01-22-2023, 06:01 PM
The weeks upon his return to Moscow, prize in custody, Jaxen was hardly to be seen, holed up in the posh prison that was his condo. Then, most of those hours were passed in the bunker that was his tech room. The inquiries led to little success, but laying low worked out. If Scion knew he was back, he hadn’t heard anything about it. No snakes, either. It was good to be left alone for once.
That left his research turned upon the sword itself. It did little more than glow when the ancient power touched it. Don’t get him wrong. The sword’s light was magnificent. Plenty of hours passed staring into it. Into himself.
Fucking maddening. But not so much as to make him give up. In a thousand years, never.
A haircut and shave painted the smirk back on Jaxen’s face. Social news was abuzz with the celebrities lining up outside a particular theatre. As soon as he read the headline, he knew exactly what his plans were going to be for the night. And when the elite gathered to party, Jaxen was sure to show up. He snugged on a fur coat plush with oil-sheened feathers around the collar. John Paul Gaultier couture vintage Fall 2011. The shirt beneath was a loose-knit green speckled with matching metal coins. Blooming pants threaded with sparkle were tucked into knee-high motoboots, billowing when he sauntered into the cold night air. His hair was coiffed high and chaotic, silver rimmed his eyelashes, and a spike of an earring dangled from one lobe.
He left the sword at home, locked with the remainder of his treasures.
The car let him out at the door. Cameras and faces greeted Jaxen Marveet, but amused, he did not wave or bow to the crowd. He relished in the attention, but refused to give them more than the flash of conspiratorial eyes and a good look at the couture outfit.
But he wasn't the only one to arrive in style. The crowd recognized something he didn't, and mildly irritated with the outcome, their attention was pulled away. A limo rolled into place after his own car departed. And he watched to see who was going to spill out next.
That left his research turned upon the sword itself. It did little more than glow when the ancient power touched it. Don’t get him wrong. The sword’s light was magnificent. Plenty of hours passed staring into it. Into himself.
Fucking maddening. But not so much as to make him give up. In a thousand years, never.
A haircut and shave painted the smirk back on Jaxen’s face. Social news was abuzz with the celebrities lining up outside a particular theatre. As soon as he read the headline, he knew exactly what his plans were going to be for the night. And when the elite gathered to party, Jaxen was sure to show up. He snugged on a fur coat plush with oil-sheened feathers around the collar. John Paul Gaultier couture vintage Fall 2011. The shirt beneath was a loose-knit green speckled with matching metal coins. Blooming pants threaded with sparkle were tucked into knee-high motoboots, billowing when he sauntered into the cold night air. His hair was coiffed high and chaotic, silver rimmed his eyelashes, and a spike of an earring dangled from one lobe.
He left the sword at home, locked with the remainder of his treasures.
The car let him out at the door. Cameras and faces greeted Jaxen Marveet, but amused, he did not wave or bow to the crowd. He relished in the attention, but refused to give them more than the flash of conspiratorial eyes and a good look at the couture outfit.
But he wasn't the only one to arrive in style. The crowd recognized something he didn't, and mildly irritated with the outcome, their attention was pulled away. A limo rolled into place after his own car departed. And he watched to see who was going to spill out next.