Categories > TV > Joan of Arcadia > Adversary0 Reviews
The first episode for an imaginary season three; six chapters. Joan/Ryan. As Helen struggles with questions about why evil exists, Joan begins to understand that she has the ability to shape her in...
"Yes?" said the voice.
"Mr. Hunter?" said Joan, and then mentally kicked herself for sounding so uncertain. She knew it was him; she'd recognize that coolly amused voice anywhere. "This is Joan Girardi." She rolled her eyes. 'He already knows your last name,' she told herself. "I'd like to talk to you." There; at least that had come out right. There was a buzz and a click as the inner door unlocked.
"Ryan Hunter lives in the penthouse. Why am I not surprised by that?" Joan said out loud in the elevator. The elevator attendant turned and smiled at her.
"It is pretty clichÃ©d, Joan," he agreed.
"Oh. Great," said Joan, but her voice lacked some of its usual teenage superiority. "Well, since you're here, any last minute advice?"
Elevator Attendant God looked sympathetic. "Just trust your instincts," He said. "And be..."
"Careful?" said Joan.
"Kind," He answered, smiling sadly.
"I don't think he's looking for kindness," Joan said grimly.
"Maybe not from me," agreed Elevator Attendant God, as Joan stepped out, "but then, there's a lot of debate about which things are from me."
Joan turned back to watch the elevator doors slide shut before forcing herself to lift her hand to knock at the door. It swung open before she could actually knock; Ryan Hunter stood there, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses in one hand. "Please come in," he said with exaggerated courtesy, stepping back. "I'm delighted to see you here."
Joan followed him down a hallway and sank gratefully into a black leather sofa, relieved to be sitting down before she broke something or tripped over any furniture. She glanced around the room-chrome and leather furniture, glass-topped tables, an enormous window-and then looked up at Ryan. "You're delighted to see me?" she echoed dubiously, realizing what he'd said.
"Casting doubts on my hospitality?" asked Ryan. "Tsk, tsk. No, whether you want to admit it or not, you're being here can only mean one thing," Ryan continued smoothly, setting down the wine and glasses and sitting next to her. "You've recognized the truth."
"The truth?" Joan asked.
"The truth," he said, his tone mocking, "is that I hold all the cards here, Joan, and no antiquated God can help you." He smiled humourlessly. "I'm in control here."
Joan's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was keeping her from breathing, and her palms were sweaty. 'You can do this,' she told herself again, and slid over closer to Ryan. She leaned towards him, putting one hand on his chest for balance, and kissed him.
She felt him jump slightly, and knew she'd succeeded in startling him, but his lips parted and he kissed back. Under her hand, his heart beat faster. She let herself relax into the kiss for a moment, enjoying the taste and scent of him, marveling that this was Ryan. Here. With her. Then she pulled back, just far enough to look at him.
"Are you sure about that?" she asked softly.