Raven of the City

[sojournerwolf]

OOC: Well, here it is. Lots of great characters so far and room for more. If you want to refer to background notes, characters, or want to leave messages please post at OOC: Raven of the City at http://www.literotica.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=608223#newpost

Now, the next two to three posts will be a prologue, the beginning of the story and a note that is part of the story. Please stand by until I get them posted. Thanks.

Please post character name in subject line when replying here so we can all keep up with who is doing what. *G*

And thanks again to everyone who has shown interest so far. I look forward to writing with all of you.

 

[sojournerwolf]

Prolouge

St. Germaine, a city brooding over the river that was once its livelihood, squats between decaying railyards to the north and an underfunded international airport to the south while inexorably creeping into the suburbs to the west. A city perhaps not so different from many others. More malls than museums. More bars than churches. More adult entertainment spots than parks. There’s a zoo, yes, not to far from a moderately sized campus of the State University system. It is, maybe, no more or less corrupt than any other city whose politicians struggle to gain more power no matter the cost or with whom they must deal.

It also has Old Town, a peculiar soul sister to such neighborhoods as the Village in New York, the Central West End of St. Louis.

By day, tourists come to gape at the art galleries, antique stores, curio shops and even more curious citizens. Jaguars and BMW’s roll past ragged folk holding signs promising work for food. Business deals are closed in outdoor cafes to the tune of street musicians. Street corner saviors preach the word, or at least their version of it, while a few prostitutes lounge nearby, hoping to catch a nooner john. Flamers and skinheads pass each other with weary glares. College students walk or bike from cheap apartments toward the not so distant spires of the University. An artist at her easel paints the scene, while in the alley behind her, a drunk relieves his aching bladder. It is a place called, “colorful” in Chamber of Commerce brochures, but descriptions of those colors tend to be vague.

For when evening rolls around, most of the shops and “respectable” restaurants close down. That’s when the players seep onto the sidewalks, oozing down toward the “Zone”. Here outre adult sex clubs and strip joints purr a seductive invitation to furtive fulfillment of secret fantasies through music heavy on bass, hypnotize with neon brightness. Hustlers and prostitutes, dealers and those looking for a quick score, con artists and others whose business prefers no close look; denizens of the dark mingling with those who think they might find a cheap thrill diving so deep. If they’re lucky, they’ll just lose their money and whatever innocence is left to them. The lonely, the angry, the lost, some just trying to make it from one day to the next, they’re here, too.

This is where the Raven has come to roost.

 

[sojournerwolf]

The Story Begins - Raven

Tuesday, September 10th

St. Germaine, a city sweating before a storm. Humidity shrouds the neighborhood known as “Old Town”. Yet, the distant lightning is no more lurid than the neon signs of the adult clubs and strip joints of the “Zone”. The far off thunder, merely an occasional counterbeat to the pulse of music whose sole purpose is to quicken the pulse.

A mere two blocks north and one west, among shops and restaurants already closed for the evening, other lights are flashing. Red and blue and white beams streak the fronts of the buildings and the streets of Old Town. There’s an ambulance, two official police cars and one unmarked whose headlights all point toward a group of people huddled. Some wear uniforms, others do not. Yet, all save one is official. No crowd of the curious here, for curiosity requires a high price after sundown in Old Town.

Yet, there is one who watches from a nearby alley. Eyes dark as the space between stars and perhaps nearly as ancient follow the movements of those desperately trying to save a life, and the others who are trying to discern why such a life has been so abused.

Words drift to the keen ears of the unseen listener. “…overdose?…beaten…robbery?...no i.d.…”

Though nothing reflects in the eyes of the watcher, there is a sudden flare of red as of a fire within when a still figure is lifted onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The watcher knows her. The watcher also recognizes at least one of the detectives who speaks in low tones to a crime lab specialist.

The eyes blink once like a camera shutter freezing the scene. Then, silently, the watcher moves into the shadows and vanishes as if never there at all.

When the detective returns to her car, though, she knows someone was watching. And whom. For under the windshield wiper is a note.

 

[sojournerwolf]

message deleted due to image error; see next post

 

[sojournerwolf]

the note - Raven

the note reads:

 

[Blaque Gurl]

Faith Anderson

Sitting before the heart shaped mirror that sat on the blue tinted glass vanity table in her small bedroom, she studyed her steely silver eyes. No emotion. She distanced herself, felt nothing, got close to no one. Silm bronze digits came to wrap around the handle of a small black brush. The bristles running through the blondish brown tendrils, making the curls bounce back into place. She did even strokes from her scalp to mid-back. 100 perfect strokes. Soon, she had a shining mane of hair framing her face. She did this routine every night. There was never a night when she would be found in her apartment. Either she was walking the streets, or visting a strip or adult club.

Foundation, mascara, eyeliner, lip liner, eye shadow and lipstick were carefully applied. She definately didn't need the make-up, she was beautiful when she went natural. But, she need it at night. To enhance her aparence. Make her look more like the seductress she was. Standing, she went over to her closet, which was filled to the brim with her "night" clothes and shoes. Her regular outfits were stored in her dresser. Hmmmm...what to wear? Carefully, she picked out a white tube dress. It hugged her body tightly, showing each curve, and ending at mid-thigh, showing off those shapely legs. A pair of high heeled sandals to match, thin laces to tie around her ankles.

Laying the clothes on her bed, she went to shower. Washing all over her body with the bar of Ivory soap three times. Then twice, she went over her body with watermelon scented shower gel. She had made sure not to mess her make-up or hair. As usual, she didn't. Going back into the room, a black thong was slid on. Making sure her body was completely hairless, she then slipped the dress and shoes on. A slowly exicuted turn before her full length mirror. Perfect. Picking up her white handbag, she made her way out into her best friend. The night.

 

[THEBRAT]

Shirlene Vanderbelt

At last I've gotten Free from my Vanderbelt Relatives and I'm safe for now.

They thought that they had ME in a corner and that my money was theirs no way they have their own money they don't need mine.

I'm going out to look this Old Town over I just might find some action tonight.

 

[New4U New4Me]

Pamela Fox

I sit at the decrepit dressing table, bearing the thin crack in the upper left hand corner caused by the jealous artist. Nick had never understood me, jealous of every movement I made. I was so in love with him but only until he dumped me for some street punk with all body and no brains. Well, if that is what he wants that is just fine with me. I insert the colored contact lenses into each eye. I have no need for prescriptive remedies but they change my appearance, along with the various assortment of wigs. My preferences for this evening are sky blue contacts and a short bobbed, bleach blonde wig.

After I have inserted the lenses, I pull my own hair into a loose bun, so that it will be concealed later under the wig. I then diligently apply the heavy make up on face, eyes and lips. Perfection is achieved and I slide the wig over my head, tugging and adjusting it into a perfect resting spot. Gliding over to my tiny closet, stuffed with various outfits designed to tantalize the male patrons at the club, I choose the right ensemble to complete the look.

I pull the black fishnet stockings over the silken skin of my legs and secure them to the garter belt. I take the men's white dress shirt, pressed flawlessly, devoid of any wrinkles, and slip it on. The buttons are just a little tight around my large chest. The black shorts I extract from the drawer and slide them up past my hips, zipping and buttoning them. Finally, I slip the black stilhetto heels onto feet that are large, but far from awkward.

The remaining articles of my attire I shall take with me; namely the black tails tuxedo jacket and top hat. This ritual of preparedness is always performed in the dank, musty, sleazy motel room I have called home for eight months now. I grab the black cloak from the bed and cover my head and body. I have no deisre of revealing myself to the public lurking about the streets. The only people able to view my seductiveness are men who have the money to pay for this privilege.

I walk briskly to the strip club greeting the begging bums on the streets with my viper tongue. "Fuck you, mister. Work for your money like the rest of!" This guy must have never encountered me before this night. The regulars know better than to approach me. I have found it necessary more than once to brandish the switchblade ensconsed tightly in my right hand.

The scene I pass is nothing out of the ordinary here in the Zone. Some stupid prick is laying dead on the ground while police officers, coroner, paramedics and plain-clothed detectives swarm around the form now covered by the gray wool blanket. I don't give it a second thought as I rush to my destination.

Fifteen minutes later I am entering the back door at "The Licking Lizard," ready for tonight's performance.



OOC: hope you were ready for us to begin our postings, sojournerwolf; if not please let me know!

 

[MtnAngelWV]

Priscilla Winslow

This day at the libarary has been extremely quiet but I rejoice in its solitude, such a contradiction from the nights I spend racked by the sounds of sirens and the hustle of the city. I stand now admist the greatest writers in history, the thought humbling and comforting. I take comfort in the books perched on these shelves. They never betray me, they are always there for me when I really need them. Serenity fills my soul as I relish the feeling that too soon will be replaced by fear and insecurities. My fingers stroke random bindings as I bid them farewell until tomorrow.

The bus ride from the Old Town to the Zone is longer than one would originally suspect. The vehicle is filled to standing capacity. I grip the handrail until my knuckles turn white, the fear threatening to overcome me. I am dreading the short walk from the bus stop to my cheap motel room. Too many noises, too many staring eyes, too many judges.

The bus halts at my stop and for one brief moment I am unable to move, my legs feel like cement. I decide that the more rapidly I move the better off I will be, the faster I can retire into my own personal sanctuary, that feels more akin to hell than heaven. But it is all I have right now.

The bums with their stinking, acrid breaths approach me with bony fingers extending in my direction, begging for a way to afford their next fix. My own fingers reach up and push glasses farther up my nose as my head sinks deeper into my chest, my gait more and more swift. My eyes see only the cracked concrete that constitutes the sidewalk. I cannot shut out the yells of the prostitutes hawking their wares for any man able to give them their twenty dollar fee.

Mercifully I am at the door of the seedy motel, never noticing the man pushing his way out, pratically running me down, until it was too late. I won't ever be as invisible as I want to be. I pluck my key out of my bag and open the tiny mailbox. My hand feels inside and removes the envelope. Upon seeing the return address I cringe while I automatically rip the paper to shreds, leaving the contents a mystery.

I run up the steps quickly. On the top step I almost trip over the hem of my ankle-length skirt. My hand thrusts out, catching myself. Flustered and releived, I hear the voice, "Hey Grace...wanna try that maneuver again?" the cackling that followed these words fades into her room. I peer up just in time to see the door shutting firmly. The chameleon stipper, Pamela I think, taunts me every chance she gets.

Tears sting the edges of my eyes as I rush into my room and hastily slam the door. For some reason I can't shake the words she has spoken to me. They seem familiar to me somehow but I am unable to place where I have heard them before. My head explodes into another violent headache; the same headache that has plagued me ever since I could remember. I lie on the bed and pray that sleep will soon overtake me.

 

[Blaque Gurl]

Faith Anderson

Stepping from the sleazy motel room, brushing invisable specs of dust from her immpecable tube dress. She looked like she never stepped from it. Usually emtionless eyes widened when she saw the young mousy looking women rushing into her motel room, dropping a pen and several pieces of paper on her way. She sighed in fustration, she had much more money to take, to fulfill this month's rent payment. Bending down, she huridly grabbed the pen and papers, and brisk steps brought her over to the woman's door. A quick, sharp knock was given.

 

[MtnAngelWV]

Priscilla Winslow

The pounding was so loud and intense, filling my head with madenning force. At first I am unable to discern the noises in my head from the knocking on my door. As soon as I realize the true source of the sound, I start from the intursion. The whole time I have lived in this stinking rathole, I have never had a guest at my door. Is it? It couldn't possibly be...or could it? Terror imbolizes my body for a few seconds, not wanting to know who is the intruder of my sanctuary.

On cat's feet I creep my way to the door, cursing the ommission of a peek hole. "Who is it?" I ask, barely above a whisper.

 

[sojournerwolf]

Raven

The creature sometimes called Raven, sometimes called Miranda Raven--depending upon what form has been taken--stalks through the night as the the breeze picks up and the storm grows closer.

Though Raven tries to concentrate on the self-appointed mission, hunger gnaws. Not the human hunger for food or drink, but the sustenance of human sexual energy. Raven can go for up to a week without feeding thus, yet finds peak condition comes with letting no more than 72 hours elapse. Raven knows that tonight, tomorrow at the latest, it will have to feed fully in order to have the strength to make the transformation to Miranda. Thursday, in that form which most closely emulates a human female, Raven is due to perform--Friday and Saturday as well--at the Licking Lizard.

Already, Raven can feel focus slipping. Telepathic tendrils like invisible smoke trail after the figure in the black duster and high crowned, narrow brimmed hat. They touch insidiously upon the minds of those Raven passes: Priscilla the librarian who only knows Raven as someone with a vast curiosity about human history and psychology; a new woman in Old Town, headed towards the Zone whose clothes proclaim tasteful richness quite out of place there; others who will likewise find themselves restless, yearning this night as their brain's centers for sexual excitement and fantasy are stirred with the seeping overflow from Raven's hunger.

Yet, one seems immune. Pamela, Raven recalls is her name. She sneers at him as she passes by. Raven has lately become intrigued by this woman. Reading up on human biology and evolution, Raven speculates that perhaps there is a genetic strain developing among them that resists his race's predation. If so, it will mean the end of Raven and Raven's kind.

But that is not important now. It is something for the future, the distant future consideration.

Now, Raven hungers.

Perhaps, Raven thinks, a light feeding, for now, just to give strength to the task ahead. For the night is yet young and what Raven will seek to accomplish might best be done in the hours of morning before dawn.

Raven pauses, looking around to consider the possibilities...

 

[Blaque Gurl]

Faith Anderson

She sighed in frustration...damnit, did she have to play good samariton now? She gave another sharp tap...waiting. She turned to leave when she heard the voice call out.

"it's Faith...Faith Anderson. You dropped some papers and a pen when you rushed into your room."

Her voice was soft, not showing the frustration she felt. The accent she receieved for leaving in Boston for all of her life was edvident. She watched as the woman slowly opened the door, very cautious. She held out the papers, to show she meant no harm.

 

[Guest]

Pamela Fox

The dressing room at the club is a whir of activity; the girls sharing gossip while they prepare for tonight's performances. I am, as usual, sitting in the ratty overstuffed chair thumbing through a pile of CDs, deciding on the right music for my act. I look up when I spy Bull, the club's bouncer, clumsily making his way into the room. Scanning the half-dressed dancers, he licks his dry, thick lips. It doesn't take him long to stare in my direction. I roll my eyes, knwoing what is coming next.

"Good evening Pammy," his nickname for me does nothing but annoy me. His gaze is admiring as he awaits for my recognition.

"My name is 'P-A-M-E-L-A!' It's not like its that difficult!!" I admonish him. The big oaf actually thinks I could for one second be interested in him. The idea almost makes me laugh.

"Sorry, Pamela. I caught your act last night and I think you are the best dancer this club has ever had." Belying his muscular form and fighting abilities, his demeanor is reduced to that of a schoolboy infatuated for the first time.

"I am SO glad you brought up the performance last night," I begin to say, feigning some semblance of courtesy. My facade hits the mark I intended as his eyes open a bit wider, antiipating my next words. What I really want to do is slap that silly grin off of his god damned face. I stand in front of him, leaning into him. One crimson fingernail pokes him in the chest to punctuate my point. "If you don't remember to grease that fucking pole tonight better than you did last night, I will personally castrate you. Do you have any idea of the skill it takes to churn out the flawless performances I do nightly?"

"I...er...umm..." he stammers, trying to hide his embarrassment at my public ridicule.

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open, staring at me, you dumb fuck! Shoo!" the laugh I produce is born out of sheer malice towards the moron. I feel the heat from the other dancers' glares. I cooly sit back down in the chair, cross my legs and return to my previous task.

 

[New4U New4Me]

Pamela Fox

Oops! That was my post! darn cookies!

 

[MtnAngelWV]

Priscilla Winslow

Peeking out from the tiny crevice of the partially opened door, I see only the papers she has in her hands, as my head is pointing downward. I have no desire to meet any of these people's gazes. For one terrifying moment, I wonder if she saw the contents of the letter. Riduculous, I remind myself. A person would have to spend a great deal of time piecing the tiny shards of paper back together.

"Thank you," the almost inaudible words are spoken quickly as I grab the papers and hurriedly close the door. My thoughts are again jumbled and unrecognizable as I lie back down on the bed.

Sleep ebbs its way into my troubled brain; a slumber that is plagued by the nightmares. The scenes mostly consist of men pawing at my body while I shrink into the darkened corner. I try over and over again to scream out to them, to make them stop. I open my mouth only to discover that my voice has left me.

 

[THEBRAT]

Shirlene Vanderbelt

As I'm walking down the street in my tailor made clothes.

I feel as out of place here as a homeless person would in the Vanderbelt Manion.

I feel as if someone is watching me and that they have a very great hunger to appease.

I see a bar called The Licking Lizard and it looks very promising for me to have a very good time tonight.

 

[Guest]

Vince Amado

Vince sat in the coffee shop across from the 'Lizard' and watched through the fly specked window as Pamela went in the club through the side door. He smiled when he saw her brush off the old derelict, the guy was lucky he didn't get a spiked heel in the nuts.

"Oscar", he called,
"Gimme another will ya."

It was almost nine PM but Vinnie Amado was having his breakfast, four cups of black coffee and toast. He turned back to the evening edition of the 'Free Press' and finished reading the article under the headline...
SIXTH VICTIM FOUND MURDERED IN OLD TOWN!

"One more and it don't count as a refill no more Vince."
Oscar was a former 'pug' too. Battered eyebrows and a cauliflower ear under a bald and shiny pate gave the fat man a menacing and diabolical look but Amado could remember one night at Saint Nick's Arena when Oscar Tartaglia took him, the 'New White Hope' a full brutal ten rounds. He won but spent the next three days in the hospital.

"Thanks Ozzie. I got enough..."
It was the same MO, Hookers, bar girls, strippers, raped, their throats cut and their bodies laid out in bizarre configurations in some deserted alley in the 'Zone'.

The latest one, Luscious Lane, he knew had been a friend of Pamela's and someone he'd met casually at the HalfWay house.
He wondered if he should offer to give Pam some company on her way home when she finished her last act at three.

 

[ariosto]

OOC:...I AM VINCE AMADO!
We got the same bad cookies Angel.

 

[Guest]

Priscilla Winslow

The first three acts having finished it is now time for me to perform. I hear some of the girls complaining about nervous jitters. I have never had that problem. I walk into the tiny private bathroom just before my performance, remove the small brown glass vial from my purse and dip the miniature spoon into the white powdery substance. I sniff the small particles, burning a path down to the back of my throat. Instant courage!

The house lights dim as I enter the stage from behind the curtain. The sound of the metallic cymbals begin the intro to "Independent Women," my newest theme song, so appropriate. The lights come up on my back revealing my arms raised high above my head. My hips begin swaying to the staccato beats of the music. My hands rhythmically lower to the brim of the hat while I slowly spin around to face the crowd. As I train smoldering eyes on the male voyeurs, my shoulders rotate to the melody. I start to remove my clothing as I toss my hat behind me. The coat is slowly removed, one arm at a time, dragging it on the floor next to me. I walk on the edge of the stage during this slow, teasing process, my stare promising more exposed flesh to the men sitting near the stage. The next article of clothing to be removed is the pair of tight black shorts. To taunt the onlookers, I bend at the waist, ass facing the patrons, wiggling the shorts down the length of my legs, exposing a hint of black thong and exposed cheeks. My stilhetto heel kicks the shorts to the side when I straighten, again facing the crowd. In one swift movement the tailored white shirt is ripped from my body. My hands squeeze my large, firm tits together to accentuate their presence.

The tune changes into "Cowboy," by Kid Rock. I fly to the pole, noticing that Bull has greased it to my satisfaction, obviously wanting to make ammends. I spin rapidly around the pole, now clad in only thong and stockings. My right leg wraps around the pole as my back arches, my head almost touching the floor. I work my way up and down the length of the pole. My hips thrust against the hard steel imagining it entering me. The images are so vivid that I begin to climax, my mouth open while small guttural moans escape from between my crimson lips. The male cheers and goading fuels my orgasm. When I finish riding the erotic waves, I make my way off the stage and into the awaiting crowd.

I rub my ass and tits on randomly selected men, money shoved into thong and garter. One man in particular grabs my attention by flashing a hundred dollar bill in front of me. I glide over to him, looking him straight in the eyes as I bend over him. He whispers that the money is for a date. I take the time to inform that he will need at least ten times that amount for the privilege of a private session. I rapidly spin away from him, leaving him to ponder my response and head in the direction of yet another customer.

 

[New4U New4Me]

This is what happens when you stay up too late and try to post something that will sound halfway comprehendable. The last post is mine. Also I must have been thinking about the posts I had read earlier for I put the wrong character name in the subject line.

The last post was for Pamela Fox, not Priscilla Winslow.

Sorry if I confused anyone, especially MtnAngelWV. Sorry about that Mtn!!

 

[SexyChele]

Jesse Parker

Running late as usual, I quickly shower and dry my hair, until it shines. In the glare from the bathroom light, I apply the make-up that will be needed for my act at the club tonight. God, I hate working there, hate hustling the streets, but it seems that once you're in the hell-hole there is no way out.

Finally satisfied that my make up is flawless, I dress quickly with stockings, costume thong and bra, over which I I slip on a tight, revealing sleeveless dress that is very short. I slip into the high heeled sandals, and grab my bag that contains the rest of my "accessories" for the my act.

Closing the door to my small, cramped studio apartment, I check the hallway and am thankful there is no one around. Making my way out to the street, I murmur small "hellos" to the bums and other human occupants of the streets. Yes, more of the girls don't have the time of day for them, and I probably shouldn't either. Yet, I can't help but think that if I wasn't so willing to sell my body, I would be right where they are. Many return my greeting with a smile, many I have given food to and even a couple of dollars now and again.

I begin to the rush to the club, thankful that at least my act is one of the last ones to go on. Besides I'm not all that enamoured of some of the girls I work with - some are friendly, others are not, yet we do share a code of conduct in looking out for one another - called "survival".

I pass down a street, a feel eyes staring at my from a dark corner. Stopping, I turn to look, and vaguely make out the shape in the shadows.

"Raven? Raven, hon, is that you? Now, just why are you hiding back there?"

I walk towards him, smile lighting my face. Yet, as I get close I notice something is different, not quite right. But then Raven and his sister often have many conflicts about them that I do not understand.

"Something wrong, Raven? You know that you can tell me whatever it is, if you want to. Wanna walk me to the club and we can talk?"

I place my hand on his arm, and notice that he actually feels as though he is trembling.

 

[sojournerwolf]

Raven

Raven considers, then smiles a thin smile. Yes...the woman in the rich clothing, new to the neighborhood. Raven savors the taste of her from their brief contact. A smouldering passion is there tinged with a spice of darkness that appeals to Raven, an almost violent sense of...rebellion.

Raven's eyes narrow, searching for trace of her feelings, her thoughts. She's entered the Licking Lizard, Raven realizes. Raven is so focused, so intent on picking up the woman's trail that Jesse's approach catches Raven off guard.

The hunger in Raven, now the creature has found prey, is a roiling, savage thing roaring silently to be released. The scent of Jesse, her touch on Raven's arm and mind is almost too much to bear. Yet, centuries among humans, learning to hide its true nature in times of danger has honed Raven's will into a steely resilience. Raven clamps down on the hunger, though the form Raven currently wears betrays Raven by trembling.

Still, Raven can rein in the urge, manage a smile for Jesse. Raven has never fed on her energies, though Raven has no idea just why. Feelings alien to Raven's kind haunt Raven when Jesse is about. Raven has found words for those feelings in dictionaries: friendship, respect, others. Raven does not completely understand them nor why they should affect one of Raven's kind in regards to potential prey, but they do so all the same. Perhaps, Raven wonders at times, corruption of purpose is inevitible...

"Jesse," Raven says, "how wonderful to see you this evening. No, nothing is wrong, merely wondering when the storm will finally arrive."

Jesse's invitation to escort her to the club fits in perfectly with Raven's plans. Calm now, knowing that soon the prey first sought will be within Raven's sphere of telepathic influence, Raven takes her arm and walks towards the Licking Lizard.

"And what have you been up to?" Raven asks.

 

[SexyChele]

Jesse Parker

The concern that first entered my heart at seeing Raven stills with his reassurance. Raven has his moods - I don't understand them - but I try to be sympathetic to his space.

As he takes my arm, I playfully lean into him, laughing.

"Oh, you know, life here can always be counted on to be the same. Same club, same johns, same cops, same shit. You know, the only thing that makes this place even halfway bearable are friends. Even though most of them are considered unsavory....I'd go crazy without 'em.

"So, Raven, you gonna spend some time in the club, checking out the action? You know, I got a new routine worked out, and you're the only one who ever gives me an honest answer....I'd appreciate your opinion. That is, if you don't have anything else planned."

As he looked down at me, I noticed the strangeness about his eyes - eyes I had never noticed on another person before. Eyes that could hold you in their grasp and not let you go. But then came the smile, so engaging one always had to smile back.

As we approach the club, I once again notice David on the corner. I sigh heavily to myself.....women in my business should never feel attracted to anyone, but there is something in the mystique of David Bren that draws me. We've barely said hello, and with those glasses, it is difficult read what feelings, if any, he has for anyone.

As my attention is drawn back to Raven, I giggle slightly and hug his arm as we stroll into the club...

 

[sojournerwolf]

Raven

Raven chuckles at Jesse's comments on those who inhabit the Old Town, and particularly those who make their living in the Zone. There is a lightness of being Raven feels when in the company of this human that sometimes makes Raven wonder if the differences between their species are all that great.

"Very true, Jesse," Raven says in a mock British accent, "it's an odd merry-go-round we ride here, yet I would not trade that tarnished brass ring for gold. Especially," Raven adds, "as I have a bit of that patina hanging about myself."

Raven hesitates when Jesse mentions "checking out the action" at the Licking Lizard. In a sense, that is what Raven intends to do, though for reasons other than mere pleasure. Jesse knows something of Raven's unofficial connection with the police, one of the few humans besides Detective Alexandra Castle who does. That Raven watches and aids the law when it comes to dealing with gang bangers, drug dealers, and wannabe pimps while never betraying any who, though they may not follow the rule of law in struggle to survive, nonetheless are those considered by Raven to belong in Old Town.

Raven, however, has been very careful to conceal actions personally taken against any who threaten those living here.

"I will stay as long as I can," Raven says as lightly as possible, entering the club with her, "and I would very much like to see your act. Yet," Raven hesitates a moment, "I might have other business to attend to."

To the question in Jesse's eyes, Raven nods. "There was another victim tonight."

Raven has not failed to notice the look Jesse gave to David. Raven did not comment. Rather, Raven left that to the persona of his "sister", the female mode of Raven to encourage Jesse's interest in what humans called, "a relationship". From past experience Raven knew this might end in Jesse and David leaving Old Town and the thought of that vaguely grieved.