[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

Genie hadn't been able to stop thinking about Ray. For so many years now, she was afraid of running into him, of falling back under his absolute control. With the time that had passed, she hadn't been certain that her resistance to his ability was still strong. She had nightmares about seeing him, about being forced to do what he wanted her to again.

Not all that different from her life now. But at least, for the moment, she had the illusion of choice. She could tell herself that walking away was an option, even though it most certainly was not an option available to her if she wanted to keep breathing.

When she’d gotten the news that he’d been put down, Genie thought that would be the end of it. She assumed that the nightmares would stop, that she wouldn’t be so afraid of being seen anymore. But that didn’t happen. Her dreams featuring her father only intensified. During the day, she felt like a walking zombie rather than a person. She blamed her total failure with Villin as a direct result of being distracted into making poor choices - though she would have been just as likely to fail if she’d been well rested and focused.

Once her wounds were licked and she had decided she could show herself without feeling too embarrassed, Genie called Toby. He was the closest thing to family that she had, and while they had never had a warm and fuzzy relationship, he should at least be able to get her the information she needed. He would also understand why she needed it. He’d been the one to rip her out of her father’s clutches in the first place.

It only took a couple of days before Toby got back to her.

Dane Wayland.

Genie stared at the text and groaned. Not what she’d been hoping for, but at least now she had the name of the person who had killed Ray. She could try to get answers from him, find out what happened. With all the rumors she’d heard about the youngest Wayland over the years, she wasn’t sure if he would be willing to cooperate.

Since she had never had a reason to seek him out before, Genie wasn’t sure if he would even know who she was. Probably not. She couldn’t just walk up to him and start asking questions. That seemed like a good way to get stabbed. So, she did her research. The bastard was insanely difficult to pin down, and it took her over a week to just figure out where to start.

Once she found Dane, she thought that she’d be able to just walk over and ask to talk about what happened with Ray. She’d been wrong. For the three days she’d been trying to work up the courage to approach him. But it never seemed to be the right time. She kept giving up and going home, or losing track of him before she could work up her nerve.

Tonight, she’d followed him into a club. It had been a couple hours already, and he seemed content to stay. Genie was going to write it off again. Maybe this was all a bad idea. She didn’t want to get mixed up with a Wayland, anyway. What if he did something unpredictable? ”It’s now or never. Stop being a chicken” Genie chidded herself, digging her fingernails into her palms as she tried to quell her desire to flee from the club.

Genie let her invisibility drop, and walked toward Dane from the edge of the room.

”Um, hey.” She was panicking internally, forgetting everything she had thought of to start this conversation. ”Can we talk?” Not only did she forget what she wanted to say, she also completely forgot that she was just some rando walking up to him.

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know if I should change anything about the set up or if I’ve made too many assumptions.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]It was shaping up to be a great night and a great week. The stitches in Dane's side, as well as the less severe wounds scattered along the rest of him, were healing marvelously. His extended bedrest had caught him up on months worth of shitty sleep. He'd managed to hunt down the Gifted who'd nearly killed him, repaid the debt more completely, and earned a brief reprieve from Antonio's disdainful attention. What better way to celebrate than a night dancing? [break][break]

Normally, Dane's intentions when clubbing were little more than finding a bed that wasn't his to fall into for the night. A desperate need for sleep and comfort that he was more than willing to pay for with sweat and flesh. But tonight's endgame wasn't so stated. It'd be a while yet before he grew so restless — so sleep-deprived and beaten down — that he needed someone to wear him out and take him in. So, instead, he'd simply enjoyed himself. Flirted without urge. Nursed only a couple of beers rather than a couple dozen. Danced. Laughed. Spun giggling women about without sizing them up or imagining what other noises he could coax from them. It was a rarity. He knew next week would be different. [break][break]

Hours had passed in no time. Finally, he retreated from the dance floor with a breathless beam and returned to a table where he'd left his latest beer under the watchful eye of someone much more sullen than him. He continued to watch the crowd as he took some measured sips, wondering if he might chance a couple of shots after all. He was just about to turn to his less-lively table-squatter and ask his poison, when his gaze caught on a woman cutting a decided path in his direction. [break][break]

As she started, asking if they could talk, Dane searched her face with casual appraisal: trying to place her in such a way that would warrant the directness. When it came to women in dim-lit clubs who already knew him, those he took the care to actually recognize usually belonged to one of two categories. Firstly, the ones he had no interest in seeing again but who he suspected might be unhappy with leaving it at that. The overbearing, hopeful types, unsatisfied with his abandonment and radio silence. It was important to be able to recognize those faces if only to duck and avoid them. Secondly, the ones he did want to see again. Women he'd be pleased to relive a particularly-fun night with and/or whose beds and comfort had provided an unmatched (and much-needed) sleep. [break][break]

This woman... he drug his gaze slowly between her dark eyes... no. He couldn't sort her with any certainty into either category. Which meant their late-night dalliance had been altogether forgettable or, more likely, he just didn't know her. But she knew him. Or thought she did. Or maybe she didn't, but this was an invitation? A statement of interest, perhaps. A reason to pull him aside if only to nudge him somewhere more private. Somehow, he didn't think so. He tended to notice when someone was noticing him. And the way she'd spoken, it wasn't exactly flirty or coy. [break][break]

The options that that left weren't particularly attractive. Strangers didn't tend to seek him out because he was great company. [break][break]

But he'd play it hopeful, he decided. The night was too good, his mood too soaring, for anything else. [break][break]

"Sure," Dane responded finally, letting a smile tug across his mouth as he slowly straightened. He lifted his bottle to his lips, finished the last of the beer, then lowered it back to the table, nudging it to the center. When he looked at her again, his eyes were glittered with sneaking mischief and, when he spoke, his words were undertoned by a playful challenge. "Can you move your feet at the same time?" [break][break]

Without waiting for an answer, he slipped his hand into hers and brushed by, pulling her toward the dance floor and slipping them both effortlessly into the crowd. When he broke into a bubble large enough to accommodate them without having to shoulder for room, he spun around and released her. Starting with a simple sway to the beat of the music, he quirked a brow. "I hope we haven't met before, otherwise I'm gonna have to be embarrassed." It was a lie — it would be entirely her fault, after all, if she'd not made a lasting impression — but he sold it with a sheepish pull at one corner of his mouth. She was pretty enough — he'd be willing to pretend and act abashed if she were to grow offended that he didn't recognize her. Willing to give her a second chance, maybe.

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for any changes!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

This was not ideal. Not the location, not the person, and not the topic she needed to bring up. Genie was cursing herself internally for choosing tonight to make her move and approach him. What would one more day have hurt? She could have waited, she could have made a better plan. But now, the young Wayland was staring at her, assessing her. She shifted, unsure what he was thinking, and waited to see if he would oblige her request for a chat.

Finally, after what felt like forever but was probably only a few agonizing seconds, he agreed with a simple 'sure'. Genie waited while he finishes his beer, thinking he would get that talk was meant for somewhere quieter. But that didn't seem to be the idea he had.

"Wait!" Genie called out, but it was too late, he was already dragging her out to the dance floor, his hand around hers and leading her through the crowded space at a quick pace.

It wasn't until there was a break in the crowd that he stopped. Genie glanced around. This was not what she'd had in mind. She hated being surrounded by this many people, and the music was loud. She had questions to ask him, answers she hoped he could give her. How was she supposed to ask him what happened to Ray here?

It was already clear that he didn't know who she was, which Genie generally considered a positive. She did realize that it made it more complicated though, that due to their location and the way she'd approached, there was a misunderstanding. His comment and the smirk on his face made her roll her eyes.

"One, I don't really dance." Genie watched as he swayed with the music, while she stood still, feeling absolutely like she was out of place. This was not her scene, at all. She stuck with quieter places where she could hear herself think. "And two, I'm not flirting with you. I have questions. About someone you ki- about my fa-" Why were these words so hard to get out? "About Ray Donovan."

She knew asking about someone he'd killed while he had no idea who she was might be a risk, but they were surrounded by people. What was the worst that would happen? Though, from the rumors, that might not matter as much to him as it would to her.

The pit in her stomach tightened. Maybe this was all a mistake and she should have just let it go, instead of seeking out the guy who killed her father.

Glancing around them, it was obvious everyone was in their own little worlds. Dancing, laughing, yelling conversations at each other. There was a couple not more than five feet from them talking, and Genie couldn't make out a word they were saying. Advantages and disadvantages were hand in hand, and she was fighting the urge to disappear and run out. If she did, would she ever get another chance to find out what happened?

---

Dane Wayland
I'm figuring that most of the rumors she's heard about him are how unpredictable/uncontrollable he is. Let me know for any changes.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]The woman's protest fell on deaf ears. She didn't seem at all at ease as she stood opposite him, stubbornly unmoving and looking a bit odd and stiff. When she said she "didn't dance", Dane grew more certain that they'd never met before. He'd have to be particularly desperate to entertain someone so unwilling to play along. Then, when she asserted she wasn't flirting with him and that she had questions, he inwardly groaned. Great. [break][break]

His mood threatened to slide at Ray's name. [break][break]

Not because of any bad association with the man. He'd rather enjoyed killing him and could care less about the various other Hunters he'd efficiently slaughtered before his end. It wasn't even the fact that he hadn't been paid for Donovan's ridiculous bounty. That was hardly a surprise. It was simply the general principle of the whole thing. Couldn't Guild business just leave him alone for one night? Why couldn't a pretty woman just be flirting with him? He kept his demeanor decidedly light as he dropped his shoulders and twisted his mouth into a pouty frown. "Well, that's disappointing," he yelled plainly. [break][break]

Was he about to get shanked on the club dancefloor? His dark eyes made an unsubtle sweep of her form, seeking obvious weapons or where one might be concealed. It would be a good move. Also hilarious. No one would likely even notice. They'd continue dancing around him, assuming his stumbling and groaning were due to a long night of overindulgence. It was smarter than toeing up to him in some dark sidestreet where he didn't have to bother playing nice and neat. [break][break]

Wait, was this Leslie? Finally? He'd wondered about her, half-expecting that she'd show her face and confront him. But, in the days that followed Ray's death, and then the weeks, she'd been a no-show. Either she didn't have the resources to pin down who murdered her bathtub-bound beau (and trashed her apartment and stole her clothes) or she didn't care enough to try. He'd just about given up any hope of ever meeting her. Which sucked. He was dying to know what she'd made of the present he'd left her and was admittedly a bit curious too, to know why they'd found Ray the way they had. [break][break]

But no. Nick had said Leslie was older. This woman couldn't possibly be more than thirty. And she didn't quite give off those twitchy, Spider-Lady vibes that'd initially nabbed Nick's attention. Even further, and much simpler, somehow Dane just couldn't picture this woman fitting the drab and dreary apartment they'd broken into. She was plain-looking, yes, but in a remarkable and unassuming way, not a boring one. [break][break]

Always particularly wary of tattoos, Dane's gaze lingered briefly upon the very subtle peek of a thin, black tendril from the wrist of the woman's shirt. Curious. He kept any sort of suspicion from his features as he lifted his eyes back to her face. His frown twitched back into a loose, somewhat wry, smile and he lifted a brow. "I don't typically answer questions for free." He raised his voice to be heard over the music, then swayed a bit closer so he could lean in and add, quieter. "You can at least try to dance." [break][break]

Not waiting for a response or permission, his hands came up to clasp her own. He stepped back, straightening their arms between them and moving with the music before pulling her close once more with a turn. He could sense her tensing, preparing to pull away, so he moved quickly — skipping one hand from her fingers and down her arm, smoothing the sleeve of her shirt to just below her elbow and tightening his grip to something more firm as he held it out to glance at the now-exposed tattoo. He could recognize Antonio's work. It was... an octopus. Also hilarious. Did it have a meaning? His father could be so clever sometimes. [break][break]

The woman pulled away and he let her, stepping back and raising his hands as if to apologize. "No?" He chuckled, then continued his own subtle sway. Though he seemed largely unbothered, even slightly amused, his eyes were sharp now with more honest scrutiny. "Fine. An answer for an answer then. I'll start." Of course, he immediately considered the obvious questions. Who was Ray Donovan to her? Was she here to exact some sort of revenge? Had Dane stolen the kill from under her? But he decided to keep it light on his part. Casual and cheeky. "What's your idea of a perfect Sunday?"

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
This is a hot mess full of liberties lmao. [break] Please don't hesitate to nudge me for tweaks!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

Genie had to admit that she was almost amused when Dane said he was disappointed. Did people really flirt with him like that? She couldn’t imagine flirting like this, but then again she probably was the worst example. She avoided clubs and anything too flashy. All in all, she tried to make herself forgettable, and that didn’t go well with flirting.

She didn’t miss when he looked over her, sizing her up. She wasn’t surprised. Hunters weren’t very trusting, just by nature. ”It’s not a trick.” Genie held up her hands briefly, then dropped them back at her sides. He had no reason to believe her, and she didn’t know any way to prove she wasn’t a threat.

”Oh no, I really don’t-” She hadn't even completed her sentence in protest before he had her hands in his, spinning her quickly. Her instinct made her want to pull away immediately. She despised being touched without warning, especially by strangers. But she was asking for something from him, for answers he may not want to provide. She felt awkward and stiff, the movements not familiar or natural to her. He used the opportunity to push her sleeve enough to see the tattoo on her forearm, making her discomfort from being touched was mounting, and once he’d assessed the tattoo she pulled her arm back, tugging the sleeve back into place and trying to forget the feeling of strange fingers on her skin.

”Really?” They were in the most ridiculous location she could think of to have this conversation. It had been a mistake to choose tonight to work up the nerve to approach him. ”Okay, fine.” She glanced around. Everyone else was dancing, drinking, having a great time. She folded her tattooed arm under the other, picking absently at the underside of her other arm from above the fabric.

Genie let out a sigh when he asked his first question. Out of anything he could have asked, really? She thought about saying something flippant, dismissive. But if she didn’t play along, or she ignored the spirit of his little game, would he refuse to deal with her? She let her arms both drop to the sides and thought about her answer.

”A perfect Sunday would be a mild spring morning, breakfast on my balcony, a good book, and no one bothering me all day. No work. No demands. Just peace and quiet for an entire day.” Her answer was honest, but left out a few details. She would pick up blueberry lemon scones, fresh fruit, and chai tea. She would sit on her balcony, covered by an umbrella to keep her skin from burning in the sun, and read a trashy romance novel. One with a predictable, happy end to it. 

She allowed herself to linger in the thought for a moment, then looked back up at Dane. ”So now, my turn for a question. How did you find him?”

Finding Ray had never been the hardest thing a Hunter had to deal with, but it wasn’t exactly easy, either. Unless he’d changed his habits, he moved around frequently enough that leads tended to dry up before the Hunters arrived. Dane was the only name she was given, but she assumed he hadn't been working alone, so maybe it wasn’t him who had the hassle of finding the target in the first place.

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know for any changes.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]Dane expected the woman to refuse. He thought he even saw the desire to flash briefly across her countenance as she dropped her crossed arms and sighed. She looked unamused; still an unmoving statue in the sea of happier, looser (and drunker) people that swirled around them. Refusing would be fine. Then he could refuse to answer her questions and act all snooty and tight-lipped until she either relented and indulged him or got so frustrated that she decided whatever answers she sought simply weren't worth the trouble of dealing with him. Both would be wins in his book.[break][break]

But after a moment of consideration — in which Dane watched colorful club lights bounce pleasingly across her pale face — she started her answer. With a fixed, curling grin, he listened to the scene she set while making a slow, rhythmic orbit around her. Her Sunday morning, though pleasant, sounded boring. He could relate to the bit about no work and no demands but the idea of peace and quiet was less ideal. He liked making noise. Disturbing peace. It just wasn't nearly as much fun when it wasn't under his own behest. He wondered, distantly, if it were Guild-demands that she referred to. Or perhaps something more normal. After all, how did someone who idealized such boring mornings end up in the butchery that was their line of work? How did they end up in Ray Donovan's circles? [break][break]

When she was finished, there was a brief pause where she looked almost contemplative. Either she was taking a moment to immerse herself in her imaginings — which would be very cute — or she was prioritizing her questions. Deciding what she wanted to ask first, in case his next question (or his general behavior) became too insufferable. Whichever it was, when she lifted her eyes to his face and posed her inquiry, he quirked a brow. [break][break]

For a moment, he considered how he might spin his discovery of Ray into some wild, awe-inducing story. An elaborate and flashy lie that would portray him as a tireless, dedicated detective, accomplishing what others hadn't been able to for years. However, with a glance back at her waiting face and dark eyes, he decided he'd be honest. If she already knew who he was, it was likely there'd be no glamorizing himself in her eyes. "Completely on accident." He said simply, shrugging a single shoulder as he continued to move. [break][break]

She'd been very generous with her own answer. He could give her more. Tell her that he'd broken into an apartment right here in Los Eurosia and found Ray, already conveniently gift-wrapped, in Leslie Donovan's bathtub. He considered it. But only for a moment, before he decided he'd leave it there. Make her ask for more if she wanted it. See how she dealt with the imbalance. Would she make her own answers short in retaliation? Grow restless and more bold? Call him out on in? He would be learning so much about her. [break][break]

"My turn." He gave another sharp, cheeky grin, making it obvious he knew how little he'd provided her. "Back to the perfect Sunday. What does the breakfast look like? How do you take your coffee?" His mouth tucked and he gave a slight roll of his eyes. "If you're gonna bust my balls and say that's two questions, I'd say technically you're right. But I'll allow you two in turn."

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for changes!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

cw: gun violence/past murder

---

It had been an accident? Genie felt a growing sense of irritation as Dane shrugged, and left it at that. She watched him as he continued his lackadaisical circling around her. It was more annoying than threatening, though she was uncomfortable with the thought that his constant movement could give him an upper hand if this situation soured.

She waited, wondering if he would elaborate his answer even in the slightest way. He did not, and simply moved on, asking her another question instead. Another two questions, technically, as he pointed out himself. Genie suppressed an eyeroll. Why did he care about a perfect Sunday? She imagined it had to just be him toying with her, seeing how far he could push her. Maybe he hoped she’d just give up. A part of her wanted to, it would be easier.

”Fine. But instead of two questions from me, you have to give me a real answer this round.” Genie countered, continuing to follow his movements the best she could without spinning herself in circles. ”The best breakfast for a peaceful Sunday would be fresh fruit and blueberry lemon scones. They make really good ones at a bakery near where I live, they have just the lightest iced coating. And no coffee, just a chai latte, iced.” She gave him the details he requested, realizing it probably sounded boring. Honestly, it was the lack of excitement that appealed to her. A chance to decompress, to forget about life for a little while.

As she thought about her next question, Genie recounted an all too vivid memory of what Ray did to a couple of the Hunters who came after him. She was eight years old, and they had just moved into a new apartment. It was a one bedroom, which Ray shared with his girlfriend - or was she already his wife? Genie couldn’t remember, he’d gone through too many of them to keep track. Genie’s bed was the living room couch. She didn’t have complete control of her invisibility yet, and when the window opened she couldn’t poof. She screamed instead, and Ray came rushing into the room. There were two hunters that night. They were close together, close enough that Ray grabbed them both by the wrist at the same time.

”Look at my little girl and freeze.” He commanded them, and they both turned to her, then stilled. ”You don’t want to make her an orphan, do you?” He had a wicked smile on his face already. He turned to the man closer to Genie. ”Shoot your partner in the head, then do the same to yourself.” Genie had slammed her eyes closed, but it didn’t stop the warm spray of viscera from landing across her face. Or the sound of the two gunshots, so loud then followed by a deafening silence.

Ray had always taken pleasure from being the puppeteer, happily turning anyone who was after him against themselves or each other. It didn’t matter that his daughter was right there. Genie dug her nails in under her arm, remembering just how much she still hated him, resented the things he’d done in front of her, what he’d made her do. She’d seen worse things since then, done worse things. But Ray had taught her just how dangerous Gifted really were. She didn’t consider herself an exception to that, either.

”Okay, how did you get close enough without to him.. you know, being controlled?” She shifted from one foot to the other. ”And how the hell did you accidentally find him? I think that needs more explanation.”

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know for any changes.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]The woman indulged him, stipulating that he'd have to provide a real answer to her next question. Dane's grin tugged slightly awry but he stifled the want to stubbornly argue that his answer, while not a complete sentence, was still an answer. And an honest one, too. Instead, he only nodded attentively along as she described in more detail, her perfect Sunday breakfast. "Sounds yummy." His rhythmic turn around her brought them face to face again and he paused, lips curling. "I've recently been getting into smoothies!" [break][break]

Her own questions — volleyed back with a seriousness that was a stark contrast to his own jesting — made him think. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and he had to wonder if she was nervous. She looked marginally unsettled, with her arms folded across her front, and he thought he could spy the suggestion of pressure in the fingers pressed into her muscle. He had the subtle suspicion it wasn't entirely due to him or the crowd around them. Who was Ray Donovan to her? Had she been tracking him herself? Seeking him? Tried to get close enough to him and failed? Perhaps she'd witnessed the carnage that accompanied such attempts. Or been forced to take a hand in them herself. [break][break]

"Someone got to him first." Dane answered steadily, no longer smirking as he added, "I think that answers both questions." [break][break]

He pursed his lips, pausing his sway to settle his gaze on her face with fresh consideration. He supposed it was time to shelve the games. He could almost feel the time he had (before she got too annoyed or felt too trivialized) ticking by. And now he had grown curious himself. "Tell you what. You give me one dance. Just one. I won't even make you wait for a new song. And we can leave the floor. I'll answer all your questions then. Really answer them. No tax." He raised a brow, letting the suggestion linger, then gingerly kicked the toe of his foot between the insides of her feet, attempting to encourage a wider, more casual stance. He lifted his hands between them, palms up and fingers wriggling. "If the answer's no, I'll be moving on to brunch and rainy days with my next question."

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for changes! Or if it's too short for ya!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

Genie scrunched her face slightly when he mentioned smoothies. ”A smoothie is more of a dessert than breakfast.” Albeit, it wasn’t like scones were any better, nutritionally, but Genie had never really understood the smoothie craze. If she had the time to blend all the ingredients together, wouldn’t there be enough time to eat something more substantial? Maybe it was just because she never really got a satisfied feeling when she drank her breakfast instead of eating it.

At least he’d stopped moving, for the time being. It was easier to have a conversation when the other person wasn’t moving in circles, but she supposed any hope of this particular conversation being easy was pointless.

When Dane answered, stating someone else had been involved, she tried to keep the frustration she was feeling from showing on her face. Toby had only provided her with one name, he hadn't mentioned anyone else being involved. It made sense, though it left several new questions forming the more she considered it. Who was the other person? How did he accidentally come upon them? Or was he called to assist someone who was in over their head? Could it really have just been dumb luck?

He made a new proposal. One dance, then he would really answer her questions, no more games.

She could feel the anxiety growing. She really didn’t dance. Not only because she didn’t want to, but she’d never really learned how. She had never gone to a school dance. She moved too much when she was still with her father, and after, well, doing traditional high school activities hadn't been a priority. Clubs weren’t her scene. Doing anything flashy, anything that gained attention instead of deflecting it from herself, was so unnatural to her.

The nudge to the inside of her foot shouldn’t have been a surprise, as he was trying to convince her to rework their deal, but it made her realize just how stiff, how uncomfortable she was. She must have seemed ridiculous to him, here in the middle of all this movement, all the relaxed fun people were having around them.

”I can’t.” Genie rolled her eyes, more at herself than him, and shook her head. ”I don’t really know how.” She regretted it even as she mumbled the words.

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know for any changes.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]Dane's fingers stilled on the air. The woman took a moment to respond and, as the moment stretched, he silently resigned himself to her inevitable refusal. Imagined her shaking her head with exhausted patience. Giving another languid eye-roll before she slowly turned heel and slipped away. He tried to decide whether he'd simply shrug the whole thing off — perhaps find someone else to dance with and continue to enjoy his night — or if he'd step after her, curious enough now to give chase. [break][break]

But when she spoke, he decided there was still some hope. The eye-roll was there but it wasn't particularly scornful. And the mumble that followed wasn't heavy with indignation. He figured there was the tiniest bit of wiggle room in which he might still manage a foothold. His brow smoothed and he tipped his chin with a soft laugh. "You think anyone here really knows how to dance?" He extended his lifted hands, attempting to coax them just under her folded arms; fingers seeking fingers. "Come on," he implored, lips pursing almost daringly and eyes shining with amused challenge. "It's just moving. You don't need to know anything. I'll ease you into it." [break][break]

He attempted to fold the peek of her fingers into his own and ease them gingerly from where she had them tucked away, fully anticipating her resistance — maybe even a repulsed snap or yank away — all while hoping she'd just relax enough to relent. "Maybe I can entice you — Leslie Donovan? Name ring any bells? It was her apartment where I came across Ray."

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for changes! Or if it's too short for ya!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

Of course he laughed at her. She would have laughed at herself. But then he asked if anyone there really knew how to dance. She assumed it was a skill most people learned in adolescence, most likely by trial and error. She hadn't given much thought to the process of learning to dance. Was it all really just flailing about, limbs moving to a beat? She could play music, so she should be able to pick it up.. But was it worth making a fool of herself?

For answers, yes. It was worth it.

Genie let his hands tangle with hers, loosening up slightly and letting them uncross from her arms. This was the opposite of her comfort zone, but that didn’t take much. She’d spent over half of her life trying to blend in. Even when she wasn’t invisible, she didn’t want to stand out.

When he said the name Leslie Donovan, Genie tilted her head slightly to the side. “Probably his newest wife, I’d guess.” She vocalized the thought, then shifted again. She’d never heard of Leslie. She assumed that she had to be his newest victim wife, especially if she was old enough to rent an apartment. Ray didn’t have any family that Genie could remember. If he did, she was sure that he wouldn’t be in contact with them. If they were even still alive.

She had to wonder how many marriages he had gone through at this point? She wasn’t sure she wanted that answer. Those women ended up dead more often than not, unless his habits had changed over the past twelve years. She doubted they had.

“Okay, one dance.” She was interested enough in the information he could provide her that she had to agree. “But you can’t laugh at me.” Genie let herself be led by Dane. She felt awkward and self conscious, but maybe dancing wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

---

Dane Wayland
She’s SO uncomfortable. It’s good for her, haha. Let me know for any changes or if you need more than this.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]Dane watched Leslie's name make the woman think, his gaze curious as she tilted her head and shifted. Then he quirked a brow when she offered her speculation on the pair's relationship. His newest wife, huh? Nick and he had agreed Leslie was probably a spouse — and more than likely a spurned one if the tub was anything to go off of — but the implication in her words was that Ray had been hitched multiple times. Dane had to wonder how that was smart. Leaving trails of marriages and divorces. And what was the point, anyway? With Ray's gift of mind control, it wasn't like the man needed a piece of paper or a ring to trap anybody. It seemed like a lot of unnecessary work. And with the very little he knew of Ray, he couldn't imagine it being done with any good intention. [break][break]

Then again, there could be another side of the man he didn't know. A person didn't really show the best of themselves while hog-tied in a bathtub and spitting in the face of their to-be murderer. For all of Ray's crimes on paper, it was entirely possible he was a different person to different people. Was secretly capable of being a catch behind closed doors. Maybe his marriages, though multiple, were surprisingly genuine. But Dane doubted it.[break][break]

As he'd hoped, the bit of information proved persuasive enough to buy him a dance. Though she still seemed the tiniest bit reluctant, or perhaps just uncomfortable, the arms across her chest loosened and she allowed him to tuck her fingers into his own more securely. He stepped back to draw their joined hands between them with a broadening smile, still daring but becoming genuinely amused when she stipulated that he couldn't poke any fun at her.[break][break]

"Deal. If I laugh, you can safely assume I'm just having a good time despite your two left feet." He winked and gave her hands a shake to try and encourage the loosening of any lingering stiffness or resistance in her limbs. Then his lips quirked at the corners — her only, brief warning before he stepped fluidly into moving them both. [break][break]

He kept the footwork simple, aware as he was of her slightly-stilted step as it followed his lead a half-beat behind. Basically, he just moved them across the floor, turning and weaving them between people with spirited ease. Paused in pockets to drop her hands and dance before her, hoping she'd get a feel enough for it to attempt to mirror his movements, then picking them up again when he felt a little redirection wouldn't go amiss. An easy smile remained fixed across his face, only tightening slightly in the corners when he obediently stifled the want to chuckle.[break][break]

"Just how many wives did our dearly departed have?" He asked finally as he took up her hands again and pulled her closer, deciding that talking would maybe provide some distraction. Maybe if she was thinking less about the moving, it'd come more naturally. He encouraged them into a slower, controlled sway — something that didn't quite fit the jaunty club music — and moved one of her hands to his shoulder. "Don't people do that for love? Or I don't know... to mooch off one another's insurance policies? He didn't seem the type either way."

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for changes! [break]Also feel free to move him around if ya want.

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

CW: mentions of past suicide/murder

---

Genie knew that telling him not to laugh at her was probably just going to make it more likely that he would, but it didn’t really matter. So what if he laughed? It wasn’t like she should care at all. They didn’t know each other, and chances were she wouldn’t be running into him again. But still, on some level, she did care. He agreed to her condition, lightly teasing even as he did so.

”Okay, I guess you have a point.” She acquiesced, and repressed a roll of her eyes as he shook her arms into loosening up. She tried to go with the flow, to let herself be fluid in movement instead of rigid like normal. She still felt awkward and was noticeable off beat, but it was easier to follow his lead than she would have expected. It wouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, had she actually thought about it. She was used to following directions.

When he dropped her hands and kept dancing, she felt a slight panic rise, but she’d made a deal to finish one dance so she continued to follow his lead. Even as poorly as she was doing at it, she was trying and he wasn’t mocking her. It even looked like he was actually enjoying himself, but she believed that was much more to do with the environment than anything. At least he was being cooperative. Somewhat.

When he asked just how many wives the dearly departed had, Genie let out a slow sigh. ”I could only guess.. Twelve years ago that number was just starting his sixth marriage.” She assumed that if he kept up the pace, he could have had ten to twelve wives by now. Her mother had been the longest relationship she saw, and that only lasted a little over five years. After her, his shortest relationships were a matter of months, and his longest she could remember was almost two years. He got bored, or they stopped being useful. There were no divorces that she knew of. Each marriage he entered ended in a mysterious tragedy. Sometimes they went missing, other times, like with her own mother, he told them to commit suicide. Just how many human women had he manipulated and then killed, before he himself was finally killed?

Genie hardly realized they were dancing at a slower pace now. Her thoughts fell back to a faint memory from a little over twenty years ago now. Her mother, crying and begging, with Genie sitting on the bed next to her favorite stuffed panda. She blinked a couple times and shook her head slightly, not wanting to revisit that particular memory. ”He was always a con man. I don’t think he loved any of his wives, and it definitely wasn’t for health insurance, but maybe life insurance with some of them… He just got off on the power trip, until he was bored.” She was being more candid than she could remember ever being with anyone.

The music bled into the next song. When she realized it had changed, she dropped her hand from his shoulder and took a small step back, creating a bit more space between them. ”Okay, we danced.” She looked for an empty table and started toward it, expecting he would follow her and uphold his end of their deal.

She settled into the booth and waited for Dane to do the same. ”I just need to know what happened.. How it happened?” She wasn’t even sure if it would give her the closure she was looking for, or if she would wind up with more questions than she started with. But just knowing felt important. She was trying to convince herself that it would be enough, that she could stop obsessing over it if she just got the facts.

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know for changes. I assumed he’d follow since she danced with him, but I can edit that if he wouldn’t.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

AND YOU ACT SO FREE

you act so free; everybody's laughing because you act so free

[break]

[attr="class","lizardstripe-text"]Dane's brow gave a small, irrepressible leap as the woman answered six marriages. Twelve years ago — implying the number had only grown before Ray's demise. It was comical. Ridiculous. The rest that she explained, affirming the unions weren't borne from love and that he had wifed up so many women just for the feeling of power over them, was less surprising. Reeling in his bewilderment, Dane's mind turned. The woman before him couldn't be any older than him. If she was, it wasn't by much. Twelve years ago she would have been a child or, at the oldest, a teen. She'd known Ray that long? His running guess now was a daughter, or perhaps a step-relation; the child or niece of one of the unfortunate women pulled into the dead man's orbit. It would explain the interest. If Ray had wronged her mother, it could even explain how she'd ended up hunting. Likely she wasn't related to Leslie; it sounded like Ray may have slipped from her radar long ago. An older marriage, perhaps. [break][break]

As she'd done a couple of times during their brief encounter, the woman lapsed into some sort of far-away contemplation. Dane could feel more than see the tip and tiny shake of her head before she withdrew the hand from his shoulder and stepped from him. The song had ended and he fought the urge to pout. To reach for her hand again and implore her to stay. Conversations, even serious ones, could be had while having fun. But she had already turned and stepped away and, after a considering moment, he followed. [break][break]

She slipped into a booth and Dane paused at the table, lifting a finger to ask for a moment before he stepped off in the direction of the bar. Sidling up, he ordered a pair of beers and a tray of shots, then returned to slide into the seat opposite her. "Lemon drop shots, since you said you like lemon," he barked cheerily, as he set everything in the center of the table and popped the tops on the beers. Talking about death and killing always paired well with hard liquor. If she didn't take them, that was fine, he would be more than happy to clean the table himself. "I even asked them to use blueberry vodka," he added in a lowered voice.[break][break]

"Okay, as promised..." he tossed back one of the ten shots then folded his arms across the table, leaning forward and looking at her square. "Though, I admit, it's not much of a story." His lips tucked as he more solidly decided that he'd just tell her the truth — not spin the whole thing into something more exciting than it had been. She'd done the dance. Had earned the honesty. "You know those couple of shitty apartment buildings at Oliver and Washington in East End? I broke into an apartment there, Leslie's apartment," he chose to leave Nick out of this for now, "And found your man already thoroughly incapacitated and practically gift-wrapped for me. He was tied up and gagged in the bathroom tub. Hands bound. Just waiting there all by his lonesome. He looked okay though. Hadn't been there for long, as far as I could tell, and wasn't roughed up or anything. Leslie was out. I haven't seen her at all. I assumed she would have done the job herself if I hadn't stumbled — so awfully accidentally — across the whole thing but... who knows." [break][break]

He paused, eyes narrowing infinitesimally as he lifted a palm to drop his chin into. How detailed should he be with her? How much did she really want to know? How steely and defiant he'd been, up until the point Dane's blade bit into his skin? How his eyes had widened with the first feel of the steel, so obviously unaccustomed to being helpless and on the losing team? How he'd flailed in the bottom of the tub's basin as the life slowly ebbed from him? "Who is he to you?" He asked, fingering the rim of another shot. "Why would you need to know so badly that you'd seek me out?"

[break]

you try to smile and it lasts for a while [break]
but they will always send you back to the start

Tag: Genesis Donovan [break]
Give me a nudge for changes!

[newclass=.lizardstripe-text b]color:#1F2F22;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Genesis Donovan]

And every time I think I've finally made it
I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before

---

There was a brief moment when Dane lingered at the end of the table when Genie worried maybe he’d decided he was done. Maybe he’d gotten bored, or had never intended to see his end of the deal through. She didn’t really get that sense, though. It was a fleeting thought that eased away as she watched him walk towards the bar before sitting down. When he came back, he had a mess of shots and a couple beers. He explained the shots were lemon drops, with blueberry vodka. Genie couldn’t help but smirk, realizing he had in fact paid attention to her answer to what seemed like a pointless question. Attention to detail was crucial in their line of work, but she still found herself surprised.

”That actually sounds like an interesting combination. I don’t know that’d I’d have ever thought about doing that.” She picked up one of the shots. ”Thank you.” She downed the shot and set the empty glass to the side.

Genie listened as Dane begane to reveal what had happened. She nodded when he asked if she knew the apartments he referred to. She did, she passed them almost daily. It was chilling that the building he was talking about was only a couple blocks away from where her own apartment was in East End. It was so close. Too close. How long had he been there? Had she passed him on the street at some point without even realizing it?

It didn’t matter. Not now. He was dead. He couldn’t get to her from the grave.

As he continued with the narrative, he explained that the woman, Leslie, had left Ray bound and gagged in the bathtub. Hands tied. That explained how Dane had been able to kill him, to get close enough without being pulled under Ray’s control. As many questions as this was answering, there were more questions forming in Genie’s head. But she had a feeling the only person who would be able to answer them would be Leslie, and she didn’t intend on seeking the woman out. If she got the better of Ray, good for her. Unless… He said he broke into Leslie’s apartment. Was Leslie his intended target?

Before she could ask, Dane asked her a question. One that she knew was coming, but still made her shift in her seat. Had he already figured it out? Would he regret being honest if he hadn't figured it out? Would he suspect that she was just as twisted and evil as Ray had been? It didn’t make any difference. He’d been honest with her, she at least owed him the answer to his own question.

”He is, was, my father.” She answered, picking up a second shot. ”Hopefully he’s already rotting in hell.” She tipped the glass in Dane’s direction before downing the liquor. It went down too smoothly.

---

Dane Wayland
Let me know for changes.