Beats like the thick, frantic cry of an alien pulse to the back of one?s throat; thick as an invasive tongue, hot and salty? The Asylum Club. Bare skin felt molested by the kind of air that permeated the Club, yet it wasn?t a hot, cloying sense of sweat, but a cool, calming suffocant. It was always that way despite the heat of a body?s writhing motions; Romax?s presence, there or no, kept it so. The spaces between shadows was where a pair of crimson eyes stared, haunted and transfixed, by the bodies of Pets, Keepers and performers alike. Master wanted her to be apart of the scenery, as he?d put it, then again, he wanted all his Girls to become well acquainted with his infamous establishment. All of his prestigious company, friends, respected fellows, and business partners ended up there at one point or another, and what was this spread without his exotic assortment of Jewels to glitter in it?s cool darkness?
A figure carved from precious stone, alabaster and ebony, inlaid with two blood rubies; that was the image of the Demure Drowess. That fine glitter of silver shone about her neck, marking the claim of her Master, yet those eyes; it was those stark, crimson eyes that held a madness akin to the infamous Sith Lord that sang truer to his claim upon the dark beauty. Those bloody hues held a blossoming confliction. Without tire the drowess worked, without sleep at times; she seemed everywhere between the many floors of her Master?s living quarters and his playground all at once, at the beck and call of whomever and whatever claimed her services first.
The Hunter had taken to the intricacies and ideals forged in the Club within his first weeks, knowing the structure in his first hours and those that entered or exited, or neither, within days of his arrival so many months ago. on this night, however, he'd come to take up the watch of one of Lord Pol's toys over the rest. She was an interesting little thing, having been almost everywhere he himself had. He'd even caught her cleaning the outside of the door to his personal suite in the furthest depths of the Club itself.
As it was, he'd taken to one of his many usual posts within the Club during these peak hours, the air around him strangled with pervasive and discomforting chills and lackings in the natural ways of things. Beneath the deep, crimson cloak and cowl was simply an armored being. Someone that was always there and never questioned. Only the girls and the personnel had so much as a clue about what Malex was. And now, he'd turned his eye on the Drowess. Her prowess and dedication were things to be noted.
Things to be watched.
Those keen in their study and sight of the drow as a culture and a creature all unto their own, would know this particular female was a drastic difference; a rarity to her species, abnormal and unwonted. When spoken to she was the picture of a seasoned Pet, obedient to a fault and at times even shy in her own cool, quiet manner. Isir was everything opposite of the drow, and between the sway of her bone-white hair was the evidence as to why. Scar tissue was a thick thing, impossibly layered and criss-crossed in the patterns of her life?s worth of lashings. To be subdued on a daily basis, to be stripped down to the bare bones of pain and suffering, beaten to forget what your blood meant you to be. Of this, she was ignorant, and the creeping madness was the price to be paid now for her obedience without it?s normal regiment of unwarranted punishment. Ignorance also followed the drow when it came to her master?s knowledge of her race and her stark difference. The voices, those whispering things, these new urges and tongue tingling attractions to the shine and shape of blades, to the bend and sway of shadow.
?Stop?? A whisper to herself, lost to the thrall of the Club?s beat. Lissome digits, a sylph?s graceful hand, it rose to sift through the fine spider web of her locks near the incessant throb of her temple. Teeth bore, incisors sharp, flesh rending things as they flashed a grimace in the dim lights. She had done all that was required, all the tasks she could think of for the Club.
What else was there to do? What could stop these whispers?
A whirl of her slinking garb and snowy locks, and away Isir swept, crimson eyes seeking any in need of some service. Her movements were unknowingly sleek, finely edged with the promise of a predator in bloom despite her frantic insides.
The Hunter's essence, the Force and pervasion that lashed out to seek the weak and unruly in the crowds more nights than not, had turned towards the Drowess' movements; her obsidian skin, split with the grey of scars and the sheer of fabric caught starkly against her hair. A most terrible turn of nature, in his eyes, upon what would otherwise be a race perfectly suited to his own line of work.
?A boon, perhaps, since competition tends to be wiped out rather quickly?. He thought to himself as he followed after her, in a silent trail.
Many would think to watch the Hunter move would be a raucous, looming thing, but his practiced and perfect form and elegant stride rendered even the armored suit nothing louder than a wisp of silk. The data he'd collected on her thus far was miniscule in comparison to any of the other girls, and as such, this was quite the opportunity.
Voices penetrated the booming din of the music, the aptness for sifting sounds through sounds; picking a quiet, miniscule sneeze in the roar of a crowd, centering in on a secluded conversation yards away despite the fray of noise around her, all extremely useful tactics the loyal Pet used more for making herself a useful as a representation of her Master?s reputation. One skilled in such things would not be using them for what the Demure Darkling was utilizing them for; servitude, at least not in such a submissive manner that did not lead to violence in some way or form in the future. There, a lone call from near the entrance of the Club?
Isir was on the opposing end near the metal casings that lead to the cat walk for the dancing slaves above in their cages. Shadows served as paths, liquid, dark things that absorbed her ebon form, negating all it?s highlights of bronze and violet in the warm wash of dim lights from above. The call was for a touring girl, and while Isir was very apt in such a thing, for her own aimless wanderings lead to her discovery of every knook of every area she was allowed access to travel in, there were assigned Sisters for such a task that were lacking in things to do as well. Black as the inky bottom of a deep well, Isir?s willowy hand seemed like midnight against the pale flesh of a room touring girl, a guide. The Sister smiled, and although startled by the Darkling?s silent, sudden approach, nodded to the near soundless silk of her lips and the nudge of her head towards the door.
Clout and the allowance of meager authorities was a gift Lord Pol did not bestow lightly upon his Pets, but his Silent Darkness was an efficient creature he valued greatly despite her ignorant handicap.
Little was to be had in the way of seeing the Hunter, until the touring girl the drowess had gently charged, had scurried past him. The girl had given the slightest of pauses when afflicted with the minute, slightly familiar debilitations that came with his presence. Less sinister, though just as discomforting as Lord Pol's atmosphere, Marex exuded an undeniable presence. He stood, hood cast back, and watched the Drowess through the helmet upon his head, processing heart rate, electrical impulses, body temperature, posture, and even measurements all at once. A handy thing, that suit.
A figure carved from precious stone, alabaster and ebony, inlaid with two blood rubies; that was the image of the Demure Drowess. That fine glitter of silver shone about her neck, marking the claim of her Master, yet those eyes; it was those stark, crimson eyes that held a madness akin to the infamous Sith Lord that sang truer to his claim upon the dark beauty. Those bloody hues held a blossoming confliction. Without tire the drowess worked, without sleep at times; she seemed everywhere between the many floors of her Master?s living quarters and his playground all at once, at the beck and call of whomever and whatever claimed her services first.
The Hunter had taken to the intricacies and ideals forged in the Club within his first weeks, knowing the structure in his first hours and those that entered or exited, or neither, within days of his arrival so many months ago. on this night, however, he'd come to take up the watch of one of Lord Pol's toys over the rest. She was an interesting little thing, having been almost everywhere he himself had. He'd even caught her cleaning the outside of the door to his personal suite in the furthest depths of the Club itself.
As it was, he'd taken to one of his many usual posts within the Club during these peak hours, the air around him strangled with pervasive and discomforting chills and lackings in the natural ways of things. Beneath the deep, crimson cloak and cowl was simply an armored being. Someone that was always there and never questioned. Only the girls and the personnel had so much as a clue about what Malex was. And now, he'd turned his eye on the Drowess. Her prowess and dedication were things to be noted.
Things to be watched.
Those keen in their study and sight of the drow as a culture and a creature all unto their own, would know this particular female was a drastic difference; a rarity to her species, abnormal and unwonted. When spoken to she was the picture of a seasoned Pet, obedient to a fault and at times even shy in her own cool, quiet manner. Isir was everything opposite of the drow, and between the sway of her bone-white hair was the evidence as to why. Scar tissue was a thick thing, impossibly layered and criss-crossed in the patterns of her life?s worth of lashings. To be subdued on a daily basis, to be stripped down to the bare bones of pain and suffering, beaten to forget what your blood meant you to be. Of this, she was ignorant, and the creeping madness was the price to be paid now for her obedience without it?s normal regiment of unwarranted punishment. Ignorance also followed the drow when it came to her master?s knowledge of her race and her stark difference. The voices, those whispering things, these new urges and tongue tingling attractions to the shine and shape of blades, to the bend and sway of shadow.
?Stop?? A whisper to herself, lost to the thrall of the Club?s beat. Lissome digits, a sylph?s graceful hand, it rose to sift through the fine spider web of her locks near the incessant throb of her temple. Teeth bore, incisors sharp, flesh rending things as they flashed a grimace in the dim lights. She had done all that was required, all the tasks she could think of for the Club.
What else was there to do? What could stop these whispers?
A whirl of her slinking garb and snowy locks, and away Isir swept, crimson eyes seeking any in need of some service. Her movements were unknowingly sleek, finely edged with the promise of a predator in bloom despite her frantic insides.
The Hunter's essence, the Force and pervasion that lashed out to seek the weak and unruly in the crowds more nights than not, had turned towards the Drowess' movements; her obsidian skin, split with the grey of scars and the sheer of fabric caught starkly against her hair. A most terrible turn of nature, in his eyes, upon what would otherwise be a race perfectly suited to his own line of work.
?A boon, perhaps, since competition tends to be wiped out rather quickly?. He thought to himself as he followed after her, in a silent trail.
Many would think to watch the Hunter move would be a raucous, looming thing, but his practiced and perfect form and elegant stride rendered even the armored suit nothing louder than a wisp of silk. The data he'd collected on her thus far was miniscule in comparison to any of the other girls, and as such, this was quite the opportunity.
Voices penetrated the booming din of the music, the aptness for sifting sounds through sounds; picking a quiet, miniscule sneeze in the roar of a crowd, centering in on a secluded conversation yards away despite the fray of noise around her, all extremely useful tactics the loyal Pet used more for making herself a useful as a representation of her Master?s reputation. One skilled in such things would not be using them for what the Demure Darkling was utilizing them for; servitude, at least not in such a submissive manner that did not lead to violence in some way or form in the future. There, a lone call from near the entrance of the Club?
Isir was on the opposing end near the metal casings that lead to the cat walk for the dancing slaves above in their cages. Shadows served as paths, liquid, dark things that absorbed her ebon form, negating all it?s highlights of bronze and violet in the warm wash of dim lights from above. The call was for a touring girl, and while Isir was very apt in such a thing, for her own aimless wanderings lead to her discovery of every knook of every area she was allowed access to travel in, there were assigned Sisters for such a task that were lacking in things to do as well. Black as the inky bottom of a deep well, Isir?s willowy hand seemed like midnight against the pale flesh of a room touring girl, a guide. The Sister smiled, and although startled by the Darkling?s silent, sudden approach, nodded to the near soundless silk of her lips and the nudge of her head towards the door.
Clout and the allowance of meager authorities was a gift Lord Pol did not bestow lightly upon his Pets, but his Silent Darkness was an efficient creature he valued greatly despite her ignorant handicap.
Little was to be had in the way of seeing the Hunter, until the touring girl the drowess had gently charged, had scurried past him. The girl had given the slightest of pauses when afflicted with the minute, slightly familiar debilitations that came with his presence. Less sinister, though just as discomforting as Lord Pol's atmosphere, Marex exuded an undeniable presence. He stood, hood cast back, and watched the Drowess through the helmet upon his head, processing heart rate, electrical impulses, body temperature, posture, and even measurements all at once. A handy thing, that suit.