Connections, Money and Secrets [Almaz]

[Jaxen Marveet]

When Jaxen took a drag, he orchestrated a deliberate recline, immersing himself in the present moment and enjoying the view. A sinuous slice of shadow had laid herself against Mikhail’s broad shoulders, reminiscent of a feline finding a perfect perch on a swaying branch. An unexpected twinge of tension coiled within him when he realized who she was, uncomfortable but fleeting for its disturbance. Oriena couldn’t breathe without putting on a show; but nobody was better at performances than Jaxen.

Which was why when Mik winked following an astute observation of Jaxen’s fine ass, he leaned over, balanced a hand on the man’s knee, and placed the roll back on Mik's lips himself. Oh so intimate; so seductive. With a flickering glance at Oriena’s hovering face, of course. Jax said nothing in the moment. Just made a nice little hum and leaned away. He had some interest in making Oriena jealous, because that’s always a fun thread to pull, but really he was curious to see her in her own kingdom. The night they met at Kallisti felt absurdly fake. Oriena didn’t belong in burlesque no more than she belonged in the ballroom at the Kremlin. Somehow, oozing out of wood paneling seemed more her. Or perhaps it was the smell of blood on the air that she wore like perfume that placed her at home. The woman was a predator, and Jaxen loved to see what made her twitch her tail. And maybe share some of her claws back with her. She did like to scratch.

Yet it seemed Mik and her already had a history. So how to play it? He glanced between each of their faces, studying the expressions, their pupils, the sheen of their skin.
“Hey Oriena. Good to see you. What’s he talking about? Did you fall and bump your knee?” He leaned far to the side to look for himself, but all he did was shrug afterward and offer an explanation to Mik. 

It was a mockery of being subtle since he didn’t lower his voice, and he was staring at the woman in question as he spoke. “She’s all yours, Mik. We’ve already fucked like three times. Or was it twice? I can’t remember.” His air was smug with the sort of dare that promised she’d lose in any contest between them. At a game only Jaxen and Oriena could possibly understand.

Which was why he slipped from the stool on the motion of wetting the vodka to his glistening lips and attempted to get Mikhail to follow him away. “The real action is always down below.” He said as he flashed a dismissive smirk for the company.

[Oriena]

[[that was a wise edit, Mik *wink*]]

Ori didn’t recall suggesting bruises were bad things, but beyond a coy flicker to her expression as she looked Mik up and down she said nothing. She watched the display of intimacy with open interest. Jaxen rather spoiled it with the sly glance in her direction, though. She doubted Mikhail would enjoy the sensation of use, but maybe he would play along for the amusement of drawing battlelines. Ori didn’t care who either of them were fucking; each other or otherwise.

As for Ryker, she only shrugged, toying with the glass in her hand as Mikhail ordered a replacement. The reaction was genuine. It must have looked like Ryker completely flipped while they were up on the platform, and had it been the case Mik wouldn’t have been wrong to assume vengeance boiled in its wake. But she’d courted every inch of that vitriol and pain when she snipped the strings of his self-control. In fact she hadn’t fought back at all until she realised he was a channeler, and then the diversion became something else entirely. Yet whatever obsession had raged like a furnace before, it petered to nothing by now.

“Last I saw him was the same as you, when he was being hauled by a Dominion into a Custody van.” She smirked darkly in amusement, but it was for the taunt about her keeping someone in a cage, not for whatever fate had awaited the man in question. She ignored Jaxen’s questions entirely, though she did meet the challenge of his stare when he spoke. His quips were designed to tap all over her pretty claws soliciting the swipe. But it wasn’t much to crow about. Two of those three fucks had been largely unsatisfying.

In fact it was nothing Jaxen actually said but the dismissive way he glanced away from her scars that succeeded in flattening her expression. The ghostly memory of Ascendancy turning away from the worst moment of her life flashed behind her eyes, which of course started the buzz in her head, striking like bullet holes through the armour of drugs and alcohol and mindless distraction. She finished the rest of the vodka while the cacophony of the ijiraq roiled like thunder in the back of her mind.

After Jaxen rose, she caught him by his throat. Her palm fit neat; firm, but not threatening, her body seductively close yet not otherwise touching. Submission or retaliation; she gave him the moment for either. The hook of her eyes sank deeper than the pressure of her fingers, meeting the darkness of his before dipping to the wet sheen on his lips. “It excited you,” she said. Her voice was low, meant for him alone, though she did not care if Mikhail was listening. He was certainly sat close enough to where they stood, but it wasn’t like either of them minded an audience. Her grip flexed a little tighter, nails scoring a promise of what exactly she meant. She smiled red lips, looked for a moment like she might be about to lean in and lick the vodka right off his. 

“But if I was too much, sweetheart, I understand.” She let go to pat him lightly on the cheek, and then pushed his face away with a smirk. Afterwards she stole the joint from Mikhail, and perched on the barstool Jaxen had vacated. The long draw she took didn’t settle much, though she didn’t offer to return it. If he was sensible Mik would follow his friend. The edge felt like lightning in her teeth.

[[Some presumed modes there. If I need to change anything let me know]]

[Mikhail]

So to deduce that Jaxen and Oriena had history required probably about the least amount of detective work in the history of the world. As in, you had to be a class-A moron to not catch the undercurrents. And a class-A moron Mik was not. The power he held flickered around him, bringing the subtle cadence and movements and even smells of the two as they danced around each other, veiled barbs and jabs meant to draw blood. Yeah, two cats, bristling, both believing they were the superior predator, both thinking the other prey.

He had no doubt of the kind of fucking that went on between them. Boredom and arrogance seemed like half their relationship. The hate-fucking- and he had no doubt whatsoever that that was what it had been- what, three times?- probably had truly felt like scoring. Dunking. Checking.

Which was kinda sad, really. I mean fuck yeah, Oriena was hot. He'd bend her over and rail on her for sure. Ditto with Jaxen. He wasn't remotely lying. They both had amazing asses. And maybe the Lady did have a surprise in store. Maybe they'd end up in a threesome. But he doubted it. And frankly, given the games they played with each other- it didn't seem like it would be all that fun, what with the posturing and dick measuring and race to figure out who got stuck with the limp biscuit. No. Not fun at all. More fun when you could relax with people. Enjoy the play even when it hurt.

Though to be fair, he did rather like the way Jaxen leaned over and placed his hand on his knee. With the power in him, he was overwhelmed with heat that radiated from his body, the spicy sweet aroma of cologne and shampoo and product in his nostrils, deep dark eyes filled with playfulness, lips full and moist and inviting... I mean, hey! He was just a man after all. And Jaxen was beautiful in all the right places. 

Ahh, but it was not to be. Just as he gently and sensuously placed the blunt on Mik's lips his eyes flickered to Oriena. A game. Just a fucking game. Yeah, sure, he liked games. And Jaxen was definitely a flirt. But there was something about him that said he was just fucking around. Like some of the bartenders at clubs who led people on, hinting and glancing and saying just the right things. But only a fool believed that they were good to go. Nah, not hired guns like that. Nope. Jaxen liked the attention. And he liked fucking with Oriena.

Now did Mik mind? No. Not really. But he had no desire to be a pawn in their game. He liked games. But not ones where he wasn't actually a player. Not the hate-fuck thing they had going on. Now if he had them as his subs, that would be different. Could be a lot of fun actually. 

And now that he thought about it, he wondered if he could work something like that out. Oriena had seemed indifferent to Ryker despite what he had done. Which totally didn't make sense, on the surface. But his power read on her made her reaction seem legit. She really wasn't angry in the slightest. 

Which maybe meant she might be willing to sub for a bit. It was a common myth that subs were weak or didn't like control. Hah! Not at all. On the contrary, many subs were powerful people in their everyday lives. Ran million and billion dollar companies companies or the lives of millions of people. Nope. For them, the thrill came from relinquishing all control, from being at someone else's mercy, from willingly allowing the dom to rule them. It was a fucking great experience. Subs had all the power in a proper BDSM play. Being a switch, he enjoyed both roles.

Oriena's hand at Jaxen's throat cemented it for him. He took a long drag on the joint, exhaling only after a long ten second wait. The power took on an ethereal edge, images and sounds seeming to take on a sensual form. He could taste the way Jaxen's corded neck dipped beneath her small ivory hand. He could smell Oriena's voice as it purred threat and promise.

And then she filled his eyes as she leaned to take the blunt from his lips. And of course he made sure to check out her cleavage. Hey, she chose what she wore. She wanted to be noticed. He had no problem doing that.

They were quite nice, too, from what he could tell.

He stood then, looking from her, now moving to lounge in a chair, to Jaxen, face a mix of emotions, body turned and ready to leave. He smirked, shaking his head. "Jesus, you two. Almost make me believe in true love." He laughed. "Oh what I wouldn't give to have you in my dungeon with collars on your necks." He looked at Jaxen appreciatively. Oh yeah...definitely St. Andrew's Cross. Then Oriena. Yep, the table for sure. Restraints tight on both. He smiled in a friendly way. It wasn't even remotely a threat. "I'd make sure both of you had the time of your lives." He shrugged, shaking his head sadly. "Too bad."

He downed the last of his drink, winked at Oriena, and followed Jaxen down below. "Let's see who's on the docket for tonight."

[Jaxen Marveet]

Do it, his eyes dared.

He could use the Ancient Power to throw her off. Nails ripping from his throat in the blast. He sensed it from Mikhail, the summons of power wrapping his soul, begging to be used. He thought about a lot of things he might do with those ropey threads. Things that the last time they were together Jaxen could barely contain, but now, he mastered.

In his gut, he knew Oriena wouldn’t crush the life from his throat, close as the cut of her teeth suggested she might. Her taunts threaded his blood hot, pushing the tip of his tongue along the ridge of his teeth like he may any moment thrust his lips against hers.

But though her whisper attempted to coax it out of him, retaliation did not spill. Jaxen was strangely motionless but for nimble fingers snaking their way around the stems of her other wrist. From them, he tugged her palm low, pressing it into the softness that presently was his dick.
“It excites me; you don’t.” He mouthed back, and a dismissive snort exhaled disappointment. When she released him, his face remained tilted from the shove of her finger, the ropes of his neck taut, the jugular exposed—tempting her to rip it out like he knew was in her nature.

Yet for all this glorious tension, blood wasn't spilled, and Jaxen’s shifting was smooth as the vodka glistening in that cup. When she perched herself upon the throne that was the barstool, he leaned around her body to capture the glass, and in that moment of closeness, the mask that was his expression lifted.

He chuckled with the amusement of sheer victorious twinkles dancing in his eyes. Replaced was the sinister posturing and dangerous game. His voice regained its usual merry tone. “Oriena, Oriena. Your buttons are so easy to push.” He cocked his head, reminiscent of the press of her finger shoving his cheek aside.

“Don’t worry. You still excite me,” and he dropped a wink as he turned to accompany Mikhail, seeking the promise of more entertainment downstairs. As he walked away, he tossed back the remainder of the vodka through to the ice he chomped, then all but deposited the empty vessel upon a random shelf along the stairs, and he waggled his fingers goodbye.

Or at least, goodbye for now. 

Below was another world. At the threshold, he folded his arms over his chest and observed this surprising little kingdom. Oh he was going to have fun here.

And he signaled to Mikhail to lead on.


[[Modes were fine. But you get what you give. *grin.]]

[Oriena]

Ori revelled in the forced obscenity, but not in the revelation of truth he pressed to her palm. Bold to assume she wouldn’t simply crush her grip; it was a small shift from harlot to harpy afterall. But the thunder was rolling tight through her head, and if it wasn’t the nerve he might presume he’d stepped on, it was a nerve all the same. The pressure clawed and swelled in her skull, hunting out the weakness they always fucking told her she possessed. The visits were always like that now. Seeking an entrance denied.

[We are hungry, Lady of Sorrow]

[Let us in]

So when she retreated, it was into sour silence and possession of the stolen joint to smooth the edge. Mikhail’s grin and roaming gaze did not suggest he minded the theft in the slightest, but she dismissed him in the same moment he dismissed her in turn. Words smeared like mud around her, overlaid with the whisper of more in the recesses of her mind. On the barstool she ignored them both, warring with the inner dissonance ravaging from the inside out. Self-control was not natural for her. In a blink she caught a glimpse of desert sun and the shadow of another retreat. The memory wasn’t hers but it might as well have been.

Meanwhile Jaxen leaned around her for the drink, twittering on with that careless grin, eyes alight with the game implied, but he was not the only one clamouring for her attention. 

[This is how it ends. This is how it ALWAYS ends]. 

The ijiraq's promise settled like a vise, utterly undenied. The pain spiralled was familiar, ancient, and Ori rejected it on stubborn principle. She barely heard what Jaxen said. Sneers, snarls, and seductions overlapped like ocean waves.

[No one cares you were hurt]

[No one ever cares]

[Fulfil your oath to us, and we will burn the world for you]

[Make them suffer for every wrong ever done to you, Mother of Strife]

Yet Ori only blew smoke in Jaxen’s grinning face as he pranced away with Mikhail in tow. She wanted them both to fuck off, but she was utterly hateful that they did.

Prey’s absence did nothing to ease the ijiraq’s grip, though it grew dimmer when their attention diverted. Drown herself in enough vodka, and whatever chink of insecurity that allowed the creatures to sharpen their teeth on her soul would be likewise muted. Temporary measures of course. The link forged at the ball only strengthened over time, and she caught snippets, sometimes, of the buzzing drone of their conversation amongst themselves.

Her gaze lifted to the shadows above, but there was nothing there.

“Oriena?”

Her gaze was slow to refocus. Slower to taste the blood as she brought the smoke to her lips. She hadn’t felt the trickle from her nose. She glanced at the dab of glistening red on her fingers only a moment before she swiped with the back of her hand. A grim smirk met Arisha’s blunt inquiry, which seemed more wary than concerned. A little blood was hardly cause for fuss at Almaz. “Guess I’ll take a bottle, sweetheart.”

[Jacob]

Jacob watched the power exchange over the rim of his glass and from his periphery as he watched the screens above them flickering with bets and clips and various other means of spending his well earned cash.  Rather someone else's since it wasn't his.

The woman left was closer to Nox.  The Mavreet lad probably just a guy he met, from what he read neither of these two traveled the same circles, except she was his boss.

Jacob thought about following the men deeper into the arena, but decided to approach the stern and scathing woman who looked like she could chew off his head any moment.  Be she Black Widow or Praying Mantis, wasn't his first time in the rodeo.  He ordered himself another vodka before standing closer staring up at the screens above them.  He smiled without taking his eyes off the screen.  Images of the viral fight recapped.  Then with little segue like the two might meet some way or another there was a match, the combatants were not listed, it flicked from 3 to 5 to 2 with question marks.  Even they didn't know if Nox were going to show.  He wasn't listed on any of the ballots so his only option would be this mystery battle royal.  "Should be interesting. If he even shows up."

Jacob wasn't talking to anyone in particular.  But he said it loud enough the woman could hear, should she be interested in asking.  If not he'd meander his way away from her.  He took a flyer from his pocket and glanced at the image of Nox on stage before his last performance and then back up at the screen.  "Might get a chance to meet him."

[Oriena]

It sluiced a cold wave through her, not that she would admit to the fear. Carmen could take care of the club, with Nox’s help to protect the people who called it home. Dezhda was a problem though, still holed up in that apartment. But her mother was always going to be a problem.

When the vodka arrived she poured her own generous glass. Her head had gone surprisingly quiet, just a startled hiss and fluttery retreat when the blood trickled from her nose. She presumed the ijiraq were still wary of breaking their toy, which might have made her laugh had she not been aware how mad it would have made her sound. A hollow ache lingered behind her eyes.

She was aware of the stranger’s sidle into her periphery. Oriena didn’t recognise him at all, which wasn’t usual. Credentials or coin paved the way to Almaz’s welcome, and both left an easy trail to follow. New to Moscow then, or something else. Her gaze ran an unsurreptitious up and down enquiry, sly smile on her lips as she took another drag. Didn’t he just make the perfect little portrait, fawning over that old-fashioned flyer with twee little stars in his eyes.

“You don’t look like a fan, sweetheart.” She did laugh then, cruel and amused. He was about as subtle as a hammer-blow. “If you’re planning on killing him, good luck. You’ll need it. Seems he has that effect on people. You’d hardly be the first to try.”

[Jacob]

Jacob chuckled at the woman's words.  He knew all too well the things Nox Durante made people think of him.  His own father disliked him, but that was besides the point she laughed and accused of him attempting to murder a man in the open arena.  He tugged at his sleeves making sure they'd not revealed the snake below, he knew they hadn't but it was too astute of a person to think such a thing without more conversation.  "Am I that transparent?" He laughed. "I will have to do better next time.  Though I didn't come to kill him today.  Too obvious a place  and I like to savor my kill -- watch the lights leave their eyes so I can remember them."

And remember them he did.  Each and every human kill -- every child, mother, father, brother and sister.  He remembered them all be they old me or babies a new.  Their faces haunted his.  And he knew that Nox had the same nightmares.  He hadn't relished in the killing, but he had killed.  Done his job.  "Tonight is about catching up.  Finding old friends.  Nox Durante and I go way back, back before even his and his sisters birth."  He looked over at the woman and smiled.  "You wouldn't know where I could find his sister or father?  Save me the trouble of revealing myself to him here and cause a scene."

[Oriena]

Ori smirked at him over the lip of her glass. “No, not transparent. But I know the kind of attention Nox attracts. And seems you’ve answered the question now anyway, sweetheart.” Her gaze flicked to the tug he’d given to his sleeves, and she hummed genuine laughter for how absurdly easy that had been. Though his description set her cold for the completely casual way he said it. He was one of the dangerous ones, then. No little strings of empathy to tug on, even if he wore those souls like millstones. And probably too stubbornly experienced to rise to the bait of a fight he wasn’t going to be able to win.

Still, she finally turned in interest, body angled towards him. There was a distant hiss in her head, demanding reparation for oaths made. Like she could fucking forget. Meanwhile her gaze took him in in a very slow and thorough fashion, because if he was silver-haired he was not unattractive, and that cold sense of danger crooked its finger to her senses like little else. Scars traced the outside of her leg, one currently crossed over the other, ending in wicked sharp heels. Her dress was a dark temptation of curves. There was something to be said in the appeal of fucking someone who wanted to kill you. Or knew they should anyway. But he didn’t look at her like that, and it deadened the appeal of rooting around in his head for a trigger. Unhooking the moral inhibitions of this kind of man might only end in a bullet between the eyes, not the heat, carnality, and guilt that would have made it fun.

“Seems you’ve a lot to catch up on if you don’t know his sister’s dead. A scene might liven my evening up.” She didn’t say it was Nox she was waiting on. He might not even show. They sparred together frequently, and she knew he came here often for pain and forgetting and feeding the urges in his head. But it's not like she kept tabs on him, and he was still hung up on Rafael, which just as often made his company a dull thing. She leaned to offer a drag on Mikhail’s smoke. “Do you have a name? I presume you know mine.”

[Jacob]

There was a way about this one.  The spider that caught the files and ate their heads of their mates -- except that was the praying mantis.  But this woman was worse than a Black Widow.  He liked her despite her record.  This is why he didn't chat up the marks -- it made them human.  But Nox as already like a son to him.  Served him right that doing the right thing was going to be so hard.

But when she dropped the fact so effortlessly that Aurora was dead Jacob stared blinded by it.  How?  What the fuck did he do?  He was going to kill him for that alone.  She offered him the roll and he took it without hesitation.  He did indeed know her name.  "Oriena Rusayev, proprietor of Kallisti."  He took a long draw of the offering and handed it back and with his exhale he smiled. "Jacob Dean." He offered his hand politely to the lady.  He didn't expect her to know his name. 

An arm snaked around Oriena's shoulders and a man leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek like.  It took him a moment to recognize Nox through the outfit, hair and make up.  Jacob blinked in surprise until he saw the glare of burning daggers bearing down on him.  There was a moment of fear before Jacob reached up and brushed the snake that pressed against his chest unseen.  He smirked.  "Speak of the devil."

[[ooc: I will describe Nox in Nox's post to follow. ]]