Scion: The Road to Asgard IC

Well, here we go. Let's get the ball rolling!

June 12
Colin - On your office desk at the university lies a white envelope, which you notice when you get in. It has your name written in elegant hand, apparently with a quill pen. Strange, but still, universities often are. Underneath your name is a silver celtic knot. (Feel free to set the scene further, if you like, this is really just to get you moving, so don't worry about it if you don't want to.) The envelope has no letter in it, only a plane ticket to New York, one way, and a business card for a Manhattan gentlemen's club. The back side of the envelope, however, bears the image of a wild boar.

June 21
Amara - As you get ready for work this evening, you feel that something isn't right. Looking around, you see that your copy of the Yajurveda lies open, having fallen to the floor from where you set it last. As you move to pick it up, a line catches your eye "The ultimate objective of human life is to be free from Sin." As you go to replace the book, you find a small note. It reads, "Daughter, blessings be upon you" at the top, and further down has part of a famous quote, "Here, by Spartan Law, we lie."

June 21
Kiyomi - As you ride, you feel a sudden sense of urgency, like you need to get to New York now. You rev your engine and speed forth into the night. (You have narrative control over when you arrive, so long as it is after Amara starts work)

June 12th

Colin slid his satchel around onto his desk; staring at the stylized boar on the back of the envelope. He felt a moment's aggravation; for a father that had basically abandoned him most of his life, The Dagda didn't seem to have any qualms giving orders. With no notice either, which was nice. It wasn't like he had a life here; teaching classes, working with students, blitzkrieging towards tenure.

He pulled the contents out and inspected them again. A one way ticket to New York and the business card of a strip club. What was this about? What could possible need his attention at such a place? He'd never even been in a "gentleman's club" before. And a one way ticket...not exactly confidence building.

Colin sat down in the chair behind his worn desk; being the newest faculty member his office had all the hand-me-down furniture. Leaving here now, suddenly, would not be good for his career. If it was a long absence or became a permanent one, that'd be it. He was so young to be in a tenure track job anyway, if he bolted, no one would be foolish enough to give him another try. He flipped the envelope over to look again at the boar on the back. "You don't ask for much, do you? Just everything."

He reached out and picked up the office's phone, rubbing a hand through his auburn locks. He punched a number and then stood up, pacing to his bookshelf to decide what texts to bring with him. "Loretta, hi. I'm requesting a leave of absence, effective immediately." He paused while the bewildered administrator sputtered questions. "Yes, it's family related and it's very important." He looked around the office once more; feeling as though it might be the last time. "No, I don't know when I'll be back. Let's put it at two weeks for now and I'll get back in touch. Yes, I know. I'm prepared to accept that. Thanks."

He lowered the reciever back in place as he pulled a few books from the others. "Should be time to get the rest at home." He slipped the envelope and its contents into his right pocket. If he didn't go, the curiosity over it would drive him crazy, anyway. He pulled the binders for the courses he was currently reaching out of his satchel and laid them on the desk. He took enough time to write instructions and advice for whoever would take them over from here; leaving as well the jump drive with the documents for them on it.

Colin pulled on a loose and long rain coat of charcoal gray before slinging his satchel back over his shoulder. He was smiling, in spite of it all. He had that feeling. The same one he had when he set out on a camping trip or a whitewater excursion with one of the clubs. Adventure was calling. He paused long enough to put the earplugs of his iPod in; the first random song starting as soon as his foot hit the hallway floor and he walked away from the life he'd made. "Here we are! Born to be kings, We're the Princes of the Universe! Here we belong, fighting to survive in a war with the darkest power.

June 21

"The ultimate objective of human life . . . ." Amara looked at the open book before closing it and shoving it into her bag. She glanced across the main room of her apartment, looking at the elaborate aquarium she had set up, filled with colorful tropical fish. "But we're not human, are we fellows?" Striding across the room, she reached into the water with the fingers of one hand, the fish gathering around it for a moment like iron filings to a magnet before swimming away.

From the end table near the aquarium, she grabbed the crystal mala, wrapping around her wrist a few times. Like that, it looked like a pretty, sparkly bracelet, the kind that was very in right now. She had a few minutes before she had to leave - the club was just three blocks down and one over - and so she sat on the couch reading over the card again. "Thermopylae," she murmured, chewing on her bottom lip. "Thermopylae . . . ." Finally, she sighed. "Thanks for the blessings, mum. There are several ways to interpret this message, and all of them mean I'll need all the blessings I can get."

She tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans, grabbing her over-sized leather purse and the workout bag she used to carry important things back and forth from the club. Amara picked up the little container of fish food, sprinkling a little over the surface of the aquarium water. She smiled at the sight of the bright yellows, reds, and blues flickering up to feed and back again. "See you later, loves."


The Dollhouse was just starting to get busy, the after-dinner crowd slowly trickling in. Thankful for not the first time that performers had their own entrance, Amara slipped inside and down to the changing area. There were four other girls changing down there, and all of them waved at her with small smiles, which she returned. It wasn't their habit to be overly friendly with her - they all knew she had another job, even if they didn't know what it was, and sort of resented her for it. They did this for the money, she didn't have to. But she was never mean or high-handed, so they didn't hate her outright.

Without saying a word, she took a mirror and started her own change, pulling off her shirt and bra to replace them with a pair of pasties and a tight, bright white button-down that she tied just below her breasts. Next came her long, thick, black hair, which she twisted up into a bun and carefully put a cotton-candy-pink wig over the top of. Amara did her makeup with a quick, practiced hand, heavy liner and shadow on her eyes, deep red lips that looked even deeper against her dark skin.

"Hey, Parvati!" Amara looked up, her jeans halfway down her legs as the lone brunette in the crew called her stage name. "You want something to drink? Peaches and I are heading upstairs."

Amara shucked her jeans the rest of the way. "Is Rod behind the bar?" The other woman nodded. "Just ask for my usual. Thanks, Honey."

She'd just pulled on her last knee sock when a glass of red liquid thumped down onto the counter in front of her. "Thanks," she said, then looked up. "Oh, hey, Ling. Thanks for bringing this for me."

"No problem, doll." The porcelain-skinned Chinese woman shook her head. "I just wish I could figure out how you drank that stuff." She went over to the mirror where her things were set up and started stripping down to change her clothes.

"Cranberry juice is healthy." Amara tugged on her high platform maryjanes, fastening them tightly. The last thing you wanted was one of them flying off in the middle of a dance - damn things were so heavy they could knock someone out.

Ling shook her head again. "But without vodka, or anything? Bleh." She made a face, and pulled out a small, metal pill case. "Sure you don't want?" When Amara shook her own head, the Chinese woman laughed and popped a green tablet into her mouth. "You never do. I don't know how you can work here without taking something."

The last strap fastened, Amara stood up and took a drink from her cranberry juice. "Superhuman capabilities." She grabbed a fake pair of glasses and hooked them onto her ears, taking care to pin them to the wig, ensuring them they'd stay on. "Later, sweetheart." And she headed upstairs to do her other job.

Colin - Due to unseasonably foul weather, flights are being delayed or cancelled all across the region. It takes you a few days to get everything together, as this is not a normal trip. Further, it takes another couple days to physically get to Manhattan, due to the cascade of cancelled flights, strange mechanical failures, and in one case, an airline pilot going mental and pulling a gun on the passengers in his plane. Luckily, it was sitting on the tarmac, but that grounded flights for the rest of the day. Being an intelligent fellow and privy to certain knowledge normal mortals don't have, it isn't hard to put two and two together. Something is actively trying to keep you out of Manhattan. No clue is given as to whether it is you specifically, people in general, or scions in particular.

Still, fate finds a way around everything eventually, and you finally make your way into Manhattan from the airport on a rainy, unseasonably cold June evening, just before midnight. Finding a hotel is no problem, and you check into the Radisson Lexington on 54th street at 12:45 a.m, on June the 21st. The hotel is within easy walking distance of the address on the business card, but on a weeknight, the club closes at 2:00, so going there seems like a poor plan right now. Tomorrow, however, is friday night, and the club will be open from 10:00 p.m until dawn.

Amara - As you head up the stairs into the main area of the club, you see that the place is more sparsely populated than usual. Its not empty, not even close, but somehow the energy that usually permeates the place is subdued, somehow. The whooping catcalls, the laughing, cheering NYU students, the boisterous comments and brags, all of these seem absent or subdued, somehow. Also, none of the regulars, the men who come in like clockwork on friday night because they're friends with the girls or the bouncers, seem to be in attendance.

As you make your way onto the floor, your name is called for the stage. As you climb the three stairs to the raised stage, you hear a low, sultry laugh come from the doorway. The source of the laugh is a woman dressed as another dancer, just coming into the club to work. She must be a new girl, because you've never seen her before. She has long, dark hair that falls in gentle curls to mid-back, and eyes that match her hair. She possesses the olive skin of someone from the mediterranean, maybe greek or italian. She stands tall, maybe an inch shy of six feet, but without her stripper heels she probably wouldn't top 5'4". Her body is lush and curvy, with toned legs and a flat stomach, but a nicely rounded ass and large, firm breasts. She seems young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and she's dressed in a leaf-green "dress" that barely covers her breasts and stops maybe an inch down her thighs. Her shoes are of the same color. She's leading a large group of men, nine or ten it looks like, who are all large and well-muscled, the type of muscle that soldiers or cage fighters have. They're a rough group, and unlike the rest of the patrons, who always turn to watch you dance, they take no notice of you as they stake out seats by the stage, only having eyes for the woman who led them in.

The woman kisses one on the mouth and separates herself from the group, heading backstage. The men all turn, seemingly as one, to watch the stage as she leaves and you stride up to the pole. As they turn, you can see that they all have a small tattoo on their right cheeks, a simple, curving snake pattern surrounded by a thin black circle.

Kiyomi speeds through the Manhattan night, the engine of her Suzuki Katana wide open. She grins behind the black faceplate of her motorcycle helmet. She always loved the speed, the open defiance of death and ruin that riding the bike brought her. These days, it was one of the few things that took her mind off of Jenny.

Taking a last, sharp turn, laying the bike almost on its side to do it, Kiyomi pulls up to the front of the club that her mother had told her to head to when she left San Francisco. She slowly arches her back, stretching her muscles after the long hours of being hunched over while riding. She swings her leg over and takes off her helmet, shaking out her hair, before setting her helmet on her bike and reaching up to pull her hair back into a ponytail, twisting it at the top and pinning it into plae with a pair of black iron spikes, leaving only a pair of forelocks hanging free to frame her face. She picks up her helmet and pulls the key out of the engine. Parked on the street, with a bouncer at the door, she wasn't too worried about anything happening to her bike. Kiyomi heads inside, pausing only to pay the cover fee and be patted down by the doorman, as if she could hide anything in this outfit. Wearing knee-high black leather heeled boots, skintight leather pants with laces up the sides, a black corset with silver trimming, and her leather jacket with its ronin kanji on the back, she didn't have a whole hell of a lot of places to hide anything.

Kiyomi steps into the club just as a pretty indian girl takes the stage. Stepping around a large group of military or sports jocks, she walks over to a corner table half-shrouded in shadow, perfect for her purposes. In her dark clothing, she'd almost disappear into the darkness, and the shadows offered a place to draw Satsuki Yami from if she found out she needed it. Besides, alone in the corner, wearing leather, a corset, and dark eye make-up, she could probably pass for another stripper.

She sets her helmet on the table and orders a drink, gin and tonic with ice, from a passing cocktail waitress. As the waitress scurries off, Kiyomi looks around. Something seems off, but she was never a stripper, so she can't really tell what it is. Her eyes drift over the crowd by the stage, who are watching attentively but not tipping, before turning her attention back to the dancer.

She was extremely good-looking, and Kiyomi could feel the heat of desire building up in her as she watched her. Her mind flitted over a number of images in a flash, kissing that woman right there on the stage, taking her back to a hotel, finding out just what that caramel skin tasted like, teasing her, using lips and tongue and fingers on her smooth, gorgeous body. The darker side of Kiyomi had a few thoughts on the matter, as well. Another series of images flew through her mind, just as fast as the first. the dancer on her knees, her face between Kiyomi's legs, with Kiyomi's fist in her hair. The dancer, bent across Kiyomi's lap, crying out as Kiyomi spanked her perfect, round ass. The dancer's body cuffed to a bed in an X, striped with crop marks, her whole body shuddering as Kiyomi subjected her to both pleasure and pain.
Kiyomi shook herself. That was...unusual. It wasn't often that simple looks affected her so powerfully. She studied the dancer more closely, more clinically. For a long moment, she saw nothing other than a dancer, and then it hit her like a train wreck.

She looked like Kiyomi.

Not physically, but when Kiyomi looked in the mirror, there was just that little extra something about herself, that something that hadn't been present before her visit from her mother. If that was true of this girl as well, then she was the reason Kiyomi had been sent here, presumably. Her revelation was interrupted by the return of the cocktail waitress with her drink. She took a sip, relishing the icy burn as the chilled alcohol slid down her throat. Drink in hand, she sat back to watch the rest of the dancer Scion's first set, and wonder what the hell she was going to do next.

Amara's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and they followed the woman as she headed down the stairs and out of sight. The group of men she'd brought in looked like thugs, and with those face tattoos, they might be gang members. Great, just great.

That wasn't important at this second. It was time to dance.

She took a deep breath in the still before the DJ started her music - music that the other girls in the club thought was odd. As she exhaled, she consciously turned herself on. At least, that's how she thought of it. Whatever it was, she didn't have a name for it, and her mother had never named it. But it made her the center of attention for a short time. And in this case, a short time was all she needed - the extra tips were more than worth it.

It also gave her the opportunity to gauge the crowd's mood. She could feel eyes on her, and made a few mental changes to her routine that would let her look at all of the corners of the room, since these eyes didn't feel normal.

And then the music started. It wasn't the normal strip club stuff, with throbbing beats, syrupy voices, and electronic notes. Her music was a garba, a traditional Indian song in honor of the Hindu goddesses, driving drums and a wailing sitar and a fast tempo. It didn't match her costume, and she didn't care. No one else ever did. After the first few drumbeats, Amara started to move, matching the rhythm with her hips and arms.

As she turned the first time, her eyes caught a glimpse of a pretty, goth-style Japanese girl mostly hidden by the shadowy corner she was in. That was one set of eyes, and Amara made eye contact, winking at the oriental girl before seductively untying her top and tossing it aside, letting her breasts bounce free as she spun again, dropping down to grip her ankles as she stuck her ass out, standing slowly and licking her lips as she looked at the group of muscle to one side of the stage.

With a quick cartwheel, she landed next to one of the poles, throwing herself fearlessly onto it, wrapping her legs around it and arched her back, sliding down it slowly. From her vantage point, she found the other strange pair of eyes in another corner, this one a white man who looked like college professor. He looked uncomfortable, but compelled to look at her - the whole idea of her using her talent. Her smile at him was slow and sweet, and she kept her eyes on him while she went into a handstand off the pole, dropping to her feet and unfastening her skirt as she dropped down low.

But it was time to turn her attention to the other men sitting near the stage, giving them a chance to give her their money. Amara gave one of her regulars a smile as he tucked a five into her G-string, then made her way down the stage, crawling on the stage to give them all a good view of her tits and ass as she went.

In the dim lighting of the corner table he'd claimed, Colin felt oddly as exposed as if he were one of the people that was going to be performing. He'd arrived at the doors of the club at 9:50pm. It would seem odd to some, and he knew that, particularly since he'd been getting a table not close to the dancers and where he could see most of the club, the front part at least, and that he'd be there the entire night. But there was no help for it.

Something had interfered with his journey here. It may have been fate itself delaying things until the time was right; but he wasn't about to assume such benign influences. He'd learned in the few months since his father had met him and the whole world changed that there was no since things as coincidence. The delays meant something. He just didn't know what. It also meant that he needed to be at the club as soon as he could and for as long as he could. Whatever he was supposed to see or prevent or be part of, something was trying to keep him out of it.

He could only hope it hadn't been successful.

He shifted in his seat. This was not his element and he knew it. Even though he was aware that he was likely just being hyper-sensitive, he felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was dressed not unlike many of the others here; a nice button down shirt in a forest green, the polished copper torc around his neck, a brown tie with silver Celtic knotwork designs on it hanging down his chest, a tie-pin with his school's logo on it keeping it in place, and loose brown slacks. His long gray coat was draped over a chair beside him.

Colin lifted his fourth drink, Jameson's straight, of course, and took a long sip. So far he'd seen nothing that really seemed to deserve his attention. Granted many of the performers were talented, some of them very attractive, and all skilled at arousing certain emotions, but...did he really need to come to Manhattan and have his way barred by some metaphysical force for that?

Then She arrived. Simply the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Her face was young and beautiful, and her body was lush and ripe. She wore a dress that barely covered her and seemed to cling to her sumptuous form. She was a vision of Mediterranean perfection; smooth dark skin and hair and a figure that would make a bishop kick in a stained glass window. She also brought a group of grim looking men with hard muscled bodies. His eyes followed her as she walked into the back past one of the bouncers. Was she the reason why?

Then the next dancer stepped up and Colin blinked. "Good God," he breathed, though he was unsure if he meant the typical one or his father specifically. This woman was possibly more lovely than the women in the green dress. Her skin was a flawless caramel color; her features fine and well sculpted, with a hint of wit and brightness in her shocking blue eyes. Her body was staggering; generous curves and long legs, all well displayed by the "naughty schoolgirl" outfit she was wearing. A personal favorite, if he was honest. It may be cliche but as a professor, one did have those fantasies...

He couldn't look away from her as she began to dance. Part of his mind recognized that he should be able to at least continue looking around the club but he was unable to. His eyes were fixed on the Indian beauty as she moved in her sultry fluid dance to what sounded to him like a very traditional song. Unusual for a strip club, wasn't it? Not that he had anything to compare it to, but...it seemed out of place.

Then she looked at him. Any other time and he'd have chalked it up to his own vanity but there was no doubt. Her blue eyes met his green ones; he felt a great and keen mind behind those eyes and a twinkling amusement. She smiled and he blushed like a 13 year old virgin. It didn't help that as she held his gaze, she let her skirt drop, now clad only in a skimpy g-string, pasties, long stockings and her large shoes.

He let out a breath as her eyes left him. Damn...that was more intense than he'd expected. He felt hot and his clothes were suddenly itchy and heavy. His manhood was stirring and he felt profoundly embarrassed by its reaction, grateful for the tabletop. She was good, all right. The announcer had called her Parvati. Was she the reason why? Or did he just want her to be?

Colin consulted his whiskey but it held no answers.

Author's note: I'm impressed with the quality of your posts so far. Keep it up! And don't worry about timeline and continuity. If someone has to catch up, I'll catch them up.

Amara - All eyes follow you as you walk off stage. The twang of the sitar fades into utter silence, all the spectators struck dumb by the beauty of your form and your dance. The crew by the stage watches you more intently than any of the others, their eyes following your every movement. As you were on stage, your superhuman perception afforded you a few details about these men. The first is that their features are all similar. Very, very similar. They could all be brothers, or fraternal twins. The are uniformly brawny, dark-haired and dark-eyed, their skin a shade of olive similar to the dancer with which they arrived. The second detail is that they are all dressed in a similar manner, button-down shirts over some sort of bulky undergarment, board shorts, and sandals. Each one has a knife on his belt and a wide bronze bracelet on his left wrist. It looks as though its some sort of uniform, almost, though no uniform except the one your job entails would be so casual.

As you make your way down the stage steps, the silence is broken by a number of whistles, propositions, and catcalls. As you look around, seeing the man in the corner staring into his whiskey, you know that there is something...odd about him. He seems more real, larger than life, more substantial than anyone else in here. As you contemplate this, the Dj calls out, "That's Parvati coming down and around table side. Flash that cash and get some time in the VIP with Parvaaaaaatiiiiii! And continuing your friday night party Manhattan, that's right, give it up for Dierrrrrdreeeee!"

As the DJ finishes his announcement, the previously unnamed dancer comes out from the dressing room, still in her leaf-green dress. She's accented her dark hair with small, leaf-shaped hair clips and green eyeshadow, as well as ruby-red lipstick. As she takes the stage, everyone in the room looks away from you and up to her. She's pretty, but the crowd's reaction is totally out of proportion with where she is in her dance. Every woman in the room seems flushed, their lips parted, cheeks red, nipples erect. Every man in the room that you can see has a prominent bulge in his pants and a look of wanton lust on his face. You find her attractive and sexy, but its not the focus of your existence to watch her like the rest of the crowd seems to. Only two people in the room other than yourself seem proof against it, the gothic Japanese girl in the shadows, and the strange man you noticed earlier. They seem as largely unaffected as yourself.

Colin - As Parvati leaves the stage and Dierdre comes up, you feel that you MUST look at her. As you do, watching her spin around the pole, peeling off her dress as she goes, you feel something wash over you, a wave of...something. Its undefinable, but in its wake, you feel even more aroused than you did before. Your cock is so hard it almost hurts and you are seized with an almost irresistable desire to go to the stage, to be closer to Dierdre. You want to touch and kiss and make love to her more than anything else in the world. It lasts only a moment, before you shake yourself, wondering what just happened. You search your memory for anything out of legend that could do such a thing, and find many answers, but you don't have enough information to identify the effect. As you sit puzzled for a moment, you see Parvati stepping away from the stage. Now that her dancing is no longer mesmerizing, you are struck by the realization that she, too, has an indefinable quality about her, just as the dancer does, but hers is different somehow.

Mechanics note: You all have a version of the scent knack. If you study a person for more than a few seconds, and they are a scion, not a legendary creature, you will get a nagging sensation that they are different somehow. As you use this more, eventually you will automatically know that they are a scion, and if you have seen a scion of their god or pantheon before, it may be that you can identify it with a moment of scrutiny.

He was half way out of his seat before the madness passed. Colin sank back down; feeling something he'd not felt in a very long time. He was afraid. He'd almost lost control of himself. Almost rushed to the stage to pull the lush Dierdre into his arms and ravish her. That was...the loss of control and the things he had wanted to do...

She was powerful, whoever and whatever she was. He didn't know anything and his suspicious were broad and varied. But she wasn't a mortal. Though, really, that term was rather innaccurate. He was still mortal; he could be hurt. He had to assume he could die too. Didn't that make him...intellectual exercise is not the point of this excursion.

The Indian stripper, Parvati was off the stage and beginning to move through the crowd. Men and woman held out money here and there but few of them even looked at her. All eyes were on the stage. It was as if every person, male and female, in the room was panting with lust over the green clad woman writhing sinuously to the music. Everyone but himself. And Parvati. And...someone he hadn't noticed before. He couldn't believe why. Even tucked away in that dim corner, she was lovely. There was also again a sense that she was something more.

The DJ had said something about flashing cash for time with Parvati in the VIP room. Despite having no idea what the VIP room entailed, he didn't see many other options. As she drew closer, but not quite to his table, he pulled two twenties from his pocket and waved them once in her direction.

He only hoped he wasn't either over or under shooting enough to look totally out of his element. He didn't mind being so but...it may have been pride but he'd at least like to look as though he knew what he was doing.

Amara made her way through the crowd, almost pointedly ignoring Dierdre now. There was something wrong here, and since she, the Professor, and the Japanese girl were the only ones who didn't seem caught in the trap, she decided to head for one of them. The Professor was closer, so she headed towards him, her hips switching as she refastened her skirt. The others who fanned money at her didn't even see her - and that stung a little, more than she thought it would.

By the time she reached the table where the auburn-haired man was sitting, he'd pulled out some money, and Amara smiled. She shrugged her shirt on, but didn't bother tying it before leaning over the table, taking the two twenties out of his hand. "Come on, handsome," she said just loud enough for him to hear over the music. Amara set her hand on his, smiling. "We'll get some private time."

Her eyes flickered to the Japanese girl, hoping she wasn't wrong. "Tell you what," she said, grabbing the man's arm and pressing herself against it. "You paid enough," it would be enough, but this was Manhattan - not like anyone would notice - "that I think we could get an addition. Maybe . . . her, if she's willing." She pointed to the Japanese girl, guiding him that way. It was rare for women to come in, and they were always popular with the dancers. No one would think anything of it if she were to take them both back. Even if anyone noticed.

But her look at the Professor was meaningful, hoping he knew what she was getting at. With luck, he would. And the girl wouldn't resist. And whatever that was on the stage wouldn't notice, either. Her luck wasn't ever that good, though.

Hellfire. Parvati knew her business, there was no doubt about it. As she leaned over the table, her untied shirt giving him a wonderful view of her large, round, plush breasts, pasties gleaming dully in the faint, he felt the erection that had been slowly subsiding rear up once more. Even her voice was sexy.

He smiled though and rose to his feet, "Miss Parvati, I can honestly say I've never heard a better invitation. Thank you." Private time was just the thing. He could ask some questions and maybe get an idea what was happening here.

When she took his arm, he took in a sudden breath. Damn, the way she pressed against him like that was just...heavenly. Might be more accurate than he knew. So she wanted the mysterious girl who was also proof against Dierdre as well? He smiled again and chuckled; this was either exactly what he needed or it was a trap. Either way, he'd at least know what was going on. "If I haven't, then I'll be glad to pay enough for the young lady as well. Two is a party but three is magic."

The two of them winded through the tables as Dierdre's dance continued. Colin noted again that no one was paying them any attention. "Dance or siren song," he murmured. Then he hoped that the music was loud enough that the gorgeous beauty on his arm hadn't heard him.

Colin and Parvati stopped in front of the slender Japanese girl's table. Now that he could see her more clearly, he was doubly unsure how he'd missed her earlier. She was beautiful and there was an energy about her. "Excuse me, miss. Parvati was wondering if you'd like to come back and join us in the VIP room." His eyes met hers, leaf green and dark glass regarding one another. There was hardness in those eyes and deeper things beneath. His own were open and honest, he had no need to lie or hide anything. "I would like it if you came back as well and I'd be happy to pay your way. Will you join us?"

Kiyomi stared a moment at the bluff, honest features of the man in front of her, before turning her gaze to Parvati. She looked them both up and down, and again thoughts of lust and visions of sexual depravity, this time involving all three of them, filled her head. It was clear that he was attracted to Kitomi as well as Parvati, and his prominent erection made it clear that he would probably like nothing more than to tear what clothing they were wearing off of their bodies and ravish them both, right there on the club floor.

Kiyomi shook herself, suddenly feeling guilty about her thoughts. How could I forget Jenny so quickly? This isn't right! I loved her! she screamed inwardly. But still, the thoughts remained, the earlier image of holding Parvati's head between her thighs now augmented with the image of this man's large cock driving into her from behind, each thrust pushing Parvati's face forward. Even her guilt was twisted by her lust, and she suddenly, clearly, saw herself with her wrists cuffed together, straddling Parvati's face, her own head gripped between Parvati's thighs, being forced to go down on her while the man's cock drove brutally in and out of her ass, the pain mitigated only slightly by the occasional teasing lick from Parvati's tongue...

With a conscious effort, Kiyomi forced the images away and looked, really looked, at the man for the first time. He was cute, in a professorial type of way. But despite his appearance and the vibe he gave off, there was a power under the surface, and the two combined to give him an almost Indiana Jones air, that of an academe who was just as at home adventuring as he was lecturing. Then, with a start, Kiyomi realized that she could sense some of the same things she saw in the other girl, the dancer. This man, too, must be a scion. Two, in the same club? It was strange, but her mother had given her an earful on the power of fate, so perhaps it was not as unlikely as it first appeared.

Kiyomi rose gracefully, leaving her helmet where it was. She said, "Sorry to take so long, I was wool-gathering there for a minute. I would be glad to join you, and I can pay my own way." Her voice is high, clear, the sound of laughing children and silver bells, totally at odds with her gothic appearance. As she stands, Kiyomi takes one last, searching look at the woman on stage and the group sitting by the stage. As if sensing her gaze, all eleven of them turn toward her in the same instant, moving with unnatural precision and coordination. Kiyomi recoils, and says, "Well. That's creepy. Parvati-sama, sir, lead on. I will follow. And does anyone know who those people are?"

Amara smiled inwardly. For a minute she hadn't been at all sure that the other woman would be willing to join them. But that moment of smiling triumph melted away when the group by the stage, and Dierdre, turned to look at them. Of course. Instead of panicking, which her instincts told her to do, she smiled wickedly at the two with her. "Great! You won't believe the fun we'll have!"

Trying to keep her composure while every fiber of her body screamed danger and wrong, she turned and took both their hands, leading them toward the nearest VIP room - unfortunately they were all close to the stage, so she would have to walk past the muscle and the dancer to get there. Before they did, she turned her head and whispered, "I've no idea who they are - I've worked here almost a year, and I've never seen her before."

Amara was acutely aware of the knives the men were carrying, and their eyes half-following her little trio while half-watching Dierdre. Who was watching them as well. Gah! With a fearless grin, she looked at the bare-chested Dierdre, giving her a wink as she strode past. "Normally," she said, turning and walking backwards, still leading them, "I'd stop and make sure you both had a drink. But I'm in a hurry - I can't wait to get you two alone." That was true . . . and it probably would have been true without the weird shit that was going on, too.

She looked them over more carefully as she walked, her lips curving in a seductive smile that was more reflex than practice. The girl was definitely attractive, tough-looking, which wasn't bad as a rule, and that hair . . . even up, it looked like a mass of silken shadows. The man was handsome, but not pretty as so many men with long hair were, and looked strongly built, the kind of guy you'd want on your side in a fight. His green eyes, however, were honest and kind, and . . . her first assessment might have been right - he looked even more like a professor up close.

There was something more, about both of them, though, and it took her a moment to put her finger on it. They were both . . . like her. More than human, less than divine. Scions, then. That stretched credulity - the three of them, and then Dierdre and her cadre of muscle-boys? Something, as her mother had warned her, was going down tonight.

Everyone - As the band moves from the main floor over to the entrance to the VIP area, the eyes of the dancer, the muscle men, the staff, and all of the patrons follow you. At the door, the bouncer working the VIP area looks as though he's about to ask for the cover charge, but his eyes mist over and his mouth falls open, and he numbly steps aside to let you past, opening the door as he goes.

Inside, the pounding beat of the music is much quieter, the lighting is dimmer but less garish and unstable, and the room is empty. The room is circular, with eight large booths spaced around the outside, surrounding a central ring some ten feet wide. The central ring has a pole that looks as though it can be removed, a series of eyebolts and sockets in the floor, and a small trunk near the doors back into the main club. Apparently, the area is a type of stage.The booths contain a black leather couch, a side table, and a small, covered trashcan. Each one has a curtain that can be drawn to hide its occupants from the eyes of the others. Right now, all of the booths' curtains stand open. The carpet is a dark, bloody red, and the walls are done in the same shade.

For a moment, he felt as though the slender oriental woman was not only undressing him with her eyes but going quite a bit further than that. He was imagining it, he had to be. But he felt flattered nonetheless.

"Trouble, sooner or later," Colin murmured in answer to the heavenly Japanese woman's question about the gangers. Their unified motion was disturbing. All because it made two things very clear: first, they were far more than the group of toughs they appeared to be; second, they were watching either Parvati, the Asian beauty, or Colin himself.

Before he could say more Parvati took both their hands and began to lead them to the back. Even with the apparently looming threat of danger, he couldn't help but feel an erotic thrill as the Indian stripper spoke of not being able to wait to get them alone. He was half tempted to believe what she might be hinting at...but he'd heard that routine and he knew the truth.

There is no sex in the champagne room.

He felt it before he saw it. There was a sense of pressure; of dozens of eyes on them. Unabashed, Colin turned his head and looked back. They were looking at the trio. All of them. Every customer, every server, the bartenders, the Mediterranean lust spirit on the runway with her phenomenal chest bared to the world, the killers, the bouncers, everyone. "...This can't be normal. Or good."

The man at the door didn't even say anything, didn't check for cash, he just stepped aside and opened the door for them. His eyes were filmy and distant; as if his conscious mind were elsewhere. Colin felt an itch between his shoulder blades, right about where the knife would go, probably.

The room beyond was nice; although the Colin noted the color of the carpet with interest. A color like that would hide lots of spilled fluids. The walls were the same color; tinging the chamber not only with the sense of lust that permeated the club but also of a veiled and brooding menace.

His eyes swept over the circular stage and pole, the eyehooks that could hold any manner of interesting things that came to mind, the truck by the door, the large and easily privatized booths, and the many trashcans.

Okay...he thought there was no sex in the champagne room.

There wasn't likely to be either. Colin reluctantly pulled his hand from Parvati's and stepped up to the door, trying to peer out before it closed and see what was now happening in the main club beyond. "Well, ladies, I should admit at this point that I have no idea what goes on in the VIP lounge of such a facility normally, but I don't think this is a normal situation."

He looked back at them. Should he give his name? What if it got out that he'd been here? Not good for an academic's career to be visiting strip clubs. ...Fuck it, he'd thrown his career away already by coming here at all, most likely. "My name is Colin O'Donnell." He paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. "And I think we're all aware that something is going on here more than just two staggeringly gorgeous women and one lucky stiff being eyed by an entire strip club on their way to the champagne room." Where there would not be sex. Damn it to hell. "Although I may simple be...a bit unsettled. I am rather out of my element here."

The way the entire club was watching them was disturbing, to say the least. Amara had hoped to get in there unnoticed. But now it seemed like something - someone - wanted to separate them from the rest of the club. Which set off every mental alarm she had. The way that Thom had stepped aside like that . . . wasn't natural. Shit. Shit shit shit. She felt like she was groping blindly in a room where the walls might be made of razor blades.

As the door shut behind them, she swallowed hard. It wasn't normal, even this early in the night, for all the booths to be open. This was not good.

Then the Professor introduced himself, and she found herself smiling a little. "I don't think you're wrong, Colin O'Donnell. There's definitely more going on here than what meets the eye." She went and perched on the trunk, her long legs crossed at the knee. "My real name is Amara Jagadeesha - you can keep calling me Parvati, if you'd rather, though; Mum thinks it's hilarious. I know a great deal about what goes on in rooms like this, and I'll tell you right now this isn't normal."

She pointed at the door back into the club. "Neither was that. I've never seen the entire club watch anyone come back here, and I've never seen that Dierdre person before, and I've never seen a group of men that big that looked that alike." Brushing the strands of her wig over her shoulders, Amara sighed. She might as well - they wouldn't think she was crazy if what she suspected was right.

"So, I suppose I'll be the first to admit it, since I don't believe you'll think I'm daft." Amara rested her hands on either side of her body. "My mother is Sarasvati, Hindu goddess of knowledge and art. And I'm guessing since neither of you were entranced by Dierdre, that your parents aren't nine-to-fivers as well."

Kiyomi ignored the eyes tracking them as the group entered the back room. She'd already figured something was badly wrong here, the behavior of the club merely confirmed it. She shrugged inwardly. Either they would get out of this alive, or they would not. Right now, she had to figure out anything she could about the other two scions, find out where they stood and how they wanted to play this. Not that it mattered, but it would be nice to know if she had to worry about topping one on the backswing or not. If they wanted to try and deal with this, great, help was always good. If not, well, her blade was one short motion away, and no matter how many of them there were, a knife was not going to cut it against a katana, no matter how supernatural the wielder.

Kiyomi's eyes flickered across the VIP area as the three entered. She paid no notice to the doorman, as she had already written everything in the club off as probably hostile, definitely weird, and almost certainly a total loss. Kiyomi gave the room a once-over, noting the stage and its accessories with a smile. Well, she thought as she eyed the restraint bolts, wouldn't it be fun to put Parvati in that? Or maybe have Parvati put me into that...

Suddenly, she realized that Parvati was still speaking and turned her attention to the gorgeous Indian woman, just in time to catch her give her name and heritage. Kiyomi's lips quirked up into a half-smile at "nine-to-fivers," and she replied, "No, not so much. Unless we're measuring time in millenia, in which case, maybe." She stuck out her hand to Amara and said, "Kiyomi, scion of Izanami, of the Amatsukami, the Japanese gods."

Author's note: Leanna said that we should just RP back and forth, and she'll interject when it becomes pertinent or when we re-enter the main area of the club. Just thought I'd pass it on. She also says thank you for the well-wishing!

Colin smiled as well at the luscious Indian's joke. Humor was just what this situation needed. Siphon off a little tension. After Kiyomo introduced herself, the tall academic bowed to her, "Hazimemashite, yoroshiku onegai shimasu, Kiyomi-san."

He straightened and his smile was a bit wry, "My father's The Dagda, and I know, I don't exactly take after him. Otherwise we'd probably be in a bar fight or fu..inding a way out of here by now." Smooth, Colin.

He began to look over the room again. This time considering what he could use as a weapon if it came to that. Plenty of options but none really very wieldy. The pole would be the best choice, probably. "Well then, Miss Amara, Kiyomi-san. Since we haven't been pursued yet I'm not sure what to make of all this. I thought at first that Dierdre might be a nymph or siren of some kind but now I'm not sure. And those men with her...they've either got some mad discipline to all move as one like that or they're joined together in some way."

He walked up to the stage in the middle of the room; looking at it with yet another rueful smile. Be fun to see Amara up there. Or Kiyomi. Or both. "But they haven't busted in after us yet. Which isn't wise tactically; they're giving us time to get set for an attack or to find another way out. So...what's their purpose if not that? Or are they waiting for something?"

Colin reached out to run a hand up the pole. Yeah, seeing that would be something. It also didn't feel too firmly anchored for him to pull out. Good to know. "My father, at least I think it was him, sent me a plane ticket and the business card for this club. Unfortunately, that's where my instructions ended. I don't suppose anyone got more out of their recently revealed parent?"

Amara raised her hand. "I got a note in one of the, ah, gifts Mum had given me, giving her blessings." She stood up, one hand rubbing the back of her neck. "And the quote, 'Here, by Spartan law, we lie.'" She looked at the others, brushing lowering her hand to toy with the mala around her wrist. "They might be Spartans. Or Persians, I guess, but I'm not sure. They aren't Scions in any way, I can tell you that."

She flushed a little, then shrugged. "I have an ability that makes me the center of attention, see, and I always use it on stage. And they didn't resist it, which means they're not like us." She pondered for a moment. "Though I suppose they just might not have bothered. Not very comforting, am I?"

Amara studied the door - no way to lock it on this side, unfortunately, which meant that they were going to be forced to wait it out, or try and find a back exit here. She wasn't leaving without her Yajurveda, though, and that was still in the dressing room. "Well, we haven't been in here long enough to get down to business, as it were. So they may be giving us time to make ourselves vulnerable by being distracted."

Her lips curved in a smile. "Not that I'd mind being distracted by you two, of course." She walked to the edge of the circular stage, spreading her arms. "So, my new friends, what shall we do while we wait for the sky to crash down upon us? Dance, try and find something to fight with, or go into a private booth and try to hide . . . while we also tried to keep from getting bored?"

"From the monument at Thermopylae," Colin mused. It could mean a lot of things. "They could be Spartans or Persians although with that kind of unity, I'd guess members of the Immortals." He considered a moment. "That part of the poem on the monument though...is about the men there abiding by the law of the land which demanded they be left there rather than given a proper Spartan burial." He frowned, "Not that I see how that applies to this at all."

He couldn't help but smile as the generously curved Amara walked to the stage, listening to her sensual voice. He really wished he knew better about this room. Her hinting was...it was tempting. He almost felt annoyed, really, every time he'd gotten calmed down enough to think clearly, his blood got stirred up again. He wasn't complaining. Not a little. He just hoped he wouldn't regret it later.

He looked at Amara and then at the stage. "I know I wouldn't mind seeing you dance again. You...well, I didn't resist your ability either earlier but it was because I really didn't want to. It was quite a performance."

He glanced over at the trunk by the door. An unknown as of yet. "So, perhaps while we wait and ponder and discuss...you can enlighten me on what goes on in the VIP room of such a fine gentleman's club. Perhaps with a demonstration? I'm sure Kiyomi-san would appreciate it as well."

He licked his lips. God, just the thought of her up there dancing again was thrilling. And the way her words hinted at what they could do to avoid boredom filled his mind with a barrage of fantastic and delicious possibilities for the three of them. "I also want to know what's in that trunk. But right now...I'm more interested in my earlier question."

Kiyomi licked her lips at the thought of a demonstration by the gorgeous Indian goddess, even if she was only watching as Amara danced for, with, or on Colin. She'd always been a shade voyeuristic, and if her guilt over Jenny would prevent her from getting any emotional fulfillment from sex, she could at least appreciate the carnal sensuality of another. Besides, it was tactically a good plan, especially if the goon squad outside had preternatural senses like she thought they did.

"Amara-sama, Mr. O'Donnell is correct in thinking I would enjoy such a demonstration, if you are willing." Kiyomi grinned mischievously and continued, "Besides, if we do have to do something...drastic, we wouldn't want his mind to be somewhere other than the task at hand, and right now it appears that the only thing on his mind is you. Not that I blame him, of course. You are quite beautiful." Kiyomi debated telling them her theory about the perception of the people outside, but decided against it. If they did have superhuman senses, telling the others might give away the element of surprise. She shrugged inwardly and said, "Only if you are willing, of course, and I understand that this is still a job for you, and as such would have no problem rendering payment."

Smirking a little, Amara walked over to the trunk, bending over from the waist to open it. "The contents are pretty simple - extra props, mostly, as well as a few other things that might be useful if your client is a little . . . hard to satisfy." She pulled out a long, supple, leather whip, as well as a feather on a stick. "See? Just toys, teasers mostly, and props." The feather went back into the trunk, but she decided to hold onto the whip - it would be a decent weapon if things came down to it.

She'd been working here too long, maybe. All she could think was that it was a shame her outfit didn't go with the whip.

But Amara shook the whip out of its coil and let it trail behind her as she walked back to the stage. "But if my new, generous friends want a demonstration, then a demonstration they shall have." She gestured to the booths around the circular stage. "Pick your seats, and I'll start the demonstration."

Amara stepped up onto the stage, lashing the whip out to wrap around the pole as she walked slowly around it. "A lot of times, see, there's a girl here, especially if someone in the club's a high-roller, or wants to feel like they are." She spun, wrapping one leg around the pole and arching her back, looking upside down at the other two. "Or bachelor parties - it's usually the same thing."

She straightened up, loosening the whip and draping it around her neck like a boa constrictor, turning with her leg still wrapped around the pole, pressing it against her body as she smiled at them. "Frequently, however, like us, it's a dancer and one or two people." She slid her leg down, strutting off the stage and towards where they were sitting. "Which is when the curtains get closed."

As she walked, Amara shucked her top again, running her hands over her stomach and up to her breasts, fingers kneading the generous globes softly. "There are rules, of course," she said, putting one leg up onto the couch in the space they'd left between them, "but with the curtains closed, it's hard for people to see if you break them." Her fingers left her tits, going to unfasten her skirt again, letting it slide from her hips and tossing it onto the table, and running her hands up her leg from ankle to thigh. "One of the rules that gets broken is what you can and can't see."

She turned around, her fingernails catching the edge of the pasties she wore. "Out there, of course, you can't see anything that isn't the color of the rest of my skin - not anymore." She pulled them off, not even wincing a little at the twinge of pain that the pull of the adhesive gave her - it only made her nipples harder. "But back here . . . who would know if these little pieces of tape just fell off?" Amara turned around, letting them both see her full, bare breasts for the first time; they could also see how stiff her nipples were, the darker, almost chocolate-colored nubs standing out from her tits almost painfully.

"You're in there as well, Kiyomi-san," Colin smiled at the slender beauty. "Don't think I haven't noticed your own rare beauty. Like silk over iron; both features very appealing." He had seen women tonight more beautiful than any he could imagine; two of them next to him now. This new life of his left him little peace but it was a small price for situations like this. "Let's take our seat so Parvati," since she was working now, after, all, "can give us our money's worth. Not that I have any doubt we'll get tremendous value."

Colin headed to the black leather couch in the most central of the booths, turning to bow slightly and gesture for Kiyomi to join him if she wished. He wasn't going to say that he didn't like the idea of sitting down that close to her. Particularly if Amara's show was anything before.

He sat down; listening as she began her explanation and retrieved the whip from the trunk. When she cracked it around the pole, he shivered, letting out a low muffled breath. That sound was incredibly erotic. He'd entertained fantasies about bondage and dominance before but they had never been real. He wondered...would Amara...that was moving a bit forward in their newfound friendship, wasn't it?

Or was it?

He raised his eyebrows as she bent over, murmuring to the exotic beauty next to him, "Flexible, isn't she?" He shivered as she pressed herself against the pole; the metal shaft between her breasts. And the look on her face when she did it, he knew she had no illusions about what he was mentally substituting for the pole.

As she walked over, removing her shirt and groping her sumptuous breasts he let out an appreciative breath. This was even better than the show on the floor had been. He felt a kind of thrill in that she was doing it for the two of them; though he knew that wasn't exclusive. She was a paid performer, after all. Well paid, he hoped. She deserved it. He was rock hard and shifted slightly, a bit embarrassed by his body's reaction and how clearly it showed.

His eyes traveled up her long legs as she ran her hands up them, clad now only in her panties, pasties, stocking and shoes. God, she was so good at this. Amazing. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this turned on. He looked over at Kiyomi with a smile as Amara turned around, "I'd say "is it just me or is it getting hot in here" but I think we all know the answer." He swallowed anxiously as he heard Amara talking, did she mean...?

She did. Oh. Oh, Blessed bosom of Danu. A small part of his mind wondered if he'd just thought that but the rest was transfixed. It was a small thing, really, the pasties being gone. But for some reason it enhanced the eroticism of the scene tenfold. "A divine beauty, indeed, Amara," he managed. His eyes drank in her breasts and her stiff nipples. She was aroused. He knew that's what it meant, or she was cold, but to think that...it must be Kiyomi. "This is very enlightening."

He wanted to touch her. But he knew that was definitely against the rules. He wanted to kiss and lick her nipple, suckle at her teat, feeling her hand in his hair as he did so. He wanted to open his eyes and see Kiyomi at the other, Amara stroking both their heads as they worshiped her tits. "I wonder...what other rules might get broken," he said in a warm, low voice. Then he quirked a smile. "Hypothetically."

Kiyomi sat next to Colin, leaving perhaps a foot and a half between them. The seat gave her an excellent view of the stage, as did all the seats in the room, but it also allowed her to see clear over to the door. Of course, on the other hand, it meant that whoever was coming through the door could see her just as well. But until that door opened, as she was sure it would, she only had eyes for Amara.

From the get-go, Kiyomi was wet and wanting. The minute Amara pulled that whip, all tactical considerations flew from Kiyomi's mind, replaced by much darker, wanton thoughts. The way Amara handled it...it looked like she'd had some experience, and Kiyomi wondered what it would be like to be worked over by a woman, hell, by anyone who actually knew their way around pain as much as pleasure. Kiyomi bit her lip as Amara walked forward and shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Tight leather pants and boots were cosmetically pleasing, but right now they represented entirely too much material between her and the other scions. She glanced to her left at Colin, and saw that he was as affected as she, if not more so. That man, she thought, looked as though he hadn't gotten properly satisfied in a long, long time. Idly, she wondered if he could survive the combined ministrations of her and Amara, or if he'd suffer a heart attack. Of course, its entirely possible that the same thing would happen to her if their positions were reversed, she thought with a smirk.

Kiyomi bit her lip as Amara shed her clothing and strode over to her and Colin, and as Amara slid her hands up and down one soft, supple leg, she wanted so very badly to reach out and touch her perfect body. Kiyomi actually gasped a little as Amara tore the tape from her nipples, wanting nothing more than to take the small, hard buds of flesh into her mouth. She heard Colin speaking, but didn't really register what he was saying. Something about rules? Rules being broken? Kiyomi smiled to herself at a sudden fragment of memory, her and Jenny lying naked in the grass in Golden Gate Park at two in the morning, with Kiyomi wondering about police trouble and Jenny saying "Some rules are made to be broken..."

Jenny.

Jenny!

NOOOO!

Suddenly, Kiyomi recoiled from the other scions and sprang to her feet, the metallic thread of the Kanji on the back of her jacket glittering red in the sanguine light. She backed away from the couch a few steps, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Silent and unbidden, tears began to roll down her cheeks, leaving slender black runnels of mascara in their wake. She stammered, "I-I-I'm s-sorry! S-so sorry!" She fell to her knees, her shoulders heaving, sobbing, "Jenny, I'm so sorry!" over and over again.

(Sorry to break the scene, but I couldn't resist the character development. If you want to continue it, I'll pull her out of the room. Otherwise, I'll make it up to you, I promise!)