Exiles: Night Club

The music pulsed and throbbed around Fallon, vibrating the air until it was tangible. It came from speakers in the walls and ceiling, expertly placed to flood every corner, every ear. She wore earplugs and shades, but she wasn’t there for the music. She could feel it pummel her body and her senses, but she was buzzing on the wild abandon of the three dancers sharing the tight floor space of Fallon’s alcove.

They writhed against each other, riding the drugs and alcohol in their veins, oblivious to everything but the beat and the other bodies. A young man gyrated and twisted, without ever letting his feet lift from the floor. Two young women pressed their bodies against him, and each other, and slid their skin against skin. The t-shirt and blouse were so tight, they could have been painted on, and the denim pants and skirts were nothing but prophylactics keeping the intimacy merely lustful, not carnal.

The intoxicants in their system gave their aura’s an unnatural glow, as they were using unnatural chemicals, but the willingness with which they gave themselves over to the effects, the primal passions of music and desire, radiated outward like a beacon to Fallon. She was ten feet away and could feel what they felt, smell what they smelled. Fallon’s skin hummed and tingled as she soaked up the energies generated by the mortals.

Behind her shades, Fallon closed her eyes and felt imaginary hands sliding over her body, as the hands of the youth before her explored in the flashing darkness. Then, a very real very tangible hand slipped across Fallon’s shoulder and into her long, dark hair. It was a familiar hand and, though unexpected in the night club, a welcome hand.

Fallon opened her eyes and saw Sydney looking down at her from below a tumble of short blonde hair. He leaned in close and kissed her deeply and lovingly, his full lips ringed with stubble pressing firmly against her thin, curved waiting smile. He pulled away slightly and brought his mouth to her ear.

“Cousin,” said Sydney, “There was trouble.” He had used some glamour to allow his whisper to cut through the pounding bass. “You look radiant. That is good. You might need power before the night is over.”

Sydney stood straight, and Fallon followed, rising out of her chair. She turned towards the door, but her eyes strayed to the threesome grinding away to the music and to the drugs and to the lust. She had her fill, and the rest was just flowing over her in waves. It was a good buzz, though, and it was a shame to go, but Fallon liked other things, like the quick rhythms of a street fight.

Fallon, standing taller than Sydney with a combination of natural height and heeled boots, wrapped her arm around Sydney’s shoulders, and together they walked through the crowd of dancers and groupies.