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zg_shadowsThe music was loud and heavy, pounding like an electromagnetic storm. The people danced, thrashing around to the beat or swirling their hands hypnotically as if they could trace the tune through the air.
Amongst the sea of leather and pvc, of dyed hair and contact lenses, fishnet, neon and eyeliner, false smiles, calculated despair, hidden excitement and feigned boredom... One girl stood out.
She stood out not because she was the most beautiful, nor the most outrageously dressed (her clothes were in fact rather plain) but because she was without a doubt the most real person there. Her skin was naturally pale and her figure delicate. What little make-up she wore was as smudged and indistinct as her tattoos - glimpsed on wrist, neck and shoulders. The tight trousers and black waistcoat wasn’t an outfit carefully selected for the evening, rather something thrown on because it was there when she’d got up.
The girl had no idea how to dance, but she followed the rhythm of the music with a natural grace and solid anger that lent definition to her movements. She did not look to be enjoying herself particularly; it was more as if she was performing a ritual, gritting her teeth through the proscribed steps so it might bring her what she sought come day-break.
Hoping what she sought was a bed-mate (or at least a swift grope) several had approached her – to date they numbered three men, two boys and one girl. They had, more or less, all received the same treatment. The most cock-sure had been given a warning glare measuring several hundred degrees centigrade and told “Not interested.” The less courageous got an irritated look and a shake of the head. After each suitor had been dispatched the girl went to the bar: ordered two double whiskeys, neat, and knocked them back.
After the sixth solicitation she ordered three shots from the bar and then stayed, staring balefully at the little glasses arrayed before her.
“You wanna slow down, yeah?” shouted the server, his advice posing as an amicable question. He was fine with people drinking too much – hell, it paid his wage. He just wasn’t convinced a girl her size could cope with thirteen doubles of JD hitting her liver. He was amazed she was still standing after ten. Maybe she was Russian? She certainly scowled enough to be a Siberian ice-maiden and that would explain why she hadn’t folded yet.
The girl stared at him, a long and slightly blank look. Then as if his words were a challenge, she lifted the first shot to her lips and drank it down. Her nails clasped around the glass were long and neatly pointed, coloured the exact same shade of blood red as her hair.
The server raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged. If the henna-freak wanted to drink herself six feet under it wasn’t any business of his.
Her lips twitched into a snarling sort of smile as she rapped the first glass back onto the bar and picked up the second. It was as the whiskey burned down her throat for the twelfth time that Ash felt someone slip their arm across her shoulders, and saw from the corner of her eye, a hand pick up her last shot.
Some sliver of self-control stopped her from smashing her empty glass into their face; instead she cupped it in her palm and rammed it into the bar, grinding thick shards of breaking glass through her hand. Pain and rage burnt with the alcohol in her blood as she turned and growled at the intruder, letting a slice of her true nature come to the fore.
The server felt the shock reverberate through the bar and looked across at the girl, wondering if she’d smacked her chin as she passed out. Instead he saw her radiating anger on a megawatt scale, standing eye to eye with a young man who was her double and her opposite all at once. He wore a well-cut suit with no shirt; his skin was tanned, his face narrow and his eyes bright. His scruffy hair and short nails were as red as hers.
Kit grimaced at the whiskey souring his tongue, tapped the glass back onto the bar and grinned unabashedly at his twin. “Found you! Wow – this place is LOUD! Gaaahh – d’you like this stuff? It tastes weird – all kinda sugary and burnt... I like it! Where can I get more?”
Ash slid her hand off the bar so that the bloody splinters dropped wetly from her palm and shivered to the floor. “What you doin’ here, Kit?”
“You said we were going home. You said to meet you when the moon rose. But you weren’t there. So I came an’ found you. Can we go home now?”
Ash let out a short and unhappy laugh. “Home? I ain’t anywhere near inebriated enough for that.”
A frown marred her brother’s features for a moment. “Why?”
Ash looked at him. “I gotta go tell mama that I’m dead – but not t’worry none, ‘cos you’ll kick arse for the Folk now. No way in hell am I doin’ that sober.”
“It’s all right,” he insisted.
“How’s that?”
“Well you know what Aunt Glory’s like. She probably knew what was happening before we did. She would have told mama.”
Ash’s eyes were wide. “You reckon Glory knew we died?”
“But I didn’t...”
“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Kit’s smile faltered.
“I already feel like a ghost at my own funeral – now I get to gatecrash the wake for real? Great.”
Kit hugged her, and she allowed it, an action that caused a small mixture of surprise and jealousy in all who happened to look at them. He turned his head close to hers and licked her cheek.
Ash batted him away.
His expression showed hurt. “What? You’re grubby. You’ve got that funny black stuff all round your eyes again.”
“And you ain’t got any sense of propriety. You see other people lickin’ each other?” Her eyes flicked over the decadent and degenerate selection of humanity in the club. “Don’t answer that.” She sighed. “All right then, let’s get this over with.”
From the shadows under the bar where she must have put them, the girl pulled out a leather coat and a black Stetson. Then, arm in arm with James Bond’s more rakish and flame-haired younger brother, she left the club.
Amongst the sea of leather and pvc, of dyed hair and contact lenses, fishnet, neon and eyeliner, false smiles, calculated despair, hidden excitement and feigned boredom... One girl stood out.
She stood out not because she was the most beautiful, nor the most outrageously dressed (her clothes were in fact rather plain) but because she was without a doubt the most real person there. Her skin was naturally pale and her figure delicate. What little make-up she wore was as smudged and indistinct as her tattoos - glimpsed on wrist, neck and shoulders. The tight trousers and black waistcoat wasn’t an outfit carefully selected for the evening, rather something thrown on because it was there when she’d got up.
The girl had no idea how to dance, but she followed the rhythm of the music with a natural grace and solid anger that lent definition to her movements. She did not look to be enjoying herself particularly; it was more as if she was performing a ritual, gritting her teeth through the proscribed steps so it might bring her what she sought come day-break.
Hoping what she sought was a bed-mate (or at least a swift grope) several had approached her – to date they numbered three men, two boys and one girl. They had, more or less, all received the same treatment. The most cock-sure had been given a warning glare measuring several hundred degrees centigrade and told “Not interested.” The less courageous got an irritated look and a shake of the head. After each suitor had been dispatched the girl went to the bar: ordered two double whiskeys, neat, and knocked them back.
After the sixth solicitation she ordered three shots from the bar and then stayed, staring balefully at the little glasses arrayed before her.
“You wanna slow down, yeah?” shouted the server, his advice posing as an amicable question. He was fine with people drinking too much – hell, it paid his wage. He just wasn’t convinced a girl her size could cope with thirteen doubles of JD hitting her liver. He was amazed she was still standing after ten. Maybe she was Russian? She certainly scowled enough to be a Siberian ice-maiden and that would explain why she hadn’t folded yet.
The girl stared at him, a long and slightly blank look. Then as if his words were a challenge, she lifted the first shot to her lips and drank it down. Her nails clasped around the glass were long and neatly pointed, coloured the exact same shade of blood red as her hair.
The server raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged. If the henna-freak wanted to drink herself six feet under it wasn’t any business of his.
Her lips twitched into a snarling sort of smile as she rapped the first glass back onto the bar and picked up the second. It was as the whiskey burned down her throat for the twelfth time that Ash felt someone slip their arm across her shoulders, and saw from the corner of her eye, a hand pick up her last shot.
Some sliver of self-control stopped her from smashing her empty glass into their face; instead she cupped it in her palm and rammed it into the bar, grinding thick shards of breaking glass through her hand. Pain and rage burnt with the alcohol in her blood as she turned and growled at the intruder, letting a slice of her true nature come to the fore.
The server felt the shock reverberate through the bar and looked across at the girl, wondering if she’d smacked her chin as she passed out. Instead he saw her radiating anger on a megawatt scale, standing eye to eye with a young man who was her double and her opposite all at once. He wore a well-cut suit with no shirt; his skin was tanned, his face narrow and his eyes bright. His scruffy hair and short nails were as red as hers.
Kit grimaced at the whiskey souring his tongue, tapped the glass back onto the bar and grinned unabashedly at his twin. “Found you! Wow – this place is LOUD! Gaaahh – d’you like this stuff? It tastes weird – all kinda sugary and burnt... I like it! Where can I get more?”
Ash slid her hand off the bar so that the bloody splinters dropped wetly from her palm and shivered to the floor. “What you doin’ here, Kit?”
“You said we were going home. You said to meet you when the moon rose. But you weren’t there. So I came an’ found you. Can we go home now?”
Ash let out a short and unhappy laugh. “Home? I ain’t anywhere near inebriated enough for that.”
A frown marred her brother’s features for a moment. “Why?”
Ash looked at him. “I gotta go tell mama that I’m dead – but not t’worry none, ‘cos you’ll kick arse for the Folk now. No way in hell am I doin’ that sober.”
“It’s all right,” he insisted.
“How’s that?”
“Well you know what Aunt Glory’s like. She probably knew what was happening before we did. She would have told mama.”
Ash’s eyes were wide. “You reckon Glory knew we died?”
“But I didn’t...”
“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Kit’s smile faltered.
“I already feel like a ghost at my own funeral – now I get to gatecrash the wake for real? Great.”
Kit hugged her, and she allowed it, an action that caused a small mixture of surprise and jealousy in all who happened to look at them. He turned his head close to hers and licked her cheek.
Ash batted him away.
His expression showed hurt. “What? You’re grubby. You’ve got that funny black stuff all round your eyes again.”
“And you ain’t got any sense of propriety. You see other people lickin’ each other?” Her eyes flicked over the decadent and degenerate selection of humanity in the club. “Don’t answer that.” She sighed. “All right then, let’s get this over with.”
From the shadows under the bar where she must have put them, the girl pulled out a leather coat and a black Stetson. Then, arm in arm with James Bond’s more rakish and flame-haired younger brother, she left the club.
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no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 10:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 12:11 pm (UTC)You telling me Greyfur would like to go to a room full of light, noise and drunk humans and watch while an extremely pissed-off Ash drinks poison that smells of rotten sugar?
no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 01:08 pm (UTC)Well in that case I'll ensure Ash invites Greyfur along next time. There will be a next time if only because Kit thinks clubs are shiny.
Selene help us all...
no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 01:58 pm (UTC)