28 Mia, 81383. Drystan & Severance. OoC; Gah, it was weird to write an intro again after such a long rp hiatus. I had to start over like four times. D: Anyway, I didn't even describe the setting that well. So just try to picture a generic night clubby sort of place with lots of weird-colored lights and a low ceiling and a bar and dance floor and DJ booth and all that stuff. Also, the silly poem at the beginning is from Drystan's poetry blog. Just pretend it's actually really cool, because Drys is supposed to be a good poet. BiC; synth like electric b l u e like: knives and flies and so many f.f.f.lies. of icicle(rounds) 3colors avec, devotchka, metallic aftermath; shake < violently! > the p l a c e s you .g.o. and went and !CAME! that is what it is F O R you understand? Synth, such melodious synth, vibrated through the cochleae of clubbers, inducing by mere sound such a sense of euphoria as to render speaking unnecessary. An atmosphere of grime, of salt, of the expending of energies. The burning of fuel. Friction of so many bodies. It was easy to integrate, to merge with the mosh until you were just one more undulating cell in a sea of undulating cells. It was easy to disintegrate, to disengage, to drop off the floor and back into reality. And, for lean shirtless arden like Drystan of Aurius, it was easy to make friends in either venture. The club was saturated with heartbeat throbs, interlaced with slippery barrages of drum machine gunfire and sobs of that effervescent synth, azure and dripping with brine. There was nowhere to go but to the dancefloor, the moshpit, the gladiatorial proving grounds where clubbers became something even more animalistic. Tear in, tear around. Here, Drystan didn't have to speak. There were no words in the music to sing along to; the DJ of the hour was an old-school 8bit player, and rockets of video game blips and crunchy beats collided over the heads and in the guts of the dancers. No words. No words, and no decorum. Just smashing, falling, touching. Everyone was best friends here. Trip with open arms, fall with elbows engaged. Drystan was practiced, though. After a while, you learned how to give in to the rolls of thunder, let the momentum carry you with the solid masses around you. You never fell if you just rode the waves. And of course there was more. When Drystan tired of being such a cell in an organism of many, he could always push through, break into the middle, where the movers and shakers of the movers and shakers were given room to revel in themselves, bathed in blacklight and greenlight and pinklight and strobe. But Drys was currently reveling in others, and he would only slamdance his way into the middle when he was thoroughly finished with the jostle of bodies surrounding him. The low ceilings dripped with condensed perspiration, and Drys noticed with satisfaction that colliding with those nearby clubbers was like landing on a damp sponge. Clubbing wasn't fun until everyone was wide-eyed, tranced, air in out of hot dry lungs; 'til everyone was drenched with sweat, slicking against each other like eels. Undercurrents of sex rippled through every last body on the floor. The strobelight caught zoetrope sequences of glistening fur and dull, glassy eyes, and Drys breathed deeply the tropical rainforest air. This was his talking – breathing the steam of so many bodies. And after such sparkling conversation as this, how could anyone go back to the hum-drum spoken variety? Quake with the music, animals enacting rituals. Nowhere to go but into the bass.
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class='ooc'><tr><td>My apologies if this reply blows //orz *DIGS THE RUST OUTTA HER EARS*</td></tr></table> The club scene was where he went to unwind, to give up, to forget himself. The throbbing bass in his ears was his drug of choice, drowning out thoughts, fears, worries, leaving just the crush of the crowds on all sides, the embrace of sweating, gyrating bodies. Even for an arden of his brilliant coloration it was possible to almost get lost in the crowd, the unspoken camaraderie of rushed proximity. The frenzy, and that’s what it really was, a frenzy, was as intoxicating as any narcotic, as invigorating as the strongest drink. No one expected him to talk, no one could have heard him even if he they wanted to. Distantly he acknowledged that shifting his wings away for the night had been a good idea; the jostling would have been painful, the limbs themselves getting in the way of his favored tight tank. Beat. Breathe. Bodies connecting and sliding apart. The lingo was as old as time, instinct in Technicolor strobe. No worries here, friends, just the short-lived exchange of breath as you shifted through the crowd, the glazed ecstasy on the faces of complete strangers becoming your own. No time to rest and catch your breath, barely any time to flick sweaty dreads out of his eyes, even less time to think. Severance was almost completely lost in his own world, the flashes of color, light, touch, all of them a distant blur. He danced hard, clutching on to whoever came his way for a few brief moments of sliding hips and desperate hands, holding on just a little longer if their style synched up with his, before moving off to the next happy stranger. That was how he moved through the crowd, bouncing happily off of those around him with all the innocent blunder of children in the playground, dancing dirty with anyone who grabbed his arm, flaunting every lithe movement without shame or regret. There was an unspoken freedom in the contact, a paradox of sudden intense intimacy and the distant knowledge that he’d likely never seen the other ‘dragon again, let alone know their name or story, that thrilled him beyond the usual barhopping. Tomorrow he’d be back to normal; calm, carefully spoken, private. Tonight he was an open book, and he liked it.
OoC; Nah. It was great. c: You'll notice that as the rp progresses, my replies will probably get smaller and smaller. xD; BiC; The jostle was relentless. Push pull grind, timed to phantasmagorical lights of magenta tangerine electricity. Drystan let his head roll back on his shoulders, eyes unfocused and cast skyward. The murky air caught beams of light and flared around him. Bass shook the floor beneath him -- exploded -- and something else screamed higher, a whistling. Like bombs dropping. For an instant, Drys was a soldier. The next body to twine a limb around his narrow waist was an enemy -- pushed at, rolled with, discarded. And then the next, Drystan allowed himself to stumble onto. Soft weight, a certain organic pressure, and Drys felt as chest met chest and pelvis met pelvis. The recipient of his earthly body took it well, and let himself fall with Drys, lean slightly back onto the crush of others. A quick surge of the crowd in the opposite direction and they were both upright again, muzzle to muzzle. Breathing the air of a stranger always gave Drystan a slow tingle of pleasure; every scent was different, icy mint or sweet or bland, unobjectionably mouthy or, sometimes, garbage disposal. This particular exhalation hinted at pie, saccharine and a bit yeasty. One more breath, a smile, a touch, and Drys was done with this boy. Pivot, slam. Find another. Currents ran through his fingertips as he skimmed, felt everything. A glint of red-orange caught his eye, and this time it wasn't part of the light display. Was that another 'dragon, so technicolored as to appear luminous? Drys looked again, caught another flash through the torrents of 'dragons. This time the red came with electric blue. What beauteous colors. Drystan's half-open mouth curved up at the corners appreciatively. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps I ought to make my way in that direction. See to whom this exhilarating hue belongs. And so he went.
Severance's current partner was an arden in shades of deep indigo and inky black, so dark Sev' felt like if he pressed too hard he might just slip inside him like a shadow. Unfortunately, the patch of shadow wasn't much of a dancer, and both he and Severance only clashed for a few moments before bouncing off to find their next accidental meetings in the crowd. Twisting, turning, bumping, grinding, the fiery arden half danced, half fell his way through the commotion, but that was perfectly fine with him. That's what he'd come for, after all. When all was said and done, it was the contact that drove him on, whether it was the creeping fingers up his arm or an elbow in the foot. Sometimes being stuck inside your apartment for a few days on end made you crave the rougher side of socialization. It was by pure chance that he twisted at just the right beat, flicked his hair out of his eyes at the right second, found one of the rare partings of the pit that he caught sight of another 'dragon. Elegant shades of blue-green, lit up by the haphazard lighting, were all it took to send Severance off, darting through the gap before it could close, and slipping his arms around the ardens shoulders in invitation. Severance always liked the ones he could clash against and, who would have guessed it, red on blue was one of his favorite color combinations.
"Mmm." Delight surged through Drys as red moved to meet him, and they both approached each other as two magnets: undeterred by the jostlings around them, undistracted by the presence of nonmagnetic things. When they did meet, the crimson arden's arms reached for Drys' shoulders, and the blue arden bobbed closer with a smile curling one side of his mouth. The bass shook every one of the bodies on the floor and it was easy to fall back in with its rhythm. Twist. Rock. Drys danced unabashedly, though he refrained from outright dryhumping (he held the philosophy that if he was going to do something like that with someone, he may as well save it for when it might actually get him somewhere, rather than in the middle of a writhing dance floor). Back arched, moving without thinking, he let the music and the ebb-flow of people around him decide how close he got to the warmth of the other arden's skin. It was tantalizing, the hum of vibrations in the air, blip crash of music and now the waves of heat gathering between bodies -- between Drys and this gorgeous red arden with thin, neat dreads. Drys smiled appreciatively as he bobbed and crashed, then one hand went out to touch the neck of the other arden.
