Refrain From Rapture


mandy_icon.gif brian_icon.gif

Scene Title Refrain From Rapture
Synopsis Either a suggestion, or an event.
Date Tuesday Septermber 15 2009



It's kind of like following the little white rabbit. Except for it's following the glowing blue syringe instead. It's taken a whole day of following this jackass, who may or may not be a dealer. The man makes shady dealings in the proverbial dark alley, comes away with a few glowing blue syringes and makes his way for a day in the city. A great day indeed except if you happen to be the one following this man. Sitting in hot cars with binoculars, walking through cafes pretending to be meeting someone who just never shows up —

And finally, it's Rapture. The cool evening air slaps against Winters' face until he enters the warmth of the Rapture. The man in front of him disappears into the crowd of slapping bodies with his pesky suitcase in tow. White teeth temporarily barb his lower lip as Brian steps into the club deeper. Straightening his sharp black suit jacket over the crisp white shirt, he makes his way through Rapture after the man. The man heading into the VIP booths and zoned off rooms. More likely than not to distribute his goods to those flocking here for them. Brian's shoulders slap against this set of shoulders and then that, as he tries to trudge through.

He glares up as the man disappears up the flight of stairs. Brian is quickly on his tail, trying to make sure he blends in should the man look back.

You don't want to have more money than brains, or at least that's what her mother always said. And for the majority of her childhood, that just wasn't possible, since money was so tight. But once she reached adulthood (or at least, the minimum teenage limit where you can operate as an adult) and the money started flowing, it was definitely something to look out for. Of course, where there's money and hot bodies in the south Florida scene, there's drugs. Lots and lots of drugs; heroin, cocaine, E, K…pick a letter of the alphabet, and there was probably a drug for it. Though she's not an addict, she's not a stranger either; it was for the good of her career, she told herself, but she's tried a lot of them. The only rule? No needles. Smoke, snort, or pill only.

NYC is different than her comfortable, warm home. It's colder here, harder, and not just because of the destruction the bomb wrought. Life here is…complicated. People have secrets, people have double lives. It's something she's not quite used to so far. Sometimes, it seems like the only things that are the same here are the clubs, like this one: thumping bass; hot bodies; fizzy pink drinks; ritzy cars; $100 tips. This is the world she comes from, and for tonight at least, she's using it as her escape, as a way to get out of NYC and back to her tropical paradise.

Leave it to the sexy valet though to tell her, as he does the hottest and newest clubgoers, that…a unique "club experience" can be provided, for a small (just a /few/ Benjamins are small, right?) fee. A private VIP room, your own soundtrack, and all the entertainment you could ever want, thanks to NYC's designer drug. This isn't something sanctioned by the club, of course, but with his drug-dealing partners, he's found that he can use the club to earn a second paycheck; that is, he can offer up the VIP rooms to sexy clients that he thinks will bite on the drugs, and then call in his drug-dealing partners to provide, off the books, of course. That's why she's upstairs, in one of the VIP rooms. A sex on the beach sits practically untouched on a table in the room. Despite the club wear, she paces nervously. The assurances of the valet that the drug is safe, that it's administered in only the most sanitary conditions, in private aren't really reassuring. She has no idea, of course, that the drug only works on people like her…that this whole club package may be an elaborate scam to root out the identities of Evolveds.

"Sorry for the delay baby." Comes the hoarse voice of the man entering into Mandy's room. "Had to get the regulars started." His briefcase slaps against the table in the middle of the room as he collapses on a couch opposite her. The briefcase is opened. The strange blue glow illuminates the interior of the red lined brief case as the 'dealer' turns it to face her. "You ever tried this shit?" He grins pushing it slightly towards you. "Gonna fuck your shit up." Three syringes lay in the briefcase, inviting Mandy on in.

Finally after being delayed substantially by security, Winters finally manages to make his way into the upper echelon of Rapture. But now, having lost his man he has to go through the task of searching the whole floor. His eyes sweep the small lounge he stands in idly.


"N-no" she replies, her voice pathetic, more than a bit kittenish as she looks over the drugs in the case. Three syringes left, from a briefcase where the foam inner liner clearly shows about two dozen syringe notches. "Those are clean, right?" Maybe her fears are a bit misguided…it's not the drug that worries her, but the needles themselves. A bad trip is one thing…HIV is quite another. As she speaks to him, she takes a seat on the couch, next to briefcase, looking inside closely. The leather creaks just a bit as she nestles her lithe body down, practically popping out of the micro mini blue one-piece she wears. It's strapless to allow her to practically fall out at the top, and short at the bottom so it barely contains her rump. A choker necklace with a metal flower, and metallic stripper heels completely the ensemble. She tucks one foot under her against the leather as she sits.

No doubt the dealer notices the way her hand shakes a little as she brushes front of her blonde hair away from her eyes, it brushed over to cover one eye in sultry fashion; the rest is contained in a ponytail. "If you have some sanitizer, I think I'd like you to use it" she says, a bit more confidently. All those empty notches can't be a bad thing.

"One person. One needle." The man state quietly, his eyes not so focused on the glowing blue designer drugs as they are on the blue one-piece and its contents. He watches her quietly as she examines the drugs finally getting a tad impatient. "They're clean. Think we could risk giving you HIV at the Rapture? We'd get shut down just like that." The man says coolly, tapping his fingers to his lips. "Go ahead and try a little. It'll take all the worry from your mind." He watches her appraisingly. "Need help shootin' up, babe?"

"Get out!"

Brian quickly withdraws from a room where his target clearly was not in. The door is shut. As Brian screws up his features. "Is that legal?" He mutters to himself, taking a step away from the door he continues down the hall. Reaching into his jacket he pats something within there.

"If you wouldn't mind…" she says, cooly. The whole time, her pale greenish-bluish eyes watch him. She hasn't used any needles, but she knows how it's done. The way he pulls them out of the case, fresh-looking plastic, a fresh tip in a band-aid packaging with the needle in a plastic case…well, it's a bit more reassuring. "So…like, what do I do? Am I going to go wacky? Do I need to lie down and get strapped in or what?"

He answers her the way a highly-paid, smooth-operating club-employed dealer of the designer drug would! He helps her lie back on the couch, which is surprisingly soft, and helps her out of her shoes. The strappy stripper heels get thrown aside, as he grins, and rolls up the micro mini just a bit, exposing some of her lean, supple thigh. It's toned from her work as a dancer, but not so chiseled that thick striations of muscle can be seen. "Be gentle…I'm afraid of needles…" she says with a flirty little grin, the sight of a sterile needle and the rough, confident hands of the dealer helping relax her a bit more. "I'm sure" he replies with a bit of a predatory grin, wiping a spot with an alcohol wipe…and jabbing the needle in. "Eeep!" she squeals, with a little jump, but it's soon replaced. A low groan fills the room as the blue liquid is injected with a push of the plunger, and the cold fire of the drug begins to radiate through her body.

The plunger continues to go down, down, down. Emptying the entire syringe into her. That should render her comatose for at least a minute or two. Long enough for him to get a few perks out of his job. Bringing the needle out of her soft skin, it is placed next to the brief case. Standing up the man goes to take off his jacket and lay it next to the brief case, his hands going forward to rest on her —

His hand jerks up to his neck, grabbing the object that is suddenly protruding from his skin. A needle. A tranquilizer. A choked off gasp is sent as the man struggles to turn around, falling to his knees in the process. His swirling vision landing on the sharply dressed man standing in the doorway, holding up a large pistol with both hands. And then, he falls to the ground.

Brian goes to shut the door swiftly behind him, replacing the tranq gun inside his jacket. His grey gaze skims over Mandy swiftly before going back down to the downed dealer. He frowns before walking forward, reaching over he goes to clap the briefcase shut. Redoing the snaps he goes to pick it up. He got what he came for. And now it's time to…

A loud, deep moan echoes through the whole room. Leather creaks on the couch as the girl begins to settle into the throes of hallucinogenic euphoria. It's not your fault that you have to turn and look, right? I mean, what man could resist turning to look at a girl like that, especially when she gives a moan like that! This time though, when you look at her, something's off. Very, very off. The svelte 5'7" blonde in the tight blue micro mini isn't blonde anymore. Or 5'7". Or svelte. Instead, there's a shorter woman, maybe 5'5", a lot thicker in the waist, a bit smaller in the bust. Silken white skin is replaced by light chocolate or tanned skin. Straight blonde hair is replaced by ebony girls. "Aye Papi!" she exclaims, now apparently a Latina woman, groping her own breasts inside the now extremely tight micro mini.

Grabbing the brief case, Winters slowly straightens his eyes slowly drawn to the woman on the couch. He arches his brows almost clear off his forehead at the sounds being made there. But his eyes are widening then when the woman is changing. Clearly she's Evolved. Winters slowly goes to set down the brief case back on the table. Going to grab the dealers feet he pulls and drags the man behind the couch. Dropping his legs, he then goes to push the table up against the door. No intruders.

Leaning against the wall, he folds his arms over his chest, watching the transformation quietly.

As the hallucinations progress, so too does the forms the woman takes. From curvaceous, curly-haired Latina she alters her form to that of a slender Japanese girl: curly hair goes straight; curves disappear into nothingness, as the girl is rail thin and looks maybe 13 years old. The groping hands drop back to her sides, and she looks to be walking somewhere, giggling as young girls do. On this body, that dress looks about 10 sizes too big! It soon fills back out though as she goes back to the form she started in. A smile is on her face, as she curls one leg, running the arch of the foot against the inside of her other leg. "Ooooh man" she groans out, looking idly around the room. Her eyes fix on you, open, but far, far away. The grin on her face doesn't fade though, but she lifts a hand and waves slowly; the limb looks as if it's about 50 pounds, and lacking bones as she flops it around in her stupor.

"W-who are you?" she asks, making sure the lift the end of her sentence in exaggerated manner. Even in this state though, she…seems to have a sort of defensive reaction, as her body retains the same basic look but trades curves for muscle. Breasts deflate, rump and hips disappear, and even the hair shortens into a tough spike cut as her body becomes much more toned and muscular looking. In no time, you watch her go from Latina to Japanese schoolgirl back to her normal self to a toned fitness-idol version of her own self.

"Can you make yourself look like a man?"

"And if I was here for you. Those pretty muscles aren't going to save you. So just relax. I'm not here to hurt you." Winters says softly, thought not too softly the music is rather loud. He shoves himself off the wall, taking a few steps closer to her.

"How long have you known that you've had it?" Brian asks quietly, going to sit on the opposite side of the couch of her languidly. Folding one leg over the other he watches her quietly.

It's…a little unfair when it comes down to it. In her state, it's like…interviewing a toddler. She's in no state to really control what she says. "Yeah!" she replies with a happy smile. "A big…big strong one!" she says with a certain degree of genuine delight. Your following comment is met with a lazy nod, and she turns her head back toward the ceiling, where the low, colored lights of the VIP room move around in colored patterns designed for someone in just her particular state. "Mmmm, a looooooong time" she manages to blurt out with lips that seem like they're big and heavy…because they are! Now she looks like an older black woman, with wide lips, a round face, and plenty of booty. The hair is short, straight, and shiny. One thing noticable through all of this is that, just eyeballing, her mass doesn't seem to change much. If she gains in one place, she loses in another. If she gets taller, she can't get curvier, and vice versa. "Since I started liking booooooys" she singsongs.

Arching his head at her, his lips tweak back. "Interesting. I suppose you aren't registered. Do you have good control over it, or does it wear you out? And what do you do with this gift? Other than do drugs?" Brian asks softly, eyeing the used syringe. He eyeballs her for a long moment.

"And I just have to ask. What do you really look like?"

"Use it for work…stripping. Also…boyfriends love what I can do…" she trails off, grinning at you and giving a lazy wink. When you request to see her normal body, she goes back to the slender, sexy blonde that was on the couch when you entered, and as a little intermission between the other forms. "This is meeee" she cries out, lifting a leg up toward the ceiling. You watch the stripper instincts kick in as she rubs her hands up and down the long, lean leg, toes pointed at the ceiling. The bends and folds, extensions and kicks (as she changes legs) are precise and sharp, just the way any good dancer would be.

"Are you lying? This isn't a face as well? You're not really a gangly overweight girl who would need glasses?" He watches her legs kick up and down stoically, before looking back to her face. "Stripper. That's what you use your ability for." He looks somewhat disappointed. "Well. If you ever grow bored with taking your clothes off for overweight drunks," A card is slipped out of his pocket and slapped onto her thigh when she stops kicking.

"I could have use for someone of your talents." Brian murmurs, going to stand up. "I would stay away from Refrain. It's highly addictive, and don't pass it onto your boyfriends. Only works on Evolved. Oh and, you might want to leave this room. It's probably going to become a crime scene soon."

When you slip that bright white card out of the dark suit, her eyes focus on it, and follow it. The card sticks to the smooth thigh, which is just a little wet with some sweat, given the warm room and the warm rush of the drug. She's positively glowing, one might say, with a lot of dilated vessels, warm skin, and a bit of a sweaty sheen all over. With those leaden arms, she takes the card off her thigh, and smiles as she slides it down the front of her dress. "Ooooookay…as soon as I'm sober again…" she purrs with a grin. The fact that you shot the guy with the tranq, the fact that evidence of the drug use is sitting on the ground…that's not enough to bring her down. The drug has to run its course before she's even going to think about moving: the sensation is too good to bother now. It's what one might call a great high, one of the best she's had.

His eyes can't help but follow the card's path before he averts his eyes. Placing his hands against the couch he goes to rise up. "In case you forget all this. Do you have a card? Or a purse, I could just get your information, in case I need to find you." Winters murmurs, placing his hand on his chin as he looks down at her. "Your name?"

With an exasperated little sigh, but a happy grin, she lets an arm slide off of the couch languidly, pointing toward the pile on the ground where her heels landed. Lo and behold, they're resting on top of a tiny silver purse. It looks barely big enough to hold more than a phone, a few small tubes of makeup, a compact powder case, a small clip of cash, and a little ID wallet. She's…off in lala land, and doesn't seem to mind you digging through her private stuff, but nothing's out of the ordinary. You find a neutral silver cell phone (number accessable), her ID wallet with a Florida driver's license that indeed shows this as her "true" form (if that means anything, you also find out her name is Mandy), a hotel keycard for an uptown hotel, assorted makeup, and a condom or two. Nothing out of the ordinary, except every bit of contact info you might possibly need.

Flipping the cell phone open, he goes through a few contacts and then her own number. Nothing needs to be written down. He won't have any trouble remembering. Throwing the cellphone down he picks up the ID, noting that as well he finally takes the hotel keycard and slides it into his jacket pocket. After all she won't have any trouble getting another of her own. Setting the purse back down, Brian stands up.

Turning he goes to give Mandy a little pat-pat on the head. "Enjoy yourself Mandy, we'll be in touch." With that he's off for the door.

"Mmmm, okay Mister" she says with a grin. Your pat gets her to giggle a bit, as she turns her head up toward your palm, and playfully nips at your hand. As he heads for the door, opening it, leaving the hallucinating woman there to ride out her trip, she gives him a little finger wave. The last thing he sees as he shuts the door and leaves her to her own devices is her hands sliding to the full, stretched top and digging into the soft flesh; a productive night if ever there was one!

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