Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Alexandros Constell did not recognize himself as he stared in the mirror.
The man who had become accustomed to dark suits and sunglasses now found himself in what he considered a terribly tacky, verdantly dark green suit, with gold trim, and suggestions of leaves and plant-life clinging to the design, including vining gloves, a blooming flower upon the pocket of the suit, and a nest as a hat.
Worst of all was the mask that was forced upon him, was a feathered guise meant to give the appearance of a bird that would no doubt be a part of the nest design. He hated everything about it, and he could hear Evan chuckling as he continued to assess it with so much distaste the mask couldn’t hide it.
“Well, I could not very well throw you into a red dragon suit, could I? We must have some mystery.”
“I hate it.” He turned to Senator Evan Cornell, the man who may as well have not been in costume at all for the white suit and flowing white cape. There was no theme. It was just fancy attire, and a fancy mask, although they were supposed to be themed. Evan would no doubt bullshit a theme, like any politician, but the truth was he hadn’t wanted to look ridiculous or offensive to anyone.
This way he looked good, and was fairly inoffensive in the white.
“Good. Then it’s even less obvious who you are.” Evan said, “Now come along or we’ll be late to the masquerade.”
Alexandros sighed, but he did follow down to the heavily tinted black car, and he took his seat in the back with Evan. “I’m expecting Tessa and a few others tonight, but for a while, you should just mingle.”
“Mingle?” Alexandros’s nose crinkled at the idea.
“Yes,” Evan said it slowly, despite being a single syllable word, and enunciated it in that annoying way of his, “Mingle,” similarly said. “I need to get a feel for the situation, before I decide what I would like you to do this night.”
“Isn’t it protect you?”
Evan chuckled, “Yes,” he agreed, “but the manner in which. There will be plenty of people there. I need to determine who has actually arrived, and who hasn’t, before I send you away from the party to protect my interests. So you need to mingle and act as if you aren’t tied to me, so that when we chat briefly, no one has reason to think you did anything on my behalf.”
He winced as he realized, “You expect me to do the job in this ridiculous thing?”
“I do,” he nodded, “You, and Tessa.” He agreed, “You will need to start showing her the ropes, and this is the perfect way to keep both of you well hidden from any and all prying eyes.” Evan smiled up at him from under the mask, “Wouldn’t you agree?”
He did.
Alexandros still gave a heavy sigh, and leaned back into the plush seat, closing his eyes. “The things I do for you,” he grumbled, but the distaste held a hint of play to it. He did it somewhat against his will, but only because he hated being a dog for a senator. The things that Evan did were in line with things he wanted to do.
Things he used to do, albeit more violently.
So, when they arrived, Evan left the vehicle first, right at the front of the grand gala with its golden domed roof, while the car drove away to let him off elsewhere. He had no issues getting in, flashing his ticket and walking in to see all the people in variously boring, un-themed attire, or immaculate, flashy, themed attires.
‘Mingle.’
Alexandros hated this idea, but decided the best way to start was to find the fancy tray of champagne and start drinking a bit. He could talk to people there about the champagne. He could talk to them about food, because there would be all the little, ridiculous, finger foods.
Thankfully, the table of food and drink was easy to find, and Alexandros was able to grab a flute of champagne, though his fingers brushed against a woman’s white gloves. “Oh! So sorry!” she said, although he pulled his hand away first, and gestured for her to take the glass, “Oh, thank you,” she was stylized as some sort of water nymph, dripping pearls as if they were rarer than diamonds. “My! You committed to the dryad part, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” was that what it was? Fuck it, it was now. “I’m not flexible enough for water,” he said, taking a glass for himself, “the pearls suit you.” They did not. The design was horrible.
“Thank you,” she took the flattery easily, “I’ve always loved them, and….” She droned. He knew how to keep up the conversation for a bit, and they were joined by some others around the champagne, conversation flowing between the taste of the beverage to the designs, including roasting others who didn’t partake.
‘You would get me stuck with a bunch of weirdos with too much money.’
That was basically the entire party, though.
“Excuse me,” he said then, as he thought he saw an escape, “I need to go say hello to someone,” he stepped out of the circle and did indeed make a pass to greet a strange man, briefly mentioning one of the common bills going around – this one about funding for the military, since that was the hottest topic right then – before shifting away towards the actual food.
If he was eating, he had a reprieve from dealing with people, right?
That was the theory that Alexandros ran with as he picked up some stupidly small sandwiches with greens in them. ‘No fucking meat?’ This party was getting worse by the second, especially when the bite was sour. Whatever sauce was used, wasn’t great. ‘I hate it here.’
The colorful lights flashed in the dark club, lighting up the sights that Damia Schaeffer wasn’t looking at with her eyes shut, body moving not just to the sounds. It moved to the literal sensations that pressed her one way or another, lost in senses no one around her was even aware of. It wasn’t as simple as the musical vibrations – although that was what she told most people, when she let herself escape into music, when she explained why she enjoyed it so much.
And she was enjoying that night, the bachelorette party for her dear friend Gina. They were, as such, all dancing near each other, with Loraine singing along terribly, but Damia liked the way her voice tasted, so she didn’t care about the sound much. Some things were worth overlooking, especially in the heights of joy.
“Is that fucking Emilio?” Gina complained.
“Hello~,” Damia ignored the question as she answered the phone, not caring about stepping out somewhere private or escaping the noise. She could hear Gabriel perfectly. She always could. His voice floated over her vision, making it impossible not to notice it everywhere, anywhere. “Aww, really? Tonight? Ugh, fiiine, I’ll be there soon.” With a quick farewell, she was off the line and looking at the girls who had stopped their celebrating to scowl at her.
“It’s Emilio, isn’t it?”
“It’s the boss man,” she wasn’t technically lying, but everyone here thought it was Emilio. That’s how it was supposed to be. “I gotta go.”
“He can’t need that ass that much,” Loraine complained, and Damia laughed.
“You wouldn’t know how desperately he needs my ass,” the ongoing joke, that she was pretty sure most of them thought wasn’t much of a joke, even if it was treated as such. “This ass pays my bills, so if you’ll excuse me – I’ll buy another round for you all to make up for it.”
“He better make it worth it tonight!” Olivia called, “This is such bullshit.”
Damia just chuckled, and hugged Gina, before the others, sashaying her way to the bar to make sure to put money on the tab that was held for them – and took down one more shot – before heading out, getting on her motorcycle, and kicking it into gear.
She didn’t really care much about the rules of speeding.
Or stop lights.
Or anything else, really, as rock blared in her ears as she hit tight curves at full speed, drifted, and kept on even with her shoulder near the ground. It remained such a thrill. The alcohol helped to numb her sense of fear, but then again, she never really feared. Danger came as a powerful smell that she veered away from, and cops had a sound about them she could hear from far away. Or, at least, she said as much. How true it was remained uncertain, but then again, much remained uncertain about Decima of the Rainbow Eyes, and how she perceived the world.
It had been an experiment.
A potentially damaging one, and some would likely say she was damaged for her strange perception, but she never worried herself about those. She did keep it hidden, of course. Just as she kept her real job hidden, that caused her to slide her motorcycle into a parking spot outside of the office building Emilio worked in.
Some lies had to be continued.
She strode in only to change out of her club clothes, and grab her praetorian armor. It was akin to a motorcycle bodysuit, wonderfully skin-tight, cast in darkened colors of Gabriel’s growing empire, and wonderfully protective. She put on a helmet she neglected to wear before, and stepped out into the parking garage to hop onto another motorcycle – this one her job bike – before driving that out.
The two identities were kept hidden. It was often in plain sight, with a mark she wore constantly as a ring, but when she went to meet Gabriel himself she went covered until the point of contact. People didn’t need to know she was on more than a first-name basis with the Dictator.
He had called her to meet at a fine restaurant. It was a shame, really, she’d had too much to both eat and drink already to be hungry, but she supposed there might be decent appetizers. If nothing else, the food would always sound good.
The guards were posted outside, but they didn’t question her, nor stop her, as she walked through the door and found the place where Gabriel was sitting.
He wasn’t alone.
Damia took off her helmet as she approached and took her seat, canting her head at the stranger. She hadn’t bothered to remove the make-up, so the tattoo upon her eyelids was covered in a mask of green. Still, she analyzed him in that way she always did strangers near Gabriel – the pulses of colors, the scents, the sound that clung to his body, the taste just on the tip of her tongue, the sensation against her fingertips – even though her tongue never reached him, nor her fingers.
He was not familiar to her, but he bore the mark of the Praetorian all the same.
“Princeps,” it all came together easily enough, before she slid her dark eyes over to Gabriel, sly smile coming onto her lips, “Well, I guess this was a good reason to interrupt Gina’s bachelorette party, but I’m still upset with you, Gabriel.” There was something important if she was actually meeting the Princeps. “I did think he would be more red, though. More cinnamon and embers, but I suppose you’re smarter than that.”
She gave Gabriel credit where it was due. Green came off of the Princeps in strings, and she had an idea of why. The strings seemed almost physical, and she had a feeling they could become physical. She’d seen similar before. ‘Telekinetic.’ Smart choice. Fun talent. Not for her, though.
The man who had become accustomed to dark suits and sunglasses now found himself in what he considered a terribly tacky, verdantly dark green suit, with gold trim, and suggestions of leaves and plant-life clinging to the design, including vining gloves, a blooming flower upon the pocket of the suit, and a nest as a hat.
Worst of all was the mask that was forced upon him, was a feathered guise meant to give the appearance of a bird that would no doubt be a part of the nest design. He hated everything about it, and he could hear Evan chuckling as he continued to assess it with so much distaste the mask couldn’t hide it.
“Well, I could not very well throw you into a red dragon suit, could I? We must have some mystery.”
“I hate it.” He turned to Senator Evan Cornell, the man who may as well have not been in costume at all for the white suit and flowing white cape. There was no theme. It was just fancy attire, and a fancy mask, although they were supposed to be themed. Evan would no doubt bullshit a theme, like any politician, but the truth was he hadn’t wanted to look ridiculous or offensive to anyone.
This way he looked good, and was fairly inoffensive in the white.
“Good. Then it’s even less obvious who you are.” Evan said, “Now come along or we’ll be late to the masquerade.”
Alexandros sighed, but he did follow down to the heavily tinted black car, and he took his seat in the back with Evan. “I’m expecting Tessa and a few others tonight, but for a while, you should just mingle.”
“Mingle?” Alexandros’s nose crinkled at the idea.
“Yes,” Evan said it slowly, despite being a single syllable word, and enunciated it in that annoying way of his, “Mingle,” similarly said. “I need to get a feel for the situation, before I decide what I would like you to do this night.”
“Isn’t it protect you?”
Evan chuckled, “Yes,” he agreed, “but the manner in which. There will be plenty of people there. I need to determine who has actually arrived, and who hasn’t, before I send you away from the party to protect my interests. So you need to mingle and act as if you aren’t tied to me, so that when we chat briefly, no one has reason to think you did anything on my behalf.”
He winced as he realized, “You expect me to do the job in this ridiculous thing?”
“I do,” he nodded, “You, and Tessa.” He agreed, “You will need to start showing her the ropes, and this is the perfect way to keep both of you well hidden from any and all prying eyes.” Evan smiled up at him from under the mask, “Wouldn’t you agree?”
He did.
Alexandros still gave a heavy sigh, and leaned back into the plush seat, closing his eyes. “The things I do for you,” he grumbled, but the distaste held a hint of play to it. He did it somewhat against his will, but only because he hated being a dog for a senator. The things that Evan did were in line with things he wanted to do.
Things he used to do, albeit more violently.
So, when they arrived, Evan left the vehicle first, right at the front of the grand gala with its golden domed roof, while the car drove away to let him off elsewhere. He had no issues getting in, flashing his ticket and walking in to see all the people in variously boring, un-themed attire, or immaculate, flashy, themed attires.
‘Mingle.’
Alexandros hated this idea, but decided the best way to start was to find the fancy tray of champagne and start drinking a bit. He could talk to people there about the champagne. He could talk to them about food, because there would be all the little, ridiculous, finger foods.
Thankfully, the table of food and drink was easy to find, and Alexandros was able to grab a flute of champagne, though his fingers brushed against a woman’s white gloves. “Oh! So sorry!” she said, although he pulled his hand away first, and gestured for her to take the glass, “Oh, thank you,” she was stylized as some sort of water nymph, dripping pearls as if they were rarer than diamonds. “My! You committed to the dryad part, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” was that what it was? Fuck it, it was now. “I’m not flexible enough for water,” he said, taking a glass for himself, “the pearls suit you.” They did not. The design was horrible.
“Thank you,” she took the flattery easily, “I’ve always loved them, and….” She droned. He knew how to keep up the conversation for a bit, and they were joined by some others around the champagne, conversation flowing between the taste of the beverage to the designs, including roasting others who didn’t partake.
‘You would get me stuck with a bunch of weirdos with too much money.’
That was basically the entire party, though.
“Excuse me,” he said then, as he thought he saw an escape, “I need to go say hello to someone,” he stepped out of the circle and did indeed make a pass to greet a strange man, briefly mentioning one of the common bills going around – this one about funding for the military, since that was the hottest topic right then – before shifting away towards the actual food.
If he was eating, he had a reprieve from dealing with people, right?
That was the theory that Alexandros ran with as he picked up some stupidly small sandwiches with greens in them. ‘No fucking meat?’ This party was getting worse by the second, especially when the bite was sour. Whatever sauce was used, wasn’t great. ‘I hate it here.’
~***~
…seen all of your moves
One step ahead I’m onto you
I feel nothing
When we’re loving
When we’re touching
…seen all of your moves
One step ahead I’m onto you
I feel nothing
When we’re loving
When we’re touching
The colorful lights flashed in the dark club, lighting up the sights that Damia Schaeffer wasn’t looking at with her eyes shut, body moving not just to the sounds. It moved to the literal sensations that pressed her one way or another, lost in senses no one around her was even aware of. It wasn’t as simple as the musical vibrations – although that was what she told most people, when she let herself escape into music, when she explained why she enjoyed it so much.
And she was enjoying that night, the bachelorette party for her dear friend Gina. They were, as such, all dancing near each other, with Loraine singing along terribly, but Damia liked the way her voice tasted, so she didn’t care about the sound much. Some things were worth overlooking, especially in the heights of joy.
Don’t you know that you’re just a game to me?
My heart only wants what it wants
What it wants, what it wants—
Damia saw blue as the tinkling of her phone’s ringtone took her out of the moment, the very specific ringtone set aside for one man drawing her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes and settled a hand on Gina’s shoulder to steady herself back into reality as she reached down to the pocket on her shorts – masked as a very short leather skirt – and picked up the phone to a few whines and outcries from the girls who noticed what she was doing.My heart only wants what it wants
What it wants, what it wants—
“Is that fucking Emilio?” Gina complained.
“Hello~,” Damia ignored the question as she answered the phone, not caring about stepping out somewhere private or escaping the noise. She could hear Gabriel perfectly. She always could. His voice floated over her vision, making it impossible not to notice it everywhere, anywhere. “Aww, really? Tonight? Ugh, fiiine, I’ll be there soon.” With a quick farewell, she was off the line and looking at the girls who had stopped their celebrating to scowl at her.
“It’s Emilio, isn’t it?”
“It’s the boss man,” she wasn’t technically lying, but everyone here thought it was Emilio. That’s how it was supposed to be. “I gotta go.”
“He can’t need that ass that much,” Loraine complained, and Damia laughed.
“You wouldn’t know how desperately he needs my ass,” the ongoing joke, that she was pretty sure most of them thought wasn’t much of a joke, even if it was treated as such. “This ass pays my bills, so if you’ll excuse me – I’ll buy another round for you all to make up for it.”
“He better make it worth it tonight!” Olivia called, “This is such bullshit.”
Damia just chuckled, and hugged Gina, before the others, sashaying her way to the bar to make sure to put money on the tab that was held for them – and took down one more shot – before heading out, getting on her motorcycle, and kicking it into gear.
She didn’t really care much about the rules of speeding.
Or stop lights.
Or anything else, really, as rock blared in her ears as she hit tight curves at full speed, drifted, and kept on even with her shoulder near the ground. It remained such a thrill. The alcohol helped to numb her sense of fear, but then again, she never really feared. Danger came as a powerful smell that she veered away from, and cops had a sound about them she could hear from far away. Or, at least, she said as much. How true it was remained uncertain, but then again, much remained uncertain about Decima of the Rainbow Eyes, and how she perceived the world.
It had been an experiment.
A potentially damaging one, and some would likely say she was damaged for her strange perception, but she never worried herself about those. She did keep it hidden, of course. Just as she kept her real job hidden, that caused her to slide her motorcycle into a parking spot outside of the office building Emilio worked in.
Some lies had to be continued.
She strode in only to change out of her club clothes, and grab her praetorian armor. It was akin to a motorcycle bodysuit, wonderfully skin-tight, cast in darkened colors of Gabriel’s growing empire, and wonderfully protective. She put on a helmet she neglected to wear before, and stepped out into the parking garage to hop onto another motorcycle – this one her job bike – before driving that out.
The two identities were kept hidden. It was often in plain sight, with a mark she wore constantly as a ring, but when she went to meet Gabriel himself she went covered until the point of contact. People didn’t need to know she was on more than a first-name basis with the Dictator.
He had called her to meet at a fine restaurant. It was a shame, really, she’d had too much to both eat and drink already to be hungry, but she supposed there might be decent appetizers. If nothing else, the food would always sound good.
The guards were posted outside, but they didn’t question her, nor stop her, as she walked through the door and found the place where Gabriel was sitting.
He wasn’t alone.
Damia took off her helmet as she approached and took her seat, canting her head at the stranger. She hadn’t bothered to remove the make-up, so the tattoo upon her eyelids was covered in a mask of green. Still, she analyzed him in that way she always did strangers near Gabriel – the pulses of colors, the scents, the sound that clung to his body, the taste just on the tip of her tongue, the sensation against her fingertips – even though her tongue never reached him, nor her fingers.
He was not familiar to her, but he bore the mark of the Praetorian all the same.
“Princeps,” it all came together easily enough, before she slid her dark eyes over to Gabriel, sly smile coming onto her lips, “Well, I guess this was a good reason to interrupt Gina’s bachelorette party, but I’m still upset with you, Gabriel.” There was something important if she was actually meeting the Princeps. “I did think he would be more red, though. More cinnamon and embers, but I suppose you’re smarter than that.”
She gave Gabriel credit where it was due. Green came off of the Princeps in strings, and she had an idea of why. The strings seemed almost physical, and she had a feeling they could become physical. She’d seen similar before. ‘Telekinetic.’ Smart choice. Fun talent. Not for her, though.
