In a dark corner of the Inn the shadows coalesced, twining together like a reverse spill, a growing ink blot of umbrous fluid. Blackness deepened into the absolute absence of light. Pulsated in a sickeningly obscene throb. And from its center Satariel Shah was birthed. The paleness of the limb that emerged was gleamingly white in contrast to the inky darkness. The shadows slid wetly apart, clinging like liquid that left no film upon the statuesque woman who stepped free. Eerily perfect in the way of the inhuman, lacking any hint of warmth or life. She didn't breathe. She didn't blink. She possessed no heart beat to flutter welcomingly beneath the ivory skin.
Unless keenly paying attention, the actual arrival of the Carnal Prince was utterly unnoticed. The air seemed to energize for a moment, drawing strands of hair away from the flesh and charging them with a light sheen of static. Linear clarity blurred for just an instant, just a blink, and in that precipitous haze he appeared in mid-saunter, smooth strides taking him toward the bar of the infamous Red Dragon Inn. His step didn't falter as much as it slowed, the glimmer of pupiless eyes igniting with the feel of Satariel's simultaneous arrival. That hesitation lasted for but a breath and then he was again moving forward, no longer destined to claim one glass. Now it seemed he would need two.
And he was precisely on time.
Somewhere on a dark plane the gong of a clock rung hollowly. She said nothing in the way of a greeting for the moment as it was not needed. The typical flirtations, attempted murders, and general mundane socializing were seemingly ignored as she bled forward, the stark black shadows leaving a stain on the air behind her. Any whose gaze lingered would feel the searing of their retinas, her movements unnatural, demanding the average eye make sense of her being in one place and then simply in another; the shocking, skittering jerk of images somehow still smoothly engineered. From the darkness the Covenant?s extravagant table materialized in its usual spot, two ornate chairs awaiting the arrival of the Shaitan.
Aukai stepped through the break in the bar, rounding to the aft of the counter. Impeccably defined sinew rippled in motion beneath flawless claret flesh, a sensual sight that conjured desires of touch and taste in those who witnessed the event, tethering lust with but a glance, a smile, and drawing it inward. Quickly he found the desired libation and twined slender red fingers around the bottle?s neck. It wasn't until he was on the way out that he harnessed a pair of glasses in his free grasp. He knew that the Mistress of Shards wouldn't require such a delicacy, but who was he to go against the punctuation of propriety? Angling toward the dark table that appeared with but a cursory glance toward the spectacle at the bar ? vampires and stakes and blood and rage ? he made his way across the room.
Satariel?s body bled into the chair and arranged itself impeccably, a vision of stunningly aesthetic beauty, not a lick of life to encourage. The empty eyes of stone lingered upon the blood, held upon the injured girl lying on the floor. Her perfectly carved lips remained in a slightly lifted curve and for a moment it appeared as if she found amusement in the girl?s pain; yet, the expression was soon revealed to be the only one she seemed to possess.
"Hail Shaitan, Baphomet." The Incubus said as he placed the bottle upon the table, his voice a smooth caress to the ears with just the right mixture of music and baritone. Deft fingers made quick work of the cork and he filled the glasses nearly halfway before alleviating the wine to stand idle between them. He slid one her way, a bemused smirk curling those delicious red lips. With a step toward the vacant seat he poured himself into the chair, falling back to curl between the two arms - back resting against one and legs draped over the other - before sampling a sip of his selected refreshment.
"Hail Shaitan." The ritualistic greeting fell from her lips as docile as a debutante's, though the sudden riot of writhing shadows revealed the agitation his presence wrought upon her captured souls. Jealously they twined about her, cloaking her, pulling at her, the movements revealing glimpses of pale flesh in almost pornographic flashes despite the actual sheath of ancient garments. "Belial." A lift of her chin, a simple tilt, dead stone eyes now locked upon the Carnal sin of his beauty.
He nearly missed her greeting due to the rampant emotions filling the room, the rage and anger and fear and pain a palpable occurrence. With a soft inhale that expanded the beautiful width of honed pectorals he devoured the fervor, using it as fuel to rekindle a fading flame. The spreading sin of a wide smile preluded the opening of his eyes, which instantly fell along the flashing contours of her spectral form. Even one so entrenched in evil could be beautiful in her own way, and it was this beauty that garnered his attention. "Not exactly your walk of life, eh?" He tilted his head, a sweep of spiraling onyx horns motioning to the room they occupied. "I didn't think this would be the place for...us."
"This location is the perfect meeting place. None in this realm give any attention to those who meet openly." A blotch of searing darkness stole the actual movement from mundane eyes and seconds later her body shifted to peruse the dramatic encounter occurring not far away. "And there is always ... benefits... to this place." Referring, of course, to his siphoning of the raging emotions ricocheting madly around them. "The Zealots?" Moving on to business swiftly enough though her attention appeared to be diverted.
Aukai didn't even have to try. He simply sprawled across the dark throne and let the emotions waft across his crimson form. He drank in the sweltering acrimony through every inch and extension of his masculine physique, his eyes only shifting from Satariel to survey the rippling wine that filled his glass. "Delicious as ever. As always, while I have chosen several to fill the roles, there are one or two who have willing sought out my accessory for their throats." Lips parted to show beautiful teeth. "And, of course, I am more than willing to comply."
"How deeply entrenched?" The short questions left any eavesdroppers perhaps unaware of the fruit of the labors of these conversations, not that she seemed particularly bothered by the idea of being overheard. As was normative for the Shaitan, the talents of Aukai and Aolani had been first deployed and it was time to subject such activities to an analysis. Stone cold eyes shifted to the pregnant student, Saphira, one who had become the recipient of her attention with the possibilities she presented.
"Immensely." He said with a nod. Tipping back the glass he finished the contents with a single swallow that sent the bulb of his throat bobbing up and down. It seemed far more sensual that it should have, suggestive in its motion, and once consumed he tossed the glass at the hearth, its shattering sound drowned out by the sizzle of flame. "With glassy eyes and panting breath they beg for more."
"Excellent." The glass he brought for her remained untouched though she seemed to appreciate the gesture of normalcy. No longer did food or drink entice her, any more than breath warmed her body. Unblinking, her enigmatic eyes returned to the delicious contours of the prince of debauched emotions. "What do you know of this laic introduced by the Sierene?" There appeared to very little she missed.
"Laic?" It was a question, but the mirth in his voice as he said that simple word denoted any real sense of confusion. He played the role of fool far too well to actually be considered as such, and the theatrical way in which he donned the mantle assured any he tried to convince that he was actually far more devious than ingenuous. "Oh, you must mean her little Tristero toy, don't you? Has she nominated her for the ritual? How fascinating."
The shadows exploded out from her, the movement of the woman herself lost in the blink of an eye. She was seated. She was standing. She was at his side. A cold hand settled upon his claret shoulder. The light brush of a touch hinted at rather than actually realized. Her gaze, as empty and cold as a corpse's, held his as she observed him closely. "To offer up an unworthy laic is to offer up death to both." She spoke the obvious. But then she revealed perhaps the true reason for this ambushed meeting. "It would be a shame to lose one as worthy as the Sierene to her own impulsiveness." There was a weight there. A dark weight. A wealth of hidden meanings.
The quadratic perfection of his scarlet pectoral clenched with the touch of her cold hand upon his shoulder. He was warm; blazingly so, and soft, as though he were velvet covered magma. She resonated no emotion yet she was still sensual in her darkness, and because of that his internal storm churned. He drew in a breath, a deep one, and fended off the desire of his fingertips to drift backwards and explore her near and bare thigh. No, instead he inclined his colorless gaze to meet the hollow depths of her eyes, his delicious lips once more parting in a smile. "Aolani has never been one to act on thoughtlessness. Impulsiveness, yes, though normally she is well versed in the outcome of her decision. She has proven herself to be capable in nearly every area." Eyes flicked downward for just a moment to examine the delicate ivory of her haunting hand. "Why would this be any different?"
