Rplog Dance

Log Info

Title: Dance Til The Morning Light
Emitter: -
Characters: Sasha, Jerry
NPCs: -
Place: Curfew's, a Dance Club in the old section of town
Time: May 04, 2010
Summary: Sasha and Jerry sneak out to party, but things go wrong.

Jerry showed up at Sasha's door about a half hour ago, dressed nice and hair actually tamed - his shirt is plain and with only a small ribbon of Chinese characters down one panel, but it must have cost a good $150 from the A&F tag on the back. The jeans are new, tight, and belted with a double-wide length of gleaming chain. He leans in the door frame casually. "So, I had these tickets to the Slammer's concert tonight and shit, I got mailed two of them, so.. you know," he says, all nonchalant and stuff. "Figure we'll be late as shit getting back; thing doesn't even kick off until like ten, so.." he shrugs, suggesting they shatter the curfew into tiny little shards as well.

Sasha wasn't looking all that studious when Jerry arrived. No, instead she was lying on her bed, reading a magazine. It was her state of undress that caused a kerfuffle, as she shouted at holly for even letting Jerry in in the first place without warning. Sasha shifted into full armor plating mode as Jerry came in to lean on her door frame. "Slammers?" she says, her eyebrows going up. "So down for that. Gimme five?" she asks.

Jerry can't help but smile and he leans back flat to the frame, exaggerated hand over his eyes. "All right, get decent if that's possible," he grins, knowing something will probably be tossed at his head. "Holly sucks as a watchman, by the way?"

"What can you do?" Sasha says with a shrug. She shuts the door and ducks back inside. Her five minutes turns into fifteen and she finally re-emerges. She's put her hair up in a swishing, sweeping punk do, added some makeup to her face, and her outfit! Sasha wears a black leather racing jacket, open and showing most of her torso, besides a bandeau top, and a matching stretch miniskirt. Her arms and legs have gone to chrome plating and seems sleeker and a bit more human than the limbs she normally sports. Her feet end in a pair of platforms that lift her towards Jerry's height. "Ready?" she asks.

Jerry checks her out, nods in approval. "Fine, and yep," he says, standing up from where he was sitting in the hallway. "Let's go, hot stuff," he grins and takes her arm. "Mind taking my bike?" he says, or is that gonna mess your hair too much?" he says, perhaps uncharacteristically thinking ahead.

Sasha gives you a look. "Can your bike *take* an extra half ton of weight?" she asks skeptically. Sasha walks with Jerry, her arm shifting and moving out of his a bit, enough for her to pick up her pace and walk sassily ahead.

Jerry has to move to catch up of course, part of a dance as old as mankind; he shakes his head. "Um, no, probably not yet," he says. "Yet. But.. yeah, then it looks like the bus," he says.

Sasha goes down the stairs and out to the quad. "Bus? Fuck that," she says. As Sasha walks, her lower half shifts and melts, transforming to her cycle-form, although in this case plated silver rather than her usual blue. "Race you?" she asks.

Jerry whistles. "I'll take that bet," he says, circles of purple light forming up under his feet. "Hell, yes," he says, and takes off, skating on the frictionless surface he creates, out the gates, up the side of a building for a second then down, fast enough that the light traffic at his hour will never see him.

They'll see Sasha. She revs rapidly, rear tire squealing and twisting around, spinning her into the right direction and races off campus. The cycle-girl darts through traffic, tearing through traffic. Sasha races like a maniac, in short, cutting into oncoming traffic, taking hard turns and generally breaking traffic laws.

Jerry breaks traffic, pedestrian and speed laws, the kinetic-powered teen skating along on his discs - he runs over cars, over the sidewalk, along the side of a bus, and in general moves too fast for anyone to get a good look at him. He's either as fast as Sasha is, or he holds back to keep them neck and neck, exchanging leads every few seconds. He points, turns, points again to the venue and slides to a slow float, letting the energy die down a half-block from the club. Already, pounding music can be heard over the city sounds.

Sasha can't do that, but she makes up for it an in an impressive show of petroleum burning. As Jerry makes the last turn, Sasha comes roaring past him, , starting a carefully controlled skid as she leans in, sliding sideways and coming to a slow stop in front of the club.

Jerry grins and seems to come out of the crowd at the cycle-girl, hand on her machined hip for a second. "Come on, change up and we can get to dancing," he grins, arching one eyebrow at a couple of gawkers.

Sasha does just that, her legs re-forming and she cocks her hips with a bounce. She slinks up to Jerry and smiles. "Too much of an entrance?" she asks.

Jerry breathes. "Probably; low profile, I think?" he says, not displaying his own powers right now, at least. He flashes the tickets and the pair walk in, vetted by the bouncers as being appropriately dressed and cute enough to make the club look good despite their dubious legal status. Inside, Jerry snags a beer bottle from another dude's hand and up ends it, taking a long drink from it as they press into the crowd, a barely-heard 'Hey! My beer!' behind them. "Fourth row, I think.." he says.

Sasha snorts. "Me? Come on, I've been in magazines for fuck's sake," she says. "It's not like I'm super low profile." Sasha goes past the bounces as if there's no reason they'd stop her. Because really, why would they? Sasha eyes Jerry. "So how'd you score these tickets anyway?" she asks, stealing the beer from him as he had from the guy, and taking a swig.

Jerry pulls the beer back to him, drinks, lets it go, the faint taste of Sasha .. um, yes, he helped push their way through the equally pushy crowd, moving towards their seats. "Scored 'em off this dude who, well, he didn't need 'em any more. Loser," he says, not… precisely lying. There was a wannabe thug dude he beat up the other day. The tickets? His mom mailed them to him.

Sasha has no problem shoving or pushing her way towards the seats. Sasha's taste, for the record, is faintly pomegranate. That's probably just her lip gloss, though. "That you beating the crap out of people?" she asks. Sasha finally gets to the seat and drops into it, which causes a couple creaks of protest from the chair.

Jerry plops bonelessly into his own seat, sprawling like only a studied teen can, casting a disdainful eye to the others around them - he flashes a smile at Sasha. "Not that I know; someone out there causing trouble?" he says.

"Besides us?" Sasha asks. She looks towards the stage and prods Jerry. "You gonna sit here the whole time?"

"Not if some sexy girl is gonna come dance with me," Jerry flashes a smile and stands, ready to get moving. He's a good dancer, lithe and focused, narrow hips and long legs. He smiles at Sasha, determined to match her move for move, letting the music really get into his blood, now…

"Where're you gonna find one of those?" Sasha asks dryly. She lets that hang for a beat and then slides to stand up. Sasha stretches an arm up, then a leg, and slips past Jerry to head down to the dance floor, taking the steps two at a time.

Jerry follows, already moving slightly to the beat. Once down there he starts to dance, energetic and loose, circling Sasha, letting her lead him on, then turning the tables for periods of time as they mix in the sea of young people around them.

Sasha does a quick twirl when she hits the dance area. The band's punk and metal, so her movements reflect the frenetic energy of the music. Her movements are sharp and quick, assuming quick stances and rapid jerks that shift her skirt, her hair and her jacket to make her a dervish of motion. She steals glances at Jerry, tempting him to join her.

Jerry matches the moves and walks on into that dance, close to Sasha as his athletic form easily adapts to the jerky quick moves, unlike the smooth powerful ones he's used to on the ice. He follows, backs up, turns, matches the girl move for move as he gets used to the style again. It's been a long time since he's snuck out to a /good/ club, and he's determined to show her he knows his way around a dance floor.

Just what *is* Jerry up to? It's times like these Sasha thinks mental powers could be useful. Not that she needs powers to read a boy's mind. Nope. They're pretty transparent, all in all. Jerry? Sasha could swear he's putting the moves on her. And for the mere fact he's not treating her like some freak robot, that deserves a reward. Sasha backs up to Jerry as the two dance, putting her back against him and finding one of his hands. Hers is slick, cool and metallic but not unfriendly, and she starts to guide his about her waist.

Jerry is a sixteen-year-old and male - of COURSE he's putting the moves on the pretty girl he came with, all the more because, hell, everyone assume they're going out and lately he's come to think the flirting is, well.. let's see where this goes and hope it doesn't end with him posting long bad poetry to an internet journal. As for his obvious traits, he doesn't freeze when he feels her hand in his, and he is just Too Cool for School when he lets her put his hand about her waist. He's done this before but.. well. He closes his eyes momentarily to thank the God of Teenage Hormones, and he begins to move with the girl, carefully matching his rhythm to hers, taking his cues from the music, and her, and everyone else in a strange kind of fashion.

Sasha knew it. Jerry slides up against her, at her encouragement and invitation, and Sasha steps up her movements, sliding against him, up and down, as the music pulses all around them. The crowd, the music, the sounds and the smells all blur together into a continuous palette for the two to dance against.

Jerry just lets it all wash over him, lets the movement and touching and such run away with him. It's been a year or more since he's been able to slip out to one of the good clubs, indeed, and this one? Top notch. So he's in the groove, and letting the music soak into him and that's probably why when they change position and his fingers re-interlace with Sasha's.. he pulls the cyborg girl to his chest and kisses her, lightly, and at least he's not sloppy though he's not perfectly on target either. They're probably already moving into the next part of their dance together before he's even completely certain what just happened. Equally certain the next few seconds will be either cool or painful, but at least it won't be boring.

Sasha dips around, under Jerry's arm so she can face him in a twirl that seems at once out of place and quite appropriate. She picks up her dancing again, her fingers about his. The cyborg girl looks at him with half-closed eyes. Those eyes, whatever else of her has changed, they're real, deep and sensual. She doesn't really see Jerry coming, and doesn't know how to react. Her body goes still and she's kissed. She kissed back, in fact, but a couple seconds later she's shoving at Jerry and making a face. "God, what are you doing!?"

Jerry freezes for just a second and he starts forward, backs up. "Shit, I didn't.. I did, but.." He blushes a second, then he tries to assert himself, that yeah, that was all planned or something. The young hockey player squares his shoulders. "What do you think?" he says. "I mean, I.." he says, clamping down on his tongue before it gets him in more trouble.

Too late for that. Sasha glares at Jerry, letting tension hang between them for a few seconds, long enough for him to get a good look at her, and to get himself into trouble. "Jackass!" she snaps, turning and storming up the aisle of the club.

Stunned, the boy stands there, licks his lips. Then: "Well… YEAH!" Jerry finally says, second too late for her to even hear him, mostly likely, in the pounding musical ocean of the club. He stumbles up the aisle away from the dance floor, stealing another beer from some frat boy on the way and upending it as he walks, then strides through the crowd. All sorts of things flash through his mind to say: pleading, cruel, shifty, honest, but in the end he comes up with nothing. "Keep the change," he says as he hands off the empty beer bottle to a guy he passes, and burps into his sleeve as he walks out into the snappy fifty degree spring weather, shivering from the sweat dotting his skin. He may have passed her, may not have; he lost track of her in the crowd. He stands on the curb for a second, balancing, watching the car lights.

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