Things had been quiet around the Sanctuary for a while. There'd been no reports of abnormal sightings or unusual events in the area, and the regular communities around Old City had been particularly calm. Not an unnerving calm that's heaps suspicious, just a quiet and slightly awkward calm. All the Heads of House had their problems under control and none required assistance. In short, the Old City Sanctuary was as dull as a dead moth. And it was getting on Magnus' nerves.
In the past few weeks of little to no abnormal activity, she'd gotten all of her paperwork up to date, audited the finances ahead of schedule and gone through the entirety of both the main library, and her personal collection of literature. She's even reorganized her bedroom the day before. The rest of the team had taken advantage of the quite period to get some down time, something Magnus was quite envious of at the moment. Images of Henry and the Big Guy surfing the coast of Australia and Ashley's training retreat in Sweden crossed her mind, reminding her that she was alone, with the giant building and a few regulars.
Holding down the fort wasn't exactly the hardest thing Magnus had ever experienced, and years of practice had shaved down the task to little more than the blink of an eye on autopilot. There was a reason Helen Magnus was head of the Global Sanctuary network, and very few could match her.
Having finished the last routine check for the night, Magnus retreated to the kitchen for some tea. She commenced her evening tradition of tea, and chose one of the more comfortable looking chairs and sat with her now brewed tea. A contented sigh escaped her as she sank further down into the chair and sipped. She savoured the moment, and let her eyes drift shut until she'd finished her tea. Reaching for the pot to refill her cup, she noticed the time, staring back at her from the face of the grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen.
"Nine fourteen? Come on!" It couldn't be that early, could it? That was far to early for bed, and she had nothing else left to do.
There was only one thing for it, she'd have to leave the walls of the Sanctuary and find her own fun.
Half an hour later, Magnus headed out the front gate looking pretty damn fine and so ready for a good night out. Her ensemble for the night was a pair of red lace heels, a set of legs to die for and a fitted black dress that hugged every curve in just the right way, but ended just below the knees. Exactly the type of outfit Magnus loved; elegant, distinguished and attractive. So off she went, to see what the night life of Old City had to offer.
After 'window shopping' through the bars and clubs in the main social area of Old City from her car, she passed one that caught her eye. There was a group of highly costumed individuals who seemed to be waiting for someone out the front of a building decorated with replica Victorian England furnishing, called 'The Gaslamp.' Pulling over nearby and parking, she headed towards the group with the assorted headpieces. Pilot goggles and pinstriped suits seemed to be the flavour of the night, and Magnus couldn't help giggling. She smiled as she passed the group and the security, who just gave her the up-down and a nod.
Once inside, she was assaulted with images that reminded her of her childhood; the flickering amber lights, the plush red velvet and the intricate patterns that appeared on almost everything. And the corsets; every female in the swamp of bodies seemed to be corseted. Why someone would willingly squish their insides without society enforcing it was beyond Magnus' understanding. Moving with effortless grace through the crowd as it danced to Beethoven, she located an empty booth up a small flight of stairs and claimed it as hers for the night. The crimson couch looked incredibly comfortable, and the mahogany table was best described as quaint. She smiled as she settled herself on the couch, and caught the eye of a passing waiter.
"Ma'am?" the suited waiter seemed all too eager to please as Magnus felt his eyes run over her body.
"Bordeaux?" She'd always had a fondness for red, and that area of France brought back pleasant memories.
"Could I interest you in the 1998? It's our finest in stock," attempting a sales pitch, obviously thinking of the tip involved.
"Absolutely," pleasantly surprised they had something of that calibre. If you're out on the town, may as well do it in style.
The waiter beamed and disappeared, returning shortly with the bottle of wine and two glasses. "I took the liberty of bringing another glass; I doubt you'll be alone for long," he explained as he caught Magnus' quizzical gaze.
She just smiled and nodded as he retreated, leaving her to pour her first glass of the night.
...…
As Magnus poured the last glass of the bottle, she was starting to feel the buzz. A centaury and a half of alcohol consumption tended to leave you with a particularly high tolerance. Helen just sat, and watched. The crowd was perfect for it. The outlandish attire, the obscure interaction between the genders; it was as if she was reliving her childhood as an adult, and all the innovations of the 20th centaury had come with her. The music was brilliant, now a strange mix of 19th and 20th centaury composers with no real connection other than their brilliance. The whole atmosphere was charming, and Magnus was thoroughly enjoying it.
Alternating between people watching and reminiscing as she sipped at the last of her wine, she thought of her past acquaintances, friends and lovers who would have been completely at home in a place such as this; and of one particular friend she simply had to take here when he next came to visit from across the seas. She was busy chuckling to herself at the thought of James' life support system being an accepted accessory in a place like this, when a throat cleared itself behind her.
"Do you enjoy people watching?" the owner of the throat queried, breaking Magnus' train of thought.
"Definitely," a smile on her lips as she turned to put a face to the voice.
An immaculate pinstriped suit in her early thirties greeted her with a smile. Tall and slender, blond hair cropped short, green eyes and pale skin shining in the dim light. One extremely expensive looking tailor-made jacket accentuated the curve of the stranger's breasts, while showing only the barest hint of cleavage. She flaunted femininity presented in a masculine package; and it was particularly intriguing to a slightly tipsy Magnus as she took in the sight before her.
"Helen Magnus," she grinned and extended her arm.
"Harriet; Harriet Ryan," grasping the out-stretched hand in front of her, sweeping her eyes over the brunette's form. "You're an exceptionally attractive individual," staring her straight in the eye, oozing confidence.
"Very flattering," Magnus scoffed, sceptical laughter flittering through her voice. Like she hadn't heard that a million times before!
"You obviously get that a lot?" as if reading her thoughts.
"Yes," was the blunt reply, as Magnus turned her attention to the back to the crowd of people. But the blond stayed there, and after a quick weighing up of the pros and cons, Helen turned back around and gestured towards the unoccupied section of the couch, "care to join me?"
Harriet's eyes lit up as she manoeuvred around the table before settling down on the couch; her limbs spread in a rather odd fashion.
"Are you certain about that," gesturing towards the open-legged position with a vague look of disgust.
"That's what the pants are for. Would you be asking me if I were a man?" obviously mistaking Helen's reaction to her poor posture as gender-bias.
Magnus shook her head and opened her mouth to reply when the waiter suddenly appeared at her elbow, effectively interrupting her rebuttal. "Would you be interested in anything else to drink?"
"I've got to say, the service here is wonderful," Harriet smiled as she shifted her position and complimented the waiter, who just grinned expectantly. "Yes, we'll have whatever the lady was drinking before."
The waiter nodded, disappeared through the throng of people while Harriet and Helen made small talk.
"So what so you do for a living?"
Helen face fell; she'd hoped to skip that topic. She mumbled a vague description, "I'm a Doctor, but the specific discipline depends on the patient."
"Really, that fascinating," Harriet began, but was cut off with the return of the waiter. Handing the bottle to Helen, he nodded towards the unused glass.
"Told you so," a smirk plastered all over his face.
Magnus thanked him as she put the bottle on the table, and subtly glanced towards the attractive blond a foot away. She was greeted with Harriet's intrigued look as she openly stared, "What's that meant to mean?"
"It means, I believe you have a vital role to play in this," gesturing towards the newly opened bottle as it aired.
"Oh, how so?" shifting closer towards Helen, resting her arm along the back of the couch so her fingers were just touching the brunette's locks.
"Well," promise almost dripping from her voice as she filled the wine glasses, "never let it be said I don't know how to show someone a good time."
"That's defiantly something I'd love to witness," leaning forward to take the glass, shifting her entire body even closer, staring Helen right in the eyes.
The dim of the club had completely disappeared; the music, the shouts of the crowd, they didn't exist anymore. The only thing infiltrating Helen's senses, other then the bouquet of the wine, was Harriet's perfume; pungent but fruity, raspberry with overtones of plum. Helen's skin rippled she felt the blonde's gaze flicker down to her lips, then back up to meet her eyes. She sucked in a shallow breath, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Harriet lent forward, arm creeping around Helen's neck to rest on her shoulder, her head tilted slightly to the side. Helen's hand slide over to settle on Harriet's thigh, slanting her head and leaned in, lips parted...
BANG! Went some drunken fool into the table, before jumping back into the crowd, managing to spill both glasses of wine. One tidal waved over the table which pooled on the floor and the other pooled on Helen's lap.
"Jesus Christ!" shrieking in surprise, Helen jumped up and attempted to pat down the wetness, "Bastard!
Harriet took in the sight before her; an extremely attractive woman slapping herself down while swearing her head off. She couldn't help the giggle that slipped out, which then turned into a full belly laugh when she caught the death stare Helen was shooting her way. Eventually the tears of laughter subsided and Harriet regained her composure.
"If you're done enjoying yourself?" false anger reverberating through her voice, sending Harriet on another gigglefit.
"I'm sorry, it's just..." still trying to regain her composure.
"Spare me," Helen quipped as she took her seat and poured another glass of wine.
"I'm sorry, really. But you look so adorable when you're flustered," turning the charm back on, full-ball. Stink eye was the only reply she go.
"Come on, I can handle pretty much anything you've got to throw at me," putting on her game face.
Helen sipped at her wine and softened a tad, enjoying the banter. "Well then, this will be a very illuminating evening," a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
...
Their conversations went on well into the morning, long after the wine dwindled and turned into spirits. They chatted, laughed, stared at the people surrounding them. They talked drunken philosophy, literature and human psychology. Even the outfits inside the club. And all the while, the sexual tension slowly simmered away; an infuriating undercurrent that bubbled like a glass of champagne.
Eventually the two realised time and the two pulled themselves together. They stumbled out of the club hand in hand and leaning against the wall.
"I have a proposition for you," a saucy little smile playing at the corners of Helen's mouth. "All I need is a little of..."
Her sentence was cut off midway as Harriet crushed her lips against Helen's, a surprised squeak escaping her. A second later and the shock had worn off, and she was returning the kiss with equal vigour. Soft, plump and sweet; that was all Helen could think of. She moaned into the blonde's mouth, who took the opportunity to run her tongue along Helen's bottom lip; begging entry. One hand rested on her hip, the other's fingers wound in her hair. Harriet's grip tightened and deepened the kiss.
It was so wrong, so not Magnus. A scandalous public display of affection in the middle of the night, pushed up against a stone wall. Except this wasn't Magnus, it was Helen. Everything was so delicious, almost addictive. And she didn't plan on ending it anytime soon. One hand snaked up the woman's jacket, the other rested on her shoulder.
Finally, they realized the overwhelming need for fresh oxygen was more prevalent than urge to continue kissing and they broke apart, panting.
What do you propose we do now?" desire evident in her eyes, her breath still shallow.
Helen hailed down a passing taxi and grabbed Harriet's hand; pulling her close enough so her lips brushed her cheek, "I need to get this suit off you. Immediately!"
The taxi ride couldn't be over fast enough.