Night's Omen

 Mya sat at her dressing station, a soft-bristled brush dragging rhythmically through her long, brown hair. She admired it;l how glossy it was, how healthy it was, how rich in colour it was. She did it often, admire herself. And why not? She was beautiful, resplendent, even. Perfection, that was what she was. A tap on her shoulder brought her back to reality, and she tore her vibrant coloured eyes from her twin in the mirror, full pout parting in surprise to find out who was demanding her attention.

  "That guy is asking for you," Melisande said. She had a frown tugging on her mouth, twisting her pretty features into an obvious expression of concern. "I really pick up some bad vibes from him, Mya," she began.

  Mya cut her off with a laugh and a wave. She rose, tossing the brush down on the counter. "He's harmless," she said, though she didn't entirely believe it. She smoothed herself over, the body glitter shimmering like stardust against her tan skin. She wore something akin to lingerie - black, black, and more black, a bra, panties and a garter-belt with stockings. Some women had fetishes for leather, corsets, feathers, but Mya had kept it simple tonight. Whisper liked black, he'd told her so.

  "I promise," she said, turning to give Melisande a reassuring squeeze. "He's as harmless as a lamb. Is he in the back room?" she asked, brow arching.

  "Yes, but I really think you should maybe expand your client basis a little," she whined. "He creeps me out." He smelled - something. She didn't know what he smelled like because she'd never smelled it before, but he smelled like something bad. She didn't have to be a lion to recognize a freak.

  "Well, it's a good thing he's here to see me, and not you," Mya said with a laugh. She shook her head and brushed past Melisande. "Honestly, you worry too much. Go serve your drinks and see your honey. I'm sure he'll be off work soon and here to pick you up. And don't worry about me," she said, turning back to the door. "I can handle the Bogeyman just fine," she said to herself, a little smirk on her mouth.

  The hall to the room Whisper was in was narrow and dark. It was reminiscent of a maze, or a European sort of Bordello. Blue lights reflected off of the walls, distorting the way everything looked. Humans had a damned hard time navigating it, but most of the people here weren't entirely human, so for Mya and the others, it had never been an issue. A non-issue, even. She opened the door to the room Whisper was in, surprised to find that he'd turned all the lights off entirely. Her heart began to beat a little faster because of it; the man really was reminiscent of the Bogeyman to her. Being in complete darkness scared her... and thrilled her.

  She shut the door with an audible click - the rooms were mostly soundproof, so the music from the stage didn't disturb the "mood". This one had its own music playing, something instrumental and dark, industrial almost - like Nine Inch Nails, a track with no vocals. Mya froze, unwilling to move any further. In pitch black, she couldn't navigate the room, not in her five-inch heels, and doing so would likely cause a broken ankle. It was right then that as she was about to choke out a call for him that he flicked the light on. A "bedside" lamp with a simple red bulb in it bloodied the room, staining Mya's skin with colour. In the red lights she was particularly delicious, appealing in a sinister, bathed in blood sort of way.

  "Well, hello, Whisper," she said, voice satin. She remained where she was, hands clasped behind her back. She stood almost coyly, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted her to do. Sometimes he would tell her things, sometimes he would attack her - sometimes he would just motion for her to come to him. The game had begun, and there was a rush of pheromones in the room, lingering on Mya's tongue and in her nose. She could feel her skin tingle with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

To consider Taran to be as harmless as a lamb was foolish on her part, so hopefully she didn't really mean it.  Taran wouldn't mind it, of course, since he didn't mind being underestimated.  Problem with that was, if someone underestimated you, they were more likely to challenge.  It was so much easier not to be challenged.

Considering how his luck usually went, it was nice to run into someone that actually didn't want to make him prove just how crazy he was.  Mya accepted that he was the Bogeyman and didn't question it.  In fact, the instant she walked into the room, she made it obvious with the little things about herself that she couldn't control, like her heartbeat, that not only did she know it, but it scared her.  He liked that, which was why he'd turned off the lights.  He knew she didn't like the dark, and he knew that she couldn't tell where he was if the lights were out.  She was thrilled by his presence, but she was afraid of him.  Perhaps it was the fear that thrilled her, the knowledge that he could take her world apart. 

He left the lights out until he was certain that the desired effect had been reached, and only then did he flick on the little red light.  It bathed her in the crimson glow, her pale skin and the black lines of her lingerie darkening with it, and it was the closest he could get without cutting into her.  Sometimes he wanted to, but not tonight, not yet. 

"Hello, Esme," he returned, his voice low as his eyes took her in.  "Come, tell me about your day."

Tonight, he wished to talk some.  Naturally, he didn't want to know about the other men she'd been around, unless they weren't lovers, but he liked hearing about the women she worked with, her friends and family, happiness and complaints.  It was interesting, and she had such an interesting set of opinions.  He also liked derailing her train of thought once she'd gotten started, which was what he was going to do.

 Mya's breath caught in her throat when he spoke. His voice was near hypnotic, and it lulled her in like a siren song. She walked, almost automatically, but still slowly, with the grace of a dancer to him. He'd situated himself atop a large cushion, and she slowly slid next to him, angling her body towards him as one leg remained crooked up, half-Indian style, while the other dangled to the floor. Gently, she raised her hand and ran her fingers through the soft black of his hair. She loved how the feathers at the base of his neck felt against her skin. Every time she touched him, any part of him, she got that humming sensation in her body, like she was playing with high voltage.

  She smiled softly at him as she did so, her touch almost chaste with the lightness - but nothing about Mya was chaste, really. "My day... " she repeated. "Uneventful. One of the girls has been prattling about her missing boyfriend. He's stopped phoning her - usually, he comes in once or twice a week, but for a month near he's been missing." She paused, and then smiled wickedly. "I'm not sure what he ever saw in her, anyways. She's human."

  She stopped as Taran's hand moved against her leg. There was no word that Mya could use to describe how his touch felt - sinister, like the feeling you got before an approaching storm. Mya liked to play with danger, though if she knew how close Taran had come to the edge of adorning her perfectly crafted flesh with horrifying cuts and slashes, she would perhaps not be so willing to lock herself in a room with him.

  "He's a stupid parrot. She's plain as day - pretty, but we all know that humans don't last long under Eden's employment. The men here can tell a difference; they can smell it on our skin and taste it in our kisses." As she said this, she leaned forward, lowering her hand to his face to turn it so that she could steal a kiss from him. His eyes caught her, though, and she stopped mid-lean.

  Perhaps it had been the way the light caught them. Silvery-gray, almost effervescent in appearance - Mya had never seen Taran but perhaps once under natural light, and even then the colour in his eyes had been striking. Now, backlight with red, they seemed bloody and raw, predatory. For a moment, the severity of his expression frightened her, and it was clear on her voice as she spoke.

  "What, Whisper? What did I say?"

  Her own bright turquoise eyes reflected her nerves, wide. Taran was the type of individual who, when he looked upon you, fixed that gaze, could stop you like a bird staring at a snake. She was fixed for a moment, trapped. Her hand lowered itself slowly, measured, as she tried to remove herself as much as she could from his personal space without actually scooting away. Mya had dignity and pride, and she refused to just up and jump off of the seat.

He was being deliberately gentle in his movements as she settled in next to him, closing his eyes over her hands sliding through his hair.  Her fingers playing at the feathers at the nape of his neck always had his interest in entirely devious ways, but he was behaving himself for the time being, merely letting his fingertips roam over her leg in a way that wasn't exactly sexual, but wasn't really innocent, either.  It was an understanding of what was to come without actually doing anything about it, and she'd stopped talking over his touch.  Point for him.

If she knew the sorts of things he thought on a regular basis, she would have listened to Melisande, but she had no reason to question him.  He wouldn't tell her unless he was in the process of doing said things, and he really didn't think that was necessary.  She was more pleasant alive, and certainly wouldn't want anything to do with him if he carved her up.  If he wanted to continue seeing her, he would refrain, and that was the plan.  Of course, it wasn't really part of the plan to hear about a male parrot that had been missing for about a month.  Parrots just weren't that common, and though he knew that Cobriana had a female working in his club, Taran had never caught wind of a male before he'd seen the one in Midnight.

How many could there possibly be in this city?

All interest in anything sexual had slipped his mind for the moment with the understanding that he might just be on the brink of something huge.  If this was true, if it was the right parrot, then Niall and Verity would want to know.  He had to know that he was correct, however, or they might turn on him just as quickly.  Mya had noticed the sudden seriousness of the situation, and it had translated into fear for her.  That just meant he could push her that much further.

She'd stopped leaning in for the kiss she'd planned on taking, and he closed most of the distance instead.  That hand on her thigh planted itself a little more firmly against her skin while the other took a grip on her shoulder, directly on the muscle between her shoulder and neck.  She had such a delicate neck, so beautiful, and it would be so easy to just squeeze.  He might not need to, though.  He'd leaned close, so his lips were nearly brushing hers for an instant.

"Esme," he breathed, then leaned to the side to kiss her cheek and put his face closer to her ear.  "Tell me more about the parrot and his pretty human girlfriend.  Please."

He could be nice, for as long as he'd get what he wanted.

 She let out a little gasp when he gripped her shoulder, as though she expected him to grab her somewhat more harshly than he had. His movement had been so fast, and yet it was not uncomfortable - merely present. She closed her eyes as he closed the gap between them, smelling the scents of his person - musky, dark, heavy. Whisper had a scent unlike other men she'd known, something much more savage in his chemistry. It drove her wild. Her fear was sliding aside as more practical urges took over.

  "There's not much to tell," she said honestly, unable to mask her mystification at why he'd want to know more about the other couple. She opened her eyes, fluttering her lashes a few times as she searched for what she did know. Whisper liked for her to tell him about the others - she wasn't sure why. He said that it was "taking an interest in her routine", and she stupidly took that for truth. It was the truth, but as with everything that Taran touched, it was a twisted and fragmented version of reality.

  "Starr simply adored him; she'd never seen another one before. She would chatter on and on in her broken English to him, it was sort of adorable." She frowned. There were no more details that she could think of. She didn't know his name, or she did but it wasn't something she was likely to tell Whisper. Something didn't... feel right about this.

  She turned to look at Taran, and managed to force a smile, no doubt he would sense that it was not entirely genuine. "What more is there to tell?" She moved the arm on the side that he was still holding, raising it to place her hand on top of his own. She looked at the pair of hands now, and then back at him. "I don't want to talk about other men, Whisper," she said honestly, her voice a little assertive. "I am here for you," she said, more gently - reminding him.

He didn't believe her.  Frankly, he knew how these girls were.  They may have good intentions, most of them, but that wouldn't stop them from gossiping about each other.  If the girl she was talking about was the only human in the place and dating someone as rare as a parrot, they were talking, and he wanted to know what they were talking about.  He didn't think it was a difficult thing to understand. 

"What's his name?" he asked, voice lowering ever so slightly, and he leaned in to kiss her check again when she reminded him that she was there for him.  Of course she was.  he tightened his grip on her shoulder with the kiss, possessive and meeting her assertive tone.  He was complimenting the unpleasant tone and his hand on her shoulder with the lighter touch on her leg and the kisses, which had worked in the past.  Taran wasn't exactly great at seduction, but he was insane, and the talent seemed to come naturally when the woman he was with liked that edge of fear.  It would have been just a fun game, but he needed to know this, or he was going to have to demand the information from someone else. 

It was ironic that he wanted to know so much about this other man, since he usually wanted nothing to do with them where she was concerned.  He didn't like knowing about the other men she saw, but this was different.  This man belonged to one of the other girls, and if he had to torture that woman into telling him who the parrot was, he would.  He didn't care.  "You are here for me, my beautiful Esmeralda, so are you going to deny me?  I just want to know his name, nothing more," he told her, and it was his last attempt at not losing it.  He didn't want to scare her so badly that she would leave, because he HAD come for a reason, but this wasn't information he could let go.  His hand moved, slowly and with less pressure than he'd had a second ago, from her shoulder to her throat, his thumb rubbing against he soft skin.  It wasn't an attack, not yet, but it had room to become one.

  He did scare Mya, not with what he was saying, but what he was doing. His grip tightened like it had many times previously, but previous encounters did not include him demanding specific information about certain people that she may or may not have known. When his thumb pressed against the hollow of her throat, she realized very suddenly that the rush of fear was hitting her hard. She weighed her options, but she wasn't a fighter. The room was secluded, near-soundproofed. She hadn't very good odds.

  "Rafael," she whispered, voice barely audible above the thrumming bass of the music in the room. "You happy?" she asked, still keeping her voice as quiet as possible. She looked at him with a very different expression on her face - horror, almost, anger. She didn't like being made to do things that she didn't want to do, but it was clear that her unwillingness to lose his companionship (and possibly her life) had won over. Mya was seething inside, angry that she'd caved to a demand any man had made on her, let alone the reasons why she'd caved. Her life was almost taking a backseat to her pride.

  That was yet another point in Taran's favour.

  "His girlfriend is Tristana. She's not here tonight, doesn't work 'til Friday as far as I know. That's all I know," she insisted. It was, mostly. Nothing else she knew would really be relevant. "Can we please move on?" Her tone was almost pleading, as she feigned annoyance in place of fear. It didn't matter, she was permeating the room with her emotion. Taran would be able to pick up on it, no doubt.