Summary:Tommy visits the Obsidian Club, and is rather stricken by their headlining dancer. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
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Another summer night at the Obsidian Club. Thursday nights aren't Friday nights, but they are definitely leaning that way, so it's more active than much of the rest of the week. And as such, the headliners are up tonight. As evening has truly fallen and the hour creeps towards seven, the towering orange-skinned beauty dancing under the name of Majestic finishes her set and starts heading off the main stage. As she does so, the announcer calls for final applause, and two more young women who were doing waitressing climb up onto the stage and start sweeping up the money left behind.
After those two and the dancer have disappeared, the announcer glances towards the curtain at the rear, and then switches his microphone hot once more. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together as the mystical, the magical Voodoo comes to the stage."
The curtains part, and out comes striding a very tall, incredibly - even astoundingly - curvaceous mocha-skinned beauty clad in some interesting witch doctor-esque outfit, furred leggings, purple lingerie, a headress and the like for her long curly raven-wing black hair.
And there is definitely something palpable about this dancer. Her movements are strong and incredibly graceful, with real artistry. But even that cannot quite explain the sheer magnetism she exudes; it seems like very nearly every eye in the place - any with any attraction to women, at least - is drawn to watch her performance, and not just in passing. It is quite palpable, and heightened by the fact that she seems to know exactly what any given audience member wants, and gives it to them.
It's not hard to see how and why this woman is a headliner. There truly does seem to be something magical about her … in more ways that one, for those able to sense such things, rare as those folks may be.
Tommy Wisdom needed a load off. He just finished fighting an extra-dimensional monster that tested his magic capabilities, and being the shameless hedonist that he is, he finds himself in the Obsidian Club, especially since he had heard of this amazing dancer with a body that could literally kill on sight. But, thankfully, that last bit seems to be false, as when he sees her, he doesn'te quite die.
But he does almost swoon.
His eyes widen when he sees her, and he takes a seat to atch her performance. No, he has no money to toss at her in a 'make it rain' fashion, and considering that he is very attracted to women, she has his full attention.
…but he also senses that mystical aspect to her. Was she a succubus?
A close magical examination will reveal no active actual magic. Yet the woman is, inherently, magical. It just seems whatever she may be, she is not merely magical, and her performance, her beauty, her athleticism and her ability to read a crowd and a patron and give both what they want and need is not the least bit magical in origin.
And isn't that confusing?
Up on the stage, Priscilla notices an itch. The worst for her is when it settles into her nose, as it seems to invariably do eventually. She knows right away that someone out there in the audience has magic. Nothing directly affecting her, yet. But she knows it's there, and her slightly glowy purple eyes sweep the vista of the darkness looking for anything or anyone upon which to fasten her suspicions. Magically untrained, all she has is her instinctive sense; but usually those with such power show up to her Sight, for they rarely allow themselves to appear to others in their Truth.
How…strange. Tommy doesn't quite know what he's feeling, but he feels like its mystical in nature. Maybe its just him thinking with the wrong parts of the body.
Though he does look at Priscilla right in the eyes if they manage to lock. It was a look of more…romantic attraction rather than just physical. She was above and beyond what he had expected.
Can't wait for this to end terribly.
Either way, Tommy is probably quite easy to find for Voodoo, but he stays where he is, just…watching.
A mite unnatural? Yes, yes it is. Magical, it is not. But it can be a fine distinction to some. Tommy certainly wouldn't be the first male trapped thinking with the wrong body parts in Voodoo's presence, that is for sure.
After her performance set is complete, the same process is repeated, as two more dancers appear to help sweep up all of the tips, and Voodoo herself heads off-stage, a promise made by the announcer that she will return to the main floor shortly should anyone be interested in a lap dance or a private dance in the VIP lounge.
Sure enough, ten minutes later the tall mocha-skinned beauty reappears through the curtain, her near-nakedness now covered - such as it is - by a filmy translucent purple peignoir. She struts along the main floor, meeting and greeting various other patrons. And eventually she does make her way over to Tommy's seat.
And sneezes, if daintily into an upraised hand.
"Sorry about that." the dancer murmurs, as she swipes one of the cocktail napkins lying on the table and wipes down her hand, then makes eye contact with one of the bartenders. Within a minute or two one of the waitresses appears with a small bottle of hand sanitizer, which Voodoo does not hesitate to use.
"Again, really sorry." She offers her - now clean and wiped-down - hand. Welcome to the Obsidian Club." She doesn't say 'you're new', though clearly he is. Priscilla just gets the ball rolling to see where this will go. But this guy is the source of that magical feeling she felt up on stage earlier.
Voodoo comes over to him. - HIM -. While he doesn't exactly consider himself worthy of this, despite the line of work that Priscilla finds herself in, and he smiles when she approaches. He's not even turned away from her via the sneeze. "Its okay. Allergy season and all that." When she offers her hand to him, he removes his glove, and he shakes it. "I'm Tommy. Tommy Wisdom. Its nice to meet you." he smiles.
"Your a beautiful dancer." Chances are, he's interested in whatever she wants to sell (or offer)
To be honest, she doesn't usually get last names, but Voodoo isn't going to complain. "Nice to meet you, Tommy. And thank you, that's really sweet of you to say." OK, sure, Pris hears that from almost everyone all the time. But she can tell when they are being genuine about it, and when they are she makes a point of being genuinely appreciative in return. It's just who she is.
"Would you be interested in a lapdance, Tommy? Or a private dance in the VIP lounge?" He doesn't have to accept, of course, and neither is cheap; a headliner's lapdance is just under a hundred dollars, while a private dance is upwards of $300 for half an hour. But it's part of Voodoo's job to ask. She doesn't push, doesn't use her talents to make it happen, but she offers and listens to what Tommy wants, both what he says aloud and what his emotions tell her he wants.
Oof, yeah, he knows how much a private lapdance is, especially from someone like Voodoo. Tommy does smile at her. "Nice to meet you too, Voodoo." He'll ask her the actual name she has when they are more in private. And right now, he's really hoping she doesn't have a touch policy.
"I would, actually. Be nice to be a bit closer to you, I think." He stands up then to be in front of her. "I could barter, if you want? A dance for…say, some coffee sometime?" seems Tommy wasn't interested in just getting a physical treat and calling it there. He wants to get to know her for who she is, not what she presents herself to be.
"And if your uninterested in that, I can pay the fee."
Pris smiles, an amused and pleased twinkle in her purple - yep, they really are purple - eyes. "For this evening, Tommy, why don't we go for a dance. We can talk there, easier than out here." Another dancer's set has already begun, and it's anything but quiet in here. That other dancer may not be Voodoo, but no one gets a turn on the stage at this later hour that isn't up to a certain degree.
"Then, maybe we can arrange a time to meet away from here. We're not supposed to do that." In most places, it would be a pretence to prostitution, after all. "But I'm pretty sure we'll be fine." And she's pretty sure by the time that half-hour is over, she'll have a better idea whether she can trust this guy or not.
Assuming that works for Tommy, Voodoo will take his hand and guide him through and among the tables and booths in the main stage area, and then through the neon-outlined door to the VIP lounge. There they will find four different almost-circular booths that each surround an individual gleaming brass pole. The room is separated acoustically, so that sound in one booth is baffled and muffled in the spaces of others, and each has its own sound system and its own controls.
Voodoo leads Tommy to one such booth and sits him down, then grabs a tablet sitting on the seat nearby and offers it. "Feel free to pick out some tunes you'd like." she offers, as she sits beside him, showing not one ounce of self-consciousness for wearing nothing but translucent platform heels, a glittering purple g-string, and that translucent purple peignoir.
Tommy seems to smile as she looks so pleased. "A dance? Its a date." Tommy agrees easily enough, plus he wasn't bad on the dance floor. Though Voodoo still outclassed him by a solid planetary distance in the dancing field. His hand taken, Tommy follows her. His eyes on the back of her head, though his eyes don't wander. It was like he was entranced by her. She was kind and friendly and for some reason, took an interest in him.
Sat down gently by Voodoo, Tommy accepts the tablet and he starts picking out songs. Seems he's a knack for smooth jazz. Heh, maybe he's a hidden romantic or something.
When he's finished picking out his songs, he looks at Voodoo and he smiles, not minding at all that she's basically mostly naked. "So…whats your name, really?" Tommy says with a wishful tone.
Voodoo chuckles huskily and lets just a hint more of her New Orleans southern accent leak through, though not quite full-on Cajun foolishness, as she replies. "What? You don't believe my dear beloved momma named me Voodoo when I popped out?" Yes. she's teasing.
"You keep asking me to break the rules, Tommy. Are you dangerous, mmmm?" Voodoo questions. He wants her real name. He wants to meet her elsewhere, on her own time. She's not saying no, but she's clearly trying to get a read on this guy before putting her trust in him.
Once Tommy has selected his tracks, the music begins playing out of their booth's sound system, and Voodoo climbs to her feet again, sliding over against the pole as she starts swaying and gliding to the silky smooth jazz beats.
Tommy looks at Voodoo as she shows her accent. New Orleans? Been awhile since Tommy's heard their unique dialect. But as she teases him, Tommy chuckles. "Not ruling it out but…no last name? Tells me its more of a stage name." he whispers back, equal levels of husk. He doesn't touch her though, becuase he has a feeling that would be an immediate denial for her. So instead he watches her.
"Only in certain situations." He replies to the question of danger, but when she starts dancing? Now is when he lets his eyes explore. Her curves are deadly, let would probably feel like heaven to touch. He stays right where he is, hypnotized by this beautiful woman.
"To you, I'm no danger. I don't doubt you know how to defend yourself." hard life over here. "Besides…I do want to get to know you. and I'd like to feel as if you could ask me whatever you want too." hence the asking out on a date.
Priscilla chuckles huskily as Tommy banters back almost as playfully as she banters forth. "Really?" she asks, glancing at him back over her left shoulder as she grinds her backside against the pole for his amusement and entertainment. "You think I can defend myself? Not sure how to take that, Tommy. Never been accused of looking tough before." Tough isn't exactly what a stripper is aiming for, after all. Hells, not even male strippers aim for tough, necessarily.
"You tell me you're no danger, Tommy." Voodoo continues. "But how am I supposed to believe that? I mean, you do get it, right? The rules exist as much to protect us, the dancers, as they do to protect you, the customers." It's not so much that Pris is a stickler for the rules, as that she's not getting a clear enough read on this guy yet to feel like risking too much.
"If you want to get to know me," which all things considered Pris does not doubt, "there's not much more to me than meets the hungry eyes. I'm a dancer. A stripper. This is my profession, my calling. Not just my job. I won't say I have no secrets. But not many. Being on display is kinda the whole point."
Tommy is certainly keeping his eyes exactly where she wants them. "Then maybe I am dangerous. What would you like me to do to earn that trust? I am as you see me, but…perhaps a little more pretty on the inside." He chuckles a bit, jabbing at himself.
"And yet there is muchyou hide. But I would rather you share that when your ready." GOD he wants to touch her. "Because I see with more than eyes, more than your appearance. I see heart. Eyes are deceiving, after all."
He smirks.
"Even if I thoroughly enjoy what I'm seeing."
Voodoo mock-gasps, pressing a splayed hand to her rather considerable and largely unrestrained chest. "You're seeing the secrets of my soul? That I'm a good woman, a stripper with a heart of gold?" She grins and lifts herself up the pole with both arms over her head, then spins around it acrobatically. "Not quite sure what it is you think I'm hiding, Tommy. Nowhere to hide it, really."
Sure, Pris is toying with Tommy, poking fun and being amusing. But frankly, she has only once ever had a customer who tried to 'see through her', before. And that one tried to kill her and firebombed the club she was in. Dozens died horribly that night. So she's playing it coy on purpose. And at this point, she's not going to keep waiting.
Priscilla's mind reaches out, her psionic gifts probing around Tommy's mind. She is powerful, but not terribly deft or highly trained; while Tommy might possibly never have experienced this before, it is unlikely he'll miss that something is going on for very long. Perhaps he feels a slight pressure on his brain? Or maybe he notices that thoughts, memories keep flickering up without his having considered or triggered them himself? Both effects might grow stronger, as she tries to figure out what kind of threat this man might be.
The real talent is that Voodoo is so good at dancing that she can keep it up even while most of her mind is concentrating on rifling through Tommy's.
Tommy smirks at her as she plays coy. When she looks into his mind? He can feel her after a few moments. the slight feeling of a light headache, he's experienced it enough times to know. So he lets her, and she might realize that. She'll discover that he's actually currently romantically attracted to her, and if he wants her, its not for just her body.
Even if its fucking awesome.
But its a genuine desire to know her and understand her. He brought no weapons with him, and doesn't even have a murderous streak in his body. He's a good guy. But before long, he'll whisper. "Did you find what you intended to?" He asks her for a moment, his eyes locked onto hers even as she pole-dances for him. "I have no secrets. If you want to know me, I'm an open book." he wasn't even a telepath mystically, so if she REALLY wanted to, he couldn't really stop her.
Priscilla's eyes widen just a bit, visibly light spilling through the irises. Then, at last, the building pressure in Tommy's skull will ease and fade. She continues dancing, as she weighs what she has learned. But she takes no overt action, and that alone is a vote of confidence.
"So, you can sense my magic. And you noticed the effect I have on the audience. And you want to know more about me." Priscilla offers. She can feel his romantic intentions, but she is not feeding them anymore than the natural byproduct of her performance. That would be telling, and presuming much.
"You don't intend any harm." Pris continues. "And you have no plans to share what you know about me with anyone else. So … maybe we can meet for that drink."
Tommy looks at Priscilla as she goes through the list of things he won't do. He is indeed a mystic. "I did and I am." Tommy admits. "and I do." As she goes on, and mentions his intent not to harm her, he smiles. "Correct." and when she agrees to go out for a drink with him on a date, Tommy smiles a bit wider. "I think that would be very nice. Can't wait. But for now, we can keep talking, yes?" He was mesmerized by her.
….and he wanted to worship her body with a lot of butter and oils. But thats a fantasy for another time.
He watches her dance, and whether or not she can sense his arousal by it is up to her. Though its likely not something uncommon among her patrons.
"So…whats your real name?" Tommy asks once again, same lilt and hopeful look in his eyes.
The mocha-skinned dancer's response is probably not what Tommy is expecting. "Honestly? I don't know. I know what the orphanage named me, before …" She does not go into detail on what it was before. "They named me Priscilla Kitaen. No idea if that was my name when I was born, or not." Honestly, there's nothing Tommy can think or consider doing with Pris that she hasn't experienced before, so she won't be shocked
"Hope that's good enough. And sure, we can keep talking." Pris offers, as the dancing continues. She slinks closer, now, which enables them to converse with less chance of being overheard. It also puts her within his reach …
"Priscilla." Tommy repeats the name quietly to commit it to memory. "Beautiful name." Tommy compliments her. "Or at least, I think its more soothing a name than 'Tommy'." he winks at her, but then she's approaching him, slinking towards him. When she's in his reach, he reaches out to accept her. Not anything too inappropriate, (yet), but a hand around her waist to pull her closer (gently) if she even allows the contact.
Pris gently gathers Tommy's hands in her own as she sashays a bit closer, then lays those hands in his lap> "Now now, Tommy. Like I said, there are rules. And while there's no audio, here, there are video feeds for our safety and security. If they see you reaching out and touching me, they're going to assume that either I'm breaking the rules, or that I'm in trouble. We don't want that."
The dancer starts moving just inches away, her very scent and warmth now enfolding Tommy. "Rules are: you cannot touch. I can, but only safe zones. Thirty minutes. We can say anything we want." Pris winks. "And that has to be enough, for now, here."
Priscilla does have a sly grin at Tommy's attempts at smooth and romantic wordplay; again, she's seen and heard it all. But that doesn't mean she dislikes the attempt. "I'm glad you like my name. I didn't pick it. And I've long since lost touch with whomever picked it for me when I was admitted. So we don't forget … you should get out your phone."
And when Tommy does, Pris reads him off a string of ten numbers. She doesn't explain, she just does it. He has to be smart enough to realize that's her number, and put it in himself.