The Kinetics of Rot and Renewal
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"How much, exactly, do you need?" the Regrator finally asked. The question carried the begrudging, quiet defeat of a man who knew he was about to break his own strictest financial rules for the sake of an obsession.
"Everything you could possibly invest here," Dottore replied, his voice an insatiable murmur. A bottomless pit of ambition, a hunger that no amount of Mora could ever truly satisfy. "I'll suck you dry if you choose to fund this experiment."
It was Pantalone's turn to let out a low, amused laugh. "My bank account, or my vitality?"
"Why would you ever assume it has to be one or the other?"
To a man who viewed the human body as nothing more than a highly complex biochemical system of resource inputs and energetic outputs, the distinction was entirely irrelevant.
"Interpret it however you wish, so long as the check clears..." Sliding the heavy parchment across the polished surface of the table with an effortless flick of his wrist, he left the document open to the page of interest, waiting for the banker to sign his portion. "But, my dear friend, you know perfectly well I meant neither."
"My, Doctor... I'm not sure I can afford it."
Series
- Part 1 of The Kinetics of Rot and Renewal
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"Feofan…" he took a step closer until his boots touched the banker's knees, "what do you see?"
"Nothing."
Dottore clicked his tongue against his teeth in disapproval, passing both gloved hands roughly through Pantalone's hair. "Wrong," he hissed. Holding the dark locks tightly, he tilted the banker's head back so they would be forced to stare at each other more clearly.
Pantalone bit his lip hard, fighting to prevent either an insult or a moan from escaping his throat. He willed his voice to remain steady, filtering his answer through the glare penetrating his blindfold. "I see your silhouette, and nothing besides it."
"Now that's a good answer," Dottore's voice echoed from behind him, as two other hands reached out to lay claim to his body. They slid with familiarity from his hips to his stomach, from his ribs up to his chest, until one stopped over his collarbone, while the other wrapped around his neck.
"W-what is wrong with you…?" he managed to spit out between clenched teeth, gasping when the breath that had escaped him in his surprise finally returned — or at least, as much as the heavy hand pressing into his neck would allow.
Series
- Part 2 of The Kinetics of Rot and Renewal