Hips rolled.

Devoured by the stage, consumed by the performance, Jatari moved adroitly upon the balls of her feet, springing into stretching vaults and swirling spins, each and every balletic attempt aided by the small wings that protruded from her shoulder blades. Slim hands took hold of the gilded pole at center stage and wielded it masterfully, contouring her supple form upon, around, and across it in ways that filled the minds of those watching with visions of how she could do the same to them.

Pliable pleasure was promised, and because of that, eyes were upon her.

The pole was her partner, in more ways than dance, and her serpentine embrace of its iron length drew snarls and crows from the demons and devils who watched. With supple legs coiled, she drew a long and exaggerated undulation, a pleasurable cadence against the cold metal that reached its salacious zenith in unison with the liberation of her ample breasts, from the mockery of attire that adorned her, with the snap of her fingers.

Bestial grunts rang out, and in the distance a violent outburst could be heard, the applause of the underworld as devastating as ever. Jatari was immune to the distraction of the sound, though, drenched in the passionate chaos of her sinful dance's culmination. Relinquished of lust, she laid upon the polished stage floor, chest rising and falling quickly with laborious breaths, recovering from the tumultuous release.

Once restored she rolled over onto her belly and pushed up onto all fours, treating onlookers to the enticement of her bare and youthful bottom, and heralding another outburst of violence from the raging crowd. It was an easy ploy, and one the owners of the Club - A pair of hate-mongering demons who fed off of anger and fury - appreciated. She brought her small feet between her hands and stood gracefully, exiting the stage with a turn over her shoulder to blow kisses to all those cheering for her return and booing her departure.

The backstage area was a long hallway fixed with doors on each side and lit by the soft blue glow of lights running along the floorboard .Her destination - the dressing room at the far end - drew the attention of her twilight gaze as she noticed the door was partially opened. This wouldn't have bothered her normally, though she was certain she closed it before heading to the stage to begin her set, and one of the biggest faux pas amongst the dancers of the Club was to enter into the domain of another uninvited. More than one girl had ended up with a clawed throat at violating such a law.

She pushed the door inward slowly until it was fully ajar, letting only her eyes investigate the room as she was unwilling to cross the threshold. Another thought was that a frenzied fan had managed to sneak into her room, and the last thing she wanted was to be ambushed and pinned while he savagely assailed her in commemoration of her performance. It wasn't uncommon, but she had been able to avoid such baleful coupling thus far by remaining cautious.

Everything seemed normal, every piece put in its appropriate place, even the articles that she had carelessly tossed about. Nothing was missing.

But there was an addition.

At the corner of her vanity was an envelope balanced just on the edge, its black hue a stark contrast to the whites and pinks and purples of her cosmetics and jewelry. It stood out critically, as though somehow it drew attention beyond the mundane comparison of colors.

She arched a brow and quickly turned her head back down the hall, more of a habitual curiosity before stepping in and closing the door behind her. There was something familiar about the item, though she was certain that she had never read it before, and quickly she crossed the room for a closer look.

She reached out and took the envelope in hand, breaking the thin seal of wax to open the fastened flap. From inside she pulled a small, folded piece of paper and with a careful thoroughness she uncreased the letter.

My dear Sister,

It is time for you to come home. Keep this letter close, follow its pull, and return to me.

A~


Her breath stopped, her heart stopped, though her smile could not be contained.

"Aolani."

Jatari stretched lithely across the glorious bundle of thick and soft sheets that surrounded her, pointing toes as far as she could in one direction and fingers in the other. Her yawn sounded more like a feline mewl, purring from parted lips that shuddered with the simple exertion. How she loved that bed.

She blinked away the sleep and sat up on her elbows to survey the room, and found the pale masculinity of the Phantom standing watch through his customary window. He had yet to move a muscle and gave no indication that he was aware of her consciousness, though the Mi-d?mon was smart enough to understand exactly how observant Draxcilian was. She poured herself from the bed and with a delicious saunter made her way toward him.

"Busy night?" He asked.

Though it was just two words his voice was hallow and harsh, and sent a warm shudder shooting up her spine. She lifted up onto her tiptoes and laced the strong line of his shoulder with kisses as her small hands wrapped around his torso and rose to rest upon his strong chest. "A little. So many sights to see here. So many different types of meals."
He never laughed at her jokes and it didn't bother her. He played the role of stoic sentinel to perfection, and while he might not have shown a single ounce of mirth in his expression, Jatari was certain that somewhere deep inside she got a tiny chuckle from him.

She swept away and crossed the room to her closet. That dangerous and flirtatious feeling continued to linger inside, and she needed a release. While traveling through the WestEnd she had found a dirty little dive with a dozen choppers lined up out front. It reeked of the criminal element, which was good for her. Bikers were normally dominant; twisted f-er's lead around by their little pricks.

Easy pickin's.

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The shower was amazing.

The way the hot water washed away the dirt, the way it consoled her internal distress and revived her sense of life. She felt new and untouched, spiritually resurrected.

It was going to be a busy day. There were souls to harvest and she was already behind. The quota she was given wasn't being met and she would have to kick it into high gear if she was going to meet the deadline.

His deadline.

She pulled back the illustrious shower curtain and glanced through the cracked door to where Draxcilian slept. If he knew about the dealings she had with the Arch-Devil Nasarach he would feel compelled to help her, to free her from the binds that kept her trapped to his side. The Phantom already had enough turmoil with the absence of Aolani, and the last thing she wanted to do was add to that strife with her own misfortune.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in the maroon terrycloth robe that hung nearby, sweeping her hand across the mirror to wipe away the mist that covered it. She studied her reflection for a few minutes, running through the standard myriad of expressions -smiles, frowns, laughter, anger, silliness - before toweling off her thick hair. She wanted something different for the day, perhaps inspired by the newness of her shower, and as she ran the towel through her hair she - with the help of a little glamour - transformed sable tresses into strands of pure purple.

Exiting the bathroom on the balls of her feet, Jatari quietly made her way to the wardrobe against the far wall. She wasn't really sure why she was trying to be so sneaky around Drax. Even in his sleep the Sentinel had proven that very little got passed him, but for some reason that fact couldn't detour her subconscious desire for sly silence.

She opened the doors and examined her choices thoughtfully, habitually bringing the tip of her index finger between her lips to softly nibble upon the nail. The only reason she hadn't broken this terrible tendency long ago was due to the aura of glamour that constantly surrendered her and fixed small cosmetic infractions...like chipped nails. Finding what she wanted, she pulled the separate pieces from the closet and laid them out across the foot of the bed.

She stretched the silken touch of lavender stockings up the length of her supple legs and smoothly hinged them upon the hooks of her lacey belt. Then came the black and white lace short dress, followed by the knee high ivory boots with all the buttons. Earrings and bracelets came next, and then the adorable hat and matching cane. Once embellished she turned to the full length mirror and gave a little twirl.

There was something missing, and she knew what it was.

With the tip of her index finger, the same one she nibbled on, she traced the outline of her soft, full lips, and painted upon them the purple shade that mirrored her soft hair.

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There.

Perfect.

Time to get some souls.

She blinked away the sleep as the light creeping in through the eastern window hit her right in the face. It was like the sun decided to spotlight her veiled twilight gaze, and mock the continuation of any sort of slumber. She rolled over and pulled a nearby pillow over her head to bring back the darkness, but by that point she was already awake and could not return.

She swept one delicate foot out across the bed in a skimming fan, searching for the masculine limb of her lover, and when she didn't find it she had to fight with everything she could muster not to explode into a girlish pout. Drax had said there were some errands he needed to run this morning and she wanted to go with him. He told her that she wouldn't be able to assist and she retorted by telling him that she loved a good challenge.

Though, it seemed that the one challenge she couldn't overcome was getting up at a descent hour.

When she crawled into bed the previous night she had roused Drax from his dreams upon sweet Fawne, and without question or persuasion he was instantly prepared to unleash his pleasures upon her. She wanted to, the Lords of the Nine knew that she wanted to, but she was so tired and Drax was so deliciously spent that all she wanted to do was curl up on his chest and fall asleep. So that's what they did, and when she insisted that they would continue in the morning he told her of his errands. She cursed herself for passing up the opportunity, and while she was certain she would be conquered by nightfall with but a whispered request, that didn't help the craving the stirred between her thighs at that very moment.

Languidly she poured herself from the bed, not really wanting to get up. She glanced to the small stand just off the corner of the headboard where she kept the velvet bag full of soul gems. She needed to get them to Nasarach by nightfall or he would send someone-or something- to collect, and she didn't want that.

She peeled the lavender stockings from her legs, the final remnants of last night's attire, and tossed them to the side as she made her way to the dresser. Sluggishly she pulled open the doors and started piecing together a new outfit.



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Save a horse, ride a...you get the picture.

Ciao.



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"Lunch." She said as she pulled the left stocking up over her knee, a sensual extension of the leg required to stretch the garment tight. "You and me."

Draxcilian sat casually in a nearby chair, watching as the little demon donned her eccentric attire. The dimly lit boudoir cast its infamous shroud of darkness around him, leaving only slivers of alabaster flesh exposed to the eye. Hands rested calmly, legs parted with feet on the floor.

"When?"

Once everything was in place Jatari hopped up from the edge of the bed and gracefully twirled on the balls of her feet, sending the flouncy skirt flaring out with a glimpse of the bare flesh beneath. Had there been anyone else in the room she would have been a bit more discreet, but it was her phantom lover, so she didn't mind giving him a show. "Now's good." She laughed.

"It's the middle of the night?" He replied.

She finished her pirouette facing the recumbent guardian, and though the shadows masked his darkly handsome visage she could feel the weight of his lustful eyes upon her. While a lethal sentinel, Drax was also a disciple of Aolani, and had surrendered to his more primal famine long ago. Jatari could literally feel his hunger, his desire. She started toward him with a naughty little strut, each step accentuated with the lush roll of her hips. "Some people eat during the day. I eat during the night." Her lips were pursed in a faux pout as her eyes ravished his white skin. "Don't you want to eat with me?"

She nearly giggled out loud as his hands clenched the arms of the chair in response to her wicked suggestion. As she arrived she placed her hands upon his forearms and slid onto his lap, parting her legs around his masculine thighs and settling down so that the heat of her naked flesh was against him. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cool mouth, the asymmetrical cut of her veil keeping her lips free. "I wanna eat with you."

Jatari purred as he kissed her back, parting his lips and sliding his tongue into her mouth. She caressed the muscle with her own, greeting him with passion. Hips ground downward as she pressed the curvaceous swells of her body against his hard frame, a liquid enticement comingled between the two.

"Take me to lunch." She whispered. "And then bring me home for dessert."

The evening had certainly taken a wild turn.

It had started with a fantastic ride through the city on her bike, roaring along the cobblestone streets from the North Side to WestEnd and back again, and ended with her clad only in her boots, lingerie, and cowgirl hat. A fierce game of Go Strip in the middle of the Inn between her, Fiora, Mindy, Audrey and Jase had resulted in the shared loss of clothing, though before anything obscene or indecent could be exposed the night grew long and they decided to call it quits.

What better way to meet new people, she thought as she reached the height of the stairs and started for room 16, than to see them in their underwear. She glanced down in midstride, taking a quick peek at her own ensemble - the lacy bra cupping her breasts and the thin little thong covering her hips, making the thigh-high leather boots and cowgirl hat idle accessories - and figured that introducing one's self in such a wicked manner couldn't hurt either. She'd let Jace keep her vest, and Audrey her skirt. Mementos, she thought with a giggle.

She turned the knob carefully and pushed the door inward. She didn't doubt that Drax would be awake, watching diligently out his window, though he wasn't her concern. She didn't want to wake Fawne. It had been a while since she and the woman who had grown to becoming like a sister to her had spent any time together, and Jatari made a silent promise to rectify that in the upcoming weeks. Maybe lunch in the Marketplace or a night at the Inn. Fawne was a little eccentric, but Jatari was certain that the girls would just adore her. She stepped in, sending twilight eyes searching the depths of the boudoir, moving with utter silence. She noticed the figure in the bed, the slender grace of her exposed limbs revealing the women therein, but failed to find the Phantom Sentinel. His window was vacant and she could detect no movement from anywhere else inside. Perhaps he was out on a midnight stroll, or maybe he was out looking for her. With her hand on the knob she gently eased it closed, allowing only a tiny click to escape into the room.

There was a sudden burst of motion behind her, and before she could react she was struck between the shoulder blades and driven into the door. Her pain was echoed in only a small whimper, the impact stealing a harsh exhale. By the back of the neck she was pinned to the door, her cheek held firmly against the finished wood. "I don't have any more!" She blurted out. "But I'll get more! I'll get a lot more! Don't hurt me!"

She felt breath on her face, on her neck, though could make nothing out through the corner of her eye, the darkness of the room far too oppressive for even a glance. Then lips claimed her cheek in a rough kiss, and worked their way down until a familiar touch, a familiar taste, found her mouth.

The fear, the terror of Nasarach's incursion settled within her like ice in her blood, but as the kiss lengthened she found that cold dread melting away. "Drax." She moaned, parting her lips to accept his tongue.

He kissed her deep from the side, keeping her trapped between the chiseled length of his masculine frame and the solid expanse of door. "You'll get more what?" He asked into her mouth. "Who do you fear?"

She arched back into him, and while there was space between her and the Phantom she was able to reach him with the swell of her bottom, brushing the engorged length of his manhood with its ripe curve. "No one." She moaned as her twilight eyes fell behind the thick veil of lashes. "I was kidding."

"You didn't sound like you were kidding." The observation came as he stepped into her, grinding the length of him against the seductive crease in her backside. He pushed his knee forward and wedged it between her legs, splitting them apart. His free hand then snaked around her waist and dipped between her suddenly open thighs, coming to rest against the silk of her panties. "You sounded like you were scared."

Willingly she opened her legs for him, easing her lush form against the door, resting against her prison. A husky purr was infused into the kiss as she felt his fingers find her sex through her lingerie, her hips rolling against the touch. "But what do I sound like now?" She asked. "Probably like I want you to f**k me."

"I want to know who you are afraid of." He asked again as he put distance between their lips, this time the question was edged and demanding.

She gasped at the insurgence of a minute release moistening her treasured cleft as she grinded it against his fingers, her mouth reaching to regain his kiss, though unable to cross the distance with his hand still holding her against the door. "You, Drax." She lied with a naughty little grin. "And what you're about to do to me."

He answered her tease by sliding his hand upward to the lacy line of her panties and then plunging inside to feel the bare warmth of her intimate nakedness. Again he rode her sex, though this time there was nothing between his fingers and her flesh.

"Oh yes." She shuddered at the cherished contact, urgently rolling her damp slit across his fingers, craving their invasion. "Don't torture me. F**k me. F**k me right now."

He breathed against her ear, so close that they nearly touched...nearly. The fingers nestled between her thighs slithered and writhed along the length of her famished sex, almost parting her open, almost slipping inside to feel the tight core that awaited just beyond the wet gates...

...almost.

"Tell me." He commanded with a whisper.

Her breath was warm and wet, and she felt it on her face as she panted against the door. The churning in her stomach began to rage toward euphoric release, and she knew that soon his fingers would be bathed in her pleasure.

"Tell me." He demanded again.

Sharp inhales heralded the yield of control and the verge of sweet surrender rushed toward her with a tempests might. Fingers, decorated beautifully with manicured precision, raked down the door, clawing at the solid barrier, seeking to tear it to shreds. The blissful storm came to a head, and teetered upon the ledge of explosion.

And suddenly his fingers were gone, as was he.

Jatari gasped at his departure, control violently harnessed and thrust back into her chest. Overcome by a sudden weakness, she found herself slipping downward, legs lacking strength, and wound up in a pile of limbs upon the floor. Startled, she brushed her hair from her face, feeling the tender bruising that was starting to rise from where the door kissed her, and stared at the Phantom, who stood across the room at his window. "Drax?" She whispered.

He stood in silence for a long time, staring out the moonlit window at some distant sight. Jatari parted her lips to ask again but nothing came out, and instead she turned over onto all fours and waited for the physical prowess to return to her limbs. The bliss that sought escape from her aroused body was strong, but the sudden jerk of restraint was even more so.

"Surrender." Draxcilian's haunted intonation broke the thick and quiet air, and while spoken with a calm tone, it seemed to reverberate in her ears. "If you will not surrender your trust, I will not conquer your body. I am your lover, but first and foremost I am your guardian. There is no former without the latter."

She laughed, and didn't really know why. She knew it sounded frantic, desperate. She pushed herself up to her feet and slowly stood, taking small steps toward balance and control to keep from falling once more. "What are you saying, Drax?"

"I think I've been crystal clear." He replied, his eidolic gaze breaking from the sights outside to turn and take hold of her twilight stare. "What are the gems in the bag on the nightstand?"

Instantly her gaze snapped to the noted item, and with forced poise she rounded the bed to where it was. She scooped up the bag and turned to the Sentinel, her eyes slightly narrowed. "You know nothing about this, Draxcilian. Nothing! And I don't feel the urge to explain. You do what you do and I do what I do!" She tossed the bag on the bed and took a seat, sliding the length of one thigh-high boot from her leg. "What we do together is a totally separate matter."

"I agree. Though what transpires in this boudoir is my concern. That is what I do. If you are fearful of someone finding you here then I need to know and why." His eyes shifted to the gentle lady laying amidst the silken covers in the bed, one creamy thigh and naked breast exposed. "To keep this chamber protected. To keep danger at bay."

The other boot was removed and placed on the floor, her eyes locked upon Draxcilian. Deft fingers reached for the front clasp of her bra. "I won't bring any danger to this room, Drax." She said in a soft tone, the bra sweeping open to spill forth young and ripe globes. She slid the garment down her arms and tossed it toward her wardrobe, missing it by only a foot. "Or to you. Or to her." She said as she reached out and placed a gentle touch upon Fawne's slender leg. "You know that."

Fawne stirred at the touch, though did not awake, turning into Jatari and sighing softly amidst a pleasant dream.

"Do I?" He asked flatly.

She didn't know how to answer. The weight of his dark scrutiny was heavy and oppressive, though as it slid away to resume its survey of the dark street below she found a sudden emptiness spreading from the center of her chest. She dipped her toes beneath the covers and nestled up against Fawne, the touch of her mouth delivering a feathery kiss that conversed both greeting and farewell. Clutching the velvet bag to her breast, she curled around the lady and ironically found a form of surrender...

...a cold and lonely surrender that lead to disturbing dreams and restless sleep.

"You can't be serious." She said incredulously.

Alexander Silvermane smirked as he leaned back in his office chair and spun in half-circle to fully face the exacerbated Mi-D?mon, lacing his fingers behind his head. "You heard me, hot stuff. Three Thousand Gold Pieces and three seconds."

Jatari let her twilight eyes wander over the ramshackle garage that Alexander considered a workshop, perusing the different projects he had scattered across the dank establishment. Finally she turned back and quirked a brow at him. "And how do I know you're legit?"

"You don't." He said with a laugh. "But I can promise you that I'm the only Technomancer proficient enough to do what you're asking. Turning a motorcycle into a interplanar gate isn't the easiest trick to perform, but lucky for you, I've got tricks a-plenty up these sleeves of mine."

She sighed. "Well, I don't have three thousand. All I have is seventeen hundred." She emphasized her point by dropping the velvet purse onto the tabletop that separated them.

His eyes fell with the bag and hovered there for a moment. "Well then, seventeen hundred and ten seconds."

"Psha." She huffed. "Seventeen hundred and no seconds. Just do the work."

His eyes flickered up to meet her gaze and he gave a shrug. "Oh well. Have fun finding someone else who can do it. And to think, I could have it back to you in two weeks." With a note of finality he spun around, giving her his back, and went to work on the motherboard laid out across his desk.

She opened her mouth to protest, to engage, to cuss him out, but didn't. She had searched from the North Side to West End for a Technomancer who could trick out her bike with the ability to gate between planes, but got the same two answers every time. It was either 'It's impossible. Too many mundane moving parts.' or 'Who do I look like, Alexander Silvermane? ' Finally the search that had lasted for most of a month took a favorable turn and she was ecstatic to track down the master Techno-mage whose reputation pegged him as a sure lock to successfully augment her vehicle-baby, though she hadn't expected his required payment to be so...crass.

Defeated, she sighed. "Seventeen hundred and five seconds."

He spun back around, a rather obtuse grin spattered across his face. "Deal."

She stared him down with eyes that resembled daggers more than twilight and yanked up her shirt, hooking her bra with her fingers in the same motion.

The ripe swells of her breasts bobbled free and were instantly in his groping hands, kneaded and prodded with clumsy fingers, fondled to the soundtrack of his adolescent moans and giggles.

"Five...four...three " He counted.

Five seconds seemed like such an eternity.

"Two....twoandahalf..."

She yanked herself away, wincing as his pinching clampers caught hold of her retreating nipple, and reared back. The dumbfounded look on his face was met with a sharp slap that turned his head to the side and instantly reddened his cheek.

"So worth it." He groaned, rubbing his face.

"Get it done." She snapped as she turned on a heel and stalked to the door. "Two weeks."