The Queen and The Prick (v. 2.0)

[The Cedar Witch]

RESERVED FOR SAIKETSU

It had been a week since Damien Evans had graced her presence in her home, and the time that had passed had done her little good.   The news of the shift in power had forced her into a worse mood than she had been before Damien had delivered it.   Though out of town and away from the Oligarchy’s watchful eye, she had little desire for blood that night.   The fury in her mind still echoed after every movement the Queen made, every casual glance becoming a heated glare.   If it hadn’t been for the fact that she had spent nearly an entire month in the ocean, the anger would have faded by now.   But the ancient clung to it, feeding from her rage as though it could define her.

It was a shame that not even the rumbling of an engine could tame her anger, nor the smell of gasoline--and faintly, cloves-- that had accumulated from the long ride and fixed itself deeply into her clothing.  This mood was intensified by the thirst pulling gently but insistently at her jaw.  It gave her a sort of quiet nature, threatening to boil over and consume any that dare draw near.  The confidence that generally hung around her was tarnished by this bitter anger that the ancient had some difficulty suppressing.   Why she drove toward Risk, where Oligarchy eyes were no doubt present, was beyond her explanation.  

She wanted blood.

Sonya pulled the roaring Harley onto the sidewalk, her usual parking space.   There was a flurry of sweet-scented dark colored hair as she hurried through the door, ignoring the line waiting to gain access and the guards standing watch.    Her sharp steps brought her passed the posted Rules and Regulations of the city, and she purposefully avoided looking to them.  If she had her wish, she\'d have the whole damn arrogant organization obliterated.   The club was the same as it had always been: heavy with sweat, blood, and sex.  All stirred her most inner cravings, reminding her that she, yes, even she was still a slave to desire.  

The only thing that seemed to improve her mood to the slightest degree was the steady, angry rhythm of Static-X pulsing from the familiar night club that now filled her with more tension then she was willing to admit.  Tonight she had chosen a bloody red, revealing corset to accompany a pair of dark, tight jeans.  For the first time in a long time the woman didn\'t feel any pressing need to stand out.  There wasn’t anyone she wanted to interact with aside the meaningless faces of anonymous blood-sheep.  For now she wanted only to dance and to feed.

"We kiss, the stars, we writhe, we are."

Wayne Static even managed to draw a twisted smile from the lips of the woman.  But more than music, tonight she wanted blood.  To feel the dying pulse and take until the heart faded and there was nothing left to take.  Dizzying satisfaction.  She could kill discreetly so long as she drew a helpless mortal sheep into one of the side rooms.  It happened all the time, surely it wasn\'t something she could get scolded for.  Then again, she was certainly old enough to keep such an \'accident\' from occurring, and now with Kerr Galvin in charge who knew what freedoms would be stripped of her?  The Queen didn\'t spare a look at the bar and headed toward the dance floor, the heavy sound of her angry footsteps drown out by the harsh sound of Static-X.  The crowd absolutely swallowed her.  Sweat, blood, and sex.  There wasn\'t anything else.

"Your name, desire, your flesh, we are."

[Saiketsu]

His mind was a tangled mess of impulse and mix-matched decisions, something that transposed itself through the green eyes as he stood watching the crowds of his once-favored night club. It made him appear as though he thought he were in the most peculiar of dreams. And had that crafted eyebrow not risen (pulling with it the vampire\'s upper lip into a rigid sneer) as his name was stated, asked, or called, Nikolai would have hardly seemed to be the same person as he had been weeks before. His eyes rolled onto different sights with that disquieting indifference uncommon to the openly-opinionated vampire. His mouth, for the most part, remained closed and without the typical cynicisms which laced his voice. That voice, his companions rumored, had somehow been lost when Nikolai\'s mind finally snapped.

How wrong they were.

Of course the voice was still there, lingering in a perpetual snap when the need would finally arise. He would say his bit to clients, to the simple people whom needed his voice for guidance. But that voice otherwise lay locked in the caverns of his hollowed chest, stirred and blended with the black rage and thick self-loathing. There it festered like and infected wound, coated in salt and acid, ready and poised to resurface when the need found him.

It had been this way for weeks on end, ever since the fallout with the blonde vampire who\'s name rattled the very innards of the traitor\'s scarred mind. He hadn\'t touched a body unless it was to feed -- and violently so. Most certainly the flesh had healed from the abuses suffered. But lately it was becomming far too common for Nikolai to awaken early in the dusk to a sharp, flaring pain in his ribs, memories of the night he wished to forget manifesting themselves in electrical impulses with no actual cause. The memories of a foot kicking in shattered ribs into burning, dead organs.

And like the good friends that they were, the Eastwood Disciples could notice the particularly odd behavior of their most well-known clan member. He no longer brought back the staggering number of addicts to sell their souls to the Disciples. He no longer found his interest in the free whores that were his right to take. And, most missed of all, they were confused over the absence of the vampire\'s pompous voice. Yes, there was something wrong with dear Doxy that nothing could fix. Nothing, save for a trip out to Risk, the place where all of the vampire\'s problems had stemmed from.

And so there he was, rigidly relaxing with his back tensely poised against the padded wall, arms folded over his chest and hair over the one eye that wasn\'t sneering. The boys at his sides were jittery: Vincent\'s eyes were that of an eighteen-year-old after his first real fuck. Greg, Jockey, and Ape were all taking seats next to him, jabbering on about a rough orgy -- they were only human after all. Their ridiculous fantasies allowed Nikolai to fade back into reverie with the greatest of ease.

The thought of quitting his immortal life, of taking a bullet through the brain or walking straight into the sunrise was becomming ever-popular in the remnants of thoughts that Nikolai did possess. It was never a rare consideration for the immortal -- he never wanted to live long anyway. His own death was a wonderfully torturing thought that he typically indulged in in any state of mind. of even the most personal of things. He found it quite liberating to know thTo have control at he could end himself when he wanted to, that he was incontrol of nothing but himself.

His eardrums rattled with the bass of the club. Yes, the thought was becomming stronger. He might decide to end his life this night. Maybe piss an immortal off. Maybe overdose of dying drugged-blood, like he was supposed to once upon a time. It was truly romantic.

A glimmer of motion brought his wandering gaze back from reverie. As his eyes focused, he noticed the vaguely familiar shape of a woman. Immortal. Red and sultry. A corset with beautiful breasts nearly over-flowing from the top. Who was it? As he came to realize, something gripped onto the sore walls of his hollow chest in recognition. His body stirred as a flickering of thoughts returned, rage and something that felt vaguely of an instinctual warning. Danger. Danger. Danger.

It was Sonya, that lovely ancient that had nearly killed him months ago. The perpetual sneer lifted into a slight smirk.

[The Cedar Witch]

Had she not turned at that precise moment, had she been any deeper in the crowd of hot, sweating bodies, had she closed her eyes that exact second, she wouldn\'t have noticed a single familiar face in the entire club. Yes, of course she could feel eyes on her, but that feeling was generally ignored in places such as this when she wore what she typically wore. Eyes were everywhere. But his were most unexpected, and when her quick glance found his arrogant-as-always smirk, the woman stiffened noticeably.

It nearly shocked the woman that he had even managed to avoid the sun after being so drained and broken. Sonya never expected him to recover quick enough to avoid being incinerated, he hadn\'t even seen his hundredth year yet. She had fully anticipated him going up in flames after screwing her and so foolishly running his mouth. Men. They were all the same.  And he should have died like the rest of them had.

"Cold we\'re so cold. We are so cold, we\'re so cold."

In the instant that his face betrayed recognition, the ancient\'s anger returned, fueling whatever rage she had accumulated before she even set her eyes on him. Her steely glare did not linger for more then a pause: he was the last prick she wanted to deal with. What was his name again? Didn\'t matter. She turned away from the once familiar face and moved to mingle deeper into the crowds.

After a minute or so, the offense of unwanted memory was forgotten, willfully stepping out of the way for thoughts more focused on dancing and feeding. As always she commanded the attention of a few mortal men who gathered the gall enough to approach her at intervals to dance. She hardly spared them a glance, dancing with each without distinction. The woman worked her way to the very center of the crowd, absorbing the hot lust pulsing from the heart of the dance floor. Nikolai was the very farthest from her mind.

[Saiketsu]

Her reaction to his stare was priceless. It made his frantic mind snap to and almost focus a thought or so on the woman, made his sneering smirk grow in intensity. Bits and pieces of the night he had spent in her house surfaced in no order: how she had leaned into his neck and had taken her revenge, how she moved closer to him in her gallery, how the wall at his back hurt him almost as much as Pierre\'s attacks. And with the fragmented memories arose the shattered emotions of the moment, cracked and crumbling at the edges.

Ah yes. He remembered her scent well. Her hair. Her hardened body laced beneath a corset. The tearing pains of her gravel driveway. And everything else was murky, indistinguishable thanks to a certain prick that had laced himself within Nikolai\'s eyes, his mind, his very fucking being. He couldn\'t remember why things turned badly, how he felt towards her after their deed was done. He couldn\'t even remember how well she climaxed, one of the only memorable things about any woman.

He had been Laurent\'s puppet, something he said he would never be to anyone. Nikolai, being who he was, could not help but grit is teeth behind his smirk as Sonya lost herself within the throngs of humans. The younger vampire had no idea what had transpired between them to make her try to kill him, but without a doubt it was propelled by Laurent\'s finger on Nikolai\'s foul temper.

Unbeknownst to Nikolai, he was lucky to be alive. Sonya had thrown him out of her second story window with all intention of killing him. And it was, ironically enough, because of the Zalmric\'s pervasive invasion into his mind that Nikolai was still alive afterwards, healed with the blackened shadows that had raped his mind over and over again. Little about the flight through the wall lingered in his mind, only the hard crash into cement and gravel which tore open his flesh. And of course the bone-crunching healing powers of the tendrils in his body as they sewed the ligaments back to bones with agonizing slowness in order to save him from the approaching sunlight.

No control. It turned his mood, newly roused by Sonya’s appearance dark. A glorious feeling of revival was returning to him. Thoughts trickled through his mind slowly, the gears grinding into valiant thoughts of how close to death he might have actually been. Death. The beauty of having control over his own ending was washing over him as he stared off vacantly into the spot that Sonya just glared at him from.

Ignoring the slight confusion from his companions as he pulled himself away from the wall, Nikolai walked forwards and never looked back. Neither the press of humans and blood, nor their sweat pulling at his nose interested him tonight – call it generosity. Gentlemen with their dicks in a bunch. Ladies with their black skirts hiked high enough to slip any kind of surprise up there. And, of course, Sonya, mixed in with a crowd of ungentlemanly callers hoping that she would be just another one of those girls.

There. It was her, the hard and the perfect frame that was unmistakably hers. Alabaster skin, hard and cold, laced up in tantilizing leather. He didn\'t realize that he was staring until they caught each others\' eye. Nikolai smirked wider, laughing internally at his fucking luck.

[The Cedar Witch]

She did not feel him approach, her attention was exclusively on the pulsing music and sweaty bodies pressing against her icy skin. The woman did not come to Risk to see him, why then should she bother herself with paying mind to his whereabouts? After all, as far as she was concerned, things had already been settled between herself and that Prick. To her, he was truly and completely discarded. Thrown from her window. It would have been pure madness on his part to approach her after such a final rejection.

He wasn\'t the first man she had fucked and discarded.  They usually died easier, soft and warm, crushed and bleeding.  Her collection of kills were like an invisible badge of honor the Queen wore.  The proof that none could encounter her and live to tell the tale.  Some fucked harder than others, some with more skill, but none had been so foolish as to insult her so blatantly as that Prick had.  None had the gall to mutter anything other than sweet longings and empty compliments.  Still, none had been any more deserving of her murderous wrath as this man had been, yet he was still standing.  Embarrassing.  Infuriating.  She had more important things to be angry about, like Kerr and her inability to slaughter thousands whenever the feeling took her.

Yet, as the ancient turned with grace that so contrasted all the lusty, writhing bodies around her, she caught eyes with him again. The only thing to cause her to falter in her step, unnoticeable to the human eye, was the gall that this foolish young man possessed. It was infuriating. Not an ounce of hatred and disdain was spared from the disrespectful brat in her gaze. Everything within her called for retaliation for such an insult -- that he dare come nearer to her after their first encounter.  It was as though he were brandishing his ability to stand in her face, like a victory banner.  If it hadn\'t been for the bouncers and the fucking Oligarch spies crawling all over the place, she would have ended him on the dance floor.

But no, she had to watch herself.  Swallow her pride and allow her reputation--as far as this man was concerned--to go undefended.

Purposefully, she turned away from him, after glaring with as much resentment she could communicate. Surely now he would not dare come near, after she had made so clear her feelings in regards to him. If he did approach her again, and persist to make a point to invade her territory as established, she would be unable to ignore him.  Exactly what the ancient intended on doing was unclear and she did not make it a point to decide.  After all, it would be a fool\'s suicide to do such a thing, and The Queen was in no mood for mercy.

[Saiketsu]

She could put on a show, to be sure. That writhing little form of hers. That perfect ass, twisting hips and those supple tits. He remembered that body all too well from the art galery months ago, yet he couldn\'t remember seeing it move like that. She was a fucking tease and she looked so good doing it.

But those eyes made him falter in his motion forward. They raked over him with such power, such anger that he had never seen from a woman before. Judas snarled threateningly, as if it were an open confrontation. Nikolai simply continued to smirk, picking his pace back up as the beat spun faster through the club. Her eyes left his again as he found his way over to her, displacing some of her blood donors and blending into the rhythm of her hips. A few grumbles and mental huffs, but nothing otherwise to worry about as Sonya\'s body twisted right into his as if she wanted nothing more than to fuck him. Judas snarled at the woman.

It was a beauty that Nikolai found he had no name for – at least one that he couldn’t put his finger upon. Most certainly she had the lure of any ancient immortal, the curves of a goddess and the eyes like a serpent’s. But that irrevocable charm and air of danger was the thing that told him to neglect his well-known hatred for women and lower himself to become just another foolish man that chased after the muse.

Pierre, that fucker, had left him bleeding and battered in the muck, any kinship severed with the screeching of tires on pavement. Laurent had fucked him and fucked him over for the last time, choosing his cunt – Storm – instead of him. No humans dare approach him besides those of the Disciples. He was branded as a traitor to many of the vampire acquaintances he had known through Pierre, and it was ruled by Damien fucking Evans himself that even speaking to Nikolai was an act of high fucking treason. So as a result Pierre Jean-Luc DuSang, ever-faithful slave to Damien, never once answered his phone when Nikolai called, dutifully erasing the voice messages before they ever reached his ears, no doubt.

Nikolai was alone, the only traces of his former life lasting within the ranks of the Disciples and the body of that woman who had damn-near killed him. And so the only hope left to the vampire was turning away from him, churning her hips to the angry rhythm while she seethed with blackened hatred.

She was just how he remembered her. The scent of her hair hadn’t altered in the slightest, nor did the cool scent of her freshened skin. The teasing of her frame was so well missed by Nikolai that it made all other females bland in comparison. With one more step towards his possible death, Nikolai bent low into her ear and whispered arrogantly, “May I have this dance?”

[The Cedar Witch]

No, she hadn\'t forgotten the sound of his voice, though it grated most unpleasantly against her ears because of the rage she still possessed deeply churning within her.  There were many things keeping her from lashing out now and tearing him apart into as many pieces as she was able.  Firstly, she was in no mood for a confrontation with the Oligarchy now that Kerr had taken charge.   A death in this public place would only serve as another stain on her nearly flawless reputation, and it was something that she would much rather avoid.  Secondly, the immortal would not be disrupted from what she so wished to do.  And dance she did.

So he was a fool, more so then what she had originally thought.  An arrogant, mad fool, waltzing to his second death.  Either he had something that he assumed was exceedingly interesting to say to her, or the other had truly gone mad.  But the woman could not kill him here, on the dance floor, as she had such a strong desire to.  No, there were always the back rooms where things could be done more quietly and discretely.   After all, hadn’t that been what she wanted to do in the first place?  Seduce some foolish man to the back of the club, drain his corpse and leave it for the Risk goons to clean up?  

There would be no verbal answer parting from her lips, no indication that she had even heard what the prick had uttered so closely and so quietly into her ear.  The Queen never missed a single beat.  Never.  Not even as she backed subtly against his cold body to the angry rhythm of the music.  Strong, practiced movements guided her body instinctually to the underlying base, pressing against him with a blackness that could easily have been mistaken as lust.  And just as the song changed, picking up the pace, her body followed suit without a single pause to ascertain exactly what kind of a beat the song possessed.

Angrily her hands moved up and behind her, easily seeking cold flesh and lifeless hair that could no longer hold any interest for her because of her bitter grudge.  Not a single thought crossed her mind during the length of the song, and though she turned finally to face him in the last minute the song was destined to play, she did not grant him the pleasure of her eye contact.  She did, however, glare off to the side with such intensity that it may have seemed her target-of-kill were elsewhere and not the one who she chose to dance with.

Sonya did not relish in any reactions that the movements of her hips may or may not have surfaced in the other, though she did not spare him a single ounce of cruelty.  And as the song came to a close, her hips rotating appropriately to the dying beats, the ancient drew close to his face and placed her lips lightly against his ear.

"You better have a fucking good reason for daring to come within twenty feet of me," she seethed, breaking any contact that their bodies may have still had and pulling sharply away from him.  Anyone standing in the way of her path to one of the back rooms would have been roughly shoved without a polite apology.  The ancient did not glance back to see if the foolish boy had followed.  If he was fool enough to approach her, she had no doubt that he did indeed follow her.  And if this was some cocky plan to bed her again because he had missed her body, like the rare man she had kept living after such an encounter, she would kill him all the slower as though she were the sun herself.

[Saiketsu]

He half expected her to at least strike him, perhaps jolt her dainty hand through his chest and leave him to bleed on the floors among the humans. He was no fool to believe that his approach would warrant welcomed flattery and attention, but when her body ground against his, he was not going to deny her the contact. And when her legs moved steadier and her waist twisted cruelly, he couldn’t help but take a minute joy in her tease, trying to recover the memories so lost of their one night spent together. An erection nudged at the seam in his jeans; he couldn’t stop the natural reaction any man in the same situation would have.

With her hands braced on either side of his neck, fingers interwoven with the roots of his hair, his hands fell to her hips moving along the perfect V of her pelvic line, farther and farther, until he was sure he could go no farther – and keep his hands. Nikolai would have been an imbecile not to notice the anger seeping off her lukewarm flesh. She was trying to burn him with it, her cruel intentions rubbing at his groin. And as much as he tried not to be swayed too much by her lure, he found himself wishing that he could remember the first time his fingers had run along her naked skin and the reactions he had (no doubt) felt deep within his abdomen.

His hands hardly left her hips as the woman beneath them turned to face him, never letting her eyes touch his. Had he been in any better of a mood, or anymore suicidal, he would have laughed at the gesture. Certainly, their bodies moved in rhythm as one, but that was more or less a matter of coincidence and instinct mix-matched on the dance floor. He could tell her honest opinion of him as their bodies ground together; it was all too clear that Sonya wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. No eye contact, but that terrible taunt of her body. A woman’s way of showing unhappiness with a current situation with Sonya’s own personal touch to it. God, what a bitch. Black Widow Spider.

But that cool breath on his neck when the muse did finally speak sent him spinning back into reality. Her voice, those cold lips at his ear breathing a venomous hiss before she most rudely broke the connection of their bodies, stalking away into the depths of the club. Nikolai lingered behind for a moment, watching her in his peculiar way, a sort of ferociousness in his gaze, before following her out of the clouds of perspiration and melodrama, and into the back rooms. Judas remained snarling in his ear for his stupidity.

[The Cedar Witch]

The music had faded to a dull thudding the farther into the club the woman stalked. She had been down this hallway dozens of times, always choosing the very last room at the very end of the hall as her own. She didn\'t turn back once to see if he had followed, frankly she didn\'t need to: the ancient could feel his presence lurking behind. Anger boiled hot within her, threatening to break free at any given moment and push her to lash out before the two had even reached the privacy offered behind draping crimson curtains. There was no controlling her speed, like she typically did for humans, but the woman did not doubt that he would have little trouble keeping up with her. Not that she cared all that much if he did fall behind. It wasn\'t as if he didn\'t know where he was going.

Blackness pushed at the pit of her stomach, giving her face a darker expression then she typically allowed to surface. Anyone stupid enough to step in the way of her hellish pace was shoved without the slightest bit of care, though most were smart enough to step out of the way if they noticed her coming in time. No man had ever survived her wrath, let alone came back for seconds. And Sonya would make that fact excruciatingly clear to the prick. He shouldn\'t have survived that. None of them ever did, immortal or not.  And the ancient had her pride to defend.

At the end of the hallway, the woman moved aside the thick, bloody-colored curtain and let it fall as it had before she had touched it, without holding it open and waiting for her follower to enter. He could open his own doors. With her back to the entrance, she did not move in the slightest, even as he first moved the curtain back and entered the room himself. Everything within her screamed for punishment, to make him feel his place when he so obviously misunderstood her last message.  Higherarchy and respect.   None disrespected her and lived to tell of it. None. It nearly made her sick to even think of what he boasted to others. Surviving a vengeful ancient. Please.

Sonya spun suddenly around, hair whipping against her face trying to catch up with the movement of her body. Quicker then he could have possibly evaded, she covered any distance between the two and her hand flew to his throat. The momentum carried the two to an adjacent wall, and she paid no particular mind to how far her claws had dug into the hard flesh of the other. There was an unquestionable rage in her eye as she drilled into his own green ones with such intensity and silence that she thought she might have lost control of herself then. It was the first time she had intentionally made any kind of eye contact with him that night, and it would not be wasted.

A hiss erupted from her mouth before she even recognized what she was doing, and for a moment she was back in her mansion, pressing his throat into the plaster of her spare bedroom\'s wall. Except this time she was fully clothed and there were no windows to throw him from. The woman refused him any more contact save at his throat, keeping her bitter, unwavering glare steady.

[Saiketsu]

He was expecting some sort of attack on his life, some kind of attempt to reign him under her control. Nikolai simply underestimated how quickly she could move and how strong she was. He felt the wall catch him hard and the hand push him back farther than he was willing to go.

Being as old as she was, it came as no surprise to him when she turned herself into a litteral blur. In fact, it was only after his head made contact with the wall and the throat closed off his windpipe that he realized Sonya had actually moved. Fangs bared, eyes drilling, the muscles of the delicate hand tightening thick talons into the cold flesh of his neck, while the throb of impact made itself known on the back of his head. For Nikolai, the situation was far too similar to his last confrontation with an elder immortal for comfort. It fueled a blackened mood in Nikolai\'s world for the first time in weeks, forcing his eyes to settle into somewhat of a glare. She no longer appeared to be Sonya, but rather a once-good friend. The same grip was placed upon his throat, but her eyes had turned blue and hair turned dirty blonde, his masculine feaures sculpted in marble set in a glower of betrayal that stoked Nikolai\'s anger. But it was the woman that cross-faded back into view as the grip became tighter, the bone structure of the hand much different, the length, style and color of the hair changing back into his  current executioner\'s.

They had been in this situation before, he was sure of it. Vague understandings (for he could not distinctly remember for himself the feelings or hatred) of pure and uncomplicated hatred for her. Curiously enough, he could feel the hatred, remember it vaguely in membrance of the past, yet couldn\'t find its source even as she lifted him slightly off the ground.  

As best he could, Nikolai released a brief and pathetic sounding laugh. His voice was nothing more than a whisper no mortal would have been able to hear above the echoing bass shaking the walls of Risk. The hand tightened and his face twisted into a grimace of pain. Her finger tips were well into the flesh now and showed no sign of relenting, only infecting his blood, dripping over her fingers, with whatever dirt and oil so stung the gashes in his throat.

"Good evening, Sonya," he stammered in a whisper, his hands aching to pull her off of his throat, Judas snarling louder than he could deal with in his mind. "I can see you\'re still angry with me."

[The Cedar Witch]

The blackness the had been simmering on the back burner of her mind for the majority of the night had begun to boil, accumulating a heavy, suffocating feeling in her chest.  Despite the fact that she was genuinely furious that this Prick was still standing, he was not the sole fuel for her rage.  She had come to the club to feed and to dance, but most of all to reclaim a sense of identity, to reclaim her throne after too long of an absence.  Sonya did not want to deal with something that served as a reminder to an insult.

The ancient hissed when he spoke, pushing her nails farther into his throat.  Of course she was fucking angry with him.  Loose.  He had called her loose.  No fucking man got away with saying something so degrading.  Everything within her mind screamed for punishment, demanding she make an example of her royal power and end him without giving the prick a chance to utter a word.  Loose?  She wasn\'t fucking loose.  She just fucked whoever she wanted, quenching a desire like she quenched the desire for blood. The Queen always got what she wanted.  Always.

The woman remembered her encounter with him clearly.  She remembered how good of a fuck he was after she sold her fucking painting to that gallery.  Sonya even remembered his blood stain on her carpets before she threw him from the window, after he ran his fucking mouth.  How he ruined her otherwise pleasant evening with thoughts that she had no intention of thinking about.

"You shouldn\'t be standing," Sonya growled inhumanly, "So I suggest you start talking."  Her grip loosened only enough to allow him to vocalize a response.  She would cling to this anger and allow it to fill her with crazed strength, a cold mask.  There were too many things that she didn\'t want to leak into the forefront of her mind, things she spent weeks trying to purge: weaknesses that needed to be obliterated because she was not weak.

[Saiketsu]

The hair on the back of his neck prickled despite his best efforts. Judas demanded revenge in his mind -- no one trapped him like that. Fear which he couldn\'t control rose in his throat for a few brief seconds. Get the fuck away from her! The snarling became louder and more desperate as her hand loosened on his throat to allow for a response.

"Usually people try not to let me talk," he said raspily with her claws an inch deep in his throat. "Because I can usually figure out a way out of anything that way." He had no intentions for the night, but was rather looking at the situation as a challenge. Nikolai had no intentions of being killed tonight, no intentions of getting laid, no intentions of making enemies or friends. He was simply there because he was there. There was no logic behind his motives and actions. He just was.

And now there was Sonya. He constantly got himself into similar situations, and always did nothing about trying to avoid them. Chaos was something he thrived in. Sonya just happened to be there at the right time. He found himself wondering if he were actually going to be able to get himself out of this one.

"Why don\'t you put me down and we can have a civil fucking conversation?" He managed to choke out from beneath her hand.

[The Cedar Witch]

She doubted that he would be able to talk his way out of her fury, considering it was talk that got him into this situation to begin with.  Sonya didn\'t know why she was wasting her time to begin with.  She didn\'t come to Risk for this, she came for blood and dance.  If it wasn\'t for the Oligarchy, she would have ended him on the dance floor and continued on her way.  Yet as much as she wanted to finish what she had started, she knew that to draw the Oligarchy\'s attention now would mean she would have further restrictions placed upon herself, and that was the last thing that she wanted.  If she wasn\'t in a public place, she would have made sure to end him.  The Queen boiled with indecision.

Roughly she pushed away from him, glaring with the same intensity that she had from the beginning of the night.  Civil.  She could be fucking civil when she wanted to.  Somewhere she knew that he must have had something worthwhile to say to her in order to go through the risk of approaching her again.  Surely, he couldn\'t be that stupid.

"Why should I waste my time?" she hissed, pulling in the reins on her anger.  No, she couldn\'t do anything here.  Not while the eyes of the Oligarchy could easily figure out who had murdered another immortal in the back room of the club.  She couldn\'t afford to be careless at this point.  Not while a pussy occupied the throne of the Luminary.

[Saiketsu]

He felt the ground catch his feet again and the blood rush out of the wounds in his throat and Judas settle back snapping in his head. A cough rose to his mouth before he could stop it, the fire in his windpipe from the strain overpowering his better opinion. With a raspy grunt, the younger vampire put his feet beneath him steadily before responding to the bitch opposite him.

"Because I may just be the only man in this entire fucking club that has no interest in fucking you tonight," he said raspily with a bit of truth. He glared at the ancient without realizing that he was doing so, straightening out his bloody collar, smoothing his dark silk shirt back to it\'s previous position. "Because you have no idea as to why I\'m so set on encountering you tonight. Do you?

"So don\'t assume it\'s for bragging rights, Sonya," he said, clearing his throat and finding his height again. His voice was edged in anger, but nothing that was meant to offend the woman. And Nikolai almost didn\'t care if he did or not.

[The Cedar Witch]

Their last encounter had been for nothing other than sex, and now he was expecting her to believe that it wasn\'t what he wanted?  The ancient scoffed and rolled her eyes, but otherwise remained silent.  If he didn’t want to fuck her then why the hell was he taking such a risk to approach her after she nearly killed him?  It was either a death wish or he wanted to another chance to bed her.  Either way, the Prick was mad.

She was beginning to care less and less what his intentions were for having any sort of encounter with her.  But the Queen stood her ground as he spoke with eyes that dared him to slip up and say something that would make him look like more of a fool than he already was.  Her arms crossed over the front of her chest and her lips remained pressed tightly together.  As much as she hated the way he was addressing her, the woman would do nothing about it.

“What the fuck do you want then?”  Her voice carried power, if not command.  She was in no mood to waste any more of her night with a man who refused to bow to her like all the rest.