The Nature of the Game

[Maid of Marvels]

Lancaster Green is a business executive who has come to New York City on special assignment. He is tall, handsome and muscular; resplendent in his immaculately tailored suits. His face has a sneering, arrogant appearance, yet also a certain devilish charm. He carries himself with a feline grace, and has the confidence and self-assurance of a man with, well, let's say substantial concealed assets.

Angela Buonacore is a research librarian at the Epiphany Branch of the New York Public Library on 23rd Street. Unassuming, Angela dresses for comfort; she is of medium height and her chestnut brown hair hangs in spiral curls just below her shoulders. People are drawn to her by the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her ever-present smile which make up for the fact that she is not what most would consider beautiful.

To all outward appearances, Lancaster is just another hard-charging, aggressive businessman, and Angela is a quirky bookworm with a passion for poetry and coffeehouses. But things are not always as they appear...

*****

This thread is reserved for Graybread and myself
but
you're welcome to read along.
As always,
comments and critiques are welcome by PM.

~Maid & Gray ​

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"This is the house. The house on East 88th Street...

It's empty now, but it won't be for long."

An hour later, Angela closed the book. Story Time ended as it always did, with a chorus of 'so longs, byes and see you next weeks'. This was quite possibly the most favorite time at the Epiphany. The children. So pure and innocent. Their eyes wide with wonder as she read them stories week after week.

She ran her fingers lovingly over the book's cover as she set it back on the shelf where it belonged. Someone was certain to be asking for it tomorrow, she thought with a fond smile.

Returning to her desk, Angela took her last phone call of the day, a little boy wanting to know how much a gallon of water weighed. "Eight point three three pounds." She chuckled when he uttered a quiet "Wow!" and mumbled a quick thank you before hanging up.

Angela loved her job. Every time someone had a question or needed help finding something was like going on a treasure hunt. She always seemed to find something new and exciting along the way. Lateral thinking. Sideways surfing. That's what her Boss called it anyway.

Grabbing her coat, Angela said her goodbyes and headed for The Comfy Chair, a coffeehouse near her loft in the Village. It was "Open Mike" night and she hoped to hear at least some good poetry while she scribbled in her ever-present ledger over a light dinner and a cup or six of coffee. Or maybe she'd splurge and have something decadent like an Irish Monk. Angela couldn't help chuckling at the thought as she got into her car and headed down toward Bleecker.

******​

The Comfy Chair wasn't very busy. Angela could hear the clinking of coffee cups over the low drone of voices as she sat down at a table near the window. "Hi, Ange!" Lisa, the waitress chirped. "Whatcha havin'?"

"How about a grilled portobello? And a cappuccino in the meantime, please. Cinnamon."

Angela took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Taking a deep drag, she watched the smoke swirl upward in a wispy tendril. It was probably her only vice, a bad one most would say, but she knew of a lot worse. She smiled as she opened her carry-all, pulled out her ledger and a pen and began to write.

When Lisa brought the portobello and salad, Angela closed the ledger and pushed it to the side. "You're always scribbling in that thing, Ange. When you gonna break loose and read for us?"

"One of these days, Lisa. One of these days."

"Yeah. Right. That'll be the same day you order a burger," the waitress giggled as she walked away. "I'll be back with another cappuccino in a sec."

"Hey, Sunshine." Angela looked up and smiled. It was Peaches, one of the locals that hung out in the Comfy Chair.

"Hey! Sit with me for a bit," she invited. "Haven't seen you for a while. Where have you been?" As she sat, Angela saw the white gauze bandages peeking out from under the cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt. Pretending not to notice, she grinned and pushed her untouched plate over toward Peach. She was probably hungry, too. "It's not a steak, but it'll do you fine." She looked around for Lisa to order Peaches a cup of hazelnut coffee, her favorite.

"You're always scribbling, Sunshine... but you never show anyone what you're writing or even tell us what you're writing about," Peaches said quietly as she rubbed her nose. "Allergies," she offered lamely.

Angela shrugged and laughed it off. "Uh huh. You really don't want to know anyhow, Peach. You reading tonight?"

Peaches looked up at her and smiled wanly. "Probably. Nothing of mine though. Kinda dry lately." Lost in thought, she ate in silence while Angela continued to scribble.

Would-be poets, singers, comedians, actors and actresses and just folks with an ax to grind... the stream of performers onstage was steady. And then it was Peaches' turn. Angela snapped her fingers in approval as she made her way to the mike.

Peaches waited until the room grew quiet in expectation. When it did, she began to recite a piece by Maggie Estep:

"SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE

I am THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
so don't mess with me
I've got a big bag full of SEX TOYS
and you can't have any
'cause they're all mine
'cause I'm
the SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.

"Hey," you may say to yourself,
"who the hell's she tryin' to kid,
she's no sex goddess,"
But trust me,
I am
if only for the fact that I have
the unabashed gall
to call
myself a SEX GODDESS,
I mean, after all,
it's what so many of us have at some point thought,
we've all had someone
who worshipped our filthy socks
and barked like a dog when we were near
giving us cause
to pause and think: You know, I may not look like much
but deep inside, I am a SEX GODDESS.

Only
we'd never come out and admit it publicly
well, you wouldn't admit it publicly
but I will
because I am
THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.

I haven't always been
a SEX GODDESS
I used to be just a mere mortal woman
but I grew tired of sexuality being repressed
then manifest
in late night 900 number ads
where 3 bodacious bimbettes
heave cleavage into the camera's winking lens and sigh:

"Big Girls oooh, Bad Girls oooh, Blonde Girls oooh,
you know what to do, call 1-900-UNMITIGATED BIMBO ooooh."

Yeah
I got fed up with the oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
I got fed up with it all
so I put on my combat boots
and hit the road with my bag full of SEX TOYS
that were a vital part of my SEX GODDESS image
even though I would never actually use
my SEX TOYS
'cause my being a SEX GODDESS
it isn't a SEXUAL thing
it's a POLITICAL thing
I don't actually have SEX, no
I'm too busy taking care of
important SEX GODDESS BUSINESS,
yeah,
I gotta go on The Charlie Rose Show
and MTV and become a parody
of myself and make
buckets full of money off my own inane brand
of self-righteous POP PSYCHOLOGY
because my pain is different
because I am a SEX GODDESS
and when I talk,
people listen
why ?
Because, you guessed it,
I AM THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
and you're not."

When she finished, Peaches lifted the hem of her mini, curtseyed simply and walked out of the Comfy Chair followed by a raucous medley of snapping, clapping and cheers. Angela sighed. Peach was probably going to turn a couple tricks for her next high. Things were worse for her friend than she had thought.

 

[Graybread]

Lancaster sat in his Manhattan Penthouse apartment, listening to ‘Der Ring des Nibelungen’, by Wagner, his eyes closed, a scotch in hand. He sat in his black Coja leather chair, his feet on the ottoman. Of all the leathers in the world the Barolo Grade exhibited a blend of unique pigments, which appear three dimensional and translucent, much like human flesh. Dark swirls blended in a capricious interplay of shadows and light, giving each pattern its own unique identity. The hand of Barolo is very inviting and sensual to the touch, evidenced by Lancaster’s stroking of the arm, as the music cascaded through his mind. The walls of the apartment were a dull medium grey, accented by frosted glass and gold trimmed sconces, which threw a dim light on the lighter grey ceiling. Scattered about the room were Lancaster collection of ancient sculpture and pieces of architecture, from Babylon, Assyria, Persia, Egypt, and Israel. Culminating in the huge display case across the room from where Lancaster was sitting, with over one hundred pieces of smaller sculptures, all original, there where no reproductions in his collection. The collection was both beautiful and profane, an assemblage of chipped rock and stone from the cradle of humanity. However, his most prized possession was the Spear of Longinus. (Longinus was the Roman soldier who pierced Jesus’ side with the ‘Spear of Destiny’ when he was crucified. He was the centurion responsible for saying “This was the Son of God”). The spear lay in a glass box on the top shelf of the display case. Lancaster had had a Gold plague engraved with these words.

"I knew with immediacy that this was an important moment in my life...I stood there quietly gazing upon it for several minutes, quite oblivious to the scene around me. It seemed to carry some hidden inner meaning which evaded me, a meaning which I felt I inwardly knew, yet could not bring to consciousness...I felt as though I myself had held it in my hands before in some earlier century of history - that I myself had once claimed it as my talisman of power and held the destiny of the world in my hands. What sort of madness was this that was invading my mind and creating such turmoil in my breast?”
Adolf Hitler

“I pranzo è preparato, signore,”

Lancaster opened his eyes and gazed at Felix, his manservant for the past hundred and fifty odd years.

“Grazie, Felix,” he said, as he rose and glided across the plush gray carpet, to his evening meal.

His hand caressing the surface of the twelve-foot tall, broken fluted marble column, from the ruin at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, that flanked the entrance to the kitchen area, as he passed. The cracked, Doric capital lying at the base of the column, as if it had fallen there centuries earlier.

“Will you be going out tonight Sir,” Felix asked, as he poured Lancaster a glass of pure spring water.

“Yes, I believe so,” Lancaster replied, his razor sharp knife slicing through the still cool, bloody chunk of lamb on his plate. “I….hunger tonight.”

“Very well Sir. I shall wait up then.”

Lancaster grunted as he bit into the meat, bloody juices running down and dripping off his chin. He finished his meal but his hunger was not sated, he needed more, and he knew where to find it. Finishing the last of the lamb, he pushed the plate back and downed the spring water. Wiping his chin clean with an expensive linen napkin.

“Felix, Eccellente,” he said to his manservant.

“Grazie signore,” Felix replied, nodding his head slightly.

Lancaster rose and placed his hand on Felix’s shoulder. A dozen years seemed to fall off the man’s face as it filled with ecstasy, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Lancaster picked up his scotch and went to wash his hands and face. He sat the glass on the granite counter top, looking into the mirror. It seemed that there were two reflections there. He checked the stubble on his chin, deciding he didn’t need to shave. He straightened his dark, grey silk tie as he entered the bedroom, grabbing the lighter grey jacket of his Sabatini suit. He picked up the keys to the Lincoln Navigator and headed for the door. Felix was there, holding it open for him.

“I’ll only be a short while Felix,” he said.

“Very well Sir.”

He took the private elevator from the pent house to the parking garage and slid into the seat of the dark grey Navigator. As he drove down the street toward the Village, he felt an unfamiliar tug to his psychic emotion.

 

[Cinderella]

Peaches

Peaches slipped out of the Comfy Chair without fanfare or farewells, her destination Washington Square Park for a trick and a treat. Rent was due yesterday on her roach-infested flophouse apartment and she needed a fix. If she did it right... If. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and wiped it on her skirt, her eyes on a gray Navigator as it cruised slowly past.

"Slow down, man," she mumbled. "I can make you very happy for a minute or two." Raising her hand, Peaches (once-upon-a-time Linda Spaziani, disinherited wunderkind of upper-crusty cardboard parodies of society; now two-bit whore, junkie and wanna-be-poet/writer) peered into the dark tinted window of the vehicle as it slowed to a crawl and then sped up again.

"Jerk! You don't know what you're missing, Daddy-oh," she called out, waving at the driver in Italian before resuming her trek to the park.

It was just getting dark when she walked under the Arch where Aristoi and Bohemians alike were already gathering. "Hey, Peach!" "How's it hangin', Mami?" she replied, eyeing up her cross-dressing friend, Carlos. He was one of the more popular hoes -- especially with hetero guys with wives and kids and a taste for cock while indulging their illusion (or delusion) that they were really picking up a chick.

"Slim pickin's, girlfriend," Carlos replied in his basso Puerto Rican accent. "I'm thinking about heading over to the glory holes on 42d. You?"

"Tricks and treats, Los," Peaches shrugged, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead with a decidedly shaky hand.

He nodded and they both posed as a minivan slowed in front of them. "Hey," the guy behind the wheel grinned.

"Ward Cleaver," Peaches mumbled under her breath, certain that this was a quickie for her friend who had already walked over to the vehicle.

"Oops. This one's for jew, chooger. He wants a real womang."

"Whoot!" She didn't have to be invited twice. Peaches ran around to the passenger side and let herself in. "So," she said to the driver. "What's your pleasure?"

 

[Graybread]

Lancaster slowed as he drove past her. He was keeping tabs on her at the moment, but the time was getting close when he would do what needed done.
Tabs he thought. More of a protector, a guardian angel. He laughed out loud at his own humor.

He had been watching over her for nearly two thousands years now, every since she and her whore of a mother had left Egypt and landed in Gaul. Sarah she was called then. He had protected her in all of her personifications, making sure the blood line did not die. Waiting, watching, protecting her for the time when his master would need her. But she was on a path of self-destruction now and he would need to bring her in closer, but not quit yet.

His first need was to feed his hunger. That was easy enough, any whore would do. He sped away from her and continued down the street and pulled into an alleyway that had proved fruitful to him before.

She was standing at the entrance to the alley, her short skirt showing off her fat cellulite thighs above the black stockings. He pushed the button and let the window down.

“Hey baby,” she cooed. “Mama got something special for ya’ll.”

“Meet me at the back of the alley,” Lancaster said to her, as he drove on.

He got out of the Navigator and waited for her.

“Whacha want baby, a blow job? I gives the bestest blow jobs in the whole city.”

Lancaster unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, stroking it gently.

“You’s hung like a brotha baby,” she said wide eyed, reaching down and wrapping her black fingers around his cock. “If’n you aint got no rubber I gots one.”

“You won’t need a rubber,” Lancaster sneered, “not for what you’re given.”

“You aint gittin nothing but a hand job without no rubber,” she said.

“I’m getting everything ‘baby’,” he sneered at her again, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the brick wall.

Before she could respond and dazed by the slamming against the wall, Lancaster had reached down under her short shirt and ripped her panties from her body. He thrust his cock between her legs and up inside of her. The painful entry brought her back to her senses.

“Mister, you better back off for I hurts you,” she grunted.

Lancaster ignored her and continued to thrust into her, his cock growing in length and girth. He caught the glint of the knife from the corner of his eye, and he smiled at her. The next instant he felt six inch blade slid into his side.

“Yes, yes,” he purred, “give it all to me…all your anger…all your emotions.”

She pulled the knife out and thrust it into his side once more. Lancaster leaned forward, his serpent like tongue licking from her chin up to her forehead. He pressed his mouth against hers forcing her fat red lips open, pushing his long tongue down her throat. Lancaster reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling the knife from his side. Forcefully he brought her hand up to her chin and slowly pushed the blade through the muscle and fat of her neck. He watched her eyes widen as he licked the blood off the blade on the inside of her throat. Her arms went limp to her sides as she stared into the reptilian slits staring back at her.

Lancaster held her sagging body up and he thrust his growing cock deeper into her, through her womb and up into her stomach. He could hear the blood gurgling in her throat and then bubble on her lips.

“Yes, give it all to me,” he said, leaning close to her and sucking the blood from her mouth.

With one final thrust he filled her body with his semen, scalding her from the inside out. She slumped against the wall, her dead body held up by Lancaster. He stood there soaking her life-force from her, absorbing it into his own. Finally he pulled the knife from her throat and stepped away from her. As she fell he slit her abdomen with her own knife. Reaching in he pulled out her liver and heart.

“Felix, you shall eat well tonight as well.”

 

[Cinderella]

Peaches

The "John" blushed and spluttered. "I don't usually... "

"Neither do I," Peaches said softly, her eyes taking in the milk crate of toys and three child carriers on the back seat.

"It's my wife," he rambled. "Tired all the time and well, she just doesn't understand... "

She reached over and placed her fingers over his lips before letting them trail down his chest to his crotch. "They never do. The bitches." Peaches grinned; the guy got an instant hard-on.

"H-h-how much, M-miss?"

"For you, sugar? Twenty and a bargain to boot," she paused, adding, "Paid in advance, you understand. Oh, and you can call me... Peaches."

He nodded, squinched his eyes shut and shuddered. The poor guy had come and she hadn't even taken his cock out of his pants yet.

"Get... out... " he hissed under his breath, his face red with embarrassment.

"My money?" Peaches held out her hand, wiggling her fingers to hide their trembling.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, giving her a shove.

"Well, you might have if you hadn't blown your load so quick," she retorted, angry if not more so at being cheated out of the meager twenty that would have at least eased the shakes.

"Hey, mang... jew got a probleng?"

Peaches looked up at Carlos who had stuck his hand through the still open window of the minivan and was holding the dude in place by the neck. "Pay the Lady," he commanded.

Certain his next emission was going to be piss, she grinned and dug into the john's rear pocket for his wallet. Opening it, Peaches' eyes widened along with her grin. She'd only meant to take the twenty he owed, but it had so many pretty green friends that she couldn't resist.

"Get his ID," Carlos reminded her gruffly as she took her fill. "His Mrs. will want to know where he blew his wad and spent the other all at once."

Doing as her friend said, Peaches threw the impoverished billfold to the floor as she rapidly exited the vehicle. They waved as he drove away, then turned to each other and slapped their upraised palms together in a gleeful "high five".

"How much didjew get," Carlos asked as they ran down the path in the opposite direction.

"Dunno," Peaches replied, breathlessly, clutching the bills tightly to her chest. "Couple hundred at least. Home, Jeeves."

Truth, there was more than just a couple hundred, they soon found out. Some of the bills being just that... hundreds... leaving enough for a good high and even the rent once she'd given Carlos his share.

 

[Graybread]

Lancaster

Lancaster settled himself back into his ‘normal’ appearance, refreshed on the soiled soul of the hooker. He dropped the organs into a plastic bag he had brought and got back into the Navigator. He needed to ‘feed’ less often once he had his quarry within reach. He had lost her for four generations before finding her again in America. Losing her had caused him much frustration, and frustration always made him act rashly. There had been that incident in the Whitechapel district of London in the latter half of 1888. He smiled at the memory as he drove back to his penthouse.

He tossed the plastic bag on the kitchen floor with a sickening plop. Felix stood beside him, impassive, waiting for his masters go ahead.

“Hunger my friend,” Lancaster asked removing his bloody suit jacket and handing it to Felix. “Have this cleaned.”

Felix left the room with the jacket, but returned almost immediately to stand beside Lancaster.

“Tell me my friend, how long has is been since you feasted?”

“Many months sir,” Felix replied.

Lancaster could see him shaking in anticipation. He removed his tie and handed it to Felix. Again Felix was back by his side almost immediately.

“A drink I think,” Lancaster said.

He could hear the click of glass as he stood in the kitchen. When Felix handed him the drink he held it up. ‘Yes the amount was precisely correct.’

“Eat my friend,” he said softly.

Felix was on the floor in an instant, kneeling at the plastic bag. He reached in and pulled out the liver, licking the fresh blood from it before tearing off a chuck with his teeth. He looked up at Lancaster, his eyes full of gratification and devotion.

“Grazie Sir, grazie grazie,” he said as he devoured the delicacies.

Lancaster stepped closer and petted Felix on the head.

“Is this not better than bowing to ‘his eminence’,” Lancaster said with a sneer.

Felix had been Cardinal Felix Mezzofanti, librarian and linguist under Pius VII. He was also a hyperpolyglot, able to read nearly 38 languages. Although Lancaster could speak and read nearly any language, he had used Felix as his ‘inside man’ at the Vatican. They too had been keeping tabs on the ‘whore’, and Felix had proved invaluable when she had gone missing. Now Felix was mostly Lancasters' manservant.

Lancaster left Felix to enjoy his feast and went to change clothes. He felt like going out for an espresso. He had noticed a quant little coffee shop several times as he passed through the village. He parked the Navigator in a nearby parking garage and walked to ‘The Comfy Chair’ coffee shop. As he neared the door he felt a presence. A presence he had felt in the past. He opened the door to the bistro and his mouth curled in a sneer. It was full of ‘Bohemian’ types. It wasn’t that he disliked what they were about; they were revolutionaries, dissidents, creators of chaos. Lancaster loved chaos; he just loathed the people that created it. But it was the one sitting by herself that drew his attention.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Armaita (for that was her angelic name)...

looked up and grinned. "Well, well, well. What have we here? Nermal, is it? Your boss got you slumming? Not good enough for the big jobs in Vegas anymore?" Ignoring the question in his eyes, Armaita took a drag off her cigarette and blinked innocently, blowing smoke rings, like tiny haloes, in his direction.

Nergal's eyes flared red, but much to his discomposure she merely smiled back. "You're only a second-rate scoundrel. What are you doing here? Punishment for a job badly done? I can't imagine there being anyone here that is worth your boss' time and energy. Slim pickins round these parts."

If Nergal's boss had sent anyone other, Armaita would have been a little agitated, but not overly concerned. But Lancaster Green? Not that the particular soul in contention wasn't important. In her eyes, they were all equally important... but she couldn't help wondering who had drawn his boss' attention. And why.

Angela raised her hand, beckoning for Lisa to come over to the table. "Two coffees, Lisa. Please." She noticed the waitress eyeing her companion. He was handsome in a devilish sort of way.

Chuckling at her private joke, Angela introduced them, adding in a loud whisper "You don't want to mess with him, Lisa. He's happily married with six kids." Lisa shrugged and asked if they would like something to go with their coffee.

Lancaster started to answer, but Angela interrupted. "Umm... You still have... crow?"

Lisa, ever the willing straight man, answered "Sorry, Ange. All out of that. How about something decadent?"

"Decadent. Hmmm... Why yes. I think we'll have some of that delicious devil's food cake you were touting earlier." She smiled at Lancaster Green once again. "You do eat devil's food, right Lan?"

 

[Graybread]

Lancaster Greene

“Ha,” Lancaster laughed, though lacking any humor. Lancaster looked at Lisa, “Not to worry, I’ve eaten the kids and butchered the wife.” Turning his attention back to Angela. “So Armaita, your ‘Boss’ isn’t as omnipotent as he would have his ‘sheep’ believe. Or is it that he does not trust his minions with that knowledge, knowing you lack the skill to stop me.”

Lancaster sat and leaned back in his chair, picking up the cup of hot steaming coffee, brought it to his mouth, sipping the hot liquid.

“Cold,” he sneered, casually tossing the cup back on it saucer with enough force that it spilled over onto the table with a clatter. “Cold, much like the blood the flows through thy veins Armaita. You lack passion, as do all the Amesha Spentas. You sit and play your little parlor tricks while the world crumbles around your self righteous asses.”

He sat forward and leaned closer to her, his eyes becoming reptilian slits.

“Look around you blind child, see what I and mine have wrought. Your sheep thirst for the blood of each other. ‘Thou shall not kill.’ Your sheep care not for ‘His’ commandments Armaita, murder, and death increase daily. ‘Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbors.’ Ha,” he mocked again. “From the highest offices, in all the lands, to the smallest child just learning to speak you lie to each other.” He smiled at her, “But then, that would be my little parlor trick, wouldn’t it.”

He rested his elbows on the table and made a platform with his hands to rest his chin on.

“But then there is my personal favorite. ‘Thou shall have no other Gods before me.’ Lesser gods and demigods run rampant through the hearts and minds of all your sheep Armaita. Money, power, drugs, sex, these are their Gods Armaita, not ‘Him’. On any street corner you can find a drug dealer, and what is he selling, ‘drugs’, I think not. He is selling lies Armaita, my lies. Dreams and hope in a needle, or the sweet smoke, an escape from reality, a reality that you would have them live in.”

Lancaster threw his head back and laughed a deep profane laugh that echoed off the walls of the coffee shop. Everyone startled and stared, some cringed, and shrunk away as they heard the profanity in it.

“HAAAAA HAAAA HAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAA,” he roared! You lack passion Armaita, passion for your sheep,” he said, staring at her. Come Amesha Spentas, come and sit on my lap for an hour and I shall fill you will passion,” he laughed, his voice mirthful. “You are ineffectual against me Armaita, for you know not what power is. In an instant I could take all these souls and you could not stop me,” as he swept his arm and eyes about the room. “You want to know why I am here,” he said to Angela, without looking at her. “Ask your boss, but I doubt he’ll tell you.”

Lancaster stood and looked down at Angela, his eyes narrowing. “Stay out of my way Armaita, stay out of my way and tend your sheep. It’s what you do best.”

Lancaster turned and strode out of the coffee shop, leaving the devils food cake untouched.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Angela/Armaita

The Amesha Spenta considered Nergal's ineffectual display of machismo with a bemused look on her face. It was a filibuster if she had ever heard one. The demon was almost too cocksure. What was it that Solly had said in that book he wrote? Oh, yes. Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall. If she had anything to do with it, and she was sure that she did, Lancaster Green was going to land flat on his face.

Armaita couldn't help wondering if he realized that his annoyance and frustration were showing in his aura. Tiny flames were flickering and dancing all around him as Nergal strode from the coffeehouse. Unable to resist, she pulled out a cigarette. He wasn't the only one who could do tricks. Placing it in her mouth and following a subtle flick of her wrist, a flame appeared at the tip of her thumb.

"What do they call them?" she murmured to herself. "Lucifers, I think." Armaita lit up and then blew gently, putting out the non-existent match with a mocking arch of an eyebrow.

"You know, skeezicks... " Angela took a deep drag of her cigarette, continuing her soliloquy. "You're not so hot after all. I wonder what really brings you to my neck of the woods?" As she pondered whether he truly knew what his purpose here was, her thoughts were interrupted by Lisa who was chittering inanely.

"My... friend... had to leave," Angela said, eyeing the cake. "But next time, I'm thinking it will be crow."

"Huh?" Lisa looked totally confused.

"It's not important," Angela smiled, pulling her wallet out of her bag. "Long day and I'm beat. Do the check thing for me, will you?"

 

[Cinderella]

Peaches

After a bit of discussion, they finally settled on splitting the two bills for an "eight ball", though Peaches treated herself to some H out of her own share. "I really wish you wouldn't... " Carlos said as he split a line with a well-used razor blade and, placing a cut off straw to his nose, leaned toward the white powder on the piece of broken mirror to inhale.

"What?" Peaches asked, her eyes trained on the mixture of coke and heroin as it liquified in the blackened spoon she held over a bunsen burner. In a moment or two she'd draw it up into a spike and inject it between her toes. It wasn't her fave place to shoot up, but she had been aware that Angela had noted her long-sleeved blouse and well... just in case. She didn't know why, but for some reason it mattered that her friend wonder without exactly... knowing.

"You know" Carlos said, snorting and then sniffing hard as he licked a finger then wiped the mirror clean, rubbing the dregs onto his gums.

Peaches nodded. "Well, it's not your biz anyhow," she said pointedly as her friend rubbed his cock through his boxers, noting how his eyes had rolled up into his head - a combination of the drug's effects and the fact that he was hanging loose after having tucked that big boy away for hours while "she" worked.

Ready at last for the speedball her body was aching for, Peaches carefully pressed the plunger on the hypodermic, careful not to allow any of the liquid to be lost beyond a small bubble at the tip of the spike. "Waste not, want not. Skoal!" she said, bending her leg up and, spreading her toes apart, jabbing it into the soft tissue between. "Yesssss... " She drew in her breath, her mouth a rictus, as the rush hit and she let the syringe slip from her hands.

Carlos eyed it lazily and picked it up, setting it on the rickety nightstand beside the bed. This, too, was part of their shared ritual. He knelt up as Peaches tugged at his boxers. "You waste this on those men," she purred.

"I do?"

Peaches nodded, pulling him closer: she had undressed as soon as they had come back with their thang. "Fuck me, Los," she purred, huskily. "Do me nice."