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A Blind Eye
Her eyes shifted on the lure of Yuri's lovely complement, but behind the spectacle of his gestures, a momentary flicker of misunderstanding cooled the heat of her penetrating gaze. You must tell me where you come from. Did he not know who she was? Did he not recognize the face and body painted across Moscow's skyline? The name that scrawled across every piece of celebrity gossip to circulate the city? Had he never seen the controversial films that blurred the definitions between cinematography and pornography? Men and women alike salivated the name Spectra.

His suggestion of dining elicited a hesitant narrowing of tilted eyes and a contemplative puckering of luscious lips. Slender limbs that Yuri or Silas could snap like twigs offered delicacies to others, not herself. She had been trained to kneel in her place, to adorn the perimeter with a beautiful view while the powers that be brokered deals, but the days of enslavement were done. If she were to casually tickle men's imaginations now, she demanded compensation. Never again would Spectra spin her beautiful webs for free.

She wasn't altogether ignorant. Her face tilted slightly to one side, allowing a small, wry smile to play the edges of a mouth which parted to speak, but was cut short by a snap of pain that widened her eyes with shock.

Accusation tore into the twin suns of Silas' eyes, which Spectra held fearlessly. No flower wilted before his audacity, but then again, she did not give away the nectar to anyone for free. Most anyone, Hood had not yet called.

The rugged Silas was nonreactive to her expression and Spectra's flash simmered once more. The man was calm as a pup guarding a lazy evening at the gate. She preferred forthright men over cowardly boys. Honestly, who could blame such a red-blooded animal from groping so fine a feminine hip as her's?

Yuri, on the other hand, offered an arm which she might have taken had he not played naive so well. At the moment, the men were tied in the race to win her attention, but the end of the race was nearing.

"I interrupted business,"
she purred, drawing slender fingers across the soft bristle of Silas' jaw before stepping away to clasp Yuri's hands briefly in her own. The two men were connected now, having each experienced the illustrious exploration of Spectra's mouthwatering touch.

"I hate to be the one to split partners from important dealings."
Positioned equally between both, she looked between them with a heated twist on inviting lips they could only dare to touch. Both men were so different, yet each handsome and ingratiating in his own way. They would complement one another well, she could tell. She was an expert at such ... choreography ... after all.

Her gaze floated thoughtfully in the distance. If only someone could suggest an activity all three of them could share together....

Damn Jori was working hard. Kid was going to break out in a sweat soon. Wait. No. That'd be from the withdrawal. Silas smirked at that thought. He'd give it to the gutter-rat, it was so cute, Silas would almost let him have her. Besides, he was working. Not sniffing for cunt.

Speaking of. Spectra's tantalizing scent suddenly bloomed not so pretty. Her asshole was probably sewn together before she'd fart. Or else hers would smell like cherries and sweet summer wine or whatever they had in the tropics. Ethiopian wine didn't really measure up to anything wafting out of this one. Be more like cat piss. But back to the curious scent. It was a confusing twist of angst and pleasure. Like a bitch held down for mounting.

She looked so sharply between him and Yuri that her scent swirled into something altogether different. She was daring them. To what? And little fucker Yuri meanwhile was nothing but amused. Proud at himself. Like some pup wanting to show off its first dump.

What. the. fuck?

Spectra's teasing pulled a smirk out of Silas' clenched teeth. Little vixen was lucky she didn't get a finger snapped off. But when he finally understood her meaning. It was his turn to doll out amusement.

"Bah!" he barked. "That one would be so lucky." He cocked his head toward Yuri, crossing twin logs of arms across a barrel chest, grinning dangerously. Silas would break that fucker in half.
Continued from: A Little Errand

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The return of Mr Talanov's daughter had won Pervaya liniya Security both a sizable check and a valuable ally, now bound to the company by their shadowy dealings. It was quite well understood going into the deal that the security company expected more then mere money in payment for so shadowy a dealing. The company's continued existence and safety was secured through their powerful clientele, after all.

Hood's little present for Mr Talanov however had earned him a bonus. With the delivery of the turn-coat body guard, alive and in one piece, Mr Talanov had been more then willing to see that Hood was well compensated. And that compensation came in the form of a personal invite to a very hush-hush sort of party.

Hood arrived a bit later then he had been expecting to. The handover with Mr Talanov's newly hired head of security, a fellow member of Pervaya liniya Security, had taken longer then expected due to painfully mundane reasons; a delayed flight and bad traffic.

Hood arrived in the back seat of a simple cab, the valet's frowning openly at the display. The frowns quickly vanished as Hood stepped clear of the vehicle, staring down at the two classically dressed young men as he adjusted his cuff-links. Once again, Hood had been forced to drop a sizable chunk of change on clothes, something he would have considered a waste had it not been for his reason to be at such a venue.

Satisfied the two men were put in their place, Hood walked to the door, studiously ignoring the handful of paparazzi that tried to catch his attention. In their world, he was one of those unknowns that peaked their curiosity only until it became evident he wasn't some major headliner.

He was far more expensively dressed then when he had visited Manifesto, wearing a suit worth a cool four digits, the look excellently enhanced by a well kept bit of stubble. The other half of the gift from Mr Talanov, from the man's personal tailor, which had caused the old Italian man no end of stress to have it finished on such short notice. Not something that was likely to come out of the closet often.

Even dressed to the nine Hood didn't fit in though. The clothes were right, and the confidence with which he wore them was most certainly there. It was his eyes. Too cold, too distant. Not quite the eyes of a killer; he was a killer, of course, but not of the mundane sort. Not quite the eyes of a soldier; he wasn't one anymore, but that was still an important part of what he was. The orderly, structured lifestyle was probably the only thing that kept him functioning.

Building security didn't give him much trouble; he was on the list, after all, although the three men did size Hood up. He wasn't interested in a dick-swinging competition, however, and whatever he said to the men set the straight right quick. Pervaya liniya Security was a known phrase amongst the high-and-mighty Moscow, and was growing to be known throughout Dominance I, so having one of their employees at such a party was odd but not so unlikely as to raise questions, although he did spend a few minutes more passing through security then most had.

He shared the elevator with a senior politician and the man's trophy wife. He stood with hands clasped lightly behind his back, a sort of casual parade rest stance, and made small talk with the two until they arrived at their desired floor and bid each-other adieu. Years of training had made him more then a skilled killer. One couldn't go slinking about foreign countries and cultures without raising flags if you couldn't blend in, after all.

The view was impressive, and the guests equally so. He barely made it ten strides from the elevator before he had a drink in hand, and he scanned the crowd, reading the ebb and flow, watching for the subtle hints. Drugs, of course, were readily apparent; a well dressed man subtly putting some pill in his mouth as he took a sip of drink. The man to Hood's right had pupils the size of dinner plates, another subtle hint of just what sort of party he had walked into. No doubt there was far more despicable 'pleasures' one could sate at this sort of party. He'd seen the sort before; probably a few private bedrooms with sex-trade girls and boys waiting for someone to satisfy their hungers.

That wasn't what he was after, however. He gave the room another look, but it was readily evident Spectra wasn't there. So he wandered for a time, room to room, carefully keeping the well-payed eye candy at bay and avoiding any who dared to try and stop him for conversation. Those were few and far between, most more so interested in knowing just who he was, rather then to gather his opinion on anything.

It wasn't so long before he found her, in a side hall of all places, between two men. One some painfully out of place kid, the other a familiar face from Manifesto. The eyes he still assumed were contacts, but the man's build and the way he carried himself was what had committed themselves to Hood's memory. A dangerous fellow, probably. In a street-tough-turned-big-league sort of way. Probably more meat head then strategist.

Hood approached the three calmly, and stopped just a stride away from the group, although he paid neither man any attention. They didn't seem the type that would draw Spectra's interest for means of wealth and power, so he didn't mind interrupting.

He missed the little incident, and arrived only in time to hear Spectra's and Silas' words. "Well, you boys can get back to your little talk. I've kept our flower here waiting far too long."
His tone was silk wrapped steel; it was a simple statement of fact that he was going to be taking Spectra away from them, and neither man was really worth his attention or interest. Although if he had a chance, he might just look into finding out who Silas was. Neither of them belonged in the sort of places where they kept crossing paths.

Edited by Hood, Nov 6 2013, 08:28 AM.
Silas smelled the newcomer's approach long before he heard or saw the man. The odor of sheer dominance was far stronger than any other perfume on the air and rivaled only that of Spectra's elation. It dwarfed Yuri's smug pining. It was a scent familiar. Yes- Yellow eyes swiveled, followed by the cautious turn of the rest of his head. Yes- after all. What an interesting turn of events.

He recognized the man of course. Their brief exchange in passing not many days past at Manifesto left its mark. Both had sized the other up. Neither seemed too concerned about their findings. But something now about the man's scent made the hairs on the back of Silas' neck bristle, however. In better light, Silas guessed the fellow to be a few years younger than himself, but he was far from immature. He clearly thought he was the alpha of this den, but lacked the douchy showmanship of acting tough, bitching loudly, and demanding to be the center of attention. Then again, Pervaya was not reputed to hiring douchbags. More like ex-douchebags after they'd been introduced to the real world. And this guy definitely wore the cut of cloth like some someone raised in douchery.

Which meant he was probably going to be wildly annoying.

His greeting was polite enough. So the guy had manners. Surprising. He even kind of liked the fellow. They both wore the same kind of bullshit spotting goggles. And the bullshit was piling high around here tonight.

Silas uncrossed his arms. He was not some beaten dog retreating with its tail between its legs when the meaner animals showed up. He was more of a, lift your muzzle off your paw and watch to see what happened then go back to sleep sort of guy. But if he snapped a pained yelp out of Yuri, Silas wouldn't mind watching that.

Edited by Silas Kole, Nov 6 2013, 03:38 PM.
Fuck, was nothing going to work with her? It seemed like he'd gotten somewhere with that crazy awesome line about how she'd melt a Russian winter -- as if anyone could do that. But instead of Spectra turning around and giving Yellow Eyes a purple eye for the grope, she just seemed - maybe amused.

And now another man had come, most likely to try to stamp his territory out all over Spectra Lin just as Yellow Eyes over there was doing. Fucking hallway was turning into a regular sausage fest. Guy looked pretty slick, and had a steely look to his eyes, like he wasn't about to take crap from anyone. Probably a real mover and shaker, used to getting what he wanted.

And now he was just going to come over and dismiss Yuri and try and snag away Spectra's attention.

Yeah. Never mind that Yuri was here to take care of business. Fuck that asshole, he wasn't going to get what he wanted.

Okay. Yuri told himself he could figure this out. "Yeah, you have kept her waiting too long. I was wondering when one of this party's servers would turn up."
What would she like? She wasn't carrying a drink, and she'd turned down an invitation for dinner. Probably was on some new fad sunshine and butterflies diet with fru fru drinks that had fruit in them and shit. "Go fetch the lady a sparkling water with raspberry."

Yuri relaxed in his smugness. If the newcomer went and got it, that worked. If he was offended, fuck him. And if the man got an attitude, Yuri was more than confident he could rip the man to shreds at the first sign of hostility. Yeah, he was getting the hang of this high roller lifestyle shit.

Edited by Yuri Obrechennyy, Nov 7 2013, 11:51 PM.
The various branches of the CCD had grown quite adept at turning a blind eye to things they didn't wish to consider or deal with. Corruption and general incompetence was often ignored, at least in part because it would mean far more work than any one department was willing to deal with. In other cases, it was ignored for personal safety. Jobs could be lost, if not more, for embarrassing one's betters, no matter how much they deserved the persecution.

Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough could play the game as well as anyone, he just didn't do it for the same reasons. He didn't ignore problems because he feared the ramifications, he did so because he knew when a problem was simply untouchable. The illegal immigrants was a fine example. There was no department in the CCD capable of handling that problem, and the handling of it would mean many innocent people dead.

But just because a problem was too large to be handled, did not always mean it need be ignored. Some could be sorted out simply by shining a light on it. The highest echelons of the CCD were a prime example of that. Should one of the social elite be found wanting in the eyes of the CCD, the embarrassment of it would be enough to see the person dealt with and replaced, although it wasn't likely that the replacement would be any better a person, just better at hiding their faults.

The Chief Inspector had spent too much time crawling through the slums of the city of late, and had decided it was time to remind those who sat so high above that he was still out and about, and quite willing to poke his nose anywhere it wasn't wanted.

Satisfied that most, if not all, of the 'fashionably late' guests would have arrived, Chief Inspector Drayson's car came to a rest at the foot of the red carpet. It was a common model Audi, something normal folks drove and surely far less then he could afford. A nice car, but nothing to draw the eye or anyone's interest, truth be told. Once again the two valets shared a look, although their attitude withered slightly when the car visibly shifted as it's driver climbed free.

Drayson was a large man, and he towered over the young men serving as valets, although he sported an amused grin as he held the keys and a $10 bill out for them. His choice of attire was probably worth less then what the two men had earned in tips that night alone. A few hundred at most. All dark browns and earth tones, with a skinny black tie. The look was entirely...provincial, by the standards set by the guests that had come before him.

Knowing full well his name was most certainly not on the guest list, Drayson walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to answer questions with the paparazzi, making sure that his presence was fully acknowledged. "Who am I wearing, lass? English Laundry of course, off the rack. Tailored by whomever their in-store seamstress may be."
He laughed in amusement at the question; who was he wearing? Everything he owned was off the rack, common brand names. The look he got for the brand name was equally amusing, as it quickly became evident the Russian reporter thought perhaps it was some sort of misunderstanding in translation; he was, after all, English, so did he mean he had gotten his suit from a laundromat?

A few more stops along the way to the doors and the security types who stood there watching him in apparent confusion, chatting amicably with paparazzi and reporters alike, but soon enough he found himself stopped by two large, well dressed men that were obviously private security. Another man, likely the head of the building's dedicated security, held up a Wallet-like device that served as the guest list, and looked to Drayson with obvious dislike. He was clearly not invited, after all.

The man's tone did little to disguise his disgust at Drayson's presence, or his amusement that would come with embarrassing the arrogant bastard and having him tossed to the curb. "Your name, sir?"

Drayson grinned to the man and glanced at the fellow's name tag. "Ah, Mr Tsyrkunov. The head of security, tasked to taking names at the door? A little beneath you, isn't it?"
Drayson's grin widened slightly at the uncertainty that flickered across the man's face. He clearly hadn't expected to be known by an uninvited guest. The man's uncertainty deepened as Drayson produced his wallet and flicked it open to reveal his badge and ID, "Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough, CDPS Moscow branch."

The hired security shared a glance, and Mr Tsyrkunov hesitated for a moment before finding his bearings and giving the guest list a cursory glance. "Well Chief Inspector, you are not on the guest list."

Drayson's laughter was jovial and warm, and entirely uncaring to the implications of Mr Tsyrkunov's statement. "Bloody hell man, would be a right odd day to see my name on this sort of guest list. Would bode ill for my work ethic, don't you think? Now we could haggle about, or you could stop being duff and pen me in, easy peasy lemon squeezy."
He gave the head of security a clap to the shoulder and moved to step past the man, only to find himself stopped by the two hired security goons.

Mr Tsyrkunov stood dumb struck as he tried to figure out what the hell Drayson had set; while the man's English was more than serviceable, he couldn't wrap his brain around all the slang. "If you are not on the guest list, you are not going in, sir. I suggest you return to your car before I have you thrown to the curb for trespassing."

Drayson's grin turned to a full on amused smile at that. This was exactly the sort of display he had hoped for. He eyed the two guards a moment, then turned his back to them to fix the head of security with a stare that did not match the smile he wore. Any amusement had clearly been abandoned, and now the combination was a sort of look that offered nothing but trouble. "Do you know what a Chief Inspector is capable of, Mr Tsyrkunov?"

He produced his Wallet and with a few deft flicks of the keys and displays, brought up Mr Tsyrkunov's records. "Interesting. Are you aware, sir, that you do not have a drivers license? Not unheard of. Moscow has one of the greatest public transit systems in the world, after all. But what's this? This IS you, isn't it? I believe that's you at the wheel in this picture? Ran a red light. Another here, hit and run is it? A parked car though, so nothing serious right? Ah, too bad it's a Custody police vehicle though. Rear window and dashboard camera's are standard issue kit."
Displayed in such a fashion that the nearest paparazzi could both see and hear what was being said, were clear images of Mr Tsyrkunov driving a rather expensive looking car. "And I wonder, on a listed salary of only $110,000 a year, how can you afford a Jag? You must be very well invested, surely? I wonder if the chaps over in the tax department are tracking those investments, hmm? And I wonder if your boss would like to have those number-crunchers taking a gander?"

Drayson could turn a blind eye to a lot, but he was perfectly willing to open those eyes if someone thought they could lord over him. He could have just pulled rank and walked in the door, but this was entirely more effective. Mr Tsyrkunov paled a bit, more afraid of what his bosses might think then of any ramifications of such an investigation. He keyed his guest list briefly, then nodded to the two guards, "Enjoy your visit, Chief Inspector McCullough."
He didn't actually add Drayson to the guest list, he just sent word ahead to his bosses that the man was coming in.

A few minutes later, Drayson stepped free of the elevator and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to a young lady tasked to collecting coats, "Thank you lass. Might want to keep it apart from the other guests. Doubt they would want some common fiber touching their silks and furs, right?"
A smile and a wink, and the girl grinned knowingly; if she had a dollar for every time a guest told her to be careful with their expensive jacket, she wouldn't need to be collecting coats at the door. Drayson's joking reversal of that over-used instruction was a breath of fresh air in comparison.

He drew more then a few looks from the guests and escorts. Many of the guests knew who he was with a glance, while the escorts knew he wasn't worth their time by how he was dressed. He met both looks with an amused smirk and loosened his tie before moving towards one of the many snack tables to see what he could find. It had been a long day at the office and he had skipped supper. Again. And of course, he rather enjoyed the way his casual and cavalier attitude made folks nervous.
Silas' heightened senses were not overlooked by Spectra. She followed his line of sight out of curiosity rather than suspicion. What could possibly be so distracting to draw his attention away from her? What was there drew sweet smile across her lips, lips which soon pursed coyly.

She didn't float straight into Hood's arms, though she swayed like a lily pad hovering on slightly disturbed water. Her very skin itched to slither away from the two men that had drawn her venomous ritual these last few minutes, but rather than abandon two potential meals in lieu of a third, she would prefer retreat to the center of the web and watch the flies kill off each other.

Although it wasn't a fair comparison. If Silas and Yuri were flies and she the spider spinning their web, then Hood was a terrifying locust buzzing the perimeter smart enough to avoid the web, but still sweep in for a meal itself. As Silas backed up, Yuri ran his mouth, and Spectra shot him a reassuring smile that he continue the tirade. How would Hood handle this? Swat him away with barely a lift of a finger? Or ignore him for the insect he was? How exciting!

"I do love raspberries,"
Spectra blinked those large, tilted eyes that swam in green mirth. There was a movement hidden beneath the swamp-like color of her irises. She would accompany him away, of course, but waited to allow him the show of dominance he may or may not display.
Silas backed down without causing a ruckus, another sign that the fellow really didn't fit in in this sort of venue. The man had sense, and wasn't ruled by ego. There was a brief moment when his curiosity was peeked, wondering just who this man was, but it was dismissed for now, to be dealt with when he had more time on his hands. Tonight, he had other priorities.

Yuri didn't have the proper sort of sense as Silas. The man was certainly bold, and not willing to give up the fight apparently, but he clearly hadn't been around the block enough to know when he was trying to bite off more then he could chew.

Had it been any other day of the week, Hood likely wouldn't have even hesitated to floor the smiley bastard. There was a long moment where Hood's gaze grew in intensity. There was no boiling rage, no hardening of the gaze, it just grew more focused. Focused, in this case, on Yuri. If Hood hadn't had just a good time the night before, Yuri likely would have been on the receiving end of much of Hood's pent up anger.

Today, however, Hood was in a good mood. Or what passed as a good mood for him anyway. Spectra's admission that she liked raspberries seemed to diffuse the moment, however. That brief flash of anger vanished suddenly, and Hood let out a bark of laughter and gave Yuri a hard clap on the shoulder, "I'll keep that in mind."

Naturally, if Hood had any inclination of just what Yuri was capable of, the entire scenario would have played out differently. But Hood had to judge the man on appearance and mannerism, and as such he mistakenly read Yuri's aggressive confidence as common street-tough bravado, which made the man entirely unworthy of caution on Hood's part. Of the two, Silas was the suspected danger.

He turned back to Spectra, offering her his arm, "Shall we find you some sparkling raspberry water then?"
It would be hard for a glitzy jewel like Spectra to fade in the background, but because something was hard did not make it impossible.

While Hood's focus intensified, like some Colombian geisha, she shifted from being the object on display into the complementing accessory for those wielding greater power than she (metaphorically, at least). But in this case, as she slid a graceful arm into Hood's, it was not he who was amplified. All of Hood's intensity and focus, the quiet danger he radiated, only served to enhance the exotic warmth and tempting allure, strong enough as if she'd locked onto Yuri in his dreams, puckered her lips and beckoned him closer with a sole curve of one long finger.

She pressed ever so slightly against his side, familiar but not overly presumptive. His warmth was welcomed, but there was no long, lingering stare that left her drooling over this particular man. He was the apparent victor that she was going to show off to Yuri and Silas. Apparent because they had yet to walk away, and she cast Yuri a nearly sorrowful look that he might possibly give up so easy. Too bad it read. This was going to be the boys' brief brush with the magnificent.
Ori let his tone echo a shiver through her skin. Her expression was faint, the barest pleased curve of lips, though the brazen way her eyes caught his as he released her was very clear; she expected nothing less. And he would be delivering on that promise, assuming he still captured her attention by the end of the night.

She was content to follow, for now at least. Oriena did not belong to this world, but she was a self-assured trespasser, and shamefully ignorant of the violation. No jewels caressed her throat nor dripped from her fingers. Her dress, while well-fitted, did not bear a priceless designer tag. But a little darkness edged her smile, and she was nonetheless possessed of an easy confidence that had little to do with the number of zeros to her bank account.

Some faces she recognised, and of those some looked back. What sordid secrets lie nestled behind the polished shine? She’d seen beyond the glamour. The glitter of gold and cold glare of diamond did not dazzle so brightly once you’d glimpsed the same old human frailties underneath. Fawning after a prescribed image of perfection, and so completely assured of their elevated pedestals, her fingers itched to shove the fuckers out of their ill-deserved superiority.

“Classy party.”
Something dry infected an otherwise empty tone; she was not making small talk, she was testing a sly insult. Her gaze rolled lazily over the pockets of gathered elite, then settled on Jaxen like she was trying to decide how well he truly fit the landscape. She’d be vaguely disappointed if he faded into the glitter, though she expected little. His commandment of unnatural gifts offered him an edge – was half the reason she was even here – but she was yet undecided as to the value of his actual company. For someone who owned a club in the heart of Moscow – who’d spent her entire adult life working behind bars – she didn’t exactly savour these social scenes. So it’d better be fucking worth it.
"You say you're a godman. So what? 
I'm the devil herself"
Alpha ~ Little Destroyer
[Image: orianderis.jpg]

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