F01-OP Blackbook, Grand Opening

[Scar 0]

Jack was silent for a moment.

The music was suggestive and sensual and a kind of cardiac rhythm. The speed of the music seemed to increase, it looked like it was very much affected by the small Alinta that was already going. The crimson hair of the lady with the amazing smile was reflecting the chandelier light similar to a small flame. Jack stood there, momentarily robbed of words, a faint grin ghosting across his lips. She had taken the strawberry, and his composure, in one motion.

"You.." Jack was opening his mouth to say something but eventually he just broke out in laughter. Amusement and disbelief were the two feelings that were mainly reflected in his voice. "Woman, you are capable of bringing the the world to its knees."

He was moving closer to her, but with the utmost politeness, he was not invading her personal space. The intimacy and precious silver thread which can be called a silent magnetism was there between them. The sound of people's laughter and drinking was blending with the music as the band changed their tune, a slow waltz with dark, velvety tones. The kind of melody that demanded proximity.

He leaned in just enough that his voice brushed past her ear, his words wrapped in the rhythm of the music. "You claim to be the challenge, yet you look like someone who just conquered a battlefield."

He gave a quiet laugh, which was in the lower register and amongst his huskiest tone, before he edged around her a little in order to look at her directly. "Though I have to admit.." His eyes flicked to her lips, then to her glass. "You play your part dangerously well. I'm starting to think the 'saint' routine was just to lure in unsuspecting sinners."

Jack was lightly grazing the top of a glass with his fingers that was standing on the table near him, and at the same time, he kept his eyes locked with hers. "Tell me, Alinta," he continued softly, "Was that a confession.. or just a warning?"

The orchestra played louder, and it was without hesitation that he put out his arm to her, a faint, teasing smirk on his lips. "Come on. You said you were the challenge, didn't you? Then prove it."

He didn't phrase it like an offer, it was a dare. A playful confrontation wrapped in chivalry. "Just one dance," he added, his voice smooth, confident, yet edged with that same mischievous undertone that had colored their banter since the start. "If, by any chance, you would rather take your chances with another round of strawberries."

The change was evident in his face, and the smile was back, faint, as if sensing something, and completely fitting the character. "I'll warn you, though. I don't dance well. But I do play a mean game of pretend."

* * *

WC: 477

[Alinta 0]

Silence settled between the two, and Alinta was grateful for it. Her heart beat hard in her ears, causing her head to throb. Why did she do that? She wouldn't ever be so bold. She wasn't drunk, right? She couldn't get drunk - she hadn't done the quest. Was it the club itself? A frantic glance over the dance floor...there were many people being a little more...intimate than what normal society would deem acceptable. Was that it? Alinta quickly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She turned her hand and let her fingers against her lips. She had his fingers in her mouth When was the last time she had done something like that? Not in Aincrad, to be sure. She hadn't even realized such realistic sensations were possible. Outside? Sure, maybe - but.... a blink. As Alinta realized just how starved she had been for any kind of contact with another person. No wonder she had taken such a liking to Oscar...when it was clearly, probably, not mutual. Then here comes Scar - and all he had to do was offer her a smile and she....Alinta gulped. That was dangerous.

The room suddenly felt stuffy, and she was very aware of the glimmering lights bouncing off the chandelier high above her, of the crescendo of song. Of the shift of material and the feeling of warmth coming from behind he as Scar approached her, a light laughter coming from him. She couldn't lie - there was something about it that drew her in. Made her want to lean just that tiny bit back so their bodies would collide. Turn and place a hand just so around his waist. 

Alinta turned and felt the breath escape her lungs as she realized just how close he was. An alluring softness to an otherwise predatory gaze. The kind of smile that drew you in. A set of strong broad shoulders that promised to keep you safe and equally threatened to ensnare you tight within their grasp.

"You play your part dangerously well. I'm starting to think the 'saint' routine was just to lure in unsuspecting sinners."

 

A swallow as Alinta would reach out, placing a single finger on his temple, tracing down his jawline. Soaking in the way the light reflected his eyes. "Beneath this light...your eyes almost look like they're blazing. Burning." Her voice fell into a whisper. "Equal parts threatening to engulf me, and soothe me. So which is it, Sinner Scar. For I, the saint confess. I'm drawn in."

She didn't shy away as he asked for just one dance, rather, she accepted it with her hand finding its way into his. Calloused skin engulfing her smaller hand with a squeeze in return. "I don't think my heart could take another round of strawberries..." She'd trail off, shifting another hand to his shoulder. "I cannot say I am used to the kind of dancing you offer, but, as they say in my line of work...fake it till you make it."

@Scar

[Scar 0]

His laugh died down, and was replaced by a quieter, much lower one, something that resembled a growl of amusement. He held her hand tightly, and the little noise of his worn skin against hers was done on purpose, to bring back the reality, "Fake it till you make it?" he quipped, the soft rasp of his voice melting with the music, "You'll find the body remembers things the mind pretends to forget."

He moved, not with the sharpness of command, but with the inevitability of gravity. With a single step forward, the touch of the cloth against the other, the gap between them disappeared. Jack led without force, each shift of his hand suggesting motion before taking it, coaxing her body to answer.

The song's slow tempo, bass and pulse were now full of their breathing and the measured give and take of the dance, tension coursing through every breath, "You're learning fast," he said close to her ear, his voice just a little above a whisper. There was also a very subtle trace of the air from his mouth on her skin, "Or maybe you just needed the right partner."

Jack's hand slid lower, brushing the edge of her waist, not possessive, but unrelentingly present. He guided her through a turn, her hair fanning lightly against his jaw as she spun back into him. The motion drew a quiet laugh from him, low, throaty, genuine. "Careful," he murmured, his mouth near her temple, "You're starting to make it look real."

The music flowing between them was almost a tactile thing, vibrating in the area that was just large enough to contain them, his hand slipped into her back, and the pressing was minimal, just enough to encourage her to lean in until their chests touched. "See?" The word he let out was so soft that it seemed to merge with the music, "Not so hard to follow."

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth coming very close to her cheek, a closeness that was meant to provoke, not calm down, "You said restraint was for the dead." His thumb drew lazy circles near the base of her spine. "So stop restraining yourself."

He moved closer, the remaining slight distance being eliminated, she was moved in exact accordance with the song's slow, tender beat. Every time he shifted his weight, every time his fingers dragged on something, it was all done with the intention of making her realize exactly where she was, and who was the leader.

As the song got louder, Jack led her through a slow twirl, his hand moving from her shoulder down to her arm, once again, taking hold of her hand. Their bodies moving together with the music, almost slow and without energy, till the last note of the song lingered in the air.

* * *

WC: 472

@Alinta