[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; padding-top: 5px; line-height: 12px;]Somewhere along the way, Janus gave up on expecting too much out of his night life. Even in this twenty-five year old body, the deity is already starting to feel the strain of repetition. He has done his best to pretend that he is walking in new shoes, but that is rather difficult when there are so many memories that are not typically privy to a twenty-first century New Yorker. He takes a drink from his glass, blinking absentmindedly at the triangular lights that hang above the bartender. Architects have become rather innovative this century, he acknowledges.
The pang of nostalgia hits Janus in the gut. Or is it the vodka? He isn’t so sure anymore.
Anything to cure his monotony, really.
The women who are the club’s regulars know this mysterious young man well enough to recognize when he is particularly moody. He is not bothered as frequently as usual. Pity. Janus thinks that he would appreciate the soft legs of a woman as much as any sculpted marble - perhaps even more so.
Some radio hit comes on, and Janus wishes that someone would skip that particular track. Oh, wait. The deity only has to wish it, and the volume starts dying down. He takes another drink contentedly as the disk jockey scrambles to fix the problem.
Clink.
He’s out of vodka, and Janus does not ask for another refill. He’s not going to sit here like the bummed geezer that he is becoming. He can only hope that his disposition is temporary, since he definitely needs to pick up a lady friend if he wants lodgings for the night.
[atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 5px;][STYLE=background-image: url(http://subtlepatterns.com/patterns/dark_wall.png); padding: 17px;][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #FF4D00; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #495454;][STYLE=font-size: 60px; float: left; text-transform: uppercase; margin: 8 -5 0 5;]l[/style]ight us up and then throw us down,[/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 8px; margin: 0 10 5 60; line-height: 8px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #FF4D00; text-align: justify; opacity: .9;]Walk away when we hit the ground. How they going to feel when you come back around here and see It’s just you and your cigarettes. Always there every time you need me. It ain’t love but just like nicotine. You’re addicted to a feeling you can only get From me and your cigarettes ---[/style][STYLE=padding-left: 10px; border-left: 1px dashed #FF4D00; border-bottom: 1px dashed #FF4D00; border-radius: 10; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #BF6F54; margin: 5 0 0 50; padding-bottom: 60px;]This was…out of the ordinary for him, to say the least. It wasn’t as if he was unwilling to do what was necessary for the sake of his job, but…he never really guessed that he might have to do something quite so odd. Perhaps more unsettling was the fact it actually…didn’t look as bad as he’d hoped. Now, don’t get the wrong idea…he put sincere effort into this. He needed to be convincing, at least for the first few minutes of conversation. He’d worked hard on this disguise. He was…just disappointed that it was so convincing.
Raza, deadly hunter of all things nonhuman and supernatural, was dressed as a woman.
Not just dressed, either. Women cared about things like hair and makeup. It was all very subtle though, just enough to give him a more feminine edge. What was probably the most difficult was adjusting his stance, his posture, his way of moving. He was tenacious enough to practice, to perfect it, even if it was for the sake of one conversation. And not even a real conversation…just bait, dummy lines. But Raza never did anything half way.
Dressed in a rather ‘asian’ inspired top, all black and red silk with a high collar and floral decal, he had a shawl type garment around his bare arms and shoulders - partly because it was cold, and partly because holding it in the front helped cover his false breasts. He may have gone to lengths for this, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Sleek black pants cut off part way down his calf, and he wore a pair of strappy black shoes with a modest heel. A few sleek, simple accessories later, and he looked the part. Rather get this over with, then.
Sliding in next to the empty seat beside Janus, Raza could not help the cool expression always on his face - luckily it didn’t really work against him as he spoke softly. “May I?” [/style][STYLE=margin-left: 310px; border: 3px solid #FF4D00; margin-top: -50px; background-image: url(http://i1228.photobucket.com/albums/ee454/_Bluechan/Hidden%20FCs/Raza/HRcAa.png); height: 100px; width: 100px; border-radius: 50px;][/style][STYLE=font-size: 8px; font-family: tahoma; color: #999999; text-align: center; margin-top: -15px;]TEMPLATE BY PEBBLE OF GS[/style][/style]
[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; padding-top: 5px; line-height: 12px;]Janus doesn't even think twice when he nods his approval. He's done this as frequently as most people brush their teeth, and he opens the usual round of testing his boundaries. Things don't tend to end too well when the other is a lesbian or an ace. Unless she was willing to offer him a bed regardless, but that didn't really happen in this day and age. Or any other day and age, for that matter. It should have been a bit embarassing for someone such as Janus to work this hard for a bed, but he's old enough to think otherwise. Better to enjoy the challenge while he still can. Everything gets easier if he lives somewhere long enough. More folks are willing to lend a hand, and technology only serves to further ease of access. Janus is something of a paradox. The power of the deities of old are weakening, yet Janus is never left completely destitute. Not when his patron city succeeds so magnificiently.
This beautiful young woman beside him is only a reminder. An inconstant, yet incessant reminder.
Maybe he should kiss her right now. Maybe he should pull her shawl down, letting his hands bruise the pretty pale skin of his like blossoms along a peach branch. Janus almost wishes that he did not just consume two shots of vodka. It's not very much, but plenty enough to serve as an excuse for his behavior. But he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be comforted by the involuntary loss of motor control. He wants the woman to glare dagger at his daring; he wants her to cry out in fear. Anything for the knife to serrate the harshness of ice.
(i want god, i want poetry, i want real danger, i want freedom, i want goodness. i want sin)
That face of hers is certainly pretty, and he wonders what it must look like when confronted by shock. True shock, and not just the sparks that dance along his fingertips. But he mustn't. He has greater goals that can hardly be compromised by a 'lapse of judgement'.
Janus gives the lady his most charming laugh, as if he was caught in the moment. As if he has not been practicing for the past god-knows-how-many years. "I don't see why not. Will you allow me to buy you a drink, or would you rather go dutch?"
HIDDEN in plain sight is a modern-day supernatural noir game set in New York City and sprawling the rest of America. Magic is real, and so are angels, ghosts, gods, vampires, and witches. It doesn't matter if you believe in them, because they're coming for you either way.
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CREDITS
( ORIGINAL SITE BY KATYA ) - Original site, templates, skin, ideas, and system all by Katya. Other ideas belong to their original owners
