Клуб поклонниц Рорка, и всей серии о Еве Даллас [АРХИВ]

Eve drank again. “Reward and punish. Praise and denigrate. It’s how it works. Daphne’s not a child, but she’s got that softness so she’d have been a pretty easy mark. She’s not me, but I understand her. And I should get back to her.”
“Another minute,” he replied gently.
Because she’d made him sad, Eve realized. Because she’d put the image of that scared and helpless little girl in his mind.
So she leaned in a little more. “We got an early enough start on things, so maybe if we plow through it, we can watch a vid. I feel like something fun, where the good guys and bad guys are over the top, and lots of things blow up.”
“I think it’s time to introduce you to The Avengers.”
“Who are they? What are they avenging?”
“Your vid and graphic novel education is pitiful, darling. They’re classics.” Smiling, he turned his head to brush his lips to hers.
“Classic what?”
“Superheroes who band together to save the world.”
“Do they kick ass doing it?”
“Is there any other way?”
Now she smiled. “I’m in for that.” And kissed him back.
Decided she could absolutely take a minute—or two—and added some punch to the kiss.

***
Но в чем-то она права.
“Are you still in the mood for a vid?”
“Yeah.” She looked at the list, her board, accepted she’d just be turning in circles to keep at it now. “Yeah, I am. What’s it again?”
“I thought we’d dive right in to The Avengers rather than take you through the individual vids establishing the characters.”
“Superheroes.”
“Exactly.” He went to her, took her hand. “Ironman, for instance.”
“Like Cal Ripken, Jr.?”
“Sorry?”
“Ha—got you on one. Cal Ripken, Iron Man Ripken—late-twentieth-century baseball player, Baltimore. Third base, shortstop. Still holds the record for most consecutive games played.”
“You often amaze me,” he said as they started out.
“Well, it’s baseball. Ironman, but not like Ripken.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this porn?”
He laughed. “It isn’t, no.”
“Ironman sounds suspicious to me. What are the others?”
“There’s Thor, the Hulk,” he began.
“Sounds like porn.”
“You’ll see for yourself.”
“I want popcorn,” she decided. “It’ll probably make me sick, but I want it.”
“The way you saturate it with butter and salt, there’s no doubt you’ll be sick.”
“I still want it,” she said, also wanting to find out who the hell Ironman was if it didn’t apply to sports or porn."

***
Eve woke with a start, sat straight up, stared blankly at the simmering fire.
“All right?”
She turned her head to where Roarke sat with his coffee and his stock reports.
“Yeah. Just a weird dream.”
“About?”
“The Avengers and that jerk Loki and his weird-ass army, and I’m trying to help them. Then I see this devil grab this bystander. Why are bystanders always standing by when they should be running and hiding somewhere?”
“A question for the ages.”
“Right. So the devil—and I know in the dream it’s the killer—is dragging the woman off, and she’s screaming and crying instead of trying to kick his ass and get away. So I have to leave the aliens and gods and whatever to the Avengers and pursue. I’m chasing him, and buildings are toppling, debris is falling like an avalanche. New York’s a frigging mess with more idiot bystanders running around screaming and waiting to get pancaked. And the devil, he jumps into this pit, just jumps right in. I put on the brakes, because it burps out some fire—the pit—and I’m trying to decide, do I go in after him, try to save the woman, catch the killer, or try to keep New York from becoming a big pile of rubble.
“And I woke up.”
“They could make an excellent vid if they could record your subconscious.”