July 03, 2004.07.03.04. - thunder moon [anjali][excalibur nightclub]
(anjali mal)
Techno. Trance. House.Music throbs through the veins the moment one comes inside, it pulses in the blood, it sings to the soul, it screams through the mind. It begs that you move. It pulls at the muscles with little fingers of tingling temptation. It speaks to you.
It speaks to her.
There is a stage, there is a place that lifts her above the rest – and anyone who is near has their eyes locked on her. Tonight, for this crowd, for this dance, it is the dance of the daggers. Long hair, thick and curly, hangs in shaggy teased braids to waist, held high at the crown with tiny braids. Her eyes are kohl lined, dark, and henna decorates her forehead – lips are ruby red. Thick leather collar is buckled around her neck, be-jelewed top leaves back and belly mostly bare, a thin golden chain sliding through the belly piercing ring of her navel. Scarves and short mini cover (..barely..) her ass, and fishnet stockings cover arms, and legs, sliding into knee high boots, buckled silver with thick chunky heels.
But it is not the unusual dress, per se, not in this crowd. In fact, it is the way she moves, the way she holds the blades, the way they become part of her dance, an extension of her arm, movement serpentine and sensual. Hips move, arms move, body moves.
breath catches all around, as she effortlessly glides within the heavy beat, hips keeping time with almost disjointed grace (how does she move like that?) belly a undulating scale of rippling muscle, gleaming with sweat and dusty glitter... she’s been here a while.
She could be here all night.
(and within her veins the recognizable stain... purity...)
(james)
Excalibur Nightclub is not a place one would normally find James
he is a creature born and bred of the streets
his attention requires not much to be entertained
more often than not, the guttermutt prefers spending free time enjoying rare moments of silence
sharp contrast to the veritably throbbing nightclubtonight.... tonight is different
the full moon rises brilliant spotlight above storm warning's gathering clouds
silver shards reflecting off the tumbling blanket to blind the stars
such severity finding twin within the Ahroun's core
for tonight, the Thunder Moon shines across Chicago
striking raw chords against the Gnawer's invisable sphere of Rage
(in the shadows of the concrete jungle... the drums begin to call...)
begging that he lose himself within the scabworld's soul-thumping beatsomething's gotta counter all that simmering Rage
(it speaks to you)and so we find him, tucked neatly away at some side booth
far enough removed so that invsiable sphere won't bother other patrons
beer sweating a ring onto the table's laquered plane
calloused fingers tapping drummer's habitual backbeat to the DJ's choice
dreadlocks hanging to sway with each nodding groove
deep umber eyes slit half-mast in lazy recollection the interior lightshow
(he smells like the city. he smells like primal animal. he smells like weed.)
something finally drifts through joint-inflicted haze
(he smells ..... purity)
dragging reluctant gaze across packed central floor(anjali)
Reluctant gaze is reward when it finally rises, as music thickens with some unseen signal... tribal, the backbeat, the sudden swell of drums his fingers find easy cadence of. Coincidence, it is, that the animal that lay in repose is called to sing the song of pounding drums...lights slide over the pulsating crowd, moving with the pound of base that vibrates the spine, that sings through and demands souls satiation, and within the center sphere, blades spin – faster, faster, faster
(...silvered blur screams through the are, sharpened edge begs for one slip, one drop, one taste of blood...)
and the music pounds on, isolated movements of hips shimmering so fast the girls attempting to mimic fall over with the effort, while the woman before them continues on, effortless, until she falls to her knees, body arched backwards, as blade is flung into the air, spinning and hanging for a breathless moment, until collective inhalation sees crowd gasping as chest heaves under plunging blade.....
snatched from the air and held, just as point touches above pounding heart, in perfect time with sudden absence of music.
it is a moment..... before the applause begins, and she rises to a stand – fluid, the smile finaly crossing finely crafted features as she takes a bow. Blades spun and put into sheathes, passed off to her manager to be put away, as she finally steps down from the stage, and heads toward the bar – coincidence again brining her right past the swelling circle of rage...
(james)
bass thumps cadence to monster's pulsing heart
lights paint acidtripnightmare falling toxic rain on bodies below
blades flicker fatal silver diamonds as they glitter and spin and fall and........ stopthe beast in man's clothing thickens his costume
smile cloaking features in slow, crooked crawl
the crowd rewards her dance with waves of applause
yet he does not outwardly comment upon the dazzling performance
dark eyes closing against rising swell of spun track
head tipping back to drain more liquid gold from already near-empty bottle(anjali)
There is no denying the feeling that swells around table that is decidedly empty but for the single solitary figure tipping amber liquid to fall down willing throat. It grabs as much as the music that swells again, grasping little fingers of tension about the spine until it is coiled in at the small of her back in aching echo of the hair raised above her arms.She arches a brow, slightly, and hips pivot body to a smooth stop, fingers reaching out and grasping passing waitress by the arm. Bar towel liberated from her, as well as order placed. She remains where she is, some 5, perhaps 6 feet away from his table, towel used to mop the sweat off her brow, her neck, sliding down her throat and belly. Her back, as well, is given a pass, before the waitress returns.
A bottle of water.
A bottle of beer.It is then that she completes the distance, sliding within the sphere of pressing rage, bodily forcing herself through to rest shapely hip against the edge of opposite seat, beer offered. Her voice, despite the exotic tint to her features, is definitely American, perhaps even local. “Buy you a beer?”
(james)
the stories of their blood carved within the air surrounding
his invisable and unnerving sphere of Rage
her smokily drifting yet unavoidable scent of purity
it's enough to coax those eyes to open
in tandem with table's rock and weight-bearing shiftnot just anyone would approach the raggedyman beneath the Full
a moment's consideration and judgement
then the bottle's slung back once more to sacrifice remaining contents
empty glass set upside down at the table's innermost corner
(prisoner blindfolded against firing squad's execution wall)
stretching to accept the offered bottle
using it to gesture invitation towards unoccupied seat
Thank' mouthed against speaker's thunderous downpour
momentarily too fierce for words to navigate between dancer and monster(anjali)
He accepts and she nods, fingers sliding against fishnet along her thigh to relieve it of the moisture from beer just handed off, before uncapping her water, and draining several swallows of it, smooth throat rippling as refreshing liquid slides down, soothing where breath parched through dance.Bottle falls and pulls gaze down as well, dark eyes resting on the raggedly man under full moon’s thrall with an unsettling intensity. A moment, two, and hip slides around the edge of the seat, leading body in smooth slide of grace that sees her taking the seat opposite him, back slid against the wall, knee upraised, arm resting across fishnet stocking as she shifts her attention to the dance floor, content for the moment, it would seem, to let silence hang thick under pounding music’s swell.
Posted by james at July 03, 2004 12:00 AM
[pause!]