VisitingTheHellfireClub2Devon's tension was a palpable thing, near vibrating off the young man. He drew in deep breaths, holding them before letting go, seeking inner calm with the sense of one who knows it's there, but is having trouble settling it in around himself. He glanced over at Romeo, offered a hidden grin, and then slowly relaxed. "Anyone in particular I should meet... or avoid?" he asked quietly as the place drew close. "You never know who'll be in attendance," Romeo admitted. "Novices, those masked as you'll be wildcards. I'd keep you distance there. I wouldn't go off alone anywhere unless you're looking for favors your falling Starr isn't offering you." A bright flush of skin. "What Jo and I ... well ... it's not for discussion." A quick smile though, possessive and proud and his heart in his eyes for the absent girl, whether Devon knew it or not. The boat nudged against another quay - the one of slippery marble - a dangerous surface, one would have thought, for such a place. The boat was tied to a great ring, held in the mouth of a metal lion that was firmly wielded to the marble. Devon stepped out, carefully balanced and moved slowly enough not to slip on the slick surface as he followed Romeo. Romeo pointed out a carved crest over an arch, a lion rampant. "House Ffrench, lost in the civil war," he identified. They crossed a narrow marble walkway that lined this side of the cistern, and then passed up several shallow stone steps until they came to a low marble doorway, so low that both of them had to bow to enter it. It was carved with fantastic grinning skulls, dancing skeletons and other images of death. There was no door to bar their entry - and inside flames flickered and leapt up, making the archway seem like the entrance to hell itself. Once inside they found themselves in a small hallway. On all side there were niches in the wall; these contained the urns of long dead members of the lost House, each bearing a carved mask on the side of the urn that was supposed to serve as a representation of the owner of the ashes within. Romeo drew his mask on, looking to see that Devon followed suit and slipped under the doorway. "I'll do the talking until we get inside." Devon drew on his mask and nodded. Devon walked silently, taking in the ghoulish surroundings. Slowly nerves fell away and a cockiness came to his step, sure and almost defiant. From the way the man had been earlier, Romeo could almost be certain Devon was putting on a show, for there was no trace of the earlier trepidation Opposite there was another arch - also low. The main room or rooms, it seemed, were beyond that. But to pass into this area was not so easy. Two immense guards, dressed in robes of varying shades of red and armed to the teeth, stood before it. "Who would pass into Hell?" demanded one of them as Romeo and Dev approached. Devon glanced at Romeo for his cue. "Fuego and a Novice. He is of my flames, of my fire, of my flesh. Offend him and offend me and burn in turn. Should he offend, I stand for his transgressions," Romeo's voice spoke from beneath the fiery mask. The words had a formal tone, of ritual to them, but Romeo had obviously taken liberty with them, unless everyone was dressed in flames. The guards nodded, unsmiling - then stepped aside, and Romeo and Devon entered ... Hell. Devon stopped a few steps in, gaze sweeping the room as he took in the view. A sharp intake of breath gave away his surprise, his tension. The main part was a long high room, whiitewashed, with two long tables running down each side of the walls, with people seated on either side. A third table was set at the far end of the room - at this sat a group of older men, all masked. Those on the side tables were, it appeared, younger. Some gambled with dice, some were eating and drinking. All the men were masked - but there were women too - unmasked and in various states of undress. They were young and - by and large - attractive; some outstandingly so - and it was clear that their function was to serve the club members in any way required. Indeed, as Romeo and Devon entered, it was to see a couple were on their knees, engaged in pleasuring the gentlemen, while one ardent young man had tipped a girl forward over the end of a table, raised her skirts and was having his will. Devon's gaze lingered for a moment, what little there was visible of his skin flushed scarlet. Then that gaze darted away, finding instead those gambling or drinking. "I see," he murmured, sounding as if his breath had been taken away. The public displays appeared to be the exception, though. Most of the patrons seemed to stand, take a young woman (or women) by the hand, and lead them away through one of the low dark doorways that ran along each of the long walls, and which clearly led to more private rooms. Not that one seemed to need a woman to enter them. Sometimes men were leaving together in small groups - sometimes, it seemed, for games of chance - although several might have had other purposes in mind. "It's one thing to be adventurous," Romeo noted as they passed a gentleman in gay colors and two women disappearing through an arch. "It's quite another to be un-natural." The last was quietly added as two men disappeared arm in arm. Devon watched the two men slip out, then quickly looked away again. He glanced sideways at Romeo, the look not visible past the sides of the hood, although faint tension was visible in the cast of his shoulders. As Romeo and Devon made their way down the length of the room, their progress was impeded by several young men in different stages of intoxication who hailed Romeo by the name he had given himself at the door -Fuego - although Dev was sure that at least one of them frequented the fencing club, and so knew Romeo's identity very well. Close to the High Table, Devon noticed a woman who looked familiar. Surely it couldn't be ... Lady Acciaio in such a place? "My Aunt seems to have made the scene this evening, it seems," Romeo joked before he explained. "You'd be surprised at the number of men, noble and citizen alike that would like a turn with such a famous piece of... the nobility," he finished with a chuckle. "Not that I've ever seen her in a dress that scandalous, but the girl does bear a striking resemblance. The Lady Lagoran, even more so." "Oh..." Devon breathed an understanding, relaxing a tiny bit. Suddenly, a young woman, one of the few who was masked, tripped out towards Romeo and Devon. "Fuego!" she cried. "Beautiful Fuego ... don't you have a kiss for Araminta?" Her brightly painted lips parted - and her head tilted up, revealing the set of the shoulders and the prominent Adam's apple. Despite the appearance of a beautiful, if over-painted woman, this was in fact one of the male patrons of the club ... Devon's eyebrows flew up, and he stopped just behind Romeo, stepping to the side and out of the way. Not a word was said, but he stared at Romeo as if he wasn't quite certain who he was with at that moment. "Araminta, love," Flame began. "You know that the High Table waits on no one, especially when I have a friend to introduce. Devon could hear him working to keep the contempt from his voice. "It's not often that I bring visitors, and it wouldn't do to screw it up on the rare occasion that I do." He took her hand and raised it to his lips, never touching them, and wrapping his cape around Devon ushered him toward the Lord of Hell. Words caught in Devon's throat, and he simply allowed himself to be swept along to the head table. There were several people seated at the High Table, all masked, but seemingly rather older than those who frequented the lower tables. Two of their number were playing a game of draughts, of all things, to one end of the long table. Another, clearly more into the spirit of things, was attempting to throw small pieces of fruit into the decolletage of a rather amply gifted young lady, whose unmasked state procliamed her status - and her role. She was screaming with laughter at his game. One of the men was dressed in a long, sweeping red cloak. Romeo recognised it as the cloak worn by whoever was declared to be presiding over hell that evening - not the mysterious Lucifer who was always robed in white, nor the dark haired Mephistopheles, who also presided on occasion. No, this was one of the lesser devils, but one that needed to be appeased. He regarded their approach with what appreared to be a jaundiced eye, even through the mask. "Mi'Lord," Fuego greeted the man in the cloak. "I bring a Novice this evening. Slowly the rolls fill, as we tempt more to the Lightbringer's truths." Devon waits quietly, not speaking until spoken to. "Yes, yes," said the presiding Devil. "Though it looks like being a flat evening." He cast a disparaging eye around the various scenes of debauchery in progress as though he were hoping for something yet more baroque and decadent. "Approach," he said suddenly, beckoning Devon forward, "and tell us what you desire of Hell." Several of the others at the High Table were listening too. The man in black, with the white rooks as his symbol leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused intensely on Devon. Devon steps forward, throwing his shoulders straight, dark eyes looking out from beneath the dark hood. His voice is soft and low. "Good drink. Good games. Good times. It seems all are in good supply here." "We try," said the Chief Devil. "We try." He glanced down at the half-eaten plate of food before him. "Although the squelch eels are not what they were in my young days. They used to pickle them in brine then, and it made all the difference. Still, I daresay you've not acquired the palate yet, so you won't notice. I'll leave you in Fuego's hands. "Fuego! Make sure he samples fully the delights of Hell and feels its flames lick his loins good and hot." The eyes behind the mask suddenly seemed to have a certain cruelty. "An initiation into the rites of Hell will often demand a price, young man." As though to punctuate his words, there was a sudden scream - a man's scream - from one of the siderooms. No-one in the room seemed particularly alarmed - several even were seen to smile - and in a couple of cases, money changed hands, as though wagers had been won or lost. Devon stiffened, but his expression did not change. "And a name, afterwards, of course." The Rook added after the scream died down, disconcerting the man not at all. "But that will wait, until the Initiation is complete." Romeo's eyes strayed in the direction of the scream, but did not tarry. He curled his lips into a cruel smile and affored the High Table a bow. "At your pleasure, Mi'Lords." Once again he took Devon under his cape, his arm around his friend's shoulder, steering the younger man toward the buffet and an open table. "So, you asked who to avoid?" he chuckled. Devon's shoulders were stiff beneath Romeo's arm. He nodded once, curtly, at Romeo's remark. "So, how would you like your loins licked first?" "Ah..." Devon choked. "I don't think I really need licking tonight... here..." he stumbled on the words, and fought desperately not to flush. "A drink would be a good start." "I wasn't offering to do the licking myself, but wouldn't that burn their masks," Fuego chuckled. "They know I can't stand even the idea of those like Araminta." Another choking sound. "I didn't think *you*... I meant, them..." A quick gesture at the whores, then a soft groan. "Really, I've got a new girlfriend. And you know just how dangerous she is," he whispered. "I think I'd be best avoiding the girls." Eyes hidden behind a mask of a mangy dog regarded the pair as they passed his place at the table. Several tankards of ale were lined up in front of him and a beauty knelt beside him. He reached down to jangle his change purse, watching for Fuego's reaction. His hand came up for only a moment, showing a couple of coins in his fat fist, and then plunged just as deep into the dress of his companion. "Here's a few for you, courtesy of that young whelp over there," the Cur snorted with laughter. At the buffet Devon didn't really care what was offered, and took the first item of alcohol pressed into his hand. "How often do you come here?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation, and trying to reconcile the Romeo he knew with the Fuego in whose company he found himself. Fuego had stiffened. "Too often I fear," he answered as he tossed back his own first drink of the evening. He had left his back to the Cur's table and appraised the form of one of the girls lying upon the buffet. Another of the members was sampling a drink that had been served in her navel. "For instance, I keep losing money to that dog of a card player behind me," he explained. Devon's gaze flickered over the gambler there. "Pity I'm not a better card player then," he murmured. "Or I'd say we'd take him together. But it's not something I've had a lot of experience with. D'you think my innocence would distract him enough to let you take him?" Eyes behind the mask of flames worked over the odds. "I'm not sure that you need to be in debt to him at the moment, but as a Novice, your debt will be my debt anyway, and you're playing with my money, so it's all the same," he rambled. "You sure?" Fuego asked, hope in his voice. "If I lose to him, and he loses to you, you'll win your money back. And save me from being in his debt by having me in your own." Devon grinned, then looked away, at the Cur. "Sure. Let's go after him." The Cur had finished another tankard of ale and proceeded to stack them in a pyramid shape on the table. Romeo tossed back another drink and Fuego wandered over. "So, it seems that you can teach an old dog new tricks, Novice." His voice was loud and sounded a bit more drunk than Devon knew he could be. Devon carried a newly filled drink with him, and put a swagger in his step as they approached the Cur. "Seems he's found someone else to lick his balls instead of hiding in a corner and doing it for himself," the young noble laughed. Devon laughed as well, on cue, but said nothing as he watched the Cur for his reaction. The older man's face broke into an explosive laugh, flecks of foam spraying his tweedy robes. "Why should I bother to do that myself when I have your coin to buy it for me?" He raised his other arm, displaying a black silken cord tied from his meaty wrist to the one of the girl kneeling at his feet. In response to the tug, she looked up, her blue eyes blandly regarding the pair. "Name the game and we'll see who has who's coin," Fuego offered. "If you've spent it all, then I'll let you wager the girl." For a moment it looked like Devon would say something, a wicked light glinting in his eyes. But whatever it was, he reconsidered and let Fuego bait the Cur. "The girl?" the words came out in a slow drawl. "Wager her?" He ran a thick finger along her jawline. "She says she's called Asmita. Sounds exotic... Maybe she's from the frontier." The Cur seemed to be stalling. "Do you want to go short and sweet this time? One cut of the deck, highest card wins both the bitch and the Novice?" The girl raised her head. Sad eyes peeked at Devon through long black hair. A soft, swift intake of breath from Devon as his shoulders stiffened. He didn't look at Romeo, and avoided the eyes of the girl. From down the way, Rook turned to look at the byplay. "Fuego makes a good play." he murmured to his companions. "The Novice has not turned his breeches brown yet, either. He might make a club member yet." "If we win, he calls it luck," Devon pointed out. "If we lose, he has your money. I say yes, on the condition that afterwards we get a chance at a real game. One based on a man's skill, not the luck of the draw." Rook laughed loudly, loud enough for Devon and Fuego, and the High table to hear it. "A worthy challenge, my lords." Rook called. "Ah... you've caught the attention of Rook, Novice." Cur grinned and looked at his collection of tankards. He picked one up and lifted it high, the last few drops falling into his mouth. "If my game isn't good enough, you suggest one." Rook chuckled, unable to resist. He dug into his clothing, and pulled out something. With a practiced air, he tossed it through the air in a lob at the Novice. When caught, it proved to be a wooden chess piece. A pawn, black. Devon looked down at the pawn in his hand, then shook his head and laid it on the table. "A good suggestion, but not my game." He glanced at Rook with a faint nod, before returning his attention to the Cur. "We agreed to the cut, so let's get it done. Then a few hands of poker... and we'll see where the money falls." The Cur walked his fingers across the table, scooping up the pawn. "Perfect!" He placed it on top of his pyramid of tankards, grinning at Rook. "So, a cut... I think I have a deck here." He searched his robes, pulling out a deck that was tattered, creased, and bound with a piece of twine. After mixing up the cards, he placed them in the upturned hand of the girl at his side. She offered them to Fuego, avoiding his gaze. Fuego never hesitated, he cut the deck short and showed the card to Devon before looking himself and showing the Cur. The man frowned and reached toward the deck. His thick fingers played with the cards for a moment, settling on one a dozen cards down from Fuego's cut. He closed his fingers around it and, grinning with confidence, held it up to Fuego and those nearby, not bothering to look himself. Roneo had drawn ... the Queen of Diamonds. The Cur's card - which he lifted with such confidence was ... The Five of Spades. Fuego untied the girl from the Cur's leash. He took a seat across the table from the Cur and waved the Novice to a seat beside him. The girl he favored with a kiss on the cheek and sat her across his lap. "Your deal?" he suggested as he laid his coin upon the table. The Cur looked at his lost girl with sad puppy dog eyes. "And it was my birthday, too..." With a sigh he picked up Fuego's coin and set it spinning on the table. "How about another drink first?" he asked, attempting to regain his jovial mood. "Yes," the Novice agreed. He looked to see if there were those to deliver drinks, or if they had to go back to the bar to retrieve them. Spotting the waitresses... and other wait staff... he tapped his fingers on the table, "but we could certainly lay out the cards while we wait for them to arrive." Fuego sighed and released the girl. "Drinks around if you please," he ordered and sent her on her way with a gentle pat on her ample ass. "Dealer's game?" he asked the Cur. The Cur licked his lips eagerly in anticipation of more drink. "Have you boys ever wagered on pinochle? Or... it looks like that group over there," he shifted in his seat and twitched his head in the direction of Rook, Lahire, and a few others, "is playing a round of Devil's Cup. Is that more to your liking?" Fuego shook his head. He might enjoy the physical aspects of Devil's Cup, but he wouldn't abandon the Novice. "What you have in mind? Single deck, three handed, three card kitty? I suppose you can afford something more than a penny a point," he jabs. Devon nodded, just to indicate that he was in, whatever the other two decided. The older man snorted. "Can you afford a Stanner a point, Fuego?" He began searching his robes again for the proper deck. "Single deck, three handed, three card kitty, Hellfire rules." The Cur tossed the deck to Fuego. "Would you take care of these for me?" he asked, leaning toward the Novice. "If you get set, it's a Stanner to the pot and a round of drinks for the table. Meld includes the Queen of Spades with two Jacks, and a tandem, King and Jack of the same suit, is as good as a marriage." Fuego shuffled and bridged the cards a few times. He was no sharp, but he handled the cards with quiet confidence, before offering the cut to the Novice. Devon cut deep, over two thirds of the deck slipped beneath the smaller bottom stack. Quickly sets of three filled the felt before the players each man seeing six cards before Fuego left one for the center, nine found the second and twelve the third. Once each had their fifteen cards, the dealer began arranging his. "Auction bid? Start at 21 and the dealer's stuck at 20?" Devon simply nodded as he quietly arranged his cards. The Cur frowned, eyes fixed upon the three cards still on the table. "I'll take the 21." The play continued around, each of the three taking their share of the bids and tricks. After the first few hands the Cur pulled into a short lead, followed by Novice and then Fuego, who played with the same reckless abandon that he consumed drinks. When the Novice took the next few hands he pushed into a considerable lead that seemed to please Fuego as much as it bothered the Cur. As the Novice started winning, he started matching Fuego drink for drink, if not trying to outpace him, and after a bit Fuego pulled a few of Novice's trump and was able to make his hearts good in the last few tricks and put the Cur up in the second last hand, giving anyone the chance to win. The Cur passed 300, but Fuego had taken the bid and surpassed the Cur's points. Novice was only a few points behind both of them, close enough that his purse barely felt lighter. There was soft applause. Lahire was seated nearby, boots on the table, watching. Now that the lady Virgil was gone, Fuego, the Cur and the Novice were by far the most interesting things in the Club for him. Argent was shuffling cards - watching the game with the others speculatively. "Do you think Fuego might be open to another challenge after this?" he asked. "Whether he is or isn't, I am," said Lahire, yawning into his glove. "But I'll wait. Think Rook's enjoying his Goddess?" Back at the table, the Novice gave no sign of having heard his friend discussed. He pushed himself to his feet, and stood there a moment, certainly more wobbly than when he had sat down. "Good game," he said, then glanced at Fuego as if to ask, what next? Fuego had pulled his earlier winnings back into his lap and his hand had disappeared beneath her skirt. "Yes, it was," he agreed. "You don't mind if I enjoy my bounty, do you?" he asked, even as he stood, the girl still in his arms. "I know the Cur will, but this little thing won't mind, I promise you." He made for one of the draped arcades. "Back soon, but not too soon," Fuego promised too. "Well, Fuego seems about to," said Argent. "Shall we see what calibre of Novice he's brought?" Without waiting for an answer, he rose negligently and strolled along to where the Novice and the Cur were sitting. "Care to join us for a game?" he asked, a bored drawl in his voice that failed to mask completely the cit accent. Lahire had drifted over behind Argent. "Or a challenge," he added in plummy patrician tones. The Novice looked over at the newcomers, then back down at the Cur. "What sort of a game?" he asked. "Or... challenge?" "I still rather have my heart set on the Runaround," said Lahire, glancing at Argent. "After all, one can always play cards." Argent's lips curled into a smile below his mask. "The Runaround it is then. If our honoured guest is prepared for the challenge ... " "You'll have to forgive a lowly Novice for asking, but what *is* the Runaround?" Devon's words were proper, but his voice held an almost bored sound. Lahire laughed. "Got sand, this one," he said to Argent. Turning back to the Novice, he said, "The Runaround is... something of an obstacle course. You really have to see it to understand." There was something faintly creepy about his obviously vastly improved mood. "Well then, go ahead... why don't you go first and show me," the Novice suggested. Argent gave a little laugh and looked expectantly at Lahire. The Cur regarded them all amusingly over his freshly-refilled tankard. "Well, come along, then, all who are interested," said Lahire, offering a pointed glance to the Cur that was as good as an invitation. "But as for going first... I think we'll get our wager straight before I compete. I'm a bit low on funds, having been trounced mercilessly at cards, as usual, earlier this evening." The 'as usual' was a bald-faced lie, of course, and the playing cards embroidered all over his costume made that rather obvious, but he didn't seem to notice. He continued, "Suppose we wager something more interesting than money?" He was leading his party toward one of the further recesses - this one an uncovered archway leading to a room that seemed to be lit more brightly than the rest. Continued in another thread... |
