They didn't usually come to the red light distract. Eccentric as they were, Remus usually liked keeping to the Inner Citadel, where everything was bright and shiny and new. Down here was... Depressing. They could admit the red lights made everything look quite beautiful at night, but behind it all, they knew it was a much darker secret. The other Jabberwockies gangs really could be barbarians — Remus really didn't understand what it was that Neilos liked about the Hearts. Well, chances are he was just as eccentric as his older brother, and did it because it was something fun and interesting to dabble with at the time. Remus could understand that much. Isn't that why they were part of the Diamonds?
But tonight was a special occasion.
Remus had been rather lenient with a certain somebody thus far, but they'd had the wool pulled over their eyes one too many times to think it a coincidence at this point. No, they knew when they were being played for a fool, and Remus was not happy about it. It was about time they paid Fenris a personal visit, one that would surely prove to the man that he couldn't just ignore his debt and think everything would be fine and dandy. Remus may have more than enough money, but that didn't mean they liked just giving it out. Like a dragon, they lusted for their hoard.
Seeing as how tonight was the first time Remus made a trip personally down to The Doghouse, Remus decided to get dolled up for the occasion. Their normal trimmed beard was now gone, giving them a perfectly clean-shaven face to use as a canvas for their art. Golds and greens were splashed across their face in intricate linework, bringing their make-up far beyond what people of an ordinary lifestyle would normally wear. They loved adorning themselves in glitz and glam, and by the time they had finished painting themselves up, they looked completely different than how they normally did — while it wasn't on purpose, it made for a good disguise. Keep the dog from running away before they could leash it.
Their hair and dress was just as eccentric, with braided locks died red for the occasion, and attire that was much more gender fluid than masculine. Many a sex worker called out to them as they passed, but they had only one destination in mind. No others were paid any mind.
Remus doesn't stop until they reach their destination, the mood lighting inside the establishment making it quite clear what the theme of the club is. Remus lets out an approving whistle, a grin on their face as their eyes roam over the interior of the place, looking for the owner. Sadly he wasn't to be seen — with a client, perhaps? No matter. Remus knew how to get what they wanted. Gliding over to the front desk with the grace of a fae, Remus puts on the most charming smile possible.
"I'd love to spend the night with your finest," they purr, sliding some money across the desk — it was a sizeable amount, enough that the front desk worker's eyes just about bulge out of their head. Immediately they run off towards the back. Maybe it seems silly to pay the man they were about to strangle money out of but... Did Remus really intend on letting them keep that money? Hardly.
Finest was really just a code word for Fenris' company. Most workers, when they ascended in the Heart's ranks and started owning and running businesses, retired from sex work. Not Fenris. He lived, breathed his salacious profession. In black leather he could lose himself, forget who he was and the problems of their world for just a few short hours in favor of a powerful, indominable persona, to which his clients would relinquish the entirety of their control. It was exceptionally addicting.
And expensive. Not only to compensate for his dues to the gang, but to keep his sizable business running. It had been a profitable expenditure, but Fenris found his funds depleting almost as soon as they came in. Taxes to the Hearts, money to keep up his own indulgences and lost due to the inadequacies in the Dohouse's financial booking- for a man that found bookkeeping unnecessary and tedious, it was soon becoming increasingly necessary.
It never nagged on Fenris for too long. He'd distract himself, either in sex or underground fights or even a rare trip to the casinos, at Neilos' suggestion, and soon the problem became miniscule in that the consequences were minor and the pleasure, immediate and satisfactory.
Until now.
The money offered far exceeded what Fenris charged. Where he should have been cautious, suspicious, he was excited and told his worker to escort the potential client to Fenris' VIP dungeon- a stone-walled room in the basement of the Doghouse lined with all sorts of devious, lascivious tools and furniture. He would wait there, dressed in a leather jacket and tight jeans, leaning on a rack of whips and nine tails of various material and style, arms crossed and eyes glimmering in the soft rosey light of the room.
What was once excitement at a new, wealthy customer was soon a dark pit of despair and dread at just who entered.
"Right this way, please." They grin — a rather wolfish grin at that. They never gave their name, so it's not surprising that they aren't instantly turned away. Remus stands from the chair they had taken refuge on a few seconds earlier with an almost catlike grace. Elegant, very fitting for the appearance they had chosen today — but very unlike the temper slowly growing beneath the surface. Remus was a patient person, or at least, they liked to think of themselves as such. But money could cause even the most mild tempered dragon to cut a bitch, so to speak.
'And that's exactly what I plan to do,' Remus purrs inwardly, only a slight quirk of their lips at their inward joke. Deeper into the man's brothel they're taken, their eyes taking in every lavish piece of artwork — every new whore that they pass — mentally marking down what was most assuredly the price of such things. Fenris always did have an expensive taste, which made sense as to why he always sought out the Diamonds gang for money. Too bad his fingers were just a tad too sticky.
The lady they'd been following finally stops at a grand set of doors, bowing her head and indicating that he should step inside. Casually flicking their hair over their shoulder, they smooth out their face as to rid themselves of any emotion that may give away what they planned to do today. At a slight nod, the woman thrusts open the doors and Remus immediately walks inside, invited as he is.
There he is — the slut in all his glory.
But Remus ignores the man for the moment, choosing instead to gaze around at all the... Equipment lining the room. Dangerous, erotic — and brand new. An exaggerated whistle leaves them as the doors are shut behind them, their eyes only finally landing on Fenris once they'd taken in everything that was, in retrospect, owed to them.
"Well, well, well. You certainly furnished this room, haven't you?" There's a grin on their face, but it doesn't quite reach their eyes.
Not a lot of people crossed Fenris. At 6’5” and the weight of a small cart, they usually left him alone, and if they did not, he would ensure they had more sense the next time it happened. It was part of why he had been so successful in starting and maintaining a business on these streets - because no one had morals restraining them here, and if you did not have a reputation to protect you, then you needed fists.
But this person - slender and shorter and pretty as a flower - sent dangerous shivers down Fenris’ spine. He felt the blood rushing from his face, the joy and ecstasy of the club around them, the vibrations pumping from the dance floor above, drifting to silent, hollow horror.
He did not miss the metal glinting at Remus’ fingers, especially treacherous in the murky shadows that flanked the basement. Fenris steeled himself, attempting to maintain that unreadable, indomitable expression that he wore most places outside of his bedroom, but he could feel his fingers edging away from him, to rest their tips on the handle of one of the whips hanging behind him.
”Remus,” Fenris’ voice rumbled. There was a bud of fear growing in him, but against all, he would not let it show. That was the cardinal rule of the Slums - fear was as easy to smell as a bad odor here. Yet, as he inhaled, his chest puffed up more, his other hand clenching into a fist beneath leather cuffs, a prey animal steeling up their defenses against a predator that has cornered them.
”So nice for you to come all this way, just to see me.” Something told him, a voice that may have belonged to that primal urge survival, that he should hold back his tongue, lest he find it wriggling and bloodied and cut from his mouth. But there was another desire in him, one that wanted to defend his territory, his livelihood, built from nothing. His muscles tensed, sensing a fight in the air.
”I already told you, and the rest of the Diamonds - you’ll have the money back.” Just when was left to be determined.
They don't look it — hell, they look more like a doe than a lion. But it was exactly for that reason that they were so good at what they did. Steeled eyes take in every minuscule flex of Fenris' body; to an untrained eye, the man remains cool, calm, and collected. But the bunched fist and straightened back screams anything but relaxed. It's a heady aphrodisiac for the Queen, to have such a powerful mutt collared.
Too bad said beast often forgets his place.
A soft hum reverberates in Remus' throat as they listen to the man spill his guts — a faux sense of pleasantries, how droll. A soft, husky whisper of a laugh leaves the Jabberwocky's lips, only a faint sense of amusement at the words. The carved grin does not leave their face, but as always, it doesn't quite appear friendly. If anything, the edges curl in sharp distaste at the last bit of Fenris' speech. They'll have their money back, sure — but when? Money doesn't grow on trees, and they dislike the thought of it wasting away for carnal, bestial desires.
A soft 'hmph' expels from Remus' throat as they are finally on the move, roaming around the space to inspect all the shiny new gear lining the walls — appearing to, for just a moment, ignore the other man in the room. They pause for a moment as long, slender fingers reach out to trace the cold, steel bar of a particularly nasty looking whip — fingertips, laced with silver, just barely skimming the surface.
"You're right," they finally answer aloud, another pause before their head turns just enough to bring Fenris back into their eyesight— "I will have my money back."
"But here's the thing. You and I seem to have a different opinions of when that may be. See, I want it now—" the click clack of Remus' heels echo in the room now as the Jabberwocky Queen approaches the man in long, fluid steps— "and you seem to think you can give it to me wheneeever you want—"click, click, closer he steps— "and I'll just wait for it like some dumb dog. That's what you think, don't you?"
Close enough now to place a long, steel-tipped finger against Fenris' exposed chest.
They were so slender - small. Gracing five feet and a half, made taller by their heels, to Fenris' six. He shouldn't have felt scared - his mouth dry up, his throat closed, as they sauntered towards him. But it was if their shadow had contorted and stretched, betraying the terror that lurked within them - that glinted on the edge of silver nails.
Fenris met Remus' eyes. He knew they loved fear - relished in it. It gave them power, to see someone's lip tremble, their pupils blow up. Fenris would not give it to them - would not feed them and lend them the strength to tear his hard-earned life apart.
This was his business. His home. And he would not relinquish it so easily.
"And what? You expect me to give it to you at your call and beckon?" Fenris knew he was sticking his hand in the fire. Now it was about watching how much his fingers would blacken and burn.
Fenris breathed. The smell of leather, sweat and basement rot was thick here, but to Fenris, it smelled of home - a perfume he'd bore his entire life.
"I don't have the money, Remus," the club owner admitted, the words slicing his throat as he forced them out. "Not all of it. But, I promise you, it will be yours by the end of the season. I just need more time."
He could have well been asking a starving wolf not to eat him - but what other choice did he have? He was conscious of the ottoman close by - sultry, plump and maroon, and stained with all manner of filth. Inconspicuous with the rest of the lurid, lascivious furniture, but for the secret silver clasp beneath it that revealed a hidden chamber. Within that chamber, a pistol - for Fenris' more rowdy clientele.
If only he could get to it without getting his throat cut.
Posted 10-16-2021, 08:47 PM
This post was last modified: 10-16-2021, 08:48 PM by Remus Quiller
Kitty Has Claws
