Abuse of Power

Neon and glamorous, clubs that thumped with heavy dance music dotted the downtown of the densely populated Alqua. The capitol city had traces of neon that spoke of Vyouz influence but it was a far cry from the Sin Cities, where careers blossomed and died. Where stars were born, actors crafted. Alqua was a shadow and its downtown a mockery, offering the citizens a hit of that sin-filled experience without all the contractual strings attached. There were no stages, no high-life offerings here. Just clubs, neon lights splashed over wanna-be dancers.
Not to say that Alqua and the businesses here didn’t rake in respectable profits. It supported one major crime family amongst its own political elite, representatives voted in power by the people of Tory. Corruption ran as deep as the inky water of the Darahrah river that split the city, a river that had a habit of eating bodies that were never found once sucked into its depths. The running rumor was that the old crime families had released flesh eating fish some hundreds of years ago to be their clean up.
A silly rumor. The crime families hadn’t needed to release anything. The fish had always been there.
The Empire was one of the nicer clubs on the east side of the Darahrah, set in the wealthy Golden End district. Where the political vnou with too much money needed places jazzed up to spend it, where they could pretend to play nice with the residents of the city and earn votes. The Empire was one of many interfaces. Black, metal, and glass, with neon that played over a large club of exotically dressed partiers. Some vying for attention, others attracting all sort.
Several stories up, amongst black painted rafters and large lights, Orasamier watched it all. He was past the age where he could be carefree, where he’d be allowed to join in the irresponsible fun down below. Sitting on the grated metal, one of his legs dangled while the other was drawn up. It was all senseless, of course, but there was freedom in that. Freedom he didn’t have anymore.
A subtle vibration from his pocket drew his attention. He ignored the first notification. By the third, he sighed and fished the slender glass phone out of his pocket and flicked through the messages on the screen. All from a five digit number, no name attached.
[ Is it done? ]
[ Hello? Everything ok? ]
[ Answer me you fucking brat! ]
He gave a quick [ all good ] then slipped it back in his pocket. It’d been a simple theft – something generally beyond his abilities but it’d been a job for Rodeus and… Well. Orasamier was the only one that did jobs like that for Rodeus.
< You’re an endearing mix of possessive and frustrating. > The invasion was not a surprise. The thoughts were honeyed and warm, like a syrup-drug that coated his mind and made everything else seem decidedly inconsequential. That Rodeuskiss was reaching out to him after he’d received the messages was the obvious bit.
< Did your secretary not like my response? > There was no way he could hide the amused sneer. The sentiment echoed in the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
< She is insisting we use a different contact for future work. > Rodeus’ amusement was golden in his mind. Subtle and precious, gilding his thoughts in a way Orasamier wished he could hoard them.
< Fuck her. > Flippant and dismissive. Orasamier hated Rodeuskiss’ secretary. The older woman was always mooning over his Dha. She could deal with it.
< No, I don’t think I will. >
His smirk was gone and Orasamier scowled down at the partiers. He might’ve deserved that but it didn’t make him any happier.
< Come home, Osa. >
It didn’t matter how alluring and addicting Rodeus was, Orasamier opted to ignore him for that little job. Focusing all of his attention on the twisting figures below. He even tried to pick out one that might be nice to look at. No one would ever really compare, but that wasn’t the point.
There was a sense of vague resignation that wasn’t his own, an impression of a feeling, but it was fleeting. Like a sigh against the back of his neck. He shivered.
He didn’t keep track of the time. Too engrossed in his own irritation and watching the one guy who seemed to attract attention. Dressed in a dark suit and black button down. Simple but expensive. Likely a politician with the amount of people clustered around him. Always a drink in hand. Blonde hair styled in a way that never moved, no matter how much the man attached to said hair did.
When it happened, it was instantaneous. A blink across the club and everyone stopped moving. Some in mid step fell over but made no noise. Others stumbled and fell, but all quiet. No one moved from the floor where they lay.
Orasamier would have been impressed – well, he was – but he’d seen this before. Not often, mind, but he knew what it meant and where to look.
At the front of the club, at the entrance, there were a small group of uniformly dressed men. Watching the entrance to ensure that no one else would come in while the one who stood out, dressed in gray, a layered suit, and red eyes stepped into the club. The music cut and the club became rather hollow. Surreal.
Those very red eyes found Orasamier easily amongst the dark rafters. “Osa. It’s time to go.”
Well. If this was Rodeus’ way of apologizing, it worked.

Context

A short one-shot with Dya'Shra-Zar Orasamier Zhu'Drahinuaw and Rodeuskiss Kalerilosa - a sample of their interaction and something a high Shra can do when motivated.

Orasamier

by Midjourney

Rodeuskiss

by Midjourney