Wait What Whoa

I had a visitor. Rather, Faetrix had a visitor; a gentleman caller, if you will. Regardless, I was excited to have company!

He had sent word ahead that he would be arriving at the penthouse loft she owned. I stared in a cracked, scarf-adorned mirror and blotted the lipstick on Faetrix's lips, making sultry expressions only made twisted by the reflection of scarlet in my eyes. Tossing the pigmented vial into the antique vanity, I rose and sauntered through the apartment to take careful inventory. The hookah table in the center of the living space was straightened, dozens of sparkling, gemmed boxes holding various and sundry illicit substances. The Convocate had quite a habit she shoved up her nose and through her veins, as it turned out, and each box had a different treat.

Crossing to straighten a lush velour pillow on Faetrix's cigarette-burned divan, I peered out the stained glass bay window overlooking the fountains in the courtyard, and I saw him arriving. He was magnificient, handsome as his father the Lord Convocate was in his prime, and wrapped in azure and cerulean leather. I thought vaguely of how I would tear that leather off with my teeth and revel in Satchiel Kerwin's lust.

Satchiel glanced around the streets with eyes sharp, shield raised and blade readied.  He'd been on his way to see Fae when the guards had raised alarms - it was typical around Tranquillien that a raised alarm usually meant a guard letting out a bloodcurdling scream as he died.  Life on the ragged edge, Satch mused as he looked around for the source.  He had been chasing through the ruined city with a small patrol of four spellbreakers, rushing past scenes of civillians murdered without mercy or pity.  Not Scourge, the cuts were too clean.  Not Trolls either, the wounds weren't from axes.