---Purple---
---Victor’s perspective---
It’s just me and Thran left in the booth.
Foxy and her friends in the next one over left a little while ago.
The others took the Twigg back to the ship not long after that.
Apparently, their toxin resistance being generally on par with Humans’ (kilo for kilo) doesn’t extend to alcohol. Which makes sense, since they’re not big into brewing it, back on their home world.
They have herbs they prefer to smoke.
Me and Thran still had mostly unfinished drinks in front of us so we decided to catch them up later.
Tuun never would’ve trusted me to be left alone with another woman, early on in our relationship, no matter how much I protested that Thran wasn’t attracted to guys, wasn’t my type or that I’d got no interest in cheating on her generally!
She’d’ve found a reason to stay and clung to me protectively.
She wouldn’t’ve have meant it as an insult but I’d still’ve been hurt.
I’m glad she trusts me more now… Trust and healthy communication are the cornerstones of any good relationship, as multiple people I respect in my life have made me aware!
I’m just looking out over the mostly empty bar when I notice someone.
She’s Terran, she’s tall (looks like 195cm but, accounting for her heels, that’s probably more like 185), she’s slim and she’s dressed from head to toe in an expensive looking purple suit.
Note; expensive looking≠good looking!
Her clothes are definitely stylish (in the sense that they have a very distinct style and they don’t deviate from that theme at all) but I can’t say they’re my cup of tea…
She wears an ornate, medium purple waistcoat under a dark purple tailcoat, hanging down to below the top of her knee high boots.
Each hand is covered in about a third of a fingerless glove, extending from her wrists to the middle knuckles of her thumbs and forefingers but not the rest of either hand.
On her head she wears a wide, dark purple sunhat (kinda like Alchyinad’s black one), despite the fact that she’s indoors and it’s the middle of the night, the streets outside only bathed in the twilight glow of a galactic core starfield.
Everything about her top-of-the-line outfit shouts ‘gaudy’ and ‘pretentious’.
That’s not the only thing that’s offputting about this woman, though.
Her appearance itself is very heavily modded, from the thick head of dark purple hair spilling out from under the sunhat that it almost exactly matches in colour, to the bioluminescent purple eyes, to the skin that’s way too pale, to the cutesy, babyfat laden, Betty Boopish facial features that make it impossible to tell her ethnicity.
Her appearance kinda suggests her gene therapist either did a botch job or knew how uncanny she’d look and either chose not to warn her or warned her and was ignored.
Well… I’m not the fashion police and I’m not the gene therapy police(!)
Given the absurd amount of effort and money it must’ve taken to get herself to look like that, I think it’s a fairly safe assumption that it was intentional… So long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters!
Definitely not gonna go over there and give her unsolicited criticism on any of it(!)
Just then, the barman places a cocktail that’s an absolute rainbow of purple hues down in front of her.
She’s clearly got an enormous amount of commitment to the purple theme(!)
In one motion, she takes it and turns her back to the bar, raising the glass to her purple lips for a sip… which she doesn’t take… because, at that moment, she notices me looking at her and gives me a smile, exposing a mouthful of teeth that are just a little bit too white and have long, protruding canines that make her look like a vampire.
I look away, awkwardly.
In my periphery, I see her start making her way over to us.
Shit!
Shit, shit, shit!
OK Victor, just very quickly and very firmly let her know you’ve got a partner!
You don’t need to mention how the answer’d still be ‘no’, even if you were single!
You don’t need to tell her that, even though ‘tall and slim’ is normally your type, those are the only two boxes she ticks!
Just smile and let her know you’ve got a fiancée!
Maybe she’ll assume you’re talking about Thran… you don’t need to correct her unless she asks!
If I volunteer Thran not being my fiancée, she might think I’m poly…
As she draws near, there’s a fraction of a second where I think I hear a little buzzing crackle like you get in a nanoforge… but it’s over so quickly that I decide I must have imagined it.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The ostentatiously dressed woman sits down on the opposite side of the table from me, positively beaming from me to Thran and asks “I apologise if this is strange to ask but… you two wouldn’t happen to be Victor ‘Cuddles’ Taylor and Thran ‘Gimli’ Hunter, would you?” in a breathy halfwhisper, speaking flawlessly perfect and unaccented English that, nonetheless, makes me suspect it’s not her first language.
“Err… that’s us?” I answer, a little thrown by the unexpected recognition.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she grins, showing off those fangs “It would be lovely enough just to see Terran faces this far out from the UTC but also finding two people that I’m such a huge fan of? It’s a dream come true!”
This woman… really doesn’t give off the vibe of someone who’d be a fan of either me or Thran…
Like, obviously, people don’t have to exclusively like things you’d expect them to but… this slender little fashionista being a fan of a bodybuilder and an adventuring Security Officer…?
I’m not exactly gonna call her a liar over it though!… I mean, she might be exaggerating how much of a fan she is, to flatter us, but… she knows us well enough to recognise and name us at least!
I clear my throat to say “*ehem*…I’m afraid you’ve got us at a disadvantage, Miss…?”
“Circe, darling… Circe ‘Mirage’ Stoker.” she smiles with what should feel like effortless charm but some part of my subconscious is letting me know is artificial.
“Cersei? Like, ‘Lannister’…?” I ask, naming a villainess of an old bookseries that the author unfortunately never finished before he died.
She gives an outwardly mirthful purse of her lips and smirks “Pronounced the same but spelled C-I-R-C-E… My parents were fans of classical literature(!)”
“Oooh… thaaaaat’s theeeee…*snap**snap**snap*… witch in the Odyssey, right?” I ask, snapping my fingers to help myself remember.
She giggles “*hehehehem*… She is… but I prefer the term ‘enchantress’, personally(!)” giving a mystical wave of her ⅓ gloved hands and wiggling her damn near actually white skinned fingers.
Seeing someone with such pale pigmented skin really throws into focus just how far off from white Europeans’ and other low melanin folks’ skin actually is!
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to offend.” I state.
“Oh, and you haven’t, darling… I was simply teasing…” she pouts, outwardly reassuring.
“That’s good then…”
The woman gives a nod and finally takes a sip of her purple cocktail.
“Oof!… That’s foul!” she chuckles, her face twisted in disgust.
“It might have been nicer if you’d chosen the components for taste instead of colour?” frowns Thran, looking at the purple concoction with genuine puzzlement.
The woman whose entire personal brand seems like it revolves around the colour purple laughs out loud at Thran’s lack of a filter before beaming “Good point, darling… I shall have to bear that in mind for next time(!)” then, she leans forward over the table and, her tone even more hushed than before, asks “Sooo… what brings you two all the way out to this corner of the galaxy?”
“We’re just on our way back from a mission.” I answer before deflecting “What about yourself?”
Her purple lips give a nonchalant twist as she shrugs “I’m in acquisitions… There’s something on this planet right now that my boss is veeeeery interested in our organisation getting its hands on… I’m here to make sure that happens!”
“Sounds important…” I shrug back, simply, as I take a draft of my ale, not prying for further details.
“Oh, it definitely is… Its value as a step towards Terran domination of the galaxy can scarcely be calculated!… That’s why I’m hoping you two will help me get it.” she answers, casually.
I freeze, my drink midway to my lips, before placing it back down on the table and looking at her, my heart pounding, my blood adrenaline spiked, my mind whirring with calculations and my guts in freefall.
“When you say ‘Terran domination of the galaxy’…?” I start, really hoping she means in some sort of competitive, economic sense, limited to whatever industry it is that she works in.
“I mean just what I say…” she smiles back, her tone a twisted parody of flirtatious “…I mean us finally seizing what we should have taken 30 years ago. What we are owed for what the subHumans put us through. What we were always destined to have by the right of the blood flowing through our veins.”
“Then… this organisation… that’d be the Revanchists…?” I ask, my muscles tensing in readiness.
“It would, darling… Clever boy!” she smiles back.
“You’re a member?” I ask, disbelieving.
She scoffs, looking slightly irritated for the first time I’ve seen “I’m not just ‘a member’, darling… I’m a founder! I sit at King Cyrus’s left hand!”
“And, what exactly’s possessed you to reveal all that to us? What the hell makes you think we’d actually help you get whatever it is you’re after?!” I say in a growl.
“Oh! That’s simple! In about 10 seconds, neither of you will have a choice!… You’re about to become my playthings… puppets on a string… putty in my hands…”
I scowl back at the delusional woman who can’t be a gram over 60kg but thinks she’s going to be able to hold any kind of influence over the nearly 300 combined kilos of combat trained redhead she’s sharing a table with.
I stand, rounding the table as I anounce “I’ve heard enough! Circe ‘Mirage’ Stoker, I’m placin’ you under citizen’s arrest for-”
“Stop!” she barks, ripping away most of my mind with the order.
I’m still conscious… still aware of who I am and where I am… It’s just… the parts of me that I used to… do things… want, feel, consider, decide and act… they’re all gone… or… maybe they’re not gone but, if they’re still here, they’re not accessible to me anymore.
“Dance your best jig for me…” the purple woman smirks.
I’m not a dancer… and I’m aware that, seconds ago, I was trying to arrest this woman.
Nonetheless, the thought of doing anything other than exactly what she says does not enter my mind as I bring my hands to my hips and bounce in place, rapidly tapping my toes and heals against the floor as I jump up and down.
“Very nice!” she says, clapping her hands together once with a smirk “Stop and sit back with the cavewoman…”
I march rigidly back to my place beside Thran and sit.
“Kiss her.” orders my puppeteer, flashing her glowing eyes in anticipation.
I turn towards Thran and lean down to plant my lips against her cheek, briefly feeling her bodyheat against them as I get a waft of her natural fragrance.
The purple woman sighs “*hfff*…How about you try that again and, this time, kiss her like she’s your girlfriend, not your grandmother(!)”
I lean back down, bring my left hand to the right of Thran’s jaw and turn her face to meet her large, muddy green eyes before squashing her prominent nose against my cheek as I bring my lips to hers and kiss her passionately, her smell filling my nostrils.
“Kiss him back, girl!” instructs the woman, causing the previously inert Thran to spring to life and start reciprocating my embrace, enthusiastically snogging me in return.
“Oh ho ho ho ho!… Yeeeeees… What a delightful pair of playthings you two make!… I… think… after you’ve brought me some of that thanatite, I’m going to bring you back to Bastion with me… When Cyrus asks what I want as a reward, I’m going to ask him to let me keep you both(!)” smirks the one controlling us as she watches me and Thran kiss for her and purple flames buzz and crackle to life in her left palm.