The underhive was dirty, dingy, dangerous and decrepid. Doubly so if you were walking like she was, heels clacking against the hard flooring, occasionally poking through stray trash. Her tail, long and grey, small black circles barely visible throughout the limb, and with a white ending, was limply hanging down, curled underneath a flowing robe that didn't leave very much to the imagination, nor hid the laspistol neatly secured just above where her tail joined with the rest of her body.  

She turned at the corner, fingers grazing the walls long since covered in spray paint and chemscorches, the remnants of auto-injector doses littering the floor, with a staggering lack of sterile coverings to match. Not her concern, sharp amber eyes cutting through the dimness. Even in a hive there were places where there was little bustle, but even so enough people were walking back and forth to make her feel more comfortable. True, she was the only one with feline ears perked up above ornately styled hair, her pale skin the only one with the practically imperceptible fuzz of fur along it, but that didn't matter to her.

Another corner turning, and she swallowed slightly. A vehicle of some kind shot by-far too fast to identify, and it was shortly followed by another, a few on the streets instictively diving for cover in case a spray of bullets had chattered out from either of the noisy things. 

There was her destination. Two burly gents, perhaps seven foot tall, towering over her petite frame easily, and with veins sunken in and eyes the twitchy, diluted ones that marked Jago abuse. One of them held out a bear-sized paw at her and looked her up and down. "Anyone expecting you?" 

She nodded nervously. Jago made people aggressive, and the last thing she needed was to catch her death by acting suddenly. As if to make his point clearer, and her more worried, he revealed his shotgun, and pressed a small button attached to his collar. Whilst he was doing this, his partner grunted and made a 'spin around' gesture with his finger, and she did as he said, the guard reaching underneath her clothes and pulling out the gun, tucking it in his belt. "You'll get 'at back w'en yous come out." She nodded and patiently waited as the goon's partner opened the door.

Inside, it was a lot more crowded than the street. Whilst this place wasn't quite a recognised cult area, it was certainly getting there, the floor stained in blood and chemicals as much as it was other, more unsavoury liquids. Music pounded out from a set of speakers, one woman with her head pressed right by the huge disks, and the felinid could swear she could see a trickle of blood coming from her ears.

There wasn't time for pleasure though. As much as she would have liked enjoying the party, she had a client to attend to. That meant a short walk to a less noisy area, the music here filtered and the floors... Well, to call them sterile was most certainly an exaggeration, but grease, oil, alcohol and the usual underhive dust was here, rather than splotches of red and white.

Another guard blocked her as she reached the stairs, and she simply rolled her eyes as he insisted on a 'pat down search,' before walking up the stairs quickly. She had gotten used to handsy bouncers and even PDF handcuffs. It was all the same to her.

Well, this wasn't the same, but it was similar enough. The room she was looking for was easy to find, and she entered it without knocking, a young man turning to face her, along with another woman. 

At a glance, one could tell the difference between street trash and consort, and she was looking at a prime example of the former. Unlike her own cleaned and brushed hair, hers was dirty and wretched- and she had a screen of dust all over her. Her skin was pale- even more so than normal, and her eyes were wode and questioning... A nightsider. How curious.

The man himself smiled. "Mademoiselle shines again! What a specimen you are..." he stepped closer to her and ran a hand along her arm, before moving behind her- almost gliding, and running his hands from top to bottom. "Exquisite." He returned to the other girl and indicated for her to open the bottle sitting on the desk, which she did easily. "Three glasses. Extra large." 

It was strong stuff. The fumes alone would have been eye-watering if she had not been used to this kind of brewed poison. "Now, before you drink, can I get the luxury of your name?"

"I am Thenine. Thenine Laysios." 

"A name fit for one such as yourself." He raised the glass. "Drink."

They all did. 

Then he turned back to the bed, where he lay down in it, reaching to a velvety looking box by his side. He opened it and held it out to the pair, showing a set of beautifully crafted silver knives.

This is almost too easy. 

Whilst the other girl looked concerned, she moved quickly, picking up the box and taking one out. It had a scapel-like make to it, but felt heavier and balanced in her hands, and when she ran it along her finger, it cut it easily, blood dripping down.

"Another follower? So good..." Her client had taken off his shirt by now, showing a body criss-crossed with scars.

"But the knives aren't for you... Hurt me. I'm sure you know all the best ways..." he laughed, and for the first time she realised he was high as hell as well. Still, when you had an invitation like that... Well. She straddled him, the Nightsider moving beside him, and ran the blade along his shoulder, and then curled down to his bicep, the skin parting beautifully underneath her knife.

She moved it up towards his neck, and his hand stopped her, although it felt weak.

"Not the face. I like to keep that pristine." She was surprised he could talk- he looked delirious with pleasure. Moving her knife to her left hand, she ran it back along his other arm, making sure not to slice his wrist open, and then curled it back along to his bicep.

Then she struck. The knife cut through his throat easily, and his hands shot up, futilely pressing down on the wound. Blood gushed- beautiful blood, but she had to deal with the other person in the room, the felinid athletically springing backwards, landing first on her hands, then pushing herself into a spin and onto her feet. The Nighsider was standing there shocked, looking at him bleed out.

"How much was he worth." It didn't seem like a question.

"Oh, enough."

"For your next hit."

"And the on after that, and my next meal, the two hits after that, the binding formula..." She smiled and approached the other abhuman, the man's eyes having glazed over entirely, hands now not bothering to stop the flow of blood.

"He seems to like it."

The felinid's hand reached across and touched the Nightsider's thigh. She didn't flinch away. "Are you going to kill me as well."

"What? No. Of course not." She spun the other woman around and lightly bit down on her neck, pulling her into an embrace. "I'm just suggesting you don't waste the trip..."

A little dust never hurt anyone, after all.