<div class="floatleft">(http://i935.photobucket.com/albums/ad199/Fatora/thumb_portrait_left.jpg)</div>Showmenship was important to Tomás. Do what you like behind closed doors, but when you have the devious gazes of your peers on you, one must never flinch, never give them the tiniest bit of rope to strangle you with. Especially Demetri. He was a dirt bag, the lowest of the low. But he had his uses; trafficking would be a prime example. Having lost his last blood slave, Tomás had reached out to the slime ball. He had also been on the market for a new gladiator, and if there was one thing Demetri knew it was fighters. Two birds with one rock, or however the expression went.<br/><br/>Standing before the closed doors, Tomás had to give the vampire credit; he was certainly putting on a show for him. Of course, Demetri would expect Tomás to do the same, and he planned to. It was why he had chosen this particular blue pinstriped suit, why he had worn his most expensive and well polished shoes. Presentation. When the doors began to open, he had already started to prepare himself for the display and for his counter.<br/><br/>Demetri had pulled out all the stops, trying to show he was in charge here. It was sort of cute, in that pathetic way one would sympathize with an inferior being. So when Tomás crossed the threshold, he did it with a presence of authority the shorter vampire couldn't possibly hope to possess. He moved with precise, purposeful steps, the click of his loafers vibrating through the room as he moved straight for Demetri. He stopped short of the creep who was stuck in the 70's and gave the slightest incline of his head as a form of greeting.<strong>"Demetri, always a pleasure."</strong>His Spanish accent was subtle, there but not nearly as thick as it could have been, and his tone didn't match his words. He was making sure the other vampire knew, despite how much he tried with the throne and entourage, that he was still beneath Tomás.<br/><br/>With an air of superiority, he turned his back on Demetri, looking to the cages below. The fighting rings were certainly Demetri’s favorite underground activity. A match had just ended, the echo of the roars from the gathered crowd still ringing, the victory covered in blood and the loser… was in pieces on the floor. Werewolves were so deliciously violent, a trait most vampires possessed, but pretended to be above. Tomás was of the opinion violence had it’s place; an opinion he was hoping to share with the fat mobster pretending he was king. His dark Latin gaze shifted from the werewolf to the vampire with the slightest turn of the head, eyes narrowed with promises of pain.<strong>”For your sake, the victor had better be mine.”</strong><br/><br/>Demetri’s face fall only slightly before he gave a nervous chuckle, the man’s New Jersey accent harsh on the ears, “Of course, of course! Couldn’t be selling you a dead wolf. Bad for business.” It was well known Tomás was not a vampire you wanted to double cross.<br/><br/>For his part, Tomás let his glare linger, before going back to the Wolf.<strong>”I’ll have to inspect him. Bring him up. I’ll be expecting a discount if he has been damaged.”</strong>Demetri made a fuss about ordering a few of his thugs to retrieve the wolf Tomás had purchased. While that happened, the well dressed vampire pulled his gaze from the ferocious beast pull, those dark chocolate eyes finally landing on the human in the room. Flaming red hair, fair skin, pale eyes… Demetri had truly outdone himself with her. Of course, you get what you pay for, and Tomás was shelling out quite the pretty penny for that pretty face. He approached the woman, circling her, inspecting her as if she were prized pooch at a show. He inhaled, taking in her scent. Oh yes, she pleased him very much. Demetri’s voice touched his ears, “Your wolf is on his way. What do you think of your blood slave, Tomás?” causing him to pause in front of her, his dark eyes meeting her light ones. His lips pulled in a devilish grin.<br/><br/><strong>“She’ll do.”</strong>