Sex, freedom and Whiskey Sours

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Archie shooed John away from the seat he had taken, signalling that it was his seat; and John didn't hesitate to scoop over, placing himself at Archies left as Sylvester popped down on the chair in front of the table. Archie politely unbuttoned his jacket and flicked it back before sitting down, letting his eyes drag across the floor, subtly paying attention to any exit and entry into the building.
They were not a subtle bunch however, the three of them, as they had entered the club. The confidence in their strides and their polished attire left little to no room for doubting that they were of importance in some way. Even if you didn't know them by their looks, in a place like Oakheart very little would have not heard of them. Lady Claritin was no different; a bar, a club and a place to enjoy beautiful ladies and their soft curves shimmering with glittery costumes. Most importantly was the amount of cash that would change hands during busy nights and the opportunity to use the space for low profile meetings.
Archie didn't waste time faffing about and he leaned over the table to catch Sully's eye before gesturing to their surroundings.
"It's a great fucking acquisition, Sully, come on. The cash flow coming through 'ere is perfect!"
Sully's nose wrinkled lightly. "We're not goin' over the top then, you think?" He grumbled, as he unbuttoned his own jacket and slid it off his shoulders. Archie followed suit, flicking his jacket off and placing it on the back of the chair, leaving him in his white shirt and tailored vest; flashing a gun-holster under his left arm. He gently tapped his cigarette on the table in front of them before placing it onto his lips and lighting a match to it. He drew on it with a sound that could have been easily mistaken for a loud sigh; blowing the smoke out sharply before he spoke. "What, with a place like this? Have a mooch, mate. It's well under the radar."

Hello gentlemen, welcome to Lady Claritin.
Archibald caught on to the Russian accent as soon as the woman opened her mouth; and although his interest peaked slightly at the notion, his eyes stayed firmly locked with Sylvester's, making sure his point got across. The lit cigarette was hanging loosely in the side of his mouth and he tilted his head at his silent companion, as an urge to rethink his position. Sully dragged a hand across his chin, taking a second before he leaned backwards with an almost unnoticeable nod.
"A'ight, Archie," he agreed. "A'ight."
It was a rare smile that flashed over the face of the old Banshee as he regarded his old, stubborn friend. "Good. Very good," he spoke under yet another draw of the cigarette, as he finally moved his eyes from Sylvester and up to meet this Russian's. The blonde beauty was glittering in the low light, every time she moved, the dress flickered and reflected the light and it made her look like she almost shone from within. No wonder John had fallen silent, Archie thought with yet another subtle smirk. There was a slight familiarity about her as though he had met her before, but he quickly dismissed it as her perhaps just being a regular here and having been in on the few occasions he had. "In that case, love, we'll have some rum," he told her. "Two glasses of rum and -" He snapped his fingers at John, as both a reminder to not stare so rudely at the beautiful female that had entered the room earlier and to know his drink.
John cleared his throat. "Hn? Whiskey," he mumbled. "And a whiskey for John here."

Archibald raised his eyebrow lightly at the blonde. He tilted his head at the question and locked his blue eyes with hers, drawing on his cigarette as he did so. He slowly let the smoke out his mouth. "Whatever Frank sees fit," he replied with a sharp dismissiveness through his exhale.
Unfazed by his tone of voice, the Russian blonde - what had she called herself? Vivian? - spun around making her dress flick reflections of shimmering lights around any nearby target and sent a flirtatious wink towards John. Archies eyebrow raised further up in his forehead and the side of his mouth raised with it in a wry smile. He shifted his gaze from the girl to John who, without exaggeration, turned bright pink in the face.
A warm, roaring laugh escaped Sylvester and echoed through the scene as Vivian left their little corner.
"Stop gawking at the waitress, Johnny, and enjoy the show." The music started as if timed with his words and both Sylvester and John turned their heads towards the stage. Archie liked it. This atmosphere. It reminded him of the late 20's after the war where everyone simply enjoyed life. Drank their drinks, flourished through the nightlife and were allowed to smoke inside. Not that he respected the places where they wouldn't allow him his cigarettes of course.

Where John and Sylvesters eyes quickly caught onto the flashy costumes and long legs that strutted around the stage, Archibald's got caught by an entirely different matter. He had taken on a habit of always placing himself facing the front door; preferably in a dark corner or somewhere he could observe without necessarily being observed and it had served him well tonight. No costumes or beautiful ladies could distract him from what walked through the door.
He didn't flinch. Didn't move a single inch or show the annoyance nor the surprise on his face - for anyone looking his way, it looked like he was simply noting the presence of the demons walking through the door, but his insides bubbled with anger.  
"I'll bust your heads lads if you move your eyes from the dancers," he stated bluntly. John and Sully were luckily well versed in the game, and although their smiles faded slightly, that was the only tell that they had even heard his low, calm voice. "But that nebby bunch of demon bastards from Southside just walked in."
"The Whispering Death, that?" John muttered through clenched teeth, leaning forwards to hear Archie better over the music. "Wanna punch their Newtons in, mh?"
"Shut your yap, Johnnie."
"We're not doing their fucking teeth in, John."

Here we are gentlemen.
They all turned their attention to the russian accent; John with an innocent smile, as if he'd not just suggested to start at fight, and Sylvester eyeing up his drink. Archibald removed every ounce of hostility towards the woman, and turned on an almost-smile for her, as she put down the glasses on the table.
"You could perhaps tell me, what that bunch of trouble-Southsiders are doing here, mh?" The smile had gone as quickly as it had come.

I could.
Her words had a particular playfulness in them, as thought she thought it was a game they were playing. Warm but audacious with a slight smile that made her blue eyes twinkle in the dim light; reflecting the state of the short, sparkly dress she sported. That exactly look, the slight smirk, gave her away immediately.
Not one ordinary girl would dare such a feat. Sarcasm against him? That took courage and either ignorance or knowledge, and something told him that although bold, she wasn’t ignorant. His jaw tensed ever so lightly, and he tilted his head as he regarded her with a straight face, very clearly stating that he was displeased about her taunting. She must have known that he had ways of getting his information regardless of her attitude. The atmosphere tensed remarkably as both John and Sully dragged their eyes away from the dancers and the music, looking up at the blond girl with knitted eyebrows awaiting Archies move.

Then she spoke.
John lowered his tensed shoulders and straightened his back, as her voice spoke clearly and sharply across the music. Archie lifted his glass and swirled around the golden liquor as she spoke. In a movement as fluid as the rum in his glass, he lifted it to his lips and removed his cigarette before taking a sip.
A low hum made it through his mouth. “No such thing as neutral ground,” he pointed out with a shake of his head. She seemed to lean closer, continuing her tauntingly sweet voice that shone of innocence. An innocence he firmly believed didn't exist at all. His eyes were still locked onto his, not blinking or moving the slightest. She was the first to move, her eyes flickering to the bottle on the table before returning to his. He finally blinked, hearing his nickname being spoken like that.
Both John and Sully looked up with eyes widening.
“Only me friends call me Archie, love. What makes ye think we're friends?”
Her fluid, graceful movements continued as she popped the cork off the champagne. His eyes left her face for the first time in minutes to look at the champagne, pouring over her hand. She was not from here was one thing for sure. It was intriguing how she danced around them. Russians, he thought. There was really something entirely different about them. Russians.
It dawned on him then, exactly where he had seen her before, and his eyes lifted towards her again. The taunting all made sense now. The lack of fear. The sass. She had known something that he hadn't at it had given her the upper hand. The corner of Archie's mouth lifted at the realisation and as she lifted the bottle from the last of the glasses, he grabbed onto her wrist; sticky from the champagne that had poured over her delicate hands. He locked his eyes onto hers. "Sit down."
John shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Sully raised a hand to his forehead with an annoyed grunt, clearly stating that he wasn't appreciating the drama that Archie seemed to constantly cause when they were out and about.
"John, Sully, I think it's time for you two to find Frank and draw up a contract."
The boys knew better than to second guess him and got up. John reached for his champagne glass, wanting to take it with him, but Archie placed his cigarette back in his mouth and grabbed onto it, pulling it closer to them, leaving the glass in front of the blonde demon.
"Vivian, was it?" It was his turn to flash glistening amusement in his eyes. He tightened his grip slightly, tilting his head at her, before letting go of her wrist, taking the bottle from her hand and placing it on the table. "What a pitiful alias, Miss Demidov. And you who've such a pretty name."

Archie hardly moved a muscle as she sat down and didn’t pay further attention to the boys as they left. John and Sully knew how to do a good deal and he trusted them to settle the matter of the terms of contract with Frank. They would promise Frank that he could still manage the place, of course, but would take over the accounting and make a few changes to make the place profitable again. And they would provide security; that was a given. In turn they would have a private place to stay and do business and they would have a great spot to launder a bit of cash if they needed to.
He lowered his eyes down to her chin; slightly pushed forwards in celebration of her cleverness. It was an arrogant move to him and something that only served to underline her heritage. The extravagant parties she had grown up in. The harshly taught manners and the silver spoon in her mouth. He should have noticed it sooner. Now that he had, she stood out so clearly from the rest of the people who worked the bar. A right scoop for Frank, truth be told, to find a pretty girl brave enough to take on a bit of dirty work. Too pretty, in fact, to work behind a bar such as here. He slowly raised his gaze back to hers without moving his head, locking his icy blue eyes with her stormy grey, as she started speaking.
Once again he took notice of how her face moved. How her chin raised. How the corners of her mouth slowly raised in amusement. His eyes left hers shortly, grabbing hold of a fabric napkin he used to pat off the champagne that had stuck to his fingers after he had grabbed onto her wrist. As his gaze found its way back to hers, he placed the napkin in front of her, next to the glass of champagne he had offered.

Archie shuffled out a fresh cigarette from his pack, not paying much notice to her having taken his. He regarded the smoke swirling around her grey eyes.
“Frank needs to work on the names,” he replied, and tapped the end of his cigarette on the table in front of them, before placing it in the corner of his mouth. He lit it up and shook the flame off the match before taking a draw. “A Roman name for a Slavic certainly doesn’t cut it.” As he spoke, smoke lifted out of his mouth swirling around their faces. He regarded her anger with a slightly raised eyebrow, not able to help a small tug in the corner of his lips.
“Juliya,” he stated, surprisingly softly spoken. “You paid me to get ye’ out of Russia, did ye not?”
For someone her age, she had been surprisingly naive. She had not settled any terms of their deal what-so-ever and had not specified. Truly, he could have put in a bigger effort but it had not only been convenient; it had also been incredibly affective. Her family’s power spanned very widely in Russia and anyone of interest leaving the country by plane or car or train would most probably be passed on to them. “I got you out. Ye’re free from yer family like you’ve always dreamt of.”
It was a matter-of-factly statement without emotions; a sharp wall to her own emotional voice.
The way her eyes changed was rather fascinating. The burning anger turned to something else. Energetic passion, perhaps. Affection perhaps? He tilted his head at her words, raising his cigarette back to his lips with a hum.
“In my humble opinion fatal mistakes are rarely fatal after all,” he told her, grabbing hold of his glass, and raising it at her in a silent ‘cheers to that’. “Tell me then, princess, how exactly have I been narrow minded?”

Archie kept his eyes on her at all times. Her scoff didn't escape him, nor the almost-roll with her grey eyes. She hadn't managed to rid herself of her rich upbringing after all; clearly still thinking she was better than the likes of him. At least that was what he noted to himself. This wasn't simply about revenge.
He allowed his eyes to wander, as she snapped her finger and one of the lowly demons started walking towards them. Curiously, he tilted his head, watching the boy come closer and closer, until he was there next to them.
Kneel.
The slight fry in her growly voice made Archie's left eyebrow raise. This was most certainly a surprise. He had spent a long time looking into her family and by default her, before meeting them to do business some years ago. He had learnt a lot more from meeting her than looking into her; the Russian family being both very private and strict. He knew she had been unhappy with how they had treated her - how could she not, really. They'd expected her to be a breeder. That much he knew; that much she had told. That was why, he remembered, she had wanted to get out. 'Lay low', he'd told her. 'Lay low for a bit when you get to my country. Lay low and live a little.' And here she was. Living indeed but still so very obviously not laying low.
Archie finally broke eye contact and looked towards the demon, kneeling next to them. Perls of sweat had formed on his forehead as the demon looked at Juliya. Archie regarded everything curiously, observing every little detail he could. So she could control people. Perhaps through blood, if she was to have powers close up against her family's. Her father could drain abilities and powers through blood, he knew.
It's Mister Barns territory now, and we don’t care much for second grade blood demons.
He couldn't help pinching his lips together as she spoke. It was obviously noted that she had said 'we' and not 'him' and had somehow decided that she was a part of it all. She wasn't. The demon's eyes flickered from Juliya to Archie, begging him to contradict her, but as he drew on his cigarette with an uninterested look the demon's shoulders sank further down.
Archie's raised eye fell back into place as he regarded the demon. Spluttering, gasping for air and then, finally, laying still on the floor. That, he noted, would be annoying to clean.

Archie lifted his eyes to hers, as her slender fingers reached around his throat. His lips parted, listening intensely to every word she spoke, keeping his eyes locked with hers. She looked much like an angry puppy, he thought to himself, growling at him like that; the blonde locks bouncing delicately around her face and her dress sent sparkles around the room every time she moved. The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile and he finally moved; leaning backwards and spreading his legs slightly, making himself comfortable with a slight shuffle of his hips and let his hands fall on either side of her legs, just grazing her bare skin with his thumb before settling them behind her, so his arms would be supported by her thighs.
"How very disappointing," he admitted, his northern accent rolling gently on the 'r' as he pushed his chin down. "I'd 'ave thought you'd have learnt to play the game by now." He slid his arms backwards, placing his hands firmly around her hips. "I don't take kindly to blackmail, y'see. It dun't really work on me." He wasn't scared of her. Nor of her powers or of whatever she thought would make his life more difficult than it already was; without money and literally having to dance and waitress around Oakheart to make ends meet. She was away from her powerful family who he, arguably would have thought twice about offending like this. Another reason he was very happy with the way he had had her shipped to Gaia - the Russian family would never connect him to her disappearance. "So," he stated bluntly, leaning his head closer to hers in spite of the hand around his throat; almost touching his forehead with hers. "If you want me 'elp takin' down the Russian Empire of your fucking family; you better convince me how I will benefit from it and ask me nicely," he spoke slowly, putting emphasis on the last three words.

A thing he had quickly found out about upperclass women, at least the very most entitled ones of them, was that they were so used to getting it their way, that someone like him, telling them no would spark interest almost immediately. She was no different this one. The way she suddenly purred and shuffled lightly on top of him, melting into his touch. Powerplay, that was. Her thinking she was so much stronger than him, and possibly even being right, yet not getting exactly what she wanted.
He would be lying if it wasn’t something he himself particularly enjoyed. He could pretend all he wanted, but the rush of blood though his entire body would easily tell otherwise. He didn’t flinch though or allowed himself to react in any other way; keeping his cold eyes locked with hers, as her thumb traced over his lips.

“Oh no, now,” he corrected her. “I never called you lowly, Miss Demidov.” And in fact he hadn’t nor did he find her that at all. He could appreciate how she wanted whatever variation of revenge she was after, though he didn’t entirely understand it yet. The Russians were very different to the Gaians and the Europeans he usually dealt with; even more different than the Americans.
It was an interesting proposition he had to admit. Russian mafia. Was that a world he wanted to enter? Would that benefit him at all? And would anyone in Russia respect an outsider taking over an old family business. Most likely not, he thought, based on the little he knew about it all. He for sure would never accept an outsider on his own throne, and knew that none of the boys would either. There would be thousands in line for that Russian throne before him, and each and everyone would try whatever they could to kick him off and send him back home. He could however benefit from her taking the throne if he got to pull the strings. Russian drug money were wild and old and filled with shiny stones and he was already involved a tiny bit; but more as a middle man through the harbour where he accepted money from another side of the Russian Mafia, so they could transport their drugs. A fairly old agreement with Calvin. He had to think about that one for sure. Russian Mafia. Blood money. It would mean a common agreement that he had helped her and that she owed him. That she owed him everything. Frankly he didn’t trust her enough to believe that just yet. He needed more leverage than simply having helped.

Her gentle purrs didn't fool him. She had easily shifted her tactics from intimidation to adoration - obviously preferable in any case - hoping to sway him. It was however curious that she would be willing to give him her body for her cause. Or maybe it wasn't Maybe that was just Russia. "You n' I both know," he breathed, her thumb gently touching his lips as he spoke. "That an operation like that can't simply be given away." He put pressure on her lower back for her to shuffle just a tiny bit forwards. She wasn't built for this. She wasn't built to throw a revolution. "Would ye fuck all yer enemies to keep 'em happy?" It wasn't more than a whisper, but the joy from the play they had started, started showing in a small glisten in his eyes and a light tug in the corner of his mouth.

Any man that would just sway under her begging eyes, her moving hips and her gentle and insisting touch. They would be tossed aside, not worthy of her time. They weren’t any fun. Not like men, like Archibald Barnes. Or River Turner for that matter. Which would give a general picture of men that excited her. But even River had bored her in the end, as she had left him and their child. Of course, she had never said it as indelicate as that. No, like anything she always stood in the shadows and placed the invisible puppeteer as she watched the chaos, she had put in motion unfold. But Archie, oh, that man had up done her. No one had ever been able to do that. Which might be why she also wanted to work with him, the thrill of not knowing where she had him. Just extra spice if he agreed to help her, because maybe it would turn out to be the most favorable deal she had ever made. Or she would be sitting laughing in a jail cell plotting his very detailed murder.

Her a psycho? Why – of course.

She almost made the most perfect innocent damsel in distress expression, as he told her that an operation like that couldn’t simple be given away. But his hands made the mask crack as he pushed her closer. Playing along she a soft pleasured sound left her nose, her eyes closed just for a second before opening again. Her head titled, much like a cat that looked with wonder at the thing in front of them. “Archie” she whispered softly, removing her hands and placed them both behind him, leaning just an inch closer to him with her chest. “Never underestimate a woman that has nothing left to lose, or let me correct myself, that just doesn’t have anything left she cares about” lifting an eyebrow she let a slight sinister smile glide over her lips. Now of course, she loved her son, to the extent that her heart would ever be able to love someone. But not enough to not sacrifice him to get what she wanted. There was nothing holding her back, nothing that could be taken away from her, and that. That was indeed what made her so dangerous, and good to have on his side. His next words made a soft laughter leave her lips “would I fuck my enemies to keep them happy?” she repeated his voice with her Russian accent and let her lips glide only a hairs breath from his skin towards his ear. “I don’t make a habit of it, Mr. Barnes” her voice breathlessly whispered against his ear. Feeling how her hot breath was cast back after hitting his skin. “But some are just too irresistible not to at least show just how deep my appreciation runs” she left a feather like kiss against his earlobe before she let her head lift from its position, her eyes locking with his as she leaned further back.