birthright_rpg | Move With the Music

Entry tags:

deanna,
holly

Move With the Music

The bulky man in a tight black t-shirt stamped her hand, and Holly gave him a close-mouthed smile. Wordless music began washing over her the moment she entered the club. The air changed in that way it did when a large mass of people shared an enclosed space. She was wearing a red dress, black lace top over it.

Finding a space in the middle of everything, she started to dance. She could get a drink later. Holly closed her eyes at first, just enjoying the lack of thoughts. Thoughts had kept her up at night, swirling nonstop until the colors all bled together.

And okay, it helped that she was a little high.

A bloke came up to her, starting to dance with her, but more like around her. She laughed soundlessly, tossing her hair back and turning her back to him. He took this as an invitation to press himself against her back.

She rolled her blue eyes up to the ceiling, hot lights playing over the crowd. One song, and then she'd push him away. "Asshole," she said, because she could, because no one could hear her.

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"Asshole."

The words caught vampiric ears, a mild profanity carried over the remix of Peech's "Don't Make Me Wait". She knew it beat for beat. The sparse, synthesized notes cranked to eleven, the DJ swaying to the beat. Most of the patrons in The Gilded Lily wouldn't recognize this version from the original Disco version. Hell, most of the dancers were still trying to forget the Seventies. For Deanna, it was a magical time. Free love, psychedelic drugs and Studio 54. Everything she'd wanted, but hadn't known she'd wanted.

It was a night to dance, to relive happy memories. And someone was attempting to ruin it.

Green eyes scanned the crowded floor, looking for where it came from.

C'mon. Say something else.

Edited 2013-08-22 05:02 (UTC)

"I love this song! Don't you?" His breath was warm against her neck. She only enjoyed that sensation when it was someone she liked. Holly turned, wrinkling her nose.

"No," Holly replied. "I fucking hate it so much, that I have to dance it out of my system." She laughed and rolled her eyes, walking away. The brunette found a new spot, fingers running through her hair as she swayed her hips.

She had driven an hour back here for this night, and Holly was going to enjoy it. Every beautifully loud, shiny bright second of it.

It helped the voice was British. Not posh, most likely local to the south. The redhead was adept at identifying accents. French was her native tongue, but the world turned and English was the predominant language, and so she adapted.

A vampire who didn't adapt didn't last long.

She caught sight of a brunette about 10 feet to her south. Might've been her. But she was laughing now and dancing. Someone probably spilled a drink on her shoes.

Deanna fanned her pastel camisole, pretending to suffer from the consolidated body heat as the others on the dance floor. (How that idiot in the corner could wear a track suit in Nevada - in the middle of summer no less - floored her.)

Rough hands settled on her hips, and Holly jumped, whirling around to see the same man from before. He got closer, enough for her to smell a nauseating combination of liquor and Double Mint.

She shook her head, pushing his hands off. "Piss off! Go have a wank on someone else."

That she definitely heard. And saw.

The situation quickly played out in her mind: Pretty foreign girl plus idiot tourist boy plus too much alcohol equals handsy. Multiply a sense of entitlement...

Deanna raised her arms above her head, swaying to the music. She shuffled between writhing bodies until she was positioned directly behind the slick-haired buffoon.

She tapped the man's shoulder and shouted, "The girl said, 'piss off'."

The man looked at the redhead, then at Holly. He was too drunk for this. "Bitch," he muttered, turning away and heading back to the bar.

Holly smoothed her hair down, a new song starting up.

"Never heard that one before," the brunette remarked. She giggled; she was buzzing. She had taken a Black Beauty before hitting the club.

"You're like...the Queen of the dance floor, and you just banished him!"

The girl seemed to have a fetish regarding her hair. From first spotting her until now, she was almost constantly touching it in some fashion. Nervous tic? She certainly didn't smell drunk.

"He's calling us dykes to his friends." She thumbed over her shoulder. "Says..." the vampire closed her eyes briefly, "he was doing you a favor until mommy came along."

That always grated the redhead's nerves. The average lifespan when she was turned was thirty-six, and even then was considered a spinster. Her new unlife gave her a vitality that people in their twenties should envy. (Plus the whole 'respect your elders' that every generation failed to heed.)

She cocked her head and shouted over the music. "You'd love being over my knee. Only I wouldn't spank you. I'd shove a spike up your ass. Oi." Deanna through in that bit of slang for the brunette's benefit.

"So," Deanna turned her attention back to the new girl. "If I'm a queen, where's my tiara?"

Edited 2013-08-22 06:22 (UTC)

Holly clapped a hand over her mouth, not stopping to think how it was possible the other woman could hear him. "What? I can't believe you said that."

She looked around, wondering if there was any possibility of a drink materializing in front of her. Holly was thirsty. Water first.

The younger girl gestured at her new companion. "It's conceptual. It's, um, what do the hippies say? Your aura."

Holly leaned in, cupping a hand over her mouth. "That wanker was not my type, by the way. I like them taller. With eyes like...like that." She pointed to one of the blue strobe lights above them.

It was a true fact that vampires didn't need to breathe. But to speak? Oh yes, for that you still needed air over your vocal chords. Granted, the soft breeze caressing the brunette's ear as the vampire answered was intentional. Think me normal.

"Bright lights are hot to the touch. Careful you don't scorch your fingers."

A woman was parting the crowd, holding aloft a round tray full of shots. Different colored liquids defied gravity by not spilling over. Holly reached into her top, pulled a fiver out of her bra. The woman stared at her, nonplussed, as the brunette set it on the tray and grabbed two of the minuscule drinks.

She looked at the redhead as she drank a vibrantly red one, then upended the neon green into her mouth. Holly swallowed and set the empty shot glasses on the tray.

"Oh, did you want one?" Faux innocence.

Deanna slipped a small billfold from the back pocket of her faded 501 jeans. She peeled off two twenty dollar bills and stuffed them into the waitress's front pocket.

Her fingers lingered.

With just a hint of a smile, the redhead took possession of the tray in one hand, and downed six consecutive shots, turning each glass over when done.

"Can you keep up?"

The waitress edged away from them, giving them a look over her shoulder. Holly raised an eyebrow, then plucked another shot off the tray. Okay, this was new.

"As long as you don't upchuck all over me. This is a new dress." With a glint in her eye, the brunette took another drink. She tried not to pull a face; she hated amaretto.

People still danced around them. Holly could swear she could feel the vibrations from the floor, through her shoes, up her legs.

"I think everyone here is really lonely," she added, not quite sure where that had come from.

Try living two hundred years.

Deanna shook off the moment of self-realization with another shot. Straight gin this time. Not her favorite.

"Maybe that's why they're here. To be alone in a crowd, or maybe to find someone to keep the dark away."

She held up another glass to the brunette.

Holly shook her head, smirking. "Nuh uh. We're not on even playing fields. I started my party before I got here." She watched a girl dancing up against the pushy man from earlier. He was pressed against a wall, watching her intently.

"It doesn't help. I know."

She was in her hotel room with a sleeping...fuck, what was his name again? Vincent? Anyway, a sleeping boy and still that thing had come through her walls. Holly felt at her hair again. She couldn't feel the missing piece.

That was appropriate.

"Why are you here?"

"To dance." She'd already fed tonight.

"Maybe take someone out back and have a little fun."

"Right."

Holly coughed when the fog machine turned on. Clouds of smoke turned into colored haze. "I hate clubs that do this. What exactly is so cool about fog?"

The brunette turned and made her way to the edge of the dance floor. The redhead could follow if she wanted, but she needed a break. She found the coat room, abandoned for the summer, and let herself inside.

She pulled out a cigarette. Truth was, her euphoria was on the downward slope.

The coat room. She hadn't considered that. Deanna liked how the girl thought. She wasn't completely sure the younger girl was interested or was just escaping the crowd. Either way, she could use a, if the pun could be pardoned, a breather.

She held the tray high above her head as she sashayed off the floor, turning ninety degrees to avoid two girls joined at the hip. Deanna paused, and knocked on the door.

"Land shark."

Holly snorted and opened the door. Her cigarette was lit, and she exhaled a plume of smoke that joined the manufactured fog in the club. "You don't look like the type to watch that show."

The brunette held out a garment. "Look what I found. Members Only jacket." She fished around in the pockets. "A condom, a piece of paper with a phone number. Ooh, Kelly. Sexy name."

She held her cigarette in her mouth, shrugging it on. She did a little half-turn. "How do I look? I think the only thing missing is a porn 'stache."

She'd watched the brunette fidget enough with her hair. It was Deanna's turn now. The tray was set onto the floor before she took a healthy strand of brown locks between two fingers and held it across the younger girl's upper lip.

"Now you're a pimp."

After a moment, she released the strands but kept her fingers close to the girl's chin. "And I'm betting your name is sexier than Kelly."

She snickered, the liquor having made its way to her head. "No, it's really not." Holly tossed the silver-wrapped condom to the floor, and it fell into one of the shots. Oops. She wouldn't be drinking that one.

"I'll tell you a secret."

The younger girl sat down on the floor, playing a silent game of eenie-meenie to decide which one to try next. "My name is Holiday." A golden one, Johnnie Walker that went down like fire.

Deanna picked up the offended shot glass, tossed aside the wrapped condom, and swallowed the shot. It was a dark liqueur, not that her taste buds could truly enjoy it.

"What? I've drunk far worse."

She rested against the wall, sliding down until she was at eye level again with the girl. "Must be fun at Christmas," the redhead commented. "You strike me more as a Holly, amiright?"

Another shot, the second-last. Peach schnapps. "Mine's Deanna."

She twirled the empty glass in her hand. "So, who's strobe-light eyes?"

"So have I, to be honest. One time, I mixed Ribena with vodka. I was sick the whole next day." Holly flicked her ash into one of the empty glasses. She wondered if anyone would find them there.

"Okay, I only met him once. And it isn't one of those goopy, dizzy things. You know, fawning over the Mr.Darcy type. But he helps keep my mind off things."

Holly pulled her hair back to show her ears. "He bought me these earrings. They're very Vegas, aren't they?"

Deanna didn't focus on the earrings. Not when she could see the pulse in Holly's neck. That was Vegas. Life, begging to be tasted. Not ten-cent jewelry sold on the Strip.

Also, the plastic dice reminded her of something Daniel would buy, in a pathetic attempt to win over a pretty girl.

"They're... really something," she spoke politely. But they don't really do you justice. Now these." Deanna placed her forefinger and thumb on the clasp of her left pearl earring, removing it, then the other. She held both in her palm, outstretched. "These are more you."

The corners of Holly's mouth twitched. Was Deanna mad? She took the earrings, holding them up to the light. They looked like real pearls.

"On second thought, maybe I should stay in Vegas. My jewelry collection will double."

Still, the brunette was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. "I'm not really the type to..." Holly gestured to the redhead. "I like boys. Even if a lot of them are right prats."

"Pity."

Holly shrugged, smiled. What can you do?

Faint strains of thumping bass filled their tiny room, and the single light bulb above them swayed a little in its rhythm. The discarded shot glasses looked sad to her, like when a great party finally ended and you realized you were exactly the same person as when you first arrived.

"I should go home."

Whether she meant London or her motel room, Holly wasn't entirely sure.

"Is it me? It's me, isn't it?" It usually was. Deanna led life unfiltered. And while she didn't regret the small come-hitherness gesture of the pearls, Holly seemed... uncomfortable?

No. There was more to it than that. The vampire had spent two centuries among humanity; if you spent enough time with them, you could pick up on certain traits.

The brunette had been playing with her hair. Her eyes were slightly glazed. She was energetic on the dance floor; now she was...

Crashing.

"What'd you take?"

She blinked, looking down at the front of her dress. It was wrinkled, but Holly never ironed anything. Why bother?

"Well, you're perceptive." The brunette smiled, tilting her head to the side. "Speed, I think. This boy on a bike sold it to me. He was wearing his hat backward, it made me laugh."

Holly leaned back against the wall. It felt cool against her skin. "He said I could have them for free if I showed him my tits. So I paid for them with money just to watch the disappointment play out on his face."

"You'd be surprised what these eyes can see." It wasn't a lie. Being a host for a demon came with perks. Enhanced senses and reflexes just to name two.

"Honey, I practically lived at Studio 54, I'm disappointed I didn't see it earlier."

Deanna rested a hand on Holly's arm, just below the elbow. Contact was important when helping someone come down. "I shouldn't have fed you those shots," she chuckled, knowing that it wouldn't have stopped her from doing the same. "You're going to need lots of water, and eventually, a place to throw up."

But not at the club. The stalls were a breeding ground for gods-knows what kind of bacteria.

"Shit."

In her failed attempt at one-upping Deanna, Holly had forgotten she had driven to the club. Which meant she would have to drive home. With her luck, she'd end up wrapped around a pole halfway between Vegas and Searchlight.

"I'll need to call a cab, because there is no way I'm driving for an hour tonight." She could figure out how to retrieve the rental in the morning.

Holly waved her hand dismissively. "I don't throw up, usually. Just sleep. A lot." She smiled at the older woman. "I bet Studio 54 had amazing connections. It's so hard to get good acid nowadays."

Deanna dug into her jeans pocket to take out her silver cigarette case and lighter. She lit the tobacco and inhaled deeply. "It's all who you know. Buying off a guy on a bike... chances are he's carrying knock-offs."

Another drag on the cigarette, before Deanna continued. "That's one thing we have in common. Sleeping a lot, I mean." The vampire offered a small smile. "I can't stand daylight. I positively burn."

She gently stroked Holly's arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a suite at The Hart, on the Strip. You can crash in the other room, on the couch. I'll even lock the bedroom door."

Holly mulled that one over. She was tired, and while her high was practically nonexistent now, she was quite drunk. If she looked up for too long, the room started to tilt, like the world was off its axis.

"I'll only be sleeping," the brunette said. "Nothing else. And throw in a cigarette, I just smoked my last one."

"No rapey. Check." The redhead held out her case to Holly.

"I can't believe you said that, either!" Holly opened the case and nicked a smoke.

"Between you and Daniel, I'm going to have permanent shock-face. Which, I heard, causes wrinkles." She lit her cigarette and took a deep puff.

"What brand are these, by the way?"

"They're illegal, is what they are. Smuggled in from Cuba. Such a wonderful nightlife too."

(Deanna was there on the eve of the Revolution, after spending most of the 1940s in South America.)

An eyebrow cocked at mention of the name. "Daniel? This is the boy you're mooning over?" In a city this size, there had to be at least a hundred Daniels. "What's so shocking about... Daniel?"

She closed her eyes, the nicotine helping a little. The room stopped feeling like it was closing in on her. "Cool. But I thought only the cigars were illegal."

Holly opened one eye, looking at Deanna. "Hm? Oh, him. No, it was a 'you had to be there' kind of thing." She paused, then let out a giggle. "Penguins."

The brunette stood carefully, using the wall for support and taking care not to knock over any glass objects. "I'm keeping this jacket."

"They have their own tobacco, less chemicals. The U.S. has a complete embargo on the country, so anything coming in or going out is illegal." Deanna's smile grew. "I like illegal. And boosting a jacket is a start, Holly. But surely you can do better than that."

Holly snorted, playing with the zipper on the jacket. "What, are we measuring dicks now? Because I left my ruler at home." She fluffed out her hair with her fingers.

"Do you have any fresh clothes I can borrow? You're a bit taller than me, but they should fit. I know I'm going to feel completely minging tomorrow."

Deanna chuckled. She liked Holly; she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. Definitely worth keeping around, at least until the novelty wore off.

"I'm sure I've got something your size." The redhead kept clothing souvenirs from past guests.

"An hour out of Vegas?" Who the hell wouldn't want to live in Sin City? "Please tell me you don't have a silver motor home with one of those canopies over the door, and decorated with plastic lanterns."

She stood with her hand on the door knob, half-turned toward Deanna. "No, I have a motel room. I did have a room here, but..." Holly lost interest in the sentence.

"Come on. I want to see your suite. I bet it's posh. You look like you have money." The brunette eyed her up and down.

Edited 2013-08-29 16:33 (UTC)

"So my accountant likes to remind me." (Yes, a vampire with an accountant. It was an odd relationship. He was a bloodsucker, but his tastes were more green.)

Deanna saw Holly's unease at standing, and slipped a slender arm around the girl's waist. She saw the vein in her neck again. It took tremendous willpower not to smack her lips.

"C'mon, you. When you see my place, you'll need a better word than posh."

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Move With the Music

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