Pawns in the game

[Oriena]

The night was young, Kallisti's doors freshly opened to patrons wishing to sink into its welcome embrace. There was no entertainment this early, just a low cadence of music and the beautiful servers weaving in and out of the tables. Soft lighting mimicked dusk, splashed with warm and decadent colour, and the air was comfortably warm. The vodka flowed, clear as diamond, clinking ice in crystal glasses. There were many new faces. Since Claire's arrival and Ori's sly epiphany, she had begun collecting in earnest. In her own caustic way she nurtured their abilities, much as Cara had once done for her, but she did not regulate how they chose to use their gifts - within her premises, or beyond them. In that careful way she built, not an army loyal to her, but one wedded to the conceit of themselves as godlings. So far it had added to the club's exotic mystique, and injected a darker current into the rumours that surrounded its reputation. Neither of which Ori minded.


Tonight she meant only to check in on her acquisition before she slipped out into the night and the revelry to be found after the day's revelations. The afternoon's pursuits had been interesting; already angry protesters clustered about the city, demanding askance, and a massive crowd had swollen in the Red Square. But it was the Underground Ori had retreated to; its forgotten citizens, misfits and exiles, thrilled with the news, with mixed results. Sweet and poison whispers in the right ears gently encouraged the chaos. Her networks buzzed, and she left them quivering on the edge of revolt.

Upstairs Kasun slept in a nest of clothes, tight behind a locked door. An accusing gold eye had flickered at her entry, but he did not move. Gouges rent the back of the door, and some of the furniture toppled at the edges of the room. But he'd eaten the food she had left.


Back in the warm glow of the club it was only whim that detoured her steps from the exit.


A smirk lifted her lips.


To those who knew her best, that smile was a riptide, eager to devour those hapless souls caught in its current. For those less informed it was all charm and playfulness. The smile of a seductress. She sat without asking or introducing herself. Or caring if and what she interrupted. It wasn't her habit to seek out old conquests, no matter how pleasurable their memory, but when they stepped into the heart of her kingdom she considered the game fair. Her gaze swept over Jaxen, then spent longer studying his friend. Not a member of Jaxen's circle, by either his clothes or manner, which suggested another sort of lure. On a day such as this, one sought like company.


In the softly curved booth, it was Manix she sat closest to, leaving him caught between the two of them. She'd been cold and angry the last time she'd spent any time here, but another face presented now. No less ruthless, and no less cruel, but there was fire in place of the ice. Her hair was a midnight tide over one shoulder. One foot propped on the low table, clad in a motorcycle boot. Slick leathers hugged the rest of her body, a jacket zipped up her chest. A curious tigress come to investigate the interlopers.