Hunter, Hunted

A prestigious event is being hosted within the McMenamins Elk Temple in downtown Tacoma. An unadvertised, highly select event, in which one black-haired man got an invitation to.

He wasn’t surprised to be invited, as he confidently stepped out of his car and was politely shuffled inside by well-uniformed staff. He wasn’t a celebrity by any means, but he was a charismatic, wealthy, and affluent man-about-town, and ever humble as well. 

Clearly, his name had passed from the right lips, to the right ears, and here he was in the right place. But as he got through the front door and to a podium, things began to get weird.

“Hi, lovely to meet you, should be on the list under-” His bravado is cut off by the gentle raising of a hand.

“Of course we know who you are, but that won’t matter once you step in.” The attendant at the podium said, earning a strange look from the black-haired man. Her other hand produced a name tag, black with a sleek golden filigree saying “Actaeon” matched with a lapel pin of a stag’s head.

“Theme party, gotcha,” His confidence returned with a sharp smirk, and he took both items. “Sorry to say I didn’t get a memo with my invite, but I did put on my Sunday best.”

“No worries Mr. Actaeon. Wear the pin, and keep the tag for yourself. We hope your night is thrilling.”

He cockily applied the pin and straightened his outfit, before slicking back his medium-length hair in a quick motion and entering the establishment in full.

It was odd enough that McMenamins would close out even one of their floors for some secret, private, really weird party, but as Actaeon (as he was now known) explored further, he found each of the five bar floors were cordoned off, with no exit left either unblocked or without security.

But, this all just made him figure that whoever was hosting the event, whatever he’d been invited to, it was not only select but well-funded as well. This was more than just a chance to let loose and find another pretty mark, this was a night to network.

Although, the selection of people was starting to weird him out as well. I mean, there were so many sexy chicks of all types, and plenty of objectively good looking men as well. But then, there were some weird ones, and not just alternative fashion or socially awkward weird.

There were whole booths of wide-eyed weirdos murmuring to themselves, people cackling and running like children or hiding in a corner dressed in barely wearable rags, and some people who were clearly way too into body moding. This definitely wigged Actaeon out, but at the same time he rationalized it to himself.

”Well, plenty of rich people do weird shit. Real bohemians or whatever. I just need to stick to my kind of people.” He whispered, before noticing a lovely woman with an empty seat next to her at the bar counter.

She had an elegant air about her and had a natural pull of attention. She looked close to Marilyn Monroe, if she had a squarer jawline and had more of a butch dressing style. She looked a bit older, with slight wrinkles that only showed in the right light, and definitely had a lady boss vibe that Actaeon could not resist.

“I am surprised that anyone would leave a beautiful jewel like yourself alone at the counter, don’t they know to be wary of thieves?” He began as he slid beside the woman.

The woman looked confused for a second, but smiled. “Are you a proverbial thief, then?” She turned to face him.

”Some people might call me that. I get called quite a lot of things in my line of work, but tonight I am, apparently, ‘Ache-tee-un’ or whatever. Real weird stuff, do you know who’s funding this party?”

Her grin turned wide and sharp when he mentioned the name. “A real garden of roses, that’s for certain. A drink, Actaeon?” She offered, beckoning over a bartender with a dazed look on his face.

”Ah, romantic types, I get that vibe, what from the theming and the accessories and all. Please, let me treat you miss…?” He snapped his fingers to take over the direction of the bartender, as his conversational partner’s eyes grew sharp while her smile stayed plastered.

”According to tonight, Artemis.”

He ordered a simple high-shelf whiskey, while she merely asked for ‘her usual’. Clearly she frequented these events. While Actaeon went to grab a fancy gilded card, intending to show it off before “changing his mind” and starting a tab, the bartender held up a hand, much like the attendant at the door.

”Your drinks have been covered tonight, Mr. Actaeon.” His voice was flat yet polite.

He didn’t even get to shine his card, and his mouth was slightly agape in indignation. Artemis seemed to notice his slight, because she couldn’t restrain a chuckle. More of a restrained cackle, really.

He turned to face her. Oh yes, she’d make a good mark.

”So, Artemis,” he began, holding down bile. “Are you really as good a hunter as you’re named for?”

”I would think so, yes. I’ve certainly never failed to find my quarry.”

”And what is it that you hunt?” He leaned against the short back of his chair, a cocky smirk returning wide across his face.

”Talent. I train fashion models.” She matched it, although there was something wriggling beneath the surface.

“Fashion models, of course. Takes a mighty set of skills to walk in a straight line, especially with all the junk they put those girls in these days.” He masked a rolling of his eyes with attention towards the bartender, who had arrived with both of their drinks.

Hers was a dark red, almost like a thick wine of some sort, but also smelled vaguely fruited and spiced, maybe a unique mulled wine of sorts.

“It does, even if men like you don’t understand all that goes into it. To have the perfect body, the perfect posture, the perfect grace in the face of flashing cameras, divisive judges, and those…with no taste for fashion, it requires the utmost peak of ability.” While her eyes barely deviated from the center, Actaeon could tell she was sizing him up as he took the first few sips of his drink.

“Your eyes are quite intense there, little Artemis. Sizing me up to be your next ‘quarry’ then?” He subtly positioned his body a bit wider in his chair.

Her reactive guffaw stopped her from taking a drink herself, but her deep cackle went throughout the bar, making Actaeon blush, either from embarrassment or rage, even he couldn’t tell.

“Heavens no!” She began, making sure she didn’t spill her drink in the laughter. “For starters I only train female models, and unless you have quite the sturdy closet door I do not think I can count you among our number. Secondly your bone structure, your attitude, your sense of fashion, it’s all fine but nowhere near perfect. No, no. But, if I’m ever in dire need of an assistant, or perhaps a gofer.” She listed off, watching his smirk and gaze solidify under the pressure of his rage.

“Oh, and that temper of yours, that wouldn’t do either.” She saw through it, and cut him to the quick.

He goes to say something, but struggles to begin the words, and soon doesn’t even get the chance to.

“Oh dear, I've been quite rude, taking up all of our conversation time. Tell me, Actaeon named for a famed hunter, what is it you hunt for? What’s your quarry?” Her own smirk signaled who the victor of the prior conversation had been, and he “decided” to let it pass. He’d make it right later, after all. 

”Is that what the name means? I just thought it was some toga party in-joke. I’m in talent as well, but in a broader sense. I got a whole slew of people who are looking for all kinds of talent, and I put the right people in the right places. Just like, what happened to get us both in here tonight.”

”Right people in the right places, hmm? Have you ever put someone in the wrong place?” She asked. Her smile faintly curled as if becoming a hook.

“Never. One way or another, I get everyone to the positions they most belong in.”

”Is that just for business, or for pleasure?”

”Why, Miss Artemis, I thought that spiel earlier was meant to disarm me, but perhaps you were just trying to undress me instead. Would you really like to find out?” He slowly leaned forward, almost over the top of her, in response. There was something animalistic and sharp about his movements, but she didn’t move or flinch. She merely scanned him up and down once more, and finally, slowly took a drink. 

“No, but I have a friend who might.”

Over her shoulder, he felt a pair of eyes fall onto him. He normally didn’t have a keen sixth sense, so it was an odd sensation. Paying attention to the other side of the room, he locked eyes with a young woman, tall yet lithe, in a short pure black dress. Her long blonde hair set her apart from the darkened walls, cut in layers that gave her the impression of an art deco piece, and her powerful yet serene smile unsettled the man deeply.

Especially because he killed her two weeks ago.