Even though the room was unnaturally darkened, Eimiel kept his glasses on. He was nearly blind as a bat, but he was finding it preferable to the sight in front of him.
A tall, stately mutt Centaurian. Black hair and blacker eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you stood. The sinuous tail wrapped around his paws complimented his lithe body. In the dark his horns and scales seemed to faintly glow. Anyone who made their living on the screen knew of Daeroh. His reputation preceded him; a smooth-voiced journalist with an eye on the pulse. When he wrote, truth flowed and reputations crumbled.
And he was here, sprawled over three cushions and sucking on a hookah.
The other mutt was almost like a vision in the cover of the dark, plush club. His uncovered arms and face being the only giveaway that he wasn’t a trick of the light or some sort of ninja drink runner (the things they must’ve put up with that they have to wear black all over to come in here). The minute they locked eyes Eimiel knew his night of booze and beauties was going to be derailed.
“Now isn’t this a sight.” Daeroh’s face split into an amused smirk. “ Why’s ‘the King’ out here rubbing shoulders with us common folk?” Eimiel bristled a bit at the use of his old nickname but pushed his ire down. The whole point of coming here was to enjoy what’s left of his night and he would not let some dog-eyed bastard spoil it.
“Same as anyone else here on a Friday night. Drowning the failures of this week with liquor and dancing.” He stated plainly. “But I figured someone who likes to sling mud wouldn’t be caught dead here. Easier to peddle bullshit when your own record’s clean.”
That wrung a sharp laugh out of the blue Centaurian. “I can’t say you’re wrong, but you know what they say about all work and no play, I’m sure?” He got to his hooves and closed the distance between them, hooking a finger under Eimiel’s chin. “And whether it’s work or play, there’s no fun without a little risk.”
“Get your filthy hand off me.”
Daeroh’s smirk slid off, replaced by an unimpressed look. “Well, that’s not very polite. You’re already bitter and past your best, Eimiel. Best not to add nasty to that list.”
Growling, he grabbed Daeroh’s wrist and wrenched it away. “You have no right to call me nasty, trailing after me with that hungry smirk. By Gaia’s tits, I can practically see you drooling. Talk as flowery as you want, it’s clear you came here to scope out some poor soul to blackball.”
“Now don’t you have a high opinion? Your Hollywood royalty days are long past. I could find juicer details on social media without ‘getting my hands dirty’. You’re just another pretty face.” Here Daeroh let his eyes wander. “Well, pretty is underselling it.”
The shorter mutt sputtered at the realization the other was hunting for more than a scoop, baring his teeth in a snarl. “A-are you trying to neg me into your bed?!”
“Of course not. There’s no beds here.” He raised his hands placatingly after Eimiel lurched forward ready to smack him. “Look around, there’s slim pickings today. I could barely get a coherent conversation going before you showed up.”
Biting back a retort, Eimiel peered around his glasses. While the room was decently populated, it was mostly parties blasting house remixes on their phones or young individuals robotripping. Too young, too blackout, too focused on dancing, too ‘clearly going to vomit in ten minutes.’ He hated to admit it, but Daeroh was shaping up to be the best lay here.
He bit back a sigh when an arm snaked around his waist, didn’t jolt when sharp teeth grazed his ear as a proposition was offered. “If you’re so worried about your image, would the blackrooms suffice?”
Eimiel tossed his head, and the scratch on Daeroh’s chin was his reward for his overconfidence. He hit back with his own smirk as Daeroh scrambled to a safer distance, flicking his head again to clear the blood off the tip of his horn.
“Please, I’m not that fast. This ‘pretty face’ needs a drink after all your bullshit.” Before he walked off he glanced at the other mutt. “I wouldn’t mind some decent company, though.. Emphasis on decent.” He added before Daeroh could say something improper.
Dabbing at his chin, Daeroh prowled to his side. “There’s that high opinion again. Though I’m sure you will be more forthcoming after a few rounds.” His arm found Eimiel’s waist again, and was pleased when the reaction was a huff and a curled lip, but no violence.
Eimiel cursed, muttering under his breath. “Thank Gaia there’s alcohol, because… we’re gonna need it.”