Business

{lying to Tory came with a big side of gut-curling self-hatred.. cut right against the grain, true, but fuck it, I won't force this on her until she is literally begging for it. If she knew what I had planned here in the Penthouse, well... last thing I want is Tory feeling she's not giving me what I need. Doing this now was an insurance policy for our future. I only hoped to fuck she would see it the same way. It was a calculated risk. So I lied to her, fronted with some bullshit about Wrath hauling my ass back to Caldwell on Brotherhood biz, when in reality I'm holed up in the Penthouse waiting for a rendezvous with my past. And the cocksucker is late.. Archos, aka the Master, a title hard-earned, notoriously difficult to track down, known for his perfectionism and his discretion, both highly prized on the scene. Long damn time since I'd called on his services, true but fuck I wanted the male. Only the best was acceptable and he is the fucking best. End of. Pacing the Penthouse floor, sucking on a hand-rolled, awaiting his arrival... and when it comes, it is true to form.. fashionably late and melo- fucking-dramatic.


 Materialising on the balcony, larger than life, casting long shadows in a floor-dusting leather trench and black mirrored wraparounds, white blonde hair slicked back, skin translucent pale, a riding crop in one hand. The highly affected, Old Country inflection in his baritone voice, dripping thick as molasses <<Vishous>> the sibilant pronunciation slithers down my spine <<You look...different, old friend.. are the rumours really true? Has the infamous Lheage finally been leashed?>> {Growling a flash of lethal ivory canines} You're late, Archie {watching as he slowly slides the shades up to reveal glowing crimson eyes, the corners creased with humour, but incredibly shrewd.. albinos amongst our kind were exceptionally rare, most were killed at birth on account of an ancient lore that claimed they were the evil spawn of the Omega. Those that survived were outcasts...disowned by family and Glymera alike.. not even the whores would feed the poor bastards.. So, yeah, this male and I had common ground. Our paths had crossed in the shady underworld my own exile had dragged me down into. But for the genetic defect, Archos would have been Brotherhood material, as it was, he took his considerable skills  underground, this tough son of a bitch had taught me more about survival than I'd ever learned under the Bloodletter's regimen had even introduced me to the lifestyle... though his preference ran almost exclusively to males. 


Those who misread the camp demeanour as weakness didn't live to regret their mistake. I respected the fucker <<mating hasn't improved your social skills, V>> the male's nostrils flaring on a deep inhale <<but, damn, that scent you're throwing off...simply fucking divine... I could bottle and sell you on the black market>> a low growl rolling out into the already tense atmosphere} I'm not on the fucking menu Archos <<no? Then why exactly am I here, Vishous? Caldwell is a dangerous place for me.. I haven't forgotten the welcoming committee your Glymera buddies sent out for me last time I showed up>> {the corners of my mouth lifting up in a fanged grin and by the twitch of Archie's lips I can tell he's remembering the good times too} I saved your sorry ass from that crazy lynch mob, Archie..you owe me, and I'm calling in the favor, true {his eyes flip up to meet mine} <<true, Vishous, I owe you my life. I am at your service warrior. I take it, as it's not the carnal pleasures of my body you desire, that it is my skills in the dungeon department you seek?>> {nodding curtly by way of an affirmative} True, the current arrangements are... unsuited to our needs..


 {dismissing me with a flourish of the riding crop to push through into the Penthouse, a satisfied smile spreading over his face as he takes in the decor...sighing dramatically <<Fuck, yes..one of my finest works... >> watching amused as his face dissolves into a scowl, the horse whip thrust accusingly towards the centre of my chest <<but the purple paint? Vishous, what the fuck?>> barking a laugh as I recall the day Tory decided to 'redecorate'} long fucking story, Archie true... <<well pour us some of that evil paint stripper you call vodka and let's get down to business, shall we, warrior>> {rolling my eyes at the exaggerated wink, gloved hand reaching for the shot glasses and the bottle of Goose, shitkicker pushing a barstool in Archie's direction by way of invitation to sit} good deal, old friend, good fucking deal. I'm giving you carte blanche on the re-design, but the rack stays, true.. and high-grade soundproofing is a non-negotiable...mirrors, suspension chains, state of the art sound system.. use your imagination... go fucking wild...money no object, feel me? But my shellan hears nothing about this, true..Oh and {a wicked grin pulling at my lips} you're taking on the nursery while you're at it...no fucking pink, or even I won't be able to save your ass from Tory's wrath {the male's expression as he spits Goose all over the bar is fucking priceless, of all the weird shit he's been asked to design over the centuries...the SOB looks like he's going into shock...clapping a gloved hand hard down on Archos' shoulder as I will the door to close on our planning} I know you'll do me fucking proud, my man...