<img style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/F5cgc3K.png]One, two, three, four... Catch a Bagheera by the toe.
Rufio Cadence had that usual aura of unimpressed enthusiasm clinging to her heels as she made progress towards the casino. Sterile happiness, hidden behind a smug grin. She wasn't an old hand in this part of town, but her name was known, and her kind was understanding of circumstances. Often, a cat of her tribe didn't settle in any location for very long, and while the Bagheera may have appreciated a vacation in Valesport when it was a possibility, those instances were few and far between. Work paid the bills, rest and relaxation caused bills to pile up-- Such was the way of things. So, when Rufio did come on the coastal winds with that sauntering swagger, it was an eerie sort of familiarity, like when someone wore the likeness of a close friend. A pleasing presence paired with exotic aquarian hues that always seemed to be more than they let on.
Ah, it felt good to be free.
In this vein of thought, perhaps entering the establishment to see a patron being booted from the premises hadn't been enough thrown a wrench in her plans. Actually, apathetically, Rufio cleared the path without a second glance towards the bouncers. In her typical fashion, her attire was inlaid with gold and glitz, fabrics seemingly painted over tanned flesh while her hair was held in heavy braids from jewelry decorated roots. Those lips of hers seemed to hold their secrets like a barfly held their drinks; tight and near the heart. Matters of importance rarely found themselves being discussed in the open, after all, so the werecat had little intention of drawing more eyes her way than was naturally expected through the course of an evening. Let them stare if they felt inclined to do so. What harm could come of it?
Envious women of the arm candy variety always tasted far sweeter than their fat walleted beaus. Decadence had a way of finding Rufio, and in a greedy grab, it was savored, despite the strain on her already time thrifty schedule.
Padded steps led through the main floor, away from the seated denizens of present luxury gambling ventures, and onwards towards the back rooms. Wasn't this where the drinks were dirtiest and the night's activities always had devious repercussions? That was where Rufio belonged-- coated in the debauchery Valesport had to offer. Of course, this needn't be a solo mission. It was almost implied by how her shifting gaze dragged over various persons that someone would eventually follow suit. Assuredly, however her evening played out, she would find her vices sated and her appetites quenched. Rufio could be described as many things, but picky wasn't one of them. Her kicks and kinks tended to adapt to the situations she found herself tied to.
A string of isolated incidents seemed to tell the tale of a beast with few burdens, and an insatiable need to acquire more wealth and renown than she knew what to do with. Alas, the world didn't revolve around Rufio-- But if it had, what a place it would be. They say experience was the best teacher, and during those years of nomadic mischief, the woman had racked up her fair share. Enough to ensure an out to every in, and an in to every out. Holes were filled, to say the least. Finding a corner booth, it was claimed in a timely slide of her rear against the seat, and when settled, the bag Rufio carried was placed on the accompanying table. Lids flickered lethargically while whatever concoction she was self medicating with took effect. Fuck, she loved the elevator music playing.
What was that song? Believing in life after love? Spirits, guide her, she was already perfectly content to waste the hours in her hazy recline. Arms were brought to the top of the cushions and her head inclined with them, vision closed with a sharp inhale. The scent of the wood, the atmosphere of smoke and perfume and sweat, and the musk of her ilk. Where were they? Maybe that would be the game she played while active hands on the clock ticked ominously in the background. Stirring up trouble wasn't out of the running though-- Just shelved for now. Rufio would wait for a waitress or attendant of some sort to pass by before she spoke, though the words were airy and pulled from her throat like wisps of ethereal smoke.
"Bourbon on the rocks. A halved lime. Two packets of sweetener. A..." Pausing with a lazy stretch, Rufio mulled over her options. "Hot Dajeeling. One wafer, or cake, or pastry of that variety. But, not coffee cake. That isn't a tea food, and we all know it. Don't disappoint me."
Rufio Cadence had that usual aura of unimpressed enthusiasm clinging to her heels as she made progress towards the casino. Sterile happiness, hidden behind a smug grin. She wasn't an old hand in this part of town, but her name was known, and her kind was understanding of circumstances. Often, a cat of her tribe didn't settle in any location for very long, and while the Bagheera may have appreciated a vacation in Valesport when it was a possibility, those instances were few and far between. Work paid the bills, rest and relaxation caused bills to pile up-- Such was the way of things. So, when Rufio did come on the coastal winds with that sauntering swagger, it was an eerie sort of familiarity, like when someone wore the likeness of a close friend. A pleasing presence paired with exotic aquarian hues that always seemed to be more than they let on.
Ah, it felt good to be free.
In this vein of thought, perhaps entering the establishment to see a patron being booted from the premises hadn't been enough thrown a wrench in her plans. Actually, apathetically, Rufio cleared the path without a second glance towards the bouncers. In her typical fashion, her attire was inlaid with gold and glitz, fabrics seemingly painted over tanned flesh while her hair was held in heavy braids from jewelry decorated roots. Those lips of hers seemed to hold their secrets like a barfly held their drinks; tight and near the heart. Matters of importance rarely found themselves being discussed in the open, after all, so the werecat had little intention of drawing more eyes her way than was naturally expected through the course of an evening. Let them stare if they felt inclined to do so. What harm could come of it?
Envious women of the arm candy variety always tasted far sweeter than their fat walleted beaus. Decadence had a way of finding Rufio, and in a greedy grab, it was savored, despite the strain on her already time thrifty schedule.
Padded steps led through the main floor, away from the seated denizens of present luxury gambling ventures, and onwards towards the back rooms. Wasn't this where the drinks were dirtiest and the night's activities always had devious repercussions? That was where Rufio belonged-- coated in the debauchery Valesport had to offer. Of course, this needn't be a solo mission. It was almost implied by how her shifting gaze dragged over various persons that someone would eventually follow suit. Assuredly, however her evening played out, she would find her vices sated and her appetites quenched. Rufio could be described as many things, but picky wasn't one of them. Her kicks and kinks tended to adapt to the situations she found herself tied to.
A string of isolated incidents seemed to tell the tale of a beast with few burdens, and an insatiable need to acquire more wealth and renown than she knew what to do with. Alas, the world didn't revolve around Rufio-- But if it had, what a place it would be. They say experience was the best teacher, and during those years of nomadic mischief, the woman had racked up her fair share. Enough to ensure an out to every in, and an in to every out. Holes were filled, to say the least. Finding a corner booth, it was claimed in a timely slide of her rear against the seat, and when settled, the bag Rufio carried was placed on the accompanying table. Lids flickered lethargically while whatever concoction she was self medicating with took effect. Fuck, she loved the elevator music playing.
What was that song? Believing in life after love? Spirits, guide her, she was already perfectly content to waste the hours in her hazy recline. Arms were brought to the top of the cushions and her head inclined with them, vision closed with a sharp inhale. The scent of the wood, the atmosphere of smoke and perfume and sweat, and the musk of her ilk. Where were they? Maybe that would be the game she played while active hands on the clock ticked ominously in the background. Stirring up trouble wasn't out of the running though-- Just shelved for now. Rufio would wait for a waitress or attendant of some sort to pass by before she spoke, though the words were airy and pulled from her throat like wisps of ethereal smoke.
"Bourbon on the rocks. A halved lime. Two packets of sweetener. A..." Pausing with a lazy stretch, Rufio mulled over her options. "Hot Dajeeling. One wafer, or cake, or pastry of that variety. But, not coffee cake. That isn't a tea food, and we all know it. Don't disappoint me."
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I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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