To Aliora:
I'm tired of hanging around dead people, Kate thinks, spraying a little perfume on, or people who are so tied to their work they're practically dead. The tall woman checks her reflection: long hair brushed to a glossy black, sassy halter top, snug leather pants, high heels, and a warm-enough trenchcoat. Nice. She pretends not to see the black car tailing her as she speeds along the highway, she might as well give them something fun to watch.
Even a casual passerby would know the club she's stepping into is a very high-end, very loud, and very fashionable spot. All Kate does is smile at the bouncer, who steps back, and returns her smile. A simple cover fee, and she's in the club, shrugging her trenchcoat off in the room heated by the mass of body heat and possibly the loud volume of music. Grabbing a barstool, she waves at the bartender. "Midori!" she yells over the throbbing bass, handing over cash. He nods back, and she turns around to look at the crowd of humanity in the club. Nobody like Kono would hang out here, hell, nobody from STN-J would hang out here. Which is why this is the perfect place to unwind, since even Harry's crawls with coworkers from time to time.
A tap on her shoulder, and she accept the drink. Already she's spotted some spoiled politicians' kids, a couple of random J-pop stars, and more than a few clubbers carrying some serious weapons. Kate smiles lazily, her foot tapping to the beat, and finishes her drink. When she turns around, the bartender hands her another drink. Her eyes raised, he jerks his head to another patron who looks very well-dressed, and not too drunk. She smiles, raises her drink, and takes a sip. As expected, he walks over, and after the usual inane shouted chatter about this and that, he leads her to the dance floor.
On the floor, girls have out-of-season tans, garish makeup, skin-baring outfits, and high heels they barely stand up in, while the guys wear would- be thugwear, lounge lizard, or wannabe-yakuza suits. Kate's current suitor is a cross between yakuza and lounge, as she's gotten a glimpse of the tattoo peeking up the base of his neck. She doesn't care, she's faced little kids more dangerous than this man on her job. Right now, she's interested in having a good time, and she gets it, letting the mindless house music and very attentive dance partner take her mind off her Craft going a little nuts, seeing dead people, and her life.
Then the man stiffens a little, and mumbles some excuse. She turns around and, with her Craft, sees a man with a gun heading towards them. She shakes her head, smiling, and lets him escape. It's none of her business, really, she doesn't want to deal with gangster politics, she has more important things to worry about. Like finding somebody else to dance with. Casually, she starts to make her way off the floor, when someone grabs her elbow.
Turning, she sees a familiar face and smiles. "I was wondering when you'd show," she says, putting her arms around his neck.
The man from the Clan of the Bull, better dressed now and smelling tons cleaner, shakes his head. "I don't know why you chose this place," he says into her ear.
"Nobody will suspect," she says into his ear, putting her hands on his waist and drawing him closer. "Ready?"
"Ready," he says, putting his hands on her back, and they look, for the most part, like a very intimate couple. In actuality, he's hijacking her Craft, and while they dance, they both keep a lookout for anyone suspicious. "Your partner is quite the stalker," he murmurs in her ear, and she laughs.
"You should know," she retorts, and leans back as he runs his hands through her long hair. "Anything new?"
"Security's not as tight as it used to be," he remarks. "Methuselah is out of town for the time being."
"Good," she says, as she puts a hand on his tight ass. "Make sure it stays that way."
They continue to dance until she begs him off. "I have to wake up early," she sighs, remembering she's only had a nap to tide her over.
He kisses her. "I know," he says, brushing her hair away from her face, "thanks."
She kisses him back, "Thank you." She waves before leaving, then walks out into the night, which is far from over for her.
I'm tired of hanging around dead people, Kate thinks, spraying a little perfume on, or people who are so tied to their work they're practically dead. The tall woman checks her reflection: long hair brushed to a glossy black, sassy halter top, snug leather pants, high heels, and a warm-enough trenchcoat. Nice. She pretends not to see the black car tailing her as she speeds along the highway, she might as well give them something fun to watch.
Even a casual passerby would know the club she's stepping into is a very high-end, very loud, and very fashionable spot. All Kate does is smile at the bouncer, who steps back, and returns her smile. A simple cover fee, and she's in the club, shrugging her trenchcoat off in the room heated by the mass of body heat and possibly the loud volume of music. Grabbing a barstool, she waves at the bartender. "Midori!" she yells over the throbbing bass, handing over cash. He nods back, and she turns around to look at the crowd of humanity in the club. Nobody like Kono would hang out here, hell, nobody from STN-J would hang out here. Which is why this is the perfect place to unwind, since even Harry's crawls with coworkers from time to time.
A tap on her shoulder, and she accept the drink. Already she's spotted some spoiled politicians' kids, a couple of random J-pop stars, and more than a few clubbers carrying some serious weapons. Kate smiles lazily, her foot tapping to the beat, and finishes her drink. When she turns around, the bartender hands her another drink. Her eyes raised, he jerks his head to another patron who looks very well-dressed, and not too drunk. She smiles, raises her drink, and takes a sip. As expected, he walks over, and after the usual inane shouted chatter about this and that, he leads her to the dance floor.
On the floor, girls have out-of-season tans, garish makeup, skin-baring outfits, and high heels they barely stand up in, while the guys wear would- be thugwear, lounge lizard, or wannabe-yakuza suits. Kate's current suitor is a cross between yakuza and lounge, as she's gotten a glimpse of the tattoo peeking up the base of his neck. She doesn't care, she's faced little kids more dangerous than this man on her job. Right now, she's interested in having a good time, and she gets it, letting the mindless house music and very attentive dance partner take her mind off her Craft going a little nuts, seeing dead people, and her life.
Then the man stiffens a little, and mumbles some excuse. She turns around and, with her Craft, sees a man with a gun heading towards them. She shakes her head, smiling, and lets him escape. It's none of her business, really, she doesn't want to deal with gangster politics, she has more important things to worry about. Like finding somebody else to dance with. Casually, she starts to make her way off the floor, when someone grabs her elbow.
Turning, she sees a familiar face and smiles. "I was wondering when you'd show," she says, putting her arms around his neck.
The man from the Clan of the Bull, better dressed now and smelling tons cleaner, shakes his head. "I don't know why you chose this place," he says into her ear.
"Nobody will suspect," she says into his ear, putting her hands on his waist and drawing him closer. "Ready?"
"Ready," he says, putting his hands on her back, and they look, for the most part, like a very intimate couple. In actuality, he's hijacking her Craft, and while they dance, they both keep a lookout for anyone suspicious. "Your partner is quite the stalker," he murmurs in her ear, and she laughs.
"You should know," she retorts, and leans back as he runs his hands through her long hair. "Anything new?"
"Security's not as tight as it used to be," he remarks. "Methuselah is out of town for the time being."
"Good," she says, as she puts a hand on his tight ass. "Make sure it stays that way."
They continue to dance until she begs him off. "I have to wake up early," she sighs, remembering she's only had a nap to tide her over.
He kisses her. "I know," he says, brushing her hair away from her face, "thanks."
She kisses him back, "Thank you." She waves before leaving, then walks out into the night, which is far from over for her.