Rambling Writings (+ Shorts)

An English Rose (Short)

"Hold the pose, Miss." A photographer pressed the shutter, prompting brilliant white light to flood the room for mere, painful, milliseconds. "Stunning! Now," he took a small pose while he adjusted a nearby tripod. "May I ask you for something a little more primitive?"

"Primitive, sir?" She quipped, her lips curving into a smirk. "You know people of my status have behaviours to uphold. We must be be accountable for our actions..." Her voice trailed off as she made direct eye contact with the male. "I... I mean- Miss Moore, I mean-" Fumbling with a lens, he stuttered and stumbled over his words. She drew a few footsteps closer, her smirk demonstrating the blood red shade of lipstick the makeup department had chosen for her. "You should define what you mean, good sir, before my mind starts drawing its own conclusions." Her quick blue eyes examined his facial expression, body language and her sharp hearing analysed his tone with precision. "I mean, Miss Moore, something that shows off a little of your instincts. What people know you for." This time, his words came without fault. Perhaps the pressure of her azure gaze ironed out the cracks. With a steadier hand this time, he made alterations to the shooting camera for the next set of photographs. "I see." The young woman turned to once again be on the white backdrop of the studio, as she allowed her smirk to form back to a standard smile. Closing her eyes briefly, she revealed from each of her forearms a glistening titanium blade, and positioned herself side on to the camera, with her rump more or less directly facing the image-capturing device and its masterful handler. A trained sense of hers detected his change in mood, and the smirk reappeared. Keen eyes saw the hairs on the side of his neck stand as his finger slipped off of the shutter, and awkwardly found its place again.

Once again, white light flooded the space. Click. Flash.

"Exquisite, Miss Moore." He looked at a laptop to his left to inspect the shot. "Ahh, overexposed. We'll need to reshoot tha--" He had turned back to face her, only she wasn't where she had stood when the flash went off. A wisp of warm air tickled the back of his neck, and he whipped round to be only a centimetre from her. "Please, there's really no need to be so formal," Her clean English accent stung delightfully at his vestibulocochlear nerves. "Call me Elizabeth." As he struggled to find the words for the stealth he had fallen victim to, Elizabeth adjusted her traditional robes. Fabrics of white, red, grey and silver honoured her ancestry, as well as the emblem that proudly emblazoned her eagle-beaked hood. "There's no need to fear, although I don't think that's the emotion you're feeling." She opened her mouth ever so slightly and inhaled, exhibiting her mastery of sensory responses. This flehman response allowed her vomeronasal organs to confirm her thoughts, well determined from previous observations. "Miss.. I-" he chuckled, stuttered, and flushed. A few nervous blinks saw him looking eye-to-eye with the British-blooded member of The Order of The Assassins, Elizabeth Gwynneth Rose Moore. His lips parted as she began to speak. "Forgive me. You know how I like to play." Her voice box produced a chuckle that made her male acquaintance feel funny. "A Royal Assassin find themselves curious to see the responses she can get from another human entity, even without touching them." Leaving him to regain a normal pulse rate, and to do whatever else he so pleased, Elizabeth gave a strut to her step as she left the room.

Who said you needed physical contact to prompt such electricity.

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Author's Notes:
Oh boy do I love writing using Elizabeth, my (loosely) Assassin's Creed based character. She's a speciality trained beast of her profession. Fun fact: her speciality training includes the identification and uses of natural toxins and poisons, adding a whole new depth of lethality to those blades out in the field.