Selene (dealing_death) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-09-03 10:57:00 |
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Current music: | Send Me an Angel: Paul Oakenfold mix |
Entry tags: | complete, selene |
Who: Selene
Where: Club
Why: Vampires and Bad Guys like places like this, she is just getting a feel for who does what and where they do it. (ha!)
When: Midnightish
Status: Complete
Rating: Pg-13 Mention of slightly adult themes.
Five buttons was all that held her within the confines of the tight black silk. Or it would have been five had she not let that top one slip open. Golden chains dangled around her slender ankles softly chiming as she walked. The heels she walked on propelled her to great heights while doing miraculous things to her already impossible thighs. Nearly every inch of her long legs could be seen. The short legs of the romper she wore ended just under the curve of her backside, barely.
Yet it was not her legs that called for attention. Hidden behind her slick red lips was a promise of pain. A promise her eyes made as they roved over the crowd. She was not here to play, even if she was dressed the part. The seedy underbelly of LA had a pulse, one that thrived and writhed in the sweat filled, bass pumping clubs that dotted the town. This is what one might call a recon mission. Seek and gather information. Who were the power players and where did they play?
Selene had always been a watcher of sorts. Humanity fascinated her. The way people touched and how they looked at one another; the filthy things they dared to do when only mere feet from being seen. They were brazen and corrupt. Not a single angel among them. There was not one among them with white wings they had all been stained with blood and the black ink of death.
The lights flash on and off to the beat of the music, like the batting of an eyelid. Eyes the shade of cooled lava slice through the throng that circled around her, their bodies gyrate and churn in a frenzied dance. Sweat dribbled across pebbled skin. Damp strands of wild hair cling to flesh that shines with a dusting of brackish dew. Scant snippets of clothes were pushed around as inept hands groped and wandered. Eyes closed, brows pinched, lips parted. Sex with their clothes on to the beat of a very eager drummer.
In the middle of the possessed swarm of passion and need she stood like a statue. Neither hips nor lips moved. The only suggestion she was alive was the heat that swirled in her eyes giving them life and luster. Over head oscillating fans spun in a failing attempt to bring some relief from the heat and humidity to the mob below. The torrent of air did little for the fever that was still rising as the fans spun. She did not mind; Selene found she quite enjoyed the clammy heat. It made her skin sticky and her cheeks pink like the long lost touch of a lover. The tips of her hair flitted around her face with the gentle wind. Those dark eyes parted the crowd with an intimidating glare as she made her way to the bar.