at my feet you'll bow to me
The city was dead, the plague that had inflicted upon her city was like a suffocating fog of fear which only festered and bred more. The club itself had never been so quiet, a ghost town except on those nights she had hosted premium events, invite only. Only quarantine feeders were allowed. After all, she refused to feed off the sick.. Humans were such filthy creatures when allowed to fester and infect one another.
However this evening had its own set of challenges and she was in a hell of a mood. She awoke that way, choosing to make her rounds only to be assaulted with a loud clamour within her filled cages down below Syn's underbelly. Her less favoured pets kept in those far smaller enclosures... especially ones that were prone to misbehave. That environment nothing short of sterile, feeders lined on the left, all possessed a tap in their vein for easy draining. But only now.. It was Ruben's assistant making the noise. He was in a fit of rage, yelling at the top of his lungs rattling that cage of one of her tigers who earned himself a lengthy attitude adjustment in solitary.
The assistant was a new hire.. Only the last month or so, with the increase of felines saw to Ruben needing an extra pair of hands. Which led to this newly turned vampire, late 30's, dark hair, strong jaw and utterly forgettable... stocky, scrapper-type, more than eager for a fight. He had been sentenced down here under the strict tutelage of Ruben, a rather gaunt creepy man who sincerely had a deep love for Risque's felines second to only his devotion to Risque herself. Ruben was nowhere to be seen, however which only seemed to irritate Risque. Where was the spider of a man? What hole had he crawled into, leaving his assistant unsupervised like this? Not a soul took a hand to one of her felines, not unless explicitly requested by the queen herself. After all, they were hers. Not theirs. Certainly not this little loudmouthed wimp who would never be more than a stain of blood on her shoe. Even that was far more than he deserved. If the tiger was a were, however, may she would have felt the urge to be a little more lenient... perhaps. Many of them needed to be broken down. The vampire seemed obvious to Risque, his rage blinding him as that large cowering angry tiger bunched up in the corner, ears pinned back a hissing ball of claws and talons. "Remove your hands." Her voice was like a whip slicing through the air with a violent snap. She did little to hide the way her lip curled in disgust even though the rest of her porcelain features seemed smooth and flawless as she was. Not a single hair remained out of place upon her head, nor a speck of lint adorned her lacy gown that did little to hide what was underneath. She hardly cared that it was see through or that it exposed the leather straps that just barely covered her nipples.. "Or perhaps I will remove them for you." The light french lilt of her voice rang out from across the room, as if it filled it, suffocating it from oxygen itself.
The young man's eyes lowered toward her breasts as most men so often did, oblivious to hell he was about to receive. Distracted by the striking woman and her exquisite body that they missed the deadly woman who wore it. The very woman that struck mercilessly.
She made quite a mess of him.
It was a skill that she had barely had a stitch of blood touching that expensive fabric. It was a swifter death than she anticipated and yet.. She refused to waste time on such a meager insignificant cockroach. She'd allowed that tiger a play thing, offering him the vampire's removed arm to gnaw and toy with. "Consider yourself fired, whatever your name.. was." Unceremonious words, wasted words on a corpse and yet it amused her to say anyways. Her heels left a trail of blood behind her in her wake until there was nothing left. It was no easy feat to walk with those slick with blood heels upon ground and yet she was well practiced, the woman could walk and make it look flawless in just about anything with the exception of stilts. That death hardly did much to appease her volatile mood. It set everyone on edge who she met with in her office after that. She allowed that blood to coat her hands like gloves... just to see them shift nervously, wondering whose it was and if they would be next. They all displeased her. Not even Darcy with his impeccable way to tiptoe around her figurative mindfield was able to read her.
Was every last being intentionally set out to disappoint her tonight?
She'd cleaned her hands of the blood that marred them after the final being left her office with his head still intact, which was fortunate for him. The blood rinsed away like all the others, after all, the night was not done. She had one appointment left and she refused to conceal a perfect manicure for her final appointment of that evening. There in her living suite was a man she had kept waiting for her, as if she sought to allow him to marinate in that potent anxiety she preferred he wore. How he wore it well, like cologne. How she preferred to keep him guessing within his own loathsome thoughts. He was told to wait for her within her room. A place that many were not allowed to frequent in the least, beyond a small chosen few. Tonight was different. After all, some time had passed which was nothing for her, nothing but a blip.
The sharp sound of her heels against the wood was an ominous and telling sound that would surely alert her feline of her presence. He had better be presentable and then greet her appropriately. How well she knew his utter disregard for manners in her presence and yet how pleasing it was to force it from him all at once. One day it would become as easy as breathing was to him. He would fall to his knees before her, avert his emerald eyes, his moppy hair falling forward as he knelt and bowed his head reverently and call her mistress. One day this too would come to him freely. No matter how much of his little pathetic world she had to destroy to achieve it.
There was a beep of the fob being accepted and the sound of metal unlocking as that heavy door opened to admit the feline queen into her private quarters. Risque was met with the fragrant smell of fresh roses. She took her time, not uttering a single world before placing that card, keys and paper upon that stained table. She leisurely entered that space, her space, even though she shared it with another. Tetradore's vibrant eyes caught her own from at the back of that room, hardly standing as he should to properly greet her. Yet another disappointment to add to her long list she had accumulated that day. It had been a rush up until this point. A rushed death, rushed meetings.. This was not something she intended to rush whatsoever.
She glided across the room to her cabinet, ignoring Tetradore's existence entirely. His time was hers to do with as she'd like. Her movements are liquid and felinesque as always.. She mused taking in all the bottled choices of drinks, all that she could possibly desire. Aged french wines, wines mixed with blood of all kinds... straight up blood. Every bottle perfectly placed for her viewing.. Refreshed when needed.. And always something exotic she had yet to try. Tonight she picked a merlot with cherry undertones, selecting one without blood, after all, her feline was here which often meant she had that rich favoured alpha blood to wet her tongue. She allowed that now opened wine bottle to breathe, closing the cabinet with one less crystal glass and one less bottle. That she-devil did not pay Tetradore a thought... idly moving to peer into a mirror.. Primping, and preening away, and putting on that silver taloned finger piece. Tonight she wore a full set on her right hand.
Thirty minutes of this excruciating waiting game must have ticked by before she finally poured herself that glass, humming an old french tune, a haunting melody long forgotten by most... one might imagine her being in a cheerful mood... but what a mistake that was.
She tapped that glass with the tip of that sharpened silver talon, an insidious, resonating ting that lingered in the air before she finally filled her glass. She rolled the liquid, as if assessing it before bringing that rare vintage to her lips. It was only then that she turned, pivoted upon the floor with unparalleled grace... aware of the felines with that very room sensing her very mood and remained like ghosts blended in within the background.
The sound of her heels the only thing that filled the room besides Tetradore's alluring heartbeat. He hadn't spoken a single word.
In only a few moments she stood in front of him, placing that glass upon the coffee table, waiting expectantly for something she knew... he would refuse her, unless she made him. Had he not learned his sole existence relied upon her wishing it? He looked the same...sexy stubble upon his jaw and chin, maintained. Odd. How she expected him to be in far worse shape... considering she took another home from him. Why was he not more distraught? The feline queen's sharp pale gaze lowered to that horrific hoodie, lingering upon that font. Did he think himself to be funny? Why was hours spelled with a z. No multiple z's.
"My pet." her disapproving gaze rose to his handsome face once more.
"Is this truly how you greet me after all this time? Have you forgotten all your training?" She taunted, in that usual melodious voice. Both expectant and demanding. Yet it was that tacky bold font on that casual hoodie that seemed to earn her disapproval... she had to voice.
"Take off that abomination of a hoodie and do better." That tone. Oh that tone that demanded and offered nothing good in return... and even worse if he should deny her.
I like you damaged, but I need something left
Something for me, something for me to wreck