[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/WLTRsyo.png[/img][/center] [color=CadetBlue] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=IndianRed][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Pink Room • [color=IndianRed][b]Time:[/b][/color] Nighttime[/center] [center][color=IndianRed][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] A Crow Named Mercy & some lovely [i]dancers[/i] • [color=IndianRed][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] Noah [@helo] [/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][/color] [color=silver]The rain came soft, like it knew how to be quiet. It blurred the windshield into stained glass, neon colors bleeding through each drop until the city looked like a bruise waiting to happen. Halcyon always had a way of looking better through the lens of glass and distance. Locke watched the streets slip past from behind the wheel, the [url=https://i.imgur.com/dEEXirH.png]Obsidian Coupe[/url] humming beneath him with all of the luxury and power money could by. It wasn’t the kind of car meant to be driven fast. It was meant to glide, to turn heads… But he knew how to handle it, fast, slow, everything in between. It was a beast under his control and not the other way around. Inside, everything was leather and low light. The scent of clove, bergamot, and subtle magic hung in the air, stitched into the seams of the upholstery like memory. The console glowed in soft silver lines, runes flickering gently along the edges that only activated when he was alone. This was a car built for silence AND spectacle depending on the night. Locke didn’t rush, the Pink Room wasn’t going anywhere, but he did consider his choice even as he neared his destination. He turned into the alley behind it, a slow roll of the tires splashing through rainwater and glinting reflections. He pulled to a stop where the cameras didn’t reach, killing the engine with a soft tap of his fingers. The Coupe powered down like a held breath finally released. He stepped out into the alley and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, rain hissing softly in the background as neon bled across the pavement. A rush of air overhead marked her arrival before she even touched down. Mercy landed on his shoulder with a rustle of wings, claws light against the fabric of his sirt, her body warm where it perched beside his neck. She tilted her head toward the club, feathers slick and gleaming, and let out a low, irritable caw…one she didn’t bother disguising as anything else. Locke reached up and brushed his fingers lightly along the back of her head, smoothing the rain drenched feathers with care. His voice came soft, low enough for just the two of them. [color=cadetblue]“I don’t like the vibe either, darlin’. Never do with places like this,”[/color] he murmured. [color=cadetblue]“But you’re stayin’ outside tonight.”[/color] She clicked her beak once in disapproval, shifting her weight. [color=cadetblue]“Need you keepin’ an eye out. Watch the car, keep to the sky. If anything smells [i]too[/i] wrong... make a scene for me, yeah?”[/color] He gave her one last stroke, then tilted his head gently toward the rooftop above. Mercy lingered another second before lifting off in a single beat of her wings, disappearing into the wet dark above. After she left, Lock straightened the front of his shirt with a practiced tug, smoothing any wrinkles and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Everything was in place. His rings caught the low light, his collar sat clean against his throat. He looked the way Locke Devlin always looked…like perfectly tailored trouble with a flawless smile. The club was waiting. Red neon spilled across the rain-slick alley, flickering over a warped sign and casting long shadows across the brick. The door buzzed faintly as he approached, and the bouncer…a stone wall of flesh dressed like a man... barely met his eyes before opening it. No questions, no recognition, just vibes. Locke didn’t break stride as he passed through. Inside, the heat hit immediately. Not sharp or sweltering, just thick. The lighting was low and moody, sliding across mirrored walls and velvet booths in long, lazy passes. Somewhere in the back, a stage light pulsed slow, catching the glitter along a dancer’s thigh as she moved in perfect rhythm to the beat that throbbed beneath the floorboards. It was the kind of place where good decisions went to die, dressed in lace and leather and cheap perfume. Locke let his gaze drift without lingering, and the room noticed him immediately. The dancers saw the silhouette first. The curve of his figure. The glint of rings. Then came the cut of his jaw, the slope of his grin, the scent of something expensive that clung to him like intention. Every head turned a little too slow to look natural. A few smiles curved in his direction ... soft, curious, or wicked depending on the angle. He returned one with a nod, another with a glance. It was enough to ignite interest, but not nearly enough to invite it. He didn’t have time for games tonight. Still… Even a man like him couldn’t deny the bliss of being noticed Which was good, because he hadn’t made it ten steps past the bar before they found him. One with hair like spun copper, legs for days and a body poured into latex. Another with kohl-ringed eyes and a serpent tattoo curling up one bare thigh. They moved toward him in perfect synchrony, practiced and fluid, all hips and performative seduction, like they’d smelled the money the moment the door opened. The redhead got there first. She brushed a hand lightly down the front of his chest, just shy of actually touching. [color=HotPink]“You look like trouble,”[/color] she purred, her voice sweetened for effect. [color=HotPink]“The expensive kind.”[/color] [color=cadetblue]“That’s the only kind worth bein’,”[/color] Locke replied without missing a beat, his tone low and warm, touched with a slow smile that never quite reached his eyes. The second one circled around his side, placing a hand on his arm just above the elbow. She leaned in, close enough for the scent of vanilla and vodka to mix with the clove that clung to him like second skin. [color=MediumOrchid]“We’ve got a private booth with your name on it,”[/color] she murmured. [color=MediumOrchid]“No pressure. But you wouldn’t regret it.”[/color] Locke glanced toward the back hallway, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he turned back to them, tilting his head with that all too effortless ease. [color=cadetblue]“Temptin’ offer,”[/color] he said softly. [color=cadetblue]“But I’ve already got a date tonight. The kind you don’t keep waitin’.”[/color] The redhead pouted, but not seriously. She ran her fingers down the side of his shirt, appreciating the fabric. [color=HotPink]“Then come find us after,”[/color] she said, her smile curling like a hook. [color=HotPink]“We’ll still be here.”[/color] Locke nodded once, that same half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. [color=cadetblue]“If I walk back out of this [i]date[/i] in one piece, perhaps I’ll consider it.”[/color] They let him go with a few lingering glances, already melting into the low-lit crowd behind him. Locke didn’t look back. He never did. He slipped through the Pink Room like smoke, his boots soundless on the floor, his posture loose but purposeful. It was darker in the back, the red and pink lights gave way to cooler ones, blue and violet seeping down from low-hung fixtures, drawing a veil over the more private alcoves. And when he found one such alcove, he stopped for a beat and took in the room. All the while, his reason for being there hung like the sword of Damocles over his head. The message hadn’t said much, just seven simple words. [color=C60000][i]We need to talk. Tonight. Pink Room.[/i][/color] It wasn’t the wording that bothered him…It was the sender. [b]Fucking Noah Corvane.[/b] The [i]sadist prince[/i] himself. A name that hit more like a memory than real life. Childhood friend, blood-deep bond, twin flame of the girl he used to know like a second skin. There had been a time when the three of them were inseparable. A time when Noah had been fire and chaos and the kind of laughter that made your ribs ache. But that had been years ago. And now... Now the streets whispered that Noah wasn’t the same man. That something wild had taken root and festered. That the boy who once walked beside Locke had burned a little too long in the wrong direction. He hadn’t seen him in a while, hadn’t heard as much as word from him in some time. And now this. Locke’s hand brushed the inner fabric of his pants pocket, feeling the soft, familiar weight of the deck of cards inside. But to be fair, Locke Devlin wasn’t quite the same either. Halcyon has its way of twisting people…darkening them. He moved toward the hallway where the private rooms sat like waiting mouths. He still didn’t know what he was walking into, but he was here. Pressed, polished, and calm as still water. Lucky as ever. And for now… that would have to be enough.[/color]