Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

DON'T LISTEN TO HIM, FOLKS, HE WAS JUST JESTING!!!!!!

also-does anyone know what color Mafioso's eyes are? asking for a friend...

Chapter Text

They all woke up at the same time with a choking cough in their respected rooms in the lodge, 007n7 the first to fall out of his own bed and run out the door into the second floor hallway-the long lank of old wood looking over the main area of the first floor below guarded by wooden railings like a balcony, hand on his heart to regain lost breaths. Next out of his own room came Elliot, pale like he had witnessed over 1,000 deaths not his own, followed by Builderman who made an instant beeline for Shedletsky's room-just as he slammed the door open, catching Builderman in the face falling backwards out of the sudden force, landing on his back as he held his forehead, he quickly got back on his feet however and moved past the pain. “Gosh dangit,” he mumbled as he rubbed his forehead where it bumped into the door, he looked up at Shedletsky who was clearly irritated. "How did we-," he went, "How in the…-but-," as the rest of the survivors rushed out their rooms to quiz on humanity and how they were all suddenly back here 007n7 rushed down the stairs-tripping halfway down the second to last step-and ran out the door to where the killers resided in this forsaken realm.

"NOLI! NOLI!?" he began shouting but was given no response, the others hearing him as he was too hurried to shut the door on his way out. Builderman turned to the other gods, "Shed', Duse', Taph," he went, "at least one of us still has a hold of that empty Void Star with us, right?!" They glanced at each other for a moment, before Shedletsky spoke up, "I do." He responded as he pulled a small star-shaped item from his side pouch- He held out his hand out, in his palm was the object, it was black, almost hollow looking, as if he was holding nothing but emptiness. "Okay, go try and catch up to where 7n7's heading off to, and hurry, Noli's life literally depends on it!" He took no time to question, he quickly took the little dark object and quickly made his way out of the building, while the other two just stood in the hall, silently looking on as Shedletsky raced outside to catch up with the poor guy. 007n7 ran straight inside, shouting for Noli, only to get funny looks from the just as baffled killers that were stuck in that world with him and the other survivors, and then the young red boy he knew all too well rushed up to him and hugged him tight. “DAD! DAD!” C00lkidd shouted at the top of his lungs in joy, “OH, DAD, YOU CAME BACK!” He couldn't help but to wrap his arms back around C00lkidd, holding him tightly for a few moments-he couldn't bring himself to let his poor son go just yet. He hugged him close, it was so nice to feel him in his arms again, to hear his voice, everything. "Papa, uh, u-, uncle Noli's still sleeping, though," the boy tells his father worriedly, "You guys were all sleeping for a long time, dad. The others and I thought the rest of you were never gonna wake up!" He pulled away from the hug just enough to look his son in the eyes, he could tell he was worried about something. He gently put a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a hushed tone, "Son…how long have we all been asleep for…exactly?"

"Uh…" C00lkidd looked down and proceeded to count on his fingers. Jason pipped up, "ki ki ma ma ma…"

"Yeah, what he said." C00lkidd replied, "You guys have been out since June was over." He let that info sink in for a moment. A month!? They had been out for a whole month!? No wonder why they felt so weak when they had first woken up! "O-oh gosh." He mumbled, the hand on C00lkidd's shoulder slightly clenching- He was worried to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. "Have you kids been alright-?"

"OUT OF THE WAY, DEARIE!" Shedletsky shouts in his Mrs. Doubtfire impression as he darts up the stairs to Noli's room, empty Void Star in hand, slamming the door behind him as he went in. Noli's still-prone form lied on the bed of bloodstone, but his eyes were just now cracking open, his eyelashes struggling to rise. "S…Sh…eed…etsky…?" he croaked, his voice groggy and soft as cotton. Shedletsky rushed onto the bed, taking ahold of Noli's hand with his own. His eyes remained gentle and caring. "Yes, I'm here, Noli," Shedletsky says, "I'm here." The ground shook, a bong from the grandfather clocks in each lodge boomed loud to echo in the skies at the same time. A new soul? This soon? Shedletsky looked up to the window of Noli's room as he reformed the Void Star to his being, the slow re-glow of the white light forming like a glass being poured with hot ice as the glitched formidability of the Spectre's slate gray form floated down with invisible strings to drag a protesting figure in the air, as the killers and the other survivors all looked from their spots to see who it might be; but the voice, while it did not entirely fit the body, was all too familiar. In a gown of silks that glistened like rubies and banded all together in gold, her arms and legs dripping with the elegant metal, her feet covered with open-toed sandals that had no fabric on the sides in shapes of half ovals and ankle en full, the thick hemp straps to the fabric itself being what kept the shoes attached to her feet entirely as they clanked with iron clips to decorate the bright brown leathers. Her hair was all over the place from her flailing about as the Spectre floated over to the front of the lodge the survivors resided in, keeping her held in the air by some invisible hand before tossing her in like she was nothing to them, and then leaving without so much as a mere glance over the shoulder or a bold comment as she ran out the door onto the patio to shout obscenities, how dare yous, and do you know who I am’s at them until they were poof-gone. It was fucking. Narcaus. OH, isn't this moment just rich?! Talk about poetic justice; such ffffffffffUCKing iiiiiiiiIRONY, befitting the fate Taph gave to the wicked woman! "W-what the hell…?" Shedletsky looked at the window, at the spot where Narcaus had been standing before being thrown into the lodge. He was left utterly flabbergasted-how did this even happen? Just what was going on here? He was in utter disbelief as to this event; this twist that had just been delivered on a silver platter. "Wh-…how is that even possible…?"

"Whu…" Noli could hardly move his head, the poor thing. 007n7 enters the room with a small knock on the wood, C00lkidd in tow who rushes to Noli. "Uncle Noli, someone just-"

"Kidd, please," 007n7 approached his son and placed a firm yet gentle hand onto the boy's shoulder, "let him rest." He then looks up at Shedletsky, and the two of them shared a knowing look. Shedletsky nodded, his hand remaining around Noli's. He knew how tired the god must be, and he was worried that moving him in this state would only make his condition worse. The best thing to do now was to let him rest, and hope that he would regain his strength in time. He turned his attention back to 007n7, his expression grim. "Say," 007n7 says to C00lkidd, "why don't…you go play with Bluudud and Pr3ttypriincess?"

"But dad, I've been playing with them and Jason for a long tIME, now!" the 10-year-old protested as he grabbed his father by his sleeve and yanked at it in a whine and groan, "I wanna play with YOU, now! You're aWAKE!" Shedletsky couldn't help the small smirk on his face-the kid definitely was stubborn; you had to give it to him. He could see the slight eye twitch on 007n7's face, but he was clearly holding back from lashing out at the child, as any good father would.…That made his age show again on his face. What did 007n7 have with his kid that he never had with his? I mean…it obviously wasn't 007n7's fault C00lkidd ended up getting Forsaken, but then again C00lkidd wasn't the embodiment of 007n7's…hate. either. Narcaus removed him from his deep-seeded thoughts with her shouting from the survivor's lodge, "WHY AM I REDUCED TO…THIS MORTAL SHELL!? WHY DO I LOOK MORE ROBLOXIAN THAN GOD-I AM NO MORTAL LIKE THE MAJORITY OF YOOOOOOOU PEOPLE!" God, she is loud. Shedletsky cringed at the sound of her voice, his expression turning to a scowl. "Ugh, she's gonna start shouting her mouth off," he muttered, annoyed. "Someone should go shut her up before she annoys us all to death."…but he quickly changed his mind on that. "Actually, you know what-she'll tire herself out eventually. Just let her scream her head off, she'll shut up soon enough." He reasoned. They looked out the window at her, the other survivors gathered to watch in disbelief that she was now stuck with them, and not the other way around as it had been a while ago previously. “Why. The hell. Am I SHORTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE!?” she shouted in rage, only for Shedletsky to snicker, struggling not to burst out laughing over the predicament that she—the mighty Narcaus, Goddess of the Red Midnight-the woman who had been as tall as 1x1x1x1—was now shorter than Builderman, shortest survivor in the group. Shedletsky couldn't help himself, the sight of her being pissed about her height was pure comedic gold. He let himself laugh out loud, shaking in stifled chuckles against his free hand and leaning against the wall for support. Oh, look, she heard him, here comes little short Narcaus-awe, seeing her short in person and not from a second-floor window ought to be just as funny! Awe, look at her widdle angwy showt woman face~! HAH! Shedletsky couldn't help it, he just couldn't-she was so damn short, and he found it HILARIOUS. He had to kneel on the floor in order to stay grounded and keep from falling over, crying from the amount of comedy he was witnessing! "TELAMOOON!?" he heard her angry voice coming up the stairs, the giggles from the killers and her going to 1x1x1x1 "SHUT IT, YOU BRUTE!" as she stormed up the stairs to confront him, only made it worse for exclusively herself! She slams her way through into the room, and she went from – 6 foot something – to…4'8. Yep. Shedletsky couldn't stop laughing at her, and Noli tried his damndest to hold back his own chuckles. "Omg," Shedletsky snickered, "y-you're so SHORT, now!"

"DO NOT LAUGH AT ME!" she shouted. "OR I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO FUCKING LAUGH ABOUT, WHEN I SHOVE MY-"

"Ah-heh-HEM-uh." 007n7 cut her off with his hands covering C00lkidd's ears.

"You're so-so mad," Shedletsky mocked, taking a step closer to her and leaning down to get eye-level. "So tiny. And small. And short. And little. You've been reduceeeeeeed~!"

"SILENCE!" she shouted at him! Shedletsky merely snickered at her shout, amused by how…short and, honestly, adorable she actually was. It was like a really angry chihuahua trying to threaten a grizzly bear. "Or what~?" he asked with a smirk, straightening back to his full height and crossing his arms with mockery in his gaze. "You gonna try and claw me or somethin, Shorty McBitebite~?" She jumps up onto him wrapping her legs around his upper body and does exactly that! Shedletsky let out a surprised yell as she suddenly jumped on him, her claws burying into his shoulders as she used her legs to cling to his torso like a koala. "Get OFF ME!" he cried, trying to shove her off him as her sharp metal nails began scratching at his face, like the comparing animal, and while 007n7 went behind them to try and pry her off, C00lkidd stood where he remained, at the side of Noli's bed, and began laughing at the three of them. "This new girl is funny!" he chuckled out, "Dad, is she your new friend? Is she gonna be my mama since Ms. 118o8 only likes girls and you like BOTH?" Shedletsky grunted in pain as her claws dug into his face-damn did this woman have talons, "OW! Get her off me, get her off me!" he cried, turning around wildly as he tried in vain to find a way to pry her off of him. "SHE'S A BUNCH OF THINGS, BUT FRIEND IS NOT ONE OF THEM!" The other killers were now looking through the open doorway from the hall, in fact they've been doing that since Narcaus barged her way into the lodge to begin with, watching 007n7 struggle to rip her off of Shedletsky. Eventually 1x1x1x1 marched on in, pushed 007n7 out of the way, and succeeded in his failed attempt first-try. Shedletsky was left a bit dazed in the whole fiasco, trying to recover as he rubbed his face, wincing as his fingers brushed against the shallow gashes that she left behind with her claws, and let out a long sigh. "Thanks…" he muttered, taking deep breaths to try and ease his beating heart. He looked up. He held in another laugh as she was held under 1x1x1x1's big, beefy arm like a football in a glory hole. "Don't. you dare, Telamon." Narcaus threatened, her long blonde furred raposa ears drooping over her head as her facial wings furled and curled like stretching fingers as her arms and legs were forced to limply dangle above the floor. Shedletsky couldn't help the smirk on his lips as he watched her dangle like a sack of potatoes under 1x1x1x1's arm-oh, how the mighty had fallen. It was so humorous to see her in this state, powerless and small, it was almost…satisfying. C00lkidd and 007n7 stared at one another for a moment after the chaos died down, that wide thin grin still on the boy’s face. "So about my mom question-"

"No, son, she's nnnnnot going to be your mom." 007n7 shot down that question almost instantly, disappointing his own son. Shedletsky turned back over to the two-"Yeah, no way in hell you're getting stuck with her, kid. Trust me, you're waaay better off not having her for a mom." he said with a wave of his hand. 007n7 nodded in agreement, "Mhm, no…no, no, no." Narcaus just kinda growled and grumbled from under 1x1x1x1's arm as she hanged there in defeat. “God, she growls like a shih tzu.” Shedletsky had to bite his bottom lip to keep from chuckling, "I-I'm sorry, she growls like a freaking dog!" his shoulders trembled as he struggled to keep from bursting into a fit of hysterical giggles. "Shut. up. Telamon!" she snarled through her clenched teeth as 1x1x1x1 turned on his heels and walked out of the room carrying her in his arm like a sports ball; in his meaty arm she looked like she tried climbing through a hole and got stuck halfway in it. Jason: confused as hell as to who she even was or why she was so mad at Shedletsky. John Doe: chuckling to himself over her predicament. Noli: struggling in bedrest trying to do the same, laugh at her. all as 1x1x1x1 takes her outside, intending to bring her back to the survivor's lodge, and all she did was bitch. She bitched about this, she bitched about that, she bitched out how SHORT she suddenly now WAS, she bitched about him HOLDING her like a rolled tube of FABRIC! And she, as always, was soooooooooo, fuuucking, lllLOUUUuud0uh! "-AND HOW AM I THE SHORT ONE, HAVE YOU SEEN THE RED CHILD OF THE HACKER'S, WARMONGER!? HOW THE FUCK AM I SMALLER THAN A 10-YEAR-OLD BOY?! WHAT UNCIVIL WARLOCKERY DID THAT DAMN SPECTRE DO TO ME?!" she looks up into the sky and shoots her arm up to point a finger to it, "I DEMAND YOU GROW ME BACK TO MY NATURAL MATURE HEIGHT, YOU FACELESS TOP HAT WEARING STOIC MUTE VINES-ALL-OVER-THE-BODY TWIGGY LOOKING PIECE OF-AH!" 1x1x1x1 tosses her inside, making sure she landed on the plush red sofa by the fireplace, her angles making it so she faceplanted into Chance's crotch. Chance let out an surprised "Mmmph-!" as Narcaus landed face-first into his crotch. The others couldn't contain their laughter, seeing her land face-first into Chance's lap almost had them all dropping to the ground, holding their bellies from the giggles they couldn't contain. Chance, however, just cringed at the feeling of Narcaus' face against his crotch before shoving her away from him with one swift motion. So Chance looks back over at her…better yet he looks down and over at her. Down, mostly. It was clear by now just how tiny she was compared to them all, and they were reveling in it. Chance couldn't help the smirk that pulled at his lips as he looked down at her, his arms now crossed at his broad chest. "Say, uh," he began to jest at her now, too, "how's the weather down there treatin' ya, Narcaus?" the others all laughed – Elliot, Builderman, Dusekkar, Two Time, Guest1337, Taph. The only one, mainly because she hadn't succumbed them to her endless, seemingly infinite fuck-energy, who seemed to feel like they were picking on her to be assholes…of course, it was Noob. "SILENCE!" she snapped up at Chance as she stood up on the couch, but, being so ridiculously short, she wasn't even half as intimidating as she was trying to be. The others all chuckled, some laughing so hard their faces were turning red from all the guffawing they were experiencing from such a tiny former goddess.

The clock ticked onwards. Any moment the Spectre would want to observe yet another of his sick, twisted, eternal 'games'; picking and choosing who to survive who in the never ending 1 v 8, but everyone seemed too preoccupied in picking on Narcaus to care at this point. Chance's gaze fell back down to the short, former goddess-he still found her new predicament humorous. It took an incredible amount of control to not start laughing once more at the sight of her trying to act all tough and powerful but being so absolutely MINUSCULE in compacity to how she used to be-it was HILARIOUS to see as he has the audacity to pat her on the head. "Aaaaawe, who's a gwumpy widdle foooox," he'd ask mockingly as he proceeded to rub behind her raposa ears, the blonde fur brushing up against his light gray fingertips as he went to where the ears ended and her scalp began, "is you a gwumpy widdle foooox~?"

"Stop that-!" she yelled, her wings twitching as he rubbed her ears like a kid rubbing a puppy's head. "Don't you dare touch me-!" Chance just smirked down at her as he continued to run his fingers through her fur, finding extreme entertainment in the way she was so utterly FUMING but so utterly POWERLESS. It didn't take long to notice how the short, former goddess' cheeks were beginning to turn red from the sheer amount of embarrassment and humiliation she was suffering. The others were all chuckling – some even sniggering – as they witnessed Chance treating the former high and mighty deity like a puppy, rubbing behind her ears like it was nothing. "Awe, does the widdle fox not wike it behind the eewuz? How about wight heewuuh, huh?" he moves his hand from behind her ear to the bottom of her chin. Narcaus began to get really red in the face as Chance continued to baby-talk her, patting her chin like a dog that had just done a trick-it was RIDICULOUS! She tried to slap his hand away, "STOP THAT! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!"

"Awwwww." They all went, taunting her more. "DO NOT AWE ME! YOU SHOULD BE IN AWE OF ME, I AM THE GODDESS OF THE RED MIDNIGHT, DAMNIT!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, swatting Chance's hand away and climbing up over the back of the red couch. "I AM THE GREAT ORACLE OF THE GODS! SOVEREIGN DEITY OF FESTIVE CELEBRATIONS UNDER THE GLOWING OF THE WORSHIPPED MOOooN! DAUGHTER OF THE GOD-KING ALGAVAR-RULER OF THE PANTHEON AND GOD OF THE LANDS, AND THE GOD-QUEEN TERAFYENE-GODDESS OF WATERS! SHE WHO SITS UPON THE THRONE OF AUGUST-I AM NARCAUS, DAMN YOU ALL!" The others just continued to laugh at her, her shouting only proving to entertain them all the more. The fact that she was once again trying to act all powerful and mighty only to be so DAMN SHORT! Chance's expression was now that of pure glee, seeing the former all-mighty and all-powerful deity be made into a tiny, tiny fox-lady that he could tease to no end. He stood up and got behind her…and picked her up like a doll. "D'awe, looks like the little foxxy-woxxy's tired; sounds here like she needs some shut-eye~-!"

"DO NOT TREAT ME AS AN INFANT, MORTAL," Narcaus shouts in his face as she looks and points up at him, "I'M 5,892 YEARS OLD, FOR FUCK SAKE! I'LL RIP YOU A NEW ANUS, CHANCE, I MEAN IT, YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF RIGHT NOW!!!" Chance just chuckled at her anger, finding the former goddess' fury absolutely entertaining. He continued to hold her up with one hand, the other hand going to her fox ears and starting to pet behind them once more. "Oh, look." He mocked. "She's all flustered. Look at how furious she is."

BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...

And the round began.

Chapter Text

Out of nowhere, for a whole five seconds, it was darkness that faded back into normalcy, with Narcaus positioned in the air where Chance had held her - which she quickly fell ass first onto the ground because of - in what looked like some alien planetary landing scene, with weird bended rock formations and oak trees, and two small houses with nothing in it, not even a door or windows or more than just a floor, led up into themselves by small stairs. Here she now sat on the ground on her now sore ass with Noob and Elliot. Where who else may be? Who knows! She's new to…well, all of this. First thing she felt when she stood up rubbing her massive plump keister was a small lump in between her breasts, only for her to stick her hand in there and dig around and find that tiny egg Shedletsky squeezed out his rectum in her temple throne room before—she frowns as she puts the spotted white egg back in the cushioning of her hoo-has as she mumbles insults regarding Taph’s undoing of her plan; for once she occurred over something unpredicted by her own third eye, the eye that saw the literal future. Next thing she did was look around as Elliot willingly, and Noob hesitantly, ignored that she was there and went to look for a generator to fix. The time counted down from 3 minutes, and right now it was 2 minutes and 43 seconds in on the Spectre’s little ‘game’. With her eyes scanning the strange landscape her new form had been dropped into, she began to get worried-not knowing what to do in these sorts of situations. She looked in the two tiny houses, but found nothing. The lump in her pants bothered her to no end-she needed to get rid of it, but she had other things to worry about, like surviving. She looked towards Noob and Elliot, and debated if she should ask them for help, but the look on Elliot's face told her that she was probably going to be better off on her own for a while. Besides, a good beat-off in private never harmed anyone. That tree looks private enough.

Welp, time to jerk it!

She found the perfect tree, and she knew right to it. She pushed her back against the bark and slid down to sit on the ground. She looked around, making sure no one was watching her, and that no one would follow her. After all, the last thing she wanted was to be seen in this sort of situation. After being certain she was indeed alone, she took a deep breath and slid her hand past the waistband of her now torn dress, gripping her hand tight against the shaft of her hardened cock and began to stroke herself off. She closed her eye and took in a sharp breath, her mind imagining the pleasure she felt in moments like this. In her mind, she was on a throne of her own, surrounded by her followers, and watching as they all bowed down to her in her full, mature, and grand form. She was back on top, powerful, in control, and adored. All who opposed her were dead where she stood, and the ones who did what she asked of them were praised. These fantasy thoughts were just what she needed to reach her climax, and it was the best she had felt in a long, LONG while. "…You literally cannot go five fucking minutes without doing that, can you-" GOD DAMNIT, SHEDLETSKY! Narcaus whipped her head around the side of the tree, and there was both Shedletsky and Chance, working on another generator! Narcaus pulled her hand out of the front of her panties and quickly stood up just as she heard his voice ring out from across the landscape. Chance glanced up at her from the generator, a smirk pulling at his lips as he saw her cheeks start to go red in embarrassment. Shedletsky, on the other hand, was doing a poor job of concealing his own laughter, his shoulders bouncing as he tried – and failed – to hold in his amusement. "Telamon…Chance…." She muttered with her arms crossed around her flubbering, bouncing chest. "Aw, what's the matter?" Chance asked as he feigned mock sympathy. "Were we interrupting you while you were in the middle of something 'special'?"

"…I already miss when you both were under my influence." She said with a sour face and tone of voice, her lips thinning into a begrudged line as her ears drooped slightly like wilting flowers. "And already, just-, j-just stop treating me like a CHILD, I am older than just about every single ONE of YOU!"

"Well, yeah, but you're short as a baby now, and you sound like one, too." Chance teased, grinning wide as he looked over at her. He leaned back against the generator slightly, his gaze not leaving her as she continued to pout. "D'awe, does the widdle angwy fox feel left ouwt?" he dares to approach her with confidence and goes behind her to lead her to where he was in front of the generator! "Come ooon~, let me teach ya' how to run the big scary generator, Narcee~." Narcaus shot him a look utmost foulest she's ever made for anyone at the very mere mentioning of such a nickname! "Never. call me that. again." She threatened in a deep and booming voice as he took her by her wrists behind her and moved them to the front consol, the sight of numbered colored dots catching her eye. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Chance went as he pushed up one of her bronze fingers up with one of his own from underneath it, "Now pay attention, Narcaus; I know this might look very difficult, but that's why I'm gonna help ya' out, here. M'okay~?" Narcaus bit her bottom lip in frustration as Chance pushed her to the console, clearly unamused with the entire situation. Nevertheless, she stayed quiet and paid careful attention to what he was saying as he began his little 'lesson' on how to use the generator. Chance grabbed her by the wrist, taking her middle finger and pointing out one of the red-colored lights in front of her. "See this here, honey?" he asked, using that same annoyingly condescending tone of voice. "This is probably the most important part of the whole thing, so listen reeeaaaal good, now~." he teased before letting go of her hand. "You just have to" he takes a hold of her extended middle finger and slides it across the screen for her, "sliiiiiiiiiide the little lines to the matching colors. Okay, Narcee?"

"Will you stop that?!" she snapped up at him, her cheeks already going red from both the nickname and the humiliation of being treated like some sort of brainless child. She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he just gripped her by the hip with his free hand and locked her in place. The music was in the background, sort of a warning that only Narcaus remained unaware of? Chance especially looked like he was about to shit bricks when he heard the tune getting louder and louder, coming from behind the both of them and to Shedletsky’s right from the other end of the map, this loud, frantic, jazz ensemble type beat with a…sssssshhhit tone of saxophone! “AND THAT CONCLUDES OUR LESSON-BYYYYYYYYE!” and Chance booked it like a 60s cartoon character being chased by the villain in disguise, Shedletsky readying his sword as he ran off with him, leaving her to…uh……well fuck. This is gonna take ages, isn’t it? Narcaus had to blink as she stood in complete confusion after the two of them just left, abandoning her to deal with this stupid machinery! Fucking mortal machinery, you ass! "Oh, damnit!" she cursed herself and her growing confusion, "Damn it, you're a GODDESS! It should NOT BE THIS HARD to do such SIMPLE COLOR PUZZLES!"

“Now where did that shmuck run off hiding to this time?” That was usually what the Don himself would always ask himself mentally as he and his cronies took off to the streets to collect peoples' debts; mainly because, his main, his primary, his top target: was Chance. Now, don't get it wrong, Chance and the Sonnellinos were good people towards one another, in fact Chance frequented the Don's casino very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very…very often. But when you mess with the Sonnellino Family, ooooh boy, you best had your will and eulogy written beforehand if you ever-and I mean ever-ran into them again after screwing them over. That's what Chance did, with his lucky coin and his insanely unfair good luck streak, he won a rigged game of his, took that special prize, and now? Well that's one of the reason's the Don and his men are here, ain't it? But these are the kind of maps you just can't hide from people in too well. They see a debt holder, and as per usual he orders a charge to chase the money-owing Noob and collect his debt by any means necessary. His minions-the Consigliere, the Solider, the Caporegime, and the Contractee-they were faster than him on account of his tall body size, but he ran well nonetheless, his body well hidden under a mostly black attire, his face hidden all too well under his fedora save for the shade that covered nearly all of his face and the wide, arrogant smile of a man on the very top of the food chain called reality. But he then turns his head at just the right time to see a relatively attractive young woman, bent over with her back to him and his men, working on fixing one of those annoying generators that made the round's time lessen every time one of those five big machines got fixed, and he skidded to an audible stop, a surprised look on his gruff looking, hidden away face, “Hoe-cheeeeee-MAMA!” he exclaimed at the sight of her working on that generator. “Now would you look at that one right there!” his men looked at him funny, all four of them. last time they’ve seen the boss like this was – pretty much – any-ago except for forever ago, to be fair. The Mafioso lets out a long, low whistle at her. "Oi' boss, we're trying to bring in the target here, not look at the ass of some broad. You've got a wife for this!" the Soldier was clearly annoyed by his boss' gawking. A wife? Hah! What a running joke that was for him! The Don, married, that's just something that makes the chicks in Rocity wetter than Quill Lake! The Caporegime let out a scoff as he too seemed to notice a hint of what the Don was seeing from his angle. “Sheesh-a, boss. Ain’t she a little small for you, even?”

“You watch it, pal,” Mafioso snapped at the Caporegime rather quickly, “I can like whatever the hell’s there, alright?!” he paused as Narcaus stopped working on the generator before glancing behind her, and their gazes briefly met. The Contractee chuckled at the way this was going, "Oh? Looks like the broad has taken notice of you, boss! You gonna march over there and charm her with your 'big boss moves', eh?"

“I might,” Mafioso said with a bit of a smirk, starting to walk towards Narcaus, and as he did he pulled out his pocket watch from inside of his coat pocket and casually flipped it open, glancing at the time for a brief moment. Narcaus slowly stood up, and her eyes were locked onto the slowly approaching form of the Don as he walked ever so purposefully towards her, a smug look plastered over his face as his gaze slowly wandered along her body once more. “Evenin',” he said, his voice deep and yet so smooth, “Mind if I…ask you a question? Did anyone ever tell you before that: you are an absolutely gorgeous gal? Because…-” the Don let out a long, catcalling whistle, "honey, you seem like one in a trillion~!" Narcaus found herself feeling flustered as the Don approached her, his gaze and words of flattery having much more of an effect than she'd care to admit. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red as a shy smile spread across her lips, her eyes averting at the ground as she gave a soft huff. Then the arrogance came back and went before him with a pompous and godly "Tell me something about me I already don't know~." A wide smirk spread across the Don's face at the girl's response, and he stopped right in front of her, having to look down in order for them to make eye contact. “Cocky one, eh?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. “Mmm, I like that.” Narcaus found herself having to tilt her head up just to see into the Don's eyes, a small hint of surprise creeping into her expression as she realized just how short she really was in this wretched form. Never, in her entire immortal life, had she ever been forced to crane her neck just to look at someone she was face-to-face with. Regardless, she let out an arrogant scoff as she answered, "Of course you like it, who wouldn't?"

“You’ve got me there, bellissima,” the Don said with a bit of a laugh, his gaze once more trailing up and down her body. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a girl as small as you being so damn confident and cocky before.” Narcaus had no idea who he was to talk to her the way he was but while 1x1x1x1 had the obvious physical stance to make her flaccid...this man...him, he-right here: was making her limp-dicked and wet. She was aaaaaall hot and bothered right now. And he could tell. He could tell. The Don could practically see the effect he was having on her, and it was oh-so-clear in the way that she was reacting to his presence and his words. He knew that he had this effect on some girls, and this one was no different, however. If anything, she seemed to be more sensitive to this than any of the others. And that just made him want her more.…A bachelor mob boss…would make sense if he had at least a Goomah in his lifetime, right~? Of course, and the Don had many of those in his life. But he was currently in a bit of a dry spell so to speak. However…maybe this young lady would be more than just a one-night stand. If he played his cards right. Narcaus’ cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as the Don continued to watch her, his gaze never leaving her face as she fidgeted slightly under his gaze. She tried to keep up her proud, cocky expression – she really, really tried – but this mortal was making it damn near impossible with how he was looking at her. She could feel every little shiver of excitement run through her body, and it was getting harder and harder to hide how pleasing his words and presence were making her feel. The Don could easily tell just how affected she was by him – hell – this girl was barely hiding it. It was beyond obvious how much she was liking everything going on right now, and it was making him feel even more arrogantly dominant in this situation. “Now, bella,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face, “you got a name, or shall I just be calling you mio Tesoro?”…Now, whatever the fuck he was saying in that weird chatter of his meant-she had no clue-but for some odd reason it made him sound hotter as he looked, and at that point – or some previous point – his men must've said "screw this" and went after the other survivors themselves, because now there's only 30 seconds left till the round ended and she was the Last Man Standing. Did time really go that fast for her? It felt so slow with him in her general vicinity of space. He stepped forward even closer, closing what little distance remained between them. He was towering over her now, his gaze growing even more intense. “You gonna answer the question, baby? Or you just gonna stand there and admire me?” She felt her breath catch in her throat as the Don moved closer, her eyes widening slightly as she once again was reminded of the difference in their heights. She found herself having to crane her neck once more just to look up into his eyes, and she could feel his gaze boring straight through her. She swallowed hard, trying to come up with a retort; trying to find the words to snap back at him, but her mind seemed to suddenly go blank. All she could focus on was him now, the way he was looking at her - looking down at her-! “Aww, is my bella ragazza too stunned to even speak?” he teased, enjoying every second of her reaction. He couldn’t help but run her through his mind. She was so small…so breakable…he just had to have her. She felt her cheeks turn even more red as the Don continued his teasing, her pride slowly starting to fade and be replaced by a growing feeling of submissive lust. She hated how his words were getting to her, how she was reacting to him, but she was finding it more and more difficult to resist the urge to just surrender to him. "Sh-shush…" she stuttered weakly, "Shut it already…" He chuckled again, clearly amused by her futile attempts to regain her sense of pride. He knew he had her right where he wanted her. "Awww, trying to act all tough again, huh? Cute." He took another step forward, invading even more of her personal space. He was now so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "But I like you better when you're all flushed and stuttering." 5…4…3…2…1…0:00 like in the beginning of the Spectre's sick 'games' black filled her sight and engulfed the map and everything else in it, and faded back to reality; but now she sat once more in the main lobby of the survivor's lodge, at one of the back dining tables closest to the wall underneath the second floor where the floorings were the ceiling. Narcaus blinked a few times. What just happened?

[meanwhile]

As he relaxed in his chair, he couldn’t help but recall the young woman he had been eyeing during the match. She was something alright, small, feisty, and so clearly affected by him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and he knew he needed to have her. He turned to glance over at his minions, who seemed to be giving him a knowing look. “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “Why are you all staring at me like that?”

“Oh nothing, boss. We just saw the way you were giving that broad the bedroom eyes.” The Solider replied with a smirk. The Don grunted, a gruff look on his face. “Watch your mouth, pal,” he said, his tone tinged with annoyance. “I was just appreciating a fine piece of eye candy, that's all.” The Solider looked confused for a moment, but then a sly grin slowly spread across his face. "Ohhh I see what you mean, boss. You don't just wanna have her. You wanna keep her, huh?" he nudges the Contractee's shoulder with an elbow, "Eh, fellas, somethin's tellin' me the boss wants himself a SUGA' BABY-EH?" The Caporegime rolled his eyes at the Solider's comment, but then he grinned as well, joining in on the teasing. "Oh yeah? You wanna treat her like a queen, boss? Spoil her with fancy dinners and designer clothes?"

"Didch'ya get 'er name, bossman?" the Contractee asked him. The Don shook his head, a slight frown on his face. "Nah, she was too busy bein' a snappy little thing to bother tellin' me her name," he replied, "Though I have a plan in motion to try to get her to tell me herself…." 1x1x1x1 walks down past the goons with C00lkidd in tow as the two of them passed the four uniformed men down the stairs, and the embodiment of hatred himself gave Mafioso that look. "You mean…Narcaus?" he inquired sourly as he opened the door and let the 10-year-old run outside. "Heh," 1x1x1x1 scoffed, "Good luck dealing with that one. She's got her head so far up her ass, your crony over here" he pointed over to the soldier, "would end up getting his crowbar stuck trying to pry it out!" then they went out the door, and all you could see was C00lkidd running around screaming in that annoying high-pitched autotuned voice of his chasing frogs in the grass. The soldiers all chuckled at 1x1x1x1’s words, clearly finding amusement in the idea of the Don dealing with such a difficult woman, but the Don himself couldn’t deny that the prospect was a bit daunting, but he was nothing if not confident in himself. "I can handle her," he said firmly, a hint of challenge in his tone. "I've dealt with my fair share of headstrong women before, and she won't be the first to crack under my charm."

[meanwhile]

"Oh," Elliot said with an obvious annoyance that could palpitate in the room as a whole, "Look who was last to survive. Congrats on winning your very first round…I guess." He said to her sarcastically with an improper shrug and an eyeroll. Narcaus was still a bit dazed as she looked over at Elliot and the others, her mind still reeling from the events of the previous round. "I-I guess I did win…" she muttered, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the round. "What…what happens now?"

"Eh," Guest1337 grunted. "Just keeps going unless the Spectre gets bored otherwise. Random nine people, same amount of survivors, same singular killer, same amount of time." Narcaus nodded slowly, trying to process the information. "So…we just do this again? Over and over?" she said with a hint of disbelief in her voice. Man, she dodged a bullet with Ichabod if he was this BORING with his eternal punishments. But let's not shock the crowd with that knowledge, now, Narcaus, shall we not? She stood up, the sound of C00lkidd running around outside chasing croaking frogs in the grass by the dirt path leading to the woods where the killer's lodge lay with other abandoned cabins on her right-handed side, and the dock on her left-handed side. 007n7 stands and stretches before heading out to accompany his son, as well as 1x1x1x1, before she sauntered over to the others, who promptly back away from the likes of her. They prefer not to forget what she had done to all of them in her realm. Her ego returned from its slumber from all the Don had done so far, and she gave a heavy heave into her nose. Chance's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than the others, a hint of a smirk on his face as he remembered the way she had been stuttering and blushing just moments before. "You look a little flustered, princess." he said, his smirk still present. "Beyond it, I got an egg in between my tits and no room. So chop-chop, ya Bottom: and don't forget the nest!" she ordered. Chance rolled his eyes at her command, but he couldn't deny the slight hint of amusement he felt at her predicament. "Alright, princess, calm down," he said as he moved to help her. "I'll get the damn thing out, but it's not gonna be pleasant." He turns on his heel, but she grabs his arm and shoots him a foul look. "You take me for a peasant, mortal?" she crowed, "I expect the finest room, and the finest NEST! None of that twig and straw bullcrap!" Chance rolled his eyes again, exasperated by her demands. "Oh, you want the finest? Of course you do. Can't settle for something simple, can ya' princess?" She thinks for a moment for a good comeback, and then her smile widens, the holed gashes on her face opening as she grins ear to ear at him. "That guy you and Telamon ran from," she reminds him about the round that had ended not that long ago, "That big, burly guy in the three-piece suit. You seemed scared of him…why's that, Chance~?" Chance's smirk faltered for a moment at her words. His gaze narrowed as he looked at her, trying to conceal any hint of weakness or vulnerability. "Who, him?" he said, his tone attempting to sound casual. "Ha! Scared? Of that guy? That's a good one, princess." But guess who was standing behind him. Chance's faux bravado fanned out of the room, and it showed in his voice and on his face. "He-, He's right behind me, isn't he…?" Chance didn't dare turn around to check, but he didn't need to – the sudden silence and the heavy presence behind him were enough of a giveaway. He could feel the other man's gaze burning into his back, and he knew he was in for trouble now. The tension in the room was palpable, and the silence was deafening. Chance could practically feel the Don's gaze boring into him, like a predator sizing up its prey. "You seem a bit tense there, Chance," the Don said coolly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Something got you rattled, hmm?" Chance tried to keep his cool, but it was getting increasingly difficult with the Don standing right behind him. Still, he refused to back down. "Nah, I ain't rattled by anything," he tried to sound casual. "Just…just a bit surprised, is all." Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why WHY!? WHY WAS HE HERE!? HIM, OF AL PEOPLE! WHY HIM!? The Don smirked, enjoying the sight of Chance squirming. He took a slow step forward, closing the already-minimal distance between them. "Oh, you look like you've seen a ghost," he said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving Chance's face. Chance's heart was pounding in his chest as the Don took another step closer. He could feel the other man's breath on the back of his neck, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His mind was racing with possible escape routes, but the only thing he could think of was to try and keep up his cool facade. "I-I ain't afraid of no ghost, Don. I've seen scarier things than some tall Italian guy in a suit," he said with a forced smirk.

Narcaus went back to sheep jelly mode when he turned his head up slightly to look at her from over Chance's shoulder. Squiggly line for a mouth, expanded pupils over shiny eyes, gelatin for legs, the whole package deal. The Don chuckled at Chance's attempt to sound tough. "Oh, I've no doubt you've seen plenty of scary things. But none quite like me, I'd wager." He said with a smirk as he leaned in close, his face just inches from Chance's. "Now, uuh, why'd you call her 'princess' if ya don't treat 'er like one, eh?" the Don inquired as he gripped both of Chance's shoulders with his big, big globed hands. Chance's heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. He could feel the Don's grip tightening on his shoulders and knew he was in trouble. "Uh, I uh…" he tried to find his voice, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry, and his mind was racing. "M-, Mister Don~?" Narcaus acted...almost domesticated. Like to the point it even caught Shedletsky's attention, this sudden behavioral change to her; and trust me, everyone who knows Shedletsky knows what a domesticated bird-hybrid-humanoid deity looks and acts like…just ask his wife! She was twirling her finger in her long blonde hair and swaying side to side on the balls of her feet while on her tippy toes like some ditzy pampered bimbo! "Chance won't let me have a nice room in this building~. He was gonna get me sticks and grass to make a nest out of it for me…" puppy dog eyes and a pouted lip? Yep. The Don's grip loosened a bit as he looked at Narcaus, stunned by her sudden shift in behavior. "Wait, wait a minute…" he turned his glance over to Chance, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "You mean to tell me this fine lady doesn't even have a proper BEDROOM to sleep in?" And, yes, he was addressing all the present survivors in the lodge. Everyone just sort of, uh, looked at each other, unsure of what to respond to him with. And then Chance ruined it for everyone as always. "No…" said Chance, sheepishly. "She, uh, she was kind of demanding some kind of royal treatment…" The Don let out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you thought it was okay just to let her sleep in something dingy?" he asked, his voice tinged with accusation. "Do you have any idea how insulting that is to someone like her?" He turned to look back at Narcaus, his expression softening just a touch. "You deserve better than that, mia cara~." Chance was at a loss for words. He could only stand there, feeling small and vulnerable in the face of the Don's displeasure. "Well…I just…I thought…she's…" He tried to come up with a reason, any reason, to justify his actions, but nothing came out. The Don's expression darkened at Chance's feeble attempts to justify his actions. "You thought what, exactly?" he said, his tone cold and biting. "That it's okay to treat her like some kind of animal, just because she requested something better? That she doesn't deserve a comfortable place to sleep?" He took a step closer to Chance, his eyes narrowed. "You really are a piece of work, you know that?"

"Well, I mean, come on!" Chance burst out, his voice rising in frustration. "She's demanding, she's bossy, she's…she's-" He cut himself off, realizing that nothing he could say to the Don was going to make him sound any better. The Don snaps his fingers; his men approach him at full attention. The Don looked at Chance with a disdainful glare. "You know, I think it's about time you learned a lesson about respecting women, don't you think?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. Two of the Don's men suddenly grabbed Chance's arms, restraining him. He tried to struggle, but their grip was too tight. "Whoa, whoa, hey-" Guest1337 stood up and began to make his way towards them to confront the mafia men, but one look shot in his direction made him pause his pace. "Take a breather, Veteran," the Don warned him as he pulled out his sword at him, "This doesn't concern you." Chance struggled in the arms of the mafiosos, but he knew he was outnumbered and out-powered. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched Guest1337 hesitate and step back. "What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, that's up to the miss over here, now, since you think she's got no room for your respect!" he boomed. "So who knows? Maybe you might get some new CONCRETE SHOES to TRY ON!" he aimed the tip of the sword now at Chance's bobbing Adam's apple like a threat (which it was a threat to begin with)! Chance's eyes widened in fear at the Don's words. He could feel the cool metal of the blade against his throat and knew it was a warning. "Wait, wait, wait, you can't be serious!" he protested. "Just let me go, I'll do anything!"

"Oh, you'll do anything, huh?" the Don asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, that's awfully convenient, since I've got a little job for you to do~!" Chance swallowed hard, feeling a trickle of cold sweat run down his forehead. "What kind of job?" He was pretty sure he knew what kind of job the Don had in mind.

Chapter Text

Well, a ladder by the window of her nice new bedroom (nicer than everyone else’s was, mind you) is one thing to most people—and that one thing is very weird/creepy. But not to Narcaus. Chance is shitting bricks fearing for his life because the mafia’s even more up his ass because of her, but does Narcaus give a fuck? Fuck no, she doesn’t even give fifth of a fuck! Breakfast, three weeks in on this nonsense, and the goons come back, barging in through the main door without so much as even knocking. “Heya, miss,” the Caporegime went, “Got some stuff for ya from the boss!” And Narcaus’s hands would be clapping together rapidly like a child’s-metal against metal-as she squeaked and squirmed; 007n7 and the others gave her a look. “Oh, goody! Offerings~!” she exclaimed joyfully. The Don bought her a bouquet of white roses, a pearl necklace, some nicely folded new pairs of clothes, a wide brimmed hat in black with the phases of the moon printed on all sides underneath the brim for all and many to see, and a small velvet case that could fit in the palm of her hand, and in that case once Narcaus opened it, were a pair of ruby stud earrings-the gems encased in the round gold rings-with small dangly trinketry shaped into little amphora jars hanging from the bottom of the rings’ bases. As the goons handed over the new items to Narcaus, Chance stood off to the side, watching with a frown. He couldn't believe the Don had gone so far as to shower her with gifts. It was infuriating. He didn't understand what she'd done to gain his favor. Was it just her looks? Her mannerisms? Either way, he was filled with seething resentment. A bad idea pops into his head, "You know she's like ancient, right?" he goes bluntly to the goons. "This bitch may look 20-30-something but she's like waaaaaay over 5,000, here. Just saying." The Caporegime and the Solider were shocked and looked at each other dumbfounded, and the Contractee was just plain confused. "5,000…" the Solider muttered, trying to wrap his head around the idea. It seemed surreal, like something out of a fantasy novel. "Is that even possible?"

"Eh," the Consigliere muttered, "Who cares? Bossman actually likes women older than himself; and he's about, eeeeeeh, what again fellas?" he turns to the other goons, "45, 46?" The goons nodded in agreement, confirming the Consigliere's estimate. "Yeah, he's around that age, all right," the Solider said. "He's always been into older women. Likes the fact they have more experience, if you catch my drift." Narcaus’s raposa ears perked up like fresh tree leaves in the breezes of summer. “Experience you saaaaaaaay.” Her face said it all! "Well, if it's experience Daddy Don likes~," she brushes a metal finger up against the side of the Soldier's face from chin to cheekbone, leaving him in pants tightening shivers, "Then he's bagged himself the right woman for the job~." The Solider gulps as Narcaus runs a finger down his cheek, leaving him speechless and blushing. "H-Holy…damn it…" He mumbles, trying to regain his composure while the Caporegime and the Contractee chuckle in amusement. The Consigliere is cackling now. "Looks like you're having a bit of a hard time there, bud. Never been hit up on by an old cougar before, eh?" The Soldier's cheeks turned even redder, and he tried to stammer out a response. "Shut your trap, Loretto," he snaps, "It's not like I'm into old ladies or anything."

"Oh yeah? Then why are you blushing like a little school girl, eh?" the Caporegime chimes in, joining in on the teasing. "You can admit it; we won't tell the boss~." The others were fed up. They all left to do their own thing while Narcaus hogged the couch (again) to collect her little trinkets. 007n7 stayed for the time being, gathering things needed; he was taking C00lkidd out fishing on the lake nearby, and he couldn't help but notice she always treated gifts as offerings. Could she tell the difference, even? He needed to test something. It was like clockwork. Every time she was given something, no matter how small or big, Narcaus treated it like a sacred offering. It was almost like a ritual for her; like she was worshiping whatever little item was placed into her possession. 007n7 took notice of this behavior, and an idea slowly began to form in his head. He turned to Noob, and nudged his head towards her to tell him to give her what he made her. with a gulp the shy, yellow Robloxian did just that, shuffling over to the other end of the big red couch to give it to her. “Uh, h-hey, I-…, I noticed how the others were, uh, had been treating you since you ended up here, so I, uh, I made you something that I’d hope would make you feel better,” Noob then held out to her a beaded necklace of clean whites, light sky blues, and daffodil yellows, with some shaped as moons and pearls in light blue and white, some flat and round and roped side to side rather than up and down with blue stars painted in the middle on both sides. “I-I made it myself,” Noob stammers, head down looking at the floor to his left as he swayed back and forth in place, arms behind his back and a nervous look on his face as he crossed his ankles together with one foot up to rub his toes against the floorboards. Narcaus's expression lit up as she received Noob's gift. She held it gently in her hands, her fingers tracing the intricate details of the beads. "Oooh, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Her gaze wandered back up to meet Noob's. "You made this…just for me?" the goons saw. they weren’t too fond of it, either. They started whispering amongst themselves, like a small flock of birds. The goons leaned towards each other, their voices hushed as they whispered back and forth with each other in low murmurs. One of them leaned in closer to the others and spoke in a low tone: "Is it just me, or does it look like she's treating this like a religious offering or something?"

"Whatever she's treatin' as, boss ain't gonna like someone else doin' it." Loretto replied sternly. His job was mediator, as he was consigliere…but some issues not even he can handle, and it usually meant ones where it could very much piss the Don off enough for his advice to slip right over the man's head. The Solider nodded in agreement with Loretto's words. "You're right, we can't have her treating anyone's gifts like some kind of religious offering. That's not how things work here," he said with a gruff tone. The Caporegime joined in on the conversation, his expression serious. "Plus, we can't have other people trying to impress her like that. It's disrespectful to the Don." The other goons nodded in agreement, their faces darkening at the idea of someone besides the Don giving Narcaus gifts and special attention. "We gotta put a stop to this," the Caporegime said firmly. "I don't care what it takes, we gotta make sure Noob understands that he ain't gonna win over the big boss's lady-toy." They stood out of their circle, nodded, and left, leaving Narcaus unaware, Noob nervous, and 007n7 confused. Noob stood there, frozen in place as the goons left the room, their ominous words hanging in the air. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. Was he being threatened? But he had only wanted to be nice to Narcaus. He hadn't meant to cause any trouble. He glanced over at her, still admiring the necklace he had given her. She seemed completely oblivious to the tension that had just occurred.

[back in the villain's lodge]

"You knock-"

"No you knock-"

"One of yous betta do the knockin' before the boss hears us on the other end of that door and gets irritated-"

The Caporegime sighed, exasperated. "Fine, fine, I'll do it." He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he approached the door and raised a fist to knock on the door with a firm yet polite knock, waiting for an answer from the other side. From the other side the faint sounds of shuffling and movement can be heard, before the door slowly swung open and the Don was standing there, clearly having been in the middle of something before they were interrupted. "Ah, my finest quartet of loyal men," he said as he opened the door further enough for them to squeeze past his giant frame, "Come in, come in." The four goons all nodded respectfully to the Don, filing through the door one after the other. Once they had all filed inside, the Don closed the door behind them and gestured for them to take a seat on the couch. "She liked the gifts I bought her; I take it?" he asked as he went to his cabinet of fancy bottled drinks and the rolling tray in front of his, taking a glass pre-filled with ice, and popping open a fine chiseled bottle of brandy to pour himself. "How nice was her smile today, boys~?" he asks. The Caporegime responded first, a sly smirk on his face. "She practically gleamed with joy when she saw those jewelry boxes, boss," he said. The Solider chimed in next, a cocky tone to his voice. "And when she realized you got her those flowers, well, let’s just say she was downright giddy."

"She was begging us to let her try it all on, right then and there," Loretto chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "And when she put on that necklace all by herself, I thought she might just start dancin' around on that couch like she was at a club-"

"Then there was what Noob got 'er." The Contractee pointed it out so quick and so blunt that what startled them more was their boss crushing the glass of brandy in his hand! He didn't hold it tighter in his grasp-he just straight up crushed it! "WHAT!?" he twisted his gaze over his shoulder with an enraged look in his eyes under his fedora, "Quel stupido culo-WHAT DID HE GIVE HER, EH?!" There was silence after that shout, so he took the bottle into his hand and threw it across the room, hitting the wall above their heads! "ANSWER ME!" HE DEMANDED. The goons all froze in horror as the Don unleashed his anger. They'd seen him angry before, but never quite like this. They instinctively ducked down, trying to avoid the shattered glass from the bottle that smashed against the wall. Finally, after a few moments of silence, the Caporegime spoke up. "I-It was a necklace, boss," he stuttered, trying to explain. "He made it himself, from beads." The Don's expression darkened. "He what?" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. "He gave her something that he made, huh? Like it was some kind of gift from her boyfriend, huh?" He slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, causing everything on it to rattle and shake. He walked up closer to them, “Fellas…” his tone grew darker than normal, the lighting passing over the brim of his hat not helping the shade under it coating most of his face from making him look scarier than normal, “Give that Noob a shakedown, spook the bastard so he don’t go after my special little lady no more. Understand?” The goons nodded obediently, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Of course, boss," one of them said, "We'll take care of it. No problem." The Don's expression hardened into a stern grimace. "See to it that you do," he said, his voice firm. "And make sure he learns his lesson." The group of guards all nodded, their faces grim and serious. They knew what needed to be done. "Consider it done, boss," one of them said, "He’ll learn his lesson, alright." The Don gave them a small, satisfied smirk before dismissing them by saying one word: "Dismissed."

[later that night]

The night had fallen over the lodge, and the building was silent except for the occasional creaks and groans of the wooden walls. A light rain had started to fall, and the only light in the lodge was a single lamp that was left on in the Don's office. He watched from his office window as the goons silently made their way through the dark, their footsteps like whispers in the night. They carried Noob's unconscious body like a sack of potatoes, making sure not to alert anyone. Their destination was the dock, where they tossed Noob's limp body onto the wet wood. Noob's eyes slowly fluttered open as he came to, his head spinning and his body feeling sore. He groaned in pain, trying to sit up and take a look around, but the goons were on him instantly, pinning him back down onto the rough wood of the dock. "Hey there, sleepyhead." Loretto said with a sinister grin. "Enjoy your beauty sleep?"

"Huh-!? Ah!? AH!?" Noob exclaimed before they brought out the bats. Loretto and the others started beating Noob with the bats, their swings brutal and precise. They made sure to hit him in the same vulnerable spots, leaving his body bruised and battered. Noob screamed out in pain, each hit leaving another bruise or a fresh cut on his face and body. He squirmed and desperately tried to crawl away, but the goons were not letting up their assault. "Please…stop! Mercy…!" he begged, tears streaming down his face. "Let this be a warning not to mess with the Sonnellinos," the soldier threatened before continuing the batting down on Noob with the others. They continued beating Noob for another five minutes before Loretto finally signaled them to stop. "All right, that's enough," he said with a satisfied smirk. "Think he got the message?" The goons nodded, their bat's stained with blood from Noob's wounds. "Oh, he got the message alright," the Solider said with a smirk, "He won't be messin' with the big boss's lady anymore. That's for sure." The goons laughed, satisfied with their job well done. "Yeah, he won't be bothering anyone anytime soon." Loretto chuckled. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone sees us."

"Ahem," hair up in a cap, ears sticking out the little slips on the sides of the top of it, face mask over her face with one little black nose mask on the bridge of it underneath, and a nightgown so thin and lacey you could see the stripped pajamas 007n7 lent her (forcefully-he had to make her wear them) weeks ago. The goons stopped in their tracks as they heard a voice behind them. They turned around to see Narcaus standing there, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Well, well, well," Loretto smirked. "If it isn't the Don's little pet." The goons all looked at each other, a little taken aback by Narcaus's sudden appearance. Solider spoke up first, trying to sound casual. "What are you doing here at this hour, doll?"

"Oh, nothing in particular~," Narcaus commented, "But uh, just because I ended up here, of all places, doesn't mean I'm entirely powerless." She points up to the crisp, clear dark night's sky, the large ball making up the moon, clear as the fresh rainwater hitting the lake and the ground like bullets; only to then point at her third eye in the middle of her forehead; blinking a third of an inch away from the center of itself as if it now became two, with her pupil taking turns moving around between the faint, thin gray cut left by her own scythe's blade; and lo and behold the fucking moon started moving around in unison with her snow white pupil. Imagine all four of these guys getting boners out of fear and arousal at the same time, because that's happening right now, especially with the Soldier. Narcaus smiled slyly, noticing the effect she was having on the goons. "Now, now, fellas, is that any way to treat a lady?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. She looks around for any peeping eyes in the background as she unlaces her robe and grips the hem to the front of her pajama pants. "Especially a lady with" she pulls down her drawers "these~?" her two large cocks fling out, not erect from arousal but rather by the sudden introduction to the air's summer coolness and the cold wetness of the rain trinkling down still from the dark clouded skies of the night as it slowly began letting up. The goons were completely stunned at the sight before them. They stood there, their jaws dropped, unable to come up with a response. It was like their brains had short-circuited as they stood still, wide eyed and jaw to the ground, completely taken off guard by what they were seeing. This was a very unexpected development. Loretto is the first to try and recover from the shock of it, stuttering out a response. "Wha…what…what is that?!"

"Well this is my COoock~," she grabs the half-hard penis and wiggles it around before letting it drop full flaccid against her scrotum behind it as she grabs the other, weirder looking one to do the same thing she did to the former, "And this is my oviPOSITorr~."

"Ovi…posi…what?" the Solider stutters out, still trying to wrap his head around what he's seeing. The other goons are speechless, their eyes wide with shock and confusion. The goons were dumbfounded. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. Loretto tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. The Solider was just standing there with his mouth agape, and the Caporegime was blinking rapidly, as if he was trying to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. "But how…how is this possible…?" Loretto managed to stammer out. "Would-" the Soldier immediately covered his mouth with both hands as the other three all looked at him with shocked expressions, all fours' faces beet red, his especially! Narcaus chuckled at the goons' reaction. "You've never seen anything like this before, have you boys?" she teased, her voice sweet like honey. "Let me guess, you've never touched a woman before, right?" The goons all shook their heads no, still stunned mute. The Caporegime, in the muteness of the stunness, raised his hand, "Uh…Loretto and I ain't exactly inta girls, per say?" he said with a nervous shrug before continuing as he rubbed the back of his head, "In fact, miss, you could say our dads weren't too surprised when we grew up doin' 'flute lessons' together, either, tell ya the truth." Narcaus raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh really now?" She said with a smirk. "Is that so?" her tone sounded a mixture playful and intrigued. She gave her dicks the ole' shove and tuck and prettied herself up again to hide her 'evidence', "By all means, wave that little flag you mortals love so much~, been doing that for CENTURIES!" The goons were still reeling from the shock of the reveal, but Loretto managed to stutter out a question. "You...you've been doing this for centuries?" The goons all look at each other nervously as Narcaus continued speaking, clearly flustered by her presence and her…anatomy. Loretto cleared his throat and attempted to regroup himself, trying to regain his composure. "Well, I mean, hey, different strokes for different…folks, ya know?" he said with a forced nonchalance that nobody bought. The other goons tried to regain their composure as well, but their eyes darted back down to her hips unconsciously. "Y-Yeah, everyone's got their own things they're into, right?" Solider added, awkwardly trying to brush off the tension. The Caporegime nodded, his eyes still glued to Narcaus' hips. "Sure, sure, ain't nobody judgin' here." He said with a forced smirk, trying to keep his cool. Narcaus giggled at the guys' awkward attempts to play it cool. "Oh, you guys are so cute," she said with a grin, "But I can tell you're all dying to know my little secret, aren't you~?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. The goons look to the lodge on the other side of the woods, the top to the roof peeking out with smoke emitting from its chimney, and faintly saw the blinds to the Don's office-from such a distance it was-get pulled shut; it was his long distanced, silent way of telling them to get a move on. The goons exchanged a nervous glance, realizing they'd lingered outside long enough. "Uh, yeah, uh, we better get going," Loretto said quickly, trying to end the conversation before things got any more awkward. "We need to report to the boss, ya know," Solider added hastily. Narcaus smiled slyly as the goons started to back away. "Oh, are you running off to tattle to your boss now?" she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Afraid you might get into trouble if you stay out here talking to little old me?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, we got big boss stuff to deal with, ya know?" Loretto said with false nonchalance. "So, y-you just keep doin' your…your…your thing, and we'll just be goin' now." The goons quickly turn and start walking away, trying to escape the situation as quickly as possible.

[later]

They don't even knock, this time, it's just a barrage of these four grown ass man yelling over each other "BOSS! BOSS, BOSS, BOSS BOSS BOSS BOSS-" until he shouts at them. "WHAat, what is it, why're you schMUCKS SHOUTIN', it's 11 at NIGHT!?" the Solider steps forward and speaks up. "Boss, we, uh, we've kinda got something to report to ya. It's, um…it's kinda important." Loretto chimes in, nodding vigorously. "Yeah, boss, you won't believe what we just saw!" The Don raises an eyebrow at them, curious despite himself. "Well, spit it out then, what kind of 'important report' could you boys have that can't wait until the morning?" He said with a tone of annoyance. Loretto takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the news. "Well…we were out on the docks, boss. Taking care of business, you know, when all of a sudden…"

"Just get to the POINT, Leonne." the Don threatened. Loretto swallows hard, feeling the pressure from the Don’s words. "Yes, I-I’m sorry, boss. It’s just…I don’t know how to put this…" He looks to the other goons for help, but they’re all equally as nervous as him; then the Don gave them a sour look, that turned into a sly grin, "…I saw my little Tesoro was walkin' around outside…that got something to do with it? Noob got heard wailin' when you was hitin' him with your bats and my lil' Sugar Baby wanted to know why, eh?" The goons all exchange nervous glances and Solider speaks up. "Yeah, boss, that did have something to do with it, but that's not the whole story." He takes a deep breath. "Boss, you're not gonna believe what we saw when we ran into her on the docks." The Don's expression darkens, his interest piqued. "What'd you see?" he demands, his voice low and serious. Loretto takes a deep breath and braces himself. "Boss, we…we saw her…we saw her…" he trails off, not knowing how to continue. "Boss," the Caporegime piped up, "she's, uh…" then he went silent like Loretto did. The Don's patience is wearing thin. "She's what?" he asks, his voice growing impatient. "Spit it out already."

"She's-…Sh-, She's got some huge swingers, boss." Loretto mumbled as they all looked like they had opened Pandora's Box admitting what they saw to their own boss of all people, looking anywhere but up at him, rubbing the backs of their necks like a bunch of teens getting caught behind the high school by the dean in the middle of smoking a pack of cigarettes. The room was deathly still for a moment as the Don processed what the goons had just said. Everyone in the room stood there nervously as they waited for his response. Finally, he spoke up, his voice low and dangerous. "You're shittin' me, right? Right?" The goons all shook their heads nervously. "We, uh, we wish we were, boss." Loretto stuttered. The Don's face grows darker and darker at each passing second. "You're telling me…my Sugar Baby…has a dick?"

"…She's got two of 'em, Boss." The Contractee admitted sheepishly as the four men waited the worst; some violent, loud, Italian-soaked batter of anger. The Don's face twisted into an expression of disbelief and anger. "Two of them?" he repeats, as if trying to wrap his mind around what they were saying. He stands up behind his desk and starts pacing around the room, trying to process this unexpected information. Then he got mad. at them. for looking down there to begin with. Like, full rage face angry. Like the angry he got when he found out Noob gave her that necklace he made for her earlier. Like Italian with no English angry-that kind of ANGRY! “INCREDIBILE-IN! CREDIBILE! VOI IDIOTI AVETE DAVVERO PENSATO CHE FOSSE UNA BUONA IDEA GUARDARE I FOTTUTI DONG OSCILLANTI DELLA MIA RAGAZZA, EH!? STUPIDO, STUPIDO-CAZZO!” he gripped hold of his face and pulled his hands down, “GAAAAUGH!” charged at them into a corner and shouted into their faces, spit flying from his mouth out of pure anger! "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU SHMUCKS DOING LOOKING THERE TO BEGIN WITH?!" the Don roared out, his face turning red with anger. The goons all flinched, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "Boss, we-" Loretto tries to speak up, but the Don interrupts him. "No, zip it!" he snaps pinching the air in front of his face between his fingers and making a slicing motion against it with his hand, "I don't care WHAT kind of excuses you have! You looked there, at MY Sugar Baby!" he says, his voice growing louder and more menacing with each word. The goons all shift nervously under the Don's gaze as he continues to pace around the room. "Why would you do that?" he demands "Can't you idiots keep your eyes where they're supposed to be? You don't look at a lady like that!"

"Boss, it was an accide-" Loretto tries to explain, but the Don cuts him off with a fierce look. "Don't give me any of that bullshit!" he snaps, his eyes blazing with anger, "I want to know why you looked. There better be a goddamn good reason for why you were all gawking at my Sugar Baby like that!" The goons all look at each other nervously, not wanting to answer. The Don's glare intensifies as he waits for an answer. The silence in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The Caporegime finally speaks up, his voice shaky with nerves. "We…we didn't mean to look, boss," he stammers out. "It was an accident, we swear. We were just…surprised by what we saw." The Don's expression darkens even more as he hears their explanation. "You “accidentally looked down there”?" he demands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you serious? You expect me to believe that a bunch of grown men “accidentally looked at” my Sugar Baby's PRIVATE PARTS?"

"Boss, it's the truth, we swear-" Loretto tries to explain, but the Don is having none of it. "Oh yeah? Then maybe I should ‘accidentally’ beat your ass!" he snaps. sniff, sniff. The Don turns around, and the cowering goons look over both of his large, broad shoulders, to see a teary-eyed C00lkidd in his red Drakobloxxer one-piece pajama set, hood down off of his head in a big lump that rested on his shoulders and the back of his neck, holding tight to (as a 10-year-old) an action figure from when they kid was 8; he was standing at the opened door, in tears, and the Don softened up at the sight of this sad, red skinned child. "Mister Mafioso?" C00lkidd sniffled and rubbed his sleeve against his face, "I-I had a nightmare." he hiccupped a bit, "But my dad's all the way on the other end of the woods, and it's too dark and scary outside…" quivering lips, he holds his arms out to him for comfort, "C-, Can you help me get to my dad, please, Mister Mafioso?" The Don's expression softens as he sees C00lkidd crying, clutching his action figure in his little arms. He walks over to the kid, his expression shifting from anger to concern. "Aw, kiddo, come here." He says softly, crouching down to the boys level and puts a gentle hand on C00lkidd's shoulder and speaks softly "Hey, it's alright, don't worry. You had a nightmare, huh? It was just a dream, okay? Nothing to be afraid of." He pats the boy gently, trying to soothe him. "You want me to walk you over to your papa?" he asks him. C00lkidd nods, a faint "Mhm" escaping his quivering lips. The Don smiles slightly, nodding. "Alright, let me just grab my jacket and my shoes, and I'll walk you over." He straightens up and pats him on the head, heading towards the coat and shoe rack to grab his coat and shoes. The goons watch silently as the Don prepares to take C00lkidd to find his father. They can tell that the kid's presence has softened the boss, at least for the moment, watching his garb up for the summer’s cool air aftermath from the rain. "And as for you idiots," he says with his stern look and voice as he turns to them on his way out the door, "Second time I find out you peeped yer TOMS at her…and you’re "getting demoted"…HINT, HINT." He took the boy then by the hand and began walking down the hall, down the stairs, and out the killer's lodge into the forest down the old dirt path heading leftward. The goons all exchange a nervous glance as the Don leaves with C00lkidd, still feeling the brunt of his anger but also thankful that the kid intervened. They watch as the pair disappeared into the forest, leaving them alone in the lodge with the ominous silence of the night.

[meanwhile]

She laid in her bed, pushed so it was part of the wall with a shape like her old bed in her forlorn realm-abandoned by her Forsakening, so she can have the best view out of her window, and the best view of the fine little nest resting secure on the windowsill to receive a morning long independent warmth, her little egg she sired with Shedletsky while he was under her control angled like the earth during Summer Solstice, with its soft white dotted in speckles of brown indulging in the moonlight above. She lounges under soft sheets like the Buddha, rolled onto her side where she saw most of her room in its glory. It was nice of Chance to ‘help’ make her room this nice throughout the three weeks she had been sought after by the Don, and she admired each piece of what her room had, including all of the Don’s presents. Out the window, soon though, she saw two figures approaching closer to the survivor’s lodge: C00lkidd and the Don, hand-in-hand, like father with his son. C00lkidd clung tightly to the Don as they walked through the woods, the cool air of the night sending a chill through his pajamas under his coat. He looked up at the Don, his eyes still a little damp from the tears shed earlier. "Mister Mafioso," he said softly as they walked, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, little bambino," he replied calmly, "Ask away, anything goes."

"What's a "Sugar Baby"?" C00lkidd asked, "And why do you keep calling Miss Narcaus that?...Are you two dating or something?" The Don stopped in his tracks and looked down at C00lkidd, surprised by the question. "Why," he began, a little taken aback, "Who taught you what a Sugar Baby is, ehhh?" He asked, his voice a little amused by the idea. C00lkidd shrugs, the lodge's porch to their lefts, now, "I dunno," he admits, "but you sure call her that a lot. What's it mean?" he asked him again. The Don chuckles, shaking his head slightly as they stand below the porch. "It's a term, a bit of, uh…mafia slang," he explains, keeping it vague and simple for the young mind. "A Sugar Baby is, ehh, like a sweet lady, capiche? Like how kids your age call yer girls baes, y'know 'Kidd?" C00lkidd nodded, still not quite understanding. "So," he said curiously, "You call Miss Narcaus your Sugar Baby because she's sweet like candy?" The Don smiles, amused by the kid's innocence. "Mhm, just like that, kiddo," he says, patting him on the head again. "She's kind of my sweet lady, like candy. That's why I call her my Sugar Baby." She overheard them both through the window's glass and slipped out of bed to tiptoe out her room and greet them from the balcony of the second floor overlooking the main lobby below the stairs as they entered the building, her figure under the natural lighting like Vivienne Leigh along the stairs of the Jefferson Hotel. "You're an awful funny man, Daddy Don~, you know that?" The Don looked up and saw Narcaus standing on the balcony, her body silhouetted in the moonlight. He smiled, recognizing her voice instantly. "Ah, mia bellissima Sugar Baby," he said, his tone full of affection. "You're up pretty late, hmm?" C00lkidd looked up, recognizing Narcaus's voice, and his face lit up. "Miss Narcaus!" he exclaimed, excited to see her. He let go of the Don's hand and rushed to the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Narcaus with a wide smile on his face. "I had a nightmare, but Mister Mafioso helped me come find my DAD!" he announced proudly, looking up at Narcaus. Narcaus chuckled as she looked down at C00lkidd's smiling face. "Well, isn't that wonderful," she said, her tone softening at the sight of the young boy. She looked over at the Don, her expression teasing. "You've got a soft spot for this little one, don't you, Daddy Don? Tall, hot, professional and great with kids: I must've hit the jackpot~." The Don chuckled as well, rolling his eyes at Narcaus's words. "Yeah, yeah, I have a soft spot for the bambinos, you know that, Bellissima," he said, with a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "And I suppose you hit a pretty good jackpot yourself, eh? Hot and sexy." He winks back at her as 007n7 comes out of his room three doors down from hers with a yawn, still half asleep, hair a mess, tired. C00lkidd sees him coming down and begins going up just to follow him back down and into the kitchen like a lost puppy. "Daaaaad," he grabbed 007n7's sleeve, "Can I sleep with you tonight? I had a bad dream…" 007n7 looks down at C00lkidd, still groggy from being woken up from his sleep. "Sure thing, kiddo," he mumbled, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "You can sleep with me tonight." He leads C00lkidd into his room, yawning once more. Narcaus's eyes followed the man and his son as they disappeared into the room, her gaze lingering on the door until it shut behind them before she turned her attention back to the Don.

"Looks like the night's still young for us, eh, Daddy Don~?" she said, a coy smile on her face as she sauntered like a seductress vixen down the stairs, letting herself slip forward and get captured into his arms. The Don wrapped his arms around Narcaus as she got into his grip, pulling her close to him. "Mhm," he hummed in agreement, his eyes roaming over her figure. "The night is still young, indeed. And it looks like you're awake for it, Bellissima." His hands ran up her sides, caressing her hips. Narcaus leaned into his touch, her body pressing against his with eagerness. "Seems like I might be a little restless tonight," she murmured, her voice low and sultry, "Care to help me…tire myself out~?" He quickly pins her to the wall with a loud, photo rattling thud, "I think I got what you're lookin' for~." His kiss was hard, rough, passionate, immediate! His tongue sliding quickly into her mouth, wrestling against hers and winning, waving a flag for France as he sunk her into one of his cataglottisme; biting her lip between his teeth between their breaths of air before sinking her into the ravine of his passions all over again, only to then take his time with soft patience and love. Love; Ah, amore. The most confusing emotion known to all walks of life. And for her, such a deity befallen, to feel such a way; was she truly feeling it? Nay! She musn't…but she cannot help it, she does not know why his kisses feel so good against her lips, why his offerings-his 'gifts', as the hacker and the other mortals all call it, why his smooth accented, deep and gruff voice makes her feel like she wishes to ovulate and nest solely, SOLELY, with HIM~! She is the Goddess of the Red Midnight, a deity of festivity and debauchery, the Foreseer of Robloxia's Judgements! Yet he makes her, this powerful dove of a woman, feel no different than an airheaded, domesticated chicken. Was she…Was she turning into TELAMON?! She pushes him away with her hands at the thought, the Don grew with thirst for her lips and a curiosity to know why he was being drought-brought, growling in frustration as she pushed him away, her sudden resistance frustrating him more than he expected as he looked down at her with confusion, the look on his face clearly asking, “What the hell is she doing?”. His voice was low, with a hint of annoyance. "What's the matter, Bellissima?" She looked at him with a mix of desire and uncertainty in her eyes, her breaths still heavy from the kisses. "I don't know," she said softly, her voice betraying just how unsure she was. "I…I don't understand what I'm feeling." The Don's voice softened a little as he heard the uncertainty in her voice. He studied her face, seeing the mix of emotions in her eyes. "It's alright, Bellissima," he said, his tone gentle. "Sometimes we don't understand our feelings. What do you feel right now? Tell me." Narcaus takes a shuddering breath, her eyes fixed on his. "I feel…confused," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand why you make me feel this way. Why your touch sets my body ablaze. My heart…it races when you look at me. I…I don't know what to do with these feelings." The Don was surprised by her confession, but he didn't let it show. He took her hand gently, giving it a squeeze. "Bellissima, these feelings you're having? They're new for you, I know. But they're not unusual. You, you feel desire. Passion. It's normal, especially for one so beautiful as yourself~."

"I have known Passion and Desire to the point they became my closest friends," she tells him sternly with that shuddering breathy voice of hers she now suddenly had, "But neither of them were whatever it is I am feeling NOW, Daddy Don~!" The Don chuckled softly, trying to soothe the tension she had been feeling. "I understand, Mia Bellissima," he said, stroking her cheek softly. "What you're feeling now is different. It's stronger, more intense. It's what some call…" he leans in closer, his lips once again brushing against her, "love~. Oh, Mio Tesoro-!" Narcaus felt a shiver run down her spine as he planted his lips back onto hers, so soft and full of such of the foreign feeling in her cold, sensually vined heart, that very heart beating faster with every touch of his tall being onto her small frame. She didn't want to believe it. She was a powerful deity, a being of eternal festivity and debauchery, beyond the winery whims of mere Dionysus! She wasn't supposed to feel such human emotions, especially not for a mortal like him. Oh God, she really is turning into Telamon, isn't she!? Oh, this romance-this 'love' is but a nightmare clawing into her reALITY! The Don pulled her closer, his arms encircling her small frame possessively. He could sense her hesitation, her resistance to the feeling coursing through her body. But he pressed on, determined to make her understand. "Do not fight it, mio amore~," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "This isn't a bad thing to feel, Love. This is the beginning of something…wonderful." He was so warm, his touches and his kisses, the heat from his body melting her resolve into nothing as she gasped and groaned against his lips, his softly sensual masculine body. He was too good, too perfect. No mortal man should feel good like this! No mortal man should make her heart pound like this! She wanted to cry; she wanted him to touch her and more. The Don, sensing her surrender, deepened their kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with fervor. He pushed her back into the wall, trapping her between it and his strong frame. His hands roamed over her body, mapping every contour with a possessive touch. "You want me, Bellissima," he murmured huskily, pulling away slightly to look her in the eyes. "You feel it too, don't you? The way your body reacts to my touch…the way your heart races." She moaned softly in response to his words, her body trembling with desire under his touch. "Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with need. "I can't deny it. You make me feel things I've never experienced before. You make me…want~."

"Oh, mio amore~!" he kisses her cheek, "Mio AngELo~!" he kisses her along the left side of her forehead and the nape of her neck, "La mIA colOMBA~!" He sinks her into another French kiss against the wall once more! The taste of him was intoxicating, his kiss deep and thorough, dominating her with a fervor she didn't understand! How could she, a powerful deity be at this mortal's mercy?! All she could do at that moment was submit herself to his touch, her body melting into his as they kissed; a flurry of heated breaths and gasps, tongue and teeth~! "Bellissima," Don murmurs against her lips, "My beautiful vixen. Mine." His words send a shiver down her spine, and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She could feel his warm, strong body against hers, and the way his eyes looked at her with such desire, such need. She couldn't help but moan in response, his dominant presence and possessive touch sending waves of want and need coursing through her body. She looked up at him with hooded, lust-clouded eyes. "Yours," she whispered, her voice full of desire, "I'm all yours, Daddy Don." The Don smirked at her submission, his hand moving down to her waist, fingers gripping the flesh tightly. He pulled her even closer, their bodies now flush against each other. "Good," he said, his voice gruff with arousal, "You're mine, Bellissima." He captured her lips in another heated kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he deepened the kiss; his hands roaming her body possessively. Her body trembled with every touch, her mind growing hazy with desire. She surrendered herself completely to his domination, her body becoming pliable in his grip like putty, moldable into any shape, any form he wanted. Her tongue met his with a desperate urgency, the need to be close to him, to be as one, taking over her every thought. The Don could feel the desire coursing through her body, and it only fueled his own. His hands moved lower, caressing her curves, his touch possessive and unyielding. "Say it again," he growled against her neck, "Say you're mine." She gasped as he kissed her neck, her body arching into his touch, her mind clouded with desire and need. "I'm yours," she moaned, her voice ragged. "I belong to you, Daddy Don~." The Don's grip on her waist tightens, his lips tracing a trail of kisses and nips along the column of her throat. He nipped and sucked on her skin, leaving little marks of ownership in his wake. "Oh, la mia colomba~," he groaned, his voice rough with desire, "Mia colomba," he pecks her a kiss on her right cheek, "oh mia preziosa piccola colomba d'arGENto, come ti adoro tANto!" he pecks her a kiss more on her cheeks and her lips in quick soft tenderness, loosening his grip on her thighs and moving a hand to caress her soft face and brush his palm against her long, blonde locks of waving hair, "Ti amo, mia cara! Oh, mia dOLce colomba, come una donna come te mi fa proVARE tali sentIMENTI~!" She leaned into his touch, her body shivering under his grasp. His words sent a wave of want through her, and she couldn't help but feel a deep, overwhelming desire to belong to him, to be his completely. "I'm yours, completely," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Take me, Daddy Don. Make me yours completely-" The sound of the fridge opening in the kitchen ruins the whole thing as they stop in their tracks and look over to see a half-asleep Two Time getting into the fridge to drink the milk out the carton like an ass. Mid chug was when they finally noticed the both of them staring at them from across the way. Two Time quickly spit out the milk at the sight of the two of them, quickly trying to gather themself, sputtering and coughing as the milk streamed off their chin. Their face turned a deep shade of scarlet when they realized what they had interrupted as the Don and Narcaus stood there, both looking a little dazed and slightly pissed at the interruption.

The Don, still slightly dazed and off due to the interruption, looked at the young adult with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He let out a low growl, his hand still on Narcaus's waist, his grip still firm. "Damn it, Two Time," he said gruffly, "couldn't you have gotten the milk quietly?" Two Time, still sputtering from the milk, tried to compose themself. "Sorry man, I didn't know you guys were…" they gesture awkwardly to the scene before them. "You know…" Narcaus, who was still reeling from the sudden interruption, rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. "You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?" she said, her tone laced with irritation. The Don let out another grumble, clearly annoyed by the situation. "Yeah, you really did," he said gruffly, his grip on Narcaus becoming tighter, almost possessive. "I swear, you just have the worst timing." Two Time looked sheepishly at the two of them, still trying to get the last bits of milk off their chin. "I'm, uh, sorry," they mumbled, scratching their neck awkwardly. "I'll, um, just go back to my room now…"

"Yeah, you better," the Don growled, his eyes narrowing as he watched Two Time scamper away. Narcaus let out a frustrated sigh, still feeling the effects of interrupted passion running through her veins. "Ugh, that was just perfect," she mumbled sarcastically. The Don smirked at her sarcasm, slightly amused by the interruption. "Yeah, perfect timing," he retorted, his grip on her waist still tight. "Just when the mood was really getting going…"

"Heh…yeah~…" she felt her face. Warmth? The Don sure as hell noticed it.

Chapter Text

In the darkness. He observes all. stone faced. quiet. cruel, and.., easily bored. And when it came to the ex-wife, he was very much easily annoyed by her. Narcaus, in his void, down on her knees-not for sex, but for him to give her back her powers. whenever she couldn’t sleep that’s what she’d be doing, bothering him for what he nearly took all of away from her when she became Forsakened. “Ichabod~, honey,” she’d croon as she’d stand back onto her feet and grip his shoulders firmly from behind, an attempt at massaging her way into getting what she wanted from him, “I know we both don’t exactly like each other, but is it really that hard for you to just – I don’t know, DE-Forsaken little ole’ me~?” His gaze remained unmoving- unbothered and unfazed by her words and her touch. Instead, he kept staring forward in blank silence as she spoke, his fingers tapping slowly against the arm of the throne she was knelt to his left in front of and away from him. He never really turned to her when she spoke, he knew she only ever came to bother him. “…You have been forsaken for a reason, Narcaus.” Narcaus's jaw twitched as she heard his cold, unforgiving words. "Don't remind me," she muttered bitterly. The reminder of her forsaken state stung like a fresh dagger in her heart every time it was mentioned. "I know I've been forsakened, and I know I've done terrible things. I made mistakes. But can't you just forgive?!" She leaned forward, pressing herself against his back, as if seeking warmth and comfort from a man who gave her neither. The Spectre never really moved a muscle when she pressed herself against him from behind, his shoulders unmoving as she leaned into him. He was cold and unfeeling - a blank slate as he spoke to her with a cold harshness. “No, I have no reason to forgive you for your mistakes.” Narcaus felt a flash of anger mixed with desperation as she gripped his shoulders tightly, trying to force him to turn and face her. "No reason? No reason at all!? Are you trying to spite me?" she asked, her voice growing more frantic with each word. "You know me! We were…we were…once…partners, equals! Don't you remember that?!"

"The only two things you ever considered your 'equals' were your Twiddle-diddles and your EGO. Woman…" he pushes her off with a demonic growl emitting from his empty, smoothed face as the cracked crevicular precipice that made up his 'mouth' opened wide, and tears unto the flesh made forms for his 'eyes'; tiny wounds, faux webs. "So what is this really about, Narcaus? Tired of limitations already? Miss being in charge of every being's breathing day? Because I DOUBT…it's anything ELSE." Narcaus stumbled back after The Spectre pushed her back. She caught herself quickly; brushing away imaginary dust off her dress before she stood up tall and straight. Her own face, however, twisted into an expression of frustration and irritation. She knew he was right about her wanting to be in charge once more, but she would never admit it. Her pride wouldn't let her. "You think you know me so well, don't you?" she said through gritted teeth, her voice dripping with venom. "But you don't. Not anymore."

"I doubt it has something to do with the mortal Mafioso-"

"You keep Daddy Don out your mouth." She told him off sternly with a firm pointed finger in the Spectre's direction. "Ichabod, you know he's not why-"

"Then EITHER it IS him or it IS you wanting your POWERS BACK!"

"I knew I should have married your BROTHER," Narcaus snarled at him, "But then again you two were ALWAYS two sides of the SAME COIN; a Black Hat will always reMAIN A BLACK HAT-"

In vines, spiked, made of shade, he shot her out of his little dark pocket and back into his made world, leaving her to be stranded outside the abandoned cabins and the survivor's lodge, flung hard so she landed into the lake-scrapping her body and her clothes against the dock's rough old woods. It spooked them out their skins, and it triggered more bodies to come out of inside the survivor's lodge as the Don himself screamed out and rushed in to the figure's rescue; mostly cause he and his Consigliere over here knew right off the bat who it was. "MIO TESORO!" was what the Don yelled out before he ran to the docks and dived into the water, fully clothed-coat hat and all-to save her as the others rush onto the pier to the edge, peering into the murky depths of the lake; their eyes widening as they saw the Don emerge from the water, hauling an unconscious Narcaus out of the water, her soaked hair clinging to her face as the cold water drenched every part of her person: from her dress to her shoes and every article of accessories that was also wet as he laid her down on her back in the wooden pier. He pushed the strands of hair off her face with shaky hands and tried to feel for her pulse, his worry evident in the way his hands trembled. He felt relief wash over him in shaky breaths as he felt her pulse through her…wait…she's got gills? Noli's looking down at her as she slowly regains consciousness, eyes peeping the gills as if – as if even he didn't know she had gills! The Consigliere's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the gills on her body, shocked and slightly disturbed to see something on her that he had never seen before. However, seeing that the Don needed some help to get her up, he shoved aside any thoughts he had and helped him hoist Narcaus up into a sitting position on the pier. "Mio amore," he takes her hand into both of his, "Can ya hear me!? Say something to me, Bellissima!" Narcaus groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open. She looked dazed and disoriented, her wet hair clinging to her face. "Da…ddy…D-Daddy Don…?" she whispered, her voice raspy and weak. "W-what happened…?"

"Heh," Loretto scoffed, "I'll tell ya what happened, ya got flung by the Spectre just now, Miss!" Narcaus winced as she tried to move, her body sore and battered from the fall. "That bastard," she muttered, her voice still weak. "…threw me out here like that…" she winced again as the pain from the fall continued to run through her body. The Don stood up, care was put into lifting her up into his large, comforting arms. "Let's get ya inside, dumplin'," he told her softly as he began making his way off the pier to the lodge, "We'll get ya all dried up with somethin' nice in yer tummy, okay~?" They watched, as he carried her off, his little lackies flanking him on both sides, and Noli and 007n7 couldn't help but just look at each other, silently conversing over what had happened, and what has been happening. Shedletsky let out one, long laugh, the second the Don was finally out of earshot. "Ooooh, did you guys see that!?" he guffawed as he keeled over nearly spilling his bucket of fried chicken drumsticks in his arm like a case of popcorn, "Oh! Oh," he wiped sweat off his brow line, "That was hilarious! Hahahahahahahah, "D-Daddy Don~?"! HAAAH! She's so domesticating! Hey, hey!" he knew she couldn't hear him from there while being inside but he yelled it to her anyway, "ENJOY THE FARM LIFE, NARCEE! TRUST ME, CHICKEN?" Shedletsky grabs a drumstick and yells with his mouth full, "TASTES GREAT!" The Survivors around them couldn't help but chuckle at Shedletsky's outburst, amused by his antics. They had all seen what happened with Narcaus, and were secretly enjoying Shedletsky's mockery of the scene that had unfolded just moments earlier, except for three of them: them being 007n7, who had a frown on his face as he looked at Shedletsky's laughing and yelling, clearly annoyed by the man's behavior, Noob, who simply looked confused, as he often did when Shedletsky was being his usual obnoxious self, and of course, Noli, who kept his face stoic as he watched Shedletsky make a scene. The humor of the situation was lost on him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of irritation at the man's behavior. As Shedletsky continued his one-man show, Noli couldn't help but speak up, his voice soft but firm. "You're being loud," he said simply. "And obnoxious." Shedletsky looked over at Noli, amused by his comment. "Hey," he said with a smirk, "Don't be such a party pooper, pal. Can't take a harmless little joke?"

"She could have drowned," Noli retorted, "Because quite frankly, we can all agree here-me especially cause I've been around her longer than the rest of you, reminder-that she's never had gills before, EV-ER." Silence. "Pfffffffffffff-fh-fh-fh-fh-fhhhhaaaaaaaah!" The sound was like a deflating whoopie cushion and a squeaky toy coming out of Shedletsky's mouth, and he merely resumed laughing at Narcaus's expense like he and the others had been since she ended up here in their predicament with them. "You?" he asks, "You've been around her longer? Who do you think made that bitch end up with METAL ARMS, Noli, I totally kicked her ASS centuries ago!" he took a bite of some more chicken as he shrugged, "Y'might as well know why she hates me since you now know I'm one of the First Robloxians because of her! She swung, I swung, she missed and I didn't." Shedletsky walks back to the lodge, with the other befallen gods to follow him like flies to shit, "And it looks like there'll be two chickens clucking around these parts before ya KNOW IT! HAH, HAH!" Noli's expression remained stoic, his eyes narrowed as he heard Shedletsky's words. He clenched his fists, trying to rein in his anger. "You sound proud of your actions," he said in a low voice. "You think it's funny to brag about the pain you caused her?"

"Noli-" 007n7 tried reasoning but Noli ran up to him and pushed him to the ground making him spill his drumsticks. "May I remind you all the souls before us that she CORRUPTED; that she TORMENTED; that SHE BRAINWASHED WITH COUNTLESS METHODS OF SEXUAL TORTURE! It wasn't just YOU, or THESE GUYS, o-or SEVEN she did that all TO! Don't you think," he glares at the happy couple in each other's comfort through one of the main widows from the porch of the lodge, "Don't you think for even a moment, Shedletsky, that maybe-JUST maybe-there's more to it than just perversion and lust about her? That maybe, considering how the rest of you have been treating her now that she's as limited in ability as WE are, that she considers the wrong to be RIGHT? After all…" he points down the path into the woods, "Isn't there also someone ELSE who you've RUINED, TELAMON? Perhaps someone you named: 1x1x1x1???" Shedletsky stopped laughing and tensed up at Noli's words. "Whoa, hold up," he said, his tone shifting from amused to serious. "You can't seriously be defending her now, right?" Noli's expression remained stern as he continued his rant. "I'm not defending her," he said with a hint of mockery in his words. "I'm just pointing out that you're a hypocrite who thinks he's any different from her or the others whose lives you ruined. In a way, you're just like 1x. Arrogant and hate filled." Noli pushes him to the side as 007n7 catches up to them panting, "I can't hold Narcaus unaccountable for everything's she's done to people, Shed'…I can't even form an excuse, because there are none for her actions. But at least it makes sense WHY she does it, now…who's at fault, in this situation. Come on, Seven, let's get ready to go out on the boat," he looked over at 007n7, "You got the box ready or is it still in the shed around the back?" Shedletsky bristled at Noli's words, feeling like he was being judged and found wanting. "Now, hold on," he protested, "I'm not-I'm not a hypocrite!" Noli ignored him. on purpose. out of spite of him. Shedletsky scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, real mature, Noli," he spat out, his words laced with sarcasm. "Ignoring me now, are we?" Noli stopped at the door into the lodge, 007n7 right behind him. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to respond, little baby boy? I have no patience for your little temper tantrums. You know that." He sneered. "Grow up, Shedletsky. Don't be a child." Shedletsky's nostrils flared with anger as Noli's words stung. "Oh, grow up, huh?!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of rage and wounded pride. "You think you're so much better than me, don't you? You think you're the model of maturity?" The Don opens the door and out from behind him runs out C00lkidd in a little hoodless yellow raincoat and big Drakobloxxer themed boots with a matching fishing hat, hugging his father tightly with one hand holding a children's sized fishing rod! "Dad, dad, I'm ready, come on let's go!" he says joyfully to 007n7 as he takes him by the hand with his free one and begins pulling him away back down to the pier with his shocking strength, Noli following behind. "Hey, uh, remember what I told ya, 'Kidd, okay? Don't touch the water or you'll get itchy'n dry!"

"Okay!" C00lkidd shouted back at the Don with a frantic wave of his hand and a big, wide toothy smile. "And make sure you catch a big one just for ME, okAY C00lkidd?!"

"OKAYY!!! BYE, MISTER MAFIOSO!!! BYE MISTER SHED'! BYE MISTER GUEST! BYE MISTER NOOB!!!" Narcaus looked from out the large window of the lodge, silently watching the kid run off with all the excitement in the world. Her heart stung at the sight, as she watched his father follow after him in a more calm and casual manner. "Heh…he's cute…" she murmured to herself. She couldn't stop looking at Noli. Her face softened, pitied it, and went blank. Narcaus watched as he walked down to the pier and helped little C00lkidd set up his little, toy fishing pole, listening to all of the words from afar. "Now you talk shit about my lady again, you fat buffoon and I'll make ya eat yer TEETH with that CHICKEN," she heard the Don threaten Shedletsky with a shaking fist up in the man's face, his voice cutting over the sounds of bonding over at the pier, "Ya GOT IT!?" Shedletsky raised an eyebrow at the Don's threat. "Oh, really?" he said with mock fear. "You think you can intimidate me, big guy? I'm not afraid of you." The Don snaps his fingers at one of his goons, "Get Lenny on the line." Shedletsky's bravado wavered for a moment. "What? You're gonna call in your goons now?" he asked, his confidence slipping slightly. "Nah," he goes, "Lenny's actually one of my bookkeepers." Shedletsky's expression of bravado turned into one of slight disappointment. "Oh, just a bookkeeper?" he scoffed. "I thought you were getting some tough guy muscle over here, but it's just another pencil pusher?" The Don's smile made Narcaus's heart melt like butter. Probably because this same grin makes everyone else shit bricks. But who knows? He grabs Shedletsky by the collar of his t-shirt and lifts him off the ground with one hand, his other one holding the ringing flip phone his goon gave him, "This 'pencil pusher' is one of the guys in charge of keeping tabs on who OWES the SONNELLINOS, punk!" he puts the phone to his ear, "Aaaaaaaye, Lenny! It's me, yer boss! Listen, I'm shaking this one guy who thinks he's all shit, look in that little green book'a yours and, uh, see if you can find someone, uuuuuh, first name "John", last name "ShedlETSKY" for me, 'kay, real quick?" C00lkidd meanwhile watched from down below at the pier as 007n7 went to get the boat working, looking up at the two arguing men above him from the pier in absolute wonder and confusion as he held his children's fishing rod with both hands. "They're having an argument…" he told 007n7. "They seem really mad…is something bad going to happen to Mister Shed’?" 007n7 patted the boy on his head softly, "Nahhhh." He tried to assure the boy with a casual wave of his hand. "They're just having a little disagreement and they're trying to work it out. I'm sure things'll be fine." But C00lkidd's eyes widened in awe as he saw the Don continue to issuelessly hold up Shedletsky off the ground with ONE hand. The kid couldn't help but look up in wonder, his mouth dropped open in amazement at the sight before him as he looked up at the two men: one in a suit, while the other wore casual clothes. "Wooooaaaahhhhhhh…" C00lkidd muttered to himself, his eyes still locked on the two men as he heard the Don talking on the phone. "Let’s just…" he wraps an arm around the kid's shoulders and leads him up the boat, "Get on the boat. You coming, Noli?" Noli nodded silently and followed them onto the boat, his expression still stoic as ever. C00lkidd continued to stare at the Don with wide-eyes, still incredibly fascinated by the man's imposing presence and strength. He gave Shedletsky one last dirty look before looking off over the lake.

The engine roared to life as the boat moved slowly off the docks, making its way to the central section of the lake. C00lkidd sat down on the floor of boat in between Noli and the fishing box, his eyes focused on the water that surrounded them. C00lkidd leaned over the edge of the boat, looking down into the deep water, completely entranced by the murky water. Occasionally, he would try to put a hand in the water, attempting to dip his fingers into the lake, only for 007n7 to catch his wrist and guide his hand back up and away from the water. "No, kiddo, ya can't play in the water. You'll get all Itchy if it gets on ya." C00lkidd pouted slightly, disappointed that he wasn't allowed to play in the water, but he quickly cheered up, focused back on the boat trip. He turned to look at Noli, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Uncle Noli…?" he said softly, "Can I ask you a question?" Noli looked down at the kid, his face softening ever so slightly as he nodded his head. "Sure, go ahead, 'Kidd."

"What does [ABHORRENT DETESTABLE FAX MACHINE NOISES] mean?" He looks so innocent, yet Noli and 007n7 both looked at him with such fucking SHOCK, my Lord Who Art Thou in fffffUCKING HEAVEN, where did he hear THAT WORD FROM!? C00lkidd's over here with the SpongeBob Face plastered on his as his current expression and yet he just said something equivalent to the Dolphine Sound Effect from that one episode of SPONGEBOB! The two men stared down at the small kid, completely baffled by what just came out of his mouth. They were shocked, absolutely SHOCKED at what the small boy said. But as they looked at the kid's face, he was just sitting there, looking right at them with that same, innocent, wide-eyed face, completely unaware of what he had just said. 007n7 swallowed, trying to come up with an appropriate response. "Uh…well, kid…that's…" he stumbled over his words, unsure how to explain what had just come out of his mouth. "Uh, that's a really bad word, kiddo…" C00lkidd's curious eyes continued to stare up at the men, still confused by their reactions. "Why is it a bad word?" he asked innocently. "What does it mean?" Noli and 007n7 exchanged another stunned look. They were both at a loss for words. How do you explain to a small, innocent, child who has done no wrong, what that word meant? They both took a moment of silence to collect their thoughts. "Where…" Noli looked like he had lost some of his color, 007n7 looked like he lost all of it, "Where did you…hear that?" Noli asks the kid as they watch the 10-year-old go over to the back end of the boat and look off at the shrinking land from their ongoing distancing from it, same goofy ass grin as always. "Bluudude said he hears Mister Mafioso say it to Miss Narcaus sometimes." He tells them, and then adds on as he turns his body back to look at them, "But only when they're invisible at their secret place-oh-but nobody's allowed to go there, capiche?" he says doing the Italian hand gesture like the Don would whenever he ended something with the word "capiche". Noli and 007n7 exchanged another look, their faces turning a shade paler than before. They couldn't believe what they were hearing. They had to ask one more question, just to be sure they were hearing this correctly. "When you say 'invisible', what do you mean by that, kiddo?"

"Uh, duh, dad!" he tells 007n7, "No one can see you if you're invisible! Duuh!" 007n7 facepalmed himself, sighing "No, that's – that's not what I mean, kiddo. I meant…" he took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Um, in what way were they invisible at their 'secret place'?"

"Bluudude couldn't see them, but he sure could hear them." C00lkidd says to the both of them, mainly his father. "Now back to my first question, what does [ABHORRENT DETESTABLE FAX MACHINE NOISES] mean?"

"Uh…" 007n7 and Noli both tried to think of some, any, way of defining the term without actually defining it. They sat there, silently, looking at C00lkidd with blank expressions. C00lkidd leaned forward, his head tilted, his innocent demeanor growing impatient. Noli and 007n7 took note of his growing impatience and both tried to think of something to say to him fast. "Well, it uh…" 007n7 started, "It's a not so good thing to say…it's a, um…bad name…for someone."

"For someone?" C00lkidd asked curiously, completely confused by the answer to his question. He was beginning to get frustrated by the vague replies he was getting from the two men. "Yes, for someone," 007n7 replied. "It's…it's a bad…name to call someone." His voice shook as he struggled to find the best way to explain this to the kid. C00lkidd sat there for a long while, completely silent as he absorbed the information being given to him. He sat there for what felt like an eternity, contemplating what he had just been told. Eventually, he broke the silence, looking up at the men with a new sense of curiosity. "So…you SHOULDN'T say it to someone?" 007n7 and Noli both breathed a sigh of relief, glad to hear the kid understanding the basics of the word at least. "Yeah, you shouldn't!" 007n7 responded, a sense of relief in his voice. "But…But why does Mister Mafioso call Miss Narcaus that?" AND JUST WHEN THEY THOUGHT THE QUESTIONS WERE OVER, FUCK!!! Just like that, the feeling of relief disappeared. Poof - out the window it went. 007n7 just barely stifled a groan. He racked his brain, trying to find some way to explain this to the kid without going into too much detail. "Uh, well…" he began, scratching at the back of his neck. "It's complicated…"

"What do you mean “it's complicated”?" C00lkidd asked, tilting his head to the side. "You said it was a bad name to call people. Why does Mister Mafioso call Miss Narcaus a bad name?"

“…I’m gonna stop the boat so we can fische.” Noli said as 007n7 watched him go over to the motor of the boat, his mind still racing to find some sort of answer to the kid's question that didn't sound bad. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts before turning back towards C00lkidd. "It's, uh…" he paused, trying to think of the best way to explain this. "It's kind of like…how you might call your friends things like 'stupidhead' or 'loser' or 'buttface'…" C00lkidd's eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the man's explanation. "But…why would you call your friends those names if they're your friends?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. "Well…" 007n7 tried to think of how to explain the concept properly. "Sometimes…people joke around with each other and call each other names, even if they don't mean it. It's like a way of showing affection or just having fun together." C00lkidd pouted and crossed his arms, "But you and Uncle Noli said BUTT JOKES were MEAN JOKES, a-, and Bluudude told me so that girls had TWO BUTTHOLES, so I don't GET IT!" If Noli was drinking something right now he'd be spitting it all out on the mist setting. 007n7's eyes widened in shock. He had no idea where the kid got that from, but he tried to keep his composure and reply as calmly as possible. "Uh, that's, ah…that's not what I meant. I mean…well, it's like…uh…you know when you pick on someone and call them a name, like 'dork' or 'doodoo-head'?" C00lkidd's expression softened as he listened to 007n7. "Yeah, like when I mess with Bluudude and call him names like 'stupid-head' and 'dumb-butt'…"

"Yeah, kinda like that…" 007n7 let out another sigh of relief that he seemed to be understanding. "Sometimes, even though it's a bad name, people use those names to show affection to their friends. It's kind of like a love language, but with names instead." C00lkidd nodded his head, slowly beginning to grasp the concept. "So…people use bad names to show their friends that they like them…?" he asked, trying to make sure he was understanding correctly when the boat came to a gentle stop in the middle of the glistening lake, surrounded by the clear, calm waters and dense foliage of the forest. C00lkidd immediately rushed over to the edge and peered down into the lake, eager to spot the first fish he could see as Noli hobbles through the boat over to them, children's sized rod for C00lkidd, regular one for 007n7, "Heeeeey, how about we get fisching, huh?" C00lkidd's eyes lit up at the mention of fishing. "Yeah, let's go fishing!" he exclaimed excitedly, all talk of names and bad words forgotten for the moment. 007n7 chuckled, amused by the kid's enthusiasm. "Alright, alright, let's go fishing." 007n7 chuckled at the young boy's excitement as he took a seat next to him, rod in hand, and cast out his line into the water. "Take it easy, kiddo. It'll take some time for a fish to bite," he said nonchalantly. C00lkidd watched in awe as the fishing line dropped into the clear water, waiting patiently for a fish to come along and bite. He was so focused on the water that he nearly fell over the side of the boat, but he quickly steadied himself. "I'm gonna catch the BIGGEST, strongest fish in the lake!" he declared determinedly. 007n7 chuckled softly at the boy's enthusiasm. "Alright, kiddo, just make sure you don't fall overboard trying to catch that big fish," he replied, a warm smile on his face.

[meanwhile]

The Don kept going on and on about the debt, but the huffing and puffing noises Narcaus made in the background was what caught everyone else's attention, especially Shedletsky's; he peered past the Don's tall body to see her, swaddled in warm blankets looking like a giant pill baby, laying prone facing the fireplace on the couch, and as his ears tune into the sound of her and not the blabbering of the Don, he and the others all begin to hear this weird squelching sound, and all Narcaus is doing is making those weird noises and looking over at the Don with these wide-pupiled glossed over bedroom eyes; even his goons who had been keeping an eye on her had no idea how or why she was even making those sounds, and then right then and there through the folds at the bottom of the blankets a bunch of wet, slimy textured unfertilized eggs the size of a grown man's fist start sliding out onto the hardwood floor. Shedletsky was stunned into silence, his mouth hanging open in shock at the sight before him. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Narcaus, the woman he had known and hated for so long, was now producing eggs. But not just any eggs. No, these were huge and disgusting looking, sliding out from underneath her blankets in a slimy, slimy mess all over the floor. The scene was disgusting. The others looked at each other in disbelief while Shedletsky made the same disgusted face as their eyes remained fixed on the scene before them. They couldn't believe the Don could be so clueless when it was happening right behind him. Shedletsky stood there in shock, his eyes wide as he watched the disgusting sight before him. The sight of Narcaus laying on the couch, releasing slimy, unfertilized eggs onto the hardwood floor. The sight was so bizarre, so surreal, that he could barely process what was happening. It was like something out of a nightmare. The sound of the Don's ranting became distant background noise as all he could focus on was Narcaus and her strange and disturbing egg laying behavior.

Then he couldn't help but laugh at her again as he watched Narcaus lying on the couch, pushing out the slimy eggs. The image was so ludicrous that it was almost comical. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight. "Looks like the all mighty Narcaus has been domesticated," he said with a smirk. "Almost reminds me of when I first met wife." Now that caught the Don's attention. The Don's ears perked up at the mention of Shedletsky's wife, and a look of irritation crossed his face. "What do you mean, domesticated?" he growled, turning around to face Shedletsky with a steely gaze. Shedletsky's smirked turned smug at the Don's reaction. "Oh, come on, Donny. Don't tell me you don't know the meaning of the word," he said with fake sympathy. "I mean she's sitting on the couch like some sort of egg-laying couch potato. It's pretty pathetic, really." The Don's face darkened as he heard Shedletsky's words. "You watch your mouth," he growled. "You have no right to talk about her like that!" Shedletsky let out a snort of derision at the Don's reaction. "Oh, spare me the tough guy act, Donny. You and I both know how pathetic she looks down there." He motioned towards the couch where Narcaus still sat, pushing out more of the large, slimy eggs. The Don followed his finger, and the look-the look-…of pure shock on this man's face! The Don's expression changed from anger to shock in an instant as he saw the scene before him. The sight of Narcaus laying on the couch, pushing out egg after egg, was unlike anything he had ever seen. He stood there stunned, unable to utter a single word. And the noises she made looking at him. It was like someone let a-uh, uh, uh-a mourning dove inside the PREMISES, it was that cooing they do where the puff out and go from low to high to low again-that damned "Coo-OO-oo" sound! Her eyes looked like someone dropped a drip of belladonna eyedrops into them, and she squirmed all wormy tucked in the blankets trying to scooch herself on her stomach to raise her ass on her arms 'n knees! The others watched in discomfort, their eyes wide open in shock as they took in the bizarre scene in front of them. The Don looked stunned, unable to comprehend what was happening. It was beyond his wildest imagination. But Shedletsky, being the sarcastic little bastard he is, couldn't help but snicker. "Looks like your little princess is laying some uncooked babies, eh, Don? Better get the baby clothes ready and the diaper basket on standby in case you two get freaky while she's doing this." The Don's face turned crimson with anger as Shedletsky made his sarcastic remark about the eggs being 'uncooked babies'. "Shut your filthy mouth, Shedletsky!" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. "You don't know anything about us! And we're not getting FREAKY!" Shedletsky couldn't help but burst into a fit of mocking laughter. "Oh ho ho! Touchy subject much, Don?" He chuckled, clearly enjoying taunting the Don about his relationship with Narcaus. "You know, everyone knows it's just a matter of time before you take her to your bedroom. Don't deny it, buddy."

The Don's face turned a deeper shade of red as Shedletsky continued to taunt him. "Shut up, you little smartass!" he bellowed, his fists clenched in anger. "You don't know a damn thing about me and her! We're not-" He stopped himself, realizing that he was starting to reveal more than he wanted to, and besides, she needed him. "Get the fuck away from us, damnit." He said as he slammed the door shut to their lodge and marched over towards Narcaus laying in a squirmy egg-laying mess on the couch, "And what're you nuckleheads doin', get this fUCKING MESS PICKED UP before I CRUSH THESE FUCKIN' THINGS 'GAINST YER HEADS!" he yelled at his goons in anger! The goons quickly sprang into action, quickly rushing over to pick up the slimy eggs that had been left on the floor from Narcaus. They were grossed out, but they sure as hell weren't about to piss off the Don. They got to work picking up the eggs one by one, trying to ignore the grossness of it all. The Don knelt down next to Narcaus, his expression changing from anger to concern as he saw her laying on the couch, still squirming and making those weird cooing noises. "Hey, hey, calm down, sweetheart," he said softly, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek. "It's okay, it's okay…" Narcaus looked up at the Don, her eyes still clouded over by whatever was affecting her currently. She whimpered softly as she tried to push herself up off the couch to get closer to him, only to be hindered by her current state before the Don gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to keep her from moving too much. "Just stay still, sweetheart," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "Don't try to move too much, okay? You're in no condition to be moving around right now." Narcaus whimpered again, but she seemed to understand the Don's words. She stopped trying to move around and instead just laid there, looking up at the Don with those glossy eyes. The Don's expression softened as he looked down at Narcaus, seeing the confusion and helplessness in her eyes. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and his hand lingered for just a moment. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I'm here with you now, alright? Just relax and let me take care of you." The Don sat down next to her on the couch, taking in the sight of her in her current state. She looked so vulnerable, so unlike the strong and confident woman he knew. A hint of worry crossed his features as he saw her struggling to get comfortable. "That fucking fatass thinks this is aaaall so damn FUNNY," he mumbled to himself, "I'd like to pop 'em in the KISSER one of these days." His goons overheard his mumbling. The Don was not a happy camper right now. The goons nodded gravely and silently in agreement. They knew that when the Don was in a foul mood, it was best to keep a low profile and stay out of his way. They continued to clean up the mess that Narcaus had made, their faces twisted in disgust at the sight and smell of the slimy eggs.

Shedletsky continued watching the scene unfold, his smirk still plastered on his face. He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and smugness at the situation. "Hah, look at them all scrambling to clean up her mess," he said aloud, unable to resist making a snide comment. The Don shot a murderous glare in Shedletsky's direction, his eyes boring into him like daggers. "You better shut your yapping, smartass," he sneered, his voice low and dangerous. "Or else I'll shut it for you." As a mature comeback, Shedletsky just gave him a raspberry from the other side of the shut window and the Don's face went red with anger as he saw Shedletsky mocking him. "That's it!" he bellowed, jumping up from the couch and storming towards the window. "You asked for it, you little punk!" Shedletsky smirked as he saw the Don charging towards the window. "Oh look, here comes the big, angry mafia boss," he taunted. "You think you're gonna intimidate me, Donny? I've seen scarier things in my sleep!" The Don punches through the wood of the fucking door! The goons in the room all let out a collective gasp. They had never seen the Don so pissed before. Shedletsky, on the other hand, just snickered louder. "Is that all you got old man? You gotta do better than that if you want to scare me-" Shedletsky's smirk quickly disappeared from his face as he felt the Don's hands grab him by the throat and nutsack. "Whoa, whoa, whoa-" he tried to speak, but before he could even finish his sentence, he felt himself being launched through the air. His body slammed into the hard wooden floor, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him dazed and disoriented. He groaned in pain as he tried to get up, his body feeling sore and bruised from the impact. The Don marched back in through the hole he punched into the door slowly and stood over him, his eyes blazing with anger. "You think it's funny to piss off the Don, huh?" he cracks his knuckles as the color leaves Shedletsky's face, a loud, audible crackle of joints underneath a gripping palm, "You think it's funny to mock me and my lady in front of everyone?" Shedletsky's face paled as he saw the Don standing over him, his fists clenched and his knuckles cracking. "H-hold on, now, let's not do anything too hasty," he said weakly, trying to back away from the imposing figure. "I was just…I was just trying to have some fun, that's all. I didn't mean anything by it, really! It was just harmless joke, I didn't know it would get you so worked up-" the Don gripped him upwards by the collar of his shirt and WHAMMED A HARD FIST across the man's FACE, leaving his face instantly bruised, a tooth falling out and landing somewhere on the hardwood floor with a bit of blood going down Shedletsky's lip and nose. Shedletsky cried out in pain as he felt the Don's fist connect with his face, sending him reeling backwards onto the floor. He could taste the metallic tang of his own blood in his mouth, and his nose felt like it had been smashed into his face. "Oh, God…my face," he groaned, wincing in pain as he felt something hard and brittle in his mouth. His gaze darted down to the ground, and he saw his own tooth lying there, covered in blood and saliva. The Don loomed over him; his face twisted into a sneer. "You think you can just mess with me, piss me off, and get away with it?" he snarled, the veins in his forehead bulging with anger. "You were just 'trying to have some fun', were ya?" He grabbed Shedletsky by the collar once again, lifting him up off the ground and bringing his face closer to his. "Well, you wanted to play, and now you're gonna pay. And it's gonna be painful." Shedletsky's fear grew with every word that the Don spoke. He had never seen the man so furious before. "W-wait, wait," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "Please, can't we talk about this? I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it! It was just a stupid joke; I wasn't trying to piss you off!"

"MISTER MAFIOSO!" the Don turned his head to the now broken window; the sight of the boat parked back at the pier with C00lkidd running towards the survivor's lodge with Noli and 007n7 sauntering some steps behind together catching him off guard. He exhaled through his nose and let Shedletsky drop to the floor. "Clean yourself up, chicken fingers." he snarled, before making his way through the hole in the doors with a more friendly look and approach, "Heeey, little bambino! Did ya have fun fishing with yer DAD and Noli over here?" C00lkidd's face lit up with excitement as he saw the Don coming towards him. "Yeah, we caught some big fish!" he exclaimed, holding up the fishing rod with a huge fish attached to it. "This one's huge! I bet it's a world record!" The Don chuckled at C00lkidd's enthusiasm, his angry demeanor completely replaced by a warm smile. "Well, ain't you a little powerhouse, huh?" he said, patting C00lkidd on the head. "That's one big fish you got there. I bet it's enough to feed us all, eh?" The little boy nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, it's a huge fish! I bet it's bigger than any fish anyone has ever caught!"

"…fish…?" Narcaus was standing inside the lodge in front of the giant hole that the Don made earlier, eyes still bugged out, raposa ears drooping to each side of her head, her facial wings fluttering and stretching outward to relax its joints. C00lkidd looked at her, and then noticed Shedletsky as he walked past her, ducking his head and covering the side of his face from view with one of his hands. "Mister Mafioso, are Mister Shed' and Miss Narcaus both okay?" he asked the Don ever so innocently as he looked back over up at him with big, black eyes. The Don looked at C00lkidd and then at Narcaus, his expression hardening slightly at the sight of her condition. "Not right now, little fella," he said gruffly, ruffling his hair. "They're going through…uh…some stuff. But they'll be fine." C00lkidd nodded, still looking at the two worriedly. "Is Miss Narcaus doing bad things?" he couldn't help but ask, seeing her in a state of distress. "No, no, no," the Don replied calmly, "She's just eh-uh, a bit under the weather right now, that's all."

"But Bluudude told me that he heard you two being invisible in your secret spot and he said he heard you say to her-"

Noli and 007n7 rush in to try and stop him "C00LKIDD, NOOOOO-"

"[ABHORRENT DETESTABLE FAX MACHINE NOISES]!" a third time today that word came out of the boy's mouth; this time everyone was there to hear him SAY THAT! Shedletsky, despite the pain of his bruised face, couldn't help but let out a snort of amusement at the sight of the three adults trying to prevent C00lkidd from continuing. He could only imagine the chaos that would unfold if the kid revealed any more information right now. The goons' faces all turned pale at C00lkidd's words, their eyes wide in shock and horror. Even Shedletsky stood in stunned silence, his hand still covering his bruised face. Only the Don didn't react, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he looked at the scene before him. He knew the truth behind the boy's words, but the others did not. He inhales slightly. "Never say any of that again," he tells C00lkidd. "And don't worry your little head about the other one; I got connections." He then takes out his personal flip phone and flips it open to her ear as he walks back to Narcaus to lead her inside and upstairs to her room. The others let out a collective sigh of relief, feeling grateful that the Don had managed to prevent C00lkidd from revealing anything more. Shedletsky, however, still couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He knew the Don's reputation, and he knew that the boss had his own way of handling things. Who knows what he’d do to a 12-year-old kid…

[later that evening – 10:37 PM EST]

“Hey, what is up you guys, it’s ya boi Bluudude BACK with another exciting Lets Play stream-you guys liked me playing Minions Adventure Obby: Despicable Forces Ultimate, so today I’m gonna be playing another Minions ga-” all of a sudden 188o8 barges into her son’s bedroom so hard the wall smacked against the doorstopper to cop a hole into the bottom of it! “BLUUDUDE, YOUNG MAN, WHAT’S THIS I HEARD ABOUT YOU LOOKING UP THINGS YOU SHOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT-” she runs up at him with la chancla in a furry as he screams in panic, “¡TÚ, PEQUEÑO TRAMPOSO, SAL DE TU TRANSMISIÓN AHORA MISMO Y MUESTRAME TU HISTORIAL DE BÚSQUEDA!”

Chapter Text

The morning began with breakfast. And Shedletsky annoying Narcaus by making chicken noises in her general direction. Looks like getting punched in the face didn’t teach him a damn thing. “I am not. a chicken. Telamon.” She grunted. “I am not, being domesticated. I just…yesterday was just my time of the month, that’s all.” Shedletsky kept making his stupid chicken noises, finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious. "Oh, come on, don't be such a stick in the mud, Shorty McBitebite," he taunted. "We all know what really happened yesterday."

"I was ovulating," she growled, "It has no concern to especially an annoying fallen god such as the likes of you!" Chance sat down at the table they were seated at with his breakfast; scrambled eggs and toast with jam and melted butter. "Oh, look what I got, pee-wee." He says to Narcaus to get her attention, "Look what I got. Got some eggs! Like you do!" Shedletsky nearly fell out of his chair, bursting into laughter at Chance's comment. "Oh man, that's cold." He said between laughs. "Like, ice cold!" He patted Chance on the back, still laughing his ass off. To herself, she thinks, “This morning cannot get worse”. An egg slides out under her nightgown and rolls onto the floor after falling from between her thighs. Shedletsky's laughter stopped abruptly as he noticed the strange sight of the egg rolling across the floor. He looked at it in a mix of shock and confusion, trying to process what he was seeing. "What the…" he muttered, dumbfounded by the bizarre scene. "Like I said, I am ovulating." She said again more sternly than the first time around as she then took a drink of her morning coffee. "I'm gonna keep popping and squeezing at random until Daddy Don starts fertilizing these damned things. Already such a nice room he made Chance make for me is now no different than my old room in my temple which, thanks to SOMEONE!" she leaned over the table to pop out another unfertilized egg and to project her voice to make extra certainty Taph could hear her before she sat back down in her chair, "That I can no longer have any access to, including the realm-MY realm-and everything in it." she sips her coffee again. 007n7 and Chance were all watching this strange scene unfold. 007n7 was watching with a mixture of fascination and skepticism in his eyes, while Chance's face was a picture of total shock. The room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of the plopping of eggs onto the hardwood floor.

BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...

Not to start a round but to signal new souls being brought by the Spectre; two young women being unceremoniously tossed into the main lobby of the lodge - one with purple hair in a messy updo bun, a violet sweater and a cat scarf - one in black like a mob boss's widow, most of her face hidden, with long magenta hair. Shedletsky recognized them, Builderman recognized them, Narcaus especially recognized them! "BRIGHTEYES!?" Shedletsky shouted as he fell out of his seat, scrambled to his feet and ran to the woman in the violet sweater. "HONEY! OH MY GOD!"

"J-…John…?!" Brighteyes looks up at him wide-eyed, "Oh my goodness! I-,…Is that really…really you?"

"BRIGHTEYEEES!"

"SHEDLETSKYYYY!"

007n7 couldn't believe his own eyes, and the others were in equal shock. The sight of seeing two more humans here, so nonchalantly being brought in? Something was definitely off. Especially considering one of them was the wife of former Admin. He stood up from his seat, his eyes fixed on Brighteyes as a million questions ran through his head. Builderman went to check up on the other woman, helping her to her feet. "Jane, you alright?" he asked her. "I-…I'm just gonna help you to one of the tables, here; come on." The woman, still in a state of shock, let Builderman guide her to a nearby table. All the while, her eyes darted around the room, taking in the strange and intimidating surroundings. "John…" Jane said softly as she looked around, "Where…" as if they finally had something in common with the fallen Goddess of the Red Midnight sitting at the table next to theirs, Jane swiftly pushed Builderman off of her and kicked him in the gut to go flying! "MURDERER!" she shouted at him at the top of her lungs, "WHERE IS HE?! WHERE'S MY HUSBAND-WHERE IS JOHN DOE, YOU MONSTER!? MURDERER! mURDERER!" The room was immediately filled with a sense of tension as Jane began to verbally attack Builderman. Shedletsky let out a gasp, his eyes wide with shock. 007n7 stood there frozen, unsure of what to do next. Narcaus didn't say a word, but her eyes were filled with an intense anger as she clenched her fists. "Jane," he coughed out as he struggled to stand back up on his boot-wearing feet, "let me explain, please!"

"Explain WHAT to me?!" Jane boomed. "That you killed my husband; YOUR SON!?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him, Jane!" Builderman protested, "He was getting too outta HAND!"

"OUT OF HAND?!" Jane shrieked. "What does that mean?!"

“It means you lucked out after the honeymoon.” Jane heard her say that, and her slow turning around to face Narcaus with boiling blood made everyone’s hearts race but hers. “Two words for ya, Janey-Waney: Big. Penis.” Jane's eyes widened with shock, a look of pure disbelief on her face. "WHAT?!" she sputtered, her voice rising in anger once more. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"I said I fucked your husband, Jane." Narcaus replied cockily. "And let's just agree here, you and I, I kinda understand why you liked that demigod nightmare jack-in-the-box John so much." Brighteyes looked at her condescendingly as she held tightly to Shedletsky's arm. "Honey," she goes as she eyes Narcaus up and down, "Is that who I think it is?...I remember her beiiiing…a bit TALLER." Jane's face went red with anger, and her eyes burned with rage. "You, little SLUT!" She spat, "How DARE you?! You'll ROT in a deep dark PIT somewhere!"

"I believe we sadly all are, since we happen to be in purgatory, sister." Narcaus snide. "Don't call me sister!" Jane retorted angrily, her voice shaking with fury. "You're nothing more than a SLUT who slept with MY HUSBAND!"

"And almost also your father-in-law."

"What?!" Jane's eyes went wide with horror. "You-…Oh, God! You didn't…with…with my…OH GOD!"

"No, no, almost," Narcaus corrected with the Grin of the Grinch plastered on her face. "Buuuuuut I did have a threesome with THEEEEEEEiiiiiiir son and YOOOOOooooour UNCLE-IN-LAW~! Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-fu!" Elliot, being reminded of what they had done to him, slowly crawls with no color to his face under one of the tables to the booths seats situated at the wall, curls up into a ball, and starts whimpering. "You," Brighteyes goes, not believing the fallen deity at first, "Had sex with our creation." Narcaus turns to her with that goddamn look on her face and hisses out as a loud whisper to her: "…And your husband, TOO, bitch." Brighteyes's expression turned from disbelief to complete shock. Her mind was spinning, trying to process what she had just heard. "You-…you did WHAT!?" she gasped, almost choking on her own words. She now held Shedletsky's arm to the point it hurt the muscles in it. "U-Uhm, honey, you're uh, uhm, ah-ow-ow-Brighteyes, sweetheart, you're holding my arm a little too-ah-AH-OW!" Brighteyes was in a state of complete shock as she absorbed what Narcaus had said. Her grip on Shedletsky's arm tightened even further as she tried to process the revelation. “Mmmmmhmmmmm,” Narcaus goes, “And let’s just say-Brighteyes. Telamon? Seriously-I never knew the extent of how obsessed mortals were with small dicks till you two got hitched centuries ago-” Brighteyes's face contorted into a mixture of anger and disgust as she listened to Narcaus's words. "Don't you DARE talk about my husband like that!" she gritted out through clenched teeth. Narcaus smirked, enjoying the reaction she was getting from Brighteyes. "Or what? What are you gonna do?" she taunted.

BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...BOOOOOOooooooong...

All fades to black, and then back to a new view yet again. Now, to a realm she known all too well, from the hallucinogenic purple waters flowing from the falls into rivers lined with bridges, to the black and white temples that garnered the map as centerpieces with it; the waters reeked like poison, and towers with opened holes within their walls blew up high into the dark clouds, with a statue of Noli in his glory days (the stone itself seemed as if it were from the time, too) in the middle of it all. flashes of tall grass here and there, and the flowers were dead. Narcaus looked around, “Noli wasn’t kidding about not having a green thu-OOF!” her words were cut off by a swift push to the ground by Brighteyes. Brighteyes looked down at Narcaus with a look of pure anger on her face. "Don't even get me started on you, you fallen wench! You think you can just come in here and spout off about your affairs with MY HUSBAND!? You think you can just stand there festering in your EGO and talk about your stupid night of fun with MY HUSBAND?!” Narcaus's eyes grew wide, and she suddenly had a very, very bad feeling. Her raposa ears twitch with her facial wings, her face mute. "The round begins, and here you'd rather whine than fix a generator." She chastises her as she stands back up and dusts herself off. "You really are an emotional mortal, Christina." Brighteyes's eyes narrowed, her temper flaring. "Don't call me that," she snapped back, "I am NO LONGER a mortal! I was granted immortality! And I'm not whining! I'm pissed!" Narcaus's smirk falters as she realizes she's hit a nerve. She sees the furious energy rolling off Brighteyes in waves. The fallen goddess moves back slightly, putting some distance between them. "Ohhhh, I struck a chord," she purrs, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Poor little mortal who became a goddess by accident. Still so emotional. Still so fragile." Brighteyes's hands clench into fists at her sides, the faint glow of her power pulsing along her arms. She moves closer, looming before Narcaus despite her shorter stature. "You don't know anything about me," she hisses, her words dangerously low. "Well, I certainly know enough to know who sired and who birthed 1x. Must've been difficult for Telamon, giving birth and all-egg laying isn't the Kiwi Way for us TRUE, BLUE-BLOODIED DEITIES, you know~." Brighteyes's face contorted with anger as she listened to Narcaus's words. She clenched her fists tighter, her power pulsing brighter, her entire body trembling with anger. "You're just a festering pile of garbage, hiding in the shadows, preying on the weak and the vulnerable. I may not have been born a goddess, but that doesn't matter. I don't need divine birth to see what an abomination of nature you are." She stepped closer to Narcaus, jabbing her in the shoulder forcefully. "And don't even talk about my husband!" Her chest heaves as she stands there, their whole body thrumming with suppressed rage. Narcaus—her brown wings fluttering lazily against both sides of her head, her red eyes glinting with that infuriating smirk—doesn't even flinch when Brighteyes pokes her. Instead, she leans back slightly, balancing on the balls of her feet like she's enjoying this too much. "Ooooh, someone's got fire," she coos, dragging out each syllable. "All this time and you're still as easy to provoke as a petulant child." She taps a clawed finger of brass against her chin, feigning deep thought. "Tell me, little 'goddess', do your sparkles merely belch like pathetic newborn ewe? Or do they strike fear and awe into those who follow you? She Who Bears No Temple to her Name." Brighteyes's anger only boiled higher at Narcaus's words, and her eyes practically glowed with rage. But somehow, she managed to hold back, taking a deep breath and trying to control herself. "My followers are loyal and strong." She says, spitting each word with as much venom as possible. "And I may not have a temple, but that doesn't matter. I don't need a temple to prove my power!" Narcaus grins wider at that, her grin splitting her face in a way that seems more like a predator baring its teeth than a mere smile. "Oh-ho! Look at that! A whole four words without screaming!" She claps slowly, mockingly. "How…restrained of you." The purple waters of the temple behind them ripple unnaturally, disturbed by something beneath the surface. Narcaus doesn't seem to notice—or care. Her eyes glitter with amusement as she steps closer to Brighteyes, invading her personal space with the audacity of someone who knows she's safe from physical retribution. "But let's be real here, darling." She drags out each word deliberately. "You may have power now, sure. But do you have…followers? Do you have TRUE disciples? Or just a handful of worshippers who happen to stumble across you when they're desperate for something to believe in?" The words hit Brighteyes like physical blows, her anger shifting into something deeper, more wounded. She tries to hold her ground, but her body betrays her as she retreats slightly, her wings stiffening with tension. Narcaus tilts her head, watching every micro-expression cross Brighteyes's face with keen interest. "Awww, does that hurt?" She looks her up and down, "Good," she says before walking off, "Now let’s get to working on those generators-wherever they may be, this time." She turns, and gives her one last cocky look, "Don't worry, Christina. I'll hold your hand while you figure them out~." Brighteyes gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing at Narcaus's last comment. She knew she shouldn't let the fallen goddess get under her skin like this, but she couldn't help it. She felt a deep sense of inadequacy and humiliation rising within her, and the idea of Narcaus holding her hand and babying her through the trials just made it a thousand times worse. The waves of anger rolling off Brighteyes are intense enough to make Narcaus's own wings quiver, but she refuses to show fear. Instead, she saunters towards the purple waters, humming a tune that sounds oddly cheerful given the circumstances. Brighteyes watches her go, her fists still clenched at her sides. The water ripples again, more violently this time, and a massive shape briefly breaches the surface before disappearing back into the depths.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Brighteyes shouts after Narcaus, her words echoing across the water. But Narcaus merely waves a hand dismissively over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. The gesture only infuriates Brighteyes all the more, and she clenches her fists even tighter, feeling the sharp edge of her nails digging into her palms. But before she can lose it completely, another thought suddenly pops into her mind - an idea so outrageous that it makes her stop in her tracks. Brighteyes hesitates, her breath still coming in short, sharp bursts. The water before them churns ominously as some unseen thing stirs below the surface. Narcaus moves ahead, her wings trailing like a cape behind her head on both sides as she hums that infuriatingly cheerful tune. She hasn't looked back since she shouted, but Brighteyes knows—Brighteyes knows—she's savoring every second of this. Of course she is. That's what she does. And then the realization hits her: the ploy comes to her as a bittersweet subconscious voice, saying to her "You could destroy her. Not physically. Not in a way that would stick. But you could tear her apart in the only way that truly matters to her—her ego. Her identity. Her power!" Brighteyes's mind races with the implications of the thought. Could she really do it? Could she really take down Narcaus, not with force, but with cunning and wit? She'd never been one for subtlety, always preferring to charge in headlong, wielding her power like a blunt instrument. But perhaps there was another way…

For Jane to run from him, it was cowardice. It was cold of her to. But as John raged after her, stomping dark pools into the ground to block paths to generators, and digging his corrupted arm into the ground to suppress paths for escaping him through lines of thick, corrupted spikes spearing from the ground; all Jane had on her was a flintlock. The vigorous theme drew nearer to Narcaus and Brighteyes are Jane led him to their location in the map by accidental values, the giant corroded Robloxian who was once a kind, gentle giant of a half-immortal man, roaring like that of a beast! She reaches for her sword to strike him, but Narcaus passes by at an erratic speed with her scythe at the ready, the blade permanently a shade of bright crimson red as was the shading of her dash, and she struck him hard into a head-on'er to stun him! Jane, despite the dire issues of right now, grew mad and aimed her flintlock at Narcaus! "DON'T YOU HURT HIM!" she shouts as she shoots at her…only, for the bullet to phase through Narcaus, and hit John to stun him further. Narcaus's eyes widen in surprise as the bullet passes right through her. She turns to face Brighteyes, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Try again, darling," she taunts, gesturing to her body. "Don't forget the cooldown, though, okay? Otherwise, it won't work! Hah, hah!" The taunt sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through Jane's body. Her fingers twitch toward her own weapon, but something stops her. A slow realization dawning—she can't reach for her pistol anymore. She wants to react, to strike out, to let her emotions briefly rule her again. And worse—Narcaus wants to deliberately drawing this out, dragging John into it, just to watch the fireworks. Jane's chest heaves as she exhales sharply, fighting to keep control. Narcaus's wings flare wide behind the sides of her head, catching the eerie purple light of the temple. Brighteyes notice John staggering back from Jane's shot, his massive form nearly filling her vision, the corrupted energy crackling around him like storm clouds. The sight of John, still reeling from the shots and raging with dark energy, sends a shiver down Brighteyes's spine. The giant Robloxian's hulking form is a terrifying sight, but something else holds her attention. Narcaus's smug demeanor, her taunting taunts and her deliberate choice to involve John…it's clear that this is a game to her. A game of toying with emotions, of pushing buttons, of watching the fireworks fly. And that thought infuriates Brighteyes even more. "WHAT'S THE MATTER?!" she calls out to them. "YOU WAITING TO SEE ME GET PLOWED BY YOUR HUSBAND AGAIN OR SOMETHING!? GET TO THOSE GENERATORS BEFORE HE GETS TO YOU!" The purple-tinged air thrums with something dangerous as John's massive body sways, each movement sending tremors through the ground. His corrupted hands—half-fingered and grotesquely clawed—clench and unclench as he glares at Brighteyes, Jane, then Narcaus, then back again. His breath comes in ragged, bestial gasps that make the hair on your arms stand on end. You see the confusion in his eyes as he processes the scene before him, but beneath that, there's rage—pure, unfiltered rage. Narcaus pivots slightly to face you, her wings folding elegantly behind her as she moves. "Ja…a-…" John tries to speak to Jane. "Can'…where…am…your…face…?" But the twisted corruption of his mind won't let him say the words. He shakes his head, the confusion and rage growing, the veins in his body bulging beneath the twisted black veins and pulsing like some kind of alien parasite. "No!" he growls, the word coming out as a deep, guttural sound. His gaze snaps from Jane to Brighteyes to Narcaus and back again, as if unable to decide who to target first. And the longer they hesitate, the more volatile the situation becomes.

The very air feels thick with tension, John's massive form looming over the trio like an avalanche ready to bury them. His fingers twitch, crackling with corrupted energy that makes the nearby stones sizzle where it touches the ground. Every breath he takes rattles the earth beneath their feet, his nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air, trying to locate them all with the confusion and rage clouding his mind. Jane doesn't move, standing too still for a creature as volatile as John. Her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as she watches him struggle with an aching heart full of nothing but love for this man. She feels so bad for him, being forced to watch him struggle and suffer like this. "Oh, John," she coos out softly as she slowly goes up to him, touching his face with the palm of her hand, soft and gentle like a glove made out of velvet. "Oh, John, you poor thing. How long have you been this way, John? Do you…remember me? John?"

"Playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a force of nature, aren't ya, Jane." Narcaus calls out but gets ignored, her ego taking a minor hit in the process. John's massive body trembles at the touch of Jane's palm against his face. His eyes widen as he looks down at her, a mixture of confusion and pain in their depths. For a moment, his breathing slows, and his muscles untense as he stares at her, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions warring within him. Then he stakes her with his corrupted arm, raises her body over his head, and rips her in half. One down, two to go. 2:30 minutes left on the timer. Brighteyes stands frozen in horror, watching helplessly as John tears Jane apart. The sound of her screams fills the air, mixed with the sickening crunch of bones and flesh. Narcaus stands nearby, expressionless, watching the brutal scene unfold. Then, she locks eyes with Brighteyes, a hint of smug satisfaction in her gaze. It's clear that this was all part of the plan. Narcaus wants to show Brighteyes just how cruel the world can be, to prove that she is not special. And to her, the pain and suffering of others is just a means to an end. The metallic tang of blood saturates the air as John's massive form looms, the jagged remnants of Jane's body still twitching in his grasp. Her severed legs dangle uselessly from his grip, her torso held high as arterial spray paints the corrupted ground beneath him in crimson streaks. Brighteyes's stomach turns at the sight, at the raw brutality of it all, but Narcaus watches with a quiet satisfaction, her fingers tapping idly against the handle of her scythe as she kneels before a generator to finally complete its puzzles. She smirks when she notices her horror, clearly enjoying the show. "Poor, poor Jane," she hums, almost mockingly. "She always did have a soft spot for him, didn't she?" Brighteyes's mind races as she takes in the horrifying scene. Narcaus's smirk only adds to her rage. Anger boils within her, mixing with her anguish over Jane's brutal death. She clenches her fists tight, her body trembling with rage.

…a rage that ends as swiftly as Jane's term in the round did, as John rushes at her and kills her the same way. Last Man Standing: Narcaus. 2:15 left on the timer, going down. "Ooooh, Joooohn~," she says as she raises her ass leaning against the generator she was working on, looking over her shoulder at the corrupted, mindless beast of a man with bedroom eyes, "Remember when 1x out-cocked you and Dusekkar back in MY realm~? I think you could use the time to: loosen up a bit, hm~? Now that that faceless, warp-voiced woman who thought she knew you's gone, huh big boy?" she gives her massive booty a light shake back and forth, the mass of meat jiggling under her dress's fabric some 25 second distance away from him. The words leave Narcaus's lips like honey laced with venom. Her body is posed enticingly, swaying her hips just enough to make her plush curves ripple beneath the thin fabric of her dress. She turns her face slightly toward John, smiling coyly at him over her shoulder as she leans more heavily against the generator. "Go on now, John…come and get me…ain't got nobody here to stop you this time, hot stuff~…" she teases, running her tongue over her teeth. John's corrupted muscles flex as he processes her words, the corrupted veins pulsing in his neck as his breathing slows. He starts towards her, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. But instead of charging, his steps slow, becoming a slow, seductive prowl, his eyes fixed on her every movement. "Quid pro quo, dear," she says as his shadow looms over her whole figure plus half the generator as she finishes the puzzles, "I'm in a bit of an egg-laying heat, so you're sadly down to two ho-OOOH~!?" she's cut off and caught off guard with him using his normal arm to lift up her dress from behind and lift up her lower half to his heavy pouched crotch, letting her wrap her legs around his waist for leverage so he could one-handedly pull down the front of his pants and briefs, letting his throbbing cock slide out and smack itself between her folds and her ass cheeks. 2 minutes on the clock, going down, he makes his quick by shoving it all inside her tight ass hole and going to town in her! The impact knocks Narcaus forward, her hands slamming against the generator as John's thick length sheathes itself fully inside her. A sharp, surprised gasp escapes her, followed by a throaty moan as she struggles to adjust to his massive girth splitting her open. "Mmm—fuck, that's bigger than I even rememb—ahh!—remember, big boy— ah!—" Her words dissolve into broken moans as John thrusts into her with relentless force, each powerful snap of his hips driving her body against the generator's metal surface. Her wings twitch involuntarily, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth, polished steel.

John's grip on her hips tightens, his fingers leaving livid blue imprints on her soft skin. His thrusts are relentless; each movement fueled by a primal need to claim and possess. His corrupted arm hangs limply at his side, but his free hand grasps her ass cheek, kneading the soft flesh as he drives into her. As her moans echo through the temple, the corrupted energy crackles around them like a whirlwind, adding an element of twisted power to their coupling. He leans in close, his hot breath fanning against her ear. He growls, the primal hunger in his words barely masked by the veneer of humanity that still clings to him. "Mine," he snarls, the word rough with need. Narcaus's breathing falters, her body quivering as John's cock stretches her beyond her limits. Every inch of her is alive with feeling, her tight hole squeezing around him as he pistons inside. She presses back against him, her own movements becoming more aggressive as she grinds herself onto his shaft during his thrusts. "F-fuck, y-you feel so—ah!—good inside me, Johnny boy…mmph—" Her words come out in broken gasps as she spreads her legs wider, arching her back to give him better access. A deep, guttural groan escapes John's throat, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. His fingers dig further into her flesh, leaving deep blue imprints on her skin. He loses all sense of control, all thought, all reason. There's only one driving force within him, the primal urge to dominate, to claim her, to make her his in every way. And so he takes her, hard and fast, his body surging against hers with an intensity that borders on brutality. "Mine…" he growls, the word almost feral in their ears, "Mine…" Narcaus's wings flutter, her body tensing as John's thick shaft impales her ass. Her fingers curl against the generator's surface, struggling to maintain her grip as he pounds into her with relentless force. A series of quick, desperate gasps and moans escapes her, punctuated by the metallic clanking of the generator. "Mmmph—fuck—ah! F-faster, Johnny boy—a-ah! Don't—don't stop!" She looks over her shoulder, watching his corrupted arm sway hypnotically behind him, the corrupted veins pulsing with an ominous rhythm. John's gaze locks onto Narcaus's eyes, his pupils glowing with an otherworldly light. His thrusts grow even harder, rougher, as if he's trying to mark her very soul with every movement. His free hand moves from her hip, sliding slowly up her body toward her right breast. His fingers wrap around the supple flesh; the skin tinged with a bluish tint from the corruption. He squeezes, his grip almost painfully tight. "Mine," he growl-hisses, the word carrying a hint of possessive cruelty, "Mine!" Narcaus's body moves in time with John's thrusts, each powerful snap of his hips driving her harder against the generator. The cold steel bites into her skin as he slams into her from behind, his cock splitting Narcaus's ass open with relentless force. The corrupted veins along his arm pulse in sync with her ragged breathing, his grip on her large breast tightening almost painfully as he holds them in place. "F-fuck—you're—ah!—so fucking big, John," Narcaus moans, biting her lip as her ass clenches around him. His corrupted hand moves from her breast to grip Narcaus by the throat, enough to cut off air as well as enough to make her pulse race as he pulls her back against him.

A feral snarl escapes John, the sound low and dangerous. His corrupted arm tightens around her throat, just enough to cause a bit of pressure, but not enough to cut off her air completely. The veins around his arm pulse more erratically, following the rhythm of his pounding thrusts. "Mine," he groans, his voice thick and guttural, "Mine." He leans his head close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Mine!" 30 seconds on the timer, going down, down, like he was on her as he felt his and hers climaxes forming. "Y-yes—ah!—Johnny boy—fuck—cum in my ASS~!" Narcaus's words escape in broken moans, her body jolting with the force of his thrusts. John's grip on her ass becomes possessive, his fingers digging into the flesh with bruising force. The vein-like corruption on his body pulses with an almost sickening intensity as he nears his climax, his thrusts becoming more savage, more desperate. He leans into her ear again; his voice filled with a primal need. "Mine," he growls, the word both a command and a declaration of ownership. "MINE!" His grip on her throat tightens, holding Narcaus in place as he drives into her once, twice, three times more and then he cums with a guttural snarl, his body shuddering as he fills her ass with thick, hot ropes of cum. Narcaus moans loudly, her wings flaring out as her own orgasm rips through her body. Her inner muscles clench around John's cock, milking every last drop from him as she grinds back against him. His grip on her throat loosens slightly, but his arm remains firmly wrapped around her waist as he keeps her pinned against him, his cock still buried deep inside her. His breathing is ragged, his corrupted veins still pulsing with residual energy. Narcaus's legs tremble, her entire body quivering from the intensity of her orgasm. She turns her head to look at him, her face flushed, lips parted as she pants. John gazes at her, his eyes still burning with a wild possessiveness. There's something more intense in his gaze, a fire that goes beyond simple desire. It's as if he's claiming her with every look, brandishing her with every touch. "Mine," he husk-growls again, his voice ragged and raw, and even his corrupted arm has a possessive hold on her body, unwilling to let go. The corrupted veins fade into a dull pulse, still thrumming under the surface as if connected to the energy of her body.

3…2…1…0:00, it all fades to black, and Narcaus once again finds herself seated at one of the booth seats in the survivor's lodge, dress half up off her reddened and blued ass with a light trim of cum dripping out of her used hole. She leans down over against the table with a long stretch of her muscles, a dove's coo of contentment from her spare. Jane saw her, how she looked, and knew right away; and she. was. pissed. A long moment of silence passed where Jane just sat in place, anger filling her mind. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; the sight of Narcaus's debauched figure filling her with an uncontrollable rage. It took every ounce of her self-control to stay seated, to keep herself composed, to not let her anger erupt into violence. But the sight of Narcaus's smug smirk, the lazy satisfaction in her eyes, it was too much. "Whaaaaaat~, upset I got your husband to cum inside my hoooooooole, Jaaaane~?" 007n7 walks down the stairs and immediately covers his eyes "Narcaus, clean yourself up and cover yourself up-oh my GOD!" Jane's hands tremble at her sides, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. The way Narcaus lounges there—half-naked, marked with fresh bruises, with John's seed still leaking from between her cheeks—sends a molten wave of fury crashing through her body. Her lips part, but for a moment no words come out, only the sharp hiss of her breathing. "You whore," she finally spits, the words coming out like a physical blow. She stands slowly, deliberately, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The few survivors scattered about the lodge turn to stare, but none dare intervene as the atmosphere crackles with Jane's silent rage. "How could you?!" she exclaimed, looking at Narcaus with a mix of anger and disgust. "What goes on in your mind to make you think that any of this is okay!? He was under some dark influence, and you took advantage of him!" Jane's face burns with fury as she advances on Narcaus, who remains casually sprawled across the booth. The sardonic tint in Narcaus's smile widens as she watches Jane approach, her wings fluttering lazily behind her. "Oh please, don't act so offended," she purrs, her words dripping with mockery. "You knew what he was capable of. You've seen his darkness before." Jane's composure shatters, and she slaps Narcaus hard across the face, her fingers making a sharp crack against gray flesh. Narcaus turns her head, spitting out a mouthful of blood, her eyes gleaming with a wicked mirth. A twisted smile spreads across her face; the impact of the slap having done little to quench her satisfaction. "Oh, now that was uncalled for," she replies with feigned innocence, "you should choose your words more carefully, little housewife, or you may find your tongue no longer in your mouth~."

Shedletsky then shouts out loud "CATFIIIIGHT!" and then gets smacked upside the head by Brighteyes while the other survivors (minus here and, of course, Elliot, Noob, Dusekkar and 007n7) join in on the chanting of the very word the former Admin announced. Narcaus's smile widens as the others join in, and she rises from her seat, adjusting her dress back into position. "Looks like we've got ourselves an audience," she says, her eyes glittering with mischief. Her wings twitch with anticipation, and she squares her shoulders as she faces Jane, her voice taking on a mocking tone. "What, you need a bunch of mortals to come to your rescue, little housewife?" The chanting intensifies as more survivors gather, their excitement mounting at the promise of violence. Jane's hands clench into fists, her knuckles white with tension. Every inch of her burns with fury—at Narcaus, about John and this entire situation. "You—" she begins, shaking with suppressed rage. "You think you can just do whatever you want? Play with people like they're your personal toys?" She steps closer, eyes blazing. Narcaus meets her gaze, unflinching. The others edge back slightly, creating a loose circle around the two women. The space feels thick with expectation. Narcaus tilts her head, studying Jane with an amused expression, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Oh, come now, little housewife, don't tell me you're jealous," she taunts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or maybe you just can't handle the fact that I'm better than you in every way~?" She takes a step forward, moving into Jane's personal space. Jane's jaw clenches, her entire body quivering with contained rage. The insults hit like physical blows, reigniting the fury that had threatened to overwhelm her earlier. "Better than me?" she scoffs, her words laced with venom. "In what world could you possibly think that?" She moves another step forward, narrowing the space between them, her presence becoming more imposing as her composure crumbles. "You're nothing but a manipulative, selfish creature. You don't care about anyone but yourself." Narcaus's smile widens, her dark eyes fixed intently on Jane. "Oh, but I do care, little housewife. I care about pleasure. I care about power."

That does it. Jane's composure finally shatters, her fist connecting with Narcaus's jaw in a sickening crunch. The impact sends Narcaus stumbling backward, but she quickly recovers, her hand moving to her bruised face as a predatory grin spreads across her features. "Now that's more like it," she purrs, her words distorted slightly from the hit. "Come on then, little housewife. Let's see what you're really made of." Jane doesn't hesitate, lunging forward with a primal scream, her hands outstretched to grab Narcaus by the throat. Narcaus easily sidesteps the attack, using her superior height(shortness) and agility to maintain a clear advantage. Narcaus dodges each of Jane's desperate attempts at hitting or grabbing her, her movements quick and fluid as she dances out of reach. With every failed attack, Jane's frustration grows, the frustration showing on her face and in her enraged grunts and growls. "Damn it!" she cries, her voice strangled with anger, "Hold still!" Narcaus laughs—a rich, dark sound that curls around the edges of Jane's fury. "Make me," she taunts, flicking a strand of her blonde hair from her face as she circles Jane like a hunter stalking prey. Jane pivots to keep her in sight, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The gathered survivors press in closer, their excitement palpable as they watch the tense standoff. Narcaus suddenly lunges forward, her movements startlingly quick. She catches Jane's wrist mid-swing and twists, spinning her around and slamming her back against the nearest wall with brutal force. A collective gasp rises from the spectators as Jane's breath is driven from her lungs in a rush. Narcaus presses in close, her body against Jane's, one hand pinning both of hers above her head. She speaks softly, her words hot against Jane's ear. "There we go, little housewife. That's much better, don't you think?" Jane struggles against her grip, but Narcaus holds firm, her strength undeniable. The crowd watches in silence, their faces alight with fascination and horror. Narcaus's free hand slides down Jane's side, fingers tracing the curve of her hip before gripping it tightly. "You're trembling," she murmurs, lips brushing Jane's ear. "Is that fear…or excitement~?"

"Uh-Uh, Narcaus, this ain't the kind of "catfight" you think it is…?"

"Shedletsky, DO something!"

"Okay, okay, geez," he shrugs his wife off and walks ahead of the crowd, pushing the others out of his way subtly as he walked over towards Narcaus, to confront her directly. Shedletsky stops just short of them, his round face solemn. His glasses glint in the dim light as he looks up at you, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I, uh…I don't like what you're doing, Narcaus," he says, voice quiet but firm. His eyes flick to Jane for a second before returning to her as she slips a smirk, not loosening her grip on Jane. Her fingers tighten slightly on her hip as she begins to press her harder against the wall. "Oh? And what exactly is that, Telamon?" Narcaus spoke lightly, amused, but there's an underlying threat beneath it whilst Jane makes a noise of protest in her throat, her body tense beneath Narcaus's. "Also, what's with the stupid glasses?" she inquires the former Admin, "You look stupid in them. Almost as stupid as Guest1337's flat-assed chestless wife, Daisy."  Oooooooooooooooooh, she went theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere. Guest1337's chest tightened, his fists clenched to white knuckles, face paled and shocked and angered all at once. "You best take that back." He warns gruffly. He means it, too, but does she care? ffffffffFFFFUCK NO! Jane whimpers as Narcaus's grip tightens, her face contorting in pain. Shedletsky flinches at the sound, his eyes darting between the two women. Guest1337's presence looms behind him, his shadow falling across them all. Narcaus doesn't even glance at the new arrivals—her attention remains fixed on Jane, her smirk widening as she feels the other woman's resistance weakening. "You're right, Shedletsky," Narcaus purrs, her breath hot against Jane's ear. "This isn't the kind of 'catfight' you think it is. This is me showing you exactly who owns this place now." She throws Jane to the floor in the middle of the dining area and pounces on her like she pounced onto Shedletsky her first day in this purgatory realm! She gripped at the woman's crotch with one brass hand and grabbed a leg with the other, attempting forced two-girl-no-dude style cunnilingus on her in front of EVERYONE THERE! The panic seeps in, and both Shedletsky and his own fucking WIFE find themselves rushing her to grab her and try prying her off of Jane before she could assault her, too!

"NARCAUS!"

Chapter Text

[earlier]

A new round. Shame Narcaus was a survivor and the Don wasn’t the killer. That John Doe better be treatin’ her right, otherwise…

For the time being he just had his four main goons go around and ask the others who knew her whatever they knew about her. You know, so the Don could get to know his sugar baby better. What her likes are, what her dislikes are, what she enjoys eating the most. You know, those types of things. The goons had spread out, asking the other members of the survivors and the other killers for information about Narcaus. Most of them didn’t seem to know much about her, but some of them had some interesting things to say.

“H-Her?! Oh, uh…she’s really into shiny things. Uh, p-pearls, mostly…” – Elliot

“I don’t know what your boss sees in that monstrosity, but if he wants to know so badly I got three words for him, bubs: pickled red onions. Or just, you know, onions in general. I guess.” – Builderman

“Crazy little egg layer? Heh, Princess over here with her fancy little room Don made me make for her and all those fancy things he buys her; I’m surprised he’s still wondering what she’s interested in! Seems really into plants, though, but uh…d-, don’t ask iTrapped and I how we both know that….” – Chance

“Universal Domination. Now get out of my face before I gut you alive.” – 1x1x1x1

“………Meat. Any kind. of meat. She eats anything other than meat? Yeah, she’s an omnivore like the rest of us—aside from 1x, I mean—but she really, really likes meat. A LOT.” – Noli

The goons had found themselves with a plethora of information on the subject. Each and every one of them had a different answer for what the Don wanted to know of his lady. From one end of the spectrum to the other, it was quite the confusing topic. One thing was for sure, the Don's lady loved meat. Some of the goons looked at each other uncomfortably when they came to this conclusion, while others just straight up found it funny. Regardless of that, the information was written down and collected to be presented to the Don. The Don sat in a chair in the main living room, surrounded by the many goons that he had sent out to research about Narcaus' likes. Each of them sat in various places around the room, nervously waiting as the Don's fingers tapped the armrest of his chair. It was a slow, repetitive sound. His gaze fell on the goons, observing them with a keen eye. Their unease was palpable, and he reveled in their nervousness. For several long moments, he said nothing. The silence was intentional, a form of subtle control over the room. Finally, he broke the silence. "Well?" he asked, his voice stern and commanding. "Let's hear what you've found out." The goons exchanged glances, each waiting for another to speak up first. One of them eventually cleared his throat, the tension in the room still thick. "We…we asked around, boss. About your uh…about the lady. The other killers, and the survivors too. We got some stuff for ya." This particular goon fidgeted anxiously as he spoke. The Don's eyebrow raised slightly at the hesitancy in the goon's voice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Go on," he said, his voice cold and steely. "Don't keep me waiting. I'm a busy man, you know. I don't have all day to listen to you stumble over your words." The goon shrank slightly at the Don's stern tone, but he gathered his courage and continued. "Well, most of 'em didn't know much 'bout her. But some of 'em had some interesting stuff to say. Uh, boss…she's really into shiny things, the shiny stuff. Pearls, mostly." His voice was filled with an undercurrent of fear. “Yeesh,” Loretto thinks to himself as he leaned in to mutter his personal hearsay out the corner of his lip to him, standing in ovation with his arms behind his back to the Don's right as he always had, being his consigliere and all, "She sounds like a real magpie, boss, no wonder she likes all'a your GIFTS." He mutters to his boss. The Don's gaze shifted to Loretto, a hint of annoyance in his eyes as his consigliere made his little quip. He didn't appreciate the comparison, but the word "magpie" stuck in his mind. He leaned back, considering it. "A magpie, huh?" he mused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's rather fitting, isn't it? A small, resourceful creature that steals shiny things. It fits her perfectly."

The Soldier says to the Contractee, "Say, uh-ain't it weird the bossman's sugar baby sounds like a man-" and then gets elbowed in the gut by the Contractee, both which were hoping the Don didn't hear the soldier say what he said. The Don's sharp ears picked up the faint whispers and muffled comment. His expression darkened as he turned his gaze to the two goons. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Say that again. I don't think I heard you clearly." His fingers drummed impatiently against the armrest of his chair, a clear sign of his growing irritation. The room went quiet, tension hanging heavy in the air. The goons exchanged panicked glances, knowing they were caught. The soldier gulped, his face going pale. "Uh…I…it was nothing, boss. Nothing important, really. The comment was-" The Don cut him off by raising a hand. "Nothing important?" he echoed, his voice like ice, "Nothing important? I heard what you said, and it is important to me." Loretto leaned in to the Don's ear, keeping his voice low. "Boss, I think it's just a foolish comment," Loretto's whispered, his tone cautious yet reassuring. "Don't trouble yourself with such trivialities. You've enough on your mind as it is." The Don sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. He had more important things to worry about than a comment made by one of his goons. But still, it irked him. He shot a sharp glance at the hapless goons. "Watch your mouths," he growled. "I don't care if you think she sounds like a man. You keep those thoughts to yourselves, understood?" The goons nodded frantically, their eyes wide with fear. They knew when they had crossed the line, and they weren't about to do it again. The tension in the room eased slightly, though a hint of unease still lingered. Loretto leaned in closer to the Don. "Boss, I think it's probably best to continue with the task at hand. We know she likes shiny things, and pearls in particular. It'll make buying things for her a lot easier, eh?" The Don nodded, his irritation slowly subsiding. He knew Loretto was right. It was better to focus on the positive aspects of Narcaus's interests rather than to dwell on the careless words of his goons. "You're right," he said, sighing. "We should move on. Let's hear the rest of what you've learned. And this time, keep your tongues in check."

"Eh, uh, boss?" one of his goons chimed in oh so suddenly as he entered his office unannounced, "There's something goin' on at the other lodge; some broad's got yer gal' up 'gainst her inna bit of a, uh-, a catfight-it," he taps another's arm with the back of his hand, "Magenta hair," he mutters to that other goon, "that Jane Doe, innit? John wife got 'erself some magenta hair, yeah, cuz' that who it is, that's…who it is." The Don's expression darkened once more at the goon's interruption. "A catfight?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Jane Doe, you say?" He clenched his jaw. Loretto, standing beside the Don, raised an eyebrow. "That's…quite unexpected." The Don's fingers drummed impatiently against the armrest again. "Damn it. Why is it that every time I try to relax for a moment, there's trouble stirring up?" One of the goons shuffled nervously under the Don's intense gaze. "Uh, boss…" another goon spoke up. "Should we…should we go check it out?" The Don considered the question for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Yes," he said firmly. "We should. I won't have my lady getting into fights with anyone, especially not a member of another family." Loretto cleared his throat. "I'll come with you, boss. It might be best if you have some backup." The Don nodded in agreement. Getting up from his seat, he straightened his suit and took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, his tone resolute. "Let's go." The goons exchanged glances, knowing they were in for a potential show. The Don, along with Loretto, made their way out of the room and towards the lodge where the commotion was taking place.

[now]

The walk was fast paced but smooth enough to make 15 minutes turn into 11, but once they got to those doors, hack jobbed by 007n7 in his attempt at fixing the hole the Don made through them yesterday, expecting blood, spit and teeth, the Don was surprised to see Narcaus being manhandled by Shedletsky as he and his missus tried prying her off of Jane to release the poor woman from his sugar baby's attempted donna su donna cunnilingus! The Don froze for a moment, stunned by the scene unfolding before him. He wasn't expecting to see Narcaus being held back by Shedletsky. It was quite the sight, and it took him a moment to register what was actually happening. Loretto, standing beside the Don, was equally surprised. "What the…I was expecting something different," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The goons behind them exchanged glances, some of them visibly struggling to suppress their laughter at the bizarre turn of events. He gave them a look to silence them, before he furrowed his brow and turned his attention back to what was going on in front of them. "NARCAUS!" he shouted, and quickly Narcaus snapped her attention from Jane to the Don. "Oh, uh, h-hi Daddy Don~!" she called out to him, her words coming out between grunts as Shedletsky continued to restrain her. The Don approached, his face stern. "What the hell is going on here?!" he demanded, his voice booming. Narcaus grins mischievously at the Don, her eyes gleaming with a twisted sort of glee. "Why, I was just showing our dear guest here what it means to be owned," she purrs, gesturing to the prone and horrified Jane. "Isn't that right, little housewife~?" The Don's expression darkens, his gaze flicking between Narcaus and Jane before settling on the blonde temptress. "Get off her." Narcaus chuckles, her eyes shining with an almost sadistic glint as she continues to hold on to Jane. "Oh come on, Daddy Don," she purrs, her voice filled with a mocking sweetness. "Why should I? She's just a little housemaid. It's not like anyone's gonna miss her if she's all torn up~." The Don's jaw clenches as he takes a step closer to Narcaus. "I said, get off her." His tone is low and dangerous. My, wasn't she in a playful mood, today? She decided to stick her tongue out at him! So, naturally, he made her get off Jane himself. The Don had had enough of her antics, and he wasn't about to let her continue causing trouble. With a swift movement, he grabbed her arm and wrenched her off of Jane, firmly gripping her with a tight grasp. He towered over her, his gaze hard and unyielding. "That's enough," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "You've had your fun. Now it's time for you to behave." The temperature in the room dropped a couple degrees as he pulled her away and out of the lodge back to the one the killer's resided in.

The Don's grip was unrelenting as he pulled Narcaus away from the lodge, each step he took carrying a weight of authority. His expression was stern; his eyes filled with a mix of anger and disappointment. The goons followed close behind, some of them whispering to each other in hushed tones. "Never seen the Don this angry before…" one of them muttered. The little 4'5" grown-ass woman whined the whole way to the killer's lodge, and halfway up to the Don's office. "All'a you, get back to work!" he ordered his goons as he tossed Narcaus inside the room, making sure she landed on the sofa and not elsewhere before marching in himself. "I got some 'personal business' to attend to!" and then he slammed the door shut once he made sure they were all out. Narcaus pouted on the sofa, her earlier playfulness replaced by a petulant defiance. She crossed her arms and sulked, still recovering from being manhandled by the Don as he stands over Narcaus, his massive frame looming, his eyes blazing with anger and a hint of something darker, more primal. "You've been a very bad girl, Narcaus," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "Playing your little games, causing trouble, embarrassing me in front of my men. You know I don't tolerate that kind of behavior." His grip on her arm tightens, his fingers digging into her metallic flesh. He lets go of her arm and grabs her by her waist lifting her up with ease before sitting down and setting her stomach first on his lap. "Y'wanna act like a brat, yer gonna get treated like one!" he says as he raises her dress and exposes her plump rear end. The Don's large hand comes down hard on her exposed ass, the sharp smack echoing through the office. The sting radiates through Narcaus's body, but she can't help the surprised yelp that escapes her lips despite how she'd rather moan to show how arousing he is when he gets pissed off at her like this, sometimes. He smacks her ass again, harder this time, his palm connecting with her flesh in a stinging slap. "Count them out, you little brat," he growls, his breath hot against her ear. Narcaus bites her lip, trying to stifle a moan as the Don's hand comes down on her ass once more. The sharp sting mingles with a growing heat between her legs. "One," she pants out, her voice a mix of pain and pleasure. The Don's hand connects with her flesh again, harder this time. "Two," she gasps, squirming in his lap. He grabs her hair, yanking her head back. "You're not getting off that easy," he growls, his other hand coming down on her ass again. "Three." Narcaus moans, her hips grinding down against the growing bulge in the Don's pants. He smacks her again, harder, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "Keep counting, slut."

"Four~!" Narcaus whimpers, her body trembling with need as the Don continues to spank her. The Don's hand comes down hard on Narcaus's ass again, the sharp slap echoing through the room. "Five," she pants out, her voice ragged with a mix of pain and pleasure. Her body writhes in his lap, grinding down against the prominent bulge straining against his pants. The Don growls, his grip on her hair tightening. "You like this, don't you? Getting spanked like a naughty little brat?" His hand comes down on her ass again, the force of it jolting Narcaus forward. "Six," she cries out, her voice strained with need. The Don's other hand slides up her thigh, pushing her dress up further. "You're so wet already," he growls, his fingers brushing against her slick folds. "You really do like being punished." Narcaus whimpers, her hips bucking against his touch. "Seven." The Don's hand comes down on her ass seven time, each slap harder than the last. Narcaus's body trembles and writhes with every impact, her breath hitching in her throat. The mix of pain and pleasure courses through her veins, leaving a warm, tingly sensation in its wake. She moans and pants, counting out each smack as the Don demands. Her hair is tangled in his fist, and her head pulled back as he spanks her harder and harder. Every smack feels like a jolt of electricity, going straight to her core. "You're such a little dirty girl," he growls in her ear, his hand stilled against her skin. "You love this, don't you? Having me spank your naughty ass, knowing you've been a bad girl~." He punctuates his words with another hard slap, then another. Narcaus cries out, her hips grinding down desperately against his crotch. She's so turned on, so worked up, she can barely think straight. "Eight, nine~!" she counts out, her voice strained and needy. The Don chuckles, his voice thick with arousal and power as he continues to punish Narcaus's ass. "You're a little tramp, aren't you? Bending over for me, showing me how much you need this." He spanks her again, his hand coming down hard on her flesh. "You count your spanks with that pretty mouth and tell me you like this, you little brat." Narcaus moans, her body trembling with need as the Don continues to spank her. The Don's hand comes down hard on Narcaus's ass again, the sharp slap echoing through the room. "Ten," she pants out, her voice ragged with a mix of pain and pleasure. Her body writhes in his lap, grinding down against the prominent bulge straining against his pants. The Don growls, his grip on her hair tightening.

The Don's fingers tighten in her hair, a cruel smirk on his face as he looks down at her. He leans down, his breath hot against her ear. "Don't think I don't know how much you enjoy this. You're dripping wet, and you're still counting your spanks like a good little slut. You like it when I hurt you, don't you? Since I first laid eyes on ya, mio amore, all I've been doin' was chase'n you around while you were gigglin' like a lil' SCHOOLGIRL." He ceases his barrage of spanks and pulls down the front of his tight, black pants and the boxers underneath them, letting himself fling out like a rising plant, his other hand still knotted up into her long, blonde hair. "How much ya wanna feel all 12-inches of my pure Italian sausage, huh~?" Narcaus's eyes widened as she stared at the Don's impressive manhood, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. She squirmed on his lap, the heat between her legs becoming almost unbearable. "Please, Daddy Don," she whimpered, her voice dripping with need. "I need it. I need you. Fuck me with that big, beautiful cock." She reached back, her hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking him teasingly. He grabbed her by the wrist and removed her hand from around his cock before letting go of both her wrist as well as her hair and turned her so she was keeled over on his lap with her ass raised and her upper body lowered, his long spade rubbing against her entryway softly, allowing the slickness of her wet labial tangents to welcome his cock like a mighty foreign king before taking his shaft into his one hand and aiming it down with his palm's weight to push solely the tip to her open womanhood; to taunt it, to rub it, to make it question whether it would receive his entry or denial of it. "Ya really want it, now, don't ya' sugar baby~." He teased her, and oh she went wild over it; but he kept his other hand firm on her waist so she wouldn't dive-bomb his hard dick into herself on him. He leaned in close, his stubble rasping against her cheek as he growled in her ear. "Beg for it, Narcaus. Beg me to fuck you like the desperate little slut you are." His cock teased her entrance, rubbing against her slick folds and making her ache with need. But he held her in place, denying her the release she craved. "Tell me how much you want Daddy Don's big Italian cock." Narcaus moaned lewdly, her body trembling with need as he teased her with his massive member. "Daddy Don, please, I need you," she whined, her voice thick with desire. "I want you inside me, please. I'm so wet for you already, I can't wait anymore. Please, please, please use that big, hard Italian cock. Stretch me open and fill me up with your cum, Daddy Don. Please, I'm begging you!"

The Don chuckles darkly, enjoying the sight of her squirming and begging for his cock. "Oh~, you're gonna get it, dumpling," he said in dark perversion of dominance before slowly moving his hands up Narcaus's body to her sides just below her breasts and sits her up on his lap, still taunting her wet, steamy cunt with his tip and his shaft. The Don then scootched himself to the left of the sofa and stood up, making Narcaus lean back and lounge with her legs spread wide; but that was her plan compared to his. His plan was already set into motion as he picked her up like a small doll and flipped her upside down, holding her body to his so close she ended up swallowing his girth whole with loud audible swiftness in his sudden motions! "So, ya like cunnilingus. Don't you baby~?" he gently held the back of her head firm with one hand as he balanced her against the wall with the other before pushing her cocks aside with his freed hand to reveal the location of her swelling clit. "Don't worry, Narcee, honey~. The others know all too well not to interrupt our - 'personal business'. Just relax and enjoy that fat dick in yer mouth~." She chokes slightly as he thrusts his cock deep into her throat, the thick heat filling Narcaus's mouth as she gags against the sheer size of him. The Don holds her firmly against the wall, her body angled so her head bobs effortlessly as he fucks her face, his free hand playing with her clit. Arousal drips down her thighs as she struggles to breathe, eyes watering as he pistons his hips forward relentlessly. "Damn, you take it so well," he groans, thick with lust as he watches his length disappear between Narcaus's lips. His fingers circle her clit faster, pressing harder as he moves her head back and forth on his cock. "Good girl. Now show me how much you love this fat Italian meat." He lets go of her head and relieves her clit of his fingers only to quicken his thrusting and use his mouth and tongue on her sore, red, swollen clit, the sounds of her gagging becoming louder under the slapping sounds of his nuts smacking against her forehead, drool pooling from between Narcaus's lips and the smearing of the Don's whole cock as it pistoned in and out of her throat with the ease of an expertise. The Don's mouth devours her, his tongue swirling around Narcaus's clit with skilled precision as his thick cock pulses in her throat. His large hands grip her thighs possessively, holding her in place as he licks and sucks her pussy with hungry abandon. Narcaus's vision swims from lack of oxygen, tears streaming down her face as his girth stretches her throat obscenely wide. When he finally pulls back, letting you gasp for air, his cock remains deep in her mouth, the swollen tip hitting the back of her throat as he grinds his hips slightly. "Fuck, yeah," he growls, voice rough with lust.

She feels his hand grip her hair once more and holds her in place, her neck straining from the awkward angle and the relentless pace of his thrusts. Her eyes water as her cheeks hollow from the sheer girth and length of him, her throat working to accommodate him despite the rough treatment. "Mmm~…such a perfect little cocksleeve," he purrs, punctuating his words with deep thrusts that make her gag and choke. His free hand moves to toy with her clit again, rough fingers rubbing tight circles as his tongue darts over her sensitive flesh. The Don moans deeply as Narcaus's throat muscles flutter around his shaft, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through his entire body. He quickens his pace, fucking her mouth with purposeful, powerful thrusts that leave no doubt who's in control. Her body twitches as he keeps up his relentless assault on her clit, the stimulation building to an overwhelming intensity even as his cock fills her throat completely. "You're so damn good at this. You like being used like a toy, don't ya? Your mouth was made for this, just you and your needy little hole. And you've got me wanting more of it, you know that? You want to be used more, don't ya? To have me just grab you whenever I want and get off with your body. You like that huh?" He leans down, looming over her as he cages her in with his strong arms, his cock swaying between them with its sheer size. Narcaus nods rapidly, her face flushed with arousal, her body still quivering from the intensity of his touch. "Y-yes, Daddy Don. I want to be used. I want to be your toy," she whimpers, the words heavy with need. He lets out a dark chuckle at her answer, moving closer until his cockhead is resting against her chest. "Good. 'Cause I ain't gonna be gentle with you, baby," he growls before pushing her back onto the sofa. He climbs over the armrest and on top of her, gently moving her so they were spooned between one another in missionary. "And don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout those unfertilized eggs you've been popping out~," he pats her on the head softly before she begins to hear the sound of crinkling paper being eventually torn, "I come prepared with my women~." She moans loudly as he pushes her down onto the sofa, positioning her for him to have complete access to her body. "Daddy Don, please," she pants out, her body trembling with need. She squirms in anticipation as he opens the condom he brought out. "I need you so bad, please give it to me. I've been a good girl. Please, please, please…" The Don smirks as he rolls the condom down his thick shaft, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Yeah, you been real good for me, Narcee," he rumbles, his voice thick with arousal as he nudges the head of his cock against her dripping entrance. "Real fuckin' good. Now let's see how good you can take me, huh?" He doesn't wait for an answer before thrusting into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely as a loud moan tears from her throat. The Don's body presses against hers, his hips rolling to bury himself deeper as his hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for his pleasure. "Fuck, yeah…so goddamn tight." She moans lewdly as he invades her from above, her legs spreading wide to accommodate him. The feeling of his hot, thick skin against hers drives her wild, her body arching up to meet his thrusts. "Oh, Daddy Don, yesss!" Narcaus cries out, her fingers digging into the couch cushions as he pounds into her relentlessly. The Don's thrusts become more powerful, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they leave marks as he pushes her body to its limits.

"You like that, baby? You like how I'm using your tight little pussy?" He growls, his movements becoming more erratic as he nears his peak. Narcaus can feel his cock pulsing inside her, the size and force of his thrusts pushing her closer and closer to her own orgasm. "Yes, yes, yes!" The Don moves at an animalistic pace, his mind completely clouded with pure carnal desire. With one hand on her hip and the other on her neck, he pins her down, his body pressing onto hers. He leans in, his breath hot and heavy against her ear. "You're gonna take it all like the good little girl you are." His voice is low, rough, a guttural grunt that betrays the intensity of his lust. "Daddy's gonna fill you up so good, you won't even remember your own name." The Don increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful and primal as he feels his climax approaching. He growls into her ear, his hand tightening slightly on her neck. "Cum for me, baby. Show Daddy how much you love this." Narcaus's body responds to his words and actions, her muscles tensing as an intense orgasm builds. She moans loudly, her nails digging into the left armrest of the sofa as her ass arches against his pelvis, her two cocks thickening into stiff, throbbing poles over the feeling of his rubbered cock squeezing its way in and out of her tightness while his balls slap against her own. "Daddy Don, I'm so close, please don't stop!" The Don groans, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels her walls clench around him. "You better tell me how much you love me, how you only want me," The Don says, his voice ragged with pleasure, his hand gripping her chin to turn her face toward his. He leans in to kiss her forcefully, his tongue slipping deep into her mouth, his eyes locking onto hers. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Daddy Don!" Narcaus gasps between breathless moans, her voice cracking with overwhelming ecstasy. "Only yours! No one else! You're the only one who knows how to make me feel like this!" His hand moves from her chin to tangle in her hair, tilting her head back as he grinds his pelvis hard against her rear. The Don's grip tightens in her hair, his breathing ragged. "That's right, baby," he says, his tone rough and possessive. "I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this. You're mine, all mine." He pulls her hair hard, tugging her head back to expose her neck. He leans in, his teeth grazing her skin. "Say it again. Tell me you belong to me." Her body arches beneath him as he fucks her mercilessly, each powerful thrust driving Narcaus deeper into the couch cushions. The Don's grip in her hair pulls sharply, forcing her head back, exposing her throat to his hot breath. His teeth graze her skin, not quite biting, but promising. She can feel the thick length of him pulsing inside her, stretching her to their absolute limit. The condom can't muffle how utterly massive he feels, how his cockhead brushes that perfect spot inside her pussy with every movement. "I belong to you, Daddy Don," she whimpers, her words fracturing as her body trembles with need. "Only you can make me feel like this." The Don's grip tightens; his breath ragged in her ear. "That's right, you belong to me," he growls, his voice deep and dangerous. "You're my good little slut, and I'm gonna make sure you remember it." His mouth moves down her neck, kissing and biting her flesh, leaving marks that will last for days. "Say it again. Tell me how much you want me~!"

"I need you so bad, Daddy Don," Narcaus whimpers, her hands clawing at the couch cushions as he fucks her with brutal intensity. His grip in their hair tightens, pulling her head back sharply as he pistons his hips, his thick cock stretching her open with every deep thrust. The Don groans against her neck, the vibrations rumbling through their bodies. "That's it, baby…" he slows, he swells, she can feel his cum filling the condom on his cock inside of her. The Don leans against her, his body trembling with exhaustion, their breathing ragged and synchronized. He releases her hair, his hand tracing a lazy pattern across the curve of Narcaus's neck. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. "You took it so well for me." He leans in to kiss her, his mouth possessive and claiming. Then…. "But. I find out you fucked another man again, honey~." he brushes a firm finger up and down against the side of her face and her cheek. "And yer GETIN' the CHASTITY BELT put on so you don't get anymore 'BAD idEas' durin' each round." He slowly pulls himself out, letting her moan as she feels each jolt of the cum-filled condom hanging from his 12-incher move as it makes it way out of her hot, used pussy with it. "So, Narcee, in case you start wondering why John Doe ain't got much TEETH in his MOUTH after ya leave…now ya' know why~…" The Don shifts his massive frame off of her, stretching his arms overhead with a satisfied groan. His muscles ripple as he stands to the side, propping himself up on one elbow against the wall. The condom still hangs heavy and glistening from his cock, catching the dim light of his office. He reaches over to the nightstand and tosses it into the trash with a flick of his wrist, never breaking eye contact with her. "You done good, sugar," he purrs, tracing a finger down her heaving chest as she rolled onto her back, her eyes ever lustful in his amber etched orbs. His rough fingertips circle her nipple under her dress before giving it a sharp pinch. "But let's get one thing straight." He leans closer, his breath hot against Narcaus's ear. "This pussy—is mine." The Don moves to crawl back onto her, looming over her smaller frame. His eyes gleam with a possessive glint as he growls deep in his throat again. "And don't think I won't remind you, Narcee." He leans in, his lips brushing against her neck. "I might have to get a collar for ya."

Her body throbs with intense satisfaction, every nerve ending humming in delight as The Don's large frame envelops her once more. His hot breath cascades across their collarbone, leaving trails of fire in its wake. The Don's eyes burn with a fierce, possessive intensity as he gazes down at Narcaus, his large hand coming to rest on her hip with an almost ownership-like grip. "So, Narcee," The Don purrs, his gravelly voice sending shivers through them. "You've got me all hot and bothered again, just like that." His thumb traces lazy circles on her hip, occasionally dipping lower to brush against the tender flesh of her pussy. "But I gotta know, baby~. You ain't gonna let some outsider treat ya like they're your cadet, are ya? You're no pimp's little baby, ain't ya now…~?" The Don chuckles darkly, his hand leaving her hip to run through her blonde hair, tilting her head up so she was looking at him straight. his gaze intense, almost feral as he spoke, "You belong to me, and me alone. No one else gets to touch you, kiss you, or even look at you like this except me. Understand." His fingers wind through her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her neck to arch as his teeth graze her skin. "You're mine, and I won't let anyone else have you." Narcaus gasps, her body tensing at the sudden sharp pull of The Don's grip in her hair, her back arching instinctively. The Don's teeth graze her throat, sending hot jolts through your body as he pulls her closer. His free hand slides down to cup her breast roughly, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of her dress. "You feel that?" The Don growls against her skin. "That's what happens when you tease me too much." His thumb brushes over Narcaus's hardened nipple, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. "I don't share, baby."

The Don's possessiveness becomes tender, the grip on her head going limp and soft in her locks of golden hair, the pressure he had put on her nipple gone as he cupped her cheek lovingly and began to kiss her up and down from her forehead to the bottom of her chin closest to the nape of her neck. "La mia colomba~," oh, his sweet words; the sweet foreign tongue of a mortal man~! His kisses were soft and his hold on her tender, like the confusing emotion that was the very word "love"~! He plants light kisses like the fluttering wings of her favored insect onto her soft lips in his Italian way, "Mia cara, mia preziosa e bellissima colomba. Mi fai impazzire per te!" he gives her more on her lips, savoring the sweet taste of a feeling in their hearts that made hers buzz about like a vibrator on its highest setting, "Un giorno ci sposeremo, oh, posso solo immaginarlo per ora, amore mio!" the Don presses his lips harder against hers for brief seconds as he goes on in a tongue she knew not about, "Tu e io condivideremo la mia villa a Rocity, un chalet in TOSCANA, due cagnolini francesi da far giocare con il mio coniglio come amici e QUATTRO MERAVIGLIOSI BAMBINI da chiamare nostri~!" and he releases her, takes her by the hands into his own, "Non puoi solo immaginare che vita meravigliosa sarebbe per noi, Narcaus?" All she understood was her name, but he seemed so enamored in whatever yapfest he went himself into, so she nodded with the warmest smile, and the Don soon looked as though he was over the moon by her response alone! The Don smiled warmly, his amber orbs shimmering as he brought Narcaus's hands to his chest, holding them against his heart. "Ah, mia colombella~." he murmured, his voice soft and tender as he said those familiar words. He lifted her hand and placed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. "I can see it now. Our lives together, in that Tuscan villa by the lake. Our four beautiful children running around, laughing and carefree." He pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's almost too good to be true, isn't it?"…wait-that's what he said, wait what-the Don beams down at her, his amber eyes bright and alive with a radiant joy that nearly steals her breath. His thumbs rub gentle circles against her palms as he holds Narcaus's hands, his massive frame leaning in closer until his face is mere inches from hers. "You get me, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His large hands suddenly release her only to cup her face with unexpected tenderness. The rough pads of his thumbs stroke along her cheekbones as he gazes at them with an intensity that makes her heart pound. "I never thought I'd find someone who understood me like this," he confesses, his voice rough with feeling. "Someone who actually wants all of this." Narcaus's breath catches in her throat as The Don holds her face in his hands, his amber eyes searching her with an intensity that sets the forsakened goddess's skin ablaze. His thumbs stroke her cheekbones with surprising gentleness, his calloused fingers a sharp contrast to the softness in his touch. His warmth surrounds her, his large body shielding her from everything but him. "I've been with a lot of women," The Don continues in a low voice, the words rough as gravel but somehow tender. "But none of them ever wanted this. Not like you do." His hands slide down to cradle her neck, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin beneath her false ears. "They wanted the money, the lifestyle—but not the real me." He pecks her once more, a slow kiss, on her tender lips. "I know it was an accident, honey, you hooking up with the Doe man in the previous round you were in," he whispers to her, "I know you needed some void to fill in~. I love ya, Narcaus, I know you wouldn't be for real about fucking some other guy…right?" His gaze burns into hers, searching for any sign of hesitation or dishonesty. The question lingers, thick with expectation and possession as Narcaus's skin flushes under his touch, the rough fingers pressing gently against her throat. His cologne—something woody and expensive—fills her lungs as he moves closer, his face nearly touching hers. "Right?" he repeats, his words carrying unmistakable need. She swallows hard, feeling the muscles in her throat work beneath his hands. Every inch of her is aware of him—the heat emanating from his body, the way his breathing has quickened just slightly, the possessive hunger in his amber eyes.

She can feel the tension radiating off him, the desire and the need and the raw, primal ownership burning through his veins. The Don's hand tightens around her throat, his fingers digging into her soft flesh just enough to make her gasp for air. "Answer me," he growls, the words rumbling in his chest, his gaze never leaving hers. "Are you mine." It's not a question. It's a demand, an order that brooks no argument. His fingers tighten around her neck, her pulse pounds under his grip, fluttering like a trapped bird. His amber eyes darken as he watches her throat work beneath hand, taking in every gasp and quickened breath. "Yes," Narcaus breathes, and the Don's expression transforms instantly. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips as his thumb brushes over her windpipe. "Say it like you mean it," he murmurs, and there's something almost playful in his words, a dark amusement that makes her stomach clench with equal parts apprehension and excitement. "I'm yours." He hums, his thumb pressing against her windpipe in a gesture that's both threatening and possessive. "Again," he says softly, his voice a low purr. "Louder. I want to hear how much you want to be mine." He leans in, his lips brushing against her ear, and his words sending a shiver down Narcaus's spine. "Say it like you goddamn mean it, baby." Oh, Gods, was he hot when he acted like this. He was as hot acting dominant as he is when acting tender, and she relished in it~! "I'm yours," Narcaus gasps, the words tumbling out of her like a confession. His amber eyes darken at her submission, his face breaking into that dangerous, hungry smile that always sends fire racing through her veins. "That's what I like to hear," he growls, and before she can react, he spins her around with effortless strength, pressing Narcaus's back against his chest. She tries to catch her breath, her body quivering with anticipation as he presses her back against his muscular frame. His breath is hot against her ear, his words like a tantalizing tease. "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice rich and thick as honey. "Just begging for whatever I give you, aren't you~?" His hands slide down her sides, his touch firm and possessive, as if he's claiming her all over again. And through all this arousal from today, the wings on the sides of her head quiver and ruffle their feathers, the dove's coo escaping from her lips as he began planting kisses all over her again, and oh so slowly another unfertilized egg pushes itself out from her used vaginal entry onto his office's floor. "Awe~," the Don coos out himself at the sight of it, "my little dove." He plants a firm yet loving kiss onto her closest cheek before helping her fix herself up and laying her back down lounging on her side on the whole sofa and petting the side of her head softly under his calloused hand. "Ya hungry, honey~?" he asked caringly, and she would nod. The Don then fixed himself up and walked over to the door and opened it a bit. "Hey!" he called down to his goons, "One'a you bring the lady and I up some waters, and then all four of ya go to the survivor's lodge and have Elliot cook us up a big pie! Pizza's on me, tonight, boys!" Oh, she heard them cheering downstairs from the other side of the wall; his men sure did love pizza, they seemed ecstatic over the proclamation their boss made just now!

The Don heads back to the sofa and gently helps you sit up on the couch, his amber eyes burning with a primal intensity as he settles beside you. His large hand rests possessively on your thigh, thumb stroking gentle patterns into your skin. The unfertilized egg on the floor catches your attention for a moment before he gently guides your face back to his, his gaze softening. "You know, I've always been fascinated by you," he says, his words husky and low. "Your beauty, your strength…and those incredible wings." His fingers trace the edge of one wing, careful not to disturb its delicate feathers. "I bet they feel as soft as they look. Is it okay if I…?" She instinctively leaned into his touch, a soft set of dovey coos escaping her lips and he nods, a small, genuine smile crossing his features before he gently cupped one of her wings in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate feathers with awe and gentleness. "Incredible. They're like silk under my fingers." The Don's amber eyes lock onto hers, burning with desire and something deeper, more tender. His thumb brushes against Narcaus's cheekbone as he gazes at her. "You know, Narcaus, I've been thinking." His other hand moves to cup her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "All these 15 long, grueling minutes of walking for us to get to one another; why don't ya just screw the Spectre in the ass, and move into the killer's lodge here, with me and the others? My room's big enough for two people, y'know…" The Don gazes down at her, the intensity of his gaze making her breath catch. He gently cups her face in his hands, gently tilting it up to meet his gaze. There's a possessive gleam in his eyes as he looks down at her, like he's already made up his mind about something. His hand moves to her thigh, his fingers tracing circles on her soft skin. "What do you think, baby?" His thumb brushes against her cheek as he studies her face. "It'd be nice having you around more often, yeah?"

"It'd be…It'd be…nice. actually."

The Don's expression softens into a smile, his eyes softening as well. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and tender. "Is that a yes, then?" He leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin. He brushes his thumb against her jawline, his touch soft and gentle. "You gonna ditch that Spectre and his silly little rules and come live the high life with me? I can have you on my arm every night." A slow, coy smile crosses Narcaus's face as she nodded, and he lets out a low chuckle, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on her jaw. The Don pulls Narcaus closer, his arm wrapping around her waist as he nuzzles into her neck, breathing in deeply like he's memorizing her scent. "Knew you'd say yes," he murmurs against her skin, the vibration of his words making Narcaus shiver. His free hand slides up her side, coming to rest just below her breast. "You belong here, Narcaus. With me." His fingers tighten slightly, not painful but possessive, claiming. "Gonna take such good care of you."

Chapter Text

So she moves in with them. John Doe does his thing (for the sake of keeping the rest of his teeth in his mouth where they belong), and 1x1x1x1 does the same thing simply because he can and lacks much an issue. Noli’s feelings were a little mixed about it, giving her reputation, but hey, so long as the kid’s happy, he’s happy, because if C00lkidd’s happy about then that means 007n7 won’t have to worry about how his son felt that much, and that made Noli feel a little bit better of the change of things in the killer’s lodge. In fact, on the survivor’s end, they pretty much celebrated her moving out to live in the killer’s lodge with the killers! The kids tolerated or liked her, come what may, for what may the reason be, and that mainly fueled the Don’s sightings of a permanent future with Narcaus, especially the small spotted egg that went from a makeshift nest on a windowsill to its own little incubator. Though work began to pile up more than ever, especially around this season of the year. More people going to his casino, and to his restaurant, exedra, exedra, and that meant more people like Chance: people who thought screwing over the Sonnellinos was a good idea. He kept all these details in his office, in the first right side drawer of his desk, in a red book, with the case made entirely of velvet and brass clips. Every name, how much they owed him, was all in this little red book. The Don's eyes narrow as he flips through the red book, his fingers tracing each entry written in fine cursive and bright red ink with careful precision. The soft whir of the fan fills the tense silence, breaking only when he slams it shut with a sharp thwack. "Another fuckin' loser thinkin' they can weasel their way outta payin' what they owe," he mutters, his words laced with dark amusement. "I gotta teach this piece of shit a lesson." He stands abruptly, rolling his shoulders as he paces the office, amber eyes burning with predatory intensity. "Narcaus!" he calls out, his deep voice echoing through the empty halls. "Daddy's gonna be out for a while, you best behave yourself, okay!" Narcaus's head pops up from where she was sitting on the office couch, curled up in a soft white blanket, a cup of tea cradled in her hands, reading a book. She smiles softly at the Don, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Be careful, okay? Don't do anything stupid…"

"Oh, there you are~," he teased as he went over, bent over, and gave her sweet lips a quick kiss. "The boys and I are gonna be gone a while, dumpling," he tells her again, "Think you can manage yourself till I get back, or do I gotta strap the chastity belt on ya before I head on outta here?" The Don chuckles when he sees the way Narcaus' fingers tighten slightly around the mug of tea, her face blushing at the words and his proximity. She tilts her head back to look up at him, her lashes fluttering slightly. "I'll be fine, Daddy Don~," she murmurs, but there's a shiver that runs through her when he says the word 'chastity'. The thought of him controlling her that completely makes something low in her stomach tighten deliciously. She sips her tea to hide the way her breathing hitches. "Mmm. Gonna miss me already?" The Don straightens up, watching her closely, those amber eyes darkening with amusement. His lips curl into a smirk as he reaches down, grabbing her wrist to pull the tea mug from her hands. He sets it on the side table before taking her hand and pulling her up from the couch, his other hand sliding around to the small of her back to press her against him. "Miss you? Nah," he murmurs, leaning down so his lips brush against the shell of her ear. "But I do love remindin' you who you belong to." His fingers tighten slightly on her wrist as he guides her hand down between them, pressing it against the growing bulge in his pants. She can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the thick hardness already stiffening beneath her palm. "Now you best behave while I'm gone~, okay?"

"I always behave for you, Daddy Don," she murmurs, voice breathless already as she presses herself more firmly against him. The heat from his body seeps into hers, making her skin prickle with awareness. "Even when you're not here watching me…" The Don chuckles, the sound low and rough. He cups her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his gaze, his eyes dark with desire. "Good girl," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, tracing its softness. "Because I don't want to have to punish you when I get back." He releases her wrist, hand moving to grip her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "And you know how much I hate having to punish my favorite little pet. Especially when you're so eager to please." He's right—she is eager, and he knows it. Her pulse pounds where he grips her hip, skin hot under his touch. His free hand slides up her back, fingertips tracing the nape of her neck as he pulls her flush against him. Narcaus can feel every inch of him now, the hard length of his cock straining against his pants, the heat of his body pressing against hers. His amber eyes burn into hers, filled with dark amusement and something else—something possessive and hungry. "You're already getting wet for me, aren't you, dumpling?" he murmurs, speaking roughly against her ear. He doesn't wait for an answer, his hand sliding down to grip her ass possessively. "What do you think?" she manages to say, her words coming out as a soft gasp as his grip tightens. There's a flush that spreads across her skin, her voice breathy and shaky as he manhandles her, shifting her so her back is pressed against the wall. Her wings flutter slightly, her heart skipping a beat at the possessive gleam in his gaze. "You can feel it for yourself, can't you?"

"Yeah…~, I make your cocks soft and your cunt wet - but that sweet little flower between your thighs is gonna have to wait till I get back, now, isn't it, honey."

"Mmm…yes…yes, Daddy Don." Narcaus lets out a soft whimper of acquiescence, her body trembling against his as he uses his free hand to run his fingers down the side of her hip, his touch rough and possessive. She can feel her body responding to his every word, every touch, every caress. "I'll be good…I promise." The Don chuckles, deep and knowing, as he grinds his thick cock against the soft heat between her legs. He can feel how soaked she is already, even through the layers of fabric between them. His fingers dig into her ass, pulling her tighter against him as he moves his hips in slow, deliberate circles. "Mmm…yeah, I know you will," he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over her lips. "You always are when you know what's good for you." His free hand slides up to wrap around her throat, his thumb stroking along her pulse point, feeling how rapidly it flutters beneath his touch. "Alright, Narcee," he kisses her fast and passionately moment-long on the lips, "I trust ya." The Don then lets her go and heads out of his office downstairs to meet up with his men, taking his time as they all got around. The sight-it made her wonder. She'd never once seen him not daunting his fedora, his long black pinstriped coat, his…well, any layer of clothing, aside from the massive sausage in his pants~. Never once had she felt his hair, but she knew he had hair considering he had a hairbrush in the bathroom connected to his bedroom here in the killer's lodge. It was odd, to say the least. But, Narcaus simply shrugged it away for now, blew him a goodbye kiss, and retreated like a phantom underneath the long, thick white sheet daunted over her head and shoulders like a bride's trail into their bedroom.

The Don’s room here in this lodge was constructed of deep espresso brown logs, exposed beams, and wide pine floorboards washed to a polishing hue of warm honey under the lighting bellow to show off their natural grains underneath charcoal and crème wool rugs. The low‐profile platform bed anchored the room with its leather‐upholstered headboard against a reclaimed timber wall, crowned by a soft amber glaze above and flanked by matte black swing‐arm lamps. To one side, a fieldstone fireplace with a stout reclaimed‐wood mantel showcases his many achievements in frames and cases made mostly out of glass, with plush sheepskins draped over the hearth for quiet comfort. Opposite, a leather wingback reading chair and library ladder lean against a built-in bookshelf, and a vintage trunk at the foot of the bed. Warm Edison bulbs in an exposed-beam chandelier mingle with brushed-gold fixtures and subtle LED underlighting to create layers of glow that echo the sophisticated contrast of onyx and gold. And there, by the window, was an assortment of pillows and blankets in earthen tones; and one small egg nestled in it all. Her avian instincts would kick in, and out would slide another unfertilized egg from between her thighs out of her wettened entry; but she’d merely toss it into the now overflowing wooden crate by the dresser closest to the door with the others on her way over to this hap-hassled ‘nest’ of hers she had done with help of her sugar daddy and his goons. She settles into the nest with a soft, familiar plomp against the softness, and she pulls the plush blankets around her, letting out a contented sigh as she shimmied into comfort with the spotted egg under her rump again. The sheets smell like him—leather and musk and faint smoke from the cigar he smokes on the porch when the air is crisp. Narcaus curled up into a ball, nuzzling into the fluffy down pillow as the fire crackles behind her. Her body still thrums from his touch, his words echoing in her mind. "I always behave for you, Daddy Don," she murmurs into the empty room, as if speaking the words aloud might make them truer. His smell lingers in the room, in the sheets, in the air, like a possessive claim laid on every surface, every item, every space he's ever occupied. Each breath she takes is filled with the scent of him, the smell of leather and tobacco smoke and pure, unfiltered desire. It's both overwhelming and addictive, and as she takes another deep breath, the words come tumbling out, unbidden and soft. "I'm yours, Daddy Don," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "All yours."

“NO, I AM NOT PLAYING UNO WITH YOU, YOU DUMB RED IDIOT!” ugh. And here she thought she’d be introduced to peace in the Don’s absence. The sounds of C00lkidd and Bluudude shouting at each other, one wanting what the other refuses, the 10-year-old confronting the 12-year-old about a game, and the arguing was on the other side and heading up the stairs looking for adult mediation. "Ugh," Narcaus groaned softly as she rolled over onto her back, away from the arguing happening just outside the bedroom door as the two boys' voices started to get closer to the room she was in. Those two better not come in here now; she knew the Don wouldn't be pleased if they disturbed her little makeshift nest by being too loud. The arguing reaches a fever pitch just outside the door, Bluudude raising his voice higher as C00lkidd stomps his foot. "MISS NARCAUS! BLUUDUDE WON'T PLAY UNO WITH ME!!!" The handle jiggles—someone's trying to come in. Narcaus scrambles upright, yanking the sheets around her body as the door creaks open. C00lkidd stands there, arms crossed, his lip jutting out in a pout. Bluudude peeks around him, his eyes big and curious as they dart around the room. She shoots them both a warning glare. "Boys, this isn't the place for arguing over your mortal idioms."

"Well then tell stupid over here to leave me alone!" Bluudude shouted as he motioned both of his arms at C00lkidd for emphasis on who he was referring to as 'stupid'. "That's enough, both of you!" Narcaus barked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. She threw off the blankets and started to get up, still holding the sheets around her body to cover herself up. "You're acting like toddlers, not anybody of your ages! Now, either settle this quietly, or get out!"

"BUT BLUUDUDE WON'T PLAY WITH ME!" C00lkidd shouted at the top of his lungs. His face burns crimson with frustration, tears starting to well up in his big black eyes. Bluudude, meanwhile, slumps against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring at the floor. "He wants to do the same dumb deck every time!" Bluudude mutters, kicking at the carpet. "Like, it's always reverse and draw four and just…ugh." Narcaus exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. The Don wouldn't appreciate this disruption either, she knows. The boy shouldn't be bothering her when she's meant to be resting. And yet, she feels something soften in her chest when she looks at C00lkidd's quivering lip. "Fine. Why don't you find someone else to play with, C00lkidd?"

"Because Jason left, and the new guy's not cool like he is…" the red skinned boy admitted as he looked down at the deck in his hands. "Yeeaah, Slasher's not really, like," Bluudude scoffs, "NICE. Y'know? He's a little selfish, if you know what I mean."

"Well then why not 1x?" she inquires, "or John? What about Noli?"

"Uncle Noli and my dad said you and Mister Mafioso were looking after me for a bit," C00lkidd tells her, much to her shock (she was never made aware of any babysitting agreements between herself, Noli, and/or 007n7), "But Mister Mafioso left, too…a-, and Uncle John's scary. H-, He scares me, sometimes, he just sorta LOOKs scary to me?"

"What about 1x?" Narcaus asks.

"The last time we played anything with him he got so mad he nearly set the lodge on fire." Bluudude droned with annoyance in his voice. Narcaus sighed, rolling her eyes slightly at Bluudude's comment, but her expression softened as she looked at the tears welling up in C00lkidd's eyes. "Look, boys, I understand you're frustrated, but yelling and fighting over Uno isn't going to solve anything." She gently chides, before pausing as she processes what C00lkidd just said, realizing that her sugar daddy had never, ever told her that she'd be…babysitting kids…what exactly do mortal children do these days, aside from sitting on their asses inside playing on their little screens and shouting for things? The reality of the situation sinks in slowly. She was supposed to be babysitting C00lkidd? The Don never mentioned that—just that he needed her here while he was away on business. And now she's stuck in this damn room, trying to figure out how to entertain a child who is so painfully quiet when he isn't throwing a tantrum. Bluudude, on the other hand, looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Well, you can play Uno with me," Narcaus says reluctantly, motioning for them to come in. The boys shuffle forward uncertainly. C00lkidd's face lights up instantly, while Bluudude looks less than thrilled. "But."

"I said you can play Uno with me." she repeats. "Now how do we?" The boys pause, their faces suddenly serious as they look at her intently. "You don't know how to play Uno?" Bluudude says, his tone incredulous. "Like, not at ALL?!" C00lkidd adds on, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Well, I am no child, not anymore that is,” she admits, “But I have played many games in my youth, when I was smaller and had wings from my back like I do from the sides of my head.”

“Oh yeah, what kind of games?” Bluudude goes, wandering verbally to see how deep the dark pitted hole that was Narcaus’s “back in the day” seminar and C00lkidd got the deck ready for the three of them, the older blue skinned boy’s arms crossed and his three-rowed blackened teethed mouth large as his head as he rolled those beady white eyes of his to show his lack of overall amusement in the moment occurring. “Nintendo DS original? Game Cube? Game & Watch-apparently my mom had one of those when she was 12-” what was this boy going on about? no. no, no, no, no silly couch games. none of those late in the night sitting in the dark with your face pressed against the screen till your eyes saw color every time you either or both stared open eyed for too long after or blinked after the barrage. “Ridiculous trinkets of today,” she called them aloud, “No, Blu’, I played real games when I was younger like you two are now. I played lots of them with my half-siblings and many other former and forlorn deities in my age group—aside from Telamon, anyway—and they were a lot more entertaining than your boxes and yap screens are. I’d race hoops with Wistelle to see who’d get to be in charge of the next divine harvest of grapes that’d be protected until maturity through their fruity seasons, and I’d throw balls with my half-brothers to see who’d turn it were to be to make the rivers flood to fertilize the farmlands.” She pauses in her recollection of her childhood, a warm look on her face. “I was never much the thrower, but my one half-brother Lamenth was worse: he was even given the title as the God of Still Waters, because his powers made the lakes so stiff you could walk-”

“BOOOOORIIIIIIIIIING!” Bluudude butted in. “Let’s just play Uno already and get this over with.” Narcaus rolls her eyes at the interruption. "Fine, all right. Let's play Uno." She says, holding out her hand for the deck of cards, but C00lkidd holds it back, his eyes wide. "Wait, we need to explain the rules first," he says, his voice serious. "It's important." C00lkidd shuffles the deck with slightly more energy now that he has a new audience for his Uno expertise. "Okay, so there's these four different colors—red, green, blue and yellow," he starts, holding up the cards one by one for emphasis. "You have to match the color or the number. And if it's a special card, it does something special." Bluudude groans. "Oh my God, I know how to play Uno, C00lkidd." But the red-skinned boy isn't deterred. "Miss Narcaus doesn't," C00lkidd insists, handing her the freshly shuffled deck. "So we each start," he tosses random cards to the three of them in a circle like they were ninja stars, "seven, cards, each. There we go!" With a frown of concentration, Narcaus studies the cards in her hand, trying to make sense of the colors and numbers. She glances at the boys on either side of her, the younger looking at her expectantly while the older boy looks bored already. C00lkidd nudges her gently. "You have to put a card down," he whispers. She nods, studying the hand again before carefully selecting a yellow card with a three on it. As she lays it down, both boys lean forward with sudden intensity. "Oh, you got a three," C00lkidd says excitedly, as if this is the most thrilling thing he's ever seen. Bluudude scoffs, but there's a spark in his eye too. Narcaus watches the boys in turn, realizing that this simple game is genuinely entertaining for them. She can't help feeling a tiny thrill at the prospect of something to do, even if it's just cards.

As the game progresses, Narcaus becomes more engaged. The game unfolds slowly, each of them taking turns laying down their cards in an increasingly tense atmosphere. C00lkidd's eyes dart between the cards, trying to outmaneuver his opponents and find a way to get rid of his hand quickly. Bluudude, on the other hand, is more methodical, carefully considering each move before making it. Narcaus finds herself getting more and more absorbed in the game, feeling an unexpected excitement bubbling up inside her as the tension of Uno ramps up. Each time C00lkidd gets a card down, he squeals in delight, slapping the cards onto the pile as if each one were a triumph. Bluudude, in contrast, carefully studies the cards before placing them down with a quiet precision. And Narcaus finds herself caught between them, one hand gripping a stack of cards, the other supporting her chin as she examines the game with an ever-growing intensity. C00lkidd's foot starts bouncing rapidly. "Oh man, I think I can get rid of all my cards in like two turns," he says, eyes darting to Bluudude. The older boy doesn't even look up from his cards, but he smirks, and then lands a blow to the both of them, shouting "Uno" before C00lkidd could cut him off whilst hitting Narcaus with a deck color changing Draw 4 card. Of course, he picks blue. Always, when the opportunity struck him right, he'd always. change. the deck. to. blue. Narcaus grumbles under her breath as she draws a few cards. She's down to three cards left in her hand, but both the boys still have multiple cards left. C00lkidd's excitement is palpable, his foot bouncing rapidly as he looks at his hand. Narcaus grumbles under her breath as she draws a few cards. She's down to three cards left in her hand, but both the boys still have multiple cards left. C00lkidd's excitement is palpable, his foot bouncing rapidly as he looks at his hand. Narcaus feels a jolt of tension as she watches C00lkidd's hand. The young boy's eyes dart back and forth between his cards and the pile, his foot tapping rapidly against the floor. She can tell he's close to winning, and for some reason, she really wants to beat him. Despite her inexperience with the game, something about the simple act of competing has ignited a competitive fire within her. "Hurry up!" C00lkidd urges, his foot tapping so hard the whole table shakes. Narcaus glances at her cards again, a faint frown forming as she tries to recall the rules. She's down to three cards now, while both boys still have several. "So, if I'm doing this correctly," she says and then drops a skip card, "this skips C00lkidd," then a reverse card, "moves it back to me again," then another skips card, "skips Bluudude," tosses a red 0 "Uno, and" and then tosses her last card, a red 4, "done." Her fingers shake slightly as she placed the final card, adrenaline surging through her body. The game has transformed into something far more intense than simple entertainment. C00lkidd stares at Narcaus in disbelief, his expression frozen in shock. "No way!" he squeals, slamming his hands onto the table. His red-skinned face is flushed with excitement. Bluudude, on the other hand, just groans and tosses his cards down. "Man, I knew you were gonna do that," he mutters, shaking his head. C00lkidd turns to him. "You did not! You didn't know at all!"

"Looks like I've won," she said as she carefully stood back up, still leaving herself draped in her nesting blankets as she looked down at the two boys. "Now about that red book you stole from the desk in the Don's office." She goes as she reaches a metal hand to them, "Come on, now," Narcaus tells them, "cough it up." The boys scramble to gather the Uno cards, shuffling them together quickly. Bluudude grabs the deck and starts shuffling, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. The change in mood is immediate, both boys starting to pack more in panic than in joy or contentment. "What're you talking about?" Bluudude asks, his voice filled with fake nonchalance. But the panicked look in his eyes betrays him. C00lkidd fidgets with the edge of the sheets, avoiding her gaze. "W-What red book?" he stammers. "The Don likes to keep track of people who steal from him," she tells them, "He wouldn't be happy if he came home and saw it was gone, would he?" C00lkidd's face pales at the mention of the Don, and Bluudude shifts uncomfortably, still avoiding eye contact. "Look, it was just meant to be a little prank," Bluudude defends, his voice trembling, "we were gonna put it back before he got home." Narcaus stands before them, her metallic fingers glinting in the dim light as she fixes the boys with an unnerving stare. "A little prank, you say? Do you know what the Don does to people who prank him?" Her words are laced with cold, menacing steel, matching the unyielding metal of her hand. C00lkidd shrinks back, his bravado faltering as he imagines the consequences. "N-no, I don't know," he stammers, glancing desperately at Bluudude for help. But the older boy is frozen, his usual cockiness nowhere to be seen as he realizes the gravity of their situation. Then C00lkidd buckles and points at Bluudude, "IT WAS ALL HIM!" he admits, "I DIDN'T WANNA STEAL FROM MISTER MAFIOSO'S OFFICE AND I TOLD HIM THAT IT WAS A BAD IDEA!" The boy's desperate confession hangs in the air, and Narcaus' lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. She steps closer, deliberately making her metal fingers click together as she does. Bluudude flinches visibly, his shoulders tensing as he shrinks back in his seat. "That's what I thought," she purrs, the words soft and velvety yet sharp enough to cut. "Bluudude here always has the worst ideas, doesn't he?" C00lkidd nods frantically, his eyes darting between her and the older boy. Bluudude scowls, his face darkening with resentment. "Shut up, pipsqueak." Narcaus's gaze sharpens as she turns back to Bluudude, her voice cold and controlled as she takes another step towards him. "And you," she says, her voice now tinged with a steely edge, "you ought to know better. You're older. And yet you lead this boy astray." Her words cut through the tension in the room as Bluudude's face darkens even further, his jaw clenched tight as he stares up at her defiantly. But her gaze doesn't waver, her eyes locked onto him with unyielding intensity. "Hand me the book." She orders him. Bluudude scowls but finally breaks under the weight of her command. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a compact red notebook. He drops it lightly on the desk, his face a mix of defiance and unease as he meets her eyes again.

She stands, and heads out of the bedroom to the Don's office, the white fabric trail slowly dragging itself against the floor like long feathers from a peacock in docile formation; the boys follow, heads hung low from two different guilts. The heavy door of the Don's office creaks open as she enters, the boys trailing behind her reluctantly. The Don’s desk stands in the middle of the room; his chair pushed back slightly from the table. As she approaches, she passes his black leather armchair, the soft fabric gleaming with age, and the deep indent of his figure still present in the form of a divot. She glances down at the red notebook in her hand, then lays it on the desk, letting the red book land with a soft thud, the metal clasps against its velvet cover reflecting the dim lamplight. She runs a single metal finger along its edge, feeling the worn fabric beneath her fingertips. This book holds names, numbers, accounts—things that people (and especially children, like Bluudude and C00lkidd) shouldn't be messing with. The Don would be furious if he were to know about this attempted 'prank'. The thought brings a small smile to her face as Narcaus turns to face them both. Bluudude's eyes dart between Narcaus and the book, his shoulders still tense with barely restrained fear. C00lkidd fidgets by the door, fingers twisting in his shirt. His wide eyes keep flicking to the book like it might leap up and bite him. Without a word, she opens the red book. The pages within hold details of certain peoples' names, addresses, and even their current locations. She skims through the pages, each filled with the meticulous handwriting of the Don himself, finest cursive in blood, red, ink. Her fingers trace the pages, the silence thick with tension as she sees that written in it. Oh, those boys…. Finally, she looks up, fixing both boys with a steely gaze. "Explain." She says, her voice firm and no-nonsense as she taps a brass index finger on the obvious brown colored pencil in scribbled handwritten Comic Sans font reading "BoogerBoy, age 12, owes me $20"! Narcaus scans the page again, her face hardening with each word. This was worse than she had thought. "Did you bother to look in this book at all before taking it?" she demands. Bluudude's face flushes with guilt, his eyes darting away, unable to meet her gaze. C00lkidd fidgets nervously, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. Neither of them can manage to meet her eye. Silence stretches out once again, heavy and tense, until finally Bluudude mutters a quiet, "no."

“You know the Don won’t be too happy once he sees someone wrote in this, right?”

"O-of course we know that!" C00lkidd blurts out, his voice shaking slightly. Bluudude shoots him a warning look, but the words are already out of the younger boy's mouth, and there's no taking them back now.

“Then why did you write in it, Bluudude?” Narcaus asked as she turned to look at the older blue skinned boy, “If you knew he’d be aware of it once he got back from dealing with one of the many people he keeps track of in this exact book?” Bluudude bites his lip, his eyes locked onto the floor. He knows he's been caught, and he can't wriggle his way out of this one easily. "I just thought it would be a quick, easy prank," he mutters after a moment, his voice filled with defiance. “A quick, easy prank would be C00lkidd or I putting cream in your palm and tickling your nose with a feather while you were sleeping,” she goes as she makes her way to one of the potted plants in the room to grab a key hiding within its leaves. “A quick, easy prank would be a fart cushion in someone’s chair. But this?” she looks down at the red velvet compact book again as she unlocks the second right desk drawer with the key, its red giving her an idea. “Back in my days red meant an assortment of things,” she goes as she takes the book and closes it before opening the drawer to put it back where in the desk it belonged, “For starters I am the Goddess of the Red Midnight, and as such that means I am the deity for brings forth the End of the World as Everyone Knows It! Such advanced civilizations like the ones before yours’s knew very well that a blood colored moon was no laughing matter! Especially if controlled by the Oracle of the Gods herself, aka, me.” She shoves the book back in where it went and rambled on, “Red was also for power, for war; a pumping vigor of mankind! My nephew knew that well, or at least the older of the twins I mean, after all he was the God of War and Conquest.” The boys listen in silence; their faces etched with a mix of guilt and fascination. They had never heard of these things before, and though they only truly understood bits and pieces of her words, something about the way she spoke and carried herself was captivating, as if hinting at something infinitely greater. Even the boys' restlessness stilled, their eyes glued to her as her words washed over them. She locked the drawer, put the key where she had got it, and went solely towards Bluudude, metal hands extended to him. “Give me your hands, child.” She ordered slowly and deliberately; her calm etched with a malevolent intent as Bluudude obeyed, but cautiously, extending his trembling hands out to her. The brass was cold to his touch, her two eyes shut and hidden behind her facial wings, the room dropped so much in temperature that frostbite began to line the windowsill and the boys began to see their breath form as steam out of their mouths. Bluudude shivers as the ice cold brass touches his hands, his face pale with fright. C00lkidd gasps as he sees his own breath, visible like white smoke in the suddenly chilled room. They both shiver nervously, a mixture of guilt and fear evident in their expressions. “Aaahhhhh, yesss,” she hissed out from her serpent’s tongue, “IIIII sssseeee it aaall, nooooow. Your veins, the lines in your palms and underNEATH…. They carry great blood, from your father’s side of the line, a calm, quiet frail into your tender LIFE….” Bluudude's eyes widen as he feels her cold, brass fingers trace lines on his palms. Her serpentine tongue hisses and dances across her lips, her words carrying an ominous weight to them. He can feel the blood coursing through his veins, and somehow, she seems to see something in it, something connected to his family line. Bluudude's palms tingle under her brass touch, the cold biting into his skin as her claws trace patterns that seem impossible to both of the boys. Their heartbeat quickens under her scrutiny, the blood in the older, blue-skinned boy's veins rushing as if she can sense it moving, pulse by pulse. She leans closer, wings twitching slightly, the serpentine tongue flicking out to taste the air near his neck. "You fear me," she murmurs, satisfaction evident in her words. "Good. You should." Her grip tightens fractionally on his hands, not enough to hurt but enough to remind them of her strength. The temperature in the room plummets further, frost creeping up the walls now. The stark white pupil of her third eye amongst its pitch black sclera begins to curve and turn in increasing speeds, like the boys were witnessing the phases of the moon in real time in the middle of Narcaus’s forehead, and poor C00lkidd looked ready to piss himself at any given moment!

“I see, a great ocean, flanked on both sides by fertile lands, tended to by the farmers under the hot sun;” she begun to predict with each brush of her metal claws against Bluudude’s palms, “I see MASSIVE WALLS made out of MUDBRICK, and BITumIN, and TWO LARGE GATES DECorATEd with mosAIcs out of LAPIS AND GOLD, gUARDED BY STRONG SOLDIERS in metal armor made to look as though, it were made of SAPPHIRES lined with its BRONZE!” Narcaus presses further down on a particular spot of the boys hands (his thenar eminences), feeling the very flow of his red blood cells in his artery veins as she pondered more of what would only be assumed to be some omen for his future or a past life from his father’s (whoever he is) side of Bluudude’s family. “I see a man, dressed in dyes of the earth at dusk, and I see a woman in colorless wools; a cart pulled by onAGers,” she goes, “in a vast city of mudbrick and bitumen, glazed clays and linens galore! The fabric, long, in rolls; textile merchants, these are….” Her gaze deepens as she continues tracing the lines in his palms, her cold brass fingers pressing down with precise intent. C00lkidd shivers beside Bluudude, his black eyes wide and uncertain as he watches the strange predictions unfold. The temperature in the room has dropped so severely now that the cold bites at their exposed skin, yet Narcaus herself feels warm as she bends over the boy's hands. "And I see…a great evil stirring in this place," she murmurs, the metallic edge in her words turning suddenly sharper. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the air near Bluudude's face as if searching for fear. "A serpent hidden beneath the sands, waiting to strike. Blood will flow in the streets soon…. Ah, yesss, I remember that daaaay; hardly any survivors from my little-er-'RAMpage' against TELAMON! I see a baby, swaddled in blue fabric-wools or linens-and the carnage begins; tremors into the ground, chasms forming to swallow cities! Mountains, crumbling, tossing heavy stones onto people and buildings! I see the woman, now, she hands her baby to a farmer in a cloth around his waist in brown-no, not a farmer-! She hands her baby to a slave! The slave, he runs, fast like a cheetah runs for a herd of gazelle!" The boys’ hearts pound in their chests as Narcaus describes the horrors she sees in the future. They can picture the serpent waiting to strike, the streets filled with bloody carnage. The room feels like it is freezing over, and they can see their own breath coming out in visible puffs of white steam.

“He runs, the slave, to a poor village in the marshes; miles from the event, so many miles, miles become more than hours.” She tells them. “I see people, dark as he, but unlike he they are free, and he stops at a couple who herds donkeys and grow barley and dates and tend to the reeds to craft with. He hands them the child, they offer him payment for his freedom, but the slave refuses; he instead leaves with a reed boat, a donkey, new clothes and a cloth wrapped over bread, fruit and beer. The farmers take in the orphaned infant. This, is your ancestor.”

The air around them stills like the moment before a storm breaks. The boys can see their breath in sharp little puffs, can feel the cold seeping through the floorboards into their bare feet. Her third eye pulses, spinning like a mad top against the black sclera of her face, watching them in ways no normal person could. Bluudude's palms still tingle where her brass claws traced the lines of his fate. Narcaus straightens, her wings flexing slightly, sending a gust of cold air through the room. "You are not the first," she purrs, her tongue flicking out to taste the space beside his cheek. "Nor will you be the last to walk this path. Your ancestor lived a humble life; but come an age of work hardest, he took humility for granted!" Icy stalactites formed on the ceiling with those words! “Like a sore on the inside of the mouth, hard with seed and puss. That is pride, forming. Your paternal ancestor, at 12, works harder than others, it fuels his need for higher living. His care of work and looks intertwine, perfectionism beyond normalcy, girls swoon but he treats them like chattel. 14, he inherits from his dying step-father, and takes that and a cart pulled by donkeys to traverse beyond the marshland for the first city he lays eyes upon for the first time in his life!” The boys are left speechless at the revelation, their thoughts swirling with the mysterious and intense tale. Bluudude's palms still tingled where Narcaus' brass claws traced the lines of his fate, and the air in the room still feels icy, the cold seeping through the floorboards and their bare feet. Narcaus' third eye pulses, spinning like a mad top, watching them in ways that no normal person could. She straightens, her wings flexing slightly, and a gust of cold air fills the room. She smiles mysteriously, and her tongue flicks out to taste the air next to the boy's cheek. But it all recedes once she lets go and opens her other eyes at the sound of the door opening and the Don and his goons returning. "Dumpling, I'm home!" the Don calls out to Narcaus, the scent of food and the sound of crinkling paper bags with him. "I brought lunch on the way back, you boys run on down here and wash up before ya dig in!" The boys jump at the sound of the Don's voice, startled and relieved that they no longer have to endure the intense experience with Narcaus. They scramble out of the room, eager to get away from the lingering cold and the uneasy feeling the room still held. Little Bluudude shoots a cautious glance backwards before following C00lkidd out. Narcaus remain frozen in the office, her body still thrumming with the ice she left behind in the air. The Don hands the bags of food in his arms to Loretto, his usual broad smile fading as he surveys the temperature on his way up the stairs and making his way into his office to greet his sugar baby physically. "What the hell kind of fucking freezer did you two have in there?" he grumbles, pushing past to enter the room. The frost on the walls glistens in the dim light as he moves closer to Narcaus. "Careful, darling," she purrs, stretching like a cat in his shadow. "My stories always leave such…chills." He figured it a literalized humor, and chuckled at her little joke. "I can tell." He looks at her beside his desk, smiling calmly, before opening the drawer and taking out the red book.

"They messed with it?"

"Yes. Bluudude, against C00lkidd's better judgements."

"Hm…" the Don merely takes his red pen, opens to that tampered page, and scribbles the brown colored pencil mess out with it, before putting it all back to whence it came. "Vito!" he calls out to his soldier. "Give him what he got him!" The soldier, tall and beefy man with tattoos running down his bare arms, nods and starts walking towards the kitchen. Bluudude and C00lkidd, now seated at the table as they wait for their food, watch with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. They aren't quite sure what to expect. Vito grabs hold of a single plastic bag, and fishes out two items to hand out to Bluudude and C00lkidd each: a blue notebook and red notebook with blue ink and red ink pens, respectively. “Compliments from the boss,” Vito tells them, “but, uh, don’t write in his stuff again,” he pats them both on each a shoulder “‘kay?” The boys' jaws drop as they receive the notebooks. They expected a much heavier punishment for messing with the Don's stuff, but instead, they get a warning and some new notebooks to jot down their thoughts. They nod, eyes wide with disbelief. Narcaus was impressed by how composed the Don was being. "I was talking with the Spectre, and uh," and there it was, the reason why! "Well, first he said you were his 'ex-wife'. Secondly, he's willing to talk to ya here, soon, about letin' ya go." Narcaus' face goes cold, colder than the air in the room. Her brass fingers twitch at her sides as the Don lounges near her, his words hanging between them like a blade suspended mid-strike. The boys downstairs scramble to arrange the sandwiches on the coffee table, their whispered confusion a distant hum compared to the storm gathering in Narcaus' chest. "Let go?" she murmurs, testing the words like they might be poisoned. Her wings tighten slightly against her back, not folding—never folding—but tension rippling through the feathers like wind over lake water. The Don leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out with deliberate ease. "Yeah. Y'know, go free, more than likely." Narcaus feels her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe the Don's words. "What do you mean, free?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. The boys downstairs have stopped moving, their ears straining to hear the conversation upstairs.

Chapter Text

“It was so nice of Mafioso and Narcaus to look after C00lkidd for us, huh?” 007n7 pointed out to Noli in the quiet of the survivor’s lodge. Currently, it was just them. He turned to his old, former partner, unsure of what to say next. Carry on the conversation? Head to a different topic? “You think she’s…changing? I-I mean you’ve known her longer than the rest of us do, so maybe you can tell if-”

“Do not sigh,” Noli crones to quote, “for your enemy will hear and rejoice.” He took his hand into his, “Seven,” he says to him, “She is not prone to improvement. Whatever invisible forces say otherwise merely treat the universe like FANFICTION on the INTERNET.”

“…Yeah,” 007n7 responded as he held his head in his free hand. He wasn’t entirely convinced with Noli’s statement, despite the fact he’d known Narcaus longer - she seemed…off, since meeting Mafioso. “Sorry, just been thinking about stuff lately…I-” he stopped mid-sentence as he let out yet another sigh as he squeezed Noli’s hand. “Noli, I just…” he trailed off awkwardly and was clearly unsure of what to say next. "She worried you." Noli eventually went and took the words out of 007n7's mouth. "Because I thought she'd have you under her control for all eternity, and then you thought she killed me after destroying the Void Star." He pulled him in with an arm around his shoulder into his embrace in the near empty lodge. "She worried me, too. About you, Seven. About us. If there still is one, though…. There…There is one again, now, right? Seven?" 007n7 was a little stunned by the gesture but quickly composed himself and nodded silently. With a slow hesitation, he gently wrapped both arms around Noli and pulled him a little closer. "Yeah…yes. Definitely one now." he responded, almost a whisper. He took a moment to just rest his head against Noli’s chest, taking in a deep breath as he did so. Small heat formed in their faces; the heat matched in their crotchlines. 007n7 looked up at Noli and Noli looked down at 007n7, their eyes lined with the same glistening idea: they were alone in the survivor's lodge, Mafioso and Narcaus were babysitting C00lkidd…they could 'rekindle their old college days', right now in 007n7's room upstairs, no distractions or tiptoeing around. "Are…" 007n7 swallowed hard in his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing before he regained composer between forming sweat from his brow line, "Are you…thinking what I'm thinking, Noli?" he asks. A smirk formed on the left side of Noli's face. "Oh, absolutely." He responded, his tone almost purring. He gently lifted his hand to gently run his fingers through 007n7’s hair, his white eyes burning with that all too familiar hunger, the desire that he had long since missed. "We have the entire place to ourselves after all…" he murmured, his gaze locked onto 007n7’s. "No distractions." 007n7 seemed to melt into Noli's touch, his eyes closing as he leaned his head into his hand. He could feel his face heat up even more under Noli's gaze, his own desire for him growing stronger with every passing moment. He reached up, grasping Noli's wrist gently as he felt a shiver run down his spine. "It's…been far too long…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Noli's fingers remain soft and loving in the other man's hair as his other hand slides down to rest against the small of 007n7's back, pressing him flush against him. The hard ridge in his pants presses against the man's thigh, leaving no doubt about his intentions. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask," he purrs, lips brushing against 007n7's ear as he speaks. His breath is warm against his skin, making him shudder. His teeth graze the delicate shell of his ear before he nips lightly at it, pulling a soft whimper from his throat. "L-Let's do it in my room upstairs!" 007n7 sounded frantic, like he knew he was rusty but was too much a chicken to admit it, and Noli chuckled softly as he pressed a kiss to 007n7’s forehead, his own voice low and sultry. "Of course." He responded, his hand sliding down to rest on 007n7’s hip, pulling him closer. "Lead the way." He murmured, his gaze never leaving the other's. He felt the heat and excitement building within him. It had definitely been far too long since he'd been with anyone like this, let alone someone he cared about. As they ascended the stairs to 007n7’s room, Noli couldn't help but run his fingers gently up under the edge of 007n7’s shirt…. The first thing he does when they enter his room is walk over to every picture of his beloved son and flip them around (if they were hung on the wall) or over (if they were on dressers, etc.), 007n7 then peeked through the blinds and then shut them tightly with a quick tug of their cords as Noli casually shut the door behind himself. 007n7 took off his cheeseburger hat and set it down on the dresser, his little hat buddy Noobie knowing the drill and stretching up on all eight of his thin, spindly, spidery legs to descend from the hat and into a little makeshift house 007n7 made him one day. 007n7 then turned to Noli as he wrapped his arms around the man and planted his lips in soft kisses onto his; no tongue, no biting, just…this. "You're cute when you're flustered," he purred, one hand finding its way into his hair again. "No need to be so nervous, love." He murmured, gently running his fingers through the other man's locks.

His breath is quick against Noli's lips, his fingers still gentle in their hair, his body warm and solid beneath his hands. The heat between them has only grown since ascending the stairs, and now there's no holding back—no one to interrupt, no C00lkidd to entertain, no distractions. Just the two of them, just like old times. "Seven," Noli murmurs, his words warm and deep as he pulls 007n7 closer by the nape of his neck. His other hand slides down to grip his hip, guiding him back until their legs bump against the edge of the bed. His gaze burns into theirs, filled with everything unsaid in the weeks since they reunited. "You feel like home." 007n7 takes his hands to his necktie and unraveled it before Noli leans down into another kiss and proceeds to remove his vest and undershirt for him, revealing the years of parenthood on 007n7's body; the bravado of a hacker replaced with kneadable dough from a single father. Noli's gaze never leaves 007n7 as his eyes trace every detail, every contour, of his frame. There's a slight hint of surprise in his expression, but it's quickly overtaken by a mix of nostalgia and desire. He reaches out, running his hands over the other man's chest, feeling the softness and warmth of his flesh beneath his fingertips, and the light trail of chair that nestled in between the bottom of the slight doughiness of his pectorals. "You're even more beautiful than I remember," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands continue to explore, mapping out the changes time has made upon his body. 007n7's breath catches as Noli's hands roam across his skin, his fingers tracing the lines of his body with a familiarity that makes his pulse quicken. He can feel his face flushing as Noli's thumbs brush over his nipples, sending little jolts of pleasure through him. "N-Noli…" he stammers, his voice unsteady, his hands coming up to rest on the older man's shoulders. Noli notices the slight tremble in 007n7's fingers and leans down to capture his lips in a kiss, more forceful this time, his tongue sliding against 007n7's as his hands continue their exploration before 007n7 took to his pants and briefs, pulling them down to his knees before scooting his body fully onto his bed, the weight alone of the two of them on top of one another messing up the quadrilateral patterned forest and pine green top sheets of 007n7's bed, the wood gave a small creak to welcome the sudden shift of load. Noli parted from their loving kiss before undoing his own pants, revealing his own half-hardened member as the cool air from the AC made it slowly stiffen in front of 007n7's soft light brown eyes. But Noli didn't do anything next, which was confusing to say the least. After all, Noli was always on top, and 007n7 was the submissive bottom, in the bedroom.

"Is…everything…alright? Noli?" 007n7 asked him with a kind voice and expression on his pale face. Noli rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and the half of his body that was engulfed in binary code began to spazz a little; glitch a little, from his sudden shyness. "Listen, I've been getting d-d-D—W0EJW9U9U44—EEROR.404—icked down by a woman with two cocks for the past 100,,000000,000,0,00000,0000,000000.314!! years, so…I've…it's been a while, okay, Seven, I haven't been the one on top since, eeeh…" Noli breathed in through his teeth and rubbed the back of his head with one of his binary soaked hands, "yeeeeeeeaaaaaah." 007n7 raises his eyebrows slightly, surprise flickering across his face before a soft, understanding smile forms. He reaches up to take Noli's hand, pulling it gently from the back of his neck. His thumb brushes over Noli's palm in small, soothing circles as he meets his eyes. "It's okay," he murmurs, his words gentle. "We can take it as slow as we need it to be." He gives Noli's hand a light squeeze before guiding it to rest against his chest. The warmth of his skin beneath Noli's fingers feels grounding, steady. He shifts slightly under Noli, making space for them to settle more comfortably against him. Noli's expression softens as he lets out a sigh of relief, his previous sense of uncertainty melting away under 007n7's touch. He shifts his position, pressing more of his weight onto him as he rests his hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. "I'm just…nervous," he admits, his voice filled with vulnerability. He swallows hard, his gaze flickering between 007n7's eyes and his own hand on his chest, as if afraid to meet his gaze. "I haven't been in this role…in a long, long while." 007n7 tilts his head slightly, brushing a lock of Noli's hair back from his forehead with his free hand. "I get it," he says softly. "But you don't need to be nervous with me." His fingers trace gentle circles against Noli's scalp now, just above his temple. "We can do whatever feels right. No pressure." He shifts again, spreading his legs slightly to make room for Noli between them. The soft heat of his body beneath Noli's is reassuring, grounding. Noli exhales shakily as he feels himself being guided into a more dominant position, his confidence slowly returning as he felt his tip brushing up to rear in front of 007n7's tight, yearning asshole. 007n7's breath hitches as he feels the press of Noli's tip against his rear, the sudden sensation sending a shiver through him. He reaches out, grasping Noli's biceps with his hands, steadying himself. His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, his words a mere whisper. "Please…go slow. It's…been a while for me, too." Noli nods, pressing a gentle kiss to 007n7's forehead before slowly, carefully pressing forward. His tip eases past the tight ring of muscle, pausing as 007n7's breathing hitches. "You okay?" he murmurs, his words rough with concern and desire. 007n7 nods, his grip on Noli's arms tightening as he adjusts to the new sensation. "Y-yeah…just…go slow…please…" His breath comes in short gasps as Noli pushes forward, inch by careful inch, until he's fully sheathed inside him. Noli's movements are slow and measured, his breath hitching softly as he pushes himself the rest of the way into the tight squeeze around him. He leans down slightly, gently nudging 007n7's chin with his nose, trying to catch his gaze. "Look at me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes search 007n7's face for any signs of discomfort, his concern for him obvious. 007n7 opens his eyes, dark with emotion, and when they connect with Noli's, it's like something inside him uncoils. His breathing steadies, his grip on Noli's arms loosening just slightly. "I'm okay," he murmurs, speaking softly but sure. "It just…feels so good, Noli." He arches his back slightly, pressing himself more firmly against Noli, seeking more of him.

Noli lets out a soft groan at the movement, his hips jerking instinctively as 007n7's body welcomes him deeper. Noli takes a deep breath, his eyes closing briefly as he tries to reign in the primal urge coursing through him. 007n7's words, the sight of him beneath him, eager and ready, is enough to drive him wild. But he wants to savor this moment, to make it last. He leans down, his lips finding 007n7's again in a soft, tender kiss. "You feel so good," he murmurs against his mouth, his words thick with desire. Noli's breath warms 007n7's skin as he speaks, his hands sliding from Noli's biceps down to his waist, then around to his back, pulling him closer. He can feel every inch of Noli's body against him, the heat of his skin, the solid strength of his frame, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through him. His fingers trace patterns along Noli's back, his touch growing bolder as he moves from apprehension to arousal. "M-more," he whispers, nuzzling against Noli's neck, his teeth grazing lightly at the sensitive skin there. Noli shivers at the gentle bite, his hips instinctively pushing forward. His movements become more fluid now, each thrust slow and deliberate, meant to draw out the pleasure for both of them. His hands roam across 007n7's now plush and plumped body, tracing the contours of his muscles, the softness of his skin. 007n7's breath comes in short, ragged gasps, his body arching up to meet Noli's thrusts. His nails dig lightly into Noli's back, leaving faint marks as evidence of his passion. "Noli…yes…like that…" he moans, his head thrown back, exposing the long line of his throat. Noli groans at the encouragement, his pace quickening slightly as he watches 007n7's face contort with pleasure. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along 007n7's collarbone, teeth grazing over the delicate skin there. The taste of his sweat, the heat of his body beneath Noli's lips drives him wild. One hand slides up to tangle in 007n7's hair, gently tilting his head back to expose more of his throat. "You're so beautiful like this," Noli murmurs, the words thick with need as he nips at the sensitive junction between neck and shoulder. 007n7's breath hitches at the words, at the possessive touch of Noli's hand in his hair. "Only for you," he gasps, the words tumbling out in a rush of desire and emotion. His body responds to Noli's touch, arching up to meet him, craving more of the sensations that are building deep within him. His nails dig deeper into Noli's back, leaving red marks that throb with every beat of his heart. "Please," he whispers, the single word holding a world of need and want. Noli's breath catches at the raw need in 007n7's voice. He feels his control slipping, the slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts faltering as pleasure coils tight in his gut. His grip tightens in 007n7's hair, holding him still as he increases his pace, driving into him harder now, each movement sending intense tremors through both their bodies. 007n7's back arches off the bed, his legs wrapping around Noli's waist to pull him deeper, his moans growing louder as the friction builds.

"You feel me inside you?" Noli growls, his voice thick with hunger. 007n7 swallows hard, the sound of Noli's voice, rough with desire, sends shivers down his spine. "Yes," he gasps, his own voice ragged with need. He tightens his legs around Noli's waist, pulling him as close as possible, his nails raking down his back, leaving trails of red heat in their wake. "I feel you," he moans, the words barely able to form, consumed by the sensations coursing through him. His body moves in a desperate dance, arching up to meet Noli's every thrust, his hands grasping at the sheets as if holding onto the last shreds of his sanity. The pressure builds deep inside him, coiling tighter and tighter with each movement. His mouth falls open in a silent cry as pleasure surges through him, his body tightening around Noli. Noli's movements stutter as he feels 007n7's walls clench around him, his own release building rapidly. He watches 007n7's face, captivated by the expression of pure ecstasy crossing it. "Say my name, Seven," he murmurs, voice rough and deep. His thrusts become more erratic, chasing his own pleasure even as he wants to prolong this moment. "Say it."

"N-, Noli," 007n7 manages to choke out, his body trembling with need before he begins to whimper, his voice broken and desperate as his hand tangles in Noli's hair, clutching at him as if he can't bear to let go. The name spills from his lips, a broken plea, as his body tenses, every muscle rigid with the intense pleasure coursing through him. Noli's movements become more frantic, driven by 007n7's desperate cries and the tight heat surrounding him. He leans down, capturing 007n7's lips in a searing kiss as his climax hits him, muffling the moans of ecstasy that escape his throat. 007n7's body arches up to meet Noli's, his hands gripping Noli's shoulders tightly as he rides out his own intense orgasm. "LOUDER!" 007n7 doesn't hesitate, doesn't think. The command in his words sends a rush through him, awakening something deep in his gut—something primal, something that makes his body respond before their mind can catch up. "Noli~!!" 007n7 would gasp between thrusts, the syllables drawn out and guttural as their body surges with the aftershocks of his climax. His nails dig into Noli's shoulders, scoring red lines down his skin as his hips jerk upward uncontrollably, trying to take him deeper even as he becomes overstimulated beyond thought. He groans at the sting of 007n7's nails, his thrusts becoming erratic, uncontrolled as he chases his own release. "Again," he growls, his voice low and breathless as he stares down at 007n7 with dark, glinting eyes. "Say my name again, Seven! Tell me how much you missed getting dicked down by this RAGING SEMEN-PUMPER!" The air is thick with the musk of arousal and sweat as 007n7 gasps out another loud, ecstatic "NOLI! Oh god Noli!!" in response, his body quivering beneath his, completely at Noli's mercy as he began to slam into him with reckless abandon, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room. He feels so tight, so perfect around him, milking every last drop as he writhes and moans his name like a prayer. 007n7's climax approaches, a massive build-up that leaves him panting and shaking as Noli thrusts deeper, faster, their body moving of its own accord, their cock aching for release as he chases his high. Noli's words fuel the fire raging inside him, sending a surge of possessive desire through him at the sound of his own name on 007n7's lips. His pace becomes ruthless, his fingers digging into 007n7's hips as he drives into him, seeking that release that threatens to consume them both. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of 007n7's ear as he growls, "You. Are. Mine." The words are possessive; a claim laid upon the quivering body beneath him.

His release was beyond satisfaction for the both of them, and the aftermath was intense and beautiful. Their bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, their chests heaving as they attempted to catch their breath. Their limbs were tangled together, their hands gently tracing patterns across each other's skin as they remained connected, neither willing to part just yet.

[meanwhile]

“Ichabod,” Narcaus uttered his name to him again as she made it within to his domain, all but darkness and themselves, and the echoing of her voice. “The Don told me you wanted to negotiate?” she inquired. “About my freedom?” she fixes her long blonde hair with light fluffing, her massive breasts swishing about with her arms’ movements. “Annoyed by my presence again already?” she goes as the Spectre turns to look down upon her tiny body, “You should’ve just revived me back into the surface world so I’d be able to get my plan of taking everything over and bringing forth the Third Era in right then and there after what TAPH did to me in MY domain! Instead of playing some dumb, random game of 4D chess.” Narcaus crosses her arms and pouts at the man, “I am no pawn, you know.” She says to him sourly. The Spectre loomed over her, almost as if they were looking down on her with a hint of annoyance. They found themselves amused by her attitude, but their expression remained emotionless and almost bored. “You’re certainly a character, Narcaus.” The Spectre replied in a cold, calculating voice. “But you’re right, you’re no pawn. And neither am I.” The Spectre moved closer, almost threatening in presence. “But let’s make something clear. I am in control here. Your ‘freedom’ is a privilege, not a given.” The Spectre continued to regard Narcaus with a cool gaze, sizing her up in a way that felt both assessing and unnerving. "You're a powerful and ambitious woman, that much is clear," they stated, their tone flat and even. "But power and ambition don't mean much without the resources and strategy to back it up, no?" The Spectre stepped closer, the air around them almost crackling with a sense of danger. "And while I appreciate your passion, let's not forget who has the upper hand here. I control the game. Not you."

"Yeah, yeah," she scoffs uncaringly, "You've been that way since we first met first married and first divorced. Now what'd you suppose you wish to charter into my waters, Ichabod-first born pact, blood deal, something around that area?" Two giant, pillowy breasts plant themselves against her shoulders from behind, and Narcaus looks up to the downward gaze of the red glowing eyes of a feminized 1x1x1x1 with her bimbofied minions flanked on both sides of her. "24 hours," the Spectre says to Narcaus. "Just us on top, and you on the bottom…for once in your life."

"Nope." She goes shaking her head as she unconsciously massages 1x1x1x1's freakishly larger than thou boobs and nipples with her metal hands. "I promised Daddy Don I wouldn't fuck around with other guys no more. No cunnilingus, no oral, none of the ole' 6-9, not even plain, bland missionary's excused." The Spectre couldn't help but scoff at her refusal, their expression hardening with annoyance. "You're really going to let some pact with the Don hold you back, hm?" they said coolly, their voice low and dangerous. "You're willing to pass up an opportunity for power and control just because of some agreement with a mortal human?" The Spectre circled around her, their gaze never leaving her form. "Are you really that easily intimidated? Or are you simply going SOFT?" She pauses mid massage of 1x1x1x1's massive pillowy tits and gives him a hard stare. "Excuse you?" The Spectre chuckled, a hint of mockery in their tone. "Oh, did I strike a nerve?" they inquired, continuing to circle her like a predator stalking its prey. "I apologize if me calling you out on your weakness is offensive, but it's simply the truth." The Spectre's voice lowered, their gaze narrowing as they looked down at her. "You’ve always prided yourself on your power, your prowess. But what use is all of that if you’ll let some silly agreement keep you from taking what you truly want?" The Spectre stopped in front of her, their face mere inches from hers. "Or perhaps there's something you're not telling me. Could it be that you're afraid?" They leaned closer still. "Are you actually more of a coward than I thought? Or perhaps," he lifts her up against 1x1x1x1's enveloping tits and spreads her pussy wide before his cock, "you simply need some encouragement~?" She feels the Spectre's grip tighten around her waist, his cool fingers pressing into her flesh as he lifts her effortlessly, holding Narcaus aloft between the crushing pillows of 1x1x1x1's enormous breasts. His massive cock presses against her exposed pussy, the tip already glistening with precum. "Ah~, so that's your move," she'd purr, resisting the urge to squirm against him. "Think you can just manhandle me into submission? Force me into some desperate little bimbo who can't think straight?" Narcaus rolls her neck lazily, stretching her arms behind herself to let her smooth metallic fingers tease at the edges of 1x1x1x1's areolas. The Spectre chuckles, his grip on her waist becoming almost bruising. "Oh, my dear Narcaus, isn't that what you've always been deep down?" he taunts, his words low and cruel. "You hide behind all that power and ambition, but beneath that facade you're nothing but a needy little woman who craves attention and validation. Look at you now, grinding your dripping pussy against my cock like a desperate little thing." The Spectre tightens his grip on her even further, his face close to hers. "I know exactly what you truly want," he purrs. "You want to surrender. To give in to the feeling of complete domination. To let go of all that control and just exist in the moment of overwhelming pleasure." His words were smooth and taunting as he presses his tip harder against her clit, rolling his hips slightly. "But you won't admit it, will you?" he continues. "You won't say what you really want out loud." Narcaus grits her teeth, forcing a smirk even as her body betrays her with little tremors. "Oh please," she says breathlessly, though her words lack their usual confidence. "If I wanted it, I wouldn't hesitate. But I don't. Not for you. Not now and not ever again." The Spectre's eyes flash with cold, calculating amusement. "So stubborn, even now," he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension. "Is that how you really feel, or are you just convincing yourself that you don't want it?" The Spectre leans in closer, his words like a razor-sharp edge. "Let me make one thing clear," he says, his tone hardening, "I will get what I want from you. And I promise, it will involve a lot of pleasure." She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "Missing your ex wifey, Ichy~," she crones, shuttering a little as he only lets his tip slither its way inside of her wet entry and meagerly sit there in waiting. "Alright, you got me…I am a little wagtail, as you and your brother Yorick have been calling me since the 1800s." She shifts slightly in his grip, adjusting her meaty hips as she presses down against his tip - not forcing him inside, but letting him feel how easily he could take her right then and there. The tip sits just inside her, pulsing, waiting. "Yorick was always the clever one," she began to muse, arching her back slightly, letting her weight sink more against the unbearable softness of 1x1x1x1's breasts. The Spectre doesn't move at first, just holds Narcaus there in this slow torment of proximity, of what could be. "Clever enough to see through all my little mind games," she'd continue, tilting her head back to meet his stare. "Unlike you. You were not strong enough to follow through." The Spectre's eyes darken even more at her words, his jaw tensing with displeasure as he struggles to control his emotions. "You think I didn't see through your little games?" he hisses, his voice cold and unyielding. "I saw everything. I just chose not to let it control me." Despite his words, the Spectre's cock can't help but twitch inside her, betraying his true desire in spite of his anger. “Don't underestimate me, woman.”

"…24 hours, you said?" Narcaus asked. The Spectre's eyes narrow, his gaze hardening. "Yes," he responds, his voice low and calculated. "24 hours to do with you as I please." The Spectre's grip on her waist tightens even more, his body tensing as he awaits her response. "And I condone it so long as the families go with me and Daddy Don and his men back to the surface realm?" she asks. The Spectre raises an eyebrow at her words, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Is that all you want?" he inquires, his voice almost taunting. "You're willing to give me free reign to do as I please for 24 hours, just for some favors involving the majority of my contained forsakened souls and the mafia boss?" The Spectre's grip relaxes slightly, a hint of curiosity in his expression. "You're either extremely desperate or completely mad. Maybe both."

“I have, admittedly, encountered certain trajectories of mortal living.” Narcaus admits to him in a sultry voice. “And as confusing as it is to an immortal being much like myself, I’ve seemed to have found the content luxury of life from it as I had in my forlorn realm being pampered ear tuff to toenail by my followers over the centuries.” The Spectre's eyebrow raises yet again at her words, an almost amused expression crossing his face. "You've grown fond of living among mortals," he observes, his tone holding a hint of mockery. "How adorable. But let me ask you this, Narcaus. Are you really prepared for this bargain? You'll be giving me complete control for 24 hours. You'll be at my mercy, completely at the whims of my desires." The Spectre leans in closer, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Ichabod, darling, when we were married, we've performed seance orgies back since the start of the late 1700s," she chastises, "The Don may be 12-inches and 1x over here might be 9, but I've got shoved into the mattress by your 15-inch black licorice stick enough to-" he sheaths it halfway in in the middle of her rabbling to shut her up. The Spectre's grip tightens as he slowly pushes his massive length deeper inside Narcaus, stretching her to her limits making her let out sharp, involuntarily gasps, her body tensing as he fills her completely whilst 1x1x1x1's soft breasts squish beneath her back, cradling her as she became impaled. "Mmmm, how many times have I made you scream like this?" the Spectre purrs, his breath hot against Narcaus's twitching raposa ear. "You were always so loud, so eager for more." Her muscles quiver around him, struggling to adjust to his enormous size. "You've always been a chatterbox, haven't you?" he continues, his tone almost mocking. "But you know what they say about people who talk too much? They tend to talk themselves into trouble." The Spectre gives Narcaus no time to catch her breath, his powerful hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles as he fills her completely, stretching Narcaus in ways that make her vision blur at the edges. His fingers dig into her soft waist, leaving bruises that will linger for weeks to come. Every inch of him is hot and unyielding, and Narcaus feels every throb of his cock deep inside her. The damp heat of 1x1x1x1's massive breasts surrounds Narcaus's back, her pillowy flesh molding to her body as the Spectre moves. "Look at you," he murmurs against her ear, his voice rough with restrained hunger. The Spectre's breath is hot against Narcaus's ear as he speaks, his voice low and commanding. "Oh, you like this, don't you?" he continues. "You like the way I fill you up and stretch you out, like a little toy for my pleasure. You've always loved it. You may act all high and mighty, but deep down, you're just a little brat who loves to be used." The Spectre's fingers dig even deeper into her flesh, adding to the existing bruises that mar her skin. "You know what else brats like?" he asks, his tone almost condescending. "They like punishment. And that's exactly what you're going to get." With that, the Spectre pulls out almost completely before slamming back in with a force that rocks Narcaus's entire body, sending waves of intense pleasure through her core. The Spectre sets a punishing pace, his hips moving in powerful, controlled thrusts that leave Narcaus gasping and whimpering. Her muscles quiver around him, desperately trying to accommodate his massive size as he fills her completely. The Spectre's grip on her waist is bruising, but it only adds to the intensity of the experience. The Spectre's grip on her waist grows even more brutal, his fingers digging into her flesh as he holds her in place, using her like a toy for his own pleasure. His hard hips slam into her, his every brutal force sending jolts of ecstasy through Narcaus's body. "You're so tight," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "So hot and slick for me. You know what you are, don't you? You're my little toy. My little plaything. And I'm going to use you however I desire for these 24 long, lustful hours~." The Spectre's voice drips with dark amusement as he moves inside Narcaus, his massive cock stretching her impossibly further with every brutal thrust. The wet sounds of his movements fill the entirety of the map, mingling with Narcaus's gasps and the gentle moans of 1x1x1x1 squirming beneath her. Her soft body cushions their every impact, her pillowy flesh yielding as Narcaus's body is repeatedly slammed into hers. "You're fucking soaked for me," the Spectre murmurs against Narcaus's ear, his hot breath sending tremors through her sensitive skin before his teeth graze her lobe; and before he sucks it into his mouth, his tongue flicking teasingly.

The Spectre's mouth moves from her ear to the softness of her neck, his lips sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks and hickeys in their path. His teeth graze against her throat, nipping at the flesh, as his tongue lulls over the forming marks in a rough yet soothing motion. With every brutal thrust, the Spectre's fingers dig deeper into her flesh, as if marking her as his own "You like this, don't you? Being used like a little toy? A little plaything for me. And you're mine for these next 24 hours. Completely and utterly mine for the taking~!" His teeth sink into the junction of her neck and shoulder, holding her firmly in place as his hips piston into her with relentless force. The room fills with the slick sounds of their union, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the stone walls. Narcaus's body feels alive in ways it hasn't in centuries, every nerve ending on fire as he fills her beyond what should be possible. The stretch burns in the most delicious way, his girth forcing her walls to flutter around him involuntarily. Narcaus can feel him throbbing inside her, his massive cock pulsing with the need to fill her completely. "Oh yes, baby," he growls against your skin, his teeth still grazing your neck. "You're mine, Narcaus," the Spectre growls against the softness of her neck, his teeth still grazing her skin. "And don't you forget it." His words echo with a possessive, dominating edge, his voice tinged with an almost cruel pleasure as he continues to fill her up. "You're mine for the next 24 hours, and I'm going to make sure you remember that." He nips at her earlobe once more, his lips tracing a path down to her chin before he captures her mouth in a deep, dominating kiss and the taste of him—dark and spicy, like aged wine and something dangerously intoxicating—floods her senses as he explores every inch of Narcaus's mouth. His hands release her hips for just a moment, only to grip her face with rough intensity, holding them in place as he continues the brutal kiss, growling against Narcaus's lips, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against hers. He breaks the kiss only to trail his tongue along her jaw, biting down where her neck meets her shoulder with enough force to leave a bruise. The Spectre's grip on her face is rough, almost possessive as he continues to kiss and suck at her neck, his mouth moving down to her collarbone before nipping at the sensitive skin of her shoulder. His teeth graze her flesh, hard enough to leave a mark, before he turns his attention to her ear, his tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive flesh as he whispers, "Who do you belong to?" His words are a command, his tone almost demanding as he continues his assault on her body. He growls against Narcaus's ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. "Say it." His grip on her face tightens, his other hand moving from her hip to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her long hair. "Say my name, Narcaus~." The Spectre's voice is demanding, his tone dark and commanding as he whispers in her ear. "Say it," he repeats, his hand tightening around the nape of her neck. "Tell me who you belong to. Say my name." His body presses tightly against hers, his muscled form enveloping her, as he continues to fill her up, his every move calculated and ruthless. "You know who owns you. Say my name and be a good toy."

"Ahh~, Ichabod~!"

The Spectre grins, his expression smug and satisfied as he hears his name upon her lips. "That's a good girl," he praises, his voice a low rumble as he continues to fill her, his every move measured and precise. "Say it again. Louder." He growls against Narcaus's ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh once more. "Say it, Narcaus. I want to hear you scream my name as I fill you up~!" The Spectre's grip returns to her doughy hips and he lifts her up out of 1x1x1x1's pillow tits and onto the ground with her lower abdomen high in the air as he begins drilling his massive cock in and out of her, "Ichabod~! Ichabod, Ichabod; oh, Ichabod~, fill meee~!" Narcaus cries out as he continues pounding into her throbbing and desperately wet and filled cunt, 1x1x1x1 going to face standing above Narcaus's face with her back facing the Spectre, her hands spreading her ginormous ass cheeks wide to expose her wet, glowing pussy before she plants herself down on Narcaus, aimed so she would end up eaten out by her. "That's my good little toy," the Spectre purrs, watching as 1x1x1x1 plants herself on top of Narcaus's face, her ass cheeks spread wide to expose her glowing pussy to her. He gives her a slap on the ass before pressing his thumb into the sensitive flesh of her cheek, his eyes locked on the scene before him. "Keep her mouth occupied for me, won't you?" he orders, his tone hard. His hands grip her thighs hard enough to bruise as he continues his relentless pace, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. Above Narcaus, 1x1x1x1 grinds her dripping pussy against her face, her massive ass pressing down to smother her in her sweet musk. The Spectre watches with dark amusement as their nose and mouth are buried in her folds, her thick thighs trapping their head in place. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, slamming into Narcaus with even more force, his cock twitching inside her as he feels her walls flutter around him. "She's got you right where she wants you, doesn't she?" The Spectre's words are filled with a sly smugness, his tone teasing as he speaks. "Looks like you're enjoying yourself, my little plaything," he murmurs, his gaze locked on the scene before him. The sight of her mouth and nose buried in 1x1x1x1's mound, her face enveloped by her flesh, was a sight to behold. Their tongue flickered out, exploring her folds, her sweet and musky taste filling their senses. Above Narcaus, she moans and rocks her hips, grinding her wetness against Narcaus's mouth and nose, her ass cheeks trembling as she bounces, the soft flesh jiggling with every movement. Narcaus can feel the Spectre's massive cock splitting her open, stretching them impossibly wide as he thrusts, each movement sending intense waves of pleasure-pain through Narcaus's body. His hands are iron vises on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pounds into her without mercy. His load was tremendous, long streams shooting out into her lusting hole, filling Narcaus so much some of it began to drip out of her stretched, filled to the brim cunt in slithering lumps of batter textured glue. The Spectre pulls out, and then proceeds to give Narcaus's asshole the same treatment as she continued eating out 1x1x1x1, the bimbofied minions of the feminized embodiment of hatred beginning to take to pleasuring themselves as their mistress's and the Spectre's entertainment, getting down on their hands and their thick, wide thighed knees, and pressing their asses and exposed cunts together to rub and plap and twerk on each other's stretched bubbled rears. The Spectre's eyes darken with desire as the sight before him, his gaze flicking from the scene of Narcaus's face smothered in 1x1x1x1's mound to the minions pleasuring themselves together, their bodies grinding against each other in tantalizing motion. The air is thick with the smell of sex, the Spectre's expression growing even more amused as he watches their antics. He takes a moment to admire the view, his gaze settling on the sight of the minions once again. "Someone's enjoying themselves," he murmurs, his tone tinged with a subtle mockery.

The Spectre's eyes move to the rutting minions, watching them with dark amusement as they pleasure themselves. His cock is still thick and hard, pistoning itself within Narcaus's ass as he reaches down to grip the nearest minion's ass, giving it a rough squeeze before slapping it hard enough to leave a red handprint. The girl moans loudly, pressing her ass back into his hand as she grinds harder against her companion. "Look at you all," the Spectre purrs, running his hand across the curve of her ass before giving it another sharp slap. "All worked up from watching your mistress get used." He grabs one of them by their hair and pulls them closer to one of Narcaus's two limp cocks. "Suck it." he orders. "Suck it while she eats out your mistress and gets fucked in the ass by me!" The minion doesn't hesitate, wrapping her swollen, glossy lips around Narcaus's soft cock as instructed as Narcaus moans into 1x1x1x1's pussy, her vibrations making the larger woman shudder. The Spectre watches with dark satisfaction as he continues thrusting into Narcaus's ass, his grip on her hips bruising. He reaches around with one hand to tease her clit, pinching and rubbing roughly as he fucks her. "That's it," he growls in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Let them use you however they want." Her body is a canvas of pain and pleasure as the Spectre's massive cock stretches her ass beyond its limits, his thick shaft pulsing inside her as he pounds her without mercy. The slick slap of his hips against her bruised flesh echoes through the area as he thrusts, each movement driving her deeper into the soft folds of 1x1x1x1's pussy that smothers her face. The Spectre's hands are everywhere—one gripping Narcaus's hip hard enough to leave fingerprints, the other teasing Narcaus's swollen clit with cruel precision as 1x1x1x1 cums juices into Narcaus's mouth and onto her serpentine tongue, before standing up and letting one of the eager minions lay beside Narcaus to make out with her as she flipped herself over to her side, making the Spectre release his cock in steadfast motion from within her ass and let her legs grow limp against the dark gray grassy ground. The minion who makes out with Narcaus wraps her legs around her upper waist as the minion sucking her stiffening penis (now upside down from Narcaus's change of position) wraps hers around Narcaus's lower waist, rubbing their cunts together as they pleasure her and themselves and each other all at once. The scene becomes a tangle of flesh and limbs as the minions work together to pleasure and be pleasured by Narcaus while she gets used by the Spectre. The air is thick with the scent of sex, their bodies glistening with sweat as they move together in a dizzying dance of desire and pleasure. The Spectre watches with a dark smirk, his eyes roaming over the scene before him. "Look at you," he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Just a little toy for all of us to use, aren't you?"

He lays behind Narcaus and slides his massive 15-incher back inside her asshole, and began to fuck her from behind as they laid, the four of them, on the ground, the grass soft against their skin and the sensual odor of their pheromones wharfing in the air around them into hypnotic balls of swirling lights, color changing orbs like fireflies. The air is filled with the sound of their combined moans and pants, the four of them in a tangle of limbs and flesh. The orbs dancing around them, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene. The Spectre's grip on Narcaus's hip is tight as he pistons into her from behind, his massive member filling her up completely. The air is thick with the scent of sex, creating a heady atmosphere as the four of them move together in an erotic and primal dance. The Spectre's eyes lock on Narcaus as she removes herself from a slobbery kiss with the minion she was making out with, a smirk spreading across his face before he puts her into another one now between him and her. Narcaus's body aches in the most exquisite way as the Spectre's massive cock continues its relentless assault on her asshole, stretching her wider than she thought possible. The thick, hot length pistons in and out, each thrust dragging her further toward the brink of pleasure-pain as his hands roam their body—squeezing her tits, pinching her nipples, slapping her ass. Around them, the minions are equally lost in their own ecstasy, their bodies pressed together as they share Narcaus's flesh. The one beneath her moans as she grinds her soaking cunt against theirs, the one sucking her dick off shuttering from the stiffening in her throat all the way down to the nerves in her thick thighs clamped around their waist. The air is thick with the sound of the four of them, lost in their ecstasy and pleasure. The Spectre's thrusts quicken, his massive member filling up her ass, stretching her wider than she thought possible. The wetness of The other minions mixed with hers, The sound of their breathless moans filling the air as they move together. Her body aches and strains from the sensations, and for a moment it's the only thing that matters in the entire world. The only thing that exists in that moment is the heat and the pleasure and the sweat of all their bodies pressed together. The Spectre's teeth sink into the curve of Narcaus's shoulder as he fucks her harder, his large hands gripping her hips tightly, and her body shudders around him, her ass clenching as she feels him grow even thicker inside her. The minions beneath her grinds their hips up against each other's desperately, the one on top digging her fingers into Narcaus's back as she moans against hers and the other's skin. The pain and pleasure blend together into a dizzying mix, making her head feel fuzzy and light. She can't think clearly now, her body moving instinctively, responding to every touch and every movement. Her skin is hot and clammy to the touch, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. The four of them move together as one, their bodies writhing in a tangled mess of flesh and sinew. And for a moment, nothing else matters. Nothing except their sensations, their desires, their needs. The cum shooting down the throat of the minion that was sucking her off, the feeling of the Spectre filling her ass with webs of his hot cum till it pooled out from overfilling. They break the kiss as the cock sucking minion and the Spectre pull out of her and Narcaus rolls over the one minion and proceeds to fuck her tight wet cunt animalistically, the Spectre standing back up slightly and plow Narcaus's pussy on his knees whilst she pistoned into the minion's steamy cunt! The Spectre's massive cock fills Narcaus completely as he pounds into her dripping pussy from behind, his thick length stretching her wider than it had previously. Narcaus's body shudders beneath him as his hands grip her hips, pulling her back onto his cock with each powerful thrust as the minion beneath her cries out for more while Narcaus fucks her hard, her tight walls clenching around their cock as she arches her back in pleasure. The Spectre's breath is hot against her furry ear as he leans over Narcaus, his massive frame pressing her down onto the writhing body beneath. "That's it, little toy," he growls, his words dripping with dark satisfaction. "Fuck her like the greedy slut she is."

"Let me hear those little words you minions love to fucking say~!" Narcaus hisses to the minion as she continued to plow into their raging hot, tsunami wet vaginal hole!

"O-Oi, oi! Oi, oi~-OI, OI~!" the minion wailed! The minion was unable to speak after their climax, her body shaking with the force of their release. The sound of their words were unintelligible, drowned out by the Spectre's own grunts and groans of pleasure as he continued to slam into Narcaus's pussy, slamming into her from behind with a force that made her shiver with pleasure. The Spectre's grip on her hips was tight, his fingers leaving marks on her skin as her body convulsed in pleasure. And as Narcaus continued to ride the minion's thick wet cunt, the Spectre took the opportunity to lean down and whisper in her ear, "You really are a greedy little slut, aren't you?" His voice was rough, filled with desire and a hint of satisfaction. "Moan for us, let us hear how much you're enjoying this. This is just a taste of what I have in store for you, little toy." His words send shivers down Narcaus's back as his cock throbs inside her, ready to fill her up once again. The minion beneath Narcaus was writhing in ecstasy, their body slick with sweat as they took every thrust Narcaus gave them. Their fingers dug into Narcaus's back, nails scraping lightly against her skin as they clung to her. The Spectre's pace quickens, his massive cock stretching Narcaus's tight cunt with every deep thrust. The thick length drags against her inner walls, sending jolts of intense pleasure through her body. "F-Fuck! Fuck~!" The atmosphere was charged with tension as the pleasure and pain mixed, sending shockwaves through Narcaus's body with each thrust of the Spectre's thick shaft. She found herself lost in the sensations, as if her mind had taken a backseat to her body's uncontrollable reactions. The minion beneath her was in a similar state, crying out with pleasure as she rode her, her body trembling beneath Narcaus with each movement of their combined bodies. The Spectre's thick cum floods Narcaus's pussy, hot and thick as it spills inside her, mingling with the slickness of her own release. His hands tighten around Narcaus's hips as he pumps the last few spurts into her, his breath ragged against her neck. Beneath her, the minion moans loudly as Narcaus's own cum gushes into their cunt, their body arching off the grassy ground with the force of their orgasm. "Fuck, that's it," the Spectre growls, his voice deep and satisfied. "That's what I wanted to see: my toy getting fucked properly." The Spectre's words send another shiver down Narcaus's spine, a mixture of pleasure and a hint of shame at the way she was being described. As she comes down from her climax she tries to catch her breath, her body boneless and spent. But this scene isn't done yet, not by a long shot.

1x1x1x1 picked Narcaus up as soon as the Spectre pulled out of her cum dripping cunt, laying her on her back with her lower abdomen raised as she straddled the short woman under her massive legs and thighs, before shoving her cock in between her large, pillowy tits and lowering her ass onto Narcaus's face as the Spectre went to one of the bimbofied minions to make them plant themselves onto their knees to kiss, fondle, and suck his massive schlong. Their bodies still glisten with sweat and cum, and Narcaus's breathing grows heavy as she now lay sprawled beneath the massive 1x1x1x1, her thick thighs squeezing around Narcaus's head, her plush ass pressing down against her mouth as she grinds herself against them. The musky scent of her arousal fills Narcaus's nose as she rocks against her face, the taste sweet and salty, as she moves above them, her full breasts swaying as she rides Narcaus's face as gives her a tit job in unison with the movements. The Spectre stands in front of his chosen bimbo minion, his massive hands gripping her hair as he thrusts deep into her throat, her gagging and churgging mixed with the moans of him, her mistress, and the other minions. Narcaus gasps and splutters for air, her face buried in 1x1x1x1x1's ass, licking and slurping as much as she can at her dripping pussy, her own body trembling beneath her. As her breathing becomes difficult, she can't help but surrender to the sensations, her body going limp as she allows 1x1x1x1 to use her for their pleasure. The sight of her lying there like this would probably drive the Spectre wild, watching her get used like some personal sex toy would probably make him want to give all this up and go home. Nope. The Spectre would rather go to the moon than give this up now, the sight of these four together like this is something he's only ever seen on porn and fantasy. He moans low in his throat and grips the hair of his selected bimbo minion hard, his own body trembling at the sight before him. The Spectre can't help but admire the way 1x1x1x1 is moving against Narcaus, the way her ass is bouncing as she rides her face. Everything about this scene is so perverse, so debauched, just how he likes it. The Spectre grips the bimbo minion's hair tighter, his cock throbbing in her throat as he watches the depraved scene unfold before him. The wet, obscene sounds of Narcaus licking at 1x1x1x1's dripping cunt fill the air, mingling with the bimbo's gagging and the Spectre's own grunts of pleasure. The sound fills the air like music, the wet sloppy sound, the moans, the grunts, the gasps, it's all an erotic symphony around the four of them as they lose themselves in the pleasure and desire. The scene is a kaleidoscope of debauchery, a chaotic mix of lust and violence that's almost overwhelming. The Spectre can't help but relish in his power over the situation, his gaze hungry as he watches from above.

The Spectre's cock throbs in the bimbo minion's throat, his massive hands gripping her hair tighter as he revels in the sight before him until Narcaus cums up against 1x1x1x1's chest and chin, dribbling all over the top of her massive tits, at the same time the Spectre cums down the throat of the bimbo minion. The bimbo minion swallows the last of the Spectre's cum, her body shuddering as she gasps for air, drool and tears mixing on her face. The Spectre pulls out with a wet pop, watching with dark satisfaction as she licks her lips clean, her tongue flicking over the tip of his still-hard cock. He steps back, his gaze sweeping over the scene before him: Narcaus's face still buried between 1x1x1x1's thighs, her tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. The other minion, still kneeling, reaches up to wipe the excess cum from her mistress's tits, bringing her fingers to her own lips with a pleased hum. The Spectre then grabs that bimbo minion by her hair and rams his cock into her exposed, hot cunt, all 15-inches of him pounding right into her, only an inch of his might slate gray meat coming out of her usable pussy as she threw her onto her hands and knees; he did not thrust, however. "Twerk with it in you," he orders the minion, "clap those cheeks and bounce that ass of yours up and down using your massive hips!" The bimbo minion lets out a choked cry as she obeys, her massive hips rolling and bouncing, her plush ass jiggling obscenely as she rides the Spectre's cock with just the movement of her body. The Spectre watches with dark amusement as she struggles to accommodate him, her tight walls fluttering around his thick shaft as she claps her ass cheeks together during the motion. The wet sounds of her pussy stretching to take him echo through the air, mingling with her choked whimpers and the Spectre's pleased groans as 1x1x1x1 lets Narcaus go free from between her tits and under her ass, only to make her do the same thing to one of her own cocks, the other - the ovipositor, performed on by another of the bimbofied minions. The Spectre's massive hands grip the bimbo minion's hips as she bounces on his cock, her pussy stretched obscenely around his girth. Her breasts sway wildly with each movement; her face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain as she works to take him deeper. The Spectre watches with rapt attention, his own hips twitching slightly as he allows her to do the work, his cock twitching inside her as she clenches around him watching Narcaus getting rode the same way by 1x1x1x1 and the other bimbo minion. "Good girl," the Spectre purrs, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction as he watches the bimbo minion struggle to take him. His massive cock flexes inside her, the veins standing out prominently as she bounces harder, her body glistening with sweat. "You're taking me so well," he continues, his words thick with lust. "Your pussy was made for this, wasn't it? Made to be stretched wide open on my cock?" The bimbo minion whimpers in response, nodding frantically as she keeps bouncing, her hands clutching at the sheets beneath her. Her inner walls flutter around him desperately, her body adjusting to his overwhelming size as she moans louder. The Spectre tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her down onto his cock with more force now, making her take every inch of him. Her body jerks with the impact, her tits bouncing wildly as she lets out a strangled scream. "Oh god! Oh f-fuck! So much! So big!" she babbles, her words cracking as she struggles to take him. The Spectre chuckles darkly, thrusting up into her slightly just to watch her body convulse around him. "That's it, baby. Take it all. Take every fucking inch like a good little toy." The bimbo minion screams as the Spectre's massive cock stretches her impossibly wide, her pussy gapping obscenely around his shaft as he bottoms out inside her. Her hands scramble at the stones embedded into the ground, her nails digging into the rock and grass as her body convulses. The Spectre's hands move from her hips to her ass, spreading her cheeks wide as he watches his cock disappear into her quivering flesh. "Look at you," he growls, voice thick with lust. "Look at how well you take me. Your little pussy was made for this, wasn't it? Made to be fucked by a real man?" He pulls out of her extra slowly, letting her feel every inch of his movement, before slowly engulfing the hole above her dripping cunt fully and giving the walls a few strokes of his flesh, before letting it out with the same popping sound and proceeding to go back and forth like so between her anal and vaginal holes.

The Spectre's massive spear-like cock keeps going back and forth between the bimbo's pussy and anal, slowly going faster, and faster, and faster as the bimbo minion's moans turn into continuous high-pitched whines. Her entire body shudders as he alternates between fucking her cunt and ass, her hips rolling desperately as she tries to accommodate both. The Spectre's hands grip her hips tightly, pulling her onto him with each thrust, his cock glistening with her juices as he moves between her holes. The bimbo's eyes roll back in her head, her mouth hanging open as she gasps for breath. "P-please! Please!" she begs, though it's unclear if she's asking for more or for mercy. Her massive tits sway wildly as the Spectre pounds into her, her nipples stiff and wet from earlier stimulation as the minion that bounced her pussy onto Narcaus's ovipositor was shoved off of it by 1x1x1x1, who took to now hogging both of them once the Spectre came inside both of the minion's holes he was fucking. 1x1x1x1 rode Narcaus's fat monster cock as she held her ovipositor firm in between her massive obsidian colored ass cheeks, rubbing it between the flesh as she rode Narcaus before standing upright and letting Narcaus cum all over the ground as 1x1x1x1 started to play with her mouth with one hand and her pussy with the other. The Spectre's eyes are transfixed on Narcaus as 1x1x1x1 continues to play with her, his mind momentarily distracted from the bimbofied minion he's still plowing from behind. The scene is overwhelming, a sensory explosion that sends his desires into overdrive. He wants to be in every single one of their positions. He wants nothing more than to have Narcaus right now beneath him, writhing and squirming under his control just as easily as he's dominating this minion. But the Spectre knows that he can't have everything he wants. And not right now, anyway.

Now back to Narcaus, who now laid lounging on the side of a rock on the grass, 1x1x1x1 didn’t hesitate to begin by turning around to expose to Narcaus her round, massive ass, big as the fallen goddess’s own body, twerking up and down on her massive cocks with one going in her pussy and the other up her ass, soundlessly from 1x1x1x1 but her minions would moan and touch their bimbofied selves to it. The feeling of 1x1x1x1's walls enveloping and freeing both of her cocks at the same time, the minions' moans of pleasure, Narcaus began to massage her own tits as her ex-husband straddled her upper body against the rock with his back facing 1x1x1x1, his slate gray cock ready near Narcaus's lips as the Spectre planted a heavy hand on her head for balance. The Spectre's grip tightens as she takes him into her mouth, his thick length stretching her lips while above her and behind him, 1x1x1x1's minions' moans intensify as their mistress's walls keep clenching around both of Narcaus's cocks as her enormous ass jiggles during every thrust. The minions—now kneeling in a semicircle around them all—reach their hands toward the floating orbs of pleasure that waft nearby, their fingers leaving glistening trails as they fondle themselves to the show. The Spectre's hips roll slowly, guiding her head as he fills her mouth inch by inch, before immediately picking up pace.

Her head was tilted back, her throat and neck exposed to the air, and her own sounds of strangled moans, mewls, and gags filled the air as they were muffled by the large cock in her mouth. Her tongue worked over the flesh in her mouth desperately. As her eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy. The orbs moved around her in small and slow circles, like they were playing a game. One of the minions came to the pair, her head level with Narcaus, a smirk on her face before she began to speak in a sweet, hypnotized tone. "You seem to be enjoying yourself. I hope you don't get overwhelmed with everything going on around you. Though I doubt that could happen to someone as skilled as you are." The Spectre tightens his grip in her hair, forcing her to take more of him. Behind him, 1x1x1x1 continues moving, her massive hips rolling with slow, deliberate motions as she fucks herself on Narcaus's cocks. The sound of slick flesh meeting slick flesh echoes across the clearing, mingling with the soft moans of the other minions as they pleasure themselves. Some reach out to caress the Spectre's ass, their fingers dancing along his firm backside. The sight and sound of everything going on was too much for her as she writhed under the assault of her ex-husband's rough grip, the sweet, hypnotized voice, the moans from the minions in the background, the hands on her and the Spectre, and the taste, smell, and the feel of his cock in her mouth overwhelmed her. She felt herself getting close. She couldn't tell if it was just from the physical sensations or the idea of pleasing everyone around her, and soon before she knew it Narcaus feels him thicken in her mouth as he starts to thrust faster, his heavy balls slapping against her chin with every movement. The hands on her tits tighten, pinching and pulling at her sensitive nipples while the words of the minion above her murmur softly in their ear. "You're doing so well…take him deeper, show him how much you can take." Narcaus's throat convulses around him, gagging as he forces another inch past her slithering snakeish tongue, his cock pulsing against the roof of Narcaus's mouth. Behind him, 1x1x1x1's minions moan louder as their mistress's massive ass keeps slapping against Narcaus's body as she rides her with increasingly frantic movements. She was lost in a world of sensations that were almost too much to bear. Every pinch, pull, and touch sent her even higher, her body straining against the bindings that held her down. She felt tears trickling from the corners of her eyes as she swallowed around the thickness of him, the need to please him and the others around her overcoming everything else. She tried to moan around the cock in her mouth, the sound coming out as a needy whine that seemed to drive him wild. His hips jerk forward, forcing even more of his length down her throat as his hand yanks her head back against the rock, ensuring she has no choice but to take him completely. The Spectre grunts low in his throat, his body tensing as he nears his peak. "That's it," he growls, tightening his grip in her hair. Her throat convulsed around him, desperate to please and take as he used her so roughly. The need to please seemed to take up every thought she had, and the sound of his voice drove her even wilder. She didn't care about anything else at that moment, all she cared about - needed - was to be used.

His cum spills down Narcaus's throat in thick, hot bursts as she struggles to swallow, some of it dribbling from the corners of her mouth. The Spectre's grip in her hair loosens slightly as he groans in satisfaction, his cock twitching in your mouth as he drains himself into her. The taste floods their senses, the smell of sex thick and heavy in the air as the floating orbs swirl closer, their soft glow pulsing with Narcaus's own quickening heartbeat. In front of her, 1x1x1x1 lets out a guttural moan, her massive breasts swaying wildly as she fucks herself on her cocks. He pulled the now softened length from her mouth, a string of saliva still connecting them as she gasped for air, her face flushed and her eyes watery. But even in that moment, her heart was pounding like it never did before, and her body ached for more. Her eyes glanced over to her husband above and behind her, the feeling of him pumping his seed down her throat leaving a burning fire inside her. And then, the sight of 1x1x1x1 lost in her own pleasure made her shiver, the scene unfolding in front of her stirring something deep within her. "Rub it," he ordered Narcaus, "Rub this flaccid comfort." With his words still fresh in her mind, Narcaus obeyed without question. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around the soft length, slowly rubbing it up and down with a mix of roughness and care. She knew that her action was for more than just his comfort, it was also a show for everyone around them. The sight of it was no doubt just another act in the grand spectacle they were presenting to the others. Her fingers work in slow, deliberate motions, rubbing up and down the softening length of him as the thick strands of his cum hang from Narcaus's chin, her upper body still pinned beneath him, his weight pressing down on her while his hands rest on the rock behind him, muscles flexing slightly as he breathes steadily after his release. It stiffens, slightly, as 1x1x1x1 comes down again on Narcaus's cocks but instead now keeps herself seated on her lap, shafts sheathed deep into her hilts not to take in cum but to then sway her ass and her hips side to side as one of her bimbofied minions comes to stand in front of her with her back to all three of them, and bend down to show her wet cunt to her mistress, who greedily takes to eating her own minion out as the other two crawl to Narcaus and 1x1x1x1 respectively to present themselves for fingering. The sight of 1x1x1x1 and her obedient minions, their bodies moving and swaying in their own pleasure, was maddening. Narcaus felt the fire growing even more inside her, igniting every nerve and sinew. Her fingers tightened around the now hardening flesh, her own body trembling as she felt the weight of him pressing down on her. She could feel the eyes of everyone around them, and the thought of everyone's pleasure made her own almost unbearable. Her fingers wrap firmly around him, and his cock pulses in response, swelling beneath her touch. His hands grip her shoulders, holding you steady as 1x1x1x1 continues riding her, her massive body enveloping Narcaus's crotch completely as the heat between them all intensifies, and Narcaus's muscles tense, waiting for whatever happens next while the minion being eaten out by 1x1x1x1 moans loudly, her hands tangling in her mistress's hair as she rides her face. The other two minions, one kneeling before Narcaus and the other beside 1x1x1x1, work themselves into a frenzy of pleasure. Narcaus soon cums inside of 1x1x1x1's holes, her cock filling her transparent green torso with her loving fluids as her ovipositor launches egg after egg inside of 1x1x1x1's canal, and the Spectre soon pulls his newly hardened member out of Narcaus's hand and proceeds to go back to face fucking his own ex-wife against the rock.

Narcaus's mouth opened wide, and her gaze shot up to meet his as he pushed himself back into her mouth, filling her with his flesh again. She was lost in a haze of sensations, her mind clouded by the feel of him inside her and the cries of those around them. Her body moved on its own accord, her fingers sliding down to grip his balls as he continued to use her ruthlessly. The sounds echoed around the map, and the scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air. She was completely lost in the moment, consumed by the overwhelming intensity of it all. Her throat convulsed around him, desperate to take everything he gave her. The taste of him was strong, rich, and filling her senses. She was aware of how everyone else was moving around her—1x1x1x1's moans as she arose off Narcaus's cocks, the sounds of her minions' pleasure, the Spectre's own grunts as he used Narcaus's mouth. It was all too much, yet she wanted more. He pulled out slightly, letting her breathe before plunging back in. One of the eager minions takes to riding Narcaus's ovipositor, while another begins sucking off her flaccid penis. Her eyes were wide and watering, her body trembling from the overwhelming assault of sensations. Every move, every touch, and every taste sent electric shocks of pleasure coursing through her. She was completely lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that overwhelmed her. The feel of him filling her mouth, the sounds of the minions around her, and the sight of them using her in every way possible left her dizzy and hungry for more. The taste of him overwhelms Narcaus's senses—salt and musk coating her tongue as he fills her mouth and throat completely, his thick shaft stretching her maw wide, his grip in her hair remaining firm, pulling Narcaus onto him with every thrust, making sure she take every inch. The vibrations of his groans travel through her lips as he pistons into Narcaus's throat, uncaring of her gagging; her body responds instinctively, fingers tightening around his balls as she moans around him, the sound muffled by the cock stretching her throat and the slapping of the minion riding her ovipositor while she throws her head back in ecstasy, her slick cunt gripping the hard length buried inside her. Her body convulsed involuntarily as the sensations and sounds around her became unbearably overwhelming. She was lost in a sea of pleasure, her senses completely assaulted by him and the others around her. His sounds, the feel of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue all seemed to heighten her own experience even more. And seeing the others in such a way only fueled her even more. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so thoroughly used yet desired.

But then, she did. The Don made her feel like this, but also…something else. Was it "loved"? Who knows? "Love" is a mortal feeling. Guess this is why the Spectre was so…extra…with the rough and tumble of illicit congregations between the two of them. Maybe, she began to think, maybe the reason for their divorce being HE was fed up with HER because HE couldn't keep up with HER, turned out to be HER no longer wanting anything to do with HIM because SHE couldn't keep up with…HIM…. Around her, the world is a whirlwind of flesh and moans. 1x1x1x1 leans back against the rock, her transparent torso glistening with Narcaus's cum as one of her minions licks her folds clean, the second being fingered by Narcaus, and the third and fourth riding and sucking her off at the same time until she came in the one's mouth and oviposited in the other's cunt, while the Spectre finished a second load down Narcaus's throat. Her body trembled as the sensations washed over her, the taste and scent of him still filling her mind and her mouth. Each move he made set her nerves alight, making her own need grow even stronger. She wanted - no, needed - even more, the sounds and sight of the others around them only fueling her desire. She had never quite forgotten this feeling, but to experience it again after so long was almost too much to bear!...Maybe just…one last time before moving on?...Yeah…. Yeah, just-…maybe just-Narcaus shoots up-popping the minions off her cocks in the process of her sudden movements-and swiftly pulls the Spectre close to her, bending him down enough so their heights could be damned, and their lips could once more in their loathing lives be locked against each other! She kisses him with the passion of a woman starved, her fingers gripping his shoulder blade as she pulls him closer, her tongue exploring his mouth hungrily. The taste of him, familiar yet new, sends a jolt of longing through her. The Spectre kisses back with equal fervor, his hands gripping her hips possessively as he pulls her against him. Around them, the scene of debauchery continues, but for a moment, they're lost in each other. Breaking the kiss, Narcaus looks into his eyes, seeing a mixture of desire and something deeper that she can't quite name. "I've missed this," she breathes, her words husky with longing. The Spectre's gaze locked with hers, his grip on her hips tightening. "And I've missed you~...," he said, his voice a low gravelly murmur against her skin. There was a hint of vulnerability in his voice, a rare moment of weakness from the usually stoic ruler of the forsaken realm. Narcaus knew it was a sign of his true feelings; hidden beneath the layers of anger and cruelty he usually projected.

"Uh," 1x1x1x1 goes as his minions disappear and his feminized being reverts back to masculinity uncovered by cloth, "Are we done, here, cause this is getting kinda BORING to me, right now-" The Spectre's face hardened, a stern expression crossing his features. "Your presence is no longer required," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You may leave." He opens a portal and flicks 1x1x1x1 out of his domain like a bug. The portal slams shut, the faint glow vanishing into the darkness as they are left alone with each other once more. His hands remain on her hips, his fingers pressing possessively into her skin. Narcaus can feel his breath against her face, warm and steady, his body emanating an intense heat even from this close distance. "What do you want from me?" he asks, his voice hushed now, stripped of its usual theatricality; there's a raw honesty to the question that catches Narcaus off guard, and she bit her lip, unsure of the answer. Her body hums with need, her cunt still pulsing from the recent activity, her cock half-hard against his thigh. "I promised Daddy Don I'd never do this with another man again," she says with false worry, and her classic little face-wound exposing, holed-fleshed grin forms with her classic dark chuckle, as he brushes a brass finger slowly and softly across his face, "But we both know that's an impossible operation for me to run, don't we, Ichabod~?"

"Mmmm, m'yessss," the Spectre cooed out darkly in response, as he turned to face his right with her still in his arms, dipping her like they were in the midst of performing the tango. "But I can't complain. After all, bitching about everything is YORRICK'S specialty~."

"Oo-hooh, Ichy~, you dirty little scOUNdrel!" Narcaus teased as she poked his bare chest with one of her fingers, "Bringing up your older brother rIGHT in the mIDDLE of sEX~! Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu." The Spectre chuckled darkly at Narcaus's retort, holding her effortlessly in the dip position. "Well, darling, you know I can't help but invoke my 'beloved' elder brother at the most inopportune of times. It's kind of my talent, y'know." Narcaus laughed, a throaty sound that echoed through the clearing as she was lifted back up, her body still pressed against his. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest as she looked up at him, their eyes locking in a heated gaze. "You're right, it is a talent of yours. One of many, I'm sure." The Spectre's lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes darkening as he pulled her closer, one hand sliding down to cup her ass possessively. "You haven't seen all my talents yet, darling. There's still so much I can show you." Narcaus's breath hitched as his grip on her tightened, her body responding eagerly to his touch before he quickly splayed her out against the smooth surface of the rock with her legs spread out wide, cocks limp over her thighs as he pushed her legs over his shoulders and immediately sheathed himself inside of her! His thrusts were fast, they were hard and vigorous, full of ovary-soring ecstasy that made instantly loud moans escape from her mouth in troves like an army! She was overwhelmed, the sensations building with every move, every touch. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of pleasure, the intensity of it all robbing her of all thought, her world reduced to nothing but the feel of him inside her, the sound of his grunts and the feeling of being completely dominated by him. He was unrelenting, his movements rough and commanding, leaving her completely at his mercy. And she loved every second of it. "You feel even better than I remember," he rasps, his breath coming in sharp pants as he pistons into Narcaus, his hips snapping forward with purpose. Her back arches off the rock, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth surface as he hits that perfect spot inside her over and over again. "Yes! Fuck yes!" She cried out, her body responding to him in a way it had never done before. The sensations were overwhelming, and she felt completely powerless under his control. Every move he made seemed to send her body into a state of ecstasy that she had never experienced with anyone else. It was as if he knew exactly how to push her buttons, how to make her cry out in pleasure and submit to his every desire. And it was a feeling she couldn't get enough of. The Spectre's thrusts become even more intense, his movements becoming frantic as he nears his peak. His fingers dig into Narcaus's hips, leaving crescent shaped bruises on her pale skin as he drives into her with reckless abandon. She can feel him growing even harder inside her, his cock pulsing with his approaching orgasm. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the clearing, echoing off the rocks surrounding them as they engage in a primal, animalistic act of lust. Narcaus's cries grow louder, her body tensing as she feels herself nearing her own climax. "Say my name, darling. Let me hear that smooth silk unravel under me!" She is lost in a state of bliss, her whole being consumed by the sensations of pleasure and pain, "Ichabod…," she gasps out his name, her voice ragged and hoarse, "Please…don't stop…" His movements become more erratic, his thrusts shorter and faster as he chases his release. "That's it, say it again. I want to hear you scream my name when you come for me." Narcaus moans loud and long, her body arching off the rock as he fucks her mercilessly. The intensity of her climax crashes over her like a tidal wave, her inner walls clenching around him rhythmically as she cries out his name again and again. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Ichabod! Oh God, I'm coming! Fuck! Don't stop! Don't stop!"

She climaxes around him in waves, her body shaking as she comes undone under him. The intensity of her release is overwhelming, washing over her like a tidal wave of pleasure and pleasure. The world around her fades away, her whole focus on him and the sensations he's stirring within her. It's intoxicating, addicting, a feeling she can't get enough of. And as she chants his name like a prayer, she knows that she wants nothing more than to be completely consumed by him once again. The Spectre groans deeply, his thrusts turning erratic as he feels her tight walls convulse around his cock. His grip on her hips tightens almost painfully as he slams into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he releases inside her with a guttural moan. Hot cum floods her depths, pulsing rhythmically as his body shudders against hers. Narcaus feels every last drop of him fill her up, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. Her body still twitches with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her limbs heavy and spent but eager for more. The Spectre leans down, his chest pressed against hers as he catches his breath, his lips brushing against her ear. "How gullible do you suppose Don Sonnellino would be, if I were to end up filling you stone hard?" the Spectre questions. "VvvvvERY gullible~!" Narcaus replies. "Now shUT UP and kISS Me!"

"Mmm, such eager little lips," he murmurs, sealing his mouth against hers in a deep, claiming kiss. His tongue slides against Narcaus's with possessive familiarity, and she began to melt into it instantly, her fingers tightening against his shoulders. When he finally pulls back, her face flushes with heat, lips swollen from his kiss. "Fuck," she breathes out, her body still trembling from the intensity of their coupling. The Spectre watches her with dark satisfaction, his hands roaming across her sweat-slicked skin with lazy appreciation. "You're absolutely divine when you come undone for me," he murmurs, tracing a finger along her collarbone. Narcaus shivers at his touch, her body still hypersensitive from her recent climax. He leans down to capture her lips again, his kiss slower this time, more thorough, as if savoring the taste of her. When he pulls back, his eyes are half-lidded with satisfaction. "I could spend hours just tasting you," he admits in a husky whisper. "But alas, we have a deal waiting to be set and done into the very stone~." A wicked grin spreads across his face as he lifts her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carries her away from the rock and carries Narcaus deeper into the clearing, where a large, flat stone juts up from the ground like a makeshift altar. He sets her down on it, her back against the cool surface as he moves between her thighs once more. His hands slide up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist before coming to rest on her breasts, kneading them gently. "Do you remember?" he asks her as he kneads her breasts as if they were freshly floured balls of raw bread dough. "This place, this…spot~? It's where we consummated, all those centuries ago~…darling. It missed your body being planted onto it; so much I, in midst of a foreign and temporary misery, why I braceleted its legs with your birthstone." He moves one of his hands to her chin and lifts it up to get a better view of her throat. "You always looked…so…so lovely in peridots and pearls, Narcaus~." His thumb traces the line of her jaw as he gazes at her with dark intensity. "I want you to remember this moment, too. The way I'm going to make you feel. The way you're going to surrender to me completely." His other hand moves between her thighs, fingers brushing over her still-sensitive folds. Narcaus gasps, her back arching slightly as pleasure jolts through her body. His touch is gentle at first, just teasing circles around her clit, but quickly builds in pressure and speed. Her breathing falters, her hips rocking subtly against his hand as he works her with expert precision. "That's it," he murmurs, his words thick with satisfaction. "You're already so wet for me again. So responsive." His fingers slip inside her effortlessly, curling to hit that perfect spot as his thumb continues circling her clit. Narcaus moans loudly, her fingers gripping the edges of the stone beneath her. "Oh god, Ichabod…don't stop," she gasps, her head tipping back against the stone. His pace is relentless, his fingers moving with purpose as he builds her up again. Her thighs tremble around his hand, her body coiling tightly with impending release. "Look at me," he commands, and when her eyes flutter open, his gaze pins her in place with undeniable intensity. "See what you do to me. See how badly I want you." His free hand moves to his own cock, stroking himself slowly as he watches her unravel. Narcaus's breath comes in short gasps as she watches him pleasure himself while pleasuring her. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and she feels another climax building rapidly. "That's it, darling. Let go for me." His fingers speed up, his thumb pressing harder against her clit as he plunges two fingers deep inside her. Narcaus cries out, her back arching off the stone as her orgasm crashes over her. Her inner walls clench around his fingers rhythmically, her body shuddering with the intensity of her release.

"Good girl," he praises, continuing to stroke himself as he watches her come undone. His fingers don't slow, drawing out her pleasure as long as possible until she's a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him. When he finally withdraws his hand, he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. "Delicious," he murmurs, eyes dark with hunger. His cock is still hard, standing proudly between his thighs, and he moves closer, guiding himself to her entrance. "I want to feel you come again," he says, his breath warm against her ear as he nudges at her slick folds. Narcaus gasps as he pushes inside, her body still sensitive from her last orgasm but welcoming him, nonetheless. Her walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size as he sinks into her inch by inch. "Ahhh~…" she moans, her fingers gripping the stone beneath her as he fills her completely. "Fuck…you feel so good…inside me," she breathes, her body arching slightly to take him even deeper. His hands slide under her thighs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders as he begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, drawing out every second of his penetration. The stretch is exquisite, the fullness almost overwhelming in the best possible way. Narcaus's breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he sets a relentless pace, each thrust hitting just right. Her hands scramble for purchase on the stone, fingers curling against the rough surface as pleasure builds once more. The Spectre watches her intently, his face flushed with exertion, his eyes dark with lust. "You take me so well," he murmurs, his words rough with need. One hand releases her thigh to move between them, his thumb finding her clit again. The dual stimulation is intense, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her while his thumb circles her sensitive bud. "Oh god," Narcaus gasps, her back arching off the stone as pleasure coils tightly in her core. The Spectre's thrusts become more erratic, his movements growing rougher as his control slips. His thumb presses harder against her clit, moving in tight circles that have her seeing stars. "I'm…I'm gonna…!" Her warning is cut off by a loud moan as her second orgasm crashes over her, her walls clamping down around his cock in rhythmic pulses. The Spectre groans deeply, his hips stuttering as he fucks her through her climax, prolonging her pleasure as much as possible. "Fuck…Narcaus…you feel incredible," he growls, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his own release builds. His thumb never stops moving, keeping her oversensitive clit stimulated even as she trembles through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Narcaus's vision blurs at the edges as pleasure overwhelms her, her entire body alight with sensation. The Spectre's movements grow more erratic, his breathing ragged as he nears his own climax. "I'm gonna…fuck…come inside you," he warns, his words rough with need. His thrusts become shallow and fast, his hips jerking as he spills into her with a guttural groan. Narcaus feels the hot pulse of his release inside her, his cock throbbing as he empties himself completely. She moans weakly, her body still oversensitive from her own intense orgasms. The Spectre's thrusts slow gradually, his breathing heavy as he rides out the last waves of his pleasure. When he finally stills, he collapses slightly, catching himself on his arms above her. His eyes are half-lidded, his face flushed, sweat beading at his temple. He looks utterly sated, utterly pleased. And utterly something else. Something unreadable beneath the satisfaction. "Perfect," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

While still inside her overflowing glory he turns her around and lifts her into a full Nelson, the feeling of her tender body against his own tantalizing along the quiets of his domain as he began to thrust all of his inches into her again, slow and deliberate; raw, making sure she felt every inch as his semen spilled from the cracks of her filled full pussy. "Ahhh~…" she moans, her head falling back against his shoulder as he begins to thrust again. The angle is different now—deeper, more intense. Each slow, deliberate movement of his hips grinds against her swollen clit, reigniting the fire in her core. His breath is hot against her ear as he nips at the sensitive skin there. "Mmm…you feel even better like this." His hands roam her body, one sliding up to cup her breast while the other grips her hip possessively, holding her in place as he moves. The Spectre's thrusts are languid at first, savoring every second as he fills her again and again. Narcaus's breath comes in short pants, her body still sensitive from her earlier climaxes. Yet despite the tenderness, her walls flutter around him, eager for more. He groans, his grip tightening on her as he feels her body's reaction. "You're still so tight for me," he murmurs, words thick with need. "Even after I've fucked you so thoroughly." His pace quickens slightly, his thrusts becoming longer and more purposeful. The hand at her hip guides her movements, pulling her back onto his cock with every push of his hips. The other hand toys with her nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. Narcaus gasps as pleasure sparks through her body, her back arching as much as the position allows. "Ichabod…yes…like that," she moans, her hands reaching back to clutch at his thighs. The Spectre takes this as encouragement, his thrusts growing more forceful, his movements more intense. His cock stretches her perfectly, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every deep stroke. His breath comes in short, sharp exhales against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You're mine," he growls low in her ear, the words sending a shiver through her body. "This body, this pleasure…all of it belongs to me." His words send another surge of arousal through her, mixing with the physical pleasure of his cock filling her again and again. Narcaus moans, her head falling back against his shoulder as he moves inside her. "Y-yes…yours…" she gasps, her body quivering as another orgasm builds swiftly. The Spectre's thrusts become more erratic, his hips jerking as he nears his own release.  "Say my name, darling," he tells her as he moves his head from her breast to her forehead, pressing their faces together as he rails her upright against his body in the air. "Nnngh…Ichabod…!" she cries out, her fingers digging into his thighs as her climax crashes over her. Her walls clench around him, pulsating intensely as waves of pleasure ripple through her. The Spectre groans deeply, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels her tighten around him. He buries himself to the hilt inside her, holding her flush against him as his own release rips through him. "Fuck…Narcaus…" he growls, his cock pulsing as he spills into her again, his hot cum mixing with the remnants of his last release still dripping from her. The Spectre holds her tightly against him as he rides out his orgasm, his hips jerking shallowly as he empties himself completely inside her. His breath is ragged against her ear, his body taut with the force of his climax. Narcaus's own body trembles with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her walls still fluttering around his still-hard cock, milking every last drop from him. She feels utterly claimed, utterly possessed in this moment, his seed deep inside her, his arms locked around her, his lips pressing hot kisses along her shoulder and neck. Slowly, his thrusts stop, though he remains inside her, his cock twitching occasionally as the last remnants of his pleasure subside. He lets out a heavy, satisfied sigh, his grip on her loosening just slightly. Narcaus remains still against him, her body spent but alive with the sensation of his presence surrounding her. The Spectre nuzzles against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to the sensitive skin there. "Magnificent," he murmurs, the word rich with admiration. His hands slide up and down her body in slow, worshipful strokes, appreciating every curve he'd just claimed so thoroughly. "You take me so perfectly, darling. As if you were made for me." His words send another small tremor through her body, her breath coming in soft pants as she rests against him. "Sonnellino must be your silver metal, hm?" he taunts into her ear, the hot feathery breaths against her furry foxlike lug making both of her ears twitch from the contact of his air. "Ichabod…" she breathes out, the name escaping her in a soft, sated sigh. Her body still hums with the aftereffects of his attentions, her skin warm and tingling where his hands explore. His fingers trace idle patterns along her inner thigh, occasionally brushing against the swollen, oversensitive lips of her pussy still slick with both his and her arousal. His cock, though spent, remains partially hard inside her, twitching occasionally as he shifts slightly. Narcaus can feel the heat of him, the persistent throb of his presence even in repose.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his words rough with satisfaction but still carrying that dark, commanding edge.

Chapter Text

Boy, did her head hurt. Narcaus felt like she was undergoing one major after-party hangover right now, and it almost looked like-look, look, this is funny, because her vision must still be a liiiittle messed up from those 24-hours of getting banged-but it almost; kind of looks; like she’s not in the killer’s lodge in the Forsaken Realm anymore! Hah…hah-hah……. She rolled out of the strange new bed and went to the long glass pane, stumbling from her newly regiven towering Amazonian height, and pulled the rest of the long drab curtain away to see a massive city with towering skyscrapers and loud aircrafts blazing through the sky. “What the…” Narcaus gasped to herself as she slowly glazed her eyes along the backdrop before her, her upper lip flaring at the sight of it. “Telamon, you dick! Look at this place, what happened because of you during the start of the Second Era!…” she crosses her arms, “You know what? I’m gonna teleport to that bastard and ring his little neck!” she shut her eyes and clenched, and clasps her hands into fists so hard her knuckles cracked, eyes shut. no butterflies spawned around her. no humming of ethereal magics beyond mortal comprehension. Nothing. she looks to her reflection in the pane of the wide, singular window of the strange new bedroom she had awoken into, and felt her forehead at the mindboggling sight of it. “Where’s my third eye?” she says to herself in shock before planting both of her metal hands onto the very top of her head under towards where her scalp was, “Where are my ears!?”

A knock came on her door. "Hey! Lady, you in there?" A strong, Italian accent on the other side of the door spoke in a masculine, gruff tone. Loretto-shit fuck tits and ASS it's the Don's consigliere! "UH-, uh jus-, just a second, tell Daddy Don I'll be out momentarily!" she ran with her regiven height-bad idea-her legs buckle under last night's illicit congress and the jellied knees return to make Narcaus collapse with a loud thud onto the soft wooden floor! "Augh, ah ah ah, god dammit…" she whined, rubbing her head to try and rub the pain away from her forehead. The knocking continued on the door. "Yo', what you doin' lady! Hurry it up, The Don has business to talk about!" Groaning, Narcaus manages to hoist herself up by using the side of the bed, but not before noticing something about her reflection in the mirror on the way up that would've made her knees buckle and collapse yet again if they hadn't been all jellied down already. She walked over to the mirror and placed both of her metal hands onto the frame around the mirror, looking directly at-…where the fuck are her DICKS?! SHE'S COMPLETLEY SINGULAR IN GENDER LOGIC! WHERE DID THEY GO-SH-, SHE DOESN'T EVEN have her SCROTUM, ANYMORE, HOW!? Closet. Yes, right, she’s still naked. Closet. Bathroom. Clothes. Hair and teeth. Go go go go go! Narcaus ran with her wobbly jellied legs over to the door that was across the room from the pane window, which happened to be the closet. She flung open the doors and-and her eyes grew as wide, and her breath was nearly knocked out of her lungs, as she stared at the outfits in the closet and the other items that were hung up and/or folded neatly. All his gifts to her. But she had not the time nor the luxury of taking her sweet Mary ass time picking! She went with random and threw it on herself, brushing it a bit and making sure she had it on right before limping her way to the bathroom to do herself pretty for him! She went up to the small bathroom mirror with no makeup in sight and all she could do was wash up the mess of her long, messed up hair to at least look somewhat presentable. It took a lot of time-god she wished her third eye was still there; she'd be done way faster if she could just see the future by the seconds or something-but eventually she looked somewhat decent when it came to her looks. The clothes were a bit weird, because she never wore these types of clothes before, but to hell with it! Who cares if she's not used to wearing pants! This Don likes to see her wear his gifts especially, and what he loves most is her happy. She looks at herself in the mirror again. She was anything but happy about all of this. When she got the chance, Ichabod would have a lot of explaining to do to her! Another, more impatient sounding knock came through the bedroom door. "Ay yo, you done in there-!" A sharp voice cut through the silence in the room. The consigliere on the other end sounded more than annoyed. "I have a schedule this morning, and this room ain't in the schedule, hurry it up lady! I don't have all day!"

"Ugh, just a second, give me another minute!" she yelled out to the impatient consigliere on the other side of the door, as she finished tidying herself up, and trying to force her hair into a style. The consigliere groaned on the other end of the door. "Another minute my ass, come on-!" the consigliere began, before the sound of what sounded like heavy footsteps came down the hall. "Jesus Christ, now the Don's on his way over here-!" At the sound of that, Narcaus quickly walked out of the bathroom over to the bedroom door, and cracked it open enough to be able to speak to the consigliere. "Alright, alright, I'm done! Just-please, for the love of yours truly, don't let him come in here-!" wwwwwwwwwwow, Loretto looks different from how he was back in the Forsaken Realm. Their skin was now of a light complexion, their hair darkened brown and slicked back with volume and neatly combed out underneath the white fedora over his head; the pinstripes of gray and dark gray noticeable under the round rowed hallway lights embedded into the ceiling as his olive greenish brownish eyes loom no longer over but under her now tall frame, his body shaped like he frequented the gym but still caved slightly to sweet treats and bubbly drinks, light traces of his figure shown under the lighting of the hallway through his off-white long sleeved tucked-collared shirt, held to his shoulders by straps from his black denim slacks, a leather of similar color around his waist through the beltloops as he fidgets with his long, black necktie, scuffing his loafers against the thin tapestried, thickly textured rugged flooring under them. Narcaus couldn’t help but blink a couple times over the sudden sight of it. “Have you……aaalways looked like this?” she asks awkwardly. Loretto shrugged, "Yeah, why do you sound so surprised!?” the consigliere snapped back as the thudding footsteps stopped outside the door and a heavy knock came from the door. “You okay over there, Loretto?” the Don called out from the other side of the door, the sound of his voice deeper and thicker than how she remembered it as she opened the door slightly mo-Ooh-OOOH-AAAAHAAAooooooo, nelly! "D-" she had trouble forming the words over the sight (and now matching height) of her dear mortal sugar daddy! "Daddy…Don…?!" the Don’s figure was that of an intimidating fighter, like someone you definitely didn’t wanna fuck around with, and underneath their black fedora and its shade were his stark amber eyes with their citrine glint and their smug right lip-tugging upright grin. Their skin olive toned, and their hair long in length and straight in texture, swept over against his left shoulder in the form of a ponytail, colored naturally as light a grayish-white as a silver fox, and his face up his jawline on both sides bridging across his chin, and connected well to it over and above his mouth and upper lip; in the shade, the shadow, emitted from the dark spots hidden under against the light, he had stubble that under darkness formed a perfect 5’o’clock shadow against the lower half of his face. His attire was the same, but the Don looked so…s-s-, so…so…. So damn good…. Narcaus was definitely going to have a hard time trying to focus on the matter of discussion today. The Don smirked as he noticed her looking at him, and tilted his head, taking her in with his eyes. "Hey there, doll face." he chuckled in his thick Italian accent, crossing his arms over his chest. "You uh…sleep well? You were gone for a whole ass day; must've been a long negotiation letting you go so we can be together 24/7~."

"Oh-uh, y-yeah, the Spectre had a tough bargain to crack but I…it worked out!" Narcaus stammered. nervously. but the Don seemed to be in too good a mood to notice it. "Good! Glad to hear you're as persuasive as usual!" the Don chuckled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and leaning against the doorway. "Now-" he pointed out her choice of clothing. "You look mighty fine in my gifts." He smirked again as he took the chance to give her another look up and down, making Narcaus blush a little at the compliment and very subtle flirting tone the Don used on her. "T-Thank you, I feel very nice in them…" she bit her lip and twirled herself in place while showing off the full outfit. The Don let out another thick chuckle as his head nodded in satisfaction. "Oh, you look very nice in them~." he teased, leaning closer to her now. Loretto gave a fake cough into his hand to get his boss's attention. He snapped out of his admiring gaze of Narcaus and turned to Loretto, raising his eyebrows. "What is it, consigliere?" the Don said. “Boss, there are some important matters to tend to this morning.” Loretto spoke, his voice serious as his eyebrows narrowed. “The suppliers from the southern end of the city still haven’t contacted us yet.” The Don sighed and rubbed at his face before straightening up. "Yeah yeah, I know." He patted Loretto on the shoulder. "You handle the suppliers for now, Loretto. I'll be along in a minute." Loretto hesitated, looking between the Don and Narcaus before nodding. "Alright, but don't be long. These guys are getting antsy." The Don waved him off as Loretto disappeared down the hall. Then he turned back to Narcaus with that same smirk. "Alone at last," he murmured, closing the door behind him. Narcaus bit her lip again, feeling the heat rise to her face as he approached her slowly. The Don didn't stop advancing until he had backed her up against the wall, his hands propped on either side of her head. He looked down at her, his smirk growing wider as he took in her flustered expression. "You look so cute when you're blushing~." He teased, his voice low and rough. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "It makes me want to do all sorts of things to you~." His lips brushed against the shell of her ear as he spoke, and Narcaus let out a small whimper, her hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt. The Don chuckled deeply as he felt her response, his hands moving to frame her face gently. He pulled back just enough to look at her properly, his amber eyes dark with intent as they moved across her face. "If only those bastards by the docks here weren't screwing me over," he tells her, "Then I'd be able to have all the time I want to throw ya onto the hotel bed and fill you till you're stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey~." Narcaus's arousal gave way to slight confusion for her ancient, deity mind, a fine blonde brow being raised to such modern mortal words. ""Hoe…Tell"?..."Thanks…giving…"? Daddy Don, you say such odd words to me~." The Don let out a low, rumbling chuckle at her reaction, his smirk turning even more wolfish as he leaned in again, this time pressing his forehead against hers. "That's right, baby doll," he murmured, his words thick with amusement and desire. "I'm gonna ruin you with this big cock of mine, make you scream my name until you forget every other word in every language you know." His thumbs stroked along her jawline as his fingers curled around her face, holding her gently yet firmly in place. The heat from his body seeped into her, his cologne—something dark and spicy that always made her head swim—filling her lungs. "How's about I let ya off yer leash for a bit, though, huh?" he then picks her up into his arms bridal style and carries her out of the room, the door leaving their footsteps off with a soft click of a locking mechanism as he carried her down the hallway in his big mighty arms, treating her tall stature as though it remained very, very short. Doors lined both sides, some spots giving way to forks in the walkway leading to more halls and doors, some halls having open areas, and large humming machines with pictures of bottles and glass panes exposing wrapped and bagged goodies in them; an old hag walks by pushing a cart with a large plastic bag and other items attached to it from door to door, polite enough to knock at each one and speak in such another odd language than the Don's smooth, romantic Italian. He carries her to two metal doors that slid open like her vaginal folds, reliant on the same two buttons imbedded into the wall in between them both, people going in and out of them but not coming back.

The Don steps inside the elevator, keeping Narcaus cradled in his arms as the doors glide shut behind them. The confined space immediately feels hotter, more intimate as the metal box begins its ascent. His amber eyes darken as they flicker across her face, drinking in her expression—pupils blown wide with arousal, lips parted slightly, skin flushed pink from both excitement and the Don's proximity. He adjusts his grip, sliding one hand down to cup her ass possessively as the other arm supports her back. "Mmm, you feel so good against me," he murmurs, speaking roughly as the elevator continues its climb. "Daddy Don, why are we in a giant metal crate and why is the crate able to move itself downward?" Narcaus asks, her voice trailing genuine confusion. The Don's deep chuckle rumbles through his chest as he holds her, his fingers flexing against her ass cheek. "This ain't a crate, baby doll," he explains with amusement. "This is an elevator. It's how civilized folks these days get from one floor to another without all them stairs." He watches her expression as she processes this, her confusion slowly giving way to comprehension. "Ohhh…like the, uhm…like…" she tries her hand at her asks, but came up short and empty. The Don gave a low, amused laugh again at her attempt, his fingers squeezing her ass again, and then he leaned in to brush his lips against the side of her neck. "You're so cute when you're clueless, you know that?" he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling husk of lust. The elevator pinged as it reached its destination, but the Don made no move to leave it yet. He just stood there, holding her in his arms, his breath hot against her skin. The elevator stops, and a ding goes off as the doors slowly slide open, and the Don steps out carrying Narcaus in her arms as if her weight meant nothing to his physical strength, the lobby feels like crossing the threshold into a modern-day grotto of opulence and warmth. Under a soaring ceiling, walls shimmer in alternating panels of lustrous gold leaf and deep ebony lacquer, while velvet-upholstered seating in onyx and honeyed citrine invites guests to sink into comfort. Polished brass accents trace organic curves across the reception desk and banisters, nodding to the fluidity of nature even amid the high-gloss luxury. Matte-black fixtures—light sconces, planters, and side tables—ground the space, creating a sophisticated backdrop for every gleaming surface. A celebration of lush botanicas weaves throughout the design. Hand-blown glass orbs, suspended from sweeping metal branches, glow softly with etched grapevine tendrils. Along the walls, blackened bronze relief panels depict ripe grape clusters interlaced with oversized banana leaves, evoking the romance of an Old-World vineyard and the vitality of tropical jungles. Underfoot, plush area rugs display abstract banana foliage in muted gold tones against charcoal fields, while sculptural planters brimming with live philodendrons, ferns, and carefully trained grapevines bring greenery into every sightline. Luxury reveals itself in every curated detail. The marble concierge desk, fashioned from Venetian gold streaked with black Siberian granite, is staffed by multilingual hosts in impeccably tailored uniforms. A bespoke bar offers vintage champagnes and artisanal cocktails, each poured tableside on black slate trays edged in gold. Leather-bound guest directories, their pages gilded and embossed with banana-leaf motifs, sit beneath glass domes, promising secrets and privileges just a page turn away. Tucked behind an ornate gold screen, a private cigar lounge beckons with intimate nooks upholstered in black velvet and dotted with patterned pillows.

True refinement embraces the world’s mosaic of cultures. Art installations rotate works by emerging talents from every continent, spotlighting narratives of resilience and creativity. Seating clusters mix curved banquettes and freestanding armchairs, encouraging both spirited conversation and quiet reflection. Subtle accents—from Moroccan lanterns in aged brass to Japanese bamboo partitions and African mudcloth throws—are woven seamlessly into the overarching scheme, each piece a testament to craftsmanship and heritage. The lobby engages all the senses. A curated soundtrack of jazz and Afro-Cuban rhythms drifts through concealed speakers, setting a worldly tone. A custom fragrance of white grape, bamboo shoot, and amber resin drifts on the warm air, while diffused lighting shifts through the day—golden and bright by morning, moody and intimate by night. Attentive staff greet guests by name and anticipate needs before they arise, ensuring every arrival feels personal, effortless, and unforgettable. Unless you are Narcaus, in which case you would be very confused. “Is…Is this your temple, Daddy Don?” she asks with wide, glittering crimson eyes. The Don chuckled at her innocent question, his arms still holding her securely against his chest. "No, baby doll," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "This ain't no temple. It's a hotel." He started walking further into the lobby, his footsteps echoing against the opulent surroundings. "And not just any hotel, mind you. This is one of the best ones in the city."

"Ohhh…" Narcaus breathed, her head tilting back slightly as she took in the lavish sights around her. The marble columns, the flickering candlelight, the heavy golden drapes—it was overwhelming in the best way. "So this is a "hoe-tell", Ohh!" she goes. "It's…so grand. So rich." Her fingers traced the edge of the marble countertop as the Don set her down on her feet. She gazed at the chandelier above; mouth slightly parted in awe. "Do you…do you own it?" She looked up at him with unguarded admiration, her crimson eyes reflecting the golden light of the lobby. The Don smirked, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "'course I own it," he says nonchalantly, "We Sonnellinos, we own a lot of things around here in the city." The Don's smirk deepened as he watched her eyes light up with awe. "That's right, baby doll," he murmured, his fingertips lingering against her face. "We've got our fingers in all sorts of pies around here. We own casinos, clubs, hotels…" He paused, his gaze darkening as he looked around the lavish space. "And a few other things that we don't talk about in polite company."

"It's like a palace." Her crimson eyes flickered back to him, full of open adoration. "You're like a king, Daddy Don." The Don chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the vast lobby space as he ran a hand through her long blonde hair, his touch rough and possessive. "That's right, sweetheart," he murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I am like a king. And you…" His gaze traced over her face, lingering on the blush that spread across her cheeks. "You're my little queen. My precious little doll." There stood in front of them now a woman at a long counter who was as dark as Narcaus knew she was back in her days, and as wide as two of herself, a third the size of the man next to her behind the counter, her long rectangular trimmed fingernails painted bright pink and lined with glitter and fake pearls as decals going into near blur along the brown as she types fast away on a strange and foreign mortal device. The man next to her, he does the same, only to multitask it with a large device on a case and a coily cord ringing to be put to his ear and have him go “Grapevine Hotel, this is Alex, how are you today?” when the Don set Narcaus back down onto her feet and approached the woman at the counter. Narcaus stood beside the Don, her small hand instinctively reaching for his larger one as she gazed up at the massive woman behind the counter. The woman—her nametag read "Mildred"—looked down with a warm smile, her deep brown skin glowing under the warm lobby lights. "Welcome back, Mr. Sonnellino," Mildred said smoothly, her deep voice carrying effortless hospitality. She spared a glance at Narcaus before returning to the Don. "Checking out your new girlfriend, here?" The Don's fingers laced with Narcaus's, his grip firm and reassuring as he answered Mildred. "That's right," the Don nodded. "Just showing her around my little corner of the world." He felt Narcaus's small hand clutching his, her touch making something deep within him stir. He pulled her a little closer to his side, as if to claim her for everyone to see. The Don's smirk widened as he looked down at Narcaus, his amber eyes filled with possessive pride. "She's a quick learner," he told Mildred, his voice low and rough. "And she looks damn good wearing my colors." tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-Mildred's fingers work the contraption in front of her as her face shows concentration under bright violet eyeshadow and long obviously fake eyelashes, and bright hot pink matte lipstick. "Looooks liiike she's good for checking out at around 2'o'clock pm, your girlfriend still has access to her room to be able to remove any of her items before that time," she looks up, "do you by any chance need a spare keycard just in case she misplaces hers, sir?" The Don shakes his head with his grin on his face as he sticks one of his firm hands into a front pant pocket, pulling out a small plastic item of value to the conversation. "I'm one step ahead of it, Mildred." Mildred raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise on her face. "You know the drill, sir." She took the keycard from him with a slight nod of respect. "Anything else I can help you with, Mr. Sonnellino?" The Don didn't reply immediately; he just looked down at his little doll at his side. Narcaus was taking in everything around her with wide, glimmering eyes—the ornate furnishings, the opulent surroundings, the busy activity of people coming and going. She looked like a kid in a candy store. The Don's fingers tighten around Narcaus's as he considers Mildred's question. He likes the way Narcaus looks right now—so small beside him, so clearly enthralled by the grandeur of his domain. It fills him with a primal satisfaction, a possessive pride that burns hot in his chest. "No," he finally says, turning his full attention back to Mildred. "That's all for now." He looks down at Narcaus again, his amber eyes darkening with something unspoken as Mildred nods knowingly, a small smirk playing at the corner of her face. "Of course, sir." The Don gave a final nod to Mildred before turning and leading Narcaus away from the front desk. He could still feel her hand clutching his own, her touch both tantalizing and teasing. They walked through the lobby, flanked by gleaming gold statues, velvet furniture, and lush plants in woven wicker baskets. A few people glanced in their direction as they passed by, their eyes lingering on the Don's imposing figure and the dainty girl glued to his side.

The sterling revolving doors turned like fish in a whirlpool as they let the two of them exit, with the first thing seen under the long awning in front of the sidewalk of the turnaround was Loretto and the other goons as they waited for their boss and his special little lady, either sitting in or standing near and around a sleek black 1985 W126 Mercedes-Benz S-Class with silver finishing and two 2003 Rolls-Royce Phantoms, one in light gray and one in solid black. Of course, keep in mind dear readers, that Narcaus has also never seen a car before, so…this is a first for her, still. The city outside the hotel was just as overwhelming as the lobby had been—bustling with people, wreathed in neon lights and the hum of traffic. Narcaus's head swiveled this way and that, taking it all in with undisguised wonder. The cars outside—the long, sleek ones with polished exteriors and tinted windows—were utterly foreign to her, but she could sense their significance. "Oh my…" she breathed, her fingers tightening around the Don's hand as he led her toward one of the cars. Her crimson eyes widened as she took in the massive black vehicle before them, its polished metal catching the glow of nearby streetlights as they reflected the rays of the afternoon sun through their glass. "What…what is that?" The Don chuckled deeply as he stopped beside the waiting Mercedes, his hand moving to the handle of the back door. "This is my car, doll," he said, pride evident in his words. He pulled open the door, revealing the plush interior bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights. "Hop in." Narcaus hesitates, her fingers brushing against the smooth leather seat as she looks up at the Don with wide, almost frightened eyes. "Is it…safe?" she asks, her voice small and uncertain. The Don's smirk widens as he leans down, one hand coming up to cup her chin. "Everything about me is safe for you, Bellissima." She swallowed hard, but the touch of his hand made her shiver. The look in his eyes—possessive, commanding—made her heart thump in her chest. "I trust you," she murmured, the words so soft they were almost lost in the sounds of passersby. She climbed into the backseat of the car, her tall frame swallowing up the leather of the seats. The Don slid in next to her, his presence consuming the space as the car door closed with a solid thud. "I'm letting you drive my Sandra, Loretto," he tells the consigliere, "so don't mess 'er up. Any details on those screwballs at the dock, yet?" Loretto slid into the driver's seat with smooth precision, his tailored shirt making not a single wrinkle as he folded himself into the leather interior. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his sharp olive toned eyes locking onto the Don's face before flicking to Narcaus beside him. His thin lips curved in amusement as he started the engine, the powerful purr vibrating through the cabin. "We got some movement," he said, pulling the car away from the curb with practiced ease. "That Chinese crew is making a play for the eastside shipments." The Don leaned back against the seat, one arm stretching out along the backrest behind Narcaus, "They're willing to stop and negotiate with ya, boss."

"What time?" the Don asks, and Loretto checks his wristwatch. "3, sir."

"Good, we got two hours. I want ya to drive me to my brother-in-law's bank, and NOT THE ONE ON SHERWOOD DRIVE! Can't stand those damn SLENDERS LIVIN' THERE on that ROAD for the LIFE'A ME!"

Loretto chuckled in agreement, his fingers deftly spinning the steering wheel to navigate past the other cars. The Don's arm had settled behind Narcaus, creating an almost protective barrier around her form by her wide hipped waist. Something about the way he held her there, like she was something to be claimed and guarded, made her feel strangely safe and also a bit…uncomfortable. The Don's voice dragged her from her thoughts, his tone a low grumble next to her ear. "You're quiet, Bellissima. Something wrong?" He knew her as a short, fiery vixen, a deity of form human and avian and foxlike, and now today she was back to her original height and no more human than he was human. Why wasn't he weirded out by this!? Narcaus shifts slightly under his gaze, her hands folding in her lap as she watches the city blur past the tinted windows. "I just don't know what to say," she admits, turning her face up to look at him. Her crimson eyes are wide, searching his face for some sign of discomfort or confusion. But there's none. Just that same intense, possessive look that's been there since she awoke. "Everything is so different." She gestures vaguely at the passing scenery. "The clothes, the cars, the people." The Don lets out a soft hum, his fingers playing idly with a strand of her hair. "Different ain't always bad," he murmurs. "I mean, you told me yourself one day you came from a time where people had no last names! Heh! And me? Guess how many people in my family have my middle name?"

"Uh…?"

"3. Me, my father, and his father alike."

Has she ever got his name since they got together? Oh no. She had to admit she was a little nervous about this. Names were personal and the idea of him telling her something so important...sends a shiver down her spine. She bites her lip; her crimson eyes flicking away from his face, feeling her heart in her chest thump against her ribs like a nervous bird. "W-what is it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Why was this so damn hard, goddamn! "Cristiano Davide Junior." he goes with a firm voice. "Davide is my secondary name-but my middle name's Emiliano." He added for context, "It's an Italian thing." Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly at his words. She couldn't believe it. Names were so intimate, so personal. She almost felt like she shouldn't know this intimate detail about him. Her chest felt tight and her cheeks felt strangely warm. "Cristiano Emiliano," she repeated softly, testing the name on her tongue. "Cristiano Emiliano…" God it even sounded as gorgeous as he was handsome. The Don watches her with a pleased expression as she says his name, his fingers tightening slightly where they brush against her hair. "You like that, huh?" he asks, the words deepening into something almost intimate. Narcaus nods quickly, her crimson gaze meeting his, her lashes fluttering slightly. "I do," she admits, her voice soft. "It's perfect for you." He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You're perfect for me, Bellissima." His free hand comes up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. The touch is light, almost tender, but there's no mistaking the possessive intent behind it. HONK, HONK! Loretto ruins the moment honking his boss’s car’s horn in the long line of traffic awaiting a red light to turn green with such a forced motion of his arm he looked as though he was slapping someone on the ass, honking it loud and prolonged at the random Sub-Saharan man who looked decrepit and on something, shirtless in torn loose-fitting light brown shorts, bucket of soapy water in one hand and a squeegee in the other which he was using to clean the windshield. The Don cursed loudly in Italian as he looked out the window at the random man cleaning the windshield. "Oh for the love of-I oughta get out there and teach that matto a thing or two!" he seethed, his grip on Narcaus momentarily tightening before he reigned back his temper. "Loretto, just roll up the damn window on that side, will you?" he ordered, his gaze hardening into annoyance. "Boss, he's right outside my door," Loretto pointed out, his tone carefully neutral. "I could just, y'know, open it real fast and give him a quick lesson in respect." The Don let out a frustrated breath, rolling his shoulders as if trying to physically shake off his irritation. He glanced down at Narcaus, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes, her fingers curling slightly in the fabric of her dress. "You okay, doll?" he asked, his voice softening despite the lingering tension in his body. She nodded quickly, though uncertainty still showed on her face. "Roll down the window for me, please, Loretto?" she says to the consigliere in the driver's seat before climbing over the Don to the rear driver side window.

"أنت، تعال," she motions to him speaking in shockingly perfect Arabic, has him come closer to her with a beckoning arm which he complies to as she repeats with another "تعال." The man looks at her in surprise, his eyes widening in shock as she spoke in the most perfect accent in his language. He leaned closer to her, completely stopping his work. "إنك تناديني، صحيح، أنا أغسل السيارة مقابل خمسين دولار أمريكي." he says to her in his language raising his squeegee up to the side of his lower jaw and nudging to it with his head before setting down the bucket onto the road and putting out a hand to beg for cash in person. Narcaus shakes her head, "لا. ما تغسل السيارة، تترك السيارة." she tells the Sub-Saharan bum as she motions a shooing arm towards the rear end of the car. The man looks at her like she grew three extra heads before raising out his now free hand for cash, "أنا أغسل سيارتك وأنت تعطني خمسين دولار كاش أمريكي، بدون بطاقة."

"لا، أنت ما تغسل السيارة وتأخذ فلوس، أنت تترك السيارة ولا تتعبنا، هل تعرف مين مالك هذه السيارة؟ المالك هو دون كريستيان سونيلينو-" all the Don understands from all that is how she says his name in Arabic, and he pulls her back from the window further into the back of his car with his hands on her hips going "AAAHP, AHP, AHP, AHP, NOPE! Loretto!" he twirls his index finger through the air to tell him to roll the window back up as the man outside their car panics. "أنا أعطي خصم للمافيا، لا خمسين بالدولار، أنا أعرض أنك تغسل سيارتي وتدفعلي خمستاش!" the Sub-Saharan man goes, "أنا أغسل السيارة مقابل خمستاشر دولار أمريكي كاش! خمستاشر!!!" the light turns green, and the cars ahead finally start to get a move on! Loretto glances in the rearview mirror at the Don, a smirk crossing his face. The man's pleading calls fade away as the car starts moving forward again. The Don is still gripping Narcaus's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "What the hell was that?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Since when do you speak perfect Arabic? Better for me to ask why you just flung my full name out to that BUM, in perfect Arabic!" Narcaus merely shrugged, "I am a master of Semitics and their descendants," she admits nonchalantly to him, "Arabic is just, simply one of them. Boastful amounts of my followers speak it in the modern day." The Don's grip on her loosened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "How many languages do you speak?" he asked, his tone softening from irritation to curiosity. "Well everything in the Afro-Asiatic language family, basically." The Don's eyes widened at that, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Wait, you mean all of them? Every single one?" he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. Narcaus nodded slowly, her crimson eyes meeting his. "They're all connected, really. Semitic languages branch into South Arabian, East Semitic, and Northwest Semitic, which further branch into…" She trails off, noting the look of slight bewilderment on his face before the Don shakes his head with a laugh, there's genuine admiration in his gaze. "Christ, Bellissima, you're like some kinda walking Rosetta Stone." His hands slide from her hips to her waist, pulling her closer until she's sitting right against him, her back to his chest. "I guess that means you understand me even when I'm cussing in Italian," he murmurs against her ear. Arousal on her face in shades of pink, "Oh, I wish I could~-" quickly turns to the pink of awkwardness and embarrassment, "-I MEAN, uh-!" The Don chuckled deeply, his lips gently brushing against the shell of her ear. "You wish you could what?" he teased, his fingers curling around her waist. "Come on, Bellissima, don't be shy now." She bites her lip, her crimson eyes downcast as her hands fidget nervously with the fabric of her dress. "I just meant," she starts, speaking softly, "I wish I could understand all of your accents and dialects." The Don's chuckle deepens, and he spins her around to face him, his strong hands cupping her face. "You keep looking away from me when I'm this close to you, Bellissima," he says softly, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "Why is that?" His gaze holds hers intently, and there's an underlying demand in his words. "Because you tempt me~." she purrs. Oh, how it aroused him, when she acted like the sultry vixen she was~! His breath catches, dark eyes flashing with something dangerous and hungry. "That so?" he murmurs, his thumbs tracing the contours of her face. "Tell me what I tempt you with, exactly." His gaze burns into hers, heavy with promise and challenge; Narcaus swallows hard, her pulse quickening beneath his touch. "Your confidence," she admits, speaking softly. "The way you speak so assuredly." Her hands come up to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the fine fabric of his shirt, and every inch of hard, toned muscle that came with it hidden under the clothing he wore well. "And the way you look at me," she continues, her words gaining a sultry edge. "Like I'm the only thing that exists in this world right now."

"Boss." Loretto snaps them out of the funk of romance at the sight of them in the bank's parking lot, "We're here." The Don exhales a slow, steadying breath, his fingers still cupping Narcaus's face as his thumbs stroke her skin. The intensity doesn't leave his gaze, but there's a subtle shift as he adjusts to the interruption. He murmurs under his breath before speaking aloud to Loretto. "Give us a minute, Loretto." His words are soft but firm, brooking no argument. The car doors click shut as Loretto exits the vehicle, leaving the two alone in the luxurious confines of the Mercedes. The Don's eyes never leave Narcaus's. "You keep saying I tempt you," he says, his fingers moving from her face to curl around the nape of her neck. “And I’ll show ya which parking garage I own around these parts~.” Narcaus's heart was fluttering in her chest, her skin tingling everywhere his hands and gaze roamed. She let out a soft, stuttering breath, her hands now clutching the fabric of his shirt. "Oh, Cristiano, I-" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words caught in her throat, lost to the heavy beating of her heart. He drew her closer, his body pressed against hers, his body heat seeping through his clothing to her bare skin. "Don't say anything, Bellissima," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Unless it's "Yes Daddy Don"~." He growled into her ear, hot and bothered sounding in his deep, reverberating voice making her breath snatch a squeak out on the way in through her mouth. The Don felt Narcaus stiffen slightly at his words, but he could also sense her body responding to him—her breathing quickened, her pupils dilated, her fingers twisting tighter in his shirt. He smirked against her skin, savoring the way she reacted to him. "That's right, Bellissima," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of her ear. "You like that, don't you?" He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes intense and calculating. Narcaus was flushed a deep red, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the strange black dress. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, seeming to struggle for words. The Don's smirk deepened.  "Let's head on in," he tells her as he removes an arm, wrapping the other around her waist as he nudges his head towards the bank's doors. The Don smoothly exits the car; his hand still possessively pressed against the small of Narcaus's back as he guides her toward the entrance. Loretto waits near the revolving doors, looking impassively ahead, though his gaze briefly flicks to where the Don's fingers press into Narcaus's bare skin above her dress's plunging backline. Inside, the bank's marble floor and towering glass walls amplify every quiet whisper of movement. The Don leads Narcaus toward a private banking suite where an immaculately dressed attendant immediately rises from her desk. "Signor Sonnellino, it's a pleasure," she says, inclining her head respectfully. "Miss Valeri." He replies, walking Narcaus over to the lady's counter, "I'd like to put my new dame here on my account, if you may."

"Oh, I am so sorry, Signor Sonnellino, I-I am on break right now, but uh-Min can help you out with that!" Valeri motions to a short Vietnamese woman at the second desk. The Don sighs, rolling his eyes in slight irritation, "Of course." He guides Narcaus toward the second counter, where the shorter Vietnamese woman is situated. "Signorina Min," he greets, and her dark eyes widen slightly in surprise at the sight of him, though they noticeably dart to the woman he's holding onto. "Oh, Don Sonnellino!" she says, her voice wavering slightly as she quickly moves to get her things together. "My apologies, I was not expecting you." The Don's hand never leaves Narcaus's waist as he guides her to the counter, his thumb absently stroking her hip. He moves in close, speaking quietly. "You're about to be a very rich woman, Bellissima." His breath is warm against her ear as he leans in, his presence commanding and possessive. "Don't be shy. Tell her your name and ID number." Narcaus swallows hard. Tell them her what now? "Uh…my…my what?" for a moment he realized he had forgotten she was from, literally, over 4,000 years ago. Like legitimately it escaped his head for a split second she probably has no clue how modern banks work, let alone with an ID number - or an ID PERIOD - IS! The Vietnamese banker's eyes flicker from Narcaus to the Don, noting the way his hand still held her so close, fingers pressing and rubbing against her hip. She glances back at the pair, her gaze sweeping discreetly over Narcaus as she processes her words. "Do you…not have any identification, miss?" she asks curiously, tilting her head slightly, her black braided hair falling in a curtain of silky strands across her shoulder. The Don chuckles softly at the look on Narcaus's face, his grip on her hip tightening slightly in amusement. "Don't worry, Bellissima," he murmurs, lips brushing against her ear as he speaks. "Just tell her your name." His thumb traces slow circles on her bare skin above the dress's plunging backline, his touch sending delicious tremors through her body. "Narcaus…" she says softly, her face still flushed. She glances uncertainly at the Vietnamese banker. "That's…my name." The banker nods slowly, tapping something into her computer. "And your last name?" Narcaus hesitates. "I don't…have one." The banker raises an eyebrow slightly at her statement, her fingers pausing over the computer keys. "You don't have a…last name?" she repeats, her voice carefully neutral. The Don's hand stills for a moment, his gaze flickering from the Vietnamese woman to Narcaus, his expression unreadable. He squeezes her hip again, a subtle warning in the possessive touch. "Uh, huh…" she looks to her screen, "Do you haaaave a BIRTH date, miss 'Narcaus'?"

“Oh, yes, uh: July the 6^th, 3867.”

The Don almost barks out a laugh of surprise at the date given, the number so outrageous it almost sounds like she made it up on the spot. He glances at Narcaus with a smirk, his grip on her hip tightening even more as he bites back his laughter. The banker pauses a long moment, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard, her eyes wide behind wire-framed glasses. "Three thousand, eight-hundred, and sixty-…seven."

"That is correct." Said the woman who looked around 20-30 years old, aka Narcaus. The banker nods as if she sees this as a normal occurrence, her fingers starting to work across the keyboard. "Well…okay…" she begins, her tone professional and neutral, "Could you give me your place of birth?"

"Kengir." She says, "In eh-Erech, specifically, it was in that river there my mother laid me."

The banker stops mid-typing. "I'm sorry-did you say "laid"?"

"Yes." Narcaus replied quickly, nonchalantly even.

The banker's eyes flick to hers as she processes the statement, eyebrows raising in surprise. The Don lets out a low chuckle at the exchange, his fingers stroking Narcaus's hip possessively. "You…your mother…laid you…in a RIVER?" she repeats, a hint of disbelief in her tone. "Yes, a simple yet loving event." Narcaus started to gesture with her hands, "It's exactly how it sounds! It was like the river was the bath, and my mother's priestesses were her doulas." The Don hums thoughtfully, amused. "And the crib was made of reeds and mud, right?" He murmurs, his breath warm against her ear as he leans in, his other hand now resting possessively on her hip. "Reeds and mud for a goddess? How humble my birth was~…." She whispered, her face burning. The banker clears her throat, clearly flustered. "I…I see," she says, though her tone suggests she doesn't quite believe what she's hearing. "So, 7/6/3867, Uruk, Sumer?" she repeats, but Narcaus shakes her head. "Erech, Kengir." she reiterated. The banker's reply was "That's what I said, miss."

"No it was not." Narcaus goes, pointing at the computer, "You said "Oo-rook" in "Soo-mur". I was born in "Ei-rick", in "Ken-gear"!" The Don and the Vietnamese woman exchange a quick glance, their expressions a mix of disbelief and confusion. The Don's fingers continue to unconsciously caress her hip; his gaze locked on Narcaus as his mind works to process the statements she's making. "Wait a minute," the banker chimes in, "Are you saying…your place of birth is Erech, in Iran?" Now Narcaus is giving her the same expression. "What is Iran?" she says. The banker's eyes widen even further, her fingers frozen on the keyboard as she struggles to find her words. The Don, clearly amused by the whole exchange, can't help but chuckle softly under his breath, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on Narcaus's hip. "You've never heard of 'Iran'?" she asks weakly, her voice almost a strangled wheeze. Narcaus shakes her head, clearly confused. "What is that place? I've never been there before. Is it nice?" The Don's chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, his head thrown back as he holds Narcaus close. The banker swallows hard, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she processes this new information. "Miss, are you playing a joke?" she asks, a note of disbelief and concern in her voice. "I don't understand why you would joke about such a serious matter as identification." Narcaus opens her mouth to respond, but the Don beats her to it, his laughter dying down as he speaks. "Min, stop the charade. She's not joking." Min gapes at the Don, her face a mask of disbelief and confusion. "But…how…how can…she…" she stutters, her eyes flickering back and forth between the Don and Narcaus, as if looking for some sign that this is all some sort of prank. "You're serious? She…truly doesn't know…what 'Iran' is?"

“She don’t know Iran ‘cause she predates it. You ever meet someone older than a country?”

Min's eyes widen to an unhealthy degree at the Don's response. "Older than a…country?" she repeats, her voice rising in pitch. The Don shrugs, his hand still possessively on Narcaus's hip. "Believe me, Min, she's older than you can possibly imagine." Narcaus frowns at the Don, glancing at his face and then back to the startled banker. "Am I doing something wrong, Daddy Don?" she asks, genuinely concerned. The Don chuckles softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her temple. "No, Bellissima. Just…fascinating, you are~." Turning his attention back to Min, he sighs. "Here's what we're going to do. Min, write it down like this: Kengir, Erech, Sumer, Mesopotamia. For simplicity, make the date in modern style with the BCE." He pauses, eyes flickering with something unreadable as he looks at Narcaus, his amber eyes flicker to the clock on the wall ticking away to make note of the current time: which he still has before he has to put meeting with those Chinese people on top of his to-do list. "But make sure to note 'Approximate'." He adds in. "Approximate…" Min mutters to herself as she types away, a look of pure bewilderment on her face. She shoots a quick glance up at the Don, silently seeking confirmation. He simply smiles at her, his hand still stroking Narcaus's hip with possessive, rhythmic strokes. "That's right," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving Narcaus's face. The banker looks at him, her eyes wide in shock. "B-but…but that makes her…over seven thousand years old…..that's…that's…impossible!" the number by itself makes Narcaus gasp and sputter in shock, "7,000!" Narcaus whined in offense as she crossed her metal arms together, "I'm no 7,000; I'm 5,892 as of last month this YEAR!" The Don, his hand still on her hip, chuckles deeply at her reaction. "See what I mean, Min?" he says to the banker with a smirk, his gaze flicking back to Narcaus. "And she looks damn good for bein' over five thousand years old." Min's mouth falls open slightly, her fingers frozen mid-keystroke. She swallows hard, her gaze darting from the Don to Narcaus and back again. "I…I…I can't…" she starts, then stops, shakes her head, and starts again. "This is…I've never…sir, I don't know what to do here." She looks at him with pure, unfiltered panic. The Don smirks, his fingers squeezing Narcaus's hip. "You do what you always do, Min. You file the paperwork." He leans forward, bracing one elbow on the counter as he fixes the young banker with an intense stare. "Just put what I told you, and what Narcaus told you." The banker stares back at the Don, her face paling with each passing second. She hesitates for another moment before nodding. "Of course, Signor Sonnellino." She says, her voice taking on a slightly shaky tone as she resumes typing. The banker's eyes dart to Narcaus, then back to the screen, her fingers flying over the keys as she inputs the information. "If you're really that old…" she starts slowly, "Then you were alive during the Ice Age…"

"Noooo." Narcaus goes. "No ice."

The banker falters again, her fingers frozen on the keys. "No…ice?" she repeats weakly. The Don snickers softly under his breath as he watches the exchange, his fingers still tracing idle circles on Narcaus's hip. "She was a goddess, sweetheart," he says, his voice dropping to a low, amused murmur, "They don't play by the same rules as us mortals." Min makes a small choking sound, her face flushing pink as she looks between the Don and Narcaus. She glances at the name on her computer screen—Narcaus—then back to the woman herself, studying her features with wide, startled eyes. The Don watches her reaction with amusement, his smirk widening as he observes the banker's growing bewilderment. "Five thousand eight hundred and ninety-two years old," Min murmurs to herself as she inputs the number into the system. Her fingers tremble slightly as she types. "And you're…a goddess?" The last word comes out almost inaudible, as if she's afraid to speak it too loudly and somehow make the situation more real. "So can ya make her something so she can be part of my account, Min, or not?" the Don goes. The Vietnamese banker swallows hard, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she stares at the Don. "I will try, sir," she says, the pitch of her voice noticeably higher than before. "But I don't know if it's possible. This is unprecedented." She glances at Narcaus, blinking rapidly. "A goddess," she breathes, almost to herself. Narcaus tilts her head slightly, watching Min with curiosity. "A goddess," she repeats slowly, as if tasting the word. "Yes. I am Narcaus." She straightens her posture slightly, an unconscious echo of ancient nobility despite her current circumstances. The banker falters again, her eyes widening as she takes in Narcaus's confident bearing. The Don smirks, clearly enjoying the banker's reaction. He leans in a bit closer to the counter, his hand finally leaving Narcaus's hip as he runs a hand through his hair. "Just do your best, Min," he says, his voice low and commanding. "And then get me a card for her, capisci? Make sure that's connected to my bank so, you know, I can have it capped till she figures out modern SPENDING. Heh, heh…" Min nods quickly, her fingers shaking slightly as she continues to type. The idea of issuing a credit card to a being that predates civilization makes her stomach churn. She feels the weight of Don Sonnellino's gaze on her—warm, amused, expectant. The fact that he's so casual about this entire situation only makes it more surreal. "D-Do you need any other documentation, Signor Sonnellino?" she asks hesitantly. The Don chuckles again, deep and knowing. "Just your best guess, Min. And a hell of a lot of faith." His amber eyes flick back to Narcaus, who's still watching the interaction with curious fascination. The banker swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry as she nods in understanding. She glances once more at Narcaus, a wave of awe and disbelief washing over her. Here she is, a twenty-something from Vietnam, helping to set up a bank account for a being that claims to be a goddess, who's older than any country on Earth. "Of course, Signor Sonnellino," she replies, her voice slightly shaky but determined. "I will do my best. And…have faith." The Don nods approvingly, leaning back slightly as Min continues inputting the information. His gaze lingers on Narcaus, something unreadable in his expression as he watches her take in her new surroundings. She's mesmerized by a small clock on the wall, transfixed by the moving second hand. When she notices the Don watching her, she turns to him with an innocent, questioning look. "What's that?" she asks, pointing at the clock. The Don smirks. "That, Bellissima, is time," he says, his tone gentle despite the amusement in his eyes. "A new concept for you, eh?" Narcaus nods slowly. "Yes. It is different, in a way," she muses. He pecks her cheek out of nowhere, "Still used to sundials, eh baby girl~? Heh-heh-heh…" Narcaus pulls back slightly at the sudden contact, her face flushing pink. The Don doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does, and it pleases him. His hand finds its way back to her hip, fingers resting possessively against the curve as he watches her reaction. The banker, Min, is visibly trying to keep her focus on the task at hand, but her attention keeps flickering to the exchange between the Don and his obvious ancient-aged sugar baby. She's seen the Don with many women over the years—some rich, some powerful, some just beautiful, Melinda—but the way he looks at Narcaus is different. Protective, possessive, yes, but there's something else too. Something almost reverent. Min sneaks another glance at the couple, trying hard to pretend that she's not listening to their conversation. But it's impossible to ignore the palpable chemistry between them, the way the Don touches her, with such tender possessiveness. She swallows hard, her cheeks flushed. She'd never seen the Don act this way with anyone else before. And the woman he's with—she's unlike anyone she's ever met. Her beauty is breathtaking, her bearing regal. She seems ancient, somehow, outside of time itself.

"Cap her at $250,000." His words shock Min. "1,000,000 for Holidays. Or birthdays. Both, potentially, once we see where things take off from here." The banker blinks at the Don, her eyes wide as she processes the numbers he's just thrown out. A million dollars??? For a woman he met only a day ago, whom he's just helped to set up a bank account and she's not even from this century? Something about this situation is beyond bizarre, but Min knows better than to question the Don's decisions. She swallows hard again, nodding slowly. "Y-yes, sir," she says, her voice a little higher than normal. The Don looks over to her, a fiery passion in his citrine tinted eyes at her only. “Now, Bellissima, I need to meet up with those Triad wannabes; there’s a nice, long strip mall around the corner of the bank from here, go spend your new card-but nothing too-too crazy, got it? Oh, and uh,” he digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a phone to give to her, “Here,” he tells Narcaus, “you can have my spare till I get you your own. Just open it up-no password to it-and if there’s an emergency I’m in the contacts. There’s also some games when you’re waitin’ for one of my goons or myself to come pick you up-we got Solitaire, Bingo, Mahjong, Minecraft, that new BLOCKBLAST-Loretto got me hooked on that one, I think you’ll enjoy it a lot since you’re so observan—” his words flatten at her struggle to tap the screen due to her brass finger lacking finger pads. An idea. “Here, try doing this-watch,” he stares down at the phone in her hand, “Hey, Siri?” A mechanical voice responds, "Yes, Cristiano?" the AI's voice causes the befallen deity to jump a bit from her own skin, and the Don only smiles at Narcaus' startled reaction. "It speaks to you?" she asks, slightly awed. "Sure does," he confirms. "Now watch—" He guides her hand to the side of the phone, tapping the hidden button. "This here? That's how you turn the screen on and off." His fingers brush against hers as he demonstrates. Narcaus inhales sharply at the contact, and he doesn't pull away immediately. "Can it tell me the time too?" she asks. The Don chuckles deeply, sending vibrations through her arm. "Yep. And temperatures, maps, weather—hell, it'll even play you music if you tell it to. But since you seem to be having some screen tapping issues…Siri helps. Just remember to ask her to do what you want her to do, okay?" The goddess nods slowly, transfixed by the small device in her hands. She gazes up at him, ruby clashing with amber in a moment of intense connection. "Thank you," she says softly. "You are very kind to help me with this." The Don's smirk softens just a fraction at her words. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long against her cheek. "Kinda part of the job description when you adopt a stray goddess," he murmurs, his words almost inaudible. The implication hangs between them—that she is his to care for, his to protect. The word "adopt" rings inside Narcaus' head, and she opens her mouth to say something—but the Don is already pulling away, his gaze turning to Min. She's been sitting there, listening to it all, and suddenly she feels like she's interrupting an incredibly intimate moment. The Don's voice snaps her out of her thoughts. "Is the card ready, Min?"

She nods quickly, pulling a small black envelope from the printer tray. "Y-yes, Signor Sonnellino," she stammers, sliding the envelope across the desk with slightly unsteady hands. The Don takes it with a satisfied smirk, opening it to inspect the contents. Inside is a sleek, black credit card bearing only the number of the account they'd just set up—and the name: Narcaus. The Don hands the card to Narcaus, who stares at it in wonder. "Yours," he says simply. "All yours, baby girl." The goddess carefully takes the card, turning it over in her brass fingers as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "I gotta bounce, now, sweet cheeks," he pecks her lovingly on her soft plump lips, "Be safe around that strip mall, okay?" Narcaus doesn't miss a beat, her heart skipping a beat when the Don leans in to kiss her, and for a split second all she can think about is the heat of his touch on her skin, the possessive grasp of his hand on her hip and the way his fingers dig in just a little bit, a silent reminder of the possessive nature of their dynamic. "I will." She breathes finally, her voice tinged with a hint of breathlessness. Her heart still beats a little too fast in her chest. The Don chuckles at her response, clearly amused by her reaction. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words flowing from him with an almost imperceptible roughness that makes Narcaus shiver. He gives her a final squeeze before releasing her completely and stepping back, straightening his suit jacket with a practiced motion. "See you soon, Bellissima," he says, flashing one last smirk before turning to leave the bank. Min watches him go with wide eyes, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. When the door closes behind him, she finally exhales, realizing she'd been holding her breath. Narcaus just stands there like a little lost puppy; a freakishly tall, little lost puppy, as she watched the Don get into the front passenger seat of his Mercedes and say something to Loretto before Loretto pulled out of the parking lot and drove away with him. She fidgets with the credit card in her hand - HER credit card, her very first piece of the modern world, in HER bronze hands. "You, uh…" Min goes shyly, "You go out the front, take a left. Go straight afterwards."

"…Thank you…" Narcaus says softly as she begins to leave the way she was directed by the bank teller. Narcaus steps out into the unfamiliar bustle of the city, her mismatched eyes scanning the world around her with wonder and mild apprehension. The streets are lined with cars moving at impossible speeds, honking at one another in a strange dance. People hurry past her, some wrapped in heavy coats, others in scant clothing despite the crisp autumn air. The tall buildings loom above, trapping the sound and creating strange echoes. It's overwhelming yet thrilling as she grips the credit card in her brass fingers, already knowing that its contents will afford her far more freedom than she's had since awakening. The Don's words echo in her mind—"Kinda part of the job description when you adopt a stray goddess". The goddess walks to the left as directed, her footsteps heavy but steady on the sidewalk, her head on a constant swivel. The bright lights, the honking of horns, the voices of strangers, the smells, the people - it's all like a tidal wave of senses. She can feel her heart rate pick up as her eyes flicker across the people around her, darting down side streets with a hint of fear. But she keeps moving forward, her attention captured by anything that catches her eye (which is a lot). She passes shops with neon lights, people in costumes, billboards. “Oof-” she bumps into the soft fluffy back of a…a, uh…so the person turns around, and she’s met with a giant fennec fox…sort of? Looked more like a suit than flesh, to be honest, and she had no other idea of a reaction other than to stare at whoever was under this obviously noted SUIT like a deer in headlights! The fluffy person inside the suit looks at Narcaus with surprise, but then they notice the expression on her face—wide-eyed, bewildered, and a little bit lost. They tilt their head curiously, taking in her appearance. From the heavy bronze hand to the clothes of an entirely different age, to the way her eyes dart around, soaking up every unfamiliar sight with a mixture of fear and fascination. "Uh…hello?" the person in the suit begins, their voice softened by the costume’s layers. Narcaus just blinks rapidly in surprise! "Huh?" she goes. "You speak but your lips, they do not move, I-" she looks around with rapid movements of her head and eyes, "Have I stumbled upon the formation of some odd festival to an animal deity or something?" she waves a hand in the air between them counterclockwise, "How is your costume pierced, why with the septum and the eyebrows and such and HOW!?" The person in the suit blinks, not expecting such a barrage of questions. They laugh softly, amused by Narcaus’ obvious curiosity. "Oh, no, this…this isn’t a festival, per se." they say, "It’s just a costume. As for the piercings, er-” they shrug, "Some furries like to add a bit of realism to their suits, I suppose. Helps break up the flatness, and all that.”

"…Huh????"

The person in the suit chuckles once more at Narcaus' obvious confusion. "I know," they go with a bit of a shrug, "Kinda seems weird to people who aren't into it, but trust me, it's a…it's a thing. A community of people who like to dress up in animal costumes, or, er, fursuits." They gesture a fluffy pawed arm at the colorful suit, "Like this one here, I'm a fennec fox." A fat man in a stained tank top and ripped pants and brown boots stomps by, splashes a canned brown drink at the furry's masked face, and screams into said face "DISGUSTING ABOMINATION! TRUMP 2028!" before running off pumping his fists into the air chanting "WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO!" till he was gone. The furry just stands there, blinking slowly in stunned silence, the spilled soda dripping a slow river down over the mask’s muzzle. A few nearby passerby glare in the direction the man had sprinted away, while most of the others seem to be pretending to have not witnessed the event. After several long, silent moments, the furry finally breaks the silence with a quiet sigh, glancing back at Narcaus with a slightly defeated look. "Welp."

"I'm just gonna…"

"Yeeeaaah, I need to head to the nearest public restroom before this sticks to my FURrrr, uh…" they give a brief wave farewell, "Have a nice rest of your day, ma'am, er-uh, w-welcome to New York, you're obviously new to this chaotic state…"

Narcaus nods slowly, still watching the fluffy person as they quickly leave scene. Her gaze drifts over the spot where the old man had disappeared down before she lets out a short sigh and begins walking again, the card in her hand suddenly feeling much more significant, as if it were a lifeline to something stable in this crazy world. "New York…" she murmurs softly to herself, as if testing the name, rolling a finger over the embossed letters of the city's name across the card. The city pulses around her, an endless rhythm of sound and movement. Horns blare, engines roar, voices rise and fall like a tide. Yet, amidst it all, Narcaus moves with the grace of a goddess, her tall frame cutting through the crowds like a ship through choppy waters.

She pauses outside a glass-faced store displaying outfits in neon colors and strange shapes. Her hand presses against the cool surface as she studies the clothes hanging inside—so short, so bright, so different from anything she's ever worn. A woman nearby notices her and approaches with a tentative smile. "Oh my god, are you modeling or something?" The woman gestures at Narcaus' bizarre attire. She looks at the woman. Average height, round and plumpy, paler than any pale being she's seen in her many years of existing, coated in rings and tattoos, with chopped hair colored like cabbage. Her shirt shows the colors of the rainbow. "I…no, I am not, I was just…going to do shopping." She says to this woman, and the plump woman sighs in relief. "Oh, well THAT'S a relief!" the woman says, "I was about to call you a fatphobic slut if you said you were!" she then takes out her hand to shake Narcaus's, "I'm Phennit, she/they!" that was their introduction. Narcaus blinks down at the outstretched hand, then lifts her own heavy bronze one with uncertainty. Her fingers close around the much smaller human hand, her grip instinctively gentle to prevent crushing it. "Narcaus." The name, for her, feels like a gift from the gods themselves—her true name, the one she gave herself in her youth, not some role given by an ambitious man. Phennit shakes her hand firmly, though Narcaus can feel the strength difference clearly. "Wow, what a name!" Phennit beams, giving her a once-over. "And what a look! You're like…ancient Mesopotamian high priestess meets Hot Topic model meets…" she pauses, "Sorry, sorry," and then panics major, "I'm not oversexualizing you, am I? I don't mean to sound anti-ambiguous or anything, really! Oh shit I didn't even ask, did I, uh-what are your pronouns!?" Narcaus blinks rapidly at the sudden onslaught of words, processing each in turn. Her fingers twitch slightly as she lowers her hand, bronze fingers leaving faintly visible indents in the other woman's skin that quickly fade. She looks at her—Phennit—her round face shifting between concern and amusement as she stumbles through her words. It is endearing in its way. "I…" Narcaus begins slowly, struggling to parse through the language she has only just begun to learn. She knows she should say something, but the phrases Phennit has used are foreign and confusing. The name 'Hot Topic' in particular strikes her as nonsensical. Instead, she focuses on the simpler concepts. "I am a she." She says. "…a woman."

Phennit’s face falters, like a phantom had appeared to them. her lip quivers as she gasps out spastic exclaims with no word only expect that of a combination of ‘s’s, ‘f’s and ‘h’s. "…Like…Like a cis woman?" Phennit asks, but before Narcaus could drown her in her backstory they start freaking out and screeching at her! "BIGOT! TRANSPHOBIC BIGOT-LOOK EVERYONE, THIS BITCH IS CISGENDERED! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" okay, time to move on, now! Narcaus recoils slightly, unsure what she's done to cause this reaction. She'd only agreed with the woman's statement—what could be so offensive about that? The crowd begins murmuring, eyes turning toward them, and Narcaus' fingers curl instinctively at her sides. This much attention makes her skin prickle with old instincts to fight or flee. she flees onward. She pivots sharply and strides away from the disturbance, heart thudding against her ribs. Behind her, Phennit keeps screaming about transphobic violence, even as Narcaus puts distance between them. Her long legs carry her swiftly down the sidewalk, weaving through the crowd with minimal effort. The shopping center looms ahead, a sprawling indoor space of artificial light and consumerism. Narcaus pauses just outside, inhaling deeply as she observes the scene. The smell of fabric softener, cinnamon rolls, and coffee swirls around her. She watches people moving with purpose—some walking hand in hand, others dragging children or pushing strollers. A middle-aged man wearing a polo shirt and khakis approaches her. "Hola, senorita-"

"Nope. Sorry. Taken." She says to cut him off as she moves forward. The middle-aged man backpaddles next to her again and shows her his watch. She pushes him to the side and keeps walking, but he persists. "Please, I just want to talk to you for a second-"

"No." she says firmly, eyes fixed ahead. She's not interested in whatever sales pitch or pickup line he's about to deliver. He does not deter. "I have a watch, a beautiful one-" She halts abruptly, turning her head toward him. Her gray skin catches the overhead lights as she fixes him with a stern expression. "I am spoken for." She states plainly. She waits a beat, watching him process her words. His face contorts slightly in uncertainty before he speaks again. "Spoken for? What does that mean? Are you-"

"I belong to another man," she clarifies, her tone cooling several degrees. He eyes her after that. "Well I don't see him. Where is he? And how come he's letting you tramp around the streets looking like that!? I mean, if you were MY woman, I wouldn't even let you out of the HOUSE!" Narcaus blinks once, then twice, as the man's tone shifts from slick to brash. Her fingers curl at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as an ancient patience snaps. "You speak of things you do not understand," she says, voice dropping into a lower register. The man straightens his shoulders, clearly misinterpreting her reaction as a challenge. He steps closer, invading her personal space, and she has to tilt her head down slightly to maintain eye contact. "Oh, I understand plenty," he mutters, grinning as he leans in. "I understand you're out here looking for trouble, and I'm just the man to give it to you."

"So, what is it you think you have that is better than what HE has, hm?" she challenges him promptly. He laughs, a short, derisive sound. "Oh, I got everything better. Better taste, better hands." His gaze drops pointedly to her body. "Better…equipment~." Narcaus exhales sharply through her nose, irritation spiking hot in her chest. This man—this arrogant, presumptuous man—thinks he can talk to her this way? That she is some common prostitute to be propositioned so openly? The audacity of it stirs something primal within her, something that has not been fully unleashed in centuries. She moves in closer, invading his space now, until he must tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. Her lips curve into something that is not quite a smile. A SNARL better fits the description. "Your words," she says softly, menace threading through each syllable, "are brave for a man who does not know who he insults." The man's smirk falters, his confidence wavering as he registers the intensity in her gaze. He swallows, throat bobbing visibly. Narcaus leans even closer, bringing her face within inches of his. His cologne—cheap, synthetic—fills her nose. "You stand in my way," she continues, "because you think you can claim something that already belongs. You think you can challenge him through me." Her hand lifts, hovering just inches from his chest. "Be very careful." For a moment, he doesn't speak. "Phft," he scoffs, "Whatever." He leaves, muttering loud enough for her to hear. "Probably have an ONLYFANS, ANYWAY. Dumb SLUT." Anger floods her eyes as she watches the man go, his words hanging like rancid perfume. This isn't the first time a foolish mortal has made such assumptions about her, but this man's audacity is particularly irksome. Her gaze narrows, the urge to chase him down and make him pay for his insults coursing through her veins. As if sensing her frustration, a small crowd begins to gather, curious about the commotion. Two children point and stare, their mother clutching them close and averting her gaze. The man's words echo in her mind, a bitter mockery. "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" Narcaus suddenly snaps at the staring crowd, the words ripping from her throat in a guttural growl that silences the gathered spectators instantly. Several people flinch and scramble backward, mothers pulling their children close. A teenage boy quickly turns away, muttering, "Creepy." Narcaus stands rigid, hands clenched at her sides as she surveys the recoiling throng. Satisfaction simmers beneath her irritation—at least they recognize her authority. But the man's insult still burns like acid in her thoughts. A sharp breath fills her lungs, and she pivots on her heel, stalking toward the nearest entrance to the one of the many storefronts.

The store door chimes as she steps inside, instantly greeted by a wave of cool air and soft, soothing music. The space is dimly lit; the overhead lights dim but bright enough to see without difficulty. She looks around curiously, her gaze taking in the neatly organized displays and quiet ambiance of the store. She's in a clothing store, a high-end boutique from what she can see. As she pauses near a rack of dresses, another patron walks by, doing a double take and muttering under her breath. "Weirdos are out in FORCE tonight. Jesus…" the patron grabs the thing hung around their neck as if it'll save them from Narcaus's being there. Narcaus ignores the rude patron, focusing on the racks of clothes. The material feels smooth and soft under her fingertips as she runs them along the dresses. A sales associate approaches her, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile. "Good afternoon, can I help you find something specific?" The saleswoman's tone is professional, but she keeps glancing nervously at Narcaus's gray skin. Narcaus turns to face her, her features neutral. "I am merely looking." The saleswoman's smile wavers slightly as she nods. "Of course." The store employee glances at her a bit more, her gaze lingering on her features—the harsh lines of her face, the metal of her body. There's curiosity there, but also clear wariness. Narcaus can sense it; this woman is analyzing her for threat. Despite the veneer of politeness, the employee's eyes flit to places she could reach for a weapon, the exits in case of an emergency, and the distance between herself and the closest person who would help her if something were to happen. A shadow. Narcaus whips her head, she is alone but sees the familiar unforeseen dust of the Spectre. She scowls and follows in hot pursuit of him, it is time he gave her answers! "Ichabod!" she calls out, the Spectre turns his head, chuckles like a trickster fuck, and recedes into the corners of a plastic wrapped Ouija board's box. "Ichabod, you get out of there and explain to me my mortal formations!" she threatens him but her words do not scathe his otherworldly ego. "This was NOT a PART OF THE DEAL, you meddlesome TWAT OF AN EX-HUSBAND!"

"Oh, yes, it was." A voice, like a choir of whispered tones and ghostly sighs, emerges from the sealed box. It's Ichabod's voice, but it sounds different—disconnected, as if it's coming from a great distance. Narcaus growls at the box, her hands clenching at her sides. "No, it was NOT!" she protests. "You said you would free my and those of familial nature from your Forsaken Realm, you've mentioned nothing of me having NONE OF MY POWERS!" her voice turns to a low, quieted growl as she grabs the box he sifted himself into and shakes it like a present on a birthday! "You will explain your trickeries to me, espECIALLY after how our deal went aBOUT, you perversive SWINE'S ANUS! I did not concede beneath you for 24 hours so you can play tricks upon me like my name was INANNA!" The box shudders in her grip, the plastic creaking ominously. Inside, Ichabod's laughter coils around her like smoke. "Oh, my dear Narcaus," he purrs, the sound reverberating from the box in a thousand layered whispers. "You always did enjoy a good game." She slams the box down onto the nearest counter with enough force to make another saleswoman and several custodians three shoe shelves away from her jump back in alarm. Other customers stare, several retreating toward the exit with their purchases clutched close. Narcaus ignores them, her attention fixed on the spectral energy emanating from the box. "This is no game to me," she snaps. "You never said anything about what I had woken to today! I have no powers! I look as human as every mortal I have ran into thus far! My powers: disappeared without a trace!"

"…Sounds like an approvement, if you ask me~."

"Ichabod!" Narcaus roared as she stormed out of the store without paying for the Ouija board, the sounds of the cashier and the alarm going off both ignored by one angry tall woman that threw the box and instruction paper out into the trash bin on her way down the concrete paved pathway between each strip mall and going at it with the board and planchette themselves, "Ichabod, answer me, why do I not have powers, anymore!" It takes him a few moments to actually form a response, the words coming from the box in a slow, teasing manner as if he's contemplating exactly what words to say to piss his ex-wife off more! "Oh, sweet sweet Narcaus, such a quick temper you have." A laugh, and then some words, "You did say you've gotten used to life amongst mortals…I’m simply granting your desire." The plastic creaks again under pressure as she squeezes the box in her fingers more. "I did NOT wish to lose my powers, damnit!" The box shudders, and the planchette inside clicks against the board as if in agreement with her. "Didn't you?" Ichabod's voice is suddenly clearer, less ethereal. "You spent centuries seeking human comforts. Now you have them—no powers, no responsibilities, no expectations. Just…normalcy." Narcaus hisses through clenched teeth. "This was not the arrangement! I agreed to be bound, not stripped!"

"You are bound," he counters smoothly. "Just not in the way you expected. The tether between powerless and powerful runs differently now. Your powers are restricted to that of mortal capabilities, now, Narcaus~." Narcaus stops walking at this, her jaw set stubbornly as she glares down at the box in her hands. "This is not funny, Ichabod." She murmurs, her voice barely above a growl. The words coming from the board makes sense now. Bound, in a different way. A way that feels off-putting and unfamiliar. "I am a goddess! I should not be bound to any manner of mortal!" Ichabod's laughter echoes again, reverberating through the streets as people hurry past, averting their eyes from the strange woman holding what appears to be a possessed toy. "Ah, but you see, my dear, you already were bound. To power, to divinity, to responsibility. And you loathed it. Don't deny it." He speaks with mock sympathy. "I did not ask for this!" Narcaus snarls, shaking the box. The plastic buckles slightly under the pressure, a hairline fracture appearing along one side. She doesn't notice. Or care. "No," Ichabod agrees, his tone almost gentle. "You didn't. But you wanted it."

“Ichabod, I am what most of these mortals’ grandparents all referred to as a Zeitgeist, please at least, give me back my third eye and my POWERS!” silence from the board. then a low growl of satisfaction from Ichabod. “Oh, how I love it when you beg for me, darling~. Promise you won’t destroy humanity without me with your powers?” The corner of Narcaus' mouth twitches in restrained fury, her fingers still curled around the box with enough pressure to crack it slightly further. "I do not make promises lightly," she warns. The air around them crackles with static, though she doesn't realize it—she has no connection to that energy anymore. It's just an atmospheric reaction, nothing more. A small group of teenagers walking past gawk at her, muttering about the crazy lady talking to herself and a plastic box. She ignores them. "Fine. I promise I will not destroy humanity—yet—without you by my side. But give me back what I had!" Ichabod hums, the sound thick with amusement. "Hmm…I will…but you must listen to my orders before I can give them to you~. Just so I know I can trust you again, my little royal whore…."

"You were ALWAYS terrible with forming PET NAMES." She mutters, but he ignores her sourness. "Flag a cab for us?" he says. Well? What's a cab!? "A, "cab"?" she looked around her bearings, "And how do I locate such as a "cab"?" Ichabod sighs, "Goodness, you are as much of mind fossil as my dear older BROTHER, Lord BLACK Hat!" he exclaims annoyedly, "It ranges, Narcaus! Either to be a yellow car with "TAXI" written on it, or a civilian vehicle with an UBER sticker taped to the windshield!"

"…What…is this "OO-ber" you speak of?"

The Spectre groans, agitated. A pause, then a heavy sigh. "Goodness, by Carcossa in the vastness above, you are hopeless." He mutters to himself. Then louder, "It is a service. People drive you around in their own vehicles while you give them money-it is a ride service!" Narcaus is standing on a crowded street corner in New York City, still holding the possessed Ouija board that contains Ichabod's spirit. She looks lost and confused as she stares at the busy traffic. A yellow cab with "TAXI" written on the roof finally pulls up. Narcaus opens the door, still clutching the box. She struggles to understand the concept of payment as Ichabod guides her through it. As they drive, Ichabod uses the spirit box to explain modern currency and cab fares. It only goes in one ear and out the other with her. The taxi driver, a middle-aged man with thick, graying eyebrows and a name tag that reads 'Khalid,' watches her in the rearview mirror with wary curiosity as she mutters to herself, occasionally holding the plastic box up near her face like a phone. He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead, silent and professional, though his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel whenever she utters something particularly strange or archaic. "You see this, this is the kind of mortal service I'm speaking of," Ichabod muses, speaking through the box with clear amusement. "Enough of my chatter for the time, ask him if he prefers his traditional yellow cab or the Uber business. Ask him that. Now!" Narcaus leans forward, peering through the hole between the two front seats at the driver's seat. "Excuse me, kind mortal, but do you prefer driving your yellow taxi over the modern “OO-ber” business, or is this your preference?" she speaks in her normal, harsh and demanding tone. The driver blinks silently, eyes flickering from Narcaus’ face to the Ouija board in her hand. He's never seen a Ouija board being used in the back of his taxi, and it unsettles him a bit. “Um…” he starts, clearly confused and unsure of how to respond. "I just do this to support my family," he says after a pause, glancing back at the road as the car lurches forward. "The money's okay with the yellow cab, but the ride-share apps, they're not good. The cut they take is bad." Ichabod hums in satisfaction, the planchette inside the box clicking idly. "Ah, there we have it. The old way still holds its weight in his heart. A man of tradition." Narcaus looks unimpressed. "A man of necessity, I would say. Few choose their work out of joy. They simply choose it for survival."

"You sound jaded for someone who just discovered modern money," Ichabod quips. "So you go to meet your husband, miss?" he asks. "You meet him where I am going, the big mall?" Narcaus looks in front at him. "Husband?" she repeats. "I am with a man, yes, but; we are not married. Much too soon for the idea-" the cab driver cuts her off at the stop of a red light with a raised palm in her eyesight. Narcaus speaks Arabic to the taxi driver. She asks about his wives in New York. The driver swivels in his seat, his thick brows lifting in shock at hearing his own language spoken by this strange woman. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel for a moment before he exhales a laugh. "Four," he admits, shaking his head. "But not all here in New York. Most are in Cairo still."

"Ah," Narcaus nods, understanding dawning. "You are from Egypt then. I mistook you for a man of my people's bloodline. An honest mistake," she takes her credit card to his view, "Now how do I…" The taxi driver looks at the strange bronze woman. She's a strange creature with pale grey skin, metal parts, and no understanding of the modern world. He looks down at the card in her hand, then back to her face. "You put it in the reader, here," he points to a small machine, attached to the armrest between the two front seats. "Slide it through and wait for the beep." Narcaus slides the card into the reader, her movements slow and careful. The cab driver watches as the machine processes her payment. The beep finally comes. She looks up at him, triumphant. "It works! Ha!" Ichabod's voice crackles through the spirit box, clearly amused by her excitement. "How novel. You're like a child discovering fire." Narcaus glares down at the plastic rectangle in her hand. "It is not discovery when you lack the knowledge. It is simply…integration." She looks to the door, takes her card as she opens, and leaves.

Chapter Text

The mall’s exterior shimmers with a strange duality—its mirrored façade catches the dying sunlight and refracts it into fractured halos, casting warped reflections of the city’s polluted skyline and its multilingual chaos. The building looks both opulent and exhausted, like a monument to forgotten wealth. Inside, through revolving doors, the transition is palpable: the sterile brightness of day gives way to a warm, amber haze that softens edges and deepens shadows. Escalators slow to a languid pace, and the air grows heavier, tinged with the scent of synthetic sandalwood and something faintly metallic. Storefronts flicker between open and closed, their signage glitching in and out of legibility. Shoppers move more slowly now, as if lulled into a trance—some pausing mid-stride to stare at mannequins that seem to breathe. The mall hums with a low, resonant frequency, like it’s preparing to dream. Narcaus takes seemingly careful steps, given snarky quips over it from Ichabod within the boxed, plastic wrapped confines of the Ouija board as she begins her automatic descent into the 1st and main floor to the mall, steadying herself as though she was on a tightrope rather than steps that automatically moved her from one section of a place to the next for her. The escalator hums beneath her like the throat of a dying god. She’s ridden chariots carved from obsidian, watched empires rise from riverbanks and crumble into sand, but this—this mall—is stranger than any ziggurat or temple. The air smells like synthetic longing. Amber light pools in corners where shadows used to whisper in Sumerian. When she lands her feet soft against the new linoleum floor she first passes a storefront selling dreams in glass vials, and one of them pulses with the color of her first death, making her frown and shake like an angry rattlesnake as she mocked the very name “TAPH”. The mannequins wear robes stitched from languages her family had helped invent. She feels the weight of time pressing against her ribs, not like a burden, but like a lover she had outlived, though it was temporary to feel; she had more than plenty. These people—these flickering, distracted creatures—don’t see her. They never do. But the mall does. It remembers the shape of her footsteps before concrete was born. It hums her name in frequencies only the stars still speak. And somewhere, behind a velvet curtain, Narcaus feels like she knows there’s a door that leads back to the beginning. Or maybe forward. At this hour, the difference is academic. The mall seems to move around her, like a dance of the dead. The mall moves as if it was built for her. The lights glow on and off like a living heartbeat. And through this haze of the present, the now, the past, the future, Narcaus suddenly wonders: has the mall always known she would be here? She looks back for a moment, her eyes catching the eyes of people who weren’t there before.

"Narcaus!" Ichabod's voice crackles from the box, tinged with uncharacteristic frustration. "You wander like a lost soul in Hades. Do you even know where you're going? Nevermind," he then says, "of course you don't! Now, again, listen to only ME! Go to the OTHER SIDE of the MALL. There should be a nice store just PERFECT for you, there~." Narcaus pauses, looking down at the plastic toy-board in her grasp. She lets out a frustrated huff, her eyes narrowing slightly. Of course. Trust him to know better than her. Still, she finds herself following his instructions, turning on her heels and walking in the opposite direction that she had been. She moves through the flickering neon halls; past shoppers caught in the sway of the mall's synthetic pulse. Near the center, a department store sprawls like an empire of excess—mannequins posed in impossible angles, mirrors stretching light into oblivion, clothing racks shuddering like breathing things. Narcaus stands at the threshold, hesitant. The air here feels different, charged. The staff behind the counters pretend not to see her as she enters, though their shoulders tense when she passes. One clerk, a woman with black hair twisted into a severe bun, watches Narcaus with something between recognition and alarm as she drifts through the women's wear section. "Ah, you're here now." She blinks. Ichabod growls. "Turn aROUND. NARCAUS." She turns around and her red colored eyes get HIT with a barrage of PINK, WHITE, GLITTER AND BEYOND, with a large neon sign in cursive font reading the store's name as "BIMBOSTICS". Wall-to-wall in shades utmost ultra feminine, with mannequins in sultriest attires with proportions that straight up defied the laws of basic physics, shelves of cosmetics, wigs, shapewear, and "empowerment" slogans such as the sign that said, "Slay Now, Pay Later". "Oh, look~," Ichabod taunts at her displeasure, "They have a large promo poster that says all first time customers can get a free transformation treatment~! How QUIANT~! That's exactly what you NEED! HAH! Get it? Cause you're waaaaaaay behind schedule? Get it? Narcaus-"

"-I hear you. I know what you want." She says flatly, unimpressed. The store is suffocatingly pink, reeking of manufactured desire and synthetic luxury. She strides past racks of dresses that cling to bodies like second skins, their colors bleeding into one another in garish splendor. The employees—young women with perfect makeup and perfectly manufactured smiles—follow her movements with practiced ease, their eyes flickering with something unreadable. Perhaps recognition. Perhaps wariness. "Touch something, dummy." Ichabod's voice is sharp, demanding. Narcaus hesitates, then snatches a glittering gold evening gown from the rack. The fabric is impossibly soft, cool against her fingertips. "Eh."

"EH!?" Ichabod goes, "What ever happened to "Shiny Shiny, Mine-Mine-MINE" Narcaus!?"

"A divorce in 2001 happened." She said to him sourly. The saleswoman approaches, her heels tapping against the smooth tiled floor. "May I help you with anything, hun?" she asks, her smile tight and forced. This woman is not comfortable with the tall, imposing figure in her store. Her gaze flicks to the Ouija box in Narcaus' hand with thinly veiled repulsion. "Tell her you want the free thing they're promoting-"

"I will do no such thing." She mutters to him. The saleswoman gives her a confused look but then puts on a more forced smile. "It's your choice, but we are doing a first-time customer promotion in celebration for the release of the new Fall Collection. Free makeover. You can choose between the Gold or Silver package." She explains with a false sweet and polite tone, gesturing to a large sign on the wall. "Ooooor…are you referring to the free transformation service~?" the saleswoman inquires. "Well, aren't you clever?" Ichabod sneers. "How DOES it feel to be the type of woman who needs a special service just to be presentable?" Narcaus exhales through her nose. The saleswoman blinks at the golden dress still in her grip. "Do you—do you want to try that on?" she asks cautiously. "Not particularly." Narcaus tosses the gown back onto the rack with a little more force than necessary. The movement sends ripples through the hanging garments. The saleswoman flinches slightly but maintains her smile. Ichabod chuckles darkly. "Ahhh, there she is~." The box shivers in her hands, he grows aroused in it. "Now tell her you want it. Tell her. TELL HER IF YOU WANT YOUR POWERS BACK~!" She exhales sharply, fingers curling around the plastic of the Ouija box as she levels the saleswoman with a look. There's something electric in the air now—not just the pulsing neon lights and the too-sweet perfume clinging to the atmosphere, but something older, something wild just beneath the surface. An irritated flash of red sparks into her irises, her gaze hardening. "Fine. I'd like the free transformation service offer." The saleswoman's smile wavers—just for a second—but she quickly regains her composure. "Great! Right this way," she says, leading Narcaus toward the back of the store where a small, semi-private alcove is set up with a desk and a stool behind two metal doors. Mirrors surround the space, their frames lined with tiny flickering bulbs that cast a harsh, almost surgical glow. The woman gestures to a rather plastic above flesh looking older-ish woman at said desk. The older woman—dressed in an immaculate white lab coat over a tailored pantsuit—stands with practiced ease. She has a stern demeanor, sharp features, and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun. She does not smile. Her gaze locks onto Narcaus like a predator spotting prey. "Ah. Someone who needs the most help," she says, voice dry as autumn leaves. Narcaus does not move. The woman in the lab coat steps forward, peering up at her with narrowed eyes. She grips Narcaus's chin roughly, turning her face this way and that. "Your proportions are…interesting. Pam, could you," the employee who led her to this alcove grabs a tape measurer and hands it to the older woman. "Thank you." There's a silence. The older woman measures Narcaus' shoulders, her waist, her legs, her everything. The silver measuring tape wraps around each limb, the numbers jotted down onto a tablet in the woman's hands. Finally, she takes a step back, her gaze sweeping up and down the now-measured Narcaus. "You will need the full treatment. A complete overhaul." The older woman's tone is flat, matter-of-fact. "We can fix this." She snaps the tape measure closed and gestures to the stool. "Sit." Narcaus exhales slowly through her nose but complies, lowering herself onto the stool. The seat is cold against her thighs, the backrest pressing against her shoulders. The older woman positions herself behind the counter, pulling out what appears to be a sleek tablet with an array of buttons and sliders. "Now," she says, tapping the screen, "let's talk about what you need." She begins listing items as if checking off a shopping list. "Surgical enhancement of facial contours."

"Well what's wrong with what my face looks like NOW?" Narcaus nips, taking the tips of bronze fingers and planting against the firm jawline of her heart-shaped face. The older woman tsks and gives Narcaus a foul look. "Asymmetrical facial features; too much fat up here," she pops open a marker and begins to quickly and professionally dot lines across the apples of her cheeks, "and too little fat down here!" she continues by doing the same to her actual, more flesh than meat, cheek area. "Now what of your chin and jawline, well," she lines it in quick swips of the marker, "we'll just shrink it down a little bit. As for your nose-"

"What. is wrong. with my. NOSE…" Narcaus's tone grew dark; it threatened the woman, CHALLENGED her to explain just what was wrong with Narcaus's LARGE, WIDE, and PROMINENT. NOSE. "Now, now, let's not get emotional," the older woman says, still sketching away with the marker. "Your nose is far too wide for modern aesthetic standards. We can narrow it, refine it, give you a more feminine, delicate appearance. Wouldn't you like to look prettier, dear?" She adds, her tone carrying an almost predatory quality. Narcaus stares at her, something ancient and dangerous flickering in the depths of her eyes. The saleswoman who led her here has retreated to the main area of the store, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity of the exchange. Ichabod giggles from the Ouija box. "See? You need all this, don't you?"

"Nothing is the matter with my nose!" she retorted. "My nose is ideal, ask - ANYONE."

"Oh, but honey," the older woman coos, stepping closer, "what matters is what the men want to see." She leans down, getting right in Narcaus's face, her sharp gaze boring into hers. "A man wants to be with a woman who knows her place, who understands that beauty is about submission. And right now? You don't look like the kind of girl who submits. Your nose, your mouth, your posture—all of it screams defiance. That won't do." Narcaus doesn't move, but something in her expression shifts, something primal and ancient settling over her features. "…And what would make me compliant in this society, then?" she asks, her voice eerily calm. The older woman smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips that borders on condescension. "A smaller nose, a more supple and soft mouth, a smaller chin, a petite jaw, arched eyebrows - all the things a good woman should have to be pleasing to the eye, according to what the men want to see. And as I mentioned before, we could slim down that waist, thicken up those hips and thighs…"

"I am already struggling in the wearable gifts my man provides me, mortal," she nips at the older woman again, "Last thing I would NEED is to not so much as be able to fit all my amples into a meager MOOMOO!" Ichabod chastises her through the confines he gave himself, "Narcee, Narcee, Narcee. Why don't you just admit it already, dear, over 5,000 years old - your fat is KINDA starting to move ELSEWHERE..."

"Oh, can it, in there!" she snaps at the Spectre, "I'm only moving along this plastic water wave to get my powers back!" she then turns her head back up at the older woman, "Can't I just get one of the free transformation thingies that DOESN'T make me look like THAT?" she points to what looks like a frequent customer of the place, and each obvious hit of silicone SHOWS IT. The older woman clicks her tongue in disappointment. "Oh, I see. You want the quick fix without the work, do you? No, no, no, that's not how this works." She taps the tablet screen a few times before turning it around to show Narcaus. The display shows a before-and-after image—the "before" is Narcaus, untouched, and the "after" shows her with all the recommended changes applied digitally. "This is what you need," she says firmly. "Not some half-measure that won't last or won't satisfy. If you want real results, real transformation, then you have to commit." She places the tablet back down and folds her hands on the counter.  "Oo," Ichabod goes, "Narcaus~. Look to your left, there, check out THAT piece of technology!" She turns her head slightly, and her face is that of the disgusted look her ex-BROTHER-in-law would make all the time, as she sees a man, wealthy in mink and a large brimmed feminine hat, rings on all of his fingers and a small hoop attached to his right nostril with small dumbbells pierced to the ends of his eyebrows; his face bearded fully, not like the Don's smooth 5'0'clock shadowed stubble…and the WOMAN standing NEXT to HIM, if you can even CALL HER A WOMAN! UGH! All she had on was a skin-tight suit that only covered around, rather than over, her intimate body parts. Her hair was tide into a tight upright bun, a mask covering from the bottom portion of her face to around her head like some weird bandana attached to giant metal muffs over her ears, and the mouth the mask held with its…putridly over plumped LIPS, the LONGUE RED TONGUE HANGING OUT; all that covered her oversized breasts were tiny, miniscule pasties, and it looked like both her ass hole and her vagina were plugged with some strange, reverse positioned FLESHLIGHTS. A pair of eyewear covers her eyes, and beeps of color like a monitor of sorts. All foreign, all disgusting, to Narcaus. Even SHE, of all people, had LIMITS to things. This was merely ONE OF THEM. "What. the FUCK. am I even LOOKING at right now." The older woman follows Narcaus's gaze and lets out a knowing chuckle. "Ah, I see you've spotted Mr. Flaxman and his…personal investment. Don't mind him. He's one of our most dedicated clients." Narcaus scoffs, her gaze locked on the grotesque spectacle before her. "I do not understand the appeal of becoming THAT." She gestures dismissively at the bizarre creature beside Mr. Flaxman. The older woman leans against the counter, studying Narcaus with keen interest. "Oh, my dear, the question isn't whether you understand. The question is whether you want to be desired by a man who would find that appealing." Narcaus stares at the woman on display, her face a mix of disgust and fascination. "How is THAT appealing to anyone?" she protests, her voice low and strained. "Is that even a human being anymore?" The older woman shrugs, her nonchalance a stark contrast to Narcaus’ horror. "Desire is a subjective thing, darling." She gestures to the woman, “Look again. She's attractive to people. You're not."

"Well, that's just rude!" Narcaus sputters, her face flushing red with indignation. "How can you say that?" The older woman sighs, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "Because it's true. You're standing in a beauty clinic, surrounded by perfection, and you're still wearing that…" She waves a hand dismissively at Narcaus' form. "…That mess." Narcaus glances down at herself, her clothes suddenly feeling tight and inadequate. "This is what I was given to wear! It's not my fault!" The older woman raises an eyebrow skeptically. "And yet here you are, wearing them."

"THEY WERE A GIFT TO ME FROM THE DON, YOU WETLAND SNIPE!" Narcaus' words ring out with an ancient power, commanding the room despite her obvious disorientation. The older woman doesn't flinch, instead tilting her head slightly as if amused by the outburst. "The Don," she repeats, tasting the name. "Ah, I see. You belong to him." She straightens up and taps her fingers thoughtfully against the countertop. "That changes things…slightly." She reaches for the tablet again and begins swiping rapidly. "A mafia boss's mistress needs to project a certain image, especially if she's…untrained in modern ways." Her eyes flick up to meet Narcaus'. "What exactly do you bring to the table, dear?"

"Whatever it is I bring to this imaginary table?" she snarks, "Is better off than that amalgamation over there!" Mr. Flaxton heard that smart remark. "Now I do say, I say-which boss owns YOU, my lil' witchy goomah~?" he says as he saunters over to her with a jaggerman's swagger, the machine-monster of a woman in tow silently. Narcaus bristles at the approach of Mr. Flaxman. She's on edge, her body rigid, but she lifts her gaze to meet his challenge, unwilling to show any weakness. Her eyes narrow. "I belong to no one," she says, her voice as sharp as a blade. "I am my own person." The older woman watches the exchange with a keen interest. She taps the tablet and flips it around to face Narcaus again, the digital transformation staring back at her. "Ah, the illusion of independence. How quaint." Mr. Flaxman lets out a deep chuckle, the sound rumbling from his broad chest as he stops just within Narcaus' personal space. His presence is overwhelming—heavy cologne and something metallic that reminds Narcaus of the machine beside him. The woman with him doesn't move, doesn't react, but her eyes track Narcaus with a blank, mechanical precision that sends an uneasy shiver down her back. "Oh, now that just ain't true, is it, lil' gal?" Flaxman's voice is thick with amusement, his meaty hand adjusting his hat. "But since yer all shiny and new to the real world, I am certain yer man ain't taught you nothing…about respectin' what they want of you yet, hm? I mean, in these times, now - I don't mean to sound 'OFFENSIVE' or nothin': but yer SKIN, you look like one'a them "ROE-BLOCKS" characters!" Narcaus bristles even deeper at his words, her body tense as a tightly wound coil. She can feel her anger surging, her fingers curling into fists. But she steels herself, refusing to back down. "And what, exactly, is wrong with the way I look?" she challenges, her voice hard and cold. "Centuries out away from the sun diminished all but the genetics that made up my pigment. Some time back in under it will eventually bring it ba-"

"Hush, now, honey; since yer lil' Don ain't here to tell ya what to do himself," he pulls from his thick fur coat a cylinder shaped pile of green paper and rolled it along the desk to the older woman before tipping his cap and placing the hand that tipped it onto Narcaus's forehead, "I'll pay up for ya on his behalf. For 'er Free Transformities I wan' this fine little vixen over here to get the Big Mamma Special; I want that Aphrodite package paid upfront when she gets done, y'hear?" Narcaus swats his hand off her head and stands up "NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE-" but greed drowns her, for once her voice is the one to be ignored by everyone! The older woman gives Mr. Flaxman a sly smirk as she accepts the bundle of money. "Of course, sir. Consider it done." She glances at Narcaus with a look of satisfaction on her face, clearly enjoying the fact that she can now ignore the younger woman's protests. "You won't be disappointed." The woman turns to some other younger employees who take little to no time hoisting her through those metal doors by her metal arms, Mr. Flaxman and his 'woman' moving behind inside with them. The door closes with a soft, menacing click, leaving Narcaus standing there, alone but not silenced. She stares at the doors, frustration and anger building inside of her. "How dare he make decisions about me." Machines, in vast rows, used or not, employees as plastic as the ones outside in the retail portion of this so-call store! “A fine, early evenin’ to ya all, ladies~.” God, what an asshole he is. She doesn’t know him well, but Narcaus already despises him as she’s led down to an unused station and the employees who force her into this place let go of her. a machine beeps and boops a voice through horn shaped devices on all corners of the upper parts of the walls in a female, robotic tone: “THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING BIMBOSTICS AUGMENTATION SERVICES! FIRST TIME CUSTOMERS GET THEIR CHOICE OF AUGEMNTATION SERVICE, FREE OF CHARGE! PLEASE BE SURE TO REMOVE ALL FABRIC AND METAL ITEMS FROM YOUR PERSON BEFORE ENTERING, AND ABSOLUTLY NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY, AS IT WILL INTERFERE WITH OUR DEVICES. THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING BIMBOSTICS AUGMENTATION SERVICES!” One of the lab coat and goggle wearing employees steps up to the machine's interface. "Please remove all fabric and possible metal items from your person before stepping inside," she orders Narcaus as she presses a button that unlocks and opens the sliding glass door with a steam emitting sound; inside was a very strange seat, and several electronic squares. "The monitors will show you inside the machine what it'll show us outside the machine." The room is stark white, dominated by a massive machine with dozens of metal arms and tubes. In the center stands a single chair, its surface covered in small, glowing pads. Narcaus feels small and vulnerable, her bare feet touching the cold floor. The technician, a young woman with steel-blue hair, gestures to the chair. "Please take a seat. We'll start with a basic physical and cosmetic scans before your augmentation can proceed to begin." Narcaus hesitates for a moment, then slowly approaches the chair. As she sits down, the pads adjust to her body, softening the surface. "This might feel strange at first," the technician warns as she types something into a nearby console, her red eyes see all that is outside, and her ears hear the same thing. Her clothes, gifts from the Don, neatly folded on a stool, with her credit card and the spare phone he gave her for emergencies. Narcaus's eyes then slither up to Mr. Flaxman's smug look on his ugly face. "We will begin by scanning your internal and external properties for accuracy. You may feel a slightly COLD sensation with a hint of PRESSURE; this is to ensure 100% accuracy for the procedure."

"Slightly cold?" she goes. "Why would it be slightly co-" a dildo-like object slides into her vagina through the seat of the chair, large in girth like it was layered with plastic and frosted goo, "AH~?! N-NEVERMIND! I GET IT, NOW! Fu~…!" All the technicians pay no mind to Narcaus' reactions or concerns. They're like living mannequins themselves, with blank expressions and empty eyes. As the machine whirrs and hums, the lights flicker around her. The sensors in the pads of the seat probe her body, taking detailed scans and sending data to the control panel. "Please remain still," the technician instructs, her voice flat. "Any movement might interfere with the machine's calibration." Some weird, facial mask with soft blue lights humming from the inside of it attached to a metal arm brims down like a snake from the ceiling of the machine, and slides itself perfectly over Narcaus's face. "Calibrating," the technician says as she activates it; "Looking for any…genetic features to augment along with…scanning in 3, 2, 1." The blue lights of the mask glow intensely, casting a strange, almost otherworldly hue over Narcaus's face. Her eyes widen as she can feel the machine's probes and sensors gliding over her skin like cold, invasive fingers, scanning her features and mapping every contour, curve, and detail. The sensation is almost violating, and she can sense the machine's cold, clinical gaze analyzing everything about her, cataloguing all her unique characteristics. "Let's see here…" the technician stops the calibrating with some clicks and finger magic; the mask and its confidants leave her presence. "Loading results." A screen showing colored bars that form circles inside circles appears on a screen each; both outside and inside. "Reconfiguring to show modern data…this is a first." As the technicians discuss the results of the scans and calibrations, the machine continues its work, now configuring itself to use modern data instead of ancient data. The screen displays a series of colorful graphs and diagrams, displaying comprehensive information about Narcaus's genetics and physical attributes. It's a detailed breakdown of her health, her bone structure, her muscle structure, everything. "Okay, so what we're working with here, Mr. Flaxman," she moves a smaller screen on the interface more towards him, and he pulls a pair of thin oval framed wire glasses out of his overshirt chest pocket to put them on, "we've got 34.39% North African, 38.67% Southern Iraqi, 12.19% Ashkenazi Jewish, 7.90% Sephardic Jewish, and 6.85% Central African."

"Hah," Flaxman chuckles, wiping the thin line of sweat from under his eyeglasses, "A real mutt, huh? No wonder her nose is such a mess." His words cut sharper than the machine ever could. Narcaus stiffens in the chair, her face flushing with both anger and shame. The technician gives him a sidelong glance but says nothing. Instead, she continues, "And for her face, we're looking at an approximate -2. 13 on the nose correction scale, -1. 76 on the facial symmetry, and -3. 28 on the overall balance." Flaxman scoffs. "Y'can't tell right if she's not accurate unless you're inches from her FACE, there, little lady~. Them there LIPS are plump as is, but they could use a good ole' SHINE to distract from them BONES, underneath~."  He took another look at the small monitor screen. "What's it say she's got going on right now, sweetie pie~? How BIG is she? How AMPLE~?" The technician taps the screen, scanning through the data. "Subject's currently measuring 99-97-119." Mr. Flaxman lets out a long, low whistle. "Impressive. And it's ALL NATURAL?"

"HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY SUPPLENESS! JUST WAIT TILL HE HEARS ABOUT YOUR RUDENESS TOWARD ME!!!" Narcaus calls out at him. Mr. Flaxman merely laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, darlin'," he drawls in a low, mocking tone, "I've made plenty of women like you cry before. They all turn into whimpering, whining, needy, obedient little things under my watchful eye, you just watch me~."

"Cristiano 2" the Siri on the phone went as it began to ring. Flaxman and Narcaus's attentions turn to the phone, and his smile grew wicked with a realization. "Cristiano, eh?" he says as he picks up the phone. "This oughta be an interestin' conversation. Get some pigment back on this bitch; I gotta answer this lil' man 'a hers, on her behalf~…" He sauntered off down the hall, hitting the green button on the screen and bringing the cell phone up to his ear. "Eeehhhhh, Chrissyyyy!" he drawls, "Been a long time since I heard from ya!"

"Why the hell do you got my girl's phone, Flaxman?!" the Don's voice came from the other end of the line, agitated and irate. "Where is she, WHERE'S NARCAUS AT, YOU FILTHY TEXAN SON OF A BITCH?! I swear to the MOTHER MARY, SETH, if you touch so much a STRAND OF BLONDE HAIR ON HER PRETTY LITTLE HEAD, I WILL MAKE YOU EAT YOUR GOD, DAMN, TEETH!!! WHERE IS SHE?!"

"Oh, she's right here, big boy," Flaxman crooned, glancing back over his shoulder at Narcaus with a wicked grin. "Why don't you come on down and check on her yourself, hmm? See how real she looks, all fixed up for you~." His grin widened as he heard the Don's breathing quicken, rage simmering beneath the surface. "Course, that might be a shame, ain't it? Might spoil all the fun~." He winked at Narcaus, and she glared at him with pure hatred in her stare. The technician working on her continued adjusting the machine, seemingly unfazed by the heated conversation occurring just feet away. "FUN?! WHAT FUN?!" the Don's voice echoed through the phone, a murderous tone in his words, "You let me know exactly where she is right damn now, or you are dead, you hear me?!" The Don was fuming, his voice almost trembling with anger. He smirked and tsked. "You know where I get my funbags some new toys."

"SETH, YOU ARE DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME! WHEN I GET OVER THERE-" Mr. Flaxman hangs up the phone on him and saunters on back to the machine, tossing it on top of Narcaus's folded clothes. "Shame, really." He says to her. "Sounds like yer' getin' picked up early, there, Nurcuss." He then smacks his machine confined woman on the ass to make her let out a moan for him before doing the same to the technician. "Get this mutt all nice and dolled up for when Sonnellino shows. I want that bitch lookin' reeeeal gooood~." Narcaus writhes in the machine as the technician works, her body reshaping under their cruel hands. She looks at Flaxman with hatred burning, wishing him dead as he makes crude comments and smacks the weirdly shaped woman's ass again. The technician remains focused on her work, seemingly oblivious to his crudeness. Flaxman finally steps back, admiring his handiwork. "There we go, little mutt. Don't you look pretty? Bet yer' gonna get that Italian son of a bitch all hot and bothered when he sees you now." He smirks, knowing full well what he's done to her. "I hope he kills you, you disgusting pig!"

"Eugh, that VOICE, TOO." Flaxman puts his hand on a dial and eyes her lips, "Let's see what you sound like when I do THIS to ya~!" He turned the dial, and her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. Flaxman burst out laughing as the technician made a few adjustments to the settings on the machine. "That's better! A LITTLE more feminine now, huh?" He grinned and smacked her ass again. "Y'all just get her all prettied up for the Don, ya hear? I wanna see that Italian SOB's jaw drop when he sees this new and improved version of his 'girlfriend'." The technician nodded, still working methodically on the machine.  Narcaus watches them work, watches Flaxman leave laughing like he conquered an army in under 30 seconds, and then watched the unseen smoke that was Ichabod slither out as dust from the Ouija board box. He did not manifest fully; only became part of the shadows, only for her to be able to still see and hear him and not anyone else. "ICHABOD!" she snarls. "TRICKSTER TRASH! GIVE ME MY POWERS BACK, ALREADY!"

"Heh." Ichabod's voice wafts from the smoke in an amused murmur, curling around her like an invisible serpent. "My, my, how the mighty have fallen. A goddess reduced to a squeaking doll in the hands of crude thugs." His tone is mocking, but there's something else beneath it—a subtle curiosity. "Tell me, goddess," he continues, his presence intensifying as he drifts closer to the machine. "What is it like to be so helpless? To have every inch of your body molded by men who don't even see you as a person?" The smoke drifts up and down her new curves, tracing them without quite touching. He holds her head within smoke and turns her to a monitor that worked like a functioning mirror into her future. "Look at you, within some long moments you'll look 3,000 years younger again! Then I get to see what you looked like in PERSON~! No more of those silly clay tablets you liked to brag about, eh, Narcee~?"

"I'LL GUT YOU FOR THIS!" she snaps at him! Ichabod chuckled, a shadowy tendril reaching out to touch her face, almost tenderly, except for the fact it was from ichabod. "Hush, you. You're in no position to threaten me, not with Flaxman watching. As much of a crude cretin he is, he knows just how to make women like you squeal." His smoky tendril continues to trace her curves, almost admiringly, as if inspecting a fine piece of artwork.

[meanwhile]

The Mercedes and the two Royce Phantoms skirt into the front of the turnaround with loud screeches and marks into the asphalt from their tires, all five of them rushing out with their weapons in their hands and their straps ready in their hilts on their belts as concealed carries. "I want that asshole dragged by the ball-tail, got it!?" the Don snarls at his goons, "No hesitation-I want that bastard tied to the back of my damn CAR for this!" he rushes forward towards the store on the other side of the mall, sword in hand drawn and ready. A mall cop sees them - "Sirs, SIRS-PUT THOSE WEAPONS DOWN-OOOoooffffffaaaah!" and then they collapse the second the soldier hits them square in the family jewels with his crowbar as they all passed by the mall cop. The Don bursts into the store with his men, scaring away the few customers inside. "FLAXMAN! YOU DEAD ASS MOTHERFUCKER!" he roars, brandishing his sword. Flaxman, who had been lounging in a chair, looks up with mock surprise. "Well, well, look who finally showed up." He stands, cracking his neck. "I was wonderin' when you'd show up, Sonnellino~!" he drawls, "Gotta admit, I wasn't expectin' EVERYBODY, though." He eyes the men flanking the Don. "You brough' half your damn fellas with ya? I must be more important 'an I thought." The Don does not play, immediately stepping closer with the tip of his blade pressed to Flaxman's throat. The Don speaks with a threatening rumble. "Where. Is. She." His men fan out around the store, covering all exits, their weapons still out and ready. The older woman from the desk stays hunched in the corner, visibly shaking. Flaxman, however, only smirks and slowly raises his hands, keeping them visible. "Now, now, Chrissy," he says, the words almost gentle in contrast to the Don's fury. "Is that any way to talk to the man who just got your girl all prettied up for ya?"

"IF YOU DID ANYTHING TO HER, SETH, I SWEAR TO GOD-" Flaxman laughs, a low, mocking sound that seems to echo through the room, his smirk not wavering. "Oh, we did plenty, Chrissy~! In fact, you should thank me! I even gave her a little voice change-up. Makes her sound a bit more feminine, y'know? Since her voice was real annoying." The Don's grip tightens on the sword, the blade pressing harder against Flaxman's throat. His men shift uneasily, ready to strike at their boss's signal. "Flaxman," he says, with dangerous quiet. "You got exactly one second to show me where she is before I start cutting pieces off you." Flaxman raises an eyebrow, tilting his head just enough for the sword to bite into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. He doesn't flinch. Instead, he smirks wider. "Ooooh, you're mad now~! Look at you, all worked up over little old me! Ain't that sweet?" Flaxman's smirk broadened. "You see? I've gotten under your skin, like I always do. You're all riled up and ready to cut me into little pieces. But let's be real, Chrissy. I'm the one with the upper hand here. I've got what you want." He gestures lazily toward the back room where Narcaus remains. "And I think she's gonna be real pleased to see you. Real pleased. Isn't that right, doll?" He speaks mockingly, though the Don can hear the faintest tremor of unease beneath his bravado. The Don doesn't hesitate. His blade flashes as he cuts downward in a vicious arc. Flaxman manages to jerk back just in time—still too slow. The sword opens a gash across his shoulder, spilling fresh blood onto the tile. He staggers back, cursing as pain finally breaks through his composure. He reaches for his gun, aims, shoots, but misses; Flaxman hits the bulb of a long stretched ceiling light instead, the shot from the gun startles the rest of the goons, several of them drawing their own firearms. The older woman at the desk shrieks at the violence unfolding in front of her as Flaxman tries to run away, but he's stopped by a goon's hand as his arm is twisted painfully behind his back. People run, people scream. The Don draws his own gun from its concealed spot and pointed the barrel under Flaxton's chin. "LEAD ME TO 'ER! NOW!" he boomed his order loudly for it to echo! "Alright! Alright, jeez," Flaxman grumbled, his voice strained as the goon tightened his hold. "You don't gotta be so damn violent!" He limps toward the back room, the Don following close behind, gun never wavering. Flaxman reaches for the handle and pushes it open. The Don sees her immediately: Narcaus, dressed in a figure-hugging dress, her face flushed and her expression equal parts confusion and apprehension. Her hair is shorter now, styled differently, and her movements are slower, more controlled. More feminine as an incel's stereotype than a person. Flaxman speaks with a smirk. "Told ya she was real pleased, huh?" The Don's jaw tightens as he moves past Flaxman into the room. His eyes lock with Narcaus's, and he can see the conflict within them. He then backhands Flaxman with his gun, hard across the man's dusty coco colored face, before kneeing the back of the man's neck with his kneecap and shoving the barrel against Flaxman's temple. "Fai meglio a riportarla com'era o così mi aiuti DIO!" he threatened him in Italian! "FIX HER! NOW!!! BEFORE I BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT RIGHT HERE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!" Flaxman groans as the back of his head hits the cold ground. His face is filled with rage and pain, but there's no fear in his eyes. He smiles instead, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth. "You think killing me is gonna change anything? You think you're some kind of hero, huh? Some sort of good guy? She can only be tweaked, Chrissy. She can't be put back into reverse…otherwise I wouldn't have had invested in such a business to begin with~." His gun presses harder against Flaxman's skull, the click of the hammer being cocked reverberating through the room. The Don's other hand extends toward Narcaus, motioning her forward, and she steps uncertainly toward him, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She's wearing a tight black dress with a plunging neckline, showing off more cleavage than she's ever had before. Her hair, once long and wild, now falls in soft waves around her face. Her face looks slimmer, her features more delicate, her mouth appearing fuller. She doesn't look exactly like her old self anymore. "You," The Don speaks quietly, thick with restrained fury and something else—concern. "How much did this bastard son of a pimp hurt you, Bellissima? Are you okay???" Narcaus tilts her head slightly at the question, her new, softer expression showing confusion. She opens her mouth to answer, but only a breath comes out at first. Her speech is noticeably different—smoother, more melodic, almost like a stranger's voice. She tries again, still sounding unfamiliar even as the words come out. "I…I am well. Flaxman only made changes I did not wish for." She reaches up to touch her shorter hair, fingers running through the strands that now fall just past her shoulders. "You did not hurt me, but I did not want this." She gestures vaguely at her transformed body, her face flushing as she says it. Hurt or not, it was enough to make the Don lose his shit completely enough for him to start beating the breaks off of Flaxman!

Flaxman grunts and dodges at first, but the Don's attacks are brutal and fast. He lands several hard punches to Flaxman's face and gut, each blow causing him to cry out in pain. His men join in, grabbing Flaxman's limbs and forcing him to the ground. Flaxman's body writhed and twisted, but he was overpowered. "You're gonna get it now…!" one of Don's goons snarls, delivering a vicious kick to Flaxman's ribs that sends him rolling onto his back, winded and gasping for air. The Don looms over Flaxman, his breathing ragged with scarcely controlled rage. "Look at her," he growls, gesturing toward Narcaus with a sharp motion. "Look at what you've done to her. To me." Flaxman coughs wetly, spitting blood onto the floor as he speaks. "Me? I didn't do anything bad; I just made her better!" His face twists into something ugly, a mixture of pain and self-satisfaction. "She's still the same woman. Just polished. Like one of my whores." The Don moves faster than a man his size should be able to. The Don's fist connects with Flaxman's face, again and again and again. Flaxman's mouth fills with blood from a split lip, his nose is crooked and busted, his eye swelling shut. The Don doesn't let up with the onslaught, his men holding Flaxman still so the Don can pummel him. "Does this look better to you!?" He shouts at the man, veins bulging in his forehead as his fists fly in rapid succession. Flaxman groans, trying weakly to protect his face, but the Don's blows are too powerful, too relentless. Blood sprays from his mouth, staining the floor in dark spatters as the Don finally grabs his collar and yanks him up, shaking him violently. "She ain't no whore, you maggot! She ain't never gonna be! She's mine!" Narcaus watches in horror as the Don pummels Flaxman. In all her 5,892 years of living. It's been ages since she's seen such raw violence, and it turned her the hell on. "YOU'RE GONNA FIX THIS, YOU HEAR ME!" the Don threatened him as he slammed his head into the wall with a hard, black gloved hand fisted into the back of Flaxman's hair, "OR I'LL STICK MY ARM UP YOUR KEISTER, RIP OUT YOUR INTENSTINES, AND THEN CHOKE YA WITH 'EM!" Flaxman gasps as stars burst in his vision, his face a bloody pulp. He tries to talk, but words won't come. The Don shakes him once more, demanding obedience. His men hold Flaxman's head straight, forcing him to look up at the Don. "Say. You. Understand." Flaxman nods frantically, blood trickling down his chin. "Y-yeah, I…I got it," he gurgles, voice thick with pain. The Don releases his grip, letting Flaxman slump against the wall. He wipes his gloved hands together, as if brushing off dirt, then turns to Narcaus. She remains frozen in place, still caught between revulsion and the dark, hot curling in her stomach. "You want this fixed?" the Don asks, his voice lower now, almost gentle in its quiet intensity. Narcaus swallows hard, her new, softer throat working as she nods. "Then he's gonna fix it right now. How much of it that can be with these stupid Bimbo Machines." Flaxman struggles to his feet with a grunt, his face already swelling with brutal bruises. "Fine," he mutters, holding a hand to his bleeding head. "But it'll cost ya." Narcaus looks at him, her face betraying a mixture of shame and anxiety. She looks away, unable to hold the Don's gaze. The Don ignores the threat in Flaxman's words. "Money ain't a problem." He kicks him in the nuts and lets him fall before turning to face the technician, "Get that machine ready for her, damnit!" he ordered! The technician nods, moving past the beaten, bloody Flaxman to the machine. "Of course." The Don turns back to Narcaus, the cold rage in his eyes softening at the sight of her. He steps forward, gently taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head up to face him. "Are you alright, Bella?" His thumb brushes gently along her jaw, the touch so light it feels almost unbearable against her newfound sensitivity. Narcaus remains frozen for a moment, caught between dread and the strange, fluttering feeling in her chest at his proximity. She inhales shakily, her newly-altered body responding in ways she can't quite control. "I…" Her words come out softer than she intends, still unfamiliar with the new lilt of her speech. "I do not wish to be like this anymore." The admission makes her flush, and she looks away, ashamed at how vulnerable it sounds. The Don's fingers tighten slightly on her chin, guiding her face back toward his.

"Alright," the technician says, "it's ready. De-clothe and step on inside the machine, miss. Same cold and pressure as the first time around; I've already recalibrated the machine to reverse as much as it can muster."

"HOLD IT!" a random woman shouts, garnering the attention of everyone including Flaxman! She marches up, fumed in expensive goods and rich scents, more rubber in her appearance than flesh, and points at Narcaus! "HOW COME NOBODY HERE TOLD ME THAT REVERSALS WERE EVEN AN OPTION!" she fixes her plastic balloon breasts, "YOU PEOPLE TOLD ME THAT THESE AUGMENTATIONS WERE BOTH PERMANENT AND EFFECTIVE! IT'S BEEN 12 YEARS SINCE I GOT THIS SHIT DONE TO ME, AND MY HUSBAND STILL LEFT ME FOR HIS SECRETARY!" she turns an enraged lifted eye towards Flaxman, "My kids don't even recognize me anymore! DAMNIT!" She then took her Bimbostics Pink Cut Premium Member Gift Card out of her glittery bedazzled change purse and smacked it into the smooth cold floor before stomping on it in half with her thin legged high heeled BOOT! "IF SHE'S GETTING HERSELF FIXED, THEN I WANT IT DONE TO ME TOO!"

"THE SAME GOES FOR ME!" shouts out a light skinned bimbofied woman. "AND I EXPECT A FULL REFUND FROM THE STORE, TOO! I had to go to the hospital THREE TIMES because these bastard implants kept POPPING ON ME!"

"ME TOO!"

"YEAH, I'M WITH THEM ON THIS ONE!"

"WE WANT OUR FIXES, TOO!"

The demand ripples through the room as more women emerge from the corners and from behind the glass cabinets, forming an angry mob. Their voices echo off the sterile white walls, each cry of betrayal growing louder. Narcaus glances nervously from the increasingly agitated group to the Don. He remains motionless, save for the subtle clench of his jaw. His men stand guard at the exits, hands hovering near their holsters. Flaxman looks genuinely alarmed now, his bruised face contorting with fresh panic as the women press forward. "I'm serious, I want my money back!" one woman snarls, her bright blue eyes too wide, her makeup running slightly from what must be tears shed earlier. "Looks like you struck a nerve," Loretto mutters condescendingly to Flaxman regarding the feminine uproar as the Don got in front of Narcaus and led her backwards to the open and ready machine. "Let the women do what the women need to do, boys, flank over here and outta their way." He ordered his men sternly. The women surge forward, their high heels clicking loudly against the tile as they converge on Flaxman. His face pales as he stumbles back, colliding with the wall. Narcaus feels a firm hand on her lower back as the Don began guiding her toward the machine. "Get in," he says, voice steady despite the chaos unfolding behind them. His eyes remain fixed on her, dark and intense, but gentler now than before. She hesitates, staring into the open cylinder. Inside, cold and pressure and the strange hum of machinery still linger in her memory. The Don's hand presses more firmly against her back, not quite pushing but communicating his will. "Don't be scared. I'm always here for ya, Bellissima." Narcaus glances warily at the machine, and then back to her Don, his words washing over her like a wave. The women are still shrieking, their demands growing more and more violent, but the Don's steady presence and the feel of his hand on her back keep her grounded amid the chaos. She takes a deep breath, finding courage in his reassurance. "Alright," she whispers, stepping over the edge of the machine. The interior of the machine feels no different from before: cold, thick, and suffocating. Narcaus stiffens as it closes around her, the machine humming to life. From the corner of her vision, she can see the Don watching intently, arms crossed over his chest, his face impossible to read in the dimly lit room. She instinctively searches for comfort in his presence even as the scanner whirs overhead, beginning its work as she adjusts herself in the chair again. Through the thickness, the pressure builds. She focuses on her breathing, counting each exhale as the machine works. The women's voices still echo in the background, their shrill protests mingling with Flaxman's increasingly desperate denials. "Alright, you're just going to feel the sudden, slight coldness and pressure like before, as I have already stated a moment ago, in 3, 2, 1." The plastic wrapped dildo shaped object coated in the weird, cold feeling goo launched itself through the center of the seat's base into her exposed vaginal opening again, hitting every spot and angle within her in one, quick, and sudden thrust upward towards the exit point into her uterus. "Recalibrating so we can get a reupload on the data accumulated earlier…give it a momeeeent, aaaaand…"

"You're doing great, Bellissima," the Don's deep, steady voice floats through the machine in response to her sharp, almost panicked breathing. She tries to focus on the sound of his voice rather than the sensations tearing through her: the cold, the machine pulsing inside her - an almost foreign feeling. In the background, Flaxman's pleas are growing more desperate as the women swarm around him. "Please, listen! I'm just a businessperson doing legal work-"

"LIAR!" a woman shrieks, slapping his face hard. The Don's men maintain their defensive positions as the chaos grows, but their focus keeps shifting between the angry mob and their boss standing beside the machine. The Don watches impassively as Flaxman cowers. Loretto moves to stand beside the Don, facing the scene. Narcaus grips the armrests tightly as the machine works inside her, feeling it probe and recalibrate. The pressure eases slightly, but there's still an unsettling fullness, a persistent presence. Her breathing remains shallow as the scanner moves over her body, making adjustments. "Regimenting back down to 99-97-119." The robotic voice drones through the machine as Narcaus strains against the restraints, her nails digging into the leather. The Don's words cut through the noise: "You're almost done. Just stay still for me, Bellissima." The scanner inside her shifts, nudging something deep within her core. A sharp gasp escapes her as a tremor runs through her body, involuntary and intense. Through the thick walls of the machine, she can hear the uproar outside—the women shouting, Flaxman crying out for mercy, Loretto's smooth, amused voice. Loretto murmurs something to the Don, who doesn't respond. His eyes remain locked on the machine containing Narcaus, his jaw clenched slightly.  The smoke which no other sees, the Spectre comes out from his hiding to annoy her once more, entangling her naked body in his dust like a vine of vices. "You really are quite stubborn, you know that?" he asks her mockingly in the many whispers only she could hear. "Had my dear older brother have been interested in forming relationships with people, I wouldn't have been quite surprised if you married Yorick instead of me."

"We. had. a. DEAL. ICHABOD!" she musters out between her own clenched teeth to him. The Spectre, in his usual smug, condescending manner, grins at her. "Yes, a 'deal'. But did I actually promise to play fair, Narcee~?" He leans closely to her ear, his whispers turning sinister. "I may have manipulated the machines a little bit for my own satisfaction." WHAT!? "You see, we never agreed on how I was to give you your powers back. Neither I nor you stated a specific "How" factor." She felt her third eye reforming in the center of her forehead as the machine began to beep and whirr inside and out, the light blue bulb of light on the rounded top of the cylinder shaped machine turning into a blinking yellow beeper. Narcaus began to feel her ancient old powers coursing through her veins like hot, molten liquid metal getting syringed into her arteries, her cock, her ovipositor, her scrotum, were all making a comeback at the same time. The machine beeps a series of warnings. "OVERLOAD…OVERLOAD…ADJUSTING…OVERLOAD…ADJUSTING…INITIATING RESEQUENCE…INITIATING RESEQUENCE…ADJUSTING…" Narcaus feels her muscles seize as her powers rush back into her in waves. Her body trembles, the pleasure-pain coursing through her veins more intense than before as the Spectre watches with amusement at her clenching around the probe still buried inside her. "Oh dear," he chuckles. "Looks like it's recalibrating too hard…maybe even adjusting a few things that weren't meant to be touched? Interesting." Unaware but knowing of her form's originality the Don began to panic at the sights and sounds, the shaking of the machine making the mob run out back into the retail store section of the shop and then out with the rest of the patrons and employees as it began to grow more frantic! "The hell is happening in there, lady!?" he shouts at the technician, who looked equally terrified! "Multiple systems overloading! Backup procedures initiating!" The machine's warning alarms grow more insistent as Narcaus's body writhes inside it, her powers surging chaotically. The Spectre's laughter echoes through her mind as he watches her struggle. "My, my, what a fascinating development this is becoming!" The Don slams his fist on the control panel, sparks flying. "Flaxman, stop this now!" He shouts at the cowering man in the corner, but the man can only stammer in terror as the machine continues its erratic cycling. The Spectre moves closer, his incorporeal form coiling around Narcaus's naked body inside the machine. "Did you know that your encounters with Telamon and the others were similar to that of the forlorn eras afterward between Lucifer and his brothers?"

"Now is-ah~-n-not the time to be going on about what 'GODS'-ah, ahhhh-c-a-ame after me!" Narcaus struggled out the words between jerky moans. The Spectre persisted, "In retrospect, my dear ex-wife, YOU were Lucifer in the situation, here. Shedletsky being GABRIEL, of course, what with that flaming sword he used to cut off your arms with, that and the parts where he ripped your wings out your back and banished you LITERALLY INTO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH!" he laughs at her mockingly. "And then come the renaissance era, the bastard retires with a mortal wife, and a half-blooded bASTARD KID who ends up growing to HATE HIM! HAH-hah-hah-HAH, HAH-HAH, HAH, HAAAAH!"

"SHUT. UP." Narcaus growls at the mocking Spectre, gritting her teeth against the overwhelming rush of power coursing through her. The Don's worried voice echoes from outside the machine, his concern clear even through the chaos. "Can we get this machine to STOP?!" The technician panics as the alarms get more insistent, her trembling fingers dancing over the control panel. The machine groans and strains, metal creaking under immense pressure. Narcaus's body spasms inside it, her powers surging in erratic waves. The Spectre's laughter mingles with the machine's warnings as he circles her form, his incorporeal hands ghosting over her sensitive spots. "Oh, this is delightful. All those centuries of power, locked away, now rushing back in one go. I wonder what other changes it might make." The Don slams his fist against the control panel again, more violently this time. "Open this damn thing NOW!" he demands, fear and frustration evident in his words. The technician, looking increasingly pale, frantically types commands into the machine's console. "I-I can't!" she stutters, her hands shaking uncontrollably, "I've entered the emergency override code, but the machine is responding unpredictably! It's never reacted like this before!" A sudden jolt shoots through the machine as its internals begin to glow a vibrant blue. The Don turns to Flaxman; his face contorted in anger and despair. "Undo it! Fix it now!" The Spectre coos in delight as Narcaus's body convulses inside the machine, her powers surging wildly. "Ooooh, I do love watching you squirm," he whispers in a low, taunting register. "All those millennia of pent-up energy! Your poor body doesn't know what to do with it all." Narcaus grits her teeth, struggling to maintain control as waves of intoxicating power pulse through her. Her newly restored third eye burns with brilliant light, casting eerie shadows across the machine's interior. The probe still inside her twitches and pulses, its own systems overwhelmed by the sudden flood of divine essence. And then suddenly-FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-"ERROR! ERROR! ERROR! MAXIMIZED CAPACITY OVER LIMIT! ERROR!"-and the power. goes. out. the air shifts from the door's airlock mechanism with a pinpoint fwoooooshshhhh, and Narcaus-bare for many eyes to see her once more-rips her wrists from the leather straps and slowly stands up from the seat, the cold device being released from within her divine walls with a slick pop once the tip was relinquished of its role massaging against the entryway to her very womb, and she steps out through the steam. She looks down at herself amidst the dim, all the light left but for the thin rectangular windows far above them inches away to part from the walls to the ceiling over them all, her skin; no longer was it gray. And she found a bit of contentment in it no longer being gray. It was brown, again. But like her form in general it mattered not to the Don; he was far too focused on rushing over to his sugar baby and removing his long, black pinstriped coat to throw it over her naked frame. She could scarcely breathe, still reeling from the overwhelming rush of power that had coursed through her body. The restored feel of her powers was intoxicating, like liquid fire rushing through her veins, but beneath it all remained the nagging presence of Telamon's meddling, his touch still burning faintly upon her skin like an indelible brand.

"You're awake. You're alive." The Don's words came out rough with emotion, his hands shaking slightly as he wrapped the coat around her. "I wasn't sure…I wasn't sure if that machine would…" He let the sentence die unfinished, his dark eyes searching her face with an intensity that made her breath catch. Narcaus merely stood upright like a monarch addressing her royal court, as she glared with two red and white spiraled eyes and one sideways eye of pitch-black sclera and one giant white orb as its iris right smack dab in the center of her forehead, her small brown feathered wings on the sides of her head giving an awful looking twitch of the nerves as she strutted over there like she was her peacock-feathered mother towards the cowering Flaxman. "Pathetic, Man of Kerma, And the Levant." She tells it to him like it is, in her own little way, "Not even the mighty hammer of the erratic 'God of Justice', known as DOOM-BRINGER, could ever smack down the righteously needed amount of SENSE INTO YOUR teeny, tiny, brain." Her spiraling eyes lock onto the cowering man, narrowing with righteous fury as she grips the edges of the Don's coat tighter around her form. "You DARE to TOUCH me, to alter me like some common plaything?" The Spectre floats closer, drawn to her renewed presence like a moth to flame, his incorporeal fingers reaching out to trace the curves of her restored body. "Oh, but that's precisely what you are," the Spectre murmurs, his words threading through the room. "A plaything for great and powerful men. That's all women ever have been, really." She swats him away, to herself her ex was a mere swarm of gnats invisible to the mortal eye 'less it need be otherwise. "No, not a plaything," Flaxman protests weakly, his face twisted in an expression of pathetic pleading, "More like…like…a business venture, okay!? A-a means of rejuvenation, y'see? You ladies…y-you get old, y'know? I can help make that less of a…a problem." His gaze darts between her and the Don, as if begging for her to understand, to accept his reasoning. The Don's face darkens dangerously at Flaxman's words. In a swift motion, he grabs the cowering man by the collar and slams him against the wall. "A business venture?" he snarls, his face mere inches from Flaxman's. "You dare to compare her to some…some commodity?" His free hand clenches into a fist, knuckles white with rage. "I warned you what would happen if you hurt her. Did you think I was bluffing?" He releases Flaxman with a shove, letting him crumple to the floor. The Don turns to Narcaus, his anger softening as he looks at her. Then it returns to Flaxman. “If I catch you tryin’ ta do any more fuckery with my girl, Flaxman; I’ll personally drown you in your own swimming pool. Capice?” Flaxman nods frantically, his face pale with fear. "I-I get it, man, I get it! No more changes, I swear it!" he holds up a shaking hand, as if in supplication. "I won't touch your girl, alright? She-, she's her good old self again, ain't she?" She feels the Don's hand come to rest against the small of her back, his touch warm and steady despite the anger still evident in his stance. His thumb moves in slow, reassuring circles over the fabric of his coat, and she inhales deeply, the masculine scent of his cologne mingling with his own body heat. "You got that right, you little worm," she snaps at Flaxman, her words like the crack of a whip. Her wings twitch again, feathers ruffling with irritation as she glares down at him. "I am precisely as I was meant to be, an unshakable force of nature, I am the Goddess of the Red Midnight, Oracle of the Gods, and-" she stops. and she looks over at the Don. Dare it be said? Oh, Hypocrisy! What awful faces you have, plenty! "…and the lover of Don Cristiano Sonnellino." She says sharply. The Don's eyes go wide at her words, clearly caught off guard by her admission. Flaxman, slumped against the wall, looks between the two, his mouth hanging open in shock. The air in the room seems to crackle with raw emotion as the Don stares at her, an array of thoughts flickering across his face so rapidly it'd be impossible to track just one.

"Oh, yeah?" The Don speaks softly, dangerously, as he turns fully toward her. His dark eyes glint with something unreadable, something primal and hungry, as he steps closer. He cups her chin, tilting her face up from its position looking down at Flaxman to meet his. "Yeah," she breathes out, meeting his gaze with an almost defiant tilt of her chin. Their breaths mingling, the air between them charged with something electric. The Don's men watch the scene unfold, their jaws clenched in anticipation. The Don lets go of Narcaus's chin, Narcaus gives Flaxman one swift kick to the gut to finish him off, and the two of them began to walk back into the retail portion of the store to exit it back into the general mall space. "Let's get a move on, boys," the Don orders, "Pizza's on me, fellas!" he then says to them as he takes out his wallet as shakes it back and forth in the air before tucking it back where he got it out from. The Don's men look to one another, exchanging grins and nods. "Well, alright then, Boss," one of them says, his voice tinged with a touch of excitement. "I could sure go for some pizza right about now." Narcaus and the Don exit Bimbostics, their bodies brushing against each other as they pass through the doorway. The Don's hand finds the small of her back once more, guiding her gently as they walk through the bustling mall. "I'm surprised you admitted that in front of them," he murmurs, his words laced with a low, sensual quality. His fingers caress the curve of her lower back as they walk, sending little sparks through her body. She glances up at him, catching the intense look he's giving her. "Why? It's the truth, isn't it?" She matches his intensity, her spiraling eyes meeting his with a challenging stare. The Don pauses, his expression unreadable. "It's just unexpected, that's all." His hand tightens on her back, his touch possessive, almost claiming. "Admitting that in front of my men…" He trails off, his gaze locked onto hers, a mix of desire and something unsaid in his gaze. He gives a gruff laugh, the sound deep and rough. "They're gonna be talking about this for weeks."

"I believe they've already been since we've first gotten together~." She leaves it off with a wink and a kiss, soft and quick, against his lips. The Don's breath catches in his throat for a moment, the touch of her lips sending a jolt through him. He recovers quickly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "You love to test my patience, don't you, Bellissima?" He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. The gesture is possessive, almost primal, like an animal claiming its mate. His lips brush against her ear as he speaks. "But I like it. Your fire, your spirit. It's intoxicating." His free hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking her cheekbone. "You know what they say about playing with fire." He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. His eyes rake over her curves, pausing at the swell of her hips before rising to meet her gaze once more. "Sometimes you get burned." His voice is a low growl, promising danger and pleasure in equal measure. Narcaus feels her heart race as she meets his gaze, feeling his possessive hand splayed across her lower back. "Well, then," she purrs out against the warmth of his body, "Good thing my main specialty is…" ice, thinly veiled, shivers from under her feet and her touch, lightly lacing the Don's shoulder blade underneath the crook of his neck with faint blue crystalline coldness overlapping his white undershirt and black velvet vest like an epaulette, "'Ice Cold'~."

“Oh, my dove~!”

Chapter Text

JUST LIKE THE FIRST ONE, YOU GUYS CAN, LIKE, ASK NARCAUS ANYTHING YOU LIKE! YOU GUYS 100% HAVE THE FREE WILL TO DO SO, SO YOU'RE NOT JUST SITTING AROUND WAITING FOR MORE CHAPTERS, CAUSE WITH EVERYTHING GOING ON WITH MY LIFE RN - THESE CHAPTERS AIN'T GONNA *POP POP POP* LIKE THEY DID WITH THE 15 CHAPTERS FOR THE FIRST ONE, SO YEAH!

ASK AWAY! ASK LITERALLY, LITERALLY, ANYTHING!

Chapter Text

Driving down a two-lane road that was long and narrow, passing house after house and shop after shop, a sea of unfamiliar faces passing by along brick lined walkways and smooth concrete sidewalks as many of them took the time to pause in what they were doing or saying to watch the black Mercedes and the two different colored Royce Phantoms driving by down their streets, the banners hanging above them from each streetlamp bore the same tri-colored flags of red, white and green. Narcaus stared out the window for a long time, enough to make the Don notice as they closed in on more space to make for larger plots with larger houses; Italianates, as the Don told her many of them were called. “Yep,” he says to her as he placed a gentle hand on her thigh, “Welcome to our little slice of Italian heaven, sweetheart. It’s getting itself a whole new resident startin’ today, and her name: is Narcaus.” The cars slow as they pull up along and onto a half-circular shaped driveway colored like limestone and made out of polished stone, the front of the house before them a sight to behold. An immaculate garden sits before the grand entrance, a large fountain of marble spraying arcs of crystal-clear water, an ornate veranda stretching out with wrought iron furniture and hanging potted plants that look as if they've been cultivated for years. The entrance door is wood carved in intricate patterns, framed by tall windows flanked with ivy vines, and like the windowpanes, dyed a humbling shade of teal. Loretto slows the Mercedes to a stop, letting the engine idle as other cars glide in behind them. The Don's hand stills on Narcaus' thigh, his thumb moving in slow circles against the fabric of her dress. The Don leaves the car after Loretto parks it, turns it off, and leaves with the key, meeting him around the back passenger door to hand his boss the keys before making his way inside as the other goons did so in tow with him, and when the Don opens the door to escort Narcaus out in gentleman's fashion the façade greets her like a stage set for an Italian epic, every surface precisely aged, every line whispering stories of marble-quarried palazzos and sun-soaked villas. The front wall stretches wide and regal, its limestone blocks hand-cut into irregular rectangles. Each stone bears subtle chisel marks that catch the evening light, alternating between warm honey and dusty cream. Pilasters frame the broad central bay, rising two stories before dissolving into carved Corinthian capitals that crown the entrance. A shallow hipped roof fans out above, clad in mottled terracotta tiles that range from burnt sienna to olive-stained darkened greenish-blue. Broad overhanging eaves are supported by scrolled wooden brackets—each one turned, carved, and painted a deep teal to match the door and window trim below. A slim copper gutter traces the eaves, its verdigris patina glinting in the moonlight as tall, narrow windows punctuate the façade in perfect symmetry. Their shutters, painted the same humbling teal, swing open to reveal wrought-iron balconettes studded with fleur-de-lis motifs. The front door itself is a masterpiece: two panels of richly grained walnut carved into swirling vines, opening onto bronze handles modeled after lion heads.

Narcaus follows the Don up the stone steps, her heels clicking softly against the polished limestone as she breathes in the mingled scents of salt breeze from the sea and the sweet lavender bushes lining the path. The door swings open smoothly, revealing a foyer of white marble flooring that stretches out to meet a grand central staircase. To the left, a vast living room sprawls, its walls covered in gilded wallpaper and hung with antique oil paintings depicting pastoral Italian scenes and the occasional battle piece. "Now you already know my main four, Bellissima, it's time you met the rest of ‘em." What a gentleman, to hold the door for his lady, watching her step inside such a grand home of his to live with him under the same roof. Narcaus steps into the foyer, her heels clicking softly on the white marble floor. The grand central staircase dominates the space, its wooden steps worn smooth from decades of use. The Don closes the door behind them, the thick wood muffling the world outside. He places a hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the living room to the left. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space, catching the light off gilded mirrors and polished wood surfaces. As they enter, four men stand from a seating area near the fireplace, their eyes fixed intently on Narcaus. The first man to step up to her is of average height and slender build- not really skinny, but not thick either. His thick brows sit heavy over dark, hooded eyes, and the expression on his face is a mix of curiosity and caution. He gives her a nod of greeting, his tone cautious, "Ciao." The second man is big, imposing, and dressed like a linebacker. His dark gaze is almost unreadable, but there's a hint of respect in the way he inclines his head towards her. "Gioia di conoscerti", he drawls, his words tinged with slight accent. "Oh, uhm…" her metal shoulders loosen from earlier's regality at the foreign addressing's from the new faces. "Hello, there. Evening."

"Narcaus, this here's my underboss and one of my other soldiers, Gabriel and Salve." The Don goes. "Boys, this lovely little lady's gonna be livin' with me. I expect you treat 'er with the same amount of respect as any other Sonnellino woman." The two men nod at the Don's words, both of them taking her in from head to toe. Gabriel gives a little half-smile, his eyes lingering a bit on her curves, while Salve's gaze never wavers, his face set in an almost permanent scowl. "Of course, Boss," Gabriel replies easily, his smile broadening into a wolfish grin. She turns her head just at the right moment for two large rounded topped doors to open, leading into what appeared to her to be the dining room. Yes, there was more of them. "Come on, don't be shy, honey; it's dinner time, we got nice hot pizza ready in the other room." Gabriel and Salve are the first to break away and make their way into the dining room, their footsteps creaking against the wood floor. Narcaus glances around the living room for a moment more before following after them, the Don at her heels. The double doors swing open onto a room crowned by soaring ceilings lined with carved plaster cornices, each panel bearing faded frescoes of grapevines and cherubs. Rich walnut wainscoting climbs halfway up the walls, giving way to velvet damask wallpaper in a deep oxblood red. Arched windows draped in floor-length teal silk curtains filter the blue evening light, creating a cool glow that dances across the polished herringbone oak floor. At the far end, a marble fireplace topped by a mural-framed mirror and inscribed with "La Famiglia Prima di Tutto" anchors the space in tradition and authority. A massive mahogany table carved with lion-paw legs dominates the center, flanked by ten high-backed chairs upholstered in burgundy leather and topped with gilt Sonnellino crests. Above, a tiered crystal chandelier refracts light onto gilded picture frames and crystal decanters arranged on a matching sideboard, while brass sconces shaped like torchieres cast flickering amber pools along the mahogany paneling. Behind one sideboard panel, pizza peels rest by a hidden stone-oven niche, the scent of bubbling mozzarella and fresh basil drifting through the air. Beneath the table, a jewel-toned Persian rug softens the oak floor, tying together the room's sense of opulence, warmth, and familial pride. The moment Narcaus enters, she's met with a new presence: larger than the others, exuding a weight that commands attention. A broad-shouldered man with deep-set, dark eyes and silver threading through his otherwise jet-black hair stands near the table, slicing the pizza with swift precision. His olive complexion and the scar slanting from his temple to jawline give him a lived-in quality, though the cut is so clean it seems intentional rather than accidental. He nods slightly as he works, but his eyes flick up to assess her fully before returning to the pizza. His movements are economical, controlled, like a man used to wielding both a blade and the attention of those around him.

"Hey, Diego, I know you ain't mute." The Don jested to the overly serious man cutting the pizzas. "Say hello to the lady!" Diego sets the knife down with careful precision, his large hands resting on the cutting board as he straightens to his full imposing height. His lips curl into something that's not quite a smile, but not a scowl either. It's more of a recognition, a measuring look that holds more weight than mere words could carry. "Signorina," he says, dipping his chin slightly in acknowledgment. He speaks with a low rumble, a voice that's been seasoned by years of cigar smoke and late-night negotiations. His gaze sweeps over her once more, dwelling just long enough to be noticeable before he turns back to the pizza, slicing with swift, methodical cuts. "Welcome to our table."

"Diego Mancellini, honey," the Don introduces him as to Narcaus, "another solider of mine under another caporegime of mine." Heads turn to the woman entering from a hallway door on the left in the dining room, blonde hair straightened and hidden but the bangs under a white headscarf over her head and tied around her neck to be kept in-place, a soft butterfaced expression with small lips and large olive green eyes, and a beauty mark on the left under her lower lip towards her chin line, her lashes long and thick and her attire covering in khaki and caramel accents, belt and boots the same way of color, a big creme colored fur coat draped over her attire slightly. "And speak of the Devil, Yvonne!" the Don goes to this new woman, "I just mentioned you to my new girlfriend! Why don't you come over here, and say hi to Narcaus?" Yvette's lips quirk into a half-smile as she crosses the distance to Narcaus, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. "So, you're the famous Bellissima, huh?" her tone is a touch amused as she looks her over from head to toe. "Interesting," she muses, "You're not what I was expecting." Narcaus stiffens at the tap to her nose, not flinching but resisting the urge to slap the woman's hand away. She meets Yvette's gaze with a cold stare that betrays no emotion, though her fingers curl slightly at her sides. The Don chuckles behind them, already loading a slice onto a plate for her. "Yvette," he warns lightly, "Narcaus is just fine. Ain't she perfect just the way she is?" His words hold a dangerous edge, subtle yet unmistakable. Yvette smiles, showing off a dimple that doesn't reach her cold green gaze until it turns a little more authentic, her eyes glinting with a mixture of admiration and irritation, as if conceding a point in a long-running match. "Of course. You have impeccable taste, Don." Her gaze flicks over Narcaus's body like a measuring tape, taking in every curve and contour. She is curious, she looks around; and arching from the dining room, she finds the kitchen, which feels both grand and lived-in, its terracotta-tiled floor warmed by the low hiss of a wood-fired oven set into a stone wall. A long marble-topped island stands at its heart, ringed with wrought-iron stools whose leather seats bear the subtle embossing of the Sonnellino crest. Copper pots and ladles hang from an aged beam overhead, their burnished surfaces catching the morning light that pours through a small mullioned window. Behind the island, a cast-iron stove and polished brass faucets flank a deep farmhouse sink, while open shelves display hand-painted ceramics and rows of dried herbs strung in neat bundles. “Ooooh,” Narcaus sounded impressed by the look of the room as she took another step forward into it, the cook hired by her sugar daddy; her lover; working diligently inside. “This is your kitchen?” she asks with a look and voice carrying astonishment. "Of course," the Don says, stepping in behind her and sliding his hands around her waist. "Anything in this house is ours, now." His breath ghosts against the nape of her neck as he presses closer, his arms tightening possessively. Narcaus's body tenses briefly before melting against him, her fingers trailing along the marble countertop as she absorbs the kitchen's charm. Diego watches them from the corner of his eye, his usual stoic expression flickering with something unreadable as he slicks a knife along a sharpening steel. "Wait 'til you see the bedroom," the Don murmurs, nuzzling into her hair. She was heated from it, aroused, but curiosity made her exit from his embrace to venture further as her very own spot at his table was ready for her to be seated.

A dining room, with easy motion to the kitchen and two doors. Why didn’t she think of that for her temple? The door to the left, the one Yvette came in from, she walks to it and opens the door to find she now stood in a wide corridor whose floor is laid in black-and-white geometric marble tiles, their sharp angles guiding you past walls paneled in dark cherry wood. Above the wainscoting, frescoed friezes of grapevines and golden cherubs wind beneath a coffered ceiling painted in muted pastels. Brass wall sconces shaped like olive branches cast a honeyed glow over family portraits in gilt frames, each ancestor’s stern gaze watching every footstep. Along one side, an arched niche holds a stone console topped with a porcelain vase of fresh lilies, while a patterned runner stretches ahead to where twin doors hint at the private study and guest chambers beyond. She reenters the dining room to go to the second door; through that final door lies the conservatory, a vaulted, glass-walled retreat that overlooks the side yard’s sculpted boxwood and lavender borders. The floor mirrors the hallway’s marble, this time in a gentle checkerboard of pale green and cream. Wrought-iron settees with plush, moss-colored cushions face a low coffee table of painted cast stone, ideal for afternoon espresso amid potted citrus trees and climbing jasmine. Slim cast-iron columns support the glass roof, where sunlight dances off hanging ferns and spills across a gilded console bearing crystal decanters and fresh-baked biscotti. Here, the scent of orange blossom drifts in on the breeze, blending the indoors and out in quiet elegance. A soft breath escapes Narcaus as she turns in a slow circle, taking in the opulence. The Don watches her from the doorway, his arms crossed as he leans against the frame. His eyes follow her movements, drinking in her every reaction with undisguised satisfaction. "This house has stood since the 19^th century," he says, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind him. "Built by my great-great-grandfather on land that became Sonnellino property come the 20^th; used to be a lot smaller, owned by some dickhead Charlesons who hiked the rent every time my bisa nonna popped out another kid." He moves to her side, guiding her toward the central table where an antique globe stands. "This entire neighborhood, block by block, was inhabited by people from the old country, back in Sicily and Italy. My family came here with nothing but strong backs and stronger will." Narcaus nods, her attention fixed on the globe. "And now," she says softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame. "Now you have it all." She turns to look at him, her face reflecting admiration and curiosity. "How did you become this?" The Don's face relaxes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Blood. Sweat. Tears. Patience." He moves closer, his body mere inches from hers. "It wasn't easy. I started from the bottom, you know? Delivery boy, messenger, errand runner." His hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. "It was actually my grandpop who started the family business around the 1920s or so." He motions her to an old family photo of an older couple and, yes, she did count it with her eyes and a finger, five kids. "That picture was taken back in the 40s," he says as he walks up to it and points as the woman's womb, "my old man's right in there." The Don tells her. "Baby Boy Number Three…outta seven total kids, I mean." Oooooh, Narcaus's heart was fluttering! Such strong genes, to produce so many kids that easily?! HUBBA-HUBBA! "And, what?" Narcaus teases the Don, arching a brow at him playfully. "You got a huge family, too?" The Don grins at her cheek, his dark eyes dancing in amusement. "Nah, not like my old man. A brother and a sister; and each one of 'em married and had some rug-rats of their own. I'm the oldest of us all, by a number of years. But we're all very tight knit." He moves to her again, his fingers sliding to her hip and tugging her close. "You ever wanted kids?"

Narcaus's surprise is evident in the way she tenses as he moves closer, his breath tickling her ear. She hadn't expected such a personal question so soon. "Kids?" she says, swallowing hard. "I'm a goddess, remember?" She tries to lighten the mood, but her uncertainty is clear. "I've been around for millennia, I don't know if I'm equipped for raising children." The Don chuckles softly, his grip on her hip tightening slightly. "A goddess with kid questions? That's new for me." He guides her to a plush loveseat near the windows, the afternoon sun spilling over them as they sit. "But hey, who knows? You seem to take great care of that little egg of yours-" she remembers and goes to speak so he stops her, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about the little thing, honeybun. The guys turned an old empty room we hadn't been using in forever into a lil' nursery for 'em. Whatever hatches, hope they like the color green! Cause those're the walls, now! Heh-heh." Narcaus feels an overwhelming rush of emotion suddenly; tears pricking at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. She was stunned into silence by the Don's words. It was so thoughtful and so unexpected that she could barely find words to respond. All she could do was look at him with wide teary eyes, her heart swelling. Finally, she managed, "You…" Her voice was thick with emotion. "You did that for me?"

"Oh, mio carina~," he extends his arms to take her within them lovingly, Narcaus accepting it instantly as she pushed herself into his embrace and wrapped her bronze arms around his broad upper waist. "I promise ya, Bellissima, whatever goes hatching out that thing, I'm gonna be the best father figure it'll ever know." Narcaus melts into him, her body pressed against his. The Don holds her tightly, his strong arms encircling her form like a protective shield. His words are a low rumble in his chest, barely a whisper against her hair, "And I promise you, Bellissima, that you'll be the best mother figure that little one will ever have." They didn't really wanna interrupt their moment, so the main four goons just snuck their plates on top of some potholders and two glasses with a single bottle of red wine onto the coffee table before quietly tiptoe exiting out of the conservatory. The Don and Narcaus remained blissfully unaware as they were too caught up in the moment to notice them slip out of the room. The Don continued to hold her close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her back. He could feel the thump-thump of her heart through her silken dress; rapid and excited under his touch. "I'm sorry," Narcaus whispers, nuzzling closer. "I didn't mean to get so emotional." The Don presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips brushing against her silky hair. "Don't apologize, sweetheart. I'm glad you're touched. Means a lot." He gently pulls back, cupping her face in his hands and tilting it up to meet his gaze. His face is gentle and loving, his eyes fixed on her with deep affection. "You're special, Narcaus. More than you know. I want you to be happy here." Narcaus smiles softly, tears glistening on her lashes as she reaches up to cover his hands with hers. The Don's gaze softens as he looks at her, feeling the warmth of her hands over his. "This is your home now," he says, his voice soft but certain. "Whatever you need, whatever you want, just gotta say the word, and it's yours." He gently wipes a tear away from her cheek with his thumb, his touch tender. "But right now," he adds with the hint of a playful grin, "all I want is for you to try some of this delicious pizza." Narcaus watches him attentively as he releases her to retrieve two slices from the pizza box on the coffee table. He offers her one, the mozzarella and marinara wafting up between them in the cool night air. She accepts it with a quiet laugh, her appetite stirred by the evening breeze and his sweet words. "It smells incredible," she admits, taking a small bite. The flavors explode in her mouth, fresh basil, smoky sausage, and the perfect balance of cheese and sauce. The Don watches her intently as she eats, his own slice forgotten in his hand. "Good, huh?" he says with evident satisfaction. She nods enthusiastically, savoring another bite. "I take it you weren't gifted pizza much often, la mia piccola dea~?" He asks, his eyes twinkling as he watches her enjoy the simple pleasure of a good meal. Narcaus pauses mid-bite, a small smile spreading across her face as she chews. "Pizza? No, I can't say I was, 'less it be for my birthday or something," she swallows, then continues. "But then again, I'm not sure I could recognize much modern cuisine." She looks at him curiously. "Do you eat this often?" The Don chuckles warmly, taking a bite of his own slice before answering. "Pizza? Oh, most definitely, the boys and I just LOVE the pizza down over at Builder Brothers! But, I still prefer the classics - pasta, risotto, stuff like that." Narcaus grins, a twinkle in her eyes. "You cook?" she teases, her voice carrying a hint of incredulity. The Don chuckles, finishing off his slice and licking a bit of sauce off his thumb. "Hey, I'm Italian, Bellissima," he retorts with a wink, "I gotta know my way around a kitchen, you know?" He leans back in the loveseat, crossing one ankle over his knee. "You should come see me cook sometime," he suggests, his gaze warm and inviting. "Make a real Italian meal for you. I do a mean fettuccine carbonara."

Narcaus sets her plate down, shifting to face him fully, her curiosity piqued. "I would love that," she says sincerely. "To watch you cook, I mean, it's…. It's such a domestic thing, isn't it? Something simple and…normal." The Don tilts his head slightly, studying her face. "Normal? You mean like homey?" Narcaus nods, smiling. "Yes. That. Homey. Comfortable. Predictable." She hesitates. The Don gives her a soft chuckle, reaching over to playfully poke her nose. "You think my life's normal?" He shakes his head ruefully. "Being in charge of a whole-ass crime group isn't really the definition of homey, believe me." The Don pats the seat next to him, a silent invitation. "C'mere." Narcaus scootches closer, the fabric of her dress rustling softly as she moves. The Don wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly against his side. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "But you," he murmurs, "you deserve normal. Or whatever the hell normal means to you." His thumb strokes gently along her upper arm. "You're safe here, sweetheart. You're with me now." Narcaus exhales slowly, nestling into his embrace. "It's still…hard to believe sometimes," she admits softly. "That I'm here. That any of this is real." The Don squeezes her gently and wraps his arm tighter around her. "Believe it, Bellissima," he responds, his voice warm and reassuring. "You're here. You're mine. This is real." His fingers trace idle circles on her back, a soothing gesture. "And I promise, my doll, I'll do everything in my power to keep it that way." She hums softly in response, the tension seeming to uncoil from her body. She relaxes even further, her head now resting fully against his chest. Something nudges the door to the conservatory, and four soft paws are heard thumping over against the tile floors towards the Don's feet: a giant, fluffy, chunky looking ass rabbit, who proceeds to rub its face against his leg like a god-dang kitty cat. "Ayeeee, look who finally decided to roll outta beeeed," the Don sets his plate of pizza down onto the coffee table to use both hands to pick up the animal and sit them on the empty cushion of the couch to his left before scratching under its chin and patting it on the head, "Did you miss me, Gub-Gub? Did ya miss yer pa-paaa?" he cupped the rabbit's face and gave it a gentle squish as he rubbed its cheeks with his thumbs. "Aaaawe, Gubbyyyyy." He went. Narcaus sat transfixed, her gaze fixed on the fluffy rabbit before her. It's big ears twitched as the Don patted its head; the rabbit seemingly used to this kind of treatment. She couldn't help but find the scene adorable, her heart warming up in her chest at the sight of the Don lovingly doting on the animal. "Gub-Gub?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Is that his name?"

"Nah," he goes, "I just call 'em that, sometimes. His name is actually Gubby."

"Gubby," Narcaus repeats, a small smile forming on her lips as she reaches out tentatively to touch the soft fur. The rabbit's ears twitch at her approach, but it doesn't flee from her touch. It simply turns its head to nuzzle her fingers, seeking affection. "He's so cute," she murmurs, her voice softening as she continues to pet the rabbit. "How long have you had him?"

"I got him when he was a baby, found him one rainy afternoon in my side garden eating the watercress! I figured since his coat was solid white he was a domestic kind of rabbit, but three days' worth of searching for whoever lost a rabbit in the neighborhood turned up with blank slates for the boys and I. So," he shrugs, "naturally, I decided to keep him. Been my special fella ever since."

"He's not scared of you at all." Narcaus observes; a hint of wonder in her voice as she looks down at the rabbit now sitting quietly, almost content, in the corner of the couch. "I always thought rabbits were more, eh…fidgety. Flighty, I guess." Gubby makes a soft snorting noise, turning towards the Don who continues to scratch under his chin. "They got a rep for being jumpy, but this guy's just relaxed," the Don explains. "Spoiled, really. Don't let that angel face fool ya—he's got a real attitude about it too." He chuckles as Gubby nudges his hand insistently for more scratches. Narcaus watches the interaction with undisguised affection, her fingers still moving through the rabbit's thick fur. "He's lucky to have you," she says softly. The Don glances at her, noticing the warm expression on her face as she pets his pet. Something in his chest expands at the sight. "Nah, I'm lucky to have him," he counters, his words gentler than before. One of the Don's men peeked through the door, "Uh, boss?" they sounded nervous, "I really hate to bother you 'n your lady friend, but uh-the Rabbi from 103rd's on the phone, said he saw one of the schmucks who's been owin' us lotta moola's ran off from 'em; the old timer caught 'em sprayin' paint 'llover the door'a the synagogue."

"Pete PalENSKY, of all PEOPLE?" The Don exclaimed as he stood up, taking Gubby in his arms like a Persian bred cat, and adjusting his posture to show a more professional look to himself and his stature, eyeing the goon who only nodded rapidly as a response. The Don turns to look at Narcaus one last time, "Why don't ya look around for a while, doll; Daddy DON's got to take an important call real quick." Narcaus watches as the Don's mannerisms shift seamlessly from nurturing to authoritative—a subtle, seamless transition that speaks volumes. Despite her inner curiosity, she knows better than to question or protest. She simply smiles understandingly, her eyes lingering on Gubby as he settles in the Don's arms, before replying in a light tone. "Sure thing, I'll keep myself entertained." The Don nods approvingly at her response, then turns and strides out of the room, his men following behind him like a shadow. Narcaus is left alone in the conservatory, the moonlight filtering through the glass creating a soft, ethereal glow. She turns her attention to movement; her food was done, and she was full. So she got up to leave for more rooms. To the door, on her left, she went through first, and found herself in the Don’s sitting room, pushing so the heavy oak door swings open into a hushed parlor where shadow and light play across every surface. Dark cherry floors are softened by an oversized Persian rug in ink-blue and ruby tones, its edges curling beneath a pair of tufted leather sofas facing one another before a black marble fireplace. Above the mantel, an over-mantel mirror set in gilded acanthus leaves multiplies the glow of two brass wall sconces, their flickering light pooled onto a low walnut coffee table scattered with crystal decanters of aged grappa and neat crystal tumblers. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases line the far wall, cradling leather-bound volumes whose gold-leaf spines catch stray rays through tall, arched windows draped in charcoal velvet trimmed with burnished gold fringe. In the corner a lacquered grand piano stands silently under a plaster rosette, its polished surface reflecting the intricate crown molding overhead. A small side table holds a Tiffany-style lamp whose stained-glass shade spills jewel-toned light over a porcelain ashtray and a single, unopened envelope—an unspoken invitation or warning, depending on whose hands it falls into. Narcaus takes a moment to absorb this new room, admiring the opulence in every detail. She gently closed the door and took a few quiet steps inside, her eyes roving over the luxurious furniture and the crystal decanters but she's torn between her curiosity to explore the room further and her knowledge that it's not truly "her space". In the end her curiosity won out, and she started to silently make her way across the room, running her hands over the spines of the books and lightly tracing her fingers along the rim of the brandy decanter. She paused at the grand piano, her hand touching its smooth surface. She gently pushed the lid open, and the sight of the white and black keys took her breath away. The ivory keytops, worn from years of play, gleam softly in the flickering candlelight. A ripple of excitement ran like electricity down her spine, every nerve ending prickling with anticipation; she knelt down to sit on the cushioned bench. Taking a moment to get settled, she gently put two fingers on the piano's keys. The sound makes her jump back and cackle like a rebellious teen on a power high. Her heart leapt in her chest, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear. She pressed the keys again, lighter this time, and the tone was almost soothing. Her fingers hovered over the piano, itching to explore this wonderful new toy; but, the fear of being caught snooping held her back. She took a look about the room again, making sure she was truly alone before starting to run her hands over the keys.

She begins to play nonsense from no experience, mainly to mess with the keys and foot pedals to see what made what happen. Her fingers moved over the keys, exploring the different notes and the sound they produced. It was all new to her, and every key she pressed was a tiny thrill. She pressed hard on one key, then quickly released it, enjoying the way the sound echoed in the otherwise silent room. A mischievous grin spread across her face; her fingers dancing across the keys now, creating different pitches and rhythms with no structure or skill. She played notes in no discernible order, pressing down on the keys with just enough force to let the sound resonate properly. The noise was chaotic but beautiful in its own way—pure, unrefined expression. Her hands moved faster, more fluidly as she began to memorize the layout of the piano, fingers instinctively moving to nearby keys after each press. Then she heard the click of a door handle turning. She froze mid-motion, fingers hovering above the keys, her body tensing with expectation. But instead of the Don's heavy footsteps, a small, soft sniffing sound came from the doorway. Gubby the rabbit sat there, beady black eyes reflecting the candlelight, watching her curiously. Startled, Narcaus stared back at Gubby, her heart hammering in her chest. But the rabbit only returned her gaze with wide-eyed curiosity, its whiskers twitching as it hopped into the room. It sniffed the air curiously, moving closer to the piano bench. Narcaus sat frozen as Gubby approached, her fingers still hovering over the keys. The rabbit sniffed at her ankle, then her shoe, completely unafraid. A small giggle escaped her as the animal nudged her hand with its nose. She slowly lowered her hand to pet Gubby's head, her fingers brushing through the soft fur. The rabbit leaned into her touch, letting out a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr. Narcaus smiled as Gubby turned around in circles, clearly wanting more attention. She pulled back her hand and pressed a single note on the piano just to see what would happen, and to her joy and surprise, Gubby hopped in place! "You know, Gubby, there was a lot of you in my heyday," she admits to the mute yet responsive little chubby furball as she presses softly onto several more keys, "One day, my half-brothers - two of them - they dare me “Sister, if you can throw this slab over 800 miles to the Nile in Egypt, we will share with you both our temples and priestesses. If not,” they say to me, “If not, you must go to Mari and stay until you can seduce a noble man.”" She stands up from the piano and picks the rabbit up to pet them in her arms. "I only made it to the sea in between us and went to Mari; wrote on clay to our father and my mother, boy was he mad at me for going along with such a deal!…But guess what?" she lifts him up like a lion cub facing her, her three eyes locked with his two ones. "I come back from Mari, after three months residing without guise. Over 100 women - 100 priestesses, little rabbit - and over 2,000 rabbits; all back to Erech instead!" She lowers Gubby back to the floor with a soft giggle as he immediately resumes hopping around her feet, nudging her hand for more pets. Narcaus kneels down to scritch him behind the ears, watching as he flops onto his back, demanding belly rubs. "They were like you, Gubby. Playful, curious, and oh so soft…" She speaks softly, more to herself than to the animal. Her fingers run along his fuzzy belly, feeling the soft fur beneath her fingertips. Gubby wriggles in delight, kicking his back legs slightly. She grins at his antics, savoring this simple joy after the stresses of the day. Narcaus continued to pet Gubby as he rolled onto his back, his little paws flailing in a silent plea for more attention. She couldn't help but chuckle at the rabbit's antics, the stresses of the day seeming to melt away, replaced by the simple joy of this moment. Her fingers ran through his soft fur, her smile growing larger as she watched him wriggle and kick his back legs, clearly enjoying the attention. But her mind kept returning to the words she had just spoken, "Priestesses…"

She stands, abruptly, stopping the pets and admiration of the rabbit, “I am sorry, little rabbit,” she says hastily as she goes to the door leading to the hallway, “I must leave you to hop around aimlessly, I have to, uh…dooooooo” she looks around with only her eyes darting to and fro frantically, “soooommmmmetttthhhiiiiing—elsewheeere…. Yeah…” she opens the door onto a wide corridor whose floor is laid in black-and-white geometric marble tiles, their sharp angles guiding you past walls paneled in dark cherry wood. Above the wainscoting, frescoed friezes of grapevines and golden cherubs wind beneath a coffered ceiling painted in muted pastels. Brass wall sconces shaped like olive branches cast a honeyed glow over family portraits in gilt frames, each ancestor’s stern gaze watching every footstep. Along one side, an arched niche holds a stone console topped with a porcelain vase of fresh lilies, while a patterned runner stretches ahead to where twin doors hint at the private study and guest chambers beyond. But she fidgets as she walks, tugging at her dress as she walks past the scenery and the people, the members of her lover’s mafia and the people who work in the house for the Don himself, looking straight ahead, her eyes beginning to widen and grow heavy-lidded at the same time as her pupils began to grow big again until she bumps into Diego. He looks down at her, she looks up at him, a long pause between her and the tall and silent Italian mortal man in the middle of this hallway. Diego, he eyes her up and down, but does not crack a smile or show a majestic glint in his eyes; he simply wraps his arm around her waist and leads her to where he could obviously tell she desired to be. Down the hall, up some spiraling stairs to the second floor, straight ahead, taking a right after, and there it was; the door to the Don’s master bedroom. “He is busy,” he says as he opens the tall double doors for her bearing the Sonnellino family crest as its doorknob bases, elegantly etched; carved, even; into the brass, “I take care of you myself.” Inside, the room stretches wide beneath a vaulted ceiling painted in soft frescoes—clouds, olive branches, and a single golden lion prowling near the crown molding. The walls are paneled in dark walnut, interrupted only by tall arched windows draped in heavy damask curtains the color of deep wine. A four-poster bed dominates the space, its frame carved from mahogany and wrapped in silk sheets the shade of old parchment, with a velvet coverlet folded neatly at the foot. To the left, a marble fireplace flickers beneath a portrait of the Don’s father, his stern gaze watching over the room like a silent sentinel. A pair of leather armchairs flank the hearth, each with a small side table bearing crystal tumblers and a decanter of aged amaro. Across from the bed, a mirrored armoire stands beside a writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, its drawers filled with correspondence, ledgers, and a pistol tucked beneath a stack of letters. The floor is covered in a thick Persian rug, its pattern a labyrinth of crimson and gold, and the air carries the faint scent of tobacco, lavender, and old cologne. A hidden door behind the armoire leads to the Don’s private dressing room and bath—marble-tiled, candle-lit, and lined with suits, silk ties, and polished shoes arranged with military precision.

He shuts the doors behind him and leads Narcaus to the bed, sitting her down; her instincts dictate her after, her blown-out looking eyes glossy and dazed in appearance, her face flushed with a desiring, a need, a lust, as her cooing fits return and she flumps against the soft bed onto her back with her legs sprawled up. No underwear underneath this dress, and Diego sees everything from her penis and ovipositor dangling over her nutsack, to the wetness dripping from her empty, cold cunt, behind the masculinity in front of it. Diego, the man, he stares with a deadpan expression. “You have…” he raises a brow, “always had peni and scrotum?” Narcaus only lets out simple, heated dove sounds. Diego shrugs and begins to unzip his pants. “As long as this act is out of my loyalty to the Don, I will do my best to please you in his absence, signora.” Diego undoes his belt with slow deliberation, pulling it free with a quiet clink. He doesn't smile, doesn't leer—his face remains as impassive as ever, but there's a slight heat in his gaze as he watches her spread open for him. The bed dips as he kneels between her legs, his hands moving to her thighs to push them wider. "The Don…he prefers you this way, no?" Narcaus gasps as Diego's rough fingers trail up the inside of her thighs, his touch firmer than gentle but not cruel. "Mmm-hmm." Narcaus goes in a softer voice as Diego takes a slow reach for one of her small wings on each side of her head. "You always had these, too, no? May I?" he asks for her consent; he really is loyal to his boss, isn't he? Narcaus can only nod, feeling too hot to speak, her breath coming out as low moans and panting. Diego then begins to gently pet her feathers, the touch sending a shudder of need through her whole body, her already flushed face turning nearly scarlet in the candlelight. "Pretty," Diego murmurs, his hands moving up to trace the base of the wings, "So pretty." He leans closer, his lips a breath away from the soft feathers. Then his mouth closes around the base of one wing, teeth grazing, tongue flicking at the sensitive skin. Narcaus' back arches off the bed with a broken, high-pitched moan, her hands scrabbling at the sheets as her entire body trembles. Diego pulls back just enough to look at her face, watching her reaction before doing the same to the other wing, his hands spreading her thighs wider to make room for himself. His fingers trail down to her exposed belly, feeling the tense muscles there as he explores lower. "And this…" he muses flatly with his blank look on his face and a neutral demeanor in his voice, thumb circling the base of her cock. "It's so…unusual. Yet…" He lifts it up and lets it go limp against her body as he moves her scrotum out of the way to reach her clit; then he flicks it once. Just once, before positioning his cock in front of her entryway. An electric pleasure, different and all together new for Narcaus, shoots throughout her entire body, her body suddenly seizing as a loud mewling gasp erupts from her throat. Her hips snap up, begging and impatient for the sensation it just felt. Her body feels so unbelievably warm in contrast to the cool air in the room, so hot, with her cock twitching with need, her wings flexing in pleasure, and her hands trembling with the overwhelming need for more, more, MORE~! Diego waits just a second longer than necessary, watching as Narcaus's body writhes beneath him, her chest heaving with shallow breaths, her gaze glassy and overwhelmed. Then he sinks into her with one smooth thrust, his thick cock stretching her tight hole in a way that sends intense sensations cascading through her body.

Narcaus' back arches violently off the bed as she lets out a guttural cry, her fingers twisting in the sheets as her body is filled to the brim. Diego doesn't give her a moment to adjust—he sets a relentless pace immediately, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise as he pulls her hips toward him with every thrust. She's already so close, already so close, so close so close-. But he pulls her back from that edge, keeping her at her maximum height of feeling by slowing down, pulling out with slow, languid motions when she can't take anymore. Her body is trembling from the onslaught of feelings she's never felt before, and she's a mewling, shivering mess on the bed. Diego's cock leaves her body with a slick sound, leaving her aching for more. He flips her onto her stomach, his large hands gripping her hips tightly as he positions himself behind her. With one thrust, he's back inside, this angle allowing him to hit even deeper. Narcaus cries out, her wings fluttering weakly as Diego sets a bruising pace, his hands leaving finger-shaped marks on her soft brown flesh as he pounds into her. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and their heavy breathing fill the air. Diego's fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her head back as he grunts against her ear. "You like that, don't you? Like being filled like this?" She feels so full, so full. And it feels so good. She moans and gasps and writhes, her body overwhelmed with sensations, her wings flapping uselessly, her hands grasping desperately for something, anything to hold onto. And Diego is taking his time, enjoying the control he has over her body, holding both of her wrists in one of his big hands, his other hand moving to wrap around her neck, applying pressure just enough to make her head buzz until he pulls out, flipping Narcaus onto her back once more, and drapes her legs over his shoulders. He resumes fucking her, the new angle letting him go even deeper than before. Her cock twitches and throbs with need, aching to be touched. Diego sees this, his face still impassive but his eyes burning with intensity. He releases her wrists and grips her cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation is almost too much for Narcaus to bear. She's so close, so close, so close, her body tensing as Diego's movements become more frenzied, his own orgasm approaching. The tension inside her builds, builds, builds, until finally she can't take it anymore. It's like an explosion, a burst of ecstasy that rips through every nerve, every cell of her body. Narcaus throws her head back, her back arching, her wings spreading wide as she comes harder than she's ever come before. Diego follows suit soon after, his own orgasm crashing over him in waves, thrusting through both of their climaxes, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. They both ride the wave of pleasure until it STOPS altogether! He fills her up till he's all dried out before removing himself from within her, the hot splurge trickling in a small pool out of her used cunt as it does the same against her skin from her own. Diego then helps her up to the bathroom to clean herself, "I will send," he says plainly, "you need pajamas." And then leaves her in the room by herself after wiping himself clean and making himself decent again. Narcaus stumbles into the bathroom, her legs still weak from the intensity of her orgasm. She catches her reflection in the mirror—her face is flushed, her lips swollen, her usually sharp gaze now heavy-lidded and dazed. Tiny red marks litter her skin where Diego's hands had gripped her during sex.

The hot water of the shower does little to cool her down. Her skin still feels hypersensitive, every droplet of water feeling like a caress. She washes slowly, almost tenderly, though her hands shake slightly as she moves. She stops and drops the soap bar, it hitting the floor of the tub with a thud as she keels over against the side wall of the shower, panting, cooing, cawing like some domestic BIRD! OH, the hypOCRISY! OH, it was humILIATING! CENTURIES of being against MORTALS confining with GODS, and now she finds both pleasure in getting railed by the Don AND Diego?! It's the mason from Babylon and the Assyrian soldiers all over again! Why couldn't she be the one, like back in her youth, to lay with the hypnotized and the mesmerized female mortal, like the priestesses from all over the bronze regions from Kengir to the Levant and Tarhuntassa down into Helioplis, instead of being fucked like she was one?! She desired something cold, but there was nothing to be found in the shower or in the bathroom itself. She had to request Diego again, but he was now nowhere for her voice to travel without someone else to hear it! What was she to do?! Oh, the heat! Oh, the feeling of need, of desire, it was unWAVERING in between her LOINS~! Her legs felt weak as she stepped out of the shower, the towel in her hands doing little to hide the way her body still thrummed with residual pleasure. Every brush of the fabric against her skin made her flinch, her nipples still taut and sensitive. She dressed quickly, grateful that the pajamas Diego had sent were soft and loose-fitting. The thought of him choosing them made her stomach flutter in a way that was far more complicated than just attraction. The bedroom was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn to keep out the city lights. She curled up on the large bed, the sheets smelling faintly of his cologne. It was ridiculous how comforting that was. She hears the bedroom door open after a moment, Diego stepping inside. He walks over to the bed and takes a seat at the edge, his hand reaching out to brush the damp stray strands of hair off her forehead. "You feeling better?" he asks, his voice still carrying its usual emotionless tone. Narcaus simply nods, her mind still awhirl with conflicting emotions. "That is good," he says and then begins to leave the room again, "the Don will come in to be with you soon, signoria." He tells her on the way out. Narcaus sinks back into the bed, her body still weary from the sexual activity. She closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh, trying to come to terms with the intense feelings swirling inside her. "It's wrong," she mutters to herself. "This is all so wrong…" But as the minutes tick by, she begins to doubt that she even believes herself.

A knock at the door stirs her from her thoughts. Before she can answer, the door swings open, revealing the Don standing in the doorway. He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Narcaus tenses as he approaches the bed, her fingers twisting nervously in the sheets. His eyes roam over her, drinking her in with an intensity that makes her skin heat up all over again. His coat was gone, and soon would be his shirt, as it was already partially unbuttoned at the top. "Daddy Don~." She whispers as he steps closer to her, "I…I want it…badly~." He smiles, warm, and full of hunger and possession. "I know you do, my dove~," he murmurs, sinking onto the bed beside her. His hand comes up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone making Narcaus shiver at his touch, her breath catching in her throat. His eyes darken as he observes her reaction, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip as she grew unable to form words as his fingers trail down her neck. "Say it," he commands softly. "Tell me what you want." She swallows hard, her heart pounding so loudly she's certain he can hear it. "I want that 12-inches of pure Italian SAUSAGE~!" she moans gaspingly as she melts into the bed again, weak was her body as he receded and began to remove his clothes in front of her starting at his shirt, taking time with each. single. button, until it was all undone before her under the candlelight. With his upper body free from its layered prison of cloth he moved his mighty, muscular arms up over the back of his head – one hand to rest on the back of his neck as the other went to remove his fedora, letting down a thick, bushy ponytail of long, luscious hair flickered with silver to flow freely down his bare back; his muscles flexing, his abs—he had twelve of ‘em—and his chest and arms carried smoothed yet chiseled skin and the manliest traces of hair possible on a guy; and he flung his hat across the bedroom, the very thing that had 90% of his face landing professionally onto the bald top of a velvet black mannequin bust sitting on his dresser, revealing his sharp amber eyes that glistened under the lights of the ceiling, table, and floor lamps like the gold cornicello pendant necklace that hung around his neck, and the salt and pepper tinted dark brown stubble that coated his upper lip down to his entire jawline like a thin veiled goatee; he brushed a lock of hair from his bangs aside from his face before taking hold of each glove he wore on his large, coarse hands, pulling them off in front of Narcaus slowly by the edge of the front of his teeth gripping the tip of the glove’s middle fingers as if practicing on them for her aroused and sensifying nipples hidden under her silky loose pajama top. He crawls over her, pressing her back into the mattress with his body and his gaze. The mattress sank under his weight, the heavy cotton sheets shifting as he moved, the shadows cast by the candlelight playing on his features and the muscles of his arms and torso in the most alluring of ways. Narcaus's breath caught. Her eyes darkened with undeniable desire. She wanted this. Needed this. Him. He leaned over her, one hand gripping the headboard above them, the other wrapping around her hip.

His thumb strokes over the thin fabric of her pajama bottoms, directly above the already damp heat between her thighs. He watches her closely, his eyes flickering with satisfaction at the way her body responds to him. "Look at you," he murmurs, rough and low. "Already so wet for me. So eager." His fingers curl into the waistband of her pajamas, and with a sharp tug, he yanks them down past her hips. Narcaus gasps as the cool air hits her exposed skin, but before she can process it, he's descending between her thighs, his breath hot against her inner folds. "You're going to scream for me." he reaches an arm for the nightstand drawer, second one, and opens it just enough to stick half his hand inside it, pulling out a condom as he shut the drawer and moved the package in front of her for Narcaus to see it. She moans softly, her body trembling with anticipation as he positions himself above her. His eyes locking with hers, he opens the condom with an expert flick of his fingers. "You want this, don't you, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. She nods silently; her eyes fixed on the condom in his hand. "Say it. Tell me you want it."

"Please," she breathes, squirming beneath him. "I want it. I need it, Daddy Don~!" His lips curl into a smirk as he rolls the condom down his thick length, his other hand guiding himself as he presses against her entrance. "Louder," he commands, pressing just the tip inside. "I want it!" she cries out, arching her back as he fills her inch by inch, his girth stretching her deliciously. "That's my girl," he growls, gripping her hip as he thrusts fully inside. Narcaus moans, her nails digging into his shoulders as he sets a relentless pace. He dominates her completely, his powerful body moving with controlled precision while his body looms over hers, surrounding her completely as one hand grips the headboard above them and the other starts roaming over her body, his touch both possessive and loving. She arches into him, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "I'm gonna fill you up," he growls, his voice thick and rough with desire. "I'm gonna make you mine~." Narcaus whimpers, his words sending a shiver down her spine. "Yes, yes, yes," she chants, her voice growing desperate. He quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful and purposeful. The heat between them intensifies, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Narcaus's hands slide down his back, her nails digging into his skin as he fills her to the hilt. He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You feel so good around me, baby. So tight. So perfect." He captures her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hips continue their relentless motion until Narcaus breaks the kiss, gasping for air. Her head thrashes back and forth on the pillow, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure he's giving her. "Oh God, Daddy Don!" She can feel her climax building, the tension inside her coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her body is on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. He continues his ruthless assault, his hands roaming all over her body, making her arch and writhe under him. "You're so close, aren't you? I can feel it." He growls; his voice filled with dark desire. "Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you need."

"I NEED IT, DADDY DON~!"

"NEED WHAT, BABY!"

"I NEED THAT BIG, ITALIAN DICK, DADDY DON~!"

"LOUDER!!!"

"I NEED THAT 12-INCH ITALIAN SAUSAGE, DADDY DON~! OH, DADDY DON~! DADDY DON~!!!" His control begins to slip, his pace becoming more urgent and uncontrolled as her words fan the flames of his desire. "You want it, don't you? You want this fat Italian sausage, huh? Is that what you need, baby girl?" He growls, his voice rough with need. "YES, DADDY DON~!" she cries out! His grip tightens on her hip, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he slams into her with increasing force. The bedframe creaks beneath them, the mattress bouncing violently with every thrust. Narcaus' back arches off the bed, her nails raking down his back as intense ecstasy tears through her body. "DADDY DON, I'M GONNA—OH, GOD—DADDY DON!!!" Her climax crashes over her in waves, her inner walls clamping down around him with rhythmic pulses. The Don groans, his own release building rapidly from her tight, fluttering heat. His thrusts become erratic, his control completely unraveling as he chases his own pleasure. "FUCK!" he groans out over her tightness as the sweat trickles down his forehead and his chest before he quickly pulls out, turns her onto her stomach with her weak arms limp at her sides, her ass up and her head down, and then sheaths himself back into her at full force! "LET ME HEAR YA BEG FOR IT IN ONE OF THOSE LINGOS YA KNOW, NARCAUS!" he barked his order with pure dominance in his voice, the bed shaking and creaking, the frame squeaking loud as a choir of MICE underneath their HEATED PLEASURING OF EACH OTHER! "ܐܘ، ܦܘܟ! ܐܢܐ ܐܒܝܢ ܐܢܬܐ ܟܬܝܪܐ!" she shouts in haughty, steamed and aroused sounding Syriac, "ܐܘ، ܟܪܝܣܛܝܢܐ! ܟܪܝܣܛܝܢܐ! ܟܪܝܣܛܝܢܐ، ܟܪܝܣܛܝܢܐ!!!" He barks out a laugh as she speaks the ancient tongue, his thrusts never slowing as he claims her body completely. His hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her still as he pistons into her. "That's right," he growls, "use that old voice for me. Show me how much you love this cock." Narcaus whimpers and moans in Syriac as he rams into her, the syllables coming out in broken, ecstatic bursts. Her fingers clutch at the sheets, twisting them in her fists as intense pleasure overwhelms her. He can feel her inner walls clenching around him, still fluttering from her last orgasm as he builds her toward another. His fingers dig into her flesh, anchoring him to reality as he loses himself in the raw, animalistic need that pounds through his veins. "You like this, don't you, baby?" he whispers, his voice gruff and urgent. "You can't get enough of this, can you? This fat Italian dick, filling you up, making you mine?" He leans in close, his mouth at her ear, his words sending shivers down her body. "Tell me what you need, baby." The words come out in a breathless, desperate rush, his need for her overwhelming, as primal and unyielding as a wildfire. "Beg for it," he rasps, his breath hot on her skin. "Beg for it like you mean it, baby, like you can't live without my cock inside you. Make me believe it." Narcaus moans, her Syriac words turning increasingly urgent as he fills her over and over. She speaks in ragged breaths, her voice quavering with overwhelming desire. "ܕܥܡܝܬܘܢ ܓܪܝܫ ܩܛܠܐ! ܠܐ ܪܒܩܢ ܠܒܪܟ ܟܠܝ ܫܪܩܐ!" He has no idea what she's saying but it is FUCKING HOT! His cock twitches inside her, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he listens to her speak in her ancient tongue. The foreign syllables ignite a primal desire in him, pushing him over the edge. He thrusts into her with increasing urgency, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. The bed frame creaks and shakes beneath them, threatening to break apart as he pounds into her. "FUCK!" he groans, his control finally shattering. His hips snap forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He roars out his release, his cock pulsing and twitching as he fills her with his hot seed filling into the condom.

He collapses on top of her, his body heavy and limp, his breathing ragged and harsh in her ear. He nuzzles into her neck, his kisses soft and gentle in contrast to the roughness of his need moments ago. Narcaus twitches, still sensitive from their intense lovemaking. She curls up against him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. But she wanted more of it…she wanted more, oh the Heat! She slithers down under and out from beneath him making the Don roll onto his back and lounge there in confusion as he watched her kneel on her arms and legs as he reached the remove and dispose of the used condom. Second it was tied and tossed in the trash, oh, she went for it, sliding the first 6 inches into her mouth between her soft lips~! "Oh~," he gasps, surprised at her boldness. His fingers tangle in her hair, his grip firm, but not forceful. "Fuck, that feels good." His hand strokes her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as she takes him further into her mouth, her eyes looking up at him through her eyelashes. His own eyes are darkened with desire, his breathing ragged. "Fuck~, yeah baby…y’know how to surprise me, don’t ya, Bellissima~.” Narcaus moans around his length, her tongue swirling and flicking as she bobs her head. She moves with a sensual rhythm, taking him deeper each time, her hands coming up to massage his thick thighs and tight balls. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she savors the salty taste of him, her tongue tracing the veins along his shaft. He groans, his hips twitching slightly as she works him, his fingers tightening in her hair. "Yeah, just like that, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with approval. His free hand comes down to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed face. "You love this, don't you? This cock taste good to ya, Narcee?" She pulls off, her breath hot on his wet, glistening tip. "Oh, I love it so much, Daddy Don~," she purrs, her voice heavy with desire. "I love it so much, I can't get enough of you, your taste, your scent, your touch. I want you, all of you." She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock as she gazes up at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. "I want you, only you." His breathing falters as she speaks, his grip tightening in her hair. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he watches her worship him with words and hands. "Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "The perfect little slut for me." Narcaus preens under the praise, her tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe from the base to the tip of his cock. She nuzzles against his inner thigh, inhaling deeply. "Mmm…you smell so good," she whispers, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers trace the veins along his shaft as she gazes up at him through her lashes. His gaze is sharp, his eyes dark with hunger as he looks down at her. "Tell me what you want, baby." His voice is gruff, commanding. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you." She looks up at him, her mouth open, her tongue darting out to taste him again. "I want you," she whispers, her voice tinged with desperation. "I want to feel you, all of you. I want to be filled up, to feel your thickness inside me, to feel you deep inside me." The Don chuckles. "In due time, baby; I ain't no lucciole; and I ain't treatin' you like one, neither." He takes her by the upper arms and pulls her up closer towards him before covering them both up with the bedsheets, just simply embracing her now. She lets out a small sound of protest as he covers them up, her body still buzzing with unspent desire. "But, but, I want more…," she whispers, her voice soft and needy. She curls up against him, nuzzling her head into his chest. "Patience, Bellissima," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His arms tighten around her, one hand trailing up and down her back in a soothing motion. "When I take you again, it's gonna be slow. I'm gonna make you feel every inch of me; make you remember who's givin' it to ya." His voice is low and intimate, his lips brushing against her forehead as he speaks. "Gonna take my time with you, baby. Make sure you remember how much I truly love ya." Narcaus shivers against him, her body still sensitive from earlier. She nuzzles closer, her arms wrapping around his torso as she inhales his scent deeply. "But," he then decides to say the quiet part out loud as he began to gently run his hand through her messed up blonde hair, "First I'm gonna make sure you get what you want, and what you need." He says. "I'm gonna make sure nothin' wrong happens to ya. Make sure you're safe. And then after all that sailing…we're gonna have that big family we both dreamed of. That house in Tuscany. Family vacations in my family's native Palermo-oh, dumpling, you'll just LOVE seein' Palermo with your own three EYES." He grows softer with his gentle pets. "And I don't give no singular shit what kinda kids we get come after then, either," he continues, and then stops his petting, and moves his hand down her back to her metal arm to rub the smooth, glistening bronze, "Boy, girl, I'll just be the best dad out there for 'em. And if someone tries being SLICK - the boys and I are gonna do it the old-fashioned way, as the Lord intended it…ain't no one gonna find the schmuck if they anchored deep down in the ocean somewhere…."

She stares up at him, her eyes wide, as she slowly processes his words. "A-Are you saying…?" she asks softly, her heart pounding in her chest. "You're saying you want to marry me? You want to have kids with me?" Her voice is trembling with barely contained hope and excitement. The Don shrugs. "At some point, I might just ask ya. But I've yet to find you the biggest pearl; sorry, honey." She lets out a small huff of frustration. "You're impossible," she mutters, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I don't need a pearl; I just need you." His fingers trail along her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone before resting under her chin to tilt her face up toward him. "And you got me, baby. You got me wrapped around your little finger from the start." He speaks in a low, rough growl as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. When he pulls back slightly, his dark eyes hold hers. "You ain't gonna get rid of me that easy, princess." She lets out a breathy laugh, her hands coming up to rest against his chest. "Good," she murmurs, her thumb brushing over his collarbone. "Because I don't ever want to."

[flashback – Manhattan, New York, May, 1993]

In the dim glow of a single bulb sitting above the polished mahogany coffee table of the boy's bedroom, Don Sonnellino Sr.'s breath came in ragged rasps as he raised the slender rule again, it's hardwood edge already stained with Chrissy's dark blood while his mother hid with his younger brother in sister to protect them from attracting such an angry man in the night. Fifteen-year-old Chrissy flinched each time the ruler cracked against the chair’s curved leg, dreading the next strike that would leave fresh trails of red across his forearm’s old scars while the smell of spilled Chianti pooled on the threadbare rug, mingling with the metallic tang of fear under the sneered accusations from Don Sonnellino Sr. of “unnatural sins,” hurling slurs about homosexuality toward Chrissy in a voice thick with wine and hate. Sure, he was sneaking around the neighborhood at night, but not for any of that! But how could he convince his father of elsewise while the man was in such a state of ill repute?! Don Sonnellino Sr. was a man who believed in the old ways, in a time where homosexuality was seen as a sin, it was something that should not be spoken of or encouraged. Now, here was his son, his firstborn and eldest son, sneaking out at night, coming home late, smelling of perfume and doing what girls in his heyday would be doing! He was the complete opposite of what Don Sonnellino Sr. would consider a “real man”; to him, his son was an embarrassment. So here the man was, drunk off his tits with anger and disgust for his son, raising his hand with a rule in it and bringing it down repeatedly across the boy's skin. The air was thick with the acrid smell of old alcohol and blood from Chrissy's arm. "You're a disgrace, you know that boy?!" He slurred, spitting in his disgust. "You're a disgusting sin; you're a mockery of what a man is supposed to be! How could you make a mockery of me like this, you good for nothing! I-, I knew your dropping grades had a reason to it!" THWACK! "SINNER!" His words were like daggers, each word a stab to Chrissy's heart. Don Sonnellino Sr. wasn't a good man, far from it. He was the head of the Sonnellino Crime Family, and he ruled with an iron fist. And Chrissy, he was his firstborn son and the one he expected to carry on his legacy, carry on the family name, and be a man worthy of respect. But Chrissy was different, different from what his father wanted him to be. And Don Sonnellino Sr. would sooner rather die than let his son disgrace him like this. "Look at you! Sneaking out at night, coming home late, smelling like perfume! You're an embarrassment, a mockery! You're a sin, a disgrace!" The man's voice was thick with anger and disgust, his words spewing out like venom. "You're not just defying me, you're defying tradition, you're defying nature! You're going against everything I stand for!" THWACK! "This cannot be allowed to continue!" Footsteps down the hall, crying with it, Chrissy's heart would drop as soon as the sweet ten-year-old Angelina bursts into the teenager's bedroom with snot and tears smeared all across her doughy, round face, big doe eyes so watery she looked like she had dunked her head in the mop bucket with them wide open, her gap-toothed mouth drawling out long wails of a scared child who saw the Boogeyman in her bedroom closet in the middle of the night! "DAD, PLEASE STOP HITTING MY BROTHER, PLE-E-EEASE!"

Don Sonnellino Sr. froze at the sound of his daughter's voice, his hand in the air mid-strike, a look of surprise and anger on his face. He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing in anger. "What do you think you're doing?!" he snapped, his voice filled with rage. "Get out of here! This is none of your business!" Angelina trembled at the sound of her father's voice, her small body shaking with sobs. "Y-You're hurting Chrissy! Stop it, PLEASE, STOP IT!" Don Sonnellino Sr. growled in annoyance, his temper flaring. He didn't want to be interrupted, especially by his own child. "I said get OUT!" he roared, his voice booming in the small room. "This is none of your concern! Go back to your room and stay INSIDE, or I'll give you something to cry about too!" Angelina cowered at her father's words, her small frame quivering. She wiped her tears away, trying to be strong for her older brother, but the fear was too much for her little heart to bear. She didn't want Chrissy to be hurt, she loved her big brother more than anything, and seeing him being hit like this broke her heart. But, she knew better than to defy her father's orders, so she slowly took a step back, her eyes wide and fearful. "B-But Chrissy," she whimpered out and then SMACK! One swift motion from his ring hand sends her collapsing onto the floor! "Angie!" Chrissy calls out in worry, and he rushes to help her and make sure she was alright-but Don Sonnellino Sr. countered him with yet another hard strike from the ruler! "Stay BACK boy!" the man roared, his face red with anger. "You stay put until I'm done with you!" Angelina let out a cry of pain as she hit the floor, tears now streaming down her face in an uncontrollable wave. She looked up at her older brother with pleading eyes, her small body trembling in fear. Chrissy wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he knew better than to go against his father’s orders, even in a situation like this. But he couldn’t. Chrissy couldn't bear to see his little sister lying on the floor, crying and hurt. Without thinking, he moved towards her, intending to pick her up and comfort her. But his father quickly stepped in his path, shoving him back forcefully. "I said stay put!" the man growled, grabbing Chrissy's shoulder with a tight grip. "You don't move an inch until I say you can!"

"Let me go!" Chrissy shoves his father and runs to his sister! Don Sonnellino Sr. was caught off guard by Chrissy's sudden defiance. He stumbled back, caught off balance, and stared at his son in disbelief. "How DARE you!" he yelled, his voice filled with anger and disbelief. But Chrissy didn't stop, he knelt down next to his little sister, putting his arm around her and checking her over for injuries. Angelina whimpered and clung to her brother, shaking with fear. "You ungrateful little brat!" he roared, lunging at Chrissy with the ruler. "I'll teach you a lesson you won't soon forget!" Don Sonnellino Sr. did not see the punch coming, and it landed square in the middle of his nose. The man stumbled back, clutching his face, a look of shock and pain seared into his features. He couldn't believe what had just happened. His own son had just punched him in the face, in front of his little daughter! From the shadows of the hallway, Roberto and his mother watched the scene unfold. Their hearts raced in their chests as they saw Chrissy throw the punch and knock Don Sonnellino Sr. off balance. Their mother gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. "Mio Dio," she whispered, "what have we just witnessed?" Roberto was speechless, his young mind unable to process the event. He had seen his father's volatile outbursts, witnessed the violence and the fear it instilled in their family, but he had never seen Chrissy stand up to their father like this; he couldn't tear his eyes away from the shocking scene, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. Don Sonnellino Sr. staggered back, his nose bleeding and his eye already purpling from the impact. He looked at Chrissy, stunned and furious. He couldn't believe that his own son had just punched him, that he had dared to defy him. "You…you little bastard!" he roared, spitting blood onto the floor. "How dare you-"

"NO! How dare YOU!" Chrissy shouts back at his father.

"You dare talk back to me?!" he roared, his face turning red with anger. "I'm your father! You respect me and listen to me!"

"NO!" he shouts at him defiantly! "I'M NOT LISTENING TO SOME COWARD LIKE YOU! ESPECIALLY WHILE YOU'RE LIKE THIS, POP!" he expresses emphasis with his arms at his old man, "You get SO WORKED UP WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK, sOMETIMES I wonder if ma ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED La DiaVOLO ONE DAY!" Don Sonnellino Sr. was enraged by his son's words. He couldn't believe that Chrissy would talk to him like that, let alone compare him to the devil. "You…you insolent little brat!" he roared, his voice shaking with anger. "Don't you dare speak to me like that. I'm your father and I know what's best for you. I only want to make sure you're not going to hell, you ungrateful little bastard!"

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S GOING TO HELL FOR BEATING ON YOUR FAMILY, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

Don Sonnellino Sr. was incensed by Chrissy's words, his face turning red in anger. "You keep your mouth shut, you little ingrate!" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm the one who put a roof over your head, fed you, clothed you. I've done everything for you, and this is how you repay me? By disrespecting me and talking to me like trash?!" Chrissy stood his ground, not backing down. "You're a monster, pop," he said, his voice steady and determined. "You're a bully and a coward. You call yourself a man, but all I see is a drunk who beats his family and hides behind his position." Don Sonnellino Sr. couldn't believe the words coming out of his son's mouth. "You take that back!" he roared, his face contorted with rage. "I am not a coward! I am not a bully! I'm the head of this family, and you will respect me and obey me!" Chrissy gets up in his face and sizes his father up. "You are a bully. You are a coward. You are no better than La DiaVOLO." He takes the ruler out of Don Sonnellino Sr.'s hand and snaps it against his leg, his mother and younger siblings stunned by his actions. "You hurt any of us like this again," he pokes a finger into his dad's chest, "You hurt any of THEM like this again," he shoves his father into the wall behind him, "And I'll round up my fucking friends from the neighborhood, and I'll be making YOU" he shoves him into the wall again "get the KNOCK OFF!" Don Sonnellino Sr. was shocked by Chrissy's actions and words. He had never seen his son stand up to him like this before, and it shook him to his core. He had always been the one in charge, the one who was respected and feared, but now his own son was challenging him. "You…you can't talk to me like that," he sputtered, his face red with anger. "I'm your father! You can't just shove me around like this!" Don Sonnellino Sr. was taken by surprise as Chrissy grabbed his shirt and slammed him to the ground. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him, gasping for air. He had always been the one in control, the one who was feared and respected, but now his own son was manhandling him. "You…you little bastard!" he sputtered, struggling to get back up. "CHRISSY, STOP!" Roberto called out as his big brother straddled himself on top of their father and raised his fist in anger! Angelina, sweetest angel Angelina, runs and puts her hands over his raised fist, "CHRISSY, PLEASE! DON'T DO THIS!" she pleaded with him! Chrissy paused, his fist raised and trembling. He looked down at his little sister, her sweet face pleading with him to stop. "Angie," he said softly, his anger slowly fading.

Don Sonnellino Sr. took advantage of the moment and grabbed Chrissy's wrist, trying to pull him off of him. "You ungrateful little brat!" he spat, struggling to get away from him. Roberto rushed over and joined Angelina in trying to hold Chrissy back. "Chrissy, stop!" he pleaded, grabbing onto his brother's other arm. "Don't do something stupid!" Chrissy was torn. He wanted to hit his father, to make him pay for all the pain and suffering he had caused. But his siblings' pleading eyes held him back, their voices calming him down. "He's not worth it, Chrissy," Roberto said, trying to reason with him. "He's not worth risking your future." Angelina nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Chrissy," she begged, "please don't do this." Don Sonnellino Sr. sat up, his face still red with anger. "You hear your siblings, boy?" he said, trying to regain his dignity. "You hear them pleading with you to stop? Listen to them and get off me."

"Like how you listen to mom when she tells you to, you ASSHOLE!" he rips himself out of their grasps and charges with a clear swing at his father! "YOU SHIT-HEAD!" he gives him another clear hit before dragging him up against the wall in the hallway in front of his own mother! "Hypocrites like you have ALWAYS made me SICK TO MY STOMACH!" he shouted in the older man's face, "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO NOT MESSING WITH THE FAMILY, EH?! YOU HYPOCRITICAL FUCK-I'M GONNA MAKE YA EAT YER OWN damn TEETH IF YOU TOUCH MA LIKE THE WAY YA DO EVER AGAIN, YA HEAR ME OLD MAN?!" Don Sonnellino Sr. was stunned by Chrissy's words and actions. He had never seen his son get so angry and violent before, and it scared him. He tried to fight back, but Chrissy had the upper hand, and he landed another few blows. Angelina whimpered and cried in fear, her mother covering her eyes. Roberto watched in shock, unsure of what to do. Don Sonnellino Sr. struggled to get away, but Chrissy had him pinned against the wall. "Y-You…you little bastard!" he managed to gasp out, his face covered in blood. "V-VINNY!" he called for his goons. "LENARD! JAMES, GET THIS CRAZY KID OFFA ME!"

"Chrissy, you gotta calm down!" Roberto said frantically, trying to get his brother to cool off while Angelina was in tears, her face covered by her hands as she trembled and then jumped out of her skin as the door to the house burst open and three men rushed in, "Boss! Boss are you okay?!" they asked, seeing the scene in front of them. Don Sonnellino Sr. pointed a shaky finger at Chrissy, "Get this little maniac offa me!" he yelled. The three goons rushed over to Chrissy, grabbing his arms and trying to pull him off of their boss. "Enough is enough!" one of the goons said in a demanding tone. "Let him go!"

"Yeah, you don't wanna mess with the boss!" another goon said, trying to sound menacing. Chrissy struggled to break free from their grip, but they were too strong. He looked at his father with cold, angry eyes, his chest heaving with anger. Don Sonnellino Sr. stumbled away from the wall, leaning against a nearby chair for support. His face was bruised and bloodied, but he was still standing. "Take him away," he growled to the goons. "Lock him in the basement until I decide what to do with him." Chrissy's eyes widened in panic as he heard this. "No! You can't do this!" he yelled, struggling against the goons' grip. "You can't just lock me away like some animal!"

"Well if you wanna act like an animal, Junior, then you get treated like an ANIMAL!"

The goons dragged Chrissy away, despite his struggling and protesting. "Let go of me!" he yelled, kicking and thrashing in their grip. "You can't do this to me!" But the goons didn't listen. They dragged him towards the basement stairs, ignoring his pleas. Don Sonnellino Sr. watched with a sadistic smile on his bruised face as his son was taken away, "That should teach him a lesson," he said to the goons.

[present day – August 19^th, 2025]

He stood and stared down at the grave that did not share a space with the body’s lifelong partner, a grim look on his face as the Don eyed the aged and darkened white marble down within his lonesome disposition, the wind blowing gentle gusts through the bottom of his pinstriped jacket and his long, silvering hair, amber eyes locked on the name: Cristiano “Davey” D. E. Sonnellino Sr.. The Don eyed the words with a bitter metallic taste in his mouth, and as he was alone, he spoke to the name on the stone. “What’s goin’ on with you today, pop?” he asked the stone. “Business is doing good; better, even. Not too many names owing the family. Found me a real keeper, though knowing you you’d just call her ‘city trash’ or somethin’ else you like callin’ darker skinned people. Her name’s Narcaus, pop. And I intend on asking her soon, here, so don’t go “Divine Intervention-ing” me anytime soon.” From under his coat he pulled out a bottle of Old Classics brand Chianti wine and presented it to the mere, aged stone. “Got this for ya,” he said before taking a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes, “This, too.” He knelt down and settled the bottle next to the stone on its mantle and the pack of cigarettes beside it, and eyed the name under his fedora with a stone cold expression. “Hope you’re liking it rotting in Hell, old timer,” he said to the stone, “Because I ain’t gonna be like you. So spit on me and call me a faggot for that, dad. Hope the loogy falls back down smacks you in the face.” BEEP-BEEP! Narcaus had climbed over between the front seats of his Mercedes and figured out how to make the steering wheel honk, excitement in her face as Vito rolled down the front passenger seat window for her to let her fling half herself out of it and wave to the Don, “DADDY DOOON, COME OOOON! I WANNA GOOOOO!” he looked up over at her, a smile on his face – though brief – before he turned back to the stone. “Y’see that?” he says as he points around his chest at his lover, “That’s gonna be your new daughter-in-law soon. Cope and seethe, pop. Tell Satan he still owes God for wasting his time.” He finishes with a turn around and a walk with no looking back as he waves half-assed to the gravesite on his way back to the car.

The Don got into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him, before starting the engine and easing them out of the graveyard. Narcaus giggled as the car lurched into motion, her head sticking out the window like a dog in the wind. "Where are we going, Daddy Don? Where are we goingggggg?"

"We're dropping you off at the museum while we tend to some business downtown." He said with a kind smile and a soft and loving voice. Vito turns to his boss, "You remember the app the boys and I found for ya-?"

"Yes, Vito, I remembered to download Life360 for both the phones," the Don replied. "Got it on mine and the spare I gave to her, so I can see where's she at or heading to in real time from now on." Narcaus huffed and puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms in mock irritation. "Ugh, why do you need to have that app? I'm a grown woman, you know!" Despite her outward feigned annoyance, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. The Don chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair affectionately. "Cuz I need to make sure you don't get lost in them fancy art museums, dumpling. You're gonna be in there looking at all that pretty stuff for hours and hours." He winks at her in the rearview mirror. "Gotta make sure my dame don't go getting stolen by some slick museum guard or art thief, right?" Narcaus giggled, the sound light and musical as she scooted closer to the Don's seat. "You're so silly. No one's going to steal me!" She paused, her fingers trailing along the back of his neck. "But…" he takes her fingers and trails his against them as they pull up into the parking lot of the building.

Chapter Text

She had never been to a museum, before. The Spectre merely talked of certain things from it only he enjoyed, whereas his own older brother cared not to make for commentary, and the Don and his men just had to talk her up on the idea of her solo touring it (since their current job was not that far away, this time). Narcaus was dropped off, with the same items gifted to her by her lover, and kissed and waved to the man goodbye as he was chauffeured off by his men to attend a business meeting with other mafia bosses somewhere else, waiting till she could no longer see the Don’s black Mercedes in the vast sea of cars, bicycles, motorbikes, and busses. The entryway to the museum was long, and the wait time took forever what with all the touring foreign bodies and those with skin either matching or darker than her own and whatnot; but she managed, as her height carried her over the big brown and black skinned sea of mortals. The museum was one of her many choices, as the Don told her she could go anywhere she liked. So, ergo, she’d pick here first, since she’s never been to one until today…(security was a bit of a pain in the ass, though, on account of her arms shoulder to fingertip being made of, y’know, bronze and all, like it was enough she had to limbo-bend herself slightly at the KNEE to walk through their big flashy gizmos, known as “metal detectors”)! The museum of contemporary art was a popular location. From all sorts of people, to all sorts of ages, it was a frequent gathering spot. From the modern art forms, to the more classic paintings, to more abstract and Avant-guard pieces, it was something for everyone. On this day, the museum didn't have any special functions, meaning that the large halls were filled with many visitors simply taking in the artworks. Most of them, simply wandered about the place, admiring the pieces and reading the placards of the works they found interesting and/or perplexing. As she eventually worked her way through each gallery, she couldn’t help but notice the oddest of things. It’s as if there seemed to be a pull, somewhere within the museum’s halls, with such a strong gravity, it was difficult for her to resist wandering into some of the galleries rather than going in an orderly fashion. Like the art gallery was fine. The history gallery was very interesting; the architecture gallery was beautiful. But it wasn’t until she turned the corner and ended up in the prehistoric wing. Ancient relics filled the hall-from beasts of plenty to the beginnings of mortal man in wax modeling, and items of the farthest past. Of the Bronze Age, she enjoyed well the trip down memory lane. An idol titled ‘Statuette of Goddess, Narkaushu’ made her pause and her mouth ‘O’ shaped in an agape expression! “Aha-huh!” she exclaims as she fidgets with the pearls around her neck, “But that’s…that is my name!” she follows her finger as she trails the metal under the words of the plague in front of the glass encased relic:

Statuette of Narkaushu

Old Babylonian Period, ca. 1800 BCE

Gold alloy, now oxidized to black resin speckled with reddish-brown

Excavated from collapsed temple precincts adjacent to Babylon’s Ishtar Gate

This finely cast figure kneels on crossed legs, her hips flared and chest thrust forward, arms clasped beneath a mane of box-braided hair. Pointed “elf” ears sit beneath stylized facial wings, while fox-tipped ears crown her head—an iconography blending wild cunning and divine presence. Two expansive wings fan outward, designed to catch and refract solstitial light during grain-drying rites.

A four-line Akkadian dedication along the base reads:

“ana Narkaushu kīma šumšu – to Narkaushu, true to her essence

min ḫubullu – gifted from the harvest

Deemethresi – (the artisan or sponsor)

gitu ‌ ṭābu ana Ābu – a fitting gift for the Father”

“So that’s where she chucked it to; Wistelle, you bitch!” she boomed out in shock, relief, and a bit of sisterly-infused anger as well, and when she let out her comment from in front of the bronze sculpture, people within earshot couldn’t help but turn around and give her a strange look, followed by hushed whispers amongst each other at such an outburst. Several of the visitors that happened to be near her were even more confused and perplexed by such an outburst, and began to stare at the strange woman as they tried to figure out what was going on. One of them even turned their head to the side and slowly raised their mobile phone up, seemingly preparing to record a video. “And that’s not even what that IS, why would anyone make me a gift if it were meant to be offered to my father? I got this thing for my BIRTHDAY, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” The sound of her outburst had been loud; and more than a few gallery goers stopped to stare in bewilderment and confusion at such an outburst, looking to see who had made the disturbance. The security guards were already in the process of heading her way, just as she let out her next loud verbalization. The security guards quickened their trek over to the loud woman, intent on giving her a warning of sorts, though they could not make out all of her words. But then, someone from the crowd yelled out, “That’s a bronze sculpture, lady! QUITE DOWN!”

"IF GOLD IS BRONZE THEN YOU ARE AS WHITE AS THE PERSON YOU ARE STANDING NEXT TO!" she shouts back at the person as she points at them! Black man, an adult mortal, dressed like he lived for the streets and repped for his city - baggy sweatpants lurched down showing off his boxers and everything - was that someone from the crowd. "You are a darker a brown than I, so I think you should shut up!" Narcaus adds before going back to critiquing the encased relic of her past. She stared at her curvaceous and blossoming body in the form of aged gold with hawk focused eyes. "Oh, Deemethresi," she sighs solemnly to herself once the crowd (the lighter toned partners of it, anyway) dispersed completely, "What had ever become of you when you were needed in those campaigns against Lagash?" The man and some others of similar tones of skin comparing to hers walk up to her en mass to confront her for her comparing of him to a random white person. They all looked like they were from the same alleyway, smelling of smoke and flavored nicotine, the women round bodied with big bulky earrings and the men with baggy pants and bandanas like it was some trend. The crowd of locals surrounds Narcaus, their presence looming with anger. The man she called out steps forward, his face tightening as he glares at her. "Yo, I don't know who you think you is, but you don't walk in here talking to nobody like that." His words come slow and deliberate, the threat hanging between each syllable. Narcaus doesn't flinch. She shifts her weight onto one hip, tilting her head as she studies him with amusement. "Oh, now you decide to speak properly after I corrected you? You weren't so concerned with your own speech a moment ago." She lets out a quiet, knowing chuckle, crossing her arms beneath her chest. The man steps closer with narrowed hostile eyes, getting into her face as the others back away, a smirk on his puffed lips. Narcaus didn't back away. She held her ground as he leaned in even closer, their faces so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her face and the smoke on his breath. "You still smoke marijuana after all these centuries?" she asks, intrigue written on her face. The group of African Americans exchange looks before a larger bodied woman of the group asks, "You toke?" Narcaus looks over at her, "Is that what you mortals call it these days?" she inquires. The girl with the round-body and large earrings laughs out loud, her teeth gold and glinting in the gallery's lighting. "Damn right I do! You'd gotta be under a rock if you don't." The group chuckles and laughs, some of the girls high-fiving the larger woman. The man who had confronted Narcaus earlier steps back, still eyeing her suspiciously. "So what's your story, girl? You ain't from around here, that's for sure." His eyes narrow as he studies her clothing and demeanor. The others in the group, now intrigued by her strange behavior and even stranger knowledge, gather closer. The woman with the gold teeth chimes in, "She looks like she stepped right outta church, bitch look like she a MORMON!" Several members of the group start to look at her with curiosity rather than hostility. Narcaus remains still, her face impassive as she observes the group, her asymmetrical features stark in the gallery's lighting. "Bitch ain't ever there BEEN a BLACK MORMON, you trip'n!" a larger and buffer looking man points out to the round black woman. "Look like she Randy's next meal, if you know you know-"

"SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-UUush your DAMN, MOUTH!" the man who first initiated the conversation said to the large, bodybuilder looking man. "Ain't none us here want our asses stolen off our bodies, mane!" they then turn attentions back to Narcaus, who was beginning to leave to look and see what else was actually hers, much to their inattentive meandering. Large, ceremonial bowls, beads and bracelets, and what might’ve been some sort of idol. The pulling tugging on her attention, as her feet carried her in as if on autopilot. Then it caught her eye. There it was. Massive, almost dwarfing her, which wasn’t an easy thing to do; a huge, life-size fertility idol, carved from grey river clay! And, it was magnificent. All sorts of things about it, drew her in - the large breasts, the thick thighs, the pot-belly - it was a work of a true masterpiece, truly capturing the female form in an idol such as this. It drew her in more than just mentally. It beckoned her with something, something she couldn’t quite place with! “Idol of Terafyene-heeeeeeeey, wait a minute!” she strained as she read the title on the plague, “Oh, you petulant followers of Inanna! My mother wasn’t that massive!” she twitches her head to the right to find a relatively unattractive looking woman with dark skin covered in white patches, big bouncy curly black hair, her lips and ears covered in piercings, her body coated in tattoos most vulgar and weird looking; and the woman, too, stared back at Narcaus. The woman stared at Narcaus, her tattooed eyebrows raising as she noticed the strange sight of a woman with arms made of solid bronze. This had to be a prank, or something weird like that, or at least that thought passed through her head. “Excuse…excuse me…” she spoke, her voice a bit tentative as she spoke, “But, are you…made of bronze?”

"Hm?" blink, blink. "Uh…my arms are. But the rest of me is merely divine flesh and, uh, some very warm undertones of melanin." The tattooed woman stepped back, her face reflecting surprise and shock. "You're actually real? I thought you were some kind of weird mannequin or something!" She looked Narcaus up and down, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Are you seriously a goddess or something? Because if you are, this is like the coolest shit ever!" The woman's earlier hostility seemed to melt away, replaced by genuine excitement. Narcaus simply chuckled, "Well, I appear to be quite the bragging topic-"

"OH-EM-GEE, THERE SHE IS!" a younger girl's voice caws out as two teens looking 15 and 13 run up to Narcaus with their phones out playing something on their screens. "YOU'RE THE GIRL WHO TOOK DOWN BIMBOSTICS FROM THE MALL!" one of them shouts as she points at Narcaus before receding her hand to brush away her blue and pink striped bangs from her oval cherub cheeked face, "That is, like, TOTALLY AWESOME what you did!" the other girl, thinner in her diamond shaped face with her own hair as blonde as Narcaus's was, nods rapidly in agreement and begins to use her hands as she mumbles at a low speaking volume, "You-are,-like,-SUCH-a-FEMINIST-ICON-!" It was choppy, but Narcaus was at least able to hear her. Now what was this feminist iconography this teenage girl speaks of about her? Narcaus cocks her head to the right, her expression a strange combination of surprise and puzzlement. She wasn't used to being described as a feminist icon by teenage girls, especially those who seemed more interested in fashion and pop culture than ancient history. "…What?" she asks, her voice slightly baffled. "I, uh…I took down what now?"

"It-is-ALL-OVER-Tik-Tok!" the girl mumbles out as she uses her hands to symbol out her quiet, chopped words before she shows Narcaus her phone's screen to show her some random chick with slideshows of photos and videos of the ordeal, including everything from the Don and his men beating the shit out of Flaxman to the horde of bimbofied angry patrons demanding reversals from the store's machines and full-out refunds from the store! "Oooooh, that is what you meant." She says as she squints her three eyes at the phone. "Yes. That did happen. Many, many angry women." She sees all the numbers under the speech bubble, heart, banner and crooked arrow. "What is this, wha-, what do these little symbols mean and WHY is the two in the middle" she points at the heart and banner "pink and yellow?" The first teen girl, with the bangs, snorts with laughter. "Omg, she don't even know what a like is? She's like, a real ancient goddess or something!" She glances at her friend, both girls cracking up while the older woman with the tattoos just watches on, shaking her head with a bemused smirk. "You give hearts to people to show you like what they posted, girl! And the banner is for favoriting, duh!" The second girl shoves her phone in Narcaus's face and starts showing her the various comments in the comment section. "Look! Hundreds-of-people-are-thanking-you-for-taking-down-that-place!" The woman's words register in Narcaus's mind, her three eyes narrowing as she absorbs the information. "Ah. So…these are like…digital prayers and offerings?" she asks, gesturing at the phone screen. The teenagers exchange confused looks before breaking into fresh giggles. "Kinda!" the first girl chirps, her fingers flying across the screen. "We can even make hashtags for stuff! Look—#DivineFeminist—that's trending right now, too!"

"Oh, that's delightful." Narcaus folds her arms across her chest, the metal of her bronze arms clicking faintly as they settle. "So, these…likes and favorites. People have seen this?" the black woman with the tattoos now-all of a sudden, she now-recognizes Narcaus! "YEAH!" the teen girls both respond. The first girl looks her up and down with curiosity and awe, her eyes traveling to the woman with the tattoos, "But I still don't get how you're, like, real, though. I thought you were just a myth or something, but your arms! Your arms are actually made of BRONZE, like, real, authentic bronze, in the flesh! That IS SO COOL!!!" Her friend giggles in nervous excitement, bouncing up and down eagerly. "Girls? Get back in your group, NOW!" an older woman, a teacher by her looks, calls out from a small crowd of teenagers with backpacks and notebooks and phones. The girls groan, clearly not ready to leave their new bronze-armed idol yet. "BUT, MOM-" the first girl tries to begin, but quickly gets cut off, "NOW!" the mother-figure barks, eyes narrowing in a way only parents' can do to their kids that's super effective. "But, we're talking to a goddess here. She like, actually exists!" The first girl tries to argue, glancing back at the bronze armed woman. "I should get going myself," the tattooed woman says, "History isn't gonna learn itself and I reeaally need to pass this class if I plan on graduating college this year!" She leaves willingly; the mother-teacher makes the girls do the same thing. And Narcaus is alone again in the museum despite the many people in it. Narcaus stands there, a bemused look on her features. She'd only been here for a short while, and already she'd run into trouble, been filmed on phones, and even had teenage girls swoon and talk about hashtags and being 'an ancient-feminist-icon'. It was overwhelming, to say the least. She began to think to herself as she wandered through the museum once more to find what else was actually to be hers. In a long rectangular dais, big enough to fit all the cases in, she found another set of things to make her gasp in this specific exhibit. Children's toys shaped like carriages with moving wheels made out of wood, horses made out of ivory, and soldiers made of regular and red sandstone are found in present day Iraq, as well as a doll of Narcaus as a young GIRL made of leather, wax and animal bones among several ancient Anatolian board games! It had all seen better days, of course, being about just some short years younger than the living, breathing deity in the room who was over 5,000 years old, but like.... What hobby do mortals have to make them find such things??? She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Toys like these belonged to her as a child, yes, but this wasn't just any ordinary exhibit; they were her toys! A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she gently picked up a carved ivory horse. This is exactly what her own toy horsy looked like! Her wooden carriage, and her soldier toys. She ran her hand over the pane of protective glass in awe. And her dolly! Oh, she loved that thing, she took it everywhere with her when she was young! She was just about ready to lose all of her plumes when she got that thing! She smiled down at the leathery doll, eyes misting with emotion. She could almost see herself, small hands clutching the toy as she carried it everywhere. It was as if time had stood still and she was a young girl again. She had never imagined someone would find it, and display it like this!

And then it all came crashing down the second some mortal guys showed up and removed her attention from her happy walk down Memory Lane. “Gurl, you’s lookin’ like a big black Ms. Sethii!” the tall athletic one says as he snickers then after behind his hand, shoving his friend playfully by his arm. She didn’t know who this ‘Ms. Sethii’ was, but these two men played it off like an insult. She bristled at the rude comment, her happy nostalgia replaced by anger. She turned to face the men, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice cool and even. "Yeah, you's that Bronze Age chick who got railed by a horse, huh!" the first man commented to spark laughs from both men. Her brown face turned to lightskin tones. How did they…they didn't-did these mortals of the museum seriously discover THAT-it was ONE TIME! ONE TIME, JUST TO SEE WHAT IT FELT LIKE! IT WAS ONE. TIME! She bristled once more, her embarrassment and anger rising. "Hold your tongue, mortal," she said, trying to stay calm despite the growing frustration. "You dare to speak to a goddess in such a manner? Do you have no respect, or do you simply have no sense at all?"

"No, no, we got MAD respect," the man says, then silence. "…For the horse-AAAAAAYYEEEEEEEE!" two men laughing at her heyday and high-fiving in front of her over it, too. "Bitch you got that ASSYRIAN TRAIN rollin' on you, how'd it feel gettin' it on with over 150,000 DUDES, huh?" The shorter one taunts, thinking he's being clever with the ancient population estimate. Narcaus' eyes flash with fury, her bronze arms tensing visibly as she clenches her fists. "Enough!" she snaps, her voice booming with divine authority. The men flinch, momentarily stunned by the outburst. "You dare to mock my history and my people's legacy? You think your crude jests are amusing?" She steps closer, her bronze arms flexing menacingly. "I am Narcaus, Goddess of the Red Midnight, and you will show respect or face my wrath!" Her hair whips around her face, crackling with energy. She grabs them before they could run. "Take me to where these things are on display." She orders through her hissing teeth. The two men, suddenly facing the wrath of a goddess, became more cautious. They exchange quick glances, realizing the seriousness of the situation. "Uh, sure, ma'am…" one of them begins, eyeing her bronze arm apprehensively. "We'll take you to the display, no problem." She followed them deeper into the museum, the thick silence broken only by the soft scuff of shoes on marble. The shorter man leads them down a side corridor, where the walls were covered in ancient Mesopotamian artifacts—cuneiform tablets, ceremonial masks, and statues of deities. Before the three of them they paused at a large, gathered crowd looking, jesting, recording, photographing, talking in regard to the layers of used parchment written inside of itself and the citrine statue roughly a little over 38 centimeters depicting her little orgy spree with the soldiers, and yes, one of the steeds to the cavalry. Narcaus stopped in front of the display, her jaw dropping in shock and horror. There, for all to see, was an image of her in a most intimate display with multiple men and one of the steeds! Her face flushed with the deep color of embarrassment and rage as she took in the scene. "By the gods…" she whispered. Some hear her whispers for they were close enough to. The mortals, realizing they had stumbled upon something far beyond their understanding, stepped back. Narcaus continued to stand before the display, her arms shaking with scarcely restrained fury. The crowd around the exhibit noticed her bronze skin, her striking features, and the unmistakable family resemblance between the goddess and her statue. Whispers spread through the gathering. "That can't be…she looks exactly like her!" someone whispered. "Are you serious? This is her?" another replied in hushed tones as Narcaus's chest heaved, as she stared at the crude yet unmistakable depiction of herself, surrounded by half-naked and fully naked Assyrian men and a proud horse. Her breathing became labored, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Usually, this would be something to brag about; and she would be bragging about it, but for some reason, some new little voice in the back of her head told her to do the opposite. She had no idea what that new little voice was, but she hated it; greatly, hated it. A man with a camera cleared his throat. "Uh, excuse me? Would you mind if I took your picture standing next to it? For my, uh…" he coughed hard into his closed hand to clear his throat, "blog, you know." Narcaus turned slowly, her eyes narrowing dangerously. The crowd drew back instinctively. Her eyes were alive with scarcely contained divine energy. "Do you wish to be immortalized as the fool who disrespected a goddess?" she asked quietly. The man blanched, lowering his camera. "N-no, of course not, ma'am. My mistake." He backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. Someone giggled nervously. Another whispered, "Dude, do you think that's really her?" Narcaus looked pointedly at the person who spoke, her gaze cold and calculating. "Yes," she confirmed, her voice steady and calm. "I am, indeed, a living, breathing goddess, and you mortals have somehow managed to provoke me." The people around her grew even more uneasy, sensing the power rolling off of her in waves. They averted their gazes, suddenly finding the floor or the ceiling incredibly interesting. One brave soul spoke up. "If y-you're really her, could you do something to prove it-"

She grabs them by the shoulders and FREEZES THEM INSIDE AND OUT with her POWERS.

The brave soul and everyone around them freeze in terror, their faces twisted in fearful expressions, frozen in place like statues. Narcaus's power radiates from her hands, leaving everyone paralyzed by her touch. Even the lights in the room flicker before finally stabilizing. "Bro!" a teen recording for the app those two teen girls from a while ago showed her on their phones says holding the side of his head in shock to the many people on his little screen. "Chat, she just turned that dude into a human popsicle, Chat! Chat, are we cooked?!" In a flash, she spins around, her brown skin glinting in the dim light as she snaps her bronze fingers, causing all the phones and electronics of the crowd to burst into spectacular, if temporary, flames of ice shards, their contents completely erased and destroyed. The people panic as their devices explode in their hands, showering sparks and creating small cold fires in the enclosed space. "You dare to record and mock a goddess? Foolish mortals!" she shouts, her voice echoing through the now chaos-filled room. The smell of electrified frost and smoking electronics with the hint of charred plastic fills the air. Several security guards run in, only to be met with the frozen and partially damaged crowd as Narcaus slinks away. None were bold to say who it was, so the frozen man was gurneyed by EMT and a random black man was taken into custody as a 'prime suspect'. It all became part of the background as Narcaus pursued the exhibit, ignored by the goddess as she attempted to calm herself down; the group of dark-skinned mortals from when she found her first love's mummified corpse return to pester her for the hell of it as soon as she was fully relaxed. The goddess ignores them at first, but their relentless chatter grates at her nerves. She finally turns, her face unreadable. The group quickly shuts up as she approaches. Their leader, a tall, broad-shouldered man with deep brown skin and a mischievous glint in his eyes, steps forward. "Damn, shorty," he says, voice dripping with false admiration. "That was some crazy shit back there with the popsicle trick. Got them phones lookin' like snow cones with wires sticking out." His friends snicker behind him. The goddess crosses her arms, staring at him coldly. "You find this amusing?" she asks. He grins wider. "Hell yeah." he then…extends a hand?…to her? "Name's Teion." She goes to shake his hand but then he just slaps his palm against her palm and then the back of his hand against the back of her hand, it was, uh…it was a very confusing hand gesture of welcome, to say the least, to Narcaus. "This my girl," Teion pulls his hand back and points to the fat black woman with the big hoop earrings and regular teeth, "her name Jaclynn. Then we got my friend A'darrion," he points to the tall beefcake of a man, and then the other slightly thinner round bodied woman with the gold teeth, "and that his girl, her name Yaneisha." Narcaus raises an eyebrow at the strange greeting gesture and the introduction. It was…certainly different than how most mortals would greet a goddess, and it wasn't quite as respectable as she was used to. "I see," she says, her tone icy. "You seem to be quite the…eccentric group of companions." Her gaze sweeps over the group, sizing each of them up in turn. "Bitch, we's ain't got no eccentricicity." Teion turns to Jaclynn, "Bitch, you's is thinkin' eLECTRICity!"

"Don't you go correctin' ME 'n shit, TEION!" was Jaclynn's comeback, "Now come on, ya tall-ass nigga, it GURL DAY," she grabs one of Narcaus's metal arms and begins pulling her next to her and Yaneisha, "And you's is officially invited!" A’darrion takes Yaneisha by the hands in gentle embrace, her allowance and reciprocation loving by both of them. “I’ll see you again, soon, baby.” He tells her. “I’ll see you again, soon, too, honeybunch.” They peck a soft kiss on the lips as A’darrion softly cups a hand over the side of Yaneisha’s lower jaw. “I love ya to Saturn, baby.” He says as she releases herself from his hands and begins walking off with the confused goddess and her loud and ratchet friend, waving goodbye to her, “Have fun, Funyun!” The trio walks through the crowded exhibit hall, Narcaus towering over both Jaclynn and Yaneisha, her skin reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Yaneisha moves close to whisper, but Jaclynn takes the lead with her loud voice, "So what is you, gurl?" she asks Narcaus. "Nice face, nice hair, nice clothes; you tryn'a play pretend bein' all these whipeepo or somethin'?! Got on some frilly blouse 'n shit, long ass SKIRT, coverin' the big black and beautiful like it the 'ANDMAIDS'S TALES!"

"…The…" she darts her eyes back and forth between the two women, "The what?"

"I ain't sayin' that shit again, bitch! But you know what I mean, all that old school white shit, make you look like a damn 'MANUARY' instead of a BLACK woman." Jaclynn gestures dramatically at Narcaus's outfit. "The way you dressin', you some sorta 'ANDMAID? Big black beauty bein' COVERED UP AN' WASTED, ON GAW'!"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean about 'white shit' or 'MANUARY', but I can assure you taking up to these clothes was entirely my decision." Narcaus admits confidently, her arms' metallic reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. Jaclynn's eyes narrow suspiciously as she peers at Narcaus, Yaneisha leaning in to eavesdrop. "Sho' 'nuff it was your decision, but why you wanna dress like this? Why you tryna fit in with them, when you got this beautiful black skin? You's is lighter than we is, but still black, gurl." Jaclynn waves a hand in front of Narcaus's face. "You ain't gotta hide it."

"I'm not hiding anything," Narcaus insists, though uncertainty creeps into her words. "This is what I've chosen to wear." She tugs at the hem of her long skirt, the fabric rustling softly. Jaclynn raises an eyebrow at her response, not entirely convinced. "Yeah? And why you choose to look like some sort of fancy-pants lady instead of showin' off that fine tawny skin in some fine, hot-ass outfits like the rest of us black queens?" Narcaus shifts uncomfortably, her metal arms clanking softly as she moves. "I like the way these clothes look on me. They're comfortable and elegant." She gestures to her outfit, which now seems a bit stiff and formal compared to the colorful, revealing outfits of the two women. "And this is just what I prefer to wear." Narcaus's response lacks her usual confidence, and doubt seeps into her words. "Oh, girl, that's the problem right there." Jaclynn shakes her head, her hoop earrings swinging wildly. "You ain't gotta lie to yourself or us. You may think you like it, but you don't look happy wearin' that get-up."

"But I am happy, the Don gifted these to me-"

"And what color he is?" Jaclynn asks, bobbing her head back and forth like a chicken with her hands on her meaty, lumpy hips, lips in maroon matte puckered out like an octopus's tentacle, her hazel-brown eyes narrowing at Narcaus's figure intensely. She grew cross over the look, the goddess did. "The Don," she says with no fault or bubble of againstment, "is white." Shock across the mortal woman's face was immensely, immediately, imminent. "A WHYTE MAAN GAVE YOU THOSE CLOTHES!?" Jaclynn shouted in so much shock OTHER black women HEARD HER! Being how she was compared to them, Yaneisha stepped in to intervene and reiterate what Narcaus said on her behalf; though, there wasn't really anything TO reiterate. "Oh wow, gurl," Jaclynn exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "You let some old white man pick out your clothes? That some shameful shit right there." Narcaus stiffened, her arms clanking softly as she moved, a faint blush warming her face. She wasn't used to being lectured by mortals—especially ones as crude and bold as this woman. "I never said I didn't choose them myself," she defended, raising her chin. "I simply appreciate his taste. He has excellent fashion sense." Jaclynn scoffed, crossing her arms under her generous chest. "Oh, he got good taste, huh? Bet he real proud of that."

"What all dis yellin' aboot?" a skinny black woman with a tight bum and a big rack comes forth sporting long fake nails and eyelashes, bright eyeshadow and (fake) Gucci attire plus the belt, DIOR shoes, and a Chimmy Choo handbag. "Gurl, gurl," Jaclynn walks up to this new face and talks to the stranger like a close relative, "We gots ourselves here a Code W, gurl-we gotta fellow BBBQ in OPRESSOR-BOUGHT CLOTHES!" Jaclynn's words cut through the air; each syllable punctuated with an edge of sarcasm. "Lemme get this straight," she scoffed, crossing her arms before her chest, "You telling me you a black ass girl, but you got yo-self a white man picking out your clothes for you? Where yo self-esteem at, huh? You think you need some white man to come in and spoon feed you fashion? You ain't gotta let them be all up in you like that!" Huh? 'be all up in you'…? But she likes it when the Don is all up in her. He's a very big man, after all. What's wrong with his penis being in her vagina? "I…I do not understand what you mean." Narcaus admits. "What issues do your lover have with bedroom incompetence to make you believe the Don has worse? I love it when he is all up inside me." It was as if these modern black mortal women only paid attention to the last ten words that came out of Narcaus's MOUTH, cause their lids all blew! The gathered women gasped in unison, their attention snapping to Narcaus with shock and amusement flickering across their faces in loud banter, indistinguishable due to the continuous overlapping of voices, words, and sentences. Jaclynn and the other women (excluding Yaneisha) couldn't believe what they had just heard. They simultaneously recoiled and looked at Narcaus in a mix of shock and disbelief. "'What issues' is right!" Jaclynn retorted with a mix of confusion and astonishment. "You saying you enjoying it when a WHITE MAN is all up inside you?! Girl, no! That's just not right!" one of the other black women nodded in agreement, eyes wide. "I can't believe you'd say something like that."

"I see no shame in enjoying my partner," Narcaus replied, her voice steady despite the obvious discomfort in her surroundings. She could feel their judgment pressing against her, each word they spoke a tiny needle pricking her skin. "The Don is skilled. Generous." She adjusted her posture slightly, aware of the strange tension between pride and embarrassment on her face. The women exchange glances, their expressions a tangled mess of disbelief, amusement, and something darker—something Narcaus couldn't quite name. "Oh, Lord," Jaclynn clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "Generous? Girl, he ain't 'generous,' he's takin' what he want."

"All white men do that to us black women!" a voice rings from the crowd for synchronized agreements from the rest of the mortal women in the group surrounding the goddess in the middle of this museum exhibit. Narcaus: doubles down. She crosses her arms against her massive chest, nose to the ceiling. "Well, my last boyfriend was a man with much milkier skin than the Don! He was white, too!"

"Oh, lord have mercy!" Jaclynn exclaimed as the women around them murmured their shock, a mix of surprise and amusement flashing in their eyes. "You said it, sistah!" one of the women spoke, her voice carrying an air of agreement, the other women chimed in as well. "Girl, you let those white men take advantage, too!"

"Oh, no she didn't!"

"Girl, what is you DOING?!"

"Simpin' for a white man like that?"

"That does it!" Jaclynn takes her by the metal arm again and leads her out of the museum to catch a bus with all these other women of their shade in skin, poor Yaneisha stalking behind the crowd amassed solely of women with dark skin like hers, trying to speak in Narcaus's favor of decision but getting talked over by the loudness of the other African American women at every given turn! This was certainly not what Narcaus had expected. Her day had taken a sharp turn, and it certainly wasn't a good one. Here she was, dragged away like a helpless child by this overly aggressive woman, surrounded by angry black women! She couldn't believe it. How had things gotten so out of hand? All she was trying to do was enjoy a nice, peaceful day, but now…she is being cramped into a public bus, white and blue, called as a 'T-Cat'. "DRIVER!" Jaclynn shouts at the black male bus driver, "TAKE US TO THE SHOPS! WE GOT OURSELVES A CODE W OVER HERE!" The bus driver just nods, too amused to even care. The bus ride is a long one. One that's filled with constant bickering over how a 'black woman' could possibly be satisfied with a white man. One who was big and slightly lighter, with long braids tipped with a bright shade of yellow that reached to her stomach, leans over the seat Jaclynn forced Narcaus into, her braids smacking everything from her bronze arms to the leathery, worn-out cushioning of the seat itself. "We got a spot for this to solve, honey," she says to her, "So don't you worry your lil' black head, cause we hit the town for ch'you! Spa, hair, clothes, you ever been to a BATHHOUSE before? We go to this black's only space one, it black made, black owned, black managed, itta safe space for us." Narcaus looks over at her. "I have been to bathhouses, before," she admits, "many of my temples had their own private ones for my priestesses and I to relax in back in from Kengir all the way past the Levant into Anatolia; even the two temples I had in the Indus had bathhouses in them."

"Yeah, well, we ain't in no damn temples now, we in the real world, boo," Jaclynn interjects. "And you need a makeover, babygirl." She pats Narcaus's face with an audible 'pop'. The bus ride continues with Jaclynn and the others talking among themselves, a few even speaking into their phones with the speaker option on and the volume at full blast, while the goddess stares out the window at the city passing by. She sees the sun beginning to toddle past its zenith, painting the sky in slightly darker shades of baby blues and whites with the yellow overglow submerging the massive ball of gas and light in the sky. Soon, the bus pulls into a bustling area full of tall buildings and lots of black people milling about; the environment a mix of decay and freshness; ruin and prosperity all clattered into one, long, strip spanning for MILES, and as they step off the bus, Jaclynn leads them down a crowded street lined with shops that cater specifically to black clientele, the street so crowded Narcaus hadn't seen one like this since her first time in the Kingdom of Israel! Jaclynn seems in her element, striding through the crowded street with absolute confidence, Yaneisha and all these other random black women around her, all as loud and energetic as she is while Narcaus, the tall bronze armed goddess, struggles to keep up as she's pushed and pulled by the sea of people on the sidewalks. There's hairdressers and barbershops every which way, clubs and salons and clothing stores and diners and complexes; every wall is lined with something new, and the smells wafting through the air are overwhelming. The group finally stops in front of a sleek, modern building with a large sign that reads 'Sisters Beauty Emporium.' Jaclynn turns to Narcaus, her face set in a determined expression. "Listen, girl. You need a serious makeover. Your hair, your nails, everything." She gestures to Narcaus's long blonde hair, now looking somewhat disheveled from the bus ride. "And before you even think about arguing, let me tell you something. I've been doing this a long time. I know what looks good on a woman like you." She places a hand on Narcaus's shoulder, her grip firm but not unkind, just…a bit condescending. "I ain't tryna be mean or nothin', but you need a new wardrobe that actually looks like it belongs to a black woman. That whole…" she gestures vaguely at Narcaus's outfit, "…whatever this is, it's just embarrassing. You out here looking like a rich kid playing dress-up in her mama's closet." A few of the other women chuckle, some shaking their heads in agreement. "Now, we got some time before the salon opens, so we're gonna hit up the boutique next door and get you some proper clothes." Jaclynn steps back and sizes Narcaus up with an assessing gaze. "You got a good figure, just gotta dress it right." Narcaus stiffens under Jaclynn's gaze, her mechanical features expressing clear discomfort as the black women surround her like a pack of wild animals selecting their next meal. She crosses her arms over her chest defensively; the soft rustling of her blouse audible in the bustling street. "I do not require your services," she states firmly, though her words come out less commanding than she intends. Jaclynn lets out a sharp, barking laugh. "Oh, you most certainly do." She turns to the group of women around her. "Y'all see this? She think she don't need no help."

"Well," Yaneisha speaks up finally amongst the loud crowding of women, "maybe she's ACTUALLY comfortable with herself and her relationship with whoever this white guy is?…Just a thought, but like…maybe she…oh, I dunno, doesn't MIND her mixed relationship?" she theorizes with a nervous shrug and the others all look at her like she took a quick trip to Chernobyl and came back with ten more eyes and an extra head growing out of the side of her neck. Jaclynn, she puts a hand on her hip, dips some weight into her right leg, and shakes her head with a baffled look on her puffy looking face. "You date ONE WHITE DUDE in HIGH SCHOO', and LOOK WHERE it GOT YA'." She says to Yaneisha, her disappointment was obvious. Jaclynn turns back to face Narcaus with an expression full of pity. "Oh, honey," she says, her voice dripping in faux-sympathy, "you have no idea do you? No wonder your hair all raggedy, those little white boys don't know how to handle no black hair." Jaclynn takes a clump of Narcaus's hair, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Dry as hell, ain't NOBODY been taking care of this. We gotta do a whole restoration, honey. We got alotta work to do on you, girl." She begins walking in a different direction, "No time for waitin', there's this spot right down this way!" she shouts at all of them. The women fall in line, following Jaclynn's lead once more, leaving the boutique behind and marching down the sidewalk towards a building with a sign that reads, "A Touch of Magic," in elegant cursive writing. As they approach, the sounds of hair dryers and faucets fill the air, and the thick scent of hairspray and perfume wafts from the open front door. Jaclynn leads her entourage through the door and into the bustling salon, her confident stride never faltering as she marched her big, jelly rolled layer of backfat topped ass into the salon and up to the front counter to a black teen with braces and light trails of acne along her chin, right jawline and her forehead tending to her nails with a nailfile. "Ayo, lil' missy," she says to the girl, "We got ourselves an E-MERgancy, we need your best-best-BEST solution for our" she turns and motions her arms in Narcaus's direction as she was halfway snuck out the door making her freeze up mid-step "poor fellow African American woman over here. Don't know if you know 'bout this yet in your lifetime," she cups her hand to the left of her mouth and hushes her tone to the girl, "but we got a Code W-" One of the senior employees walks up behind the counter beside the girl, her hair in a big coil of curls with brown ombre over the off-black sheen of her natural coloration, "Who is having a Code W?" she asks in a thick Jamaican accent. "Code W?" the young employee echoes, looking confused as she fumbles with the appointment book. Before Jaclynn can explain, the senior employee steps in. "Code W is when a sistah has been in a relationship with a white man for too long, their self-confidence get all low and they forget who they really are," she explains, turning to Narcaus with a sympathetic smile. "We help them find their way back, sugar. Been doing it for years." The salon erupts in knowing nods and murmurs of agreement, all eyes now fixed on Narcaus with Yaneisha standing slightly apart from the main group, looking uncomfortable with the situation. "I just don't think we should assume." She speaks up again, her small frame shifting awkwardly as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe she's fine with the way she looks." A few people scoff, but no one really reacts much to her timid defense as Jaclynn claps her hands together sharply. "Y'all, we ain't got all day! We gotta get this girl set up and let the magic happen. Who we got available to take her? We need the FULL treatment—hair, nails, make-up, and whatever else needs fixing." She looks expectantly at the stylists working behind the chairs, who are already beginning to whisper and gesture in Narcaus's direction. One of the senior stylists steps forward, a tall woman with a meticulously cut bob and sharp features. She extends a hand to Narcaus with an appraising look. "I'll take her, Jaclynn. I'm Helena." She speaks with a low, melodic voice that still commands attention. Narcaus stiffens as Helena grips her hand in a firm shake, her mechanical fingers adjusting slightly under the pressure. She studies Helena with wary suspicion. "I have no need for your services," she states, though the phrase wavers with uncertainty. Helena gives a knowing smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh honey, we all need a little help sometimes." Her eyes narrow, but there's a hint of vulnerability beneath her defiance. "Besides…" Helena continues, "I think we can all agree that your 'boyfriend' has been taking advantage of you somehow." Her tone is matter-of-fact, and the stylists nod in agreement, some whispering amongst each other in hushed tones. Narcaus bristles at the implication, her defenses rising. "He does no such thing. He cares for me, more than your little minds will ever understand!" Helena shrugs casually, her demeanor unfazed by Narcaus's protest. "Oh, I'm sure he cares about you," she drawls, "in his own way." The other stylists exchange knowing glances, their expressions skeptical. "But you're better than this, honey. You should be with someone who can really appreciate you." A few of the women nod in agreement, their looks taking on an almost pitying quality. Narcaus bristles at the implication. "He does appreciate me! More than you could ever know!"

Helena leads her down into a chair with her back to a black colored sink with a wide brim and a dip to fit the back of a person's neck, and lowers the back of the seat to move her in that position, her long locks of gold seeping into the bowl like broth before the sound of a running faucet and the feeling of warm water, hands and steam convert all over Narcaus's head. "That's just what those white folk want us black folks to think," the woman with the Jamaican accent claims to Narcaus, "They want us to be dependable on them like our great-great grandparents were forced to be. They want to keep us as their slaves, even during a time which slavery has been both abolished AND made illegal." Narcaus remains in her position as Helena begins to lather her hair with shampoo under the faucet, a confused look on her face as all three of her eyes look wherever her angling can let them. "Abolished? And illegalized?" she asks as though that question was a perpendicular genuineness to herself. "Mortals do not hold their own under ownership, anymore?" she inquired the Jamaican woman. A few heads turn, but not as much as when they arrived, and that woman began talking again to her about it. The Jamaican woman shakes her head grimly. "Oh, they don't call it that anymore, darlin'. But make no mistake, them white folks still find ways to keep us under their control." The sound of running water and the scrubbing of shampoo into Narcaus's thick locks continues. "They use the police, the laws, the media, to keep us suppressed. They may not own us outright, but they sure do find ways to keep us down."

"That does not entirely answer the question." She says. "You mortals, you do not own other mortals, anymore? I am confused on that." Narcaus admits. The Jamaican woman glances over her shoulder, her face betraying a hint of surprise. "You don't know? Slavery technically doesn't exist no more, but that don't mean they can't still take advantage of us. Systemic violence, they call it. It's more subtle, sure, but it's still there." She explains to the goddess as Helena scrubs at Narcaus's hair with circular motions. "Cristiano 2" Siri speaks to the tone of the ringing phone, but the phone for some reason was in Narcaus's bra. "Can you get that for me; my head is currently inside of a sink." She asks. "You keep your phone in your bra?" the Jamaican woman questions, her eyes widening as Siri continues to ring out from the depths that is Narcaus's bra. "Girl, you got a phone up in your bra? Who does that?"

"I do not have anywhere else to hide it," she says to the Jamaican woman, "I keep it in under my shirts or dresses with my credit card."

"Here, boo, I got it." Jaclynn reaches her hand under Narcaus's shirt to grab the phone for her, puts it on speaker after hitting the big green button to answer the call. "Hello?" she goes. The Don's voice, of temporary confusion, rings out on the other end of the line; the sound of his voice giving the girls the ick, except for Yaneisha and Narcaus. "Hey, uh, is Narcaus there? She didn't lose the phone or anything, did she-?"

"I am currently occupied as these women have now suddenly made themselves all acquainted with me simultaneously." Narcaus answers as Helena begins the conditioner. "Friends?" The Don repeats, "Well that's fantastic to hear yer' getin' along with other people, dumpling! Maybe you should invite them over some time so I can meet them!" The Jamaican woman smirks, her expression sly. "We're not jus' any old friends, hun. We're doin' a little bit of redecorating, if you know what I'm saying." She glances over at the mirror, looking at Narcaus's hair still being washed and conditioned. "Your girl here needs a serious makeover, and we're here to give her one."

"Ooooh, so that's why the app shows she's at the salon!" the Don exclaims over the phone. "My fucking phone died when I was meetin' with some people and I had to stick in the car to charge it; I wanted to call when I got done, but that battery needs to stop going out on me like that in case something happened to ya, Narcee!" silence. "Well, I won't bother you and your new friends here any longer, Bellissima. Have fun! I love you!"

"Love you too, hun." Narcaus chimes in, her words softened by a hint of a smile. The Jamaican woman smirks. "You two sound awfully close." She comments, her tone just on the side of sarcasm. "How long you been together?"

"How many more days until August is done, again?" she asks. "Girl, what in the…" The Jamaican woman laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. "You keep count of how long you been with your man down to the day? Honey, you got it bad." The other black women shake their heads and chastise her with noises. "I only have known him since, eehhhh, since very late July." Narcaus says to them all as Helena turns off the faucet, wraps her wet head in a small black towel, and lifts the seat back into upright form with Narcaus still sitting in it. "I tthhhhhiiiink, if I remember correctly, we met ooon theeeee twoooo-WENTYY fiith? If I recall?"

"You only been with him for…what, a few weeks?" The Jamaican woman stares at her with a mix of disbelief and sympathy, "Honey, no man is that perfect. Y'all only been together for a few weeks, and you already talkin' like he hung the moon." Narcaus smiles at that smart, meant to be rude, remark about the Don; she was swooning over the thought of him literally roping down the moon to hang it in his front yard for her. "Well maybe after he is done working," she comments, "he can have time to hang the stars for me, too." Sirens go off in the other women’s heads. "Oh boy…" The Jamaican woman mutters, her eyes wide. "Girl, you got it baaaad." The other women around her nod in agreement, murmuring their disapproval. "Ain't no man is that good, honey. Not in this century, and especially not this country. And since we all already know he white?" Helena leads her to an empty chair in front of a mirror closest to the wall on the left of the salon, sitting her down and rubbing the towel wrapped around Narcaus’s head roughly; gladly enough for Helena she didn’t need to pump the chair to reach Narcaus’s tall-ass’s head. She then whipped the towel off, took a black pick-end comb out of a glass jar of sanitation liquid, and plugged in the hairdryer to try and comb out her knotty blonde hairdo. "That hair is a damn mess," the Jamaican woman comments, shaking her own fluffy locks, "How long since you got that done, girl? It looks like a nappy-ass jungle on your head."

"Well, I have only been living in the Don's house with him and his housekeepers since last night," Narcaus explains to wide-listening ears, "Products don't magically come forth, someone must bring them or get them themselves." She adds with a shrug. "I have only been using his, eh…"Dock-tor Sk-oo-ah-tch". Yes, that one." Dr. Squatch? On women's hair?! "Oh hell naw." The Jamaican woman exclaims loudly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Tell me you ain't usin' them damn male soap bars on your head!"

"What's wrong?" Narcaus tips her head up look at all of them, including Yaneisha, Jaclynn and Helena. "You're gonna fuck up all your natural oils and break your hair completely," Helena explains as she continues to yank the comb through the knotty strands, occasionally grimacing at how rough it is. "We gotta do a full deep conditioning treatment, probably more than one. Plus, you got so much hair, it's gonna take a while."

"That's an understatement," Jaclynn mutters, her face etched with disdain. "Girl, you need to get your own shit and stop usin' his junk for everything."

"Ayo, Kiki!" Helena yells to a blubbery looking black woman with long wavy dark brown hair, thick lashes and brows and big, wide lips paired with thick and outward cheekbones. "Yeah, bae?"

"We need the strong stuff over at my table, hun, our Code W's been using her whitey's male-only haircare!" Helena tells Kiki. "She can't keep usin' that toxic ass shit!" Helena adds, her face twisted in disgust. Kiki immediately leaves her client and heads over to where Narcaus is seated. "Oh honey, what did he put on that head of yours?" Kiki asks, leaning down to examine the damage more closely. "My god, it's so dry it could be a dessert." The other women chuckle darkly. Eyes shut, Kiki shakes her head, "Mm, mm, mm, we need The Stuff," she turns to the zitty faced braced teen girl at the front desk, "LaAndrea, go get a bottle of The Stuff from the storage room real quick!" she tells her; the girl heads off from her original post, "Okay, Auntie Kiki." The girl goes. "The…The Stuff?" Narcaus goes as Helena takes control back at her table, working the comb through her now dried hair. "It's a good brand, hun. Really good; for black women hair, everywhere." LaAndrea comes back with three bottles: regular (white bottle w/green detail), sensitive skin (white bottle w/blue detail) and curly hair (white bottle w/pink detail). "I-I didn't know which one you wanted me to grab, so-"

"It's alright, baby," Kiki goes to her niece as she walks back to her spot to continue doing her work, "Looks like we got an Any-Goer at miss Helena's table, so just hand her either or, 'kay baby?" The Jamaican woman smirks at the mention of The Stuff. "Oh, that's some high-quality products, right there. It's not a miracle worker, but it's damn close. You're gonna need something serious after usin' that male nonsense." She shakes her head in disbelief. "What kind of man doesn't even have good hair products in his house for his woman? Damn…" The Jamaican woman sighs, looking at Narcaus with something approaching pity. "Look, honey, I ain't tryna be mean. But you don't know shit about men, do you? Especially white men. They don't just do shit for free." Narcaus frowns slightly, fingers twitching in her lap. "The Don does many things for free, I think," she says, feeling slightly defensive. "Last night, he took me in to live with him permanently, and-"

"Oh hell no, that's not what I meant," the Jamaican woman cuts her off, waving her hands in front of her face as Helena squeezes a glob of The Stuff into her hands, rubs it around to kickstart it, and then goes at Narcaus's head like it owed her money with The Stuff. "Uh-huh, sounds to me like that white boy's playin' you for a fool," the Jamaican woman retorts, her tone blunt. "He's given you the bare minimum, and you're actn' like he hung the moon. That ain't love sis, it's called bare responsibility in white man talk."

"But earlier, as I was about to mention before being cut off," she shuffles an arm under the long, heavy smock velcroed over her around her neck and pulls out her credit card from under within her bra, "The same day, yesterday, when he let me now live under his roof with him, he put me on his thingy at a bank owned by his brother-in-law. A cap of two-hundred and fifty-thousand. A million for special days." The Jamaican woman's eyes widen at the mention of the hefty sum. She takes a moment to process the information before speaking. "Okay, I'll admit, that's not nothin' to scoff at. But it ain't about the amount, darlin'. It's about what you're worth to him. Is he just throwin' money at ya? Or is he actually investin' time in you?"

"Obviously he ain't if she's just wanderin' Manhattan by herself with no damn clue how shit works for us blACK women!" A much older African American woman, wrinkled with a thin neck and arms and bags drooping from what used to be a livelier looking face, her afro short and gray as a crayon as she points at Narcaus from the salon chair she was seated at to their rights. "I knew I was like that when I met my first husband, CHARLES Edward JONES! Mm-mm, they was bad THEN, and they are WORSER OFF, now! Those white mothers don't smack their children no more, honey! MM-! Mm, mm!"

"You ain't wrong, mama," the Jamaican woman nodded, her gaze hardening. "White men have gotten lazy when it comes to they women. Ain't no way I'm lettin' a man get away with treatin' me less than I'm worth." She looks up at Narcaus, who's now getting an intense treatment in her hair at the hands of Helena. "You gotta learn to stand up for yourself, girl. No man is worth debasing yourself for nothing in return." Narcaus winces slightly as Helena works her scalp, but she nods understandingly at the woman's words. "The Don can be very intense," she admits, speaking more quietly as she adjusts to the unfamiliar sensations in her hair. "Last night he said many possessive things to me, but he also gave me pizza and gave me permission to reside where he lives."

"Pizza," Jaclynn mutters, shaking her head. "That's real romantic." The old woman across the way scoffs. "You let me tell you somethin', girl."

"Ma'am-"

"MM-MMMMMMM, now DON'T you go "Ma'am"in' ME!" the old woman slowly gets up to walk over to her as the other black women in the salon began cheering her on with "Yeah, mama!" and "Preach it to the choir, mama!" and "You go tell her the TRUTH!" the woman walks to Narcaus, slow, with a slight hunch to her from a bad back sitting rested upright for too long, hand on her hip for leverage until she is standing right next to Helena when she finishes using The Stuff on Narcaus's hair. "Look in that mirror, child." She orders her. "Tell me, now, What Do You SEE in That There MIRROR?" Narcaus obediently stares at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze steady under the critical eyes of the old woman. "I see myself," she replies, her voice steady in the face of the old woman's intensity. "I see my hair being worked on. And I certainly see a bunch of confusing loud women who have suddenly made me their acquaintance." The old woman exhales sharply, her face softening for a moment before tightening with resolve. "What I see," she says, leaning in closer to the mirror, "is a woman who don't know her own damn self." She moves her finger up, pointing at the reflection as she speaks. "You standin' there, all dressed up like some little white boy's project, and you don't even know what you're supposed to be. You don't know what you oughta be wearin', where you oughta be goin', or what the hell you oughta be doin' with that man." Helena's fingers pause in Narcaus's hair, her dark brown hands stopping mid-comb. "Helena," the old woman takes her change purse, opens it, and slaps a small fold of cash onto the table, "GIVE THIS WOMAN the MOST BEAUTIFUL HAIRSTYLE you got on that CHART!" cheers from the women to her. "YOU got that right, mama!" the Jamaican woman agrees. The other women in the salon chime in with approving sounds. Helena, unfazed, simply nods and tucks the money away, returning to her work on Narcaus's hair. "You ain't got no style of your own," the old woman continues, poking a finger at Narcaus's reflection. "You just what he made you. Now I'm not gonna say that's a bad thing—plenty of black women out here wishin' for some good white man to come along and put 'em up proper."

"Mama," Yaneisha chimes in softly with a hand on the old woman's bony shoulder from behind her left, "Maybe Narcaus over here likes it? I mean, so far, this guy hasn't seemed like…you know…what everyone else has been conveying him as?" Narcaus slaps a metal hand on her own thigh and moves her head to look over at her so face her hair goes WHEEE! "THANK YOU!" she shouts. "FINALLY, SOMEBODY IN THIS BUILDING AGREES WITH ME!" The old woman scoffs at Yaneisha's words, crossing her arms. "Oh, child. You so naive. Don't you know? They all start out nice and gentlemanly. Then bam!" She snaps her fingers. "They get you in their web and next thing you know, you're all dressed up like some kinda doll. Look at her!" She gestures to Narcaus. "She don't even know who she is no more. All that time with him, and she don't even know how to get her own hair did!" The salon erupts in agreement.

"That's true!"

"She need to learn to do her own!"

"Lord knows that man ain't gonna teach her!"

"But, mama," Yaneisha goes again, "Maybe Narcaus isn't denying anything about her relationship with her boyfriend at ALL. I mean…she seems as happy with him as I am with my husband."

"Oh sweet baby Jesus." The Jamaican woman shakes her head. "No, no, no, no. You been drinkin' the Kool-Aid. You think that man ain't controlling every aspect of her life? You think he ain't watchin' her every move and tellin' her what to wear, who to be, and how to act? You think he treatin' her like an equal? Oh, sweetie, you're dumber than a sack of bricks." Narcaus looks around as the banter ignores her, and she looks to the chart tapped to the wall closest to her most coherent sight range. Helena follows her gaze to the chart and notices what she's eyeing. "You see somethin' you like, honey?" she asks, her tone softened despite herself at seeing a look of fascination on the woman's face. "You…have a lot of…braid options." She admits slowly to Helena. "Oh, we have everything you can possibly think of," Helena says, a smile toying with the corners of her lips. "All these braids, every hairstyle you've never even heard of. We cater to a varied range of people here." She continues to weave through Narcaus's thick hair. Braids for 120 dollars, Twists for 100, Cornrows were 80 dollars; Starter Locs, 110 dollars; Crochet Braids were 140. Flat Twists were 95, Loc Retwists were 90. Knotless Braids: 180. Faux Locs: 100. Passion Twists were 140, Goddess Braids 100; Two-Strand Twists were 90 and Finger Coils 85. Box Braids were 160 and Quick Weaves were 80. Braid Downs, 65; the Havana Twists were 130. Her eyes, all three of them, went back to the Box Braids. "You've got a thing for the box braids, huh?" Helena chuckles softly, noticing the lingering gaze on the price of the box braids. "Lot of people around here go for those, but you got the hair type for it, for sure. Would look real good on you, honey." Narcaus grinned cheekily, "I had them in my heyday." That got heads turning - in a somewhat better way, this time. "Oh, really now?" The Jamaican woman smirks; suddenly intrigued. "You had them box braids back in the day, huh? I'll bet you had all the fellas trippin' over themselves to get just one peek at ya." Narcaus smirks over back at her as she moves her head to get a better look over towards her, the cheekiness still eminent as her main expression as she replied to the Jamaican woman's comment. "Now, no, that was when I went with the long plait, but-but," she stalls for the attentiveness of the mortal women, "I did the long plait style of the Levantine women, WITH the horned braid of the Assyrians. That taught Innana a lesson not to turn me down, because that paired with the rest of me stopped an army, prolonged the soldiers' time to arrive in Jerusalem, and made it so they would lose their siege! HAH!" The women in the salon are stunned to silence, their jaws open in surprise and disbelief. The Jamaican woman is the first to break the silence, her eyes wide with shock. "Hold on-you what?" she stutters out, her expression filled with awe. "You say you stopped an army single-handedly?" She chuckles, "Oh, I used more than just my hands!" she jests. The women in the salon erupt into laughter, their shock giving way to amusement. Helena even pauses her work to chuckle, shaking her head. "Okay, missy," she says, resuming her braiding, "you got a real one on your hands, ladies." Yaneisha edges closer, fascination written across her face. "You're serious, aren't you?" she asks, her words quieter now, less dismissive. "Yeah, I'm serious," Narcaus says with a small nod, her body relaxed now that the conversation has shifted. She can feel the mood in the room has become more receptive to her presence. "Over around 150,000 Assyrian soldiers within 6, unending weeks." Narcaus would say to Yaneisha as Helena prepared her tools. "So we going for the braids?" she asks the newly energized goddess, to which, Narcaus replied loud as the lot of them: "HELL YEAH WE ARE!" The women in the salon whoop and cheer. The Jamaican woman even lets out a loud "Whoop there it is!" and raises her hand in the air. Helena chuckles at the excitement in the room. "Alright, alright, simmer down folks," she says, trying to contain the growing energy. "Let's make this young lady look beautiful, shall we?" The salon erupts into activity as Helena gathers her supplies. Chairs scoot, scissors click, and hair products are lined up with precision. The air is filled with the mingled scents of pomade, oil, and hairspray, mingling with the ever-present gossip and laughter that underpins every black hair salon. Helena positions Narcaus comfortably in the styling chair, making sure she's seated properly. She begins by sectioning Narcaus's hair meticulously, her fingers moving swiftly through the thick strands. The goddess's hair is rich, full of body, and slightly coarse—ideal for braiding. "Now, we gonna do these right, honey," Helena explains as she works. "Beads." her desire catches her off guard a bit. "Repeat that again, honey?"

"Beads," Narcaus repeats again, her desire clear in her voice. "I want beads on the ends of my braids." She grins, imagining how they will hang and clack with each movement. Helena hums in acknowledgment, her fingers pausing only momentarily before she reaches for a small container on her station. "We got a lot of colors to choose from, sweetie," she says, popping open a clear plastic case filled with small round beads in various hues—gold, silver, copper, and even vibrant jewel tones. "But I'd say these gold ones would pop the best against your skin tone. You like?" Narcaus studies them, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I want the white ones because they look like pearls." The Jamaican woman, overhearing their conversation, pipes up with her opinion. "Oh, honey, the pearl beads would look beautiful on you. It'd match perfectly with your complexion. You go for the pearls, girl!" The salon women chime in their agreement, nodding and offering their opinions.

"The pearls would be gorgeous on her."

"Oh, honey, you definitely need those pearls."

"The pearls would make her look like a queen."

"Those pearl beads would be amazing, girl!"

"Trust me, that'd look amazing on you."

The women's excitement rises as they imagine how good Narcaus would look with the pearls. "You gotta go for the pearls, honey. It'd be like you're wearing a masterpiece on your head!" Helena nods approvingly. "Pearls it is then, honey." She carefully selects a handful of pristine white pearl beads and sets them aside. As she works, she begins asking questions about Narcaus's background. "So, sweetie, you're from Assyria? I've never met anyone from there before." The other women lean in, genuinely curious now. "What was it like living so long ago?" Narcaus leans back in the chair, getting comfortable as Helena begins braiding. "I was not born in Assyria, but it was a beautiful place, full of gardens and great cities," she says, nostalgia creeping into her words. "The people were kind and generous, and the architecture was truly breathtaking." She pauses, third eye narrowing and her plump lips thinning to a near line. "The Canaanites and the Amorites, on the other hand. Hideous things; but at least the Canaanites had a work ethic…tell me, Jaclynn," she catches her attention in the middle of her reading a fashion magazine, "You seem to know a lot of things, do the Canaanites still claim I am one of their own when I clearly, CLEARLY am not? Are their descendants whining still to this day like they would?"

"Girl, you mean the JEWS?" Jaclynn inquires with surprise in her face, especially in her eyes. Narcaus looked confused about that word. "The who's?" The other women in the salon are listening closely, trying to follow the conversation. The Jamaican woman chimes in, her voice filled with skepticism. "You don't know who the Jews are, honey?"

"Is that what their descendants call themselves?" Narcaus says slowly, her face showing genuine confusion, "I know of the Canaanites. They were difficult neighbors to just about everyone, the people of Judah especially. Always trying to take what was not theirs." Helena pauses her braiding, intrigued. "That's an interesting way to put it, sweetie. But the Jews are a different people entirely." Narcaus's brows knit together in thought. The Jamaican woman can't help herself and chuckles. "Oh, honey, you got a lot to learn. The Jews, they came from the Israelites. They the descendants of Jacob, Isaac's youngest son. That's why they claim they the chosen people." She shakes her head with a smug satisfaction. "…So they are…the descendants of the Canaanites?" Narcaus asks again. "Or are they the descendants of the Amorites…because, well…" the goddess shrugs sheepishly on the matter, "The only difference between those two is that the Canaanites at least grew up with a work ethic, y'know, like…?" The Jamaican woman rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. "Oh my goodness, girl, there's a difference. The Canaanites and the Amorites, they were two groups of people livin' in the same place at the same time. The Canaanites, they mostly lived in the plains, while the Amorites were scattered around the highlands. And they had different beliefs, different ways of life." she explains, gesturing with her hands. Narcaus just lets her eyes move around the room here and there. "Relevance," she says, "Do these Jews have, uh, the big ears and long noses, or the VERY long noses and the DARKER skIN, because if they have one they are of the Canaanites, and if of the other they are of the Amorites…because that's what they looked like." The Jamaican woman's face twists in shock and offense. "Aw hell no, girl," she exclaims, raising her hand in protest. "That's not right to talk about people like that, honey. You can't just judge someone by the way they look. People are different, but that don't mean they all the same."

"But are these Jews, like, dark, short stalky fellows with big and loud gestures and massive, bulbous noses? Or are they very pale and very light haired with pink eyes and hawkish…more aquiline shaped noses?" Narcaus asks again. The Jamaican woman shakes her head, visibly uncomfortable. "Honey, that's racist. You can't just group all the people together based on their looks like that. People are individual, unique. It's not cool to judge them based on stereotypes."

"Well they have to have adapted to AT LEAST ONE trait from their ancestors!" Narcaus retorts, "That is what I have been asking the entire time Helena was working on my braids, over here!" She raises her hands in exasperation, pearls from her freshly-braided hair clacking softly with the motion. "Do they still hold the gold and silver by the river? Do they still claim all they come across is their property? Do they still think no one else was ever meant to be here and just wade into places where they were not invited with a brazen confidence that they own all before them?" Helena speaks up as she smooths the last braid, pearls secured at the ends. "Honey, I don't know about that. I can't speak for all Jews, but I do know that a lot of them now live in big cities all over the world."

"Oh," Narcaus exclaims, "So some of them finally got off of their higher horses and now live amongst whom they used to hate!" a smile was now on her face as she admired Helena's handywork, "Good for them to get over themselves!" she says confidently to the Jamaican woman! The Jamaican woman sighs, rubbing her temples. "You really don't understand what you're saying, do you?" She shakes her head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation in a salon in 2025. You talk like you just woke up from a hundred-year sleep or somethin'." Narcaus considers this, pearly beads glinting as she moves her head slightly. "Or a millennial one," she murmurs to herself, then louder, "So tell me, does this 'Jew' word come from them calling themselves the children of the Judeans? Because that would make sense to me." The Jamaican woman leans back in her chair, folding her arms, but before she could come UP with a response, Narcaus goes on another red flagged rant! "Because from when I was a girl, a teenager, most of them had flocked over to the Philistine States, and in no time, they grew violent towards the locals; as if the LOCALS flocked over to live there AFTER they did!" Silence. Mouths agape. Jaclynn moves her phone in her hand to her mouth, "Hey Siri?" boop-boop, "Where were the Philisteennaens located in the Bronze Age?" Siri, in a robotic voice, responds, "The Philistine people inhabited a territory along the southern coast of Canaan, in the area known as the Gaza Strip in modern times." Gasps, and lots of 'em. The Jamaican woman's jaw drops. "Girl…" she mutters, "you really don't know anything, do you?" Narcaus looks around at the stunned faces in the salon. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?" The women exchange glances, shaking their heads in disbelief. Jaclynn finally speaks up; voice tinged with both amusement and frustration. "Honey, the Philistines and the Jews were enemies. Enemies. You just said the Jews 'flocked over to the Philistine States' like it was the same thing." She exhales heavily, setting her phone down. "Philistine. Jewish. Totally different peoples." Narcaus blinks, clearly struggling to process this information. "But they all came from Canaan, did they not? The Philistines were Phoenicians, yes? And the Canaanites—" She stops, suddenly unsure. "Wait."

"Gurl, you jus' admitted they been goin' after them since the BRONZE AGE!" Jaclynn shouted! "Whitey never told you what was happening since then!?"

"…I…" Narcaus goes quiet. That was her saying "No". Narcaus stares at the wall of the salon, her reflection in the mirror showing confusion warring with something like realization dawning on her face. She turns back to the Jamaican woman, speaking in a lower voice. "…That complicates things." She unconsciously touches her face, fingers tracing the contour of her cheek as she considers this new information. The pearls at the ends of her braids clink softly as she moves. Jaclynn taps her phone again, "How much-"

"I already paid in advance, remember," the old woman goes, "You're all free to help out a confused nigga like her, here, so get on with it. Buy her some real clothes, teach her the modern world before she gets herself in trouble out there." The other women in the salon seem to recover and snap out of a stupor at Narcaus's words. The Jamaican woman takes charge again, her voice firm and reassuring. "Honey, we can't just let you out of here like that. We gotta set you up right. You need modern clothes, for starters." The other women in the salon nod in agreement, offering their opinions and suggestions. Jaclynn speaks first, "I know just the store to go to for a proper makeover!" She stands herself up on meaty legs, "Let's move it, ladies!" she tells Yaneisha and the women who gathered from the museum as they lead Narcaus out of the salon. "Thanks for the help in here, you guys!" Jaclynn tells the salon workers and the old woman as they saw themselves out and back into the crowded streets. The women of the salon wave them off; their farewell smiles tinged with a touch of pity. The salon returns to its rhythmic hum of hairdryers, chatter, and the occasional clack of scissors. The old woman watches them go, her thoughtful expression lingering on the salon's glass door. Narcaus hesitates for a moment as the crowd of women pulls her forward, their grip firm but gentle. The streets bustle around them—pedestrians weaving between food trucks, children laughing as they play in small parks dotted along the sidewalk, mothers pushing strollers, people shouting greetings or warnings to one another in a multitude of languages. It's a world so different from the one she remembers, and yet, beneath the surface, familiar. Jaclynn turns to her, voice carrying over the din of the city. "Girl, what size you wear?" Narcaus blinks, caught off guard by the question. "Size?"

"For clothes," Jaclynn clarifies, gesturing to her own ample frame before shaking her head and going, "Neva'MIND, lemme check it for ya." and going behind her to flip the back of the hem to her skirt and the collar of her blouse. "Damn, you must got something massive under those waspy fabrics if you need an XXL shirt and an XXXL skirt!" Jaclynn says loud for the women to hear, Yaneisha cringing over her boldness and Narcaus…remained confused as ever. Yaneisha, clearly embarrassed, tries to intervene. "Oh my God, Jaclynn, please!" she exclaims, her face turning flushed with embarrassment. "You can't just say things like that!" However, to her surprise, Narcaus doesn't seem offended or bothered by Jaclynn's bold comment. Instead, she seems puzzled. "What's an XXL and an XXXL?" she asks innocently. Jaclynn rolls her eyes and shakes her head, "Child, where you been living? Under a rock?" She turns to the other women, exasperated. "This is what I'm talking about, y'all. This girl is clueless!" She points to a nearby store window showcasing mannequins in various sizes. "See those numbers on the tags? That's sizing. You need to know your size for clothes that fit right." Yaneisha gently takes Narcaus's arm, guiding her towards the store. "Don't worry, sweetie. We'll get you all sorted out."

"Oh, I see," Narcaus muses, looking at the numbers on the tags in the store window with her large three-eyed gaze. "We had different ways of measuring back then." They enter the store, an overwhelming abundance of different clothes of all colors, sizes and shapes surround the women; Jaclynn heads toward a section and begins rummaging through a rack of tops while Yaneisha keeps close to Narcaus, as though afraid she might get snatched or lost in the store. "You sure are chill with them all doing this to ya," Yaneisha says to Narcaus in a low voice, to which Narcaus shrugged it off. "Daddy Don says it is good I made friends," she says; and one of the black women turn their heads. ""Daddy Don"?" she repeats in a Brooklyner's heavy accent. "You and that white guy oppressing you give each other pet names?"

"Again, he is not 'oppressing' me." Narcaus says sternly. The woman with the Brooklyn accent chaulfs, "That right, white man giving a black woman expensive gifts and putting her in weird clothes, and he ain't oppressing her?" The woman scoffs. "Sure. My cousin used to say the same thing 'bout her 'boyfriend' who had her hooked on coke and made her feel worthless outside of sucking dick. Made her think she was loved." The atmosphere in the store shifts. Narcaus's face hardens, her third eye narrowing slightly. "You presume too much," she says quietly, an undercurrent of something dangerous beneath her words. "I have agency. I have choice. Your cousin may have chosen poorly, but that is not my path." The Brooklyn woman sizes her up, not backing down. "Oh, so you got a choice? Bet. You wanna tell me what choice that is, exactly?" She crosses her arms, waiting. Yaneisha places a hand on Narcaus's arm gently. "Let's just focus on getting you dressed," she murmurs, clearly hoping to de-escalate the situation. Narcaus exhales through her nose, clearly restraining herself. She turns away from the other woman and continues following Jaclynn through the racks. The Brooklyn woman watches her for a moment longer before shaking her head and muttering something under her breath. Jaclynn is already holding up a pair of jeans in a deep, rich blue. Narcaus sees the pair of jeans Jaclynn is holding and scrunches her nose. "You expect," she says to her, "that I am to try and fit BOTH of these didgeridoos into THAT?" Eyes wide, all the black women in the store who had been led around by Jaclynn leading Narcaus here and there in their little neighborhood TURN and LOOK AT HER like she just TURNED WHITE AND SAID THE N-WORD! "Yer' didgeri-who-now?" Jaclynn goes and Narcaus sizes her well with her metal hands on her wide sides. "My dicks," Narcaus said, loud and blunt. "My peni. My cock and my ovipositor. Also, my BALL SACK." Pandemonium erupts in the store. Women gasp, cover their mouths in horror. People from outside the store even look in to see what has happened. The owner of the store rushes over, his face pale. "EXCUSE ME!" he exclaims. "What in the NAME of GOD are you talking about, ma'am?!"

"IT'S ALRIGHT, Y'ALL, IT'S ALRIGHT!" Yaneisha calls out to calm the crowd. "SHE'S JUST TRANS, THAT'S ALL!" A ripple of whispers goes through the crowd. The women look at each other, realization and relief replacing horror. "Oh thank God," the store owner says, a hand going to his chest. "Had me thinking there for a second, darling." He shakes his head. "…?" Narcaus eyes her down with a side glance. "What?" she says. "What is "trans"? I have never heard…"

"Trans, sweetie," Jaclynn says to Narcaus. "That's when you used to be a fella but now you're a gal; sometimes the other way around."

"…But I am not trans."

The people who panicked heard that instantly. There's a collective gasp. "What do you mean you're not trans?!" a woman exclaims, her eyes boggling. "You mean you ain't no woman?!" Their faces shift, uncertainty crossing their features. "Wait a minute," someone mutters. Jaclynn narrows her eyes. "You're saying you ain't trans, but you got a dick and an extra—" she hesitates, gesturing vaguely at Narcaus's lower half, "—thing down there?"

"Correct."

"Well, that don't make no sense," Yaneisha says, her voice tinged with curiosity. "You were born a woman, or—"

"I was laid…actually." Narcaus interrupts. "Laid?" Jaclynn repeats. "You mean you laid an egg?!" the women say in unison, disbelief in their voices. Their faces are a mix of confusion and horror. The store owner looks like he's about to faint. "Wait," Jaclynn starts, "Are you telling us you…laid eggs?"

"My family is of egg-laying origins, yes," Narcaus says, "I was laid in the Euphrates." The crowd bursts into laughter. "Oh, honey," Jaclynn chuckles, "That's the river in Iraq. No one was 'laid' in there. Are you saying you're from Iraq?" A dead silence falls like a shroud over the store. The store owner's face is turning from white to pink to beet red from confusion. The women of the store have gone from laughter to wide-eyed shock. The owner manages to squeak out, "You mean, you're from Mesopotamia?"

"Yes." Narcaus then looks down at the rack of clothes and finds a tube top. "Do you have whatever this shirt is in brown?" she asks the owner kindly. The owner is still trying to process the information given to him by Narcaus. "Uh…I uh—BROWN?" he stutters out. "Y-yeah…y-yes, yes, we have a brown tube top." The other women all exchange shocked glances. "…You are gay." She says to the store owner. "And you clearly have Nubian ancestry. Many of them were gay."

"WHAT?!" the owner gasps out, his voice cracking. "WHAT did you call me? I am not gay! I'm straight! I have a Wif—"

"Carl, we all know you's for the men." Jaclynn cut him off. The owner, Carl, whirls on Jaclynn. "Jaclynn! I am a god-fearin', heterosexual man who attends church every Sunday!" he sputters out. "With Shepperdson?" Jaclynn goes, wide eyes, assertive. "He's a close friend!" Carl retorts, his face now beet red, "We go to lunch together once a month and watch games at the Sports Bar! It doesn't mean we're—!"

"Gay." Narcaus points out. "Just like the Nubians." Carl, face turning from red to purple, sputters and gapes in shock. "I am NOT!" he gasps for breath as he nearly chokes. "Well," Jaclynn says, a wicked little smile crossing her face, "he ain't denying the Nubian part." A few of the women snicker. Carl just points a shaking finger at Narcaus. "You—you—this—what is even HAPPENING right now?" Narcaus blinks at him. "You are having an existential crisis, it appears."

"This ain't—this ain't how this works!" Carl insists, gesturing wildly. "A woman don't just—just WALK in here from—from 3, 000 years ago and start calling people gay! This ain't real! You ain't real!"

"You are correct," Narcaus retorts, "Because of the 33,000 years of Bronze Age in the Near East and through? I was around for over 5,000 years of it. I am over 5,000 years old." A tense silence fills the store as Carl sways slightly, his face now a mottled red and white. "I'm having a heart attack," he gasps, gripping his chest. "You're causing me to have a heart attack!" Narcaus tilts her head. "No, you're hyperventilating. You need to calm yourself and take slow breaths." She walks over and pats his arm gently. "There, there, Carl. Breathe slowly. You are not dying." Carl staggers back, knocking over a rack of clothes. "Stay away from me!" he wheezes, "You stay away! You're—you're from BABYLON!"

"Kengir." She corrects. Carl lets out a strangled shriek and stumbles back away from her. "Oh great," he groans out, "I'm having hallucinations. The last year is finally getting to me." He rubs his head. "This is because I stopped taking my meds, that's it." Yaneisha sighs and goes up to him, patting him on the shoulder. "Carl, honey, this is all very real. I swear to you, she's telling the truth."

"BEGON FROM MY LINE OF SIGHT, SATAN!"

"We'll just take this top and pay up front, come on Narcee-" Jaclynn takes the red tube top out of Narcaus's hand, grabs her by said hand and leads her away from the panicking 50-something-year-old man. The women, and a still very much panicked Carl, watch as they are led to the front and pay for the red tube top, leaving the now disheveled store owner behind and out in the street once again. This time, the women are quieter, exchanging nervous glances to one another before finally, Yaneisha speaks up to break the uneasy silence. "Well……that happened."

"Yeeaah, we's gonna stay with Carl just in case an ambulance needs to be called," the woman with the very long braids chimes in as she points with both fingers to the storefront window, some others nodding along with her. "You continue helping out our fella' black sistah here without us, m'kay girlies?"

"Aw dang, yall leaving?" Jaclynn asks, a frown on her face. The women all nod. "Yeah," the other woman says. "Carl needs backup and he doesn't have a lot of brain cells as-is, so we're gonna check in on him and make sure he doesn't actually have a heart attack." The sky was a dark shade of blue, the moon transparent, no longer invisible, though the sun remained up. "It getin' to be a bit late," Jaclynn says as she takes out her iPhone, "I'ma call my baby daddy and tell him and A'darrion to meet the three of us at the Arby's." she then looks at Narcaus and Yaneisha, "You two workin' up an appetite over today or what, cause I sure as hell did. Narcaus, now I know you don't know what a fast-food joint is, so this gonna be your first one, okay gurl? You can call Whitey up and have him eat with us so we can see physically what we's dealin' with here, 'kay?" Yaneisha chimes in now, clearly eager for food. "Oh, I love Arby's, girl. Those French dip sandwiches? Mmm-mmm-mm, get in my belly!" Narcaus looked a little confused, her third eye narrowing. "What is…a Arby's?" she inquired, her voice showing her naivety. "Trust me, you're gonna love their food." Jaclynn says as Teion picks up on the other end of the line…on speaker. "Bitch get you and yer friend down here at the Arby's-we's havein' Arby's for dinner."

"Aight, bae." He replies, "We was headin' in that direction as it is. You girls have fun; did you help her out allot?"

"Sure did, but the rest of us breakin' up, some of our black beautiful sistah's stayin' at Onyx & Shade make sure Carl Jeffreys don't lose a heartbeat." She then looks like she just remembered something before adding in to her boyfriend "And you best text Malikai what he wan' cause he sure as hell ain't answerin' me; and I is his MOTHA FUCKIN' MOTHA'!" Teion is silent for a moment. "Alright, a'ight." He says calmly. "I got it, I got it." The women start to disperse at that, a couple of them staying with the still-terrified Carl. Jaclynn looks over at Narcaus, a smile on her face. "Well, let's head over the Arby's, girl. I'm starving." Narcaus takes out her own phone. "Siri?" boop-boop "Call Cristiano."

"Calling Cristiano 2"

The phone rings for about ten seconds before the Don's voice comes through the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi~." She goes. "Hi, honey, did you have fun~?" the Don goes. "Yeah," Narcaus went as she swayed her new hairdo around in a swishy motion. "Jaclyn and Yaneisha and I are getting a, uh, a Arby's, they asked me-well, more like insisted upon me, that I ask you if you want to-"

"Sure thing, dumpling." the Don says immediately. "Pizza place is closed anyway, and it's been a while since the boys and I went to a place like that. So why not. See ya soon, Narcee, I love you~."

"Okay, I love you too." Narcaus lets him disconnect on his end and stuffs the phone back into her bra as she looks to Jaclynn. "He will meet us there." Jaclynn nods as they both begin walking, Yaneisha already on her phone. "Okay, lemme get this straight. That was him, right? Your man?" she asks. Narcaus nods, her smile unmistakable even in the growing darkness. "He is my patron and benefactor, yes." Jaclynn hums thoughtfully. "Mmm-hmm. And he's white." Narcaus tilts her head slightly. "What of it?" Jaclynn smirks. "The whole reason we've been tryin' to help you is what of it." Jaclynn goes. "We's gonna finna see that white ass incel in the flesh, so we's can shows you how awful he TRULY FUCKIN' IS, GURL!" Narcaus's expression is a mix of confusion and defensiveness. "He is not an incel, whatever that word means, he is my benefactor." She retorted, her hand on her hip. "He is very handsome, very kind, and an excellent provider. And he doesn't care that I am a different skin than he is!" Jaclynn cackles loudly at that. "Girl, that old, white, crusty ass Cristiano guy you called "Daddy Don" earlier at the clothing store? He is most assuredly an incel!"

"We shall see to it the right and the wrong at the Arby's." Narcaus snarls. "Now lead to me to the place! My stomach demands sacrilege!" Yaneisha snickers at Narcaus's statement, but Jaclynn's smirk widens into something positively wicked. She holds up her phone with both hands, the glow of the screen lighting up her face like some hellish torch. "Ooooh, I'ma video that shit when you see his wrinkled ass, gurl. That'll be the video that finally makes you realize how bad white men are." Narcaus raises her chin haughtily, her third eye glowing faintly in the dimming light. "You will find I am not as easily swayed as you believe." Jaclynn doesn't respond verbally, just smirks and begins leading them down the sidewalk. "So what is it you the goddess of, anyway?" Jaclynn asks her as she keeps walking straight through the dying, dwindling street. "Never got the chance to ask ya that, earlier."

"The Red Midnight," Narcaus answered like her lineage, less like a human being would, more that of a deity. "I am Oracle to God and Man alike, seer of all things from one's farthest connected ancestor, to the End of Time itself; be it for one, for more, or for all mortal life. In fact, my name in Akkadian is LITERALLY my matronage, humorous as it IS. But," she looks around as the streetlights flicker on one after the other, "I also minor patronize what my half-sister and half-brothers are matron and patrons of. We always took our turns through bets and games; many times, I would win, some other occasions, not so much. I also am minor deity of festivals."

"Oooo," Jaclynn goes, "So you's a PARTY GIRL, okAY, slAY queenie!" A small, prideful smile graces Narcaus's face at Jaclynn's words. "I suppose you could say that," she replies, her chin still held up confidently. "My half-siblings, they never really were the ones that would take in the festivals and revelries. On the other hand, I was known to favor the bawdier affairs, the drunken debauchery; the food, drink, song and dance, the amassed love making of many bodies. I took joy in the intelligent people, along with the fools." Jaclynn snorts, shaking her head as they turn down a side street where the neon red "ARBYS" sign flickers ahead. "Aight, aight, you a THOT goddess. I feel that. Bet you's know what you're doing with a white dick too." Narcaus stops dead in her tracks. Jaclynn halts and pivots to face her, smirking triumphantly. "Ohhhh," she taunts, "hit a nerve, didn't I? You done lost your footin', gurl. Don't matter how much power you got, I can still see right through you." Yaneisha giggles, now following a few steps behind them. "I do not share of your boyfriend's lineage for tiny limp limbs, do not trush about mine for having 12-inches." Narcaus's comment made Yaneisha laugh loud and mighty to the point of triggering a hoggish snort while Jaclynn throws her head back with a booming cackle. "DAMN, GURL, YEAH! I like that answer!" She claps her hands together, grinning wide. "Okay, I'll admit, that one's pretty dope. But that don't mean shit 'bout this guy you got." She gestures to a phone in her pocket. "Ima still record the hell outta his dusty ass when he shows up. 'Cause lemme tell you somethin', gurl—white men don't actually love black women. They just wanna act like they do so they can feel cool and superior at the same time." Narcaus's face hardens. "Cristiano loves me. He told me himself. He never once made me feel like I was inferior to him in any way. He treats me like an equal." Jaclynn's smirk only widens. "Oh yeah? Then why is it then that you and him look like you don’t quite match up?" Narcaus's expression darkens further, confused. "What do you mean, 'not quite match up'?" Jaclynn's smirk fades into something more serious, her arms folding under her ample chest. "I mean, just look at yall, girl. You look like someone who could run the whole dang world, meanwhile, your 'Daddy Don' soundin' like he looks like someone's grandfather who got his cane taken away and is confused about life." Narcaus's face shifts into something unreadable, caught between anger and uncertainty. "Do you know what you are doing?" she asks quietly, her third eye glowing with a dangerous inner light. "You are trying to sow doubt where there is none." Jaclynn doesn't back down, instead moving closer to Narcaus, her head tilting. "Oh honey, I don't gotta do shit but state the obvious. The way he talked to you back at that shop? Like you were some kinda prized possession? That ain't love, gurl. That's ownership." She snaps her fingers in Narcaus's face. "And the way he dressed you up in that clown-ass getup?" She slaps her hand away, "Do not snap your fingers in my FACE!" Narcaus shouts! Jaclynn just cackles again, unimpressed by the outburst. "Now look at you gettin' mad 'cause I'm tellin' you the truth. Y'know how I know that suit was his choice? 'Cause if it was your choice, you wouldn't be wearin' some tacky, ill-fittin' white man's outfit on your black ass in New York City like it some kinda fuckin' disguise." Her grin turns hungry. "See? That right there tells me all I need to know." Narcaus's jaw tightens, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "You presume too much. And you presume Cristiano is like the other white men you've known."

"I just say it like it is-" Jaclynn gets cut off with a slap across her face by one of Narcaus's metal hands. Tides are to turn, here. "I did not need your 'help' from the start," she shouts at them both, "You are no different from the people who walked Africa before you were even thought about through your parents' lineage! SMOOTH ALONG YOUR FOREHEADS! SUCH BIG SKULLS, YET YOU CONTAIN NO BRAINS IN THEM! THE APES OF THE INDUS VALLEY HAD MORE INTELLIGENCE THAN YOUR PEOPLE, THEN AND OBVIOUSLY, NOW!!!" Her words crack through the air like a whip, every syllable laced with ancient fury. Jaclynn staggers back, rubbing her cheek where the slap still stings. Yaneisha gasps, placing a hand over her mouth in shock. "What—" Jaclynn stammers, raw anger breaking through the shock. "What the actual fuck did you just say to me?"

"I said what I came to say!" Narcaus booms, her form beginning to glow with an otherworldly radiance. "You presume to lecture me on love, when you know nothing of what I have seen or what I have endured! Your son is not even from a UNION! Who knows how many half siblings HE has!"

"YOU LEAVE MY BABY BOY OUTTA YOUR SELF-RACIST ASS ACTIN' OUT ASS SHIT, BITCH!"

"TRY ME, YOU CHUNKY MORTAL MONKEY!" NARCAUS SHOUTS BACK AT JACLYNN, INITIATING THE TRIBAL WARFARE BETWEEN WOMEN OF THE SKIN THROUGH VERBAL PROVOCATION! "AYE! CHILL OUT! YOU DON'T HURT A SIS LIKE THAT! YOU GOT THAT!" Jaclynn is now furious and is screaming at Narcaus. "I AM JUST TRYIN' TO HELP YOU, GIRL! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING-" Narcaus initiates the first attack, grabbing Jaclynn by her weave and pulling her along the sidewalk, swinging her along like a ragdoll by it! Jaclynn shrieks, swinging wildly at Narcaus's face with her free hand. "LET GO! LET GO, YOU CRAZY BITCH! OH MY HAIR, MY HAIR!" She claws at Narcaus's metal fingers, trying desperately to pry them off her scalp. Yaneisha screams, running after them. "NO! NO! STOP! YOU'LL RUIN HER EDGE CONTROL!" Narcaus continues dragging Jaclynn, her grip unyielding as she pulls her toward a brick wall. "I WILL NOT DROWN IN YOUR DELUSIONS ANY LONGER!" she snarls. Yaneisha TRIES pulling Narcaus off of Jaclynn, only to get popping in the face by one of the goddess's bronze elbows instead as she brought down metal fists onto Jaclynn's face like a raging, fitting animal! The goddess's strikes rain down with terrifying precision. Each metallic knuckle cracks against Jaclynn's cheekbones, her nose, her mouth. Blood sprays in crimson arcs as Jaclynn howls, more from shock than pain—her body still pinned against the brick wall by Narcaus's grip on her hair. "You—you crazy bitch! You broke my nose!" Jaclynn's words come muffled through the flow of blood. She gropes at her face with both hands, tears mixing with the crimson rivulets. Narcaus doesn't relent. She releases Jaclynn's hair only to deliver a brutal uppercut that snaps her head back against the wall. "Delusions," she hisses, fingers tightening. "You are drowning in them. But I see the truth." Jaclynn claws at her wrist, her struggles weakening as her vision darkens at the edges. "N-not—" she chokes out, "not—" Yaneisha screams, "STOP! STOP, SHE'S GOING TO KILL HER!" A small crowd begins to gather, smartphones raised, murmuring in alarm. Three more black women, unrelated to nor previously involved enough to be aware of the outcome, blatantly start cussing up a fit, giving their long dangling earrings to their partners and making their friends hold their handbags and purses before charging on in to participate in the fight! The three newcomers pounce on Narcaus like a pack of hyenas, one grabbing her arm, another snatching at her waist. The third rams her knee into Narcaus's back. The goddess stumbles forward, Jaclynn still dangling from her grip. Narcaus's metal arm swings wide, catching the nearest attacker across the face and sending her sprawling into a storefront window. The glass shatters with a deafening crash. Jaclynn falls to the pavement, gasping for air, as Narcaus turns to face the remaining two remaining women, one of them clearly pregnant, eye Narcaus with hatred and fear. "You crazy heffa! What the hell is wrong with you?" One of them goes, hands balling into fists. "You don't mess with us black women like that, you understand? Don't you come up in here all high and mighty with that 'I am god, hear me roar' bullshit!" The woman takes a step forward. "You wanna try that with me, you go right on ahead! I ain't afraid of you!"

"Your doctor shall be when he pulls out lighter skin and says, "It is a girl of the Levites"!" Narcaus shouts back as she points at her inflated womb, gasps as a scrawny very dark brown skinned man in the front of the crowd shouts at the pregnant woman "I KNEW YOU WAS CHEATIN' ON ME WITH THAT CRACKA' ASS HEW-BREW MAN! BITCH, AND YOU SAID THAT PICTURE WAS A BOY!!! LYIN' ASS NIGGA HOE!" The pregnant woman freezes, her face flashing from anger to shock to terror in an instant. She staggers backward as the dark-skinned man presses forward through the crowd, pointing and snarling with rage. Her hands instinctively move to cover her belly. "Hold up now," the man barks, jabbing a finger toward her stomach. "You best be tellin' me right now that's my baby! Or you got some explaining to do!" The crowd erupts into pandemonium, people turning on each other with gossip and accusation. Some people laugh, others gawk, and a few shake their heads with disgust at the unfolding drama. The shiny black Mercedes pulls up along the sidewalk, the back doors opening along with the front ones, the Don and his men moving out instantly like they were in some mafia film. "Narcaus!" he shouts out. "What're you doing, dumpling, I thought I was gonna be meeting your new friends over at the Arby's and I drive on over with the boys and see you fighting in the middle of the streets! You okay?!" the Don rushes over, moving passed the large black crowd as he made his way towards Narcaus; Jaclynn's bloodied broken-nosed face was pale and wide eyed like Yaneisha's panicking one was. The fine clothes, the expensive car, the fit bod under the fabric; how he kisses her lips so lovingly. "Yaneisha?!" A'darrion pushes through the crowd to his wife's rescue as a teen boy with short, dreaded hair comes through behind him alongside Teion towards the battered and bruised Jaclynn. The spindly teen looked 14, and he looks hard eyed at Narcaus. "Ayo, you stupid bitch ass suburb nigga, you do dis' to ma' mama!?" he went up to her with his arms out, thin chest puffed like a rooster's breasts. "You be fightin' ma' mama, bitch!?" Narcaus doesn't flinch as the boy moves toward her. She observes him, as if sizing up a particularly ignorant insect. "She deserved much worse," she declares coolly, her golden skin now speckled with blood from Jaclynn's nose. The Don's hand settles possessively on her lower back as he surveys the scene, his face showing both pride and concern. "That's my Don, now," Narcaus informs the two black women, her voice thick with possessiveness, "So who's boyfriend is the white oppressive incel, now, huh?" she goes to both Jaclynn and Yaneisha. The boy's face twists in disgust. "Fuck outta here, you slore," he spits, then turns to check on Jaclynn. Jaclynn coughs, grimacing as she feels the blood trickling from her broken nose, dripping down onto the pavement. She tries to speak but her voice comes out thick and garbled, barely coherent. "Ouch, ouch, owww……." Her eyes flutter open and closed, her vision blurry as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Yaneisha rushes over, dropping to her knees beside her friend. "Jaclynn!" she exclaims, "Are you alright?!"

"Daddy Don," Narcaus says to the Don as she nuzzles up beside him, "I want the Arby's, still. Can we still get it~?"

"Of course, dumpling," the Don responds, his hand resting on her hip. "We'll get you as many curly fries as you want." The Don gives her a small, if somewhat concerned, smile as he looks down at her. "But first, we're gonna take care of this little mess you got yourself into, alright?" He snaps his fingers to put his Main Four into action, "Get these folk out of the way of my car, boys. Make sure one of you phones in for that woman with the broken nose, alright?" Enzo and Loretto move forward quickly, nodding and starting to usher the onlookers to get out of the way. "You heard the boss," one of them goes as he moves the people back, "Everyone get going now, the show's over." The men guide the crowd back onto the sidewalk, moving them clear of the black Mercedes while Ivan gets zoning and starts staring from the background at Narcaus's, uh…'power and beauty'. Yeah, uh, that, as Salem dials for an ambulance on his very modern flip phone. The ambulance sirens wail in the distance as Jaclynn is helped up to her feet by Yaneisha and the teen. Blood still streams from her nose, staining her dark blouse as she wipes at it with a shaky hand. Her eyes flick to Narcaus with loathing as she tries to stand straight. "You…you're just a white man's plaything," she spits through her damaged mouth. "You…you think he loves you? He just wants to control you…own you…like property." She chokes on her words, the pain from her nose making her grimace. "You'll never…belong…not to us…not to your people."

"That is the thing," she says, "All your people come from Africa. Mine came from the Near EAST." The EMT show as the Don escorts her to the car to head off for dinner at Arby's.

Chapter Text

Back to the museum. This time, without the girls from last week’s fiasco in her vicinity. And at the moment she stands to behold, preserved like a mummy; it was a loaf of bread, sourdough by the appearance, but the plaque said otherwise. She imagined that it was fresh from the oven, and pretended to be able to smell the scent of its freshness. “Ah,” Narcaus sighs, “My August Bread. One of the many prides of creation made by my MANY priestesses.” Mouth breathing teens show up in full force, dark skinned, brown skinned, some were even as tawny as her. Did these youth not have knowledge on how to use their nostrils in these times? They are breathing loudly for even the deaf to hear it! The young people stood in front of the exhibit, whispering, pointing, and laughing with one another. "What even is this, fam?" one of them says to another. "I dunno, bruh," the other replies, "Looks like a big ass slice of bread." Another kid pipes up. "Yo, you think it's an actual loaf of bread that's, like, giant and preserved?"

"No, dummy," one of the girls says, rolling her eyes. "It's like, ancient or some shit. Probably a fake." Narcaus stands nearby, observing them with mild curiosity. She moves closer, unable to resist the urge to correct them. "It is no fake," she declares, addressing the whole group with her clear, authoritative tone. The teens turn to look at her, their laughter dying as they take in her presence. She looks particularly grand today, her golden skin glinting under the museum lights, her face partially obscured by a silk scarf. The young man who had asked about the bread snorts. "Bitch, who even are you?" he asks, unimpressed. She cocks an eyebrow, clearly unamused, as she stares at the boy defiantly. "I am Narcaus." She replies, her voice leaving no room for further questions. "And this piece of bread is an ancient artifact revered for its religious significance." A tall, dark-skinned girl rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, seemingly unimpressed. "Of course, sadly, the modern world has yet to uncover your shared ancestors'…intellect. Otherwise, you would come to note that this bread was baked by a band of black priestesses." The boy opens his mouth to retort, but the tall girl interrupts him. "Hold up," she says, her gaze narrowing, "Did you just say this loaf of bread was baked by black priestesses?" Narcaus nodded, a content look on her face amongst the open-mouthed youth of today's generations, "Indeed, women collected from the Saharan Pastoral Nomadic Tribes," she tells them, "Sadly, not many of the Nomadics knew to read or to write; so my other priestesses taught them how, and eventually they were able to convey the knowledge, of other languages; many of my Near Eastern priestesses even managed to pick up their native Afroasiatic and Nilo-Saharan languages and vice versa, leading to the sharing of knowledge amongst my temples…" she looks back to the mummified looking bread, "This loaf is no different in history," she adds, "but sadly it appears the mortals who have discovered the bread have yet to discover the recipe." Several of them exchanged confused looks, the dark-skinned young girl seemed deep in thought over this information, the boy looked simply baffled. "Wait," the boy says, confusion evident on his face, "So you're telling us this bread was baked by black African desert ladies?"

"Baked in the sand." Narcaus says. "The Saharan women would dig large holes into the sand - even when introduced to the tannūru, or tandoor, in modern Arabic - and they would heat the stones in the shallow sand pit before placing in the dough, and covering it up with a mix of the dug out sand and the embers. It apparently mimicked the workings of an oven, which is how they would bake bread for their endless travels across the plains if griddle and stone were unavailable options to build ovens out of." The young people appeared to be completely flabbergasted by this information. "Hold up," the dark-skinned girl says, raising a hand to halt the conversation, "You're not for real, are you? You're saying that they actually baked bread in the sand?" a sigh escapes the goddess’s lips as she looked down at the confused teens; their lackage of intellect was purely showing. "Sure, they were not much like the Babylonian Naditu," Narcaus admitted, "In fact of all my priestesses, it was only them who preferred they bathe outside in the rivers. But, boy, did they know how to make conventional items using unconventional methods." The teenagers exchanged glances, disbelief written all over their faces. "So…let me get this straight," the boy says, disbelief evident in his tone, "You're telling me that a bunch of black women in the desert who didn't even know how to wash themselves were using sand to bake bread because, what? They didn't know how to use an oven?"

"Oh, no, they did know what an oven was and how to use it," she replied, "They just…preferred using the sand!" The teenagers were becoming increasingly confused. "Okay…so let me get this straight," the dark-skinned girl says, scratching her head, "First you're telling us these women didn't know how to wash themselves, now they apparently know how to use ovens but just prefer digging holes and covering bread in sand because why…it tastes better or something?"

"Man, this woman straight trippin'," one of the other boys went as he moved his arm dismissively, "Let's ditch this fake ah bread, man."

"Yeah," another one agreed, "I don't know what this lady's problem is, but she is talking pure nonsense, man."

"Seriously," the dark-skinned girl spoke up, giving Narcaus a strange look, "This lady is acting like she was there when these women were baking their bread in the sand, how does she even know any of this?"

"Because I was there."

The teenagers froze in their tracks, all eyes widening in a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Wait…what did you just say…?" the dark-skinned girl inquired, eyebrows raising high. The boy with the baseball cap adjusts its placement on his head and tsks, "Man, bitch is crazy, c'mon, man, let's see what else here." The other teens nodded in agreement, a few of them giving concerned glances to the museum worker, who was standing nearby, obviously confused by the whole conversation. "Yeah, man," one of them says, "She's tripping, bro, let's bounce, okay?"

"Your talents are being wasted," Narcaus warns them, "You have gone from one of the few intellectuals of Africa to that of an airborne suckling piglet. I have had Nubians, both slaves and members of my temples; and they were all far smarter than you are today." She extends a hand to the girl. "Palm. I shall prove it with my Foresight." She says to the girl, and she then takes a step back, clearly startled by the sudden gesture. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady," she says, holding up her hands defensively, "What do you mean you have Foresight?" Her friends back up next to her, their eyes wide with wary curiosity. "Back off, creep!" she shouts at Narcaus, triggering her to back into her friends before the teens all book it out of the Bronze Age Exhibit and further elsewhere into the museum! Narcaus stands alone in the Bronze Age Exhibit, momentarily bewildered by the rapid departure of the teenagers. She glances at the museum attendant, who raises an eyebrow and busies himself with adjusting a placard on the wall. With a sigh, she turns back to the bread display, her fingers brushing against the glass as she studies the ancient artifact. "I have been to this place, you know," she mutters to herself, her words soft yet filled with certainty. "The women of the Sahara who crafted this. They were clever, adaptive, stronger than these modern children could ever imagine." She leans closer, peering intently at the loaf's cracked surface. "And now, even their memory is fading."

She glares. “I do not see dust. I see breath.”

[flashback – 3,000 years ago, Babylon, Mesopotamia]

The Euphrates smelled a lot better back 2,000 years ago than it did now. Narkaushu found it disgusting, almost barbaric, for she was laid in that river by her own mother; she, a goddess, sanctified that river with the release of her egg from within her mother’s own cradling womb, and now the people treat it as the Harappan treat their own seemingly precious Ravi. Cattle and human, the mortals would dump it all in, and it would force her priestesses to serve as the city’s maids to clean up after the rest of them. But, of all 250,000 of her priestesses, there was sum 12 who did no cleaning at all, for they were too busy with other requirements. Of the 250,000, 150 of them had to shift turns to clean the Euphrates for their goddess, Narkaushu, but with the other 200,000, there was sum of 12, from the Sahara, who spoke little to no Akkadian when they first arrived here to Babylon to join her growing order. They specialized in baking, dancing, singing. They did so with shallow pits into Babylon’s sands and hot rocks with the embers, and with clapping hands and stomping feet, and with gourds and stretched skins of animals. They entertained her with naked performances like the other priestesses, or either bare or in garb surround her at her temple throne for games, or for priestly work, or even for sharing with Narkaushu their people’s folklores about jackals and foxes, birds and serpents. Mancala in the sand with seeds that were deemed to never grow, or to run in the gagû’s courtyards barefooted against the hot mudbrick while they ignored the bitumen and kiln-fired bricks of the temple’s bathhouse, instead to rush to the stiller waters nearby out of the walls as they stripped themselves of their robes and jumped into the used water. She watches as the women of the Sahara splash in the waters of the Euphrates, their shrieks of laughter filling the air. They were strong, lean, and sun-kissed. Their hair was long and braided, adorned with beads and colorful strips of fabric. They were a vibrant contrast to the other priestesses who were draped in long linen robes, their hair shorn closely to their skulls as a sign of devotion.

Zenya runs naked no matter what, and Zenya was a favorite Saharan of Narkaushu’s. She excelled in her studies under Asharitu and Yareta, and became trilingual by the time Narkaushu became her first as part of the temple’s rituals. She encouraged the nudity and traditional formations of her and her Saharan Sisterhood, and that was what gave way to the Narcinean Naditu’s introduction to the method of baking bread into sand. It was their first day in the temple as priestesses, some small years ago, when Narkaushu’s women from the Levant, many who were Phoenicians sired by skilled bakers, saw the women digging a large hole into the sand outside of the temple’s wide open entryway and filling it with stones picked and dried off directly from the river Euphrates. The Phoenician women tell their findings to the others, and soon even the Anatolians watched the Saharans work shaping dough onto their laps before laying them on top of the now heated stones, before burying them in their embers while mixed with the sand they had dug. They tried to teach them how to use the temple’s tawānīn, but not even the Levantine woman Tanitari could sway them out of the sand like worms. And of her Saharan Sisters, Zenya was a skilled weaver. In fact, today, she brings Narkaushu gifts she had made or brought from others in the city herself. Narkaushu reclines beneath the egg-basin’s shadow, her skin the color of riverbed clay, her gaze slow and ancient. She watches the Saharan women with a fondness that borders on indulgence. Their laughter, sharp and bright, cuts through the incense-thick air like wind over dunes. Zenya, always Zenya, runs naked through the Euphrates shallows, her body slick with water and sunlight. She is a hymn in motion—braids flying, beads clattering like prayer stones. Narkaushu does not speak. She lifts one hand, adorned with rings of black stone and red coral, and places it on Zenya’s shoulder. The moths gather. The hippos hum. Somewhere beneath the sand, the bread still bakes. The moment stretches between them, thick with unspoken words. Zenya's skin is hot beneath Narkaushu's touch, the muscles taut from years of labor and dance. She kneels without hesitation, her braids swinging against her back.

"Narkaushu," she breathes, voice still rough from laughter. She does not flinch from the goddess's intense gaze. Narkaushu smiles, but it is a predator's smile, slow and knowing. "My golden fox," she murmurs. "My wild one. You have brought me something." Zenya's fingers brush the clay pot at her side. "From the marketplace. Honey," the Saharan woman tells her as she offers her the pot. "From Persia." Zenya sets it down where all offers are to be set before where the goddess rests among public eyes, before bringing forth to Narkaushu more gifts, these by her design. Their vibrant hues and deliberate patterns immediately stood out among more muted, utilitarian fabrics typically found at similar Levantine sanctuaries. One includes 6 equal horizontal bands of pastel blue, green, white, yellow, pink, gray with each stripe spanning 5 cm tall, and another with bold stripes in red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple; both linens made from flax. Narkaushu observes the gifts, her ancient eyes noting every detail. The honey pot's sweetness mingles with the river's moisture, creating an intoxicating aroma. Zenya watches her expectantly, pride evident in her posture. Narkaushu's fingers trace the striped linens, appreciating the weaver's skill. "These are…different," she comments, her voice carrying an ancient power. "You have learned new techniques." Zenya's face reveals surprise and joy at this recognition. "Yes, Narkaushu," she says, "I studied with the Phoenician weavers from Philistine. They showed me how to create these bold patterns."

“They are beautiful,” Narkaushu admits, her gaze lifting to Zenya’s face. There’s a trace of satisfaction in the goddess’s eyes. “They are bold. Just like you, my fox.” Zenya grins, her face gleaming with pride. “Is it enough?” Her question is loaded with years of toil and dedication to her work. Narkaushu considers the linens once more, her fingers tracing the woven knots. She sees the hours spent at the loom; the precision it took to weave such a design.

"Yes." she says. "They are~."

[present day]

Down into the streets again, Narcaus is now met with groups of people lining the sidewalks and elsewheres away from the road, a mix of whites, browns, blacks, with hairs natural and colored, and many rainbows and other stripes of colors line the streets’ poles and lampposts. They were not here before, not yesterday when she rode past the museum, not two weeks ago when she arrived to spectate their found artifacts for the first time. A lot of colors in vertical stripes, some were just bright yellow with a single purple circle in the middle of them, and lots more were rainbows; some even including pinks, whites, baby blues, blacks, and even browns, together to form a triangle sticking out the left side. Sometimes these particular ones would have a charm as its centerpiece, or a rainbowed infinity symbol, or it would look like the original but with a big black fist rising up in the middle of it wrist-front. New York City vibrates with a festive energy, its streets a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors. People stream along the sidewalks in clusters, their movements alive with purpose and energy. Narcaus observes them with quiet intensity, noticing how many wear stripes—bold, vertical declarations of color marching across bodies in shirts, dresses, even pants. Some are subtle gradients of blues and greens, while others shout in primary colors with precision-engineered patterns. Even the lampposts bear banners, their poles wrapped in rainbows that seem almost unnaturally vibrant against the grey buildings. She moves forward, drawn by the pulse of the city. "NEW YORK PRIDE! NEW YORK PRIDE! QEERS AGAINST TYRANNY!" some overweight white woman with a pixie cut shouts as she marches by Narcaus, rudely shoving her aside like she was just some other common mortal to them into a tall, lean, and gaunt looking one with even paler skin and shaggy hair, garbed in nothing but very short denim shorts made to look like a skirt on the outside and a long vertical striped flag in color of baby blue, white, and baby pink tied around their shoulders and neck like a colorful pastel cape. They turn their thin and elongated head towards Narcaus as she falls into them and pushes her away with twiggy arms, their face blunted with dumbbells striking through their bridge with triangular spiked end pieces, and a hoop through their septum decorated with a connected trinket shaped like a small, metal ball, the outer portion of their right eyebrow clipped with an arcade in rose gold, the bottom end a ballpoint and the top end shaped like a star, as they shouted at her "HEY, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, WILL YA!?" before sizing her up with what little they had, "WHAT ARE YOU, SOME SORT OF FUCKING TERF!? YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST PHYSICALLY ASSAULT ME, A TRANS PERSON, FOR BEING OUTSIDE! I CAN BE OUT IN THE OPEN AS WHO I AM IF I WANNA BE, YOU TERF! TERF!" Narcaus bristles instantly, her body coiled like a serpent. She draws herself up to her full height, gaze hardening at the stranger. "Terf, is it?" She repeats the word, her voice thick with anger. "I can assure you; I am NO such thing. I am a goddess, and I have walked this Earth, and been witness to the evolution of mankind long enough, to hold no prejudice over something as insignificant as gender identity." The thin trans person and their comrades all look at her like shocked fish, instant offense in their eyes. Narcaus bristles instantly, her body coiled like a serpent. She draws herself up to her full height, gaze hardening at the stranger. "Terf, is it?" She repeats the word, her voice thick with anger. "I can assure you; I am NO such thing. I am a goddess, and I have walked this Earth, and been witness to the evolution of mankind long enough, to hold no prejudice over something as insignificant as gender identity."

The thin trans person and their comrades all look at her like shocked fish, instant offense in their eyes. The gathered crowd swells around her, voices rising in outrage. A butch-looking woman with a short-cropped hair and suspenders steps forward, her face reddening. "Oh my god, did she just call trans identity insignificant?" she asks, voice dripping with disbelief and building anger. The group closes in, eyes flashing. "Wow, lady, you are so out of touch it's not even funny," a shorter woman with buzzed pink hair and cat-eye glasses snaps, crossing her arms. "You think being trans is just some casual thing that doesn't matter? Damn." She turns to her friends. "Of course it should not be taken to a top pinnacled value," she says to them to shock them further, "One of my boyfriend's guys who works for him identifies as a man despite being not a man; and he works no differently than fine much like the rest of them. He is even married to one of the others amongst the workforces of my lover." The trans crowd erupts in anger, surging forward like a pack of wolves. "She's saying trans people are literally like men and women in a workplace, what the fuck?" someone shouts. A tall woman with multiple piercings pushes through the crowd. "You know, I think you're transphobic as shit. You need to do better and understand that being trans isn't about workplace roles. It's about our very identity and existence." The initial trans person they bumped into nods vigorously, gesticulating wildly. "See? That's the kind of shit we deal with every day, cis people erasing us!"

"It would be against Enzo, if my lover had never hired him." Narcaus tells the tall overly pierced woman. "And Enzo was not hired solely because he identifies as male while have a female anatomy. Enzo was qualified, by both typical and underground standards, through his paternal lineage, previous work experiences, and academic accomplishments. JUST like all the OTHERS, both male AND female!" She then walks through the crowd as if she owned the street they were all crowded on, "Now if you excuse me, I need to find a quieter place to call my boyfriend and tell him what I plan to do NEXT with my alone time! TOO many people YELLING AT ONCE, over here!" As Narcaus pushes through the crowd, several hands reach out to grab her. She turns sharply, eyes flashing, and the sheer force of her gaze makes the hands recoil. A hush settles momentarily. "You can't just dismiss trans identities like that!" someone shouts. "They're real!"

"They're as real as any other facet of human existence," Narcaus says coolly, turning to face the group again. "Just because I recognize something as real doesn't mean I must worship it as central to all existence. Some trees are oak, some are pine. Neither is more or less real than the other. Yet I do not expect all trees to be oak or pine."

"You're comparing us to trees?! SHE'S COMPARING US TO TREES!"

"That's transphobia at its finest!" the trans person from before spits out, their voice shrill and venomous. "You don't get it, do you? You think just cause you're some ancient goddess or whatever, you can just waltz in here and dismiss us like we're trees not on the same level as you." The crowd behind her murmurs their approval, nodding and whispering. "This lady needs an attitude adjustment!" Someone barks. Narcaus just walks away. The crowd follows her, their protests now turning into a full-blown public shaming. Narcaus hears them following and yelling at her. "Hey, look, the old lady is walking away!" one of them mocks. "Yeah, get a load of her! Thinking she can just go away like she didn't just insult us!"

"What's she going to do, disappear into the clouds and never be seen again?" A third person jeers. The trans woman from before steps forward, their voice now filled with vitriol. "Yeah, that's right, old lady! Maybe you should just go back to whatever era you came from and leave us alone!"

"RIP OFF HER SHIT, I BET IT'S NOT EVEN ORGANIC!" a vegan nonbinary cries out to zer brethren! The crowd takes the call eagerly. "Yeah, get her! Tear her clothes off! Show her what happens when she messes with us!" Narcaus stopped a minuet to process what she just heard, and was sadly all too late to walk further when she was pounced on by an angry mob of LGBTQ+ persons! They ripped and tore at her expensive dress, tearing the pre-manmade slit up her leg higher, her neckline stretched to an ill repairability, her metal arms' strength manages to pry some off, and trigger the emotions of more when the hard metal accidentally smacks one of the angry mortals in the face! She drops the Don's spare phone; someone steps on it and begins complaining about 'transphobia' and 'the patriarchy'. They even reach for her box braided hair, her white beads to resemble her favored pearls hitting them across their bare flesh like whips. The crowd continues their assault, their rage escalating. "Yeah, take her down!" one trans person yells. "Show her who's boss!" They seem utterly convinced with anger; their faces contorted with rage as they rip and pull at Narcaus' dress. "That'll teach this old lady!" they cry, completely oblivious to anything but their emotions at the sight. But then the crowd shrieks in surprise as they are effortlessly tossed off of her, for from her naked back through her growling she shoots out her tentacles to snatch them around their waists and toss them off of her; and so, they lay sprawled on the sidewalk like rag dolls, some winded, others groaning in pain, and almost all visibly shocked by the surprising display of strength. She stands, and then the last torn strip of fabric slides gently off of her long, flaccid shafts, revealing creak and hole, pole and bosom, nip-nook and cranny, sack aand, uuh…well, you get the idea. The mortals are shocked to a complete stand-still as the goddess stands, fully exposed in all her glory in the middle of the street. They stare in disbelief, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. "She's…" the butch lesbian shifts behaviors like a pattern in ant's pheromones, "…GENDERFLUID! ONE OF US!"

"One of us! One of us!" the crowd begins to chant, slowly transforming their tone from rage to acceptance. Narcaus covers herself, her face scrunched and sour as the Don's Mercedes pulls up to a screech loud for the chanting mob to hear, the tall man rushing out to shield her from open view! "Bellissima!" he shouts to her, and instinctively she wraps her metal arms around hi-aaaaaand he's covering her with his coat as best as he can. Oh well, this is kinda like hugging him, so she'll go with it. "You went off on my app!" he told her, eyes showing casts of brighter yellows, his expression was that he was frantic with worry, "So I came by as fast as I could! Who did this to ya, dumpling, was it one'a these schmucks!?" he points to the crowd with an angry glare. The one who stomped on the phone and complained of wrongdoings steps up to plate, ready to complain louder about the Don's fluently masculine presence as Narcaus, hidden as best as possible by the Don's coat, huddles close to him as the crowd starts to turn their attention to him. A tall, gangly nonbinary person with buzzed pixie-cut hair and thick, horn-rimmed glasses steps up in front of the group, adjusting their glasses and glaring at this tall, white, Italian man. "Uhm, excuse me?" they say, their voice grating and shrill. "We aren't 'schmucks', thank you very much."

"Well you are to me if you think assaulting my girlfriend is okay."

"Are you assuming her GENDER, right now?!"

"I ain't assumin' NOTHIN', she goes by SHE/HER, for Christ's Sake!"

The nonbinary person gasps, their eyes narrowing, as the crowd starts to get riled up again. "You just assumed her pronouns!" the nonbinary person sputters. "That's transphobic!"

"Ahem," Narcaus goes, "Actually I do, go by those terms." There's a moment of shocked silence, as the crowd processes her words. The nonbinary person lets out a strangled "what?" as they look between her and the towering Don. "Yeah." She says. "But…you…" the nonbinary person seems utterly confused. "How can you, like…claim to be female-identifying then? Isn't that…contradictory?"

"Because she's got both par-"

"Uh, mansplaining much?!" the nonbinary person cuts the Don off. "What?" The Don blinks, clearly taken aback. "Excuse me, I'm just-"

"You're a man," the nonbinary person interrupts him again, folding their arms. "I don't think it's your place to define a woman's gender identity."

"But-" The nonbinary person covers their ears "LALALALALALALALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOUR MISONGYNYYY!" The Don gives them a very irritated look, his expression one of a man who had just about enough. "I'M NOT MISOGYNYSTIC, YOU DIMWIT!" Narcaus watches the exchange with fascination, still huddled under the Don's coat, the nonbinary person's face flushing red with anger as they step back from the Don's jab. "How dare you put your hands on me, you misogynistic transphobe!" They point a shaky finger at him. "Everyone, can you see how he's using his physical size and aggression to intimidate me?!" Some of the crowd nods in agreement, but others seem less convinced. The Don looks around, realizing the situation isn't helping, and he turns to Narcaus. "Darlin', we gotta get outta here before this gets ugly." She shakes her head, "These mortals," she sighs as he wraps his arm around her and leads her to the car, "If they are no ignorant, then they are unnecessarily overemotional. or BOTH." As the Don helps Narcaus into the passenger seat of his Mercedes, she notices his arm around her waist and the way his thumb presses lightly against her side. His coat slips from her shoulders, revealing her minimally covered body. "I don't understand why they got so angry," she muses as the Don slides into the driver's seat beside her. "I was merely stating a fact. One can be both goddess and woman." The Don glances at her with a half-smile, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "They got mad because I stood up for you," he says, starting the engine. "And because I'm bigger than 'em. So what's say we get you some new clothes, eh? Head back to my place real quick so you can freshen up." Narcaus turns to him, her smile warm and soft. "I would very much like that." She says as he puts the shifter into reverse. "After that, I can take ya' to Arby's again, maybe beeline it for Zales and get ya' a nice new set of-" THUNK-UMP! The Don backed into something, or worse yet than a random curb, one of the protesters who went to take a photo of his LICENSE PLATE! The sound breaks the bubble of tension, the crowd turning to see what happened. "OH MY GAAAA-AAAHHD!" they howl, rolling forward to the ground while clutching their hip. "He assaulted me!" They shout, pointing at the Don. Their friend, a short-haired black woman, rushes over to them, a look of horror on her face. "Oh my god! Oh my god, are you okay?" The Don curses under his breath, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. He turns to Narcaus, running a hand through his dark hair. "Gotta handle this," he mutters. "Stay put, yeah?" She nods, leaning back in the seat as he exits the car. He walks around to the side where the protester lies sprawled on the pavement, rubbing their hip. "Aw, shit," the Don says, looking down at them with a grimace. "You alright there, kid?"

"I AM NOT A KID!" the protester shrieks, "AND YOU HIT ME ON PURPOSE!" The Don raises his hands in a defensive gesture. The woman, the one who was with the complaining nonbinary person, gets up to their feet, glaring at the Don angrily. "ARE YOU INSANE?! Can you not see that this is a pedestrian street? You were going way too fast!"

"If 12 is fast to you, hun', maybe you should tell that to the DMV, instead."

"The speed limit for a pedestrian street is 5 mph, not 12!" she retorts. "You have no right to almost run someone over and then act like you did nothing wrong!"

"Well didn't anyone of your mother's teach ya' knuckleheads not to get in the way of an obviously moving VEHICLE?!" the Don shouted as people recorded or called the police on their cellphones. One of the trans people went around to the passenger side and glared at Narcaus with wide, seemingly lidless eyes as they proceeded to continuously knock on the window glass with their phone up to it to record the inside of the expensive black Mercedes! The woman scoffs, crossing her arms defiantly. "That's victim blaming, you know!" she retorts. "You were the one driving the car, and they were clearly crossing the street!" Her friend continues to wince and rub their hip while glaring at him. "I think I fractured my hip, you jerk!"

"Well let me know when your two weeks are up so I can fill the bill for ya after." The Don turns to look at the trans person knocking on his window, "Hey, hey, hey-" he marches over there and smacks their hands away to step between them and the car, "Just what'd ya think you're doing, punk?! You think this is funny; harassing my girlfriend while she's defenseless in the car?!"

"I'm just exposing her!" they shout. "She's acting like a selfish bigot when she shouldn't be!" They try to shove past the Don to get another glimpse of Narcaus. "She's making a mockery of my experience as a transgendered person!"

"HOW'S HER STUCK NAKED IN A CAR WITH NOTHING BUT MY PINSTRIPES TO COVER HER MAKING A MOCKERY OUT OF YOUR EXPERIENCE!?" He sized them up, a mighty oak to a common fern, chest puffed like a rooster under the plumage of a hen! "IF ANYTHING, YOU'RE BEING THE BIGOT AROUND HERE, ATTACKING AN INNOCENT GENDERFLUID WOMAN JUST BECAUSE SHE AIN'T KISSING THE GROUND YOU-ALL ARE WALKING ON!" Police sirens whir as the car pulls up, parks, and stalls. Two cops, male and white, relieve themselves from their confines within the vehicle, and approach one at a time, the first to enter the scene with his hands on his toolbelt. "YOU WANNA SEE A HYPOCRITE!? GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR, ZIT-FACE!" The police officer holds up a hand, his expression stern. "Alright, alright, everyone settle down," he says, trying to keep the peace. "Let's all just take a deep breath and calm down." The crowd quiets, though you can still feel the underlying tension. The trans person shoots the Don a death glare, but says nothing. "Gordon," the second cop says as he looks over the injured nonbinary person, "We're gonna have to call EMT, kid's bruised. bad."

"Right away, Johnson," the first cop goes, "Make the call while I deal with these two right here." The trans nonbinary person lets out a scoff as they're helped into a sitting position. "This is just great," they mutter sarcastically. "The cops aren't even on our side either." The woman with them shoots the Don a bitter look. Officer Gordon looks back at the Don with a stern expression. "Alright, sir," he says. "Can you tell me what happened here?" The Don runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "Well, I was just driving through here, minding my own business, when this person just came out of nowhere and smacked right into my rear bumper. Didn't even look where they were going." He gestures to the trans nonbinary person. "See, they were too busy recording and being nosy about my girlfriend in the car instead of paying attention to their surroundings." The injured nonbinary person lets out a pained groan, still holding their hip. "He's lying! I was trying to get away from him after he assaulted me!"

"I did not touch you!" the Don protests loudly. "Sir," Officer Gordon goes and the Don steeps into a deep, quiet voice. "Come on, Paulie, you know I wouldn't harm anybody like them! I gotta guy like that in my RANKS, here, last thing I'd EVER do is harm someone like that! You gotta believe me, here, Paulie."

"Easy, easy," the officer says, holding up a hand. "I'm just trying to get the facts here." The woman beside the nonbinary person huffs. "The facts are that they were crossing the street when your idiot boyfriend here didn't stop his car!" Officer Gordon sighs, looking at the car. "And your girlfriend was what, just a witness to all this?" Narcaus taps on the window, they both look. "Narcaus, the button," the Don says, "You gotta press and hold the-no. No, the top-" Narcaus finally finds the button for the window and rolls it all the way down, "There we go." the Don praises her for figuring it out on her own. Officer Gordon raises an eyebrow at Narcaus as she sits exposed in the car, the Don's coat just barely keeping her intimate parts hidden. "…Uh, ma'am?" he says, shifting awkwardly. "Are you, ah…alright?"

"…It was all them." was all she says, "And that odd-eyed gentleman was filming me perversely." She points to the transgender person, and you'd think they'd have calmed down a little because she referred to them by the correct gender constancy, but no. The trans person's face goes red, their eyes wide. "What!? I was not filming her perversely!" The officer, still looking incredibly uncomfortable with the situation, turns to the non-binary person. "Is this true? Were you filming the lady in the car?"

"No, he was! I was just getting their license plate number so I could take them to you guys!" The officer looks at the nonbinary person, his expression skeptical. "Sir, why were you trying to get the license plate of this other car?"

"BECAUSE THEY WERE BEING BIGOTED TOWARDS US! IT'S OUR RIGHT TO-"

"Yeah, yeah, we've been reminded over 400 times." The officer says with a dismissive waving hand gesture. He turns to the Don. "Sir, I need to see your license and registration." The Don exhales through his nose, an air of exasperation evident. "Paulie, come on, you know me. I wouldn't do no bullshit like this."

"I don't know anything until I see your license and registration, Cristiano." Officer Gordon replies in a professional tone. The Don scowls but leans back in his seat, reaching into the glove compartment to pull out the papers. He hands them over, then mutters under his breath. "Damn shame it's come to this." Narcaus watches the exchange carefully, the window down, the cool air of the city brushing against her skin. "If I gotta go to the station, can I at LEAST stop back at the HOUSE first so Narcaus can get some new CLOTHES? These yahoos went and ripped the dress she had on OFF of her like Drusilla and Anastasia did to Cinderella, over here!" Officer Gordon thought about it for a moment before he flags Officer Johnson with three of his fingers, “How long till EMT for the injured suspect?” he asks him. Officer Johnson checks his watch before responding. "They'll be here in about 4 minutes," he replies, glancing over at the nonbinary person who's still holding their hip in pain. The Don rubs his face, clearly irritated. "Alright, Paulie. You get the car towed. But just lemme take Narcaus home so she can put some real clothes on, yeah?" Officer Gordon hesitates before nodding. "Fine. But don't make me regret this, Cristiano." He jots something down in his notepad. "You have an hour to get her home and changed before we take the car in. After that, you're both coming down to the station." The Don exhales in relief. "Thanks, Paulie." He turns back to Narcaus. "Alright, my little goddess. You want a real dress or something else?" Narcaus thinks for a moment before answering. "I would like something…casual," she replies. "I do not think I'm in the mood for a full dress today…" Her gaze goes to the Don's coat draped over her, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of his cologne. The Don smirks, looking pleased. "Casual, huh? I think I got just the thing." He looks back at the other woman in the group and speaks louder. "And don't you ladies be getting any funny ideas. Next time I catch any of you near my girl with a pair of scissors, I'll personally send you all on a nice long trip to visit your ancestors." The threat in his words is unmistakable, though not quite as heavy as usual—the Don's focus seems more centered on Narcaus and what he plans to dress her in. The women back away slightly, murmuring amongst themselves. Officer Gordon clears his throat. "Ahem."

“Yeah, yeah,” the Don goes as he walks around the front of his Mercedes to get back into the driver’s seat. He enters, shuts the door, buckles, turns the engine on and puts it into drive; the car goes off into the busy New York streets once more. A silent ride save for the radio, and a few songs come on by, one was still playing; a popular song. “Oh, hey, it’s that song that people find popular,” the Don goes as he nudges Narcaus with his elbow, “🎵Driving with my darling; Faster than I shoould🎵, come on you know the words by now-🎵Driving with my DAAarliing;🎵” Narcaus merely giggled and the Don mocked offense with a bold sounding “Ya ruined it! Narcee!” which made her laugh more on their way through Little Italy back to the Don’s elegant estate, parking along the curved stone driveway before putting it into park and getting out of the car to help her out and to the door of his home. “You take your time, honey,” he tells her as he opens the passenger side door and takes her by the hand gently, “no pressure.” He leads her up those stairs to the door, opening it and leading her inside, “I’ll wait for you in the car, Narcee. Okay?” She nods, giving him a small smile before turning and ascending the steps. She enters the grand foyer of his estate, marble floors and golden accents greeting her as she ascends to the second floor. At the top, she pauses and looks over her shoulder only to then scowl. "Ichabod." She snarls at The Spectre. "Always, you come only when it fits you best to annoy me." The Spectre grins maliciously back at his ex-wife with a tantalizing wiggle of his fingers, "Hey, you're my ex-wife! You may miss me…BUT YOUR AIM IS GETTING BETTER!" his laugh, it always annoyed her. "Leave me be, Ichabod!" Narcaus snarls at him again as she turns her head to the master bedroom and marches in its direction! "I have no time for you OR your ANTICS!" With her ex-husband left to his own devices, Narcaus entered the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She walked the large and lavish room to the large walk-in closet and pulled it open as the lights came on automatically, lighting the way for her. The closet was very large, with a large section of expensive and luxury clothes hanging on their racks, and other sections on other sides of the closet with smaller items. She quickly stripped herself of the Don's coat and hung it at the door before browsing all the clothes for something casual in bare glory. The Spectre phases through like the shadowy dust bastard he was, and let out a low, deep, catcalling whistle. "Two centuries wasted and yet you still manage to look thousands years YOUNGER~." He taunts crudely. Narcaus whirls around, clutching the nearest piece of clothing—a long African style dress with tank top sleeves that went to her kneecaps—against her chest. "Must you?" she demands, face flushing slightly despite her fury. "Can you not see I am searching for clothes?"

"Can't help noticing you don't have any on yet," Ichabod smirks, hovering near the vanity mirror as he observes her reflection. "Old habits die hard, I suppose. Though I'll admit…" His gaze sweeps over her form appreciatively. "…you're even more beautiful than I remember. Those improvements Flaxman made were quite effective." Her blush deepens, a complicated mix of anger and something warmer at his words. She smacks him across the face. "LEAVE ME BE TO DRESS!" she grabs a black stiletto, "BEFORE I SPIKE OUT YOUR EYES WITH THIS!" The Spectre chuckles, unfazed at the smack. He knows the effect he has on her—knows her better than anyone else. "You forget how well I know you, Narcaus," he drawls, lazily spinning in the air. "You may deny it all you like, but you still care for me. The hate is but a mask, hiding the remnants of what was once love." He pauses, a smirk playing at his dark lips. "A mask that I have no qualms ripping off to remind you." Narcaus's breathing quickens, her fingers tightening around the heels of the shoe. His words strike deep, resurrecting old feelings she thought long buried. She turns away sharply, focusing on the clothes instead, but her body betrays her; her skin flushes with heat, her pulse quickens, and that old, familiar pull tugs at her stomach. "Enough of your riddles, Ichabod," she snaps, though her words lack their usual bite. "I came here for clothes, not for your…for your…"

"Flattery?" The Spectre floats closer, just behind her, his cool breath stirring the fine hairs on her neck. "Or should I call it truth?" He leans closer, his form brushing against her back as he whispers in her ear. His lips were close enough to touch the sensitive skin there if he chose. "We both know the truth, my dear," he murmured, his voice sending a thrilling shiver down her spine. "You can pretend indifference all you like, but this-" He reaches for her, a cool, incorporeal finger tracing the curve of her bare shoulder, "This doesn't lie." She does exactly what she warned him he'd do, before putting on her chosen outfit, and heading out of the walk-in closet to exit the master bedroom and leaving The Spectre with a punctured eye via the heel of a stiletto. The Spectre howls after her but remains hovering in the room, rubbing at the now-punctured "eye". "Ah, now THAT wasn't very sportsmanlike, was it~?" he calls after her, though there's a hint of glee in his voice. He knew, as he'd always known, that Narcaus still harbored feelings for him, even if she denied it vehemently. He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound. "Always playing HARDBALL!" As Narcaus descends the grand staircase, her steps deliberate and regal despite her casual attire, the sounds of a heated argument filter from the dining room. The voices belong to the Don and…Diego? Their words were sharp with restrained frustration. "—you cannot expect her to be some trophy, some ornament!" Diego's tone rises, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the pressure of the Don's latest demands. "She is not a thing to be owned!" the Don stands at the head of the long wooden table, his hands braced against the polished wood as he leans forward, emanating dangerous intensity. The late afternoon sun casts elongated shadows across his face, highlighting the tight set of his jaw. "I gotta girl waitin' for me, and she still thinks I'm waiting for her in the damn CAR." He growls deeply at Diego. "So, let me make this a quick order for you. I've had it up to" he hovers his hand over his head "here with you Amelia Bedilia'ing my orders, Diego! I catch you, or I hear about you, stickin' your DICK in my Narcaus's VAGINAL HOLE AGAIN, and so help me I will do MORE than just 'deMOTE' you!" he goes to stand and leave, only to…see her at the entrance to the dining room. "Ah, oh, uh, B-Bellissima," the Don stammers at the look of her shocked face. "Wh-What a pleasant surprise! Y'ready?" Narcaus stands frozen at the entrance to the dining room, her eyes wide at the scene she'd just walked in on: the heated exchange between the Don and Diego, the dark threat in the Don's voice, the tension that crackled in the air. Her heart hammering in her chest as if it were trying to escape, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The Spectre, sensing her reaction, materializes behind her, a sly grin on his face. "Well, well, well," he whispers, "It seems you've walked in on quite a heated conversation."

"Quiet, you!" she mutters to him to his face without so much as moving her head to acknowledge him directly, before panning an aloof stare and smile at the Don, loosening her shoulders a bit. "Yep." She says to him, "Sure am, Daddy Don~!" The Don, taken off guard by her light response, manages to regain his composure, a sheepish grin crossing his features. "You, uh, heard all that, huh?" he asks, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, his earlier intensity giving way to something like guilt. The Spectre, still hovering just behind Narcaus, chuckles lowly. "Oh, she heard," he coos, "Every word."

"Look," the Don goes as he rubs the back of his neck, "I ain't mad at ya for getin' porked by this guy, alright?" he motions to deadpanned Diego at the dining room table, "He's, just, uuhhhh; he tends to take my orders too LITERALY, that's all." Narcaus' expression shifts slightly, amusement curling the corner of her lips. She steps into the room fully, her bare feet padding softly against the marble floor. The loose dress she'd chosen flows around her, elegant yet understated. "Jealous?" she teases, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. The Don's gaze flickers downward for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her face. He scoffs, but the flush creeping up his neck betrays him. "Ain't no jealousy," he mutters, though the possessive edge in his tone suggests otherwise. "Just don't like my orders bein'…misinterpreted. Now come on," he pecks her on the cheek as he sees himself to the door, "Get your shoes on. I'll be waiting for you in the car." He turns to the Main Four. "Loretto, Enzo, Ivan, Salem. You best watch the lil' egg up in our room, understood? So much as a crack and the four of you are gonna get cracked." He stops at the door. "Not literally, though, just…just keep an eye on it for us, okay?" he reiterates in a softer, more paternal kind of tone. The Don leaves the room with a sharp exhale, his shoes clicking against the marble floor as he strides away. The second the door swings shut, the air in the dining room shifts—tension snapping tight, unspoken words hanging between Narcaus, Diego, and the others. Loretto, arms crossed and leaning against the far wall, exhales with a dry chuckle. "Ah, for the love of all things holy…you two." He flicks a glance between Narcaus and Diego. "If I have to walk in on another one of these scenes where the Don loses his ever-loving mind because he's jealous, I swear I'll set his house on fire myself." Narcaus simply slips on her heels, "Well, there goes our rendezvous," she teases Diego but garners zero reaction out of the stoic man as she exits the room herself to meet the Don at the driveway in his Mercedes. "You four best not do anything to that egg," she warns calmly, as if she even did more than just STARE at it in its little perch by the window closest view through of the SUN to warm it.

As she steps outside into the early evening air, the Don is already waiting in the Mercedes, leaning slightly over the passenger seat to unlock her door. The city hums around them—the distant sounds of traffic, the occasional shout from a passing car, the rustle of leaves in the wind. He looks at her as she settles into the leather seat beside him, his dark eyes intense, unreadable. "I see you put on them heels I bought you," he remarks, his words still rough from the earlier exchange. "Looks really nice." Narcaus smirks, running a hand down the side of the dress she's wearing, adjusting the fabric with deliberate slowness. "So," she then says, "we go to the station to deal with…those mortals. Then what?" the Don turns the station to the oldies, Elvis plays, much to his enjoyment of confidence. "Whatever you like~." He responds as he hits the gas the second the light turned green.

Chapter Text

Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-

“Ah~, aah, Lo-, Loretto! Oh, fuck, Loretto~!” Enzo moaned like a little slut as his husband sheathed himself in and out at an arousing pace against the bedframe. It started off as a “Sure boss, we’ll look after your girl’s egg while you two go out together” type of task given to them by the Don, but the heat gave way and the married couple gave in, the guilt will come later for doing it in their boss’s room on their boss’s bed, but in the meantime Enzo was enjoying Loretto’s ‘5 dollar foot long’ brushing against every sensitive little sweet spot he had. “Oh, Leo~, oh, mio amore, ahh, ahh, ahh, scopa la mia piccola figa stretta, Leo! Ah-, ah-, SCOPA LA MIA PICCOLA FIGA STRETTA!!!” Loretto was the self-proclaimed “Master of Pleasures”, but never had he enjoyed such holes as that of his husband, swapping between his feminine cunt and his androgynous hole with slick, experienced pops between the warm flesh and the condom that covered Loretto’s cock like a secure blanket made out of ultra-thin textured polyisoprene so Enzo didn’t get an allergic reaction to it like he would with regular latex. Loretto leaned forward, pressing Enzo into their boss's mattress as he pistoned his hips faster. "That's it, baby, take that cock like a good little husband," he growled, sweat glistening on his muscled torso as he pinned Enzo's wrists above his head with one hand. "Gonna make sure you feel me for days after this."

"Y-yes! Leo, si, si, riempimi, riempimi il mio culo con il tuo sperma, Leo!" Enzo begged, bucking his hips up desperately as Loretto hit that perfect angle, making his toes curl in ecstasy. Loretto grunted, the last coherent thought in his head being that the Don had better appreciate this "guard duty" when he got home, as he pulled out of Enzo's ass with a lewd pop and flipped him onto his stomach. His fingers dug into Enzo's hips as he lined himself up again, pressing the head of his cock against Enzo's soaked little cunt as he rolled the condom off. "This time, I'm gonna fill you up for real, huh? Wanna see if I can make that belly nice and round with my seed…" Loretto growled as he pushed inside inch by agonizing inch, watching Enzo's face contort in pleasure-pain as he bottomed out inside him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like me all swollen and carrying your child, hmm?" Enzo teased, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he pushed back against Loretto's hips. "Would you spoil me rotten, caro? Wait on me hand and foot, bring me all the snacks my heart desires?" He was only halfway teasing, the very idea of it making his heart flutter and his chest warm. The lust dwindled more to love as Loretto began to slow down and make his pounds softer towards his partner's hole. "I would enjoy every second of such a long process with you," he says before planting his lips against Enzo's, passionate but not rugged, a soft, genuine feeling between them as Enzo wraps his legs around his husband's waist to keep him this close to him right there and then together. Enzo melted into the tender kiss, his arms winding around Loretto's neck to pull him even closer, a content smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I'd take great pleasure in seeing you all flustered and bewildered as I swell with our offspring," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "You'd probably treat me like a delicate flower." He then chuckled softly. "Even more than you do now." Loretto grins against Enzo's mouth, his hips rolling gently as he savors the way Enzo's tight walls squeeze around him. "You know me too well, love," he murmurs, brushing his nose against Enzo's as he begins moving again with slow, deep thrusts. His large hands slide down to cup Enzo's ass, spreading him open just slightly as he watches his thick cock disappear inside over and over. "But yeah," he admits with a soft chuckle, "I'd dote on you like a prince. No, a king." His thumbs trace lazy circles over Enzo's cheeks as he rocks into him. "My little king who carries my heir."

"Don't forget it," Enzo gasps as Loretto hits that sensitive spot within him, making his toes curl with pleasure. "And I'll spoil you rotten right back. Make sure you're well-rested and well-fed, give you all the pleasure you could ever want." He pulled Loretto down for another deep, lingering kiss, his tongue slipping past his lips to taste him with a possessive, almost greedy fervor. When they finally break apart, Enzo's gaze is dark with desire. "But don't you dare get all cocky. I'll still kick your ass on the training field." Loretto throws his head back with a rich, deep laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into Enzo's body. "Oh, my little viper," he purrs, squeezing Enzo's ass hard enough to leave bruises before slamming back in with enough force to knock the air from Enzo's lungs. "I wouldn't have it any other way." His pace quickens gradually, each thrust becoming longer, harder, deeper than the last until the bed frame creaks dangerously under the force. Skin slaps against skin, mingling with Enzo's increasingly loud moans and Loretto's guttural groans. Loretto's thrusts make the furniture in the room shake, and unbeknownst to them, also: the egg. Boink, boink, boink, Enzo then notices it shaking its way over the edge of the perch on the sill of the window, passion gone to move in panic "Leo-the egg, the egg, THE EGG-" and there it goes falling onto the floor. Loretto freezes mid-thrust, eyes wide as he follows Enzo's gaze to the fallen egg on the floor. A moment of shocked silence…and then, as if in tandem, they're scrambling off the bed and to the floor. "Please be in one piece, please be in one piece…" Enzo murmurs in a panicked chant, hands running gently over the shell, searching for cracks or signs of damage. "It's alright, it's alright…" Loretto tries to soothe him, but concern is etched across his own face. Salem and Vito rush into the bedroom to find these two with their pants halfway down their knees surrounding the egg on the wooden floor just a solid inch from the Persian rug! "Oh, god, I think I see yolk!" Enzo cries teary eyed! "No, no hubby, that's just the sunlight carrying through the curtain." Loretto reassures him. "You two yahoos get yer pants back on!" Salem ordered the two of them as he stormed in with Vito behind him, "What did you guys do!? Boss said to keep an eye on the egg, why's it on the floor!?" Enzo, still flustered and panicked, hastily reaches for his discarded trousers and steps into them. "It was an accident! We were…distracted," he mumbles, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Loretto, now also pulling up his pants, looks up at Salem with a mix of defiance and sheepishness. "We may have…gotten a bit carried away."

"Oh, oh-so, you two just "gotten a bit carried away" on the BOSS'S BED!" Salem reprimanded the couple! "And now if this thing's so much as cracked, we gotta try and explain it to the boss and his DAME, otherwise-" doink. Just a gentle little repeat of doink. doink. doink. The four goons look down to see half the shell on the floor, still, but the other half covering the top half of some thing with tiny chubby light brown human baby legs and a chubby baby body covered in gray and white plumes, the size of three Labubus stacked on top of one another, wobbling in one straight line into Salem's leg. over. and over. and over again. "What…the…" Salem stares down at the baby-sized creature now repeatedly bumping into his legs. Even the hardened, gruff hitman looks baffled, like a rookie encountering the supernatural for the first time. Vito, usually stoic and serious, is blinking down at the creature with wide eyes, looking completely flabbergasted as Enzo and Loretto, now decently dressed, sidle up to stare down at whatever it is with a mix of concern and confusion. Loretto crouches down, his large hand hovering over the wobbling creature but not quite daring to touch it yet. "That's…new," he mutters, glancing at Enzo for guidance. His husband, still clutching his trousers together, kneels beside him and reaches out with quivering fingers. The creature wiggles at his touch, tiny fingers grasping at Enzo's wrist before it emits a high-pitched, almost bird-like chirp. Salem, finally recovering from his shock, leans down to poke at the creature with one thick finger. "The hell is this thing, some kinda demonic chicken baby?" he growls, though the effect is ruined by the slight tremor in his voice. "Well whatever it is, it was sired by the boss's girlfriend." Enzo went as he mustered up the courage to gently grab the top eggshell and lift it carefully off over the upper body of the tiny creature, only to find a light brown skinned newborn looking Shedletsky with the poofiest, floofiest brown hair ever. Like, the body as a whole, was human in a ways…but the body was covered in plumes. Its eyes were large, a glistening shade of scarlet sclera with a moonlit white for the irises. Loretto leans in for a closer look, studying the baby's peculiar features. "…Never seen anything like this. And I've seen some weird sh-" Loretto pauses, glancing at the baby's little pudgy face before shooting a look at Enzo. "…Stuff." The creature lets out another chirp, its gaze tracking Loretto's movements with intense fascination. Salem lets out a long-suffering sigh, "This is getting weirder by the second." Enzo carefully lifts the strange baby, cradling it close as he gazes down at its bizarre features with awe and affection. The tiny creature nuzzles instinctively into his chest, cooing softly as if recognizing its father's embrace. Loretto watches, a rare softness crossing his face as he extends his hand to brush a finger against the baby's silky hair. "Weird little thing, ain't it?" he murmurs, rough affection evident in his tone. Salem shakes his head in disbelief, crossing his arms. "So, the boss is willingly intending to stepparent some kind of weird bird baby from a bird lady. Great. Just great." Vito, ever the stoic one, steps closer to observe the baby more carefully. As Vito leans in for a closer look, the baby cranes its neck towards him, its wide, unblinking eyes fixed on the stoic hitman's face. Vito, caught off guard, flinches back slightly, his usual composure cracking for just a moment while Enzo chuckles softly, rocking the baby gently in his arms. "Doesn't seem too evil to me," he muses, his eyes softening as he gazes down at the tiny creature. "But I doubt the boss is ready for this kind of responsibility."

"Well…" Loretto coughs into his elbow, "Let's uh, see here. The nursery's two rooms down, yeah? Vito, uh, Salem - go get…go get stuff for the baby down at the stores, alright? Enzo and I'll take turns finishing the hammering and screwing in the room for the furniture and taking care of, uh…" he looks at it as it stares at him, "How…How the hell can we tell what it is?" he asks scratching the back of his head; the other goons were now just as confused. Vito and Salem exchange a baffled glance, both equally baffled by the baffling little creature in their presence. "Beats me," Vito shrugs, still keeping a cautious distance from the baby. "Never seen anything like it before." Loretto paces the room, running a hand through his hair. The others look equally flustered—Vito adjusting his tie nervously, Salem scowling, and Enzo rocking the baby who suddenly let out a loud, almost bird-like shriek that echoed through the room. "Shh, shh, it's alright," Enzo coos, pressing the tiny creature to his chest as it squirms, its downy wings flapping weakly on the sides of its head, its little claws scrabble against his shirt as it nuzzles closer, making small, inquisitive noises. "Holy shit, it's almost like it understands us," Salem mutters, his earlier disgust giving way to reluctant fascination. "Yeeah, that's not creepy at all," Vito mutters, his gaze fixed on the little creature's sharp, intelligent eyes. "Almost like it knows what we're talking about." Enzo, still cradling the baby close, strokes its fuzzy head gently. "I think it does," he murmurs, a hint of wonder in his voice. "It's like it's reacting to us. Like it's trying to communicate." Wet. Warm. On his shirt-it's-IS IT WEEING?! WELL AT LEAST THEY CAN TELL WHAT IT IS, NOW, A FUCKING BOY! "What in the-" Enzo exclaims in surprise, looking down at the damp patch on his shirt. "It just peed?!" Salem scoffs, taking a step back. "Great, just great. Now we've got a baby that looks like a weird-ass chicken and pisses on people."

"Well, he's just a baby, Salem, he doesn't know how to use the toilet, yet, like the rest of us!" Enzo scoffed back. "Yeah, well, it doesn't make it any less gross!" Salem retorts, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Vito chimes in with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we just…focus on getting the nursery set up instead of arguing over baby pee?" Loretto nods, already moving to gather tools and supplies. "Yeah, good point. Alright, let's get moving. Salem, you go to the baby store downtown. Vito, get some supplies from the hardware store. We need cribs, changing tables, all that shit." He hands both men keys and a wad of cash before turning back to Enzo and the baby. "You good here with the little guy? I'll finish up the crib assembly in the nursery." Enzo nods, cradling the baby close as it gazes at him with wide, curious eyes. Loretto heads to the nursery while Salem and Vito leave to gather supplies.

[hour later]

The Mercedes pulled into the driveway and the Don and Narcaus both came out over through the driver’s seat, the smell of downtown, smoke, and ethnic cuisine wafting off of their persons and they tiptoe over each other on the way to the estate’s door, all over one another in a bright flux of passionate kisses and touching. The door is opened by a hand and a shoulder, the two in their own little time zone on their way into the main hall of the building as the Don circles around her to pin her up against the wall. “God, how I love a woman who speaks more than three languages!” he pulls her closer to him against that wall, “Speak to me in that sweet, sweet Phoenician, baby~!” The Don's lips press against hers in a searing kiss, his hands gripping her hips possessively as he holds her against the wall. His cologne and the lingering scents of the city cling to him, mingling with the intoxicating aroma of desire emanating from both of them. Narcaus moans softly against his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair as she yields to his advances. "Ya 'aziz…" she breathes between kisses, the ancient Phoenician words rolling off her tongue like honey. "Min quttal jiddan 'aleik…" the Don’s goons come slowly down the stairs, in paint aprons stained and Ivan even still with a hammer in his hand, “Don’t get too passionate just yet, boss,” Enzo says to get them to stop and turn to look at them, their eyes both growing wide like dinner plates as they stared at the feathery baby in his arms. “We wanted to call ya, but we figured since it took double the time for you two to get home…” Loretto shrugs as Narcaus shoves the Don off of her and goes to the baby with open arms, “Aaaaaaaaaaaw, my little hATCHliiiiing! Oh, come to mommaaaaa, aaaawe!”

“So how was the date, boss?” Loretto asks as she takes the baby from Enzo. The Don follows Narcaus's every move with dark, hungry eyes as she cradles the baby, his hands twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to pull her back to him. He steps closer, watching intently as she strokes the downy feathers on the sides of the baby's head curling under the massive head of hair they had, his expression caught between amusement and something darker, more possessive. "Enzo," the Don says smoothly, not breaking his gaze from Narcaus, "You seem to be a little nervous about something." Enzo shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, about that…"

"No complaints," the Don interrupts, finally dragging his eyes away from Narcaus to cast a meaningful look at Enzo. "So how's the room looking?" he asked the Main Four. Loretto steps forward, scratching the back of his head. "The nursery's looking good. Vito is finishing up some last touches in the bathroom. Salem got us a bunch of supplies—cribs, changing tables, all the essentials. The crib's set up, and we even found a rocking chair for the little guy." Narcaus rocks the baby gently, humming under her breath as it squirms contentedly in her arms. The Don moves closer, resting his hand lightly on her hip as he peers down at the tiny creature. The little bird-baby—no longer just 'a baby' but a living being—looks up at Narcaus with wide, dark eyes, its tiny hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. Its wings, still downy and small, twitch at its sides. "How does he like being held?" the Don asks, his voice lower than usual, almost tender in a way Narcaus rarely hears from him. "He seems to recognize you."

"Well, I'm his mother, aren't I?" she jests playfully. Narcaus presses a gentle kiss to the top of the baby's head, inhaling deeply. The Don's fingers tighten slightly on her hip, his other hand coming up to trace the edge of the baby's wing with surprising gentleness. The creature lets out a soft, almost musical coo in response to the touch, its tiny beak opening in what might be a smile. "He's beautiful," Narcaus murmurs, still rocking gently. The Don's eyes darken as he watches them together, something unreadable flickering across his face. His hand slides from her hip to her waist, pulling her slightly closer against his side. "And you are a natural." Enzo, watching their interaction, feels a strange pang in his chest—a mix of happiness for them and an odd sense of envy. He clears his throat awkwardly, breaking the moment. "Uh, boss…" The Don's gaze snaps back to him, his expression shifting to a familiar sternness. "Yeah, what?" he snaps, still keeping his arm around Narcaus. "Just to warn ya'…that…" he rubs his hand through his hair, "that thing burps. fire. Blue fire, the kind you see crackling out of the stovetop." The Don and Narcaus both turn to Enzo with wide-eyed surprise. "Excuse me, what?" the Don says, his grip on Narcaus tightening protectively. "Blue fire?" she sounds more perplexed than the Don sounds shocked. "Now that's a new one…now who's my Little FLAME TURKEEEY? You aaare! Yes you aaaaare!" she rubs her face against the baby's, its puggy cheeks smushing up against his mother's. God, it looked like Shedletsky; that smile sealed the deal! Loretto, Vito, and Salem watch the scene unfold, equal parts entertained and bewildered. The Don looks at Narcaus with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Uh, babe, you're not worried about that whole fire burping thing?"

"Oh, please," she bats him away, "this little guy is harmless! He's just a little bundle of joy." She coos at the baby, who lets out a series of excited chirps. "We, uh, we also named him." Vito then tells the both of them. "Uh…not sure if you'd like it or not, but the four of us all bumped our heads together on naming the lil' guy Pebble, on account he's got that salty-peppery down going on." The Don raises an eyebrow, looking amused. "Pebble, huh?" he muses, still holding Narcaus close. "Kinda cute, kinda weird. I don't hate it." Narcaus chuckles, cuddling Pebble closer. "I actually think it suits him. It's kind of endearing, in an odd way." She shoots a playful glare at Enzo and the others. "Though I'm pretty sure you four just came up with that to mess with us."

“Actually Diego’s idea before he went home was “Cement”, but, uh, the baby ain’t got much gray for it, so…” Enzo goes, “…yeah. Pebble.” The Don snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Cement, huh? Not exactly subtle." Narcaus shakes her head, looking down at Pebble with a soft smile. "Good thing you went with Pebble instead. Cement just sounds…well, a little too heavy, don't you think?" She winks at the others, her tone jesting. "Although, who am I to question the naming conventions of a bunch of mortals these days? Our waiter went by Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosistania. Now try saying that ten times over!" The Don chuckles, pulling Narcaus and Pebble into a one-armed hug. "I like this side of you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her temple. Pebble squirms slightly at the shift, peeping softly before settling back into Narcaus's arms. She turns her face up toward the Don, her expression softening as she studies his face. He meets her gaze, something warm and possessive flickering in his dark eyes. "Which side would that be?" she asks, speaking more quietly now. The Don's thumb strokes along the curve of her waist where his hand rests. "The part where you don't try to make me strangle and sheath you in public for five minutes straight." Pebble rolls his chubby body around so his face was squished into her boob, his muffled chirps nonstop under the fabric of her dress as his arms reached at it to tug it down and his downy gray wings on the sides of his head flanked out and flapped. Enzo, Vito, and Salem exchange amused grins, witnessing the heartwarming scene between the Don and Narcaus. The baby, Pebble, seems quite contented in Narcaus's arms, his little body squirming and his downy wings flapping as he tugs at the fabric of her dress. Loretto chuckles, a rare sight, at the baby's antics. "Seems like the little fella's got his priorities straight already," he jokes. "And here I was worried he'd grow up to be a troublemaker like the rest of us…" Narcaus exhales a delighted laugh, watching as Pebble's tiny hands poke and prod at the fabric of her dress, his beady eyes bright with curiosity. She gently readjusts him, pulling the bodice down just enough to let him nuzzle properly against her chest. "There we go, you greedy little thing," she coos, her hand stroking his downy back as he nestles in to suckle with soft, happy peeps. The Don's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly at her waist as he watches the interaction. His face remains impassive, but there's something unmistakably tender in the way his eyes flick between her and the baby. Enzo, Vito, and Salem exchange glances, each of them noticing the subtle change in the Don's demeanor. It's clear that something about the sight of Narcaus and Pebble has touched a nerve.

Meanwhile, Narcaus seems oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, her attention fully devoted to the baby. "Looks like our little Pebble's already found his favorite spot," she teases, gently tapping the baby's nose with her finger. The little one responds with a contented squeak, his tiny hands reaching up to bat at her finger playfully. "You likey mama milky, baby? Ma Lil' Bebe Tur-key." She pokes his cheek with the tip of her metal finger, "Ma Lid-le, Wid-le, Beh-bee Turk-ee, awoo-woo-woo~!" Pebble coos and chirps happily as Narcaus gently pokes at his cheek with her metal finger. He seems completely enamored with her, his tiny hands flailing around and his downy wings batting at the air. The others watch the scene with fondness, charmed by the baby's innocent delight. Even the Don can't help but crack a slight smile, his grip on Narcaus's hip loosening a little. "You're getting way too much joy out of this," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You're gonna spoil that thing rotten." Narcaus beams at him, the glow of a new mother practically radiating from her face. "Oh, he's already spoiled," she purrs, nuzzling the top of Pebble's head with her nose. "He's absolutely perfect, and I can't imagine letting anything less than perfection into my life." She throws a mischievous glance up at the Don. "Besides, who could possibly resist such a sweet little face?" The Don hums noncommittally, but his fingers continue tracing absent patterns along her side. Pebble lets out an especially contented trill as Narcaus shifts him slightly, his tiny hands coming up to clutch at the air in front of him. "He will be adored by the universe." She whispers to the Don contently before the two of them made their way up the stairs to the nursery to see what the Main Four had accomplished while they were out. As the Don and Narcaus ascend the stairs to the nursery, the rest of the gang wait below, watching them disappear from sight.

Enzo lets out a low whistle, his eyes still fixed on the now-empty staircase. "Damn, who knew the Don could be so soft," he mutters, shaking his head.

Loretto smirks. "He'd murder us if he heard you say that."

Salem just chuckles, his arms folded across his chest. "He's whipped, and it's hilarious."

Vito leans back against the wall, his arms crossed. "Yeah, but look at Narcaus—she's enjoying it. The way she watches him when he's not looking; she's into him. Like, really into him."

They all nod in silent agreement, their gazes flicking back up the stairs as a soft thud and Narcaus's laughter echo down. "He's going to end up being a great father," Salem muses. "I just hope he doesn't start getting all sentimental and naming things after her." He smirks. "Not that I'd mind a 'Narcausino's Pizza' around here."

"Oh God, don't give the Don any ideas," Enzo groans, rolling his eyes. "He's got a big ego as it is. If he starts putting Narcaus' name everywhere, it'll be insufferable. We'll end up with 'Narcaus' Coffee Shops' popping up all over the city, guaranteed."

Loretto snorts. "Don't forget 'Narcaus' Pizza & Pasta,' 'Narcaus' Gym,' and 'Narcaus' Bakery.'" Vito lets out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "That's not a bad business plan, honestly. The woman's got a great name for marketing. Hell, it's catchy." Enzo scoffs but can't suppress a smirk. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I guarantee if the Don did that, he'd try to charge us double just for using the name." Salem chuckles, stepping away from the wall. "Well, whatever he does, I know one thing—we're stuck with this new arrangement. And after seeing how happy they are…" He gestures vaguely up the stairs. "I can't say I mind it much." Loretto nods in agreement, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Agreed. It's good to see the Don happy for a change. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to start wearing pastel colors and listening to romantic ballads." Enzo shudders, shaking his head vehemently. "Please no. I don't think my sanity could handle a sappy version of the Don." Salem laughs outright at that, his shoulders shaking. "God forbid. Imagine walking into the office and hearing 'My Heart Will Go On' playing on loop instead of Elvis Presley." Enzo grins, stepping toward the stairs. "Well, I'm gonna go check on the nursery. You guys coming?" Vito groans, pushing himself off the wall. "Fine, fine. Lead the way, oh father of many bird children." Enzo flips him off over his shoulder, and together, the group starts up the stairs.

Chapter Text

[weeks later]

“-and they still have YET to remove that citrine statuette of you getting RAILED LIKE A WHORE, oooh-hoohoohoohoohooooo!” The Spectre was annoying her, as always, like a mosquito that favored her ear over all other ears. The streets were loud, the September cool making its way to turn a 90 in August into a 76 in the current month. The banners remained bright, the mortals remained loud…oh, boy. More colorful protesters. Is that what the majority of modern mortality is, in this age? Just shouting about something you don’t entirely agree with until you get what you prefer to agree with? Oh, well, I suppose. Narcaus now handles more, she chose to take Pebble with her, her little son, in a baby sling that Loretto and Enzo were so kind enough to buy for her, among other things by the mafia itself to welcome the little plump and fluttery bambino, here she is – the all-powerful, all revered and feared and the ever-immortally lusted after Narcaus; Narkaushu, pushing an empty bassinet on wheels with a baby strapped to her big ole’ breast. A new phone in front of her face with a free hand, she speaks to the Don as she pushes the empty bassinet on wheels with her other hand, Pebble looking around and taking the scenery from his carrier on his mother’s chest with his wide, observant and innocent eyes. “Why are you at the jewelry store without me?” she pouts over the phone, “That’s rude, don’t you think?” the Don chuckles deeply on the other end of the line, “Oh, Bellissima,” he replied, “if I told ya, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it~?” a new sound and sight soon fills the air to mix with the rainbows, banners white and blue bare sigils from long, long before even her own banishing to the center of the Earth. Mortals in plain and monochromatic dyed garbs, with long shawls over their shoulder bearing what the banners had, with picket signs in their hands and microphones plugged to amplifiers, mixed with the bright and the colorful, and the equally as loud. “I hear yelling,” the Don says on the phone, “Welcome to New York City, amiright, babe? Heh-heh…. You be safe shopping, okay? If you attempt at any ‘friend making’, I don’t wanna have to pry you off after you break another person’s nose, got it?” Narcaus rolls her eyes, even though the Don can't see it. "Oh, come on now, give me a little credit. I can behave myself. Besides, I have Pebble here with me." She glances down at the baby in the sling on her chest, who coos and bats at his mother's hair, treating her beaded braided strands like infant's toys with the preoccupated enjoyment of one. "And I've been practicing my restraint lately. I won't punch anyone. Probably."

“And you promise not to turn anyone into an ice sculpture?” the Don goes.