"Have you ever watched dragonflies mating?" Rose whispered, each syllable a drop of honeyed velvet, issuing into the night air and carried away by the breeze.
The question, as oddly out of place as the two forlorn riders wending their
way down the tree-lined trail, was offered more as a means of passing the
time than anything else, a pleasant contemplation to break up the monotony
of row after row of gnarled tree trunks and crackling underbrush.
At her side, the raven-haired fellow offered a puzzled glance in response,
but kept his eyes ahead, watchful for the turn in the path that would lead
them towards the shore at last. He was anxious to have this night's business
complete, to return to the comforts of home and put the risk of discovery
far behind himself and his Mistress.
"It's rather a lovely sight," she drawled. "They couple in flight, dipping
and swooping through the air, almost like a dance..." Her words faded off
to a lyrical sigh, and she turned to study him, amusement creeping into her
features as she noted his unease. "It'll be all right, you know. No one's
used this inlet for years, and Rohaj is far too enamoured of my gold to have
taken any unnecessary chances."
"Of course, Mistress," he replied, in a solemn hush. Her words of assurance
did little to ease the tension in his shoulders, however, and so rather than
persist, Rose swiveled back, turning her own emerald gaze on the trail ahead
and digging a booted heel into the flank of her horse, nudging the beast
slightly ahead.
Both riders were draped in cloaks of ebony velvet, but there the similarities
ended...
Even in the absence of all but the faintest moonlight, Rose's mere posture
commanded respect... or, at the very least, obedience. She rode high in the
saddle, her spine straight with pride and arrogance, and her porcelain features,
smooth and unblemished as though carved from a single block of alabaster,
were lifted to the sky in an imperious tilt. The folds of her cloak fell
away at the front, to reveal sleek legs wrapped in leather, black as pitch
but buffed to a high sheen. Keeping a tenuous, almost careless grasp on the
reins were a pair of gloved hands, their slender digits cased in ruby
kidskin.
James, the young man at her side, was equally proud in his bearing. He rode
high on his dark stallion, his handsome features set in consternation as
he contemplated what will lie ahead. He chanced a glance in the direction
of his beloved mistress as she pulled slightly ahead of him.
The cool night air blew serenely through his thick raven locks as they rode,
the ebon cloak streaming out behind him, tugging lightly upon his neck, his
electric green eyes carefully studying the path as it unfolded before them.
He squeezed the steed between his thighs, urging him to a faster gait, although
careful not to inch ahead of the fire-haired woman at his side... He looked
again to the woman at his side and shivered softly as his eyes fell upon
a leather clad thigh... Oh, he would do anything for her...
Mistress and servant rode in complacent silence, until at last, they reached
their destination. Where the trees parted, the trail lost its covering of
brittle leaves and twigs, and the ground beneath the horse's hooves became
moist and soft, prompting Rose to motion both mounts to a halt.
The sight that greeted them was not spectacular - merely a sliver of beach
some ten feet across, and a short pier, clearly old and long unused judging
by the barnacled and pitted condition of the wood that jutted out into the
inky water. Roped to one of the cleats at the dock was a skiff, bobbing up
and down in the gentle tide. The boat was nearly as long as the pier itself,
and inside, Rose could make out the shadowed figures of at least four people
- one was the smuggler she had come to deal with, and the other three, huddled
together at the stern of the craft, were surely the subject of this evening's
business.
As they emerged onto the deserted inlet, the burly figure of a man dressed
in a tattered greatcoat of some dark velvet rose from the bow of the ship,
his movements causing the boat to rock slightly, sending the light from a
single lamp on board skittering down over the black waters and causing the
ripples to glisten like a treasure trove.
"Rohaj," the name purred from Rose's throat with a deceptive warmth and
graciousness, as she swung from her seat, alighting on the moist, gritty
beach with a soft crunch. For the first time, the velvet cowl dropped back,
revealing a startling display of flame-red waves that burned around her face,
even through the dead black of night. The folds of her cloak swooped down
around her, and with a fluid ease, she unclasped it at the collar, lifting
it from her shoulders and draping it over the saddle.
That brief formality accomplished, she began to saunter down towards the
pier, hips swaying deliberately with each step, sending a riot of shadows
and light swimming over the surface of her leather catsuit. James, by this
time, had dismounted and was following close behind, his gaze cautious as
the smuggler Rohaj stepped out of the skiff and began clomping down the dock
towards the pair.
"Mistress Rose... good evening...," Rohaj crooned, his voice like an oil
slick, so rife was it with hidden intentions. He extended a meaty hand, as
their steps brought them face to face, but Rose waved it away with a brisk,
businesslike snap of her wrist.
"The properties, Rohaj... time is of the essence tonight." On that note,
she offered a meaningful glance around, at the surrounding woods and the waters beyond the inlet, and James mirrored her gesture, his own gaze lingering far longer, ever searching and alert.
~~~Rohaj~~~
In the whorl of shadows surrounding his face, his sneer was barely noticeable,
evidenced only by the glint of gold at the corner of his mouth, a capped
tooth making itself known as he regarded her casual dismissal. No matter,
he thought - he would have her gold, and if he played his cards right, he
might yet have her. Of course, there was still the matter of the watchdog
she had brought along with her.
The scar beneath his eye twitched with nervous menace as he glanced over
the pitiful excuse for a bodyguard. A boy! A mere boy! A handsome toy for
the Mistress, he considered, but no match for one of his years and
experience.
"Of course, Mistress Rose," he uttered, the words growling out of his weathered
throat like the snarl of a hungry dog. His eyes never left their perusal
of James as he dropped to a crouch and wrapped one beefy hand around the
end of a chain that was strewn along the edge of the dock. At his tug, a
chorus of pitiful cries rose up from the shadows inside the skiff.
"C'mon, girls... can't keep the Mistress waiting," he barked. Another cruel
yank on the chain brought three figures stumbling into the meager light.
They were three girls, each one shorter than the last, their slight, huddled
figures arranged in a row in Gorean fashion and shackled with their hands
before them to the chain that linked all three.
One more pull on the chain signalled the frail figures to make their way
onto the dock, and in the pale moonlight, it was evident that none of them
had been well cared for on their voyage. All three were gaunt, their near
skeletal bodies draped in the rags of what once were fine gowns. Daughters
of noble homes they may once have been, but the privateer was not about to
waste precious food and medicines on chattel that would soon enough be passed
out of his hands.
The girls stumbled onto the dock at his summons, but with no free hands to
brace themselves, their progress was awkward at best. The last girl in the
chain, a towheaded waif of no more than thirteen years, her eyes ringed with
dark circles and shot through with red webbing, tripped on the edge of the
wooden platform, landing on her knees and dragging her sisters with her.
At the sound of the chaotic impact, Rohaj wheeled around, his free hand diving
into the folds of his great coat to retrieve a flail of worn black leather.
He brandished it menacingly as the girls hurried to right themselves, and
the last one, the one whose clumsiness had caused this whole display, suffered
the sting of the whip at her shoulder as the slave chain trooped forward.
"Straighten up, now," he snarled, poking and prodding the girls as they stopped
at the edge of the dock. "Make yerselves presentable fer yer new owner."
With a malevolent wink, he turned to Rose. The flail disappeared just as
quickly as it had appeared, and he produced a ring of brass keys from somewhere
within the depths of his many ragged coats.
"The gold, fer the keys, that's the deal," he said, dangling them in Rose's
direction, and his features twisted into something akin to a leer, his attempt
at a charming smile.
~~~James~~~
James flexes unconciously as the grungy man eyes him, noting the malice hidden
within the stare. His jaw sets slightly as he meets the smuggler's gaze
momentarily before allowing his electric green eyes to flutter past Rohaj
to the figures obscured by the black of night.
Growling inwardly as the man leans down to retrieve the chain, James still
feels the eyes locked upon him, although does not allow Rohaj the pleasure
of a glance in his direction. He winces softly at the sound of the young
women as they are tugged into the light. James swallows hard as he eyes the
*well being* of the girls. He shoots a rage filled glare in Rohaj's direction,
although the man's attention has already been averted... turned back to Rose,
eyeing her greedily.
Drooler... James thinks as he allows his gaze to travel over the frail, and
obviously weakened bodies of the girls and absently begins to clench and
unclench his fists which hang tensely at his sides.
He steps forward as if to catch the fallen girl as she is jerked to her knees,
although holds himself in check and can only watch the domino effect as they
each helplessly follow her lead. Already he dispises Rohaj, although struggles
to sustain his composure, never to disobey his Mistress.... as of yet...
~~~Rose~~~
Her face remained expressionless as she observed the girls, these pitiful
excuses for slaves that Rohaj had dredged up from gods knew where. She did
not miss the glances exchanged between the smuggler and her Favorite, either,
but still her cool austerity did not waver... she merely reached to the side,
to lay a gentle gloved hand over one of James' clenched fists, motioning
him to still.
She had dealt with Rohaj before, and if it became necessary to take action,
she knew that he would always find his way back to the rat-infested, downwind
neighborhoods of Rhy'Din eventually.
"Those girls don't look too healthy," she commented at last, punctuating
the statement with an irritated clicking of a silver barbell against the
back of her teeth. "I don't think they're worth the price we discussed."
Without missing a beat, without even waiting for a denial or an explanation
from Rohaj, she spun on her heels and sauntered across the moist ground towards
her mount.
She could hear the trader sputtering behind her, and a ghost of a smile shadowed
her lips as she pretended to fumble with the buckle on a saddlebag.
"But... but we had an agreement!" he fumed, dropping the keys to his side
with a muffled clink.
"We did," she purred, lifting her chin and offering her sweet whisper to
the night. "But that was for three slaves... not three half-starved, barely
alive pieces of meat!"
On that last, she hissed, whirling around and sending her curls blazing through
the air. One hand lay resting across the back of her horse, and the other
clutched tight to a simple leather pouch.
~~~Rohaj~~~
For as long as the woman's back was turned to him, his face was contorted
in an angry scowl, and the blazing rage in his eyes traveled from her, to
her boy, and back again. In truth, he was less furious with her than with
the failure of his ruse... he had hoped that the darkness and gloom enveloping
this meeting place would lend some disguise to the girls' poor condition.
In a fit of frustration, he dropped the end of the chain and spun around,
kicking his boot into one of the wooden planks of the dock, then came full
circle, smacking a meaty, grubby paw across each of the slaves' shoulders,
as though they were responsible for this outrage. As he completed the turn,
it was to find himself face to face with two pairs of angry, unblinking eyes
- one electric green, the other a dark, mystic emerald - and he froze in
place, his fists curled into painfully tight balls.
~~~Rose~~~
"James, hold out your hand, please." The words escaped from her tightly pressed
lips like steam released from a boiling kettle, as she tugged at the purse's
opening. Her gaze remained narrow on the smuggler, however, as she dug into
the bag of coins and began to pluck them out two by two.
"For the food they will no doubt require, to make them strong enough to serve
again." She lifted two golden disks, pinched between thumb and forefinger,
and turned them to glint in a shaft of moonlight, before dropping them into
James' outstretched palm.
"For the clothing that must be replaced, as I will not have slaves in my
service dressed in rags." Again, a pair of gold coins made the journey from
her hand to James'.
"And for the inconvenience of having to adjust my price. Call it a processing
fee." With a prim smirk, she dug four coins from the purse this time, depositing
them with James and then cinching the top of the pouch closed once more.
"Now, as you were saying, the gold for the keys. That's the deal."
Rearing back, she swung the pouch into the air, aiming for his head as she
tossed it towards him.
~~~Rohaj~~~
With a grunt, the smuggler jerked his arms up, to catch the pouch, but was
just an instant too late, and accepted a blow to his already scarred and
weathered face instead. The purse slammed right into his nose, and as he
lowered it, he could feel the beginnings of a crimson rain trickling down
over his lip.
"Argh," he snarled, hissing and spitting a few droplets of blood onto the
dock, but he made no further comment, choosing instead to swallow back his
bitterness with a pinch of sweetener - the knowledge of what was inside that
bag.
"Take the girls! I'm glad to be done with the lot of ya!"
Hefting the bag of coin into one hand, he tossed the keys with the other,
with no regard to where they would land. He refused to meet Rose's eyes,
but he spared one last baleful glance to the boy, punctuating it with a curl
of his lip. As his boot heel churned against a wooden plank, he spun back
towards the skiff in a flurry of greatcoat skirts.
The flamboyant gesture disguised the elbow jabbed into the ribs of each of
the first two girls on the slave chain, but as he came to the last, the most
frail of the three, he made no effort to hide a cruel backlashing of his
hand to a skeletal cheek.
It was his due, after all, for the shortchanging, and if the Mistress had
anything to say about it, he would be long gone before the words could even
reach his ears.
Tossing the coin purse ahead of him into the bow of the boat, he jumped down
to a crouch from the dock, sending the lantern swaying once more, and reached
for the oars, intent on putting as much distance as he could between himself
and the party on shore before any more of his chicanery was noted...
~~~Rose~~~
The thundering of horses' hooves swells in the distance, a cloud of dust
preceding the arrival of a pair of midnight black stallions, as the entire
company - James with the frailest and most fragile of the three in his arms,
and the other two riding separately, on Rose's horse - gallops to a halt
outside an inauspicious old house in the middle of nowhere. Only the outlines
of this seemingly abandoned old home are visible in the moonlight, along
with the silhouettes of creeping moss and ancient awnings.
A wraith-like current of ink winds through the air, blacker than the pitch
of night surrounding them, as the ethereal Rose flutters in behind. At first,
the only indication of her presence is the cloying scent of roses that cuts
through the musty air surrounding this guise, the entrance to the infamous
torture chamber, the Emporium.
James dismounts carefully, so as not to disturb the girl in his arms any
more than needed, and slowly pulls her into his arms causing her to wince
audibly. "That guy was a jerk," he mutters, more to himself than anybody
else.
Content to let the other two girls suffer in their chained misery for the
moment, Rose merely circles around the second mount, her phantom form drifting
down to James' side, where it billows out to a miasma of charcoal smoke...
seconds later, the smoke clears away on the wings of a thieving night breeze,
leaving behind unmistakable flashes of molten emerald and flame red, the
rest covered by an unusually sedate cloak.
"Yes... yes, he was," she purrs, stealing a glance at the pair doubled over
on the back of her own horse:: ...I'll wager that these pitiful excuses for
girls won't last a fortnight...
Flinching slightly at the sudden appearance of the woman at his side, he
looks to her and offers a slight smile, nodding, "Shall we... I take them
into the Emporium?"
"Rohaj used to have all the right connections... but the quality of his
properties has dropped dramatically over the years," she muses, then winds
around, with a pensive smile, her shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Of course...
yes... let's get them inside... ::and she brushes apart the folds of her
cloak, extending both gloved hands to wrap around chained wrists, and offer
the two new properties guidance on the way down.
The smallest of the three, the girl in James' protective embrace, shifts
slightly, and clutches fearfully to his cloak, unsure of her present fate.
Of the pair on the other horse, the one at the front inhales sharply, as
the touch of leather pressing cold chains into her skin rouses her from a
fitful sleep, one in which she indulged dreams of freedom, and she wakes,
blinking, and loses her balance, slipping off of the horse's back, and pulling
her sister with her to land in a heap on the ground.
With one arm wrapped tightly around the waist of the girl at his side, James
moves to assist Rose in her unchaining... he grunts softly as he shoots an
arm out to catch at least one of them, and does succeed in snagging one,
while the other falls to the ground, harshly jerking both pairs of arms.
"This," Rose snaps angrily, throwing one hand up in the air and flexing her
fingertips, as she stomps her frustration, content to let the girls fall
where they will, "is the kind of merchandise I get from Rohaj these days...
clumsy children who will likely kill themselves, unless we protect them from
their own mishaps..."
"Rose--" James comes up short and attends to the girls, praying she did not
hear him.
Her eyes drift closed for a moment, as she struggles to stifle her fuming,
and then the fringe of lashes drift apart again... she always hears him...
but she does not always choose to answer... or to chastise.
Holding them by the chain, James tugs them to their feet, no longer as gentle
as before, in a hurry to get inside before the sun rises... as well as his
Mistress' temper,
Content to huddle on the ground, the last of the girls, too, can only seek
solace in her dreams, taking herself away from this wretched place with fantasies
about food... and warm clothes.. until the straining screams of her muscles
jerk her awake, and she climbs to her feet as quickly as possible.
The girls are extremely quiet, aware that anything wrong, be it purposeful
or not, will only anger the fire-haired woman further.
"Let's go." He pulls the girls after him and toward the steps, pushing through
a door hanging on the last vestiges of rusted hinges, and crossing a dusty
parlor to the staircase leading down into the Emporium. Although his strides
are firm, he still carefully favors the smallest, who is still cradled in
his right arm.
Checking the horses' reins with a glance, to assure that they are properly
tethered, Rose throws one side of the cloak over her shoulder with a flourish
and follows inside, the heels clicking over old wood exciting a decidedly
foreign creak from the nearly rotted floorboards, different from the usual
delicate tapping, as thigh-high boots, and not stilettos, carry her down
to the shadowed sanctum of the Emporium. Brushing past the frightened girls,
with a momentary pause to study the weakest of the three, leaning in James'
capable arms, she presses her palms to the door, and like magic, they part,
swinging away to welcome them, the whole chamber blazing to life with the
sudden flickering of beeswax candles.
The waif of a girl clings tightly to James, her head resting weakly upon
his shoulder, as though she had the strength to do anything else, strangely
absorbing some sort of security within his embrace. Shifting to support her
limp frame a little easier, he smiles as the room seems suddenly alive, feeling
better already to be home and waits for the Mistress to enter first.
Rudolf and Gregor rise immediately, of course, lifting from their haunches
and padding over towards the Mistress, striding past the Emporium's newest
addition - a trio of diminutive cages, holding cells for the three new
properties, until they can be sold. Twirling the ring of keys from Rohaj,
she tosses them to an end table and reaches into the neckline of her suit,
plucking out a long, slender length of crimson ribbon... at the end, a brass
skeleton key that fits each of the cage padlocks.
James grins at the dogs and leads the two girls to stand before their twin
cages, although he does not dislodge the third from his side.
With the velvet cloak still swimming behind her, revealing only a hint of
the slick leather catsuit beneath, Rose saunters along the row of cages,
unlocking them one by one and swinging the heavy iron doors wide:: Let's
get them in here, shall we?
The dogs check in with their Mistress before trotting over to say hello to
James. "Hello daaalings...," he teases, leaning over and giving each an
affectionate scratch before returning his attention to the business at
hand.
"You know...," she muses, turning a glance over her shoulder and offering
a rare thoughtful smile as her beloved pets stroll over to lick at the hands
of yet another beloved, "I've often wondered how *you* would fare in a cage."
The corners of her lips curl upward in a teasing, feline grin, as she waits
to see his response.
James stops petting the dogs and looks up to his Mistress... curiosity as
well as a twisted desire slowly begins to burn brighter within himself as
he returns the smile, trying desperately to obtain a poker face.
One of the slave girls, the one who so clumsily toppled herself off of the
horse outside, stirs in place. Her head and vision clears, and she finally
notices the cages, and as she deduces their purpose, she begins to back away,
tugging on the chain that binds her to her sister, her mouth framing a terrified,
soundless "Noooo"...
James' head snaps in the direction of the soft movement and he shoots a quick
glance at Rose before striding over to the end table and retrieving the keys,
the girl on his arm getting a bit burdensome by this time.
She comments no further on the remark about the cage, perhaps distracted
by the movement, or perhaps just saving that game for another time... as
the sluggish clink of heavy, moving chains reaches her ears, she too snaps
around, the cloak spinning out behind her, and reaches for the retreating
girl, one gloved hand closing into a fist about the chain that holds her.
James approaches the two sisters and unclasps the hands of the closest girl,
only to push her forcefully into the middle cage and close the door.
"I wouldn't advise that," Rose hisses, giving the chain a sharp tug that
drives the other girl, the one contemplating escape, crashing to her knees
on the earthen floor.
Flinching slightly at the whimper heard from the girl on her knees, James
hurries to Rose's side. "Shall I put her in...," he gestures to the third
cage, careful not to anger her further...
"I think we have our first volunteer," she croons, shooting a wicked grin
over her shoulder at James, at the same time striking out to deliver a sharp
backhand to the girl's defiantly upturned cheek. "Put the small one away
for now... we'll feed her later... but first...," running a gloved fingertip
along the tenderized cheek of the one who dared to defy her, she leaves the
rest of the sentence dangling, an ominous and unspoken threat.
James chances a glance at the mohogany "X" bolted to the far wall, thoughts
drifting momentarily away before aquiescencing. Carefully, he walks to the
farthest cage and ever-so-gently sets the girl upon the floor within, softly
closing the cage door behind her.
With her sisters safely locked away, the entire length of the tethering chain
remains locked to the slave girl's wrists, pooling around her throbbing knees
and weighting her down, to prevent her escape from the fate at which she
can only guess. Sniffing curiously at her nearly prone figure, the pair of
Dobermans trot over to their usual spot and curl up to lie down, uninterested
in the present happenings of the Emporium, and making a point to investigate
the newcomers at a better time.
With one hand still on the chain, the other raised to strike again if necessary,
Rose glances to James once more. "Pet, would you please remove my cloak,
and hang it up in the back bedroom," shrugging to indicate the heavy velvet
mantle still draped over her shoulders.
Walking over to the girl, although careful to keep a small distance between
the two, he crosses his arms over his chest. "Indeed I shall, Mistress,"
moving over behind her and gently easing the cloak from her regal shoulders,
draping it over one arm, he turns on his heel and makes his way to the back
bedroom, where he hangs his own up beside the one presently in his arms.
The burden of heavy velvet lifted from her shoulders, Rose stirs from her
statue's pose at last, the sheen of oiled leather glistening in the candlelight
as she takes a step back, and then another, yanking on the chain, this time
driving the girl roughly to her forearms.
James' ears perk at the sound of the gruff grunt expelled from the girl as
she falls forward, and reappears from the bedroom, standing passively in
the doorway, watching Rose and the girl until called upon.
Said slave girl turns defiant eyes upward, in spite of the pain shooting
up her forearms and immobilizing her in its unwelcome clutches. The girl's
upturned chin is, contrary to most times, a welcomed convenience, as Rose
wedges the toe of her boot against the scrawny neck, a gentle nudge kicking
those features even higher.
Glancing at the two girls within the cages, checking to be sure their conditions
have not worsened, James returns his attention to the girl on the earthen
ground.
Leaving only the faintest trail of road dust along the girl's neck, Rose
moves her toe ever upward, imprinting already grime-coated skin with another
layer of dirt from the bottom of her shoe, as she lifts it to rest against
the girl's mouth.
"James...," she purrs, the cashmere of her voice taking on a more gravelly
tone, her amusement at the girl's sputtering attempt to turn her head leaking
through.
His eyes jerk up toward the source of the voice and he forces a pleasant
smile. "Yes, Mistress?"
"...Perhaps you'd like to join me tonight?" Leaving the meaning of that enigmatic
suggestion unexplained for the moment, she snaps her chin forward, emitting
a sudden, sharp hiss that causes the frightened girl to bolt back in
startlement.
His eyes narrow slightly as they fall upon the girl's features and he thinks
of the meaning hidden within her pleasant words. "Join..." then the full
question hits home and he looks up once more, only to find those twin emeralds
staring right back into his face.
The low echo of her laughter rumbles through the chamber as she drops her
foot to the ground once more, and she whirls around, carrying the chain along
with her and dragging the girl towards the mahogany "X".
"If it is your will..." He fiddles with the hem of his shirt and and settles
with cramming his hands into his jean pockets... She knows my weakness for
women... Grrr...
"It.. is..." The effort of jerking the girl to her feet and slamming her
back against the cold, unyielding wood of the frame causes her to gasp.
"You'll make someone else a fine pet someday, my pretty," she hisses at the
girl, "but first, you'll need to learn not to be so daring..."
(SNAP)
Caught unawares, the slave can only groan as the harsh impact of her back
against the wood racks her body with trembling, but the snap of a bracelet,
seemingly from nowhere, around one of her upraised wrists, causes her eyes
to flash wide with shock.
James steps forward and walks to the "X," chancing a glance in the direction
of the various whips and whatnot before his approach.
(SNAP)
He eyes the girl as she squirms pathetically against the new restraints,
slowly taking in just *how* frail and sickly she is... although she appears
to be the healthiest of the three.
Throwing her hands to the air with a dramatic flourish, Rose steps back,
a satisfied grin tilting the corners of her lips. Those hands drift down
with all the ease of frost-bitten leaves settling to earth on a cold winter's
evening, coming to rest at her hips, and she turns to James, all fluttering
eyelashes and solicitous smiles. "You can choose, darling," nodding towards
the menagerie of torture devices on the wall. She also notes the girl's frailty,
but it is simply not in her nature to care.
He glances to the wall and gives it an "oh gee, *can* I" look, although his
back is carefully turned from Rose's stare.
The fingertips of one hand thrum lazily over the boning of her stays, and
thick tendrils of flame-red frame an expression of contained anticipation.
James stands there, contemplating the least painful of them all, and reaches
decisively for the lightest of the floggers, as she wagers in her own mind
as to whether or not James will choose the ... oh, yes, he does indeed...
his habits are still predictable to her, his misguided sense of compassion
still familiar to her.
"Will this do?" A lopsided grin is plastered across his handsome features
as he returns to her side.
One sleek leg winds before the other, as she sways past him and to a safe
distance just a few feet away. "It will... it will do handsomely...," turning
to face him, her smile unreadable, as glittering emeralds take in the deceptive
harmlessness of the tiny threads of leather on the end of this whip.
An amused emerald gaze dances from the cages, and the pathetic wretches huddled
therein, to the desperate look of pleading on the face of the girl crucified...
to the apparent hesitation in the shoulders of her Favorite, as he stands
before the "X"... and with a low, comforting whisper, something otherworldly,
layered with the voices of dozens of ancient victims, but most certainly
coming from her, she steps forward, sending gloved fingertips to crawl and
tickle up his spine.
He flinches at her touch, but does not turn his gaze from the girl before
him... the flogger resting uneasily in his hands, he begins to whisper, "I
can't hi--"
"Oh... of course you can...," she coos, that hand sliding up and cupping
reassuringly over the firm muscle of his shoulder.
He merely stands, glancing from the flogger in his able hands to the girl...
so frail... so limp within her restraints...
Again come those whispers, thousands of ancient, arcane voices, barely audible...
but the velveteen of her voice rings through with crystal clarity. "Of course
you can... I know you have something of your father's blood in you... as
well as mine..." And her fingertips slide from that shoulder, rising up to
weave through the silken tresses.
"But... *Look* at her, Mistress..." He turns to look at her and takes a step
backwards, which only brings him closer to the girl.
Her fingertips, pulled loose from his hair by the momentum of his backward
step, wriggle in midair in something of a spidery flex, and a cultured brow
rises, her amusement clearly wearing thin. "Would you prefer to take her
place?..."
He sighs softly at her reply and turns to the girl... the fear... and yet
a distinct lack of cooperation... raging behind her eyes. "Nae..."
"Look at her...," she mutters, casting a disdainful glance at the girl. "A
moment ago she certainly had enough gumption to bolt for that door... I wonder
that she seems so melancholy now... do you think, perhaps, that she's faking
it? Oh, but no, why would she, when it only means perhaps a lighter sentence..."
That brow is still lifted high, as she hisses over James' shoulder at the
girl.
He simply stares at the floor, carefully listening to each syllable breathed
from his Mistress' desirable lips... glancing at the harmless flogger in
his hand, he nods, turning back to the girl. His pity is now masked by a
blank expression... One would be almost fearful at the sudden change. "As
you wish..." He raises the flogger over his head and eyes the girl, devising
the best place for the flogger to strike, and follows through, bringing the
thin leather across her frail form.
The crack of the whip barely masks the click of Rose's steps, as she sidles
up behind him once more, just out of range of his swinging arm, but certainly
close enough that her leather-clad hands can curl about his waist, and her
fingertips flex there, massaging, winding up over his lower back, and then
around again, to slide over his belly, as she closes the gap between them,
cooing with satisfaction as she molds her body to his back.
"Again...," she hisses, her breath cool as it washes over the curve of his
neck.
He freezes momentarily at her sudden presence, only to lean lightly back
into her, and nods... There is nothing he will not do to please his Mistress...
A fleeting smile crosses his handsome features as he brings the flogger back
the other way across the young girls slight frame... Wincing slightly as
the girl does, he still follows through, trying hard to avoid looking at
her pained expression.
"Excellent...," comes her silken purr, the word drawn out to caress his ear,
even as her hand slides around, to caress the top of his thigh. "Please...
continue..." Her voice, so soft and ethereal, is ominously close now, as
her lips brush across the bottom of his ear. "See how defiance still burns
in her eyes?..." And as though in a separate dance, a gesture entirely distant
from the beating going on before her, yet somehow inspired by it, her hand
drifts up, to ride along the waistband of his slacks... a gesture so full
of promised rewards...
His shoulders sag as he must continue, biting hard upon his lower lip, angry
at himself for becoming aroused at a time like this... Trying to remain angry
at her for making him do such a thing to this poor girl, although her seemingly
simple caresses urge him onward. "As you wish." Again he draws his arm up
and this time brings the small flogger down, straight down her slight body...
between the valley of her cleavage, down to her stomach and finally halting
at a skinny thigh.
Punishment and reward, punishment and reward... the cycle goes on, endless
and eternal, although sometimes the lines between those elements become
unalterably blurred... as the girl flinches, and bites her lower lip to stifle
a cry of pain, Rose utters her own gasp of joy, and the hand that once toyed
now grows insistent, wedging down through layers of fabric, leather flexing
over solid muscle and bare skin.
James clears his throat and eyes the girl... Three strikes once satisfied
his Mistress... that was when *he* was receiving his punishment... Allowing
his arm to remain at his side, his eyes flicker shut for a moment, as he
revels in the feel of her leather-wrapped fingertips against his bare skin.
Indeed, the only time three strikes were enough were with her Favorite...
no one else ever received such lenience... and no one ever will.
"Again..." This time, the word is barely above a whisper, muffled as it is
by the closeness of her mouth to the shell of his ear, and punctuated by
the tongue that darts out, to lap playfully at his earlobe... lost in pleasure
and barely aware of his reluctance, her hand continues its exploration, finding
its hardened quarry and curling around it.
A soft sound escapes his lips and his eyes flicker open once more. He studies
the girl's expression with concerned eyes, although his need to comfort her
is nearly drowned by the urge for his Mistress' affections. Perhaps to earn
Boy Scout points, he asks, "Any requested areas, Mistress Rose?"
"Oh, yessss...," she murmurs, her voice vibrating gently against his earlobe,
"...her chest, of course... that shift needs to be replaced, soon, anyway..."
A tiny curl of pleasure takes up the corner of her mouth, as she muses on
how the most harmless seeming things - like thin strips of leather - often
cut the deepest... and the very thought drives her hand to tighten its grip,
and she plants a series of tight, fierce kisses along the taper at the side
of his neck.
A shiver snakes its way down his spine, only to finally taper off through
the ends of his fingertips. He frowns deeply, although his eyes - and every
inch of his body - respond differently. Her mere caress is enough to drive
him wild. Her sensuous kisses... place him at her mercy. He swallows hard
and extends his arm to the left, bringing it back, sending the flogger screaming
across ripe young flesh, shredding the already tattered shift which scarcely
covers her anyway.
A brief upward glance, and she takes in the delicious sight of a band of
red lines, mere slivers of welts, crisscrossing the girl's chest, now bared
by the falling away of old and rotting fabric, then her eyes drift closed
once more, as she purrs against his skin... and the hand that was inactive
before now joins in the seduction, writhing up beneath the hem of his shirt
and grazing across his taut belly, molding itself to the sinews of his
chest.
Deeply inhaling her femine scent, as well as the ever-enchanting scent of
roses, he allows his left hand to move daringly behind him, fingertips grazing
the outside of a supple thigh as he moves his right yet again to the right,
his torso shifting slightly; rippled stomach flexing against her gloved hand
and brings the leather flogger back across the girl's ample swells, curving
slightly downward along her ribs, creating a fine lattice work of angry red
welts. As he watches the girl weaken, he does as well, knowing he cannot
carry this much farther...
"You... can stop now...," the words melting into a low moan, almost a snarl,
as one hand tightens, flexing and drawing upwards, and the other buckles
in, closing around a firm pectoral muscle, and her lips and teeth clamp down
in a playful bite against the sliver of skin where his collar and the ends
of his hair don't quite meet.
His left hand slides behind her, tightly gripping her thigh and squeezing
gently before sliding down a bit, his back arching the slightest bit at the
sudden sensation in his neck.. His right hand lowered... the item nearly
forgotten and about to fall loose from his fingertips...
Angry red stripes on tender, virginal skin... agonized, muffled cries of
pain... her own closeness to the body she favors the most - her precious,
darling James... all of these things, in concert with the misery in the air,
create a chain reaction, sparking the fires within and sending them billowing
upward with volcanic fury... drawing her hand quickly from beneath his shirt,
she reaches across, to knock the flogger away, and laces her fingers through
his, her eyes opening briefly to offer a wink to the shocked and distressed
slave girl, before closing again, as she swivels her head around to the other
side, lapping at the skin just beneath the circlet of silver chain.
"Mmm..." His head droops a bit, allowing her easier access to the skin peeking
out from beneath his collar. The flogger falls softly to the earthen floor,
and his right hand falls into place opposite his left, hungrily caressing
her right thigh, gingerly sliding up to her waist and lowering once more...
The girl is forgotten for the time being... Time seems to stand still...
or has become rather irrelevant at the moment as he turns the slightest bit,
skilled fingertips gliding across her inner thigh, lightly teasing as he
inches higher, only to drop down once more.
Her curled fingertips suddenly flex and flatten, affording a lingering caress
leading up to his belly, as she withdraws her hand and curls it around his
waist... and with a whip-quick movement, she winds around before him, her
hands gliding to rest at the small of his back, encircling him, even as one
leg rises, to coil around his calf, and she draws him in closer, her emerald
eyes sparkling with unvoiced promises.
Electric green eyes seem to spark despite the glow already held within as
he allows them to trace along her seemingly too perfect features, down past
those regal shoulders along her tantalizing curves. Unable to withhold his
desire for her, his hands slide around her hips, slowly sliding up along
the slick surface of her suit, barely touching just beneath the curve of
her ample bosom.
In an elegant arabesque, the leg wrapped around his curls away, and she takes
a dancing step backwards, drawing him along with her, her eyes, her entire
body, flushed with radiant heat and beckoning... the fringes of sable lashes
lower in sultry invitation, and her tongue darts out, tracing a moistening
line along the contours of her upper lip, as she backs right into the suspended
figure of the slave girl, grinding her slick suit against the fiery welts
even as she tugs her favored one forward, sharply, demandingly, and crushes
her mouth over his in a ravaging kiss.
Taking a large step forward, he answers to her tug, grinding his hips into
her own. His hands glide along her sides, although soon smooth past her to
the girl behind them, lightly caressing the sides of her scantily clad
torso.
Sandwiched between the two bodies, one fierce with desire, the other offering
murmured cries of shock and surprise, and pain, at the rubbing of leather
against her already brutalized skin, Rose continues to devour him with her
kiss, her lips parted wide, tongue dancing like a ferocious hurricane wind,
seeking, searching, tasting with her characteristic wanton greed... the sound
of rending fabric splits the air, undercutting the layers of panting and
moaning
A groan escapes his lips, only to be muffled by their anxious kiss. He stands
to his full height, pushing himself against her, reaching up to clasp the
silver zipper and draw it down... contrary to his usual sensuously slow pace,
he releases her from the suit in one swift motion... His tongue flickering
into the depths of her mouth and breaking free, flickering along her well
defined jawline and lower still to her unadorned neck where he begins to
suckle gently .
As the catsuit is drawn back over her shoulders, the rough edge of its leather
collar grates down along the series of welts on the belly of the slave behind
her, and the girl lets out a gust of desperate whimpering, her eyes growing
wide with shock as Rose jerks back, dropping her head against the girl's
chest and pressing hard...
~~~~~~
Their own entertainments kept them occupied far into what remained of the
night, so that by the time dawn's radiance broke over the rest of Rhy'Din
(carefully stepping around the pocket of gloom that hid the Emporium's upper
facade, of course), morning found Rose curled in her bed, with James wrapped
around her.
The pens were arranged in a neat row along one wall, and placed close enough
that, were all three occupied, their inhabitants might have formed a chain
by touching hands. But as it was, the slave girl originally destined for
that center cage was still bound to the wall, frigid and bruised, her only
company provided by a pair of guard dogs.
Some time during the course of that seemingly interminable next day, the
smallest lump of grey muslin and matted hair stirred inside one of the cages.
As she lifted her head against the unbearable weight of disease, her eyes,
surrounded by hollows of deep purple, bruised not from any beating, but from
a simple lack of nutrition and sleep, peeled open to slits, to study the
dank dungeon room.
She had no way of knowing day from night - the chamber permitted no natural
light of any kind, and every candle had been extinguished with the Mistress'
plummet into sleep - so that, when she awoke fully, it was to find herself
in the bottom of an inkwell, cognizant only of the cold steel bars lacing
beneath her haunches. Every other sight and sound was denied her, save the
echo of a distant scream... a scream she never actually recognized as her
own...
Deprived of any other sensation, she soon forgot her rumbling belly, and
the aching in her joints, even lost touch with the memories of a grand home
and high-born Mumsy and Dadsy... her name... the ebony eyes of her beloved
pet poodle... the exact number of carats in her jewel collection back home...
the shade of aqua silk of the gown she had been wearing the day she diverted
from her usual daily walk, inspired by a guileless, girlish sense of adventure
to wander just a fraction too close to the docks... All of these things were
confetti bits of information, images that tumbled on a lazy spin cycle through
her fevered brain...
Oh, but wait, there was another little insignificant something to arouse
her nerves and cement her conviction that she was either mad or dead... the
smell of rich soil, infused with the musty, dusty odor of the grave...
Her heart thudded in the darkness, straining against her ribcage and running
a furious race with time, and lunatic fingers began scrabbling at the rungs
of the cage, as though she could somehow loosen the lock and dig her way
out of the crypt, but her only reward was the burning at her cuticles as
her nails ripped away, the sweet scent of her own blood, and the sticky warmth
of its running down the back of her hands to her wrists. Still, faster and
faster she flew, her heartbeat keeping cadence, her panting breath thundering
out through velvet shadows, her fingertips shredded to raw nubs by the furious
pawing...
"I'm not dead...," she croaked, so unaccustomed to the sound of her own distorted
voice that it made her heart leap, "there's been a mistake... I'm not dead...
let me out... I'm not dead..."
But the poor girl's heart was already so taxed by terror, and its walls weakened
by days without food (and weeks before that without *enough* food) that they
collapsed as the last word left her lips, making the declaration a lie as
she slumped into the embrace of steel bars...
~~~Rose and James~~~
Just two nights later, Rose ventures out into the town, accompanied by her
Favorite. They share a common ire for Rohaj, the snake of a trader - her
mind is burning with the fury of having been cheated out of so much gold,
for what amounted to little more than a worthless carcass, and his is heavy
with anger over the inhumanity the pirate showed towards the girl, the neglect
that led to her death.
As is becoming more often the case these days, she allows him the luxury
of sitting by her side, almost as equals, as they share their bloodwyne and
commiserate over the fate of one swindling pirate, and mentally calculating
just how little time he has left on this earth.
"Thank you, my pet," comes her lush velveteen drawl, but instead of taking
the chalice he slides towards her, she lifts a gloved hand, brushing the
back of it in an adoring caress down his cheek before reaching for her
glass.
"You are in high spirits this eve, Mistress..."
"High spirits?" Curling slender fingertips around the stem of the goblet,
she lifts it to just before her lips, then pauses for a moment. "...I suppose
I am... though I can't imagine why... business has been dreadful for me
lately..." She takes a delicate sip, then tilts the chalice back into place,
her tongue darting out to capture a renegade droplet of the bloodwine at
the corner of her mouth.
James turns his gaze to the milling patrons and sips from his own chalise,
leaning casually against the bar, although with a slight tilt of his body,
so as to bring him inches closer to his Mistress' person.
"I think that you should prepare yourself, James..." She traces circles around
the rim of the chalice, her fingertip sliding lazily over its edge, and he
clears his throat as her velveteen voice enters his thoughts, and turns to
look at her. "...for an expedition," she continues, "into one of the most
base, decrepit parts of this town... have you ever had the misfortune to
visit the local docks?"
"Aside from the time we went to get the girls... " He nearly snarls at the
last word and clutches his goblet tighter.
"No, no... the wharf... where the shipments come in..." Idly thrumming those
fingertips now, over the edge of the chalice, her eyes distant, and yet roiling
with the makings of some sinister clockwork machinations.
"No... I have not," he replies, staring absently into his chalise, "But have
no qualms about paying a visit..."
Splaying her fingertips, she flattens that hand so full of nervous energy
on the bar top, only barely suppressing the urge to pull of the leather sheath
and rake her nails across the lacquered wood. " There are only two or three
places that he might be ... if he's still in Rhy'Din, that is..."
James notes her sudden tenseness and sits up straight, glaring into his chalice.
" He's too stupid to leave."
"Perhaps not stupid... but certainly lazy... Either way, I expect to exact
a price for that dead girl..."
He swallows hard at the mention of the girl and nibbles upon his bottom lip,
but before he can say a word, she interjects once more.
"Have you moved her body yet?", she asks abruptly, the sudden thought overtaking
her and forcing her eyes up, a pair of cultured sable brows into questioning
arches.
"Aye..." He shudders in rememberance and unconsciously rubs leather-wrapped
fingertips against his thighs. "Early this eve..."
"I trust you took it far from the Emporium," lifting the chalice to her lips
once more, "*Very* far..." With a shudder of her own, she tilts the cup against
her lower lip and takes a dainty sip.
"Yes... I took *her* far from the Emporium." He withholds the urge to look
at the expression on her face after such heartless words, but then again,
where did he ever get the idea that she *had* a heart?
With a sudden clatter that rises over the din of the many voices in the room,
the door swings wide, and in strides a woman in very masculine breeches and
tunic, sweeping a feather adorned tricorn from windtossed auburn tresses.
Her unyielding hazel eyes scan the room, resting a moment on each patron,
before she strides toward the bar, the bullwhip at her side swinging with
the movement of her hips.
"Any requests when I find him?" James takes a long sip from the chalise and
allows it to remain at his lips a moment longer before patting his bomber
down for a clove.
A slow, rumbling giggle wells up from deep within Rose, finally presenting
itself in the form of a silent smirk. "...hold him for me... I want his payment
to be exacted slowly... and at my discretion..."
James shivers, already pitying the man despite the thick wall of hate that
he has already raised, and it occurs to Rose to think that though their motives
differ vastly, the end result will be the same for Rohaj.
The sea-faring woman who entered a few moments before turns her attention
to the bar, searching for a tender, but she looks up as the door opens once
more, and smiles in greeting to a new adventurer who has entered in her wake.
Resting her elbows on the bartop, stretching legs wrapped in cotton breeches,
she hooks booted feet on the rung below the bar and leans over, reaching
for the bottles on the other side.
"Well met, Captain," comments the man, addressing the woman as he strides
towards her.
"Pet..." Dropping the chalice to the bar top once more, Rose glances up,
fixing her Favorite with a curious, unreadable stare, as though she were
looking at him for the first time.
"What'll ye be 'avin', Mr. Blackthorne?"
"What are you having?"
The two strangers haggle over scotch and brandy, one declaring to the other
that anything's fine, so long as it isn't bloodwyne, but Rose only gives
them passing notice, still enraptured in her study of James, who places the
chalise upon the bartop and looks to her with a clove at his lips. "Mmm?"
Running a gloved fingertip over the contour of her lower lip, she studies
him a moment longer, her eyes drifting from the chain around his neck, to
the nearly worn lock there.
James glances away almost nervously at the intensity of her stare and light
his cigarette.
"It occurs to me that it may be time for a change..."
"A... huh?" He takes a deep puff from the cigarette, exhaling a billow of
snow white smoke.
That gloved fingertip parts company with her lips, stretching across to slide
along the side of the silver collar, and as his own gloved hands move
unconsciously to the object of her scrutiny, she inadvertently meets his
own hand along the way.
The two strangers, meanwhile, slide into their respective chairs at a table
in the center of the room, and again that feathered tricorn is tossed, onto
the table, as the pirate woman tugs the cork from her bottle with her
teeth.
"You've worn this for some time...." Rose continues, her hand rising, to
brush across the chiseled angle of his chin. "And in that time, your
responsibilities... your position... your demeanor... have all changed..."
"Aye... That they have..." His fingertips glide across the underside of her
hand as a curious smile flutters across his finely chiseled features.
"If I were to set you free... where would you go?" The words are barely above
a whisper, marked by the wistful pursing of her lips, and a melancholy dampening
of the emerald light in her eyes.
The woman, after taking a long draw on her bottle, licks her lips thoughtfully,
listening to the room.
James smiles, although he turns away in thought. "I may mill about here for
a bit longer... And perhaps return to Isle Voletta... There would be nothing
left for me... Probably get myself into trouble..." And then, with a smirk,
"It is not something I care to explore, to be honest with you, Mistress."
As quickly as the wind can change direction, a greedy smile appears on Rose's
lips, and she pinches at his earlobe. "Well, I'm not going to do that...
so don't trouble yourself over it..."
"Lookin' fer more information, as always..."
"About slavers?"
The woman glances at James at the word "Mistress", curious, then turns her
attention back to her table companion, and with a nod, takes another swallow
from her bottle.
The relief is seen in James' posture if not on his face as he eyes the smoldering
cigarette in his hand.
"But I expect to see you around the estate more often... or you can expect
to be penned in and *never* allowed to leave..." With another playful flick
at his earlobe, she returns her attention to the drink before her.
"An' ye, Mr. Blackthorne...surely ye've other things tae do then 'ang out
with a slaver 'untin' sailor, hm?
"There are female slavers as well, Captain..didn't you know that?"
The woman growls a little. "Aye...I know," she answers, keeping half an eye
on Jimmy and his "Mistress".
James chuckles softly and nods, turning to look to her chalise as well. "I
will, Mistress... I promise."
As the conversation in the common room swims around her ears, Rose's hand
makes a detour on the way to that chalice, reaching instead to her belt,
and loosing the bull whip there, to set it before her on the countertop.
Another set of fingers slide over another bullwhip, and with the flick of
a wrist, a dagger slides out from beneath the cuff of a cotton sleeve. At
that moment, a new stranger walks in, approaching the pair at the center
table and addressing them in a daemon monotone.
Rose turns languidly on her stool, a brow lifting in amusement at the impending
fray, as James takes a final drag on his cigarette and carelessly flicks
it away, although careful enough not to hit an unaware victim.
In the midst of the argument ensuing in the center of the room, the pirate
woman jumps a little, as Jimmy's cigarette flies toward them, only to drop
a few feet away.
Reaching for the chalice once more, and lifting it to her lips, Rose's eyes
narrow to emerald slivers as she sniffs at its content, her nose crinkling
in distaste. "This... wants for something... I always do find the domestics
a bit bland..."
James turns his gaze to his Mistress and a smirk flutters over his lips.
A cultured brow lifts in challenge to that hinted-at smirk, and without a
moment's hesitation, she lifts her hand with a flourish, brushing leathern
thumb across forefinger to elicit a demanding (snap).
"Your wrist, pet, if you please...," she purrs, drumming her fingertip against
a spot on the bar just beside her cup.
He eyes her for a moment before removing the ebony gloved from his hand and
offering his wrist, although not without cautious eyes.
Even in the middle of the heated argument, the pirate woman cannot help but
notice, and she steals a glance at Jimmy and Rose, her lip curling
slightly.
Glancing past her Favorite's shoulder, to a dark-haired knight addressing
her, Rose purrs with as much grace as she can muster. "No... I wasn't speaking
to you," and returns her attention to James, lifting one hand to her mouth,
to tug one of the gloves off in her teeth.
James flinches at her baring of her hand and nearly jerks his arm away, but
she catches the furtive movement of his forearm from the corner of her eye,
and lifts a single fingertip, in a sharp gesture that motions him to halt.
He quickly halts all movement, although keeps an attentive eye on her further
actions.
The debate at the center of the room appears to have settled by now, as the
third party has retreated to the hearth for the moment, leaving the man and
woman to crow over his antics.
"Now, now...." Rose croons, her voice like cashmere draped over steel, "...this
won't hurt a bit..." Scooping his wrist up in her still-gloved hand, she
positions it over the mouth of the chalice.
His eyes widen into saucers as her intention hits home, although he remains,
more fearful of her actions should he choose to disobey, and her eyes flash
wide with anticipation, and she lets out the tiniest of gasps from between
parted lips, an eerie accompaniment as her fingertip swoops down, dashing
across his pale skin and opening a seam to make way for the ribbons of burgeoning
scarlet straining to get out.
His arm tenses and his fingers close into a tight fist, and he flinches,
a wince escaping his lips.
The pirate woman hands her companion a glass, trying not to look at the bar,
muttering to herself, "Vampire slavers...gaaah..."
The reflexive tightening of his fist propels the crimson nectar out in veritable
gushers. With his arm flexed, James instinctively tries to withdraw his wrist
from her grip, and as he jerks back, a few drops from the scarlet river drip
over the edge of the chalice, forcing her to tighten her grip - in the interest
of neatness, of course.
He bites hard upon his bottom lip, drawing blood there as well, although
this only slightly detracts from the screaming sting of his wrist. Rose watches
with greedy eyes as blood flows into wine, her tongue darting out against
the corner of her mouth... and just as the pool of crimson reaches the rim
of the glass, she snaps his hand up, crushing her lips in a passionate kiss
to the open wound.
An irritated hand shoves an auburn strand from the woman's face, and she
shifts in her chair, shooting a glance toward Jimmy and Rose.
James squeezes his eyes shut at the contact to the wound and holds his
breath.
Fingers twitch about the dagger in her hand, but then, the dagger vanishes
into her sleeve.
Rose suckles gently at the cut, until it diminishes to a mere sliver, then
the mere trace of a scar, then slips her tongue over it and settles back,
to watch as it disappears altogether.
"Are you all right, Dorriane..?"
"I ne'er got on well with vampires..."
James leans heavily in his barstool, his head spinning slightly as he struggles
to concentrate on the floor tiles.
"That is understandable..."
"C'n we go somewheres else?"
Curling her hand around his, she gives it a comforting squeeze, refusing
to release him until she sees that dizziness washed away from his features.
He blinks as the tile begins to come into focus and swallows hard, only to
turn and offer a reassuring smile in his Mistress' direction.
Slipping her feathered tricorn onto her head, the woman steps out, tucking
her bottle into her belt.
Patrician features soften into what might pass for affection on any other
face... but for Rose, that's as good as it gets... drawing his hand up towards
her mouth, she brushes a delicate kiss across each fingertip, then releases
him with a teasing half-smile. "And now I think that it's time you set off
after Rohaj... don't you?"
He rubs his wrist... not a trace of abuse there... and retrieves his glove,
nodding, slightly flustered. "I do..." In the blink of an eye, his hurry
perhaps a reflection of hers, or perhaps a nervous wish to escape any further
bloodletting, he slips from his stool and glances about once more before
winking at his Mistress and heading out into the night.
Rose watches after him with an admiring glance, then lifts her coveted chalice,
with its carefully cultivated contents, and slips from the stool, making
her way in the same direction.
~~~Rohaj~~~
At the end of the wharf farthest from the blinding, inquisitive glare of
civilisation stood a ramshackle tin-roofed hovel. Well, it did not so much
stand as the panels themselves leaned upon one another for support, that
they might not collapse, and inside, the overhead beams sagged so perilously
low that on any given evening, no less than a dozen stacked felt hats found
their way into the sour ale puddling the floor.
Natty Dred's was a one-room dive bar, more shack than tavern, and the only
thing that merited that moniker was the fact that all manner of sea vermin
were known to congregate here, to drown the profits of their dubious adventures
in watered-down swill and the reconstituted dregs from the bottoms of rum
barrels.
The original Natty was long dead, and no one could recall how many had taken
his place between the first and the current proprietor, but legend had it
that each one was a permanent part of the place, buried somewhere in the
grounds outside, more likely poisoning the daisies than pushing them up.
The current incarnation of Natty Dred was a stubby, chocolate-colored man
with a thick French accent, one eye of blazing gold, the other of cerulean
blue, and rumor had it that *he* had killed the *previous* Natty Dred and
not only taken his name and his tavern, but kept his soul, as well, in a
clay jar over the back of the bar.
Among the motley crew of faces sat one that might be familiar to the reader,
a scarred and weathered mug with a permanent five o'clock shadow to frame
the permanent smug grimace. How he camed to be here, when he should have
been miles away, at sea, was a tale in itself, a story of the putrid frailties
of human willpower. As he was rowing back to the ship, the night of his exchange
with Rose, the weight of the gold in his pocket, diminished though it was,
began to sing to him a sweet siren song, telling him all manner of pretty
lies about one shot of rum might not hurt. In fact, it would be his last
chance for a decent drink before going shipboard again, and so he might as
well relish the opportunity.
Once at Natty's, the single shot became two and then three, and the voices
began to ring with the resignation that, well, the amount of coin was so
little anyway, tbat he may as well use it to enjoy himself with a woman and
some song, as there was not really enough to do much else with it. Night
melted into day and found him sleeping in his place, passed out cold and
sleeping with his head resting on one of Natty's tables. Oh, but Natty was
a kind host - he and Rohaj went way back, and so when Natty picked his friend's
pockets as he slept, he left half the coin, to allow his buddy the sport
of at least buying some more rum the next night, that his money should not
have disappeared entirely for naught.
Muddled by alcohol and exhaustion, Rohaj awoke the next evening, jarred awake
by shouting and music, as the room began to fill up with raucous signs of
life. His first thought, of course, was to call for another mug of rum. Well,
actually, his first thought was to relieve himself from the dock, but as
soon as he came back, he had that mug of rum, the fateful mug that would
lead him on to another and then another, and keep him there all night, most
likely, to lure him into forgetting, once more, why the the idea of leaving town before Rose could catch up with him had once been so urgent.
~~~James~~~
James squeezes the Hog tighter between his thighs as he seems to fly effortlessly
through the night. Raven locks rippled by the steady stream of wind in his
face, he makes his way to the docks. His target: Rohaj... James snarls as
he thinks the name... And the man that fits *with* the name.
The docks loom in closer as he squeezes the handles of the Harley tighter.
Finally parking the bike outside of a bar, James slowly enters. The corners
of his mouth tilting down, newly-lit clove between his lips bobbing with
each confident step. He haults near the bar, leans back and takes a long
drag. James Tarrant fits in surprisingly well here. The stubbly beginnings
of a beard has formed along his masculine jawline and his mussed hair gives
him a more rugged appearence, although he looks more like a drifter than
a sailor.
A few gruff looking men look up as his electric gaze sweeps across the bar.
The tender moves over to him. He is a rather tall man, wirey with a stained
white t-shirt and a grimy apron folded down over his pants. "Wha' c'n ah
git'cha?" His voice is gruff, sounding like sandpaper as James turns around
to face him. "A shot'ta Tequilla."
The tender nods and fills a shot glass, spilling some on the already filthy
bartop. "Tell me something... I'm looking to purchase some slave girls...
And I heard there might be a man out here that could help me..."
James reaches a hand up to the black turtle neck which hides his collar,
pulling it up a bit higher.
James takes the shot glass and downs its contents with a *slightly* soured
face. "Aye... You a slaver," comes the gruff reply. His lips tilt in a gentle
smile as he knocks his cigarette on an ashtray, "Neh, just the errand boy."
The man eyes him momentarily before seeming to come to a decision. "Ye know th' man's name?" A cold sneer crosses his demented features as piercing brown eyes study James. Jimmy's own eyes narrow coldly at the tone the man uses... as well as at the smirk. Plucking the clove from his mouth, he tosses it
to the floor, grinding it with the toe of his boot. His jaw sets as his lips
curl in distaste. He knew he should not be asking questions, but how *else*
was he going to find this..... man.
"Yeah, I do." His expression has now become challenging, and he is quickly
angering. "Rohaj." He spits the name out with disgust and studies the man's
reaction. The tender only looks to James as well as past him, locking eyes
with a set of men at a back table. James flexes, aware this was going to
happen sooner or later, and reaches a gloved hand beneath the bartop to a
handle strapped to his thigh.
Three rather large men approach the bar and surround James, although he does
not break the contact between the tender and himself. "I' der a probl'm,"
comes a voice over Jimmy's shoulder, as well as a heavy hand placed upon
his upper arm. "You boys know Rohaj?" What could be the harm in asking, when
he's gonna get there first?
With a smirk to the tender, James has a knife out in his right hand and is
shifting his hips in the stool, propelling the knife into the stomach of
the man to his right who doubles over with a soft cry of surprise, unaware
even what hit him. The tender takes a step backwards as the man behind James
reaches for him, but is a moment too late as he ducks off of the stool and
is already bringing a knee into his stomach and grabbing him by the hair,
twisting him backwards and slamming a booted toe into his spine.
By now the man to his left is already on the move with a loaded fist headed
full force into Jimmy's jaw, causing his lip to split open and squirt blood
onto the man writhing on the floor and dribble down his shirt. James staggers
backward into the bar and feels the tender grab his upper arms and pull him
up onto the bartop. With a sharp growl, James slams his foot between the
man's legs causing him to scream with pain.
Soon James has turned over onto his belly, and caught the tender's arms at
his sides. He jumps down from the bar and wrenches his gun from the waist
of his pants and jams it into the tender's neck.
Aware he does not have much time before the men recover, James screams into
the tender's face, "Where's Rohaj!?" The tender stutters, shaking violently
beneath Jimmy's harsh grasp. "Ch-check N-natty's..." James sneers at him,
"You'd better *pray* he's there... Or I'm comin' back for you."
With that, James is out the door and astride his motorcycle, tearing up the
docks, not knowing where the vulk "Natty's" is.
~~~~~~
The drunken man haults in his tracks as his ears pick up the distant rumble of a motor. Through blurred vision and squinted eyes, he can see a dark figure riding toward him.
With the smallest of smiles, James begins to slow as he nears the staggering shadow of a man. Gliding to a rumbling hault, he watches the man nervously stare at him. Barely audibly, the man murmers, "Sur'ly ah d'rk fig'r' ah th's tim' o' night... cou'd nae b' goo'."
A soft chuckle escapes Jimmy's lips as he steeples gloved fingertips and courteously asks, "You know where 'Natty's' is?"
The tension seems to ease from his shoulders as the man replies, "Aye."
Seeming momentarily puzzled by the question, he studies James through barely conscious brown eyes before bumbling off directions, "Natty Dred's i' jus' ov'r th' 'ill." With a slight shift to the right, he continues, "Mik' ah lef' a' th' f'rs' road an' ye c'n't miss 'er."
With a flash of a pearly smile and polite nod, James stands up and guns the Harley, soon to roar off, hurriedly following the man's directions. The drunken only man winks and watches James take off before turning once more and stumbling along his way, continuing his nonsense mutterings to himself.
~~~~~~
Natty Dred's... The outside barely looked like a tavern... Or perhaps it did, but was concealed so thoroughly, James almost breezed past it.
Parking his bike just outside the enterance at the curb, James stands pensively outside, gazing into the smokey recesses of the bar. Upon entering Natty's, James haults in the doorway, allowing lucid eyes to cautiously scan the inhabitants of the bar. If Rohaj sees him now, it'll be all over before he could blink.
Taking a deep breath, he steps inside and suddenly stops dead in his tracks.
What was that familiar form seemingly passed out at that table...? No...
But that would be too easy...
Electric green eyes narrow to small slits as he stands a moment longer...
lips curling upward in the cruelest smirk ever to form on James Tarrant's handsome features before he vanishes once more into the devouring shadows if the quickly diminshing night.
~~~Rose~~~
Natty Dred's...
The moment she heard the name, she knew it would be a "dress-down" evening - in the tin roofed shack that regularly masqueraded as a bar, she with her flair for drama would stand out like a sore thumb. In fact, anyone with relatively good hygiene habits would stand out there. Heck, a man who actually had all his *teeth* would be a spectacle there.
And so she stands at her wardrobe, poring listlessly through layers of latex
and rubber, leather and PVC... even the shimmering satins will not do...
never before has she been faced with *this* perplexity - at a loss for something
to wear?
Bristling impatience, she finally parts the hangers, thrusting them aside
and slamming the garments violently against the inner walls of the cabinet.
"I'll have to make do, I suppose," she mutters, a comment more closely resembling
a snarl than anything else, as she bends at the waist and dives into the
dark morass of clothing and accessories.
Bra tops and high heels fly out behind her with random alarm, landing in
senseless heaps all over the earthen floor, to be joined soon after by mateless
lace stockings and a zippered corset or two... hoods and chain mail... a
rubber air mask... Just once, she stands up, lifting a bottle of liquid latex
into the light...
"Hmm... I wondered where that went..."
This, and this alone, she sets carefully to the ground, and then it's back
into the fetish pit.
She emerges one final time, her dainty nose crinkled in disgust as she withdraws a simple pair of leather pants and a sleeveless biker vest and drapes them over the crook of her arm. There's no telling how something so bourgeoisie made it into her wardrobe, but it's practically guaranteed that, once this little exercise in retribution is over, it will find a new home in the incinerator.
To accompany the pedestrian outfit, she plucks out a pair of worn leather boots, their heels, outrageously, a scant *three* inches! Imagine!
Gritting her teeth, and holding the boots gingerly between thumb and forefinger, keeping them as far away as possible, she determinedly resists the urge to polish the creased leather, and makes her way to a dressing screen instead.
~~~James~~~
After a final inspection of the parked Hog, James makes his way into the
Emporium. Upon setting foot into the room, he freezes.
Clothes, various items for punishment... a jar of liquid latex is strewn
about the room, leaving it in disarray. Bending down to examine the jar,
James' electric gaze suddenly widens and he drops it, although to his *very*
good fortune, the jar does not break.
Rising to a cautious stand, he guardedly scans the room, "Mist--" His voice
cuts off as he spies a rather shapely form moving about behind the dressing
screen. His ears perk at her familiar grunts as she struggles with the *horrid*
leather pants.
With a playful grin, he sneaks a bit closer, bending down now and again so
as to retrieve some of the discarded items, although, all the time, his gaze
is rivited to the shadow moving gracefully behind the obscuring screen.
~~~Rose~~~
"Och!" comes her cry of frustration and outrage, as she wriggles behind the
screen, smoothing the leather over her hips and fastening buttons at her
bosom, all the while attempting to straighten the outfit into some semblance
of elegance, regardless of the fact that elegance is the one thing she should
*avoid* tonight...
"Is the motorcycle ready?" she chirps, her otherwise succulent lips pressed
into a thin, flat line as she peeks out from behind the paper wall. This
time, there are no frothing tendrils of flame to spill down at her shoulders,
as her hair is drawn back into a neat ponytail, and tied with a *disgusting*
piece of leather thong. As though to temper the laughter she is sure is about
to come, from James, she narrows her eyes in warning, and her lips tighten
the merest bit.
Biting back her humiliation, and placating herself with constant reminders
that there is a job to be done this night, and a certain way to go about
doing it, she slowly winds around the edge of the screen, and bit by bit,
her curves come into focus, outlined not in gloss or shine, but in rustic
matte black.
Lifting her arms out to the side, and putting on display the hourglass shaped
in slim leather pants and a rough-edged vest (her one solace, that it is
cut daringly low), she executes a pirouette on tottering stacked heels.
"Well, do you think this will be quite the thing for a place like Natty Dred's?"
~~~James~~~
James Tarrant's mouth drops open as she emerges. Slowly he allows his gaze to sweep along her supple curves before grinning like a fool, dropping to all fours, lifting his head to the inky ceiling above, and howling a long obnoxious wolf-howl.
Almost positive this will simply *top* off his tab, although he cannot help himself. Besides, they are pushed for time this evening as he bends his elbows, lowering his chest closer to the ground, his tongue lolling in and out of his mouth as he pants like a dog in heat.
Hoping this will at *least* raise her self esteem about the utterly
*vomitroceous* get up she now wears... He slowly rises to a stand, giggling like a madman and nods, bowing deeply, tilting the corners of his mouth downward, and in his most *snobbish* of voices, "Your ride... awaits, your majesty..."
Holding the deep bow, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other behind his back, he raises his head just enough so as he may perhaps observe her reaction.
~~~Rose and James~~~
The wind whistling across her cheekbones was like a bracing splash of chilled champagne, as she clung to James' waist, riding the metal monster through Rhy'Din's back streets and alleyways, twisting over cobbles and cracked pavement on the way to the waterfront.
She could smell the wharves long before the shifting lights from skiffs and rocking halibut boats came into view - no keen senses needed for that. The air smelled of ancient salts and the bile of rotting fish, and she burrowed against her Favorite's shoulders to block out the stench, as her ponytail, like twists of scarlet ribbon, whipped out behind.
In the curtain overhanging the ramshackle skyline along the waterfront, the moon poised like a manna wafer, its lower half obscured by the film of cloud layers. Water sloshed weakly against the barnacled piers, and along the shores could be heard the echoes of drunken singing.
The loudest racket came from Natty Dred's - the tin shack was bouncing, lights in its cutout windows quivering to the beat of a grainy steel drum recording.
As Rose thrust through the door, with James close at her side, a hush fell over the room (but of course).
James could just barely contain the grin that threatened to pervade. Always... She was always a show-stopper.
The room was littered with rogues and scoundrels, the floor with empty bottles. The place stunk of rum and rye, and scars and missing limbs seemed to be the order of the day. By the fireplace, a grizzled old man, with one eye and a wooden calf, sat at the hearth, warming his back to the flames as he regaled his audience with tales of his own bloodthirsty exploits, long since past and grown more elaborate with the passage of years. From time to time, a serving wench, with only a few ragged teeth left in her smile, but ample flesh spilling out of the top of her bodice to make up for the lack, passed between the tables, slopping ale from a pitcher and more often hitting the tables and floor than the mugs.
When the crowd had had its fill of leering at the Mistress, in her ruffians disguise, and the social buzz resumed, Rose curled a gloved palm over her shoulder, motioning for James to follow through the rows of plank tables, to a booth in the corner shadows.
Not needing her beckoning fingertips as he was already on her heels, James
was ready for an onslaught at any given second. Electric gaze sought Rohaj
for a momentary inspection before meeting the eyes of others that dared meet
his own.
Kicking her heels up onto the tabletop, and grimacing a little at the sight
of those boots, she leaned back, calling for a round of drinks with the flourish
of one gloved hand, and a mesmerizing gaze directed at that bar wench. With
a significant glance, and a nod, she gestured that James, for once, should
stay at the booth. Let someone else serve her tonight - he would be needed
at her side.
Rose fixed her attention on the charlatan Rohaj almost immediately, and for
the hours that the pair - Mistress and faithful servant - reclined in their
booth, downing shots of unrefined whiskey and whatever else came along, her
emerald gaze rarely shifted from its inspection.
The drunkard privateer kept to the company of a few companions, Natty himself
among them, at the bar on the opposite side of the room. Except for an occasional
rumble of laughter (visible in the shaking of his jowls, if not actually
heard), he wiled away the hours by hugging an amber bottle, and staring at
the wall panels. Fascinating, Rose thought, as she observed him, how the
man could be so foolish, confident enough to have allowed a few nights of
reveling to waylay him. Never had he glanced to the door, even when Rose
came in, and never did he exhibit signs of wariness.
Just once, she imagined that his glance was traveling her way. His eyes had
come unglued from the wall, and he seemed to be blinking his vision clear,
his pudgy nose wrinkling as he sniffed at something suspicious on the air.
Sliding her mug towards the wall, Rose reached across, to lay her palm over
the back of James' hand, pressing it flat to the tabletop. Beneath her firm
palm, she could feel James tensing as the abhorred gaze crossed closer to
the pair. With a placid smile, barely a trace of emotion allowed to sculpt
fine alabaster, she pursed her lips, and kissed the air the kiss melted
into a whisper, an eerie, sepulchral whisper that only the keenest of undead
ears could have heard.
"Do not see me "
And Rohaj didn't. Though his gaze whisked around, taking in the smoky and
crowded detail of the room in one haphazard sweep, he saw neither Rose nor
James for, surely, if he had, he would not have taken the next careless
sip of rum, and so quickly resumed his drunken zombie trance.
James blinked as Rohaj seemed to look past them and continued about his
conversation. A slow, mystified glance to his Mistress and James seemed to
relax once more... As relaxed as one can be in such a time and place...
She could have walked right into the low-life tavern, she supposed, walked
in and snatched Rohaj out of his seat, then taken him into a back alley and
killed him without even breaking a sweat, and without arousing a moment's
notice from the bar crowd. But that would have been too easy. Tonight, she
had plans to toy with her prey her revenge would be as slow and satisfying
as his betrayal had been careless.
~~~~~~
As the hours crawled by, and the night reached its summit then started into
decline, the noise began to die, along with the embers at the hearth. But
outside, past a grime-coated window, the moon could be seen to hang ripe
in the sky, still young and full, still ready to illuminate a fight. A besotted
mind would be easy prey
Past midnight, the tavern began to clear - if not from patrons leaving, then
from patrons passing out on the floors and tables regardless, it made
for more elbowroom.
"See me "
And Rohaj did. This time, as his gaze traveled over the walls, it swiveled
right past the pair in the booth, then caught, and doubled back. At first,
he blinked several times, as though trying to bring her features into focus,
and then the clarity of recognition set in, and he began to smile.
Yes, that's right - he smiled! He, with his lopsided, fissured teeth and
mangy, scarred chops. Was it the alcohol? Or did the man simply not realize
why she had come?
With a drunken pitch, Rohaj launched himself from the barstool, and staggered
towards the back of the room, catching himself on chairs and tables all the
way. Rose stood to meet him, rising in a fluid serpentine, and if she was
a little disgruntled that the leather didn't squeak, not like her slick latex,
it hardly changed the serenity of her smile.
"Rose hah've ye been?" he slurred, leering towards her with not nearly
as much grace. "Hah're ye enjoying those three girls? Found proper owners
fer `em yet?"
"Well I'm enjoying two of them just fine," she crooned, reaching out
to lay a gloved hand across his forearm, a pretended offer of help to steady
him in his wobbling. "But the third well "
Her grip tightened by slow, steady fractions of degrees, but still her smile
was rife with lush indulgence.
"I imagine it will be difficult to find anyone who wants to buy a carcass
although such tastes are not unheard of, precisely."
It took a long moment for realization to sink in, but when it did, even Rohaj's
sloppy bulk could have been knocked over with a feather. Memories tumbled
past his eyes, pictures of those emaciated girls, starved for economy's sake,
barely able to walk under their own power when he had last seen them at the
dock. His complexion, ruddy from drunkenness, blanched to pristine white,
illuminating the scar beneath his left eye.
He wanted to run - Rose could see it in the horror replacing presumption
in his features - but she was not about to let this prize go, not when one
body was needed to replace another.
Her eyes softened to yielding shades of forest and hunter, the shades of
warm foliage and mesmerizing woodland that pulled down the walls of his
inhibition and replaced them with false comfort and assurance.
"It's quite all right, Rohaj." And though her voice was barely lifted above
a whisper, it rang like preternatural thunder in his ears, resonating and
echoing, splitting into thousands of such ghastly velveteen tongues that
buffeted his senses and forced him to believe.
"These things happen in the slave trade, you know Please, won't you
join us for a drink?"
With a gracious sweep of her forearm, she nodded towards the booth, and Rohaj,
bewitched, had little choice but to follow. Some trifle of instinct remained
- his hand clung jealously about the neck of a near-empty bottle as he settled
his bulk into a chair - but with a subtle flourish of fingertips, Rose invited
him to lean back, balancing on the chair's two hind legs not because
it presented any particular advantage merely for the amusement of knowing
she could.
The three of them made pleasant and polite conversation for some time, with
Rose occasionally cautioning James to keep his temper in check, at least
until the moment was right, and daintily pulling the strings for Rohaj, to
keep him calm in kind (a task none too difficult, given the slow draining
of that bottle).
At one point, Rose decided she needed a drink something of a darker
vintage than the domestic bog swill she had been suffering through all
night With a knowing smile, verging closer to insanity than benevolence,
she swiveled towards James, tabasco curls tumbling over her shoulders and
bladed lights flashing in her eyes.
On any other night, James would not be so apt to surrendering his wrist to
her ravenous appetites, although on this night, with the hated man across
the table, James downed his drink, to empty the mug, and almost defiantly
thrust his arm before her, electric gaze narrowing coldly upon the
stomach-turning form of the privateer before him.
With the quirk of a cultured brow, and little else to register her surprise
at his eagerness, Rose paused, studying the mug as though it were a revocable
prize, and studying him with no small amount of suspicion etched into the
emerald of her eyes. The pause dissipated quickly, and her smile brightened
the slightest bit reversable or not, the offer of a limb pulsing with
vitality was not one at which she would turn up her nose.
"Why, James... how very accommodating," came her tremolo purr, with a lilt
fashioned both to tease her Favorite, and unnerve Rohaj at the same time.
She traced idle circles in the mess of spilt liquor on the tabletop, but
for just a moment, and then like a cobra striking at its prey, a gloved hand
darted out, gripping around his wrist and drawing him harshly closer.
His expression wavered, but only for the most meager of moments as he was
jerked slightly to the side. In some twisted sense, James felt as though
he were rebelling against the hated man before him, the one who had once
addressed him as "boy". His jaw locking in anticipation for the sensations
to follow, he only stared, his eyes seeming to bore holes through the man's
head.
Her own hands were gloved, and would remain so, for a reason... there was
always a calculated reason for everything she did... with a coquettish tilt
to her shoulder, she leaned forward, drawing James' wrist up before her mouth,
her grip firm and unyielding, and peeled back the cuff of his glove with
her free hand, tracing over the tender flesh of his inner wrist, adoringly,
almost lovingly, with a single leathern fingertip.
An almost-smile graced his lips as he turned his head so as to look at the
beloved Mistress, flashing her the hint of a grin, although careful not to
meet her eyes. He lingered there a moment longer, drawing serenity from her
mere *presence,* much less the more than invited caress before turning his
attentions back to Rohaj.
But with the gloves in place, all that remained to her were the daggers of
her smile, and as her lips curled back in maniacal glee, those tools came
clearly into view - a pair of pearl-white fangs, delicate and pointed like
razors... with a fawning flutter of her lashes for James, she milked the
moment for all it was worth, fighting back her thirst to enjoy the simple
thrill of the taste of his skin, her tongue sliding out to rake across the
inside of his wrist, the silver barbell catching momentarily on the edge
of his glove.
Again, he looked to her, although not without noting the thunderstruck expression
on the privateer's face, and gave in to his own desire to passively eye her.
James flexed his fingertips and placed his free hand casually atop the table,
suddenly longing for a clove.
A kiss, so deceptively sweet, was brushed to the pad of his hand, pressed
through leather, a subtle prelude to what was to come... the moment between
gentle silence and carnage was brief as the flickering of a candle's flame,
and with one last wink, she reared slightly back, driving her fangs through
skin and into the pulsating crimson lure of his veins.
James screwed up his face momentarily as the sharp sting shimmied up his
arm. He did not look to Rohaj and unconsciously curled his fingertips into
a tight fist, which only caused the precious fluid to pump faster through
his veins. Swallowing hard, James gripped the tabletop with his free hand
and concentrated on the dirty table, so as to remain perfectly in tune with
their surroundings instead of fading out into the quickly hovering dizziness
which so rudely threatened.
A hint of a taste at the tip of her tongue, just to whet her appetite, and
she quickly poised his hand and wrist, to hover over the mouth of the mug...
not quickly enough, apparently, as a few droplets of the precious ichor
splattered onto the scarred tabletop along the journey, but soon her Favorite's
essence was flowing freely, splashing into the cup as though it were the
finest of wines...
...and she, with a smile serene and lips pursed in thought, settled back
to wait, with one eye on the increasing level of scarlet filling the mug,
and a periphery glance to delight in the nausea overtaking Rohaj's features.
Having had enough of his careful study of the tabletop, James chanced a glance
up to Rohaj, only to grin darkly at the sickly expression upon his grimy
and scarred face A rather insulting comment rose to James' lips, although
the sudden wave of dizziness and the spinning room, quickly halted his doing
so, as well as removed the grin.
Rivers of crimson poured themselves into the mug, a veritable waterfall cascade
of life spent... but let them say what they would about her, she was not
*entirely* insensitive to the needs of her slaves, particularly this one...
and as the trademark grin faded from his features, and she sensed the
light-headed sway that pulled him away from her, she slid forward, dipping
her chin and turning his wrist skyward, to close her lips over the gusher
of the gaping wound.
A soft clearing of his throat as her lips enveloped the stinging wound and
James was instinctively pulling away from her strong grip. 'Eck This
is always the *fun* part of such shenanigans,' he thought, as his temple
begin to throb, eyes squeezing tightly shut, trying to keep himself
conscious::
She wasn't ready to let him go, not just yet... Rohaj was growing more unnerved
by the moment, and she took too great a pleasure in lapping at the wound,
teasing herself with just a taste, an appetizer if you will, and closing
the clean line of the gash with her own attentions... and with every stroke
of fleshy pink, the raw edges began to knit themselves, until a scar was
formed, a scar that faded from anger to inflammation, and finally to little
more than the phantom of irritation.
His eyes weakly flickered life, as he continued to watch the room encircle
his person. Still gripping the tabletop, James leaned back heavily against
his chair and struggled to focus on a bottle setting undisturbed upon the
bar. Swallowing hard, his eyes narrowed in pensive concentration, hoping
*Rohaj* was nice and disturbed, and his Mistress deliciously satisfied The
former as well as the latter thoughts brought the ghost of a smile to his
lips.
At last, she released him, but not without another soothing kiss to his palm,
as his hand trailed away... there was a third kiss, too, this one blown to
the air, a seemingly facetious gesture, but one designed to show James just
how grateful she was that he had not struggled this time, had not given her
cause to disturb the terror that they, as partners for once, were instilling
in their unwary victim.
James would heal, of course - but more importantly, and exactly to her design,
Rohaj was unnerved even through the bewilderment of her spell, his
jaw slackened, and his skin began to take on a distinctly greenish hue.
~~~~~~
The hour had grown late Almost no one was left in the tavern Natty
had abandoned the common room for a bed in the smaller shack behind this
large one The old man at the hearth had long since passed out, apparently
exhausted by the pageantry of his tales Even the squalid bar wench
had disappeared, most likely for some back alley whoring.
A clock in the corner struck two, and this time, there was no din of chatter
to keep its meager bells from chiming out. Who could say why Rose had chosen
this precise moment? But there it was the tolling was her cue, and
with a taste of mocking in her smile, she pushed the mug aside, flattening
her forearms over the tabletop and crawling forward.
Like a sinuous serpent, she crept, keeping her bosom pressed flat to the
wood until she had mounted, then drawing one leg after the other before her,
and maneuvering the boots with deadly precision as she rose, writhing, to
tower over Rohaj and James.
She stepped gingerly towards the edge of the table, through the tiny pools
of James' blood and spills of alcohol, one hand on her zipper pull, hips
swaying like a clockwork pendulum.
Rohaj watched in awe, hardly believing what he was seeing but hardly
protesting, either.
A steel and slate industrial beat began to thump in the background - where
it had come from was anybody's guess, but it seemed to grow louder and more
powerful, as she took another step, and then another, and with each step,
the zipper came down another inch.
"Want me to come a little closer?" she purred, the mysterious hunger in her
eyes shaded by a fringe of heavy lashes.
"W' yes, do believe 'd like that." He snarled and simpered, eyes darting
this way and that and apparently about to pop out, as he tilted the chair
upright, slamming its legs to the floorboards.
She had known he would... but toying with this piece of animal flesh was
proving to be so amusing step, zip, sway... step, zip, sway... lower
and lower went the zipper, and she drew nearer and nearer, until, by the
time she stood directly in front of him, the vest hung open over her sleek
belly, and the curved shadows between her breasts were clearly visible, as
the leather clung to them, molding itself around buoyant swells and rock-hard
gems.
The privateer was incredulous could hardly believe his luck, in fact
somewhere, in the back of his mind, lurked suspicion, a modicum of wonder
at why she had not killed him on sight but frankly, not enough pistons
were firing in there to make a difference, and he just sat there, inanimate,
gaping fish-mouthed, not uttering a word, but wheezing through alcohol-soaked
whiskers.
"Well... you know... if I'm boring you..." With a coquettish shrug, she took
a step back, and the zipper came back up a few inches.
"No no no," he sputtered, nearly dropping his bottle. "I was just er
thinking " One side of his mouth tilted up in a roguish grin that bordered
on the comic, so adamant was it.
"Well I don't mind dancing for you Rohaj," came her low, teasing whisper,
clipped at the end by a wink. "... so long as I get at least the occasional
wolf-whistle."
Following her cues as though he were being led by a ring through his nose,
Rohaj leaned back, pursing meaty lips and howling to an imaginary moon. A
few heads turned, but not for long, and some of the unconscious bodies littering
the floor and tables stirred.
"Much better...," she commended, the words like velvet trimmed with strychnine
lace. With a wink and a kiss blown to midair, she tugged the zipper back
down, leaving the vest to hang open as she continued on, to the top of the
crude leather pants. Another zipper sound ripped through the air, revealing
a hint of sable hair just at the bottom of a triangle of ivory flesh... hips
rolling in time to the beat, she began to circle... as though she were working
a hula hoop... but very, very slowly
She stopped when her back was to him, but her hips kept going... and going...
and going... and she wove her hands up above her head, like two jet serpents,
torchlight glancing off the surface of her leather gloves. Tossing her curls
back, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips puckered
up in a playful pout, arms still stretched high above her head...
Plucking at the cuff of one glove, she began to peel it off, tugging it up
inch-by-inch over her forearm, and sliding it over her fingers, then tossing
it backwards, right into the privateer's lap.
Rohaj watched, intent, oblivious to the fact that his tongue was hanging
nearly to the tabletop.
Rose's hips gyrated in time to the roll of her shoulders, and her eyes never
left him, and that lolling tongue, as she peeled the second glove off, and
tossed it his way. Gee... hmm... what else was there to take off?.. oh, yes..
the shoes
Absentmindedly, the smuggler gathered the gloves from his lap, turning them
over the back of his hand and playing with the cool, wilted fingers as he
gawked.
Still watching from over her shoulder, she bent one knee, unzipping a boot
and kicking it off, then following suit with the other as her arms
lowered slowly, and although Rohaj couldn't see it, it was pretty clear from
the bend in her elbows that she was sliding her hands down over her own
bosom.
Suddenly tossing her head back, and rolling the riot of flame red curls between
her shoulder blades, she began to peel the vest away, baring first one shoulder,
then the other. With feet planted at shoulder's width apart, she shifted
the circular motion of her hips, and rolled them from front to back instead,
a ripple rising all the way up her spine, then back down again, and carrying
the vest with it, leaving her bare from the waist up... but of course, all
he could see was her back.
Rohaj shifted his head from left to right, resembling nothing so much as
a carnival clown, as though the comic performance would somehow enable him
to see more.
Again whipping those curls around, she peered over the other shoulder, and
this time, her expression was far less playful, and far more hungry... with
one arm curled over her writhing belly, she reached across with the other,
crooking a fingertip at him, and luring him in with her dark promise...
"Come here " she whispered... not a request, but a demand.
~~~Rohaj~~~
Consciousness returned to him with all the subtlety of Thor's hammer, exploding outwards from the center of his brain and peeling back his eyelids with hurricane force. Every spiderweb vein of red crisscrossing in trails over the whites of his eyes was felt as a burning reminder of the night before, permanently branded on his senses muddled though he may have been then, he recalled every moment of his catalepsy, and so when he felt the cold of iron bars beneath his hands, it came as no surprise a defeat, but certainly no surprise
His vision was a little more furtive in coming back, perhaps due to the relentless gloom a candle lit here and there was all the light afforded, but it was enough, eventually, to illumine some of the details of a cavern outline the rest he dredged from memory, of stories he'd heard, to piece together a picture of the dreary underground dungeon.
Almost casually, he reached to one of his shirt cuffs, feeling his way past the rotted lace to a wide band of leather not unexpected, not in the least nor was the strap of the same buffed latigo that encircled his throat. But it hardly worried him annoyed him, more like
His crew would come soon, he had no doubt. Every one of those men had had dealings with the Mörkai in the past they knew where to find Rose and the Mörkai estate assuming that this cellar was in the estate but of course - where else would it be? it was just a matter of time now, and with that complacency set in his mind, he leaned back against the bars of his new, cramped home, and set about lulling himself to sleep once more
((Note: This post thread, in its entirety, is the collaborative work of myself and the mun of James Tarrant.))