Orion
Orion leaned back further in his seat, arms draped over the backrest like a king upon his throne, positively basking in his own perceived triumph. Pamela’s irritated little remarks were only fueling his amusement. That was, until she pressed forward with her retort—casually slicing his whole “phoenix” analogy out of the air and setting it ablaze like kindling.
And that spider was way bigger than this cupcake's delicate little pinkie...!
He held firm, keeping his grin intact, though a flicker of irritation sparked beneath the surface. Oh, she was good. Too good. There was a sharpness behind those glasses, a knowing edge in her tone that made Orion begrudgingly realize he had to tread carefully. If there was the slightest crack in his armor, she’d pry it open without hesitation.
Still, he could keep playing this game. Or at least he thought so—until she brought up Gwen.
Orion froze for half a second, just enough for Pamela to know she’d landed a hit. The words ‘like a starving man’ hung in the air, and Orion felt an immediate impulse to deny, dismiss, deflect—
—but Gwen was only a few seats away.
The wrong move here and Pamela could easily drag his name through the mud before he even had a chance to establish himself as a legend. Orion vaguely recalled spotting Pamela at the cafeteria the day before, parked at the ‘hot girl’ table. That could mean one of two things: either she was a peripheral member—safe but inconsequential—or worse, the ‘gatekeeper’ girl. The one who decided which guys were cool and which were total creeps. And there were few words more damning than ‘creep.’
Well, except maybe ‘tax fraud.’ But if the IRS couldn't catch him back then, Pamela certainly won't now!
Composing himself, Orion’s lips curled into a slow, easy smirk.
“Pamela, Pamela, Pamela,” he mused, shaking his head as if scolding a mischievous child. “Now, I get it. You see me appreciating someone’s introduction, and you assume something scandalous. But I'm tellin' ya,” he leaned in ever so slightly, voice dipped into something smooth and assured, “I was just intrigued! Her power's interesting, don'tcha think? And, now that I think about it, I swear I’ve seen her before. Just had to jog my memory.”
He was about to keep spinning his web of effortless cool when—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Orion turned his head, half expecting a classic Tsugikuni ‘I'm not mad, just disappointed’ shake of the head. Instead, he was met with Marcel’s wise, almost sagely expression. The princely boy regarded him with the weight of a man who had seen many a foolish young soul lose themselves to arrogance.
As Marcel finished his address, Orion blinked. Once. Twice.
‘...Damn. Where was this guy just before that last botched egg heist? Sure coulda used the inspirational speech back then!’
A lesser man might have taken this as a lecture. Orion, however, saw an opportunity.
He let out a laugh—carefree, easygoing, practiced. The kind of laugh that said, ‘This guy gets me.’ Clapping a hand over Marcel’s on his shoulder, Orion turned to him with a bright grin.
“Marcel, my man, that’s
exactly what I’m talking about! You get it. See, I just want to make a good impression. First days are important, you know? So Pamela and I were just having some friendly back-and-forth, getting to know each other.”
His voice was warm, lighthearted. But as he turned his gaze back to Pamela, there was a distinct sharpness in his eyes. A challenge.
“Speaking of,” he continued smoothly, gesturing between them with a flourish, “Pamela, meet Marcel. Marcel, meet Pamela. I figure two people with such strong thoughts on reputation should get along just fine.”
Orion leaned back in his seat once more, still smiling. His words were honeyed, his expression the very picture of friendly intent. But the way he looked at Pamela said something entirely different.
Your move, Bean Queen.
Interactions: @Inkage (Pamela), @MarcelGalliard790 (Marcel)
