MGK
09-09-2010, 04:50 PM
Center stage. The heavysick cigar smoke leaves a charred trail in his throat as he descends the steps and enters the club. He relishes the exotic stench and lets the smoke curl from his nostrils, around his mouth, masking his person in a miasma of steam and fire. Human bodies wearing a lot of nothing and a bit of leather throng and mingle around him; he feels their sweatdrenched bodies slide and stick to his fur coat, brush against his bare chest, their limbs and caresses grazing him like some fleshly breeze, the musk of faceless bodies hidden beneath the greenish tinge of cigar surrounding him.
He feels the music before he hears it, a bumping, twisting, shoving bassline running through his legs and shuddering in his breastbone. Millions of laser dots, gyrating in unision, multicoloured and hallucinogen skip over the contorted mass of dancers on the floor, stroboscopic red light giving each participant brief moments of lucidity, the mind as a film, the body a lens, imprinted by bursts of sensation. Surefooted, of regal bearing, he crosses the sea of persons and steps to the bar.
Hidden neon lights bathe the antique mirrorclad bartops in aggressive shades of red. A huge old organ, vestiged with brass fittings, towers behind the two bartenders; filled no longer with air but with fluid; a thousand alcohols rest in its pipes, waiting to be sampled. A bartender immediately steps over to him and bends his head. His arm feels curiously heavy as he lifts it to the mans line of sight, his movement almost lingering as he pulls back the fur sleeve. The heavy gold chain bracelet with silver center-link gleams in the ruddy atmosphere, the subtle sound of its weight shifting more seen than heard. The bartender nods and steps backfrom the bartop and reaches beneath, retrieving a large, completely black bottle shaped like absolut luxury alcohol and hands it to him, nodding towards the right of the bar, a quieter, darker area with seats and doors.
Esblanc nods, his eyes vacant behind the huge shades he's wearing. His body is sweating beneath the fur coat, the pistol taped to his back is digging into his flesh. Yet he keeps up the act to perfection, his disguise daring enough to blend in completely. He turns and walks through the crowd towards the doors, the light gradually getting less and less, but he knows what to look for. Then; the first rays of blacklicht treffen auf die flasche, die schwarze oberfläche verrät ihr geheimnis in leuchtend blauer schrift
--------------------------
excerpt from a pile of assorted texts. the last paragraph is still subject to change.
He feels the music before he hears it, a bumping, twisting, shoving bassline running through his legs and shuddering in his breastbone. Millions of laser dots, gyrating in unision, multicoloured and hallucinogen skip over the contorted mass of dancers on the floor, stroboscopic red light giving each participant brief moments of lucidity, the mind as a film, the body a lens, imprinted by bursts of sensation. Surefooted, of regal bearing, he crosses the sea of persons and steps to the bar.
Hidden neon lights bathe the antique mirrorclad bartops in aggressive shades of red. A huge old organ, vestiged with brass fittings, towers behind the two bartenders; filled no longer with air but with fluid; a thousand alcohols rest in its pipes, waiting to be sampled. A bartender immediately steps over to him and bends his head. His arm feels curiously heavy as he lifts it to the mans line of sight, his movement almost lingering as he pulls back the fur sleeve. The heavy gold chain bracelet with silver center-link gleams in the ruddy atmosphere, the subtle sound of its weight shifting more seen than heard. The bartender nods and steps backfrom the bartop and reaches beneath, retrieving a large, completely black bottle shaped like absolut luxury alcohol and hands it to him, nodding towards the right of the bar, a quieter, darker area with seats and doors.
Esblanc nods, his eyes vacant behind the huge shades he's wearing. His body is sweating beneath the fur coat, the pistol taped to his back is digging into his flesh. Yet he keeps up the act to perfection, his disguise daring enough to blend in completely. He turns and walks through the crowd towards the doors, the light gradually getting less and less, but he knows what to look for. Then; the first rays of blacklicht treffen auf die flasche, die schwarze oberfläche verrät ihr geheimnis in leuchtend blauer schrift
--------------------------
excerpt from a pile of assorted texts. the last paragraph is still subject to change.