looks from Gerard's crew. Two men exchange money.

Hargomme feels tension in her arm, excited energy, perhaps in anticipation of trying something new and possibly dangerous.

Hargomme's arm is casual, loose. He gently puts his hand on hers and leads her out of the room, ignoring the other occupants.

The gesture doesn't seem to ease Eve's tension in the least: she is obviously deeply on her guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her cast a look of casual menace toward the bettors.

On the way, he asks, "Have you thought about what you'd like me to get out of you? I don't want to turn this into something malicious, so it would probably be easier if there was an agreed upon goal, something you'll try not to say that I will force out of you?"

"Yeah, I think maybe.... I think you should get me to tell you about my dream again, in case there may've been a tiny inconsequential detail or two I might've left out." Eve smiles, all disingenuous charm.

Hargomme smirks just slightly...

"But hey, look -- if I can figure out what you're doing, how it works, how to defend myself... I'll push back, you know? So maybe you should give me something to try to get out of you, too. Unless," she adds, "you think that would be too dangerous." The hint of challenge in her tone and the glint in her eyes betray her youthful overconfidence.

Hargomme's smile vanishes. He continues to look forward, saying, "I... do. You're trusting me to not violate you, Eve, and I'm trusting you to hold off if you get the upper hand - which could very well happen. We can try other experiments later, when we better understand what we are doing." He turns his face towards her, a tired look in his eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. Squeezing her arm gently, in a kind way, he asks, "Is that an acceptable arrangement for now?"

Eve seems a bit taken aback, perhaps surprised by the trust he's putting in her. But she replies, "Yeah, I --- Yeah. That's cool with me." She holds his gaze for a moment to reassure him, or maybe herself. Much of the prickly teenage sarcasm that is Eve's usual mode of self-expression has faded -- but that just makes the thick granite wall behind it that much easier to see.

She releases his arm so she can open the door to her quarters.

As they enter, she locks the door behind her with the reflexive ease of long-standing habit, then she looks at Hargomme for further instructions.

He takes the chair and moves it next to the bed, gestures for her to take a seat on the bed, and sets himself rigidly in the chair.

"Relax. I have a feeling that the more comfortable you are, the more you will be able to concentrate. I'm going to do this as I have in the past, and we'll see what happens."

He gently takes Eve's chin in his hand and turns her face so that they are looking eye to eye. (Of course, this requires that he slouches a bit, given the height difference, but he seems comfortable enough.)

Both become briefly aware of just how intimate the situation is – but not in a sexual way. Eve is a distrusting teenager, not readily prone to opening herself up. And Hargomme has his own personal reasons for remaining closed. Yet here they are, Eve's chin in Hargomme's hand, alone, and staring into each other's eyes.

Eve puts on that look of concentration mingled with amusement and defiance that she always wears when she's fencing; but it slips a tiny bit when their eyes meet. She'd probably be more comfortable with a blade in her hand, nose-to-nose with a bloodthirsty killer.

"This might take a while," he says, "but I want you to tell me about the dream you had, the one with the Unicorn. Tell me about what you haven't already told me, Eve. You know that it's in everyone's best interests if you do - there really isn't a reason not to."

And he's pushing...

Which feels like knocking at an iron-clad door with the menacing growl of a well-trained young rottweiler emanating from the other side: it is strong, and well-guarded, and probably booby-trapped.

Hargomme's mouth twists into a slight smile for a brief moment, as he then focuses on the task at hand.

She stares into his eyes, challenging, but then some of her resolve suddenly disappears. What he says makes perfect sense to her and she can't understand why she felt differently a moment ago. There's really no good reason not to tell him all the details of her dream.

But then she remembers that this was the point, that Hargomme would try to compel her to tell, and that's probably why she's had this sudden change of heart.

But then again, she really wants to tell him, like there's an irresistible itch that can only be scratched by her spilling the beans.

Hargomme senses in her that she wants to tell, but a part of her is able to separate herself from that wanting to realize that she's being compelled. He doesn't normally sense that reaction--most of the time they just spill the beans. He hadn't really ever felt someone resist him with any sort of effective force before the Thelbane soldier, but eventually even he succumbed. He has no idea what Eve will do or is capable of.

For a very long time, they sit in silence and stillness as Eve's Id dukes it out with her own Ego: do what feels good, or win? Fortunately for Eve, her Ego is very strong.

Unfortunately for Eve, her Ego is very strong.

Maybe she could just tell him a *little bit*, see what it feels like, maybe learn a little more about what he's doing, *how* he's pushing.... I mean, hey, she's strong enough to stop, right?

Feeling a lessening in the resistance, Hargomme says, "Eve, you know you can trust me..."

"So, there was this picnic...."

Oh, yes, that felt good. Hargomme can feel her relaxing....

"Yes, you told us about that."

And then, like a door slamming shut, she clamps down again in angry self-reproach....

Hargomme blinks. A slight look of surprise clouds his face for a moment, but he continues, "What else?"

That was close. Too close. She should look away. She's thinking it, and Hargomme can see it in her eyes, feel it in her mind. She could slam him right outta that chair and break the contact. It would be easy.

It would be giving up.

She doesn't look away.

"What else was there, Eve - what did you not tell us about the dream?"

She feels herself slipping, falling right into those pools of blue....

"...And the Unicorn, and Martin... but, I mean, it's not like we're going to prom or anything, I always thought it was a stupid idea...."

"Eve..."

Yes, that's it. She'll say it, but not in a way that will make sense to him.

"...and I don't think they even *have* KFC in Rebma...."

Hargomme can practically feel the wave of hormone-fuelled teen angst. Eve's eyes are so dark now it's hard to tell where the pupil ends and the iris begins.

"...please..." His right hand, holding her chin, relaxes a little, as though what he's doing was something he wanted to back away from.

"...and anyhow, when they said 'Finger lickin' good,' that's NOT WHAT IT MEANT!"

Oh, but that was probably too far, says the detached part of Eve's mind. She presses her lips together so tightly they go white and turns her efforts back to resisting. She's breathing hard, throwing all her mental strength into driving off the attack -- but she respects Hargomme's request. To the best of her untrained abilities, she tries to hold him off without going on the offensive herself. Even if she really wants to.

"...in words that I understand..." Hargomme's voice is almost pleading, "You know that this is what is best. We need all of this information - every little detail could be crucial."

Hargomme concentrates on that detached part of Eve's mind, that part that is fighting him. He focuses, isolating it, and pushes down, trying to stifle it - but not crush it. A sudden concern for her safety, an acknowledgement for the fact that he doesn't know what he is doing strikes in the deep recesses of his thoughts, and Eve can sense that - it's right there. He's not ignoring it - but he's not letting it interfere with his actions.

He continues to look into her eyes, saying "You're too young to have this much pain, Eve," as he takes her right hand in his left, squeezing it gently. Blinking, he continues, "Tell me what you saw in your dream, what you haven't told us, in words that I understand... You know how..."

At the edge of reality, she feels his hand shaking, just a little, but his eyes are unwavering.

"And you know you have to."

"I... do... NOT," hisses Eve through clenched teeth. Her fingers tighten around his. She doesn't squeeze to the point of pain -- not even close -- but Hargomme suspects she might be reminding him that she could, if she wanted.

It may not be entirely macho posturing, though: a moment later, her eyes widen, and she looks every bit a normal, vulnerable sixteen-year-old girl.

"My... fingers... in his.... m----"

With a strangled yelp that would surely give entirely the wrong idea to any dirty-minded sailors listening outside the door, she grabs the front of his shirt in her fist in a desperate attempt to brace herself against the mental onslaught. Hargomme can feel the seams straining.

Releasing her chin, Hargomme slowly moves his right hand over her eyes, gently touching her forehead as he lets his chin sag to his chest. His eyes close for a moment.

"I... I'm sorry, Eve," his exhausted voice barely audible.

Eve slowly releases her grip on his shirt as the pressure against her mind eases.

Keeping her hand in his, he wipes his brow with his right sleeve, leans back in the chair, and brings his eyes back up to look at her. His eyes show sincere concern. Regaining his voice, he asks, "Are you... alright?"

As her breathing slows to a less frenetic rate, Eve regards Hargomme through eyes slightly narrowed in appraisal.

"You're too nice," she declares after a moment.

He looks off to one side, mumbling, "I'll remember that the next time I'm slaughtering men."

She doesn't release his hand, though; and after another moment, with perhaps the closest thing to genuine concern he's ever seen from her, she asks, "Are you alright?"

He looks back at her with a slight smile - she can tell that it's partially forced, but it is a smile nonetheless. "Yes. I believe that this was probably more taxing on you than I. Thank you for the restraint, by the way."

Eve shrugs. "I can hold back when I have to. Although it's not my usual instinct when I'm losing..." She smirks.

"It was very odd, though. I felt... More, I suppose. I don't know any other way to describe it. I've never actually felt like there was something there in the past, but... I actually felt you, the part of you that was fighting me. It was as though you were... As though some part of you were manifesting into a... a force, I suppose."

This seems to please Eve on some level, judging from the sudden glint in her eyes.

Leaning forward again, all emotion vanishes from his face. He turns his left hand so that her hand is on top, and places his right hand on top of it. "What did you feel? What... What was it like?"

Eve stares at her hand sandwiched there between his, as if examining a specimen under glass at a museum -- "Basic Human Contact" or some other such strange and exotic thing -- as she considers her answer.

"It was like...." She looks up again, into his eyes. "At first I couldn't even tell you were doing anything -- really insidious, you know? -- but then part of me figured it out. It's like, one part of me was convinced it was coming up with the idea all on its own, and the other part knew you were the one pushing and would've knocked you right out of your chair if I'd let it."

She hesitates a moment, then adds, "And I could tell you were holding back a little." Hesitates again. "Are you always so 'good cop' when you do this?"

Hargomme looks at her quizzically for a moment, and says, "If by that you mean... Being polite and gracious to someone, yes. It... I've found that it helps to relax the individual, and prevents too many bad feelings afterwards." He shrugs, "But then most of my previous experiences have not been so intense, nor taken so much out of the participants."

Eve smiles wryly, nods. "Yeah, it's... a good strategy."

He releases her, sitting back and bringing his hands into his lap. He looks down at them, rubbing them together, again, as he did earlier. As he did before he attacked her.

"I'd like... to tell you something, Eve. Something I want you to know and understand, but never to share." He looks up again and his hands stop, "I think that I can trust you with this, and I think that you..." he returns to the hands, to the rubbing, "I think that it might help you to understand me better."

Eve nods again, in a 'go on' sort of way. Again she seems vaguely surprised at the trust he's putting in her, but he doesn't sense any intention on her part to betray that trust.

"It was almost a decade ago. I had a wife, Gillian, the woman in my dream. Our son, Josh, was only three." The rubbing stops suddenly, as he sits, motionless. For a moment, it is as though he died. Then he takes a deep breath, looks up, and continues, "My mistake - I trusted someone, and he took advantage of that. It..." He looks to the side, pausing - obviously to retain control.

Eve's expression is all studied neutrality, a careful concealment of emotional response, as she watches him.

"They beat us - he wanted no one left alive who knew what he'd done. I was struck by poison, first - they could never have taken me, otherwise, of course. They killed all three of us..." he turns back to look at you, "That's what they thought, anyway. It took months, many months, but I eventually recovered." In his eyes, she can see that he wants to tell her more, that there's a story here of something even he is scared of, but he holds back and looks back down at his hands, rubbing them again as though trying to rub the skin off of the muscle.

"I haven't been willing to trust anyone since that day, not truly - and things have only proven to be worse. I don't trust Corwin, but I'll obey him if it seems the right thing to do. I don't trust Fiona, Gerard, or any of the other elders. I'm not even sure if I trust Gareth and Alydia to be honest, but they are friends, nonetheless."

Eve nods slightly, as if he'd just stated an axiom.

Leaning forward, he takes her hand again, and looks at it for a moment, his breath slow and steady. Then he looks into her eyes. "But after this, I will trust you, Eve. What you did in this, what we just went through, I understand that it was not insignificant. You could have thrown me through that wall to stop me, or even struck back on your own. I appreciate that, and I think you should to."

Eve's brows draw together. "Hargomme, I... c'mon. I'm not a nice person. Not like.... You can't just...." She laughs, nervously. But she doesn't pull away.

He smiles an honest smile for a moment. "I know."

It only lasts a moment; the smile vanishes. He releases her hand and stands, saying, "And neither am I, Eve. That's where we have something in common, I suppose." A worried look passes over his face, a look that seems to be for her.

Eve stares back at him, silently, barely bothering to disguise the weird jumble of emotions she's suddenly wrestling with.

Turning to the door, he says, "You should probably get some rest - I think that we both could use it."

"Yeah, you're probably... yeah," Eve replies. "And you should probably, you know --" She gestures vaguely at the front of his shirt, "-- un-rumple your shirt before you go back out there, y'know?" A tiny, amused smirk manages to work its way out of the emotional jumble. "I'd hate to hafta singlehandedly keel-haul half the crew over a little misperception."

She catches the start of a smile on his face, as he pulls and straightens his shirt. As he heads toward the door, he re-tucks it into his pants where it had been pulled loose.

Reaching the door, he unlocks it, grasps the handle, then pauses.

Before he leaves, she adds quietly, "And Hargomme? Thanks."

Turning his head a little in her direction, but not enough that he can actually see her, he nods. In a quiet voice, he says, "You're welcome, Eve. Oh, and... you might want to think about sharing the rest of your dream? What I said earlier - about the details? - it's true, for all of us."

Eve smirks again. Hargomme can't see it, of course, but he hears it in her voice: "I'll keep that in mind," she says. Amused, almost mocking. Had she figured out the implications of his last four words?

The covers rustle as she swings her legs up onto the bed.

He leaves quietly, closing the door on his way out. Of course, it is unlocked, but it probably won't remain that way for long.