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[HoRRiDx]

OPEN

[HoRRiDx]

It was common, her line of work. It might have been a think-less job but it ceratinly made some aspects of her life much easier for her, definitely made meeting men easier! Especially married men. Inconveniently for Lillith however, her newest employer, Mr. Body, was not married… This did little to peek her interest, and would certainly never assist in her life long goals of fame and fortune. Lillith Winters was not a woman to settle down for just any man… No, she wanted men that she knew were capable of commitment. Men that were taken, harder to catch. It was like a game for Lilly, a game she had won many times over; sadly it was never enough to sustain her life style. Broke and helpless she always found herself needing more and more money, and definitely more men. This low level job was just a front; for now she would work as Mr. Body’s maid. Cleaning and organizing his things. His opinions of her intelligence must have been pretty low as he tempted her daily with pricey objects available for stealing. She noticed how he’d simply leave them around the house randomly, where he knew she’d find them. Lilly was no commoner, she knew better than that. Steal one object, make one move toward his money and he would fire her, reveal all her dirty little secrets and ruin her entire life! She was trapped, quite the predicament too. Employed and forced to work for the only man in the world, that she was unable to fool. The one person that already knew Lillith Winters for who she really was and how she acted. Your average, lonely rich man stalker syndrome.

And he could have her for now. Not her body, nor her love; but her assistance. He could manipulate her to do his bidding, but that was all. He was now her employer. And despite his attempt, would be nothing more than that. Lilly did not take kindly to being forced to work against her will; but she would do so. Wait until he eventually gave her up, or died. Poor Lilly wished for both, whichever came sooner did not matter in the least to this pretty little blonde, as long as she was freed from the confines of the Mr. Body mansion. Left to do as she pleased, and whom she pleased.

Lilly Winters. She may generally act like a little child; but she certainly was not to be considered one. Being kept in a house, with little to do other than work for her own money, was like a never ending nightmare. The sooner it all ended, the better.

“Ms Winters please, watch where you are going…” A sudden crashing sound emitted throughout the room, followed by a sling of curses known only to the sick and perverted members of society today. Lilly stomped her foot with great irritation, much like a bull would, before it charged. The blonde had dropped yet another one of Mr. Body’s expensive glasses, spilling champagne against the rose covered carpet of the billiard room. The butler, obviously feeling sorry for her, bent down to pick up the glass shards that spread about the small area, “You really need to be much more careful if you intend on lasting here. Mr. Body does not take kindly to his possessions being smashed.” There was a hint of annoyance in the Butlers voice, a tone that Lillith had heard the man use more than once in her short time of being here. Of course the more Alfred spoke about Mr. Body, and the way his master liked things done, the less Lilly found herself caring to do so. Give Lilly a fish, and she will eat for a day. Teach Lilly to fish, and she will ignore practically everything you said and do it her own way regardless.

“I’m sorry, its these gloves.” Lillith frowned down at her palms. The blonde maid was currently wearing a pair of fine white satin gloves. “They make it much harder to hold on to things,” Her nose crinkled in distaste as she quickly dug her fingers into the openings of either glove and yanked downward, stripping her hands of the useless and tacky wardrobe before carelessly tossing them onto the top of the bar. Alfred made no expression as he went to retrieve them, placing the glass he’d gathered in a garbage basket behind the counter.

“They are required for the uniform.” It was all he said. For Alfred too, was wearing a pair of white satin gloves. A pair that he’d obviously become accustomed to quickly.

“Well they are awful little things and I am not wearing them!” Lilly nodded, almost huffing as she placed either of her hands against her hips indignantly. “Besides they don’t go with this outfit!” she swept her pale hand down and across the maids uniform that had been given to her by Mr. Body himself. Despite being stuck in a stuffy old mansion, forced to work and clean for her money, and employ for a man she seriously despised… Lillith rather liked it. It was quaint, cute and classy. And of course black was always very slimming. Not that she needed it. Alfred, of course, simply shook his head at her, sighing a long drawn out and exasperated breath,

“The guests will be arriving shortly, prepare the drinks and direct them to the lounge.” With that said, he straightened himself, adjusted the jacket he was wearing, and turned on one heal, leaving Lilly alone in the room, obviously wanting her to attend to the drinks herself.

Lillith paused as she watched him exit the room, quirking one eyebrow in confusion. Alfred had honestly planned on leaving her to deal with all the required beverages? It was a silly notion. Lilly would only muck it up farther if she had to do it herself… Rolling her eyes at the thought Lillith did not linger on the subject and instead turned to face the bar. Entering the small area she manoeuvred around, grabbing the proper champagne glasses, and emptying a bottle of expensive champagne into them. The blonde filled them a little higher than you’d normally do so, not quite sure of the proper technique. ( not that she’d use it if she did ) One however, was filled directly to the brim, almost spilling over the edge of the glass! This glass she grabbed in her now naked hands and brought it directly to her mouth. In a few seconds she’d drank all the champagne poured into the cup and set it back down empty. Oh how she’d always loved the taste of a good champagne, it tickled her taste-buds and lightened her senses just a tad. Appropriate for the nights festivities, she was sure.

Glancing at the clock above the couch and against the opposing wall, Lillith took a deep breath. It was time to go greet and meet the guests. Forcing a bright, cheery grin on her face, Lilly picked up the heavy tray with both of her hands, leaving the empty glass where she’d found it. Turning gently in her heals she slowly began to make her way to the Lounge area, where a few of the guests had already been escorted inside.

Click, click, click The fluid sound of her pricey shoes echoed lightly down the corridors as she took each step closer to the lounge. Drinks in hand and rattling gently against the tray holding them up, Lilly was extra careful not to trip or spill like she’d done so many times before. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. Mr. Body’s guests were all very important to him. Lilly was not aware of how important or why, instead she simply assumed that they had been business partners, or old friends, either way when she entered the room, everyone who was inside, seemed a little more uncomfortable than they should have, if they were simply “visiting a good friend.” However, Ms. Winters did not care… All her current thoughts were completely focused on locating the table at the back of the room and making it there with little to no interruptions or distractions. Swaying through the maze of seats and fine pieces of art that her employer had collected over the years. Lilly eventually managed to reach the table, all drinks completely safe, as she delicately set them down against its surface.

Turning with one fluid movement to face the room, she finally had a chance to check out all the lovely faces, Some more lovely than others…. Her grin widened instinctively, showing her bright, flawless white teeth and an attractive glint to her blue eyes. “Would anyone care for a drink? If you do not fancy champagne I would love too… personally mix you a separate beverage from the others.” Before she was able to continue, a sudden ringing nabbed her attention. Lilly mentally cursed the house for interrupting what would have lead to a few lovely introductions. “If you will excuse me,” Her expression cracked only slightly, before the bright gleaming smile she’d entered with returned to her face. Heading through the small crowd Lillith exited the lounge, smile immediately dropping into a bitter sort of glare as she vacated the area.

The ring once again fluidly rang through her ears, and in turn Lilly quickened her pace. She took quick and short steps, the best she possibly could in such high heals. Trained from a tender age to use them like a lady would, Lilly reached the door at a phenomenal pace. “I’m coming…” It was nearly growled out, and could hardly be heard by anyone that was not within a few feet of her; but it was said regardless.

Shaking slightly as she used her hands to smooth down every side to her luscious outfit when she finally reached the doorway. Wanting to look her best for whomever was on the opposite side, Lillies fingers brushed through her blonde curls, pulling the light hairs off of her shoulders and fluffing them around her face as she dragged them through it gently. Creating a sort of make-shift brush and giving her sexy blonde locks a little volume before checking out her reflection in the mirror against the side wall.

Approving of her practically flawless appearance she smiled sweetly. Perfect Running her tongue over her teeth for one final touch she turned and opened the door, revealing some new arrivals. “Welcome, Mr. Body is expecting you!”

At the sight of them she realized that tonight had a chance of being a bit more interesting than she’d originally expected.

[Oro_Ryusei]

Thirsty: Mr. Body’s personal torture technique, making me wait for my bloody brandy.

Getting a letter was one thing, down right scandal and blackmail was another. Vadim didn’t like those that tried to push him around, didn’t like those who thought they had the power. Didn’t like those that were a possible threat to him. In all reality he didn’t have much to loose, unless you counted house, contents, public persona and all in all the life that he had built for himself much, in which case he had it all to loose. Usually he wouldn’t play the adorable pet. He wasn’t one for sitting down having polite conversation and playing the nice little policeman, when someone else had ordered him to do so. Working was the only exception. He was being payed to play that little game. On his own time Vadim would prefer to play things out the way he wanted them to play out. That was the only reason he still had his job. The man was out to get him in more ways than one and it was only right if not fair for him to slip on the trigger and shoot the other man. That played out the way he wanted it to. He still had a job and he was higher up on the food chain than he was to begin with so all seemed to be working in his favour at the moment. Until he received the letter. Who knew that a piece of paper filled with words, not so much in this case, would be able to cause such a reaction in him. He didn’t know it. Not until it happened.

Those few words had sparked a semi panic attack in his nervous system until Vadim forced his body to relax and his brain to work over the details. There was no way Mr. Body would let anything slip up. That man liked the power too much, loved the power too much to simply give it all up. Unless the man was dying, in which case Vadim might have to take matters into his own hands once more. That was it he drew the short end of the stick however, and only if he did. There was no need for senseless killing, he would not be pinned as a mindless murder, the ones that he helped track down. Did the criminal system know what jailed persons did to those that put them there? Jailed officers were not the lowest form of scum in prisons. That place was reserved for child molesters. For some odd reason, possibly screwed morality, rapist murders and the like thought that child abusers were the lowest of the low. At least a cop had that going for them when they were locked up tight in a prison like a pack of sardines in a can. They had someone they could dish out their frustration to. Even if they were being beat from every other angle. A man needed an escape every now and then. Vadim suspected that solitary confinement would become his best friend if he was indeed headed towards a life behind bars. But he was getting too far ahead of himself. He was not in that place now, right now he was standing in his bedroom, butt naked pulling going though the rituals of getting ready for a dinner. Prison had no place in his thoughts and Vadim was all for banishing them to the far stretches of outer space.

He was doing what the letter required. He would find himself a something fancy to wear, fancy beyond the norm for gatherings of this kind of variety. His interpretation had meant fancy almost to the point of dressing up. Dressing up to the point of putting on another characters outfit, like an actor would. He wasn’t going to go that far, he didn’t even want to do to the fuss he was going though to get fancy anyway. Still Vadim would do it for several reasons, least of all that the man himself, whom he only knew through a series of letters and phone calls was blackmailing him. That was reason enough to do what the man had asked. In all reality it was rather insane of him to let Vadim visit his house. The man must be bluffing about some of the things he knew. He had managed to obtain evidence on some of the finer points though. For if Mr. Body seriously believed that he was a dirty cop and nothing more there was another thing coming for when he knocked on the door. Be that as it may Vadim didn’t come off as a one time murderer no he had all the snark of a police officer that knew what he was going with charm to bring anyone to the point of being a bird. Squawking all the information they knew from their system in one go. He had talent they all have to give him that much. Credit where credit was due and he was due loads of credit. How many times had me managed to get that vital piece of evidence for the department? How many times had he been the one to get a tough mobster to talk and therefore managed to bring down their entire organisation? The fact that he was double dealing wasn’t the point. The point was he should seem almost godly to the police department in general. Why someone wanted to spoil that for him was anyone’s guess. He was a man first and foremost, a man’s duty was to take out the trash.

Towelling himself down, he got annoyed when, trying to get dressed, articles of clothing would stick to his leg of torso if he hadn’t dried himself properly, Vadim went to work getting himself in order. He had brought all the articles of clothing he needed down to the station. He might have a dinner party to attend but that didn’t mean that the world stopped turning, the earth stopped moving and life ceased to exist. No Mr. Body might be a pain in the arse but he wasn’t god. So he had showered in works locker room and was now getting himself in order to catch a rather expensive taxi to the man’s residence. Do up the laces to his dress shoes that were flashy yes but comfortable no Vadim looked himself over. The Patriot suit was the best he had and it was just new in fashion, the slightly shorter jacket only suited those with the best figures. He liked the look of block colours and was going through the motion of getting rid of all the rest of his suits both work and dress alike. The two tonal and brown combinations just didn’t look good now that he had a military styled black jacket with the trousers to match. Add in the notorious white shirt and you had one polished looking gentleman. Debating with himself for several moments wether to wear the gloves he had brought along or not in the end Vadim took them in one hand while shrugging on his trench coat. Stuffing them in the pockets and placing the half mask he had with him in one of the pocket on the inside of the tan trench coat, he was prepared to play the phantom if the dress code was in fact dress up as apposed to dress fancy. He pivoted, placed the hat on his head and made his way to the front of the offices and therefore outside to catch a lucky taxi to take him, possibly to his doom.

The drive was mostly spent with him ignoring the drivers poor judgement in the art of small talk and just thinking about everything that could possibly happen. He wanted to make sure that no matter what by the end of the night he had all the evidence, if the man even had any, about his endeavours in his own hands and Mr. Body had none. It would be pleasant to conduct his affaires with out having to look over his shoulder occasionally. Vadim had to admit though. At least with Mr. Body you knew where you stood. You were pawn pieces in his artful game of chess. If he wanted to you do something there would be no middle man, there would be no guessing games. He made it known that this was what you were to do and this was how you were going to go about it. That was the only thing Vadim could count on with all these blackmailed games. He knew that Mr. Body could be bought for a specific amount of time depending on his circumstances. It was the only nice thing about the entire situation. He was left alone for a couple of months then the man would rear his ugly head, or ugly pen but in most cases it was ugly voice, and Vadim would be once again getting money, doing the occasional job and playing all around lapdog to the man. It was frustrating and demeaning but by the end of it he was given some peace. “This place you‘re headed to. Must be mighty fancy to have you all dressed up like that.” Vadim rolled his eyes. Glad that he was in the back seat away from the driver. Did the man just notice now that he was in this get up? He must be blind which meant that he couldn’t technically drive. Maybe Vadim would be lucky and get into an accident that left him not gravely injured but enough to keep the prying Mr. Body off his back for a little longer. He could hardly do deals in secret while in the middle of a hospital ward or with his leg in a cast. Then again when did convenience ever come into the occasion? Ignoring the man for the hundredth time that ride Vadim was in an odd way relieved when the taxi rolled up to the large estate Mr. Body must have called home. Getting out of the car and handing the man several notes of folded paper through his window Vadim breathed in deep and took to the stairs.

He had always hated people who had stairs at the front of the house, stairs that lead to the doorway and passage into ones home. It might have been a good way to deter those that couldn’t reall be bothered making the trip up the stone objects but for Vadim, who had every intention of staying for dinner, it was a hindrance. An annoyance. A piece of bothersome dog poo on the tip of ones shoes that never seemed to rub off no matter how hard one brushed said shoes into the grass. Well he had been in that situation before, now he was headed in the deep end. He was really in the s**t house. Ringing the bell and being greeted by a man with white hands Vadim thought over the idea of placing his gloves on. The help had white gloves his were black, there would be no chance of being confused for the help as his suit was much more to date than the man who had greeted him plus he had heard from several woman that a mans hands were… well the butler or door man or whomever the other male was had pulled down the shoulder part of his trench coat anyway. His gloves would be staying in their pockets after all. The mask was also gone. Not to worry. He could always come back for it. Shrugging out of his protective coat and having it placed in a coat closet the man then proceeded to show him to the room they would be waiting in. A parlour type place. Perhaps a small lounge. Taking a seat and relaxing into the chair he waited for a few moments before making himself more comfortable, more comfortable meant a cigarette. With no one around to make him put the thing out Vadim banged the bottom of his packet, grabbed a stick out with his lips and then placed the carton back into one of his inner breast pockets while fishing out the lighter. With the fantastic little device all lit up, with the lighter back in it’s proper place and him lounging back even more on the chair all that was left for him to do was have a brandy in his hand.

More people came and as they sat down in the same room as him Vadim had a nagging feeling in his gut. This was too many people, too many seemingly random people. He had spent the rime he was alone in the room to search out what he could see in ways of escaping. Windows, doors, how many people worked here, how many people to get through, men, woman, doors that lead to closets rather than ways out… with these other people here it would be more than interesting. Finally his drink was coming. A perky looking blonde in an outfit that should only really be worn when there was not company over was carrying a tray of liquid beverages. His eyes followed the length of her legs as she walked by him, the curve of her back and when she turned to set the tray down upon a counter he couldn’t help himself. Her breasts were right there after all. He couldn’t help himself but he could control himself. He was there for business, if in the end, the lovely blonde sauntered her way up to him for a little bit of extra work service then who was he to refuse? Alas the woman moved on before he was able to think anymore on that subject or even order his drink. Well there was always the rest of this hellish night to contend with. Puffing on the end of cigarette he was satisfied with the fact that he would get his brandy soon enough.

[authentic alliteration]

C o r d e l i a M a y S t o n e

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A pale, peach hand rose out from underneath a thick comforter and searched the table next to it. Within the next minute or so it grasped around, clearly searching for something, and even more clearly, not finding anything. Luckily the item was found, a small gold watch, though probably not real gold, but nevertheless it was nice looking. And like all watches that are working they show a person the time. This person, or the person that the hand belonged to, was wanting to know the time. Just like the hand had appeared from underneath the covers, a head popped up, along with a torso, till the person was sitting up in the large bed, with a shocked look on their sleepy face. Just like anyone else, this owner of that hand could be surprised by the lack of time on one's schedule when you over sleep.

Cordelia May Stone didn't want to be awake, not really. The only reason, and really it is the only, to be awake was Mr. Body's letter. It wasn't really something she could ignore after all. That letter was quite more of a demand then a request for her to show up at his house later today, along with some invited others. She couldn't think of the others that were being invited. Delia didn't have many friends, but even if she did, she highly doubted they would have been invited to Mr. Body's. That was something she would have been glad of though. She always got the feeling that he knew too much, something that made her mistrust him every time they spoke. Not that she ever purposely chose to speak with Mr. Body. There were many other things she could be doing with her time, including her work, mostly for the money, but also just for the company at times.

Many people would raise their eye brows at her work, many people would do even worse, yell or laugh, criticize it mainly. Though she always thought that until you actually worked for a bordello you didn't really know what it was like. That was something Delia could tell, after all, she worked for one almost every day. Skyler wasn't the most ideal person to work for in the beginning. Sure, she managed to find Delia a lot of 'clients' but she ended up taking most of the money. Delia had put up with that for a long time before she took matters into her own hands. She had been charging her own price for a long time now, taking the extra money. Since then she had been getting a consierable amount of money adding up. She wasn't rich, but for the first time in her life she was comfortably middle class. Growing up she hadn't had the most money, which if someone was looking in on her life would think drove her to 'sell herself.' Little did they know though. Delia mainly worked at a bordello because it was something she was good at. Is that a sick thing to say? Really it depends on the way you look at it. Teachers are good at teaching things, so that is what they do. It was the same thing for her. Plus it just ended up working out for her. She didn't have to sit in an office all day long, and most of the time it wasn't boring like that would be. In most ways it was even easy, or it used to be at least.

Things had been a bit more complicated recently. Besides Mr. Body entering her life there had been some other things, some other people causing complications. One of her 'clients,' a man named Jude Beaumont, had altered her life considerably. He was one of those that came to her more then once, so she had come to start expecting him when she heard that she was to see him. Even to this day Delia wasn't exactly sure what had happened. Normally she was very careful, she didn't want to catch anything from all the mean she dealt with. But clearly something had gone wrong. Not at the time, otherwise she probably wouldn't have been paid, it wasn't that kind of thing. It was something she found out a week or so later, she had noticed it when she was missing something... her period.

Yes, she was pregnant. The moment Delia noticed she was late she just knew that she was pregnant. She wasn't the type of woman who was always on time, but considering the amount of sex she had she paid attention to that kind of thing, just in case. When she found out she reacted almost as you would expect her to, she sank to the floor (she was in her own bath room after all) and wept for a long while. It wasn't the sort of news she had been wanting to hear. Recently been paid a bit more then normal even with her higher price, and in a good mood from the promise of even more money she had been planning on going out to get a drink and let loose a bit. Instead she found herself crying and seeming very pathetic. After about an hour she got off the floor, and walked down the road to the nearest gas station. They didn't bother to ask about her tear stained face, but she handed her the box she was looking for. When she got home she took the test and surprise! it was positive.

"I am pregnant." Delia said the words out loud now. It had been about a week since she found out, but she was still recovering. She had mainly stayed in her apartment all week, which of course didn't help her money wise. She was pretty sure Skyler was going to be mad at her soon if she kept this up, but she was still shocked, even though she already had a plan formed in her mind. It was simple. She would just hide the pregnancy for as long as she could, and then when it couldn't be hidden she would just ask for time out. A vacation of sorts. Maybe she would actually go somewhere, then she would actually enjoy herself, maybe. When she came back with a child she could just say she either adopted or it was one of her family members, she hadn't thought up that story yet. That plan mainly relied on the fact that no one would find out though, but she had grown up spinning tales and telling lies after all, so it might not be so hard. That was where Mr. Body came in again though. Somehow he knew about her, he knew all of her secrets. Before he had gotten in contact with he she had had no clue about who he was. At first she thought it was a prank from Skyler, getting someone to check up on her workers to see if they were obeying her rules and such, but Mr. Body knew too much about her for even that. Quite frankly he scared her.

Which led her back to the fact that she had to get out of bed, she simply couldn't say no to Mr. Body. Even if he hadn't stated it this was a formal affair, or 'fancy.' Normally Delia didn't have to dress up for much, she was more of the 'dress down' type of people. Literally. But of course she had a couple outfits that she could wear. She managed to get out of her bed and walk towards her closet. Her apartment was very simple. The dining room, kitchen, and living room were all one large, circular room. Her bedroom was connected to the bathroom, and had a walk in closet. It was small for two people, but for one person like her it was the perfect size.

Delia's closet was very organized. On one side were the clothing she used for work, which varied a lot. Of course there were a lot of things like lingerie, but there were also normal things like sweat pants. There were some odd outfits on that side though, like costumes that she normally preferred not to where. They were charged extra for, but she said the reason was dry cleaning, but she really just didn't like them. On the other side of her closet, the much larger one, were her normal clothes. She turned to these to find her outfit for tonight. A dress was pretty much required, what type of girl wore pants when she was dressing up? Delia selected a rather new dress of hers, something she had actually been wanting to wear. After that she just based the outfit off of it, ending up with an outfit like this.

Wanting nothing more but to dally on her way to Mr. Body's Delia called a cab to come and pick her up. She couldn't put it off any longer since she was dressed and fully ready to go. She walked out of her room, something she hadn't done in a while, and couldn't help but dread the evening a little bit. Her dress would hide her stomach, even though she wasn't showing yet, but she still worried. Going to his house was just making her nauseous. She walked over to her table and sank into one of the chairs. It was mainly a show, she hardly ever cooked for herself at home, it just went along with the decor really. She was glad she had it now though, she was practically worrying herself sick.

The word was like a trigger. She could feel her stomach practically rumbling, and she jumped up from the chair, realizing what was happening. Running across the room and into her bedroom she made it into the bathroom just in time. It would have been unlucky to spoil the outfit after all. The toilet seat was already up thankfully, otherwise there would have been quite a mess. Delia had never been found of throwing up, who was?, but this seemed ever worse. It wasn't a 24 hour flu, it was something she could be expecting more then once in the next months. "Whoever called it morning sickness it worth crap." She muttered to herself once she had finished. She flushed the toilet and stood up from where she had been leaning on her knees. "This is exactly the type of thing I wanted to go threw before I have to go to a party." She continued on.

Delia walked over to the sink and began to wash her hands with lavender soap, something she had done just minutes ago when she was getting ready. She also brushed her teeth, trying to eliminate as much evidence that she had thrown up as possible. It was a major sign of her pregnancy. Just in case the smell was lingering she sprayed a bunch of perfume around herself, and with that, she was done getting ready.. for the second time. She looked at herself in the mirror, and noted that she hadn't done so bad even if it took two times. Her outfit looked put together, but not in the over concentrated way, the type of look everybody strived for. Her face was paler then normal, and her eyes were empty of that normal cheer they had. She turned to the side, ignoring her obvious unhappiness, and viewed her stomach. You really couldn't tell what was in her stomach, but she laid her hands nervously across her stomach anyways, biting her bottom lip with doubt.

The cab she had called for honked outside impatiently twice in a row. It had probably been out there for awhile. Delia abandoned the mirror with one last look, just to double check that everything was find, and that no, her stomach was not ballooning out. She grabbed her coat and gloved which had been laying on her bed waiting for her, and headed outside. The weather outside was about the same as her mood, and she automatically wished for an umbrella. She ran to the cab even though she was in heels, where one bad step you could twist your ankle, and made it to the cab in record time. If the driver thought that a lady sprinting out of her house in a dress was odd he didn't mention it.

The drive to Mr. Body's home wasn't that long, something she resented. Delia could have done with many more minutes before she actually had to go. Seeing Mr. Body was one thing, seeing him with other people was worse. What if he accidently, or not-so-accidently let something slip about her? She would be fired from her job, Skyler would probably tell her she couldn't afford to pay careless workers like her, something of the sort. Even if she was still employed, what man actually wanted a pregnant woman? Besides, Skyler would be mad enough about the whole money thing. It was just too much to think about, and Delia decided to ignore all her thoughts. If she didn't she was going to get a head ache, and besides, Mr. Body's little get together was going to be bad enough.

Delia arrived at his home, mansion, estate, or whatever she could call it in another couple minutes. She leaned forward to pay the man, planning to sprint out of the car again, when she spotted an umbrella sitting on the seat next to him. "Oh sir, do you think you could give me your umbrella? I would say borrow, but let's face it, when am I going to see you again? Please, I will pay you for it, here, just take the money and give me your umbrella, I really need it more then you, who is the one going outside? That's it, thank you very much!" She managed to pursaude the man to give her the umbrella, even though it meant balancing her purse in one hand and the shabby umbrella in the other. After handing him the extra money she opened her door and quickly walked up to the door. The umbrella worked for the short walk, but it wasn't in the best of shape and could have given out any moment, she was sure.

The door was opened as soon as she reached it. A man was standing there, and since he was wearing white gloves and didn't appear to be Mr. Body or dressed fancily for a party or such, she assumed he was a butler. Her guess appeared to be right, he took her coat, purse, and when he reached for the umbrella she just laughed slightly and told him he could throw it away. If he thought this was odd, just like the cab driver, he didn't say anything. Once they were done putting away her belongings he lead her to another room, where she was displeased to see other people. She tried to hide her discomfort and just smiled and quickly tried to find a place to sit. Her eyes began to search the room for familiar faces, but thankfully she saw none. The next thing she began to look for was alcohol, but then remembered she shouldn't be drinking any. She sighed to herself as the realization hit her, and she knew the evening was going to be even harder without the softness of a couple glasses of wine added to it.


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[sweetprinceman]

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Some said that money did not buy ones happiness. Ashton didn't know much about that but he could tell you one thing. Poverty didn't buy much happiness either. Actually, the male of twenty-six was quite certain that if poverty could afford anything at all that thing was patheticness. Self-loathing, maybe. No, definitely self-loathing. There was plenty of self-loathing to go around. As a man who had lost everything, going from a highly sought after psychiatrist with money to toss away to whatever whim he so pleased to a.. hobo living out out of a cardboard box [literally], he would be the one to tell you all the woes that bankruptcy included. That is.. if he were willing to admit to anyone other than himself [sometimes not even that] just how royally bad off he truly was. Bad off might have been the understatement of the year. Decade. Century. Whichever.

In retrospect comforting his patients with sexual favors had probably not been the best move he could have made from a professional standpoint-- any standpoint. In his very undignified defense a very vocal part of his mind had campaigned for adopting a possibly terrible code of ethics. Carpe diem. Sadly the sane part of his brain hadn't been able to come up with a proper argument and had given in quite quickly with a 'seize the day'. So he'd seized something else and put it in places that it ought not to of been. On occasions others had seized their something else's and placed it in his place they ought not be. Luckily it was for the first that he'd been caught [just imagine if it had been the second, he'd never live that one down!]... of that he was nearly 80% sure that he'd been set up. Madame Kensignton had made her needs so very clear and if he'd been thinking with the correct head at the time he'd have realized before it was.. too late. Way before he was being sued for unethical behavior. Even further before his wife packed up his emerald suitcase and tossed it out the door telling him to 'get the hell out and stay out you sonuvabitch'. Instead, he'd realized her questionable behavior right about the time his medical license was being ripped from him without so much as a 'sayonara, it's been fun'.

As a psychiatrist you would think it be fairly easy for him to diagnose himself as a pathological liar-- what with his dexterous ability to exaggerate some fairly ridiculous things, his inability to accept that others could do as well as he that resulted in a fair amount of one-upping, his constructed little reality, and his inability to be loyal [as pointed out by his wife.. er, ex-wife]. There was also the fact that he was one of the worst hypochondriacs alive-- he was always sick with some mysterious illness. Ashton even lied about the smallest things; "No, your arse doesn't look fat in that dress.", "Of course I remember you saying your parents were coming for a visit.", et cetera-- the thing was, being a pathological liar he wasn't all that aware he was lying when he did so. He believed the lie after it came out of his mouth. Or at least, he'd like you to believe that and would go to great measures to make sure you did just so. It wasn't as if he were hurting anyone with his lies, he didn't see anything wrong with it.

However.. after losing his job, his wife, and his dignity.. it was possible that his lying had only gotten worse and to the point where it could very well be hurting him.

As the pride filled man that he was Ashton was more than a little unwilling to let those still with him [and clueless] know exactly what it is he had done. In fact, as far as they were concerned he was still happily married and working at the hospital, medical license still intact and then some. It wasn't exactly like he was lying to them [or anyone who recognized him and approached him on the street] he just wasn't.. correcting them when they assumed. The fact that he still wore his wedding band and bragged about a few 'clients' was just mere coincidence. He was misleading them, not lying. There was a fine line of a difference.

Mr. Body didn't seem to see it that way. He was the only one to know outside of a few discreet lawyers, his wife, and.. her. He was the one using this little piece of information to bribe poor Mr. Moss. He was the one who'd sent the letter requesting Ashton join him for dinner-- no doubt to get even more money out of him that he did not have. Shelling out whatever little money he still had was, howbeit, better than the alternative-- Mr. Body spreading their.. 'little secret' to anyone and everyone important. Ashton would do nearly anything to keep that from happening. Including, but not limited to, joining the pompous man at his dinner party.

He couldn't help but wonder if the request for 'fancy dress' had been a personal attack on his current living arrangement-- knowing Mr. Body that wasn't such a giant leap into paranoia as it should of been. Luckily for Ashton his suitcase was of the best quality [resistant to all the rain that his little box wasn't] and his ex-wife had had enough peace of mind to pack a few of his suits. If it had been belligerence on Mr. Body's part, Ashton wouldn't be taking the bait. He'd chosen a dark gray suit-- he never could wear black with any sort of peace at mind, pairing it with pale dress shirt and hunter green tie. As for shoes he'd gone with his favorite pair of Dolce & Gabbana men's olive dress shoes. It wasn't the most fashionable of choices but it wasn't as if Mrs. Guinevere Moss had had Mr. Ashton Moss' best interest at heart when packing his suitcase. She hadn't even packed him a brush, nor a comb.. nor more importantly his hair gel. The male shuddered to think just how his dark hair was fairing against the lack of love. Fortunately by chance Ashton had gained the little talent of being able to style it without a mirror, he ran his slender fingers up through the soft strands arranging them so not a fiber was out of place. As his fingers stroked past his sideburns and over his chin he was able to determine that there was just the slightest of stubble growing on his chin-- enough to be noticeable but not enough to look like the street rat that he had became. It was just enough to make him appear like a busy man who'd missed a shave or two in order to keep up with his hectic work schedule. A married man whose wife liked the scratchy feel against her soft cheek. It was just as well seeing as dear Guinevere hadn't packed him his razor either.

Dropping his hands the male reached into his pants pocket with a brief look of disdain. The letter-- it had been delivered right to his little street corner, as if Mr. Body had been showing off. Teasing him. A "ha ha, I know your secret and there's nothing you can do about it". It was around then that he was forced to tell himself to get a hold of himself, where else would the letter of been delivered to, his office? Ha! His lovely home? Ha ha! No, his homey little box was the only place he was sure to be. The fact that Mr. Body knew this just.. burned a little. The male's fist closed over the letter and he gave it a quick squeeze before pulling it out of his pocket and going over the address once more. To add insult to injury, so it seemed, Mr. Body would be sending a driver to get him. His letter contained an extra address, one telling him just where to meet his ride. His thumb brushed over the letters and the corner of his mouth twitched-- it was the address of his former work place. If Mr. Body had anything [other than millions] it was a cruel sense of humor. The letter crumbled in his grasp before it was shoved right back into his pocket-- it seemed as if he had a long walk ahead of him. Ashton could at least be thankful that the address hadn't been to his former house where his former wife would no doubt start to consider a restraining order. That would definitely be no good, more people would be drawn into knowing his... 'little secret' that way.

On his 'walk of shame' Ashton allowed his brain to wonder over Mr. Body's choice of words-- you all, this implied that he wouldn't be the only little guest and this was.. nerve wracking. Would Mr. Body let his secret out right then and there, right in front of a group of carefully gathered important people? Or were they there just to be sure that he be more likely to agree to more bribes? The male had never requested they meet in person, always preferring to deal with Ashton through a few 'little helpers' [which was insulting on it's own, thank you], and now suddenly, he was inviting Ash to dinner.. with guests? It just didn't seem good.

The tip of his shoe nearly caught in a crack on the sidewalk; nearly tripping him in the process. It was probably best if he just focus on the task at hand and wander into paranoid territories later. Walking and thinking just wasn't his strong suit-- when Ashton allowed his brain to mull things over he became immersed, often forgetting his surroundings.

While walking he had kept his gaze on his shoes, it was rather dark outside and the storm clouds above just weren't making it any better [he could only hope he made it to the car before it started to downpour], but when he saw the familiar rose bushes in his peripheral vision he raised his head to give the place a quick look around. The building was exactly as he'd left it, he'd been expecting it to be but it still managed to hit him with a sense of nostalgia. He missed that place, he missed being something, and he.. as odd as it was.. missed his wife.. ex-wife. Mostly though, he missed his wonky patience. Paranoid schizophrenics, borderlines, obsessive compulsives, and histrionics had their way in making him forget about his own sad life because.. bluntly, their lives sucked. The quiet sound of a car stopping next to him stopped him from musing forward and instead he was focused on the tinted window-- trying to figure out if it was his driver.. or worse, his ex-boss.Fancy meeting you here, sir he imagined himself saying..

He was saved from making a fool of himself and high-pitched nervous laughter when the window was rolled down, "Need a ride from work, Mr. Zachary Moss?" an elderly man asked him in a curt tone. Ashton's lips curled up into a grin at that question as he studied the male-- a turky neck, thick bushy white eyebrows, and no doubt bald head under that driver's cap. His jaw was clenched and his fingers tapping away at the steering wheel with brisk little dabs. This man, no doubt, was not satisfied with his job. He'd probably wanted to do big things with his life, things that did not involve being the chauffeur for spoiled rich people.

"Of course," he spoke promptly turning his 'psychiatrist' off before it could begin a diatribe about how issues with his father had likely given him a low self esteem, "I'd love one, sir." his voice still had the licks of a British accent, it had been dimmed down by his many [many, many] years away from home but it was still quite noticeable. The chauffeur did not seemed fazed by Ashton's kind smile and simply jerked his head in a fashion that piratically sang 'get in then'. Ashton was so inclined to follow that request. With one last smile he strode his way around the car, hands stuffed comfortably in his pants pockets before opening up the backdoor and sliding in. The moment he closed the door the clouds released their 'loud' and it immediately began to downpour with rain. "Ha, imagine! What luck." The friendly driver seemed inclined to ignore his passenger and simply gave a grunt before starting up the car and speeding off. The former psychiatrist was just fine with this as it gave him the time to think without tripping over his words [as he had the cracks in the side walk]. It didn't seem Mr. Body's style to invite him over just to reveal his secret-- manipulation was for his thing.

By the time the ride had came to a halt Ashton had came to the conclusion that the other people were just there as leverage. "Give me what I want or all these nice people will know just where you currently live." It was so very 'intelligent mob' of Mr. Body. He may not like the male, hell hate seemed very appropriate for how he felt, but he could respect his way of doing things [he'd love to get that man in his (former) chair, study him for a few hours.. see what made him tick]. He just wished Mr. Body's 'ways' were spent on someone other than he. The driver gave another grunt causing Ashton to lift his head in acknowledgment, the male handed him an umbrella before promptly giving him a look that said 'now get out'. He spared him another curt smile before taking the offered tacky umbrella and doing just that. Once outside he'd quickly opened the umbrella, holding it over his head with a glance behind himself-- only to see that the driver had already sped off around the mansion. "He was a talkative fellow, wasn't he?"

With a heave of a sigh the male steadied his shoulders and headed to the doorstep before ringing the bell. After a moment when no answer was forthcoming he had rang it again with a knot of annoyance between his eyebrows. He had been about to ring the doorbell once more when it was finally answered by a.. well, by an extremely attractive blonde in a very short skirt. Nervously the male twisted his wedding ring on his finger before nodding his head curtly, attempting to avoid looking at the girl's exposed cleavage.

"Welcome, indeed." he said thoughtfully before offering up a friendly wink.

What appeared to be the butler chose that moment to come up behind her, offering to take his umbrella. He smiled quickly before closing up the device and handing it over, "It's not mine though, it's the drivers. Be sure that gets back to him, yeah?" the man gave a stiff little nod in return and Ashton couldn't help but wonder if the only person working for Mr. Body without a stick up their a** was the lovely maid. He chanced a quick glance over to her before twisting at his ring again-- if she had been on his couch she would have surely been one of his 'special' patients. The butler cleared his throat in order to draw Ashton's attention and once he had it he began to lead him towards the Lounge where he was greeted by the sight of Mr. Body's other guests.

A discreet glance around the room proved that nobody seemed recognizable but he wouldn't allow himself to feel relief. You never did know with Mr. Body.

mr. green is the s**t. ; p

[paralyzed preacher]

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoMadame - - rose

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog- cryin’ all the time…”

Elvis Presley, the king of rock n’ roll, wailed over the radio of the woman’s car. She stared contently out of the backseat window, ignoring the music as she patiently allowed her own personal chauffeur to navigate the shiny (and rather expensive looking) car. With a pale lemon yellow paint job, the 1957 Ford was a work of art- certainly to be revered as a “classic” if it were to ever survive to the 21st Century. The king continued his singing and wailing as the car continued on its way-the woman on the other hand, was certainly no king or queen.

Crossing her legs, un-crossing the two, and then crossing them again for good measure, Cheyenne Kensington hardly seemed interested by the King’s heartfelt song. Instead, she watched the world just outside of her window, her hands folded neatly on her lap. The sights rolled by along as easily as the miles did; acidic gray skies- burping, fluffily obese clouds dotting it like lice standing out on a person’s dark hair. Rain trickled and flicked along the glassy windows of her car (which she owned herself, but rarely drove) and the world past by Cheyenne’s eyes like film in an empty reel: she wasn’t at all interested. Just miles and miles of the same old song and dance- nothing in particular that was so extraordinary that it was worth noticing. She wrung her hands uncomfortably on her neatly pressed cocktail dress.

A shade of chocolate brown, the dress wasn’t too fancy- no ruffles or frills or any other extra accessories that other young women of the time would probably adorn themselves with. Crisp and simple, her dress wasn’t all that amazing, but it was elegant enough to pass for any cocktail or dinner party Mr. Body had concocted. And as a plus, Cheyenne rather liked it too; unlike half of the useless things she had lying about in her closet. A string of shiny ivory pearls flickered around her neck too as she pursed her ruby red lips in anxiety. Such fine luxuries had no meaning for Cheyenne and her shamefully acquired wealth…

Because in its own certain way, Mr. Green was “buying” her all of those things- it was his money after all, ha ha.

Black comedy or not, her chauffeur could see the anxiety plastered on her face like an old mat and glanced worriedly at her through the car mirror. “Miss Kensington ma’am, if I may inquire, what’s got ya’ll so worried? I’ve never seen you so ruffled up…” The chauffer asked, managing a sheepish smile as he managed the steering wheel. His name was Nathaniel, from what Cheyenne knew. That, and the fact that he was from Louisville, Kentucky. Aside from those two fragments of information, she was basically in a car with a stranger, and she treated him as such.

“Keep your eyes on the road.”

No apology, no giving of explanation. Just a harshly cold command given from an even colder woman. In fact, the sweet tempered African-American chauffer had just turned fifty a couple of weeks ago. Even for that short lived celebration, Cheyenne had not shown much care for him. She had simply clapped him on the back and had muttered a half-felt “happy birthday” underneath her breath. She had no time for gifts after all; no time for other people. Especially when there were more pressing matters at hand: namely her.

After the short hiccup along the journey, the rest of the trip went by quite fast. Cheyenne continued to stare out the window without really seeing anything at all; she was far too busy contemplating on whether or not Mr. Body would turn traitor on her and reveal her lies. And when her thoughts began to spiral off into the many diverse situations if Mr. Body were to rat on her (most of them involved jail, or that hell-hole of a "resting spot" people called hospitals) she gave up all together and tried finding shapes in the clouds. Oh look! That one looks like a fork. This one looks like a hospital gown. The one over there looks like an I.D. card. And that one on the side looks like a certain psychiatrist doing a blonde patient in the janitor's closet! Her mind was reverting back to the hospital days, and by God no. She did not want to go there ever again. She had seen many a strange things in that place, and most of them for worse. But thankfully, God dished out one foolish psychiatrist to each hospital in His own mixed blessing, and Mr. Green had been Cheyenne's ticket out of there...even though it required a multitude of blackened deeds in return. She shook her head of the hospital day dreams and ordered the chauffer to turn up the volume; she wasn't quite listening to the music, but more wanted it as a thick blanket between her and the other human being. What with dead noise drowning out any hopes of conversation and all...she liked the silence between them, anyway.

The rest of the ride went tediously, almost unmercifully slow until they finally pulled up to Mr. Body's house- scratch that. Mansion. Stepping out of the car in awe, Cheyenne hardly heard the door slam behind her as she closed it on her own, the quick clanging of the metal on metal falling on deaf ears. She was too amazed by his mansion; the sheer size and beauty of it! But mostly, and it was the only thing mattering to her, it was the fact that it was larger than her own home. A pang of jealousy and more shot her in the head as she bit her lower lip to keep from exploding out. The chaffeur had to call to her twice before she realized he was addressing her: what time did she want him to pick her up? By bloody hell she didn't know! She said that she would phone him when she was ready; and then the tires screeched on the gravel and he was off- blazing down the road from which they had come.

Her shoes clip-clopped against the cold stairs and before she announced her presence, a cold wind blew up and tousled her short, boyish hair about her head. Her dress flew a little around her thin, ivory legs too, but not high enough to enter the realm of anything perverse. The cold wind died down as fast as it had come, and she growled when she had to adjust her outfit again. Every fold, ever crease, ever detail just had ro be perfect for her. After smoothing out her dress, adjusting the string of pearls at her neck, and checking her makeup for any faults in a compact mirror she had brought along, much to her dismay she realized that a single strand of hair remained glued to her eyebrow...which was a sign of bad luck.

Now Cheyenne never considered herself the superstitious type, but there was just something very real about this figurative token that she couldn't quite place her finger on. Placing the hair back in its place she smoothed out her dress once more along with the rest of her self-preserving ritual, and grabbing her clutch purse tightly, she rang the doorbell.

One of the more elderly maids greeted her then. The old bags' face had more wrinkles than a piece of leather in Cheyenne's opinion, but that was a misdemeanor, not a felony. She then lead Madame Rose to another room- one filled with other people.

Taking a far seat one of the cushioned, old-fashioned couches, Cheyenne eyed the other curiously. The silence in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Everyone seemed harmless enough; a room full of strangers if she ever saw one. No one seemed particularly familiar, and no one quite looked like the violent type- okay, maybe the stranger with the smoking problem, but her knowledge was beginning to rust. Back when she was in the hospital, you picked up these things quick- whether or not someone was violent, whether they were friendly, who was weak, who was strong, etc. but she had not used this determination in awhile. It was beginning to fuzz. She did not like the fact that she was beginning to lose this skill. It made her feel weak.

She took a glass of champagne to calm her nerves (though it was humanly impossible to tell through that damn amazing poker face she had). Sipping at the bubbly drink, she observed her fellow guests- trying to pick out the ones that could pose a threat, if the time ever came. Just an innocent game to play while they waited; surely she didn't mean it other than entertainment...surely.

Boring of this game quickly, she decided to engage them- to further see into the types of characters that were occupying the room along with her. Smiling with her mouth but not with her eyes, she announced her prescence to the rest of the guests.

“...Did any of you hear that new Elvis Presley single? It's been stuck in my head all day, but I can't quite recall the name...”

Go figure. It had just been playing on her car's radio a few minutes ago. What a manipulative woman.