Log:Disgusting Delivery
Disgusting Delivery
OOC Date: April 13, 2017
Location: The Pulse
Participants: Tarion Tavers, Rheisa Dirleel
THE PULSE. Tarion is in here because why not? They have booze, loud music, and there are girls. Those are everything he's looking for in life, really, other than money, but he just cashed in on a pretty ample bounty so that craving is low-level humming in the back of his mind rather than the forefront. No, he's here, in the middle of the day, with a drink in his hand close to the bar. It's dark inside despite the hour.
Ugh. It's like someone took the city catwalk at rushour and crammed all pedestrian commuters into a single cell, in terms of the noise level. What's wrong with these people!? Do they not have jobs!?
Rheisa does her best to leave complaints at the door and morph into neutral game face. Really, it's just the concentration required to not vomit in reflex to the total assault on her hyper senses, namely the motion factor. She tries to match her steps to the pulsing rhythm of the deafening music which isn't /too/ hard to do, considering it's vibrating so deeply in her brain and chest that it may as well be part of her. But physical discomfort isn't the main cause for her worry. It's the way she's rendered almost blind by the hyper activity/sounds in here - too much going on from every angle makes it /very/ tough to hone in one any one particular object in motion. Not only is it dizzying, but it leaves her vulnerable in a way that this huntress from Shili does NOT like.
But she's working. Tucked very possessively under arm is a pair of wrapped canvases.
Tarion isn't the world's greatest dancer, but he's giving it the old college try, gyrating and moving his arms around vaguely in time with the rhythm. Vaguely. He's not the worst in there, probably. Spotting a familiar set of tusk-like horns, he starts ambling that way, bumping up against people either intentionally or just because it's so tight, until he's close enough to Rheisa to grind up on her. Which he might a little bit if she's not paying enough attention to get away. "Rheisa! I didn't know you were a Pulser!"
It's not that she isn't paying attention - it's that there's just too many people to pay attention to, on her way towards the rear and far too many to avoid all the crazies. Rheisa hugs the paintings to her chest and braces against whatever bumps, gropes, and grinds happen to bounce off. Then there's a freaking train of dancers coming through, winding and gyrating through the crowd like a drunken serpent, so she's forced to stop. It's in this moment of confusion that the Tavers strikes.
Every muscle in her being is already too tightly contracted to cringe away from Tarion and his pelvis, save for the little melanophores in the headtails, which all suddenly shrink and render her stripes pale as can be. It's the 'oh shit!' response. Her pupils also dance to the beat, pulsing to the tune of every flashing light that gets in the way of her focusing. "Am n--what you doing!?" she protests and /grinds/ an elbow out against his chest in attempt to pry him off. And the line dancers are back, weaving up their other side now, leaving her stuck in a drunkserpent-Tarion sandwich.
Tarion doesn't speak Montral, so he doesn't realize how terrified she is by the prospect of his groin being in her vicinity, and the weaving linedancers aren't doing poor Rheisa any favors in avoiding the unyielding, unapologetic gyrations of the man known as Tavers. "I'm dancing! This is the Pulse!"
"This is not dancing!" Rheisa shout-whines back over the noise. Ew. Ewewewewewew sweaty groins of at least six different species go bumping on by. "This is..." oh look, an opening! Twisting to deflect Tarion with a bony-ish hip, she shuffles three steps to the right and tries to squeeze through a gap in the line. "Scuse!" she pleads with the next living obstruction.
"Sure it is!" he assures her loudly, following behind with much less apology as he tails her towards wherever it is she's trying to escape off to. The bony hip doesn't deter him; this is a man too foolish to know better. "What're you holding?!" he asks, yelling just to be heard. "Are those sex-mats?"
"NO!" Rheisa hoarsely squeaks in a mortified sort of way. "I do not know what that is!" But now her brain is trying to think too hard about that and punishes her with a much undesired image. C'mon, brain. Don't be a bitch. An increasingly flustered AND frustrated Togruta pushes on through with a Tarion hot on her heels and finally gains some elbow room as they near the bar. "Is paintings!"
"Sex paintings?" Tarion presses, following up behind her towards the bar area. Sex sex sex, you don't get to think about other things, Rheisa. "Those probably sell pretty good," he assumes, grinning broadly at the Togruta. "I'd buy one, if it was cheap. They're probably not, though." He's learned about this 'art' stuff.
"N--" Well? Rheisa stares down her front to peer at a partially revealed canvas for a moment before flattening them both against her again. Sensual strokes of color, abstractly resembling two entwined, ungulating forms. Dammit. "Maybe one," she mutters and moves aside to a little clear patch of floor to inspect her wisps of gown. Ugh, one spot of wet. Hopefully it's spilled booze. Regardless, the accusatory glare gets awarded to Tarion before she marches the rest of the way to the bar.
It's not Tarion's wet, she can relax. "Who ordered your sex-paintings brought into a crowded club?" Tarion wonders aloud, quite loud, so that she can for sure hear him. "Seems like an odd thing to have delivered in public!" Unless it's the proprietor, but that's Hex and Kasia, isn't it? "I mean, unless that's like... a 'thing'."
"Are not MY sex-paintings. Are not even ss..." Rheisa quits arguing as she makes eye contact with someone behind the bar - one of the energetic 'tenders - "Him," she nods to the sleekly dressed fellow as he finishes up his current order, then waves the odd couple over.
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this...shift hours and gallery hours just don't jive," he shrugs and motions to see his long-awaited purchases. Rheisa obliges and lays them reverently atop the glossy counter. "Yeah, this'll look /great/ in the studio
"Is it a sex studio?" Tarion asks, glancing at the painting on the bartop. "Do you do freelance there? Like free agents? Asking for a friend." And then the hunter gives Rheisa a suggestive glance, raising his brows. Awww yeah. "Because I know someone who might want to rent it out."
Rheisa just stares straight ahead, eyes half closed with dwindling patience. The bartender carefully removes his /tasteful/ purchases from the bartop and stashes them safely behind. "Nah, man. Music!" Gives Tarion a quick once over. "But a friend of mine has---" and then he's being summoned to pour another round of some drunk party.
"What do you think he has, Rheisa?" Tarion wonders, bumping into her a little again, mayyyybe unintentionally bumping into her so that he's bumping up against her butt while he leans toward where her ears would be. "I think he was gonna say /sex studio./"
Something's beeping too-quietly to be heard above the din as her wristband signals a steep hike in pulse. Without hair to hide them, the teensie prickles of gooseflesh rising in response to the breath against her skin. Rheisa's got options here, she's pretty certain. A simple shove might suffice. She could kick her heel up and do Sapphira a favor. She could butt her head back just a tad and leave him seeing stars.
Or...
Rheisa opts for the unexpected and arcs her back just a little to lean dat ass IN to the bump rather than crawl out of her skin. Her neck twists about to eye him a little too closely for comfort and twitches her upper lip to flash just a hint of fang. "Maybe. You seem hopeful."
Is this supposed to discourage him? It doesn't. Quite the opposite. "Well, I'm always open for new experiences," Tarion intimates with a broad grin at the hint of fang. "I'll go find out for you." And then he's- you can't go back- okay, he's got behind the bar. Okay, now he's being dragged off to the back door. Yeah, you can't go back there.
"Bye, Tarion..." Rheisa gives a little good-riddance eyeroll and turns her back to the whole thing. She'll take her payment in form of whatever the tender pours her, for a little liquid courage to brave the trek back through the club to the fresh, fresh air. A swig, a grimace, a spit, a deep breath, a cough, a gag, maybe another spit, then she's ready to march. Shuffle. Get bumped along.
