Another one of the nights where you wasted time do nothing more then staring at the ceiling, counting the fissures. Dumb, Deaf, and Blind would seem a perfect combination to play a fancy on. Ariahn could only snarl as she slammed her fists into the wall, snarl becoming a life threatening roar as teeth bared. How long could the blasted fool possibly last?

The Huntress had no patience or tolerance for the wasted efforts of sex and passion in this town unless it came with a free gift of bloodletting. Hours upon hours she had kept quiet and patient as she listened to the rough throes of passion and lust. Worse yet when she could smell it... seeping... through the door and the windows and into her own room at the Crymson Tryst.

She heard the giggly laughter of the bell like voice of the dancer of the club. Voice to Name automatically left her calculating an awareness that it was Luna pleasuring another one of the greasy, overindulged, lumps of lard that she took pleasure in. The ridiculous sylph swore up and down that the big men needed their loving too. Ariahn had languidly pointed out what they needed was really directions to the local bakery. But who was the Huntress to protest when it paid the bills, right? Wrong.

"Enough already! C'mon Luna give me a break... go ride your elephant elsewhere!"

The response was nothing more then save for another giggly response from the sylph.

"Jealous much Ariahn? C'mon kitten you need to relax... we could let you join in... get some of that tension out. You should try it.. It's fun."

Another emphasis on a giggle to punctuate the point. Dusky fingers rubbed along her face before slicking back through her hair, the sculpted sinew of her muscular form was marked by the assets of a fighter as much as a dancer. Ariahn if anything new how to keep in shape.

"Yeah I think I'll pass on the oompa loompa love fest."

Muttered as the grunting began again. Sneering she pulled on the pair of leather pants and the shirt that left little to the imagination when it came to the up top assets. It was her outfit per se when she performed at the Crymson Tryst. Notorious Fetish Club for the wicked and unnatural. The rare place where humans could get their rocks off to all sorts of preternatural creatures. Bully for them.

Door flung open she stalked out walking with the nature of one that only got a glimpse of two hours of sleep. That would piss off a Tiger any day. Of course the place as usual smelled like blood, smoke, sweat, and sex. If it was any place but the club... maybe... just maybe she'd enjoy it.

A twisting grin on lips. Distant memory playing on a notion of a fleeting dream of time not so long ago when she'd been on sand dunes in Egypt. Bare foot and hunting for the self proclaimed Violent Messiah. The Hunt was a more preferred sport then... well this...

Upnod was made for the Mistress of the club who was busy riding a new "customer" to check out his tastes. After all it wasn't just the common folk that could get in. A pretty penny paid for entry. The elite... all well matched to their special flavor of the month. Thank the Gods a flavor for pissed off shapeshifter never came around. If it did...meeting her was a way to kill off the taste buds.

At least that was until she sang.

The lights dimmed low and those fingers curled around the microphone, the sultry growl of her voice licking and prowling sensually around the lyrics of Depeche Mode's Enjoy the Silence. Because that's really all she wanted.

The truth was... when Ariahn Wilthorne stepped on the stage... it was likely the world forgot what it was doing... at least when it came down to the dark and gritty nature of sin and lust that enraptured the Crymson Tryst. Everything captured and claimed. Devoured and tamed by the liquid molten heat of her voice... a sound as dark as Indian Ink... and for once... tonight... she had her silence.

Life threats were always a blaze of alteration for many. For Ariahn it was another day in the life. Playing on the knife edge and coming back with battle scars. Thankfully she was a bigger feline that it was reasonable enough for her not to lick her wounds in public.

Death was just another social disease that her life was inflicted by. Thankfully it was not the end of hers. And thus path twisted, coiled like the striped tail at her side, basking in the afterglow. Sprawled out siberian tiger in the midst of the Inn, belly full of black wine, and sporting a cloak like a poster child (or tiger in this case) for the governor election. All it needed was big bold print of vote for Darkmere! and the imagery would be complete.

Life was far more tolerated as the Tiger. More acceptable to let the world in rather then wanting to shred it by tooth and claw. She would allow those subtle pets and scritches, a big slumbering beast that for now could just relax. At least she wasn't a carpet and was still breathing and alive while everyone lounged on her. Reminded her of long hot nights in the harem of Egypt when it was far better to be a collared feline then a whore.

Her throat was a whiskey river that encouraged the bliss of slumber. The night at the Crymson Tryst had thankfully been silent and her next door 'neighbors' had not been occupied with partners.

Fingertips pinched the bridge of nose as those absinthe depths opened. Drunk was certainly not her condition but sobriety was self eluding. Made her languid rather then reckless. Thoughts prowled, crawled through memories of the prior evening.

Her throat growled out a grit soaked laugh. Pulling herself off the floor and that tangle of thick blanket. Wearing stripes and mane of black gold as new clothes the swagger stalk of motion crossed the distance to her shower. Water turned on molten hot. Untolerable to most when the heat would rise and paint the room in humidity and steam.

Dark slashes of indian ink worked her form near akin to battle scars as she let that heat pour down and devour her flesh. Low growl as sweat and grime washed away leaving her scents suffocating in a deadly concotion of humidity and soil. Sandpaper and velvet tongue swept lips as fingers clenched into tile to ignore that sensation of blood red mane that had claimed palm earlier.

Blood and Moss and the Grave. Hips twisted and rocked with a new lyrical seduction. A song perhaps to contemplate for the evening. Fingers slicked down her mane, prowling down the sinewy cords of muscled limbs, the taut temptation of stomach. The water twisted off. She stood silent and dripping. Slick and Wet. It was a vision many had attempted to pay and claim and see... but she was not the Courtesan and far from the pimped out Prostitute.

There were reasons to not put out that image. Reasons not to sell flesh rather then playing the option of giving and taking what she wanted...

Clean at least by the ways of flesh. Soul... far more tainted. A price paid. And no one had enough coin to render the price of a Tiger's flesh.

Closing time. The club was quiet leaving her to be clean up while all the 'women' and their customers had retreated upstairs. She treasured these hours when she could slip on her headphones and set her mp3 player on eardrum blasting as she contemplated her next song to manipulate and twist and make her own.

Back in those ripped jeans her hips would roll, twist and grind as she set to wiping down tables and the bar. It helped her get past the idea of what she was cleaning up. What she could smell. New song found to belt out that gravel and velvet voice purred out that sultry nature of a song.

It's bugging me, grating me
And twisting me around
Yeah I'm endlessly caving in
And turning inside out

'cause I want it now
I want it now
Give me your heart and your soul
And I'm breaking out
I'm breaking out
Last chance to lose control

A vision of inked beauty these were her free hours to let loose and feel alive, not working for a crowd. Not twisting her body to allure a few coins more for the dancers on the stage when she sang. No these were her hours. She danced and moved with that dish rag, jamming to her own music and the gravel bliss of her own voice.

There were nights that were so hot, that rendered a torture of pain and the take away of all that a woman could claim as her own. Of steel and jagged blades that went to hilt and cut deep inside the womb.
A whisper of Remember this... of everything... never forgot this. This pain. This is what you own... It is yours to possess, to take, to control. Make it yours . That is what she would hold on to from those nights in collars where the steel cut in her throat as reversed barbs. Abuse women would break from... and instead it was a break of another kind. The cage snapped.

It's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive

The song she sang was appropriate. Lyrical chaos that suited her soul. Appeased her soul. Growling out lyrics to get out all of that which would torment and rip spirit to shreds.

Bloodletting was a blessing. Grave tones salvation. Forest bed sanctuary. A balance found. Absurd relief of silence that was only the foreshadow of a storm yet to break... and she was waiting for the rain to fall...

'cause I want it now
I want it now
Give me your heart and your soul
And I'm not breaking down
I'm breaking out
Last chance to lose control

And want you now
I want you now
I'll feel my heart implode
And I'm breaking out
Escaping now
Feeling my faith erode

Change would come... repetition the new standing altar of life.

(Muse- 'Hysteria')

It was a mangled mess. Severed limbs. Flesh and Blood painting walls as a mural of Josef's own twisted artistry. He had asked her once what she had thought of his works. Her response had ever been... it was what he did. Who was she to judge. Walking that line she was never a submissive or one that glared at Josef with hatred. Ariahn viewed him as just another animal. A beast that had the fortune of trapping a Tiger.

He was a monster. Really. They all were monsters. Ariahn knew that he wasn't ordering her to clean up quite yet. Another whimper, a stifled sob from the corner. Absinthe flicked, moved towards the sound. Instinctive. Senses flared and guilt twisted like a demented disease within her stomach. The Hunger of a Huntress.

Josef was grabbing her. His need and pleasure forced him into a hardness that only could be brought on by his own sadistic pleasures. With his mouth to fasten to hers. Hungry. Claiming. A snap inside. Fury was a raw key to open the cage, free from shackles. The Huntress again. Savage, Brutal. Rough Desire in that kiss as the Beast rolled within her spirit. Pushed at the edges of her mind.

Disgust trembled along her spine. Self-loathe as nails raked down Josef's chest. Unsheathed claws. Drawing ribbons of red along Egyptian flesh. Growl rolled as dusky flesh became marred, brutalized by those stripes.

Dark as indian ink, cruel slashes that chased jagged patterns against the canvas of dusky birthright. The smell of fear. A drug to her. Pupils dilated and the grin twisted. The kiss to be broken as something was pressed into her hand.

It might have been worse then what he could have put in her hands. Beautiful hands, slender fingers closed around the bone hilt of the dagger.

A lunge then to tackle down prey. A frenzy as that knife sunk in low and deep. Flesh cut as smooth as butter. Survival. It was an instinct.

The other women... perhaps they would forgive her. Moments later the drain was washed anew with fresh blood. Ariahn knew in the other room the women still alive would shudder, huddling together in a false illusion of companionship and comfort as they silently wished for their own deaths.

Ariahn was far from a genie... but sometimes she heard those silent wishes and made them come true. She would let Josef believe what he would of her... that she was his Reaper, his Partner in Crime. But she was setting them free... Death was far more forgiving then life. Josef praised her, the words fell on her ears. Death notes.

Ill thoughts, Ill words, Ill deeds

Truth or Dare. Reckless she was the devil in the dare. A teasing torture of a swaying tail and stripes that marred as brutal slashes like indian ink stains spilling. That was a stain that you just couldn't get out.

Still there were duties to attend to as she rode that feral high. The Huntress in far more cheerful mood swings then ever expected. There had to be a reason. Maybe. She was never going to tell. There on the stage of the Crymson Tryst she flashed those brutal canines, hand plunging through her hair in a grip tug assault, torso arching towards the microphone as tongue plunged through the lip ring. Tugged and teased.

Voice of gravel and desert heat moved in a slow seduction of a hunter tracking hunted. Those brutal slashes of stripes against the landscape of desert toned flesh offered a mouthwatering backdrop to Ariahn decked out in nothing more then a black lace bra and leather pants that might as well have been painted on.

Lick of lips and voice of a sinner seeking a halo in dark alleys came forth. All eyes on the prize.

I come down like a hurricane sucked up inside
Now I spit out the suffer, yeah.
You say you want a revelation,
Well, revel in this my lover.
You're free at liberty is this what you want?
Sometimes I wonder:

There's a highway to, to the edge, yeah
Once a night you will drive yourself there
At the end of the road you will find the answer
At the end of the road you will drink the fear

Lyrics like a biography. Sinew and muscle rolled beneath flesh like a beast alive as she moved, those absinthe eyes riding the high of sweat and adrenaline, phermones and sex. Lyrics an imprint of the past and also a dare to any that attempted the presence of Ariahn. She was not the coyote that her mother had been, yet she was far from harmless bed fellow. Far from the loose woman. She had standards after all.

I come down like a bloody rain cuts up flesh sky,
Pulse beating under, yeah
Meat petals bloom in a bone garden
Ain't no god, no ghost gonna save you now

I sell souls at the side of the road
Would you like to take a number

Growling assault of words teased by lips, tongue, mouth. Teeth bared in that feral smile with the subtle dilation of pupils to leave absinthe devoured by dark moons. That restless nature was an intoxication that only for a small time would whiskey Satiate. Daring enough though was the question. Who would dare? Test the rhythm and pattern. The repetition of the Huntress. It wasn't about taming the beast, but learning to live with it.

Hips assaulted the microphone stand before the mic' was ripped from the stand and with the melody to tear and render in that slow cocky stride of arrogant hunger she stalked and prowled on all fours. Cord of the microphone near as bondage straps curling her wrists as she was leaning over the stage. Kneeling near in reverence and worship if not for that slow smile that left the question of who was predator and who was prey. The wild hunger in eyes that left one knowing Ariahn... was far from a little lamb... and not the one meant for the taste of wolves to lick skin.

Take your time, come on, get what you come for don't
Waste my time, come on, get what you come for don't
waste my time, come on, get what you come for don't
waste my time, come on, get what you come for

There's a highway to, to the edge, yeah
Once a night you will drive yourself there
At the end of the road you will find the answer
At the end of the road you will drink the fear

I watched you burn in the eye of my sun, in the eye of my sun, yeah yeah

I fvcked you in, in the eye of my sun, in the eye of my sun, yeah yeah
Yeah yeah...

A lean toward the crowd as that growl assaulted senses. Like a promised offering of bliss and bedroom indulgence. So close to one of those men that watched with the hunger in his eyes of one that would brutalize and assault. Like a taste on her tongue he was, vodka and the intent to tame this kitten. He couldn't be more wrong.

Palm gripped in his hair as those lyrics near seemed for him. Tempering that indulgence. Tip of Ariahn's tongue moved out past that lip ring as if to paint a wet line across his throat. The last moment though when his pulse had quickened to near combustion her laughter moved rich and heady in his ear as she shoved his face with the palm of her hand and tossed the microphone back to the band.

Boots on table top, she bowed like a ring master at a circus. Because that's all this fvcking place was. A circus and she was just another one of the caged freaks they'd unleashed.

(Italized entry lyrics of The Distllers-Hall of Mirrors)

Emotions were an interesting experience. How long had she shielded them, ignored them. Disregarded what came so natural to others and for Ariahn seemed not a part of nature. Once a wild creature, old habits and routine. Yet Theodore had destroyed all that she was used to, turned her world upside down. It was an early morning that made her restless as she prowled downstairs when the fetish club was waking up.

Hours appreciated as the workers of the club were setting up and stocking. She always claimed those early hours when the 'patrons' were dismissed as being her warm up sets but the club knew it was her moment of revelation, a private insight into Ariahn's enigmatic spirit.

Fingers twisted in midas touched sable as she sang a cappella without the cacophony of her band to back her up. The nature of an angel's voice that had fallen and hit the ground before running.

I can't sleep
I've lost the urge to sing
No one's left a friend
The cost of ill pretend
Where'd you go?
I need you now
I said ooh-ooh

A grin curled her lips as Trelan added his vocals to the last line of her song, a close of eyes as drifted thoughts found their way back to Theodore. Did he know she sang of him now? It was unlikely. What would he think if he did realize. The thought made her voice more sensual and intimate as it caressed the melody of that song.

Ten thousand miles apart
A frozen ocean joins our hearts
I can't wait to meet you when
The frozen waves meet ocean floors
You'll be standing on the shore
I can't wait to meet you then

I still dream
But what should I believe
Frozen shapes to bend
Impossible sets in
Lost again
Still alone
I said ooh-ooh

These were the hours, this was the time she realized the influence he had over her. How he had lingered in her spirit and claimed her heart. Thoughts turned for a moment on Aja's silent request to look after Anya and Neo. Unspoken words spoke volumes to the Huntress.

Indian style, fingers on knees she near seemed transcedent from all of it. Another state of mind as she sang, her voice prowled and brushed the room. A thread of energy licked at her voice. Suggestive with its imprint of energy. Another gift revealed. Emotions suggested, stimulating a dreamy contentment.

Ten thousand miles apart
A frozen ocean joins our hearts
I can't wait to meet you when
The frozen waves meet ocean floors
You'll be standing on the shore
I can't wait to meet you then

I can't wait

So used to repetition and yet everything so offbalance and she still found it peaceful. More relaxing then ever. Theodore had changed her, someone broke through her guard and those walls she kept around herself to keep her true spirit shielded from the rest so she would remain safe and secure... all were falling away.

Her voice near purred with that exposed emotion then. Haunting clarity as absinthe eyes opened, shining in morning wash of awakened light. Understanding... it was a strange sensation to possess.

The frozen waves meet ocean floors
You'll be standing on the shore
I can't wait to meet you then
Ten thousand miles apart
A frozen ocean joins our hearts
I can't wait to meet you when

(Shiny Toy Guns- Frozen Oceans)