[Sodium_noir] Night on the Town

[Spikey]

Raindogs bar
Downtown

Maata-f-em-seshet, Matt to his friends, sat at the bar of Raindogs nursing a bourbon on the rocks. He'd spent most of the time since he arrived trying to sweet talk the Nubian powerhouse serving him drinks but she'd remained as icy as ever despite his best lines. The Challenge intrigued him because he so rarely failed. As a Courtier to the young Pharaoh Senwosret I, he'd mastered the arts of flattery and seduction. A skill he had continued to hone through lands far and wide, from Roman orgies to Parisian parlours to Las Vegas Casinos. Especially the last one.

This woman, this Emma, reminded him of his greatest victory: Sobekneferu. The female Pharaoh with the thing for the Crocodile God. Patient, unemotional, majestic and fit. Really powerfully fit in fact. This Emma could be her sister if it wasn't for the three thousand seven hundred and eighty six years between them. Give or take a few summers, numbers he was good at, giving a shit ... not so much.

His faux snake skin jacket and gaudy diamond rings made several of the barflies stare, but he was happy for the attention. He liked standing out, being gawped at. Unlike the Roman, Maata-f-em-Seshet felt that the gift of eternal life given him by the Spell of Life was something to be savoured. Life, or lives in their case, was to be enjoyed for all its wonders. If he couldn't get this Amazon into the sack, perhaps he could at least get her to smile. It would be a small victory, but a memorable victory none the less. 

Failing that, a slap in the face would at least be something to remind him of the bar when the hangover passed.

He glanced up at the clock behind the bar, filing time until the Roman arrived. As he did so he caught a sight of the huge doorman and smiled to himself. That fella had to be on steroid or something, or maybe he was just raised on cornbread. He expected some sort of accent that hinted at a state with 15 million people and only five surnames. He expected it, but wasn't about to repeat it out loud.

Slipping a few dollars out from under his forearm as it rested on the bar he waved his hand at Emma to order another. If the Roman didn't get a move on he'd be three sheets to the wind by the time they left this dive.

 [Tag John Black]
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