The Fanged Lord

The Semsu made its way across the hyperlanes. Aboard was all assortment of souls, many of them enjoying their dens of inequity. They were completely unaware of their Host, and that they were to be part of a Feast of Time Immortal…
A section of the great converted Battlecruiser was isolated from the rest of the ship, raised above the
Majority of the vessel was the penthouse that requires a lift to reach, there The Host dwelt. His bed sheets were of shimmering scarlet and were strewn about from recent use.
Standing in a crimson robe, his chest bare, The Sith Spawn looked at the stars passing by, behind him arms of pale skin wrapped around him, a woman with long flowering black hair and eyes of deep yellow, she wore a fine black top and shorts.
“Did you sleep well my lord?”
The question was an amusing one, he never slept. That was part pf his Curse, and so he turned top look at her. His gaze piercing, though he said nothing. She joined him at a table of red cherry wood. Entering in was a Pau’un, who bowed his bald white head as he poured some red liquid in s goblet of silver with ruby gems in faceted circles. For the benefit of his guest, food was brought to table, an assortment of meats and eggs. The Woman began to feast on a Mudhorn egg and smiled as the shell broke. Vaudimir sipper his blood drink, seeing him not partake of the feast, she inquired,
“Are you not going to eat?”
His eyes of blue fixed on her with an expression of that denoted he found her query irksome and he shrugged. She kept eating as if his silence was not an affront, he gave her glances as if watching her enjoy the breakfast banquet gave him some mirth.
The Pau’un poorer some hot tea into vessel for her, and besring hus crosed from fangs said,
“Would you like another serving my lady?”
She nodded, her golden eyes kept looking at The Host who seemed occupied between glances with a red volume. Hoping to illicit a response other than his looks, she said,
“What are you reading darling?”
The use of romantic pet name garnered his attention, as he raised his eyes back from the page, and fixed on her.
“Words.. just words.” (Quote of Sir Thomas Moore, Wolf Hall)
The fact she had illicited any verbal response seemed to give her a pleasure that he did not understand. He had not said much, and yet she seemed in ecstasy. As if it held some great significance. This made her lean over and kiss his cheek. He looked at her with an expression of mild irritation. This seemed only to encourage her thrill. He was beginning to wonder if she was daft and needed to be sent to infirmary and lobotomized.
When the meal was over he rose and levitated a pomegranate to his hand and sucked some of gelatin ruby seeds. The act of chewing was a sensation he rarely experienced, and when he partook of the fruit it seemed to stir Her to join him at the window. She was clingy which made him consider tossing her out an airlock, but those eyes held him from such course of action. He saw himself reflected in them, her actions of worship made him feel.. did he feel? What a curious word to describe sensations from passion to murder. So broad a term and yet he was confined to using it in this century. Taking some of seeds in his mouth he leaned and kissed her, his tongue spooning some in her mouth. She took them in and her eyes closed as if he had given her the most decadent of desserts.
When he lids re-opened he was gone. She looked arouhd the room and turned to the Pau’un who was cleaning table.
“Where? Where did he go?”
The Dutiful Butler replied,
“My Master has enjoyed this brunch with you. He wishes for you to come again.”
She was confused, she missed his teleportation. He now was in hidden room that overlooked her and the table. The Host raised his hands, his finger nails becoming points, and his eyes murky with blood. Looking in a mirror he saw a hideous figure, bald with gray and red skin, great fangs and teeth….