The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in SolidarityThe flickering neon sign left little to the imagination. For any other establishment, it would probably be odd to be tucked away in the corner of the street, yet it was fitting for this place. A tall, muscular man stood guard next to the red door, another sign of the primal intentions fulfilled within.
The slender man in his brown overcoat gave little more than a nod in greeting to the guard as he pushed through the door. While the air in the streets was cool and damp, the air beyond the door was filled with a smoky haze, and the sounds of music and laughter. He stepped beyond the door, and stood in a small hallway that would shield the world beyond the wall from any curious gaze. He walked around the wall, fumbling with his hands nervously before depositing something in his pocket, and was greeted by a scantily clad woman carrying a tray of drinks.
The room opened up to a cavity carved out in this corner of the street, filled with men and women alike. The music was some tasteful contribution to the atmosphere, vibrantly filling the room with a noxious aura of lust, and either commanding or being commanded by the fluid movements of women atop tables, within cages, or on the stage near the centre of the room linked by a runway that disappeared into large red curtains.
Of course, this atmosphere was often disturbed by the whistles, calls, and general banter of half drunk men and women who would make occasional and, at times, obscene gestures. There was also the patrons being manhandled by bouncers after getting too grabby; the man watched them disappear beyond an exit, no doubt to an alleyway. He stood there for a long moment, his gaze scanning the crowd before it rested on a bar, particularly a woman in a slender black dress who was enjoying a smoke by herself.
She had noticed him too, giving him a smile before expelling the smoke she had just inhaled. He grinned, and would work his way through the crowd towards her. When he arrived at the bar, he paused to take in her features. She was a slender woman with black hair that draped around her shoulders and curled near the ends. Her skin was pale, and she had these radiant amber eyes that he swore looked like a gleaming sunrise. Everything she did was an art, she sat on the stool with her posture upright, her legs crossed and the back of her heel gently tapping a leg of the wooden seat.
She would tilt her head down when she gazed, accentuating her cheekbones, and her eyes that were neatly cradled in some black eyeliner, but also hiding her wicked grin that would curl near the ends of her mouth. When she smoked, she'd rest her elbow on the bar, pulling on the cigarette with a long draw, her gaze ever watchful of those around her, yet seemingly disinterested. She was very confident of who she was, comfortable within this place as if it was any other bar, and yet, she was mysterious, with whatever front she showed as opaque as the oblivion sea in the sky.
"Hey," she said, pulling him from his trance. He had been standing there for too long he realised, and gave her an apologetic look, apparently, she didn't mind. "Are you going to join me for a drink?" she gestured towards her near empty tumbler. He nodded, and slid onto a stool next to her, as she idly stirred the straw in her glass.
"Sorry I'm late," the man said, his voice was surprisingly mild given his rough features. He had stubble along his face where he hadn't shaved this morning, it crawled all the way up to his shaggy, and short brown hair. A bartender came along, using a towel to dry a glass, he took the man's order, and refilled hers: both a double of rum on the rocks with a dash of lemon.
"That's alright," she said, flicking some ashes from hr cigarette, "I was late too, was worried I'd be apologising to you, couldn't have you drinking without me, no?" They both chuckled as the bartender brought them their drinks. She stirred hers, while he pulled the straw from his and offered it up. She looked at him with a curious glance.
"Toast?"
"Oh god," she laughed, and picked up her glass, "And what are we toasting for?"
"The company of a beautiful woman," the man said. She cocked a smirk, and gave a shook of her head before tapping her glass against his. They both took a drink, their eyes watching each other as they did. It was a game of signals, and they both were playing it elegantly. They sat the glasses down, and both were held for a moment by the burn so familiar to a strong liquor.
"The only problem I see, is that, as far as I'm aware, you're not a woman," she grinned, he laughed in response, having to stop himself from taking another drink so he wouldn't spill it.
"Well, you should know that by now," he smirked. She sat there aghast, giving him a playful punch.
"Filthy!" she exclaimed with a chuckle. She stirred her drink again, taking a moment to wipe away the red lipstick that had stuck to the edge of her glass. It didn't help the taste, but at the same time, the liquor after enough drinks made you not care. She sipped from it this time, with the man sitting quietly and watching the rest of the room. "D'you think they're pretty?" she asked, turning towards him, and then looking where he was looking. He was taken aback by this, and nearly embarrassed.
"Sorry..."
"Don't be," she said, "I think plenty of them are, nothing wrong with looking -- so, tell me, who's got your fancy?" she asked, now turning all the way around so she had full view of the club. He sat uncomfortably now, but looked around anyway. Many were dressed in stockings, and a corset of some fashion, a few diverged from this in some other alteration. He pointed out one in particular.
"Her," he said. There was one woman across the room with short, bright red hair serving out drinks at a table. This got an approving nod from the woman next to him, she leaned back and took a drink of her glass, and glanced at him.
"She's gorgeous," she said, and then gave him an oddly playful grin before sliding off the stool. "Be right back," she said to him, prompting a sudden blast of confusion on his face.
She headed through the crowd, abandoning him, as she went directly towards the woman with the red hair he had pointed out. He sat there uneasy as the two talked, and there were a lot of grins, and then several peering looks back towards him, and he wanted to shrink or leap behind the bar. The redhead hurried off to rid herself of her tray, and then they both started to walk back towards the bar.
"This is Nea," she introduced the redhead, of whom gave the man a warm smile.
"Nea, this is Sam," she introduced, it wasn't his name, and it had donned on him that they never gave each other their names. Despite the greeting, he didn't know what to say, but both woman grabbed him by the hand. "There's a place down the road," the woman said with a mischievous grin, as they tugged him off the stool with a chuckle.
"Hold on," he laughed, quickly paying for the drinks before they headed off.
***
It was early morning, the sun hadn't come up, but there was the purplish glow along the horizon in the distance. Sam sat in a small sofa, and stared out the window at the city brightly lit with skyscrapers, and the buzzing of traffic above and below. He felt arms come around his neck, and the gentle press of a lips into the edge of his jaw, he reached up to hold her arm and tilted his head back where the two shared a warm, and momentary kiss.
"G'morning handsome."
"G'morning beautiful."
She came around and sat next to him. She had put his coat on, the air was slightly chilly thanks to the air conditioning, and there was that familiar fresh smell associated with morning. He rested his hand on her back, and gently caressed it. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked with the tilt of his head.
She looked back towards him, and shrugged. "I'm always up really early, just how I am," she answered, "Don't think she'll be up any time soon, though. She's out like a light," she smirked. He peered back towards the lump in bed with red hair. "She snores, but not too loudly," she chuckled, "What about you? Why are you up?"
"Couldn't sleep," he said, looking back out the window as his hand pulled away from her. She gave him a curious glance, and crawled over, he wrapped an arm around her as she rested on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was soothing to her as she closed her eyes for a moment.
"Is it your wife?"
There was a noticeable change in both his heart, and his breathing, prompting her to look up at him. He sighed, it was as if she had dug up a painful secret.
"I'm not upset, or anything," she said, "We've been doing this for the last few months, and I've noticed that every time you come in, you take your wedding band off, it's obvious you wear one because the skin on your finger is discoloured," she said, lacing her hand into his, though he didn't oblige.
"It's a long story," he said, "I should probably go."
"Don't, please," she said quickly, he looked up at her as she sat up and the two stared. He reluctantly agreed and settled back into the couch. "If it had bothered me, I would've not done this," she reasoned, before falling back into the couch, "Lots of men cheat on their wives, some have their reasons, others are just assholes, I don't consider you the latter," she said, taking his hand again, and examining the spot where the ring had been.
"She died during the last plague," he said, tightening his fingers into hers, "We didn't see it coming, and then she was just gone," he sighed. The woman frowned, her grip loosening in his as she fell silent. There were a few barely noticeable taps on the window, and then they grew louder and more numerous as it started to rain. The two of them watched the world outside as the air began to fog, shrouding the skyscrapers in the distance, and turning their once crisp lights into blurs.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Not your fault," he looked at her, and carefully moved a few strands of hair from her face. He noticed a tear slowly rolling down the side of her nose, "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, wiping it away. "It's nothing," she said, looking down at their hands. She liked the feeling of his skin against hers, there was an odd comfort to it, and while his hands were rough, he was always so gentle. He tightened his grip, prompting her to look up where he caressed the edge of her jaw, and pressed his lips against hers. He liked the sensation of her lips, they were plump and soft, and always inviting.
She nestled into the crest of his neck, and he wrapped his arm around her again as the two sat and stared at the rain. By now, the fog had engulfed everything in sight, with even the ships above having disappeared. It was like they had been detached from the rest of the world, suspended in some cloud away from any concern. And, given the chance, they probably would have preferred to stay.
"Sam?"
She laughed quietly, "I had to think on the spot, hope you don't mind," she said.
He grinned, and shook his head. "None at all. It was very clever, I give you ten points, madame." They both laughed as he gave her a playful squeeze. "My name is John," he said finally. "Not a common name, I'll admit," he said.
"Though, very generic," she said, biting her lip with a grin. "Isarra," she said.
"Now that's a name if I've ever heard one," he laughed.
"Oh, shut up," she grinned.
"You really are beautiful, you know," he said.
"Oh? Going to tell me something poetic now? Like, how my eyes mimic the stars or something," she responded.
"I don't think there's anything I could compare you to," he said. She blushed nearly instantly, and it was the first time he'd ever seen her lose her composure. Isarra, he thought, it was a very beautiful name. They had been at this for months, and it had taken this long to end up on a first name business, but he expected as much. She kept herself heavily guarded, he was sure she had her reasons, but he'd fallen in, and there was little to do but dig deeper. She was intelligent, headstrong, and confident -- but also gentle, compassionate, and burned like a hot flame that'd keep your hands warm against the chill.
"Well then," she said, clearing her throat, "I guess I pegged you wrong for something cheesy."
"Oh, I can still be cheesy," he laughed.
"Please, don't," she pleaded. He was kind, it was a genuine kindness, and she liked that. He manoeuvred perfectly, knowing when to be serious, when to be playful, and this quality put him so far above many others. It was depth that kept her latched, he had so many layers that she wanted to peel away, and the further she dug, the warmer he was towards her. It didn't matter if it was the bed they shared, or the small moments like this, he appealed to her in a way indescribable. He was quickly becoming her ecstasy.
"What d'you say I take you somewhere nice?"
She looked up at him, she hadn't expected that question. "Like, a date?"
"Of sorts, there's plenty of places to get a bite to eat, and plenty of places to see," he smiled.
The rain outside had calmed to a mist, with the fog starting to peal back as the sun began to reach the horizon. She shook her head, "I'm -- I'm sorry, I need to go," she said, sitting up and pulling his jacket off. He stared in shock, had he said something wrong?
"Wait, what? Did I say something?"
She hurried over and started to get dressed, "No, it's not that," she said, feeling a tear run down her cheek. "Not that at all," she said.
"Then what? Why are you leaving?"
He stood up and tried to follow, but she was dressed, and quickly looked back at him causing him to stop. She was crying, her makeup had run down her cheeks in black lines. "Thanks for the fun," she said, and he knew what it meant, but it didn't register as she closed the door, and was gone. She was saying goodbye.
***
The next few days were a blur for him. He visited The Pendulum, the club where they had met, for several nights but no-one had seen her, or even heard of someone named Isarra. She had simply vanished without a trace. His world was now crashing back into reality, and was breaking up high in the atmosphere on its re-entry. Had she given him a fake name? It was possible. He kept replaying that morning in his head, what had he said, or had he said something that had upset her?
He stopped one evening by a store window. Behind it were a series of holoscreens displaying the news. It had been the talk the last few days, though he hadn't paid much attention. The Issari Locality had broken out into violence, and there were concerns that the riots would turn into a civil uprising, and no-one could explain why they were happening to begin with. They had come on so suddenly, and the entire locality was being engulfed in the chaos. He shook his head, Issari - Isarra, it was a fake name. He sighed, perhaps he didn't know her as much after-all.
***
She watched the man walking down the street. He had stopped at a window, and she rested on the wall. He had come down this street every night, and would walk back up it minutes later after entering the club at the end. There was a pain in her chest, and a lump in her throat that refused to go down no matter how hard she tried. As he walked off, she watched him, and wiped away a tear. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, before disappearing into the alley.
Pain is always hungry for comfort, it is it's greatest cure, it leaves us sated and so we look for company when we are miserable