Owner	Pose
Selene Gallio	The Hellfire Club is appropriately named in the eyes of some. Mostly those that know what it truly stands for. Those in the know are well aware of the reputation of its Black Queen, Selene Gallio, even if they do not know the truly implications of her power and presence. But enough have seen the way she lingers to realize that she is the spider, and the Club itself is her web. Tonight, she is lingering in a corner booth, a glass of wine in front of her, as her gaze idly sweeps over the patrons within. There is a certain predatory expression on her face, as if seeking out an evening's diversion. Wearing the dress code of certain areas of the Hellfire Club without seeming to have any concern or embarassment about it, she has simply a black leather corset, a matching thong, and long boots that come past her knees. She seems to have eschewed her cape this evening. It does clash with the booth, after all.
Daimon Hellstrom	The evening's diversion walks right up to Selene, since sometimes fate smiles upon the wicked. Daimon Hellstrom is dressed in compliance, if not conformity, with the Club's dress code. His suit is broadly in keeping with Victorian men's fashion, almost all in black with a waistcoat buttoned over his white shirt, and a fob chain slinking back over his ribs into the depths of his jacket. His necktie is loosened and his collar is open, giving his outfit a less formal, somewhat rakish touch. The Son of Satan comes bearing an insouciant little half-smile, as though he and Selene are in on some private joke together. "Selene," he says in greeting. "Or do I have to call you 'Your Majesty' when you're this exposed?"
Selene Gallio	Eyes rake over Daimon as he makes his approach to her bench, and indeed, there is something of a sly smile as the spider seems to feel as if the fly is coming to her. At least, an evening's diversion, perhaps, if nothing else. "We can save that for when I am even more exposed," she replies, casually stretching out like a cat admiring a bowl of milk within the booth, her arms above her head, the effort exposing a slighly wider band of pale flesh below the bottom of the corset to where the thong rises up. "Selene will do for now."
Daimon Hellstrom	"And you can call me Daimon, if you well and truly wish," replies the demonic heir as he takes his seat in the booth across from her. He's most certainly inviting himself to sit, even if Selene doesn't actually object. "'Mr. Hellstrom' if you're nasty." He doesn't belabor that punchline, mostly because he knows better than to expect Selene to get a Janet Jackson joke. "And how are we tonight, eh?"
Selene Gallio	Slowly Selene draws back her legs from their inclined position as she straightens in the booth, drawing them back to curl beneath her as she adopts a slightly more polite posture in facing the Prince of Lies. "I suppose we shall have to continue to negotiate our terms for each other. I am curious what comes after Mr. Hellstrom." Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she raises a hand up, shifting to face him a bit more, leaning her arm against the cushion of the booth. "To what do I owe this most unexpected, but most promising pleasure?"
Daimon Hellstrom	"What comes after Mr. Hellstrom?" Daimon asks, rubbing his chin in mock thought. He hasn't shaved in two or three days, so there's a rough dusting of dark red stubble there. "Well, I expect the world will just keep on going without me, but it'll be far, far less interesting for it." His delivery is deadpan and low-key. "As for why I'm here, it's actually pretty simple." Daimon leans over to catch the attention of a passing waitress, who might actually be dressed slightly more modestly than Selene, but not by much. He gestures at Selene's wine, delivering his unspoken order: wine for himself, and a top-up for the Black Queen if she wishes. "I just had to get out of the house. When you surround yourself with all kinds of artifacts and that sort of thing, it can lead to the most /interesting/ conversations. But after a while you start feeling like a cat lady, spending all day talking to a meowing horde." He laughs, very softly. "So I decided to go where I could /also/ get interesting conversation, but with women who don't have any trousers on."
Selene Gallio	"You know, I used to say that about myself," replies Selene, a black lacquered fingernail tracing along the cushion of the bench idly as she regards Daimon. "But then I stopped." No reason given. Does she need one? The waitress certainly is dressed similarly, but few seem to take it to the extreme that Selene does. She nods in acknowledgement of Daimon's generous offer - he will find out just how generous once the bill comes - and turns her attention to his words. "I can hardly blame you for that. Although I would submit that you never know, you might just be talking to the /wrong/ artifacts." There is a subtle smile at that, as if at some hidden joke. Does Daimon know how old Selene really is? That she is likely older than most of the artifacts in his home? "I can not promise to have more interesting conversation, truthfully, but I can agree that I am certainly wearing far less clothing." Her eyes twinkle with amusement. "Depending upon how interesting your conversation is, could end up even less before the night is over."
Daimon Hellstrom	"Is that an offer, or a threat?" Daimon says with a crooked smile. "I'd say that you give off a very... predatory vibe, Selene, but I suspect that might come across as some kind of implicit acknowledgment that I'm prey." The wine is set down. Daimon will handle the bill just fine, when it's time. He's got artifact money. "But, you were saying -- you would submit...?" He arches his brows to underscore his punchline, before having a long drink of his wine.
Selene Gallio	"Consider it what you will," replies Selene with an enigmatic smile. "And no, it need not mean that at all. There are plenty of predators who feed off other predators." She gives a slight shrug. "You are hardly prey, Daimon. It is just a question of how big of a predator you can be." Oh, the play on words earns an upraised eyebrow from Selene. "I would be both devastatingly surprised and incredibly pleased to be put in a position where I would submit. I do so encourage you to try." She manages to drain the last of her wine before the new glass arrives, so the waitress can take the empty away.
Daimon Hellstrom	"I didn't realize gambling was allowed on the premises," Daimon deadpans. "Especially with such potentially life or death stakes." Despite his dry jokes, he does seem to be enjoying himself. "But thank you for at least being honest about your intent to feed off of me. That said, I suppose it's... what, professional courtesy...? to note that I might not be the easiest swallow. Which isn't a sex pun, believe it or not."
Selene Gallio	"/Anything/ is allowed on these premises, Daimon, particularly if it is by my whim and desire." Selene's eyes rest upon his, and her lips quirk at his comment. "Come on now, do you think I have such little respect for you that I would do such a tawdry thing?" She retrieves her new glass of wine, watching him over it with half lidded eyes. "I imagine that you could stand quite a chance of satisfying me without either of us having to swallow."
Daimon Hellstrom	The Son of Satan plays it cool. Not like he's disinterested by any means, but he seems like the type of person for whom it's anathema to act eager about /anything/. "I'd certainly do my best," he says. "Though that might also be professional courtesy." Daimon has another sip of his wine. His eyes are on Selene's eyes. He's thus far resisted temptation to let his gaze stray. "By the way, I'm flattered that you have any respect for me at all. I mean, you should, of course. Everyone should. But it's still nice to hear it."
Selene Gallio	"Perhaps my showing respect is merely professional courtesy, extended until you have an opportunity to prove you either do or do not deserve it." Those lips curl into a smile as Selene regards him, and more wine is poured between those lips. "Tell me what you wish, Daimon, and perhaps I shall see to your wish coming true."
Daimon Hellstrom	"A wish -- oh, you're not going to catch me in one of those," Daimon teases. "I of all people should know how /wishes/ usually end up." It would make sense that a child of Hell would see wishes as more of a monkey's paw situation than a benevolent one. "Tell you what, Selene." After a moment's thought, Daimon finishes his wine, then speaks. "I think you and I /could/ have some of the most interesting conversations around, with the... expertise that both of us bring out of our little corners of existence. But I'm not sure that they're conversations meant for..." Daimon looks out of the booth, and makes a vague hand gesture toward the other VIP Lounge clientele. His eyes turn back toward Selene. "...you know what I mean?" "So I wish for us to have a little privacy. So that we can chat about /whatever/ interests us, and not have to be euphemistic about our hobbies."
Selene Gallio	Fixing Daimon with a steady gaze, finally Selene's mouth upticks. "I thought you would never ask." She reaches back with her free hand as the other lifts the glass to her lips. With a brief gesture against the cushion, the booth section upon which she is seated rotates inward, revealing a deep darkness beyond. She places the now empty glass down on the table, her eyes observing Daimon, reaction. And then she oozes off the bench, the pale skin of her barely appropriately concealed ass the last visual before it winks into the shadows of the secret passageway.
Daimon Hellstrom	"Your wish is granted," Daimon replies with an arch half-smile. If he's surprised at the booth's disappearance into a secret passage, he doesn't show it, but he does let slip a little bit of seeming impressed. He pauses a moment once Selene gets up. It's so he can look. Of course he was going to look. Then he rises up, to follow.