The Vault is Irene's kind of place. What can she say? It's a home away from home.
"Come in!"
Oh, he's fun to mess around with. What can she say? She likes his brother more, of course- he's wilder, funnier, more dangerous, more her type, and those cheekbones- but a Holmes is a Holmes is a Holmes.
She's been kind enough to put on clothes. She is, however, working- sort of- so really that isn't saying much. She's perched on her dressing table, bare legs crossed, in a lace bodysuit and wicked-looking black platforms with dangerous looking metal heels, and...diamond earrings. That's all.
For those wondering about the lipstick, she went for 'blood'. Not a surprise, really.
Her dressing room is red with low, glowing lights- yes, alright, brothel decor. It smells of perfume and sweat and makeup and sex and is distinctly warm, even close. Irene likes it. Bringing him here isn't just a prank, after all. It's bringing him onto her territory, where she's in charge.
Her riding crop's in her hand. It's purely for effect, of course.
"You're expensive company, Mister Holmes," she tells him. "Costing me time and money. I'm on the clock." Meaning she should be working the floor rather than having private visitors in her dressing room (at least, not for free). And yet that bright red grin suggests she wouldn't have this meeting any other way. "Take a seat."
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"Come in!"
Oh, he's fun to mess around with. What can she say? She likes his brother more, of course- he's wilder, funnier, more dangerous, more her type, and those cheekbones- but a Holmes is a Holmes is a Holmes.
She's been kind enough to put on clothes. She is, however, working- sort of- so really that isn't saying much. She's perched on her dressing table, bare legs crossed, in a lace bodysuit and wicked-looking black platforms with dangerous looking metal heels, and...diamond earrings. That's all.
For those wondering about the lipstick, she went for 'blood'. Not a surprise, really.
Her dressing room is red with low, glowing lights- yes, alright, brothel decor. It smells of perfume and sweat and makeup and sex and is distinctly warm, even close. Irene likes it. Bringing him here isn't just a prank, after all. It's bringing him onto her territory, where she's in charge.
Her riding crop's in her hand. It's purely for effect, of course.
"You're expensive company, Mister Holmes," she tells him. "Costing me time and money. I'm on the clock." Meaning she should be working the floor rather than having private visitors in her dressing room (at least, not for free). And yet that bright red grin suggests she wouldn't have this meeting any other way. "Take a seat."