Bode, Interrupted

[Jaxen Marveet]

Continued from "Hooked"

When the Auctioneer divulged that Bode could be located at Kallisti, Jaxen's first thought was that she might be Oriena. After all, Oriena had the malice to orchestrate such a scheme. But then again, she was far too indolent to invest this much effort into sabotaging someone, even if that someone was the Emissary. Oriena preferred to either crush her adversaries outright or dismiss them entirely. This level of intricacy suggested a more cunning mind at play. If Jaxen weren't so irked by the wild goose chase, he might have found it intriguing.

He attempted to resume his life, to let this whole fiasco fade into oblivion. Yet, each time he tried, a nagging pressure built at the base of his skull, unbidden memories of Kallisti flooding his thoughts. He hadn't set foot there since meeting Oriena. Sure, Kallisti was entertaining, but it was just one of countless pleasure palaces in Moscow. Lately, the place had garnered a reputation as a bit of a buzzkill. The atmosphere had shifted—more serious, less 'anything goes.' Perhaps it was mere gossip from disgruntled staff or slighted patrons, but Jaxen certainly wasn't avoiding it because of Oriena. Definitely not.

When the night arrived that he could procrastinate no longer, Jaxen dressed for the venue. His pants had a velvety sheen, begging to be pet by expert hands. His shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, revealed the edges of the snake skeleton tattoo winding down his body. A fur coat draped over his shoulders, though it was promptly checked at the door upon his arrival at the Burlesque house. Once divested of the coat, a Hello Kitty sticker adorned his shoulder, brazenly flipping the bird with angry eyes.

At first glance, Kallisti appeared unchanged. The imposing stalinesque façade still commanded attention, its nighttime illumination banishing any lurking shadows. Inside, the lavish interior exuded wicked decadence, a harmonious blend of soft allure and severe elegance that set it apart from seedy strip joints. Not that there was anything wrong with that. The main area, with its extravagant bar and intimate stage, remained a shrine to seduction. Yet, as Jaxen surveyed the room, he noticed unfamiliar faces mingling about.

A hostess guided him to a table, her gloved hand gesturing gracefully. Settling into the plush seat, Jaxen cast his gaze around, the ambient lighting casting playful shadows even as the music lulled him into a state of relaxation. He hoped that 'Bode,' whoever she truly was, would make the next move, but if not, at least he would have some fun.

[Nesrin Aziz]

There was one thing still bothering her; the damn puzzle box. It was the only memento she had of the theft, and despite having watched the Archivist open it with ease, she still hadn’t worked out the trick to the mechanism herself. Not that there was anything inside the keyring anymore, but still: it irritated her, a mystery she couldn’t solve. She idled on it sometimes when the bar was quiet, especially between the teaser shows when there were less interesting diversions to watch. She’d even dangled it in front of Nissa one time like bait, but after a brief attempt to figure it out, she only chucked it back with a shrug.

Nesrin was friendly with everyone here, but she’d made no real attempt to be close. She didn’t spend much time in the club during the day either, not once she discovered exactly why Carmen presumed she was one of Nox’s “strays.” Watching the girls exploring the power was interesting enough, but she could just as well watch that during the shows, and she was reticent to reveal her own gift by chance. Or at least not encourage the open dialogue if any of them already knew. Add to that, she might be ruthless when it came to her own survival, but even she didn’t relish the idea of letting herself get close to a bunch of messed up kids. Not when her pretence here was only ever going to be temporary. 

So for the next few days the daylight hours were her own and her nights were Kallisti’s. After the tease and dare with Wicked she frequently raided the dressing room before a shift, in part because it was easy and no one stopped her, and in part because it was an excuse to don a different character each night – to amuse herself as much as anyone else. Wicked himself usually remained tucked up in the room upstairs while she was working. But the heat seemed largely off her, and her feet were already itching to move on. She had another luxury apartment lined up, and myriad plans spinning off in her brain, but she also knew triumph made her over-confident and it was better to be certain before she disappeared from the haven Kallisti offered. A new gif floated around the darkweb despite her better judgement; the devil clad Hello Kitty waggling the cylindrical-like shape of the key, before blowing a kiss and disappearing in a cute puff of pink smoke. It risked annoying the Auctioneer, but she hated the idea of everyone thinking m’Antinomian had won when they pulled down the auction.

The club was quiet tonight, still too early for much interest, and habit clocked every patron who walked through the grand doors to be ushered to their own little oasis of decadence. For various reasons his was a face she recognised, at least in principle, owing to her discomforting encounter with Vena Shah. As a result she intended to simply avoid all of the Marveets, just in case. But a sticker on his arm caught the attention beneath her lashes as she lounged at the bar. Anyone with one foot in the darkweb and who’d seen the auction or her later retaliation would know Bode had commandeered the character for her purposes. That included any of Emissary’s cult-like followers, which was the reason for the initial cold ice in her veins when she saw it. But she could only think of one person who might have any reason to be pissed off about it though.

And that was Voxel, from whom she’d stolen the original.

Nesrin tucked away the puzzle box. Her heart was suddenly racing in a mixture of thrill, alarm, and a burning curiosity. It wouldn’t be difficult to slip out the back, avoid the situation entirely. But she wanted to know why he’d come here wearing that sticker like a fuck you – because only Wicked knew where Bode was, or so she’d had every reason to believe before tonight. It could just be the coincidence of a weird fetish of course. But it wasn’t just fear of reprisal that compelled her; it was the calculation of what opportunity might be gleaned in the moment, and whether she was prepared to let that slip through her fingers. Voxel’s identity was no small thing, if she was correct about it; even if it was just a secret whispered in utter satisfaction in his unsuspecting ear.

She glanced across at Nissa, who was busy preparing a drinks order Nesrin probably ought to be helping with. Claire was chatting to her, their voices too low to carry. Nesrin slipped away without another thought. No one saw the smirk on her lips.

When she reemerged she took a wide route, which wasn’t hard, since all of the seating was arranged towards the bar’s stage. Jaxen had been given an entire circle booth to lounge in alone. Maybe he was a regular, or maybe daddy’s recent promotion provided the perk. Not that it mattered either way, and all the better if he was comfortable here. 

Carmen never asked about her experience, and while Nesrin never hid that she was an open and sometimes sly flirt, she never disabused the notion that sweet “Ness” was best suited for work tucked behind the bar, and not out amongst the customers looking for more individual attention. Her hand trailed up Jaxen’s shoulder as she passed him from behind, the other shifting a silk scarf from around her own neck. From her vantage she could see the hint of a tattoo worked into his skin, but she didn’t pause for him to twist to see who teased for his attention. She wasn’t supposed to touch the patrons. Or maybe they weren’t supposed to touch her – she couldn’t actually remember, and she didn’t really care. Kallisti was all about visuals. It was sensuality of the flesh meant to ignite the imagination. So she took it away when the silk brushed its path along his eyes, still warm from her body. The gesture was soft enough that he could pull it free without much effort if he chose, even as she firmed the knot behind his head so that it would not slip when she let go. It was an invitation, not a demand.

Afterwards she leaned behind him, arms resting along the quilted edge of the backrest. For as long as he played along, he was deprived of everything but the allure of a stranger’s presence, and the dulcet tones of her voice whispered close into his ear. She peeled the sticker from his shoulder – not subtly this time, just slowly – and reached over to slip it inside the loose V of his shirt, against the skin of his chest. She made a little circle with her finger against the sticker. “I think this belongs to me now,” she told him.

[Jaxen Marveet]

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.

[Nesrin Aziz]

“I didn’t want you to feel it last time,” she promised with a low laugh, begging the question of what she did want him to feel this time.

But then things changed – in a direction she hadn’t anticipated at all, and she was usually pretty good at that type of read. He’d been lulled, she was sure. The blindfold itself had only been play, not a true attempt to obscure her face, but the menace with which he yanked it off set her pulse racing in fear. At the mechanic shift in his voice, just a single word, she thought she might throw up all over his velvety pants in primal recognition. Instead she took an instinctive step back, fingers still braced on the back of the seat, though barely. He only turned to look at her, eyes disarmingly blank.

“Ness” wasn’t supposed to be out mingling with the guests, and she hadn’t even brought a drink for him, which she knew would draw Carmen’s hawklike disapproval. Whether Jaxen’s clear irritation was enough to bring someone over to smooth out the new girl’s error she wasn’t sure. But she knew Nox had carefully handpicked the bouncers – they were all channelers. And Wicked was watching from above.

Terror never stopped Nesrin, even when it twisted up her insides in white-hot panic, because she balanced the risks with every careful breath despite it. Right now running would only delay the inevitable, and she liked her odds here. It was why she chose Kallisti to hide in.

“Hello again.” Her head tilted in calculation, pulse still hammering silently inside. She didn’t differentiate on who she thought she was speaking to, though her demeanour shifted; less playful, more quiet cunning.

There was a large part of her that wanted to whisper no, just to see if defiance would swing some power into her corner (what was he actually going to do?), but it was the much more stupid of her two options, even surrounded by Kallisti’s security, and Nesrin rarely stoked the fires of outright hostility. Not when there was something to salvage – not even when the sharpness of the command stoked ire in her chest. Instead, fingers still trailing lightly along the back of the seating, she worked her way around it. He remained in her peripheral vision the entire time. Wariness was part of why she moved slowly, the other that it gave her time to think. But she was self-aware; from the outside, it certainly looked the seductress’ part.

By now Nesrin had enough puzzle pieces to make a somewhat comprehensive picture. She’d seen the Emissary’s host when it was vacant – and it had been literally vacant, reacting only when she’d tried to prise the mask from his face. So, this was something different, else it was just earlier in the same process. She suspected less permanence, given the Emissary’s reliance on his mask, but all she really needed to know was whether or not it meant Voxel was still in there.

She sat at the furthest edge of the round seating, where it would be easy to slip back out quickly, though her posture was relaxed when she folded onto the seat. One leg tucked under, and she was curved in towards him even though she was as far away as she could be. Her arm rested on the back of the seat. The Emissary hadn’t hurt her back at the house party, even when it knew what she had stolen, and she didn’t think that would change – not while she had what it wanted. Or it thought she did, at least. And so long as it kept all it’s ethereal fucking connections that side of the table, she was perfectly willing to talk.

Her fingers played across her lips, and she bit the tip of one in contemplation or tease or perhaps just plain judgement. Her eyes half narrowed. “All the mighty Voxel’s accomplishments down to m’Antinomian all along. Well that’s disappointing.” A smirk played behind her hand, not very carefully hidden. The devious goad flashed under her lashes. If Voxel was still steering, or in there somewhere, she didn’t think it was an accusation his pride would ignore. And it seemed an odd alliance in truth, not least for what rumour spoke of the colourful Jaxen Marveet.

“I’m listening,” she added, letting her chin rest on the fold of her hand. Her dark eyes were unblinking. Always let the other player show their hand first.