Imogen Reed (
greenevoices) wrote in
undergrounds2017-09-15 03:23 pm
Entry tags:
Dream a Little Dream of Me - Locked to Cesare (Late September)
Imogen's been offered a job, and she thinks she'll take it. Not that she particularly wants to spend her days teaching magical teenagers how to sightread--as someone who's only barely in her twenties herself, she thinks that's far below her--but because the pay is decent and, combined with her weekly performances at the Angelo, it means she might even be able to move out of her aunt and uncle's house. Or at least start paying rent.
Two days after her meeting with Sylvia Redbright, Imogen is back under the spotlight at the Angelo. She's "gifted," whatever that means. Something about her voice is magical. It should be earth-shattering news, but somehow it makes sense as much as anything in a world that is suddenly peopled by witches and vampires in addition to regular humans makes sense. It seems right.
Halfway through her set, another person walks into the lounge. Imogen is too much of a professional to register her surprise, but it's actually the first time that Cesare Borgia, her mysterious employer and benefactor, has come to see her sing. She smiles to herself. Gifted, huh?
Between songs, she whispers something in the ear of the pianist, and he signals to the rest of the band. They're going to change things up a bit.
Two days after her meeting with Sylvia Redbright, Imogen is back under the spotlight at the Angelo. She's "gifted," whatever that means. Something about her voice is magical. It should be earth-shattering news, but somehow it makes sense as much as anything in a world that is suddenly peopled by witches and vampires in addition to regular humans makes sense. It seems right.
Halfway through her set, another person walks into the lounge. Imogen is too much of a professional to register her surprise, but it's actually the first time that Cesare Borgia, her mysterious employer and benefactor, has come to see her sing. She smiles to herself. Gifted, huh?
Between songs, she whispers something in the ear of the pianist, and he signals to the rest of the band. They're going to change things up a bit.

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He plants some quick kisses along the back of her neck and down her spine before he pushes into her. As he begins to move his hips, he gently scrapes his teeth along the skin of her neck, definitely not enough to draw blood or even hurt, but enough to get her used to the idea.
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She doesn’t.
Instead she makes soft, hungry noises as he begins to play close attention to her neck. She knows what’s coming, but it’s hard to feel afraid of it anymore.
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His eyes widen for a second in shock and horror before closing as he can't help but give in and drink from her. Just a little, he thinks. Then I'll stop. Though deep down he doesn't really know how true that is.
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“Harder,” she commands, not realizing the power in her words.
“Fuck me harder.”
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It takes worryingly long before he comes to his senses and thinks to pull away, but he doesn't. Oh, what's one more gulp? What harm could it do? Just a little longer...
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She can feel the blood leaving her, but for some reason she’s not worried. She knows, without knowing why, that Cesare cannot cause her permanent harm. She can put a stop to it whenever she wants.
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"Fuck!!" he yells before half-stomping, half-running to the bathroom and locking himself in there so that he can recover. He leans over the sink, his breathing heavy and looks up at himself in the mirror. His eyes are black, the telltale sign of fae, while blood drips down his chin and neck. He runs the tap and immediately starts trying to wash the blood off.
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One minute Imogen had been in the middle of the most mind-blowing sex of her comparatively short existence, the next she’s crouched alone on the bed as Cesare flees from her.
The spell is broken and whatever power she had held over him is gone. Weakly, she claps a hand over the still-bleeding wound on her neck and realizes how lightheaded from blood loss she is. What was that?
She staggers over to the bathroom door, only to realize it’s locked. “Cesare,” she calls faintly. The world is starting to go black at the corners. How much did he drink? “What...? What’s wrong?” She’s not a bright-eyed ingenue any more, that’s for sure. Now she’s back to being the scared girl Cesare had rescued from the streets a few weeks before.
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His brain tries to figure out what happened or why but he's too high right now to think about it. He just needs her out of here, away from her clutches, while he has some time to calm down and sober up.
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The Cesare barricading himself in the bathroom doesn’t sound at all like the Cesare she has grown used to dealing with.
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"I'm telling you to get out, Imogen," he says more forcefully, seriously, his tone darkening a little. "This isn't a polite request that you have a choice about. Get your clothes on and and wait outside."
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So she does what he says. She finds an armchair outside the bedroom and curls up on it, feeling miserable and utterly alone.
And that is where Cesare will find her hours later, fast asleep.
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He's is surprised to see Imogen for a couple of reasons. For one thing, he had expected her to be gone. For another, he hadn't expected her to look like that, semi-dressed and lying on his bed covered in blood. She looks good. He freezes for a moment, trying not to let himself think about the temptation.
"Get up." he commands, using his vampiric powers of persuasion. Two can play at that game.
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She's never been on the receiving end of magic before; her mind feels foggy, unfocused. Imogen blinks slowly at Cesare, ready to be commanded.
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"Metahuman? Like hell you are," he seethes. "Who sent you?" Because obviously someone must have. Redbright perhaps? Would Eames have bothered to do it? His minds races as he tries to figure it out.
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"Don't fucking equivocate with me, Imogen," he growls. "I do not have time for that. What is your real name?" If he finds that out then he can trace her, have his people figure out what happened and why. Or more importantly who ordered it.
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"Take a seat," he commands, gesturing towards the chair at a dressing table and slowly making his way towards her, rolling up his sleeves.
"Why did you come to his room, Imogen?"
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"And why did you do that?" Because she wanted him to drink and get hooked on fae, have his reputation ruined and his presidency marred, obviously. But he wants to hear it from her.
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"We can do this the hard way if you want to, Imogen..." he says warningly. "Tell me the truth that matters."
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