2019-08-06 - Its Pris


Damian looks for someone in the Obsidian Club. He comes face to face with Voodoo.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue Aug 6 21:55:37 2019
Location: Obsidian Club - Lower East Side - NYC

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Theme Song



It's another night at the Obsidian Club, and nothing much special. As a Monday night, usually the headliners wouldn't bother, but Priscilla likes to show up anyway, take maybe one round on the main stage during the night, all just to be a special treat. Tonight, with Kori having asked for the evening off, Pris was only too happy to come in and cover for her.

The club is a good bit less active than the usual tonight, with it being only a Monday night. Even so, there are thirty or so patrons around, twenty-five men and five women. A good two thirds of them are gathered around the main stage, eagerly anticipating the start of tonight's main event having seen the signage indicating Voodoo is on tonight. Eight or so are stretched out with three gathered around one of the smaller stages and the others spread around the buffet tables and the bar. From the signage, it's less than five minutes until the start of the headliner's first showing of the evening.

Good thing its a quiet night, because Damian Wayne is here! Though he is in less than noticeable clothing, his emerald green eyes search every single person. He had heard of this Voodoo dancer, and perhaps some part of him wanted to see if she was really as good as they said she was.

But his eyes look out towards the multiple people gathered in front of the stage, but Damian doesn't approach so close that he might get slapped with a high heel. Instead, he picks a seat and he rests his chin on his hand. Was he looking for somebody? Or was he here to see a pretty woman dance?

Questions, but no answers.

And then the announcer's voice comes over the speakers, moments before the song 'Witchy Woman' begins to play. "Ladies and gentleman, put your hands together for the mystical, the magical, … Voodoo …." He draws it out, all atmospheric, as a smattering of applause sounds. The curtains at the far corner of the club open, and out struts the headliner herself.

Voodoo is definitely striking in appearance; even without the towering nearly-transparent platform heels she would be nearly six feet tall of mocha-skinned, incredibly curvaceous raven-haired pulchritude. She moves with power and grace, full of confidence and control, adapting to every change of surface without the slightest flicker of imbalance as she strides up onto the stage. Her presence is pretty undeniable; virtually every eye in the house is glued to her as the real dancing begins, as if she were a magnet and all the rest just iron filings.

Her performance will go through four, possibly five songs. This song, one of the slower numbers, is largely just about her swinging, swaying, spiraling slowly around the three poles on the main stage. Someone who really knows biophysics can quickly determine the great strength and acrobatic practice required to swing so slowly, evenly, without a quiver while horizontal like that. Her performance is sultry, steamy, with none of the tired, dead-eyed carelessness that might be seen in lower-scale clubs. She is into this, and she's taking everyone else on the ride along with her, openly invited, welcomed and involved.

Damian looks upon Voodoo as she comes out and dances her sultry, exotic routine. Damian's face is deadpanned through most of it, though it is during the slow song that he seems somewhat impressed and knowledgable about the grace and strength needed to move oneself around and along the poles in the manner that she does. Especially since she's tall.

With legs that could certainly trip you up because they are so long, but she somehow makes that work. Damian can respect a woman who puts this much care and passion into a performance.

But his eyes search the crowd once again. While he believes that his target is not present in the club, he does remain to see the rest of Voodoo's performance. She was captivating.

"Witchy Woman" ends, and the entire demeanor of Voodoo's dance shifts as the next song begins: "Black Magic" is a much peppier, snappier and sharper tune, and her dancing matches that entirely. Now, at last, the real stripping begins, bits of clothing intermittently tossed out into the crowd. Another element of her performance comes to light as Damian watches; not only does Voodoo draw every eye to her, but she seems to innately read her audience, giving each and every one of them what they want most in that moment. And where her strength and grace were impressive before, now it is her verve, her energy and agility, as she changes direction every handful of seconds. Hopping, popping, twisting and flying, it looks completely inspired and in the moment, but it almost has to be incredibly well choreographed and planned.

There really aren't many 'targets' here at the Obsidian Club. That doesn't mean criminal activity doesn't happen here, but this is no wretched hive; such things are the exception here, not the rule. And often what does come here is the more subtle sorts, mere information exchanges or 'white collar' levels of transactions. Harder to spot those sorts.

Damian keeps his entire attention on Voodoo for a moment, then the clothes start coming off and she starts giving the audience exactly what they want. Each leg-lift, hip-swing, hair toss used to exact perfection. While Damian suspects there's an almost superhuman level of agility being displayed, he's not the one to call out on it.

Hard to notice yes, but not impossible to the trained eye of Damian al Ghul Wayne.

He doesn't see anything though. This might be one of the only clean nights that this club has…and clean simply meaning no drug dealin' or info-exchangin'.

Which brings Damian's attention back on Voodoo, whom he may lock eyes with.

Rare it is for Priscilla to find a male patron whose eyes are not glued to her body as she performs; she notices, definitely, even if she's neither bothered nor offended. At some base level what most interests her is that the rather young gentleman is not surrounded by friends was would be expecte dof one so young, and yet she can sense he is by no means failing to be attracted to her; it simply doesn't control him, as it would others. Not that she minds, but it's rare.

The popping, bouncy 'Black Magic' then gives way again as Voodoo skids to the far end of the stage, opening a chest and slowly, sensuously extracting a large python from within, draping its scaly form around her barely-clad body to cling to her curves suggestively whilst Godsmack's 'Voodoo' pulses through the soundsystem. The mesmeric effect upon most of the audience seems to be intensified, as if whatever gentle compulsion she is projecting has been amplified, more and more crinkled green bits of paper finding their way and being tucked into this or that strap or tie still clinging to her body.

Is Damian entranced by her like these other patrons? No, not at all. His will is too strong to be so easily seduced or ensnared. Despite how sensual and beautiful this woman is, Damian's just had the proper training. His father's son, really.

When she pulls out the snake is when Damian seems to actually be truly interested, though he's slightly interested in the python biting her, he doesn't fail to notice how the python is carefully choosing where it puts itself.

Many would call the snake lucky.

Lucky snake indeed. As with the rest of the performance, it is clear this has been practiced often and extensively, as the snake nevre gets out of hand, despite its size and power. There is no fear in the dancer, clearly comfortable with all of this, and the increased sensuality and power of her dance only seems to heighten and magnify the attraction drawing most others in.

The snake is returned to the chest at the end of that song, as the last song of the set - Santana's "Black Magic Woman" takes over. This last set is much more personal, long moments spent with each patron around the main stage, giving them exactly what they want, what they crave most.

The set finally ends, and Voodoo tosses her long hair behind her as she sweeps the room with her gaze and struts off the stage, the announcer mentioning that she will soon return to the main floor for those who may be interested in a lap dance or a session in the VIP room. Meanwhile a couple of the other dancers emerge on stage with push-brooms, actually sweeping up the bits of clothing, discarded sequins, and fallen money on the stage.

Within ten minutes, another dancer is announced and it all begins again. But to a keen-eyed observer like Damian it is easy to see that no other dancer here has the mesmeric power that Voodoo seems to possess, and as skilled and talented as they may be, none of the others quite measure up to her dancing skill either.

Damian isintrigued at the very least in whoever this Voodoo woman was. Though when anew dancer comes up, Damian raises a brow at the defeated purpose of a 'Main Event'. Either way, he stays where he is. Disappointed in that his target was not present, but at least he was graced with a show.

But its very true that Damian does not quite have many friends. If any, really. But he IS still there, so maybe this Voodoo would take a glance his way, whether he's interested in a private dance or not.

Well, the Main Event doesn't mean there aren't other events.

As suggested, about fifteen minutes later the dancer Damian remembers returns to the main floor, this time with a translucent purple peignoir draped around her to accent the sequined purple g-string she is still wearing. She starts out at the tables closest to that far corner and makes her way slowly around the floor, stopping at almost every table along the way to at least greet the customers. For some, it's only a few words, while for others it becomes a short conversation. Voodoo proves not to be too great a stickler for the rules; she doesn't call a bouncer on anyone who touches her, but handles them herself, discouraging them without being too aggressive.

Eventually, Voodoo's path brings her around towards the back and Damian's table. She strolls up gracefully, smiling as she tosses her hair suggestively. "Hi there." she murmurs, her voice a husky tone with a noticeable accent, a mishmash or origins but most strongly a Louisiana southern. "Hope you enjoyed the show?" she questions, trying to get a better read on perhaps the only non-gay male in the place who wasn't completely mesmerized earlier.

Damian sees Voodoo decide to return amongst the crowds right when he was about to leave. Gay? No, sorry. He'svery straight, he's just strong willed and strong minded.

Then when spoken to directly, Damian looks at Voodoo and he nods lightly. "The show was alright. Though you could probably achieve the same effect while keeping your clothes on. Your dancing was pleasant and well done. Who was your teacher?" He asks her. He's not trying to sound demeaning, but he's trying to accurately compliment her.

Voodoo indulges in a warm, rich laugh as Damian offers his compliments. "Mmmm. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun with all of my clothes on, honestly." she answers, shaking her head. She closes on Damian, visibly showing the same moves she might any other patron, even if she knows they won't have the same effect. Damian himself might - given his own background - recognize that her actions are in fact part of a cover, playing against others' expectations rather than his own.

"I've had several teachers." Pris answers honestly. "My first was Ms. Maize when I was a wee little girl. The one who taught me the most about dancing like this would be Sarah. Her stage name was Candy. I haven't seen her in years. Why do you ask?" Pris doesn't seem to be put off or annoyed at the questions, just curious and playing along.

Damian gives a little nod to Voodoo as she speaks. "Apparently." But then she's putting on those subtle moves as she sways around him, acover. He notices it clear as day, even if most anyone else would be completely oblivious. "Just curious really. I don't dance, but you exercise a good deal of control to the point that it?s almost superhuman." and he does not know her origins.

"So color me intrigued. By far, you outclass the other dancers by a mile. So, I was just curious." He stands up to his feet.

Voodoo nods a little. "Fair. I like curiosity." Her eyes - purple, at this range, an unusual coloration to be sure - twinkle with amusement. "I bet you could dance, if you wanted. You're fit and a balanced enough. You might need to learn the flow of the music." She'd have to see him try to know if he has that gift already or not. "Glad you liked the performance." Maybe not the same as others, but he appreciated it nonetheless, and that's good to know. "I'm going to guess you're not much interested in a lap dance, or a private session in the VIP room. But if I'm wrong, you let me know. If there's anything else I can help you with, just ask." Is it a ploy? Just the play of the club? Or something else? Is there any other way to know?

Damian gives her a small smile as she makes rather perceptive observations. "Not very, but I?m flattered by the offer. Maybe If we went to dinner and a show first." He might be one of the few who initially don't want intimacy at first. "But if I need to learn to dance, I'll let you know….as well as anything I might need. Though I should get going, it was nice meeting you miss…?" Heh, he was asking for her real name, not the Voodoo stage name. Was he interested in knowing her for -her-?

Perceptive purple eyes glance this way and that, taking in their surroundings, making sure perhaps that no one else is paying too close attention, before she leans over Damian - the cover would clearly be that she is trying her best to tempt him to that expensive private dance - but she uses this to bring her lips closer to his ear. "Pris. You ever need something, come here, tell anyone. They can reach me."

To most, it would seem outrageous that a dancer like this would offer anything at all other than perhaps drugs or easy sex to a customer. But Damian is clearly - to Pris, at least - not just anyone. And perhaps he is perceptive enough to know that such a favor could be of use in the future. It really costs her little to make the offer, at least, and see what he does with it.

"And you?" Pris riposts gently, offering him the chance to give her a name in return.

Pris? Most likely short for Priscilla, or at least that is Damian's seductive reasoning hard at work. But it?s the offer of help that catches his attention and keeps it there, but then she asks him his own name.

Well, he has her in his pocket at least. and nobody ever suspects a dancer. "Damian." He gives her a smirk. "Likewise. Ask anyone at Wayne Enterprises or come to the Manor." He gives her a nod of his head. "Need anything…let me know."

Friends have been made!

Wayne Enter —- Priscilla's eyes go wide at that. F*ck. But those are the only betrayals, as she nods only a moment too late. "K. Sure. You have a good night … Damian." That offered, Pris backs up, then, offering a smile before she slips away towards the next table, getting on with her evening's efforts.

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