Participants:
| Scene Title | Dee is for Dangerous |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Right after the gig at Tartarus, Sable seeks out an unlikely femme fatale. |
| Date | June 25, 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 stage lights turned off, Tartarus is all the more gloomy, and thus all the more appropriately gothic, shadows criss crossing bands of light cast by the lamps over the dance floor. It's been quite a night - this is easily the largest gig Sable, for all her bravado, has ever played in front of, and she wasn't even playing as herself.
Decked out in tight black jeans with a studded black leather belt, a black spaghetti strap top, studded black leather wristlets, and her hair dyed (black, of course), Sable would be nigh-unrecognizable but for the ever-present yellow of her eyes. Which eyes appear to be weeping black tears (compliments of Tasha Renard's thespian expertise). A silver skull pendant swings around her neck, as La Petite Mort elbows her way through the crowd that has remained after the main event. She weaves deftly through dancing bodies, dodging elbows and feet, all while making her way to the last place her keen vision spotted a certain mass of red hair, and a certain familiar face.
Tonight, in Tartarus, all the minions of Hades couldn't stop Sable from getting where she's going. Death makes its calls. Bwahahah!
Thunder crashes, cue maniacal laughter- It is all very thematic. Delilah gave her word to more than one person that she would be here tonight, and though she has largely strayed where there is less jostling and more sitting room, she has come. Fortunately, it has given her some time to meet and greet rather than actually roll around in the gothiness. Not that she wouldn't if she were totally able! If she keeps up coming here, the baby will come out and refuse to sleep unless she plays Goth Metal for him. Ah.
Delilah does not own much in terms of something to wear to goth clubs- which really must be fixed- but not today. Wearing a somewhat taut black dress, her paleness does stand out a little more; the thin red belt with a little white skull buckle helps just enough. Her lips are crimson red to match, and her hair falls in what she wishes were like vampire curls. They are halfway there, coming off as cuter than simply because she lacks the attitude.
Delilah spots Sable before Sable spots her, passing by a few couples mingling before she is able to call out. "Sable! Slow down, will you?" Bee-line was very much a bee-line.
Who? What? Where? Sable teeters forward on one foot, the other raised in the next hurried step but halted midway by a voice to match the sought head of hair and fair face. Sable actually takes ahold of the first thing she can find, that being the dark velvet coat of a very tall, very pale, very vampiric looking gentleman. He turns his eyes, made red by what must be contacts (though who can tell these days?), and gives Sable a look, one that transforms quickly into surprise. Hey, wasn't she on stage? Sable lets go of Lestat's lapel and gives him a crooked grin, before quickly darting back towards the origin of the call.
She bounds up to Delilah and, without so much as a pause for balance, bounces onto the balls of her feet and presses her lips firmly to Dee's. Sable's own lipstick, a red so dark it's almost black, leaves the faintest smudge as she falls back, her smile broad as the day is long in summertime. "Just lookit you!" she exclaims, clearly still riding on a performance high, nervous energy shot through every inch of her, "Life 'n' death, huh?" she says, flicking a fingernail against the belt buckle.
And now it's time for another lunge. Sable wraps her arms about Delilah and squeezes with no small enthusiasm. She smells of sweat and stage makeup and triumph. "Thank you, thank you, thank you f'r comin'. Meant a whole fuckin' lot t' me, catchin' sight of you out there," is her thanks, muffled slightly by Delilah's shoulder.
Incidental, that a pregnant woman comes around to the club about death. Delilah almost jerks back when it looks like Sable might just bowl into her headfirst, but seeing as it is a kiss approaching and not so much a headbutt- the redhead recieves it, smiling as the shorter girl tilts away again. There is not much time before Sable is right there again, facefirst into her shoulder and arms looped around. Wow.
"Yes, yes. I was going to come because you asked me, and then I got asked about three more times- so I absolutely had to promise." Delilah laughs, somewhat bewildered by Sable's rockstar adrenaline high. "You're liable to squeeze the fetus right outta me, sweetie." Her hands hooked onto Sable's shoulders, she is able to hug back with a bit less of La Petite Mort's roughness. "you were all great! I loved the song."
Sable lets up a bit. This is no night for an early delivery. Drawn back enough to converse normally, the young rocker tilts her head towards the dance floor. "Think y've got it in you t' join me out there?" she asks, "Not straight away. I gotta catch m' fuckin' breath." Her eyes dart from side to side, like she's about to convey some secret, "Don't you tell no one, but tonight was a near goddamn thing. Our boy 'n' fellow friend, Magnes, got his ass hospitalized doin' some fool thing or other. I don't even know how he dragged himself on stage, honest…" She wrinkles her nose, "Gal, were you ever part of whatever crazy goddamn world-savin' nonsense he used t' kill time doin'?" The wrinkle smooths, and she grins, "I ask only cuz of yer air of mystery 'n' danger."
"Err- well." Delilah starts, looking wary for a moment. "Not his world-savin' nonsense. I can't say as much for other people's." She smiles again, glancing up and out towards the rest of the club. "He does that. You'll have to start watching him. Maybe buy him a bark collar." The idea of someone actually making an effort to control Magnes Varlane is an interesting one.
"Do I really have an air of mystery? I understand that 'Dee is for Dangerous' and all-"
Sable snickers at the suggestion. "I'll leave th' discipline t' his lovely lady," she says, "Figure he'll take to it better that way, eh?" She tilts her head, "So y' are one of these goddamn heroic types? Jesus, y' think y' meet someone normal in this town, huh?" She grins, "Mebbe I'll start puttin' m'self in harm's way. Let you come 'n' rescue me. Never been a damsel or nothin' before, but for you hon," she steps up closer to Dee, taking her waist, "I'm more th'n ready to broaden my horizons."
Yellow eyes gleam. "Danger, hon? Yer a fatal woman. Why else have y' got that name, eh?"
"I'll polish my armor." Delilah lifts her eyebrows a little, smiling with her lips. "I used to be more fatal than you might think." It comes as a singular shock to realize in these few seconds- that Delilah misses her ability. For all its worsened purposes, it did some good. An Epiphany, of sorts, that leaves the redhead pausing to mull on it, eyes roaming at the air nearby. It does make her wonder- if it will ever come back. If it will ever provide her with that ableness again, to boldly go where she is not supposed to, to fight against who she really should not.
"I don't think there is anyone normal 'round here, anymore."
Sable is, of course, painfully attentive to Delilah's state of mind, and her allusion to greater deadliness, while initially taken as perhaps just a cryptic flirt, takes on greater mystery (an air of?) as Dee enters that Epiphanic state. Sable frowns, hoping, by sheer concentration, to pierce the veil of revery that falls around the redhead. Her following words do little to derail Sable's curiosity and interest.
"Off y' go again," Sable says, "Wherever it is y' go. What's on yer mind, hon? You looked awful contemplative fer a gal takin' a night out on the town."
"Hm." Delilah Is riled a little from distraction, smiling to dissipate whatever is left. "I have a lot to think about. I suspect when I get old people will think I am senile." She lifts a hand to sheepishly scratch at her nose, which wrinkles. "I used to have a dangerous ability. It hasn't come back since I had the flu." Maybe it will come back when nobody expects. Perhaps the most hazardous thing, as per its existence so far.
"So, yeah. I was dangerous. Not so much for now, I suppose."
"Maybe gettin' simple with age 'll be a relief, considerin' the force with which y' use what's in y'r skull," Sable suggests, smiling lopsidedly, "What's it that you could do, hon? If it's t' make yer smitten suitors feel like perishin' with curiosity, I think y' may have just regained it." A bad joke, sure, but after 'naught-ical', Sable feels like she has cart blanche.
Hilarity. Delilah can't help a bit of an eyeroll, giving a snort and a laugh. "I was poisonous. Not like snake poison. Like toad poison. You know, cane toads, those river toads? Only in a human scale dosage. So it was, for all purposes, deadly." She leaves out the part of how she knows that it is- maybe Sable just won't ask. "When it wasn't doing that, it was just- psychoactive." Love is a drug! Or rather, just the person you love, something something.
Sable blinks. This is not the answer she was expecting. To be fair, she expected no particular answer of any kind. But this was quite out of her range of expectation. "Jesus…" she says, "Like… how much 'f a touch would it take?" Her eyes fix on the small dark smudge she left on Dee's lips, "How many times over would I be a goner?"
"I learned how to control it, for the most part. Turn it on, make it go off again. When it first started, it would come up whenever I'd get upset, scared, angry. It's a defense mechanism, just like the toads." Delilah watches Sable watch her, considering the question. She looks a little wary. "Too many." As for how much-
Delilah lifts her hand to Sable's face, brushing her palm up over the other girl's cheek, broadside. "You are small. Not much."
Sable catches Dee's hand and holds it there. One death. Two deaths. Three deaths. Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, "Eyes alight with flowin' hair, all that fancy paints as fair," she says, with a tone of recitation, "She takes her fan and throws it in a lions den." She slips her hand down Delilah's arm, catching her elbow and guiding Dee's hand to her waist, "'Which of you t' gain me, tell, would risk uncertain pains of hell?'" Sable slowly starts to lead Dee out towards the dancing crowd. "I count m'self lucky, y'know," she says, the recitation over, "As I'd have been fool enough t' risk it. 'course… I hope my touch wouldn't frighten y'."
"There's no cure. I wouldn't let you risk it." Delilah says this only after Sable has drawn them out onto the floor, into the dark hair so that she can hear. "I'd rather have to yell at you than bury you, frankly."
"Already lookin' out f'r me," Sable says, drawing up close to Dee as bodies hem them in and lights flash across them, "So glad y' care, hon," her arms loop around behind Delilah, encircling her waist as she starts to dance. Nothing rushed or forceful, but very close. Her head is tilted up, aiding in the proximity needed to speak without shouting over the music. "Y' said it was psychoactive, huh? So what would I see dancin' across my mind's eye, with me dancin' with you like this?"
"Whatever your brain wanted. That's almost as dangerous as the overdosing- people seeing things and shooting at them, and what not." More than a few times, obviously. Delilah keeps close, but not to make it seem like they need a room. Just so nobody might try to bugger in on them. "I'da looked out for you even if you weren't someone I care about. I don't like making …messes."
"Can't imagine the mind that'd want t' see somethin' to shoot at," Sable says, "'n' don't you go takin' away my illusions so quick," her hands slip up to Dee's shoulder blades, and she leans back just a little, looking her in the eye, "Permit a stupid gal her comforts," she squints, "Or are you one of those 'brutally honest' types?"
"I don't make a habit of keeping my mouth shut, if that's what you mean." Delilah grins the few inches down. "Or lying, if I can help it. Truth is honorable. 'S what I was taught." Even if it is only half truth- wriggling around said lies by telling people only what they may ask.
"Naw," Sable says, keeping the dance slow so as not to detract from the conversation. Matters of honesty and not mere, especially when your intentions are such as Sable's. "I mean the sort that tells you things flat out, without concern for feelin's or, like, what y' might call tact. Y' know that sort? I figure they're hurt in side. They use the truth like a fist, strikin' out." Clearly this kind of person is not one that Sable cares for.
"I lack tact sometimes-" Delilah can admit that much, watching Sable quite carefully. "Always on accident, seems like. I've made mistakes before, everyone does. Gotten me in trouble, but not lately."
"That's the different b'etween stumblin' on someone's foot, 'n' stompin' on it," Sable says, looking right back. Her hand slip down again, lacing right at the middle of Dee's back. "All the difference in the world, that." A pause, "Know, I'm bein' honest here not t' set you aback 'r nothin'. I'm honest for honesty's sake, eh?"
"After we've finished out here, circling and slidin' amidst these many," she says, chin lifting so she can speak with some semblance of hush, as if passing on a secret, "I'd like t' take y' home," she sets a kiss to Dee's neck, before lifting her chin once more, "Bein' entirely honest."
Delilah lifts her chin up, giving Sable a span of neck and putting her own mouth near the bristle of black fur that is Sable's dyed hair. "Being just- taking me home- or- 'taking me home'?" The vocal inflections make all the difference, and there are little ways of describing such small nuances within a text medium. But Sable will be able to tell all the same.
Sable doesn't let that slope of pale neck go to waste. Her next kiss means business, and Dee can even feel the grazing of teeth, coming so close to pinching skin. There's a tenseness, like that of an animal ready to pounce, running along Sable's shoulders.
"Now, what d' y' think I mean?" is the half-growled reply.
This may look especially thematic to anyone looking at them. Order of the evening is to appear so. Delilah gets a breath of warm hair, and Sable gets the close-quarter fluttering of heartbeat under the surface of the redhead's neck. "If I say yes, are you going to jump the gun and drag me outta here?" She laughs into Sable's head.
"I ain't gonna hurry a single minute with you, hon," Sable says, the tip of her nose brushing just under Delilah's ear, "But," she slips a hand up into Delilah's darkly teased locks, "I ain't gonna waste a single minute, either." She draws Dee's head down, her lips rising to meet hers.
"Let me know when you're ready to go." A more lengthy way of letting Sable know that plans may go onward as hashed. Delilah says this before Sable comes close enough to block sound via mouth; She laughs a little into the kiss, giving a slight push of lips in return. Cute and all that jazz.
Sable actually giggles. Not a snicker, but a giggle. Unusual. She presses up closer, starting to dance in earnest. "Y'll know, hon," she promises, "Y' c'n bet my life on it."