Summary:At Club Obsidian, Celerity makes certain revelations to Rebecca and Priscilla. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It's the middle of the night, though a Monday night; not the most active of times for an exotic-dance club like the Obsidian. Yet, there's a little bit of a line forming outside — mostly because of a young woman holding up the line while the bouncer scrutinises her ID.
"No, that is me, I promise!" the woman whispers. "It's… I am Celerity Carter, I swear. You see my face, right?" Not too much of it, actually, between her hood being pulled up, a blue wig shadowing her forehead, and big sunglasses. Yes, big sunglasses in the middle of the night. She's trying to avoid being recognised, and anxiety practically radiates from her.
"Sorry, hon, but you do not look like this ID at all. And we're supposed to be really careful about this stuff." the bouncer offers Celerity in a gentle, calm and understanding tone. But he does insist that she step away from the line now, with him, as his partner steps up to take his place and try to get the other patrons inside safely.
"Let me see that again, please?" the bouncer asks, extending his hand towards Celerity, as his other hand fishes out his phone, a thumb-tap and swipe bringing up an app to scan the ID and bring up a biometric profile on the picture, intending to use that to try to match to the young woman and bypass his eyes' inability to match her up, maybe.
It's the best he can do.
Celerity steps to the side, freeing up the line… and then the partner comes up. She whines from deep in the back of her throat. That's what her 'must not get caught' anxiety needs: closer scrutiny. She takes a quick glance around the line — and when it's Celerity, 'quick' is an understatement — and doesn't see anyone she thinks will recognise her.
"Okay, just… take a quick look?" She pulls her glasses off with one hand while using the other to raise her hood and wig, exposing her blushing, freckled face. Every second feels like at least a full minute of exposure, while alarm bells in her head — mostly speaking in her mother's voice — say that she should not be there.
With the app's help, the very calm, professional bouncer gets things handled. And he does not smirk at her for covering up like that. "That's alright. Everything's fine. Thank you for your patience." he offers.
But Celerity's panic is strong enough to cause ripples of attention in other ways. And that means someone else comes out front, wrapped in a big purple hooded trenchcoat. It wouldn't do to show off the goods to folks who haven't paid their cover fees yet, right? "Kevin, everything OK?" a warm, sultry Southern voice with a clear Lousiana twang inquires.
The bouncer glances over his shoulder, and visibly straightens instantly. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Just had to use the scanner app. She's clear."
Kevin never knows why it is sometimes Voodoo comes outside to check on things. But he has learned, in these months, to always pay attention when she does. Twice her appearance has clued in right before an attempted attack of some kind, which is why Kevin is now wire-taut.
"You OK?" that honey-toned voice inquires of Celerity.
Celerity shoves her disguise back in place as soon as the bouncer clears her — a little haphazardly, the sunglasses being left crooked and the blue wig drooping over her eyebrows. "'s fine! It's fine. C-Can I go in now?" She is absolutely not going to attack anyone. If anything, she looks worried that she might get attacked.
She looks up at the woman in the trenchcoat, and… Well. There's someone who could recognise her, though not one of those she's worried about recognising her. Her face turns scarlet. "O-Oh. Hi, Pr— um, I shouldn't call you that, should I? S-Stage names are a thing, right?" She pays her cover charge in cash and steps forwards to start heading inside.
"I'll take her, Kevin." the woman in the purple trenchcoat offers, as she turns and hooks an arm around Celerity's elbow to guide her inside.
Seeing this, Kevin looks around, momentarily bewildered. He's never seen her step out for anything less than an incident, but he just takes two breaths, calms down, and resumes his past behind his partner, rather than further delaying by trying to switch out again.
"Hi." Pris offers, chuckling. "Yeah, stage names are a thing. You can just call me Voodoo, here. But most of the crew know I'm Pris; it's not a huge deal."
Best part of being on Priscilla's guest list? Celerity had her cover charge returned to her. She's still expected to meet her drink minimum, but she gets in free. Handy, right?
Pris leads Celerity over to a table back one row from the main stage. There's another dancer already up there, performing; not a headliner, but they don't bother much with the smaller stages on a Monday night. Pris takes it easy, as such, and shares the main stage with those ready for that step. "Make yourself comfortable, and enjoy the shows. I'll be back after my set, OK? Just relax. This place is pretty safe. No one will accost you."
Celerity shuffles in closer to Priscilla's side, her head ducked like she's trying to hide behind her hood. "V-Voodoo." She pauses, and gives Priscilla's face a closer look. But… dammit, it was Anon who heard that name before, so Celerity has to play dumb. "Voodoo. I'll remember that." In the 'liars ought to have a good memory' sense.
She insists on the cover charge. The drink minimum will be tricky for her, given she's too young to order anything with alcohol. She fidgets with her wallet while they walk in. She glances about the room, just small and furtive glances over the edge of her sunglasses. She probably comes off as completely creepy to anyone who can't feel the anxiety radiating from her. "I-I just thought that, since you say this is a good place, I should come here first. Then if there's anything wrong happening in other places, I'll recognise it, I'll see if anyone needs help." She settles in at that table, hands still fidgeting. "Th-Thanks, Voodoo." She's good at using the Correct Name, usually. "So does that mean… y-you're going up on stage tonight, too?"
Try fooling a non-telepath, non-empath. It might work better. But Pris makes no point of it at all, just lets it slide. "Yep. I go up on stage for at least one set most nights. Sunday is the one night I take off all the time. Sometimes I take another night during the middle of the week." A warm hand rests gently on Celerity's hand, soothing, projecting a little calm. "I'm glad you could come and see what a good, clean club is like. Don't worry, they're happy to serve non-alcoholic here. If you want to help them out, you can buy a ticket to the buffet. It's not too expensive, and it's delicious."
And now Celerity gets to see what hot strippers are like up close and personal. Right?
Not too close and personal, though. This table is a comfortable distance from the stage. Eventually, she takes the glasses all the way off. "Buffet?" Celerity glances around and soon sees it, over to the left. And realises just where her eyes had been instead. "O-Oh. Maybe another time — I didn't know there was a buffet, so I already ate. I'll, um, get a few sodas though. Sorry, I'm babbling too much, a-aren't I?" At least she's still talking at normal-human levels of speed.
And Pris just reaches out a hand to gently cup Celerity's cheek, purple eyes gazing deep as she projects more of that calm. "You didn't do anything wrong, hon. Babble all you like. You won't be the first or the last. I hope you have some fun tonight." That said, the tall figure in the purple trenchcoat with hood backs away, and then turns to head towards the beaded curtain leading to the back of the club and the dressing rooms.
Celerity's usual response would be to freeze and tense up at a touch like that. But with that aura of calm projected, she finds the touch comforting; she even tilts her head slightly and leans into it. "I-I hope so too. A little secret, I'm not just here to… know what it looks like when someone needs help. And I was kind of hoping you would be on stage." She takes a slow, steadying breath as Priscilla walks away. She has a drink minimum to meet, so she slips from the table towards the bar; she wants to have her drinks ready before the next set begins.
When Celerity approaches the bar, the bartender gives her a bit of the evil eye. "We have waitresses. They'll gladly get your order and bring it to you." But it's not an outright stink-eye; they do allow folks to sit at the bar, and then order their own drinks, so it's not as if this is a cardinal sin. It's just the bartenders like to look out for the waitresses, since those ladies don't get dancing tips, only waitressing tips.
Nevertheless, Celerity gets her drinks as requested, while the announcer ends the set of the dancer on stage, beckoning everyone to applaud her efforts. Then she gathers up her own tips - she doesn't need help to sweep them up like some of the headliners - and heads off-stage while one of the waitresses does step up to sweep down the stage head of the next set.
Then come the announcement that Celerity has been hoping for and fearing, all at once: "Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the magical, the mystical, Voodoo!"
The beaded curtain parts, and out comes the tall, incredibly curvaceous mocha-skinned, ebon-haired beauty that is Priscilla Kitaen, bedecked in yet another one of her dancing costumes, this one largely inspired by Mandarin iconography, complete with cheongsam stylings taken to the erotic maximum. And in gold-trimmed purple, where surely in classic this would be red.
"Oh!" Celerity ducks her chin, blushing. "S-Sorry. Not used to place like this. I, um." She points back towards the table. "I'll just get a vanilla pepsi? And I'll be, um, over there." She pays for the drink then, in cash, and scoots back to the table.
Though she'd only caught a little of the previous dance, she saw enough to know that it's worth applauding. Her drink arrives before the next set, giving her time to slip the waitress a tip… and then her widened eyes glue to the stage. There's still nerves there, still anxiety, still the worry of getting caught or how she 'shouldn't be in a place like this'. But there's plenty of attraction even without Priscilla's aura. She's going to take a while to remember she even has a drink.
It's entirely possible that Celerity's attention is sufficiently captured by Pris on stage that she misses the motion at the corner of her peripheral vision at a table to the right of hers. But a pretty young blonde just seated herself there, her own attention on the dancer as much as it could be and still let her avoid blundering into anyone or anything on her way to her seat. A young blonde who Celerity would recognize…
Pris isn't pushing it out to her maximum by far, but when she's in tune, it happens. There's just something about the woman on stage that is so magnetic it's a tad ridiculous; anyone in the club who is attracted at all to women sexually is drawn in. Those with longer-term exposure have built up enough tolerance to be able to keep functioning, but even they feel it. Visitors? To them, Priscilla performing is like an industrial mega-magnet to mere iron filings. Add to that her true innate beauty and her astounding athleticism, grace and artistic skill, and … well.
Voodoo is magical. Duh!
Celerity still has her peripheral vision, and a flash of blonde hair is of particular interest to her after… recent events. And it is just the routine's start, so she has enough attention to spare to turn and— recognition, followed by a layered flash of guilt. G. Rebecca. Her attention splits, between watching the blonde and watching the dance. The latter gets a little more than half her attention — she's so damn magnetic — but the former is important for other reasons.
What does she do? The logical thing, on many levels, would be to keep away from Rebecca. 'Celerity' and 'Rebecca' don't know each other too well, this is a place people come for privacy…
Oh hell. It's the easiest way to keep attention on the blonde and the stage at the same time. She carries her glass over and hovers at Rebecca's table. "Hey, is this seat taken? Looks like a-a better view." They have met once, briefly, at a cafe. Celerity isn't a total stranger to her.
Rebecca, by now, is completely captivated by the dancer on stage, and it would be a tough call as to whether her body or her mind is responding more strongly to Pris's beauty and erotic artistry. It takes a moment for Celerity's presence, and her question, to penetrate that spell, but she does look up, and smiles as recognition sets in and she answers, "Hey! Have a seat, sure."
With the sunglasses off, Celerity's much more recognisable. Besides, she'd only wanted to avoid being spotted by someone outside. So as she gets into her new seat, she slips the wig into a pocket and pulls her hood back. "Thanks. It's Rebecca, right? From the cafe." Another twinge of guilt. They know each other from much more than some brief chance encounter.
Becca nods. "Yeah," she replies, her attention already being drawn back to the stage. She's not being rude, just helplessly distracted.
Celerity's in a similar state. Her head tilts to the side while she watches a certain move. "Oh wow, how did she do that? I can't imagine being that… f-flexible…" She tries to slow her breathing, but there are a few kinds of excitement and agitation buzzing through her all at once.
Priscilla's performance to one extent picks up, while to another it devolves a bit. The sheer artistry of the initially captivating performance now morphs into an effort to serve the fans and please the audience. Voodoo moves along the stage, and it's pretty impressive to see how she captivates each audience member, as if she can read them like books; she knows exactly what they want most, and that's what they get. And those audience members rewards that perfection, that play to their interests, with their singles and more.
And every one of them is left with this feeling, this memory of how he or she inherently connected with Voodoo on stage, felt specifically touched. Interesting how she can pull that off in such a crowd, everyone surrounded by everyone else. But that's how it goes.
Celerity isn't always the focus of that attention, but her attention still lingers, her gaze hanging on the stage. She joins Rebecca in 'distraction' now, her lips softly parted. While she has a little more idea of just how Priscilla can be so captivating, that doesn't lessen the impact at all. Slowly, her blush brightens and she curves in on herself, as if she's trying to hide. Though she'd had something to talk with Rebecca about, it is, for the time being, forgotten.
Becca blushes furiously when that focus of attention from Voodoo falls on her, and she adds to the quantity of singles the dancer is gathering from the crowd. Even after her turn has passed, she finds herself still watching the dancer in fascination as she moves on. This is probably not surprising.
And when Pris reaches Becca and Celerity they get just as much directed, searingly direct, achingly true connection as anyone else. And she can tell that being here, doing this, openly watching and appreciating and being seen appreciating her own near-naked beauty is a milestone for Becca. And she can tell that even as captivated as she is, Celerity's interest here is in Becca. And after that brief contact, Pris moves on, targeting more patrons and continuing her set. It'll be four songs long, about twenty minutes. But at this point she has moved on from these two, and released them from the greatest of her enthralling nature.
Celerity's relationship with her own interests is a… complex matter. Some part of her is still in denial, making excuses that her presence here is for reasons other than enjoying the show. Another part of her guiltily enjoys what she sees, not yet quite as self-accepted as Becca. Yet another is simply… confused. But there's a resolute part of her, too, as she remembers something else she needs to do.
She touches Becca's arm. "Can we talk?" And there's the stirring of confidence there, too. She's made a decision, one relating to her other self, and starts to slip into that mode. She nods towards a hallway leading out of the room — to the bathroom, or at least out of the main club, for a touch of privacy. "There's something I need to show you."
There's a brief startled moment for Becca, as she is reminded by Celerity's touch and voice that there are, in fact, other living beings around her besides the incredible dancer. "Oh! Sorry," she says as she turns, her blush deepening again. "Um, all right…," she answers, looking at Celerity curiously, having no idea what the other girl has in mind.
Celerity's heart pounds in her ears until she can barely hear the music of the club. This is something she's never done before, and even with the boldness of the Decision Made, the nervousness still comes through clearly, as she leads Rebecca through the door into the bathroom. A quick check — yes, they're alone. Good.
"I haven't been all fair to you," Celerity says, turning to Becca — though she can't bring herself to look into the other woman's face. "T-Truth is, we've met before. I… don't mean in the cafe." Words are hard. Though she tries, the simple words 'I am Anon' just refuse to come out. So she shows the other young woman.
Hands come up to her shirt, and pluck at buttons — at a pace which she feels is slow, but which translates to the rest of the world as just simple, normal speed. And underneath… there's a familiar golden leotard.
Celerity's words, if anything, make Becca even more curious, not to mention confused, and then as the other girl starts undoing her shirt, she really doesn't know what to make of it. (Though, to be honest, with the state Voodoo's dance has left her in, having a pretty girl maybe-kinda-partly-undressing for her isn't something she's about to object to right about now.)
And then Becca sees the costume underneath. And time — or her brain, she really couldn't tell you which — skips a beat. Those blue eyes go wide, staring, as she makes a sharp little involuntary gasp. "Whu… Wait, what?" Her mental processes have dropped down into first gear, after that sudden stop, but they are picking up speed again. "…You're Anon?"
"Shh, shh!" As if anyone could hear them, all the way in the bathroom, with the door closed, and the club's music still going. But Celerity's paranoia knows few bounds. She blurs through redoing her shirt, putting herself back into safe anonymity, and only then does she let out a breath. "Y-Yeah. That's me. I… it felt unfair for me to know, and you not to." She locks eyes with the other girl. "You are the only one I have told about this. You understand?" This isn't a secret identity which she takes lightly.
Nodding, Becca answers, "I understand. An', um… thank you. For trustin' me. This's a big thing for you, I get it. I do." Her smile slowly blooms, until a few seconds later she asks, "So why me, and why now?" She's hoping she knows the answer to the first part of that, but hope and certainty are not the same things.
Celerity — Anon — lets out a slow breath, arms crossing her front to hug herself. "Because… it was unfair for me to know you, and not vice versa." Anon had met G before G even had a costume, such as that costume now is. "Because… I liked that night together. We… worked well together. And…" Now her cheeks bloom brightly. "I-I liked kissing you. It seemed… wrong, to have something like that and to keep a secret like this. Even if it's just… I don't know what it is, yet. And because it… it felt weird, for you to act so distant with me. Like you didn't know me, because as far as you knew, you didn't. U-Um, we should get back out there, right?"
Becca's smile turns brighter and warmer as her suspicion is happily confirmed. "Not just yet," she suggests. I've kissed Anon, but I haven't kissed Celerity yet. An' I'd really like to."
Celerity blinks… and then her eyes go wider, her cheeks fuming as vivid a red as her hair. "We're in a strip club. Full of girls way more gorgeous than me — with Voodoo up on stage. A-And you want to kiss… me?" She takes a slow, timid step closer to the blonde, looking like her cheeks might explode from the pressure of her blush.
"But none of them are you," Becca answers. "An' you're pretty damn hot yourself, even if you don't know it." She pauses there for just a beat, still with that warm smile, before she continues. "So yes. Yes, I would like that, very much."
Celerity whines deep in the back of her throat. "W-Well. You're one of the prettiest girls I've ever met, so… y-yes, I would like to kiss you some more." She takes a breath, steps forward, and finally locks lips with Becca. It's a shaky, slightly mis-aimed kiss, but it has the right heart behind it. A heart of attraction and burgeoning affection, albeit tempered with more than a little nervousness. No way would her mother ever approve.
Anyone who doesn't approve of pretty girls willingly kissing one another is just wrong. At least, that's the opinion of every woman who works here at the Obsidian. There are some who prefer men. That's not a problem. But not one of them is a homophobe. It'd be almost impossible to be that and tolerate the girls here who prefer the company of each other.
Hence why when the door opens and three women come in from the club to the bathroom, not one of them comments on the two cute girls kissing. They might grin, or wink, but they otherwise just head to the stalls. Because at least one of them has been that girl, kissing someone she thought was special, and who didn't want someone making it tawdry, or making a joke out of what was special.
Becca's mother wouldn't approve, either. And her father would be torn between anger and disgust. But they are 1500 miles away now, and may as well be on the Moon for all their opinions matter to her anymore. So the tall Texas blonde kisses the speedster back without hesitancy or reservation. She likes this girl. Quite a bit. It could possibly grow to become more than that. But right now, in this moment, kissing her and not giving a good goddamn who's watching is exactly what she wants to be doing, and nothing else.
Celerity, sadly, doesn't have the benefit of just relaxing and existing in the moment. Her mind still races, still has a thousand bits of overthinking done by the first time she takes a breath. She enjoys the kiss, yes, but there's always something else going on in that head of hers. Until finally, she's the first to draw away…
And then she notices they're not alone anymore. She squeaks, a hand jumping straight to the top of her shirt — yes, securely buttoned. That's what worries her; she doesn't mind being caught kissing Becca, as long as her secret is safe.
She slowly licks her lips. "W-We should head back out," she murmurs. "And… f-find a better place to do this next time." Rooftops at least don't have too many people walking in on them.
"Yeah. We surely should," Becca replies. And it's clear she's talking about the second part of what Celerity said more than the first. And if Cel will let her, she will take her hand in hers and walk back out there holding hands. Defiant statements are kind of a genetic thing for people from down her way, after all.
Celerity's eyes expand out to dinner-plate size. They're holding hands. They're holding hands. She whines under her breath, but just squeezes tighter as she heads out of the bathroom, Becca in tow.
Holding hands with her. Her lips flushed from the kiss. And her shirt in just a tiny bit of continuing disarray. It's not hard to guess things, if anyone has eyes for anything but the woman on stage.
When the adorable young ladies finally get back out to the main club space, they will find that Voodoo's set is ending, and the announcer is mentioning that the next dancer in just five minutes will be "the bronco-busting Calamity Jenny." Meanwhile, two of the other servers climb up on stage with push brooms, sweeping up all of the cash given to Voodoo so it can be gathered into a pair of giant bowls and carried off-stage following Voodoo herself through the curtained doorway.
The announcer also mentions that Voodoo will be back on the floor in fifteen minutes should anyone be interested in a lap dance or a VIP dance with the magical wonder.
With a giggle and a sorta-facepalm with her free hand, Becca turns to Celerity, after hearing the next dancer's announcement. "I hope this next one ain't some New York City idea of a strippin' cowgirl," she says, shaking her head.
Celerity stares for a moment as she watches Voodoo leaving the stage, but manages a fingers-fluttering wave anyway. She laughs as she settles into her seat again — a little awkwardly, given her hand still linked with Becca's. "Why? Do you have a better idea of what a stripping cowgirl should be like?" Wait. Was that flirting? Did she just flirt with Becca? Her eyes go wide and she freezes up.
Catching the drift of what Celerity said, Becca blushes again, saying quickly, "I don't know about the strippin' part, just…" She trails off there, the rest of the statement obvious, while her mind swirls to what it might be like to actually be up on that stage. She does have years of dance training behind her, and her progression from middle school to JV to varsity cheer/dance squad back at home taught her that she does, very much, enjoy having… appreciative eyes on her, or specifically, on her body, while she performs for an audience. But doing routines in short-skirted, midriff-baring tight outfits is a long way from taking her clothes off to music — isn't it? She knows she doesn't have the nerve, but that doesn't prevent a little thrill from running through her at the fantasy.
For the record? Yes. Calamity Jenny does turn out to be a New York City stripper version of a cowgirl, complete with fringed chaps, cap gun ivory-handled chromed six-shooters, a fringed bustier top, a giant ten-gallon hat, and incredibly long and luxurious blonde hair. She may not manage to be quite as curvy as Priscilla, but she does her best and is definitely not 'modest' in her curves or her performance. She's also not bad, but she cannot begin to measure up to Voodoo.
Who could?
Celerity laughs, grinning at Becca. It seems like such a marvel, for her not to be the one blushing. Or at least, not the only one. She squeezes the girl's hand. "C'mon, you could knock 'em dead up there." She looks up to the stage, with appreciative eyes for Jenny, but… it's only brief, before she's looking back at Becca. Her… oh god, is this a date now? Is her second date with Becca at a strip club? She squeaks at the thought. "U-Um. D'you think it's been fifteen m-minutes yet? I-I'd like to thank her. Or at least say hi again."
"I seen better 'cowgirl' outfits on Halloween, but she made up for it with pure hotness," Becca says, in response to Jenny's performance, feeling another little thrill in being able to make such an assessment openly. To the time question, she answers, "Prob'ly about? I'll confess I wasn't keepin' track."
And about halfway through Jenny's performance Voodoo reappears, coming through the curtain from the dancer's area. Rather than another full costume she is dressed in only a thin translucent purple-tinted short kimono-style robe, with a vibrantly purple g-string and towering translucent platform heels. Somehow she makes walking in those things look graceful and controlled. She moves from table to table, greeting folks and checking on those who might like a lapdance or a one-on-one performance in the VIP room. But eventually she will make her way around to the table where she saw Celerity last.
"Good evening, ladies." Priscilla offers, taking a seat at the table as she watches - and feels - the connection between them. That pleases her. They both seem better, stronger, more confident now. "I hope you are enjoying your time?"
Celerity giggles to Becca. "W-Well, at least you won't have to see the outfit for too long? Th-That is kind of the point, right?" Somehow, taking in the show with someone makes it that much easier to just… enjoy it. To let herself enjoy it.
She smiles when she sees Priscilla… and then blushes when she sees what she's wearing. She may as well have not put clothes on at all, with translucency like that. She lifts a hand to greet her. "Yes, very much. U-Um, this is Becca. Have you met?" Now she finds herself chewing on a thought. How does she get Priscilla alone to talk a bit more…?
The answer, as it turns out, is obvious. "A-And… how much for o-one of those dances in the VIP room? And, um, can it be for…" She glances at Becca. "…two people?" Hey, it's a totally valid reason to go somewhere private.
It's surely nothing new to Voodoo, but still, the response from Becca as she catches sight of her approaching is raw and powerful. Some members of the audience may, over time and repeated visits, have become a bit jaded, or at least inured somewhat due to familiarity. Becca, on the other hand, is quite the opposite, between it being her first time in the charged atmosphere of this sort of establishment, and then the high-octane sexiness of the (barely) purple-clad dancer on top of it, coupled with the recent memory of seeing her dancing in even less.
"Um, hi…," the blonde says as Celerity introduces her. When the question of the VIP room — for two(!) — is asked, she looks at the redhead in surprise and shock, but also very definitely — as Pris can instantly feel — likes the idea.
Priscilla can tell what is on Celerity's mind (hello, empathy and telepath!) and a part of her actually considers lowering the price to help the two of them get that chance to talk privately. But honesty is always the best policy, and besides Pris can help defray the cost later. She can afford to do that kind of thing these days. "Of course we can do a dance for two. A private dance is two-hundred and fifty dollars."
Prepared for the possibility that the girls will balk at this price tag, however, Pris stands up and reaches out her hands, one to each girl, inviting if not downright demanding they take them. "C'mon. I know you'll love it."
Pris gathers the girls, tugging them to their feet, and then guides them through the club, around the main stage towards the back and through the beaded curtain of the VIP room. Inside are a collection of six different rounded couches, each one large enough to seat six people, as C-shapes almost but not completely surrounding an individual brass pole. The backs of these booths reach almost to the ceiling, creating privacy in every direction but one. Pris selects one of these and drags the girls towards it, womanfully overcoming objections of price but not outright kidnapping them, until she can get them onto the bench together.
Pris pulls out the tablet that is lying on the bech seat and puts it on their laps. "Here you go. You get to pick the tracks. One dance paid for is one set, five songs. The rest of the rules are pretty simple: I can touch you, and I can make you touch me, but you cannot grab or hold me unless I make you. Also, this is about a show, not prostitution, so the rest of those limits should be obvious."
And then Pris leans in, kissing each young woman on the opposite cheek. "And don't worry about the money, OK? Don't get me wrong, I'll take it if you have it. But if not, Celerity is my guest tonight. I invited her. So, I'll cover the fee out of my tips if needed."
It's just as much Celerity's first time, her excitement at a burn to match Becca's — even while she still has that speedster brain working on other topics at the same time. Her eyebrows lift when she hears the price tag. But… she has been saving up for this, and she'd known how much to expect for such quality. She gives a soft nod. "I'm good for it." She manages to get that out before she's taken by the hand.
And soon enough, they're in that VIP room, She's almost hyperventilating from the mix of nerves and excitement, still squeezing Becca's hand. Jeez, what a second date this is, huh. She blinks. "W-Wait, you can touch us?" That, she clearly hadn't been expecting. But she tries not to let her mind wander too far down that path.
For one thing, she needs her mind for other things. Her free hand comes up to tap her temple, a small and hopefully subtle signal. <Hello? Can you hear me?> She's had Voodoo touch her mind before. Or at least, Anon has.
Becca, for her part, is following along with all of this almost as if in a trance. A very fun, very hot, very sexy sort of trance. Voodoo very definitely has the tall Texas blonde under her spell, and she is not in the least bit resisting it. Not one bit.
Priscilla's warm purple - yep, PURPLE - eyes meet Celerity's and she smiles. "I'm not supposed to deliberately touch or manipulate your privates. But I can rub up against you, touch your cheek, your shoulder, stroke your hair. That sort of thing."
Priscilla sits beside Celerity and meets both women's gazes. And she winks. « I can, if you want me to? I was trying to stay out and be respectful. » Because Voodoo is apparently quite literally magical, as her husky, sultry and sensual Southern-accented voice is now streaming through both of their minds - along with their own thoughts - while her mouth moves not at all.
« I hope you won't mind my saying this? You two are an adorable couple. Congratulations. »
Celerity nods to Priscilla's explanation, settling back. And does her best to scrub away the images that had popped into her mind, now that she has that open contact with Priscilla. Only the third time she's had a telepath in her head. At least it's the same person as the first. Her blush blooms when she hears the last 'comment' from Priscilla. "Th-Thank you." She looks shyly to the side, at Rebecca's profile. Are they a couple? Is that official? She doesn't have a U-haul with her.
"A-And that answers my other question, too." If she's linking in with Becca's mind, too, she must not mind being found out. "You probably already know what I have to tell you, huh?" She pouts, looking sheepish. Only tonight has she raised the courage to reveal her identity to someone. And at the same time, it was probably already known by someone else all the while.
Becca blinks, then her eyes go wide at 'hearing' the dancer's voice in her mind. It's not a fear reaction, nor does she push away from it, but it's clearly — and unsurprisingly, go figure — unexpected. Curious questions start to form, and to fight for which will be asked first, but then they are all shoved aside by the 'couple' thing. She glances aside toward Celerity, at about the same moment Cel looks toward her, and her blush comes back in full force. Are they? They are definitely a something. And Anon — Celerity — revealing her secret to her tonight very definitely moved that needle.
Hey, couplehood is not necessarily a permanent thing. But for right now, these two are together, and adorable at it. « Well, given that I invited Anon to come see the club, and what you asked me when you arrived, I am assuming that you are Anon. I don't really know who the lovely unmasked lady is here on the bench beside me, but I would love to be introduced. »
Then Pris glances at Becca and winks. « I can sense them all swirling around inside, but I'm trying to be polite. It would help me if you'd pick one, at a time, and think it at me, like you're practicing what you want to say. Then I can answer that question, and we can move on to another? How's that? »
Celerity huffs, squeeing Becca's hand while she pouts. <You invited me, too.> As if there's a difference between Anon and 'her', while she doesn't have the mask on. <When I did delivery for you, remember?> Her other arm folds over her front. But she can't really fold her arms while still holding hands with Becca, so she sticks with the latter. <So… yeah. That's me. I know you're Voodoo, you know I'm Anon.> She glances aside to her 'date'. <And this is Becca. Rebecca.> Anything further is up to Becca to decide whether she shares. <Man, telepaths. I bet that White Queen knows all about it too, by now.>
Meanwhile, as the full implications of telepathy sink in, Becca's trying to keep the more salacious thoughts and images out of her mind — ones about Pris, about Jenny who was just dancing, and ones about Anon, that are now merging into new ones about Celerity. It's really not working, much in the same was as being told not to think about a pink elephant doesn't. There is a lot of pent-up desire in that pretty blonde head, and it's had precious little outlet.
Speaking — aloud — Becca suggests, "Um, should we be pickin' songs?" The transparent attempt to deflect isn't really probably going to work much, either.
Pris did hand the girls the tablet, and she's leaving them to handle that. « I remember. » Pris answers, smiling at Celerity. « But when I met Anon, and she felt like the girl who delivered my food … » Yeah, she doesn't finish that thought. Point proven.
"It's a real pleasure to meet you, Becca. I seem to recall seeing you at Luke's Place when I went there for an event." Pris smiles at the blonde. "So, shall we have a dance, ladies?"