01-23-2025, 11:43 PM
Jaxen reclined completely into the plush, circular booth as if the smoke on the air had lulled him into relaxation. He was watching the women on stage, three of them, dance slow and seductive, wearing lingerie that revealed all the right places and garters cinched across their thighs.
Yet while Jaxen tracked the performers tantalizing movements, his eyes were half-lidded in disinterest. Without warning, a whisper of silk brushed against his neck. A sensation so delicate it sent a cascade of shivers down his arms. The fabric traced its path upward, finally settling over his eyes and plunging the view into shadow. A knot tightened, not in aggression, but with intimate firmness of practiced hands. Jaxen’s body did not so much as react, except to hold his breath in fascination.
The wielders presence loomed close, their warm breath grazing his ear, carrying with it scents of liquor and flowers. The combination was rather nice, but the musing was interrupted by her fingers. Light as a feather, she deftly removed the sticker from his shirt. The pull and whisper of the adhesive’s release a warning before he felt it placed against the bare skin of his chest. It felt like a territorial planting of the flag, announced in a purring voice.
The sticker had been his beacon, a lure fishing for a Bode. He might have basked in his own success, but for another presence suddenly surging forth in his mind. It felt like a cacophony of gongs beating throughout its consciousness. A declaration: This is Bode.
“Nice lift,” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. “but you were smoother last time.” Despite the velvety veneer of his nonchalance, a thousand messages bombarded his awareness. Seize her. Extract the Key. Kill her. Do it NOW.
Irritation flared inside. In one motion, Jaxen tore the scarf from his eyes, an abrupt influx of light momentarily blinding him to the change. As his vision cleared, he locked onto the gaze of the scarf owner, committing every detail of her visage to memory with the precision of a neural upload.
“Sit,” he commanded in uncharacteristic direction. Mechanical. Detached. As if filtered through a synthetic processor.
Yet while Jaxen tracked the performers tantalizing movements, his eyes were half-lidded in disinterest. Without warning, a whisper of silk brushed against his neck. A sensation so delicate it sent a cascade of shivers down his arms. The fabric traced its path upward, finally settling over his eyes and plunging the view into shadow. A knot tightened, not in aggression, but with intimate firmness of practiced hands. Jaxen’s body did not so much as react, except to hold his breath in fascination.
The wielders presence loomed close, their warm breath grazing his ear, carrying with it scents of liquor and flowers. The combination was rather nice, but the musing was interrupted by her fingers. Light as a feather, she deftly removed the sticker from his shirt. The pull and whisper of the adhesive’s release a warning before he felt it placed against the bare skin of his chest. It felt like a territorial planting of the flag, announced in a purring voice.
The sticker had been his beacon, a lure fishing for a Bode. He might have basked in his own success, but for another presence suddenly surging forth in his mind. It felt like a cacophony of gongs beating throughout its consciousness. A declaration: This is Bode.
“Nice lift,” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. “but you were smoother last time.” Despite the velvety veneer of his nonchalance, a thousand messages bombarded his awareness. Seize her. Extract the Key. Kill her. Do it NOW.
Irritation flared inside. In one motion, Jaxen tore the scarf from his eyes, an abrupt influx of light momentarily blinding him to the change. As his vision cleared, he locked onto the gaze of the scarf owner, committing every detail of her visage to memory with the precision of a neural upload.
“Sit,” he commanded in uncharacteristic direction. Mechanical. Detached. As if filtered through a synthetic processor.