Blood Sport

[Oriena]

He was curious, and utterly unphased by the den of iniquity to which she had brought him. Not that she had expected less, considering the blood on his hands the day she'd met him. It was half the reason he'd garnered her attention, that calm step into madness. The other half being, of course, what he was.

"A fortune lost or won,"
she answered. "It's an opportunity."

"The people who frequent this club are very rich, and very powerful. Whether in the golden sphere of Nikolai Brandon, or the recesses of the Underground, they are among the men and women who own Moscow."
Ori didn't hint at where she existed in this world, though clearly she had been able to secure them both entry; and she was not a creature of benevolence, to have cleared his entrance to this elite kingdom with no ulterior motive. He knew that, but showed no impatience with her toying. Truthfully, it was less like manipulation and more like coaxing.

A room full of powerful people, and in their midst: a god.

"Recording devices are prohibited. Whatever happens here tonight, it stays off the wider grid."
A rarity in the modern world. The devious glitter in her eyes did not abate, nor the sharpness of her smile. In one swift gesture, she stole his beer, pressed it to her lips. Her legs swept up off the floor, to perch cross-ankled on the edge of their table. The talon-like spikes of her heels glinted dangerously, not so very far away from where he sat.

"They say the main event tonight will be... interesting."
She gestured to the great steel cage with a smoky flick of her eyes. The rumours were a tightly fisted secret, spilled just enough to fever the club's regulars into a bloody frenzy. "But anyway, we have some time to kill. So indulge me, how do you imagine the night is going to end?"