The band took a break after their Springsteen cover to get some water, and the DJ took over. Pussycat Dolls' "Buttons" started pounding out, and the dance floor swapped personnel from those who remembered Springsteen the first time around to the younger crowd who still knew they were fit and hot. A lot of the latter were comprised of women who took Halloween as their yearly excuse to dress and act slutty. Naughty Nurse, Sexy Witch, Hot Devil… the standards were all there, along with a few superheroes and supervillains with tight spandex, short skirts, plunging necklines, and a handful of other clever excuses at revealing actual skin or, at least, the extremely clear outline of the wearer's favorite body parts.
Except the one, of course. There was one figure on the dance floor who had not gone that route, though her movements suggested athleticism and grace, and the dance lights flashing all around occasionally shone through several layers of fabric to hint at a figure that was taut, fit, and curvaceous. She was apparently some centuries-old Arab or Persian woman, though not with any sort of historical accuracy, or so Jane (ahem, Roberts) heard a guy in full-on knight's armor mentioning to his date. She recalled that Sergeant McIntyre did some sort of dress-up historical reenactment thingy on the weekends.
The woman wore an outfit that was largely shapeless, made of some wannabe-silk material that looked very sheer when individual layers would flare out due to her movements, but there were so many that they concealed her figure in spite of themselves – all shades of blue, green, purple, and even a little fuchsia here and there, saturated colors ranging from medium tones to near-black darkness. The top layer sparkled with sequins and glass beads here and there, and those shiny materials also made up an elaborate headdress that looked expensive in the dim evening light with the flashing lights, but would probably seem cheap when in the bright light of day. Henna tattoos further complicated her, all the way from her fingertips and the tops of her feet, up arms and legs, until fabric obscured them. Her back was to the drink and snack tables, but as she whirled around, one could see that not only her figure was obscured by the costume, but also her face: there was a veil of similar fabric and beading as her gown, but with much more beading around the eyes and over the nose. Full niqab, mentioned one of the officers whose son had embraced Islam a year or two ago, as he reached for a pig-in-a-blanket.
Definitely female. Moreover, definitely aware of it. She was surrounded by men. Even some who had brought dates were in her circle while the dates were getting drinks, powdering their noses, or dancing with each other in the way that so many women loved to do, making it clear that they were putting on a sexy show for males in the vicinity. This one wasn't bothering with that. She wanted to dance, was dancing, with anyone who came along. Everyone who came along, in fact, and all at once, movements rapidly shifting between what looked like traditional belly dance, club dancing of the sort done by the original singers of the song playing, and some suggestive little something that made her fabric shimmy and her beads flash in the lights.
Still, she did not seem to really be focusing on her small but growing crowd of admirers. Someone who watched her long enough, and read her clearly enough, would eventually determine that she was simply using her vantage point on the dance floor to scan the crowd, looking for someone.