Lights strobed in time to the music as Betsy weaved through the crowd. The club was busier than usual, the beat thrumming through her chest and the crush of bodies warming the building better than any heating system.
She looked like she belonged, a tight black mini-dress matched with silver stilettos and silver hoop earrings. Already a tall woman, her shoes lifted her above most of the crowd. It was a position she particularly enjoyed.
The set ended, and the band on stage shuffled off. They were trying a new band, tonight, and Betsy moved to the front. "Blow me away," the woman murmured.
A woman came on stage, flanked by two men, and followed by a second woman. The man on the left was short and gruff looking, and was carrying a base. The second woman moved to the drums. She had on purple face paint and her spikey hair was dyed pink. The second man was tall and broad. It looked like he was missing one eye.
Betsy didn't give any of them more than a cursory look. The first woman was pale, dressed in a black cat suit that looked like someone had painted it on. She had an undercut on the right side of her head, and a black spot tattooed over her left eye. She grinned cockily as she strummed the first notes on her guitar.
Someone announced their name - The Dominos - and they launched into their first song. It was hard and fast, sounding like a pitched battle with gun fire. The singer's voice was clear and she sang from the gut, even as she moved around the stage like a monkey on crack. She seemed functionally incapable of staying still, but once she locked eyes on her, Betsy couldn't look away. And what's worse, the singer kept looking at her.
At first, she didn't move with the music. She stubbornly refused to let herself, but after a minute, the singer gave her a crooked grin and she realized she was dancing and in all honesty she wanted to be dancing against the woman on the stage.
She extricated herself after a couple more songs, and moved backstage to regain her senses. Her feet betrayed her. The singer was coming from the stage alone and heading for the dressing room. Betsy intercepted her, pinning her to the wall. Her right hand was on the left side of the woman's face and her arm was ram-rod straight.
"Whoa. Hi there." Something danced in the woman's eyes, and that cocky smirk begged Betsy to wipe it off of her face.
"And just where do you think you're going?" She purred the sentence out, knowing just what her accent could do to Americans.
And sure enough, the breath left the woman's lungs and her grin flickered before returning to full strength. "Your place I hope."
"Good answer."
(Also featuring Cable, The Wolverine on bass, and Blink on drums.)