Mystery Of A Blood-Red Rose

[Ryn]

Ryn watches, head tilted ever so slightly. She doesn't understand how this elicits a want inside of her without the same kind of focused urge to make Katarina understand. And the crushing paralysis that had come with the realization she had no idea how.

"Like warmth from a flame." she admits quietly. "But none of the crawling lightning that froze the words from my mind and the action from my limbs."

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"Well, treat this as your lightning rod," Wyll grinned, in the way that once again implied he was using words to mean other things, damn him.

"Do you suppose you're freezing out fear? Out of inexperience? A combination of the two? Well, look around. Is the Siren here? No, she is not. Can the Siren be hurt by anything you do here? No, she can not. Will anyone you see again ever know if you screw up; make a fool of yourself, hurt someone? Well, just your friendly neighborhood Wyldclay. Look at this place. Here, you can walk through the lightning, bask by the flame. And perhaps it will make it easier to follow through when the squall surrounds your Lady of the Sea; preventing you from getting dashed on the rocks, yes?"

[Ryn]

Other people could still be hurt, but the Wyldclay has a point. There's not the same kind of desire here. The curling deep inside of her that's sending heat to her face and the threat of gooseflesh to her skin is, but there's no urge to act on it like there is with Katarina. She's fine to hide it, even if she can't shake the feeling the Wyldclay still notices somehow.

"Maybe. I cannot scare her away if she isn't here." she concedes.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

Wyll clearly did not care about 'other people' here. It was a minor miracle he consented to Katarina being someone he was trying to avoid hurting -- possibly just an after-effect of the vow Ryn had him swear. Trapped by words, perhaps.

"Exactly. Your Siren is safe in her tank for now."

"So try, for once in your life, to unclench for a moment. Enjoy the sights and the sounds. Tell me what you see; what you're thinking; what you're feeling."

Wyll gestured around the room. "Do you think the Siren would enjoy the gaze of these stupefied men? She must enjoy attention, if she is standing on stage and performing. And enthralling people is what Sirens do. But somehow, in my bones, I don't think that she'd be satisfied with these sorts. Not as a main course, anyway; perhaps as an amuse bouche. It clearly does not take much effort to bend them to their will; these women seem to be doing just fine on their own, don't you think?"

[Ryn]

Ryn agrees, this doe snot seem like the kind of audience, the kind of attention Katarina seeks. She's hardly an expert on different types of attention, until recently she was pretty certain that 'any' was too much and that's all she really needed to know. But that's not really true. She does have some of the human ability to read things that aren't there when it comes to this. She can tell most of these men are harmless in their gazing, and though some might consider toeing the line Ryn would reinforce with tooth and claw, none have the true predatory clench in their shoulders and gleam in their eyes. They are more enthralled than prowling.

"They do." she admits. "They're no Siren - Sirens." she corrects herself because she's not just thinking about Katarina, definitely not. "But their dance is cunning-smooth. Like sand dancing in the wind. It's..." she frowns in concentration. "Nice? It's warm and pleasant and restless." she says and maybe she's just squirming in her seat because 'expressing herself' is well outside her comfort zone or skill-set but if it was just that then it probably wouldn't be in tune with the dancer's movements.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

Wyll watched Ryn more than the dancers, grinning to himself over some private joke.

"That's right, you've begun getting into music, haven't you? Tell me. Have you sought out your Siren's music videos? I suppose that's not altogether different from this, with the exception of the level of clothing removed.

I'm sure you would prefer a personal show, but then, so would all her fans," he said, casually. "Television and shows -- like this, but perhaps a bit larger -- is about all they could hope for."

Wyll mock sighed, putting his feet up on the table, slipping a note into the pocket of a passing scantily-clad waiter. "And, of course, the Siren herself has to deal with attending en masse rather than breaking one poor soul at a time. That's the modern age for you though, isn't it? Industrial revolution gone wild."

[Ryn]

"I've seen her sing on the screen." she nods. It was on Katarina's TV show but what else would music video mean to someone like Ryn. The idea that others would have the same response to it, wishing or imagining she was singing to or about them had not occurred to her up until now. Katarina's stardom (small as it was) was something abstract, incidental to her singing and dancing because she enjoyed it. Fame makes no sense to her, especially on this scale but in this context it pierces some of her ignorance. "She wants people watching and listening. Because she... wants to know she's making people feel that way."

"But then why doesn't she notice that I do? Why is she upset when I watch her?"

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"Well, it's the difference between performing and simply being, you know?" Wyll said, knowing full well that Ryn did not know.

"Take the redhead on stage right now," Wyll said, just as said redhead removed her top. "Right now, she wants you to look at her, right? Perhaps she enjoys performing, or the power she gets on stage. Or perhaps she simply wants the tips. Either way, right now, she is a performer, and you do credit to her by watching.

But later on, she will be at her home, in her room. She will have a life outside of the dance. And if someone came to her then, even offering paper-moneys, she would feel violated, would she not? She chooses when she performs, and who she performs for.

Or myself, if we're passing the introspective lens on us more civilized types rather than the unwashed masses. You see me when I wish you to see me. Believe me, I'm around you more than you know," he said, with a feral grin that showed off his canines.

"You were watching the Siren without her knowledge. I wonder if she would be upset if you simply asked her to show off for you. And what sort of performance you would ask for..."

[Ryn]

At least it's hard for Ryn to be blushing more at the sensuous nudity unfolding on the stage or the Wyldclay's questions.

"Don't know if she even wants to see me again at all. Not to dance like this, for certain." she mumbles.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"Well, that is what the apology gifts are for," Wyll said, with a nod. "Shower your Siren with gold and hosannas, appeal to her ego, and you'll have her in the palm of your hand."

"And if you think she wouldn't dance like this, you haven't seen the 'Infinite Touch' video. Well, maybe not quite like this. But she was definitely a commodity to be packaged and sold to the Western world. You don't think they let her on television because of her acting chops, did you?"

"Tell me, Rynnsuke. What would you give to have your Siren on stage at the moment," Wyll asked, casually. If there was ever such a thing as a casual question from a fae; even the most innocuous questions likely had tests and challenges behind them.

[Ryn]

Ryn has not, in fact, seen any video of Katarina save the one she'd shown her. She wants to dismiss the title as confusing word-twists but there's something about it. Something soft and deep and as inescapable as her. Wyll's comments about Katarina are distant and faded and the spell of those words is only broken when she senses a hidden sharpness behind the Trickster's words. The question is a trap, she knows it, but of what kind she cannot tell. Maybe the inquest itself is the snare, the way it seems to not want to leave her mind and demand an answer. What would she be willing to yield? Her gifts are plenty and the fact she even contemplates which one she'd be most willing to tear free from herself scares her.

"I don't know." she says, more harshly than perhaps intended, but it's an admission in it's own right. She's not dismissing the very notion, has already bargained favor for chance. And Wyll knows it, can probably read the truth on her face somehow and she hates it. Makes her feel vulnerable in ways that no broken bone ever has. "Nothing." she snarls but it's a lie.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"A wise answer, and a safe one," Wyll nodded. "If not entirely honest, but I suppose we can forgive that, given the circumstances."

"It's the answer the Siren would give too, I believe. There are people she would not want to perform for, and things she may not want to do. The drunken lusty pricks in the crowd here aren't exactly her desired audience."

"Still. Fantasies are as fantasies are, yes? I'm sure you would prefer a more...private showing. She may want the grand audiences; you prefer to avoid the light and the crowds."

[Ryn]

"I wouldn't mind a crowd's eyes on her." As long as their attention is elsewhere, like right now, she's not too bothered by people she realizes. She can pretend they're not there at all if she doesn't feel the itch of their gaze on her skin and disappear in the crowd like she does in shadows. And if it meant watching Katarina in her element she'd be more than happy with that. "Not this crowd." she amends, not entirely sure why but certain enough of it. But something about the Wyldclay's proposed scenario still tugs on her and it takes her a moment to figure out why. "But I'd still want her to see me." she realizes with a strange thrill in her chest.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"Not on stage, I'm presuming," Wyll grinned. "But you want the her songs to be about you. You want to see her move her body for you. A little secret, between you and the Siren."

[Ryn]

"How would it be secr--" Ryn cuts herself off. It'd be secret the way being hidden in a crowd is secret. There but only for them. She nods. "Yes. Like that." It seems her deal with the Wyldclay wasn't entirely ill-advised.

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"A connection only the two of you know. A gesture that has a meaning that no one else understands. A turn of phrase meant to catch your ear, and your ear alone. And when she comes off stage, there you would be, waiting for her. That's what you would like, isn't it?"

[Ryn]

Ryn has not exactly thought much about what exactly it is she wants, much less in practical terms or concrete examples.

"Something like it." The clandestine messages she could even do without. The Wyldclay seems to enjoy that kind of blatant flaunting. She can't deny the idea isn't at least a little bit exciting, but not as much as the sheer existence of that kind of connection. Or the idea of making sure nobody in the crowd gets any ideas about trying to elevate themselves to an undeserved level of importance by force. Ryn might not be aware of the specifics of stalkers, but she's well aware of the violation done by those who think they deserve more than consented. Part of her is worried it's exactly what she did, but she's not quite capable of chasing down her ill-feeling about what happened to this level of specifics.

"But why would she care for that if she had the adoration she wants?"

[Wyll Wyldclay]

"There are different kinds of attention one can give her. Some things she wouldn't want from a stranger, I'm sure," Wyll nodded. "And even if you were to, say, serve as security or something, the Siren may want more from you; I'll look into that. Until then, though, maybe you can get a little practice," Wyll said, mysteriously.

It was that time the redhead from earlier, from the stage, now down to her underwear, came towards the private booth Wyll and Ryn were sitting in.

[Ryn]

The fact that Ryn had lost track of where any given person in the room is says a lot about how much concentration it takes her to try and sort her thoughts when it comes to Katarina. She does not get startled or surprised, at least not normally. But then she normally would also not feel weirdly intimidated by an unarmed woman in her smallclothes. Ryn has seen people naked, more incidentally than anything but it has never bothered her. But right now, under these circumstances there's more to it than just bare skin. She's bearing witness to a kind of intentional weakness being displayed to her directly and it makes her deeply uncomfortable. Like there's an expectation for her to acknowledge that in some way as something other than terrifying. Is this how humans feel all the time? Exposed, weak and scared, witness to things beyond their ken?

Ryn swallows hard. She refuses to be bested by nothing. She's not going to flee from someone who poses as much of a threat to her as the seat she's sitting in. She does, however, shrink into said seat a little when the woman reaches their booth.

"What is this?" she asks, tries to demand but her voice, like so much else of her tonight, betrays her, eyes darting between Wyll and the dancer.

[Narrator]

"I'm Cinnamon, honey," the woman said, smiling at Ryn. "Willy here tells me you've had a rough week or two."

Her voice had a little bit of an Eastern European accent -- again, not quite Katarina's, but coming from the same general part of the world.

[Ryn]

Ryn's mouth opens, closes, then opens to try again. "Hello Cinnamon-Honey. I... have?" What little social camouflage Ryn has is rapidly crumbling and what was supposed to be an obliged agreement comes out as more of a question. Has she had a rough week? It has certainly been filled with new kinds of problems but rough? Worse than normal? She's spend countless ages being something that would terrify Katarina, shattering herself against even worse things. If these weeks have been rough then what had the rest of her existence been?

[Narrator]

Cinnamon laughed a little at that -- not at Ryn, per se, but at her naievite?

"Just Cinnamon is fine. Cindy, if you'd rather," she smiled.

"A tough time at work? A problem with a friend?" she asked, placing one hand on the table and leaning in a little bit, to make the conversation that much more private. "It's OK. You can relax now, honey. I won't bite."

[Ryn]

How do humans keep reading her mind.

"A work-friend." she admits and for once her odd compound words line up with normal vocabulary. "And I didn't think you would." she reassures Cindy who, she notes, doesn't smell much like cinnamon at all but rather a wholly different kind of spice mingled with the scent of physical exertion. Not the old memories of sweat like the room itself but the satisfied fragrance of moving beneath the sun and Ryn will never understand why that is being almost smothered by layers of human-wrought chemical flower scents. She is very close. Closer than Ryn is comfortable with and yet she finds herself unwilling to chase her away.

"I don't wish to harm you either." she adds. Apparently that is part of whatever this is. A reassurance of harmless intent? Considering the other patrons in the room Ryn thinks that is probably wise of Cindy.

[Narrator]

"Glad we have that out of the way," Cinnamon smiled. Wyll was giggling to himself over some private joke, presumably.

"This your first time here, sweetheart? If you don't mind me saying so, you seem a bit tense," she added, resting both elbows on the table and kneeling down, closer to eye level with the deva.

[Ryn]

"This is new to me, yes." she nods and even if this wasn't making her nervous, Ryn has never not been at least a little bit tense. "I'm unsure what is expected of me."

[Narrator]

"Well, my job is to make sure you leave here happy," Cindy smiled. "Your friend Willy told me to give you the works, but he doesn't know anything, does he?" she said, with a conspiratorial whisper.

"No refunds," she said, a bit sharper, back towards Wyll, who had raised a finger in protest.

"You don't have to do anything if you don't want," Cindy said, turning back to Ryn and smiling again. "We can start by just talking, if that would make you a little more comfortable. A lot clients like that, just to start things off. Buy me a drink, and getting to know one another; just relaxing some before getting into things. Or you could just sit and watch, and I can do a routine on the table; sort of like I did on the stage there, but with a closer viewpoint. Or, you can stay seated right there, and enjoy a closer show," she smiled. "And while I'm sure our mutual friend would enjoy watching that, we could ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable. He's already paid, so he's no use anymore," she joked.

[Ryn]

Unfortunately Wyll knows many things, compared to Ryn, but she appreciates the sentiment. This woman is clearly not as subservient as some of the people next to the stage probably assume. Or at least want to believe. Ryn decides she likes that. She's being pretty straightforward too and that helps. She consciously makes herself relax. She's here to dance, for Ryn specifically this time and she casts a glance at Wyll. She might be oblivious but for once it's blatant enough what he's doing.

"More annoyed than uncomfortable. Go and find something else to watch." she tells him. That decision at least is an easy one.

"I do enjoy your dancing." she tells Cindy, turning her head back to face her and trying very hard not to be intimidated by this human. It is not as easy as she would like it to be, but the Wyldclay is right, there's no punishment for failure here (whatever failure looks like in this case) and nobody here can stop her from simply leaving if she decides it's too much. Wyldclay would know but he's apparently seen through her already anyway. So really, what is she hiding here other than the yawning abyss of the thinly veiled supernatural. "I'm not used to being this close to people." she adds almost like a warning.

[Narrator]

Wyll's eyes glazed over, and he awkwardly and robotically stood up, marching elsewhere into the club. Leaving Ryn alone with Cinnamon.

"Well, I thank you," Cindy smiled, sliding into the booth to take the spot of the vacated Wyll, and inching closer to Ryn. "We always appreciate the compliments."

"And good on you for coming out anyway," she continued. "We all have to start somewhere, don't we? A little confidence booster; a little tip to the ego," she grinned.

[Ryn]

"I was kind of made to. Encouraged to." she adds, correcting a little but still ultimately misunderstanding what Cindy is talking about entirely. "I would not have come here otherwise." she says with a glance towards the departing Wyll. Because obviously they're talking about leaving the House, coming out here to this place, and not something completely different.

[Narrator]

"It can be good to stretch a little out of your comfort zone at times," Cindy smiled, taking a sip of her own drink. "You'll never know what you're missing, otherwise."

[Ryn]

What in all the worlds is a 'comfort zone'?

"I do know what I'm missing now." she agrees, though having seen the light hardly means she's able to leave the shadows. "But when I stretch, things scatter in fear."

[Narrator]

"From a cute little thing like you? Oh, I find that hard to believe," Cindy said, turning on the charm. As wasted as it may be.

[Ryn]

Ryn shrugs a bit awkwardly. She has no idea how to process the compliment. It doesn't feel bad but she can't imagine trying to make' cute' work for her would go very well at all. Unless this is once again something humans see that she doesn't. Does Katarina think she's cute? Probably not anymore.

"I'm good at what I do." she tries to explain. "Is cute good?" Of course Cindy doesn't know Katarina, but she is versed in mock mating rituals and attracting attention. Compared to Ryn she may as well be an expert on what a certain Siren likes. "You're not 'cute' but I don't seek the kind of attention you command."

[Narrator]

"Oh, some people like cute quite a bit," Cindy confirmed. "And competent? That's a great combination."

She leaned in a little closer so she could whisper in Ryn's ear, speaking breathily. "Compared to some of the guys who come in here? I'll take cute and competent any day of the week."

"And I figured you weren't one for much attention. A private booth, dark sunglasses indoors. Very mysterious," she added. "It takes a certain type of confidence to perform."

[Ryn]

Ryn tenses again, her heart suddenly seeming to beat in her throat. This does feel very close to the unclear thing she'd been chasing, though she doesn't like that apparently at the end of the chase is a kind of vulnerability. On both ends, her sat in her seat, very much out of her depths and Cindy, barely clothed and leaning in so close she can feel her body heat. The hairs on the back of her neck rise and not out of any kind of sense of danger. It's the difference between being able to move like the women on stage, which is easy, and doing it for someone to see, which is very much not.

"And you are not afraid." she notes and Ryn isn't even sure what exactly she means. Afraid of Ryn? The performing? The leering people at the stage? Some unspoken threat that somehow only strikes at her heart?

She hadn't even noticed she'd closed her eyes at Cindy coming so close, as if her closeness would somehow transmit that vulnerability to the Deva. They snap open now as she forces herself to look at Cindy to try and find the source of her bravery, but all she sees is bare skin and toned muscle, covered here and there with earthen pigment to match the tone of her skin the same way the colors on her face highlight and draw attention. She doesn't command attention, she reads it, directs and molds it like water and that protects her.

The dancing, the whispers, the pigments, it's all part of it and Ryn feels very stupid all of a sudden. It's powerful enough to have fooled her, bend the Deva's attention inward and made her unsettle herself with her own gaze. But now she is looking, accepting that it still makes her stomach twinge with warmth because being aware of something does not make her immune to it. But she can let it pass through her because she's seen something more important than her own awkwardness. She reaches up to grab Cindy's wrist. Not encircling it harshly but with her fingers against the back of her palm and her thumb against the pulse on the inside of her wrist. She holds her arm still for a moment to look at the spot on the dancer's arm where the green-blue of bruised flesh shimmers beneath the concealer make-up.

"Not of this or of me." she corrects herself, quietly, calmly, looking up and into Cindy's eyes. Competent and mysterious. That she can do better than anyone.

[Narrator]

Cindy tried to pull her arm back. "Hey! No touching!" she said. But Ryn's grip is firmer than she gave credit for, and she was unable to immediately pull herself free. "That's...you don't need to worry about that," she sat, her voice wavering. Maybe there was something she was afraid of -- but it wasn't dancing, or the people leering up at the stage. And it wasn't Ryn, either, though perhaps the surprise of the intensity of the young deva's whole being might be minorly offputting. Whatever script she had been on; whatever role she had been playing, disrupted by Ryn's sudden move.

[Ryn]

Ryn does let go when Cindy pulls away, though the unblinking stare of her glasses have their own way of commanding attention of a different kind.

"I do." she says. There's no great gravitas or intense finality to her voice. Only a tone of certainty. "There will be more if I don't." and Ryn knows that Cindy knows. Despair-fear. Hoping acquiescence and silence will stave it off and knowing it won't. Enduring-fear. "Who." she asks though her voice barely raises to indicate a question. "Tell me and it will not happen again. That is my promise to you." she says, almost as quiet as when Cindy had whispered in her ear.

[Narrator]

"W...are you a cop? You have to tell me if you're a cop..." Cindy stammered out.

"Please...I need this job," Cindy added. "Doug can be an asshole, but he keeps me on the schedule..."

[Ryn]

"I am not a cop." she says and while it sounds true it's somehow not reassuring at all. "And you will still dance if you wish."

Ryn stands up like a snake coils itself before a bite. Her eyes scan the room and she pushes her way through the clustered tables towards a door labeled 'Employees Only'. She grabs the door handle and of course it doesn't budge. Bracing herself for the strain on her injuries she brings the palm of her hand down on the door handle and something inside the door mechanism snaps. A follow-up kick to the door sends it slamming open and into the wall of the adjoining hallway. Ryn follows the scent of stale cigarettes and lazy-sweat, ignoring the shouts of objections from what must be the changing rooms behind the stage that branch off of the hallway. The door labeled 'Manager' is cracked to form a sightline across the hall and into the changing room. This one she does not kick open. Instead she simply slips inside before the commotion can draw out it's occupant and leans her back against it until it closes with an ominous click.

"Doug?" she demands of the man inside with a voice like icicles.

[Narrator]

The shrieks and protests of the women in the back, in various stages of half-dress, go unnoticed by Ryn, and also by the manager. Might tell you something about the place if 'Doug' doesn't even get up for that.

Doug is sitting at his desk, going through some spreadsheets and numbers and paper-words that seem boring even by paper-word standards. A half-finished cigarrete hangs out of his mouth, about to join about a half-dozen of its brothers in an ashtray, the room stinking of nicotine and sweat.

"Auditions are on Tuesdays," he says, before looking up. "And you need a clean bill from the health department; I ain't taking anyone with track marks up and down their arms. You want to OD, you do it on your own time."

He looked up for a moment. "The hell...you even legal? With tits like that, you're not going to make dollar one. You're just wasting...my...time..." he said, slowing down as he noticed Ryn's demeanor, really 'seeing' her for the first time.

There are some evils in the world which are subtle, and nuanced, and perhaps too complex for a being like Ryn to fully grip. She was not dealing with such an evil at the moment.