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Author Topic: Showdown [neph]  (Read 301 times)

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Cheesigator

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Showdown [neph]
« on: February 07, 2018, 11:55:56 pm »
Arriving fashionably late was something of a trick that Spike had managed to craft to a professional T.

Making an entrance, turning heads, it was what he did, what he lived for, and what he was hired for. It was what he'd been hired to do tonight, and so he would please his client and the crowd he was meant to woo as he did again and again and again.

Tonight's customer was a Pilot Royal who'd had his name scheduled on that fateful waiting list now for well over a year. The party they were attending together was a celebration of an arranged marriage (a notion that sometimes still surprised Spike even in this day and age, mostly for how old and ridiculous it was, honestly.) He'd purchased the full package, and thus Spike was obligated to give his absolute best.

In the lobby their coats were checked and Spike only offered a sultry smirk and a glance at his Pilot Royal for the evening out of the corner of his eye as he watched the man's reaction light up as the black fur coat was slipped from his shoulders, revealing Spike's outfit for the night to be a fitted semi-transparent black latex tuxedo that left the barest hint of the body harness, corset, and beaded black crystal thong he wore beneath visible through the glossy layers. With a delicate gesture towards his client, the Pilot Royal stepped forward and Spike laced their arms together as robotic butlers opened the doors to the main ballroom, a servant announcing them as the last guests to arrive for the evening.

The moment Spike's pointed heels clicked on smooth marble, all it took was a pinch of magic to aid the illusion that the entire room fell almost silent as all eyes turned to the "couple" on scene. The Pilot paused for effect, which Spike humored. He eased up on his sound spell as they descended a short flight of stairs to the main floor, letting all noises--clothing rustling, the murmur of voices, the light steps of expensive shoes on the polished floor--gently ebb back in one at a time. Some sets of eyes turned away, others lingered longer still, and Spike's tail curled towards the tip, the smirk on his face betraying how pleased he was at the attention and the entrance.

It was a rather shallow, vapid thing, really, liking so much attention and basking in it for as long as possible. He simply couldn't help it--he liked what he liked. He knew he could allow himself that much. It wasn't as if he let it interfere with his job anyways; he kept his eyes open and his ears perked, humbly inclining his head with a gracious smile and grin as the Pilot complimented him; Spike thanked him in kind. He was a decent enough looking fellow, seemed smart enough that he wouldn't entirely bore the unicorn throughout the night. It was certainly going to be a long one; celebrations like these tended to drag on with the idle chit-chat from rich person to politician and Pilot, with only little bits of sensitive dialogue woven into long conversations about who was marrying who, who invested in which stocks, which CEOs had stepped down or who'd been promoted, the list went on.

It was all prattle that for the most part was inconsequential, and yet Spike had to remain on the tips of his toes and hear all of it, to decipher the meaningful comments that could be useful later, spoken by men who held too much power in a lavish, fake world they didn't truly understand.

And yet as the party fell back into swing and Spike was graciously introduced to a pair of billionaires who made their dough as owners of an influential software development company (it was every bit as exciting as it sounded,) Spike couldn't help but notice the itch at the back of his head, that scraped with feather-light fingernails just at the hairs of his arms despite them not being exposed to the air.

His tail gave the slightest twitch, minuscule in nature and unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know him well.

Something wasn't quite right; he took in a deep breath and smelled nothing unusual, yet every hair was standing on end and he could feel it, feel the presence of someone, and that someone was staring right at him.

When the conversation allowed the break for it, he spared the slightest glance over his shoulder, following his gut's sense of direction to see if he could spot the suspect.
« Last Edit: March 03, 2018, 01:42:44 am by Cheesigator »

 

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