Participants:
Featuring
| Scene Title | Shake Dat Ting |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A private party is interrupted by a guest that didn't pay the cover charge. |
| Date | November 27, 2010 |
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
From above there's no sound, in fact if it were for the myriad of partiers gathering from different points in the city to crawl down the same few entry points, there would be absolutely nothing to raise suspicion at all. In the depths underneath Rockefeller Center, as one edges closer, pounding music provided by one of the up and comers in an unnamed production company.
DJ Smoov is behind a turntable, sunglasses shading his dark eyes and a set of headphones cutting out the waves of noise coming from the crowd with every swell of a song. Beside him is a willowy woman in a business suit, her arms folded as she looks out to the crowd with a small smirk on her face. This event was one of the better ideas to come out of the think tank for a while. Everything had been kept super secret, location was announced via text at the very last moment and then it was only to RSVPs and her own mix of talent from her company.
For the paltry sum of $50, entrance was secured as well as flowing drinks. Jsut to be safe, she got an event license, but fudged the details just a little bit.
Shake that thing Miss Kana Kana
Shake that thing Miss Annabella
Having sent some people early, an entire corner of the overcrowded space is comfortably occupied by Dong-Tian and a personal posse of his nearest and dearest. In exchange for a few favors, he and his cohorts had reluctantly agreed to provide security for the party. The favors, small to them, had cost the production company a pretty penny and a bunch of information that they weren't quite willing to part with.
For the most part, the crowd has been very well behaved, allowing for the gang to cut loose and let their hair down or maybe just enjoy the fun times. Every once in a while they glance at each other and nod in time to the music, subtle signals to indicate that 'yes for now everything is fine.'
Shake that thing yan Donna Donna
Jodi and Rebecca
Tahir Dunham and Bradley Russo are in their own corner of VIPs, including Nicole Nichols, an extra special guest. Of course these ones weren't required to pay the entrance fee. Being on 'the list' has a bunch of perks, the first one starting with a little baggy of nose candy that Russo has in his possession. Hey, word of mouth said the drugs were free too.
Preferring a beverage that glows electric blue under the light, the VIP area is lit up by smiles and good natured nudges from all of the 'in crowd'. Someone said that they saw a certain brunette celebutante out on the dance floor, but it might ahve just been a rumor.
Woman Get busy, Just shake that booty non-stop
When the beat drops
Just keep swinging it
Get jiggy
Robyn Quinn, a DJ in her own right, did get on the list, but not into the VIP section. What she did get was a little pass up to the DJ booth and a message that the producer of the show wanted to talk to her later. Opportunities aren't a dime a dozen in that arena but unfortunately the woman has been busy since before the event started. From behind the DJ, the long haired brunette has given a signal of 'later just enjoy yourself', so lucky Quinny gets to wait.
Get crunked up
Percolate anything you want to call it
Oscillate you hip and don't take pity
For every VIP there are a few dozen raver girls and party goons, Harmony Roberts isn't any different from any of them. The packed crowds have given way to crowd surfing and lucky for the little blonde, a nice speaker for her to dance on top of. Gyrating like only she knows how, the young woman attracts the attention of more than a few of the others. Most of them jealous that she got the speaker instead of them.
Me want fi see you get live 'pon the riddim when me ride
And me lyrics a provide electricity
Out in the crowd tonight, there's also a little bit of paranoia. Every once in a while there's a nudge in the crowd and a pointed finger. Bewildered looks waver from person to person none of them ever seeing exactly the same thing. It might just be the drugs.
Gal nobody can tell you nuttin'
Can you done know your destiny
Hiring the Ghost Shadows for security is a double edged sword. Sure, nothing will get too out of hand with the watchful eye of the triads on the room. However, should any of the Triad members be rubbed the wrong way. Things will most definitely get out of hand just outside of the party. But as of yet, the Ghost Shadows have not been offended. Overseeing the operation, the bu xiu twins wander the dance floor languidly.
Immortal, they are called. The rumors wash through the Chinese underground circles, and beyond to the crime world. Whether it be an ability or just sheer luck, the twins cannot be killed. And are not to be fucked with. Or at least that's what the rumors say. A small perimeter of Chinese thugs constantly encircles Xue and Dong-tian. No one is allowed to get too close. Even on the packed dance floor, those errant dancers who find themselves stumblign Dong-tian-ward find themselves shoved rather abruptly in the other direction.
Meanwhile, the twins sip on their drinks quietly. As they near Harmony, Xue leans over towards Dong-tian and whispers something in his ear. A light smirk colors the man's lips as his eyes flit over to the woman. Dressed immaculately as usual, the two Chinese brothers are the epitome of style. While their lackeys may be dressed down, the bu xiu seem as if they should be in an executives meeting or a high class wedding rather than an underground party. Xue dressed in a white suit, and Dong-tian in pitch black, both of the men sport light pink ties that contrast with their suits sharply.
Parties. VIP Sections. These are the reasons why Tahir Avery Dunham got into showbusiness in the first place. Granted, he's got the delicious electric blue drinkage flowing, not to mention that the music is bumping so much that he's not even sure he can hear himself think. Or he's not even sure the thoughts he's thinking are actually his own. He's way too busy downing the deliciousness.
Extremely stylish in another one of his epically tailored suits, this one is all black with just a dash of purple in his tie and the tint in the lenses of his overpriced, but non-prescription specs. The outfit, the coordination? That's half the damn battle right there. The left ear and both wrists, when the sleeves move enough, shimmer and glisten from the diamonds. Bling Blang!
Whatever 'white stuff' that may or may not be passed around the Rich Kids on the Block is not being partook of by the entertainment industry's new epic game show host. Instead, he's standing up in his section, peering off and down at the dance floor, from whence he may take a gander at what is his own special drug: Bitches. And boy, are they up in the house tonight. Tahir just throws on a predatory grin as he scans the party. Acquiring Target…
It is probably the way Harmony fills out those tight leather pants she is wearing. The ones with the surgical slashes down the front in a pattern. Or it is the amount of skin that is showing from her high cut bottom, low cut collar cami, the one with the deco-modern version of the Rolling Stones emblem on the front. A red tongue coming from a set of red lips.. given everything else about her, one might believe this to be suggestive. But Harmony really likes the Rolling Stones, and she looks cute in that shirt. It shows off her belly, complete with the star stud belly button piercing, and enough to allow the slight peek of the strap of her thong to show from those pants in her motions.
Speaking of motions, she is not giving up this speaker. The hot blonde girl will kick a bitch in the FACE if they so much as think about snatching up her 'stage'. There is plenty of hip swinging, hair flinging, belly gyrating movement to the music. She is probably a stripper, given how she moves, and how well she does it.
No.. she is just a party girl who loves to party. By now? She has had quite a few drinks and is feeling pretty damn good. There are girls that are watching her intently, hoping she is drunk enough to flip her hair just right, and send her toppling off of that speaker. Nothing doing, sister! Harmony can handle her liquor, and right now it seems she is dancing for drinks. Guys lining up, holding out shots to her, and her occasionally stopping to snatch it up, down it back and then kick up her dancing a notch. It's like Emeril Lagasse spicing it up… BAM!
It's been a long time since Quinn had been to a party like this, something so underground. So long, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be on a list to get in, even if she hadn't be awarded VIP access. Not yet, at least. Hey, she's been known to work out a few deals in her life time, the terms of which- well, aren't really to be discussed in any sort of public presence. The fact that she's been asked her to speak with someone? Even better. She could only wonder exactly what sort of opportunity was waiting for her, whenever she got around to the matter.
But the instruction to simply enjoy herself for now has her a bit nervous. The other thing she'd forgotten about parties like this was the drugs. Which really is a given of the club and party scene in general, but rarely handed out like candy as it seems to be tonight. Quinn's no stranger she's taken a few hits of things over the years. But for the moment, she's trying her best not to think about it, instead venturing out to the dance floor. If she can't play music, then she'll just have to dance to it. Even if it's not her kind of music.
It's been a while since Nicole Nichols has let her hair down in a proverbial sense like this. Sure, she likes her bars. She likes her dive bars. She frequents places like Burlesque and Desperado. But the last time she went to a proper rave, she was in undergrad. And she most assuredly was not in the VIP section of that party.
Nicole was pleasantly surprised to find the perfect club dress on such short notice. A slinky thing that drapes low in front with a skirt so short that the whole thing could easily be worn as a tunic. The whole thing is a electric blue leopard print. When she leans forward to rest her forearms against her knees, she exposes the pale skin of her back. The dress dips so low in the back that anyone that may be stopping to admire the line of her body can see the peek of a black thong.
A grin touches Nicole's lips, which are clamped around a menthol cigarette - for now. She angles a look up and over to the man next to her on the couch. "Are you going to share with the class, Brad? Or do I have to pout until you let me have some of your candy?" The cigarette is pinched between the vee of two fingers, brought to hover over an ash tray so she can flick the nail of her thumb against the filter and send the ashes drifting into the receptacle. Then, she brings her own glass of appropriately electric blue to her lips for a generous sip. It's as though she's entirely coordinated her nails, the highlights in her hair, and her dress — okay, all of those things actually were coordinated — with her drink.
Miss Nichols straightens up again, draping one arm languidly against the back of the couch with her cigarette still clutched between her fingers, sending lazy tendrils of smoke into the air. Nicole crosses her legs at the knee and rotates her ankle. Inside the clear encasement that is the four inch platform of her black studded high heels, a pair of blue dice with Swarovski Crystal pips rattles around.
This isn't Dante's scene, not by a long shot. These aren't his people, and this definitely isn't his music. So, it's by sheer luck of knowing the right person that he got an invite to this party. The olive-skinned man with the stoically sour look on his face blends with the crowd, dressed like any other sleezy partier at a drug, booze, and bump-n-grind party.
Dressed in tight leather pants that have him walking with a tiny bit of a waddle, a blue silk shirt that's open in a low V down his muscular chest, Raybans and slicked back dark hair, he moves amongst the crowd, apparently looking for somebody. Occasionally, he seems to cough into his sleeve, loitering up near the bar, his head turning as he scans the crowd, making note of all the types.
VIPs, girls dancing on speakers, men and women in all matter of dress and undress, many of them with white powder adorning their upper lips. The ex-cop's hand jealousy guards a bulge in his left hip pocket, where his own "stash" has been stuffed.
The line of cocaine had been carefully prepared by the Advocate host. He pushes down on one said of his nose and snorts the line with the opposite side. The effect is near instantaneous. Part of him wants more, remembering the buzz of days not so long past, but hes smarter than that. For now, anyways. A party isn't a reason to OD. "Hey, no one said a man had to bring for everyone…" he smirks.
The smirk grows into an all out grin though. "Let it not be said that Bradley Russo isn't a sharing man," Russo winks before managing a lopsided smile at his cohort and passing over the white bag of nose candy. He has been 'good' lately, refraining from the drugs and opting just for the alcohol. He's in a suit again today— grey with a black shirt, no tie though. He hates ties.
"Although I have to admit the occasional pout serves it's purpose," if anything the drugs up the ante on the charm. Or the cheese. Russo thinks it's charm so that counts too, right?
In front of him rests a glass of amber fluid, half-drunk already. All-in-all this party is a good one. With a flicker of a smile, he shakes his head.
The Nymph's Glade — In Dreams
"I have to find the shadow monster, to tell him lies…I think. I don't know anymore, everything is so confusing now." The offer of rest has the young woman nodding and laying down on the rock beside the nymph, curling her body around the fur pack protectively. Even though dark circles ring underneath her eyes, they don't close, unable to stay down save short blinks. "I need to find my body…" she murmurs softly, before I lose myself.
Her head tilts up to look at the gorgeous woman and her eyebrows furrow together in a worried expression. "Why doesn't he come for you?" The gentle question is toned with innocence, as though she couldn't imagine the King refusing the siren call of the maiden in the glade. "I don't understand, you're so perfect. Nothing like me."
Nicole smile becomes something frostier. "You are so young. Of course, you do not understand." Can this creature, this woman, be so much older than her visitor? While she still holds the beauty of youth, even Delia, young as she is, can see that the nymph is much older than her physical appearance suggests. "You see, I love the King of All. Very much. And I sing to him every night, and send him tokens of my affection. But love…" The smile fades.
"Love belongs to desire. And desire is always cruel." Blazing green eyes narrow on the reflection of the glittering structure on the horizon. An impossible angle to capture, and yet there it is. "The King does not love. He appreciates his trinkets, his surroundings, his finery. But he does not love." Though when she says it, each time it sounds as though there should be a silent me to round out the statement.
He does not love me.
"Many others have come for me, of course." Nicole's gaze comes up to the statues in her garden. "Each one promising love and affection. Some even wealth. But they all end up the same. The men, with their hearts like stone." The beautiful nymph turns her eyes and her smile back to the water, but this time she seems to be looking at something beneath the surface. "The women like fish."
"I—.. I think he does love." The redhead argues halfheartedly, she's too weary to put up too much of a fight. The siren only making her more tired with the brushes to her hair and the musical words as though singing a lullaby. Pushing herself up from her prone position, the young woman crawls to the edge of the rock and peers into the water.
Beneath the glittering water, when Delia stares hard past the reflection of moonlight, countless young women are perfectly preserved beneath the surface. They look peaceful, tangles of hair of all shades gently flowing this way and that with the movement of the water. They look posed like dolls, with the arms hanging at their sides, but their wrists turned so their palms are parallel with the bed of the lake. Their eyes are closed, as though they were only sleeping. Perhaps they are.
"My lovelies," the nymph purrs. "They promised me they would never leave me." And they never will.
Suddenly, one young woman's eyes open widely, the same incorrect shade of green as the King's, her hair a mess of blonde curls. She reaches her hand up toward Delia, still a good few feet to deep below the surface to reach her without the young girl submerging herself as well. Her mouth opens in a soundless scream of terror.
"You wouldn't care to join the girls, would you?" Perhaps it is fitting that Nicole would echo her love's own query. But before Delia can panic, or stammer a negative response, the nymph is guiding her into a sitting position, away from the water. "No, of course not. You have a much, much brighter future ahead of you. You will do great things. The King has much faith in you to give you that token of his favour." As much as a magnificent sword is a mere token.
Perhaps it is, where the King of All is concerned.
"I believe I can help you," Nicole murmurs sweetly. The glow of her eyes is constant now, and fixed upon the forbidden colour of Delia's. "There is a tower, not so terribly far from here. Into the west." She points in a direction that Delia is sure cannot be west, but the nymph seems so sure of herself. "There slumbers a maiden with hair like a wildfire, and skin like Artemis herself."
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
The VIP section is cordoned off by not only security but a velvet rope, no one ever jumps the velvet rope, at least not when there are Asian security men crawling all over the place. Drifting past the VIP section a barefooted redhead in a blood stained white dress, seems quite out of place, and quite lost. Her head is raised up, as though she's trying to find a way out but without any luck. There's barely any room to stand, let alone walk. As she turns her head toward Nicole, what was once alabaster skin has turned a sickly color of grey. Her bright blue eyes are black and she raises her sword to give an accusing point toward the woman. "Find me… Find my body."
Yo sexy ladies want par with us
In a the car with us
Them nah war with us
"Harmony." The name is exchanged from one twin to another. Eyes dancing from Harmony back to Dong-tian. Xue smirks lightly, bobbing his chin through the crowd. Leaning over to his twin, Xue smiles lightly. "Tahir Dunham." The immortal murmurs, flicking his finger at the man above the dancefloor. Dong-tian gives a light nod, reaching out gently, one of the Ghost Shadow's shoulders is tapped. A flick of a finger is delivered at Tahir. The triad immediately departs from the group, weaving his way through the dance floor.
Pushing their way through the dancefloor, the twins make their way up towards the VIP section. A bow of the head is given to Russo. The Ghost Shadow contingent pushes their way through the dancefloor. Eyes flicking from one to another guest on the floor. One of the chinese thugs makes his way rapidly towards Tahir.
If there's something interesting going on, Quinn is blissfully unaware of it, simply making a move on the dance floor, or at least as much of one as she can in her black and red corset. Too much movement would have consequences she didn't feel like dealing with at a party like this, and frankly, that makes the dancing rather boring, even if she does like the way her black silk skirt swishes at her ankles. Finding something else to do, however, is easy enough, as she spies one rather attractive woman serving drinks. What better way to spice up the evening.
She doesn't really bother to see what's being served once she reaches her destination, she just takes a drink and immediate takes a long sip, a wily smile offered to the server. "Heya," Quinn offers simply, leaning forward and nodding at the woman. "You look like you're having fun."
Girls are evil. Especially party girls when they get together with their friends. A plot is hatched, one that will remove the blonde from her dancing throne. Two girl whispering between each other, the words 'Push' and 'Bitch' being mouthed in the sentence. Harmony is none the wiser of their little plan. she is having far too much fun, bring the boys, and the girls to the yard. She might be having a little bit of a wardrobe malfunction right now. Or rather it looks like one is ABOUT to happen, which keeps the small audience riveted to watch her, just waiting for disaster to happen.
The girls have had enough. It's time to usurp and destroy. The brunette, with a wicked look on her face makes a move to crawl up on the speaker with Harmony.. You just KNOW she is gonna push her off. Well.. She gets one knee on board and then suddenly…
*WHACK!*
Up goes Harmony's leg in this impressive move, where she wraps her arms around the underside of it and just holds the position on one foot. It's a crowd pleaser, as it gets her several cheers and applause from her little group. But before all of that, Harmony's booted foot connects with the chin of the girl who was about to climb on board and remove her, sending her flopping back to the ground, where she doesn't exactly get up immediately. Thing about it is? It was totally an accident. Bad timing.
Told you. Kick. A. Bitch.
Nicole takes the stuff from Russo with a winning grin. She pushes off the back of the couch once more to perch her cigarette in the tray where it won't be in the way. "Always a gentleman, Brad," she praises, dragging nails through the hair at the nape of his neck briefly almost as though one might affectionately stroke a cat in passing. She pats his cheek once and then sets about fixing up her own line.
Though it becomes quickly apparent that Nicole has mostly learned to do this by observing, rather than doing. She's not near as quick about it as Russo was, for anywhere near as expert (if you will). "Brad," she sing-songs and then offers him that pout she promised. But whatever she was about to say dies on her lips as she glances past the man, and to the girl with the red hair dressed in white.
Or red, for all the blood soaked into the fabric now. In the dream, she had looked deceptively innocent. In this waking world, Delia Ryans appears weak, to Nicole's eyes. Eyes which are their proper shade of luminescent blue and have gone very wide with shock and disbelief. But that was just— A dream.
Nicole recoils, staring incredulously at the space that Delia occupies. If only anyone else could see her. She then dips her head down to throw an accusing look at her drink. What is in that anyway?!
A magnanimous bow (whilst sitting so it's not all pomp and circumstance) is theatrically given to the twins following their own silent greeting, but the theatrics are quickly erased with sincerity. Brad's cheeks flush pale pink at the compliment. "I try," he counters as he shifts in the chair, lounging against it like an heir of some great fortune, a man living a life of leisure rather than one of any substance or work. His grin broadens when Nicole produces a pout, he even manages to chuckle in his drugged-up state. With dilated pupils his eyes narrow somewhat at Nicole as she loses whatever she'd intended to say.
The Leaning Tower — In Dreams
The tower deep in the west - that she is fairly certain is not west at all - is not quite what Delia had imagined she would find when it finally looms on the horizon. In fact, it isn't so much of a tower, as it is an entire fortress. Perhaps the nymph meant only that one of the spires houses Delia's prize?
The tower itself seems to cut into the sky like knives made of the darkest ebony, wicked and sharp as anything. It sits upon a promontory of jagged rock that juts outward onto the horizon, balanced atop a column of stone and tipped at an angle that seems nearly impossible. The bridge leading from the dark grey fortress proper looks the steepest of uphill climbs without being quite the battle of scaling the sheer face of the cliffside upon which the whole structure is seated.
Somewhere, her body awaits.
After a precarious climb, a battle with a fierce beast that seemed made of the very fires of hell, and the riddles of a dead man, the young redhead comes up to the door of the princess. Closing her eyes, she twists the knob on the door and pushes gently. The door groans in protest, its hinges little used in too long a time.
The center of the room on top of a dias, the largest bed she has ever seen sits under a ray of moonlight. Its four posts are enveloped in a gauze-like curtain that shimmers every time the wind catches it. Laying in the bed is a redheaded woman, approximately the same size and stature as herself. Delia steps closer, her heart leaping into her throat as she moves the curtain aside only to find…
That the princess she seeks is woefully not in this particular castle. The princess she finds, similar as she may seem from the other side of curtains, is instead a familiar face to Delia, one belong to RObyn Quinn. As she lays in the bed staring upwards with bored look on her face, she doesn't seem to make any notiece of the new arrival to her room, simply humming to herself as she stares up at the cieling. Perhaps surprisingly, she's dressed to match the part of being a princess, but with the way she idly tugs at the ornate outfit, it's almsot as if she knows it's not entirely fitting of her, a bit of a grimace worn on her face - one that only grows when she notices the motion of the curtain opening. She doesn't even really sit up, far too lazy to do so. Instead she just tilts her head up and looks at Delia, blinking. She seems at a lodd for words, only after a moment making one confuses statement.
"Huh?"
"You…" Delia seems at a loss for words, her blue eyes pouring over the other young woman as a frown of confusion sets itself on her face. The slight downward curve of her lips suggests a great disappointment in her find. "You're not supposed to be here… it's supposed to be me… Why is it you?" For the life of her, she can't remember the other young woman's name. She is all too familiar though.
Wheeling around, the weary adventurer sits down beside the princess, the bounce of the springs causing her to jump a little in her rested position. "You don't know of any other sleeping redheads, do you? Or where my body is?"
There's another series of blinks as Delia speaks, and only sits up as the other redhead - the natural one moves to sit down next to her. Leaning against the headboard of the large bed, she quirks a curious eyebrow, her head tilted at Delia."If there are any other sleeping redheads, they should be here," she replies with a bit of a wicked smile - she may not mean the same thing Delia is looking for. She reaches up, patting Delia on the shoulder as she smiles at the other women. "But if you're lookin' for someone in particular, I'm not really sure I know what you're talkin' about."
Shrugging, Quinn yawns and rubs her chin. Whatever the case may be, she doesn't seem to recognise Delia, but she feels no need to shoo the "strange woman" away. "Don't know what t' tell you, dear, abut why I'm here an' not you. Luck a' the draw, I guess?" She gives another, shallower shrug, and then grins.
"Why don't you tell me about what you're lookin' for, an' I'll see if I've heard anythin'."
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
From behind Quinn, somewhere behind her right ear, a woman's whisper begins in her ear. "I'm lost… find me… find my body." The only people behind her are loud partiers with more free drinks. None of them seem to be bothered by any whispers. From across the room, the musician/DJ can spot a swath of curly red hair that drifts through the crowd, though every time the head it belongs to turns around… It's no longer red hair.
In a the club them want flex with us
To get next to us
Them cah vex with us
"«Idiot.»"
Spinning around, Dong-tian looks at where the comment had been spawned. Eyeing the would be scuffle, Dong-tian flicks his eyes casually. And with that, the immortal twins split up. Taking a small group of triads both ways, Xue makes his way back through the crowd towards Harmony. Shoving their way through, people are practically tossed to the side until they come to a stop at the speaker and Harmony on top of it.
"Miss Harmony." The lightly Chinese accented voice sounds up to Harmony. "Please come down now." Yes, your speaker priveliges have been suspended.
However, Dong-tian makes his way up to the VIP section. The triad thug steps up to Tahir. "Excuse me, my boss—"
"Mister Dunham." Dong-tian greets, a little loudly to overcome the music. "I am Dong-tian. I would like to buy you a drink."
Tahir Avery Dunham raises his glass up to finish off what's left in it… only to realize that there's nothing left in it. He's not exactly happy about that, considering the way he has to tear his eyes away from the hotties on the dance floor and stares at his glass. "I swear. Somebody needs to come up with a way to turn air into alcohol. Straight up." He has no idea who he's talking to. Hell, probably whoever's listening. In the next moment, he's turning around to set the glass down with a hefty sigh.
Warning! Warning! Incoming Asians! WARNING FOOL!
As Tahir is turning himself back around to get back to the two-stepping in his VIP section and watching hot babes, he finds himself verbally accosted by the sound of someone whome he has no idea it is up in this piece. "Whoa!" Tahir raises a hand up towards the male all up in his grill. "I'm like Nate Dogg for a minute. Hold Up… WAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIT!"
Tahir might be a little drunk.
"Look, my man. I know I'm the sexiest son of a bitch at this party, right? But I only swing one way. And you're not exactly the direction I'm tryin' to head, you know?" Tahir flashes a big ol' happy smile, though. "But! I'm sayin', I'm very very flattered that you'd pick me outta' alllllll these people to buy a drink." Man, he just talks and talks and talks. "So, Dong, right? I'ma' accept your invitation, cuz I'm really, really feelin' that suit. And! Because we all outta' bubbly back here." Tahir nods to the suddenly empty bottle on his table. "But after that? You gotta' let me fly." Tahir spreads his arms out a little bit, with a couple flaps. "Because it's about time I find me some place to land for the night. Haha!"
Oh Tahir.
Wait, what? Why is she being escorted down? Harmony looks confused as to why she is being told to step down, and furthermore, she is confused how she is being addressed by name. She didn't think she gave it to anyone upon entering, other than her ID. But surely, no one is that anal. She didn't even realize she kicked the girl, and she still doesn't look like she realizes that fact either. She just looks down at the asian individual blinking her green eyes and appearing confused, "What? Seriously? Are you shitting? No really.." her brows knit together, eyes looking around to make sure she isn't on some kind of candid camera or something. In her defense, she is a little on the tipsy side right now, though this.. is killing her buzz. "Fine.." she sighs, blowing a puff of air upwards, pushing her bangs away. She jumps down from the speaker, and she doesn't stumble. Guess that means she needs more alcohol. Now she has to find someone to buy her a drink.
"W-what the hell?" Quinn's attention is completely drawn from the woman she had been intending to hit on, instead looking around the room in an exceptionally confused manner. "Goddamnit," she mutters to herself, looking down at her drink. It wouldn't be the first time someone decided to mix something in with the drinks at a rave, she was just really, really hoping it wasn't something too bad.Particularly given that this, from the way it went down, seemed to be rather strong. Maybe she'd just grabbed the wrong drink.
Still, that doesn't change the fact taht just heard a voice talking to her, and fading red curly hair moving through the audiance. Good god, if she's hullucinating ex-girlfriends, it's going to be a rough night. Grimacing, Quinn looks down at her drink and wrinkles her nose. Granted, it doesn't prevent her from taking another long gulp. Damage is already done. Continuing to look around, as if still trying to catch sight of that red curly hair, she wanders out to and through the dace floor, meandering towards the VIP area, trying ehr ebst to look like nothing's wrong.
Eyes behind mirrored sunglasses take in all the goingson. A news reporter doing lines, a reality TV host being accosted by what seems to be a Triad member. A large group of dancers booing and hissing in disappointment as the blonde on the speaker is escorted down. All that and more, logged away and saved for later. But for now, he keeps moving, stepping away from the bar and sauntering in the direction of Russo and Nicole, trying to get a good look at the VIP section.
A Long And Winding Road — In Dreams
A narrow road, bordered on one side by a low stone wall and a river on the other, leads nowhere in particular aside from one town to the next. The pale full moon paints the water silver with little black lowlights where there would be waves. Shaded by a row of old oak trees the path is dappled with white spots of light that fade and reappear when the wind rustles the leaves.
While this road would normally be quite quiet at night, tonight is just not one of those nights. From around a corner, two figures steps through the dirt, one of them barefoot, the other in polished leather boots. The barefoot one, a young woman with long curling red hair, is clothed in a white cotton dress and not much more. Not that the man she is with notices much at all, he is busy speaking to her.
Tahir Dunham, in all of his wrapped in silk glory, is traversing the landscape, looking as humbly expensive as he possibly can in this particular moment of his lifetime. Long hair is pulled back into a ponytail as he looks over to his traveling companion. "There's a glorious place. It's really quite beyond this land." Tahir smiles, looking out at the open road that they are walking down. "There's a a bit of variety to be had there. Though, and this is a personal favorite of mine, the redhead selection is magnificent." Tahir grins. Nice and big.
"But… I'm not looking for … I just need…" Her wide eyes the color of forbidden blue. There's a squeak of confusion and she glances down at the road in something of a dumb fashion…
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
As Tahir lowers the lip of his new drink down, he spies the features of a woman he spent some time with in a dream. She turns to look at him and stares at him for a long while, not saying a word. Finally, she seems to face back into the crowd as words begin to echo in the head of the game show host. "Wrong redhead— head— head."
From the day me born jah ignite me flame gal a call me name and its me fame
Its all good girl turn me on
'Til a early morn'
After Tahir is served his drink, Dong-tian hangs around the man regardless of instructions prior. "You are very funny, Tahir. I have been following your career." The Chinese man says, tilting his head. "You were military. I had heard you lost a sister in the bomb." The triad frowns lightly. "I am very sorry to hear that. It must have hurt you very bad."
Xue places a hand on Harmony's arm lightly, leading her away from the speaker. "Are you alright, miss Harmony? Perhaps you need some air." The other Immortal twin suggests. In security terms that means, GTFO if you's gonna kick people ho!
There's some echoing going on in Tahir's head right now. If only because he's trying to figure out what in the hell he just saw and heard. Or is hearing? This is some crazy shit. Which causes him to look at the drink he's got and he proceeds to set it down on the table. "That's some good shit." If anybody's paying attention to him, he's pointing at the glass.
But now the Asian Sensation is bringing up Old Shit. Which is not cool. "Awwwww, maaaaan. See, now you gotta' be crossing barriers, man. You all up on my side of the scrimmage line and ain't nobody said hut." Tahir raises his hands up to his face to pull off his titned glasses. "Look, man. Before you completely eradicate my buzz by talking about stuff that you don't even -really- know about? Why don't we take a left at This Conversation Never Happened and pull up on Change The Subject Boulevard, rush right into the Bygones Be Bygones mart and cop a couple Chill Pills, okay?" Yeah, doesn't seem like Tahir wants to get all chitty to the chatty with the Dong Daddy.
She still has no idea what this guy is talking about. But he is not making Harmony's state any better. With an arched brow, she looks at his hand on her arm, then back up at his face. "No. I'm fine." the blonde comments with that little hint of confusion in her voice. Is this guy hinting at something? Wait.. Is he trying to get her alone in the alley for.. Ahhhh, she gets it now. Hm.. not really her style, so she really just wants to get away from him at this point. "I think I should go look for my friends." her nose wrinkled and her eyes show her discomfort at the conclusion she had drawn herself to as to why this guy is on her case. She didn't come with any friends, but hey, it is a polite way to excuse yourself at a party.
Dante's brows furrow over his sunglasses, hidden eyes alighting on Nicole's face, her look of surprise catching his attention. He frowns, slipping up closer to the velvet rope, keeping towards one wall as his face turns out to the dancefloor, even while he eyes her curiously.
Nicole's lips stay parted and she leans back from her work with the coke, addressing Russo from the corner of her mouth without taking her eyes off of Delia, and her accusatory sword. "So, I had this dream, and I was this watery tart, and there was a sword, and this girl in white with super red hair…"
One hesitant finger points in Delia's direction, Nicole looking impossibly confused. "Do you see her?" Finally she turns to look at Russo, lips pulling into a shaky smile. "Maybe I'm just stressed out." After all, the night of her dream about Delia is the first night Nicole's bothered to sleep in almost a week. Using her ability to her advantage like that isn't always the wisest of decisions.
"Maybe I should just do my line and chill out?" Yes. Nicole has the best of ideas sometimes.
Russo's lips part to speak, only to quirk up into a mischievous grin at the notion of the watery nymph. "A nymph?" his dilated pupils sparkle with that same mischief. When his lips part again, to say something that he deems charming, he's too quickly distracted by Nicole's pointing. His eyebrows knit together tightly as his nose wrinkles, essentially contorting his face into a less-than-charming, altogether-displeased expression. "Seeeee whoooo?" The words are drawn out. Even if his senses have been heightened, his overannunciation is prevalent.
He squints to peek where she's pointing, his own smile failing. "I don't think you should have any of this…" Russo glances at the line and then back to the nothing Nicole pointed to. "Tell ya what. I'll rescue you from that— " he glances at the line of cocaine "— fate. And then we will drink copious amounts of alcohol to chill. I've never been opposed to mixing substances…" Even without a response, the television host plugs one side of his nose and sucks the cocaine up the other.
The Cat's Call Brothel — In Dreams
Merriment and ale, the flavor of the night that never ends. Inside The Cat's Call the sweet notes of the lute and song of the beckoning sirens call all men hither. The place itself isn't known for much more than cheap women and cheaper drinks, though it is one of the better places to find oneself after the sun goes down. At the moment, the entire common room is engaged in song lead by a busty brunette with a cinched waist and curly hair that reaches her lower back.
"We're as stubborn as mules"
"With our blood on fire"
"When we wipe 'em off the grass"
A young redhead has been sitting at the bar for the better part of an hour, her eyes downcast as she nurses her mug of brew. She's not joined in the dance and drink or even the caterwauling of the locals and visitors to the place. Every once in a while, she skims the crowd for sight of the man she came with, but he's been up in one of the privates for a while now and she's beginning to lose hope that he'll ever come down again.
"We'll look any Havenot straight in his eyes and say"
"Kiss my Havish ass!"
"You better kiss my Havish ass!"
Jostled from behind by an overzealous drunkard, she turns around to glare at the man, risking her health and welfare by lifting her head at all. Though the region is well known as a sanctuary for the Havish, the lawmen still make their rounds looking for unruly men and women to plop into the stockade, jail, or even better.. execute.
The drunkard isn't altogether unfamiliar to Delia; in fact, he's nearly identical to the one man island she'd met some time before, aside from his generally unkempt demeanor. His face has several days growth on it while his hair appears as if it hasn't seen a comb in months. His clothes are disheveled; there's no one for him to impress here. "Heya Carrots," he sidles next to the redhead. "Welcome to the party!" He raises a mug of his own brew into the air, likely one of many from tonight. "You're not from 'round here, are ya?"
Unlike the man on the island, there's an oddity about him. His very demeanor is different. Brad had been a man without reproach, trying to mend some semblance of a broken heart. The new incarnation seeks eye contact with Delia before extending his hand, "Ya 'kin call me Bradley, ma'am." He tilts his head and raises two fingers towards it like he intends to tip a hat that isn't there— perhaps he lost it in some bar-related incident.
"I suggest another three or four of those before y're done t'night, Carrots," he points towards the mug. "Else I could 'ave 'em fer ya…"
Two pairs of eyes that match, the color of forbidden blue, meet. Hers cast a quizzical expression his way as she pours her gaze over the drunk man. "Bradley… it's nice to meet you." The halting way she speaks gives the impression that she's actually searching for something else to say, or not saying something that she really means. Niceties aside, she gives him a tiny smile before turning back to the bar and taking another sip of her brew.
A little shiver passes through her and the redhead purses her lips lightly when he continues speaking to her. Her eyebrows actually raise at the recommendation of more, "Really? I can't even get through this first one… you might have to do it for me." With a small sigh, she smooths a hand over her white dress and readjusts the pack swinging from her shoulder.
"I," Bradley declares with the lowest of bows, "will be happy t' take that bullet fer ya." One of those blue eyes winks at her before the drunkard sits next to her. "S'not like I don't need i' any'wey." A hand is run through his scraggly hair as he straightens in his seat. "Y'know. I used't know the most beeeeeeeautifuuul woman in teh whoooooooole wiiiiiide world." He lifts his mug into the air, "Tah Venus nd'er fire'redair." Promptly he finishes off this round, only to have the bartender refill his mug.
"Used to sit with juuuust one. Then? Theeeeeen? I leeeeearned. Y'know what Iiiii learned, Carrotss? I've leeeearned there ain't nothin' in this whoole forsaken world that 'nuff whiskey can't fix! Mmmm. Whiskey…" his eyes widen incredulously. "Not that y'should think so negative-like. Yer too good teh 'ave problems. Lookit you in yer whiiite."
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
The white is now a dress of spattered red, sitting on the other side of Russo than Nicole currently is, Delia leans over and thunks the tip of her sword into the floor between her feet. Leaning heavily on it, she stares down at the lines for a moment before getting up and taking a few steps. "Pay your toll, sell your soul… pound for pound it costs more than gold… The longer you stay, the more you pay… my white lines go a long way…" The lyrics are spoken in a rather monotonous voice as the young woman stares down at the television host. "Don't do it Brad. Help me instead."
Let's get it on
Let's get it on 'til a early morning
Girl it's all good just turn me on
"You are like a cartoon character." Dong-tian says quietly, arching his brow at the drunk man. Pushing his way away from the bar, the Ghost Shadow gives Tahir a quick two pats on the shoulder. "Enjoy your Chill Pill." Taking a step away, Dong-tian reaches up to adjust his tie.
Xue moves away from Harmony easily, being rencompassed by his triad goons. And makes his way through the crowd once again, watchful eyes circling the danceclub.
"Hey! Hey! I know where you live man! Don't be hatin'!" Tahir gets so black when he gets drunk. It's just not working out too well right now. "Dat's okay! He be back! I run these streets, man! KING KONG! AIN'T GOT SHIT! ON ME!" Tahir throws his glasses back onto his face and is dropping down to sit in his delicious VIP booth of greatness, where his feet are kicked up and all that jazz. Whatever bottle or glass he knocks over, it's just knocked the hell over.
"See, man, this is the shit I be talkin' 'bout. Everybody always hatin' the player, but never the game. S'crazy man." Tahir is talking to nobody, cuz his Asian Date has gone Awry.
"Yo! Somebody down there send me up three bitches with some big ass tittays!" Tahir yells that past the velvet rope and to anybody listening down on the dance floor.
Pause.
"And some Skittles!"
Harmony can only hope to get as drunk as Tahir is right now. She has to do some catch up, given the incident that just happened. Of course, she doesn't mind imbibing a few extra drinks to get right back to where she was before. For now though, she makes her way through the busy crowd, taking a second to brush a bit of her bangs from her glistening, perspired forehead. The mass of bodies is easily navigated through, as Harmony does this crap all the time. As she wades, she pulls out her cellphone, taking a look at the screen and firing off a text. Whether or not it gets to where it is, because of signal isn't an issue. It'll get to where it needs to go at some point.
Having reached the other side of the dace floor, Quinn downs the last big of her drink, staring at the glass in her hand. Now she just needed someplace to set it, and she needed another drink. Thankfully, there's someone passing on her right side with perfect timing, allowing her to reach up and snatch one off as she passes, QUinn making no attempt at hiding her glance back and smile at the server. That drink is thrown back too - any compunction Quinn had about drugs mixed into drinks? Totally gone now that the alcohol is working it's way through her system. This is the familiar party feeling she's been missing for so long now
Of course, now she's left with two empty glasses in hand, and the inability to take another as the server passes back by. Quinn pouts a bit, only perking up as she hears Tahir shout out. "Skittles suck!" she yells back, giggling as she wanders in front of the VIP rope, finally finding a surface to set her glasses down on, before turning back towards the dance floor. Eyes squint, hoping to catch another glance of that red hair. No luck so far.
Dante turns an ear towards Nicole when she addresses Russo, frowning in concentration. Something about a nymph? Dammit, he hates clubs. He tries to sidle closer, his ear reaching towards the two of them to—
Jumping in surprise, Dante leans away as Tahir leans over the VIP rope near him, and screams something loud enough right near his ear to be incomprehensible about "bitches" and "Skittles". He wiggles his finger in his ear, giving his head a shake. Well, whatever floats his boat.
Nicole gasps sharply when Russo dips down to snort her line of coke. Her head turns back and forth sharply, watching him, watching Delia, back to Russo, and then to the girl who isn't there, then back to Russo, where her gaze stays. "Nooooooooo! I was gonna do that!" she cries, slapping him on the shoulder.
She looks back up, and for a moment she thinks she's spied Delia again, but no. That isn't Delia at all just beyond the velvet ropes. That's, "Quinn!" Nicole strains to make her shout heard over the music. "Robyn Quinn! Come jooooin us!" She makes an inward sweeping motion with her arm, calling for the Irish DJ to come join the party in the VIP area. And she's more than just a little drunk.
And she's also just remembered she totally has a cigarette she could be smoking right now. Lifting that back up from the ash tray and putting it back where it belongs - between her lips so she can puff on it - Nicole then nudges Russo with her elbow sharply. "Set up lines for me and my friend and you'll be forgiven for taking mine," she assures him.
Delia, the one she can see, is sent a dirty look. She is not going to ruin this party for Nicole, dammit.
Pale-faced, Brad stares at Delia. Outright stares at her. There she is: his sister, the only living family he has left (aside from a grandmother who can't remember him). Having just finished the second line, he gapes at nothing, powder still dusting the inside of his nose. His hand moves to his stomach as he reaches out to touch the apparition, aiming to say her name aloud only to realize from the moment he snorted to now he hasn't bothered to breathe.
Nicole's slap nor the words manage to pull him from the staring at the nothing. Slowly he begins to see spots in his eyes, a dazed confusion amid starry colours and then…
BAM!
His head heads the table only to pull him up again after several large gulps of air. He catches his hands on the table before sliding away. "I… I…" his head shakes a wearily. "I… can't be here. I need…" his eyebrows knit tightly together. "I need to go find Carrots." No one would know he's talking about a person rather than a food. The cocaine is abandoned as the anxiously paranoid host, stumbles away with a hand pressed tightly to his head— which he'd banged so hard on the table.
O'Gaille Market — In Dreams
For the middle of the night, the marketplace is too full. Like fish stuck in a tin, the people are packed in, trying to jostle and jolt each other to move. It only results in the agitation of the animals bordering the stalls at the edge as the wave of the crowd ebbs and flows into their pens. In one of the stalls a yuong blonde woman pets and coos at a war panther, saddled for her master, as she waits. Instead of sending her, he braved the crowds himself to get the wares he needed.
Skirting the edge of the throng, a young woman with red hair moves slowly, keeping her pack held tightly against her chest. Every movement toward her results in a glare of fear or an elbow to shove her assaulter back. She has no shoes on, so her dancing step to avoid any who would crush her is just that much more imperative.
Animals? Marketplace? War panther? None of this of course makes sense to Harmony, but still seems like she is supposed be here currently, and has a goal in mind, even if she isn't clear on what it is. Whatever her brain is trying to unravel about her day, she doesn't get. Harmony is just a player right now. She can't actually see herself, because it is a dream, but she is aware of her own presence. And as far as she is aware, she is dressed the same as anyone else. It hasn't kicked in for here that this is in fact a dream. Wrapping the shawl closer around her head, she moves. She is used to wading through crowds of bodies, used to moving in rhythm and time to get to one end of an area, to another. And so Harmony does so, managing to worm past this person and that with very little contact. Call it a party skill or something. In the meantime, the blond girl contemplates her purpose, no too far behind the red haired woman.
The panther itself is a lithe creature, beautiful, dark, and mysterious. And in that mystery dwells a certain passive fear. Her master, the blonde along the stall, is equally lithe with a slim build, straight, long cascading hair, and an equally mysterious way about her like some far off gypsy from another land. Warrior or not, these characteristics remain. At her waist is a long sword and sticking from her boot the handle of a dagger, she's not one to be trifled with. She tugs on the panther's harness, pulling the beast into the foray of the crowd. Unsurprisingly most of the individuals yield to the sheer size and power of the famed animal, Bhangra is known in these parts as a powerful adversary. Something to be simultaneously feared and loved. Respected.
The blonde hair of the warrior herself conceals her more base features. The simplicity in her build keeps her at a stance similar to that of Harmony although she commands the height with the full respect of her peers and what they have to offer. In a way, she's faceless. Tangental to her own story…
The young redhead sidles up to the animal stalls, slowly drawing the sword from her pack. Though the blond has one of her own, she's too busy with the animal to notice that the crimson haired warrior woman is behind her. With the swiftness of a starling, the barefoot woman slips the blade to the gypsy's throat. "Let go the reigns… and drop your weapons."
Perhaps it is the animal that keeps her at bay, or one of those moments in the dream to where you aren't so much as inside of it yourself, but you're more of an unseen presence, an observer. Distance has no meaning, only the perception of what is going on. Harmony can see everything that is going on with the pair, and with the animal. But somehow she feels involved. The last thing she could recall, she didn't have a sword. Just a second ago, she was just another body amidst the rest. None of it makes sense to her, but she still watches the scene unfold, curious to see what it becomes, and what the end result will be. And just like that, she is back in the scene, standing just a few feet away from the scuffle, watching behind her veil… Veil? Where did that come from? She didn't have that on before, now she's dressed like 'I Dream of Jeanie?'. One of those random dream things.
There's little time to react and even less to be done about it. The gypsy woman can't reach to her boot, she can't produce the dagger, or throw a knife. At this moment, in all things, she's confined by the blade against flesh. Yet as the sword is brought towards her throat, her neck cranes, drawing her chin towards the heavens and causing those blonde locks to move from her face. She's pretty in a way, but not memorable: the picture of a woman not fully realized. Her face and features blend with everyone else's, nondescript. Black eyes, missing any colouring including their whites, stare up towards the sky, reflecting the exact nothingness of a black hole— void of life, enthusiasm, and representing little more than death.
Finally the reigns themselves are dropped to her side. There's no escaping, for not even a sage warrior wishes to die at the hands of a civilian.
As the panther is taken away and the sword backed down, the dagger within the warrior's boot is thrust towards the escaping red head on Bhangra, the faithful steed.
The dagger hits true and a peasant child falls to the ground dead just as the panther begins leaping through the crowds, its shrill scream sending chills of terror through the hearts and minds of men and women alike. The redhead fails to notice the dead child or the screams of the innocent as the panther tears its way through the congestion. Spatters of blood as arteries are cut paint the marketplace a hue of red similar to the shade of the woman riding the beast.
Harmony is once again no long there, but everywhere at once. Which means that she can't do much more than observe. Still, she felt like she should have done something rather than watch this child get taken down, in cold blood, in broad daylight while people are more shocked by the animal trying to get away than the fact that there is a body growing cold in the middle of the street. All of this is enough to poke at her subconscious, and she realizes that this is a dream. In this realization, Harmony can feel the world around her dissolving, and her eyes open, surrounded by darkness. Still paralyzed for the moment that REM still grasps ahold of her. It is all still fresh on her mind since it is the first thing she remembers when snapped out of sleep. That dream was.. weird. Rising up in her bed, placing a hand to her forehead and rubbing. Harmony swears off eating before settling down to sleep ever again. This is one for the diary..
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
Harmony's speaker has stayed empty for the entire time that she's been off, Xue's men be doing a great job of keeping it clear for her. Turning around, the blond woman glances up and sees a redhead in a blood spattered white dress. She turns on the speaker and raises a sword to point right at the blond woman. "You… find my body." In a blink, the woman is gone but Harmony can see little glimpses of a mane of red hair flitting through the crowd.
Woman don't sweat it, don't get agitate just gwaan rotate
Can anything you want you know you must get it
From you name a mentuin
Don't ease the tension just run the program gals wan pet it
"Whaaa?" For a moment, Quinn just stares at the glasses she's set down in front of her, eyes narrowing as she leans down at peers at one, almost as if she thinks… "Did you just talk t' me?" she questions the glass, before giggling. She's not drunk enough to know that's not insane, but a part of her really does wonder for a moment. At least until she hears Russo's head hit the table on the other side of the rope, something which both makes her jump as well as turn her attention in the direction of the sound, seeing one man scrambling up from his seat next to - holy shit, is that Nicole Nichols?
"Niiiicoooole!" Quinn shouts, waving as she walks over. Somehow, there's already anotehr drink in her hand. She's not questioning when it got there or how, she's just taking a long sip as she pays no mind to the VIP rope. She sees a friend! "Nicole, what the fuck are you doing here?" THere's a wide, delighted grin on Quinn's face as she approches, still paying no mind to ropes or anyone who might be trying to grab her.
Alright, Harmony is certain she isn't that drunk. Did she just— Nah.. she didn't. Not even going to finish that thought. Get a hold of yourself, get yourself another drink, Harmony. Maybe four more actually. With a rub of her face, Harmony steps past people, and finds herself intercepted by a few fans of hers from the speakers, all sporting drinks. Ahh.. now that is service. Maybe she can get one or two of them to play gopher so she doesn't have to keep making trips. She accepts the drinks happily, knocking them back to try to forget about the apparition she just did not see. Still.. she looks back to the speaker, just in case she is a little on the crazy side, and that woman is still there. Red hair.. white dress.. blood.. Party? Sounds like a scene from Carrie to her. But oddly enough.. it reminds her of this morning somehow..
Nicole's attention is brought back to Russo when he has a reaction like hers, and then his head goes smacking against the table. Liquor lags her reflexes too much to catch him and prevent the table-to-head trauma. "Jesus Christ, Brad!" Her hands come to his shoulders to try and steady him, the cigarette still hanging from her lips. "Are you—" But then he's muttering something about vegetables and heading for the door.
The executive assistant stares after the retreating television host. Nicole stubs out her cigarette in the ash tray, and gets to her feet, wobbling only for a moment on four inch platforms, five inch heels. She approaches the ropes, stepping out rather than ushering Quinn in with her. "There goes my conquest for the evening," she mutters into the other woman's ear. "I think I better go make sure he's okay. He hit his head pretty fuckin' hard."
Then, Nicole leans to the man making sure only those on the list get into the VIP area. "This one's with me." And magically, Quinn now has all the access she could want. "Go have a party, sweetie. Just… Do us a favour, and don't tell 'Lettie, 'kay?"
Quinn receives a pat on the cheek much like Nicole's companion did earlier before Nicole goes hurrying off after Russo, brushing past Dante as she goes. "Brad! Wait the fuck up!" she cries, even though the music drowns most of it out.
Dante sidesteps as Russo brushes past him, followed by Nicole, and the agent is more confused than ever. He makes a mental note to find out exactly what this coke was laced with. Later, though. He, and a few other guys, can't help but notice how low slung Nicoles dress is at her back, and he glances back to the VIP room as Quinn goes past, wondering what exactly messed the news anchor up so badly.
The Border of Zai Shangshang — In Dreams
The cacophony of noise masks the approach of a galloping war panther. The giant beast, saddled and ridden by a flame haired woman carrying a sword, comes up silently behind the last wagon and rips one of the men apart while the other's head rolls to the ground. Their deaths aren't nearly as silent.
Not pausing in her assault, the young woman stands in the saddle and pushes herself up into the air, flying toward two of the archers. The song of her sword rings through the air as their weapons are bisected and rendered unusable. Sprinting toward one of the trees, she bounds off of it and does a high leap, nearly clearing the trees.
The wailing woman is saved a similar fate to her sons, as the bandit coming up behind her with a knife raised has his head liberated from his body to tumble off to freedom. The archers raise their bows urgently towards the galloping woman on her panther, their reflexes clearly combat trained. But they're not fast enough to stop the swing of her sword as it incapacitates them, and they stumble back, drawing their swords from their belts to slash at her.
Yet they only hit air. All heads turn upwards in amazement, watching the girl fly into their air, as if carried by a divine wind. The clouds part, as if pushed by a great force, and the heroine's majestic form, robes splaying out like wings and hair trailing behind her like fiery smoke, is framed from behind by the bright glow of the full moon.
Bandits are not known for being wowed by aesthetics, however. The philistines turn what bows they have towards the flying girl, loosing arrows after arrow at her, launching a flying wall of pointy, painful death directly at her as she falls.
The last of Chen's boys is released and tossed aside, choking and sobbing, as the bandit leader whips his robe open, hands going behind his back. His dark eyes glint up at the sight above him, and his lips quirk. Ohhhhh, a challenge. If she doesn't hit the ground as a human pincushion, that is.
The weapon's song hasn't nearly finished, not by far. With a wavering howl, the arrows are knocked from the air in a silver whirlwind in front of her. Shredded pieces of wood and feather rain down on the merchant and the bandits, followed by the soft landing of the young woman as she wheels in a warrior's stance to face her foes. With her sword held out to the side, it still rings with the last memories of the arrows that it dispatched, hungry for more.
The panther lopes up to another one of the bandits and pounces on him, crushing the man under its immense weight. The beast, finished with battle has begun the play of cats and has decided to toy with his food, rather than simply kill it. The screaming man is batted by the soft paws that end in sharp laws, his skin latching onto the white nails and shredding under their force.
Eyes the color of forbidden blue sweep over the bandits and when the first makes his running approach, she holds her position until the very last second. A spin and windmilling of the young woman's arms is accompanied by a leap as her blade runs deeply up the length of the man's torso and up through his skull. He lands (nearly bisected) before she does. When her feet touch down on the ground again, she is back in position with her sword held out to the side. Only this time there's a line of blood running to the end of the blade and dripping down to stain the soft grass.
The bandits don't charge in now, all of them in their night blue coverings keeping their distance, swords unsheathed and bows drawn. A few more of their numbers try to sneak up behind the deadly woman, with her head wreathed in hair like flames. They're cut down before they can raise their swords.
"«Stop!»" The ranks of the bandits part, and the bandit leader strides in with a slow saunter, chin tilted up. His face catches the moonlight, and his skin seems pale. His eyes are hooded and piercing, his frown deeply etched in his face. He is Not Happy. "«Enough of this toying around. Mystery woman, put down your blade and leave us, or your life will be forfeit. This isn't your concern.»" He stands straight, hands still tucked under his robe behind his back.
As though she didn't understand his words, the young warrior turns to face the speaking man. There's nothing on her face to suggest that she comprehended what he said at all as she gazes across at him. Her white cotton dress is stained with the blood of his soldiers that she's already killed. Stark silent, she stares across at him with near luminous blue eyes that bore pinholes into him.
"«…she has the eyes of a wild animal,»" the bandit king remarks, and there's a rustling of agreement from the bandits around him. Slowly, the bandit king approaches her, leaning down to come eye to eye with the blood-covered redhead. His dark eyes are piercing and sharp, like a polished blade reflecting the night sky.
Which earns him a quick sneer from her, and in a lightning fast movement, her blade whistles through the air like a song of death, right for the bandit king's face.
CLANG!
The surrounding bandits can only flinch forward, in the space of the fraction of a second before the singing blade is stopped, caught between the blades of the bandit king's kama's. Everything is still, no one breathing save for the wind.
"«You're quick. But I'm quicker.»" the bandit king mutters, a smile slowly spreading over his face. But it falls a moment later, as a trickle of blood runs from a microscopic cut under his cheek. There's a snarl and her sword is yanked down, pinned to the ground as a kama is swung at her, aiming to slash open her neck.
A few strands of red hair float free at the cut of the bandit leader's weapons, with forbidden blue eyes glinting up at him as the girl ducks down. The moment is in slow motion as his eyes widen, trailing her down…and he lets out a whoof of breath as her striking foot catches him in stomach.
Hand tightening on his weapon, the girl's immaculate countenance is marred by the haft of his kama slamming into her face, splitting her lip open and knocking her to the ground on her back. She's dazed by the hit, leaving her open…and the bandit king makes his strike.
Whereas her sword sung like a pure note, the kama blades hiss through the air like twin serpents, down at her chest and stomach, ready to rend her open. She gasps and rolls away, leaving the ground where she'd been moments before perforated by his blow. Again and again the crimson warrior woman rolls away, trailed by a fraction of a second by the strike of the bandit king's weapons, scouring the sod and sending up sparks when they hit rocks. All around him, his followers drift quickly away, not wanting to be within range as their leader launches into an all-out assault.
The night sky flashes before her eyes. Light, dark, light, dark, light—uh oh. She stops her rolling, a strike grazing her ear where her head would have been a moment later. The bandit king sneers, frustrated as he yanks his weapons down, slashing over her front to cut open her shirt, making a fresh, bright red line across her chest.
The cry of a woman screaming in pain fills the night, and the bandit king gets another kick to the gut before the warrior woman somersaults backwards, rising as lightly to her feet as if she were steam lifting from the ground. She hops from foot to foot, jumping back again and again as those kamas swing in dangerous arcs, just barely missing the chance to split her open.
A few of the bolder bandits hold up their swords, ready to impale her. And it would work, if she didn't rise off the ground from one of those hops like she were flying into the air. Her toes touch featherlight to the flat of the blades, twirling in a way that makes her garb spin out in red-and-white swirls of colors, made briefly transparent in the moonlight as she pirouettes up and over the bandit king's head. She lands with barely a sound, tumbling past her sword to snatch it up, and stops in a fighter's crouch, arm extended behind her and sword pointing to the bandit king's throat.
The caravan merchants let out a collective breath of relief. The bandits are stunned.
The bandit king is furious. Froth flecks off his lips as he bellows out, "«KILL HER!»"
The rush of bodies towards the swordswoman is like an oncoming wave of glinting steel and dark wool garb. In a graceful swirl, she rises up, her blade spinning about like a ring of death to cut through the front ranks, and she rises into the air again. She flies in a slow arc, slashing at the bandits under her feet, splitting open necks and heads like she were harvesting wheat, until she lands atop the lead caravan wagon, balancing precariously on the edge. She turns about to look at the carnage behind her, dead and dying bandits littering the ground and moaning in pain. But where's the bandit king??
Behind her, the bandit king falls gently to the wooden edge, arms held out like the wings of a swooping hawk. And he looks pissed. "«You have done more to kill my men, my brothers, than any I've come across. You have my respect, warrior woman,»" he growls, making Delia gasp and spin about, sword raised towards him. He doesn't flinch as it points at his throat, instead just curling his lip in contempt, "«So it saddens me that I must kill you.»"
For those watching, the ensuing fight is nearly incomprehensible. Blades fly, the wagon rattles as it's used as a staging ground for a fight that the human eye can barely follow. Death and life are balanced on the head of a pin, blades felt millimeters from skin, tearing open clothing and sending splatters of blood on the wagon's merchandise. Suddenly, their blurred forms rise into the air, disappearing into the treetops in a burst of falling leaves and branches that shower down on those below. Metal blades clang loudly, echoing over the treetops.
Until they're suddenly silenced, and the world seems to hold its breath.
In a rustling and cracking of branches, a figure plummets out of the trees and lands with a crack and crunch in one of the wagons, drawing a startled cry from the merchants. Slowly, a hand raises out of the hole…clutching a kama. The bandit king hauls himself up with a pained groan, trying to stand…but only manages to tumble out onto the grass, clutching at the deep gouge in his stomach. A short ways off, the bloody and battered woman, her hair like a slow flame about her head, and her blue eyes glinting in contemptuous triumph, alights on the driver's seat of the lead wagon.
Quickly, the remaining living bandits gather up their leader, hefting his arms onto their shoulders and carrying him quickly away. Still, despite his injuries, he has enough strength to lift his head, spouting bile at the foe who had bested him. "«Luck favors you tonight, mystery woman! But if you stay in these woods, you'll not live to bear children! I will find you and best you, and make your death agonizing!»" His voice fades as they disappear into the trees, leaving the merchants to do what they will with the corpses littered about the road.
"«I'll find you! Do you hear me?? I'LL FIND YOU, YOU RED-HEADED DEVIL! AND YOU'LL BE MINE!!»"
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
"You will find me…" The words spoken by a feminine voice echo through Dante's mind. Turning, he catches a glimspe of Delia in the crowd, in her white dress, spattered with red blood. Some of it her own. Lifting her head, she seems very tired as she stares at him and purses her lips into a thin line. The sword is raised with one hand and she presses it to her forehead, closing her eyes. "Find my body…" Upon opening her eyes, she pivots on one bare foot and disappears into the crowd.
Just have a good time
Gal free up unu mind caw nobody can dis you man won't let it can
You a the number one gal
Wave you hand
Make them see you wedding band
"This is BULL SHIT!"
Tahir Avery Dunham is not having a good time anymore. Especially considering the fact that nobody adhered to his request or anything of that nature. In fact, he's getting stumbly furious! And that's why he's standing back up and leaning over the ropes. "I said! SOMEBODY GET ME SOME TITTA—"
*SCHWAP!*
Tahir blinks. His face frowns up, but then he realizes what just slapped him in the face. He reaches up and pulls his glasses off. It is then that he looks down at the floor, tilting his head one way and then the other. He crouches low and when he returns to his full height, there is something in his hand. Something red.
"Ooooh. Skittles."
Tahir tears open one side and pops a couple into his mouth. Nom nom. Nom nom nom. Smack nom! Nom!!
And the world is right once again.
"Waaaaait!" Quinn turns as Nicole takes off, hands making grabbing motions in her direction as she takes a few steps after. But she stops back at the rope, shoulders slumping a bit, a little frown forming on her face - she's not willing to walk out of the VIP area, not without Nicole to usher her back in. "Shiiit! Fiiiine! I'll find another cute friend to hang out with!" she yells back, mostly joking as she drunkenly raises a hand and makes an exagerated dissmissive wave off in the direction Nicole was headed. Sighing, Quinn turns, stares down at her drink, and throws it back - promprly being thrown into a coughing fit once she has. It takes a moment before she resumes stumbling to where Brad and Nicole had been, plopping down at their table, her hack finally subsiding. She notices the white remains on the table, and a part of her knows that's what not ot tell Colette about. At the moment, though, she doesn't care. She may not even remember that detail in the morning.
Dante's neck almost snaps from how hard he jerks his head around to the redheaded phantom's appearance, his eyebrows popping up over his sunglasses. He shoots a glance back to the VIP room, chewing on his bottom lip and his hands clutching at air by his side. He looks perturbed…
Making a decision, he claps a hand beside his right ear, muttering something to himself, before darting down off the steps onto the dancefloor. People get shoved aside as the Agent tries to force his way after his image of Delia, teeth set.
"No no no no, don't disappear on me, dammit! No no no no no!"
The Kingdom of Zai Shangshang
Like the song emitted from the tines of a tuning fork, the Emperor's sword rings out as it is unsheathed. Both warriors stare at each other, his dark eyes versus her blue ones. The ring echoes through the vast room, the sound accompanied by the near silent drip of a drop of the woman's blood to the tile on the floor. For what seems like an eternity, they hold their poses….
The swish cutting through the air is the unmistakable signal that the battle has started, resulting in a tendril of the woman's fine hair drifting down to the floor. This time, he didn't behead her.
The red hair drifts down slowly…
The blades clash violently, the sound of metal ringing through the chamber. The weapons tangling in a flurry of swift strikes and parries. Counters and ripostes. The Emperor dances back rapidly as the warrior woman presses forward. Her blade swings high, his blade catching hers inches before it strikes his neck. Throwing his head back, the blade narrowly misses his brow.
In a single leap, the Emperor gains himself some room. Flying back, the man lands on the other side of the spacious chamber. Placing himself near a few dressers and drawers. One hand diving at a few jewelled knives set on display. In one hand they are brought up and…
The door to the quarter opens, a few guards starting to step in. However, they quickly retreat when several knives fly at them. The door is shut rapidly, followed by a few daggers penetrating the oak.
Looking down at his now empty hand a grunt is let out, as he leaps once again. Flying across the room, sword drawn back he aims to strike at the Warrior with renewed vigor.
The Emperor's grunt is answered by a cry of fury as the young Warrior pushes off the wall from the opposite side of the room. Two running steps and her feet seem to climb into the air, carrying her flying toward him, only to have their blades clash in song as they pass by. Like a genre of music all its own, the song of the swords carries a distinct rhythm and melody. The ring of the blades, the crash of furniture as it's run through with each pass, the cymbal like clash when they meet…
The heavy breathing of the participants as they glare at each other before soaring toward each other again.
Instruments of battle have a voice unto themselves. The young woman's fine sword whines a high pitch while the Emperor's blade hums at a lower pitch, together they harmonize. A sharp hiss from the Warrior as she ricochets off the wall adds to the symphony.
In a flurry of arm movement, the two engage in rapid exchange of parries and counter strikes. Their duel starting to seem more like a stationary choreographed dance. Fluid, economic movements evolving off the next strike. Swerving and twisting, bending back, and leaning forward, the chorus of their blades starts to intensify. The music of their blades takes on a new persona entirely. Starting to seem angry, then furious, and then abruptly; it ends.
With a powerful kick delivered to his midsection, the emperor's back bursts through the doors of the wardrobe. Slamming against the wall, he slumps forward onto his knees. Chin dropping down to his chest, a wheezy breath is drawn in slowly. But despite this injury, the battle does not end.
Despite being on his knees, the woman's attacks continue. From his lowered position the young emperor fights intensely to fend off the strikes. Eventually his countering and parrying becomes intense, starting to ward off the woman. Finally creating a few steps in between them, the man springs up and spins to his feet.
The hair is caught by a sudden gust of air with the woman's rapid movement. It continues to drift slowly.
"You're not supposed to be here."
With that the warrior's footing fails and she lands flat on her back with a gust of breath. His words, more dangerous than the point of his sword as it bares down on the bridge of her nose, seem distant and emotionless. An observation rather than accusation as she swings her blade upward to protect her face. The parry gives her enough room to swing her legs. Whirling them around and up, her back twists on the floor until she has enough momentum to leap to a stand in front of him.
"I'm lost. I don't know which direction to go."
Her sword crashes through a slatted room divider, narrowly missing his head and cleaving the fine work of art into two ruined pieces. Her growl of frustration precedes the scream as she places one foot against the wall and shoves off of it. Her body takes the shape of a flame tipped arrow as she twirls horizontally through the air, the arm carrying the sword raises as though in slow motion and comes down against his blade.
She lands, half of a sword in hand while the other end of her broken blade whirls like a pinwheel between them until it embeds itself deep in the post of the emperor's bed. Surprised, her wide eyes flit between the jewelled hilt that she carries and the sharp end wiggling inside of the bedpost.
"You came the wrong way."
As he avoids her attack, he fixes his gaze upon the now broken blade affixed into his overly large bed. An easy leap brings the man to the foot of the bed. Holding his blade low, he takes a few steps forward on the cushy surface. Feet flexing on the bouncy bed, the Emperor glares darkly at the woman… on his bed.
His free hand flies up abruptly. The back of his hand striking her cheek harshly. Making her stumble to the side, the Emperor steps forward in a clean step. Turning on one side, the sword is brought up. As she lunges forward, the Emperor's weapon wards off the woman's advances towards the wall of blades. His stance is not so offensive anymore, keeping on the defensive and slapping away her strikes and attempts to claim a new blade.
The back of his hand strikes a powerful blow her across the face, sending her reeling backward. Her body arches as it falls, the graceful swan dive through the rattan wall coming to an abrupt halt as she lands on the cold tile and bounces once before settling. The guards stand there with baited breath, none daring to step forward to finish the warrior for fear of upsetting the Emperor.
"It was an accident…"
Her words are a forced out as a whisper due to ragged gasps drawn into her exhausted body. She struggles to stand again, scrambling to her feet and wheeling her arms for balance. With a single bound, she leaps back through the hole. She carries nothing to fight with in her hands and as a result, the stance she adopts forces her hands to become her new weapons.
The fight now becomes a tangle of limbs, the emperor's blade used to parry off some of the attacks. His free hand swinging around wildly yet accurately to put the strikes back. Dancing back, he spins to swing out an elbow to swipe an attack away. Another attack is swiped away, the man drops his hand. Giving her a critical look, the Emperor shakes his head with disapproval. Bringing the blade up…
The Emperor drops, one foot snaking out as his body twists. Going to hook her heel with his foot, the man springs up fluidly after the sweeping kick goes out. Bringing his leg back up, the ruler looks down at his fallen prey. Taking a single foot forward. "Stay down, if you don't want to die."
The visible pulse of the warrior's throat causes her skin to touch the blade with every thrum of her heart. Her bright blue eyes are wild with fear as she's held in a prone position by the simple threat. She swallows, an audible gulp that sound almost like the beat of a timpani drum at the end of the song and dance. She lays silent against the tile floor, almost too afraid to take another breath inward.
Somewhere along the line, she lost her fearless edge. Perhaps it was the same moment she realized her mortality in this place. One might believe that she is losing herself, just as predicted.
"What are you going to do?" The timid words eke out almost of their own accord, a strange sort of bravery in its own right. Chancing a glimpse into the Emperor's dark eyes, she purses her lips to keep herself quiet. Her hands clenches around a piece of the fabric of her dress as she locks eyes with him. Were there guards here, she would have lost her head simply for the offense.
From the depths of his finery, yet another dagger is produced. Looking down on her with a certain disdain, the grumpy look is tossed off with a light smile. A condescending look is all she receives at first. Stepping to one side of her, the blade retains its place on her neck. Holding it tightly, he slowly steps over her. The question is unanswered for a long moment. Casting a sheath off the dagger with one hand, the blade is brandished over the woman's vision.
Bending slowly, one knee is placed on her shoulder, and then the other knee follows. The sword is gently cast away, his now free hand slapping against the forehead of the woman. The dagger now resting against her neck. "I'm going to take you home, Delia."
The dagger sings as it is brought up in a flash.
"Goodnight."
Somewhere Under Rockefeller Center
Standing directly in front of Dong, the young woman with spiral red hair lifts a broken sword. She stares at him silently, through cornflower blue eyes with a neutral expression that betrays nothing. Slowly, her arm extends to him, offering the jeweled hilt. "Now that you've brought me home…" she whispers. Slowly, before his eyes, she disinigrates, blowing away as though made of particles of fine dust.
Woman Get busy , Just shake that booty non-stop
When the beat drops
Just keep swinging it
Get jiggy
The barely-dressed girls on the dancefloor cry out in protest, glaring at the passing agent as he pushes his way through. Standing in the middle, he jerks his head everywhere, snatching his sunglasses off his face. FUCK! No sign of her! "FUCK!" he growls, shoving his sunglasses back on his face and marching in frustration towards the door. How is it that the one guy who hasn't had anything to drink or snort is acting the craziest?
"«Get him.»"
A finger flings out at the crazy man 'FUCK-ing' around on the dancefloor. Dante's storming doesn't last long until he is approached rapidly by several triads. Xue being one of the men to escort Dante rapidly out of the club. No craziness allowed here.
Dong-tian turns slightly, leaning back his elbow comes up. Placing his elbow on the bar the Ghost Shadow leans back against the bar. His chin lowers slowly. The fire haired woman faces him, and his gaze does not avert. Watching her stonily, his brows narrow as she stares at him. Watching her quietly, he is completely silent as she disintegrates. Making no remark, the bu xiu turns slightly to take a drink off the bar. A stolen drink, most likely Tahir's.
Downing the drink, it is set back on the bar. "Yeah. I'll get you up." He mutters, without an accent.