Shinobi and Tamara, backdated to Oct 8
Oct. 8th, 2017 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainShinobi takes Tamara for lunch at the Hellfire Club, and it’s an eye-opening experience for her.
The car had pulled up to the gates at the end of the Institute driveway precisely on schedule; it wasn't a limousine, exactly, but it was sleek, black, and obviously built with luxury in mind--and the need to accommodate invisible wings. Shinobi held the door open for his guest for the day, smiling and appreciative as ever. His usual, stylishly expensive attire was nowhere in sight. Instead, while his clothes were undoubtedly still expensive, the style suggested something from a time of periwigs and pistols at dawn.
The coat he wore was immaculately fitted, cut to the knee, and featured sumptuous sapphire fabric adorned with elaborate black brocade. A black-on-black, ivy patterned waistcoat just peaked from beneath, and pristine white lace spilled from the sleeves of his jacket. His breeches matched his coat perfectly, and the hose which outlined his calves to perfection were pearl-gray. A burst of brilliant scarlet neckcloth spilled from his collar.
An afternoon at the Club was always worth a little extra effort on his part.
"You look lovely as always, Tamara dear," he told her as she slid into the leather interior of their ride into the city. "You'll have all the society grande dames chewing their livers in envy. Before I spirit you off to keep you all to myself, I mean."
"I feel completely underdressed," Tamara replied, honestly meaning it. Compared to him, her outfit was almost ridiculously simple. She had dutifully turned on her image inducer before stepping outside, so for the moment she was wingless in her deep red, backless dress (the inducer hiding the scars as well for now) and matching boots . A choker of thick velvet with a dragon pendant on her throat added some edge, but the best accent was her new set of intricate silver “claws” intricate silver "claws"on the tips of her fingers.
She'd left her hair down, because she did love having it played with, and she suspected Shinobi would oblige...
Doing her best to ignore the driver (driver, sure, that was normal…), Tamara stepped awkwardly into the car, facing the seat rather than sitting in it before reaching down to tilt the back of it down. She winced - it wasn't elegant, especially since no one could see her wings tucked against her back and bumping into things, but once that was done she sprawled gratefully down on her stomach, wings finally out of the way. She grinned ruefully up at him, cheeks faintly pink (well, decently pink, but her makeup was too good to show most of it). "Still sure you want to be seen with me?"
"I'm wearing shoes with buckles on them," he returned with an enthusiastic grin. "Believe me, you're not the one with reason to feel self-conscious. Fortunately, my hubris knows no limits, so we should be fine." Shinobi tapped lightly on the tinted divider between the driver and passenger sections of the vehicle, and they set off for the city.
Tamara giggled, pulling her hair over her shoulder and propping her head in her hand. "So, you gonna tell me what's with the outfit?" she asked, bumping him with an invisible wing.
He settled next to her and bumped back, ignoring how odd it was to only be seeing most of Tamara; with her wings invisible, it was more obvious just how tiny she was. "Maybe this is just how I dress to go out," he teased, then gave a shrug. "Actually, it's one of the Club's more idiosyncratic sort-of-policies. It identifies me as being part of a very specific sub-group--elite among the elite, if you will. Plus, I love the jacket. So it's win-win."
Tamara was smirking up at him, playful as ever. "Show off," she teased, clearly approving. It suited him. "I like it," she decided, reaching over to play with some of the bright red fabric at his neck. "Means I get to show you off too."
"I do make a fairly spectacular ornament," he agreed with a humorous smirk.
* * * * * * *
The drive into the city passed pleasantly, as expected, and it wasn't long before the two mutants were driven to the front of a tall, stately building, ringed with a marble-based fence of wrought-iron. Considerably smaller than the high rises and skyscrapers around it, the structure still managed to project an air of power, even grandeur, far out of proportion to its actual size. The architecture suggested it might have been a private home, at one time--though, if it had, it would have been uncommonly massive, even for New York's elite. A gold plaque beside the front gates listed only the street address, a stylized pitchfork worked into the metal sheet in red enamel.
Shinobi eagerly led Tamara through the massive front doors, hardly waiting for the attending footman in orange-and-scarlet to see to the obstacle for him. Inside was a cavernous foyer, flanked with gilded wall sconces and tasteful impressionist paintings. The floor tiles were of alternating black and white, suggestive of a chessboard, and lined along the wall to either side of them was a row of uniformed servants. On the left, the men wore a costume similar to Shinobi's, though the colors of their garments appeared restricted to black, white, and grey. On the right, the women wore considerably less, in corsets and short skirts of solid white or black.
"Welcome to the Hellfire Club," he told Tamara cheerfully, his words immediately echoed by the ever-solicitous staff.
Tamara was doing everything she could not to show her shock, though it went bone deep. This was... this was...
She held her head high, told herself to breathe, nodded. God, how tacky she must look to all of them, how small and poor and oh god she was in a dress from Forever 21--
No. With all the attitude she could muster, she stepped forward, taking Shinobi's arm. She also wrapped an invisible wing around him, just to steady herself, but smirked up at him all the same. "Show off."
"It's why you continue to tolerate me," he told her impudently, and escorted her at a stately pace to the elaborately carved podium at the head of the foyer. An older man waited there, dressed like the other male staff, save for a gold pin at his lapel depicting a crimson fork similar to the one at the front of the building itself. "Armand, mon cher, delightful to see you again. Two for luncheon, if you please."
"Very good, Master Shaw," he said, flipping through a thick, leather-bound book resting upon the podium with a practiced ease that belied his apparent age. His voice had a gravelly quality to it, but was still pleasantly soothing, even grandfatherly. "We have several tables available in the main dining room, and a private suite at seventy-two west."
"The private room," Shinobi replied without hesitation.
Tamara was really, really glad it would be a private room, she wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. But for the moment, she schooled her face and tried to make 5'2" look tall (and never mind that three inches of that was boot heel). Her clothes might be cheap, but her makeup was perfect and she could shock the shit out of anyone here - what more did she really need?
The Club Chamberlain raised a beckoning finger from the podium, and one of the men--a tall, dark-haired specimen almost as pretty as Shinobi, stepped forward from the line. "Henri, if you would escort Master Shaw and his guest, and attend to their comfort."
The servingman executed a slight bow, then turned to the pair of teens and gestured down one of the side halls which branched off from the main foyer. "If you would follow me, please," he murmured diffidently. He then set off, leading them through a comfortable corridor floored in elaborate carpets and decorated with the odd, tasteful vase or bust. The rooms they passed to either side were not marked in any way, but Henri did not seem in the least bit hesitant as he guided them forward.
Not wholly unconscious of the subtle shift in Tamara's demeanor, he leaned toward her as they walked. "Too much?" he asked in a low voice.
"Kind of throwing me into the deep end here," she muttered back, still doing her best to hide her discomfort.
"I know it seems like a bit much," Shinobi told her reassuringly, patting her arm where it laced with his own. "But believe me, it's really not as serious as all that. It's just a great deal of pretension and trapping, for the most part. In fact, I promise nobody is paying the slightest attention to either of us."
Tamara didn't find that very comforting. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Not at all," he said. "The whole point of the Hellfire Club is that we value our privacy. Oh, there's gossip, I won't lie about that, but it never leaves the building. No one here wants their secrets getting out, and we're all much too vain not to pretend we don't know everything about everything. Believe me, for every gauche neophyte asking who you are, there's an older, more seasoned member completely making up an origin for you on the spot. And completely respectable, I assure you; we're all very respectable here."
Tamara just nodded but didn't respond as they seemed to arrive at their destination. Still, her smile was a little easier now.
The room they were led to featured long, plush couches on two sides, and an enormous antique globe in the center. The walls were adorned with enormous weathered maps, save the one across from them, which was dominated by a large window overlooking central Manhattan. "Please, make yourself comfortable," Shinobi said, as Henri withdrew.
Drawn toward the window - now this was a view you'd never find in Arroyo Grande, California... - Tamara blinked, turning back to him, holding up the wrist with the large, bulky 'watch' that was her image inducer. "You mean I can...?"
Shinobi sprawled in one of the couches, and held out an inviting hand. "Of course. The whole point of this place is privacy and secrets. Please make yourself comfortable."
Tamara bit her lip, taking a moment to feel the nerves and anticipation before switching the thing off, wings already flared behind her, stretching out.
She slipped the device off her arm, dropping it on a small table as she stepped slowly toward Shinobi, looking around the room a little wide-eyed. "Christ, Shinobi, how much money do you have?"
"All of it," he replied playfully. "Or, rather, my family has all of it. But my father is quite happy to indulge me to ridiculous extremes in order to ensure I don't embarrass him to the same degree."
Tamara had reached him, and flapped her wings once to puff air over him, ruffling his hair and ornate clothing. He looked completely at ease in all of this. "So what, he buys you off?" she asked, teasing.
"Once he realized he couldn't keep me locked up anymore," Shinobi said, enjoying the brief gust with eyes closed as it played over his face and jacket. "It was his only realistic option. And I'm just venal enough for it to have worked."
"Wait, seriously?" Tamara had only been kidding, she hadn't honestly meant- but Shinobi acted like it was, what, normal? With his eyes closed, she reached forward to play with his hair, perching on the arm of his couch. "For real?"
He opened his dark eyes again, and reached for the arm of the couch to stroke his fingertips lightly over Tamara's hip. "After mother died, I lived with Sebastian for a while. It didn't take long for both of us to reach the conclusion that he's about as nurturing as a starving badger. He still needed an heir, but it wasn't necessary for that heir to be all that close. So he sent me off to the other side of the world. Better for both of us, probably, but I still resented it enough to act out."
"Jesus," Tamara mumbled. "That's... pretty fucked up, actually." Her fingers stroked softly through Shinobi's hair as she frowned. "Sorry about your mom."
"It was ... " he trailed off, and gave up on trying to articulate his exact feeling. His mother's passing was deeply personal, and not something he shared readily even with those closest to him. "It's not something to trouble yourself over," he finished, sidling closer and settling his arm around her waist. "We all have our regretful things, I suppose."
"And asshole father figures," Tamara agreed quietly, a humorless smile on her face now as she kept petting him, enjoying the easy closeness. And here she'd thought her stepfather was bad - apparently Shinobi's dad was setting the bar even lower.
A thought occurred to her that made her smirk. "So... when you take me places like this and spoil me, we're spending your asshole father's money, right?"
"Well, yes," Shinobi said, as if surprised. "That's sort of the whole point. I mean, it will be my money, one day, so it amounts to the same thing. Annoying Sebastian is just icing on the cake."
Tamara's smirk was pulling into an actual grin. So much about Shinobi suddenly made a lot of sense to her. "In that case, I'm happy to help," she practically purred. "You can spoil me whenever you like."
"Excellent," Shinobi crooned, tugging himself close against her side and nuzzling affectionately. "I mean, I probably would have done that, in any case, but I'm glad to hear you won't think of it as too over the top. And speaking of spoiling you..." As if on cue, there was a diffident knock on the door, and Henri entered with his hands clasped behind his back. "Just in time! What's the special today?"
"Canard à l'Orange and seared Mahi-Mahi over rice," he intoned, almost mechanically, to all appearances taking no notice of Tamara's wings.
"How conventional. I'll have a Japanese curry, if you please." He glanced toward Tamara and gestured slightly, indicating she should place her order, too.
Tamara's giggle had been interrupted by her heart had thudding in her chest when Henri appeared, because wings and strangers, but Shinobi had promised, so...
Right. She took a breath, tucking her wings idly behind her.
"Lobster, I think," she said, aiming for the same kind of tone Shinobi had used. She'd never had lobster before. She smiled at Henri, trying to cover that she didn't even know how to order it. "Ask the chef to impress me."
Almost, it seemed, despite himself, a corner of Henri's mouth tilted very slightly upward, though the expression held no mockery--more a genuine pleasure at two guests so unconcerned with the usual pretension. "As you wish, Mademoiselle. With such a challenge given, I'm certain he will outdo himself." He bowed slightly again to them both, and disappeared behind the closed door.
"You just challenged the chef," Shinobi said, somewhat in awe. "Nobody challenges the chef."
"Was that the wrong thing to do?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious, though she tried not to show it. "Is he gonna poison me or something?"
"I have no idea," he laughed. "Nobody's ever done it before. Oh, this will be a rare meal, no question. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Tamara said, smile breaking through when he laughed. It was funnier than he knew - she bit her lip, glancing away as she admitted, "I just didn't know how to order lobster, I've never actually had it before..."
"Sou desu ka?" he hummed. "Well, I think you will like it. I'm glad to have afforded you the opportunity to expand your culinary horizons."
"Merci beaucoup," she replied sweetly, accent near-perfect. She couldn't speak much French yet, but she was making sure what she could say was as perfect as possible. "Looking forward to it."
"Dou itashimashite," he replied, almost absently, stroking a finger along her side. "There's really no need to be nervous, you know," Shinobi said reassuringly. "The servants have seen much stranger things than winged patrons in their time here. And the other members matter even less, really. This is quite possibly the only place in the world where I can ever really relax. I would like it very much if you could relax here, too."
"Servants? For real?" Tamara couldn't believe that was a job anyone had in this day and age, much less that they would be serving her of all people.
"It's a perfectly legitimate occupation," he protested mildly. "And quite a lucrative one, too; you wouldn't believe what the extraordinarily wealthy will pay to have their secrets kept." Shinobi wrinkled his nose. "Or maybe you would, now. But, believe me, discretion of the kind the Club requires doesn't come cheap. And the uniforms are very comfortable, I hear--if a little on the drab side."
Right, okay. Tamara could deal with that (or at least ignore it for now), and Shinobi made it all sound so normal. And she did like this relaxed, open version of Shinobi.
So she smirked down at him, playfully flapping a wing to puff air over him again. "I must just be new to all this," she reasoned. "Help me relax?"
His hand settled around her waist, and he sidled a bit closer. "Well, I'm not sure what I could offer that would be more relaxing than chef-challenge lobster," he grinned. "But I'm willing to make the attempt. What would help you feel more at ease, darling Tamara?"
Tamara couldn't help a little smirk - like he couldn't guess. With one silver claw-tipped finger, she tilted his chin up so she could lean in for a kiss. Predictable? Maybe, but she was liking the height advantage she had for once, perched on the arm of the couch.
Closing the kiss sweetly, and keeping her lips a breath away from his, she mumbled, "Thought this might help..."
"And did it?" he asked, teasing. "I mean, I'm willing to try again, if you feel it's necessary." Shinobi looked up at her beneath his disarrayed black hair, coy, and settled more comfortably against her side.
She bit at his lower lip as playful admonishment for so many words, just a little bit rough. "Try again."
Shinobi acceded to the demand without resistance, leaning up into her and pressing his mouth to hers with just a little more insistence than he'd shown a moment ago. He did, after all, aim to please.
Tamara kissed him back, fingers tracing his cheek, then up to play with his hair. Her other hand tugged at the fabric at his neck, just to hold him closer. Maybe later she'd work on getting him out of some of his elaborate clothes, but that would wait until after lunch anyway. Right now she just savored the kiss, the taste of him and his hands on her.
With a happy hum, his arm tightened around her waist, tugging her from the arm the couch. The food would not be arriving any time soon, so they were in little danger of being interrupted for the immediate future. As ways to pass the time went, this was unquestionably the ideal.
Tamara adjusted her wings as she slipped easily onto his lap, arms around his neck, loving the move. Yeah, Shinobi could help her relax any time.
* * * * * * *
Thus relaxed, it was easy to enjoy their meal at a leisurely pace, once it arrived. Shinobi's curry had appeared simple enough, at first glance, despite the exquisite flatware and gleaming cutlery with which it had been served. The ingredients, however, were of only the finest quality, and the preparation had been exacting to the point of artistry. The combination of the familiar meal in a familiar setting with amiable company was enough to make him almost think he would never be capable of feeling any sort of tension again.
"So," he drawled, smiling across the small table for two that had been set beside the window, "was it everything you imagined it would be?"
From her place on the elegant stool that had been brought to accommodate her wings, Tamara all but rolled her eyes at the question with a smile. They'd brought her a beautiful dish beautiful dish that she hadn’t caught the name of (something with red pepper and cardamom maybe?), and she'd barely been able to contain her enjoyment. She'd actually moaned once, completely without meaning to.
It was, without question, the best meal she'd ever eaten.
So, with a playful little smile, she said, "Not bad, I guess."
"You guess," he drawled with an ironic smirk. "Not exactly unvarnished praise, but I'm not so proud I won't take what I can get." And it had, after all, been quite a show. Inured as he was to the lifestyle, it was refreshing to see some actual pleasure in relatively simple gustatory offerings.
“You say the strangest things,” Tamara replied with a teasing (but absolutely genuine) smile. “What, exactly, would varnished praise be?”
His grin broadened, because yes, he did say very odd things sometimes--and that was very much a conscious choice on his part. Having it overtly acknowledged made him feel accomplished, in a very peculiar sort of way. "Oh, you know," he replied, waving a hand idly for emphasis, "accolades so deeply buried under qualification that they hardly count as praise anymore. Like, 'I'm the cleverest fellow in the room'. Sounds like a compliment, until you realize I'm the only fellow in the room. That sort of thing."
Tamara hadn’t actually been expecting an answer, but she nodded along, propping an elbow on the table so she could rest her chin on her hand. No longer distracted by mind-blowing food, her dark eyes were focused on him, playful but also thoughtful. “Lots of pretentious, empty words - you get a lot of that?”
He nodded, holding her gaze with easy familiarity--not difficult, considering not long ago she'd made herself comfortable in his lap. "I also produce quite a lot of it," he admitted. "It's an essential skill, in this sort of environment. Warren's quite good at it, too, though obviously he lacks a bit of my flair for the grandiose. But I've always thought that if you're going to put on a show in this grotesque little theater of the absurd, you may as well make it a memorable performance."
“You love it,” Tamara replied, a teasing smirk pulling her smile a little lopsided. That was what she liked about how he spoke - for all the bizarre showiness of his word choices, Shinobi was self-aware and amused, which somehow made him more genuine even when he was talking total nonsense. It suited him.
"Well, yes," he acknowledged readily, matching her expression and leaning his elbow on the table to rest his chin in his hand. "But life's much too brief an affair to spend much of one's time not doing the things one enjoys, don't you think? Anything else is simply a waste."
"And yet I still have math homework," Tamara replied, feigning a long-suffering sigh as she pulled her hair over one shoulder, wings stretching lazily behind her. Oh yeah, she was definitely feeling relaxed now.
"I'm quite good at math, I'm told," Shinobi suggested. "If you want, I would be willing to lend you my expertise."
"I'm fine at math, I just don't like the homework," she replied, poking her tongue out at him before adding, "Now French, on the other hand..."
"Now, if only we knew someone who had previously lived in Paris and had some respectable fluency in the language. Hmm," Shinobi replied, teasing, and tapping a finger to the tip of his chin.
Tamara flapped a wing at him again, sending a puff of air in his direction as she tried to contain her smile. "Well if you think of anyone," she replied flatly, though the effect was ruined by her smile, "be sure to give him my number."
The car had pulled up to the gates at the end of the Institute driveway precisely on schedule; it wasn't a limousine, exactly, but it was sleek, black, and obviously built with luxury in mind--and the need to accommodate invisible wings. Shinobi held the door open for his guest for the day, smiling and appreciative as ever. His usual, stylishly expensive attire was nowhere in sight. Instead, while his clothes were undoubtedly still expensive, the style suggested something from a time of periwigs and pistols at dawn.
The coat he wore was immaculately fitted, cut to the knee, and featured sumptuous sapphire fabric adorned with elaborate black brocade. A black-on-black, ivy patterned waistcoat just peaked from beneath, and pristine white lace spilled from the sleeves of his jacket. His breeches matched his coat perfectly, and the hose which outlined his calves to perfection were pearl-gray. A burst of brilliant scarlet neckcloth spilled from his collar.
An afternoon at the Club was always worth a little extra effort on his part.
"You look lovely as always, Tamara dear," he told her as she slid into the leather interior of their ride into the city. "You'll have all the society grande dames chewing their livers in envy. Before I spirit you off to keep you all to myself, I mean."
"I feel completely underdressed," Tamara replied, honestly meaning it. Compared to him, her outfit was almost ridiculously simple. She had dutifully turned on her image inducer before stepping outside, so for the moment she was wingless in her deep red, backless dress (the inducer hiding the scars as well for now) and matching boots . A choker of thick velvet with a dragon pendant on her throat added some edge, but the best accent was her new set of intricate silver “claws” intricate silver "claws"on the tips of her fingers.
She'd left her hair down, because she did love having it played with, and she suspected Shinobi would oblige...
Doing her best to ignore the driver (driver, sure, that was normal…), Tamara stepped awkwardly into the car, facing the seat rather than sitting in it before reaching down to tilt the back of it down. She winced - it wasn't elegant, especially since no one could see her wings tucked against her back and bumping into things, but once that was done she sprawled gratefully down on her stomach, wings finally out of the way. She grinned ruefully up at him, cheeks faintly pink (well, decently pink, but her makeup was too good to show most of it). "Still sure you want to be seen with me?"
"I'm wearing shoes with buckles on them," he returned with an enthusiastic grin. "Believe me, you're not the one with reason to feel self-conscious. Fortunately, my hubris knows no limits, so we should be fine." Shinobi tapped lightly on the tinted divider between the driver and passenger sections of the vehicle, and they set off for the city.
Tamara giggled, pulling her hair over her shoulder and propping her head in her hand. "So, you gonna tell me what's with the outfit?" she asked, bumping him with an invisible wing.
He settled next to her and bumped back, ignoring how odd it was to only be seeing most of Tamara; with her wings invisible, it was more obvious just how tiny she was. "Maybe this is just how I dress to go out," he teased, then gave a shrug. "Actually, it's one of the Club's more idiosyncratic sort-of-policies. It identifies me as being part of a very specific sub-group--elite among the elite, if you will. Plus, I love the jacket. So it's win-win."
Tamara was smirking up at him, playful as ever. "Show off," she teased, clearly approving. It suited him. "I like it," she decided, reaching over to play with some of the bright red fabric at his neck. "Means I get to show you off too."
"I do make a fairly spectacular ornament," he agreed with a humorous smirk.
The drive into the city passed pleasantly, as expected, and it wasn't long before the two mutants were driven to the front of a tall, stately building, ringed with a marble-based fence of wrought-iron. Considerably smaller than the high rises and skyscrapers around it, the structure still managed to project an air of power, even grandeur, far out of proportion to its actual size. The architecture suggested it might have been a private home, at one time--though, if it had, it would have been uncommonly massive, even for New York's elite. A gold plaque beside the front gates listed only the street address, a stylized pitchfork worked into the metal sheet in red enamel.
Shinobi eagerly led Tamara through the massive front doors, hardly waiting for the attending footman in orange-and-scarlet to see to the obstacle for him. Inside was a cavernous foyer, flanked with gilded wall sconces and tasteful impressionist paintings. The floor tiles were of alternating black and white, suggestive of a chessboard, and lined along the wall to either side of them was a row of uniformed servants. On the left, the men wore a costume similar to Shinobi's, though the colors of their garments appeared restricted to black, white, and grey. On the right, the women wore considerably less, in corsets and short skirts of solid white or black.
"Welcome to the Hellfire Club," he told Tamara cheerfully, his words immediately echoed by the ever-solicitous staff.
Tamara was doing everything she could not to show her shock, though it went bone deep. This was... this was...
She held her head high, told herself to breathe, nodded. God, how tacky she must look to all of them, how small and poor and oh god she was in a dress from Forever 21--
No. With all the attitude she could muster, she stepped forward, taking Shinobi's arm. She also wrapped an invisible wing around him, just to steady herself, but smirked up at him all the same. "Show off."
"It's why you continue to tolerate me," he told her impudently, and escorted her at a stately pace to the elaborately carved podium at the head of the foyer. An older man waited there, dressed like the other male staff, save for a gold pin at his lapel depicting a crimson fork similar to the one at the front of the building itself. "Armand, mon cher, delightful to see you again. Two for luncheon, if you please."
"Very good, Master Shaw," he said, flipping through a thick, leather-bound book resting upon the podium with a practiced ease that belied his apparent age. His voice had a gravelly quality to it, but was still pleasantly soothing, even grandfatherly. "We have several tables available in the main dining room, and a private suite at seventy-two west."
"The private room," Shinobi replied without hesitation.
Tamara was really, really glad it would be a private room, she wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. But for the moment, she schooled her face and tried to make 5'2" look tall (and never mind that three inches of that was boot heel). Her clothes might be cheap, but her makeup was perfect and she could shock the shit out of anyone here - what more did she really need?
The Club Chamberlain raised a beckoning finger from the podium, and one of the men--a tall, dark-haired specimen almost as pretty as Shinobi, stepped forward from the line. "Henri, if you would escort Master Shaw and his guest, and attend to their comfort."
The servingman executed a slight bow, then turned to the pair of teens and gestured down one of the side halls which branched off from the main foyer. "If you would follow me, please," he murmured diffidently. He then set off, leading them through a comfortable corridor floored in elaborate carpets and decorated with the odd, tasteful vase or bust. The rooms they passed to either side were not marked in any way, but Henri did not seem in the least bit hesitant as he guided them forward.
Not wholly unconscious of the subtle shift in Tamara's demeanor, he leaned toward her as they walked. "Too much?" he asked in a low voice.
"Kind of throwing me into the deep end here," she muttered back, still doing her best to hide her discomfort.
"I know it seems like a bit much," Shinobi told her reassuringly, patting her arm where it laced with his own. "But believe me, it's really not as serious as all that. It's just a great deal of pretension and trapping, for the most part. In fact, I promise nobody is paying the slightest attention to either of us."
Tamara didn't find that very comforting. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Not at all," he said. "The whole point of the Hellfire Club is that we value our privacy. Oh, there's gossip, I won't lie about that, but it never leaves the building. No one here wants their secrets getting out, and we're all much too vain not to pretend we don't know everything about everything. Believe me, for every gauche neophyte asking who you are, there's an older, more seasoned member completely making up an origin for you on the spot. And completely respectable, I assure you; we're all very respectable here."
Tamara just nodded but didn't respond as they seemed to arrive at their destination. Still, her smile was a little easier now.
The room they were led to featured long, plush couches on two sides, and an enormous antique globe in the center. The walls were adorned with enormous weathered maps, save the one across from them, which was dominated by a large window overlooking central Manhattan. "Please, make yourself comfortable," Shinobi said, as Henri withdrew.
Drawn toward the window - now this was a view you'd never find in Arroyo Grande, California... - Tamara blinked, turning back to him, holding up the wrist with the large, bulky 'watch' that was her image inducer. "You mean I can...?"
Shinobi sprawled in one of the couches, and held out an inviting hand. "Of course. The whole point of this place is privacy and secrets. Please make yourself comfortable."
Tamara bit her lip, taking a moment to feel the nerves and anticipation before switching the thing off, wings already flared behind her, stretching out.
She slipped the device off her arm, dropping it on a small table as she stepped slowly toward Shinobi, looking around the room a little wide-eyed. "Christ, Shinobi, how much money do you have?"
"All of it," he replied playfully. "Or, rather, my family has all of it. But my father is quite happy to indulge me to ridiculous extremes in order to ensure I don't embarrass him to the same degree."
Tamara had reached him, and flapped her wings once to puff air over him, ruffling his hair and ornate clothing. He looked completely at ease in all of this. "So what, he buys you off?" she asked, teasing.
"Once he realized he couldn't keep me locked up anymore," Shinobi said, enjoying the brief gust with eyes closed as it played over his face and jacket. "It was his only realistic option. And I'm just venal enough for it to have worked."
"Wait, seriously?" Tamara had only been kidding, she hadn't honestly meant- but Shinobi acted like it was, what, normal? With his eyes closed, she reached forward to play with his hair, perching on the arm of his couch. "For real?"
He opened his dark eyes again, and reached for the arm of the couch to stroke his fingertips lightly over Tamara's hip. "After mother died, I lived with Sebastian for a while. It didn't take long for both of us to reach the conclusion that he's about as nurturing as a starving badger. He still needed an heir, but it wasn't necessary for that heir to be all that close. So he sent me off to the other side of the world. Better for both of us, probably, but I still resented it enough to act out."
"Jesus," Tamara mumbled. "That's... pretty fucked up, actually." Her fingers stroked softly through Shinobi's hair as she frowned. "Sorry about your mom."
"It was ... " he trailed off, and gave up on trying to articulate his exact feeling. His mother's passing was deeply personal, and not something he shared readily even with those closest to him. "It's not something to trouble yourself over," he finished, sidling closer and settling his arm around her waist. "We all have our regretful things, I suppose."
"And asshole father figures," Tamara agreed quietly, a humorless smile on her face now as she kept petting him, enjoying the easy closeness. And here she'd thought her stepfather was bad - apparently Shinobi's dad was setting the bar even lower.
A thought occurred to her that made her smirk. "So... when you take me places like this and spoil me, we're spending your asshole father's money, right?"
"Well, yes," Shinobi said, as if surprised. "That's sort of the whole point. I mean, it will be my money, one day, so it amounts to the same thing. Annoying Sebastian is just icing on the cake."
Tamara's smirk was pulling into an actual grin. So much about Shinobi suddenly made a lot of sense to her. "In that case, I'm happy to help," she practically purred. "You can spoil me whenever you like."
"Excellent," Shinobi crooned, tugging himself close against her side and nuzzling affectionately. "I mean, I probably would have done that, in any case, but I'm glad to hear you won't think of it as too over the top. And speaking of spoiling you..." As if on cue, there was a diffident knock on the door, and Henri entered with his hands clasped behind his back. "Just in time! What's the special today?"
"Canard à l'Orange and seared Mahi-Mahi over rice," he intoned, almost mechanically, to all appearances taking no notice of Tamara's wings.
"How conventional. I'll have a Japanese curry, if you please." He glanced toward Tamara and gestured slightly, indicating she should place her order, too.
Tamara's giggle had been interrupted by her heart had thudding in her chest when Henri appeared, because wings and strangers, but Shinobi had promised, so...
Right. She took a breath, tucking her wings idly behind her.
"Lobster, I think," she said, aiming for the same kind of tone Shinobi had used. She'd never had lobster before. She smiled at Henri, trying to cover that she didn't even know how to order it. "Ask the chef to impress me."
Almost, it seemed, despite himself, a corner of Henri's mouth tilted very slightly upward, though the expression held no mockery--more a genuine pleasure at two guests so unconcerned with the usual pretension. "As you wish, Mademoiselle. With such a challenge given, I'm certain he will outdo himself." He bowed slightly again to them both, and disappeared behind the closed door.
"You just challenged the chef," Shinobi said, somewhat in awe. "Nobody challenges the chef."
"Was that the wrong thing to do?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious, though she tried not to show it. "Is he gonna poison me or something?"
"I have no idea," he laughed. "Nobody's ever done it before. Oh, this will be a rare meal, no question. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Tamara said, smile breaking through when he laughed. It was funnier than he knew - she bit her lip, glancing away as she admitted, "I just didn't know how to order lobster, I've never actually had it before..."
"Sou desu ka?" he hummed. "Well, I think you will like it. I'm glad to have afforded you the opportunity to expand your culinary horizons."
"Merci beaucoup," she replied sweetly, accent near-perfect. She couldn't speak much French yet, but she was making sure what she could say was as perfect as possible. "Looking forward to it."
"Dou itashimashite," he replied, almost absently, stroking a finger along her side. "There's really no need to be nervous, you know," Shinobi said reassuringly. "The servants have seen much stranger things than winged patrons in their time here. And the other members matter even less, really. This is quite possibly the only place in the world where I can ever really relax. I would like it very much if you could relax here, too."
"Servants? For real?" Tamara couldn't believe that was a job anyone had in this day and age, much less that they would be serving her of all people.
"It's a perfectly legitimate occupation," he protested mildly. "And quite a lucrative one, too; you wouldn't believe what the extraordinarily wealthy will pay to have their secrets kept." Shinobi wrinkled his nose. "Or maybe you would, now. But, believe me, discretion of the kind the Club requires doesn't come cheap. And the uniforms are very comfortable, I hear--if a little on the drab side."
Right, okay. Tamara could deal with that (or at least ignore it for now), and Shinobi made it all sound so normal. And she did like this relaxed, open version of Shinobi.
So she smirked down at him, playfully flapping a wing to puff air over him again. "I must just be new to all this," she reasoned. "Help me relax?"
His hand settled around her waist, and he sidled a bit closer. "Well, I'm not sure what I could offer that would be more relaxing than chef-challenge lobster," he grinned. "But I'm willing to make the attempt. What would help you feel more at ease, darling Tamara?"
Tamara couldn't help a little smirk - like he couldn't guess. With one silver claw-tipped finger, she tilted his chin up so she could lean in for a kiss. Predictable? Maybe, but she was liking the height advantage she had for once, perched on the arm of the couch.
Closing the kiss sweetly, and keeping her lips a breath away from his, she mumbled, "Thought this might help..."
"And did it?" he asked, teasing. "I mean, I'm willing to try again, if you feel it's necessary." Shinobi looked up at her beneath his disarrayed black hair, coy, and settled more comfortably against her side.
She bit at his lower lip as playful admonishment for so many words, just a little bit rough. "Try again."
Shinobi acceded to the demand without resistance, leaning up into her and pressing his mouth to hers with just a little more insistence than he'd shown a moment ago. He did, after all, aim to please.
Tamara kissed him back, fingers tracing his cheek, then up to play with his hair. Her other hand tugged at the fabric at his neck, just to hold him closer. Maybe later she'd work on getting him out of some of his elaborate clothes, but that would wait until after lunch anyway. Right now she just savored the kiss, the taste of him and his hands on her.
With a happy hum, his arm tightened around her waist, tugging her from the arm the couch. The food would not be arriving any time soon, so they were in little danger of being interrupted for the immediate future. As ways to pass the time went, this was unquestionably the ideal.
Tamara adjusted her wings as she slipped easily onto his lap, arms around his neck, loving the move. Yeah, Shinobi could help her relax any time.
Thus relaxed, it was easy to enjoy their meal at a leisurely pace, once it arrived. Shinobi's curry had appeared simple enough, at first glance, despite the exquisite flatware and gleaming cutlery with which it had been served. The ingredients, however, were of only the finest quality, and the preparation had been exacting to the point of artistry. The combination of the familiar meal in a familiar setting with amiable company was enough to make him almost think he would never be capable of feeling any sort of tension again.
"So," he drawled, smiling across the small table for two that had been set beside the window, "was it everything you imagined it would be?"
From her place on the elegant stool that had been brought to accommodate her wings, Tamara all but rolled her eyes at the question with a smile. They'd brought her a beautiful dish beautiful dish that she hadn’t caught the name of (something with red pepper and cardamom maybe?), and she'd barely been able to contain her enjoyment. She'd actually moaned once, completely without meaning to.
It was, without question, the best meal she'd ever eaten.
So, with a playful little smile, she said, "Not bad, I guess."
"You guess," he drawled with an ironic smirk. "Not exactly unvarnished praise, but I'm not so proud I won't take what I can get." And it had, after all, been quite a show. Inured as he was to the lifestyle, it was refreshing to see some actual pleasure in relatively simple gustatory offerings.
“You say the strangest things,” Tamara replied with a teasing (but absolutely genuine) smile. “What, exactly, would varnished praise be?”
His grin broadened, because yes, he did say very odd things sometimes--and that was very much a conscious choice on his part. Having it overtly acknowledged made him feel accomplished, in a very peculiar sort of way. "Oh, you know," he replied, waving a hand idly for emphasis, "accolades so deeply buried under qualification that they hardly count as praise anymore. Like, 'I'm the cleverest fellow in the room'. Sounds like a compliment, until you realize I'm the only fellow in the room. That sort of thing."
Tamara hadn’t actually been expecting an answer, but she nodded along, propping an elbow on the table so she could rest her chin on her hand. No longer distracted by mind-blowing food, her dark eyes were focused on him, playful but also thoughtful. “Lots of pretentious, empty words - you get a lot of that?”
He nodded, holding her gaze with easy familiarity--not difficult, considering not long ago she'd made herself comfortable in his lap. "I also produce quite a lot of it," he admitted. "It's an essential skill, in this sort of environment. Warren's quite good at it, too, though obviously he lacks a bit of my flair for the grandiose. But I've always thought that if you're going to put on a show in this grotesque little theater of the absurd, you may as well make it a memorable performance."
“You love it,” Tamara replied, a teasing smirk pulling her smile a little lopsided. That was what she liked about how he spoke - for all the bizarre showiness of his word choices, Shinobi was self-aware and amused, which somehow made him more genuine even when he was talking total nonsense. It suited him.
"Well, yes," he acknowledged readily, matching her expression and leaning his elbow on the table to rest his chin in his hand. "But life's much too brief an affair to spend much of one's time not doing the things one enjoys, don't you think? Anything else is simply a waste."
"And yet I still have math homework," Tamara replied, feigning a long-suffering sigh as she pulled her hair over one shoulder, wings stretching lazily behind her. Oh yeah, she was definitely feeling relaxed now.
"I'm quite good at math, I'm told," Shinobi suggested. "If you want, I would be willing to lend you my expertise."
"I'm fine at math, I just don't like the homework," she replied, poking her tongue out at him before adding, "Now French, on the other hand..."
"Now, if only we knew someone who had previously lived in Paris and had some respectable fluency in the language. Hmm," Shinobi replied, teasing, and tapping a finger to the tip of his chin.
Tamara flapped a wing at him again, sending a puff of air in his direction as she tried to contain her smile. "Well if you think of anyone," she replied flatly, though the effect was ruined by her smile, "be sure to give him my number."
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