Blurred Line

May 05, 2017:

Amora has a moment of pause… Due to a Lantern.

//Club Obscure //

((In RP))

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Siege

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Clubs line the strip, and at this hour, neon lights cast a pulsing light of varying colors, also casting darker shadows that seem to "run" with every rhythmic shuttle of light along the narrow fluorescent tubing that simply guides the (dis)abled bodies from one to the next place.

Velvet ropes of green hang in bowed extensions from one pole to the next, forcing a line if entry is wanted into the Club 'Obscure'. A bit more upscale perhaps, but then again when ID's are checked, so are the almost adulterous sweeps of the figures before the bounders. One man and woman protest as they are literally lifted like little dolls, and set on the other side of the ropes and given a child-scorning shove towards the other rows of bars and clubs.
"We're of age!!"
"What the *Hiccup*'ell?? We got rights!!"

"You, him, everyone else here." One of the massive guards mutters, the other offering a throaty chuckle. Oafs, one word, describing both, if not 'Orks', by their build and attitude alone, as well as that smile that annunciates smiles bearing more under bite in the flash of teeth as they resume permitting passage, or denying.

One rowdy collegiate frat boy gets launched up and over the ropes, his tuck-and-roll not on point and saggy pants as well as Cardinal's ball-cap end up somewhere at his ankles while road rash becomes his nights "thing".
"That's for the Team. You took one for them." The other grunts his laughter and they return to place.

It's a job for them, but one that may draw curiosity, or the ropes alone that form a corral doing just that, lining them up, then shuffling them like a deck of cards.

Inside the club though, large wooden doors coated in a mesh of almost iron grating are what forms the main entry, unfolding to the black lacquered flooring that leads through security detail, coat check, and down a few steps rimmed in a light green neon cast to show where foot-placement should be had. But down two steps… The fog rolls over the ground, making it obscured from lower calves on down, so if you slip… Worry later…

A split is formed, the place does not just cater to one, it caters to all.
The left side bears neon lighting, beer signs, vanity openers, kegs, drafts, and shots… Wooden stools, a scraped up wooden bar that bears burrows along it's surface as if Coyote Ugly occurs here. The hollers and cheers almost seem unheard from the main vantage of the bottom of those illuminated stairs.

To the right, tables are laid out, gambling, betting, dealing, small screens flicker what is not truly played before hands, waitresses almost bearing a style that caters to the speakeasy, and yet… Modern tryst while trays handle more aged alcohols.

Split between the two? A stage, as all of this just may be….
But if you walk just beside and head back, parting on one side, a saloon door, on the other a door made of beaded and crystalline strings…
Stairs wind upwards and doors once more vary , but along the banister where you can look down upon the stage and below, cages can be viewed, hanging from the lofted almost 'warehouse' ceiling above, as well as the comings and goings //between
, but here a slender bar winds for placement upon the banister for ordered drinks and those of the voyeurs.

Right where the stairs land in their spiral to the second floor, and just behind a third set picks up, there is a 'balcony', more centered then the rest, and it has its own flickering light as a small screen plays on a tablet before a woman whose eyes are focused upon the security reels. It was like a game…
One sweep of finger to the right and they are gone, to the left… And that door on the main (sub) level opens…

Tonight the place is OPEN but it lacks a blinking neon sign of such script.

While above at the second tier a near chaos is almost met, and the world ripples,
Shrapnel of wood and glass descend,
…freeze in place and time…

Then impact the floor in a wave of glitter instead of destruction.

Moments, heartbeats, and slow-blinks…
But from the stairwell, stiletto laden gladiator sandall'd feet descend, stair by stair, leaving length of shadow-strapped ankle to thigh lashes, a gaping spanse of pale skin… And that green hem picks up, crinkled, ridden, only to tug at a side while a hand pushes back a lock of loosed pale tress loosed from the long decent of heavy braids, a *patter* of touch upon the light bow of exposed spine while mossy colored cloth straps and twines across her skin like life depends on it.

Guards rush in, like fools do… no contact had been made despite what Amora nearly tempted the other to do. (And almost got fucking choked out for her games!) But she stopped it, and now…
ore pawns to play, but until then, she drops the curve of voluptuous hip upon the bar of the taverns end of her illusory 'Club', sweeping up someone else's ordered ale,
… Draining it.

Hal hates lines. Standing there staring at neon lights has him zoning out, his hand twitching once before he is tugged back to the present.
"Ew!" His partner declares as the man in front of them begins to hurl. The same time the bouncers are literally lifting and dropping people out of the line.

"Good grief. Come on, babe." Eventually he'll run out of neutral and safe pet names on calling his date, Bambie? Bunny? Bonnie? Aubrey? What the hell is her name?
Slipping past the bent over fellow getting sick Hal Jordan and his date, the spunky, very attractive freckled redhead are standing at the threshold.

"Hi, names Hal Jordan, pilot. This is my date, she's a YouTube celebrity. Wanna let us through?" Hal stands face to face eye-to-eye with one of the thugs. A challenging smile.
"Maybe you seen some of my dance videos!" His date adds holding up her sparkly cellphone and showing the young woman in not much less than she is in now, dancing around in a glowing hoola hoop. It's stupid, its colorful, its set to bad techno but it actually does have a lot of hits. Who knew people liked watching women just jump up and down… wait… Hal knew.

The tablet is vibrating on a cracked tables surface as the line that had been filtered bears the remaining duet, one of the 'Oafs' looks upon with an exchange and a bit of worry. The woman's proclamation, the mans overall stature and poise despite her words and actions….
No response?
In they go! But behind them, those heavily iron-laden doors of oak close and latch, even the 'peep' hole secured and…
Disappearing?

Enchantress was busy, there is much to now spin and weave, much more then expected when she 'Housed' Ber-Sekir ale to the younger male and found a game… One worth playing.

So!

In celebration she is perched upon the scuffed bar top that bolsters a Coyote Ugly all its own, a large frosted pint in her hand and through those surrounding, a whole new pulse amplifies the Obscure that is like an (a)rhythmic heartbeat.
Heartbeat..

So when Hal and his date enter, the video flashed, the hopping almost like a ripple effect through the place from one tempo to another based on the 'sectors' of the rooms…
Eyes narrow, but lifting edges is amusement… Akin to cat and mouse as she watches the woman simply bounce her way into a throng of bodies.

"Serve her. Make sure it keeps recording…" A dulcet whisper as a tray laden in drinks ushers out to the masses, while Hal is held a freshly frothing and filled pint.

"Better go ah'n get 'er before that goes far to virah'l." The accent is foreign, Nordic…
Matching that narrowed inset of fluorescent-moss.

Hal isn't blind. Tunnel vision often enough but not blind and recently hes had a lot of personal experience with 'reality warping' it's almost become a default hobby.

"Okay that's not good." His date is a creature of the night, music and obviously dance. She is already bounding off like a kangaroo in a rave. No notice to the real environment.
"Hey, no, Beth… Britn… damnit. I know it has a B in it. Brenda? One of you guys see what her name was on that vide—- yeah, no door." Hal's attempt to spin around and ask the bouncers is met with a wall. An actual wall where a door once was. "Because that is normal."

A scowl etches itself across his features, dark brown eyes skim the new bar and stop on the woman upon the bar, "Wow." In the looks department? She ranks right up there with Wonder Woman. Dulcinea Effect inspiring looks, the kind that usually belong to the otherworldly and supernatural. Otherworldly babes like Starfire, Captain Marvel, Power Girl…
"Get a hold of yourself, man." A voice outloud, his own voice? He is gawking and staring like a kid who just hit puberty. Clearing his throat to redraw his focus he looks down at his ring, invisible still on his hand.

Scanning

Scanning

"Nothing yet, huh? No dimensional anomalies, no weird signatures?"

Scanning

"Well that's just… super. Beer it is."

A left turn and Hal is striding towards the tap.

// I'm sitting at the bar when your glass is empty.
You thinkin' that the songs coming on to tempt me..
I need to be alone like the way you left me..//

Hal is met with that frosted stein, filled and frothed to the brim in a manner it nearly breaks the rim, but dribbles down the side and splits over the fog of outer-shell.

A glimpse, and her own massive stein is lifted, pressed back…
Seated upon the bar one leg is slung over the other, pressing thighs together beneath the cling of dress, one hand slamming back like a kick-stand upon a pristine 'cycle of temptation.
Her head rocks back, neck craning… Waves of blonde/platinum/silver fall sown over her arms, down her back, trickling along the bartop to spill behind the plant of ass upon that grooved surface.

The empty mug rolls upon its base in a spiraling dance towards Hal, a flick of tongue from a corner of lips, but in her eyes, that floor his 'B' is upon bounces along that ocular screen like a relay, only to flicker back towards him in a light lean….

"Taste it. Nah good enou'gh? I can up yah ante'." A smile, a limber bend and climb rocks back on the contour of hip with the cling of moss upon it (*blink*literally?) and the splayed palm is now lifting to cock a finger to the tender and dance like raindrops over the heads of those present…
Orders placed, but Hal? His suspicions? The look around??

"What's your name?"
/What's your game?/

"My name? Hal. But you can call me whatever you like." Hal responds in his usual knee jerk fashion, its not even intentional most the time to just fire out the lines. A low chuckle from him and he looks around cautiously, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He's less mindful of everyone else here and more looking for the Bouncy Forgotten Named Redhead he arrived with, shes kind of his responsibility.

"Let me guess, your name is either June or… Venus?"

Picking up the offered stein he manages to look away from Amora now and study the cup first then sniff at the drink.

Scanning

Nothing yet? Seriously. The Oan Power Ring would detect poisons or anything harmful in the drink. It doesn't. That's a relief. The questioning look she is giving him is isn't acknowledged instead he drinks. A long chug, a mortal used to his drinking kinda drink or just a man who needs a good long pull.

Hal's words beckon a smile upon lips nude if any paint save the glisten of alcohol and tongue that stroked over the surface just after the drought.

"Halll…. Why so simple, eh~?" A perk of brow as his name is nearly pulled forth from the space between them like a lulling story, even with the accent of the fact that when he tips the drink back her hand extends and fingertips smudge the bottom to split lines across the base and art the (bi)frost.

"Your harlot is fine, this will gain her!" A statement like a win in battle as more drinks are lined up along the bar, one -nudged- along the curve of hip just 'neat the prop of splayed palm.

No…
Nothing in his drink, not yet, as… "…Amora…" 's bait is laid and he reveals nothing. So more is offered as her own is taken. A Fortune, laid in froth and iced along edges, but even along small cusps of hardened plastic, shots are *clip-clip-clipped- into the seating, poured, and the salted.

"Pra'hlem with my name?" A perk of brow and as she rocks back

It would seem like she was about to 'prop' herself before him but then she slithers down along the bar to land upon siletto'd feet, lifted to a -pained- arch.
The shot is then /slipped/ between his lips and the rim of his stein, the glass rims *clanking and the froth bubbling to the top as she smiles….
A stroke of tongue to salted rim and she takes it back.

"June? Venus?? How much you seek to insult…" A flutter of fingertips to exposed plexus before the light pitter-patter of *fingertips* forms a bass and she winks Hal's way.

"It's okay, forgive yah."

"No. I am pretty sure Harlot is not her name." Fairly certain Hal retorts. "Simple? Me insulting? That's just outright insulting ma and pa Jordan's good taste." A quirk upwards of both brows as she takes the shot and toys with his own drink.

"Amora, can't say I ever met an Amora." That is maybe a name he would remember. "I can't place your accent. Where are you from?" The drink is downed completely. "Not bad." He remarks, looking around on where he can find another.

Scanning

Still? Charge should be full. It's down time for the League and no pings have went in across the sector. If they did it's likely Kyle would be there first anyways.

"Yah… sure?" Where Hal's brows bow, her own arch…

On the flickering lights of the dance floor it almost reflects like an X-Ray, and something is //off, but to the naked eye, not the readings of -data-.

When he looks around a loft of hand has the tender of th bar producing more, but the recoil is one that almost seems becoming despite the fact that now she stands before him, propped hip-to-eave of that bar and those eyes seem lacking in color in an eerie comparison.

"N/oo/rdic." But she reposes and takes more placed between them in that offering, a sweep of tongue along salted ridge of skin…
"And you? With your wandering gaze not set for your top Hit-L/ee/st…?" Another glance to said woman who is basking in her own glory while she is reciprocating the pin of questions against Hal.

"What is her name??" And if memory fails…
… She is gone from that mass, and beneath the feet, nothing but broken glass…

"Nordic? Explains plenty I suppose." Hal replies quietly. This new drink meets his lips just as fast as the last, he could outdrink most fratboys. Offhand the only man who could put him under a table is Guy. But then Guy is a lush of the worst kind.

"Her name? Uh… I want to say Buh-er—linda? Blanche? Honestly we met the other night and I'm not really good with names." He doesn't care if he comes off inconsiderate, while Amora is standing in front of him "B"whatsherface has become an afterthought. These reasons here are why he and Carol Ferris never work out. Hal is definitely a man's man.

"So far away from home, huh? Why on Earth would you come to New York?"

"'Splains, what?" A slight lean back, akin with the long draught from the pint, the rock of throat to take in the ale pauses when Hal starts to say the womans name, the flutter of lashes lifting slightly to splinter the flash of pale gaze towards him, as if a serpent only lidding enough to see where to strike.
Name not known?
Slowly that bouncy figure starts fading into shadow, cast in rings that bounce of darkening curves, the screen of her camera still filming as even those around her still crowd in as if it will be there moment of fame.

…Maybe.

Amora almost took her name stumble for Brunnhilde, and once that passed, the still of her throat commences, the stein rocked back upon the bar top, the base spinning, rocking, fingertips splaying over the rim to still it into level upon the bar top. A roll of shoulder and her head tilts, nearly skimming jaw long the fall of pleats and waves spilling over her shoulder. "I love de' lights. You Americans simply have the best time on Earth." A wave of hand and one of the shots is slid his way, another taken in her hand and dropped within her stein just before the tender pours the refill.

"What is it you do, Hal? Aside from watch over the cee-lebritee?" But was that last bit sarcasm?

"I'm a pilot or I was." Hal says to Amora, rather bluntly. He is watching the almost alien woman move, his eyes occasionally drifting up around them. Still dead set on this is no regular 'club'. It is just off and Amora is especially unnatural. "What about you? You just exist here as a what, hostess? Owner? Manager? Stuck in a permanent state of party to bad music?" A tease but he is trying to keep his eyes attentive to Bambi and where she may end up. Though with the crowded bodies, lighting and activity its a hard focus. "On Earth? Oh, Americans… yeah. I mean, we are the Western World of fun and adventure."

"So, you quit flying, to…" A rise of brow, a slow smile dwindling down as she skims him, that flash of teeth from the corner of lips easily there and gone. Wolfish if not for the lining of lips that add a softness to what lies beneath.

"Wander with nameless women, to nameless places and insut the name of this Clubs owner and musical tastes?" For a moment the accent begins to lighten, adapting with the time between but not truly faltering.

The dip in brows almost seems to take insult, her stein tipped and this time sipped while the shot she dropped within, the mate offered to Hal. One step forward and the only thing keeping distance between herself and him is the steins they both hold.
Clink.

"See? American's, and why I like this place so." A drop of her eyes, a much slower rise and that flash of teeth returns to her smile.
"Not fly." Hal states with an uplifted brow at the curious foreigner. "Wasn't a choice."

"Whoah, hey, insult is only if you're being sensitive. You didn't strike me as the tender sort, lady." The man adds, his hand waving up defensively. Not a violent thing just one of those social actions. "Shes not nameless… I just forgot her name. Big difference." The *clink* of their steins gets him nodding his head once to her before he tips it back and takes a drink. "You like it because I insulted you or… " A look around them, the dancing, the wild craze. Something he figures can be found anywhere in the world. Hal is very aware of their proximity. She's quite fetching after all.

"No, you did not insult me. If you did, you would know, Hal." His name is drawn over her lips like it is just as foreign as her accent and looks.

"When you forget names, many times they cease to exist." A rise of finger, the appendage tipped in rings that seem more akin to claws, brushing along the brow limned in a circlet that is like ivy in lacing, looping back to disappear beneath the mass of pearlescent hair. A tap to Amora's temple.

"Because it draws in good company, /enter'tainment/." A turn now and instead of facing him, she places hip towards him, the waist-twisted pivot drawing the barest brush across him, her perch reclaimed along the edge of the bar where it lines just along the curved cusp of that derriere, coated in the fabric of mossy hue. Openings in the fabric leave little to imagination, but paint paths for the eyes exploration, and she wears it all so well.

"You do nt strike me as a man who can have his choices taken away. Not without fight."

"Glad to know." Hal responds to the hostess, "You're one of them types that believes that mumbojumbo about names holding power, huh?" He can't help but follow the hand full of rings before tipping back his stein, that hip thrust out towards him has eyes dropping watching her backside with open appreciation, "I am not the kinda man who rolls over without a fight. I think that's what you're saying… What gave that away?" If shes drugged him with the alcohol though, he's very much already lost the battle there but then his Ring has rather impressive detoxification options in it.

Amora has not had to drug him, Hal is paying attention.

Her eyes settle on his, a narrow in her smile that is hidden behind the rim of stein and those eyes underlined by the upper most ridge and cusp. "You do not?" A tsk and the drained mug is set aside now, hands reaching back to push hair free from her shoulders to spill fully down her back, concealing the opening of diamond shape that exposed the line of her back from between shoulder blades to the very small and dip of spine, perched just above the lip of bar.

A plant of hands and she is easing herself back upon the lacquered surface, one leg crossing over the other while she rocks forward to keep her voice above the basslines of music. "You're on the ready." A point from her eyes to his, then out towards the club that is darkening in areas, fading from the lights as if the shut-down is about to begin in small areas and increments of the massive Club. "Your shoulders are always lifted. Squared." A sweep of that gaze again and her lean forward draws a hand upward, slowly, a bare touch of pads of fingers along the back of his jaw to brush forward towards his chin, curling as if to bring them both closer.

"Do you dance. Hal?"

"Do I? Not tonight." Hal says to Amora, he is on the ready. Flags have been up since he got in here but he supposes he often is. "No, not really. A name is just a name." The man says flatly, he is doing his best to keep his eyes from following her around, he is after all here with a date. A date who is in a manwhich right now, she is apparently the center of. "Good grief. I'm very much out of the game." Amazing how much his concern for Bambie? Drops from moderate to almost nil. The stein empty and set upside down he motions towards the bartender for another. "Keep them coming, pal."

Amora's touch on his skin gets an uptilt of his jaw, "What's your game lady? You like the cut of my jib, my swagger or you just on something? I know I'm a good looking guy but since I came in here you have been right up on me. Which, normally I don't mind but this place… all of this has been just… I dunno. I can't out my finger on it."

"Pity…." Amora states. But in a flash of time it seems drinks keep coming for Hal and the club keeps emptying, darkening.
The Nordic woman having slid from her stool steps away in a freeze-frame of time. every step. Stopped. Paused.
The Club carries on as she seems to be in stop-motion alone, passing through even the glow emanated by additional hoops as (Let's just call her) "B", dances in a line of bodies.

Was he drugged? No.

But that ring will alert the sense of magical passing now if it can.

The shattered glass upon the floor shakes, rattles, rolls…
Rises!

No one upon the floor of that former destruction is scathed, but the serrated edges tell that they very well could have been!!
Hover.
Twist.

In the midst of it Amora stands, hands extended, fingers bearing clawed tips extended, palm-up, a gesture as if she herself is drawing up the broken shards! A twist of agile wrists, a splay of palm, fingertips splayed and everything twists like the bodies upon the floor.

Sex. Love. Control. Vanity.
And the Mirror's gonna fall tonight!

Lights flicker, the reflections bouncing off the broken shards, a strobe effect that comes with a writhing twist of hips clad in green. Serpentine, but not scaled, save for the sheen off the broken bits of a fight trapped elsewhere.

"You bear the cut of men that deserve attention… Deserve," A pause and with a flick of fingers the shattered glass that hangs in stasis fires out in a concussive force!

The doors that disappeared… Shoot wide!
"B" is flung outside of them with the rest of the occupants while Hal is left..

"Better."

… Standing on an empty lot with B held aloft only by the people who surrounded her.

But they still stand upon shards of broken glass.

That is not something you see everyday." Hal mutters to himself while stumbling backwards. The club gone and giant shattered glass shards replace where people should be standing on solid ground.

"Okay, Amora. You have my attention." The Power Ring is indeed glowing.
Anomalous Energy "Right, yeah, that usually means magic." Hal isn't speaking loud. He is actually talking to himself.

"Do we have a case of mistaken identity? Because I wasn't really meaning to insult your fashion sense quite like this… " Are those people real? He knows Bambi is but the rest? They have to be. Maybe she is ensnaring them. What are his options here?" Hal realizes he's talking to an empty parking lot except those disoriented clubbers. "Do I report this? I don't even know… I am going to go home and sleep." He just leaves his date where she is. She has more money than him, she can find a taxi or whatever it is these Ubers are people always talk about now…

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