Hazel's party continues

Hazel's Party Character Refresh

Pascal -> Lucius Cassian Varro, a roman Senator circa 69 BCE

Hazel -> Despoina, Lucius's ****

Dell -> Bran, Warrior of the Red Hills (Surrey), circa 100 CE

Azure -> Luna Voltaire, Parisian Burlesque Dancer, circa 1890

The door swung open with a creak—and in she came, one hand on the frame, the other already holding a (fake) cigarette in a long holder. Her dress shimmered with fringe and sequins, catching the light with every little swing of her hips. Her bobbed hair was perfectly curled, her lips a defiant scarlet.

“Well, well, well,” she said, stepping inside like the party had already started and she was the reason. “A Roman villa, huh? Hope you boys don’t mind a little modern company.”

Her eyes passed over Lucius first. She gave him a slow once-over and a sly smile. “Nice sandals. You single, Caesar?”

Before he could answer, she was already moving on, brushing up lightly against Bran as she passed. “You must be the local flavor. I love a man with dirt under his nails.”

She dropped onto the nearest chaise like it was a throne, legs crossed, cigarette raised.

“Name’s Ruby Hart,” she said with a wink to Desponia. “No title, no husband, no shame. I’ll take a French 75 if you’ve got it, sweetheart. And if you don’t—just bring something strong enough to forget my last mistake.”

She exhaled a puff of smoke and grinned. “So. Who’s misbehaving first?”

Of course Desponia had no idea what a French 75 was, but her body seemed to move on it's own to fetch Ruby a drink. Meanwhile Luna held Ruby's gaze thoughtfully, sizing up her competition, "That's an awful pretty dress you got darling. Real brave of you to wear that much fringe without hips to hold it up.”

Ruby Hart raised an eyebrow, her red lips curling into a smirk as she took a slow drag from her cigarette. “Well sugar, some of us don’t need hips when we’ve got legs for days and personality for miles. But I understand—when all you’ve got is glitter, you’ve gotta talk loud to be noticed.”

Luna took a step closer, her heels clicking. “Oh, I do talk loud. Especially when little chorus girls start acting like headliners.”

Ruby blew a thin stream of smoke up toward the ceiling, utterly unfazed. “Mm, you’re right, baby. But I don’t act like a headliner. I am one.”

Luna narrowed her eyes, still smiling. “If you’re a headliner, then I’m the damn marquee. And trust me—men don’t come for the warm-up act.”

Ruby stood now, slinking forward, closing the gap between them until their perfume mingled in the air. “Sweetheart, men come for me just fine. They just don’t stay for a rerun.”

The room had gone still, all eyes on the spark about to turn into flame.

Lucius looked from one to the other, stunned and perhaps slightly thrilled.

Bran muttered under his breath, “Gods help us.”

Luna raised her glass. “Well. To competition then.”

Ruby clinked her cigarette holder to the rim. “Darling, you’re not my competition. You’re my warm-up.”

Desponia had been waiting quietly with Ruby’s drink, standing still like a statue, afraid to interrupt. When the moment came, she raised it with a bowed head, eyes lowered, offering it wordlessly.

Ruby took the glass without so much as a glance and sauntered toward Lucius, her voice dripping with flirtation as her fingers grazed his wrist.

"Well now, Caesar, this your little palace? Tell me sugar—where you hidin’ the band?"

Lucius, still unsettled by the boldness of these two unescorted women, stiffened and gave a polite but clipped smile.

"The band?" he echoed, tone frosted with confusion and disapproval.

"Entertainment is arranged, good lady, and will arrive in due course. Desponia, you daft creature—go ensure the musician has not gotten himself lost."

Desponia flinched ever so slightly at the insult, but dipped her head and turned to obey, her voice low and dry as ash.

"At once, my lord." She ran to the door and opened it. On the other side she saw a few people standing, as if in a trance. She didn't know who they were, but from their attire she figured they must be slaves like her. She quickly pulled all three into the room. As soon as they crossed the threshold they snapped out of their trances and began to introduce themselves.

The first to enter was a woman. Tall, statuesque, and wearing more jewelry than actual clothing. She shimmered like oil under torchlight. Her skin gleamed golden-brown beneath layers of gold-threaded gauze, and her long dark hair tumbled over her shoulders like a lioness's mane. She did not walk; she glided.

She paused just inside the threshold, her gaze scanning the room—but locking, with no hesitation, on Lucius. Her mouth curled in a knowing, dangerous smile. She approached like a panther, slow and fluid, her hips swaying with intention.

"Lucius," she purred, each syllable a velvet caress, "I expected a conqueror. But you…" Her fingers trailed the edge of his tunic, just below the collar. "...are beautiful."

Lucius blinked, then straightened, clearly caught off guard. "I—I beg your pardon?"

Sabine had wanted her persona to immediately go after Pascal and so she'd immediately fallen in love, or at least lust, at first site. She leaned in, her voice low, her breath warm against his cheek. "Do not be modest. It's terribly Roman of you. But I didn’t cross the sea to admire your villa."

She stepped around him, circling like a dancer sizing up the stage. "I came to see if the man who conquered my thoughts was worth the fantasy."

She stopped behind him, close enough for her voice to slink down his spine. "And so far…" Her hands slid down his arms. "...I’m not disappointed."

Pascal, playing Lucius, glanced briefly at the others, as if hoping someone might save him—or applaud.

She just smiled, then looked around at the others for the first time. "So this is your court? My, my. I hope they’re as entertaining as they are overdressed, as are you good Lucius...oh but where are my manners. Zinaira of Cyrene, at your service."

Before anyone else could react the next woman saunter over. Her hair was braided messily and tied with a fraying bit of rope. Her dress was coarse wool, with a thin leather corset holding up her rather impressive cleavage. Her dress was ripped and torn and barely long enough to cover her ass but she didn't seem to mind one bit.

She spat on the floor, gave a crooked grin, and shouted in a voice that could carry across a field, “Which one of ye’s got the drink, then?”

Lucius froze, shocked by the sight of this...barbarian...in his villa. Desponia nearly dropped a bottle of wine. She quickly set it down and grabbed a rag to scrub the spit off the floor. Bella ignored her, she'd already locked on her prey.

Bran.

“Well then,” she said, eyeing him from boot to brow. “Ain’t you a fine hunk o’ muscle. Got arms like ox legs. You fight, don’t ya?”

Bran blinked. “Yes. I do. The bards sing of my deeds across Britan. I am Bran of the Red Hills, slayer of-”

“Thought so.” She slapped him hard on the chest, loud enough to echo. “Name’s Bella. Bella the Bold, they call me. You can call me yours if you play your cards right. And by that I mean let's fuck."

Lucius coughed. “Madam, things may be different where you come from, but this is Rome, and this is my villa. I shall not tolerate such...such..."

"Buffoonery?" Luna offered.

"Crassness?" Ruby suggested.

Bella snorted. “Looks like a henhouse to me.” Then she gave Bran a wink. “You a rooster or a lamb?”

Bran’s ears turned red.

The final two people entered together. Lucius should have be glad that the 'entertainment' had finally arrived, but instead he was more confused than ever. First there was the musician. He thought he'd hired a well known Roman. A man. Instead there was a woman dressed...well he had no idea how she was dressed. His mind raced to process the image he was seeing. "A witch?" He whispered. The woman with blue hair had been one thing but this woman looked like a fury in mortal guise.

“’Sup, losers,” the woman drawled, blowing a bubble of gum that popped loudly as she plucked a few discordant notes from her guitar. Her boots echoed arrogantly on the marble floor. She scanned the room with a smirk, then locked eyes on the trembling **** holding a bottle of wine.

“Hey you. Girl. You single?”

Desponia froze like a startled deer. She glanced at Lucius, her hands clutching the wine in panic. His mouth was slightly open, but no help came—he looked just as dumbstruck.

She turned back, knees knocking, and dipped her head in a hasty bow.

“H-How may I serve you, domina?”

Winona blinked, then grinned wide.

“Domina? Oh hell yeah. I like that.” She slung her guitar onto her back with a thunk and winked at the girl.

“Name’s Winona Vex. I’m here to corrupt the vibe and rock your world.”

The final person to enter was a man wearing the most bizarre costume of all. He seemed rather out of place with his hoodie and jeans, but like the professional he was he wasn't too bothered by it. He scanned the room, trying to find his mark. His usual jobs were birthday parties, bachelorettes. It always paid to focus on the birthday girl or bride. These girls were all hot but he couldn't quite figure out who was in charge. The strange man in the toga seemed the closest, but no way was he going to dance for a dude.

He decided the blue haired woman seemed the most likely candidate, "Yo," He said to her, "So I didn't get the memo, this is birthday party or what? Who am I dancing for?"

Luna raised an eyebrow, "You? Dance? Well it ain't often someone dances for me sugar, I'd love to see your stuff."

"Oh ya, you'll see my stuff. All of it. Full nudity, that's what I've been paid for. It's alright if you touch a little too, I don't do uggos but y'all are fine," He glanced at Lucius and Bran briefly, "But no dudes. They can watch, no homo but not a bigot either, just don't touch."

Luna grinned, "I'm quite certain I have no idea what you are talking about, but please, go ahead and show us."

Lucius came to, "I must insist, this is MY villa. What exactly are you about to do?"

"Just watch dude. I'm good, I'll get these ladies all warmed up for ya."

Chip set down his phone and pressed a button. Hip hop music began to play, which shocked everyone else into complete and utter silence. Thinking he had a captive audience he began his show.

Of course nobody was looking at him. They were far more interested in the magic box that made music. That is until he took off his pants, then several female eyes darted towards him and stayed there. Glad that he had their attention finally, he began his show in earnest.