It is the third hour and the fourth cigarette. He has been too busy dancing. Too busy drowning himself in heartbeats. Too busy being Himself. He came by himself, slithered in and onto the dancefloor immediately. He made someone fall in love with him -- for all of five minutes. He planned on spilling blood.
     He's still planning on it...
     But for now Valan Montague revels in the sweat others produce, in the crowd of heartbeats, in the insinuation of the cage dancers, in the sexual revolution happening in a few of the corners.
     In the flashing lights he goes from natural golden, his best shade, to red, to violet, to blue. Gold, his hair cut with Mod care and style, both long and short. Gold-green, his eyes that once were hazel. Crimson, the color of the leather shirt he wears, top and bottom most buttons undone. Cinnamon-cream, the leather pants. Doc Martens are blood-red leather. He's some six feet high, tall and lean. Smooth faced French man frozen in time...
     Valan Montague leans against the bar and in his very broken English, calls out to the bartender. "Ah... two shots... electrique...?" One of the specialty drinks of the house. Vodka and Who-Knows-What. It's electric blue after it's mixed...

     She glances around as she enters, drawing off a pair of gloves. Fiona doesn't come here very often any longer, but sometimes she has to - just to keep in touch with the pulse of the city, keep old contacts alive, all the usual. 'Slumming', some say. 'Visiting old haunts', she says.
     She's got on a simple dress, dark green cotton that clings to her torso before swirling loosely around her ankles, a black wrap over her shoulders. The bodice is somewhere midranged, between high and low, square cut, and shows off glowing rubies set in gold around her throat. Her hair is back in a plaited braid down past her hips. Casual, understated, and not at all in theme. And she just doesn't care.
     "Hello, Laur," she says in a friendly fashion to someone she recognizes slightly, but keeps moving. Fiona's got a bit of a thirst tonight - the damned office's heaters were all stuck in the 'on' position, until everyone thought they'd roast. And now... well, now she can enjoy her freedom, for a little bit.

     Submersed in the crowd, there is another who revels in the sweat and lust that hangs thickly about the club, much like the smoke of tobacco and other less legal substances do. She lingers in a spot for a while, waits for the crowd around her to work into a frenzied pitch, and then moves on.
     She dances on her own... with men.. with women.. with groups... with individuals. It doesn't matter to her.
     Now and then the crowd parts, maybe revealing her, but why should she stick out at this point? She's just part of the crowd. Nain just keeps on dancing, letting the music move her as it does the rest of the throning masses.

     Speaking of dancers, one of the girls in one of the cages -- topless of course, and recently tattooed with a flower petals seemingly frozen as they fall around a breast -- spots the girl coming in. Talk about old times...
     Seems like just yesterday, Dot was giving her friend advice. Now, look at her. "Drancy!"
     But who can hear. The music is pounding. And Dot has to keep dancing...

     Electric blue, the drink is handed over to him. Money exchanged. It's icy. It's deadly. And it's now in his hand. Sipping it, Valan steps away from the bar, slipping between bodies, smiling, twisting, turning as he's greeting.
     He holds the glass up, to keep it from harm, as he passes by a girl dressed more for...somewhere else. Gold-green, his eyes are like topaz and citrine. Valan smiles. "Hello..." and he keeps moving, heading back toward the dancefloor...
     What is it with beautiful men that they find you... see you... recognize you... speak to you...

     Not only does she not know, she's not entirely sure she wants to know. Fiona's expression is one of wary puzzlement, but she responds with a neutral sort of friendliness. "G'd evening," she murmurs, with a puzzled tilt of her head, and she leans up against the bar. "Stoli vanil, over ice, please." Well. Some things haven't changed.
     She hasn't noticed Dot yet - too many people, too many dancers, and she's just not the type to stare at the nakedness. Exchanging money for drink, she turns back, eyes scanning the crowd, her free hand going to her forehead. "That was odd..." Fiona's not even aware of having spoken aloud.

     One song blends into another, making it difficult to pinpoint when one stops and the other begins. This is when Nain chooses to move again. This time, she actually moves through the mass of people, heading off the dance floor. It takes a bit of time, but she eventually emerges not too far from the bar, still sort of dancing as she moves. She can't help it... the music's gotten into her veins.
     As she moves toward the bar, she brushes up against the tall one with the gold-green eyes. Her head tilts quickly to look up at him, the movement causing her multitude of pigtails, braids and loose multi-coloured locks to bounce a bit. Brief hesitation mars her confidence for a flash. Then she moves on, as though nothing happened.
     Bouncing up to the bar in her purple mesh vest -- nothing on underneath, but it manages to just give her some modesty -- Nain slips in beside the one that seems dressed for 'anywhere but here'. Black PVC pants are laced up the sides, showing 2 good inches of pale flesh beneath. PVC laced-up boots in a matching purple to her vest reach up to her knees. Tattoos ring her upper arms and wrists like torques of old, and a few piercings flash in the strobes.
     She leans a bit on the bar and calls out, "Agua." Yeah, the stuff that looks, smells and tastes like nail polish remover. That's the stuff.

     I don't know... maybe I shouldn't drink so much...
     In the flash of lights, I saw a spray of violet and red hair. Maybe it was just the lights. I should go home to Edward...
     But...
     I am hungry...
     Downing his drink, which he should not do, Valan moves to the dancefloor, abandoning the glass on someone's table, falling into the rhythm. Pulled by it. Lured by it. Caught by it. Someone's going to bleed...
     And his own blood gets the better of him. Frothing from some deeply held inspiration, to bubble against his corpusels. Flush his skin. Mimicry of living. He catches a smaller fish in the net of his gaze.
     Gold and green. They pull in another young man wearing leather. Both in their mid-twenties, hunter and captor make a pretty picture...
     There are some here that could catch the threads of a young vampire casting shadows. Tendrils of Entrancement. They sparkle on the air.

     Dot wiggles out of her cage, swinging and slipping down, a naked, writhe to the floor, and she sidles up to the bar. "Oh DEAR, what do we have HE-AH?" And she laughs brightly. "You! Missy!" That's you, Drancy. "Oh, hey, Nain..." Dot calls out, giving a wave. "Wanna join me in the cage, you naughty princess?" Other than wearing morning glory and poppy petals on her left breast, Dot wears only a pair of hot-pants and thigh-high lace-up Docs. Dot winks to her, then leans against the bar, reaching out with both hands to the bartender. Big Beefy Charles.
     "Bonnie Prince Charlie. I need a stoli..."

     Fiona eyes Dot warily. "If that last was to me..." She begins it, but never actually says it, glancing quickly from Dot to Nain and back before she suddenly gets a brief, piercing headache. Well, no - not really a headache - a flash, of sorts. Intuition, perception, magic... whatever it is, it makes her wince for a moment, eyes moving around before centering on the cause of it. "I don't get it," she mutters to herself, for a moment.
     Another shake of her head, and she tilts back to Dot, downing the vodka as though she particularly feels a need for it, all of a sudden. Headache remedy. Maybe it'll make things make sense. "You're looking, uh... "How to say this. Politely, Fiona says, "Well. You're letting it all hang out, aren't you." That came out rather primmer than she'd intended, but she lets it sit, and offers Nain a cautious nod, keeping a puzzled sort of eye on Valan still. Too much, too many, and not enough vodka in the world for it to make all sense.

     Violet and red, black and blonde, do the colours in her hair stop there? It's as though there is an entire rainbow upon Nain's head, interwoven into braids, pigtails, mini-buns (like in those anime cartoons) and loose tendrils. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the mass of colour and strands there.
     And past this and the make-up, she is a woman of beauty, by the looks of it. But the make-up changes her into something else...something more strange and beautiful...something more interesting. More purple plays on her eyelids in sparkles, pulling in the shades of the colour within her clothing.
     She reaches out and plucks the shot of 'Agua' from Charles behind the bar, winking at him and offering him a sexy little pout when he nearly doesn't give it to her. Glancing back at Dot, her face lights up as she replies, "Dottie! Sweetheart! Mmm... I thought I did all the tempting around here, girlie." This is said as she sidles up to Dot's side and wraps an arm around her waist. Her dark gaze flickers to Fiona now, realizing that she's not noticed her yet. "Oh, and who's your friend, Dot? Don't be a tease.. share!" she asks eagerly, eyeing the reporter up and down and not bothering to hide it.

     "An old friend," Dot coos, "...the chummiest of chums. She's M'lady Big-time these days. Works for the M." Funny, when she says that it's more like: Mmmmm. But anyway. Dot slides an arm around Nain, squeals as Charlie slides over the drink, and then promptly takes a swallow of it. "Nain, Drancy.... Drancy... Nain. So, what brings you about the Gorgeous Gory, luv?" Dot continues, question directed to Fiona.

     Somewhere on the dancefloor, there's a sensation of copper. A moment. A mettalic thud against the air. And for a moment, the dancers on the dancefloor writhe in a bacchanal. Like something ecstatic has been released, or maybe it's contagious.
     Green-gold eyes half-close, and strong arms slide against one another. He rolls the existence of another man along his tongue.
     New to this. Still so new to this. But already so accomplished. After two years. Hard to believe his life ended and started in just so short a time...
     The Brujah swipes his tongue along the young man's throat and they separate when the song switches to something trance-like. Valan moves slowly to a table, slides into a booth. Hand slipping beneath the leather shirt, he rides a wave of intoxication, power, blood and booze...

     Fiona smiles, weakly, offering a hand to Nain with minor reluctance. She is not used to being blatantly checked out like that, and whereas Drancy would just glare belligerently, Fiona ... minimizes that side of herself. "How do you do?", she inquires, primly. "I'm here to keep in touch, Dot, is all. I may be writing my way up, but you know - no point writing my way off." She shrugs, and puts her glass down on the bar with the hand not being offered. "You're ... busy, though, clearly. I can leave you be, if you like?" That was almost hopeful.
     Eyes a cool blue-grey tonight, Fiona casts a glance with a puzzled frown in the direction the latest frisson has come from. It's a spike of power, of sensual allure, and .. half-familiar, and half-discomfiting. Valan makes her shake her head, though. One thing at a time...

     "Ooh, M? You don't say..." Very interesting, indeed. "Charmed," Nain practically purrs, taking the offered hand. She pauses for only a brief second, looking directly into Fiona's face, offering a pleasant smile. Then Fiona's hand is released as Nain's head tilts suddenly, hair bobbing in the movement. "I should let you two catch up, really... the dance floor calls, afterall." It's an offer. While she is over-bold, she does appear to have some kind of manners.
      Appearances can be deceiving, however... something else has caught her attention. The spark on the dance floor draws her even more than the music or bodies themselves. It is like a flame... and she is the moth. But she will not be rude about it.

     "Cheerio, dahl, I'll catch you later," a farewell to Nain, and Dot spins about. "So... when does your first edition hit the streets, and can I get an autographed copy, you minx. It's good to see you. You look t'riffic, you know... how are you?"
     Dot gestures to a nearby booth. "I can take a break...wanna sit and have our stoli's yonder?"

     I don't know what he had, but I want more of it.
     The pulse of the music is getting to him. It fingertaps against his blood, grabbing him. But Valan sits in the booth, splayed there more than a little decadently. His first meal already stumbling 'drunk' into the arms of another waiting fellow. C'est la vie. Live and let live, Valan always says.
     And suddenly he wishes Edward were here...
     Fingers move along the coolness of the thin platinum chain he wears at his waist. A reminder that makes him grin. Smooth, sliding, the smile brings warmth to his features. A waitress passes by, Valan orders another drink. And he lights a cigarette.
     There are some who can see him giving off energy, no doubt. Another passionate mortal? Mmm... could be... could be not...

     More Stoli. Sounds good, right about now. Too much energy, and it's confusing her, making her own energy flash closer beneath the surface than she'd like. Fiona nods gamely to Dot. "Sure, why not," she responds. "Booths're all right, I'm not really here to see-and-be-seen, though I'm not hiding, either." Except in plain sight...
     Too much, definitely and distinctly. She's holding herself tightly under wraps, giving a parting, puzzled nod to Nain - that sort of 'where have I seen you before and I know I have' question in her eyes, even as she turns back to Dot. "What ever happened to Sieg?", the editor asks, with a slight furrow to her brows. This is a change. And like all changes, it could be good, it could be bad...

     With a quick little motion of fingers in some kind of a wave, Nain peels herself away from Dot's side and grabs a guy's ass as she passes, acting all innocent as she continues to bound her way back toward the dance floor. He jumps a bit, surprised by the sudden contact and looks around. All he sees is rainbow colours bouncing before she dives into the sea of bodies once more...
     She follows a trail, that perhaps even a bloodhound could not. First to the copper spot...to stand where they stood...to bask in it... and then to move onward, following something else. Something throbbing beneath the rest of the life in here -- a vibe she can't ignore. That spark was lit and now she won't ignore it... where is it?
     Ah hah. Her dark gaze falls upon someone at a nearby booth. The vampire is the one. Dot can have the journalist, for now...she wants to play with this one right now, if she can.
     And then she stands by his table, watching him with his hand beneath his shirt, grinning at him.

     Gold-green eyes were once hazel. When his heart beat its last the earthy brown with which he was born was bled from him. Gilt-green was what was left behind. It speaks of spring, even as his smile speaks of summer sun. Sun he now may no longer see. These eyes open as someone is standing nearby, and his hand slides away from his skin, away from the chain he was fingering, the reminder of his first true gift from his lover.
     A golden eyebrow lifts, and his smile winds. This one is fit. There is strength about him. Who knows how old he is. Can you tell. "Hello," he says in English, his accent decidedly Not. And he looks in another direction as a drink materializes. "Thank you... ah... I will pay on my way out... I don't want to dig at the moment..."
     The waitress doesn't really care...
     He does dig for a cigarette, looking back to his ...admirer? "Did I take your booth? I didn't really ask, hmm? I...ah... needed a break..."

     "Sieg is in California," Dot mentions, slipping into a booth and crossing one leg over another. "I talked to him this morning though. Well, it was late for him, early for me. Time change sucks. He's totally excited about the tatts... he thinks he'll be back in a couple of weeks...god, I need to shag him as soon as I see him. Why d'you ask? Oh! Say... he said that Dei was asking about you. I told him about your new gig. He said to send along his congrats... he hopes to see you when he gets in. I think he's planning on going to Italy after he gets here... who knows. He says he's tired of all the goddamned sun in L.A."

     "And Italy has so little sunlight?" Fiona's eyebrows draw up quizzically, following Dot and settling in with her drink. Rubies around her throat, rubies at her wrists, at earlobes and on fingers - if she's got bells on her toes, it's all that's needed for the lady of Canterbury to be riding. She still glances out of the booth from time to time, but now that the feeling's fading, it's not so pressing, and she can turn more attention to her friend.
     "Glad to hear you two're still together, though it's good, I think, he's coming back. You still discussing the big 'M' word?" Marriage. What a concept. "Dei was asking about me? Heh. I suppose that's flattering." She's never been quite comfortable around Dei ever since he 'changed', or she did, she's still not sure what happened. "So ... you're, happy, then?"

     "No, no.. my name is on no tables here," Nain replies with a chuckle. That might be a lie. Surely there is one with her name in graffitti upon it in the back somewhere. Her lips purse for a moment, as though she tries to conceal her grin... but it doesn't last long. She cannot hide her mischievious expression that is so 'Nain'.
     "I was... admiring your dancing earlier. You can really move," she offers, leaning back against the table, resting a palm against the tabletop to brace herself. "New around here?" The club, she means. She finally tosses back the shot of Agua she had ordered and tosses it aside. Then she moves again and hops up so that she now sits on the table, avoiding the drink that is there. A scrawny 'gothboi' wanders past and she reaches out, plucking his clove cigarette from his lips, with a wink and a thank-you.
     He gawks at her for a moment, smiles and then moves on all flustered as hell. Slender fingers with purple-painted nails raise the cig to her lips...and she draws in a breath. Wisps of smoke curl about her as she exhales her first drag.

     "Marriage? Umm... I don't know. We'll see. We have to talk life stuff. Like... how I don't want to move to LA...I like my job," Dot says, "...no matter what you may think of it...I'm getting noticed here. I'm valued, you know? The owner's just so.... great. Top notch care. It might look like sleaze on the outside, but I have insurance, private health plan, retirement package... it's a regular fucking job but without the 9-to-5 bullshit. And I can show off my great tits in public and simulate sex. I'm peachy, dahl..."
     Dot knocks back her drink. "And what about you? Liking the gig? The office? Moved yet? You gotta give me your address, Lady Fi..." Instead of Lady Di. How clever. Dot grins. "Sieg will be tickled, I'm getting a boob job. He's so easy to please. Big nockers and velcro undies. It's the surest way to his heart..."

     Valan sits up, leaning forward, he takes his drink. He grins at the rim. "I trained in Paris," he says, and now his accent can be placed. "In the left bank discos, the warehouse clubs of Montemarte. In between studying for my degree in philosophy. I would get drunk, get fucked, and quote Descartes."
     Fingers reach up. A motion -- yes, I'll take a hit off of that, sil vous plait. "Not very new. I've been here a handful of times now. Once before the remodeling, I think..." Valan laughs, "It's a bit of a blur, yes? But my lover... he's famous here...so... tonight I come incognito by myself ... et vous?"

     "Whatever works for you two, Dot, you know that." Fiona's eyes are concerned, though. "Just ... if you're happy, then there's not much for me to say. But I hate to see anything, ah, untoward happen to you, you know." It's awkward. She's moved on, and Dot's stayed here, and ... she's not sure now it was a good idea to come here. "Sure, my address, no problem. Still settling in - the place is humongous, I've not got enough furniture for it," she always was a minimalist at heart, "but it's lovely..."
     "Another one? Well, at least Sir and Ma'am aren't having to pay for this one." For a moment, Drancy smirks out of Fiona's face. "Have you told them, yet, about any of this," a vague wave, round the club, "or about Sieg?"

     Without a moment's hesitation, Nain passes the cigarette over to him after taking a second puff herself. Fingers graze his as she does. Her gaze flickers to the drink -- what is your poison there? She is curious.
      But her gaze moves back to the stranger's face as he speaks of getting drunk, getting fucked and quoting Descartes... not necessarily paying attention to all of the three statements, but only a couple.
     Lips curl a bit more as her grin turns into something more wicked. "Sounds like fun... Paris, I mean." She'll have to see if she can get there sometime to check it out. Sounds like a real blast.
     "Ahh, I don't honestly know how I could have missed your dancing before... unless you weren't dancing, perhaps? Well, it is of no matter, really..." Pause. "Your lover... he is not here tonight then? Pity. How will you amuse yourself?"

     "I make do," So I say, taking an expert drag with lips that know the meaning of plucking. The smoke eases past them as they, barely parted, form a grin. The cigarette is given back to her. And I feel a power come over me. They are moments where I want to control. Moments where I want to give in. I must have Edward explain this to me...
      "I have a lover... does not mean I am dead, cher," Valan laughs. "And... everyone should check out Paris. There is no place like it in the world. No better place to get drunk, get fucked and talk about the wisdom of long-dead men. So... maybe we should stop talking... hmm? Go out there," a jerk of his head to the dancefloor.
     And he rises, arm slipping around her waist. "Maybe you can change my religion." And he grins at himself. Well, she has no hope of doing that. I kneel, spread, upon an altar in a church called Edward. I am content.
     But I am also a devil...
     "Dance with me..."

     "Well, even the Mona Lisa has to have a touch-up now and again. The last job wasn't as good as it should have been. I'm mostly going to get a little lift, maybe a size bigger. Helps with the tips. As for Sir and Ma'am," Dot shrugs. "No, why should I? They don't give me money. I pay my own way, I live by my rules.." She looks at you strangely. Haven't we gone over this before?
     "Lifestyle's a choice. I'm happy with mine," and she stands. "Speaking of, I should get back to work before I get canned..."

     The clove cig is taken, drawn upon, and then stamped out beneath her booted foot as she slips off the table. She moves as the arm is slipped about her waist, causing her to move a little closer to him as he stands.
     "Mmm... alright. I think they're playing our song anyway," Nain murmurs with a chuckle and that wicked little grin. Of course they're not...it's just a saying. Nothing but words. Words to fill space. Words to distract, perhaps. Nothing more is said about Paris. That is tucked away somewhere safe in her mind as she moves with her new dance partner back into the masses.

     Fiona watches Dot with an element of almost sadness in her eyes. "All right, I understand. T'care, all right?" She fumbles with her wallet, out of the shoulder carryall she's got with her all the time, almost, to leave a tip on the table as she rises. "My cell's still the same, give me a ring sometime..."
     The reporter's got a sudden, blind desire for space from her old friend. It's too different. Too much water, literally, under the bridge, and it aches, in one sense, and she's feeling an urge to go wandering through the streets to find some small invisible shrine to lay the remains of her past life on, a little sacrificial altar of regret. Fiona looks around, eyes half-blinded, as she steps away from the table.

     "Night. Take care then. Don't let the ... well... have a good one." Dot sighs and trods off, traipsing her way back through the club, but she pauses at the bar to get another stoli. She'll take it with her.
     We used to be the three musketeers. All for one and one for all. But Porthos has split and d'Artagnon is nowhere to be found. Fine. Fuck it. I'll find a new crew.
     In the spotlight, she's seen slipping into her cage. She's popular. She has her groupies. She's gathering a crowd. Soon she'll be dressed like Tina Turner in Tommy. The girls here call her 'Delight'.
     But she's on a different track. She's got a different guardian angel following her. Sometimes Fate intervenes...
     ...and on the dancefloor there's another burst. Not of copper but something of energy. It begins with a dance. It may end in blood...

Posted by rowan at June 23, 2003 12:16 AM