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For an eternity, the seconds of applause come in like waves that twist and swirl through Arya's perception. She grasps her stomach, falling flat as she keeps her eyes transfixed on the front exit of the club.

Mauruvius, her partner in dance and in lust, kneels down beside her, rubbing her shoulders. "Arya... please, be calm... remember, you are among your friends. They all loved your performance."

She doesn't hear him. Sure, the words enter into her and spiral through her mind, but they are lost in the tempest-thoughts. She slithers out from under him and onto the floor itself. Cheers melt into bewildered mumblings and then erupt into full on panic when she barrels through the crowd.

The first in her way is Mia, who holds her hands out and stares her down. "Arya. What the hell is wrong with you?"

With a swipe of her arm, the sister Mïttehalle is thrown against her bunny boy lover, both of them collapsing to the floor.

The large snake parts the party with her size alone, but the people who once cheered her dance stare through their masques with wide-eyed terror. But now, even after all of this, she doesn't care. All that matters is what she saw.

She bursts the doors open, the cool night air blowing a breeze against her scales. Though she is beyond indecent, the swarm of thoughts and emotions all pinpoint her towards that one thought: he's supposed to be dead.

Across the street and running down the alleyway is that figure. She lunges across lanes of traffic, the drivers skidding to a screeching halt as the city becomes a din of horns and confused drivers.

Soon, she is in the dark alleyway, and she raises herself up to a tall height, trying to diminish the indignity of her soiled and uncovered scales with the threat of her imposing figure. "Show yourself!" she hisses, clenching her hands into fists, ready to just strangle something. "This better not be some sort of sick joke."

"It's not on my part," the voice speaks up, and the sound of it instantly deflates her. She lowers her height as the click of shoes against the pavement reveals the speaker in the dim streetlights. Standing there, like a ghost come back from her memories, is none other than Jay. "Imagine my surprise when I heard where you were."

"J... Jay?" Arya gasps, her smile wider than it ever had been in a long, long time. She lunges forward toward him, about to embrace the rat, when she suddenly stops, clutches her head, and curls herself up. "Oh gods... don't look at me!" she says, shuddering in a coiled up heap. She wipes over her face, trying to get the remains of Mauruvius off of her head, but he won't go away. He's still there, showing off all of her shame to the love of her life. "I don't... how did you?"

A hand rests upon her shoulder, but she lashes away with a hiss. Jay jumps back, his whiskers twitching, but he says nothing. They stare at each other for a moment, unable to answer anything. A year of questions, a year of anguish: it all washes over the two of them.

"Arya!" The familiar, friendly voice of the male Mïttehalle echoes in her mind. Arya lifts up just a bit, looking back over her shoulder. Mauruvius pads up along the asphalt, having found himself a pair of pants to slip on and dress for her before rushing out into the night. "There you are... I'm so worr-" his eyes rest upon the rat on the other side of the snake. The dog licks at his snout as he stands tall, his shoulders back. "Arya..." he repeats again. "We need to get going..." he says this, keeping eye contact on Jay while holding out the dress.

Arya blinks, the confusion disappearing as she hears Mauruvius's voice. She uncoils, slithering up towards him, keeping low, as if that would keep her from the dangers of the confusion in her thoughts.

"Wait... Arya!" Jay calls, taking a step forward, holding his hand out for her. "This guy is... he's a no good-nothing but trouble. He's nothing but a sex trafficker."

"You silence your lying lips, good sir!" Mauruvius says, holding his hands out in an open gesture. "I am a friend to this lonely girl. I gave her happiness. I gave her a purpose free from worry, free from concern."

"Oh, yeah, she looks like she's free from worry right now, because she's your little BDSM slave!"

"You know," Mauruvius says, a smirk showing on his muzzle. "The only good BDSM play involves two consenting adults expressing themselves. If you cannot handle that this is Arya's choice, perhaps you should go find yourself some other woman to manipulate?"

Arya blinks, looking between the two men in her life. Had Jay manipulated her? She can't remember. Did she really consent to Mauruvius? Surely, she did.

"Please. I saved her from a scumbag manipulating her--a scumbag just like you. If I did it once, I can do it again. Arya, please... realize that this guy is bad for you."

"Arya," Mauruvius says, holding his hand out to her. "Remember how hard we worked for tonight's performance. That wasn't you being manipulated. That was you and I working together to provide pleasure to the most people we could. Remember-that trick with your false skin was all your idea. Jay only cares about you pleasing him and him alone."

"What I do," Jay says, barking through the night, "is take down corrupt crime lords and other pieces of trash."

"By all means, then... if you think I'm trash, take me down.." Mauruvius says, kneeling down, helping her into her dress. "But if you have nothing on me, then you are free to go, Mr. Jay. My congratulations that you are still on this mortal coil, by the way. There are many who would love to learn that information, you know. If you leave now, I'll give you the courtesy of forgetting our encounter."