#sakyothegamblingman

     ◤♛◢     Roast duck would do; a fresh kill, acquired during this               morning's hunt. It would be prepared by only the most               inhuman skilled hands, tender and seasoned and worked               over to the bone until it yielded the consistency that the               young Earl desired...much like his company. Speaking of               which, it would appear that they were right on time.                    Some five paces behind him, a respectable yet safe               distance, his shadow smiled morbidly. In a mirror image of               his Master, he seemed eager for the night's company, but               perhaps for a different reason. As they rounded the corner               of the gilded railing, the little Lord began his descent down               the first of many sets of darkly-carpeted stairs as he spoke.               "Keep your guard up tonight. I don't trust this man."                     That smile only spread behind his shoulder, the voice                that returned his command saccharine, smooth. "Do you                ever trust these men, My Lord?" He received no answer,                of course. Instead, a gloved hand far too young to scrawl a                signature across documents so severe as those that he signed                anyway waved within the sight of the sharply-dressed Footman                waiting below. The car doors had opened and closed, the foot-                falls of shined shoes (a few pairs of them) climbing the stairs                toward the front door, which was then opened by the Footman.                     The Butler was no longer smiling. Every muscle had tensed.                     The young Master found pause upon the top of the final set                of stairs, his cane clasped within a strong fist as he faced his                foreign company forward from above. Hospitality was expected.

As much as she enjoyed the company of the other girls, there were times she just needed to be on her own with her own thoughts. Others, where her only solution was to drink her troubles away. To mix both this time, she excused herself to make a small trip to the bar. Watching the matches could be taxing on anyone, and with how close some of their members had been to losing more than a simple fight, she needed something strong for once.

The hotel bar was her destination of choice, hands slipping into her pockets as she walked across the lobby, paying little mind to those she passed. Until she stopped to scan the current clientele loitering around the bar.

He was there.

Maybe he hadn't been terribly friendly - who was around here, anyway? - but he had kept her from a sticky situation with a few demons, and she vaguely recognized only his face in the area; that was more than enough to prompt her to change her course of action. Worst case was he could up and leave, again, but that would only allow Shizuru to do what she'd initially wanted when she'd stepped out of the room.

Pushing the bile down that had risen in his throat, Kurama strode forward with as much pride as he could muster. Truthfully, he felt anything but; doused with shame and anger, running his blood cold and his skin warm. Sakyo's building was clustered around many others, making it difficult to spot for normal pedestrian. However, to Kurama, the only thing he wished to see was the god-forsaken building burn. His heels thudded against the smooth marble as he entered the lobby, catching sight of security cameras and silently cursing. Technology, after all, had captured his fights within the Dark Tournament. Had solidified that he truly wasn't human—a dangerous, deadly demon that could make the strangest things out of plant life. And truly, how odd that those tapes fall into the greedy fingers of Sakyo. Barely escaping with his friends, his comrades—that was not enough. Oh, no. Kurama, understanding the very depths of greed and depravity, knew that it would never be enough to simply own them. He needed to use them.

It just so happened that he decided to use them on Kurama.

I wonder what your mother would think?

The words cut through him like the great lightening storms of the Makai; draining his mouth dry, leaving him breathless.