Tantalizing

[Nhysa]

Two men exited.

Intel had suggested company, since Jaxen Marveet had not left the theatre alone, but apparently they were leaving. Nhysa filed away the information from their brief parting words without much current interest, beyond the fact that Jaxen would be missed by morning. Her gaze roamed, from the polite greeting (cute) to the twine of their hands, the twitch of a smile softening her lips as she repaid with a lascivious wink. Tar like the cabaret stuck; it was they who ought to stay out of trouble. They were too cute a pair to find themselves at the end of the Custody’s sword-arm.

Speaking of.

A smile bloomed like the first caress of shadows at sundown for the quarry laid before her. A menial and bloodless task it might be, but the glint in his eye and wry twist of his grin at least promised a pleasant meander towards culmination. At least for her. She followed him into the apartment; let her attention wash over its innards with a flush of approval just shy of awe. His profile suggested a certain measure of materialism. But what did he cherish most?

Her gaze tugged back, smile genuine, a bridge to something playful. She gestured the gold vodka bottle in her grip, palm wrapped snug around its neck. “They don’t break out the russo baltique for just anyone.” The tease in her eye was a warm and easy welcome. “So tell me; what’s so special about you, Jaxen Marveet?”

[Jaxen Marveet]

Russo Baltique.

A series of pretty little blinks fluttered his eyes as soon as he heard the words. Within moments, Jaxen hovered near, stealthy fingers accustomed to slipping into pockets unseen snatching away the coveted bottle. He held it to the level of his eyes in fond admiration.
"This is a two million dollar bottle." A wry little grin snuck to his lips and moments later, the bottle's majesty was uncorked. 

It'd been months since the glacial purity of Russo Baltique crossed his lips. Life hadn't been the same without it.

For a few moments, Jaxen contentedly busied himself with weaves coiling their tentacles around Baccarat crystal glasswares, chilling them to perfect temperature. Meanwhile, the skull molds were refrozen by the same power, their contents delivered to their new domains. The vodka spilled over the top in what some would say was sacrilegious dilution, to all but the most pureblooded Russians. Despite the creativity with which the ancient power crafted the perfect drink, he took some pride in attending to the limes himself. The aroma tinted his fingertips most satisfactorily. 

When he turned back, the ancient power offered his guest a pass at her own drink. Thus he sat, legs crossed in a velvet-cushioned chair of deep plum, and savored the succulent spirit.

Only then did he raise the glass and toast, "What isn't special about Jaxen Marveet?" His grin answered the rhetorical as he invited her to join. "What's your name?"  

[Nhysa]

He snaked closer and plucked the bottle from her grip. Predictably covetous. Part of her welled with the eternal mother’s scold for how eagerly he took that gold wrapped gift. He had no reason to mistrust her, of course, having believed her duly invited by his own hand, but did he truly think tonight’s antics would not come with swift retribution? It’s not only crones who come bearing poison apples, sweetie. A pleased smile teased her lips, like she glowed beneath his approval

How fortunate for him he didn’t have to fear for his life. Not tonight. It would have been too easy.

“Infamy has its perks.” She winked, and watched unseen currents prepare the drinks.

Lessons came in many forms. Technically she only need impart how consequences rippled around him, and would continue to do so the longer he strayed along this defiant path. But that easy arrogance suggested it might not be enough to connect the dots. Would he care that his irreverence cost a friend his life? Even faux dismissal would be disappointing. And personal peril had a bit more bite -- not the inelegant sort that left bruises, but the kind that wrapped shadows in the mind. The kind he would be inclined to remember.

The luxury he reclined in. The vodka he savoured. The whores he fucked. It was the hand of the Custody that kept him so well fed.

That he would do well to remember.

She laughed and wrapped a slender palm around the glass, twisting it in her grip as though expecting strings. “You’re a channeler,” she accused, tone more charmed than afraid. A little pressure eased the barrier of his thighs enough to claim space on his lap, knees straddled snug against his hips. “Is that really a question, or are we making small talk first?” She leaned to deposit her drink within easy reach, then trailed her thumbs around the neck of his tshirt; one deliciously warm, the other chilled from the glass. “What else can you do with that power, huh?”

[Jaxen Marveet]

Jaxen wasn’t a machine that enter an attractive woman and he immediately humped her. He preferred the slow burn. Maybe that was why Oriena’s claws were dug so deep into his skin. A mere flicker of her eyes and he was taunted to challenges that Jaxen was happy to meet. Neither was he dead. Far from it. Life pulsed his veins that put him top of the city tonight. Riding an out of control horse, he wanted to scream with the thrill, take second by second as though any of them might be his last. To shout defiance for the inevitable and laugh at the ploys of fate; he was far from dead. The woman hovering before his face knew the flush of heat across the skin, the way he settled all the more comfortably into the cushions in acceptance of her weight. Amusement purred deep within. “Yes I can channel,” he whispered as wind blushed the back of her neck with teasing embrace. She wasn’t his usual type, that was sure, but neither was Oriena, and Jaxen freely admitted how tightly she wound his guts in her fists.

She didn’t want to share a name. Not unusual, but not common either. “I’ll call you..,” his eyes roamed the porcelain of her skin and obsidian of her hair. “Toma.”* If she knew Russian at all, she might find the Russian name humorous for its glaringly literal translation. Otherwise, Jaxen laid a hand on her thigh, savoring the softness of the dress between them, pleasantly surprised by the sinew beneath.

Just to help her out, he brought the drink and all but put it to her lips on her behalf. There was no point wasting a drop when every sip was a $50,000 swallow. A tingle softened the usual sharpness of his mind in a way that reminded him of Dublin. Toma wasn’t a blood-sucking monster, though. If she was going to bite, she likely would have done so by now.

A haze settled in his mind, and he let the power slip away, finding the concentration required to conquer it too much for the moment. He put another chunk of change to his lips, ice prickling the tongue, oblivious to Toma’s choice to partake or not.



*(Russian) “From the East”

[Nhysa]

Her mouth lifted into a smile. This was the part she loved; the lull of it, slow burning. Toma. Maybe she would use that name some time.

His palm was warm against her thigh. The tease like breath against her neck pinched her lip between her teeth, lighting hunger in her gaze, a flicker of Li’s gesture not so very many hours before. Curled this close she had a perfect view of his pupils, to watch the tells as numbness began to spread like an unwelcome guest. Nhysa was well acquainted with the sensation; she’d suffered it herself in the deepest bowels of the Custody. 

Jaxen pressed the glass to her lips, though did not appear to notice that it did little more than wet her grinning lips. She laughed and playfully claimed the drink from his hand before he drowned her with it. A little would hardly hurt. The shadows were too sparse for her even to be aware of the creature she knew must watch, let alone allow her to reach for her own gifts. So she didn’t fear the power’s absence, but neither did she wish to dull the edge of her blade.

“Not in the mood for showing off? I guess you’ve had a busy night.” She leaned in just a little more. Too much and he was going to be senseless, so distraction pressed a touch to lift his chin. Ran a gentle and curious caress across his cheekbone. A brush across his lips. “Remarkable, really. You don’t look a bit like him.”

[Jaxen Marveet]

Arms heavy like they carried weights all day. Legs sank under Toma’s weight. He let his head rest against the cushions, surprised by the siren call of sleep. Ten minutes ago, he was prepared for a few hours’ exertion; now, he was useless as a limp rag.

This wasn’t the first time Jaxen was drugged. It won’t be the last. Usually the foggy euphoria that wreathed his mind was self-induced, but never the less, he was not immune to the effects. A finger pushed his chin, and a sharpness touched the edges of his eyes. Toma’s face swarmed his own, and for a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, she taunted.

“I am very talented.” He replied, wondering what she would look like with red hair and purple skin. Okay, that was weird; he was more drugged than he thought. He licked his lips, but only the sweet tingle of vodka touched his tongue.

He let his lids fall slightly, spreading his knees for her to sink closer. “Toma, no need for roofies. I am a sure thing.”

[Nhysa]

“So you keep promising, sweet one.” She laughed and booped a gentle finger against his nose. His weight sank beneath her like his strength bled out on the cushions, head tilted back to expose the column of a vulnerable throat. Nhysa was used to planning and executing her own jobs, but everything here had been gifted on a silver platter. A heavier dosage than she would perhaps have chosen to mix herself. Incompetence, ignorance, or a lack of faith in her abilities against a channeler? The roulette wheel spun, but she shrugged off the annoyance.

His body was warm, and normally she would have welcomed the invitation. Enemy or not, she was rarely adverse to mixing a little pleasure with business, but he was already teetering on the edges of falling too deep. Insensibility rather dulled the charm. Her head tilted at his breath of contentment, apparently at ease with the accusation she had drugged him. Most people struggled beneath the realisation even as the haze closed in.

“You think I drugged you?” And for that? She laughed, genuinely tickled by the absurdity. Her palm cupped his chin again, seeking his attention. “Compliments of Ascendancy. I guess they think you’re dangerous, Jaxen Marveet.”

[Jaxen Marveet]

Eyes heavy, his head laid against the seat. Velvet brushing up against his cheek where it rolled toward one side. The crescent of suspicious eyes slipped through the haze, latching onto Toma’s pretty face. Flicked open by his name.

His words walked through wet sand, clawing to the surface of his brain. Forget the power, it was all he could do hold his bowels. Especially with Toma grinding on his pelvis, the body reacted, warmth flooded beneath her grip.

“The Ascendancy is right,” he grinned weakly. “I’m a dangerous warrior, Toma. You should watch your back.” He expected retaliation for the cabaret, although Toma’s visit was sooner than expected. “Does that mean he’s going to kill me?” Hell of a way to go out, mid-lapdance.

[Nhysa]

“Oh, I quake.” She chewed her lip, lit by a smile. Amusement rippled genuine for the threat. “I do hope that’s a promise?”

Her business was death, and the warm flush of bodily secretion against her thighs barely registered. Dead things created worse messes, and fear or pleasure made little difference to the cat-like inspection she gave prey fallen disappointingly limp. Nhysa leaned back a little to contemplate the question, tipping a slender shoulder. “Depends how quickly you learn the lesson? Or maybe how sweetly daddy begs?” She hovered closer to trace a thumb across his clammy forehead. A smirk lingered as her gaze tracked the seap of lethargy. “Or perhaps it’s already happening? Close your eyes, dear one. See if you wake up.”

Beneath the heavy line of her fringe, her attention split for a moment. The shadows pulled at the corner of her eyes as the dark prowled just beyond her line of sight. Impatience had nipped retaliation for her abandonment of the tunnels hours before, a familiar tug in this direction or that. But now she could almost feel the purr as it watched, curious. When she looked down at Jaxen again, it was with eyes narrowed by her own curiosity, presently parted for a smile.

Nhysa laughed and finally climbed off. “If you are to die, Jaxen, then you shall be saved for the very last, as befits the weight of your ego. Death is no punishment. We all die.” She smiled sweetly with that promise as she drifted from his line of sight. “Let me get the lights. All the better to watch your world burn, one precious bit at a time.” Darkness flooded cold a moment later, and soft steps brought her behind his chair. Fingers pinched his chin, angling his head as a screen flickered into life ahead.

[Jaxen Marveet]

Slipping into oblivion was tempting. Toma’s voice lulled his lids low, and moments later, darkness fell.  Jaxen’s grip on the world loosened, his soul laid bare on the rocks. Toma’s poison dripped blissfully slow. Maybe this was the passage into the realm of the dead. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all. Nothing to fear. No fires licking tormented limbs. Just sleep. The heart slowing; blood sluggish; time frozen….

---

He walked a hallway, fingers trailing white walls slick as silk. No lines. No doors. No windows. Just eternal light glowing bright enough to squint the eyes. Foreboding doom hastened steps he knew he'd walked before but was unsure of where they led. He was a black shard in the light, as though his very existence was a crack in their bright world.

Motion pulled frightened eyes upward. Red leaked from the ceiling, dripping along the walls like paint. Mesmerized, he came close, dipped his fingers into the ooze and put them carefully to his lips.

He gasped. Blood! And ran. The blood dripped faster until it puddled on the floor. A river flowed underfoot. He was going to fall! Then, a doorway appeared out of no where. The curtain of red cascading between red death and escape. He hurried, but his balance was gone. The wind knocked from his chest when he fell, screaming. The blood drenched his body, smeared his cheeks. Horrified, Loki clawed at the floor, finding purchase on the coils of a rope. He pulled, or maybe the rope pulled him, and he was yanked from the red river. Landing, coughing, on an enormous floor, clean and crisp, he felt the eyes watching from on high. Afraid to behold the slender creatures looming overhead, he was shaking as he focused on the rope in his hands, as though it might pull him from this nightmare.

But something was wrong with the coils. It was soft, pliant. Stretched slippery. It was a tube. Something was inside. Something soft. Horrified, he looked, following the line of it onward to its origin. From a body laid open. He started screaming. The body of his son…”Nari!!!” he groaned, entrails falling from his hands just as the brightness burned his bones to ash... again…

---

When the burn of electronic lights pulled him from the threshold of death, ancient fury pulsed fresh venom through his body. The blackness of his eyes lifted bare crescents. Fire swarmed, but in its midst laid a bloody body. Gray hair sprawled, the eyes frozen wide with fear. Jaxen knew that upon which he looked.

“Boda,” he said, barely a whisper.

They killed Boda, but not him. He would live. Toma saw to that. Just long enough to know he was responsible. A Marveet. Daddy asked sweetly. A life for a life. Eyes for eyes; the deal soured. Jaxen flexed every ounce of hatred buried deep within toward retaliation.

Instead, he fell from the chair. Carpet sprawled on his cheeks, fingers clawing painfully floorward, but the arc of his back did not lift him from defeat.
Tears fell like blood.