It was a lovely show.
Really, it was.

Except for that part at the play's climax where something glass fell from the ceiling and shattered on the stage, startling the actors and throwing them off their lines. It would later appear that a cable had been fraying for some time, and it was only by chance that it had let go in the middle of the show.

The woman in the front row, in the garish red evening dress and stiletto shoes, had smiled at this. After the curtains fell, she melted into the crowd.
Who knows where she went after that...

Dave saw that. He also saw the woman, and swore heatedly for several moments after seeing her, much to the confusion of the other people in the booth. (Including the director, the stage manager, and the sound guy, as Dave was running lights for this show.)

After the show, he heads downstairs and gets out the hydraulic lift, so he can get a look at whatever broke up there.

It's been swept up already, of course, for safety's sake. The show did finish, of course. The actors were very professional about it, once they got over the shock.

Someone could have been killed.

Dave is, in a word, pissed.

"That was a great show, baby."

That was said in a raspy whisper, by the way. By someone whose lips are close enough to brush Dave's ear, and whose fingernails (painted a slick black) are drawing delicately down his neck.

"I've seen it before,... but I find it's a little,...different... every time. "

Dave jumps about a foot in the air and whirls around.

"What the hell!?"

It is not a good idea to sneak up on Dave in the theatre. He has had a few nasty experiences, especially after shows.

"Ooh, skittish, aren't we?"

She flashes him a supermodel smile. One hand is resting on her hip, and the other has a long cigarette holder, complete with lit cigarette. She takes a puff, and, the picture of nonchalance, blows the smoke out in a thin stream.

"I was saying, good show. What do you think the variation will be tomorrow night?"

Ohshitohshitohshit.

Dave really doesn't like encountering Fortuna. It is very difficult for him to manage not to run screaming.

However, that is unlikely to work.

"I dunno. No predicting it."

This causes a raised eyebrow, and a smirk. She taps the ash off her cigarette, and it flutters to the floor.

"You don't say..."

And now she saunters forwards until she is seriously invading his personal space.

"We'll just have to wait and see, then, I suppose."

He backs away and comes up against the lift. Shit.

"Put that out, for chrissake. Quit smoking in my theatre."

Note the possessive pronoun.

As Dave retreats, she continues forwards.

"Your theatre? Aw, isn't that cuuute, he's getting all territorial. It's like a puppy growling."

She takes another deliberate drag on the cigarette, then drops it to the floor and crushes it under her shoe. The last bit of smoke is blown into Dave's face, and she pats him on the head, cooing, "Good puppy."

Why yes, she is mocking him, how could you tell?

Dave's mouth tightens.

"Fuck off."

... whatever happened to being polite to goddesses? Alas, it seems that his manners drop away when he is confronted in the place that is really more home to him than his actual apartment.

She slaps him, hard, but her smile never even flickers.

"Bad David. Watch your language."

He's a toy, to her. A funny little toy, or maybe a pet. The risk-takers are her favorites, and Dave is one of them. Not one of the ones who voluntarily take huge risks, however, so his status with her changes pretty quickly.

He flinches and glares at her out of dark eyes.

"I'll say whatever the fuck I want."

His mouth gets worse when he's around people he hates.

... yes, he hates Fortuna.

"I've noticed." Her tone is dry, now, but not quite cold. "And where has that gotten you, babe?"

An arm slides around his neck, and her sharp fingernails are slipping across his cheek.

"I mean,... besides strung up by a vampire,.. beaten up by your girlfriend's friend... oh, and that angel? Tsk, tsk, David. You should know better by now."

He tenses and pulls away.

"What do you want?"

Angry he may be, but he is also scared. Remember what happened last time Fortuna played with him?

He shot his girlfriend. Which was unpleasant.

You know what suddenly appears on Dave's neck? A collar.
Attached to it is a leash. Attached to the leash is Fortuna's hand. She wraps it around her hand until there's less than a foot of it loose, and tugs Dave roughly towards her.

"I'm bored," she says simply. "Entertain me."

... ooooohshit.

He staggers, eyes suddenly gone wide. (Well, you'd be surprised and terrified too if something like that just randomly appeared on your neck.)

"... how?"

"That's up to you." She smiles sweetly, pulling him a little closer. "As long as I find it entertaining. If you can't think of anything, well..."

Fortuna pouts, as if terribly put out.

"Well, then, I guess we'll have to play a game instead."

There is nothing like fear to make your mind go blank of any kind of creativity whatsoever, and anyway, even if he could think, she probably wouldn't be interested in the kinds of things that he usually suggested to entertain himself and others...

He swallows.

"I..."

Oh god.

"A game, then."

She looks absolutely delighted.

"The same one as last time? Or would you rather try something new?"

... there's no one here to shoot. On the other hand, she might very well just bring in some poor random person, and maybe this time Dave will be shot, or he'll shoot someone else, and neither of those appeal to him in the slightest.

"S-something new."

Please god don't let it be painful.

"Good, good, I was hoping you'd say that."

She produces a pack of cards, a perfectly innocent, new pack of cards.
And an ornate ceremonial-looking knife, which is far from innocent.

"Here's the game." She drifts down to sit on the floor, pulling Dave with her. "You put the cards on the back of your hand, and you have to pick up the cards by jabbing them with the knife - like so."
She demonstrates, picking up two cards by spearing them with the knife.

"You can't take less than two, but you can take as many as you want at a go. Isn't this going to be fun?"

"And then what happens?"

At least he's learned to be wary when agreeing to something she suggests. Never agree to anything a god asks of you without getting all the specifics beforehand.

Or you'll shoot your girlfriend.

"Nothing. Weeell... nothing if there are two or more cards left for the last turn."

Fortuna places the deck on the back of her slim hand, and pauses before taking her turn to whisper conspiratorially, "But we'll get to that."

The knife goes down, and bobs up again with five cards on the point.

"Your turn, sweetie."

He swallows.

He takes the knife, and gets three cards. Or maybe it's four. Yes, four. He had to take them off to make sure.

If it were physically possible, he would swear that his heart had sped up to the rate of a hummingbird's.

Fortuna takes the knife and cards back and takes a stab at it. Two.

There's turn after turn, and the cards dwindle, until there are ten left.

"Yours again, hon."

He takes a stab, and then there are three.

He's still confused about what this means, what's going to happen, and all that kind of thing, but in the repetition of stabbing cards and figuring out how many were on the knife, he's calmed a trifle.

Just a trifle, because there's still a freaking collar around his neck!

...And Fortuna picks up two.

"One left," she whispers, smirking. "Know what that means?"

She gathers together all his cards, lifts his hand, and puts them under it. The remaining unstabbed card is placed in top of his hand.

"You have to pick them all up at once."

"You want me to what?"

He's not going to stab his hand. He needs that, thanks.

"No way."

"You think you have a choice?" she says sweetly.
Dave's hand appears to have been given a mind of its own, and what's on its mind is 'stab all the cards'.

"Well... " she continues, musing, "in a way, you do. You could finish this game now,... if you don't want to, then we'll start another game."
And does Dave honestly think any other game she can come up with will be better than this one?

She's controlling his hand.

"Please, stop it. I need my hands."

He's staring at his hand, at the knife, at the cards, then at Fortuna, eyes gone wide and pleading.

"You're no fun."

This is said as if it's the worst insult she could ever spit out.

"Fine, fine, another game." The knife, the cards, and the mind occupying Dave's hand all cease to exist. "Let me see,... it's only fair that I choose..."

Would you look at that... isn't that a familiar little piece of weaponry she has in her hand. She's popping a single bullet in, spinning the cylinder, snapping it shut.

"You'll remember this one,... it's a favorite of mine."

"I'm not pointing that thing at anyone. I'm not."

Please? Pleasepleaseplease?

He's giving her the puppy look.

"Not even me?"

She presses the gun into his hands.

"Come on,... I know you want to. I won't take offence. Go on."

... well, it isn't as if he can hurt her with the gun... Not that he wants to. He is as innocent as a little lamb. Of course he doesn't want to hurt her. Not at all. Not in the slightest, not...

He accepts the gun.

"... can you... take this off my neck?"

If he is shot and he falls, he doesn't want to choke doing it.

"No, I don't think so."

But she does let go of the leash, letting it hang loosely from the collar.
She proceeds to step back ten paces, and spreads her arms wide.

"Take a shot."

He aims, pulls the trigger...

Click.

... damn.

He tosses the gun at her.

She catches the gun, aims it without looking - in fact, she's checking her nails to see that they're intact - and pulls the trigger.

Bang.

"Well, that didn't take long," she pretends to yawn. "Next time, you should remember your manners... we could have played something fun for both of us, but you just had to go and be rude and tell me to fuck off..."

He'd answer, but there's the slight matter of blood and pain and he's pretty sure that his vision isn't supposed to fade in and out at the edges like that, or he would be, if he were capable of noticing something like that.

"... fuck..."

He drops to his knees, then falls the rest of the way, clutching at the wound weakly and making soft sounds that could probably be described as 'whimpering.'

... the blood is going to be hell to get off the stage.

"Hmm hm hmmm..."

Humming merrily, she takes the end of the leash and ties it to something stationary - it doesn't matter what.
A cellphone is produced. She takes a few steps away, and drops it in front of him.

"There you go, sweetie. Thanks for a wonderful time."

He'd swear at her, but he's not sure he can remain conscious long enough to do it. So he reaches for the phone with his unoccupied hand and shakily tries to dial emergency.

Shakily being the operative word.