Party Mutants 1
Feb. 9th, 2004 10:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-gambit.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsExtremely long log. Writers/players by section.
AMANDA/CLARICE: By The Pricking Of My Thumbs...
Remembering Amanda's offer of a glamour spell to allow her to leave the mansion without having to ask for an image inducer, Clarice made her way to room 201. Nervously tapping on the door, she checked her outfit for what felt like the hundredth time. Then she jumped as the door was yanked open and she was confronted by the mansion's resident witch.
"Um, hi, I wasn't sure if you remembered about that glamour thing you said you'd do but here I am and…" Clarice realized she was babbling and stopped.
"Well, don't hang around there like a dozy cow, get yer arse in here!" Amanda said, grabbing the younger girl's arm and pulling her inside, shutting the door after her."
"I'm coming, yeesh! What's the big deal?"
"What? No, yer just being silly. Just didn't want t'get caught with me contraband, did I?" Amanda replied, nodding at the open bottle of vodka sitting on her desk. The Brit was wearing a pair of snug black jeans and her Union Jack t-shirt, with the beaten-up, much-loved leather biker's jacket she'd been wearing when she arrived at the school over the top and her usual Doc Martens boots on her feet. She hadn't had time to put her makeup on yet, her face looking strangely young and innocent without it. "Let me get yer one. Need t' get primed for the club, you do. It's cheaper than buying drinks there, for starters, tho' I never actually have t' buy me own, if you know what I mean." She winked at Clarice before splashing some of the spirit into another water glass. "Get that into yer," she ordered, thrusting the glass at Clarice.
Obediently Clarice downed the vodka, making a face as it went down. "So what do you think?" she asked, twirling around. For Clarice the outfit was nearly demure. She wore a ripped jean skirt with glitter-plaid tights under it, a pair of doc martens laced partway up her calves. Her shirt was a black halter top with bright blue lace.
Amanda looked amused at the tights. "Couldn't leave the glitter at home, could yer? Still, you'll do alright at this place, from what Remy was sayin'. Lot of college kids - they'll appreciate you well an' all, if yer get me meaning." She downed the rest of her own drink and poured a little more into both glasses before turning back to her desk which had makeup scattered over the top of it in front of a small mirror. "Just give me a sec t' put the war paint on, an' I'll do that spell for you. Got everything ready, just need t' cast it."
"Why do you wear so much?" Clarice asked curiously, sitting down in Paige's desk chair (Amanda's roomie was down in med lab, where she'd been spending every spare moment since Angelo had woken up). "You look good without it, you know."
"It's not about whether it looks good or not. Places I've been, you look too young an' innocent, an' you might as well let them have yer," Amanda replied, smoothing foundation over her skin and picking up her eyeliner pencil. "I was about your age when I hit the streets, an' I looked lots younger. Made me a target for every fucked-up psycho out there. But I found out if I put on a certain face, acted a certain way, they left me alone - most of 'em, any way. Those that didn’t I had t' learn t' fight off. All this," she gestured, indicating the piercings, the heavy makeup, the dyed hair; "It's me protection."
She looked at Clarice through the mirror. "'S like a mask - they can't know yer true face, unless yer let ‘em. An' if they don't know the real you, they can't hurt you."
"Yeah," Clarice agreed nodding, little braids bobbing across her face, "but it's lonely," she poured herself another shot of vodka and gulped it.
"You only feel lonely if you need other people. Me, I don't. They do stuff for me, I do stuff for them, but I don't need 'em." Amanda reached for the eye shadow, coating her eyelids with a dark, bruised purple, and then grabbed the mascara. "You know what you need? T' stop worryin' about what everyone else thinks of yer. Yer unique, an' people can't handle that. So what? Learn t' fight, learn t' use that fancy teleportin' power of yours, an' find yerself a mask, somethin' you can use t' stop the bastards getting' to you. An'…" Amanda reached across and grabbed the vodka bottle just as Clarice was pouring another shot for herself, "…You can stop drinkin' me stash before yer get maudlin and blow the whole night." Putting the bottle next to her (after taking a healthy swig out of it), Amanda finished off her work with a bright red lipstick. "There. Done." She turned and looked at Clarice. "So, yer want this glamour?" The tone she used made it clear she was testing Clarice, that her answer would be important.
"Yes," Clarice said, resolutely. She couldn't sneak out without some sort of aid and she couldn't very well tell Dr. McCoy that she was sneaking out to go clubbing.
Amanda sighed and shook her head. The girl was young, she'd get it eventually, but not tonight, it seemed. "Right, then. Stand over there, near the door."
Clarice stood there, fidgeting anxiously. "It's not going to hurt, is it?" she asked.
"Might tingle a bit. Just stand still - don't want t'get the overlap wrong - you'd look a right twit with two noses, wouldn't you?" Amanda picked up a cereal bowl she'd liberated from the student kitchen, and walked over to where she'd instructed Clarice to stand. "Spirits of air and night, I call upon thee," the witch chanted. "Place thy cloak upon this girl, hide her true form. Glamour I cast now upon her." With that, Amanda dipped into the bowl and sprinkled a handful of its contents - sparkling red and blue sand - over Clarice's head.
The purple girl screwed up her nose, about to complain the colours clashed with her skin, but then remembered Amanda's warning and said nothing.
The air shimmered around Clarice like a heat haze, and when it cleared, someone else stood there, not the purple pixie of punk, but a girl Amanda had never met, but seen traces of in the photos Clarice had shown her several days before.
"Wow..." Clarice looked at her now flesh-coloured arm in amazement, eyes wide before running the few feet to Amanda and hugged her tightly, "Thank you!"
The Brit stiffened at the sudden hug and awkwardly patted Clarice on the back. "Um, yeah, yer welcome." When Clarice released her, she reached for the vodka bottle and had one last swig, offering it to the younger girl.
"Nah," Clarice shook her head, she was practically bouncing around she was so happy, "Let's go!"
Before Amanda could reply, she had the door open and was beginning to run down the hall, excited. Fortunately, she was not (yet) singing.
"Oi, Pixie!" Amanda called after her, stashing the bottle in her desk drawer and half-jogging to keep up. "We ain't gunna be able t' sneak out if yer bouncing all over the place. Gotta do this quiet-like."
The no longer purple Pixie skidded to a halt, turning to face Amanda, "I don't turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do I?"
Amanda gave her a mischievous look. "Could be, Pixie." Seeing the girl's eyes widen, she relented. "Nah, nothin' like that. Spell should last at least six hours. Just make sure yer home before then. Now, follow me. We'll sneak out through one of the back doors - if we get stopped, I'm goin' for a fag an' yer keepin' me company, right?"
"Right," she nodded, somehow managing to walk down the hall like a semi-mature person instead of a wild ape
AMANDA/DOUG/MANUEL/JUBILEE/CLARICE/MARIE-ANGE: Big Yellow Taxi...
Six teenagers lurked, not very convincingly, in the shadows cast by a large tree about ten feet down from the front gates. Hanging around the front gates themselves wouldn't be exactly clever, what with the security camera and all, but they didn't want to be too hard for the taxis to find. As time went on, things got restive.
"What time did they say they'd be here, again?" asked Jubilee for the fifth time, hopping from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.
"The same time I told you two minutes ago," said Doug with a roll of his eyes. His tone was good-humoured 'though - getting out of the mansion had been a very good idea, even if he wasn't too sure about this whole illicit clubbing deal.
Amanda snorted and blew cigarette smoke at the mall rat. "Short attention span yer got there, Lee," she said with an amused smile. Jubilee's eyes narrowed, but before she could reply, Doug spotted a pair of headlights.
"Taxi's here!" he said. He looked reluctantly at Manuel. "Only one - I guess we should let the girls go first, and wait for the next one." Doug's hesitation irritated the empath, but on the whole he was feeling too good - riding on the buoyant feelings of the group - to do much else than shrug.
"If you think it is a good idea for those two to travel together in close proximity," he said, indicating Jubilee climbing into the cab in which Amanda was already ensconced.
"Oh damn." Doug looked at Manuel hopefully, and realised that putting Manuel in a cab steeped in catty emotions probably wouldn't be the best idea. "Looks like I'd better go with, see if I can't calm things down," he said, and moved to intercept Clarice, who was getting in the front. "Clarice! I'd better go, to, ah, to make sure nothing happens at the club before everyone else gets there! You can catch the next cab with Manuel, okay?" Clarice looked doubtfully at Manuel.
"Is that a good idea?" she asked, doubtfully. The taxi driver, impatient, leaned over and said:
"Look, is one of you kids getting in or what? The night's still young and I've got a lot of fares after this one." At the same time, headlights appeared - the second taxi.
"It'll be fine - he's in a good mood, I promise," Doug said, and gently directed Clarice toward Manuel and the approaching taxi. "It's only a short drive, he won't have time to be mean."
And with that he clambered into the front seat, the driver taking off almost as soon as the door closed. In the back of the cab, Marie-Ange planted herself firmly between Jubilee and Amanda, and folded her arms. ~I swear, if they start anything, I am going to change my kind about being a pacifist and throw them both out of the cab.~ The two other girls were glaring at each other between bouts of staring defiantly out the window. Jubilee looked over at her friend and noticed the set look on her face, before glaring over the top of her head at Amanda.
"So...how about those Mets?"
"You what?" Amanda looked at the other girl in confusion. "This is some sort of fucked up American shite, isn't it?"
"Now, now," Doug said, twisting around in his seat. "There's no need...
" "Nah, no need, but it's fun," Amanda replied with a grin. "Hey, Lee, see you didn't dress yerself this evenin'."
Marie-Ange glared at Jubilee, and covered her face with her hands. ~I knew this was going to happen.~ Jubilee's eyes narrowed slightly and her smile widened innocently.
"Angie thought the colours would be better. Perhaps you should have talked to her too. Unless, of course, you wanted your clothing to make the 'Pay me $2, me love you long time' statement."
"As opposed t' the 'hey mister, you like little girls?' look yer get with that coat?" Amanda replied. "Tho' I can see why yer go for that - hard t' flaunt what you ain't got."
Marie-Ange glared at the back of Doug's head, where he sat in the front seat. ~Develop telepathy. DEVELOP TELEPATHY. Make them stop.~ Doug rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Children, if you can't be civil to each other, I _will_ turn this cab around. I don't really care whether or not we go to the club." Jubilee poked her tongue out, knowing Doug couldn't see her from his position in the front seat and then glared murderously at Amanda.
"Dude, you don't stop talking shit then there's going to be some damage done."
"Ooh, touched a nerve, did I?" Amanda filed the reaction away for future use. She opened her mouth to make another jibe, when she was elbowed by Marie-Ange.
"Hey!" Marie-Ange glared at Amanda, and dug her boot down hard on Jubilee's foot. The voice that came out of the younger girl was still hers, it still carried the soft French accent, but lacked normal hesitant pauses and halts, and had all the warmth of marble.
"ENOUGH. It is too much to ask for you to just not talk to each other. Just say nothing. At all. To each other."
Doug looked over at the cabbie, who looked slightly frazzled from the exchange in the back seat. "Trust me on this, just be glad the other guy didn't come along," he muttered just quietly enough for the cabbie to hear.
Turning around in his seat, he fixed Amanda and Jubilee with an annoyed glare. "I'm with Angie. If you can't at least be civil, shutting up is a good substitute. Otherwise you're both welcome to walk the rest of the way." Jubilee rolled her eyes at Doug and Angie's comments and settled back into the taxi.
"Dudes, chill. She's not worth the effort, anyway. So, what do you think this new club is gonna be like? Heard it's wicked." More for Marie-Ange's sake than anyone else's, Amanda let Jubilee's last dig slide. Besides, it was _cold_ out there, and she didn't fancy walking the rest of the way. Or teleporting - she'd gotten to the stage where she could 'port small objects like apples without turning them inside out, but she didn't want to field test that particular spell on herself just yet.
"'S one of Sarah's places..." she began to reply, just as the taxi pulled to a stop outside a large warehouse-type building into which young people were streaming.
Marie-Ange let out a sharp sigh of relief as the cab stopped, and leaned forward to whisper in Doug's ear. "Thank you for helping. I owe you a drink, or .. . a dance, if you want." Doug nodded jerkily.
"That sounds really nice, Angie. Let's just get these two inside and as far away from each other as quickly as we can."
REMY/M: High Life
The snow crunched under Remy’s boots as he walked along the mansion drive. He had simply wandered off the porch and out the gates during the evening. He shivered slightly as the wind knifed through his trenchcoat, through the clothes he was wearing. It had been months since he had been clubbing, and almost a year since he was dressed to do it properly.
Duirng his first few remembered months of the street, Remy had gone from apartment to apartment, picked up by young women and the odd man with enough money to put up with bankrolling him. He vaguely remembered the nights, five six a week out at the clubs, in the welter of drugs and alcohol, passed around and exclaimed on as the newest accessory. Something in him had twisted each relationship, eventually causing the clubs to go cold for him, leaving him to slide towards the street.
However, it was time for all of that to change. And a night of clubbing, drinking and wet pneumatic entertainment awaited him, at least he hoped it did.
As par Monet’s assurences, the two limos were parked down the road about a half mile. As Remy walked up, one of them was already pulling out into the street. Puzzled, Remy rapped on the window of the remaining one, which slowly rolled down.
“Are you fucking coming or not?” Monet’s distainful voice carried from the plush interior. “Everyone’s on their way already and I am not going to let that de la Rocha out-fashionably late me.”
Remy opened the door and slipped in. Looking around for a moment, he turned to M with a shrug. “Where everyone else?”
M looked disgusted at his lack of insight. “Obviously not here. If they aren’t here, they’re either not coming or gone, wouldn’t you think?”
Remy felt distinctly mournful about the fact that he was now going to have to share her limo. “Everyone got here earlier?” he asked.
“If they didn’t I don’t care,” M said. “Can we leave, or do you have more fart arsing to do?”
Remy shrugged, and got into limo. “Den we can go. Uh.” He slid along the seat. “I am sorry, chere, I don’ have de lice.”
M bestowed an odd look on him before nodding sharply. “Very good.” She said and Remy was just about to ask why she had wanted them in the first place when one slim immaculate hand dipped into a sideboard and pulled out a fat bottle. “Then I have champagne. You might even get a taste if you’re good.”
“Remy always good, chere.” He said, leanning back into the plush seat and eyeing her. “Maybe Remy drink it from your shoe?”
“From my Pradas? You don’t even have the credit limit to stare at them too long.” She pulled out the cork effortlessly and filled a pair of plastic cups before thumping on the window. “Off, off, driver! I have drinking and teasing and other wet things to take care of.”
“You one odd femme.”
“Drink your champagne and try to look grateful, LeBeau.” She gave him a large smile. “This is your night to be all that you can’t be.”
“Bitch.”
“Better believe it.”
The limo pulled up outside the club and the pair spilled out on to the lot. The others had found their way there, and were grouped in a small huddle. Those with fake id were already in line, and Remy reached into his pocket for the items he’d been asked to look into. The fake ids were of top quality, good enough to confound even cops, and the bouncers would serve no problem.
“Dis everyone? Bein.” Remy said, passing them out. Most took them eagerly and made faces as they looked closer.
“This is not my name?” Marie-Ange said finally.
“Dat’s way dey call dem fake, chere.”
“LeBeau.” Amanda growled. Remy looked over, his face a picture of innocence. “You going t’ explain this, or can I just kick ye in the bollocks now?”
“Only picture Remy could find, chere.” The shot on the id was older, and in many ways resembled what happens when one creatively cropped a police photo.
“And Elizabeth Windsor?” She snarled.
“Thought I give you some class.” He said, lips twitching.
“Dee Utte Wannago? I do not understand why you chose this name?” Marie-Ange said, and M laughed loudly, waving her hand for them to ignore her.
“Jung-Li Rosenberg? Are you on glue, dude?” Jubilee waved the card in his face.
“De kung-fu jew, chere. Dey going t’ love you here.”
“Um, Remy?” Doug held his own with a look of resignation. “There is no way this is going to work. Who’s going to believe I’m a twenty-seven year old German grad student named-“ Doug checked the card. “Horst Weinerschaulossgurpenheimer? What kind of a name is Weinerschaulossgurpenheimer?”
“De kind dat is too silly for de bouncers t’ t’ink is made up.”
“He’s got a mustache, LeBeau!”
“Oh, good t’ing you remind Remy.” He fished in his jacket pocket for a moment and produced an authetic looking yet wholly ridiculous mustache. A few dabs of spirit gum affixed it to Ramsey’s face like he’s grown it himself. Marie cocked her head to one side.
“It does make you look older.”
“Whatever.” Doug sighed, wincing as Remy clapped him on the shoulder.
“Dat de spirit. Don do anyt’ing stupid and Remy see you all inside.” He grinned and walked towards the door with Monet right behind. The bouncer nodded to Remy as if he was an old friend, and let him past the line. Monet he stopped and held up his hand.
“ID, Miss.”
“Of course.” She flashed a card.
“That’s a platinum credit card. I need something with your age or-“
“The fact that with this I can make your night very very easy or very very hard.” A tickle of telepathy brushed him. “Right?”
“Go right in.” He smiled and took the fifty from her as she walked past and into the club.
REMY/SARAH/SHINOBI: Foreshadowing On The Credit Card
TONIC thronged with people on Saturday night; the obvious townie night out mixed in with students from every college nearby. Remy caught sight of Sarah and Shinobi as they cleared the door, and approached them with a grin.
Noticing Remy out of the corner of her eye, she smiled. He hadn't snuck up on her _this_ time. She raised her voice a little to be heard over the noise of the club. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Remy comes, he goes." Remy grinned. "Glad t' see you both made it." He said.
With a roll of his eyes, Shinobi tucked his wallet back into his pocket, briefly looking to Sarah before following her gaze. Visibly resisting a comment on Remy's turn of phrase, he simply nods, flashing a grin.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"You know, homme, Remy t'ink you and me got off on de wrong foot. Dere no reason not t' be friends." Remy said, dripping sinceracy. "How 'bout dis? Let Remy cover both your drinks tonight. Remy made money on dat fight dat needs to be spent. What you say?" Remy said, patting Shinobi on the shoulder.
Sarah's certainly not going to turn down a free drink.. or several for that matter. "Very nice. Makes it easier for me to get this one drunk." She motions to Shinobi and smiles.
"I don't really drink," Shinobi shrugs, briefly eyeing the hand patting his shoulder before looking between the pair. "..but apparently I'm starting tonight. Sure."
"Remy happy t' oblige. What you drinking den?"
"Next lesson in corruption," Sarah grins. She thinks for a moment, and shrugs. "Surprise us."
Shinobi resists the sudden urge to ask if that's wise, instead nodding, with a quiet "Only live once," mumbled under his breath.
Remy caught the muttered whisper by Shinobi as he turned to the bar. "Dat right, homme." He said under his breath as he threaded through the crowd to the bar. Sarah, however, did not. Nor did she hear the answer. And besides, she's far too happy to be out of the mansion to care.
She whispers to Shinobi, "You'll have fun, I promise."
"Just don't get me too wasted, luv," Shinobi replies in kind, giving Sarah an amused look. "You aren't the only one with an image to worry about."
"As long as you don't try to outdrink me, you'll be fine," she says with a smile. "I'll keep an eye on you."
Remy wandered back, a pair of shotglasses in one and a tumbler in the other.
"All set up at de bar." He said as he handed over the shot glasses. "Dey got you on my tab." Shinobi smirks at Sarah, nodding once and kissing her on the forehead.
"Fair enough," he agrees before looking up, accepting the offered glass with a grin. "Thanks."
"Welcome, homme." Remy said. There was a shuffle in the crowd behind him, and he stumbled uncharacteristically into Shinobi, barely avoiding spilling either of their drinks. "Sorry. It crowded in here."
Sarah takes her drink before Remy gets a chance to nearly spill it again, smiles at them both, and downs the shot. She looks expectantly at Shinobi.
"Your turn..."
"No problem, Remy," Shinobi manages, letting out a sigh of relief. Eyeing Sarah a moment, he gives a mental shrug, and quickly slams his own shot back. And isn't that an amusing facial expression? Well, at least he doesn't choke on it.
"See? That wasn't so bad." She turns to Remy and grins.
"And thank you for the drinks."
"Dat was de most pained shot Remy seen." He joked, laughing easily. "Have some fun, mes braves. Dere are too many young femme in dis place t' stay sober near."
"Yeah," Shinobi croaks, blinking rapidly and shaking himself. "Thanks. Don't break too many hearts tonight."
"Remy just breaking relationships tonight." He said, and melted away into the dancefloor. Shinobi shot a dark look between his departing back and an unaware Sarah before turning to look at his drink. There’s goes relaxing, he thought wryly.
Remy slipped through the crowd, draining his own bourbon before waving over to the bartender. Her name was Jane, she had red hair and blue eyes, neither of them natural, was studying pharmocology at the college and she already thought Remy was cute. Her boyfriend was an issue, and Remy wasn’t about to burn his new connection in town. She poured him another double and leaning over the bar to yell loud enough to be heard.
“On your tab?”
“Dat right, chere. Till de card squeals.” Remy grinned. The lift of the wallet had been as prefect as the return, and Shinobi Shaw’s platinum card was covering Remy’s soon to be substantial tab. Even better, it would be a month before anyone got a bill. Smiling, he sipped his drink and melted back into the crowd.
AMANDA/DOUG: Are You Trying To Seduce Me, Mrs Sefton?
Amanda was having a great night. The music, whilst a little mainstream for her tastes, was still eminently danceable, and there were plenty of willing playmates for her to dance with. Eventually, though, thirst called, and she wove her way through the thrashing crowd to the bar. As she waited to be served, she cast her glance around for a likely person she could encourage to buy her a vodka. As fate would have it, she spotted Doug. He was propped in a quiet corner, watching the scene with a glum look on his face.
"Oi, Ramsey!" she called, worming her way through the mass at the bar. "You look as miserable as a wet cat."
Doug waved blearily to Amanda. "Hey, 'Manda. I just, y'know, this isn't totally my scene. Angie talked me into coming. It's all right, I guess, but...I dunno, maybe I'm too straight-laced for this sort of thing." He shrugged. "You having a good time?"
"I gotta say, I was surprised when yer showed up," Amanda replied, nodding her head in time to the music's heavy bass beat. "Wouldn't have figured Frenchie would be up for gettin' you here. Then again, there's a lot more goin' on there than people realise." She tilted her head at Doug. "Right then. Tell you what - gimme the money t' get a drink, an' I'll show yer what havin' a good time means. Let me be th' tutor for a change." Doug hesitated, and her lip curled. "Unless yer chicken, that is."
Doug sighed. "Peer pressure is so old, Amanda."
"Works, but. C'mon stodgy - otherwise yer can sit in the corner an' sulk all night about how you ain't getting any." She grinned at him and held out her hand. Without knowing exactly why - and stinging from the remark about his romantic life, which struck a little too close to home with the strange... thoughts he'd been having - Doug dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. "That's my boy. Back in a sec."
Amanda plunged back towards the bar, using her small size to good advantage as she squirmed between people. Doug turned his attention back to the dance floor, where he could see Marie-Ange and Jubilee dancing up a storm, and sighed again.
"Here." A hand thrust a shotglass full of clear liquid at him, and reflexively he took it. "What it is?" he asked, sniffing at it cautiously.
Amanda rolled her eyes at him. "Vodka, what do you reckon? Something t' put a bounce in yer step. An' if yer gunna dance with me, yer need bounce." Doug shrugged and tossed back the shot. Wincing, he pulled a face as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Amanda slapped him on the back. "That's the way, me boy. We'll make a man out of yer yet."
Between the alcohol and the slap, Doug coughed heavily for a few moments. "And this is the stuff Piotr drinks like it's water? I don't get how he does it." Amanda grinned and tossed back her own shot without a hitch.
"Russkie's been drinking vodka since he was a tot. Probably got it mixed in with his mother's milk, like." She poked him. "While yer, on the other hand, have no tolerance, cuz 'less I miss my guess, that was your first drink, wasn't it?" At Doug's nod, she nodded herself. "Thought so. So yer got some catching up to do."
Flagging the bartender, she used the remains of the twenty to get another pair of shots. Hoisting her own, she gazed at Doug assessingly. "Nazdrovye, or however they say it in Russkie-land." Shaking his head,
Doug clinked his glass to hers and put back the shot. Grabbing his hand, Amanda pulled him toward the dance floor. "C'mon, we gotta loosen yer up a little."
Doug let himself be dragged into the very midst of the dance floor by the determined Brit. He hadn't seen her quite so... easy-going before, but he guessed that was due to the fact she enjoyed clubbing a lot more than she liked math homework. Apparently choosing a spot at random - it was much like every other part of the packed floor –
Amanda turned and gave him what he was learning was her scary "let's cause trouble" grin. But there was no escape, and she was right about the vodka - the burning in his gut had subsided into a more pleasant warm glow, and his muscles felt much looser. Without really thinking about it, he was moving to the heavy beat of the music.
"That's more like it!" Amanda crowed, and then startled him completely by throwing her arms around his neck. Doug jumped slightly, startled by Amanda's invasion of his personal space. As soon as he started thinking about it instead of letting the booze and music work on him, he tensed up, moving woodenly.
"Um, Amanda?" he asked hesitantly. The Brit shoved lightly at him in reply. "No, no, no. Stop thinking and start feeling. Like this." Moving closer to Doug, Amanda swayed rhythmically, her lower body brushing lightly against his. A smoldering pair of eyes met his. "C'mon, Ramsey. Show me your moves."
"I don't think I have any," he mumbled lamely, trying desperately to think about anything else than the way Amanda was undulating against him and how very tight her black jeans and Union Jack t-shirt were.
"Rubbish," she said, twapping him lightly across the back of the head. "You had it before. Stop bloody well thinking and dance. I thought you was a musician-type." She slipped her arms from around his neck and put them on his hips instead, rocking him in time with her own movements. "C'mon, Ramsey, think back to that concert you was giving in the hallway - right sexy mover you were then."
Doug blushed and tried to keep his growing arousal from bumping up against Amanda's lower body too much. Still self-conscious, he tried to move a bit more naturally to the music. He had some success, but that piece of his brain that kept overanalyzing was doing him in.
Amanda shook her head and moved around behind his back, every inch of her body dragging along his. Draping her hands over his chest and pressing her chest to his back, she leaned in and nipped playfully at Doug's ear. "I told yer, Ramsey. No thinking. Dance with me like yer want to fuck me."
Her hands were everywhere along his torso, darting across his pectorals, then down to his stomach, then back up. Whirling him back to face her with her hands, Amanda moved even closer to Doug and smiled wickedly as a slow, pounding song came on. Doug closed his eyes - it was the only way he could be this close and not die of a combination of embarrassment and an overload of teenage hormones. It helped, he found, allowing him to concentrate on the music that was pounding through him, and distance himself from Amanda's intense, mocking blue eyes.
She purred in his ear: "That's more like it, Ramsey," and he relaxed marginally more, letting her take the lead. Gingerly he put his hands on her hips, and was rewarded by another nip on the ear. "Not so difficult, innit?"
"I... ah, that is... you..." For someone who's mutant ability was language, Doug was finding himself incredibly tongue tied. He risked opening his eyes and found himself looking into Amanda's amused face. He acted without thinking - he leaned in and kissed those full, slightly parted lips, half-expecting a slap... or at least being turned into something small and amphibian.
What he didn't expect was Amanda's tongue, flicking across his, and the new sensation of the tongue stud rubbing against it, while her hands slid down his back to squeeze his ass lightly. He jerked back, surprised, to find Amanda openly laughing now.
"You look like I just grabbed yer balls, Ramsey," she giggled, still moving with the music. Unable to think of an appropriate answer, he reached for her again, pursing his lips and closing his eyes in anticipation of another kiss. Instead he found himself kissing her hand, which she'd laid across his mouth. "Sorry, Ramsey, limit's one per customer," she told him, and with that melted back into the crowd, leaving him bothered, bewildered and bewitched.
SARAH/SHINOBI: Dancing In The Dark
Sarah handed Shinobi another shot, his fourth, moving slowly to the thrum of the bassline. She was nursing some annoyingly fruity drink that some random guy had given her, right before he'd hightailed it out of the club due to some 'persuasion' from Shinobi.
Sarah'd just laughed and kissed him, tasting something along the lines of cigarettes and strawberries. Persuading people to go away was fun, and distracting, even if he was finding it difficult to refrain from keeping a wary eye on Remy as the Cajun enjoyed his popularity.
"You know, I still have no bloody idea what this is," Shinobi muses, eyeing his latest shot as it's passed to him. "This isn't a trust game, is it?"
"Do you trust me?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, taking another sip of the drink in her hand.
"I promise it won't kill you," she says with a smile, dipping her finger into the shotglass. Licking the alcohol off of her finger, she adds, "And it's a hell of a lot better than the shit I'm drinking right now."
"With my life," Shinobi replies, seeming a bit surprised that the question need even be asked at all. He glances between his glass and Sarah's for a moment before he offers her the shot, smiling wryly.
"I'd trade, but that drink would be insanely immasculating."
"Not a chance. I'm not here to feed you pussy-drinks. There's not enough alcohol in this to give _anybody_ a buzz." Of course, that may just be the fact that Sarah's got an overactive healing factor, and she's drinking something for girls with a lot lower alcohol tolerance. But still. "You'll stick with the shots."
"Still," Shinobi snickers, still holding the shot out to her. "That thing looks hideous. You don't want Doug to see you holding that thing, do you? He'll tell Jamie, and then you'll be the Mistress of Throwy Things and Pussy-Drinks."
Sarah grins and shakes her head, pushing his hand slowly back to him. "Except Jamie would never say 'pussy-drinks'. Besides, it was free, and while it's pretty much worthless on the intoxication scale, it's still a free drink."
"He might if we got him drunk," Shinobi shrugs, eyeing the shot as it's pushed back to him before shrugging and bringing it up to drink down. At least he wasn't making a goofy face anymore. Progress!
"One at a time," she says with a laugh, "corrupting people is hard work, you know." She runs a finger through the moisture on her glass, and holds the cool finger against his sweaty forehead. "It's hot in here," she observes. Shinobi peeks up towards the finger against his forehead, blinking once.
"Maybe just a little," he agrees, lowering his gaze to her face again. "Maybe I should have worn short sleeves for this."
She nods, "Yeah. Probably."
Long-sleeves and clubbing. Honestly. She finishes her drink with a final gulp, and smiles. "Oh. It had a kick at the bottom of the glass."
"Therein lies the problem," Shinobi observes wisely, holding up the drained shot. "All there is in these *is* the bottom of the glass. No waiting for the kick."
"What can I say? I'm impatient." She shrugs, and gets rid of the empty glasses on a nearby empty table. Returning, she sidles up next to him, hips still swaying to the music. "Having fun yet?"
If his head wasn't swimming so pleasantly, Shinobi might do a better job of keeping his eyes off of Sarah's attractively swaying hips. "More than I'd be having if I'd stayed home," he nods, prying his eyes away from her so that he can cast another look back towards where he'd last seen Remy.
"Pay attention," she chides gently in his ear. "You're not here to take in the crowd."
Shinobi blinks once before dutifully taking his attention off the dance floor, albeit reluctantly. "I'm not?"
"No, you aren't," she says, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him closer, "they're not the ones corrupting you." He makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, allowing himself to be pulled closer with a slight, lazy grin. "You raise a valid point."
"Of course it's valid. I'm not drunk _yet_. Loss of intelligent conversation goes later." She smiles, and starts to dance against him, hand still resting on his neck, just below the hairline.
"Now you're just being cruel," Shinobi muses as the dancing registers, his piercing catching the light as he quirks his brow. "I'm a terrible dancer."
Of course, that isn't stopping him from looping his arms around her waist, nor is it wiping the lazy grin he's sporting away. "Who said I was any good?" She continues to dance, hips soclose to his, and leans forward to talk in his ear. It's easier that way. Really. "Besides, you've been drinking, now you're _allowed_ to step on my feet.”
He tuts quietly, ducking his head enough to make it easier for Sarah to speak in his ear, turning his face enough to respond in kind. Because it's easier. Mmyup. "I won't step on your feet. I'm a bad dancer, not an uncoordinated one." She laughs, not drunk enough to giggle, but it's just there in the undertones of her voice.
"We'll see."
Dancefloor? What? Off in the shadows is nicer. They've got reputations to keep, after all. "Now, if this were a waltz or something, we'd be fine," Shinobi muses against Sarah's ear, not really realizing that he's beginning to sway in time with the music himself. And yes, shadows are much nicer. "Waltz seems a little sedate for you, though.. maybe I should teach you the tango sometime."
Sarah blinks. That's, like, ballroom shit isn't it? Fuck. She needs another drink. "Maybe," she murmurs, moving a little closer, so that she's not really dancing anymore, but grinding against him. Dancing, grinding - what's the difference, in clubs like this?
"Or we could just do this some more," Shinobi says after a moment, making a little noise in the back of his throat. "I like that idea." Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Sarah's actually pretty good at this. It's something she'd picked up as a way to get free alcohol over the past couple of years.
She smiles, curling her fingers into his hair, and keeps moving. "Thought you might." With a slight grin, he ducks his head to give Sarah's neck a quick nuzzle, closing his eyes an in attempt to ignore the rest of the club. The loud music's making it kind of difficult.
"You know what amuses the hell out of me sometimes?" Sarah can think of a few things about their situation to be amused about, but she gives him a curious look anyway. "What's that?"
"Of all the relationships going on at the school, I think ours is probably the most stable." With a lopsided smile, Shinobi shrugs, lightly leaning his forehead against hers. "We don't argue, or make melodramatic proclamations, or any of that rubbish. It's amusing, in a pleasant sort of way. Tickles my sense of the ironic."
Sarah grins, and gives him an affectionate kiss. "You do realize I'm going to go home and straight to the computer to write some sort of melodramatic proclamation now. Can't have everybody thinking I'm actually in a stable relationship." Shinobi makes a pleased noise at the kiss, laughing quietly as he gives her waist a snug.
"You're no fun at all. So long as _I_ know it's stable, I s'pose it's alright, if you reeeeally want to."
"I guess it depends on how drunk I am when we get home. I may forget all about it." The song ends, and Sarah debates for a moment on what to do next. In the end, more alcohol wins out. She's entirely too sober.
"Another drink?" "Alcohol the only thing that'd make you forget?" Blinking innocently, Shinobi offers another snug before nodding his head, casting a look back to the bar.
"So long as we get home in one piece, luv, with all our insides on our insides." Sarah laughs, and gives him another kiss.
"There may be a few other things..." She unwraps his arms from around her waist and gives his hand a squeeze. "I'll be right back."
M/TAROT: Getting Girls 101
Monet drooped down at the table next to Marie-Ange clutching a bottle of water. "Mmm," she sighed happily. "This is the best fun I've had since I arrived," she leaned over to say in Marie-Ange's ear.
Marie-Ange blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting conversation from M, espically since what few words they had spoken had been mostly on the journals, and entirely unfriendly. "I .. cannot argue with that, which is.. good. Yes. Good. Not argueing."
M smiled brightly. "Good. Do you want some water? Why aren't you
dancing? Have you seen anyone here who you'd like to get hot and sexy with?" She was still swaying in time with the music.
Marie-Ange raised a glass of something layered and brightly colored. "I'm taking a break for a few minutes, watching people." She smiled briefly, shaking her head. "I would've danced with Doug more, but I think he's .. a little busy." Doug was, of course, nowhere to be found, having been dragged off by Amanda. "Everyone else is dancing already.."
M laughed. "Doug totally white boy dances. And don't you dance by
yourself?" She followed Marie-Ange's eyes. "Oh, you wanna dance with Manuel or Remy?"
Marie-Ange would have blushed, and would have begged off the question under normal circumstances. Sneaking into a over-18 club with a fake ID and drinking underage were not normal circumstances, but mostly, being halfway through her second drink in an hour was not a normal circumstance. "I know, it is silly. They're nice to look at though, no?" She shrugged at Monet. "I was dancing before, I just needed a break, and it gives me a chance to watch them."
M shrugged. "If you say so. I didn't think you'd be one of those
soppy girls who needs a guy to dance with, or y'know, anyone to dance with." She glanced over at the floor and grins. "See that girl over there? The blonde with the shoes?"
Marie-Ange peered out at the dance floor for a few minutes. "The red shoes, or the one with the fish in her shoes?" She eyed Monet for a minute. "No, wait. Red. Definitly red. Jubilee would have been fish."
M laughed. "I got that impression from Jubilation's fashion sense. Anyway, that girl, she is very very good with her fingers, can I just say?" She looked almost unbearable cheerful, a very different expression to any normally seen on her.
Marie-Ange's mouth moved, but no words came out for a few long seconds. "Uh. ... should I .. congratulate you?" She looked back and forth between the safety of the dance floor, and the safety of her glass several times before finally deciding on the glass, and then finished the remainder of her drink.
M watched Marie-Ange being awkward and smiled. She reached out a hand and grabbed the other girl's hand and looked up at her with a sly grin. "Hey, you've finished your drink, let's go dance."
Superstrong teenagers are hard to resist. More so when they've hard a bit to drink, and so Marie-Ange let herself be led out to the dancefloor, offering no more than a token arguement of "But... " M swayed up close to Marie-Ange, and ran her finger down the stuttering girl's arm gently. She laughed, and threw an arm over Marie-Ange's shoulder and leaned in close to call in her ear "I'll show you how to dance with girls."
Marie-Ange gave a panicked look back to her seat, where absolutly no one she recognized was sitting. "Um. .. .. M? I .. .. boys. not girls, boys."
M leaned her forehead against Marie-Ange's and blinked in obviously feigned confusion. "What do you mean? Don't you like girls? I think ~you're~ kinda pretty." She slipped her fingers through the other girl's, smiling.
Marie-Ange flinched at the touch, and paled. "I.. oh god, you think I'm gay?" She backed several inches away from Monet. "I.. I didn't mean to confuse you, but.. no, I really don't like girls. Um.."
Monet tried very hard to look upset, but her giggles kept getting in the way. "Oh! No, really? But I thought? Oh, I must have totally misunderstood your signals." She shook her head. "Oh well, wanna dance anyway, sexy?"
Marie-Ange blinked at the giggling, and then broke out into her own fit of giggling. "I am .. so confused, and I don't know why this is funny."
M disengaged herself, and patted the other girl on the cheek before leaning in. "Because idiocy is always so hilarious," she commented into her ear, then kissed the cheek and turned, dancing away.
Marie-Ange frowned, and rolled her eyes, giving herself a minute to decide who to be more irritated at, Monet, or herself, then stalked off back to her seat to wait for Doug to return from where ever he'd gone to.
"Idiocy. We'll see. Feh."
AMANDA/CLARICE: By The Pricking Of My Thumbs...
Remembering Amanda's offer of a glamour spell to allow her to leave the mansion without having to ask for an image inducer, Clarice made her way to room 201. Nervously tapping on the door, she checked her outfit for what felt like the hundredth time. Then she jumped as the door was yanked open and she was confronted by the mansion's resident witch.
"Um, hi, I wasn't sure if you remembered about that glamour thing you said you'd do but here I am and…" Clarice realized she was babbling and stopped.
"Well, don't hang around there like a dozy cow, get yer arse in here!" Amanda said, grabbing the younger girl's arm and pulling her inside, shutting the door after her."
"I'm coming, yeesh! What's the big deal?"
"What? No, yer just being silly. Just didn't want t'get caught with me contraband, did I?" Amanda replied, nodding at the open bottle of vodka sitting on her desk. The Brit was wearing a pair of snug black jeans and her Union Jack t-shirt, with the beaten-up, much-loved leather biker's jacket she'd been wearing when she arrived at the school over the top and her usual Doc Martens boots on her feet. She hadn't had time to put her makeup on yet, her face looking strangely young and innocent without it. "Let me get yer one. Need t' get primed for the club, you do. It's cheaper than buying drinks there, for starters, tho' I never actually have t' buy me own, if you know what I mean." She winked at Clarice before splashing some of the spirit into another water glass. "Get that into yer," she ordered, thrusting the glass at Clarice.
Obediently Clarice downed the vodka, making a face as it went down. "So what do you think?" she asked, twirling around. For Clarice the outfit was nearly demure. She wore a ripped jean skirt with glitter-plaid tights under it, a pair of doc martens laced partway up her calves. Her shirt was a black halter top with bright blue lace.
Amanda looked amused at the tights. "Couldn't leave the glitter at home, could yer? Still, you'll do alright at this place, from what Remy was sayin'. Lot of college kids - they'll appreciate you well an' all, if yer get me meaning." She downed the rest of her own drink and poured a little more into both glasses before turning back to her desk which had makeup scattered over the top of it in front of a small mirror. "Just give me a sec t' put the war paint on, an' I'll do that spell for you. Got everything ready, just need t' cast it."
"Why do you wear so much?" Clarice asked curiously, sitting down in Paige's desk chair (Amanda's roomie was down in med lab, where she'd been spending every spare moment since Angelo had woken up). "You look good without it, you know."
"It's not about whether it looks good or not. Places I've been, you look too young an' innocent, an' you might as well let them have yer," Amanda replied, smoothing foundation over her skin and picking up her eyeliner pencil. "I was about your age when I hit the streets, an' I looked lots younger. Made me a target for every fucked-up psycho out there. But I found out if I put on a certain face, acted a certain way, they left me alone - most of 'em, any way. Those that didn’t I had t' learn t' fight off. All this," she gestured, indicating the piercings, the heavy makeup, the dyed hair; "It's me protection."
She looked at Clarice through the mirror. "'S like a mask - they can't know yer true face, unless yer let ‘em. An' if they don't know the real you, they can't hurt you."
"Yeah," Clarice agreed nodding, little braids bobbing across her face, "but it's lonely," she poured herself another shot of vodka and gulped it.
"You only feel lonely if you need other people. Me, I don't. They do stuff for me, I do stuff for them, but I don't need 'em." Amanda reached for the eye shadow, coating her eyelids with a dark, bruised purple, and then grabbed the mascara. "You know what you need? T' stop worryin' about what everyone else thinks of yer. Yer unique, an' people can't handle that. So what? Learn t' fight, learn t' use that fancy teleportin' power of yours, an' find yerself a mask, somethin' you can use t' stop the bastards getting' to you. An'…" Amanda reached across and grabbed the vodka bottle just as Clarice was pouring another shot for herself, "…You can stop drinkin' me stash before yer get maudlin and blow the whole night." Putting the bottle next to her (after taking a healthy swig out of it), Amanda finished off her work with a bright red lipstick. "There. Done." She turned and looked at Clarice. "So, yer want this glamour?" The tone she used made it clear she was testing Clarice, that her answer would be important.
"Yes," Clarice said, resolutely. She couldn't sneak out without some sort of aid and she couldn't very well tell Dr. McCoy that she was sneaking out to go clubbing.
Amanda sighed and shook her head. The girl was young, she'd get it eventually, but not tonight, it seemed. "Right, then. Stand over there, near the door."
Clarice stood there, fidgeting anxiously. "It's not going to hurt, is it?" she asked.
"Might tingle a bit. Just stand still - don't want t'get the overlap wrong - you'd look a right twit with two noses, wouldn't you?" Amanda picked up a cereal bowl she'd liberated from the student kitchen, and walked over to where she'd instructed Clarice to stand. "Spirits of air and night, I call upon thee," the witch chanted. "Place thy cloak upon this girl, hide her true form. Glamour I cast now upon her." With that, Amanda dipped into the bowl and sprinkled a handful of its contents - sparkling red and blue sand - over Clarice's head.
The purple girl screwed up her nose, about to complain the colours clashed with her skin, but then remembered Amanda's warning and said nothing.
The air shimmered around Clarice like a heat haze, and when it cleared, someone else stood there, not the purple pixie of punk, but a girl Amanda had never met, but seen traces of in the photos Clarice had shown her several days before.
"Wow..." Clarice looked at her now flesh-coloured arm in amazement, eyes wide before running the few feet to Amanda and hugged her tightly, "Thank you!"
The Brit stiffened at the sudden hug and awkwardly patted Clarice on the back. "Um, yeah, yer welcome." When Clarice released her, she reached for the vodka bottle and had one last swig, offering it to the younger girl.
"Nah," Clarice shook her head, she was practically bouncing around she was so happy, "Let's go!"
Before Amanda could reply, she had the door open and was beginning to run down the hall, excited. Fortunately, she was not (yet) singing.
"Oi, Pixie!" Amanda called after her, stashing the bottle in her desk drawer and half-jogging to keep up. "We ain't gunna be able t' sneak out if yer bouncing all over the place. Gotta do this quiet-like."
The no longer purple Pixie skidded to a halt, turning to face Amanda, "I don't turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do I?"
Amanda gave her a mischievous look. "Could be, Pixie." Seeing the girl's eyes widen, she relented. "Nah, nothin' like that. Spell should last at least six hours. Just make sure yer home before then. Now, follow me. We'll sneak out through one of the back doors - if we get stopped, I'm goin' for a fag an' yer keepin' me company, right?"
"Right," she nodded, somehow managing to walk down the hall like a semi-mature person instead of a wild ape
AMANDA/DOUG/MANUEL/JUBILEE/CLARICE/MARIE-ANGE: Big Yellow Taxi...
Six teenagers lurked, not very convincingly, in the shadows cast by a large tree about ten feet down from the front gates. Hanging around the front gates themselves wouldn't be exactly clever, what with the security camera and all, but they didn't want to be too hard for the taxis to find. As time went on, things got restive.
"What time did they say they'd be here, again?" asked Jubilee for the fifth time, hopping from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.
"The same time I told you two minutes ago," said Doug with a roll of his eyes. His tone was good-humoured 'though - getting out of the mansion had been a very good idea, even if he wasn't too sure about this whole illicit clubbing deal.
Amanda snorted and blew cigarette smoke at the mall rat. "Short attention span yer got there, Lee," she said with an amused smile. Jubilee's eyes narrowed, but before she could reply, Doug spotted a pair of headlights.
"Taxi's here!" he said. He looked reluctantly at Manuel. "Only one - I guess we should let the girls go first, and wait for the next one." Doug's hesitation irritated the empath, but on the whole he was feeling too good - riding on the buoyant feelings of the group - to do much else than shrug.
"If you think it is a good idea for those two to travel together in close proximity," he said, indicating Jubilee climbing into the cab in which Amanda was already ensconced.
"Oh damn." Doug looked at Manuel hopefully, and realised that putting Manuel in a cab steeped in catty emotions probably wouldn't be the best idea. "Looks like I'd better go with, see if I can't calm things down," he said, and moved to intercept Clarice, who was getting in the front. "Clarice! I'd better go, to, ah, to make sure nothing happens at the club before everyone else gets there! You can catch the next cab with Manuel, okay?" Clarice looked doubtfully at Manuel.
"Is that a good idea?" she asked, doubtfully. The taxi driver, impatient, leaned over and said:
"Look, is one of you kids getting in or what? The night's still young and I've got a lot of fares after this one." At the same time, headlights appeared - the second taxi.
"It'll be fine - he's in a good mood, I promise," Doug said, and gently directed Clarice toward Manuel and the approaching taxi. "It's only a short drive, he won't have time to be mean."
And with that he clambered into the front seat, the driver taking off almost as soon as the door closed. In the back of the cab, Marie-Ange planted herself firmly between Jubilee and Amanda, and folded her arms. ~I swear, if they start anything, I am going to change my kind about being a pacifist and throw them both out of the cab.~ The two other girls were glaring at each other between bouts of staring defiantly out the window. Jubilee looked over at her friend and noticed the set look on her face, before glaring over the top of her head at Amanda.
"So...how about those Mets?"
"You what?" Amanda looked at the other girl in confusion. "This is some sort of fucked up American shite, isn't it?"
"Now, now," Doug said, twisting around in his seat. "There's no need...
" "Nah, no need, but it's fun," Amanda replied with a grin. "Hey, Lee, see you didn't dress yerself this evenin'."
Marie-Ange glared at Jubilee, and covered her face with her hands. ~I knew this was going to happen.~ Jubilee's eyes narrowed slightly and her smile widened innocently.
"Angie thought the colours would be better. Perhaps you should have talked to her too. Unless, of course, you wanted your clothing to make the 'Pay me $2, me love you long time' statement."
"As opposed t' the 'hey mister, you like little girls?' look yer get with that coat?" Amanda replied. "Tho' I can see why yer go for that - hard t' flaunt what you ain't got."
Marie-Ange glared at the back of Doug's head, where he sat in the front seat. ~Develop telepathy. DEVELOP TELEPATHY. Make them stop.~ Doug rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Children, if you can't be civil to each other, I _will_ turn this cab around. I don't really care whether or not we go to the club." Jubilee poked her tongue out, knowing Doug couldn't see her from his position in the front seat and then glared murderously at Amanda.
"Dude, you don't stop talking shit then there's going to be some damage done."
"Ooh, touched a nerve, did I?" Amanda filed the reaction away for future use. She opened her mouth to make another jibe, when she was elbowed by Marie-Ange.
"Hey!" Marie-Ange glared at Amanda, and dug her boot down hard on Jubilee's foot. The voice that came out of the younger girl was still hers, it still carried the soft French accent, but lacked normal hesitant pauses and halts, and had all the warmth of marble.
"ENOUGH. It is too much to ask for you to just not talk to each other. Just say nothing. At all. To each other."
Doug looked over at the cabbie, who looked slightly frazzled from the exchange in the back seat. "Trust me on this, just be glad the other guy didn't come along," he muttered just quietly enough for the cabbie to hear.
Turning around in his seat, he fixed Amanda and Jubilee with an annoyed glare. "I'm with Angie. If you can't at least be civil, shutting up is a good substitute. Otherwise you're both welcome to walk the rest of the way." Jubilee rolled her eyes at Doug and Angie's comments and settled back into the taxi.
"Dudes, chill. She's not worth the effort, anyway. So, what do you think this new club is gonna be like? Heard it's wicked." More for Marie-Ange's sake than anyone else's, Amanda let Jubilee's last dig slide. Besides, it was _cold_ out there, and she didn't fancy walking the rest of the way. Or teleporting - she'd gotten to the stage where she could 'port small objects like apples without turning them inside out, but she didn't want to field test that particular spell on herself just yet.
"'S one of Sarah's places..." she began to reply, just as the taxi pulled to a stop outside a large warehouse-type building into which young people were streaming.
Marie-Ange let out a sharp sigh of relief as the cab stopped, and leaned forward to whisper in Doug's ear. "Thank you for helping. I owe you a drink, or .. . a dance, if you want." Doug nodded jerkily.
"That sounds really nice, Angie. Let's just get these two inside and as far away from each other as quickly as we can."
REMY/M: High Life
The snow crunched under Remy’s boots as he walked along the mansion drive. He had simply wandered off the porch and out the gates during the evening. He shivered slightly as the wind knifed through his trenchcoat, through the clothes he was wearing. It had been months since he had been clubbing, and almost a year since he was dressed to do it properly.
Duirng his first few remembered months of the street, Remy had gone from apartment to apartment, picked up by young women and the odd man with enough money to put up with bankrolling him. He vaguely remembered the nights, five six a week out at the clubs, in the welter of drugs and alcohol, passed around and exclaimed on as the newest accessory. Something in him had twisted each relationship, eventually causing the clubs to go cold for him, leaving him to slide towards the street.
However, it was time for all of that to change. And a night of clubbing, drinking and wet pneumatic entertainment awaited him, at least he hoped it did.
As par Monet’s assurences, the two limos were parked down the road about a half mile. As Remy walked up, one of them was already pulling out into the street. Puzzled, Remy rapped on the window of the remaining one, which slowly rolled down.
“Are you fucking coming or not?” Monet’s distainful voice carried from the plush interior. “Everyone’s on their way already and I am not going to let that de la Rocha out-fashionably late me.”
Remy opened the door and slipped in. Looking around for a moment, he turned to M with a shrug. “Where everyone else?”
M looked disgusted at his lack of insight. “Obviously not here. If they aren’t here, they’re either not coming or gone, wouldn’t you think?”
Remy felt distinctly mournful about the fact that he was now going to have to share her limo. “Everyone got here earlier?” he asked.
“If they didn’t I don’t care,” M said. “Can we leave, or do you have more fart arsing to do?”
Remy shrugged, and got into limo. “Den we can go. Uh.” He slid along the seat. “I am sorry, chere, I don’ have de lice.”
M bestowed an odd look on him before nodding sharply. “Very good.” She said and Remy was just about to ask why she had wanted them in the first place when one slim immaculate hand dipped into a sideboard and pulled out a fat bottle. “Then I have champagne. You might even get a taste if you’re good.”
“Remy always good, chere.” He said, leanning back into the plush seat and eyeing her. “Maybe Remy drink it from your shoe?”
“From my Pradas? You don’t even have the credit limit to stare at them too long.” She pulled out the cork effortlessly and filled a pair of plastic cups before thumping on the window. “Off, off, driver! I have drinking and teasing and other wet things to take care of.”
“You one odd femme.”
“Drink your champagne and try to look grateful, LeBeau.” She gave him a large smile. “This is your night to be all that you can’t be.”
“Bitch.”
“Better believe it.”
The limo pulled up outside the club and the pair spilled out on to the lot. The others had found their way there, and were grouped in a small huddle. Those with fake id were already in line, and Remy reached into his pocket for the items he’d been asked to look into. The fake ids were of top quality, good enough to confound even cops, and the bouncers would serve no problem.
“Dis everyone? Bein.” Remy said, passing them out. Most took them eagerly and made faces as they looked closer.
“This is not my name?” Marie-Ange said finally.
“Dat’s way dey call dem fake, chere.”
“LeBeau.” Amanda growled. Remy looked over, his face a picture of innocence. “You going t’ explain this, or can I just kick ye in the bollocks now?”
“Only picture Remy could find, chere.” The shot on the id was older, and in many ways resembled what happens when one creatively cropped a police photo.
“And Elizabeth Windsor?” She snarled.
“Thought I give you some class.” He said, lips twitching.
“Dee Utte Wannago? I do not understand why you chose this name?” Marie-Ange said, and M laughed loudly, waving her hand for them to ignore her.
“Jung-Li Rosenberg? Are you on glue, dude?” Jubilee waved the card in his face.
“De kung-fu jew, chere. Dey going t’ love you here.”
“Um, Remy?” Doug held his own with a look of resignation. “There is no way this is going to work. Who’s going to believe I’m a twenty-seven year old German grad student named-“ Doug checked the card. “Horst Weinerschaulossgurpenheimer? What kind of a name is Weinerschaulossgurpenheimer?”
“De kind dat is too silly for de bouncers t’ t’ink is made up.”
“He’s got a mustache, LeBeau!”
“Oh, good t’ing you remind Remy.” He fished in his jacket pocket for a moment and produced an authetic looking yet wholly ridiculous mustache. A few dabs of spirit gum affixed it to Ramsey’s face like he’s grown it himself. Marie cocked her head to one side.
“It does make you look older.”
“Whatever.” Doug sighed, wincing as Remy clapped him on the shoulder.
“Dat de spirit. Don do anyt’ing stupid and Remy see you all inside.” He grinned and walked towards the door with Monet right behind. The bouncer nodded to Remy as if he was an old friend, and let him past the line. Monet he stopped and held up his hand.
“ID, Miss.”
“Of course.” She flashed a card.
“That’s a platinum credit card. I need something with your age or-“
“The fact that with this I can make your night very very easy or very very hard.” A tickle of telepathy brushed him. “Right?”
“Go right in.” He smiled and took the fifty from her as she walked past and into the club.
REMY/SARAH/SHINOBI: Foreshadowing On The Credit Card
TONIC thronged with people on Saturday night; the obvious townie night out mixed in with students from every college nearby. Remy caught sight of Sarah and Shinobi as they cleared the door, and approached them with a grin.
Noticing Remy out of the corner of her eye, she smiled. He hadn't snuck up on her _this_ time. She raised her voice a little to be heard over the noise of the club. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Remy comes, he goes." Remy grinned. "Glad t' see you both made it." He said.
With a roll of his eyes, Shinobi tucked his wallet back into his pocket, briefly looking to Sarah before following her gaze. Visibly resisting a comment on Remy's turn of phrase, he simply nods, flashing a grin.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"You know, homme, Remy t'ink you and me got off on de wrong foot. Dere no reason not t' be friends." Remy said, dripping sinceracy. "How 'bout dis? Let Remy cover both your drinks tonight. Remy made money on dat fight dat needs to be spent. What you say?" Remy said, patting Shinobi on the shoulder.
Sarah's certainly not going to turn down a free drink.. or several for that matter. "Very nice. Makes it easier for me to get this one drunk." She motions to Shinobi and smiles.
"I don't really drink," Shinobi shrugs, briefly eyeing the hand patting his shoulder before looking between the pair. "..but apparently I'm starting tonight. Sure."
"Remy happy t' oblige. What you drinking den?"
"Next lesson in corruption," Sarah grins. She thinks for a moment, and shrugs. "Surprise us."
Shinobi resists the sudden urge to ask if that's wise, instead nodding, with a quiet "Only live once," mumbled under his breath.
Remy caught the muttered whisper by Shinobi as he turned to the bar. "Dat right, homme." He said under his breath as he threaded through the crowd to the bar. Sarah, however, did not. Nor did she hear the answer. And besides, she's far too happy to be out of the mansion to care.
She whispers to Shinobi, "You'll have fun, I promise."
"Just don't get me too wasted, luv," Shinobi replies in kind, giving Sarah an amused look. "You aren't the only one with an image to worry about."
"As long as you don't try to outdrink me, you'll be fine," she says with a smile. "I'll keep an eye on you."
Remy wandered back, a pair of shotglasses in one and a tumbler in the other.
"All set up at de bar." He said as he handed over the shot glasses. "Dey got you on my tab." Shinobi smirks at Sarah, nodding once and kissing her on the forehead.
"Fair enough," he agrees before looking up, accepting the offered glass with a grin. "Thanks."
"Welcome, homme." Remy said. There was a shuffle in the crowd behind him, and he stumbled uncharacteristically into Shinobi, barely avoiding spilling either of their drinks. "Sorry. It crowded in here."
Sarah takes her drink before Remy gets a chance to nearly spill it again, smiles at them both, and downs the shot. She looks expectantly at Shinobi.
"Your turn..."
"No problem, Remy," Shinobi manages, letting out a sigh of relief. Eyeing Sarah a moment, he gives a mental shrug, and quickly slams his own shot back. And isn't that an amusing facial expression? Well, at least he doesn't choke on it.
"See? That wasn't so bad." She turns to Remy and grins.
"And thank you for the drinks."
"Dat was de most pained shot Remy seen." He joked, laughing easily. "Have some fun, mes braves. Dere are too many young femme in dis place t' stay sober near."
"Yeah," Shinobi croaks, blinking rapidly and shaking himself. "Thanks. Don't break too many hearts tonight."
"Remy just breaking relationships tonight." He said, and melted away into the dancefloor. Shinobi shot a dark look between his departing back and an unaware Sarah before turning to look at his drink. There’s goes relaxing, he thought wryly.
Remy slipped through the crowd, draining his own bourbon before waving over to the bartender. Her name was Jane, she had red hair and blue eyes, neither of them natural, was studying pharmocology at the college and she already thought Remy was cute. Her boyfriend was an issue, and Remy wasn’t about to burn his new connection in town. She poured him another double and leaning over the bar to yell loud enough to be heard.
“On your tab?”
“Dat right, chere. Till de card squeals.” Remy grinned. The lift of the wallet had been as prefect as the return, and Shinobi Shaw’s platinum card was covering Remy’s soon to be substantial tab. Even better, it would be a month before anyone got a bill. Smiling, he sipped his drink and melted back into the crowd.
AMANDA/DOUG: Are You Trying To Seduce Me, Mrs Sefton?
Amanda was having a great night. The music, whilst a little mainstream for her tastes, was still eminently danceable, and there were plenty of willing playmates for her to dance with. Eventually, though, thirst called, and she wove her way through the thrashing crowd to the bar. As she waited to be served, she cast her glance around for a likely person she could encourage to buy her a vodka. As fate would have it, she spotted Doug. He was propped in a quiet corner, watching the scene with a glum look on his face.
"Oi, Ramsey!" she called, worming her way through the mass at the bar. "You look as miserable as a wet cat."
Doug waved blearily to Amanda. "Hey, 'Manda. I just, y'know, this isn't totally my scene. Angie talked me into coming. It's all right, I guess, but...I dunno, maybe I'm too straight-laced for this sort of thing." He shrugged. "You having a good time?"
"I gotta say, I was surprised when yer showed up," Amanda replied, nodding her head in time to the music's heavy bass beat. "Wouldn't have figured Frenchie would be up for gettin' you here. Then again, there's a lot more goin' on there than people realise." She tilted her head at Doug. "Right then. Tell you what - gimme the money t' get a drink, an' I'll show yer what havin' a good time means. Let me be th' tutor for a change." Doug hesitated, and her lip curled. "Unless yer chicken, that is."
Doug sighed. "Peer pressure is so old, Amanda."
"Works, but. C'mon stodgy - otherwise yer can sit in the corner an' sulk all night about how you ain't getting any." She grinned at him and held out her hand. Without knowing exactly why - and stinging from the remark about his romantic life, which struck a little too close to home with the strange... thoughts he'd been having - Doug dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. "That's my boy. Back in a sec."
Amanda plunged back towards the bar, using her small size to good advantage as she squirmed between people. Doug turned his attention back to the dance floor, where he could see Marie-Ange and Jubilee dancing up a storm, and sighed again.
"Here." A hand thrust a shotglass full of clear liquid at him, and reflexively he took it. "What it is?" he asked, sniffing at it cautiously.
Amanda rolled her eyes at him. "Vodka, what do you reckon? Something t' put a bounce in yer step. An' if yer gunna dance with me, yer need bounce." Doug shrugged and tossed back the shot. Wincing, he pulled a face as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Amanda slapped him on the back. "That's the way, me boy. We'll make a man out of yer yet."
Between the alcohol and the slap, Doug coughed heavily for a few moments. "And this is the stuff Piotr drinks like it's water? I don't get how he does it." Amanda grinned and tossed back her own shot without a hitch.
"Russkie's been drinking vodka since he was a tot. Probably got it mixed in with his mother's milk, like." She poked him. "While yer, on the other hand, have no tolerance, cuz 'less I miss my guess, that was your first drink, wasn't it?" At Doug's nod, she nodded herself. "Thought so. So yer got some catching up to do."
Flagging the bartender, she used the remains of the twenty to get another pair of shots. Hoisting her own, she gazed at Doug assessingly. "Nazdrovye, or however they say it in Russkie-land." Shaking his head,
Doug clinked his glass to hers and put back the shot. Grabbing his hand, Amanda pulled him toward the dance floor. "C'mon, we gotta loosen yer up a little."
Doug let himself be dragged into the very midst of the dance floor by the determined Brit. He hadn't seen her quite so... easy-going before, but he guessed that was due to the fact she enjoyed clubbing a lot more than she liked math homework. Apparently choosing a spot at random - it was much like every other part of the packed floor –
Amanda turned and gave him what he was learning was her scary "let's cause trouble" grin. But there was no escape, and she was right about the vodka - the burning in his gut had subsided into a more pleasant warm glow, and his muscles felt much looser. Without really thinking about it, he was moving to the heavy beat of the music.
"That's more like it!" Amanda crowed, and then startled him completely by throwing her arms around his neck. Doug jumped slightly, startled by Amanda's invasion of his personal space. As soon as he started thinking about it instead of letting the booze and music work on him, he tensed up, moving woodenly.
"Um, Amanda?" he asked hesitantly. The Brit shoved lightly at him in reply. "No, no, no. Stop thinking and start feeling. Like this." Moving closer to Doug, Amanda swayed rhythmically, her lower body brushing lightly against his. A smoldering pair of eyes met his. "C'mon, Ramsey. Show me your moves."
"I don't think I have any," he mumbled lamely, trying desperately to think about anything else than the way Amanda was undulating against him and how very tight her black jeans and Union Jack t-shirt were.
"Rubbish," she said, twapping him lightly across the back of the head. "You had it before. Stop bloody well thinking and dance. I thought you was a musician-type." She slipped her arms from around his neck and put them on his hips instead, rocking him in time with her own movements. "C'mon, Ramsey, think back to that concert you was giving in the hallway - right sexy mover you were then."
Doug blushed and tried to keep his growing arousal from bumping up against Amanda's lower body too much. Still self-conscious, he tried to move a bit more naturally to the music. He had some success, but that piece of his brain that kept overanalyzing was doing him in.
Amanda shook her head and moved around behind his back, every inch of her body dragging along his. Draping her hands over his chest and pressing her chest to his back, she leaned in and nipped playfully at Doug's ear. "I told yer, Ramsey. No thinking. Dance with me like yer want to fuck me."
Her hands were everywhere along his torso, darting across his pectorals, then down to his stomach, then back up. Whirling him back to face her with her hands, Amanda moved even closer to Doug and smiled wickedly as a slow, pounding song came on. Doug closed his eyes - it was the only way he could be this close and not die of a combination of embarrassment and an overload of teenage hormones. It helped, he found, allowing him to concentrate on the music that was pounding through him, and distance himself from Amanda's intense, mocking blue eyes.
She purred in his ear: "That's more like it, Ramsey," and he relaxed marginally more, letting her take the lead. Gingerly he put his hands on her hips, and was rewarded by another nip on the ear. "Not so difficult, innit?"
"I... ah, that is... you..." For someone who's mutant ability was language, Doug was finding himself incredibly tongue tied. He risked opening his eyes and found himself looking into Amanda's amused face. He acted without thinking - he leaned in and kissed those full, slightly parted lips, half-expecting a slap... or at least being turned into something small and amphibian.
What he didn't expect was Amanda's tongue, flicking across his, and the new sensation of the tongue stud rubbing against it, while her hands slid down his back to squeeze his ass lightly. He jerked back, surprised, to find Amanda openly laughing now.
"You look like I just grabbed yer balls, Ramsey," she giggled, still moving with the music. Unable to think of an appropriate answer, he reached for her again, pursing his lips and closing his eyes in anticipation of another kiss. Instead he found himself kissing her hand, which she'd laid across his mouth. "Sorry, Ramsey, limit's one per customer," she told him, and with that melted back into the crowd, leaving him bothered, bewildered and bewitched.
SARAH/SHINOBI: Dancing In The Dark
Sarah handed Shinobi another shot, his fourth, moving slowly to the thrum of the bassline. She was nursing some annoyingly fruity drink that some random guy had given her, right before he'd hightailed it out of the club due to some 'persuasion' from Shinobi.
Sarah'd just laughed and kissed him, tasting something along the lines of cigarettes and strawberries. Persuading people to go away was fun, and distracting, even if he was finding it difficult to refrain from keeping a wary eye on Remy as the Cajun enjoyed his popularity.
"You know, I still have no bloody idea what this is," Shinobi muses, eyeing his latest shot as it's passed to him. "This isn't a trust game, is it?"
"Do you trust me?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, taking another sip of the drink in her hand.
"I promise it won't kill you," she says with a smile, dipping her finger into the shotglass. Licking the alcohol off of her finger, she adds, "And it's a hell of a lot better than the shit I'm drinking right now."
"With my life," Shinobi replies, seeming a bit surprised that the question need even be asked at all. He glances between his glass and Sarah's for a moment before he offers her the shot, smiling wryly.
"I'd trade, but that drink would be insanely immasculating."
"Not a chance. I'm not here to feed you pussy-drinks. There's not enough alcohol in this to give _anybody_ a buzz." Of course, that may just be the fact that Sarah's got an overactive healing factor, and she's drinking something for girls with a lot lower alcohol tolerance. But still. "You'll stick with the shots."
"Still," Shinobi snickers, still holding the shot out to her. "That thing looks hideous. You don't want Doug to see you holding that thing, do you? He'll tell Jamie, and then you'll be the Mistress of Throwy Things and Pussy-Drinks."
Sarah grins and shakes her head, pushing his hand slowly back to him. "Except Jamie would never say 'pussy-drinks'. Besides, it was free, and while it's pretty much worthless on the intoxication scale, it's still a free drink."
"He might if we got him drunk," Shinobi shrugs, eyeing the shot as it's pushed back to him before shrugging and bringing it up to drink down. At least he wasn't making a goofy face anymore. Progress!
"One at a time," she says with a laugh, "corrupting people is hard work, you know." She runs a finger through the moisture on her glass, and holds the cool finger against his sweaty forehead. "It's hot in here," she observes. Shinobi peeks up towards the finger against his forehead, blinking once.
"Maybe just a little," he agrees, lowering his gaze to her face again. "Maybe I should have worn short sleeves for this."
She nods, "Yeah. Probably."
Long-sleeves and clubbing. Honestly. She finishes her drink with a final gulp, and smiles. "Oh. It had a kick at the bottom of the glass."
"Therein lies the problem," Shinobi observes wisely, holding up the drained shot. "All there is in these *is* the bottom of the glass. No waiting for the kick."
"What can I say? I'm impatient." She shrugs, and gets rid of the empty glasses on a nearby empty table. Returning, she sidles up next to him, hips still swaying to the music. "Having fun yet?"
If his head wasn't swimming so pleasantly, Shinobi might do a better job of keeping his eyes off of Sarah's attractively swaying hips. "More than I'd be having if I'd stayed home," he nods, prying his eyes away from her so that he can cast another look back towards where he'd last seen Remy.
"Pay attention," she chides gently in his ear. "You're not here to take in the crowd."
Shinobi blinks once before dutifully taking his attention off the dance floor, albeit reluctantly. "I'm not?"
"No, you aren't," she says, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him closer, "they're not the ones corrupting you." He makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, allowing himself to be pulled closer with a slight, lazy grin. "You raise a valid point."
"Of course it's valid. I'm not drunk _yet_. Loss of intelligent conversation goes later." She smiles, and starts to dance against him, hand still resting on his neck, just below the hairline.
"Now you're just being cruel," Shinobi muses as the dancing registers, his piercing catching the light as he quirks his brow. "I'm a terrible dancer."
Of course, that isn't stopping him from looping his arms around her waist, nor is it wiping the lazy grin he's sporting away. "Who said I was any good?" She continues to dance, hips soclose to his, and leans forward to talk in his ear. It's easier that way. Really. "Besides, you've been drinking, now you're _allowed_ to step on my feet.”
He tuts quietly, ducking his head enough to make it easier for Sarah to speak in his ear, turning his face enough to respond in kind. Because it's easier. Mmyup. "I won't step on your feet. I'm a bad dancer, not an uncoordinated one." She laughs, not drunk enough to giggle, but it's just there in the undertones of her voice.
"We'll see."
Dancefloor? What? Off in the shadows is nicer. They've got reputations to keep, after all. "Now, if this were a waltz or something, we'd be fine," Shinobi muses against Sarah's ear, not really realizing that he's beginning to sway in time with the music himself. And yes, shadows are much nicer. "Waltz seems a little sedate for you, though.. maybe I should teach you the tango sometime."
Sarah blinks. That's, like, ballroom shit isn't it? Fuck. She needs another drink. "Maybe," she murmurs, moving a little closer, so that she's not really dancing anymore, but grinding against him. Dancing, grinding - what's the difference, in clubs like this?
"Or we could just do this some more," Shinobi says after a moment, making a little noise in the back of his throat. "I like that idea." Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Sarah's actually pretty good at this. It's something she'd picked up as a way to get free alcohol over the past couple of years.
She smiles, curling her fingers into his hair, and keeps moving. "Thought you might." With a slight grin, he ducks his head to give Sarah's neck a quick nuzzle, closing his eyes an in attempt to ignore the rest of the club. The loud music's making it kind of difficult.
"You know what amuses the hell out of me sometimes?" Sarah can think of a few things about their situation to be amused about, but she gives him a curious look anyway. "What's that?"
"Of all the relationships going on at the school, I think ours is probably the most stable." With a lopsided smile, Shinobi shrugs, lightly leaning his forehead against hers. "We don't argue, or make melodramatic proclamations, or any of that rubbish. It's amusing, in a pleasant sort of way. Tickles my sense of the ironic."
Sarah grins, and gives him an affectionate kiss. "You do realize I'm going to go home and straight to the computer to write some sort of melodramatic proclamation now. Can't have everybody thinking I'm actually in a stable relationship." Shinobi makes a pleased noise at the kiss, laughing quietly as he gives her waist a snug.
"You're no fun at all. So long as _I_ know it's stable, I s'pose it's alright, if you reeeeally want to."
"I guess it depends on how drunk I am when we get home. I may forget all about it." The song ends, and Sarah debates for a moment on what to do next. In the end, more alcohol wins out. She's entirely too sober.
"Another drink?" "Alcohol the only thing that'd make you forget?" Blinking innocently, Shinobi offers another snug before nodding his head, casting a look back to the bar.
"So long as we get home in one piece, luv, with all our insides on our insides." Sarah laughs, and gives him another kiss.
"There may be a few other things..." She unwraps his arms from around her waist and gives his hand a squeeze. "I'll be right back."
M/TAROT: Getting Girls 101
Monet drooped down at the table next to Marie-Ange clutching a bottle of water. "Mmm," she sighed happily. "This is the best fun I've had since I arrived," she leaned over to say in Marie-Ange's ear.
Marie-Ange blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting conversation from M, espically since what few words they had spoken had been mostly on the journals, and entirely unfriendly. "I .. cannot argue with that, which is.. good. Yes. Good. Not argueing."
M smiled brightly. "Good. Do you want some water? Why aren't you
dancing? Have you seen anyone here who you'd like to get hot and sexy with?" She was still swaying in time with the music.
Marie-Ange raised a glass of something layered and brightly colored. "I'm taking a break for a few minutes, watching people." She smiled briefly, shaking her head. "I would've danced with Doug more, but I think he's .. a little busy." Doug was, of course, nowhere to be found, having been dragged off by Amanda. "Everyone else is dancing already.."
M laughed. "Doug totally white boy dances. And don't you dance by
yourself?" She followed Marie-Ange's eyes. "Oh, you wanna dance with Manuel or Remy?"
Marie-Ange would have blushed, and would have begged off the question under normal circumstances. Sneaking into a over-18 club with a fake ID and drinking underage were not normal circumstances, but mostly, being halfway through her second drink in an hour was not a normal circumstance. "I know, it is silly. They're nice to look at though, no?" She shrugged at Monet. "I was dancing before, I just needed a break, and it gives me a chance to watch them."
M shrugged. "If you say so. I didn't think you'd be one of those
soppy girls who needs a guy to dance with, or y'know, anyone to dance with." She glanced over at the floor and grins. "See that girl over there? The blonde with the shoes?"
Marie-Ange peered out at the dance floor for a few minutes. "The red shoes, or the one with the fish in her shoes?" She eyed Monet for a minute. "No, wait. Red. Definitly red. Jubilee would have been fish."
M laughed. "I got that impression from Jubilation's fashion sense. Anyway, that girl, she is very very good with her fingers, can I just say?" She looked almost unbearable cheerful, a very different expression to any normally seen on her.
Marie-Ange's mouth moved, but no words came out for a few long seconds. "Uh. ... should I .. congratulate you?" She looked back and forth between the safety of the dance floor, and the safety of her glass several times before finally deciding on the glass, and then finished the remainder of her drink.
M watched Marie-Ange being awkward and smiled. She reached out a hand and grabbed the other girl's hand and looked up at her with a sly grin. "Hey, you've finished your drink, let's go dance."
Superstrong teenagers are hard to resist. More so when they've hard a bit to drink, and so Marie-Ange let herself be led out to the dancefloor, offering no more than a token arguement of "But... " M swayed up close to Marie-Ange, and ran her finger down the stuttering girl's arm gently. She laughed, and threw an arm over Marie-Ange's shoulder and leaned in close to call in her ear "I'll show you how to dance with girls."
Marie-Ange gave a panicked look back to her seat, where absolutly no one she recognized was sitting. "Um. .. .. M? I .. .. boys. not girls, boys."
M leaned her forehead against Marie-Ange's and blinked in obviously feigned confusion. "What do you mean? Don't you like girls? I think ~you're~ kinda pretty." She slipped her fingers through the other girl's, smiling.
Marie-Ange flinched at the touch, and paled. "I.. oh god, you think I'm gay?" She backed several inches away from Monet. "I.. I didn't mean to confuse you, but.. no, I really don't like girls. Um.."
Monet tried very hard to look upset, but her giggles kept getting in the way. "Oh! No, really? But I thought? Oh, I must have totally misunderstood your signals." She shook her head. "Oh well, wanna dance anyway, sexy?"
Marie-Ange blinked at the giggling, and then broke out into her own fit of giggling. "I am .. so confused, and I don't know why this is funny."
M disengaged herself, and patted the other girl on the cheek before leaning in. "Because idiocy is always so hilarious," she commented into her ear, then kissed the cheek and turned, dancing away.
Marie-Ange frowned, and rolled her eyes, giving herself a minute to decide who to be more irritated at, Monet, or herself, then stalked off back to her seat to wait for Doug to return from where ever he'd gone to.
"Idiocy. We'll see. Feh."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-10 04:02 am (UTC)Such fun. Mwah.
*dies*
Date: 2004-02-10 04:19 am (UTC)See, for that to happen, someone would have to link, say, a certain Castellian empath's lusts to everyone's favorite French Precognitive, and I mean, really, how likely is that?
...
Wait.
Merde.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-10 08:09 am (UTC)*giggles* This is why I left that part up to you, Dex. Knew you'd come through with something appropriate. ;)
Great work, everyone - I enjoyed reading this. :)