Askaree Bint Bahar

He was guileless in his pathetic attempts to hide discomfort beneath this shamelessly brittle veneer of self-assured emotional inertia. It was but so easy, nearly effortless, to rattle the rusting bars of his proverbial cage and feel the quiver tremble its way down the sloping curve of his spine to a chorus of rattling vertebrae. She could nearly feel his flesh as it constricted, forcing all of his tiny little hairs to stand at attention. Such a simple quarry nearly robbed the chase of its thrill and amusement. Almost. He was, after all and despite his wanting for any shard of masculine integrity at present, her favorite dark-haired sex tree and as such he practically demanded her persuit. That was if he would actually get a move on so she could pursue him.

"You're not giving yourself enough credit, as vanilla as you seem I'll bet you're just as entertaining as I suspect. At least I surely hope otherwise I'm wasting an evening on you," she issued the comment through the sigh that whispered through her seductively parted lips. Indifferent though she might have appeared, a twinge of excitment tickled some intimate part of Askaree as he acquiesced to her admittedly crude invitation. He was either facing the reality of some apocalyptically heinous boredom, or... a bestail part of him wanted to accompany her on whatever misadventure it was that she had planned. Plans of which the Egyptian woman would betray not a whisper, issuing her comrade instead a knowing, predatory simper and a simplistic and titillating "You'll see."

The impish young minx makes short work of securing their shared workplace in full knowledge that, had she left the task to Spencer, he would have taken to purposely delaying her plans for the sake of whatever misgivings he was piddling with. The timely thud of her boots on the cracked pavement is all the noise that passes between them for a time, and yet she knows that he follows in the way that one might know they are being watched. It bothers her naught if he chooses to linger beyond her rather than risk the tragedies that might befall him should he venture too close (those cooties, though); he was, after all, more than welcome to eye the sway of her leather-clad hips and the erotic curves of her feminine self from his chosen place of relative "safety".

Their destination, as fate would have it, was but a stone's-throw from Davante's little gun depot... fortunate enough had the discovery been for Askaree. Perhaps outside of the cliched stereotypes of the average alcoholic, Askaree had quickly found herself bored by the idea of Sacrosanct's miniscule handful of bars and nightclubs. As such the happenstance of stumbling upon this proverbial "diamond in the ruff" had afforded the youthful Were a rather salacious pleasure. Suddenly does she turn to the night's captive, a positively devilish grin perched just so upon her darkly beautiful features. "This isn't like the waspy cocktail bars I presume you spend the majority of your time holed up in. As much as it pains you, I would recommend sticking close to me," she purred before pushing ajar the heavy oaken door and plunging into the dimly lit tavern beyond.

It is hardly what one might have expected of a "tavern", and in truth it may have been deemed such for want of any other, marginally PC, explanation. There existed a crowded bar (no shit) in the far corner of the room guarded by a collection of mismatched and questionably sturdy high-topped bar tables; however, that was hardly the focal point of the dusty little chamber. A posse of undeniably attractive women in various stages of undress slithered about in the space opposite the bar, a writhing mass of men and women alike clambering for a glimpse or a feel, others simply taken to dancing in the midst of the crowd as music blared from a place unseen. Despite the site of the raunchy scene unfolding before them, Askaree spares merely a wayward glance about the place before curling a sedutive finger towards her companion and leadng him to a side door cast in the shadow of a rather burly-looking gentleman. For a moment his dulled eyes pass between the caramel-skinned beauty and Spencer and whatever choice expression of forced-indifference he might have adorned for this particular occasion before pushing the door ajar and ushering them forth with a single forceful nod to the darkened staircase and room beyond.

This, it would seem, is where the party truly was: a bar existed here too, though it was of a far grander scale than the one upstairs. Various containers of what could have only been absinthe glistened in a tantilizing manner upon the sloping wooden barrier to cast murky stars against the impressive collection of alcohol beyond the bartender's moat. There was a writhing mass of people dancing here too, some nearly as bare as the women above; however, the real spectacle lay off to the side where a yellowed circle of dusty light illuminated a ramshackle sand pit around which there was a veritable wall of bodies, an eruption of shouts accenting the harsh trill of a bell and vaguely muffled thuds. Askaree turns to him then, simultaneously sloughing off the leather jacket that had heretowith hidden the salacious top that lay beneath, leaving her finely-muscled caramel arms exposed while pressing her breasts into impressive arcs. She leans in, her lips nearly caressing the tender flesh of his neck as she speaks to him over the ruckus. "What'll it be... drink, dance or duel?"