Title: \\Everyday\\ is a day to ~play~
Description: Open
Deluded_Dreams - October 19, 2007 03:22 AM (GMT)
Out in the parkinglot an old beat up van, spray painted into a rolling mural of pages right out of a comic book bounces and rocks. Music blares from it almost rivaling the decibels coming from the club. Shortly the song is over and the sound dies away leaving only the club and milling people...
It sounds so quiet now...
Then into this silence is the scream of the van door screeching open showing off an interesting interior. Most thought Shag had went out of style... Not to mention sleeping in your van. A shadow interrupts the light and resolves into Tressa's form as she steps out. From the light from the van's interior behind her outline is all that can truly be seen but what an outline, with an hourglass figure and wispy clothing that resembles a filmy veil surrounding her. Laughter bubbles from her sensual lips silvery and energetic as she slams the door shut and begins toward the club. Her veils a silvery white that matches her hair caressing her form and fluttering in her wake with every undulating step of her sixinchcomefuckmenow heals.
Showing off her Id and getting the band marking her as able to drink she finally entered the warehouse proper. She seemed to pause just as a blood red light played over her turning the veils a stirring red the color passion and lust. My, my what a sight...
A small curving waist that looked as if she had been corset trained. Back and hips that undulated in a serpentine fashion, sensuous, demanding attention. Silky smooth legs seeming to go on forever starting at tiny feet encased in silver sparkling heals that screamed stripper. Only to finally end under that barest of filmy veils she wore as outfits. Lavender eyes sparkling brightly, beckoning and teasing almost daring one to approach her. Shoulder length silken white hair slightly mussed as usual yet looking almost as if done on purpose. Lightly tanned skin that almost glows while trying to contain the sense of life and vitality that she excludes. An almost over powering feel of life emanates from her and she revels in the feeling.
Tressa did not sit back and watch life pass her by. no she loved the attention, she didn't care if it was the attention of hatred or adoration. Either would bring eyes to her and the attention she craved. She thrived on being noticed. And she usually was. She was the baser instincts in a way though fully mortal but she lived each moment as if it were her last and damned if she wasn't going to enjoy it.
Passing through the dancers she whirls and caresses many, her body undulating in time to the music. Rhythmic, sensual, begging to be touched. Her veils catch the colored lights accentuating her frenzied body, lavender eyes almost glowing as she clings to one partner after another never staying with any very long.
mouse - October 25, 2007 08:58 PM (GMT)
Diane is sitting at the bar.
Diane is really wishing that the pesky no-smoking laws would vanish in a puff of nicotine yellow smoke and let her have a fag. She's even starting to think that it would be a better idea to stay home. Sit on her lumpy floral couch with a cigarette and just drink out of the bottle. It's not like she's going to meet anyone interesting out anyway. Not her.
Yeah. She's having one of those days. Those days that make you feel fat and ugly and just plain manky. Just about everyone has them, even those people who are skinnier then Diane. Not that she knows how much she weighs anymore. She never gets on a scale - for fear of breaking it, she says.
The Warehouse's lighting is not conducive to Diane's perpetually, shall we say dark, style. It's made for people who are wearing brighter colours then her, and so it's making her look exceptionally washed out. Her skin is sheet white with makeup anyway, and her soft brown eyes are staring out from between lines of Cleopatraesque kohl. If her cheeks are a bit flushed, from vodka or from heat, you can't tell.
She's wearing that skirt. You know, that skirt. The black pleather mini-skirt that gets -7 out of 10 for class. She is at least not wearing 'nets today, but bright red opaque tights that are somewhat more suited to the chilly fall weather outside. These tights should be tempering the alarming effect her wardrobe tends to cause, but she's also wearing what can only be call hooker boots, and a strappy little top that shows off her new tattoo.
It's uncertain how much she's had to drink, but we'll be generous and say she's on her third.
Deluded_Dreams - October 25, 2007 09:32 PM (GMT)
Whirling away from the dance floor her lightly tanned skin covered by a fine sheen of sweat causing the multitude of veils to stick to her skin. Pausing to fan herself, lips slightly parted tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. A drink. She needed a drink.
Turning her lavender eyes to the bar she slaughters off towards it. She scanned the inhabitants of the bar stools carefully. She was just out for a fun night... no need to get mauled tonight, or worse. Squeezing up to the counter between Diane and some tall guy she waits for the tender to notice her.
Glancing over both Diane and then the guy she chooses to turn more toward Diane. The gal was the safer bet. "I like your tights... Is this place always like this? " She leaned in somewhat though not too close. Her voice was smooth yet possibly abit overly loud.
Just that moment the tender finishes with his other customer and asks Tressa what she wants. Tressa handed over her credit card to the tender along with her order for a Malibu sunset. Then turning back to Diane as she waits for drink and answer. Only to let out a small yelp as the guy beside her elbows her sharply in the side, though quite by accident.
mouse - October 25, 2007 09:44 PM (GMT)
Diane drains her glass and glances over at the girl who's sat down next to her with a look of staged disinterest.
She sighs, deeply, and fishes some money out of somewhere. Orders another vodka.
She runs her eyes down Tressa. It's an appraising look, not a coming-on look. A 'what the hell is that and where did it come from' look. Her first thought is that she didn't know they had strippers at raves, and then she wonders vaguely if it's Halloween yet. Possibly. It's more or less the week of, right?
"Thanks," she drawls, in order to start off on the right foot. "You do realise you're wearing a curtain," she continues - rapidly hopping onto the wrong one. "Or is that in Vogue these days and I just didn't notice?"
She shrugs her pale shoulders, like, whatever. Doesn't matter to me if you're gonna wear drapes. "Like what, anyway? I don't come here much. It's too bright."
Deluded_Dreams - October 26, 2007 01:39 AM (GMT)
Glaring over her shoulder at the guy who is walking away she sighs and turns back to Diane. Listening closely she starts giggling. "If my designer heard you say that he would simply Die! But should it matter what is in vogue or not? If it is something you like who cares?"
Smothering her giggles with a hand as her drink arrives. Long fingers grasp the glass and she brings it to her lips taking a deep drink. "Not bad... Keep the card I'm starting a tab. "
Turning her attention back to Diane now she smiled. "It is abit bright... but then it's loud too, So I can deal. I'm new around here...It looked interesting so I thought I'd check it out."
A soft sigh and she lifted the glass to her lips again, matching the lipstick marks from before. The drink was sweet and burned faintly as it flowed down her throat.
mouse - October 26, 2007 02:52 AM (GMT)
Diane suppresses an eye roll. She has a designer? What planet is this chick from?
She throws back her drink and gives Tressa something that is definitely A Look. A Look with caps, not with italics. The former is incredulous, the latter sexual. Diane hated Gone With the Wind the first time she saw it - when she was eight - and swears the second time (at thirteen) almost drove her to suicide. She will never, never be attracted to a woman who's wearing her drapes.
"Look, sweetheart," she says, "you can wear something 'cause it looks nice. Or you can wear it cause it's in Vogue. Or maybe you're me, even, and then you can wear it cause you don't give a fuck. But I don't think that last one is you. And so you don't just run around in bits of..." she flails for a word, briefly, and settles for "haberdashery." Which isn't quite right. But it'll have to do. "Running around in curtains shows nothing but lack of sense."
