The Couple
When the Chicago Theatre sold its first tickets in 1921, it was christened the 'Wonder Theatre of the World'. Its exterior architecture was done in the French Baroque style, its lobby and auditorium designed with Parisian elegance, and those timeless elements made it the envy of, and eventual model for, other American theatres. There were promenades and balconies with gold accents, seats draped in burgundy fabric, murals painted above the stage and on a domed ceiling. Much of that magnificence remained to 2014, the funds for revitalization provided by generous donors and creative fundraising.

Through every season, the theatre could be counted upon to host fine performers from an international talent pool. There were productions for small children, vocalists, orchestras, comedians, and actors traveling from New York to give the Midwest a taste of Broadway. With January nearly at an end, seasonal performances had given way. A dance company was on the calendar of events; it had not originally been scheduled for Chicago, but problems with a venue resulted in cancellations in another city.

Darian placed his palm on Bethany's back and guided her past a pair of balcony seats. Before them was a view of the mezzanine and main floor, the seats rapidly filling with a finely dressed crowd. He could hear the strains of string instruments tuning in the orchestra pit. Heavy curtains obscured the stage where dancers would find their marks in moments. He, dressed in a crisp black suit and white shirt, put his mouth behind the blonde's ear. "You're radiant."

Bethany smiled at the touch of Darian's lips to her ear, lips that happened to be a perfect shade of red to compliment the black slip of a dress she was wearing. It left very little to the imagination and she screamed wealth with the adornment of jewelery around her neck, wrists and in her ears. "And you look good enough to eat," she threw back with a devilish look. "Maybe later." She winked and with it came a long scattering of lashes that briefly lingered on her cheeks.

She tipped her head back and brushed a kiss over his jaw, catching the taste of his cologne on her tongue. She couldn't help but lick her lower lip, letting herself taste it and Darian. Eventually they came to their seats, poised above the main floor and slightly to the left of the stage, it made for a beautiful view of the performance. Perfect, just perfect. Bethany eased down into a chair and slid a leg over the other, slipping the small shawl she was wearing off her shoulders to allow it to pool around her waist.

He set two long-stemmed glasses down. "Then it's a good thing we skipped dinner." Darian waited for the blonde to get comfortable, undoing the buttons of his suit jacket and lowering himself to the cushioned seat. The balcony gave them an unobstructed view, as well as the space to straighten his legs without bumping into another chair. "I may have planned that. Were you wondering if I was a cheapskate?" He retrieved the wine. For special performances, the audience was allowed to bring beverages purchased from the vendor into the auditorium. He handed hers off and had a look around, getting familiar with the faces of those seated closest.

He settled back and drank. When his arm moved, a gold cuff link flashed under the house lights. It was the only indicator, beyond the quality of his suit, that he spent large. In the orchestra pit, a conductor ran his assembled musicians through a preliminary number, something quiet and unobtrusive. The lights blinked, a reminder for people to get to their seats.

Bethany took the glass of wine from Darian, shaking her head. "Never considered it for a moment. I like to think I know you better than that." She took a sip and then gazed out over the orchestra pit, watching as the conductor moved his hands and his musicians followed him flawlessly and effortlessly.

People shuffled about down below, slipping into their seats and settling. Their conversation was a hum, an amalgamation of sounds that eventually blurred into white noise. But for Bethany she could catch snippets of conversation, her hearing allowed her as much. Not that any of it was particularly exciting. "I hear this dance group is famous for its innovative routines."

"I'll take your word on it. I wouldn't know the difference." Because of networking, Darian had been to an assortment of higher-end functions in the arts, but he didn't have an aesthetic eye or the patience to develop one. Art was self-expression, and he didn't do much in the way of self-expression, unless cutting diatribes and beating people to a bloody pulp counted. This outing was for Bethany and for what would come of it afterwards. He checked to see if she had an accoutrement, such as a small purse.

The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd. "Ladies and gentleman, the Chicago Theatre proudly presents Corporacion Tangos with 'Vibraciones del Alma'!"

The Argentinian dance troupe was comprised of ten professional couples and a singer. The company specialized in various expressions of the tango, but with a modern twist. Some parts of the program were choreographed so that a dance might include three, four, or even eight dancers in a single tango embrace. There were three acts, themed on Heaven, Earth, and Hell; the program clarified that they were meant to represent changing states of the human soul.

Bethany leaned back into her seat as the lights dimmed and her hand slid across the arm of her chair, brushing over Darian's cuff link until she found the back of his hand where her fingertips moved in slow easy circles. Her bag was moderately sized, with enough room to fit all sorts into it, she was sure Darian's imagination would make of it what it could.

The stage was silent for a few moments until the entire length of it was lit up in an array of white, a sole figure entered from stage left and opened up an impressive voice on the microphone in his hand. It was just him and the silence of the theatre until the orchestra began, soft gentle chords followed by something a little stronger once the stage filled with the dancers.

Bethany's eye was drawn to a particular couple, the way that they moved and how they seemed to exude something more than professionalism. There was something very real about their dancing.

The best professional dancers were also actors, able to convince a crowd that the sexual magnetism between them was real. But there were some whose heated choreography was too persuasive to be illegitimate. Many an off-stage relationship had been destroyed by the suspicion such chemistry provoked. The central couple had that kind of magic. Darian didn't know if it was his demonic abilities that tipped him off, or just regular intuition, but he had the feeling the two were lovers. Or wanted to be.

Actually, he was reminded of Bethany and him. They were cold and aloof one moment, hot enough to melt the paint off the walls the next. He opened his palm for her fingers and caught one, a subtle signal.

Bethany's eyes followed that couple and their movements, sliding her fingers through Darian's until the full width of her palm was rested against his and she could feel his heat against her skin. She leaned into him and turned her head, brushing a kiss over the back of his hand before letting their hands come to rest in his lap.

The rest of the dance troupe no longer mattered, her attention was entirely fixed on the couple in the middle. She wasn't sure what made them so... entrancing, but she couldn't drag her eyes away. There was an air of electricity around them and every movement was perfect and flawless, without hesitation and sensual.

Darian kept the Slayer's fingers wound in his for the entirety of the performance. At the close of three acts, the lights went down on stage. After a few seconds, the audience erupted in applause and gave an ovation. He finished his drink and turned to Beth when the house lights went up. "So?" He wasn't in a hurry to stand up and fight the crowd going down the staircase. Some of them would leave and others would mill about the lobby, drink a little more, and hope that performers might come out and mingle. "What do you think? Should we stick around and meet the cast?" There was something underneath that question, a thing he wasn't outright asking. "Do you think we could convince them to step away for a little while?"

Bethany turned her thumb in circles over the side of Darian's hand, watching as people rose to their feet and scurried towards the exits. Much like Darian she felt no need to fight the crowd, even going so far as to make one man's movements difficult by extending a leg. He glared and she just smiled. She turned her head and looked at Darian, allowing her lips to curl up into a slow smile. "Oh, I think we could. I have no doubt that it would be quite easy if we put our minds to it." Fortunately for Darian he didn't need to say much for Bethany to understand, they were fortunate enough to share the same wavelength.

"Alright." The wine glass was set on the balcony wall. He sat with an index finger nestled against his mouth, biding his time until the hall was populated with more empty seats than filled, and a few ushers had strayed into the aisles to collect items left behind. Darian raised his eyebrows at his partner and got up. He bent to pick up her bag and pass it to the Slayer. "Let's go." A hand at the base of Bethany's spine guided her from the balcony to the back corridor, and to the rounded stairs that descended to the lobby floor. The carpet underfoot was thick and red. Here and there, pieces of sequin glittered up from it, dropped from ladies' handbags and evening gowns when the threads broke. Voices and laughter boomed up from the lower level.

Not wanting to look too eager, Darian waited off to the side of the lobby when a few of the performers came out, and he nursed a second drink. It took a lot of standing around and talking politely to other people to out-wait the audience and still appear nonchalant. Through the din, he could hear the broken English of the cast members. The women in particular stood out with their tightly bound hair and garish stage make-up. When there was an opening in the group, he made his way towards the couple alongside Beth, and he saw the male performer's pant leg touching the woman's thigh, and his fingers massaging her shoulder, an easy intimacy.

Bethany took the bag and slid the strap of it over a bare shoulder as she let her shawl dangle from one hand as she walked with Darian, reassured and comforted by the presence of his hand on the base of her spine. She took the stairs easily enough, heels cushioning her descent onto the lobby floor. Her eyes swept the crowd and a predatory gaze finally settled on the couple that had caught both her and Darian's eye. She turned into her partner and brushed a hand over his shirt, toying with the collar for a moment. "Shall I go introduce myself?" Bethany leaned back and lifted an eyebrow. "See if we can't convince them to step aside for a few moments." The Slayer lingered for a few moments before she turned on a heel, moving confidently through the crowd to that particular couple.

Bethany exuded a certain sexual magnetism that made her hard to ignore, even with that scar on her face. She found her way to the dancers sides easily enough, talking in low sultry tones that contained compliments and casual touches. Bethany even went so far as to buy them a few drinks, looking genuinely interested in what they had to say. She was in a way performing herself, an effortless display of social grace.

She looked over her shoulder a couple times, catching Darian's eye before going back to the couple in question.

Darian played the part of casual interest. He kept his hands in his trouser pockets, letting the women do most of the talking, especially upon discovering the Argentinian woman's expansive vocabulary and her love for taking control of the conversation. Her name was Marcela and her partner was Lucas, and she was curious about them, once she realized they were cultured, and about the city of Chicago, expressing lament that their schedule hadn't allowed them to explore it yet.

It took Darian but dropping mention of Bethany's club to snag their attention. It seemed like an innocent interjection, the demon keeping his tone light like he was going off the cuff, as if it didn't much matter to him whether they wanted to go or not. A small after-party for four, which might feature a backstage tour of Devil's Own and a few drinks, perhaps culminating in a retreat to private quarters for more conversation.

Lucas was receptive to the idea. Marcela was downright enthused, getting a mischievous gleam in her eyes and linking her arm through her partner's, suggesting in her rich accent that the two of them gather their things from backstage and meet Darian and Bethany out back, where they could take a cab or ride along. Once they had made their exit, the Dealmaker gave the blonde a discrete smile. "We wouldn't want to be late to our own party," he said.

Bethany turned to Darian after the dance couple had departed, smirking ever so slightly as she smoothed a hand over a lapel on Darian's jacket. "This is easy." She bit her lower lip and gave a slower much more predatory smile. "Too easy." The Slayer tipped her head and watched the progression of Marcela and Lucas, seeing them disappear into the back. "Let's get out of here." She offered another smile and turned on her heel, pulling her shawl over her shoulders as she sashayed her way out of the theatre and to the agreed meeting place. It was debatable if they even got as far as the club, but stranger things had happened. She looked over her shoulder once before sliding out into the shadows, stealing a cold night air breath just as she slid a hand into her bag to open a small compact that held blusher and the smallest of blades. It never hurt to have something to hand.

She heard a sound from the nearby alley and lifted her head, offering Marcela a smile. "Marcela," she greeted genially enough. "Is Lucas with you?" The dancer rolled her eyes and said something about men taking a little longer and Bethany laughed along with her, inwardly rolling her eyes. "I'll just order us a cab or we can flag one down."

Near the wall, Darian held up a finger to catch Bethany's attention. There was a cell phone pressed to his ear. "Wait. Phillip's only a few blocks out," he said, referring to his longtime client, who had become a right-hand man of sorts at the fighting ring and doubled as a personal assistant. "He'll bring a car around." In the three minutes that stretched before the car pulled up, Darian asked about the next leg of the troupe's tour, and Marcela was happy to fill in the details about the stop in Indianapolis.

Lucas came out, looking benign and disinterested. Darian recognized the demeanor as one of two things: the man was only marginally intelligent and droned his way through life when he wasn't on stage, or he thought it was better to appear nonchalant than over-eager, lest he arouse jealousy in his lover. Darian's money was on door number two. Regardless, he affably slid into the back of the black sedan along with the women, the Dealmaker taking the front alongside Phillip.

The trip to Devil's Own was a ten-minute excursion. Tiny Marcela had downed three flutes of champagne before they left the Chicago Theatre, and was intoxicated enough to babble loudly, laugh when bumps jostled her, and grow flush in the cheeks. "Bethany!" she enthused, gripping the blonde's knee along with Lucas's. "I can't believe you own this place! I try to pole dance once, for Lucas's birthday. Not like the tango, is it? Tell me about the men who come there. Are they all rich, old men with nothing to do with money but put it in women's underpants?"

Wearing a thin smile, Darian touched his mouth and looked out the passenger window.

"Brilliant," Bethany commented as Darian called Phillip and soon enough there was a car in the once empty space in front of them. Perfect, just perfect. She brushed a hand over Lucas's collar, straightening it with an innocent enough touch, but her smile said something else altogether. She pulled away, stealing a look at Darian before she slid into the back of the car with the two dancers, settling into the leather and steepling her fingers against her temple. Her lips tugged in the corners as Marcela babbled away, a look at Lucas revealed a more reserved demeanour as his partner grew more and more excited throughout the ten minute excursion.

"Not at all," she said with a shake of her head. "It's quite hard to do if you don't understand how to use the pole to your advantage." Bethany tipped her head, settling her gaze on Lucas. "How did you find Marcela's pole dancing?"

Lucas gave a laugh and shook his head. "She's much better at the Tango."

"Lucas!" Marcela said with an affronted expression and a light slap to his thigh. "He's so rude."

"I prefer to think of it as honest," Bethany remarked with a slow lift of her shoulders, the shawl dropping away to pool around her waist once again. "The men?" She asked, giving a smooth laugh. "They're quite a mix. Some are rich, old men and others are young. I get quite a varied crowd." Including those of the vampire persuasion, but Bethany didn't think she needed to bring that into this conversation. As the car rolled to a stop, Bethany reached for the handle and smiled. "Shall we?"

"Please." The Dealmaker's patience with the crowded vehicle and the increasing decibel level was shot to hell. He got out of the front seat. He caught the question in Phillip's eye about whether he should wait to take the other couple back. Darian shook his head and leaned down. "It'll be a while." He shut the door and pulled on his coat, smiling for the benefit of Marcela, who nearly tripped over her spiky heels. "If I didn't know better," he said, putting a hand on her back and murmuring in her ear, "I'd think you drugged your own drink."

"Oh!" she laughed, waving a hand. "Is just painkiller!" The exuberant dancer linked her arm around Darian's waist and leaned on him. When they walked to the door, her hand slipped down and pinched his ass. The Dealmaker looked over his shoulder at Bethany with a subtle eyebrow going up. Whomever was working the door to Devil's Own recognized the blonde woman coming up the walk and opened the door for the group.

Bethany returned Darian's look, passing an unamused look over Marcela's back. She settled in beside Lucas, wondering if the male dancer had caught that ass pinching. "Marcela's quite friendly when she's had a bit too much to drink," she commented, easing into the same stride as Lucas.

"Yes," Lucas muttered with a nod of his head. "I think she's just excited. It's not often we get to go out. Lots of work to be done."

Bethany nodded, brushing a hand over his back. "I understand completely." It was when they passed the man at the door that Bethany excused herself for a few moments, informing him that she and her friends would be occupied for a while and they didn't wish to be disturbed. Thankfully her security had learned to stop asking questions a long time ago. Once she was sure everything was taken care of she entered the club after the rest of the group.

The place was packed, though all they could make out were the dark silhouettes of heads and torsos. On stage, a beautiful dark-skinned girl with short hair twisted her arms and legs around a pole and hung upside down, trailing flimsy turquoise fabric. Gold threading in her costume shined under the spotlights. Deeper in the crowd, a few dancers entertained on tables. The music was a subdued piece of mostly rhythms, which lent to a quieter atmosphere.

"Bethany," he said, appearing at her ear. "I'll get our friends some drinks. Why don't you find us someplace private?" Darian kissed her neck where the soft, too-short pieces of hair had escaped from her up-do.

Bethany tilted her head into Darian's kiss, turning to catch the scent of his cologne. "Consider it done," she said in a soft voice. She looked up and caught his eye before she caught a hold of Marcela and Lucas' arms, leading them in the direction of the private dancing booths. It didn't take long for her to clear one out, muttering something about reimbursement to the disgruntled patrons. She ushered the dancers inside and then turned to the security. "No-one in or out, understood?"

"Except me," Darian said, moving past the employees. The demon had ordered and then intercepted a tray from a confused server. He carried it in and set it down before Lucas and Marcela, who picked up two glasses and began to murmur to one another in Spanish. Darian stood by the door, his hand on the knob as he waited for Bethany. On stage, the dancer in turquoise dismounted from the pole to a warm cheer from the audience. The emcee took up the microphone and asked them to extend a welcome to the next performer. "Let's hope she's a showstopper," he said, so Beth could hear it. "Who picked a loud song."

Bethany slipped past Darian and paused beside him, smirking slowly as she reached up and freed her hair. "Let's hope so." She turned the pin in her hand, the glimmer of a blade was unmistakable. Darian would have been able to recognise it, he'd given her those after all. She leaned up and brushed a kiss over her lover's mouth before lying the blade flat along the skin of her wrist and forearm, approaching the dancers.

The Slayer slid down behind Marcela and reached out, offering a smile to put her at ease, not that she needed much reassurance. She was waiting, just until the music started to play.

Darian stayed where he was, leaning on the door frame with his back to Bethany while a dancer took the stage. She was small and golden-haired, a favorite of the crowd. As the first, delicate chords of her song played, she wrapped her arms and legs around the pole and began to seductively inch towards the top. At its peak, she released a hand, spinning around and down on a crescendo of music that drowned out conversations and shrill whistles from the seats. Satisfied, Darian backed into the private room, reaching into his suit jacket for a set of metal restraints.

They swung loosely at his side as he shut the door.