10-24-2023, 02:23 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-24-2023, 02:25 AM by Jaxen Marveet.)
The VIP within the vip.
From the other side of that door, Jaxen never would have suspected to discover what they discovered. He clapped Mikhail on the shoulder as he issued an approving nod, but he kept his mouth shut for a while, surveying the room and everyone in there. There were pompous rich assholes whose language Jaxen could easily copy if he wanted. Suits finer than his own made for a mass of shoulders, though none could match his signature style. It wasn’t the cloth that made that shit look good, he mused, it was the man wearing it. No point saying as much, though. He stifled a cocky grin and slipped one hand into a pocket, oozing a mixture of curiosity and casual disinterest. While his companion slithered straight to the heart of the action, Jaxen hung back.
He wanted to know the scale of the shit he was getting into before throwing caution to the wind and leaping off his nice, safe view from high. So he watched. He cheered. He clapped at the fowls. He placed a bet or two, and he swapped his empty drink for a fresh one, but he wasn’t oblivious. He danced the very edge of the action, careful to not get himself accidentally pulled into it. No point ruining his fine clothes. It was a particularly good strategy on Jaxen’s part when the fight suddenly amplified, ending with one sweaty meat head crashing through the spectators steps away from him. He exchanged a that was close sort of comical look with Mikhail, but it was quickly followed by another surprising revelation.
Mik peeled himself away, doffed his shirt, and stepped into the center of attention. Every face in the room turned to him. Hell, he might as well have had a spotlight cascading across his rippling traps that seemed to cut from his arms straight to his neck.
He slipped to the side of the room, flashing his wallet, account app hot and ready to drain. “Now I have to put down on my boy,” he smirked as the money was placed on hold. Others crowded his shoulders, offering similar bets of their own.
Afterward, Jaxen squeezed to the front and in unison with his neighbor, both issued a wince of pain followed by yells to do it again.
Mik was properly kicking ass, and Jaxen was thoroughly enjoying himself, when he scanned the faces of the circle once more. There he was, innocent and seductive as ever, wearing the face of an angel covering the thirst of a demon, right there amid everyone else completely oblivious to the depraved figure in their midst.
And for a good thirty seconds, Jaxen forgot about the fight and stared at the cannibal among them.
From the other side of that door, Jaxen never would have suspected to discover what they discovered. He clapped Mikhail on the shoulder as he issued an approving nod, but he kept his mouth shut for a while, surveying the room and everyone in there. There were pompous rich assholes whose language Jaxen could easily copy if he wanted. Suits finer than his own made for a mass of shoulders, though none could match his signature style. It wasn’t the cloth that made that shit look good, he mused, it was the man wearing it. No point saying as much, though. He stifled a cocky grin and slipped one hand into a pocket, oozing a mixture of curiosity and casual disinterest. While his companion slithered straight to the heart of the action, Jaxen hung back.
He wanted to know the scale of the shit he was getting into before throwing caution to the wind and leaping off his nice, safe view from high. So he watched. He cheered. He clapped at the fowls. He placed a bet or two, and he swapped his empty drink for a fresh one, but he wasn’t oblivious. He danced the very edge of the action, careful to not get himself accidentally pulled into it. No point ruining his fine clothes. It was a particularly good strategy on Jaxen’s part when the fight suddenly amplified, ending with one sweaty meat head crashing through the spectators steps away from him. He exchanged a that was close sort of comical look with Mikhail, but it was quickly followed by another surprising revelation.
Mik peeled himself away, doffed his shirt, and stepped into the center of attention. Every face in the room turned to him. Hell, he might as well have had a spotlight cascading across his rippling traps that seemed to cut from his arms straight to his neck.
He slipped to the side of the room, flashing his wallet, account app hot and ready to drain. “Now I have to put down on my boy,” he smirked as the money was placed on hold. Others crowded his shoulders, offering similar bets of their own.
Afterward, Jaxen squeezed to the front and in unison with his neighbor, both issued a wince of pain followed by yells to do it again.
Mik was properly kicking ass, and Jaxen was thoroughly enjoying himself, when he scanned the faces of the circle once more. There he was, innocent and seductive as ever, wearing the face of an angel covering the thirst of a demon, right there amid everyone else completely oblivious to the depraved figure in their midst.
And for a good thirty seconds, Jaxen forgot about the fight and stared at the cannibal among them.