[Illium, Nos Olmos] So A Drell Walks Into A Hotel Room...

The cold brush of a knife against his flesh was all-too-familiar. Cerastes swallowed - gently - and grunted in acknowledgement of her command. His head was starting to throb now, the ribbing on his throat bruised from the chokehold. Slowly, in accordance to the rules the knife had introduced to the situation, he rose to his feet and obeyed.

A fleeting image of Shirin passed before him as he was directed towards the windows lining the far eastern wall - an old touch, something he hadn't felt in years; the air accented suddenly by a vague and nostalgic scent of spices and something exotic, yet hard-wired into his system. A scaled hand pressed to the back of his neck.

She had better hurry. The clock had already started to tick.

Fin