F01-OP Blackbook, Grand Opening

[Simmone 0]

An atmosphere of rising temptation and lust that left the air electrically charged, one that made Simmone's skin tingle. Or perhaps this alcohol was a bit stronger then she had first considered. Upon on the upper balconies of the Blackbook, not many seemed to had noticed it existed. Over the side of the white railing, the players milled about like tin soldiers and the chatter threatened to overtake the music in volume. That glass in her hands churns as she spins it, stealing another bite of comfort in a warm roll across her tongue. The woman exhales deeply, melting into the red leather at her back and becoming tucked in to the space. Eyes turn to the wine glass as its raised in line with the chandelier dangling from above, inspected as its swirls and it couldn't help but give her a smile. "I could get used to this..." She remarks in her nestled nook, bouncing her right leg over the other.

Whoever the mysterious host was that had peppered the Town of beginnings with vague invitations had provided just the means for the woman to unwind. Despite the fact she wasn't one for the one night stands or the electric slides that were being danced in the dark and freshly making sticky every corner. A wayward and sideward glance toward the railings that lead below, she pegs an ashtray that sat on the smaller tables that ringed that edge. The woman stands and wobbles, the flush carpet beneath her bare feet soft like velvet. Swiping it from the table, she'd click it down at the table near her heels and pull it close. "Really thought of everything." Another popped comment to allow it out of her head. A twist and glide of her hand, her inventory screen appears. Scanning past the numerous buttons, a press sees a little silver case rip out of the ether in a flash of blue. 

The woman presses her thumb into the square side, causing the thing to fling open as a button is pressed. Unfiltered cigarettes stare back at her, and one is peeled free before its clamped shut. Tossing it down next to the ashtray, a ruffle through her hand bag sees a little red stone. A tap on the table sees it light bright, and pressing it to the end of the thing dangling out of her mouth leaves a thin trail of white bleeding upward. A heavy pull that causes her chest to rise as the thing becomes bright orange, and an exhale that leaves a thicker stream of white. Her night would be made comfortable to the cacophony of sweet nothings spoken in ones ear that took to a volume of their own. A reach to the right strap of her dress as its pulled up, tucking herself back into the seat she'd placed a claim all her own. To an electrically charged aura of elegance mixed with fulfilled desires. In some strange way, this place reminded her of home.

[Sibyl 0]

@Shikari

untethered but not for long.

“like my handle?”

how darkly he looms in their eyes. pushed back by his advance, their steps mirrored his, head tilted up in the light to lend the appearance of holding his masked gaze. the music is overpowering. everything around them pulses with its heavy beat. sibyl gives themself to their partner’s direction; finds it, a light touch to their back, and they halt as one, in time with the cadence.

“the fals—”

“shikari.”

hands meet, palms flat against the other’s. 

“but you can call me syl. all my close friends do.” 

is that what he wants? sibyl’s eyes flick to the blur of their joined hands. his fingers are longer: by what measure, they couldn’t entirely discern. the stranger pulls them back into his orbit and sibyl abides the spin. immediately, they want to ask; their grip tightens on shikari, tension shifting between them, and like the other times, their partner meets them with assent.

they’re dropped. held there by the firm arm beneath their shoulders, the song’s tempo guiding the slow roll of their hips. it’s impossible to miss the way shikari drags it out. the intent festers right where they touch. and sibyl, set upon, yielding but light in his arms like a graceful hollow-boned thing, wants suddenly in the moment to encourage him to try and take.

that shikari does on the moment of their recovery, turning them outwards, their hands grasped in both of his. “and am i privy to a name as well, or shall i go with your majesty?”

one name, consistent between both realities. their response comes immediate after a cursory glance at the indistinct figures of the surrounding crowd and a gentle prompt for shikari to draw them in at the middle of a pass. let him interpret how they have chosen to speak so closely in confidence; they whisper it right next to his ear.

“sibyl.”

(they quietly toss aside the false name they had brought to pair with the mask. there weren’t any plans to give it anyway, neither had they intended to hover long enough around ianthe that she would have needed for something to call.)

“i’m afraid i sometimes also answer to syl,” they continue, amusement threading through their voice. “but if you treat all your majesties this way, i could be convinced to lend you mine for the rest of the night.”