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The Wolf has never seen anyone like him before.
Most are like cattle. They follow the crowd, obey the words of their superiors and never question their own place. He’s met dozens, possibly even hundreds, who try to enchant him, but they’re nothing more than Sheep. Unable to keep up with him, a Legatus, meant to herd their flock.
But this one… they’re different.
Fulgur sees him under purple light, the first time. Glitzy and sparkling, hazy shades of lilac and lavender that coalesce with coral and peach. The lights flash and dance, illuminating the throbbing mass that fills the room. A boring background, if one were to remove the illusion, but living in a dream allows him to see the facade.
And amidst such a facade is them.
The dancer doesn’t make a move, no, just watches, as many often do at first, as the Wolf moves through the crowd. On the hunt, on a job, perhaps, or maybe he’s just here to gawk. At the Republic’s lowest, those who turn to the worst options just to scrape by.
They’re sheep. Always afraid to strike out. To be bold. To do anything but go with the flow.
Is he willing to change that?
The dancer leaves his place from where they’re leaning against a wall, and moves to block the Legatus before he can turn down a backstage hallway.
“Do you have permission to be back here?” His voice is soft, like a musical bell. It’s so quiet it’s almost impossible to hear in the cacophony of noise that echoes through the club. Fulgur finds himself leaning in subconsciously.
The Wolf is certain it’s him. The one who’s not like the others. You’ll know who he is. He’ll stand out. This dancer doesn’t stand out in his looks, not particularly. Plenty of people here have colorful hair, tattoos, carefully manicured nails. Rather, nobody here has his aura.
It’s so… enchanting.
So dangerous.
Fulgur has to tread lightly.
“Let’s talk somewhere privately.”
It’s the wrong words to say. A certain light takes over the dancer’s eyes, and they immediately settle into a different persona.
“Oh? Privately? So that’s what brings you here…” They slink closer, eyes narrowing and voice lowering to a purr. “I can definitely arrange that.”
And who is Fulgur to deny him?
The purple-haired dancer leads him further down the hallway. They turn one corner, then another, until the music fades and the colorful ambience is only a memory. The walls are black, the lights are dim, and figures are just silhouettes.
“So? Is this private enough for you…”
Fulgur is about to agree, and get down to business, until—
“...Legatus of Division 505, Fulgur Ovid?” Then there’s a hand on his chest, snaking up towards his shoulder.
Out of all of them. The sheep, the flock, those that follow the herd. He’s different. He’s not like the rest.
“Uki Violeta?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I thought you might say that.”
Their eyes meet, and both smile.
“Then let’s go.”