Dancing With Danger


amadeus_icon.gif edgar_icon.gif gin_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif isis_icon.gif luke_icon.gif nadira_icon.gif sable_icon.gif tim_icon.gif zoey_icon.gif

Scene Title Dancing With Danger
Synopsis A night out on the town ends up being traumatizing for more than one goth in New York City.
Date September 23, 2010


"Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

That is the sign that rests just above the double doors that lead from the small foyer into the club proper. Once through the doors the music is all-encompassing, the heavy bass beat filling the room and senses of the club-goers. The decor is all dark, the walls painted black, the bar a sleek dark wood. The lights all have a reddish tinge to them, with the bar and DJ booth being the only places in the club proper that have more normal white light.

There are high tables with equally tall chairs circling a large dance floor, and booths set along two of the walls. But while socializing is a big part of the club, the dancing is the priority. People, some Goths, some punks, and some just people who like to dance are all packed on the dance floor. Weaving through the sea of people are servers, men and women both, dressed in black pants or skirts, and tee-shirts that have "Taratarus" written across the chest in red lettering. Likewise there are security people at the door and mixed through the club, in similar outfits, only their shirts have "SECURITY" on the back.

With the success of karaoke night just the evening before, there are plenty of people in Tartarus. People dancing, people sitting at booths talking, others hanging out at the bar, well on their way to getting drunk. Which makes it just an ordinary night in the goth club, just a little busier than usual. Something that the management of the club would no doubt be very pleased with, if they were here. Which they aren't. Just lots of people having a good time!

"Now this is what I'm talking about…" Isis coos as she steps through the double doors, taking in the lay of the dark premises before her. Already her eyes show with a vibrant, emerald green to give away the dangerously curious nature of her mood.

The redhead stands beside her date, holding Sable's smaller hand in the crook of her arm. The tense mood that has haunted her lately requires a night of wild liberation such as this to ease its grip. "This is what happens when you let me pick the 'date'," she comments.

And, whoo-boy, she is dressed for the event - Somehow, the little femme has squeezed herself into a pair of vinyl pants, polished to a wet-kiss sheen as much as the thigh-high, stiletto boots that encase the majority of said pants. A few metallic, bondage chains crisscross behind her thighs, winking and chiming as she walks. Her top is nothing more than a strapless bra of royal, hunter green and lacey black. The final piece of her attire is ebon-hued electrical tape. The sticky blackness is cut into elegant tribal designs that weave from the back of her hand, up the entirety of her right arm, out across her sternum and finally down the right side of her ribs. This little design is as much to benefit the contact she assumes by having Sable on her right side, in controlling her ability, as it is to for the appeal of any onlooker. Ultimately, her makeup is equally dark and enticing, kohl shadows lining those prismatic, emerald orbs.

Isis/Joanne grins and turns that devilishly sweet expression to her companion. "Drink first, or would you care to dance, m'lady?" she teases with a wink.

Gin is not here for the karaoke. She's not here for the music or the goths or the 'scene', she's here for the alcohol. A beer sits in front of her at the bar, and she seems to be quietly brooding to herself as she drinks. She sticks out. A pair of brown, worn work boots, equally worn and torn jeans and a brown flannel button down shirt aren't exactly to theme. But she's there anyway. Unapologetically so.

Amadeus is here to drink as well, sitting at the stool next to Gin but not particularly saying anything. He's just hunched over a glass of whiskey, wearing his black AC/DC shirt, blue jeans, and black converse all-stars. "Fuck, this needs salt." he mutters to himself, but doesn't bother asking for it.

There's really only one outfit Sable has that suits Tartarus, the one she wore during her brief appearance as La Petite Mort, spaghetti strap tanktop in black, with black jeans and a belt of leather (yes, black) studded with stainless steel. Feet in solid looking black books. Sable lacks even the makeup she donned on opening night, having neither the supplies nor expertise necessary to apply so much as eyeliner. To say that Isis makes her feel underdressed is ironic, due to the abundance of pale skin the redhead lets a lucky world gaze upon, which gaze is not least comprised of yellow eyed attention. Nervousness is not often Sable's lot, but at 'Joanna's' arm, her smile, however prominent, can't help but betray a flicker of anxiety.

Holy smoke… how the hell is she supposed to keep up with this girl?

"Lesson learned, hon," Sable says, eyes angling up thanks to a height difference further accentuated by boots that… do their job. Yow. "I'm gonna go with drink first, babe. Jus' lookin' at y's makin' me freeze up. You ain't got no mercy, do y'?" She flashes a grin, trying to outshine her anxiety through sheer wattage, "blackest heart in th' goth club."

Science! Well, not biology or chemistry, but sociology is a science too. And that's why Zoey is here. Trying to blend in with the indiginous tribe- er, goths, and learn about their customs and society. Okay, so she's not really thinking on it /that/ much. She is doing a bit of observation and study as she sits at a back table with a fruity drink. She's wearing black and has even done her best to mimic the styles of the more goth denizens, but she's still a touch out of place. It's enough to let her watch the people without drawing too much attention, at least, and that is her goal. Oh, what a fine paper this will be.

Seated at the bar, Griffin is currently wearing some rather formal clothing: black dress slacks, a long-sleeved dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a white tie that's been loosened from around his neck ever-so-slightly to adjust to the more relaxed situation. He's just seated himself, glancing around the club at those on the dance floor; he's unsure why he even came here this evening, aside from the fact that it's close to the condemned apartment building that he has made into his home, and because he wanted some alcohol.

Smiling, he glances toward Nadira behind the bar, raising a hand to flag her down. "Excuse me, miss? Could I request a double scotch on the rocks, by any chance?" This is requested in a gentle tone, just barely loud enough to be heard over the music. Accompanying the request is a warm smile on the man's narrow face.

Manning the drinks, as per usual, is Nadira. She's here all the time. Just try getting rid of her! Really, work is a good substitute for having a life, and in her case she enjoys her job. Hence why, night after night, the Egyptian woman is found behind the bar, mixing up various concoctions and sporting a corset and skirt. She looks the part, at least. Peering over at customers, she slides a drink over, making sure to keep up with the demand… there are, after all, quite a few people around tonight. As Griffin requests a drink, she gives him a smile. "Absolutely." She's soon turning to snag a glass as she smoothly pours the alcohol. She returns momentarily, sliding the drink over towards him. "A double scotch on the rocks," she repeats the order back to him with a grin. "Always a good classic drink. Can't go wrong with it."

There's one man here for one thing only. Two things, if you're looking for the real truth. Maybe three? Whiskey, beer to chase it with, and karaoke. The place wasn't so bad the night before, especially after the carnie had scared the patrons into singing and doing unicorn motions along with him. He's a little bit good at intimidation, especially when it comes to little boys wearing makeup… and Robert Smith.

Sauntering up to the bar, Edgar smacks his hand down on it to garner the attention of one of the bartenders. "'Ey, I'd like tha' bottle back there. Johnny Walker Black, yeah, tha' one. No' just a glass though, I'll take the 'ole thing."

Luke has learned by now not to order a drink at a bar, but it doesn't stop him from heading that way, and he ends up riiiight next to Griffin. He glances at the man, then takes another look, and snorts softly. So that guy got loose too, huh? Pity. He doesn't order anything, just rests his arms on the bar and glowers.

With everyone dealing with dates and revenge and alcohol, it should be an awesome night, right? Wrong. At least not for everyone in Tartarus. Luke. Poor, poor Luke. As he heads towards the bar, things just get worse. While he's pissed, he also quickly becomes scared. Paranoid. The bartender, does she know what he is? Or those two girls. Do they? His fears just begin to get dragged towards the surfce, manifesting as severe paranoia, at the very least.

But with his ability, things could be much worse for everyone else in the club.

"Come on, after the gig at the theater? I had to bring something to the table," Isis quips in return to Sable's comment. That said, the provocatively dressed redhead begins to lead the way to the bar. The young lady's hand falls to the small of Sable's back as she squeezes in on the opposite side of Griffin, flashing him a smile that speaks of apology towards his personal bubble, and gratitude that he presumably won't make a scene given the crowded nature of the bar area.

Shifted with her left shoulder in towards the bar, she guides Sable to stand in front of her, dipping her chin in over the tinier lady's bare shoulder, her lively gaze flickering between attentions upon the busy barkeeps and the delicate body of her companion.

Lifting an eyebrow at the guy next to her, Gin lets out a sigh and grabs a nearby shaker of salt to slide it over to Amadeus. "So do somethin' 'bout it instead of jus' bitchin'." Her accent is… odd. Sort of southern? But not quite. It isn't easily placed.

"Maybe I wanted to be miserable about not havin' salt." Amadeus says as he takes the shaker anyway, then starts shaking it into the glass. "Thanks." is muttered, then the shaker's slid back over to her.

"Hell," Sable says, set further off kilter by the touch at her back - that's what she usuall does! - "that's old hat t' me. Just dodge 'n' dive. This…" she looks around at the booming club, then over her shoulder at Isis as the reach the bar, "this is f'r real," she narrows her eyes slightly, "you tryin' t' overcome my better judgement, gal?"

If that is Isis's plan, Sable seems either willing to go along, or confident enough in her resistance to seek a drink anyways. Rising up on tiptoes, shoulder getting dangerously close to a contact with, she scans the bar. And spots… hey is that?

"Holy shit," Sable says, looking up and back at Isis again and thumbing at Nadira, "I know that chick," she grins, "mebbe I c'n get us free drinks. Arright…" She raises her arm and waves, trying to snag the Egyptian woman's attention, "Hey! Cleopatra! 's me! From th' zoo! Come on over here, eh?" The volume of her voice competing with the roar of the club, the boom of the bass.

With a smile, Griffin accepts the drink, raising it in a cheer toward Nadira. "Indeed, you can never really go wrong with a good scotch." He chuckles softly, raising the glass to his lips, taking a good mouthful of the amber liquid and swallowing it down with a slight wince. "Mmm, nothing beats that burn." He may as well be friendly. "You a scotch woman?"

It's as Griffin is taking another sip of the scotch that Luke slides up to the bar next to him, and he sputters, managing to keep most of his drink in the glass. He turns, staring at the younger man with wide eyes, lifting a hand over his mouth as he coughs from the burn of the liquor. Well, how's that for another ghost from the past? "You." The man promptly takes a bigger gulp of the scotch, flinching as it goes down a bit harsh. He's tense, now.

Cleopatra? It's a good thing Nadira hasn't actually been able to hear Sable yet. She does note the wave, however, giving a nod of recognition in response. She'll dash over there in a second. She peers towards Griffin, giving him a bit of a nod. "I suppose. I'm a fan of the hard stuff, though there are times when the burn can be a bit too much. You look like you can handle it." Peering between Griffin and Luke, however, she's noting a bit of tension. Er, don't get involved. At least not now. She shifts over a few steps towards Isis and Sable. "Hey, long time no see! Looking for some drinks?" She questions Sable.

One of the benefits of having a good vantage point is the ability to see people before they can see you. Thus, it's no real surprise that Zoey spots Sable well before Sable can spot her. She slips from her table and moves in that direction, but stops a fair bit away and pretty hidden by the crowds of people. Then she decides to have fun. While Sable is the only one to see and hear it, a little miniature Zoey in a rather cute devil costume pops into being on Sable's shoulder with a little *poof* and speaks, "Hey! Planning any mischief tonight?"

Luke was already paranoid enough to begin with, what with the whole 'the government is after me!' deal. So when he starts getting more paranoid, well, it kinda pushes his buttons, and there's a small burst of microwave energy from him. Oh, certainly not enough to hurt anyone, much less kill them, but it'd cause an uncomfortable feeling to those around him, the closer to him, the stronger the discomfort. Poor Griffin. It feels much like touching a hot plate after it's been… well… taken out of a microwave, only all over. He throttles it down though, and looks around suspiciously. All right, who's out to get him this time? "What?!" he snaps to Griffin, already on edge. Hands are clenched into fists, even. He has a bad reaction to fear.

Lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck, Edgar tries once again to grab the attention of the bartender. This time with a little more force and a lot less thought. Holding a penny between his fingers, he snaps it toward the woman, not meaning to make it zing quite as fast as it went. Thanksfully, his aim is just a little off and misses the mark on her buttocks as they're bent over. Instead, the penny hits a bottle just overtop and smashes the bottle.

At the end of the bar, the speedster whip around and leans up with his back against the counter. Yes, he's even whistling innocently. There's nothing, absolutely nothing, to see there.

Poor Luke. The fear doesn't leave him, even after he gets control of his ability. If anything, it gets worse. And not just for him. No, slowly it begins to spread, like some sort of contagion, moving from person to another. Those at the bar are the first affected, each quickly finding their fear breathing down their neck, bringing all their paranoias to the forefront of their consciousness.

Isis snickers as she takes in Sable's excited profile while the smaller woman waves over the bartender. She flashes the Egyptian woman a warm smile. "I'll have a-" Isis gives a little start, causing an uncertain ripple of unstable consciousnesses between Sable and herself, under mutual contact of flesh, before the redhead reigns in her control. She's only begun searching for the source of the uncomfortable heat and the disconcerting source of breaking glass behind the bar, when the inkling of fear begins to crawl in under her porcelain skin:

She almost lost control. What if she cannot handle it? Why did she wear such an idiotically revealing outfit? What if she swaps and they find her? The people that will poke her with needles and put her in a test tube, or the stranger putting up posters in NYC. Better yet… what if Sable discovers all along she is lying about who she is?

Isis gasps quietly behind her companion as her throat tightens under the heavy, merciless hand of a panic attack. She back up, jostling against Griffin and causing another painful, wavering, disorientation as psyche attempts to leap into the stranger's body. She whimpers as she pulls her thoughts painfully back into herself and tries to stumble away.

But, there is flesh. Flesh everwhere. Suddenly, Isis begins to claw at the bartop like a scared cat, trying to drag herself on top of it to get away from the crammed bodies of those crowding towards the source of liquor.

Catching the salt, Gin makes a dismissive noise at Amadeus just before that wave from Luke hits. And ruins her beer. While normally this would piss her off, with that fear that follows… she just freezes for a moment before a scowl comes to her face. And her accusing gaze falls on Amadeus. Her fingers pull a knife out of her boot, and she wields it threateningly while her free hand grabs him by the shirt and shoves him against the bar. "What the hell did you just do?!"

"The fuck are you talkin' about?" Amadeus' own fears run on a bit of a… special spectrum. He's staring at her, then the knife, then into her eyes again. "Fuck… I'm sick of you crazy bitches. You're some mob dude's daughter, we must have fucked before. Oh god… you're pregnant aren't you?" His eyes keep rapidly shifting from left to right, trying to frantically think of a way out of the situation. "I'll do anything, just don't tell your dad. I can't fight a mob guy!"

It's all rather a lot to take in at once, frankly. First Nadira drifts up to them, a question as to drinks poised. Isis takes the initiative, or begins to, and that's all just as well because suddenly Sable is hallucinating a diabolical apparition in the form of a lady friend. The shoulder devil's question is met with a bug-eyed stare and…

That's when the Fear hits.

Is she planning mischief tonight? The devil's question burrows into her mind like a parasite, making itself at home. Sable already has paranoiac tendencies, ones that assert themselves in mostly benign ways, interpretations of events, correlations of color, names and notions, signs and portents. The devil, wearing the face of a woman Sable's known… it's too much. Mischief? Oh God, isn't it always? Always with her. Her very presence here is testament. Two-timing, backstabbing, ill-intentioned wolf on the prowl. Fear and self loathing swell up out of the depths of Sable's tangled psyche as she faces her devil.

Isis's sudden wild outburst shakes Sable out of frozen terror, but introduces, instead, a certainty that Isis knows. Knows the sort of double dealing creature Sable is. That it's disgust that is sending her scrambling up onto the bartop, and soon, certainly, to become the rage of a betrayed Medea. Nadira, nearby, is ready to weigh Sable's heart against a feather, and Sable already knows which way the scales will tip.

The yellow eyed girl collapses onto the floor and curls up into a fetal ball, whimpering.

"Sorry, oh Jesus, sorry, so fuckin' sorry, I'm sorry…"

At first, Griffin is simply backing away from Luke, his eyes wide. "What—" He doesn't finish his sentence, but he is edging away from Luke and that sensation that spreads over him, bumping into someone as he does so. Then, that fist of fear takes its grip around the man's mind, and his eyes are changing color, the green completely disappearing as his eyes are wrapped in a layer of bluish white.

Nothing more than that seems to happen. That is, not until those crowding around the bar feel what seems to be hands, shoving them away from the Griffin to create a little 'bubble' of space around him. It seems that Luke is the center of his attention in this, despite the difficulty in determining where his gaze really is. And it is poor, poor Luke who gets the brunt of his fellow Moab escapee's fear, being the closest to Griffin.

Suddenly, two bottles lift up from behind the bar as if of their own will, floating over the bartop. They hover there for a moment; then, both are sent flying toward Luke as if thrown by a baseball player.

tThen, Isis jostles against him, and the man lets out a loud shout, one telekinetic hand sent flying toward the source of pain, aiming to shove the woman away from himself, and in a somewhat violent way that will likely send her jostling into others, as well.

All the while, it just looks like Griff is gripping the sides of his head, a panicked look on his face. Perhaps he's suddenly gone blind?

It starts with a penny breaking a bottle. Nadira jumps, all-too familiar with the sound of breaking glass, and not just as an occupational hazard. Her eyes whirl around, searching for the sound… and then there's the wave from Luke. Microwaving alcohol isn't a good idea, either, and several more bottles break in the aftermath of that. The Egyptian woman isn't particularly happy about that, particularly since Luke's shouting aggressively at Griffin. She had a feeling there could be bad blood between the two, but this?

Then there's a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Isis is crawling onto the bar (and subsequently a little closer towards her), Gin's got a knife on Amadeus, Sable's whimpering on the floor… and Nadira's got a sinking feeling that there's something more sinister involved in this. Shit. SHIT.


Well, in spite of her growing fear, she's got to do something and the bar is a shield. If people are bringing out knives and bottles are flying and exploding… at least there's the safety that the bar brings. She ducks a little lower behind it, peering out at the people close to the bar.

"Take it outside! Clear the area!" She shouts, her eyes frantically glancing about. Who was it? Where were they? Could she make an escape?

Ooookay, something weird is going on. People are suddenly freaking out and the reaction from Sable was /definitely/ not what Zoey was expecting. A spit-take was the desired response. At least surprise and maybe a laugh. Collapsing into fetal position? Nooot so much. Zoey is about to have the illusion say something else when the wave of paranoia hits her. The image vanishes as her eyes go wide. She isn't registered. What if she'd screwed up and let someone else see the illusion? She didn't want to go to jail, her parents would be so absolutely ashamed of her. She casts her gaze around, frantically trying to find out if anyone else had seen her illusion. She shouldn't have made it look like her. Stupid stupid stupid!

Luke sees the bottles heading his way and ducks, then snarls and leaps for Griffin, a punch aimed at the guy's chin. He's not entirely sure that Griffin's responsible for the bottles, but he doesn't like this guy, and he's right there, so Luke'll take it out on him. Also, uh… more alcohol bottles fall victim to microwaves, since Luke is pissed off. Well at the very least, he's not aiming at people. The bar's definitely going to lose some of its revenue.

Placing a finger in his collar, the speedster looks around, then takes two long sniffs inward. The finger winds its way around, pulling at his neckline to allow air in. But it's all hot. Too hot. His head blurs in a fast motion as he searches the immediate area over and over again. Then his body streaks, flitting from place to place, trying to find where it might be coming from.

At one such appearance, he's got a fire extinguisher in his hands. The fire seems to be coming from around the bar… well… "Fire! There's a fire sum'ere 'round'ere! Women an' children firs'!" Edgar bellows as he unpins the handle and squeezes the trigger, covering everyone around the alcohol in a nice white foam.

From somewhere in the crowd there's a laugh. It sounds almost joyous. Someone is certainly enjoying the show. A lot. It trails off, the sound getting a bit further away, towards the door. But then, there's more than one person heading for the exit. They want some fun, but this is a little too much for most people.

Security hears Nadira's shout, and see the chaos, and they begin trying to push their way towards the bar, but unfortunately, it'll be a minute before they can get there.

Isis has cat-scrambled her ass nearly half way up the bar, one stem of a sexy heel planted on the countertop as she aims to drag the other up behind her, when…

Thwump! Griffin's invisible momentum shoves the light, female frame without a second thought. "Ahh-ckk…NO!" Isis shouts as she sees the floor come up towards her face. She tries to reach out, hands turning into desperate little claws that grasp blindly at the nearest object.

CRACK The redheaded body slaps nose first on the floor behind the bar. But, it is not Isis's psyche that experiences the pain. No, Isis's mind is safe, but shuddering from the equally painful and uncontrolled exchange of bodies, within Nadira's Egyptian making.

"Oh no! NO!" Isis puppets her stolen vessel up to its feet, stumbling like a psychotic drunk beneath the burdens of fear, disorientation, and pain, knocking a few more bottles to crash to the floor in added cacophony. She looks around of Sable, but does not see her among those on the opposite side of the bar. That's when she notices it - the sickeningly familiar sensation. It makes her heave visibly with the need to vomit. Moisture. Condensation. Cool, calling water.

Isis closes the lids over those Egyptian eyes, trying to will away herself to another world entirely. But, all she sees is that man - that man looking up at her while she was within Candy's body. That man gurgling as he tried to beg for his life. That man slumping as Candy's power …

Nadira's body can be seen trashing around behind the bar in a frenzy, eyes clenched shut as the woman within shrieks and thrashes around. Those nearby suddenly feel what it is like to wander the desert. Coupled with the heat of Luke's microwave ability, people begin to feel parched. Thirst - It's the bodies' first instincts in the lack of hydration. But, the feeling of dehydration begins to ripple painfully across the skin while the more condensed pools of water on the floor begin to coalesce around the feet of the bartender's possessed body, climbing up her boots as if seeking to protect the body in a casing of prismatic liquid and… now, foam.

Even as he's being sprayed with foam from the fire hydrant, Griffin's eyes are getting whiter and whiter, until they're suddenly glowing. Two telekinetic arms are being used to stave off the swelling crowds of panic from pressing in on him too thick; another pair is sent flying at Luke, one invisible hand catching Luke's fist in mid-air and squeezing down horribly tight, possibly snapping a few bones; another

There's a growl from Gin at Amadeus' answer, and she would respond… but Griffin's push shoves her into the guy in her grip. "Ugh," she starts, her tone disgusted, "I have some taste." And then, the call for security and well, that's any old bar brawler's signal to get lost. Amadeus is shoved against the bar again before she turns to take off toward the nearest exit. Of course, that shouting about fire has made it a little difficult, but she's pushy enough to make it through.

Amadeus gets shoved, but soon his mind is on something entirely different. Fire… there's a fire somewhere! Oh god, fire fire fire! He hunches slightly, arms held up almost like an animal walking on its hind paws, then he goes trying to find a way out as well, attempting to shove against people and run as fast as he can. "Move!" he hisses out, swinging a hand in an attempt to scratch the occasional frantic person.

Yeah, his brain's flipping out just a bit.

Sable needs out. She needs to get out of here. There are too many people, too many eyes, too many witnesses. Who knows what they will see, what they have already seen? Who knows who they'll tell, what they'll say? Her foundation, the very bulwark of her hard earned happiness, might crumble away from under her. She can't allow it. She needs out.

Unworthy, cowardly, she is not thinking of Isis right now. Or, if she is, it's as another manifestation of her guilt, dressed up in vinyl and electrical tape. The shoulder devil is gone, but its words remain. Mischief, mischief. Uncurling, she scrambles as fast as she can, her smallness and preternatural reflexes all that keep her from being trampled underfoot. Her heart throbs, too fast, too painful, even as she reaches the doors and tumbles out into the evening air.

Even as he's being sprayed with foam from the fire hydrant, Griffin's eyes are getting whiter and whiter, until they're suddenly glowing. Two telekinetic arms are being used to stave off the swelling crowds of panic from pressing in on him too thick; another pair is sent flying at Luke, one invisible hand catching Luke's fist in mid-air and squeezing down horribly tight, possibly snapping a few bones; another invisible hand can be felt pressing against his chest, then two, then three, attempting to shove him away even more violently than Isis was shoved away from him.

A third pair of telekinetic arms fly up toward the ceiling, gripping the rafters; not that most can see this, save for the flecks of foam that seem to be floating around aimlessly in the air. Instead, it simply appears that Griffin is suddenly floating, up and above the heads of the panicked masses, his eyes gleaming bluish-white in the dim lights of the bar.

Brightly glowing white eyes travel across the panicked crowd, attempting to pinpoint the source of the laughter he hears among the screams…

There's a groan from the floor behind the bar. Nadira, who is now sporting Isis' body, sits up, rubbing her nose. And then she notices that it's not her nose she's rubbing. Nor her hands she's using. And she screams. She stays low behind the bar, eyes wide as she looks around. And she notices herself. And the foam from the fire hydrant. She feels the air, the desert heat partially caused from the ability she was so desperately not wanting people to find out she had. The redhaired Nadira-in-Isis looks towards her original body, panicky. "Calm! You have to calm yourself. Settle! Don't cause ripples!" She coaches.

Zoey is luckily not by the bar, so she escapes the foam spray. And she's not seeing anyone that seems to have realized she had an ability. But someone's yelling about a fire! But she doesn't see a fire? Oh god she needs to get out before she's burned alive or something. She's hot, she hadn't realized how hot and dry it felt before, but she feels it now. Maybe there really is a fire, then. She freezes, not sure what to do or where to go. People are running around everywhere, there's lots of noise, and damn it she's sure someone saw her use her powers. She can't really take it and just drops down into a crouch, starting to cry.

Luke screams as his hand is broken, and he totally knows who did that. Oh, dude, you're going to PAY for that later. Thanks to the pain, there's some nice sporadic waves of microwave energy going haywire, people are getting hit randomly and it HURTS, but still not a lethal dose. The pain is making him lose control, and it's not pretty. There's a good reason he was in Moab, after all. Cradling his hand to his chest, Luke bolts for the door, spurred on by the shove from Griffin. AHHHH PAIN. The most people would get are burns, like they grabbed a hot frying pan, only at other places like arms or legs or torso. Another effect is that it makes people panic even more, since pain does that to people. That's why the military uses microwaves for riot control. Truefax.

After covering everything with foam, the floor is a little slippery. So when Edgar starts doing the charitable thing and stars trying to run goths outside to save their lives, he slips and falls. At high speed. Lucky, there's a goth in hand to land on. When the black painted kid squeaks and groans, Edgar scrambles up and grabs him by the scruff of the neck. "C'mon, damn yank.. yer.. AAaaH!!"

Letting go of the poser, the speedster lets loose a giant scream of pain. He's being burned alive… just like his family. His original one. Heedless to any of the other patrons of the bar, Edgar does as Edgar's been told.


The laughter fades into the sound of people screaming, and people start flooding out the doors. No one wants to be in a club where things are going to hell. Especially since there's no a fear of fire. Luckily though, not long after that starts happening, the unnatural fear fades. It doesn't erase the fear that the call of fire caused, but it does leave only that which people would naturally be afraid of right now.

Nadira's body freezes from its thrashing efforts at the sound of a familiar voice - Isis's voice. She pries open her eyes, blind and deaf to the chaos around her as her attention hones in on the source. Her body! "I - I can't!! Make it stop! I don't want to hurt anyone again!" Isis chokes out through the pain, the fear, and the continued urge to vomit.

The borrowed body fumbles forward, beaded of water falling away from the bartender's boots to skitter across the floor like fleeing insects, as the blubbering figure reaches out towards the redheaded body. A couple of the individuals already dehydrated by the extent of their liquor intake and stuck close to the bar by the bottleneck effect of the fearful crowd, begin to sink to the floor with gasping, raspy breathes.

Without hesitation fingers beaded and slick with droplets of stolen water, brush clumsily across the redhead's face. **WHAM!!* The exchange is anything but graceful or pleasant, and Isis is forced to face the pain of her nose - broken, more than likely, for the second time in only a few months. Isis retches on the floor, sputtering a moment to catch her breath as she looks at the few singed spots on the back of her arms where Luke's ability has taken its toll on her pale skin.

For Isis, there is enough left to fear without any macabre, Evolved ability to assist: What if she killed someone with that power… again? Where is Sable? What if… SABLE! Isis whimpers and suddenly shuffles to her feet, bouncing off the counter in her precariously balanced heels before barreling through the door located behind the bar. Only those nearby can likely hear the mess of clicking heels and toppled storage shelves of glass as the redhead flees down the hall and out the backdoor.
You have been applauded.

Griffin watches as Luke leaves through narrowed eyes, shaking his head; the fear is fading, and those glowing eyes are trailing the club, searching for signs of a fire. When he sees none, his eyes turn toward Nadira, now that Isis has left.

Still hovering there, he reaches down with a pair of telekinetic arms, attempting to scoop Nadira off of her feet…then, he's floating rapidly toward the door that Isis disapeared into just moments ago, tearing it open with one of those invisible hands. Then, he is rushing down the hall, his feet not even touching the ground, with Nadira floating just ahead of him. She seems scared…he may as well help her get out, too.

It's out the back door the two go, quickly floating up the side of a building and over the rooftops.

Nadira's reconnected with her rightful body with a gasp, the redhead flying past her and scrambling out the door. Her body, soaked with water, leaves her with an overwhelming feeling of panic. Especially since the redhead had her ability for a short time and didn't know what she was doing. She exhales, the water pooled at her feet moving, returning to the air, dispersing into a calming feeling of mist. Things are restoring themselves, and those gasping from dehydration are… well, finding themselves hydrated once again. The Egyptian, however, is still left in her state of panic.

And then she's quickly scooped off her feet by hands and arms that don't seem to be seen, and she's moved out the door. Normally this would panic the woman, but the escape from the bar is most welcome at the moment, and she squeezes her eyes shut, the dark haired woman focusing on… trying to focus again.

Which leaves Zoey crouched on the floor, crying still. She's terrified she's going to be arrested, she's terrified she's going to burn alive, and OH GOD LUKE'S POWER JUST BURNED HER! The surge of microwaves or whatever gives Zoey a good burn along her right side, like a bad sunburn. The paranoia of being caught begins to fade. After all, she knows how to use her power. She knew what she was doing. She wouldn't have been caught. Still, she makes mental note to go register, though. She wipes her eyes and gets to her feet, just as a security guy grabs her and drags her towards the door, making comments about the stupid bitch that couldn't get her ass in gear to run from a fire.

While people begin to recover, the security staff start trying to help calm the situation, to take care of anyone who got injured. It's not a good time to be a Tartarus employee. But for those still in the club, at least the ordeal is over. No more fear, no more power slip ups. At least, not for now.

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