living for, living for a thrill

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[attr="class","tbody"] Aize swung himself into the suddenly available bar seat and folded his hands over the counter like he was gonna make a deal with the two bartenders rushing along the line of slurring, tipping customers. He knew it was useless to attempt to flag one of them down, especially since the more attractive of the two had been snagged by a one-eyed girl with a crutch that'd been rigged with tiny, strobing lights, and so he sat, waiting-- his feet tapping in the subtly platformed shoes he'd worn to give him a passable height and his fingers struggling against themselves to fidget, fidget, fidget in his personal stillness. The world around him was a pulse of limbs, loose jackets, and sagging purses all quivering to the bass of an MSE approved song, which was only broken by the snippets of conversation shouted above the volume.

    "...FUCKIN DITCH-- FUCK-- DICK I CALLED HIM LIKE..."

        "...I GET IT OKAY THYE THINK THEY'RE TOO COOL TO..."

            "...SQUIRRELS? ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME..."

                  "....ShheeeEEEEEtttt MAN, SHE'S..."

 Azie pulled his hands apart and let the right one fall to his side, where it began to creep back and forth along the metal frame of the stool, and then thrust his left one towards the female bartender as she skirted past, dreadlocks flaring behind her like a matted cape of unnatural colors and angles. A split second and he'd grabbed the tip of the closest dread and given it an experimental tug, unaware that he'd thought about it until the impulse had already passed through his nimble fingers. The woman turned, her half-moon face glittering with the sheen of dark iridescent scales, and spat something that was lost under the layers of throbbing sound and muddled profanities from a passing trio of masterfully thick-thighed women. Turning to watch them disperse into the throngs of grinding bodies, Azie nearly forgot he'd been attempting to get a drink in him and returned his attention to the reptilian bartender. She looked like she was on the verge of unhinging her jaw to swallow him whole-- or whatever things like her did when they were angry-- but composed herself as her co-worker crept behind her and placed his tan palm on her shoulder. Azie narrowed his eyes at this intriguing development-- the way he let his skin barely touch her exposed, saw-tooth scales...

    "How long you been dating?" he place both of his own hands flat on the counter, which was under lit by black lights and embedded with drink stained playbills from the bands Daze had hosted. The male bartender drew back from the scaly one, his face flushed and annoyed. Azie smirked and put in his order, slipped a rung-out bill from up his sleeve, and spun around to survey the scene. 

His sister had always gone on and on about sex and romance, mumbling advice through the dog-crate bars like she wasn't just trying to convince herself of the things she'd witnessed in the wide, wide world Azie had not yet gotten a chance to inhabit-- to burn and blast and gnaw his way through.

    "'S a difference 'tween sex and romance, 'aizka. Boys and girls like to fuck but not a lot of people like to say sweet things late at night when they're tired as shit."

The same thing went for bartenders, apparently: a quick tumble behind the bar was easier than remembering each other's real names in the harsh 5 am sunlight. But the guy's hand on the snakeoid's shoulder-- it was obvious who wanted to remember names and who was the literal cold blooded flake.

There was a scrape of glass across glass and Azie didn't even turn to receive his drink, reaching behind him with the same violent instinct he used to draws his guns and-- He closed his lips over the tiny provided straw and took a long inhale of the candy-red substance which started sweet but soured into a burning and grating sensation as it hit the back of his throat. The straw was necessary: otherwise he'd spit the liquor out. It always reminded him too much of cramped legs and stranger's angry tongue and eager hands. 

Halfway through his second plastic-guided gulp, he saw her, body swinging and jerking like a bird with an arrow in it's throat, and her luminous eyes absorbing the kinetics of the bodies around her and beyond. Ears and tail, too, drawing the attention towards her with literal animal magnetism. 

    "What are you?" he muttered and sucked up the rest of the vile liquid, resisting the urge to throw it in this delightfully lively girl's direction. 

There was excitement in the way she thrust herself towards the narrowing gaps between herself and the other bodies, the way she kept her balance despite the jostle and hustle the song demanded, and the effortlessness of her freedom, her enjoyment, of all of these things. To move like that, to move with it. Azie's fingers were already flexing in time to the downbeats; his feet mapping out the motions they would take to orbit the nimble clicks and stomps of the Gifted's heels. He wanted to watch her writhe around the deadly projectiles of crossfire and dance across his cross hairs with manic delight and wicked fear. He--

Found himself closer to her reign of movement, watching her with uncharacteristic stillness gripping him for a second before he plunged into his own dance beside her

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[attr="class","tbody"] Another body had moved beside the gliding, thrusting presence of the girl. Azie nearly down shifted his attempts to occupy her space but resisted his immediate urge in time to see the stranger switch away from the other male and turn her honey colored eyes on his own. Golden on soft golden, distorted by the reds and greens and purple of the light show awkwardly flickering in and out of time to the beat of the current song. It was so stimulating and yet so easy to scuff and slide his boots, with body in tow, across the filthy dance floor. So easy, though, still enthralling; Azie could never quiet get over the rapture of his own body's ability to jerk and buck and destroy whenever the urge seized him. The leisure to choose stillness so that, come the next day, he could burst out, flesh, blood, and twitching muscles, into the sun again--

But now was not the time for stillness.

Azie noted the interest in the tailed girl's gaze and narrowed his eyes slightly, as if in question: was she only humoring him for the sake of the scenario or... But no, her body, fronted with a generous smirk, had been recommitted to the dance. With a surge of movement, she clicked her exposed collar bone against his own; the jolt of nearly-bone against nearly-bone sent a small pang through his body. A bead of sweat that had budded on his forehead was jostled loosed and ran a straight line down his face and lingered on the tip of his nose before he flung it off with a jerk of his head. She had traveled down his body, hovering above the dance floor with confidence and gleeful precariousness. Her hands all-- Azie suppressed the instinct to buckle backwards: her face, her sphere too close to the spaces that'd been caressed carelessly and without permission during those years when he still didn't know the pleasure of extending his limbs as for as they could go.

She was up now and had tuned her back to him. Azie wasn't certain what the intention of the drop had been, but he didn't care. It had felt like some sort of experimental goading and he chose to interpret it that way. Now it was his turn. Raising one hand, he mimed pressing the tip of the "weapon" to the back of her skull and firing three shots-- adding a mock kickback for each shot fired which trickled down to his hips into a well time pelvic thrust. If her approach had been sly and amused, his was accosting, borderline violent. Placing his right trigger finger on her clavicle, he pushed her slightly back and spun her around to face him, his movements sudden and purposeful as if her were dodging some invisible enemy. His left hand moved to the small of her back where her tail poked through and placed his fore and middle fingers onto it, using it to guide her in front of him: a human shield for whatever "projectiles" he was swinging and swiveling away from.

Then with jarring abruptness, he pushed her forward and reeled back himself, his arms dangling behind him, his bound chest turned almost parallel to the ceiling rigged lights. As they flashed, he recoiled- shot to death by the beams of low grade color filters- and crumpled to the floor... Only to spin back on himself and leap back to a standing position, now with his own wolfish grin to match his bright, golden eyes. Acting out a tiny bob of a bow, Azie held up his hands as if gesturing back to the ears-n-tail stranger that his contribution was complete.