London, Dante's Inferno
April 18th, 2075,
2300 Local Time
It was a Vory v Zakone party.
Anguish both loved and hated Syndicate parties. There was glitz and glamour aplenty, novahot fashions and glitterati and the assorted biffs, blades and breetvas that came with them. They were lively as hell, always entertaining, and if she kept an ear open there was always good information to be had. She got to dress up, go out, and play the role that Melissa had trained her for for her entire life.
Unfortunately, that selfsame role sometimes left her in precarious positions. Syndicate parties could go from boisterous to blood-soaked in the time it took to blink twice, and Melissa's commands and training often left Anguish doing things she'd rather not remember. As a bought and kept joytoy she was subject to a lot of abuse- some physical, some not- and if she stepped out of line, she would pay the price to Melissa later. The thought of failing her mistress-after-god, and the blood and screams and withdrawal from her drugs that such a failure would entail were more terrifying than anything a Shestiorka could do to her. Privately, in her more clearheaded-moments, Anguish would have to admit that if the choice came between failing Melissa and having to admit it or being flatlined by some gillette who crossed a line, she'd have to think long and hard about it.
Which is why, despite being highly competent, well-trained, and powerful despite her young age, Anguish was kneeling on a low table in an alcove on the second floor of Dante's Inferno London. She wore a short white synthsilk dress that hugged her tiny waist and lush curves and exposed the length of her back, her arms, a goodly portion of her chest, and most of her legs to anyone who cared to look. Her dark hair was pulled forward over her right shoulder, carefully styled in to long, spiraling curls, and her knee-high strappy boots were white with fifteen centimeter golden heels. She wore vivid purple lipstick on her full, pouting lips, and her heavy makeup highlighted her aqualine nose and high-cheekbones and added some much-needed color to her cheeks. Her eyeshadow and eyeliner were opulent, heavy shades of gold and amethyst and black. Even her eyes matched, her polychromatic contacts turning them the same color as her lipstick and her nanotats were all in grey, black, purple, and deep, deep red, set to be stylized Russian prison tattoos for the event. She was gorgeous, a pin-up vision, a living monument to metahuman sexuality and indulgence, and her services had cost a year's salary for a wageslave.
And here she was, stuck kneeling on a table in an empty alcove, available for the use, abuse, enjoyment, and ogling of anyone who want to stop in.
She had been kneeling there for over an hour, and would stay there all night if necessary. Melissa Shirai had been paid a handsome sum for a dozen Valerian adepts to work the party. Six were kneeling on tables, three were hanging in cages, and the last three were back-to-back-to-back in the center of the room, like some sort of living sculpture, frozen in place by paralytics and subject to whatever passerby wished to inflict.
Vanya Kurzhnev liked his decorations breathing.
The party was for Vanya, a mid-rank member of the Vory v Zakone here in London. He was Red Vory, old guard, and deserving of every whispered slur and story about the Vory's excesses. A huge, thuggish, brutal ork in a thousand-nuyen suit, he was celebrating his promotion and his thirty-third birthday together, and in a staggering flurry of spending, he had thrown himself a party. Everyone was here, stringers, ballerinas, shestiorkas, friends, sufficiently moneyed or pretty or talented guests, a few minor simsense stars...anyone who could tread on reputation, cash, looks, or connections with the Vory was invited. In addition to the Valerian adepts- who had not come cheap- he had rented out the "Lust" circle of Dante's inferno, paid for the best drugs and food and booze, and brought a pile of security, both Vory and neutral. It would be an affair to remember.
And Anguish would certainly remember it. That was, of course, her job.
So she knelt, watching the partygoers in the mirror along the back of the alcove and listening, her sound filters cutting out the music and the ambient noise even as her contacts and earbuds recorded everything for later use. Waiting, thrilled despite herself, with novacoke and eros roaring through her system to keep her primed for the party, she waited and watched.