multiversallogs | → sweet dreams are made of this.

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→ sweet dreams are made of this.

Who: Irene Adler and YOU YES YOU
What: Uh- work, shopping, drinking, seeing the sights, picking up chicks, going to dinner, anything you like.
Where: The Vault, various boutiques, restaurants, gay clubs, out on the street, anywhere at all. If you can think of somewhere to be, Irene is quite possibly there.
When: Here all week, baby.
Notes: Just pick where you're setting it and say when/where they are in the header. It needn't be somewhere mentioned here! If you think they could run into each other elsewhere, then go ahead- and if you think it ought to be an arranged meeting rather than a chance one, then that's probably fine too.
Warnings: Sex, drinking, kink, the Vault...and Irene.

Irene's life has changed since coming to Baedal.

Technically, superficially, her life has improved, which she doubts happens to many people once are magically transported against their will to a place where you oughtn't to look too closely at, say, shadows, because there's almost always something that's going to lurk there- but since when was back home safe, exactly?

Here, at least, she can work properly. She likes the Vault, even if she's used to being her own boss. It's enormous and extravagant, dirty and debauched and full of people she likes, whether they're her coworkers or her clients- it feels like a home away from home.

Her job, of course, doesn't stop and start with brandishing a whip. No, she'd get bored too easily that way. It's fun, but it's only what happens on the surface. What she does is single out people who interest her, who can give her something- whether that's money or influence or just fun. She knows how to spot public figures afraid of being noticed, tugging at their suits and sweating- she knows which people don't want her and which want her so much they have to pretend that she's the last thing on their minds. She knows whose CiD she wants to look through while they're distracted (panting, eyes closed, unconscious, sobbing, drugged, drunk- whatever, as long as they trust her and she trusts herself). She enjoys her time at the Vault, and watches a number of acts between working, but never forgets that she's there to do her job.

When she's free in the evenings she can go out, a strange feeling for someone who is so used to being on the run. There is, of course, Mycroft Holmes to contend with, but she really can't imagine him sampling the nightlife. She's careful not to become a regular anywhere just in case, though more often than not she's found in gay clubs. She doesn't often go home alone; in the mornings, she's polite and kind but ensures that the women in her bed aren't in her bed for too long, and doesn't make use of any CiD numbers they might leave.

And then there's money, fashion, food, exploration, a whole new world. Irene loves to travel, and it's not really travelling when you're running. Baedal changes daily and she's barely seen half of the city, or that's what it feels like. She dines out often, alone or with some of the connections (friends?) she's made, and she thanks her stars that her job pays well, because she has a whole new wardrobe to build up.

Irene Adler, therefore, is living again. And if she sometimes finds herself alone, with no distractions, and feels claustrophobic, knowing that she is in the middle of the city and there is no world outside of it, knowing that she can't hop on a plane with a faked passport and be someone else somewhere else, knowing that she is trapped-

-then that is a very minor detail.

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There is very little question as to what a woman in a lace catsuit is after. On the surface at least. Following a quick turn of her head, there's an appraising gaze that doesn't masquerade as anything else the moment the blonde realises it's her attention that's desired. That the brush wasn't accidental, or just something done in passing.

It is fairly cliché, but that doesn't at all bother her. "As much as one girl can spending Veerdi on her own." The weekday's pronunciation isn't quite stumbled over, but the careful emphasis on it does almost sound that way. It implies a newness to the city and its conventions, but there isn't any self-consciousness about it. If she's even conscious of it.

Then, as if she can't help herself, her gaze drops to eye the crop as if it were a creature with a mind of its own to be wary of. But only for a moment. "It's quite the sight." The corner of her mouth quirks up just slightly. Sly.

Ooh, a newbie. That's interesting.

(Irene herself is a newbie, technically, but when the day comes that she holds herself to the same standards as everybody else the world will probably end).

And the woman looks at the crop. Alright; nothing to read too much into, because people do look at props. That's why Irene uses them so much. Still, it's interesting.

"I should hope so," she responds, eyebrows arching upwards- her voice loses some of its wryness (though not all of it) and turns a little sharper. Play-sharp, of course, not reprimanding or prissy. Fun-sharp. Still capable of cutting, nonetheless. "It's meant to be."

There's a fleeting hint of sheepishness. A moment where she doesn't quite blush, but looks away as if embarrassed over having stated the obvious. It's followed up with a quick sip from her drink. Liquid courage does a backbone good.

"I decided it was time to get brave and come out here, even if I had to go by myself. I didn't think this seemed like a good place for a co-worker bonding experience." Odessa shrugs then, brows lifting. "Or maybe this is a great place for that."

Irene chuckles, one hand on her hip and as she changes her grip on the crop to tap against her own calf idly- though it's not idle, not really. She's just carefully making sure it's unforgettable.

That sheepishness is nice, she thinks- as is the slight squaring up that follows. "Now you're getting the hang of it, dear. It is what you make of it." Her voice is lower, something thoughtful and a little challenging in her expression, smile still clinging to her lips; she's clearly testing the waters. In fact, she's testing Odessa herself, to see how she reacts. "And it depends on what sort of bonding you're looking for, of course."

When Odessa chuckles, it's decidedly alto and a touch husky. She bites her lip and rolls her eyes at herself. "Oh, goodness. Me and my choice of words," as if she'd only just noticed it, and it hadn't at all been intentional. There's a sparkle to her eye that says otherwise, though she doesn't quite give up on the pretense.

Admitting with a bit of a theatrical sigh, if only to be heard over the noise, "I'm a tightly wound individual. I wasn't blessed enough to arrive here with my therapist," lovely woman, "so I'm researching different avenues of unwinding." It's about science and observation, obviously.

Irene's lips twist in a knowing smirk- I know precisely what you're doing -which suggests she'd like to grin but is holding it back. It's much more effective than an actual grin, somehow. It's also a lot less wholesome.

"'Researching'. What a term to use in a sex club." Another casual remark designed to make it clear that Irene knows what she's doing, and might just be the only one. "So. Curious. My favourite type of guest, but also the ones most likely to back out and never return." A wolfish smile. "Not that I expect that of you."

She doesn't; if she'd expected Odessa to startle and run, she wouldn't have carried on the conversation. She's not interested in people who aren't interested in her.

Something between a grimace and a frown pulls at Odessa's scarred mouth for a moment when she's called on her clinical language. Calculated might be the better word. "Yes, I'd say I'm curious." Casually, she looks about the club, not quite as if she isn't interested in what Irene has to say (more accurately: what she has to offer), but as to give the impression that she doesn't want others to think she's quite so interested as she.

"Hypothetically, how much would it cost a girl to have her curiosity sated?"

Irene transfers her crop to her left hand and reaches out, taking Odessa's chin, thumb against her lower lip, very but very commanding. She turns her head to ensure she's not casting her eyes anywhere but at Irene herself.

"Depends," Irene murmurs- soft, reprimanding, in charge, "on whether that girl can remember to keep her eyes on me or not."

She has a price in mind, but she wants to see how Odessa reacts to this first. Again: curiosity. And it will help her know what she wants, of course.

There's a change. It's immediate and it's absolute. This may be Odessa's first time in a club like this, but it's not her first time in this sort of setting. Her gaze locks on Irene's and it does not waver. There's no playing at it, no acting like this might not have been what she had in mind all along.

But there's a tension. It coils up her arms, sets her shoulders a little tight, makes her posture a little rigid. The moment is familiar, but the woman is not. "What do I call you?" she asks in a voice that still manages to sound like a whisper over the din around them.

Irene's lips quirk up. Interesting.

"Miss Adler," Irene says, thumb still against Odessa's lip. "The Woman." She moves her hand, trailing the tip of her forefinger down Odessa's chin and then pulling her hand back. "Your name?" It's a command; she doesn't have to shout it or sneer it to make that clear.

She's got her, she's almost sure- and she's yet to name a price. Which is always the best way to do things. At this rate, it isn't going to matter what she says, because this woman is sold. If not now, then later- if she turns away now, she's always going to wonder...and that's a thrilling power to have over somebody.

Hook. Line. Sinker. "Odessa Wander." Her full name (or how she's currently choosing to identify herself) given obediently and without reservation.

The temptation exists to let her eye roam Irene's form once more, but it's reined in. Their dance has begun, and Odessa's determined not to miss a step, if only out of a desire to impress. "What else do you need to know about me, Miss Adler?"

There is something very, very satisfying about this sort of victory- though it does make Irene pine, somewhat, for her old way of doing business. At home, she could stage interviews, quiz people, sort out safewords and limits and kinks and expectations and have everything neatly arranged in her mind before ever making her entrance and starting a scene.

Here, however, there's a degree of staying in character necessary, and Irene feels that to ask questions outright would be clumsy and unprofessional, immature, like a teenager muttering I dunno, what do you like--

"Everything," she says simply, eyes not straying from Odessa's and her voice not missing a beat. "Which you're going to tell me, of course." She smirks at her, brushing a strand of hair from Odessa's face. "I don't think you're really a stranger to this. But the question's not so much what do you like-" she wraps her hand around the leather of her crop, gripping it tight and sliding her hand down it, a gesture that's a promise and a threat "-so much as what can you take?"

There's a moment when Odessa flashes back to someone in her life that she would not hesitate to refer to as The Woman. The Woman who made her see beyond a drive for power. The Woman who made her care for someone else without expecting anything in return. The Woman who... made her question everything, not the least of which being her sexuality.

This Woman isn't her, but Odessa's decided already that Miss Adler is a lovely approximation.

Everything is a straight-forward enough demand for information, and not unexpected. Everything is so much more dangerous in this realm, but that's what makes it exciting. She follows the movement of Irene's hand with her eye, the ghost of a smile curving her lips at the contact. "Not to this," Odessa admits, "but the setting's new."

As to what she can take, the perverse desire exists to murmur something sharp like, I've a prosthetic eye and a face full of scars. How much do you think I can take? But that... That's not something to be flaunted as a challenge, a gauntlet to be thrown. "I believe in this case I take what you feel I deserve, Miss Adler."

"Good answer," Irene shoots back. There's something pleased but vicious in her voice, with an undertone that suggests she could easily say good girl instead.

She leans in close, mouth at Odessa's ear; "Though I think you might regret it." There's a sudden temptation to nip at her ear lobe, but that's a little familiar. Still, Irene enjoys the moment of proximity and warmth, the smell of her client's skin. It's nice to have a woman avail of her services, and an attractive one at that. "I'll ruin you, dear."

It's a threat and a promise all at once.

The praise would cause her to glow under normal circumstances, but Irene is decidedly extraordinary. "Thank you, Miss Adler." It suffices for now.

And when her breath washes over her ear, Odessa's eyes slide shut heavily and her body relaxes in tandem with a sharp exhale. She gives the impression of melting, like her knees might buckle, though she does not waver.

I'll ruin you, dear. "You're most welcome to try."

Irene closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying how Odessa melts slightly, and yet- even better- keeps an element of challenge in her voice and in her words...

"Mind your manners," she reprimands, her voice low and deep, almost rumbling- she doesn't have to sound angry. In fact, she finds that that lessens the effect. She just sounds like she expects to be obeyed.

She likes how they've managed to create a bubble of privacy in the middle of the pressing crowds, but they're going to have to move at some point. She wants a private room.

"Come with me," she says simply, leaning back a little to look Odessa in the eye, raising her eyebrows. It's not quite phrased like a command or a suggestion. Instead, she says it as if she's offering a solution to a tough problem.

She hasn't mentioned a price yet, she reminds herself. And she needs to work out what Odessa wants. She needs to establish and safeword and seek out limits.

She can't get carried away, no matter how much fun that might be in the short term- it never really pays off.

That she can't decide between instant compliance or her instinctual need to rebel against everything, even in small ways, bothers her some. She knows she needs to commit to one role if this is going to work. But then she questions why she needs this to work. The only solution is to follow Irene, or to walk away now.

But walking away from Irene Adler was an option taken off the table a while ago.

And so she nods, "Certainly, Miss Adler." As though they're on their way to some conference room to discuss last quarter's numbers and what they mean for the future. In some ways, that's not far off.

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