Richard awoke to a sleepy haze, feeling the velvet sheets beneath him rubbing his form onto the like a cat arranging itself into the perfect sleeping position. He blankly wondered why he was so inclined to wrap himself up in it, until his eyes slowly opened to look past the bed's canopy and see Elowyn's portrait staring at him, wearing the black velvet his body clung to. The notion of capitulation connected to her shocked him awake, but no more awake than the state he remained in.
Pushing mental energies to bring the bunker back, the background swiftly changed to his original sanctuary. But evidence of his newer sanctuary remained, Elowyn's portrait proudly hanging in his bunker. It still took long seconds to look away from her image, fighting the tide, knowing the tide of her control would continue to wear him down until he drifted off to sea. The only satisfaction he had was remaining awareness and resilience to remain himself until the very end; a glance in her direction told him that she loved that about him, loving acknowledging that there would be an end to him.
Walking past the portrait to direct his focus elsewhere, awareness still hinted at several things. The daylight pouring into his bunker was fading, telling him the time in the real world. And he could also feel outwardly enough to feel himself in the real world tired and horny, a deep contrast to the Richard's stalwart avatar. He appreciated any part of him remaining strong after so long, which shifted the avatar right back in-front of the portrait.
Her painted gaze caught his and kept it; Richard finally caught on to the fact that every time he notably though of or pushed for resistance, she always came before him to test his resolve. Or he brought himself to her image, internally convinced he had no part in being tested. As his failings in strength became clearer, so did a sensation of velvety Soombakiya that came over his avatar like a tangible breeze blowing through a secure structure. He caught himself moaning, the velvet letting his self-perception slip, until he was half naked, wearing only leather pants again. The velvet trailed up his spine, knowing it pleases Elowyn's extension, anticipating how much it would please the real one when she would return.
His desperation nearly took him in trying to return to his full self to search again for another means of escape. Even that was circumvented as he felt his real self being handled, taken by probably multiple assailants. Whoever they were, they didn't employ a soft touch, at first. Out of however many were suddenly there for him, one caressed his face with a faintly-familiar touch. How closely it resembled the essence of Elowyn made him lean into a palm holding his cheek; Elowyn's absence in the real world felt like months of longing for someone his body ever-catered to before his consciousness would admit.
A whiff of something as insistent as the rougher hands entered his nostrils and assumed a newer kind of influence, very different from the means he'd been constantly subjected to at the Parnassus estate. How unsubtle it was combined with the way he was being touched started the list of attributes convincing Richard that the essence of Elowyn he felt was merely surface-level. Everything about whoever she was ceased to rise above familiar, even as it tried guiding his physical body forward with enough pheromones beginning to flood his system.
Tepid steps forward combined with irregular breaths told those surrounding the Quant that he wasn't fully giving in, leading to acts of impatience with one set of hands shoving him forward, and another gripping his arm, ready to pull him further. All of it stopped as the softer, faux-Elowyn presence caressed his face with both hands, forwardly pressing her scented wrists close to his nostrils for maximum cajoling into obedience. Potent as it was, it wasn't nearly strong enough for Richard to counteract it, raising his hands to bring seductive energy to the woman's sides. The gasp of her sounded uniquely different from Elowyn, younger, much less experienced.
He would need just a few minutes to get her into a more agreeable state, something not afforded as rough hands return to rescue the novice seductress. His gambit of the others not recognizing what was happening unfortunately didn't pay off, and it was the last indicator of Elowyn's absence - she didn't need others to handle him, she was completely capable by herself. Admiration distracted other senses in his weakening resistance against brute force.
Struggling against them only awarded him a sharp jab in the arm, bringing darkness ahead of the day's dusk.
With the darkness came a new voice, and a new chemical element looking to eclipse everything like the sky falling, including his own sense of self, and all of Elowyn's good works. A blunt tool compared the the prevailing elegance, the space of it was filled with words that sounded like someone not speaking was to be in control.
***
Less than an hour away from the culmination of all the Parnassus family efforts, Tennyson Sr. had left his office to shower in his bedroom-connected bathroom. Honestly the steamy waters served several uses for the patriarch - a small, allotted amount of alone time to decompress before a high-stakes negotiation (especially since he'd sent Delphine off on a retrieval mission), a chance to deal with the perspiration born balancing several different situations and precipice for disaster, and most importantly because the application of pheromones he wanted needed some opening of pores of the skin. Total comprehension of the science was still lost on him, but it made enough sense that some of it seeping into his pores helped to key his own naturally-enhanced scent to sway whomever would be on the receiving end; such knowledge constantly fed his ego of being "naturally charismatic."
Stepping out of the shower, ready to apply the pheromones and redress, he heard a noise from the bedroom. Expecting it was Delphine, he smirked to himself, thinking one quickie and a small re-showering couldn't hurt. Opening the door to the bedroom, he found Cameron Donatell waiting for him. The urge to leap out of his skin was suppressed by a towel still being wrapped around his waist, and the expected erection not making it past half-mast. The urge to physically reprimand the potential investor had to be suppressed too, also because of the unrepudiated reputation of violence the Donatell head was known for. Standing in the middle of the Parnassus bed chamber, the intruder was alone, yet accompanied by an air of menacing expectation.
"Sorry to catch you with your pants down, Tennyson, but I was hoping to meet you on neutral ground about something."
A few deep breaths calmed Tennyson, knowing nothing was neutral about what and where this impromptu meeting was; vulnerabilities-aside, it was probably neutral to someone like Cameron who attended few negotiations without weaponized incentives.
"About what exactly," Tennyson kept his tone as measured as possible.
"Well, a smart businessman like yourself has probably plotted out the possibility of an auction happening in the middle of all these exciting opportunities."
"That's a bit premature, Cameron. This is all meant to see whom is interested in investing first and foremost." Cameron chuckled at the diplomatic response, appreciating the front that had to be maintained, but tiring of the theatrics with time running low.
"I appreciate how you didn't omit the possibility of more than investing to take place, because once certain items come into play, your investors will be scrambling for the prize that suits them the most. And given some parties you're aware that I'm affiliated with, I think you should know that while I'll bid, there's no question about ownership after tonight."
Cameron's barely-veiled command made Tennyson's breath catch, piecing together all the complications to arise from this new wrinkle tonight. He surely expected back-door, under-the-table deals to happen, but this one wasn't supposed to be on the table. The prospect of possibility naming his price was extremely tempting, but so would be the reaction of the only person he truly feared when it came to blowback.
"Assuming everything you're saying is true, assuming there will a bid..."
"A fine assumption," Cameron added firmly.
"A-assuming that...how can I control the bidding of auctioneers?"
"I like how you put that, 'controlling the bidding of,' as if that's not why we're here now. But you should be aware, just like you will have backers, I have backers too, who will trust my judgment in where to put there money for assets and opportunities."
The last thing Tennyson had to suppress was a smile at the idea of a blank check, and an alliance with power previous generations would've never considered touching; reminded of how none of his predecessors and ancestors were so enterprising, stiff body language turned soft and affable to the proposal.
