Entry 6 - Scarlet Woman
Title: Scarlet Woman
Entry Number: 06
Author: saraste_impi
Fandom: original
Rating: PG-13
Genre: modern urban fantasy, cross-dressing, detective story
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1699
A/N: Iridian thinks way too much! I'm never getting into the action! Set in my Iridian&Mirdre 'verse. Also, whilst writing this Iearned a new word in English, 'piratical'!^-^
Iridian sighed softly as he sat down in the plush arm-chair. He daintily waved off an offer for spirits, instead choosing a fresh fruity drink. He needed to keep his head straight, and he was sure there was some wine that he'd need to drink once he was with Evien Shadowmere.
The mage stared idly into the dark mass of people gyrating their bodies to the music blasting through the dimly lit the night-club. He'd been reserved a somewhat quieter spot in an upper-storey, a balcony of sorts, giving him a good view of the action on the dance floor below. He was somewhat entranced by the sight. The sweaty bodies swaying to the beat, the air reeking of sex. Couples partially concealed in shadows, committing sins of the flesh almost in bare sight. Pulsing rays of light catching on naked, bucking limbs, music drowning out sounds of sinful passion.
Iridian chuckled, sipping his drink, careful not to smudge his rouge too much. He was glad he'd slipped his lip-stick into his purse at the last minute. For tonight, image was everything. He was a commodity, a willing body in nice, arousing wrappings. Willing and eager to be done with as his client wished. To a point. A delicate glass rested in his lace-encased hand, the leg dangling from between his long fingers as the bottom was cradled on his palm. Taking another sip, Iridian thought back on his encounter with the boy. He wondered why he'd been so shocked that very minute he had looked into the boys face. Why? There'd been no familiarity inside the head he'd somewhat ransacked. He hated being in the dark.
Iridian would ask Mirdre later, for she was... absent. He'd asked her to withdraw, as what he'd need to do once Evien arrived, would be somewhat embarrassing for him if she was still present within his mind. Better for him to at least be able to pretend that his sister had no idea what he did. Iridian had never had trouble with sex, he enjoyed it immensely, hence his suitability in this “under-cover” mission. But with Mirdre being present in his mind, it was sometimes quite awkward. Especially when she surfaced to take her part in the pleasure, almost making his body her own. It unnerved most people. And it had given him a reputation as a difficult lover. Still, there'd been one who'd...
Iridian cursed as he almost spilled his drink, the hand holding his glass having become idle. He would not think of that person, this night of all nights. He quickly checked himself over, glad that his clothes remained unstained. 'Focus, idiot.' Iridian chided himself. He closed his kohl-rimmed eyes briefly and forced the memory into the back of his mind. At another time, it would maybe even have been... pleasant to dwell on it, but not now. He'd deal with it later. Right now he had no other purpose, no other task, than finding out who'd killed Mirdre. He couldn't afford to stray. And if he needed to shun affection, maybe even love, to reach that goal, so be it. He didn't mind that he needed to use his body as a means to an end. Pleasure had always been important to him, an outlet for his troubled mind now more than ever. And if it was a by-product of his sleuthing, all the better.
Iridian thought of Mirdre as he sipped on his fruity drink, letting his thoughts stray back to happier days as he waited the summons to Evien's room. Memories of his mother and father, himself a little boy and Mirdre hurrying towards adulthood, leaving him behind flitted through his absent mind. Yet he and Mirdre had always been close, despite their slight age-gap. Still he had been the one who'd been gifted, magic had never worked for Mirdre quite like it had for him. He'd often wondered why, and cursed at it when he'd held his sister's bleeding body in his arms...
Iridian's hand gripped the glass tight. If only Mirdre had been able to defend herself, see the threat coming... But it was not to be. The two of them were of the same blood but different, Mirdre's gifts laying elsewhere. Iridian sipped his drink distractedly, his eyes straying to the dance floor below once again.
He looked at the mass of bodies in envy. None of the dancer's probably had the life of their sister on their conscience. Nor her continued life within themselves, the burden of it heavy on their hearts. No, they were carefree. The only thing in their minds was sex. Horny bodies gyrating together, hot lips seeking each other out, hands slipping under clothes. Iridian sighed deep, feeling a familiar tingle starting up in his body. The sight was arousing. He sipped his drink, letting his mind focus on the steady beat on the music, his eyes following the people dancing. What he wouldn't give to be as carefree as they were. There was a bitterness buried deep within him, besides happy memories he had no time to dwell on, which made him envy the dancers. But he had made his choice. He and he alone had decided to not let Mirdre go. He had taken responsibility for her and owed this to her.
Iridian sighed, re-crossing his legs, the frills and lace of his skirts moved against the naked strip of skin of his thighs, making him feel... debauched. Yes, debauched. Here he was, once again selling himself for a chance at getting information. He was glad their parents weren't alive to see what he'd become. Even if his devotion to Mirdre was the reason behind it all. Iridian blinked his eyes, tears threatening to well up. Couldn't ruin his make-up now.
'Focus, focus, focus'.
He shook his mane of intricately arranged coppery-red hair and breathed in deep, letting the air he drew in come out in a whoosh. Maybe he should have taken a drink to steady his flippant nerves? No. Yet he suddenly looked at the remnants of his fruity sweet drink in distaste. What he wouldn't give for some alcohol right now.
“Miss?”
Iridian's head snapped towards the male voice which had spoken to him. Using a feminine title to address him instantly buoyed his spirits. In the underworld of fluctuating identities and unfixed genders, being taken for a woman had always tickled Iridian's fancy. It told him that he had succeeded in building the image he strove to portray. However, he had also given his identity, his name, as that of a woman when he'd entered “Voulez-vous?”, but one had to be really dense to not see through his ruse. He had no bosom, even though Mirdre had once suggested that he... Iridian shook his head and smiled at the young man who'd addressed him.
“Yes, my dear?” He cradled the glass on the palm of his hand, his body shifting to display his assets all on it's own. A perpetual flirt, that was him. And the boy was easy on the eyes. Long dark hair bound in a careless ponytail, black denims and a poet-shirt hanging off one shoulder, the white cloth bunched and hugged near his body by the embroidered vest the boy wore. Very piratical. Iridian winked at the boy, making a subtle redness tinge the young man's cheeks.
“Time to go, miss,” the boy said, just barely disguising the fact that he was letting his eyes wander over Iridian's body.
'Such an innocent. Or maybe not...'
Iridian rose from his chair, setting his glass down on the small table beside it. He fussed with his skirts, flattening the frilly layers and intricate silks in place with his lace-glowed hands. He observed the boy from behind the curtain of his partially free red hair. The boy ogled at him hungrily when he though Iridian wasn't looking. The look was unmistakable as the area where Iridian had been sitting was rather well lit, and he had keen eye-sight.
“Better get going then, dear,” Iridian said as he strutted to the boy, clutching at his small purse, his nerves threatening to surface again. Close, so close. If this went well, there was the possibility that he would maybe only have to go slutty-sleuthing a few times more before reaching his goal. And he had heard tales about Evian Shadowmere, hence his nerves. He was just a bit afraid that the man would see through his ruse, or that he'd been exposed already, through his previous clients. But he'd been careful. And his way to acquire clients was through referrals, from people whom he'd already pleased and stolen information from. Information he hadn't shared but with Mirdre. Iridian didn't think that Schirell would have referred him over to Evien if she'd thought he was something else besides a high class whore, or courtesan to use a better term. The memory of Schirell was particularly pleasant and ego-stroking since she was a mage like him and they had actually met in his past life, before Mirdre had been murdered, and she hadn't seemed to have recognised him. Or if she had, she had kept it to herself for her own purposes and he was now playing with fire. Couldn't back down now he was this far, though.
He flashed the would-be-pirate a winning smile and patted his cheek. “No touching, you naughty thing...” Iridian didn't have to look inside the boys head to know what he'd been thinking.
The boy dressed in piratical regalia drew back a hand which had been inching toward Iridian's bottom, and flushed brilliantly red this time. “Yes ma'm! This way ma'm!” The boy gestured with his hand, guiding Iridian to follow him.
Iridian chuckled softly as the boy's use of title went a rank up. “Just call me miss, ma'm always makes me feel so old,” he said soothingly, using his best feminine tones, as he followed the boy down a corridor, the music growing dimmer as they went on. "Miss Scartlet."
The boy did and Iridian felt better for it as he followed him towards his next mission.
Entry Number: 06
Author: saraste_impi
Fandom: original
Rating: PG-13
Genre: modern urban fantasy, cross-dressing, detective story
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1699
A/N: Iridian thinks way too much! I'm never getting into the action! Set in my Iridian&Mirdre 'verse. Also, whilst writing this Iearned a new word in English, 'piratical'!^-^
Iridian sighed softly as he sat down in the plush arm-chair. He daintily waved off an offer for spirits, instead choosing a fresh fruity drink. He needed to keep his head straight, and he was sure there was some wine that he'd need to drink once he was with Evien Shadowmere.
The mage stared idly into the dark mass of people gyrating their bodies to the music blasting through the dimly lit the night-club. He'd been reserved a somewhat quieter spot in an upper-storey, a balcony of sorts, giving him a good view of the action on the dance floor below. He was somewhat entranced by the sight. The sweaty bodies swaying to the beat, the air reeking of sex. Couples partially concealed in shadows, committing sins of the flesh almost in bare sight. Pulsing rays of light catching on naked, bucking limbs, music drowning out sounds of sinful passion.
Iridian chuckled, sipping his drink, careful not to smudge his rouge too much. He was glad he'd slipped his lip-stick into his purse at the last minute. For tonight, image was everything. He was a commodity, a willing body in nice, arousing wrappings. Willing and eager to be done with as his client wished. To a point. A delicate glass rested in his lace-encased hand, the leg dangling from between his long fingers as the bottom was cradled on his palm. Taking another sip, Iridian thought back on his encounter with the boy. He wondered why he'd been so shocked that very minute he had looked into the boys face. Why? There'd been no familiarity inside the head he'd somewhat ransacked. He hated being in the dark.
Iridian would ask Mirdre later, for she was... absent. He'd asked her to withdraw, as what he'd need to do once Evien arrived, would be somewhat embarrassing for him if she was still present within his mind. Better for him to at least be able to pretend that his sister had no idea what he did. Iridian had never had trouble with sex, he enjoyed it immensely, hence his suitability in this “under-cover” mission. But with Mirdre being present in his mind, it was sometimes quite awkward. Especially when she surfaced to take her part in the pleasure, almost making his body her own. It unnerved most people. And it had given him a reputation as a difficult lover. Still, there'd been one who'd...
Iridian cursed as he almost spilled his drink, the hand holding his glass having become idle. He would not think of that person, this night of all nights. He quickly checked himself over, glad that his clothes remained unstained. 'Focus, idiot.' Iridian chided himself. He closed his kohl-rimmed eyes briefly and forced the memory into the back of his mind. At another time, it would maybe even have been... pleasant to dwell on it, but not now. He'd deal with it later. Right now he had no other purpose, no other task, than finding out who'd killed Mirdre. He couldn't afford to stray. And if he needed to shun affection, maybe even love, to reach that goal, so be it. He didn't mind that he needed to use his body as a means to an end. Pleasure had always been important to him, an outlet for his troubled mind now more than ever. And if it was a by-product of his sleuthing, all the better.
Iridian thought of Mirdre as he sipped on his fruity drink, letting his thoughts stray back to happier days as he waited the summons to Evien's room. Memories of his mother and father, himself a little boy and Mirdre hurrying towards adulthood, leaving him behind flitted through his absent mind. Yet he and Mirdre had always been close, despite their slight age-gap. Still he had been the one who'd been gifted, magic had never worked for Mirdre quite like it had for him. He'd often wondered why, and cursed at it when he'd held his sister's bleeding body in his arms...
Iridian's hand gripped the glass tight. If only Mirdre had been able to defend herself, see the threat coming... But it was not to be. The two of them were of the same blood but different, Mirdre's gifts laying elsewhere. Iridian sipped his drink distractedly, his eyes straying to the dance floor below once again.
He looked at the mass of bodies in envy. None of the dancer's probably had the life of their sister on their conscience. Nor her continued life within themselves, the burden of it heavy on their hearts. No, they were carefree. The only thing in their minds was sex. Horny bodies gyrating together, hot lips seeking each other out, hands slipping under clothes. Iridian sighed deep, feeling a familiar tingle starting up in his body. The sight was arousing. He sipped his drink, letting his mind focus on the steady beat on the music, his eyes following the people dancing. What he wouldn't give to be as carefree as they were. There was a bitterness buried deep within him, besides happy memories he had no time to dwell on, which made him envy the dancers. But he had made his choice. He and he alone had decided to not let Mirdre go. He had taken responsibility for her and owed this to her.
Iridian sighed, re-crossing his legs, the frills and lace of his skirts moved against the naked strip of skin of his thighs, making him feel... debauched. Yes, debauched. Here he was, once again selling himself for a chance at getting information. He was glad their parents weren't alive to see what he'd become. Even if his devotion to Mirdre was the reason behind it all. Iridian blinked his eyes, tears threatening to well up. Couldn't ruin his make-up now.
'Focus, focus, focus'.
He shook his mane of intricately arranged coppery-red hair and breathed in deep, letting the air he drew in come out in a whoosh. Maybe he should have taken a drink to steady his flippant nerves? No. Yet he suddenly looked at the remnants of his fruity sweet drink in distaste. What he wouldn't give for some alcohol right now.
“Miss?”
Iridian's head snapped towards the male voice which had spoken to him. Using a feminine title to address him instantly buoyed his spirits. In the underworld of fluctuating identities and unfixed genders, being taken for a woman had always tickled Iridian's fancy. It told him that he had succeeded in building the image he strove to portray. However, he had also given his identity, his name, as that of a woman when he'd entered “Voulez-vous?”, but one had to be really dense to not see through his ruse. He had no bosom, even though Mirdre had once suggested that he... Iridian shook his head and smiled at the young man who'd addressed him.
“Yes, my dear?” He cradled the glass on the palm of his hand, his body shifting to display his assets all on it's own. A perpetual flirt, that was him. And the boy was easy on the eyes. Long dark hair bound in a careless ponytail, black denims and a poet-shirt hanging off one shoulder, the white cloth bunched and hugged near his body by the embroidered vest the boy wore. Very piratical. Iridian winked at the boy, making a subtle redness tinge the young man's cheeks.
“Time to go, miss,” the boy said, just barely disguising the fact that he was letting his eyes wander over Iridian's body.
'Such an innocent. Or maybe not...'
Iridian rose from his chair, setting his glass down on the small table beside it. He fussed with his skirts, flattening the frilly layers and intricate silks in place with his lace-glowed hands. He observed the boy from behind the curtain of his partially free red hair. The boy ogled at him hungrily when he though Iridian wasn't looking. The look was unmistakable as the area where Iridian had been sitting was rather well lit, and he had keen eye-sight.
“Better get going then, dear,” Iridian said as he strutted to the boy, clutching at his small purse, his nerves threatening to surface again. Close, so close. If this went well, there was the possibility that he would maybe only have to go slutty-sleuthing a few times more before reaching his goal. And he had heard tales about Evian Shadowmere, hence his nerves. He was just a bit afraid that the man would see through his ruse, or that he'd been exposed already, through his previous clients. But he'd been careful. And his way to acquire clients was through referrals, from people whom he'd already pleased and stolen information from. Information he hadn't shared but with Mirdre. Iridian didn't think that Schirell would have referred him over to Evien if she'd thought he was something else besides a high class whore, or courtesan to use a better term. The memory of Schirell was particularly pleasant and ego-stroking since she was a mage like him and they had actually met in his past life, before Mirdre had been murdered, and she hadn't seemed to have recognised him. Or if she had, she had kept it to herself for her own purposes and he was now playing with fire. Couldn't back down now he was this far, though.
He flashed the would-be-pirate a winning smile and patted his cheek. “No touching, you naughty thing...” Iridian didn't have to look inside the boys head to know what he'd been thinking.
The boy dressed in piratical regalia drew back a hand which had been inching toward Iridian's bottom, and flushed brilliantly red this time. “Yes ma'm! This way ma'm!” The boy gestured with his hand, guiding Iridian to follow him.
Iridian chuckled softly as the boy's use of title went a rank up. “Just call me miss, ma'm always makes me feel so old,” he said soothingly, using his best feminine tones, as he followed the boy down a corridor, the music growing dimmer as they went on. "Miss Scartlet."
The boy did and Iridian felt better for it as he followed him towards his next mission.