Summary:Sarah visits the Obsidian Club and encounters the mystical, magical Voodoo. Log Info:Storyteller: priscilla-kitaen |
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The Obsidian Club is a moderately upscale adult entertainment club on the outskirts of Alphabet City in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. A gentrified business effort, it resides in a converted and cleaned up small old warehouse, the outside a curious mix of old brick and stone with bright neon and big skylights. The door to the club is guarded by two bouncers wearing purple polo shirts with obsidian pendants pinned on their pectorals, checking IDs and delivering stamps to the backs of hands of patrons.
The crowd outside tonight is a bit unusual, however; clubs like this never discourage female patrons, but it's rather rare to see the crowd heading in be almost ninety-percent female. However, the advertisement on the board outside makes it clear: tonight is Ladies' Night, and all ladies pay half on the cover charges and their two drink minimum is waived. The fact that the club seems to have avoided the darker aspects of the unusual in the business, not being run by mob enforcers or home to a burgeoning drug culture has made it a place where those women can actually feel safe, and where the dancers and female employees likely feel much the same.
Sarah is…taking a risk, really. She's never been in a club like this. To be honest, she's never been in ANYTHING that was Ladies Night. Not a lot of places that are so specialied in the middle of nowhere. But, the Apache girl has…interests. And it's the first time she's really been able to explore those interests in a way that isn't going to result in her being ostracized, somewhat. And no one knows her here, so…hopefully she can just sit down and…um…yeah. She's still blushing a bit as she approaches the front door to show her ID to the bouncers, not getting a stamp, then slipping inside, looking for a more private booth where she can hide…er, observe.
Unfortunately most of those on the perimeter of the room are already taken…so she's forced to take one a bit close to the stage that she might usualy. LIke, right next to it, in fact, though not at the front, behind the bar that surrounds it where the really excited women (and tipsy ones) are already seated.
Inside the club, things are arranged with booths around the outside, mostly tables around the middle, and bar-like seating around the three stages inside. A long bar dominates the left side, with a beaded curtain doorway closest to the exit, and a curtained doorway at the far end beyond the back of the stages. Three brass poles are arranged on the main stage, one each on the other stages. An open space to the far right includes a buffet, and a dimly lit corridor and doorway there leads to the VIP spaces, if the signage is to be believed.
Indeed, the place is very active, and there are quite a few very excited women about, cheering for the dancers or cheering on their friends. Lapdances are here and there, each one the site of not just one woman dancing on and around another, but the two of them cheered on quite actively by at least two or three friends. It's all quite a show.
"Ladies, and gentlemen, please put your hands together for tonight's main event. The mystical, the magical, the wondrous and magnificently enchanting: Voodoo!" comes the announcement as the lighting around the main stage changes. And then, out from the curtained doorway she comes.
As excited and keyed up as the women in the club are, there's not one of them that doesn't look, doesn't quickly look back, until within less than a minute there's not one person in the bar - save some staff, at least - who aren't glued to the sultry, sensual, incredibly graceful and athletic performance happening as a caramel-skinned, black-haired and visibly mixed-race woman of incredible curves and vibrant, striking sensuality comes slinking up and along the stage.
Entrancing, almost.
Sarah is…well, nervous. Embarrassed, a little. She knows she shouldn't be, there's nothing wrong with a grown woman going to a place like this, right? Though she feels like…is she disrespecting the women who work here to come to a place like this? She's watching them undress, after all, like they were…sexual objects, or…arghhh.
She's really not sure what to think about it, now that she's here. A part of her wants to leave, that fluttery feeling in her chest. But part of her just wants to see what it's about. She can feel vaguely guilty about it later, right? Right.
She's just settlign in and having ordered a soda when the announcer introduces Voodoo, her eyes flicking to the stage, in curiosity, then her eyes widening a bit as the dusky-skinned woman struts onto the stage, her lips parting as she just…forgets what she was thinking for a moment, lost in just staring at the woman in question.
The dancer is pretty used to being stared at, obviously. And in a crowd of eager and interested women, Sarah's shy and quiet demeanor shouldn't stand out at all or draw any attention. And yet there is a sense that the tall, athletic, graceful, incredibly voluptuous woman can see Sarah, has even focused on her directly and intimately, a piercing purple gaze that is pretty unrelenting.
Did she just wiggle her hips right at Sarah?
A consumate performer, Voodoo doesn't stay focused on any one patron for too terribly long, but all of them get attention in turn. No one is ignored. Of course, some would argue that is entirely mercenary; she has to give each of them a chance and a reason to tip her, tucking bills into what little remains of her costume. But Voodoo really seems to make it something more; it's as if she knows what will excite and please each patron most, and gives them that, with high-kicks and flexes for the leg lovers, squats and hip-wiggles for the butt lovers, and so forth.
It's uncanny. And very effective.
The Apache girl swallows, sinking back into her chair at that wiggle, feeling a definite little short circuit in her thoughts. In that she's just lost as she watches the dance, conflicting sensations of desire and embarrassment and admiration flowing through her in a little swirl that seems to settle with the butterflies in her stomach.
She nervously brushes a strand of that long dark hair behind her ear, before she belatedly realizes that everyone is putting money in her outfit. And oh spirits the idea of her getting that close is…really intimidating, but she's getting paid off tips, right, so, so, she should totally…and then she's scrambling a bit for her purse as Voodoo starts to get closer, pulling out what bills she can find…a five and a ten, and a twenty. There's a slightly comic moment where she tries to decide which is the best choice, then she runs out of time as the dancer gets close enough and just, a bit shakily, tries to offer them to her rather than tucking them into her g-string, her chest rising and falling a bit more quickly.
A lot of dancers would get flustered by a patron who can't figure out what to do with their tip. Some would ignore or miss them entirely. But Priscilla very gently reaches down, taking a knee right in front of Sarah as the dancer's hand grasps Sarah's, drawing it close against her bare hip, helping guide her to tuck the bills away across the band of her g-string as promised. The touch is warm, gentle, tender, reassuring, and even … soothing. Even if it is also incredibly sensual and likely disconcerting.
Voodoo's purple eyes - wow, what an interesting color! - meet Sarah's as they touch. One heartbeat. Then two. And then her hand releases Sarah, a hint of a smile and a twinkle of merriment in her eyes, as Voodoo then climbs back to her feet and then continues her performance.
For a moment, Sarah just forgets how to breath, an almost inaudible (save perhaps to Voodoo) *meep* escaping her lips, her brown eyes wide at that touch. She lets her hand be guided, not resisting, until the bills slip carefully under that string, trying so very hard to make sure she doesn't accidentally snag it or something! Her chest rises and falls a bit more quickly as she's caught by those eyes like a deer in headlights, those soft sensuous lips parted in a quick inhalation, almost shocked.
And then Pris slips away, the native girl swallowing and feeling a strange hot tingling sensation through her belly to go with those butterflies. The humor helps, at least…not mocking, or distainful, but just…warm. She can breath again. Some corner of her mind notes that all that smoothness she thought she'd have, that sensation that she knew what she was doing she always expected in circumstances like this have just deserted her…but in a good way. She hopes. She still feels foolish and stricken now, but she wonders how many other women here feel exactly the same. And maybe that's part of why she hesistated to walk inside.
After all, no one here is the sort she feels she could walk up to, after all. They must have dozens of women or men every night hoping to get closer to them. How could she add to that sort of thing, that…pushiness? Anyone here is out of reach, most likely anyway. Right. Sour grapes and all that.
Voodoo's set on-stage continues for another twenty minutes, all the way through five songs from beginning to end. Only then does she get one more round of applause as she makes her way off-stage, and then an introduction comes for another dancer. The intro isn't quite as intense, and the performer, though beautiful and not at all the tired, bored and hollowed-out worst case scenario just doesn't quite have the pizzaz that Voodoo carried so effortlessly.
About fifteen minutes later, however, Voodoo emerges again, this time with a translucent purple robe, hem to just above mid-thigh length, wrapped around her and tied to emphasize her hourglass figure, covering without hiding anything at all, now wearing an entirely different set of purple lingerie. She struts from table to booth through the club, greeting patrons and sometimes letting them take pictures. One or two ask for and receive lap-dances, brief one-on-one interactions that - like the others Sarah saw earlier - are almsot universally with this crowd actually group events, friends gathering to cheer on the dance's target throughout the experience.
But soon enough, Voodoo is coming right towards Sarah's booth, smiling warmly, even giving the native american young woman a little subtle finger-waggle of greeting before she even gets there.
The native girl does notice when she emerges again, clad in that robe, her eyes immediately drawn to Pris…then hesistating as she quickly looks down again. Okay, so they're used to being looked at, but…it's really at war with her opinions on how not to be a creepy to just…stare. Sure, they're getting paid for people to oogle them, but it makes her feel just…she's not sure.
She peeks and sees Voodoo making a lapdance. See Sarah? She was just being…what's expected of her, right? Taking pity on her a bit, maybe, because she's obviously used to people just…staring like goobers. Ugh.
And now she's coming closer, presumably to go to another table, or another lap dance, and Sarah glances up and she's coming HERE this time, and the girl completely freezes up a bit, not knowing what to do. Does she want a lap dance? But it's not real, it's not like…it would be if she was WITH her, right? But there's nothing wrong with it, if both sides are okay, though she's being paid, and…um…ohgodshe'srighthere…
Sarah's eyes flick back up to those gorgeous purple eyes as she swallows again. "H-hey…' she manages.
Voodoo slips into the space of Sarah's booth and smiles down at her, reaching out a hand to lightly touch Sarah's around her glass of soda. "Hey. I hope you don't mind if I drop by to say hi?" Somehow, the dancer knows how to pitch her voice, angle her body, and make herself heard and understood without shouting, creating at least a moderate illusion of being together, connected, intimate.
"I wasn't sure if you'd be … up for it." Women alone rarely are, at least given the evidence presented within the club this evening. "But I wanted to stop by, say thank you for your generosity, and see if you would be interested in a lap dance? Or a VIP dance?" Voodoo offers a warm smile, genuine enough it actually shows in her eyes. "You don't have to say yes. And I can go away if this is making you too uncomfortable. But I wanted you to have the option."
It's as if the dancer can read every tiny iota of emotion going on within Sarah, and react accordingly. She doesn't make it mercenary; it is, sure, but she distances it all from that. She makes it about what Sarah might want, might want to experience or share. It's all Sarah's choice, but she's happy to help. If she's wanted.
Sarah blinks slowly at that, her hand stilling as it's caught under Pris's, her lips parting a little as she tries to school her emotions into a pleasant if slightly blank expression, rather than the slight panic she's feeling showing on her face. "I..uh…I don't know what a VIP dance is…" she says after a moment, because her brain is currently working without a clutch and it's the first thing that comes into her mind. "And it was for…for your dance, the money. I mean. Because you're really good…" Inwardly, Sarah sort of wishes she could be struck by lightning and just drop where she is rather than blather, but she can't seem to stop her mouth from blurting things out at the moment.
The dancer leans down, which does have the predictable effect of putting her assets rather on display in front of Sarah. She gently lifts her hand, letting her fingertips caress the native girl's arm as she maintains that eye contact. "Thank you, sweetheart." she purrrs, suggestive without outright pouncing on the skittishly nervous and conflicted young woman. "A VIP dance is a private dance, in one of the booths in the VIP area. Just you, me, the music of your choice, thirty minutes." Sarah said she didn't know what that was. Now she does.
"All you have to do, honey, is tell me what you want. If you want me to scoot on to someone else, I can do that. I'm not trying to make this painful for you." Voodoo offers, smiling rather tenderly as she stays leant over in front of Sarah. "Or, if you want it, you can ask for a lap dance, or a VIP dance. Your call." She really is being as gentle as she can be under the circumstances.
Those dark eyes stay on Pris', a delicate dark flush to that coppery skin visible even in the shadowy lighting now as the native girl stares. "You're…it's not painful, just…I'm not..I mean, I've never…ah…done this." she stammers a bit. She swallows. But she's here, right? It kind of defeats the purpose to come here and NOT look or…or dance.
But the idea of getting a lapdance in public just brings forward allllll sorts of remembered humiliations from PDAs experimenting with other girls when she was younger, then again.
"…okay. A private one sounds…sounds good. A VIP dance." she says slowly after a moment, her eyes searching yours. "If…if that's what you want to do." Because of course some instinct requests consent…even thought it's sort of heavily implied that that's the case when the dancer asks you if you want the lapdance. Or a VIP dance.
But at least it'll be just her and Voodoo and that's…that's scary in its own way, but at least she won't make a complete fool of herself in public.
And Voodoo just offers a gently reassuring nod as Sarah explains. No condenscencion. Not even a flicker of amusement. Just understanding and support. "Of course. No problem. Just … breathe, OK? Take your time." She's not in any great hurry, it seems, even if time is money.
"I would be happy to do a VIP dance together." Voodoo offers, when Sarah finally works her way around to asking. She lifts her gaze, gesturing to one of the servers working her way around the club, and she apparently passes a message on, as Pris extends her hand again, palm up in front of Sarah, inviting her to join her.
The dancer than takes Sarah's hand and smiles, guiding her through the club, past other tables and booths, around the buffet and then through the dimly lit archway that leads to the VIP dance area. Once there, it's a big more brightly lit, more like the stages than the club itself. Each space is a round booth three-quarters surrounding a brass pole in the middle. There's two small table surfaces arranged into the seating of the booth for glasses to be placed, but far enough apart that there'd be no interference around anyone seated between them or around them. Plenty of room. There's also a tablet, which allows someone seated there to control the music for their booth, the accoustics arranged to keep things largely contained, able to adjust musical choices as well as volume.
Pris leads Sarah by the hand into the space, towards one of the booths, and then guides her to take a seat in the middle of the booth as she then sits down right beside her before releasing her hand. "Jenny is going to bring you another drink. Sit, and relax. You can flip through the music on the tablet, adjust the volume. We don't start your half hour until you're ready. Get comfy. If you have questions, ask. The rules are pretty simple: You get half an hour. I dance, usually a mix of pole work and lap dance. I can touch you. The rules are, you're not supposed to touch me. I'm usually pretty lax about that, but we'll try to be reasonable."
Then the dancer quotes the price tag. It's not cheap, not by far. But this is the chance to do this in private, not on display in front of the whole club. Hopefully that's worth the cost. "Is it OK, then, if I ask your name?"
The coppery skinned young woman sits, leaning back in the chair as Pris sits next to her, feeling less nervous in some ways…more nervous in others. "It's just a soda…" she says after a moment, squirming, then watches the woman next to her. "…can I ask you something first?" she says after a moment, leaning forwards a little bit.
Voodoo settles on the curved booth seat beside Sarah smiling warmly as she lets the fingers of one hand trace lightly over the native american woman's wrist and the back of her hand. "Sure. You can always ask. Just … gotta respect I may not want to answer." The dancer really is doing what she can to make Sarah feel safe and comfortable and in control, without giving up her own sense of autonomy and the strictures of the job and the club.
Sarah frowns. "It's totally stereotypical, and I'm honestly curious, not trying to be offensive." she clarifies, reaching up absently to pay with the tip of a braid. "Um…it's just, I haven't…I mean, I don't get out much, until later, so I might be operating under assumptions." She squirms. "And if you don't want to answer, it's fine? I just…" She frowns slightly. "…why are you here? You're…gorgeous. You're kind. Why aren't you making millions as a model somewhere? Or…or I don't know. Dancing professionally where you keep your clothes on, or…things like that? Is it that much better to do it this way?"
The dancer's purple eyes - and yes, in this better lighting and up close, it's impossible to miss their unusual color - widen a bit as Sarah asks her question. She reaches up the hand that had been caressing Sarah's and takes away the tip of the braid the other woman was toying with, teasing at it herself right now as she works through the instinctive clamp-down at those questions and then works through how she wants to answer them, buying herself some time.
"Honestly, this is what I know. What was available to me from where I started, and the talents I had. I'm not stick thin like the fashion models. And I can't stand sitting still. Never had an opening for anything else. But with this, I make good money, and so long as I stay to the good clubs, it's a pretty good living without too many downsides." Nothing is perfect, of course, and Voodoo doesn't pretend this situation is. But she has made it work for her.
"I don't know, sweetie. Maybe there is something better out there. But I never found that. I found this. And this ain't that had." The dancer's purple eyes dazzle. "And doing this is how I get to meet special people, like you. I'm good with that." And that's her answer, such as it is.
Some of Sarah's cynical side comes out at that. "Bet you say that to everyone…" she murmurs, her lips curving up slightly. "…my name is Sarah. Sarah Rainmaker." she says after a moment. "And…sure. I can afford that." she murmurs, tilting her head, leaning back on her hands. "And I won't…um…touch unless..you seem okay with it." she says after a moment, her cheeks darkening slightly.
Voodoo doesn't deny that she says this to others, but she somehow carries off an emotional depth and warmth that makes her feel genuine and real, like she means it just the same. "That sounds fair to me." she offers, letting the hand toying with Sarah's hair slide down her cheek and lightly stroke fingertips along her neck to the nape of her throat.
"Pleased to meet you, Sarah Rainmaker." the dancer offers. Then she puts that tablet in the other woman's lap, so she can find the music she would like. "Like they said out front, I go by Voodoo on stage, here. But, fair is fair, and I get the feeling you really want to connect with something other than just my persona. So, you can think of me as Pris. Keep that one under your braids, OK?" she offers as a deal.
Sarah smiles faintly. "Pris. That's a neat name. Though Voodoo is a nice one too. Classy." She hesistates, paging through the music quietly, then selects a soft jazz beat, a husky female voice starting up.
When marimba rhythms star to play…dance with me…make me sway…
The Apace girl leans back, then says softly. "I haven't…it's been years, I mean…since I was with anyone." she murmurs, hands in her laps.
For now, as the music begins, Voodoo lets her hands rest lightly on Sarah's shoulders as she sways and gyrates slowly, sensually, melding herself naturally as breathing with the move and rythmn of the music. "Well, at least it doesn't have to be years more, mmm?" the dancer offers, her voice as sultry sweet as that of the singer, though her southern accent is definitely a difference. "I promise, Sarah, I won't bite. I just want you be able to relax and have fun." And somehow she makes it really feel like she wants that for Sarah, not just because it guarantees her a nicer tip.
Sarah breathe sout softly, those dark eyes on Pris's purple as she leans back slightly, her chest rising and falling a bit faster. "I guess…biting is extra?" she murmurs, her voice dry, though she does appear to be relaxing a bit more as she leans back, breathing out, her hands sliding off her lap to rest on the arms of the chair.
Voodoo lets out a soft peal of husky laughter and a brief smile. "Mmm. That's cute. I like that. No extra, though." When one song finishes, she leans close and gently invades Sarah's personal space until the Apache woman can feel the warmth of the dancer's presence on her own skin. "I'm a dancer, sweetheart. Sure, it's sex work. But I'm not a prostitute; if I have sex with someone, it's because I think they are special and worth it, not because of their wallet." She brushes her painted lips lightly over one of those sharp Apache cheekbones.
When the next song Sarah has chosen begins, Priscilla slides back and departs the curved bench of the private booth, instead climbing the gleaming brass pole in the center of the space defined by the couch's presence, starting with floor work and becoming increasingly more active and intense, until she is quite literally hanging upside down along the bar, all the while keeping her movements and motions perfectly in time and feel with the music, her long ebony mane a shimmering curtain with their movement.
The younger woman's eyes widen as Voodoo leans in close, quivering as those lips brush against her cheek. The music changes, falling into a more deep beat, purely instrumental now as she leans forwards as if drawn by a magnet as Pris moves away, finding the poll, her fingers curling against the arms of her chair as she sighs out, watching with appreciation…even a bit of amazement at the gymnastics shown off. Sure, there's the curves that are part of it…which are incredible. But the acrobatics and skill too…
Priscilla definitely has incredible athleticism; she is able to keep all of this up without it ever even looking like it's significant amounts of effort; it's all just light and easy fun, the natural expression of her love of the music as it flows. And even as the performance continues, she makes it feel almost like she is taking Sarah along for the ride, carrying her through the movements, amping up the music's power as it surges through her veins and sets her nerve endings afire.
"So. Is it OK if I ask another question?" Pris asks, as she sways around the bar, brushing her long black mane out of her face so that she can make eye contact with Sarah, even as she is slowly gyrating around the pole upside down. "How come, for you, it's been years? You're a beautiful woman, bright, smart, confident. You know what you want. I hope you weren't sick or something sad like that?"
The longer the dance goes on, the faster she breathes, her fingers flexing slightly as she tilts her head, lost in the dance. She raises her head slightly. "Hmm?" She pauses a bit, then as if shaking off a dream, she meets Voodoo's eyes again, hesistating for a moment.
What the hell.
"…I have powers. People kidnapped me and my mother when I born beause of it. My mother got away with me, but we had to hide out in the desert ever since." She inhales. "So no school, no really being able to hang out with kids my age. Or leaving the rez. No…this."
The native girl reaches up, idly tugging on one of her braids as she murmurs. "Then my mother died. Cancer. They found me. They arranged for me to be a ward of the government. Put me in a school/lab/brainwashing center, until I and some other kids broke out, theeeeen I basically played distraction and led them after me so the others could get away. Ran into some…friends. Who fought them off and kept me away until a few days later when I turned 18 and they didn't have a hold on me anymore and I was…free."
Sarah shrugs slightly. "Which I realize sounds completely crazy. But it's what happened."
And after all of that, what is Priscilla's response? She oofs softly and inverts herself, flipping from upside down to rightside up in a single smooth motion, and takes a knee to reach out and touch Sarah on her own knee. Looking up, she nods a little; somehow, she believes the native american woman without question. Scary, right, that she wouldn't just assume it's all a fever dream? "That had to suck. I'm glad things are better, now."
Pris waits until the next song Sarah picked begins, and then starts a slower, more sensual performance, much closer and better oriented towards a lap dance. There'll be a lot of warm 'incidental contact' as this goes on. Shy, the dancer is not.
"That's a good sum up…" Sarah murmurs. "Thanks for not thinking I'm nuts, by the way…" There's a definite wry humor to her tone, though her lips stay parted as Pris starts to move closer, the next song faster, more a thumping beat that matches the Apache girls' heart beats as she leans back, her eyes widening a bit more as Pris starts to move closer…and closer….her throat working as she swallows. Her fingers reaches up lightly, brushing strands of Pris's hair in a very light touch before she take sher hand away again…"
"Can't help it," Pris breathes to Sarah as she slowly grinds and sways bare inches away, close enough for the heat of her body to warm the cockles of the Apache girl's heart … and fire the blood in her veins. Woman dances this hard, this long, and the only smell is a light dusting of uniquely Priscilla. "I know a line of BS when I hear it, and that wasn't it." Pris keeps up the close, intimate contact of the lap dance, her luscious curves brushing and wriggling all over the native american woman from around her ankles to her hairline. "Hope your friends are OK, wherever they are now."
Sarah shivers a bit, warm breath brushing out against Voodoo's skin as she leans in. "Good to know…" she murmurs, sighing as she arches up against Pris's touch, her toes curling a bit. "I do too…there's no way to find them right now…without risking them…" she murmurs softly, then carefully reaches up, her fingertips brushing along Pris's cheek.
Priscilla leans into the touch just a bit, locking eye contact as she does so, and then nods. "Sorry. I get that has to be hard." She has friends she cares about deeply and she can't find them, either. These things to happen, it seems. The dancer's eyes twinkle merrily as she takes a moment to brush her nose against Sarah's fingertips playfully, and then resumes the dancing until the songs finally end.
Then Voodoo curls up on the round booth bench beside Sarah, not shy at all about some bodily contact, and brushes a hand along the nearest ponytail. "I hope you enjoyed the dance." she murmurs. "I know it's not quite as good as just having a friend to spend time with would be." She's honest about this, up front.
Sarah shivers, then leans slightly into Pris as she curls up next to her. Tentatively, not resisting as her braided hair is played with as she sighs. "I don't have any friends who would be….well, okay, I have one friend who would snuggle, but she's both like that with everyone and also doesn't really have filters or a concept of physical space to begin with." she says ruefully. She glances over at the dancer. "How about you?" she says curiously. Because frankly she's going to be moderately astonished if the dancer isn't seeing someone. But if nothing else, she's relaxed now, the girl not nearly as nervous and fidgety as she was when she was first brought into the booth.
Pris nestles happily beside Sarah, apparently content to visit rather than worrying about the money for the dance, or heading off to find another lapdance or VIP dance request to keep up her cash flow for the night. "Mmm? Me? Well, I move around a lot. So I find it hard to make longer term friends and really get close to people. Casual stuff isn't wrong or evil or anything, but … emotions are where it's at, and that takes time and meaning. Y'know?"
The dancer is pleased to feel Sarah's more relaxed state, genuinely feeling like she helped some. "I can usually find a friend or two, fellow dancers or whatever, to snuggle with when I really need it. But I have to be careful. Like anyone, I guess, but moreso. I don't want to mess up anything for anyone just because I'm feeling needy."
"Yeah…I'm kinda unsure if i should…I mean, I know she'd snuggle, but it feels like taking advantage of her when it means something different to…well, I mean, I like being hugged, and stuff…" Sarah says, stammering a bit as she tries to put it into words. "I guess…you just go from place to place like this then? On tour, sorta?" She looks sympathetic. "Yeah….I guess that makes it hard to have friends, if you're on the move a lot. I mean…" She smiles a bit. "If it isn't weird…I don't have that many friends, or at least none I know super well. If you wanted to just chat sometime? No snuggles required." she assures her.
"Hey. Like I said, I like snuggles." Pris offers, smiling. "No worries. I'll give you my number, OK? Then, you feel like it, you can text me, and I'll have yours." And after that, they can negotiate getting together wherever and however they like, that works for both of them. Just like real people! "To be fair, I'm a big hugger outside of the dancing." She winks at the Apache beauty. "To be fair and honest, I really enjoyed dancing for you tonight, Sarah. Thank you for the opportunity to get to know you a bit."
Sarah flushes a bit at that, squirming in her seat. "You're a hugger, Kori's a hugger, I obviously need to have you two meet at some point too." she admits, looking a bit shy for a moment. "…thanks for dancing for me Pris…" She smiles softly. "You made it feel right….and it's good to meet someone to maybe hang with later."
Pris finally uncoils from beside Sarah, leaning over her as she tucks her hands under the amerindian's shoulders and lifts, helping her to her feet … and then sliding in against her to hug her firmly, and brush a light kiss over her cheek. "I'm also a motorcycle rider, if you ever get the urge to ride an iron horse, desert girl. Now, pull out that phone so I can tap in my digits. Let's get you back out front, before someone thinks I'm breaking the law in here."
The other woman woofs a bit in surpise as she's hugged, her blush spreading a little bit, before she slides her arms around the other woman, hugging her back firmly, feeling a definite surge of butterflies as she's exactly how good those curves feel against her, clothed or not. She giggles, then reaches down, fumbling in a pocket to get out her phone, flicking through screens until she holds up the phone. "Smile?" She murmurs softly. Then takes a contact photo, before handing it over. "There." She pauses, then says softly. "And if you want…I'll take you flying in return."
Pris' dark purple eyes flicker brightly in excitement at that last. "Flying? Really? That would be amazing." She takes the phone, tapping away as she puts her number in, then hands it back to Sarah and offers a wink. "There we are." Pris glances around, and then gives Sarah one more hug, before she retrieves the rest of her lingerie and puts it all back on, tying the sash of her translucent robe around herself once more. "Shall we head back out? I don't want you to miss any of the other performances." Funny thing is, Pris isn't even teasing; Sarah should get to see anything and everything she wants, after all. It's her evening.
Sarah flushes. "I don't know if the rest of the evening is going to top this…" she says easily. "But yeah, let's not get you in trouble." She smiles at the other woman. "Thank you….again…" She tucks the phone away as it's handed back.