#vs.eris

Stray hated going to Rendezvous.

It was too loud, the drinks were too frilly, and he couldn't fucking dance to save his life. But, for one, he wasn't about to whine about the chosen venue when his friends asked him to join them. He had a reputation, after all, and it was NOT being a party pooper. Secondly, per the old adage of keeping friends close and enemies closer, he liked to keep an eye on things. You never knew when that whisper you overhead would come in useful one day. Call him paranoid, but he just didn't trust the slimy bastards that ran the joint. He had a hunch it was just  matter of time before they betrayed the thin truce between them and the MC one day, and Stray personally refused to be caught surprised.

At least, mercifully, they'd had a meager selection of beer and he found himself a spot on one of their plush leather couches to settle in on and watch his comrades make fools of themselves on the dance floor. His eyes moved across the building lazily, to the bartender and they're flashy tricks, milking tips on top of the already overpriced drinks. Then to a dark corner behind a partition.. had he just seen money exchange hands? Knowing the clientele here, it could be anything - sex, drugs, secrets, any number of the Wolves’ brand of bullshit. His eyes rolled, and he shook his head... No, he definitely wasn't drunk enough for this place yet. 

With: @wickederis​

The events at the Masquerade Ball left Stray feeling as if in a stalemate. There was the obvious tension between the MC and the Wolves - but more troubling was the tension he felt within the club itself. A hesitation, a standstill - collectively holding their breaths and waiting for the gun to fire, signaling them to... what, even? Retaliate against the wolves? Or perhaps to cut out a traitor from within their own ranks? Stray didn't know what would shake out from Martin's killing, but the way things were just lingering was driving him crazy. A beast in a cage too small, circling and circling, around and around again in dizzying repetition, until someone would wander by a unlatch the door.

That didn't sit well with him. Waiting wasn't their way. It wasn't his way. Especially not with the responsibility he felt for what happened - the moment he stepped up to the ball with his face behind the mask, he felt sick with knowing. Knowing something bad was going to happen. He should have taken that more seriously. He should have patrolled instead of mingled. He should have kept his eyes on their people instead of.. well, having them tracing the motions of just one, in particular. 

..and that white dress of hers. 

It was the guilt that followed him from that evening that brought him to Rendezvous this night. He'd left his kutte at home, and dressed plainly, as any regular patron visting the club would - he wanted to avoid as much recognition and association tot he Devil's as he could. 

Because tonight he was casing the joint. 

He moved through the crowed on the dance floor beneath the flashing lights and pounding bass blasting from the DJ's booth, his eyes tracing the perimeter of the venue, mentally pinging doors and darkened hallways. He'd gotten a drink from the bartender - O'douls, some tasteless non-alcoholic swill to pass as a prop. As he acclimated to his surroundings, in the back of his head he wondered if he'd run into Eris again here... and the brief fluttering of hope was dulled with the dread of it. She was one of them, after all. As often as he woke up these days wondering if they'd cross each other's paths, this was the first time he prayed that they wouldn't.

With: @wickederis​

She made white look dangerous, and he couldn't look away. From his perch sitting at the top of the staircase, he caught a glance of her moving effortlessly through the crowd - the dark waves of her hair tumbling down her back and between the blades of her shoulders, eyes like razors beneath the mask she wore, scanning back and forth across across the venue. He wondered what she was thinking as she moved about - what scathing opinion she had of the event, and what calculating reasons she had for attending herself. In the few short weeks he'd come to know her in their peculiar way of running into each other, she didn't strike him as the kind of woman who spared her time needlessly. There was no wasted effort, not even in the steps she took, as accentuated by the dress she wore and the way it swayed to the almost hypnotic cadence of her hips. 

Breathe, stupid. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, and let out a sigh of air to break the near-trance he'd gotten stuck in. Head shaking, he took a sip of the champagne in his glass, the bubbles all but flat by now. 

When he looked back down into the sea of people, she was still there - but now, she was looking upwards in his direction. He raised his class, and a grin cut across his face beneath his own ridiculous mask, his voice raised to tumble over the ambient chattering, "cheers, t' never seein' me again, 'n how good that's been workin' out for ya, yeah?"