Owner	Pose
Satana Hellstrom	Some "gentleman's clubs" feign being classy affairs. They have velvet seating, uniformed staff, discreetly-placed and lit tables, fancy stages with complicated production capabilities. They almost, but not quite, disguise to the casual viewer what they really are: a place for men (OK, it's the 21st century, so some women, and some of various other gender expressions) to leer at the nude human form. Chiefly (almost exclusively) female. The Happy Hetaerae Bar & Girl is not such a place. Other locales are bluntly honest about what they are. They're strip clubs, not something effete-sounding. They exist so that the saddest of the sad can spend their last money on watered-down booze to watched coked-up women writhe spasmodically in vague time to the music. (And nine nights out of ten it's Chris de Burgh's magnum opus that 'livens' the joint for a few minutes.) The socially dead flock to these places. The kinds of people who can't form lasting relations with human women. The kind who don't care if others see how pathetic they are because ... well ... only others equally pathetic could see it. This is the sort of place The Happy Hetaerae is. Tonight the clientel is a bit lower than usual. The girl--and she is that, a girl, not a woman--on the stage is writhing ineptly to some ancient '80s glam metal thing about hurricanes. Not that anybody cares. They're not looking at her body's motion. They're looking at her body. The tragically socially inept, staring with glassy, alcohol-infused eyes?, looking not just at the body, but parts of the body. And that part isn't the face where they might see that poor Estelle (stage name, real name: Linda) is struggling to make ends meet while she does distance learning to get her GED in a bid to rise above herself. The place is so by-the-numbers for one of these joints it might actually take time to notice the one thing that doesn't fit in: the terribly attractive, saucily-clad woman, sitting in the middle of the place and yet somehow not being noticed. The woman that those with certain forms of second or third sight can see radiating in all directions with ... alarming, shall we call it? ... signs.
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith had thought he'd left places like this behind. He'd promised himself he had. A telepath would hear the name "Kandy Kane" slip in between his conscious thoughts again and again, unbidden and almost unnoticed even to the man himself. But he's not here for the used up flesh or the watered down booze. He glances at a polaroid in his fingers and up at the stage, then shakes his head trying to somewhat fade into the hack ground, not east for a man that has been described as "God's gift to Bow flex" or "The Patron saint of male underwear models."
Satana Hellstrom	Nobody of Thomas' stature can enter a club that Satana is in without being noticed by that worthy. If not his physique, his spiritual presence would get noted. And Basilisk would rage, snarling deep within her psyche, trying to burst free to cause mayhem, capturing a kindred spirit elsewhere nearby. Basilisk is easily put down by Satana, almost reflexively and with little thought. But what riled him up demands a glance-over and ... well ... the physique does the rest. There's two hungers in her body. One is the burning one of her curse. The curse that she intends to mollify tonight with one of the patrons of her club. The other is the usual one. The one that brings to mind the final entry in the William Golding "To The Ends Of The Earth" trilogy. The one that causes her eyes to simply whisk away Thomas' clothing in her imagination and smile at what she pictures beneath. Whatever magick defences Thomas has up ring as she "knocks" at them to draw his attention her way. Her fun way of saying "Hello". (Ask Willow.)
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith feels it. Lara has a similar effect that she affectionately calls "Blowing kisses," Thomas refers to his own version simply as "the goose", but whatever you call it the effect is immediate and undeniable. When he sees Satana he sighs and glances to the ceiling, asking a god that he doesn't truly believe in if he thinks this is funny, then heads his way over to Satana's table and joins her without asking. "Hello cousin. Gin joints in all the world and all that?" He asks in that languid way he has when he is wearing his White Prince mask...
Satana Hellstrom	"Well, it is *my* gin joint, after all," Satana purrs with a grin, sliding her chair up next to Thomas to allow for a more intimate conversation. Strangely, any notice Thomas had on entering vanishes when he sits with Satana. It's as if the pair are in a bubble that nobody can see into, nor even perceive the existence of. Except for when Satana summons a server, who has no difficulty seeing her and coming over. "My friend will be having the good stuff. On the house." The scantily-clad (and devoid of underthings) server nods cheerfully, pausing only long enough to drink Thomas in a moment before she scurries off to get something. "Good is relative," Satana says. "It's ... an average brandy. So what brings you to a scummy hole like my club? Visiting me or ..." She grins. Her teeth are slightly pointed at the moment, giving that grin a bit of a chilling effect. As do the pinpricks of flame in her pupils. Thomas likely recognizes the signs. She's hungry. And not in the fun way. "... dumpster diving?" She nods Estelle's way. "You might like her. Eager to please. Not particularly good at dancing, but very good in the private shows."
Thomas Raith	Kandy Kane Thomas gives the serve a wicked smile that she is going to be having daydreams all night over, but as soon as she is gone and they revanish from the worlds notice his smile straightes somewhat. "That's a good trick, you're going to have to teach me to do that." He glances at the stripper and shakes his head, "I like my meals to have a little more...substance." He says calmly. Kandy Kane He places the Poloroid on the table in front of Satana. the girl is cut from the same cloth as Estel, in that she is waifish and too young looking to be in a place like this... and also not wearing many clothes. "I'm rather hoping the next words out of your mouth are "I've never seen her before."
Satana Hellstrom	Satana takes up the polaroid and looks it over, pursing her lips. "I can't unequivocally say I've never seen her," she says with a bit of regret in her voice. "So if that's the reassurance you're seeking, I'm afraid I will have to disappoint." She returns the polaroid. "I get a thousand like her passing through life every week, it seems. They fill the streets. They apply for jobs in clubs like Hetaerae. There's nothing in that picture that sufficiently distinctive for me to remember." She pauses a second, musing. "If you're looking for reassurance that I haven't consumed her, that's easier. She's not my type." Her eyes flare up as her hunger strikes, now that she's thinking about it. They point in the direction of one of the patrons staring glassily at Estelle's lower anatomy as if willing those parts to leap onto his parts spontaneously, with or without the girl. "That's my type," she says, a second, lower, darker, growling voice underlaying her own. "So much sin. All of the sins. Girl like in that picture would be like the spiritual equivalent of rice cakes with Marmite lightly spread over them."
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith nods, "No, I wasn't worried about that.." He says watching her gaze and nodding his understanding. While their tastes and preferred flavors run on different tracks, they are parallel enough that he understands what she means and why she'd select that particular target. "She's supposed to be dead. I'm supposed to have killed her. But I never saw the body. Was told it was cremated. When I got this picture and was told she might be here, I had to see for myself." He takes the drink from the server, tipping her a $100 bill. "Honestly, I think my dear sweet cousin Madilyn was trying to feed me to you. Very rude of her."
Satana Hellstrom	"Oh, Thomas, darling, I would gladly feed off of you. Just ... perhaps not in the way your dear, sweet cousin was intending." It's probably not very often that Thomas feels completely violated by eyes raking over him, but the self-proclaimed Queen of Hell has an odd knack of making anybody feel filthy just with her eyes and facial expressions. "But before we go that route, I'm going to have to get that other ... urge ... out of my system." Thomas' drink is delivered, by the server whose eyes are alight with ... well a lite version of what Satana just did to Thomas. She then suddenly finds herself completely and deeply fascinated with the notion of being Anywhere Else Right Now as Satana stares at her. "Please do excuse me for ... five minutes, give or take?" she asks Thomas, standing without waiting for his permission. "You may want to steel yourself for attentions; I have ... business ... to attend to." Satana's amber eyes are now pitch black as her darkness leaks forth, with her hunger. And despite the feeling of evil and danger she's radiating, she's somehow more desirable than ever as her form subtly shifts into hunting mode. Clothing reveals more. What's revealed is more primally sexual. And she stalks toward her earlier-identified prey. It takes almost no time. Her hands rest on his shoulders. He looks up into her eyes and is mesmerized. Nobody around even notices her existence outside of her target. People start noticing Thomas again, however... The victim rises into Satana's whole-body embrace before being led to the curtained rear exit. Wherever she's taken him has good soundproofing. But the psychic scream that tears through the astral plane less than a minute later, a scream filled with fear, agony, and regret, is not muffled in any way. Then, shortly after that Satana is once again in the main area. Doing that loose-hipped 'walk of shame' of someone who's recently climaxed. "There. Now it's safe to discuss ... other forms of hunger." The demoness' eyes are still predatory, but the nature of the predation has changed. "I'll make you a deal. If you can bring me to three squealing 'petit morts' by the end of the night, I'll show you how to cast a 'somebody else's problem' spell.
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith looks amused and the demon in his head is screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes!" But Thomas just shakes his head slightly, "As tempting as that is, and believe me that is very tempting, It's not east for someone with my particular condition to have what mortals would call a monogamous relationship. So on the rare times i am able to keep one, I rather like to not sabotage them. So while I would love to indulge...both of us, I am afraid i will have to decline." the photo has been returned to his pocket and the drink has about half vanished.
Satana Hellstrom	There might be a very small window where Thomas may think it was a mistake to turn down that invitation. It's that window where the true nature of the self-styled Queen of Hell shows forth: narcissistic, spoiled, selfish, and easily-peeved Hell Lord. Satana's eyes literally flare with anger. Her face hardens. It seems for an instance that there's going to be trouble. The violent sort that Thomas likely could usually handle but for two words: Hell. Lord. But that all vanishes in the blink of an eye. Satana's short temper tantrum vanishes into the aether, replaced by more sociable disappointment. "I'm not built for monogamy," she says wistfully. "Anybody I'm monogamous with would be at risk of ... well ... an eternity of Hellfire when my hunger catches up with me." She tilts her head and regards Thomas with those filthy, disrobing eyes and facial expressions once more. "I won't spoil your chance at this monogamy thing, though. Not here or now, at least." A wicked grin lights up her face. "But if you dream, my darling Thomas, expect me in them. And I will ravish you to the edge of sanity in those dreams."
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith looks a little...sad. "I'm not built for it either. It's a very rare treasure. If you'll take some advice, if you get the chance where you can try it without killing them? Give it a shot. it's a unique experience all it's own." As she mentions his dreams he actually laughs, as though she said a fantastic joke. "There is a whole seperate level of competition waiting for you there... Maybe you can get rid of the witch I am constantly dreaming about."
Satana Hellstrom	"I don't have to kill to feed," Satana says with a shrug. "I can 'sip'. But there's the risk of losing control if I'm too hungry. Were I capable of love, I'd not want to risk that on someone I loved. As it is, I don't want to lose friends to my curse." Wait. Curse? "But I'm sure I can get rid of your witch ... for a price." A sly smile crosses her lips and she produces a large vellum scroll. (FROM WHERE!?) "If you'd like to sign this contract, I'm sure we can deliver that service..."
Thomas Raith	"I'm having visions of an alternate reality, and they aren't /that/ unpleasent. Just extremely frustrating. So again, thanks but no thanks." He says as he stands, but then pauses and sayys "Her name was Justine. If you were to find her alive, that information would be worth a considerable amount to me."
Satana Hellstrom	Satana pauses and looks Thomas over with eyes and face that have both suddenly turned enigmatic. "How much do you know of my kind, Thomas?" she asks, with words seemingly very carefully chosen. "Because ... I can do things that you might not be aware of." She pauses for a moment. Possibly for dramatic effect given her next words. "Including finding souls. Anywhere in the plane of existence I'm in. To within close enough to touch. And if they're not on this plane, I can tell you which plane. And take you there." All of her teasing, beyond the baseline behaviour of a succubus, vanishes. This is businesslike Satana now, with any sensuality being vestigial. "I can find her. If she's alive I can tell you where. If she's dead, I can tell you where her soul is. In either case I can take you there. Or bring her to you." Her eyes go black again, and start to glow with baleful fire. "But this," she adds, her voice getting that lower, animalistic echo in it again, "has costs. This is not a service I will give for free."
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith nods, considers, then shakes his head slightly. "If fate crosses her with your path. I'm not asking you to go looking for her. If she's dead, and I believe her to be dead, I already know where her soul is. If she's alive... It's likely best that the man who almost killed her... who likely did kil her, stays away." there is pain there. Self loathing. Each word like a self inflicted would from a flail. "I'll let you return to...business."
Satana Hellstrom	"If she's in Hell, Thomas... I can get her out." Beat. "I can bring her back to you." Satana's eyes bore holes into Thomas'. "Your mistake can be undone." That massive weight of influence and mental pressure that Thomas wasn't actually aware of building up, likely, vanishes, leaving a sudden weight gone from him and possibly surprising him. "It's your choice," she says, her voice back to normal, and mannerisms back to her flighty, flirty, vapid usual. Her predatory disguise. "Just think on it. I shan't pressure you, of course. What kind of friend would I be doing that?" And she's back to the vaguely sleazy lightweight she usually presents to the world. "And if you want to learn that 'someone else's problem' technique, you know the price," she adds with a wink. "Three 'petit morts'. Your choice of technique."
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith smirks just a little bit as a very simmilar sort of posture over takes him. Going from serious and even a bit dangerious to idiot hedonist. "You don't need to lead me into temptation cousin, I have a condo there." He says with a grin. He does give Estel one last, almost sad look. then he heads back out to the parking lot. The lines to an 80's rock song barely audible over the din in the club I hate myself for lovin' you..