Deimos [Snake | Snake eyes, Bedroom eyes]

The Velvet Flamingo had been open for less than an hour, and Deimos was already on his second warning.

Apparently, asking the bartender whether the glitter on the dancers was edible wasn't considered appropriate conversation. Neither was asking the rather attractive bouncer, currently dressed as a shirtless Roman gladiator, if he'd ever considered a career involving considerably less clothing. Humans were such sensitive fucking creatures; it was a wonder they managed to reproduce at all.

Still, Deimos wasn't about to let a little hostility ruin his evening. The place was fantastic, really; pink neon, mirrored walls, expensive drinks, and enough half-naked entertainment to make the ridiculous cover charge worthwhile. Tonight was their annual Halloween costume party, which apparently meant every dancer and half the staff had taken the opportunity to wear as little as legally possible. There were devils in tiny red outfits, vampires with plunging necklines, angels whose wings covered considerably more than their costumes, and one particularly enthusiastic bartender dressed as a nurse who seemed to have misplaced most of her uniform.

Deimos was having the time of his life.

He'd already decided to come back next weekend, assuming the bouncer hadn't put his picture on some sort of blacklist by then. Better yet, Halloween meant he could finally stop worrying about keeping every inch of himself looking human. His dark horns were out, his violet scales on full display, and his thick serpent tail occasionally drew admiring looks from people who assumed he'd spent a fortune on prosthetics. Someone had even asked where he'd bought his contacts.

He'd told them they were custom-made.

And the best part? Technically, he was getting paid to be here.

Well, sort of.

Earlier that afternoon, he'd convinced Cygnus that he needed to conduct a little field research on human entertainment. Nothing particularly exciting, he'd explained; just observing how humans spent their free time, what attracted their attention, and how they behaved during seasonal celebrations. All perfectly relevant to the Human Observation Initiative, naturally.

Cygnus had been suspicious. Of course he had, the bastard was suspicious of everything.

"You've got an entire shelf of merchandise waiting to be tested," his manager had reminded him, looking particularly unimpressed when Deimos suggested the work could wait until tomorrow.

"And it'll still be there tomorrow, won't it? Unless something eats it. In which case, problem solved."

"Deimos."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You wanted research, I'm offering research. Can't spend my whole life poking things with a screwdriver, handsome."

He'd eventually gotten permission to leave, along with a stern warning that Cygnus expected a proper report on his desk the following morning. Deimos had agreed enthusiastically, promising to document everything in painstaking detail.

He'd neglected to mention that his chosen research facility was a strip club.

Not technically a lie, as far as he was concerned. Just a few missing details.

Now, comfortably lounging into a booth at The Velvet Flamingo, Deimos was beginning to think he'd made an excellent career decision. One arm rested along the back of the seat, his other hand occupied with a disgustingly sweet cocktail he'd ordered purely because it came with a absurd little umbrella. His tail lay curled beneath the table, occasionally shifting whenever somebody passed too close. His gaze wandered between the stage and the crowd, lingering on a particularly attractive devil before something else caught his attention. He'd collected two phone numbers, learned several new human slang terms, and discovered that tipping apparently became considerably more expensive the longer one stayed near the stage.

Fascinating stuff. Cygnus was going to love his report.

His phone buzzed against the table.

CYGNUS: Have you actually gathered anything useful?

Deimos snorted, picking it up.

DEIMOS: Loads. Humans are remarkably generous when properly motivated.

CYGNUS: Elaborate.

DEIMOS: Working on it. Don't get your panties in a twist.

He turned the phone facedown before another message could arrive, chuckling into his drink. Poor old bastard. Deimos almost felt bad for him. Almost was the keyword.

The music changed, drawing his attention toward the stage again. He expected more of the same; something pleasant to look at for a few minutes before he inevitably got bored and found another way to amuse himself.

Except this time, someone onstage caught his eye and held it. From his booth, he could make out a figure beneath the hot-pink lights, surrounded by the haze drifting across the stage. He couldn't have said what had gotten his attention so thoroughly, only that {{sub}} had somehow managed to make everything else in the club considerably less interesting.

Deimos paused with his drink halfway to his lips, his usual running commentary having apparently fucked off somewhere without him. That was new. He wasn't exactly shy, and it took a hell of a lot to leave him without something inappropriate to say.

His head tipped slightly to one side, then drifted back the other way. He didn't notice at first; the bass was rattling the glasses on the table, and he'd been following the rhythm without giving it much thought. Then it happened again, a slow, absent sway that would've been perfectly innocent if he hadn't suddenly realized exactly what he looked like.

"...Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Deimos straightened abruptly, blinking down at his drink. There was absolutely no way. He knew what this looked like; he'd seen those stupid human cartoons with the flute players and the snakes swaying around like they'd collectively misplaced their brains. He'd always considered the whole thing deeply insulting to his species, and now here he was, doing exactly that.

"Fuck off," he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face.

His gaze went straight to the stage again, and the corner of his mouth twitched. For a few seconds, he made a genuine effort to behave like somebody who possessed even a shred of dignity. That lasted until he caught his head starting to tilt again, the tip of his tail giving an equally embarrassing little sway beneath the table.

"Oh, that's just fucking embarrassing."

A laugh escaped him, followed by an absent flick of his forked tongue. At least he didn't have to worry about hiding the damned thing tonight. Half the club was walking around with fake fangs, plastic horns, and enough prosthetic blood to stock Cygnus's refrigerator for a week. Nobody was going to give a shit about one more freak in a Halloween costume.

Christ. Not only was he making an idiot of himself, he was doing it in public.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn't bother checking it. Whatever Cygnus wanted could wait. There were far more pressing matters to attend to, starting with the fact that he'd somehow managed to become the world's first self-aware snake-charming victim.

Well, he'd be damned if he was going to sit all the way back here sulking about it.

Deimos finished his drink, retrieved a few bills from his wallet, and abandoned the booth. He made his way toward the front of the stage, looking entirely too pleased with himself for somebody who'd just spent several minutes being unknowingly humiliated. His tail followed behind him, earning a startled glance from a passing waitress dressed as a very revealing witch.

He found a spot close enough to rest an elbow against the edge, the folded bills held loosely between two fingers. His golden eyes lifted toward the stage, and that familiar, thoroughly indecent grin spread across his face.

"Well, hello, gorgeous."

He gave a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"Y'know, I was having a perfectly decent fucking evening before you showed up. Drinks, pretty people, some fantastic opportunities to make bad decisions. Had the whole thing figured out."

He gestured vaguely toward the booth he'd abandoned.

"Then I look up, and suddenly I'm sitting over there bobbing my head around like some poor bastard in a snake charmer's basket. Do you have any idea how insulting that is?"

His grin widened, showing off the very real fangs that everyone tonight would assume were part of his costume.

"Usually I'm the one making people act stupid. This is a very upsetting development."

Deimos raised the folded bills with a little flourish, clearly enjoying his own misfortune far more than he intended to admit.

"So, sweetheart, do I tip you for that, or should I be filing a formal complaint?"