Yes, I have redone this general idea several times over. The 'So Unlikely' rewrite, then 'Shadows' which was turned to 'Lament of the Hunted.' Fffss. This is my finalised idea. I needed a darker tone and I just couldn't capture it the ways preceding this. This will get darker. 'Nuff said.
1.
Alcohol hung heavily in the air and colored lights flashed. Bodies moved to the thudding bass of dirty dubstep, drinks in their hands and grins on their faces. Some dressed in rave attire, while others were in casual clothes, even some suits. Glow sticks flashed around their necks and in hands above the crowd, voices mingling in with the sound of the music, nearly drowned out by the latter. Light-strung clothing and glow-in-the-dark makeup adorned bodies. Some ground, and others stuck to themselves.
On raised platforms, go go and bodycon dancers moved hypnotically, coaxing men and women alike into slipping bills under the strings of their tops, bands of their too-short shorts, and the tops of their accentuated chests. Glowing neon hair extensions were clipped into some of the dancers' hair and exposed skin was splattered with fluid from glow sticks, attracting attention to the skin.
The club was dark, other than the dim blue glow of the lighted floor panels, the flash from neon LEDs, and glow sticks. People sat leisurely off to the sides of the lively place, tables placed periodically, numbers of chairs placed near them. A bar was on one wall, the long stretch of glass-topped counter askew with shot and martini glasses and leaning customers, rambling in slurs as they downed endless amounts alcohol. They ranged from fruity drinks and alcopop in fancy glasses, to hard liquor served in shots.
Patrons of the club, even after a few months of business, ranged greatly, as well. Some were regular business men and woman, finding refuge in the loud music and alcohol and moving bodies, while others were fake ID-using teens, seeking to have a taste of what adulthood would permit them to enjoy.
The scent of cigarette smoke filtered in through the open front doors, brightly colored wristbands allowing the smokers to return to the club's insides after sating their habits.
New faces shuffled past the bouncers out front and dispersed throughout the moving bodies and fools, drunk off their asses, at the bar.
Pleasure hung almost as heavily as the alcohol as bass made the bar's shelves rattle at times, the dancers still moving elegantly at the back of the club, drawing all eyes to deliciously exposed skin. Their platforms lit up with various colors, some strobing through the color spectrum to the beat of the music, while others slowly flashed and faded into the next color at their own pace.
As the beat slowed a bit, the dancers moved into the crowd and the people separated to watch the women do their jobs. Countless bills poked from their outfits, even from the tops of their flared fur leg warmers. Their bare feet moved over the blue lit floor and into the mobs, and they did a routine they had created in the hours preceding the club's opening to public. They flipped and did acrobatics so easily, holding onto each other at times, limbs flexible and surprisingly athletic.
Several of them seduced, while a few strayed to make small talk with customers and people seated on the sides, leisurely drinking and actually buying drinks for them.
A woman with dark brown hair grabbed for one of the dancers.
She had black hair with a purplish shine and numerous neon extensions clipped in. A headband made the top of her hair puff and poke out over it, bangs swept over one orange-contacted eye. Dark makeup lined her eyes, an accent of blue on her lid. Her top was a black strapless bando, bottoms a pair of metallic blue short shorts. Fishnets covered her thighs and disappeared under black fur leg warmers, flared to cover most of her feet. A tattoo of roses spanned from the front of one hip and up her side, beautifully wrapping under her arm.
The dancer's eyes widened and the woman grabbed once more, taking hold of her arm. The other placed a hundred into her top, before releasing her with a slap to her rear. Orange eyes were wide; the occurrence had become more and more frequent in the club, and it only seemed to be her and a colleague she came to call a friend. Harassment was against the club's employee-customer contact policy, and if the security took note, they would have record taken of them and get hauled out.
Unfortunately, this one hadn't been seen.
That, or security was sluggish that night.
The ravenette took a mental note to talk to a friend on the security team, before noticing a blonde near the bar, ironically dressed as a bartender, looking at her. He had a drink in his hand, and seemed to have a dreadlocked man talking to him. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to the words spilling out with breath reeking of alcohol, but more to the scantily clad, tattooed girl.
Opening her mouth as if she was going to walk over make a move, the dancer decided against it. Instead, she tucked part of her side-parted hair behind a triple pierced ear and beelined for the bar, brushing behind the dreadlocked man that spoke to Blondie. She carefully plucked numerous bills from her outfit, careful not to miss any. Counting them, she plucked a twenty from the countless papers, folding the rest and tucking it under the band of her shorts.
She'd seen the blonde several times in the past weeks and always felt an urge to go say something. He seemed fairly approachable, though no one ever did. The crowd actually divided for him most of the time. Was he well known? She wouldn't have had a clue, and was obviously missing part of the picture. This guy was attractive, what could she say? That, and he always noticed her.
The other dancers flaunted more and occasionally removed their tops and played the ready and willing card, but she remained the same. Dancing for the tips and intimidating those who would take the small touches she allowed to a new level. Even still, it was always her.
"Hard cider.. Hornsby's." she requested quietly to the bartender, eyes flicking up to the clock centred above the bar; it was nearly eleven, and her shift ended at the hour. She was thankful for her night's ending coming soon. She seemed to have developed insomnia for the past week or so, and desperately needed sleep pills and her day off.
The bartender nodded with a smile and reached under the bar, popping the lid off of the already sweating bottle. The air in the club was heated by countless bodies. No one in the place could be cold; it was a hot summer night and everybody wanted refuge. The building was much cooler than the outdoors, but it was still almost too much to handle.
Even the dancers, scarce clothing and all, broke a sweat in the dark place.
Sighing, the dancer gave a tired smile and a nod to the bartender as she leaned against the cool glass and wood surface. The area reeked of alcohol to the point of disgust, but it was far cooler than the platforms or the heart of the dancing crowd.
Suddenly, Blondie had left his friend and moved to sit on a bar stool not too far from the dancer, whose eyes were shut.
She rocked slightly to the thudding bass, much different from how she moved before, and took sips from the brown glass bottle in a dainty, fake black-nailed hand. She didn't seem like too much of a drinker to the blonde, though she didn't seem like the type to have a job dancing in a club, either; though he'd seen her doing her thing countless times.
What's next? she'll be a hooker, too.
The ravenette took note of Blondie again and dug through the wad of bills she had tucked in her shorts. Another smaller bill was dropped onto the counter. "Another of whatever this guy's drinking, for him." she said, in an accent completely foreign to blondie, gesturing to the man before twisting back to her previous position.
The bartender nodded and got to pouring another glass of whiskey for the blonde stranger. "You know him, Ryan?" he asked quietly, looking up at the dancer.
Ryan...
She shook her head as a no and the man behind the bar raised his eyebrows, still pouring the drink over ice that popped at the room temperature alcohol. He looked to Blondie and murmured, "It's rare for her to buy drinks for customers... You're lucky." The black-haired bartender winked, before sliding a new glass to the man just as he finished the one he had.
Blondie raised an eyebrow. He was lucky? That was unusual... After staring at the glass for a moment, he finally picked it up and took a drink, cringing at the burning fluid running down his throat. It wasn't pleasant, but definitely was addicting. Disgustedly, he somehow understood why alcoholics were what they were.
In the short spans of time, the dancer - Ryan, he finally got her name - had put back the bottle of hard cider she got and disappeared through a door close to the bar.
With a sigh, the blonde returned to his friend and made small talk. After what felt like an eternity of nonsense with Dreadlocks, the bartender caught his attention. The raven gestured to the door off to one side, where the dancer from before, dressed in street clothes, emerged.
She wore black jeans, black & gray Vans, a red tank top, and a dark skull print scarf that draped around her neck, covering what revealed skin there would be on her chest. The extensions were gone, leaving purplish-black hair to fall over the scarf. The contacts, too, were gone, leaving bright blue eyes, darkened by the lack of light.
Blondie excused himself from his friend and made his way to the girl, who was checking her phone. When she took note of his approach, she looked up with a small smile and tucked away the mobile device. She gave a questioning hum, making brief eye contact.
Finally, she had the nerve to talk to him... or was it the other way around?
"Hey... uh, thanks for the drink back there, "
"No problem, it's the least I can do." the ravenette said. "I hardly ever do it, but hey... gotta try new things." The blonde nodded and took a drink from the sweating glass he still held. She raised an eyebrow after a moment and suddenly asked, "Can I.. see your phone?"
It caught the blonde off guard, but he grunted an okay and dug through the pocket of his slacks and produced a scuffed yellow Razr, hesitantly sliding it into her hand.
Quickly, she flipped it open and tapped at the keys. She got the Droid version of the Razr from her pocket and clicked through his phone, before tapping at her own for a moment. With another smile - it was a bit bashful this time - she flipped it shut and passed it back to the blonde.
Without another word, she slipped off into the crowd of people, placing her phone back into the pocket of her jeans.
Flipping the aggravating device open, the blonde saw a number with Ryan above it.
So.. That may or may not have sucked? This idea hit me earlier this week. I can't remember what it is, but there's another fic that kind of reminds me of how I wrote this. If it sounds too much like it so far, I'm sorry. It definitely has its own plot, I try not to copy. ;-; But the idea just overrode (is that the right word?) my thoughts... Okay. Until next chapter~
- Broken Blackk Dahlia