Who: Henry & Kenzi What: Star Wars-themed rave! When: About a week ago Where: Totally secret place where raves happen Rating/Warnings: Mentions of drugs and weird fetishes but that's it Status: Complete!
Henry had never actually been to a rave before. Not a real one, at any rate. He’d been to his fair share of underground parties, usually staying on the periphery like a stereotypical wall flower. Sometimes he got picked up and sometimes he spent the night drinking alone. But he’d never actually been to a glow stick waving, thudding music infused rave.
Standing outside the warehouse, nearly ankle deep in snow in only a pair of dark black pants and a form fitting black t-shirt. He was shivering a little bit, but the idea of lugging a jacket around with him hadn’t exactly been appealing and would have likely made him look like a douchebag, and he would rather not look like a douche. Especially in front of Kenzi.
Henry looked up at the old warehouse carefully. It almost reminded him a little bit of the warehouse the porn studio was at, only way more abandoned. Except for tonight. Tonight multicolored lights could be seen within, flashing in the smoky windows. Music could be heard thudding within almost hypnotically.
Kenzi had been to raves. Tons. Real and fake, whichever. Recreational purposes and for wallet collections, and she loved dressing for them. Sleek leather boots with jollyroger buckles and metallic spikes at the heel, fishnet stockings climbing up and under that Beetlejuice inspired dress - it was tight all around, criss-crossed in the back like a corset, and it pushed those chest puppies up to a level known as ‘mildly skankalicious, but still respectable.’ To Killy, it was worthy of a distinct brow raise and a grumble.
“Don’t accept drinks from strangers,” she advised sagely, beckoning him over to the stainless steel door with a ‘come hither’ motion of her finger. Silver extensions added some color to the midnight blackness of her hair - she tucked some behind her ear, knocked three times, and small window viewer slid open. Kenzi cleared her throat. “Han shot first.”
Then, and only then, were they allowed entrance.
Henry raised a brow slightly. Raves were new to him, but he wasn’t so sheltered. He wasn’t about to accept anything handed to him by someone he didn’t know. He didn’t want to wake up in an alley somewhere with a headache, a bad taste in his mouth and his pants down around his ankles. Stuff like that happened. Seriously.
“Uh, yeah, don’t worry, I won’t.”
He liked what Kenzi was wearing, all dark and goth inspired. He really liked how the dress flattered the lines of her body and brought attention where she, apparently, wanted it. And his attention went there without too much persuading. Hey, he was a photographer, he was supposed to notice and appreciate stuff like that.
Henry did feel a little underdressed himself, though, in a simple pair of black pants and matching shirt. He sort of wished he had something a little more flashy. Then again, “flashy” wasn’t really Henry’s style, unless one counted that Hawaiian shirt Revy had gotten him, but he doubted that would have been appreciated here. If this was going to become a regular thing (and Henry already found himself hoping that it did) he was going to have to invest in a pair of those pants with the buckles and straps hanging off them. He’d always kind of liked those if not quite comfortable enough to wear them himself.
He stood beside Kenzi as she knocked on the door and raised an eyebrow again when she gave the password. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. This was an underground sort of thing. They didn’t want just any Tom, Dick or Harry wandering in and potentially narcing the whole thing and ruining everyone’s night. This was a legit underground rave.
Henry was smiling a bit as he followed Kenzi inside and was immediately transported to another world of fog machines, flashing lights and lasers and thumping, entrancing music he could feel in his chest. The crowd of moving bodies in front of him didn’t even intimidate. It was dark and loud enough in here Henry could lose himself easily without having to talk to anyone if he didn’t want to. It was like Heaven.
Henry looked at Kenzi with a wide grin on his face. “This is awesome!”
No need for jackets in here, hell no. All the jumping and binding bodies, all that friction generated enough heat to warm up most of the place. What was an epileptic’s nightmare was also Kenzi’s own personal version of Disney, and she took Henry by the sleeve to weave him through the maze of the crowd. Destination?
Bar. Duh.
It was a bit quieter there, anyway. Music and bass didn’t make their teeth vibrate so much, or make their eardrums throb. Glow sticks were available for purchase with some other blinky-light things (lightsaber toys, ‘tis the season with the movie coming out), and every mixed cocktail was served mini-strobe balls in it, drink friendly. And in plastic cups. Keep the glass to a minimum here - Kenzi guessed there were people rolling on something here. Molly, some other super feely drug, whatevs. She’d stick to the alcohol. Like a good girl.
“Pretty rad, huh?” she grinned, lips stretched wide across her face. “I knew you were a wild-child beneath the ‘boy next door’ thing you’ve got going on. What’cha drinking, Monster Boy?”
Henry let Kenzi lead him to the bar without any resistance. The sheer amount of people crammed into the space, even one this large was a little intimidating, maybe even a little suffocating, but so far Henry didn’t feel weird or out of place, even if he wasn’t dressed nearly appropriately enough.
“Looks can be deceiving,” he said with something of a shrug. He wouldn’t have considered himself a ‘boy next door’ That gave the impression of someone wholesome, friendly and outgoing. Someone who ran for class president, was voted homecoming king, dated cheerleaders and was captain of the football team. Henry was none of those things. Not even remotely close and he had no desire to be. But Henry understood how that could be the impression he gave off. People kept calling him cute of all things.
Henry laughed. He worked for a porn studio and enjoyed it. His best friend smoked like a chimney and swore like a sailor. Deceiving looks, indeed.
“Uh,” he looked at the bar as the bartender handed off one of those glowing drinks to someone. “That,” Henry said pointing. “I want to try that.”
Touche. Looks were deceiving. It was why Kenzi approached with general caution - she always expected the worst in people, they’d disappoint her less that way, but lately she’d been taking a couple leaps of faith. Mostly with the estranged sibling she’d reunited with, and she did think carefully about meeting up with him in the first place. It could have gone well or gone to shit, but it’d gone beyond awesome - even if this place was weird and maimed him. But right now, Killian had been her anchor. The only reason why she stayed. If he left, she’d follow.
Henry, though. Henry was kind of weird. A kind of weird that was non-creepy, so it was easy to embrace. Weirdos made the best friends. “Mmmm, I think their shit’s all Star Wars themed. In honor of the movie,” she observed, eyes flawlessly lined in black squinting at the object of his desires. Glowy drinks, ahoy! “Yoda’s Balls, I think.”
Hoisting herself up on an empty stool, she crossed those mile-long legs and called the bartender over. Two Yoda’s Balls. A couple of glow sticks, too. Glow sticks were kind of necessary, you couldn’t participate in a rave without them.
Henry was comfortable with his non-creepy weirdness. Revy had a lot to do with that, actually. Not long ago Henry had been extremely self conscious of everything he said and did that he was usually absolutely paralyzed in social situations if he didn’t have a camera in his hands. But Revy didn’t give two fucks. She had taken him as he was much the same way he had accepted her as she was, foul mouth and all. As corny as it may have sounded (and let’s be honest, it was corny as fuck), but Revy’s friendship had done a lot to draw Henry out of his shell. So much so that here he was now at a rave with probably the cutest girl he’d ever seen ordering a drink literally called Yoda’s Balls.
Life was pretty fucking good.
He took the drink handed to him, along with a glow stick. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do with said glow stick, so he set aside for the time being and focused his attention on the drink. It was nothing short of fan-fucking-tastic, glowing to the point of looking almost radioactive. It was all he could do to keep from taking out his phone to get a picture. That may have been a bit too weird. So instead he downed it, not all in one go, but pretty quickly nonetheless.
Then when he came up for air he turned his attention back to the glow stick. “Uhm...what is this for? Like, I know raves are supposed to have all kinds of glowing shit, but what do you do with it?”
Radioactive drinks seemed more Hulkish, honestly. Yoda’s Balls, though, she’d go with it; this one was a mix of sour apple pucker, maybe some melon liqueur? Kenzi hummed as she sipped through the black straw, tastebuds pinpointing the ingredients. And vodka, yep. Her Russian senses tingled. Best to sip and not chug tonight - her concern over brother dearest was a constant nag, and in case of an emergency she needed to be coherent. A little buzz wouldn’t hurt, and the alcoholic in her wasn’t as tough as the sisterly-feels. Thank Buddha.
“Damn, Monster Boy,” she whistled low, eyebrow arched as he came up for air. “Thirsty, much? You’re supposed to dance with it, though. Swing it around, let it blend in with all the seizure-inducing colors. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda dark.” Black lights all around, too - anything in white was glowing particularly bright through darkness, like the stripes on her dress. “Lot of people usually, uh, take a little somethingsomething for raves to make them ‘feel good.’ You might get groped or rubbed on, fair warning.”
Henry shrugged a one shoulder shrug. He may have been more comfortable in his weird skin, but he still had the habit of gulping down liquid courage when he found himself in situations like this. It helped lower his inhibitions a bit so he could relax. The room, as large as it was, wouldn’t feel quite as cramped with all these undulating bodies now that he had a little alcohol in his system.
He was probably going to need more if random people were going to rub on him. Henry polished off the rest of the glowing drink.
He watched other rave goers with their various assortment of glowing bits and ends. In their hair, around their necks, attached to their clothing. It was rather hypnotic to watch all kinds of colors streak through the otherwise darkened room. And sure enough, he saw several people not just rubbing or groping, but full on grinding on each other. “Fair warning received,” Henry said as he looked back at Kenzi. He made a conscious effort to talk to her face and not her glowing stripes. “You wanna dance or….?” Isn’t that what they came here to do?
“Eyes up here, Monster Boy,” Kenzi snickered, chewing on her cocktail’s straw. Mace, remember? Henry was a kind of cuteness worthy of cupcakes, he passed the creep test already - him looking wasn’t so bad, but she had moments of shameless bluntness. Calling him out on it was just funny. “Thought you’d never ask, though. If you don’t mind me being all cozy against you.” Wink.
And duhhh, raves were for dancing. All sorts of techno-remixes of songs blasting through the speakers, the power so impressive it almost felt like the ground quaked. It didn’t take her long to sip through the drink, up until there was nothing left in that clear plastic cup, and she took him by the hand to zig-zag through the crowd. Cramped spaces, people bumping into them, there was a distinct smell of sweat (grooooooosss), but there was a spot between the waves moving bodies she’d found just for them. There was a good rhythm going on too, enough to make those hips sway a bit to get into the pattern of the beat.
One hand clutched the glowstick, the other positioned on his shoulder to keep him anchored to her. Cozy, remember? “Don’t let the crowd eat you, it’ll be a bitch to find you!”
Had he been staring at her chest? Oh god, he’d been staring at her chest! The hell was wrong with him?! He was going to get a face full of hot, stingy mace at the rate he was going. Then her brother was probably going to tie him to the hull of his houseboat. The man probably knew how to keel haul someone, because, you know, pirate and shit.
He tried to look anywhere but her. But his eyes kept getting drawn back towards the glowing stripes that crossed over her body wrapped in that dress. The wink she gave him kept his attention. Was she fucking with him? Just once Henry would have liked to understand the signals people gave.
Ah, fuck it. At this point, whatever happened, happened. Dancing cozy together, or mace to the eyes.
“I don’t mind,” he told her. She could get as cozy as she wanted, thanks.
Before Henry knew what was happening, he was being lead by the hand towards the throng of people . Henry’s heart was in his mouth pounding in beat with the music as they went right through the thick of them. He could only breath again when Kenzi had found them a nice little spot near the center that had seemingly opened up special for them.
“I don’t want the crows to eat me,” Henry said with a small laugh that was only a tiny bit nervous. He watched her move a little before joining her. He wasn’t a great dancer, by any means, but he knew how to move his body in time with the music so that he didn’t look like an epileptic wildebeest.
He kept an eye on the crowd around them. Kenzi had been right. Occasionally the crowd swelled closer to them and Henry felt a hand run up his back, or something touch his butt. That was fine, he’d been warned of that, but he made sure to keep his front out of the way of grabby feely hands, thank you.
Henry wasn’t a shitty dancer, actually! And she wasn’t - she was used to these sort of parties, had always loved to dance (she’d been a little ballerina in her youth, but she planned to take that secret to the grave). Closeness was inevitable, and so were gropey-rapey hands from strangers around them, high as a kite and rolling. It was mostly harmless anyway; they were easily shoved off into other dancing circles or they’d find their pack of friends to shimmy on. Kenzi had a certain degree of aggressiveness to shamelessly shove all the bubble-invaders away when they got too close, ain’t nobody grabbing her cute little hiney unless they wanted a whack of her sharp-toed boots up their twats or junks! Whichever, she didn’t discriminate.
It also meant she’d valiantly protect Henry’s dignity. Or try to. With arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer, staking some kind of visible claim to show it wasn’t actually okay to grind and climb on him like he was a baby giraffe, alright? He had one dance-partner, it was her, piss off. “See? I won’t let them eat you,” she grinned. “But if you want me to play wingman for you, say the word.”
“You’re my hero, Kenzi,” Henry grinned back. Did he mind having her draped around his neck like some kind of oversized goth pendant? Hell no. In fact he rather enjoyed the closeness, which was a little unusual for him, especially since this was the first time he and Kenzi had actually met face to face. Henry had a hard enough time feeling comfortable enough around someone he barely knew without them all up in his space. But he far preferred Kenzi the Pendant and Shield over the countless nameless faces and unknown bodies that surrounded them.
Henry was enjoying himself, however, despite the uncomfortable closeness of the crowd. Kenzi’s body against his combined with the alcohol in his blood helped quite a bit in keeping him relaxed.
“I don’t need a wingman,” he told her with a shrug that was so natural for him, it may as well have been a part of the way he danced. “I’m perfectly fine like this.”
Hey, whatever floated his boat! It was a night to cut loose and have fun anyway, and that’s what Kenzi was planning on doing - even if there was a constant tug of concern at the edges of her mind over the maimed, medically-high brother at home. No staying out until the asscrack of dawn; last time that happened she ended up missing the gorey show of hand loss. She was staying put at that houseboat overnight for a while (even if Killy brought home questionable company, ugh).
Rhythm slowed when the song switched, and so did her movement. Her hands slid down his shoulders and she drummed black-polished fingernails against his chest. “Let’s get another drink, Monster Boy, I’m getting thirsty. And I’m about to get one of those lit-up toy light sabers to dance with later on. We can have a non-euphemistic sword fight! But like, dance. At the same time. It’ll be rad.”
Though he wouldn’t be winning any body building competitions, Henry was in pretty good shape. Years of lugging around a camera bag that usually had at least two cameras, power sources and occasionally a tripod - sometimes across plains and through forests - gave him a well toned arms and chest, neither of which anyone would really notice considering the clothes he normally wore. The form fitting black shirt he had on tonight - the only shirt he thought appropriate to wear to a rave - did a very good job in showing that well kept secret off, which Henry had been mostly unaware of until Kenzi’s fingers hit his chest. The material was so thin, she may as well had been tapping his bare skin.
Henry spared a glance at her fingers before looking up through his shaggy brown hair back towards the bar. His shoulders slumped just a little seeing the crowd they’d have to navigate through just to get to it. But Kenzi was thirsty and wanted a light saber. Henry was not about to deny her that out of his own social ineptitudes. Besides, he wanted another drink too and having a glowing sword to dance!duel with sounded like fun.
“Alright,” he said, looking back at Kenzi. “Let’s get you a drink and a saber.” He took her hand firmly in hers and started weaving through the crowd.
Okay, sure - he felt nice underneath her palms, Kenzi could at least take a couple seconds of this closeness to appreciate that. A little eyecandy was harmless, and Henry was a nicely wrapped one; that’d just about be the extent of it as she didn’t exactly know the dude. Still, he gave her no reason to whip out the mace. That was always the start of a good friendship, wasn’t it?
“Yesssssssssss,” she excitedly expressed, the not-grabbed hand waving around the glowstick and prancing behind Henry, the click-clacks of her boots drowned by the musical thumps of another techno-remix. “I mean, I’ve never done it but I’m winging it, I’m so winging it.” It sounded like a boss idea anyway, why not do it? Bar approached, pointed him to two empty seats and hoisted herself on one, fanning herself with her hand because it was getting a teeny-weeny bit warm in here. “What the hell do you do, by the way? Job-wise, I mean.”
She announced her line of work out in the open already. A website of the more unorthodox tastes - Killy’s own description - and hey, she needed to advertise to a different audience.
Henry took the other miraculously empty seat next to Kenzi. It was getting hot in here. Nothing uncomfortable, thankfully, but Henry was glad he’d opted to leave his jacket at home. it would have just gotten in the way and only served to make him hotter. He signaled to get the bartender’s attention. Something else glowing sounded pretty damn good.
“I’m a freelance photographer,” he told her as the bartender started making his way towards them, filling orders as he went. “lately it hasn’t been paying quite enough, so I also work at a studio here in town. Kind of low-budget, but not bad quality given what they have to work with.” He left the porn part out of the description. For now at least. “I get to work with my best friend, so it’s pretty fun. Pretty laid back. Better than my last job, that’s for damn sure.” That last part was said with a bit of acidity because fuck the Picture Palace and their stupid polos.
“Photographer,” Kenzi whistled, impressed. She had ordered them another mixed cocktail, this time this one was called The Force. Wildberry lemonade, grey goose, chambord, with a tiny popsicle sticking out of it meant to resemble a lightsaber. “Fancy-shmancy, you probably get a lot of baby picture requests and wedding stuff, huh?”
The popsicle was godsent, something cold and refreshing from all the dancing and packed bodies. Hmmm. “Question,” she started, pulling the iced delicacy from her mouth to point at him with. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever photographed? You probably have some pretty embarrassing stories, don’t you.”
Awkward family portraits or wedding photos, the internet was chock full of it.
“A space wedding,” Henry responded without even taking a moment to think about it. He removed the popsicle from the drink and sucked on it for a moment before he elaborated on his answer. “It was aboard a legit space ship actually in space. When the bride initially told me that’s where it was going to be, I thought she was insane. That maybe her fiance was humoring her and he’d rented a planetarium or something, but nope! Come October I found myself orbiting the Earth photographing an actual wedding aboard an actual space ship. It really doesn’t get much weirder than that.”
Henry took a few liberal sips of his drink. “I’ve done my fair share of weddings,” he nodded, “but none were quite as epic as that. Before I worked at the studio I worked at the Picture Palace, you know that place at the mall? I worked there for a couple of years and it was all senior portraits, pictures of families for their Christmas cards, screaming kids who can’t sit still.” He sighed. “It wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”
He polished off the drink and turned his attention to the popsicle. “What about you?” he asked. “you said on the network you deal in some pretty weird shit, there any in particular that stand out?”
Space Wedding. Kenzi wasn’t swallowing anything but she still managed to miraculously choke on air because holy mother of fucking Metallica, was that legit a thing? Glacial eyes went wider than plates. Nah, she couldn’t call horseshit and didn’t even really want to - because a wedding in space sounded awesome, assuming none of the weird alien horror shit happened. “That sounds amazeballs,” she breathed, probably the best thing she’s heard about this place yet. Everything else was grim and morbid and just depressing.
Was it bad that she wanted pictures of this event? Was it on a spaceship? Probably, how else do you get into space? So many questions swirling in her head, topped by his own - soon the thoughts about aliens and planets with civilizations were weirdly combined with granny panty fetishes. She snickered, stirring The Force (contained in a plastic cup, not so hardcore) with the popsicle. “Uhhhh, loaded question there,” she smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “People pay top dollar for specific requests. Like, stupid specific requests. Granny panties worn for a week even through crazy workout sessions so it’s extra...uh. Seasoned.”
Best way to explain it. Oh, there were worse. Much worse. Lots of requests that made her nose scrunch in disgust and gag, but the demand for things like that was there, quiet but strong, and the amount money people were dishing out for it was insane. A good business if you had the stomach for it, and Kenzi was still hardening hers.
Henry still had the proofs of Cindy and Garrus’s wedding. It was rare that a client ever received the proofs as those were usually owned by the photographer himself. If Kenzi were interested Henry would be happy to show her a couple of shots of Garrus’s ship and the reception, help take her mind off of all the bad that went on here and maybe remind Henry that some good did happen from time to time.
“It was pretty amazeballs,” Henry agreed with a nod, “and probably the best fucking wedding I’ve ever been too.” Not that Henry had been to many, other than the ones he’d been hired to photograph. “I added a couple of the shots to the...uh...well, the portfolio I started for this place. All the weird shit I can document. Weddings in space, snow in Southern California, weird craters suddenly appearing in the park.”
Henry set his empty cup down on the bar and leveled Kenzi with a look. “Granny panties?” He asked. ‘’Is that really the weirdest request you’ve had?” It was weird, to be sure, and Henry was no fetish expert, but having worked in the porn industry, even just for a couple of months, had given him at least a little education about what was out there and the conclusion Henry had drawn was that the internet could be a bizarre dark place.
Knowing that, it was possible Kenzi wasn’t comfortable telling him about the weird shit, which was totally fair. She didn’t know him very well at this point either. “Ok,” Henry said after a moment of sucking on his dripping popsicle and thinking, “full disclosure. That studio I told you I work for? It’s actually a porn studio. I don’t do any of the actual filming, but I do handle a lot of the publicity shots-” even pornos needed DVD art “-and help a little bit with the editing. So, yeah, I know there is some really weird shit out there. So maybe instead of telling me about the weirdest thing, what about the funniest?”
“Hey, it’s proof if you ever needed to argue for the crazy of this place,” she pointed out. Unless someone screamed PHOTOSHOP. Snow wasn’t too out there, she had no idea what the hell was even up with the crater in a park (aliens?!), but the photos in space - yeah, that was definitely the weirdest out of the bunch. It’d be pretty neat to flip through after the pile grew. Like a scrapbook of ‘look at all this crazy shit that legit happened’ for nostalgia purposes.
If you were a sucker for that kind of thing, anyway.
Henry’s confession at the nature of that studio had her snort. In a good way, with a shit-eating kind of grin with both eyebrows lifted. Porn wasn’t something she’d associate with him but heeeey, whatever paid the bills, right? Kenzi obviously didn’t have room to talk. “You’re living a dude’s dream there, Monster Boy, but alriiiiiight. Uh, funniest? Don’t know, they’re all pretty ridiculous but I do have this weirdo who’s been a regular for awhile now, and…”
Don’t mind how she laugh-snorted through her nose. This was sort of embarrassing, but it’s gotten to the point that it was routine and kind of hilarious to her. “He likes my feet. I sell some modified clothes on the sight, there’s a pair of shoes I decked out and modeled with my own footsies and…he totally dug ‘em. Whatever he does with those pictures on his own time, none of my business, but he doesn’t ask me for more. Just...wants me to step on a bunch of peanut butter and wiggle my toes in it, collect the gunk and put it in a jar for his PB&J sammiches. Every month. Worth five hundred bucs, every time.”
“I don’t know about living any kind of dream,” Henry told her with a half-shrug. “I enjoy working there. Everyone’s really nice and they don’t give me a hard time. It’s nice, you know?”
He ate his popsicle as he listened to Kenzi talk about her client with the foot fetish. Yup, he’d classify that entire thing under the “weird” category. Weird and kind of gross. Also, maybe a little on the creepy side of things. And Henry had been afraid that Killian would keel haul him for staring at Kenzi’s chest. That seemed down right vanilla bean compared to Foot Peanut Butter Man.
“So,this guy pays you $500 every month for foot peanut butter? Seriously? Do you do it? Wiggle your foot in peanut butter?” Seemed like an easy way to make half a month’s rent. Or, better, a way to raise funds for that studio that always seemed just out of reach. Henry wondered a moment if anyone would pay to see his feet in food. He looked down at his feet clad in a pair of black dress shoes. Nah, probably not. His feet were kind of ugly. He did too much walking around.
“Would he know if you just scooped out some Jiff and just put it in a jar without giving it a foot treatment first?”
Weird, gross, creepy on the side - all valid descriptions for that kind of thing. Couldn’t deny that the money fuckin’ rocked, though, and alls he had to do was bathe her feet in the stuff. Bam, half a thousand right there. “I seriously do it,” she snickered, sheepish. “I mean, look, it’s really easy money, I can play video games while I do it, it’s not that much of a big deal.” It wasn’t prostitution, she wasn’t doing sexy skyping and no way in hell would she ever send weirdos ‘naughty pictures.’ It was innocent but kinda fucked up at the same time.
Not her job to judge. Kenzi just supplied.
“And whether he does or not, I have nooooo idea. Kinda don’t want to know how he can detect the state of my piggies. No complaints thus far, so I’m doing something right.”
“Maybe the consistency or something,” Henry supplied with another half shrug. “Peanut butter that’s been squished through toes is probably a little different than peanut butter straight from the jar.”
He would agree that the situation was innocent but fucked up. Fucked up in that Raised Brow kind of way. But everyone had their kink. That was something the porn business was teaching Henry. It really does take all kinds. He was in no fucking position to judge.
“You wanted a light saber,” he said, moving their conversation from Toe Peanut Butter to something a little less weird. He sat up a little straighter to look around and see if he could spot where they could get one. “What color do you want?”
Ohhhh, right. Lightsabers. Dueling on the dance floor. A better topic of discussion in comparison to peanutbutter toes that get older men going. Kenzi straightened from her casual slouch and surveyed the crowded room - there were a couple vendors against the walls, by the corner, with all sorts of epileptic-inducing blingblings. From hats to necklaces to swords meant to look Star Wars-y.
“I’m a sith, bitch!” Sluuuuuuurp went the drink, from the cup and through the straw and into her mouth, and she pointed towards the carts with the goods. “And by that I mean red. To adventure, Monster Boy!”