It was eight pm. An hour and fifteen minutes since they had spoken.

Rubber soled shoes were barely able to find their grip upon the cobblestones. Each step had the gaunt little girl writhing in complete agony. Muffled screams, a sleeve covering glossed lips as she cried in misery, drew too much unwanted attention.

Turning a corner, a hand came down on the skinny minnie's bony shoulder. It was swatted away with a near feral snarl. The shadow of an unfamiliar man backed away into the alley, hands up and head dipped. Concern had gotten the best of him, the girl's want for anonymity in this state drove her fury.

Through the front parlor of the slaver's Inn came the tortured Sami. Covered in cold sweats with less than an hour left to find the source of her needs, the girl collapsed in a chair with bright blues pleading to dear Nori.

"Please... find Travanix. I need him now."

Against the straightened back of the wood chair was the girl, a bird wound too tightly. Beneath the frail barrier of pale flesh individual chords of crimson were tightening. The line of her slanted jaw edged to the left and exaggerated the placement of her rather flawless clavicle. Hands clenched around the arms of the chair and all the girl knew was the rush of her own blood pressure building and the drumming of an unhealthily quickened pulse in her ears.

In this place of familiarity there was little comfort.

Patrons moving through the lobby, their stares altogether nauseating as they assessed her condition and then chuckled to themselves. An addict. It was a dreadful feeling. There was no pity from their shadowed faces, only disdain. It reminded her of the woman in alley who bore too close a resemblance to Cieara. The emotional tie to the woman... Sami would rather have embraced a thousand deaths before letting her see the girl in such a state.

Whenever Nori returned and told her of the slaver's current preoccupation it was hard to keep from weeping on the spot. In truth, she was furious with her own ignorance and misplaced sense of immortality so often found amongst the young. Somehow, Sami has always known that this man would be her undoing, but she embraced such a fate all the same. Perhaps it was too great a temptation to resist, but each of these people had a part of her. The slaver would now lay claim to her blood, but more than that had previously been offered.

The spice was by far the dominating thought in her mind. In the loneliness, though... in the pain and the panic, she thought back to the last time she had come to this place. It was a grand time, perhaps one of the best she had spent in the city.

With agony in each limb and her mind racing a mile a minute, the girl waited.

Footsteps and the chill that was ever-present with the slaver's stride were the first thing to catch her attention. The vial in his hands was the second. It was like tossing a life raft mere feet from someone pitching about in the stormy sea.

The arch of her spine, already tightened beyond belief, nearly snapped whenever she rose from the chair. High blood pressure almost sent her reeling back down to the ground, but after a momentary wobble she managed to set in a course straight for the slaver. Bright blues were roaming along his frame to keep her senses sharp. The query, spoken purposefully at a high volume, made her wince.

As the eyes of the down and depraved ran along a thin silhouette the girl felt the pit fall straight from her stomach. Vultures, were they. Slaves, masters, masochists and sadists, addicts and dealers... they were no better than she. Still, their gaze penetrated her frame as she rushed to the slaver's side. Feeling no more than two inches tall, speaking with a meek edge to her typically boisterous voice, the skinny minnie tried to keep herself seeming alert.

"I did. I mean, I do."

Cerulean oculars peered up with wanting. He knew what she had come for.

Unfair! In the past it was always a game. He treated it like a game and so did she. Well, he won this round. Why did that give him the right to gloat as he did? No part of her being desired him now. No part took strange interest in the muddled mess of his psyche. For once she wished she could recoil and flee far away from this place. Unfortunately, for once this wasn't an option. The drug was needed for relief, for life.

A wounded look was given to the slaver and the derby dame nearly accepted her fate. Selfish as it was, she wanted to walk away and pour all manner of terrible chemicals into her system, anything to thwart his plans.

"I left the mob at home and it seems you aren't in the mood for dinner." That frail body jerked a moment with wrenching pain. After a gasp at the sensation she took a step back. Such resistance was nothing short of a miracle. "You said I would come back for another dosage. Here I am. If you don't have time for it then send me away."

The hand on her shoulder was a piercing sort of pain. As muscles were strung so terribly tight, the pressure was nearly crippling. The charcoal-smudged lines around her bright blue eyes practically wilted as knees buckled beneath his strength. There was silent pleading in cerulean peepers just before the floorboards bit into her bony stems. His form retracted like a python's just before the strike.

All of those eyes were on her. His, was she? On another day she would have begged to differ. Fingers inched towards the vial and then fell to her lap as it was taken away.

For the moment the girl just kneeled there in silent refusal. It wasn't for them to see.

"I will not." Crumpled on the floor, thin and broken, she resisted giving up the last inch of herself that was still her own. How many parties had she danced in a state of nudity? How many millionaire playboys had practically sullied her skin with their greasy hands? And now? Was she to give up the rest of what she had left for this? Sami wasn't ready.

The laughing made her face turn away from those in the room. Already the muscles were tightening as he promised they would. Over the course of the next seven hours it would intensify and inevitably cause her death. Not even of legal drinking age despite her regular consumption, the derby dame would reach what could only be labeled as an 'untimely' end.

Tears were forming as her chest heaved and blood continued to rush through her veins faster and faster. It gave the sensation of spinning in place. Palms were open and pressing against the floor as she leaned in. The vial was on the counter behind him. Was she fast enough to grab it? Under this stress it seemed unlikely. And what of his speed? Only once had she ever seen him in action.

Every inch of her body hurt something fierce. Still, her brain was functioning.

"You want me to obey you, fine." All too simple blue eyes focused on the slaver. "It's between you and me. Not these people. It started out in private, let it end that way."

"You once said that if you wanted me dead you would have killed me by now."

The wilting in true blues was almost poetically sad.

"The same applied to your interest in me as a slave."

A hand went to her knee and, against her better judgment and the pressure on each muscle, the girl began to push herself upwards to stand.

"Being passive-aggressive doesn't suit you, my Lord." That trademark lopsided grin was almost a sneer thanks to the involuntary tightening of her face. Samilee grimaced with the pain and the fate she would have to accept were it only to save what was left of her own pride. It was beaten, battered, and already broken into fragments, but at least she knew it was there.

"Besides, you already had the chance to take advantage of my public nudity and you decided against it." Another attempt at a smile. "Maybe we don't make such a great dance pair after all."

Through gritted hands and labored breaths the girl inched towards the slaver. As long as he had that vial in his hands his presence was enough to hold her attention. Bright blues were lifted and all of sudden those other eyes didn't matter. The people with their amused expressions and rarely muffled laughs were now an audience rather than a pest.

If you're going to go down... might as well go down singing.

"Haven't we met? You're some kind of beautiful stranger. You could be good for me, I've had a taste for danger."

Those truly lively cerulean eyes were practically budding with the starlight they often gathered in the heat of such moments.

"Want me to strip, baby? Want a show?" A palm was open and shifting to the audience as they watched. "Admittedly my current state has my dancing a bit off."

Bony shoulders rolled and lips parted with a momentary gasp. It was ever so agonizing.

"Have a seat, my prince. It's always so much easier to dance whenever you're seated."

The other faces melted into nothing. With the noise and comments buzzing in all directions it was hard to tell whether or not they could still see her aching frame. It felt like they could see. The slaver's words were comprehended even if she didn't have the full strength to fight or retort. Whenever the vial was there mere feet from her face those skinny limbs were still too sore to reach for it. The hand on her shoulder pressed her down once more and his frame slipped into the darkness.

Bony knees were grinding into the wooden floor. Fingertips tucked beneath the hem of the shirt she wore. Faded, vintage. This part belonged to Tara. It was comfortable and smelled of the fabric softener she used. A piece of home. This was set to the left of her body.

Bright blues then turned to the floorboards as a palm cupped the heel of her shoe. Converse All Stars. This part belonged to the djinn. They went with everything and had their place with daily life. This was the spirit she wore on her sleeve. They were set down next to tee.

From there came the olive cargo pants. This was the article that made her cringe. It went to the DeAusters whose prim and proper ways she idolized above all others. These stupid pants she was wearing whenever she met those beautiful people. The emerald-eyed beauty made her wish to wear nothing but dresses and corsets for the rest of her days.

There was almost a sense of rage as they were chucked to the side. From there came the undergarments covering all that was left of her frail flesh with alabaster hue. These were the most intimate and despite their newness, they knew her better than any other piece. This would go to the face she had not seen.

After this, there was only skin. Bruised in the crooks of skinny arms, sharp along the lines of her shoulders and spine, and strangely soft in the bare of her breast being clutched as she knelt.

"Please..." The plea started off softly and it made the girl pause. Catty tufts of raven and copper-streaked hair were clouding her vision. Beg as if her life depended on it? A tall order to fill.

A hand reached towards the shadow where is frame had last been. Fear was allowed to leak into her eyes as they peered up at him in earnest.

"Please! Give me the spice. I need it. Give it to me."

The chill was truly nothing compared to the pain.

Still, the tracks of his hands along her flesh were hardly given the satisfaction of a grimace. It was a common sensation. Too common it seemed.

Fingers were growing more rigid and were barely able to contract around the vial whenever it was offered. The orange spice was pressed against her bare breast and eyes closed.

The predator was right. This was quite the in-depth bonding experience between the two of them. A shiver ran down the line of her spine while she continued to kneel.

"Please... may I have a band?" The terrible sensation. She had the cure, now she merely needed to administer the treatment.

With a great deal of difficulty the girl managed to steady her hand long enough to wrap the elastic around her skinny arm and set the needle on its course to her skin. The sting of the metal was nothing compared to the release as the orange liquid before to enter her system. For the moment her nudity was all but forgotten and the elastic was tossed in front of where she was kneeling.

Bright blues lifted to him, clearing of their tears, as the spice started to work. Terrible sore and feeling exhausted beyond all means, she was still beginning to feel the pain ebb and return to some state of normality.

The vial was set down gingerly to her left. Despite her disdain for the dependence she had on it, Sami would risk no harm to the cure for her sickness.

Only, it wasn't a cure... just a distraction.

The voices around her began to wheel back into focus and Sami just waited for his word. She wouldn't move until she had his word.

The shattering of the glass made her wince. So frail was its state of being, her own was similar. Beneath his boot it crumbled and so would she if he willed it. Eyes lifted to peer at his face with new understanding and the line of her chin rose and fell with a lethargic motion.

"I agree... my lord."