"You understand my point now? We are but tools for your precious citizens to use as they please." Noire grinned, touching the tip of her blade to the soft part under Farah’s chin. She had no intention of breaking any skin. Even just the presence there was threat enough, she hoped.
Farah's breath hitched at the feel of the blade pressed to extremely sensitive skin. Still, her courage and stubbornness didn't falter for a moment. "You'd be a tool?" she questioned sharply. "But if you're a tool, that's like saying I…" The woman trailed off quickly at the realization, and her lips parted slightly – but only slightly to avoid being cut. She inhaled as her chin pressed down a bit.
Noire searched her captive’s eyes, gazing there like a mirror reflecting a solemn truth. And it was truth, wasn’t it? Noire tossed the blade aside into a shadow where it could melt away, and took a knee in front of Farah. “You could try to escape. I know you could if you really wanted to.”
She reached up, cupped her hand against Farah’s cheek, soft and affectionate. "But then again you would only be a tool for the city if you remained what they call a hero. Whereas if you were to stay with me, you would be an equal. A fighter more worthy of recognition than restraint."
Farah swallowed heavily and averted eye contact with Noire. I could. The pain from my head would seriously debilitate me, but I could. She was so lost in her thoughts of potential escape plans that the touch against her cheek made her jump. Against her better judgement, the softness of the villain's touch helped her to relax. What are you doing?
At Noire's comments, Farah looked over into her eyes, searching them deeply and thoroughly. "I am not a tool," she repeated quietly, but just as snappy. Quickly, she looked away again, attempting to hide the conflict behind her gaze.
“If you say so.” Noire patted her cheek before pulling her hand away altogether. “But for the record, I don’t believe you for a second.” She smiled. A solemn, pitying smile that, while antagonistic in a sickly-sweet sort of way, softened her whole face. Scar, and pale green eyes, and all.
“Anyway—“Noire then reclaimed her position of makeshift authority, or in other words: stood—“Are you comfortable?”
Farah continued to avoid eye contact for as long as she could. Then she realized she refused to give Noire any kind of power over her, and she looked up fiercely into the other woman's eyes. "Not at all, thank you for asking," she snapped, sharpening her glare and steeling herself despite the lightheadedness she was beginning to feel.
“Mhm, no problem.” Noire casually paced the floor in front of her prisoner. One hand was tucked away in her coat pocket, the other to her mouth as she nibbled at her fingernail. She constantly pointed lurid glances over at Farah, until her plotting was over and she faced the hero head on again. “Since you’ll be staying with us for some time I made you up a room at the Aurora. You can eat and get cleaned up there.” It was risky taking the enemy into her syndicate’s most permanent, vulnerable hideout so soon. It was also the most comfortable, and she wanted Farah to trust her.
Farah avoided looking at Noire until the other woman mentioned staying at Aurora. She jerked her head up and immediately regretted it as her eyes early rolled back into her head. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and she gave Noire an up-and-down look with only her eyes.
"And why, exactly, are you offering me this?" she demanded. "First your men ambush me, then you offer me hospitality? You don't make any sense."