"Got a secret, can you keep it?"
The line from the popular song spun round and round inside her head as she leaned against the bar, bare elbows resting in long-coagulated liquor.
She faced away from the bar, a glass of bourbon hanging forgotten from her elegant fingers. The ice had long since melted, dripping onto the toe of her boot. She didn't notice. Her attention was captured by the group of furtive, conspriatorial persons three tables from her.
Most of them were males, unassuming types. Only a single female sat with them. She was by far the most vivacious of them, she basked in the complete adoration of the males around her.
"Can I get you a fresh one?" a voice asked from behind her.
She turned her head casually and jerked her head in an assent. The forgotten glass went onto the counter. When the bartender returned, she smiled her thanks and turned her attention back to the group so close to her.
She felt eyes on her, starting from the top of her glossy, fire-engine red hair and elevatoring down; past the over-sized blouse with 2 buttons done up, exposing the bejeweled pentagrom in her navel. Past the painted-on skinny jeans tucked into patent-leather boots, and stopped only to elevator back up to her waist, where an intricately wrought rapier hung in an equally ornate scabbard that very nearly touched the floor.
She went very still, still the way only animals caught in the headlights can be still. More eyes were lingering on the sword...
'Come on...' she thought, 'make a move.'
As if waiting for a cue, the girl at the table got up, dragging a laughingly protesting gentleman with her. The observer's eyes followed, and then, when they were out of sight; she pushed herself off the bar and threaded her way through the crowd, crossing her right arm over to grasp the rapier.
The observer fell out the door, silence making her deaf to the now quiet world around her. And then she heard giggles, then murmuring, and finally a harsh, pain-filled gasp for breath.
"Finally," she muttered, drawing the rapier from its sheath. She ran lightly towards the sound, holding the rapier like the hand of some old lover, come to stay.
"HALT DAEMON!" she cried, startling the two from whatever they'd been doing. The girl had her companion pressed against the wall, holding him quite firming several inches off the ground with a mere hand over his heart.
The man's form was blurred somewhat, by what the Observer was sure was his lifeforce. The daemon hissed at her, and turned back to her work.
"By the Order of the High Council of Elynndria; I, Crowned Princess Asrana, do hereby order you to cease and desist all activities. Failure to comply will result in your head being severed from your neck." The Princess thundered, her rapier bursting into a green flame.
The daemon put her victim down, taking a wary step back. Asrana smiled grimly, certain of victory, when the daemon turned and fled into the night.
"Fuck!" she cursed. She knew that in her current condition of being forced out of the realms of Elynndria without adequate provisions she's never catch up with the daemon....
Depressed, she slid the rapier back into its sheath and turned to go back into the bar for another drink.
"Hey, wait... I didn't get to thank you." a voice said behind her.
Asrana stopped dead, hanging her head in thought. She'd have to erased then interpose new memories into the victims head. She didn't want to; she was tired of saving people, tired of making up crucial parts of their lives, just plain tired of having to leave Elynndria for some heroic venture for bards to sing about.
She put her arm over the victim's shoulder, it was a stretch because he was taller then she was.
"I've got a secret, can you keep it?" she asked as she steered them away from the bar.
"Yes." he replied.
"I'm ravenous." And with that, Asrana's mind let her, the daemon took over and she fed.
"Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead..."