Author Topic: Divine Deception -- S4E24: Series Finale  (Read 67634 times)

Offline chetanhaobijam

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Re: Divine Deception -- 10 Things You Didn't Know
« Reply #255 on: July 09, 2017, 12:01:18 PM »
Great knowing all the facts behind Divine Deception. Waiting for next update.
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Re: Divine Deception -- 10 Things You Didn't Know
« Reply #256 on: July 16, 2017, 09:06:13 PM »
It will be sooner than you think  ;)

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Re: Divine Deception -- Season 4 Promo
« Reply #257 on: July 28, 2017, 11:44:11 PM »
Divine Deception returns August 5th 2017
Slideshow of promo with music found HERE


Eighteen years ago my mother travelled to Sunset Valley with a plan and an objective.

She destroyed a marriage, left an empire in ruins and a family broken beyond repair.

She taught me the best way to protect those that mean the world to me is to wear a mask.

But the thing with masks is their ability to do more than protect...

Masks are used for secrecy, insincerity and deception. We hide behind them to comfort ourselves from pain, and have the ability to repel the truth when the stakes are high enough.

I find myself torn between two masks: the one that shows me mercy at the cost of lies and the other that destroys everything I once was with the truth.

Yet the part that hits the hardest is the fact that when I have the courage to strip myself of the mask, I come to realize...

I never stood a chance.

I am Delilah Lawrence and this is the end of my story.


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Re: Divine Deception -- Season 4 Promo --- Returns 05/08/17
« Reply #258 on: August 01, 2017, 05:04:09 AM »
Wow. Terrific Promo. Love it. Looking forward for the season to start.
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Re: Divine Deception -- Season 4 Promo --- Returns 05/08/17
« Reply #259 on: August 04, 2017, 10:24:32 PM »
Great to hear! Let it begin  :)

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E01: The Grind
« Reply #260 on: August 04, 2017, 10:52:55 PM »
Divine Deception
"The Grind"

I stare down at my bare feet, a knife in my one hand and my other holds the door handle. I can feel the cold marble floor beneath me, my reflection looking back up into my eyes. Grime is smeared across my neck and there is a smell in the air. I spin the knife. First the blade straight ahead then so it is along my forearm. Back, forth. Back, forth. Denouement. This is where it all ends. But, sometimes, to understand the present, one must go back to the past. One year, three hundred and sixty five days, when it all began. To the path that led me to this very spot. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and open the door...

The door closes behind me with a light thunk and I look up. Through the limited working floodlights in the parking lot, I gaze over the neon lights up ahead. Pinks, blues, greens. Each of them flash in rhythm to the pounding beats inside. The Grind they call it, a warehouse that has seen better days, though that's not to say it hasn't seen worse. Clouds of cigarette smoke puff into the air near the entrance while drunken college kids spew profanity at one another in hardly comprehensible slurs. Months ago this would have intimidated me—a girl embarking on this path for the first time. But now it doesn't bother me in the slightest. My name is Delilah Lawrence and I have encountered worst things than a wall of boozy imbeciles. I walk through them without giving anybody a second glance and step inside.

My story began some time ago when a horrible organization hired my mother to destroy a family. They call themselves Paragon. They targeted my family, they followed me to the ends of the earth and killed my mother. To say that I am upset with this organization is more than an understatement. I despise them, I don't think I've ever hated anything more and it's the only emotion that continues to propel me forward. My energy drops, my head will throb, but I can always depend on my anger rekindling, burning hotter than anything I could ever imagine.

My main goal is rather a simple one. Find my way into Paragon and ruin everything from the inside out. It sounds easy, and to be completely honest, I am sure once I can gather some stable footing on this assignment, it won't be much harder than shooting fish in a barrel. However, gaining reliable Intel, the right people on my team and creating the right plan, that's what is going to cost me everything I have. It's the reason why I am doing most of the work myself. That's not why I am here, though.

He is. I spot him almost immediately the moment I walk inside. Patched jeans, torn shoes and a shirt he must have found at the local thrift shop. My sources told me he'd be trying to blend in with a crowd, though it seems to me that his attempt is bordering desperation. His name is James Whitman, but he goes by 4-Gig on campus. Cringy, I know. You'd think being a tech-savvy, computer whiz he would have been able to come up with something a bit more original, yet here we are. That's not all. He worked for Paragon years ago and excelled the corporate ladder with ease. True, he does look younger than I would think an employee for a destruction organization would be, and for sure he is, yet his acute intellect and high IQ propelled him through systems galore. By the time he turn thirteen he'd already graduated high school with top of the line marks, been invested in his college years and been offered a very generous position at the one and only Paragon.

I walk over to the bar and grab a drink while I keep my eye on him. He's spotted a girl across the way. She's alone, she's cute, she's very much my ticket into Whitman's back pocket. Her name's Connie. She and I met back during our destroyer days, which hasn't been that long ago, and when I called her and explained what I needed to do for my family's name, she said that she had all the equipment that we'd need and felt a special urge to help. That's not saying much. She'd been close to our master, an extraordinary man with a short temper. He'd been like a father to her over the many years they'd worked together. Unfortunately, he'd met his death by the very people I am searching to destroy.

Connie curls her hair behind her ear, giggling as Whitman says some stupidly off-putting one liners. I know what it looks like and, no, I am not here to ruin this man. While just looking at him makes my insides burn with many different emotions like distaste, apathy and even a bit of envy for doing everything he has in the little time he's been on this earth. Yet, if there's anything I learned from my upbringing it's that I can't hold my dislike for an organization over everybody's head that they came in contact with. And I shouldn't. This man could be the person I've been looking for for some time. The man to hold the back door open a crack so that I can slip in.

Connie looks up from her shoes and our eyes connect. There's a moment, a brief one where we are able to read one another. I told her what we needed to do last night. Make Whitman feel special, amazing. I've been observing Whitman for weeks now. His schedule, his habits, the way he brushes his teeth at night, flosses and then brushes them again. While much I've found excruciatingly useless, when Whitman is at the club, women keep their distance. For Connie to even consider making a move on him should send him spinning in disbelief to some degree, allowing for her departure to knock him right off his feet.

I nod at her and she knows what to do. They laugh for a few minutes longer. He tries to get her to dance and when she tells him that his one liners are becoming too much and leaves, I witness his embarrassment and discomfort come to his features. That's my cue. I toss back what's left of my drink and climb the counter next to the bar. In the corner of my eye I can already see Whitman approaching, readying himself to drown his shame with a strong drink of his own. I dance. He orders. It's not long until I've caught his eye. I've never been the best of dancers I'll admit, though when I was younger, Vita had pushed me into gymnastics. I ended up doing really well with the floor routines and the balance beam, hiding all of my insecurities inside a skin-tight leotard. I zone in on those times as I spin around, the counter slick with tipped drinks. I give Whitman a wink right as the song is coming to an end and I jump to the floor.

"Looking at something?" I say over my shoulder. From the awkward look on his face, I've humiliated him even more. He takes another swig from his drink and that's when I grab his hand. "I said, dance with me." Whitman's expression clouds with confusion and surprise. He doesn't say anything, yet he allows me to pull him back to the dance floor and put my arms around him.

The lights shoot around us while we move back and forth. Step here, another there. It takes a few quick glances down at our feet to make sure my toes aren't crushed from time to time. Whitman makes small talk, or tries to as I nuzzle into his neck. I inhale his aftershave, a strong, spicy scent, and a little bit of sweat.

"I'm 4-Gig—" Whitman says, and I place a finger on his lips as he's about to shoot off another one of his brilliant one liners.

"Why don't we get to know one another somewhere a little more private, hmm?" I whisper in his ear. He's stiffened in my arms, he's stopped moving, so I take his hand and lead him outside. He doesn't object. Not when I walk him through the group of college kids out the front. Not when I lure him to the car. Not even when I hold the door open for him on the passenger side and close it once he's settled. Ugh, I can be such the gentleman at times. I start the car up and we're off.

It's an uneventful ride from the club to my place. Once I park and tell him that we're here, it's as if a shock has brought him back to life and he's opening the door for himself and following me inside. Though still stiff, at least he's moving. In the elevator he stands on one side while I stand on the other. I lean back against the wall, playing with my hair and stare. Whitman struggles to hold my gaze, constantly checking to see what floor we're on. I can't figure out if it's because he's on to me and expects the worst or if he doesn't do this kind of thing often with another person. It could be my straight optimism, but I can't help but think—and hope—the latter.

We make it to my flat and I open the door for him.

The moment he steps in he must get a whiff that something's off. It could be how quick I close the door and latch it. I'll admit my quick reflexes were poorly hidden. But I can't help but feel that it's my other half sitting at the table that catches Whitman off guard.

"Him?" he says from across the room, looking Whitman up and down. I've seen Nathan do many things in the time I've known him, and scrutinizing a newcomer is nothing new. Heck, he did it with me when we first met.

I shoot him a dark look. "Be nice."

"What's going on?" Whitman panics. To think he looked stiff and tense before. It was nothing in comparison to what I am looking at now. "Who's he?"

"You don't worry about him," I say calmly. "I just sleep with him. This is about you."

Whitman throws his hands in the air. "I'm not into this. I should go—"

Before he can back all the way to the door, I'm in front of it blocking the way. I think he contemplates trying to take me on, eyes me up and down, maybe try and see where my weak points are, before he spins around and runs out the nearest door to the balcony. Nathan and I exchange glances and follow Whitman out at a walk. Now he's really cornered himself. Unless he's going to try and jump thirty floors to the ground, there is absolutely no way out.

I walk out first followed by Nathan.

Whitman runs from one end of the balcony to the other, looking for an emergency escape, a ladder, stairs, anything probably that can get him as far away from us as possible. I can't say I blame him. It's not like we've given him much reason to trust us. I sigh inwardly. If it's not one thing it's another.

"They always run for the balcony," Nathan mentions to me.

I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs and look over my shoulder at him. "They do not always run for the balcony, Nathan. Remember Agatha?" Agatha had been one of the first people we had grabbed for info. A short, mature Russian lady hidden behind coke-bottle glasses. She'd worked for Paragon during their earliest years and was able to give us small tidbits of the organization's past. "She ran for the bedroom."

Whitman's still running from end to end, whimpering. Nathan disregards him.

"Agatha ran for the bedroom before whipping down the stair banister and hightailing it out here."

I look at Nathan skeptically. While I don't remember her being able to make it to the balcony, I wouldn't put it past her. Even with age working against her she could still boot it around. "I could have sworn we got her to listen to us before she made it out here."

Nathan shakes his head. "No, she got out here too. They always do—"

"Who the hell are you people?!!"

Both Nathan and I turn to look at Whitman at once who raises his hands and takes a step back as if scared he's kicked a nest of some sort.

"Do you want money? I can give you money," Whitman says with a rise of hysteria. He flips open his wallet and tosses bills in our direction and then throws the wallet itself at our feet. "Here, take it all!"

"We don't want your money," I tell him.

"What? Why? Why not? You must want something!"

"We do, but you wanted something first. You wanted to know who we are. I'm Delilah Lawrence." I register a flicker of recognition in Whitman's eyes. "Daughter of Sadie Lawrence."

"Son of a..." He waves his hands and backs away from me towards the railing of the balcony. "No, no, no, no. I am not getting involved in this. This can't be happening. I knew you looked familiar. Dammit, Whitman, why did you fall for it again? Why, why, why?"

"Again?" I repeat.

"I know who you are, what you've been up to. It's all everybody at Paragon is talking about. The child of Nick Alto and Sadie Lawrence. Ha!" I'm about to say something when he starts up again. "But you're supposed to be off the radar so to speak. Paragon hasn't been able to find you in so long, since the Daniel situation. At least that's what I hear. I'm not really kept in the loop since I've been more freelance lately."

"You still work for Paragon, though, right?" I ask.

"I go in when I am asked, if that's what you're wondering. It looks like I'll have something to tell them next time I'm called."

"You won't," I say, calling his bluff.

"You're awfully confident. What makes you so sure I won't blab this to the higher ups? Unless, of course, you're thinking about killing me." It's as if the thought sets off a spark all at once and he's panicking again, pacing back and forth, mumbling about how he's much too young to die.

I ignore this and answer his question. "Because my mother spoke rather fondly of you when she was still alive. You helped her bug Alto Manor. You were the hands behind everything during that part in her life. You were one of the few people who kept her feeling during her destructions. Somebody so close to her..."

"Sadie was a good woman." He turns away and looks out across the city. "This is madness. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. I won't."

"I wouldn't expect you to do it for me. I have just kidnapped you and locked you up on the top floor of an apartment structure. But this isn't about me. This is about taking out a bad situation. What was it that my mother said? 'For the truly wronged, there is no other option—"

"—to clean up such a mess,'" Whitman recites.

"Paragon is a bad mess," I insist, "so if you're not going to do it for me, do it for my mother. She lost so much during that mission Paragon partnered you on. Because of the organization you worked for, she is dead. She is dead because she tried to protect me and stand up against them." I pause for a moment to let my words sink in. "I am going to do this with or without your help. I am going to destroy Paragon. How it gets done and if... It all comes down to your help."

Whitman wipes at his running nose and takes a seat on the end of a lounge. "I don't know..."

"I can't force you. I won't force you. But, please, don't let my mother have died in vain."

Whitman slumps down and lets his head drop into his hands. While I know there is a possibility that my story may have been convincing, it's not why I watch his body slowly deflate like a balloon. It's because I've stuck him in between a rock and a hard place. If he goes back to Paragon and tells them what he's encountered, there will always be that concern from the leaders above him questioning if he is working with me secretly or not. Whether he chooses to or not, he'll always be looked at as if he had. And who knows what they'll do to him after realizing this?

As I observe him from behind, I bite my lip. It was never my intention to destroy this man. He was never a target to ruin, yet here he is, dragged into this war between me and Paragon. It doesn't matter what he chooses to do, one way or another, his connection with Paragon has been tainted by my destructive hands.

Offline chetanhaobijam

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Re: Divine Deception -- Season 4 Premiere: The Grind
« Reply #261 on: August 09, 2017, 06:21:06 AM »
Great start. Hoping Whitman understands them and helps in their mission. Looking forward for next update.
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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E02: Guilty Conscience
« Reply #262 on: August 13, 2017, 08:28:50 PM »
Divine Deception
"Guilty Conscience"

The mindset of a destroyer is a simple one: we are there to balance life's scale. For every action an equal and opposite action is sparked. But in the end, always the guilty will fall. Like dominoes, one chain reaction that hits another until all that's left is one powerful affliction. To turn your back on it gives guilt the ability to sneak up on you while running away from it forces it into a game of cat and mouse. So sometimes one needs to embrace their guilt, feeding off it until all that's left is the ability to let go.

"Are you sure we should trust Whitman?" Nathan asks from beside me. His soft voice pulls me from my thoughts and I turn to look at him. "I mean, he's got connections with Paragon, sure, but what's to stop him from finding a way to burn us when we're not looking?"

I look down at my hands. He's got a right to be concerned. It wasn't like Whitman had immediately said yes last night when I pitched my idea of taking down Paragon for my mother's sake. And it's not just that. I know that it's the fact that these captures haven't gone completely to plan since we started them how many months ago. We have captured many worthwhile people and been given their stamp of approval to say the least. However, we have hit snags from time to time too. We've just been lucky with those ones. He must be waiting for the penny to drop as my mother would say. When things go a bit haywire. Luck can't live forever.

"You said that you'd be here for me through the thick and thin, Nathan," I say to him. "Has something changed?"

"No, of course not. You know I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. I'm just worried that one of these captures is going to lead us down a road we don't want to go down."

"I understand. I just don't see this happening right now. As timid as Whitman might have been last night, he didn't sneak out and hightail it back to Paragon. That's got to say something."

"Hmm, I guess you're right."

I hear Whitman's footsteps up above in the bedroom, to the bathroom and back. I hope my optimism in Whitman doesn't backfire. While I didn't get a direct yes or no when I asked him to join us, he didn't leave either when I offered it. In fact, he stayed and asked about my mother. How she'd been over the last few months before her death and if she'd ever found happiness. Whitman told me what I had already gathered, that being a destroyer was a sure way to ruin oneself to a point where a life of happiness could never be achieved. But to be honest, I think my mother had been able to conjure a small piece before she met her end. She'd reunited with Vic, got engaged, returned to a life of normality. If only the small tidbits gathered into something bigger before Paragon stepped in again.

Whitman makes his way down the stairs and I stand, walking around the table to the living room where I motion for him to take a seat. Nathan follows and takes a seat next to me on the sofa.

"How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?" I ask him.

He nods slightly. "I guess so. That cocktail did absolutely nothing for me, though."

Knowing that he would have a difficult time sleeping and dealing with everything, I created the same concoction that my mother gave me when I ended up on her doorstep so long ago. It was a serum that she'd learned from Master Lee to take away stress and anxiety. It doesn't take long to make and after seeing how quickly my captures stress out, I always make sure I have the ingredients in the house.

"Well, as long as you were able to sleep."

He waves away my words. "Why don't we just cut to the chase, shall we? You don't care about my well being—"

"I do, actually."

"But you care about my answer more." He's got me there, but I neither deny nor confirm this. "Sleep was out of the question last night and when insomnia hits me hard I find it best to read." He gives me a look. "Your books are terrible. You don't live here, do you?"

I squint at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Coffee books, that's all you have here. Books that are strictly for decoration, placed in convenient places like on coffee tables, picture books on bookcases, some even in the loo. There's nothing real here. Not a picture of you two together or your family. You two have a son, right?"

The fact that he knows so much about my family makes my insides twist in horrible directions. That's not all. What also bothers me is that he's right, I don't live here. This is just a flat that I use to bring my targets to so that I can get them on my side.

Whitman takes in my expression that I find difficult to fake. I can't say he hasn't caught me off guard. "But there's one thing I found last night that I don't think I was supposed to. Hidden behind the bed, behind the headboard to be precise. A photo album with everybody you've ever loved."

I bite my cheek. What I said about my mother last night is true. Whitman was the only person that kept her feeling when she destroyed the families on her target list. Losing feeling and emotions is one of the most difficult things my mother once said. When destruction turns into a series of motions one just goes through. I don't want to turn into that and the photo album is one of the things that keeps my grounded. When I have to stay the night in this flat, when Nathan can't be here with me, it's nice to be reminded of why I am doing all this. It's nice to still feel something.

"It reminded me of why your mother and I decided to join this organization in the first place. When we thought we were doing more than destroying. When we thought we were balancing out the scales of life." Whitman pauses and contemplates his words. "I loved your mother. She was a good woman caught in a terrible position, led down a path nobody should ever have to travel... That's why I have decided to help you."

I don't let my joy show on my face right away. I'm waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me or be told that this whole conversation's turned out to be some sick joke of his that is far from funny. But it never comes. He just sits there, straight faced, waiting for my reply. Finally, I say, "You will?"

"Your mother told me years and years ago, when I was still in my early days, that she never believed she was a good person doing what she was asked to do. All she believed was that she was the middle person who righted wrongs. And now I see that I am meant to be the same person."

We speak for hours afterwards, discussing what we think we should do and how we should do it. Whitman hacks into Paragon's servers and lets me browse. Everything is on them from personal emails sent from person to person to all employee profiles. Whitman motions to one for a man named Sean Barread.

"If this is what you guys really want to do then I suggest going for him. I warn you that Sean is a bit of a pig, like the arrogant jocks in high school, treats women like objects. You know, that kind of thing. But, he knows Paragon like the back of his own hand. There are four tiers in Paragon. You've got the slave rats at the bottom who do the paper work, the scheduling, everything the higher ups don't want to do. Above them are the managers and technical engineers, like myself, who make sure everything runs and works. Above us are those a part of Outlook—"

"They work for Microsoft?" Nathan butts in.

"No, they are the group that looks over the organization as a whole and makes the big decisions. I've only met them a small handful of times, but I know Sean is the middle man between them and those below. Get Sean on your side and you'll be flying."

"I thought you said there were four tiers," I remind Whitman.

"There are, above them are the big guys. The head honchos. The big cheese."

"There are a lot of them?"

Whitman shrugs. "I have no clue. I've never spoken to the top. There could be one. There could be one million."

"Let's hope for the former," I say. "Heck, maybe there's nobody above this Outlook and once they are taken care of there is nothing else to do other than go down."

"Wishful thinking," Nathan says with a smirk.

Don't I know it.

"Sean frequents Eugi's during the week," Whitman informs me.

"On 27th Street?" I see Whitman nod to me and I nod back. "I better get ready then."

I've been to Eugi's a handful of times. It's always been a busy joint, though tonight has proved to be much busier than usual. They have a live band, and from the sound of it, they're actually pretty good. With a mix of folk and pop, they seem to have almost everybody on their feet. I take a seat at the bar and order a drink while I wait for Sean to arrive.

It's almost as if he's heard my thoughts. He walks through the door not three minutes later. Greasy hair frames his face and the strong scent of cheap dollar cologne meets my nostrils. Whitman told me before I left that Sean lathered up in the stuff if he missed a day or two of showering. Today must be my lucky day.

I watch as Sean orders a drink and heads over to a table in front of the stage. I follow suit a few minutes later.

The first thing that comes out of my mouth is how the band stinks. From what Whitman said, Sean is as Type-A as it gets. Heavy metal, drinking hard liquor, drowning in his own misogyny perhaps? I honestly couldn't say, though from my comment, he seems to have taken it with a liking.

He lifts his glass. "Drink to that."

We fall into small talk. From if he comes here often to how I don't see a ring on his finger. He plays it just like I think he will: Marriage isn't for him, it's for the weak, blah, blah, blah. But one thing does catch me off guard and it's that he mentions how he likes to keep his options open. It may sound pretty vague—and I really think it is—but there's something behind that wall that he won't let me see.

We talk for a little longer, grab another drink for the both of us and he starts questioning me, trying his moves. He calls me pretty. Supposedly, according to him, I have a rocking bod. He comes off as if he's not even trying, but I just go with it.

So when he asks me to dance, I don't hesitate for a second. He leads me to the dance floor with a strong hand holding mine. He whips me around into position. If I didn't work with the unexpected everyday and think quickly on my feet, it is very possible I may have hit the floor. I stay with him, though, as he pulls me around like some marionette, showcasing how desperate he is to lead, to stay the dominant one between the two of us.

As we're dancing, he's in my ear. His dirty jokes slowly morph into dirty talk.

"Are you always so forthright?" I ask as we sway side to side. I don't really know what else to say, and the moment I speak, I immediately hope he doesn't get offended and leave.

"I like what I like."

"And what else do you like? Is it always the domineering lead?"

He gives me a look and then grins. "No," he whispers again, his voice husky and his breath tickling the inside of my ear. "I don't mind letting others take control from time to time."

We dance for a little longer and I finally ask him back to my place. "I don't know if I believe somebody as big and strong as you can let somebody like little me take control. I would like to see this."

I allow him to drive us back. Nathan dropped me off so I don't have a car. Sean is a bit of a aggressive driver—Surprise!—yet we get to my flat safe and sound. I kiss him as we wait for the elevator. He tastes like alcohol. He grabs my sides as we stumble into the box and make our way up. Thankfully there is nobody in the lobby or in the elevator. At the top, we break away from one another and I open up the door, waving him on in. Nathan isn't waiting for us like he was with Whitman. I made sure of that before I left earlier today. With everything we knew about Sean, I knew coming in hard and aggressive wasn't going to get us anywhere. I need to work with his personality, his traits.

I walk him up to the bedroom and push him onto the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," I say and grab a small bag from the top of my dresser.

"That's a tiny, little bag," Sean comments.

"Tiny, little outfit." I wink at him and slip into the bathroom to get changed.

I return completely transformed. My dress has been changed into a fitted suit one would only find at a top-of-the-line lingerie store or possibly a costume shop. I look over at Sean. His eyes widen. Not in fear but surprise. It mellows out in a matter of seconds while he looks me up and down. He must be happy because he gestures for me to come closer. I pull out my braid and shake my hair out. I saw this once in the movie Mr. & Mrs. Smith when she plays a Domme. I've never been in a position like this and that's why I try to recreate the scene here. Hopefully Sean isn't into shoot 'em up action films and won't catch on.

"You've been a bad boy, haven't you?" I say, putting a hand up to stop Sean from advancing. "Haven't you?" I insist.

He gives me a look and then decides to play along. "I think I have."

I lower myself to the floor and grab a whip from under my bed. As I straighten up, I point it at him. "You know what happens to bad boys?" I smack the end of the whip off the dresser side, sending a crack into the air. "They're punished." I watch as Sean licks his lips. "Undress."

He doesn't wait for any other order and goes about taking his clothes off. They pile on the floor and as he's going for his boxers, I stop him.

"No, leave them. Lie down."

Sean was right, he doesn't always have to be the one in charge. It shocks me how he goes with the flow so easily, taking my every order. He must be really into it it too because I know I sound like an idiot and nothing is natural by any means.

"You're a bad boy who needs to be punished, yes?" I say, running the end of my whip over his bare chest.

He breathes with effort, like he's anticipating the hit. "Yes," he answers me.

"Uhuh." I hit one of his pecs and listen to him groan. It's not of agony. More like an, "Ooooo."

"Punish me."

I hit him again.


From my angle I can see the enjoyment Sean is getting from this. He doesn't look at me. To do so would be provoking and showing aggression. So he looks at the ceiling, takes the next hit that he gets off on. I lower myself to my knees so that I am next to his ear. I place the whip so that it rests over his throat. I run my hand over his chest. I can feel the beat of his racing heart. I breathe into his ear and then I say, "You've been working with bad people, haven't you?"

Sean's face becomes screwy. It's clear that what I've said has come out of left field, yet he doesn't really know how to respond.

"Where are they, Sean?"

"How do you know my name?"

Dammit! I think, smacking myself inwardly for misstepping. "I..." 

"Who the hell are you?" he demands, trying to straighten himself. I press down on the whip against his neck to keep him down. This only makes him more angry. He pushes back against me, the whip digging into his Adam's apple, but it doesn't matter. He's fighting the pain just so that I'll let go.

Throwing his hands around, he catches me. His force too strong, I fall to the floor. Sean is free and the whip in my hand has been snapped in two. I toss it away and run after Sean, who's stormed down the stairs, through the living room and out the back door to the patio. He spins around at once—he knows I am right on his tail—and shuts the door behind him. He tries to hold it there so that he's blocked my path to him. I give it a good kick and it doesn't budge. Sean must know that his strength has and will always overpower me. However, when I grab my nearest fire extinguisher and am about to throw it through the glass, he backs off and hightails it across the balcony in search of an escape route.

I open the door and make my way out, spotting Sean running back and forth. I am taking aback to last night with Whitman doing the same thing while Nathan and I watched. Nathan was right, they do always head for the balcony. With the front door our captures know that they will waste time trying to unlock the door and wait for the elevator. Time, precious time being wasted. At least with the balcony there is some hope. I pity them for thinking this way. I also wish Nathan was here with me. I've always worked better with him at my side.

Taking a deep breath, I walk closer to Sean. He's bouncing off railing and railing, looking over for what I guess is the nearest escape pad. Everybody does the same thing. I try to follow the same procedure I have with my previous captures. "Sean, we can work together. My name is Delilah Lawrence. I need your help. Where are Paragon's top tiers?"

He's not listening. Running around in his underwear, he zooms from one end to the other, though, from close observation, he always keeps a good distance from me.

"What are the names of your leaders?" I persist. I take a few steps towards him and contract the space between us a good chunk. "Give me a name or where they are." I walk closer again. "Give me something—"

He spins around on me so quickly I think I may see insanity in his eyes. And he moves. Fast. I barely can comprehend it. He's coming straight for me, shoulder angled so that it can be used as a battering ram. I've backed up so that my back is up against the opposite railing. I can see a furry in his expression. This isn't some bluff. He's actually going to try and strike me into the air like some wild bull in Spain.

With adrenaline on my side, I spot my opening when he's mere two feet away from me and I dodge his attack, spinning him and giving him a good push with my own hands.

He twirls in an unbalanced motion, whimpering as he flips over the railing, hands out in front of him, trying to grasp anything. Railing, the lip of the balcony, anything!

I gasp, throwing my hands out to catch him. He's managed to catch the lip of the balcony and I am there to grab his hand. He looks up at me, fear—real fear—on his face, tears in his eyes. I can only wonder what I look like in return. Even if I am staring into Sean's face, all I can see is Daniel that night in the pool and how I let him drown. I don't intent on letting myself do the same thing to this man.

"Give me your other hand," I tell him, panic in my tone, hysteria on the rise. His hand is sweating like mad. Mine is too and I don't know how long I will be able to hold onto his one hand.

"Anna Lane, Danny Ferris," I hear him mumbling as he looks down at the ground so many floors below him.

"Don't look down, Sean. Give me your other hand."

"George Lappel," he continues, "Trisha Udenaff, Samantha Malonee, Jonathan Smith."

"What? What are you going on about?"

It looks like it takes all of his effort, but he looks up at me again. "Those are the names you wanted."

"No, forget about that. Give me your other hand!" His weight it overtaking mine and I don't know how much longer I can hold him.

"I'm done for anyway."

"No, give me your other hand!" I am yelling now and his hand is continuously slipping from my grasp.

And then it's gone.

Sean's hand slips from my grasp completely and I watch him fall through nothing but air. He doesn't scream. He doesn't cry out. He's just gone. I barely hear the thud as he hits the pavement below. But I still sit there, my hand stretched out, staring at the air in front of me because I don't know what else to do. Sean is gone. My capture is dead. The realization dulls every fiber in my body and everything turns into slow motion. I pull myself right side up and listen as men and women scream in terror and the once empty street down below begins to fill with horrified pedestrians.

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E02: Guilty Conscience
« Reply #263 on: August 27, 2017, 05:14:33 PM »
Hey guys, sorry it is taking me so long for the next update. It is another long episode. I will have it up soon!

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E03: Collateral Damage
« Reply #264 on: September 03, 2017, 11:25:53 AM »
Divine Deception
"Collateral Damage"

((Because of a weapons mod and strong language, episode three can be found HERE. ))

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E04: 2.0
« Reply #265 on: September 30, 2017, 09:14:13 PM »
Divine Deception

Most of my memories from my childhood are happy ones—late nights at the gymnasium practicing my handspring, staying up late watching my favourite movies with friends while Vita heckled us, saying that we needed to get to bed. The angriest of storms could darken our days, but they did nothing to hinder our nights. It was the certainty of that that kept my life on the rails. Yet now, with those happy memories seemingly only figments of my imagination, doubt has been given the ability to prey on my weaknesses. Am I doing this for the right reasons? Can I finish this personal mission before it takes everything that I have, something my mother never could?

"You get more beautiful with every day that goes by." Nathan puts his arms around my from behind, almost making me smear my lip gloss. I pull the small stick from my lips before I do and let myself melt into him. Last night, being in Outlook's presence when they were all taken out... I didn't think I would ever see Nathan again, let alone be in his arms. The warmth of his freshly-cleaned body, the rain forest mist soap he uses. I find it so easy to want to ignore the rest of the day and just spend it here, with him, with him and William.

Nathan kisses me on the side of my neck, then on the back of it. A chill lifts hairs where his lips touch before shooting down my spine. I giggle. I giggle like that little school girl I used to be back during those late nights with friends when we talked about boys.

"Hun, I've got to go," I tell him, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't respond. He doesn't even catch my gaze as he runs his hands along my shoulders and down my arms. I turn around to face him. "I mean it. I don't want to be late."

Glancing at the face of his watch he took off before his shower, he says, "You don't have to be in the city for another two hours." He doesn't miss a beat, still kissing me.

I smirk at my reflection. He's right. I do have quite a bit of time. Getting there should only take me forty-five minutes, if that. He kisses my ear. I love it when he does that. Before I know it, I am on our bed, kissing him back, counting down the minutes until I have to go. For good measure, I set an alarm on my phone just in case.

Fifteen minutes late. Between traffic and some parade blocking off how many roads on the east end of Bridgeport, I end up being late. Sometimes it's no use setting up a time to meet. I'm inevitably going to be late anyway. It's already half past noon when I make it to the doors of a very tall skyscraper. At least I've had some time to think about what I am about to get into.

Since I spoke with Jackie Collins last, I haven't gotten much information on her. I asked Whitman the moment I got home about her profile. He pulled it up. She's exactly what she said she was: a woman who went up against Paragon. From what Whitman found, she was added to Paragon's termination list the moment she went AWOL.

"The top tier want her very dead," Whitman told me last night. I asked him afterward about if he knew anything about her personally and he couldn't recall much of anything. He did say he remembered her working with my mother from time to time, though, which, to me, at least confirms her story a bit more. Gives me something to settle my mind even if only a little.

I follow Jackie's instructions. I take the elevator to the top floor after swiping a card she gave me last night. A bouncer waits for me the moment the doors open and leads me down a hallway. I can hear the bass of music, dance music to be precise, but the farther we go down the hall, the more it fades. When we get to a set of stairs, he tells me to take them up and that somebody will be waiting for me.

And there he is. Another bouncer, strikingly similar to the man I've just stepped away from, stands in front of a glass door that's sectioned off by velvet ropes. The bass from earlier has returned and I can see through the aquarium next to him inside. There's a private bar in the next room. It's nothing like the Grind. This is sophisticated, upper crust, and I'm sure only those with special power get inside this room. I spot Jackie taking a seat at the bar as a small tinge of giddiness bubbles inside of me. Today that is me.

I speak with the bouncer. He unclips the velvet ropes and walks me in.

"Ms. Collins?" the bouncer says, stopping next to Jackie. She looks over her shoulder, sees me and instantly a warm smiles forms on her brim lips.

"Delilah!" she says and gets to her feet. She raises a hand for me to take and shakes it. "You have no idea how happy I am you decided to see me today. What can I get you to drink?" She checks her watch. "Wine? Martini? Rebecca here makes a marvellous Sex on the Beach if you care for that sorta thing."

I hold up my hand. "I'm good, thanks."

"Well, suit yourself." Jackie gives Rebecca a nod and the woman behind the counter begins making Jackie a drink. I didn't get much of a chance to take in Jackie last night. Forgive me, but there was a bit much going on that looking over her appearance seemed to have been baking on the back burner then. But now, looking at her without guns glazing or Outlook members dropping like flies, I can see her. Her skin is like porcelain—pale to the point of being cold, and smooth. Crows feet crowd around the corners of her eyes as if she's squinted at far too many suns, and her nose, hooked like a beak, reminds me of that of a puffin or some other bird, especially as she nods to Rebecca again and thanks her for her drink.

Jackie leads me to one of the seating away from the bar so we can speak privately. As she does, I walk past an opening that looks down into the floor below. I now understand where I hear the music from. Downstairs in the dance club for the general public.
"I know you don't have much reason to trust me," she says once she's taken a seat. "It must be so hard, especially since I was once linked to the very organization that went after your mother."

"Partly," I tell her. I try to say it offhandedly, but it ends up coming off as a bit brutal. "But I've learned I shouldn't judge people for what they did but what they're doing."

"You sound like your mother." Jackie takes a sip of her drink. "Unfortunately, your mindset is much the opposite compared to Paragon. They were never as bad as they are now. At least, I never saw it that way. Perhaps I was blind to the nonsense, yet I always thought Paragon built the destroyer for the greater good, that they were important for the world and its existence." Jackie grunts, cursing the organization under her breath before she takes another swig. "That thought's been shot."

I smile at her cheerlessly, though I can't say I disagree with her previous thought. I was told the same thing by Master Lee, that we as destroyers were to aid in life's scale. Just the thought of Paragon's tale leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"So what do we do about it?"

Considering the liquid in her glass, Jackie says, "We burn the place down."

My eyebrows raise. "You think that's possible?" I think about the time I ordered my mother a year ago to get me a spot inside the Nest, how I was going to destroy Paragon myself for what they did to Nathan. Now, after seeing what they can do, my optimism has dropped considerably. "Destroy them, just the two of us?"

"Anything is possible if you know how to play the game. All we have to do is gain access into the heart of the company. Once that's been accomplished, our main priority is tearing it up from the inside."

"All we have to do," I repeat under my breath with a hint of pity both for myself and this woman. Yes, in a perfect world breaking into the main stronghold would be so easy. "Yeah, when you figure that out, let me know." I am beginning to get to my feet when Jackie's hand stops me.

"Who's to say I haven't gotten there already?" She applies more pressure to her hand and I sit involuntarily. "There are only two things stopping me from ripping that place a new one. First is a man who goes by the name of 4-Gig. He's a computer whiz—used to work for Paragon, but he's been off the radar for a couple of days now. I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"That's because I have his whereabouts jammed."

"You have him?" Jackie asks. "Well, then that leaves only one thing in our way."

I lean forward, intrigued. "And what's that?"

"Have you heard of the model Matthew Hamming? He's the new up and coming. Been on television ads, magazine covers, you name it. Actually, it's rather sickening."

"I try to keep away from the media," I say quietly.

"You may want to start reading up on him then. He's just started acting recently and progressing rather fast if you ask me—"

My impatience gets the better of me. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"His family funds Paragon, his father mainly. He works as the organization's handler. He keeps tabs on what's going in and going out of the company, who's employed and who's been dismissed. I'm still not sure if the mother knows about it or not. She's too preoccupied on making this acting thing a big deal." Jackie waves her hand to push away the thoughts. "The point is that if we want to gain access into Paragon, getting close to them is vital. But we'll need you on board for that."

Jackie stares at me, and the pieces of the puzzle don't come together until they finally hit me like a snow plow. "You want me to do what my mother did?" The moment I see Jackie nod, I say, "No."

"It's the only way, Delilah--"

My guts twist as if being braided by tiny fingers. "I don't care, it's madness. Manipulate a whole family into believing there's something there that isn't, toying with everybody to hurt them, ultimately destroy them."

"We're not going in as destroyers, Delilah," Jackie says sternly, but I don't care. I've already gotten to my feet. "We just need to gain access to the heart, that's it. We are not doing what Paragon had your mother do to a family, do to your family. We are not destroying the mother, we are not killing the father. We are just gaining a gateway inside."

I stop at the opening that looks down into the club below. My body's broken out into a cold sweat and my arms are shaking. I grab a hold of the half wall to steady myself. Jackie makes her way to my side.

"I understand how difficult this must be for you, but it's the only way. If you want to avenge your mother, stop the men and woman inside Paragon from doing what they do, then we need to be what Paragon originally was. We need to do this for a greater good."

I bite my lip and don't say anything.

"This is a hard choice, I know, but think of it this way: You can either be one of them down there…" She points at the men and women dancing. "You can be oblivious to what's going on up here or you can be in control of everything that's happening in your proximity."

Her words aren't coming together exactly as they should yet still they make me nervous because Jackie's actually making sense. I take a deep breath. "I need to think about this."

"Take all the time you need."

I don't say another word and head for the door.

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E04: 2.0
« Reply #266 on: October 02, 2017, 02:00:31 PM »
Sorry it took so long for the forth chapter. Would love to hear what people think!


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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E04: 2.0
« Reply #267 on: October 28, 2017, 02:35:02 PM »
Fifth episode is on its way. Should be up today or tomorrow.

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E05: The First Step
« Reply #268 on: November 11, 2017, 10:47:49 AM »
Divine Deception
"The First Step"

The day started like it would when I was younger: the bright sun peeking through countless fluffy clouds, casting rays that stretched long beyond the eye could see. Women like me pushed strollers carrying their loved ones, some older, some younger. But it was the night that held my hopes, my dreams and any opportunities I may have been promised. For in the mail I had been sent two invitations to one of the hottest parties of the year. Where young chatter congregates near hot tubs and mini bars, and taking one's bikini top off gets an abundance of hollers.

"I don't know if I can do this," Connie tells me as she stares up ahead. In the distance I can see the yacht where the party is about to take off from. Men and women wait in line while a man with hella-tight hair (heard by one of the guests) checks a list on an ultra-expensive tablet.

I turn back to Connie. In her one hand is a cute little hand purse I lent her and in the other her invitation crinkles. "Connie," I say soothingly as I grab the invitation from her hand to stop her from destroying her only way onto the boat. "It's going to be fine. I just need you to be my quiet friend, that's it."

I want to add in just to be herself, but from how nervous she is, I can tell she's not going to take it well. I can't say I blame her. Connie hasn't been on a mission for a little while—not since we captured Whitman—and after telling her about my night with Sean, she seems to have lost her nerve a bit, as if she's just come to the realization that death can actually happen, even if we don't want it to. Even so, I know it's not that that bothers her the most. It's the fact that she hates water, can't swim, and the party will be taken out to sea.

"Take another one," I say. I pass her a pill that will settle her stomach. Then I take her by the hand, give her a reassuring squeeze and lead her down to the docks.

It's been a week since I saw Jackie and discussed her suggestions regarding what our plans should be for the coming weeks, months, whatever future we have together. I won't lie. My body went into a numbing shock the moment she offered her suggestion and it took a long time for me to shake it. Thirty-six hours to be precise, and that's a long time for a destroyer, especially when we are trained to think, act and ignore all in a matter of seconds. By the time I had left the bar, returned home and stewed over the suggestion to do the same thing my mother did—destroy for a greater good—I finally came to the realization that Jackie fell into my lap and maybe I shouldn't walk away from her so soon. I thought about all of the death I have been surrounded by since we captured Whitman, and maybe doing it her way might be better for the soul. I am not expected to kill... or destroy for that matter. I just have to get close to Matthew Hamming, aka the birthday boy.

His family's put on a good show. The moment Connie and I have handed in our invitations and been checked through security, I almost feel like royalty. Waiters in fancy tuxedos spin around the rooms handing out dips and keeshes and little chocolate truffles that melt the moment they touch your tongue. Waitresses offer champagne the moment we step into their line of sight and somebody is always around taking pictures and videos to upload to the party slideshow in the main room. And then there are all of the big names. Emmy Starr, Lola Belle, Reuben Littler, Tom Wordy, and those are just the ones I spot in my first five minutes. The one person I don't see, however, is Mr. Hamming.

"I'm going to head upstairs," I whisper to Connie and make for the stairs up.

I spot him almost immediately. He's at a built-in blackjack table with his buddies. They're a bunch of drunken debacles—a little harsh, but I can't stand the inebriated mind—slurring their words while they smack Matthew on the back and chug back another bottle of beer. Matthew doesn't seem to mind. He looks more focused on the game at mind. Calm, patient, keeps playing with a ring on his finger that he spins around and around. He looks different in person. I've only seen him through photographs online and in magazines. His hair is longer now, pulled back to the back of his head with little stragglers that frame the sides of his face.

Two seats open up and I saunter over. "Mind if we join in?"

None of Matthew's friends seem to mind except for what looks like his wing man. Scratch that. A bold set of Aviator sunglasses and a suit one can only wonder came out of the latest bargain bin at Macy's... Wing man? He seems more like a slimy used car salesman to me.

He gives me a nasty glare from behind his glasses. "Not much of a ladies' game, I'm afraid."

I lift my eyebrow. "Seems more like or less like an empty game if you ask me," I retort, glancing at the empty seats. Don't tell me you're scared that I girl might beat you at such a manly game of cards."

Matthew chortles. "Back off, Jay. Let's let them play."

"Let them play?" Jay's expression hardens. "C'mon, man, this is your night! Don't be fallin' for the legs and pretty faces so early. We got all night!"

"Legs and pretty faces?" The game begins. "I should feel so honoured."

"Ah, this one's got a sense of humour," Matthew says, punching Jay in the arm. He turns back to me. "I don't think we've met. I'm Matthew." He lends out his hand for me to shake. His modesty takes me back. For all that he does, through film and modelling, he still introduces himself as if I might not have seen him in anything he's done.

I take his hand. "Samantha."

"What are you drinking, Samantha?"

An hour later, I hold a martini glass in one hand and Jay's arrogance in the other. For how many games we've played, he's lost the majority of them. I hold back from rubbing it in his face, but Matthew isn't.

"Not a ladies' game, ha!" Matthew teases Jay with a shake of his own head. "This is what you get for trying to act like a big shot. Think you'd learn by now." Jay keeps his emotions in check. He laughs it off and jokes back, even tries a few lines on Connie to soften her up. She's been pretty quiet lately. I hope she's feeling okay. "Just like the time you thought that friend of yours would amount to any type of rider back in the day. What was his name again?"

My ears perk at the word rider. "Rider as in equestrian?"

But Jay speaks over me.

"Jeremy Biggs! I always thought Biggs was too much a name for him. Never thought he'd be it, but he's the biggest—"

"—rider in the world," I finish for him. "You knew Jeremy?"

"I have connections with a lot of big people," he says and it's as if a cloud of pride holds him tall in his chair. "I've known Jeremy since we were small."

"Craziness, because I know Jeremy."

"No!" Matthew says in surprise. "Small world. Well, we've always said the horse world is a small one."

"You ride too?" I've stopped acting and my real curiosity has taken its place.

"Jumper," Matthew tells me. "You?"

"I used to jump, but did mostly dressage. That's how I met Jeremy. We trained under the same coach." I lean back in my seat and think of the past: Vita packing my things for the weekend camp she set me up with. Overnight with horses and lessons on how to work around and on horses. It was such a long time ago. I can still remember Jeremy and I working on our jumping, going over small cross rails and going on hacks in the forest. And now he's some superstar riding horses for a living, and I'm here halfway across the world with a model/actor and their friend talking about their personal friendship with the man. Madness!

"I shouldn't act so surprised about what he's amounted to," Jay slips back into the conversation, his voice much louder now as if to make sure we can all hear him. "He's always had the best of everything. Money, training, horses. Heck, with that enormous arena we used to ride inside as kids, everybody knew he was going to be something spectacular."

I'm still enthralled with this finding when Jay's words slowly bring me to a halt. "Money, training and horses?"

Jay gives me a look. "Don't tell anyone, but it's pretty obvious he was born into greatness when his mother's legs opened," he scoffs.

I return his look. "When did you say you met him?" I ask Jay.

"I dunno'. When we were kids." He pauses and thinks about it. "Ten years ago, probably."

I nod. "So when Facebook started becoming popular?"

"Yeah, I guess. Never got into social media, honestly."

"Most kids do, though." I grab my phone and log into the account I haven't used for ages. "I did, and Jeremy and I took my very first picture together." I scroll down, click on the photo and observe the dimly lit arena where two children are but two shadowy figures. Still, even with the limited light, anybody can see the torn riding pants the helmet that fits poorly. I turn to show the others. "Tell me, Jay, does that look like a boy that came from a world of riches? Jeremy has worked his butt off to get where he is now, not because of money. His parents struggled to makes ends meet and held this camp to make some extra cash."

"What are you saying? That I am lying?"

I breathe heavier than I usually do as tension gathers in my arms and my grip of my phone. "I'm just saying the last time I checked, what you're saying contradicts everything I lived through with Jeremy. And how well do you really know him, Jay, if at all?"

Jay's eyes flash in repulsion. "Your point?"

"If you knew Jeremy so well, wouldn't you have known that?" I pause. "For somebody who has a connection with big people and has known Jeremy since you were small, I would have expected you'd actually know what you're talking about. Either you're confused or you are extremely bad at keeping your stories straight."

Jay doesn't know where to look. He holds me in his unwavering stare for quite some time, but it's when Matthew turns toward him that he crumbles. After a quick sob into his hands, he clears his throat, gets up from his seat and walks away. A moment later, Matthew follows him out of sight.

"You can be really harsh sometimes," Connie mumbles from my side.

I don't turn to look at her. My gaze is still on the very last spot I saw Matthew. "He'll get over it. Besides, we're always righting wrongs. That's what we've signed up to do. Just sometimes they're smaller than others."

I leave things alone for half an hour and realize Matthew isn't returning. I go searching for him and find him on a different balcony. He's sitting next to a fire pit.

I clear my throat and he sees me and gets to his feet. Not to run--it's the first thing I think when he stands--but to be polite.

"Is Jay out here?"


"I'm just looking to apologize to him... and you. I can be a little forward sometimes, more than people like and it can get me into trouble from time to time."

Matthew doesn't seem to mind. "Eh, I wouldn't get too bent out of shape. Jay's Jay. Everybody knows what he's all about." He shrugs and motions for me to sit.

"Still, I shouldn't have taken it to such a drastic level." I take a seat. "I just like to put up a wall. Always feel like people want to take advantage of me, pretend to like me because of who I am and what I have... Do you ever feel like that?"

"All the time. You'd think being in Bridgeport with countless other celebrities would make it easier. It doesn't. There are just more leeches to deal with." He nods his head and I know who he's referencing: Jay.

"I've got to admit, it's nice to see somebody take him down a peg."

We share a moment, looking into each other's eyes and it's almost instantly broken when I hear the sound of footsteps closing in on us.

"Happy birthday, darling," a husky voice comes from behind me. Before I can look up, my nostrils are hit with a strong scent of pomegranate and vanilla.

I turn and look up at the source.

Mrs. Hamming's photos spin around in my mind. As much as I've seen Matthew in the media, Mrs. Matthew has been there just as much, maybe even more. Her hair is a sandy blond, cut in layers, reaching just above her shoulders while wispy ends seemingly float at the sides of her face. Her bone structure looks like that of a model. Surely in her younger years she looked breathtaking with her high cheekbones and perfectly shaped nose. Her dark eyes smolder as she catches sight of me. She doesn't know me from a hole in the wall, but from the way she looks at me, I can only wonder what horrible things she is thinking. Who am I, where did I come from and why the heck am I sitting here with her son? Jackie told me how protective she is of him when we spoke last. She also told me how much of a hard old bat she was when seeing her in person. Stern to the fullest and even if she says something kind, there's always something behind it.

Before Mrs. Matthews can say anything, I take it upon myself to speak.

"Thank you for a beautiful evening, Mrs. Hamming. It was lovely being able to be a part of this."

Mrs. Hamming looks me up and down as if trying to decipher my every flaw. She smirks and not bothering to look me in the eye, says, "Well, sometimes I struggle to understand how the invitations arrive in certain places." She raises her eyebrows and gives me a slight shake of the head. "Anyway, we're docking in five minutes, Matthew. Your father and I are leaving and I expect you shortly."

As Matthew's mother walks away, I watch her in the corner of my eye. Jackie wasn't joking when she said the mother could be a hard old bat.

"Don't mind her," Matthew says, pulling my attention back to him. "Intimidation is practically her way of life."

Something we have in common, I think as I stand. "It's getting late. I should head home."

Matthew walks me down to the doors to the docks and says, "Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted to do something sometime." He's opened and holds the door open for me. "You know, just the two of us."

"I'm always doing something and I'm completely booked for sometime." I give him a pat on the shoulder and walk across the bridge to the docks. "But I'll let you know if anything opens up." Knowing that he's watching my every move, I walk down the dock out of his sight, not bothering to say another word or look back at him. I've taken the first step.

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Re: Divine Deception -- S4E05: The First Step
« Reply #269 on: December 29, 2017, 09:27:29 AM »
Sorry for not posting in such a long time, guys. Was very busy over the holidays. Will try and get something up in the next little while.