The Woman With Snakes in Her Hair

The Most Dangerous Game

I don't get out much, as you can probably tell. Large crowds usually put me on edge, not that I'm ever at ease when around people. Which is why it may sound strange that one of my favorite hunting grounds happens to be the most over-populated in the city. What can I say, the neon lights draw me in like a moth to the flame. 

If anything has remained a constant over the centuries we've been alive, it's the idea of having a good time. Partying, revelry, celebration has always been at the core of our lives. The only thing that has changed is the level of debauchery. There are new sexualities, preferences, kinks and more to cater to. Back in our day, we just did whatever we pleased, whoever we pleased. We didn't care for labels, definitions. We indulged in every pleasure, forbidden or not.

I say we as if I participated in these activities when I was young. When you devote yourself to a deity, pledge your loyalty to serve them and only them, when you dedicate yourself to them utterly without doubt or regret... all human desires no longer exist. You live for your god, not yourself. They own you- mind, body and soul. You forsake earthly pleasures for something more heavenly. Not that I desired to take part in any of those things in the first place. The though of two (or even more) bodies pressed close together, writhing in ecstasy, moaning and groaning for a couple minutes at best, fills me with a sense of nausea rather than horny bliss. 

...

The Bacchanalia it's called. The premiere hotspot when it comes to losing yourself to your innermost desires. Only the city's wealthiest and most beautiful gain access. Unless you know someone who can hook you up with access to the guest-list. Sometimes it helps to have friends in high places, literally.

Despite his reputation for being the wild child of the bunch, Dionysus can prove to be quite clever when he wants to be. The best way to explain it, the best comparison I can make for his unique ability is that he can shape-shift. Essentially there's three version of him. He hasn't used his baby face for centuries, not that he has much use for it nowadays.

One form he takes is that of his Roman counterpart Bacchus. The face of The Bacchanalia. He is the owner of the establishment, a rotund bastard of a businessman who demands the best of the best when it comes to supplying his devotees with the finest quality means of revelry. There is also a rumor that for certain members, the ones he's most fond of, he provides for them a certain "financial security" in exchange for "special services."

The form he's most commonly found in isn't at all surprising. Doused in body glitter and going by the name "Dion", the sparkling twink- is that the right term these days?- with his gyrating leather-bound hips is currently surrounded by gorgeous writhing bodies swaying to the music. The drunkard certainly loves being the center of attention.

There is a small part of me that admires Dionysus in a way; how he carelessly and wholeheartedly indulges himself in everything. He revels in all of it, never ceasing to be amazed by what the world has to offer. He embraces it all and turns it into a party that never ends. 

...

Once inside, I survey the landscape. Though the territory is still foreign to me, strangely enough I feel more like myself here. Something about the energy of this place makes me feel alive.  The music's vibrations send a tingling sensation throughout my body exciting my nerves. I'm reminded of who I once was. I am the huntress. The bar is my rock upon which I recline, the dance floor is my vast sea. The glasses work to my advantage here. I've been told they give off a "cool girl" vibe. The mystery lures them in, curiosity draws them close. I reflect their desire to know more. One step closer and I am yours and you are mine. Forever.

The bartender lightly taps my shoulder. Beau is his name. By today's standards, he's "absolutely gorgeous" with chiseled features that rival Adonis himself and a jawline so sharp it could cut through glass. No wonder he's one of Dion's favorites. But to me, he's nothing more than a nice boy with kind eyes. He always smiles at me and calls me "Lady M " when I come in. He nudges a drink my way, some fruity concoction that tickles my tongue when I taste it. He tips his head in the direction of a young gentleman standing farther down who raises his glass when I look his way. Taking another sip of my drink, thankful this fool at least has good taste in alcohol, I dismiss him with a flick of the wrist and continue my hunt. Behind me I hear Beau chuckle as he shakes his head. He knows me well enough to know I indulge in the free drinks and not the trivial attempts at gaining attention.

...

I try to choose my victims very carefully. The decent ones, the ones who just tagged along for the ride, the ones out to clear their mind, the ones seeking to have a good time are the ones I try to avoid. Cold-blooded I may be but heartless I am not. There is a method to my hunt. It's the desperate ones I seek, the ones looking to lose themselves to the night, looking for the embrace of heavy intoxication and a warm body. Those are my targets- the wasted ones, not in body (though the alcohol does help) but wasted in mind and soul. From this bad bunch I pluck out the most rotten of fruit. 

I spot my target in a heavily shadowed corner of the room. Unsteady on his feet, he's trying unsuccessfully to catch the attention of a young pretty thing swaying to the music. Unfortunately she's strayed too far from her group and is left to fend for herself. He taps her on the shoulder but she is too caught up in the music to hear his sad plea for her name. He tries from another angle, this time stepping in front of her, leaning in to shout something unintelligible. She shakes her head and turns her back on him. Frustrated, his arm shoots out and his hand latches itself to her wrist. Big mistake.

Seething with rage, I leave my place at the bar and begin to steadily move through the crowd. My eyes focused on them, I watch the young girl try to tug her arm free but it only makes him tighten his grip. She's frantically trying to search for her friends, eyes darting about, head moving from side to side but they are nowhere to be found. Lost and forgotten, she tries to plead with the man to release her. My anger grows as I watch the scene unfold, my nightmare reliving itself through her. The closer I get to them, I suddenly realize how hard I've been clenching my jaw and take a deep breath, reminding myself to ease into what is about to happen.

"Hey there handsome..." I coo, meeting his gaze.

"Beat it." he shouts, his hand still holding firm to the girl's wrist.

"Oh now darling..." I cry, pretending to feel hurt, "There's no need to be rude."

My gaze shifts from him to her. Her eyes are wet with tears, wide with panic. Her lips are trembling as I hear a faint whisper for "help." I give her a nod and place my hand over his.

"Come now handsome. This one doesn't look like she wants to play." I say, my other hand reaching out for him, slowly taking his chin, using the tip of my finger to turn his face toward me. 

He tries to resist but I am too strong for him. I can hear him curse under his breath.

The sweetest of smiles I offer him, voice dripping with desperation, "But I do."

His hand slowly releases itself from the girl's wrist and she takes off. A thank you would have been nice but I don't fault her for wanting to get away from this creep as fast as possible. He reeks of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper booze. A wide grin seizes hold of the man's face as I let my finger trace the outline of his jaw. I lick my lips. 

Oh this is too easy.

"Well now..." he says with a chuckle, slapping my rear end, "Why didn't you say so?"

I roll my eyes and respond with a giddy giggle that instantly makes me want to gag the second it escapes my throat. All part of the act. Must play along until the right moment to strike. 

 "My place or yours?" I ask, giving him the option to unknowingly choose his final resting place.