VENUS FLY TRAP

“Yes, yes, that I can tell. I just want to know how you did–” She waved her hand, gesturing between the other and the now dead body. “That! What are you?” Despite her age, Kiyoko was still clueless of most supernatural beings. She only knew of vampires, witches, werewolves, and furies. That was it. “I’m not, I usually replace everything,” she said. “But I promised a little one that I’ll do better to take care of my belongings.”

.

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Vika said the words slowly, drawing them out in the same way she did her claws— theatric, with flourish. While she had no qualms in showing off what it was that she had become, it was on her own terms, with her own embellishments. The manticore reached down, cupping at the jaw of her pallid skinned victim, tugging it up to study glazed over eyes. “I’m a creature from Tartarus,” she offered, “One of Typhon’s special creations.” She was death as a woman, poison with two legs— there was a speech there, a monologue that she would undoubtedly work on for later. “A little one. You have children?”

“One day, when you’re in love, I can’t wait to see it.” Gabriel put his chin in his hand, “Plus, I couldn’t stay single forever. Too many people wanted me.” The incubus was being a little dramatic, but that was just his flair. “It gets so old. Thousand years later, I’m in retirement. Now –  Now I fuck with other people’s relationships and memories. It keeps me busy.”

.

“Love,” Vika repeated, and she snorted despite herself. “Silly boy,” she cooed, reaching out to tap at the tip of his nose, minding herself to keep long claws retracted, “Love’s cousin is desire and I know him far too well to cheat.” Still, he was bold and theatric, unchanged and admirable. Gabriel, once champion of wicked deeds and revelry, had grown boring and settled down. “You’re a house wife,” the manticore noted, before something else he had said piqued her interest. “What memories?”

     “Only for you.” Raz cast a glance towards the windows, then positioned themselves so that they were almost invisible. Changing their face was easy, and it was a little as if water poured down their figure until Riley stood in front of Vika. The oneiroi twirled, flashing their widest grin. “And? What’s your verdict?” They personally thought the influencer from London was an excellent choice as well, and ended their performance with a little bow. Then they sat down next to Vika to listen to her story, lifting their brows as they heard it. “Ouch,” they commented, making a face. “Is the fury in this town? A little revenge act in the works with you?”

.

Vika leaned down, cupping Raz’s new features with her hands, knowing that the spirit would care little for the press of cool rings against their skin. She pressed a kiss to the top of their head, leaving a mark from her lipstick. “You beautiful, marvellous thing. I’ve missed you, and all of your shine and sparkle.” There were few pretty things in Tartarus, and none quite as theatric or bold as the oneiroi. It was too good, to be reunited with old friends and dear hearts, she cupped her chin with her palm as she continued to speak. “I feel her here,” she said, “I see her in dreams, and in shadows. She is here, though I cannot know for certain.” Vika’s lips curved wickedly, “Revenge is not just an act, it will be the entire play— all the scenes to mark out a horrible, gory death. It is what we are both deserving of.”

It is a lot for a customer and under normal circumstances, Harlow might have done something before waving the bouncer over. In any establishment, no touching is a rule of thumb, it’s about keeping everyone safe, it’s about drawing a line, it’s about professionalism. This isn’t her first rodeo, it won’t be her last, she’s a big girl and can handle herself. Which was why, beautiful Russian woman or not, eyes still ahead at the back of the velvet booth, does she reach to cup the side of her face, almond shaped acrylics digging just lightly into her cheek. It’s a gentle warning, it’s not her establishment, if someone saw, she figured it might be pushing it. “I’ve always wanted to be an angel.” Despite this, her tone is almost dreamy, eyes half lidded. It’s thrilling, the boldness. “You turned all those people away just to call me an angel.” It’s all rather romantic, unfortunate for Evie in terms of losing patrons for the evening, but it’s too much of a win for her personally for her to think too much on that. Her fingers move from cheek to slide just a little blonde locks just in front of her ear and from there she gently tips her head upwards so they’re nearly nose to nose. “There’s private rooms you know, if you buy a dance.”

.

Vika pulled back, chin lifting as the other woman gripped at her skin— she could read cues, despite it having been so long since she had walked the earth. There had been a time once, whether it had been right or not, that she was privy to anything she wanted: it was her ability to manipulate desire, to make those who were consumed by it lap from her palm. Instead, she now was empress of fear and it was not something she wished to spark, not from this woman with her flaxen hair and her sleepy dark eyes. “I’d turn the whole world away to do it again,” the manticore promised, and her tone lacked the breathiness that the other’s did, instead it was sharp angles and sloping consonants, the hallmark of her native tongue. It is easy, to relinquish control like this, to allow the vampire to manipulate her features as she grinned, every bit the Cheshire Cat of Wonderland. “I intend to buy all the dances, then.”

“I know.” Leyha would never doubt such a thing, she knows her fortune is beyond measure to have found Phobetos in this world. Even with the time they were forced apart, the pain of separation, every moment of it has been worth it in order to be with the oneiroi now. It is not a fate everyone is fortunate enough to have. She does not know if Vika has ever felt such a love, ever even come close to experiencing the feeling, or how much she can truly understand it. “Then I hope you find her swiftly, whoever she is.” Vengeance on the other hand, is something that the two manticores understand in each other with deep clarity. The one that sent Vika from her old life into the Tartarus in the first place, still alive amongst this world. Leyha knows she would not rest, if she were in the other’s shoes; not until her claws had ripped out the woman’s still beating heart from her chest, and crushed it within her hand. Then kill any of her friends and family, the person she so much as smiled at once, just to send a message. There are no half measures, when retribution is on the line. A grin grows against her face as Leyha nods, delighted in the prospect of getting to take Vika around the local boutiques. “Yes, absolutely. Phobetos gave me this shiny card, I still do not quite understand how it works, but they can swipe it to pay for anything at the little stores. It’s incredible.”

.

She let the thought pass, slipping from her mind as easily as tears blended into rain. “First I will find Lada, then, I will set the city ablaze to smoke her out.” Family first, she had a sister that, as far as she was aware— still lived. The Sokolov’s were one soul in two bodies and she wondered what had happened to her baby sister when she had been torn from earth unjustly. “When Anger and Revenge get married, they name their daughter Cruelty.” The proverb was translated in sloppy Greek, but recited with a bright smile: she would become the cruelest woman in the world, Typhon had born her to be that way. She shifted upwards, fluffing up her hair, refreshing any curls that might have suffered from the laziness of curling up on the couch all day. “Currency that lives in a card. I think I would like to have one, I’m tired of counting out coins and weighing my pockets down with them.” Vika pressed a fond kiss to the top of Leyha’s forehead before standing up. “Let’s get cowboy boots. I want to look like the Lone Ranger.”

Her arms moved to encircle her Vika just as the other’s did the same. Lada couldn’t imagine her life without the other woman. Finding out her sister had died was like a punch to the gut. How would she have known? She couldn’t protect her sister no matter how much she wished she could. It was just further reminder that she was the youngest. It was always Vika’s job to protect her, wasn’t it? Lada just wished that she could do the same. “Who did it? I’ll leave them a husk of a person when I’m through with them.” She pulled back and looked in the other’s eyes. “How are you here now?”

.

Vika paused, reaching for Lada’s chin as they pulled apart, holding her sister firmly. Tartarus had sloughed away much of her notion to be gentle, and the grip would likely leave a mark. “You will not touch her.” Whatever warmth had sat in her blue eyes had now turned to blue flame, fierce and feral. “She is mine to kill, and I will see her suffer at my hand, no one else’s.” Her hand dropped, returning to the same expression she had earlier fixed upon her baby sister. “Not even yours.” The question made her smile grow, “The veil grew thin, and then it broke. The magic that held us in Tartarus had disappeared long enough for us to escape. We were perfect then, Typhon’s creations unleashed.” Vika beamed. “I have claws now, little one.”

The cubi was lazily securing his robe as the manticore rushed to meet him in the doorway. She positively reeked of the spoils of the night, but wore it well. Armando shrugged passively at her question, Spanish accent coming thick through the lessening fatigue. “The glamour will hold them for another few hours, at least. We’ll be a tremor in their bodies and fodder for masturbation by the time they come to.” When they did, the attendees would find themselves safe in their beds, left only with wincing marks of passion and tailored memories of a grand party, the spilling of wine, intermingled pain and pleasure and a pair of idols to hold in reverence to the end of their mortal coil. Armando tapped a column of ash to the floor. ”The rest will be dealt with by the groundskeeper in the morning,” Their distaste was apparent in their voice. There’d been little room for them to haggle over the rental deposit once the words “corpse” and “disposal” were mentioned consecutively in the agreement, but the price was worth the haggard witch’s discretion. “But I pity whoever went for the meat pies this evening. Someone did.”

The fog began to lift from the cubi’s vision, replaced with a warm, singing energy that rushed through his limbs in mimicry of lifeblood. Souls, without a viable host, burned as quick and volatile as an opiate high, but Armando was determined to ride it out to the end. “Well, the night is young, and there’s plenty more of the town for us to burn through. What do you say, mi joya?” Armando prompted, extending the shrinking cigarette to Vika, free hand combing through their own sweat-plastered hair. Their mind began to race with thoughts of private rooms at Mokosh, a moonlight dip in the river, the vintage distilling in his studio. “How bad do you want to be?”

.

Her dress was found in the corner of the room, and Vika swept down to free it from a lonely future, likely hung up as a prize in the groundskeeper’s home— he had no use for it, a beautiful thing that was lifeless on a hanger. It slid back over her figure easily, clinging where it was best suited, with a low back left open with a zipper she didn’t bother to fuss with. “I hope you paid him well,” she teased, finding next a mirror that reflected both her features and Armando’s behind her, “I aim to do this again and you know how hard it is to find a venue.” Black kohl smudged from her eyes and her lipstick line was nothing more than something smeared by forceful kisses. They had become something god-like for a night; she felt the rush of debauchery and it reddened her cheeks with a warm glow.

Vika reached for the cigarette, bringing it to her lips for a pull. A jewel. She could be fed by compliments alone, and the manticore preened, exhaling a billow of smoke that shrouded them like halos. “You know me,” the blonde said, turning and gesturing now for their assistance with the zipper. “I can always eat.” Insatiable, it was the binding trait between the two of them and she inhaled deeply before considering. The smile she wore next, turning to fix it upon Armando was something wolfish and wicked; any lesser company would have been terrified. “I’ve spent so long tucked away, repenting for my sins. Let’s give the Erinyes a reason to fear ever bringing me back.”

Confused by the play on words Iapyx looked side to side, he couldn’t be sure if she was trying to poke fun at him but he didn’t see why she was. Was she offended? It didn’t seem that way, she smiled at him when she spoke. That was a good thing. Smiling.  “I’m not splashing anyone.” Iapyx said, he simply preferred people’s insides to be on their outsides and drew comfort from their screams. Nothing reminded him quite like home than devouring the unbridled fear of the unsuspecting and the innocent. Iapyx pointed at the other manticore as he looked at the pale, nervous-looking barkeepy. “I’ll have what she’s having.” He said, quoting a movie that he’d watched recently with Fen. the placing and reference was incorrect but Iapyx smiled, though it was forced and looked unnatural upon his features. Like a scorpion grinning from ear to ear. “Also more of this.” Iapyx held up the empty bottle of ouzo he’d finished off, “To share.” He considered the other manticore more closely now, realizing he was maybe being rude. He should have introduced himself by now. “I’m Iapyx. I never learned your name before.”

.

“Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” Vika crooned, watching confusion flicker on his features. She had died in the heart of the sixties and too much of her vocabulary reflected upon such, but she had an inkling that this one had been dead for far longer than that. Tartarus did wonders at pulling apart the mind and making time feel as though it was eternal, she still felt the heat against her neck when she closed her eyes, and the shrieks of terror were almost as comforting to her as a mother’s lullaby. “And I’ll have a Manhattan.” Something that felt warm as she drank it, in this particular manticore’s company she felt more attuned to flame. The blonde leaned against the bar, studying his features. A smile didn’t suit him, it sat on his lips as sharp as a fish hook, but he wore it beautifully— were all those that Typhon had chosen so? “Vika,” she returned, offering her hand for him. She wore jewels on the fingers, still just as obsessed with being adorned as she had been before, and they matched the sparkle in eyes that were diamond-clear. Curiosity killed the cat, but this one had just escaped the underworld and felt a full renewal on her nine lives; prompting nosiness. “You were there a long time, weren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know I make a very good Manhattan.” And he missed New York, it was fitting, he’d make it himself and shoo the bartender for the moment. Later they’d have a talk about how rude it was to piss off the bouncer. Lucian leads Vika back into the building and he slips right behind the bar and grabs two glasses before nodding towards her to have a seat. It’s a bit of an unwritten rule of the place, that two seats be left near the end of the bar solely for himself and a guest. Employees were guests, too, he did give a damn about those who worked for him. “How are you liking the bay?” It’s casual enough conversation as he pours whiskey into both glasses.

.

“I can be the judge of that.” In truth, she had been gone so long that she was no expert to be discerning the quality of any drinks— if it was strong, she would drink it back, as long as there was no connotation that because of her origins and accent that she was only inclined to do one thing. Vika hated the idea of being predictable, in her mind there was nothing worse than being anticipated so plainly. The manticore perched on the stool and tossed blonde coils behind her back, leaning coquettishly— curved spine, one elbow against the bar, she formed an enticing silhouette: being a succubus had taught her such things. “It’s changed in some ways, but in many,” she gestured. “Still the same. It’s a pretty place, filled with ugly people. I like it.”

It had been quite a while since he had seen Vika. Kaan could remember she had been someone he considered a friend. He was sure that was still the case now, but things were certainly different than before. Her arms wrapping around him didn’t cause a jump, but a sharp inhale. A familiar feeling ran through his veins as her teeth ran across his neck, a short laugh following. “Ah, well, you know I would enjoy a trip down memory lane.” Her claws moved towards his chest, his own making an appearance to caress her cheek. “Where shall we start?”

.

Her forehead immediately rested against her sister’s, her eyes closing in the process. It only took a few seconds for her to realize the difference in Vika. Lada knew her elder sister was as vicious as they came, but she was no longer a succubus. That much was apparent to her. What was she now? What had happened? There had been so much time that had passed since the last time she had seen her and Lada was dreading every moment all over again upon seeing her sister’s face. Upon hearing the other’s voice. “No. You’re here.” Emotion wasn’t often shown upon the faces of the Sokolov girls, but it was something that Lada had never been afraid to show her sister. If there was anyone who could see her weakness, it was Vika. “Where have you been?”

.

Vika curved an arm around Lada, pulling her in for a proper embrace. She smelled the same— the allure of a cubi had not left her, she was all smoke and sweetgrass, like a field ablaze. Her fingers carded through her hair, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her sister’s head, pulling away to study her features. Time did not touch her, nor had it of claimed Vika— they were women trapped in amber, to remain the same forever. “I was dead.” It was an easy enough thing to say, nonchalant. “Then I was in Tartarus, and now,” she smiled and the expression was sharp. “I’m here, with you.”

    “Oh, you should see the other one.” Raz grinned proudly, because they absolutely agreed with her. Picking the faces of two young and gorgeous famous people had been the perfect decision. They were adored, and no one expected what was hiding underneath the innocent features. The grin only widened at her explanation, and they thought to themselves that maybe they would like this version of Vika even better than the first one. “That is the best description I have ever heard.” They sat down on top of a table, picking up a piece of cake someone had discarded. It wasn‘t like they needed to eat, but they enjoyed the taste. “Tell me what happened to you.”

.

“Excellent taste,” she cooed in delight, leaning forward as she beckoned for them to show her the other face that they wore. She hardly could remember how it was that Raz looked when she had seen them last, the spirit’s features changed like they did clothing, which was often— and they were identified instead by their delightful nature, the very essence of their soul. She leaned back in her chair, long legs crossing over one another as she carded back blonde curls. “I’ve had plenty of time to think of them, time moves differently in Tartarus.” Her nose wrinkled, but retelling the tale was something that she was going to have to get used to— disappearing without a trace had such an effect on people. “Well, I was caught by a fury and left to starve to death in the catacombs. Went straight to hell, where I endured what felt like an eternity of torment, not a single cutie in those red lights, and then the chains came off and I came back home.” Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “I’ve got to find a fury, and then I’m off to enjoy my vacation.”

“I assumed you were gone when I never heard from you again.” Strange thing with immortals, no public records, no obituaries, no funerals. At least not in the traditional sense. Vika being gone was a blow because it was another of his kind that had been hunted and exterminated and while she was cocky now he still felt uncertain that this form was one that couldn’t be cut down. Everything could die, except perhaps for Gods. “I never found your body, but there’s an empty grave outside Budapest with a tombstone that has your name on it. I went there, now and then.” The pair had fond memories of the city, he liked having somewhere to go that reminded him of her. “Claws or no, I’m glad you’re back. Kaan is a manticore too. How did you two escape?”

.

“I should go back there,” Vika said with a sigh, looking down at nails manicured into sharp, matte black points. “I was wearing my favourite ring when I died, and I suspect that it’s still buried in the catacombs. I’d hate for some fat-cheeked historian to claim it for a museum.” She made a face, “But I think I’ve come out of that with a touch of claustrophobia, who can blame me?” The blonde hung from his side, pleased by the information. “I hope that you cried for days and days, and made that handsome face of yours absolutely puffy with tears.” She would have to go to Budapest, to see the gravestone and see what had been inscribed with her name and gloat over the fact that she had championed death. “Kaan, beautiful Kaan. I found him too, in Corinth.” Vika grinned toothily, “The chains broke and we darted for our escape. Not all of us made it,” she recalled how some had gotten kicked and tossed backwards in the desperate scrabble for earth, how their howls had condemned them to Tartarus much longer. “But even the furies couldn’t keep me from coming back to all of you.” Vika coiled some golden hair around her finger. “I have to find Lada, have you seen her? She’s had no one to take care of her, all this time.”

@vikasokolov​

Countless years spent below even the farthest reaches of Hades’ domain had muddled Iapyx’s perception of time. Fen had told him that he had been gone just past two-thousand years, a number that held no meaning to him. It had been longer, it had to of been longer. Long enough to lose everything that he had been, long enough for the manticore’s mind to be stripped from him. Layer by layer. It was when he came here and a fury touched his mind that Iapyx realized who and what he was once more, he’d been a hunter of sorts as an incubus, old and tired long before he ever found love. Now they would call him a monster and he would write their tragedies in blood. “You’re here-” Iapyx remarked candidly, his voice not cold but aloof. Measured and even. He sat alone at a bar though the place was far from empty, the patrons there had been laughing and cheering, toasting and singing. Noise. Too much noise. He’d thought, it was the wrong sound, so songs turned to groans and their cheers turned to screams as Iapyx inflicted their minds with ceaseless terror. Much better. He’d said, the barkeep was left unaffected and now served him out of fear that he would be next. “join me for a drink?” Iapyx asked, his tone pointed clearly at Vika as if they might have been sat on a seaside patio on any given day. 

.

She had not known so many cubi in life, Vika was sure— but it was in Tartarus that she had come across many, they wore matching chains and had known each other only by sight, by the way that they had all carried the burden and weight of torture. He had been there long before anyone else had, and now that they were walking the streets of the modern world, curiosity prompted her to get closer, to see how it had broken him. The manticore herself avoided the thought that there had been parts of her mind that had unravelled, as it brought with it the thought that her resolve had been weak to begin with: she lacked fortitude, and after what had been apparently only sixty years, there were parts of her that would never be repaired. Laughter curdled into a symphony of horror and Vika herself tipped her head back to giggle, amused by the straight mouthed expression on the other manticore’s face. She drew a pointed nail along the inside of a howling patron’s arm, drawing blood and drinking up fear that welled from her victim, turning her attention only to Iapyx when he called out to her. Vika flopped into the chair across from him, touching a bloodied nail tip to her tongue before giving him a smile. “Well you certainly know how to make a splash.”

Paris gave a wry smile, though her next words made him hesitate. He couldn’t knowingly help Vika – not while bedding Dryads. He cared for them too much and got them back too recently. “Anyway, I think we need to uh – focus on the real problem. Furies. Forget the dryads. The furies are the ones that are our jailers.” He met Vika’s gaze, “It’s been too long for me to remember the good days. My ship is still here – in the harbor. One of my old friends still watches it.”

.

Though she was not aware of his intentions, Paris’ words made Vika snap into a bitter focus. Pale eyes narrowed and she was reminded of her vow upon crawling out of Tartarus, of the words she had hissed into the bright sun when she had stepped once again onto the earth. “There is a fury here that belongs to me.” Blonde hair tossed haughtily over her shoulder. “I have been idle, she has grown comfortable. She will be dead before the year is out,” Vika looked over at Paris with a smirk. “Or I will be back in the arms of our jailer. Perhaps he’ll take me as a lover, that wouldn’t be so terrible, would it?” She lifted a brow. “A boat? Surely a prince is better suited for a car in bright red.” The manticore reached fro his arm, “Maybe I’ll get it for you. When is your birthday?”