Barnabus stretched out on the four poster canvas, releasing a relaxed sigh into the air of the hotel room, once again pleased with last night endeavours. He wore nothing as he lay there, sitting himself up slightly, the sheet that previously concealed him would drop away, revealing his toned and well-sculpted body. He turned his head to the left, eying the beautiful woman that lay beside him. She had the face fitting for a magazine cover, and the body to match. Her deep olive skin almost glistened under the soft hues of morning light as it seeped through the cracks in the curtain. Her deep brown locks trailing beneath her, draped over the curves of her chest, rising and sinking with her breath as she snoozed soundly. His amber eyes trailing down her front, the bottom half of her wrapped in blankets, although the small stamp of a tattoo curling out over the exposed region of her hip. Three roses, surrounded by thorns, beautiful artistics aside from a few errors at the inkers hand. Not entirely necessary. She was beautiful enough to not need any marks placed upon her body, in fact she could have done better without it. But according to last night's conversation, it had some symbolic meaning to the woman, something about beauty or pain. Barnabus couldn’t entirely remember. He had as usual only pretended to listen, just to keep her sweet so that he could lure her into his bed for a night of sordid behaviour.
He turned his head to the other side, where the body of a particularly athletic sandy haired male would lay. He had a swimmer’s physique, well-trained and streamlined in the most pristine way. Unless the caramel beauty, this one had no tattoos, he did have a curious scar along his neckline though. Jagged in an almost lightning like manner, it stretched from beneath his earlobe down to the centre of his pectorals. He hadn’t told any stories as to how he’d gotten the mark, but Barnabus could only speculate that it was an attack of some sort. Haphazardly hacked at him in such a way that could have been a fatal, poor little creature. Fortunately it only added character to his masculine beauty, not so hideously marred that it made much of a difference.
The sight of it was a reminder to Barnaus. That humans were weak in this way, so susceptible to scarring, not always capable of healing their wounds, thus forced to carry them for the entirety of their lives. A reminder of their vulnerability, made worse by how uncertain they were of what lied ahead of him. They were just so fragile, whilst he remained so ...not. Capable of withstanding wounds that would end the life of a mortal, it was a dulling thought. That despite being able to feel pain, to feel ache, and most importantly feel pleasure. He could not feel fear, because even if by some grandiose feat his life in this world was extinguished, he knew where he was going. There was no surprise waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, as far as he was concerned he would just travel to another place. A place he knew especially well. Fear seemed like such an exciting emotion to be filled with such adrenaline, slipping into sheer unadulterated panic. He hadn’t felt fear for centuries and in a way, he kind of missed it.
“Enjoying yourself My lord?” The sudden silky voice of a woman broke through the quiet, catching his attention. He brought his finger to his lips, a means to quieten her tone. He smirked at his demonic assistant, who was perched on top of a chest of drawers. She was in her usual smart attire, a sharp suit-jacket, pencil skirt and white blouse, accessorized with a playful miniature scarf around her neck. Unlike her normal demonic form, her humans were hidden, making her appear mostly human, aside from her eyes. Her unnaturally crimson eyes staring at the bodies on his bed with a hungry gaze. A different type of hunger to which he felt, the more literal meaning of the term. “Most certainly, Alegra and Johnathon are quite a delight. But you’re not here to check in are you? I’m sure you have brought news.” Vixen met his gaze, straightening up as she addressed her master.
“The nightclub you wanted, the owners have taken our offer. Apparently you were quite generous with your finances, the paperwork will be drafted up shortly.” She informed him, the new she brought supplying him with a new sense of satisfaction. He chuckled, gently running his finger down Johnathon’s arm, “Excellent.” He purred, this was an ideal outcome, now he could progress his own little ‘project’. A new venture that he was especially looking forward to watching unfold. Made easier to acquire thanks to the monumentous wealth belonging to this body of his. Barnabus, the man who Icarus had stolen the form of, was a wealthy individual with more money than a human really had a right to. Enough to sate Barnabus’s desire in owning his own nightclub and turning it into a place he could enjoy at his leisure. Somewhere his minions could stay hidden in the shadows, satiated their demonic needs.
“Is there anything else you need to report Vixen?” He would ask, she tilted her head, her eyes returning to his temporary lovers. “Can I eat them when you’re done?” She would ask, the tips of her fangs protruding out of her mouth as she grew excited over the prospect of devouring such yummy hearts. “No, I like these ones, we’ll let them live.” He told her firmly, gesturing with his hand to dismiss. “Now make yourself scarce, I’m going to wake them up for some more fun.” With a disappointed gaze she nodded, disappearing once more, she would leave her master alone. Barnabus smirked, desire glinting across his eyes, he turned kissing Alegra’s neck tenderly, as his hand back to trail up Jonathan's leg. Slowly coaxing them both away, so he could enjoy some more shenanigans with his delicious little menage trois.