Post by Randall Lyons on May 26, 2018 4:28:20 GMT -5
Tag: Faith Lehane , and it's open!
Note: Hope this was alright!
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The deep sound of a bass reverbs. Heads bob with the rhythm of drums, people jump and thrust their fists skyward. With an electric guitar to fill the gaps, and a singer out in front. The band’s sound shakes the very ground throughout the nightclub Anatomy. Sweat flies off the singer’s shaggy blond hair. The heavy sound reverberates in the chests of all inside. Heartbeats quicken as a result. Spotlights shine upon the stage. The olfactory sensation of sweat and lust fills the air as people dance and grind their hips. The lone sleazy bartender does his best to keep the glasses full. He keeps the patrons drunk to line his pockets.
At the end of the bar sits a tall and curvaceous dark-haired woman with even darker eyes. Blood red lipstick is her trademark. Her tight red dress that doesn’t come far under her hips. It contrasts against ashen skin. High-heels that gave another foot of height, and razor-sharp polished-red nails. Such elegance doesn’t have a right to some dim-lit, and musty nightclub. She was out of place, and she has the bartender infatuated. The bartender whom paid little attention to others at the bar. The woman holds all his attention. The man’s mind thinks about nothing but watching her undress.
‘Hey’, Randall calls across the bar. ‘Could I get another glass?’
The bartender continues to ignore them with an eyeroll. The vivacious woman giggles at something he whispers. She sips on her glass which leaves an imprint from her lipstick.
‘You’re punching above your weight’. Randall groans, ‘know your place and get me another drink’.
Yet still the bartender ignores the man that sits across the bar. He wore: blue jeans, that were a little tight. A white tee-shirt, that accentuates defined muscle. His jacket and boots were both black and leather. He has dirty-blond unkempt hair, and a beard that works well.
With an attitude that thought himself better than everyone in the nightclub. Randall sits bored. He pushes aside the childish giggles of a few senior year girls that eye him for attention. His gaze forwards, but attention never leaves the woman in the little red frock.
After a moment when it’s made clear the bartender won’t tend. He stands up from his stall and wanders towards the dark-haired woman. He leans in close to whisper in her ear: ‘You need a proper man that knows how to treat you right’, then he hooks his arm. The woman loops her arm through his. As they start to leave the man tosses the bartender a boyish look, a bombastic grin.
They don’t walk far behind the nightclub before the vampire forces the man against the wall. With a clamp like grip she forces his arms up, they too become pinned. She steps in closer, and her soft lips press against his own. The man lets out an impassioned sigh, as the woman kisses towards his throat. Her angular face morphs into something a little coarser. Her teeth elongate about to pierce his flesh. When someone pulls her off.
Note: Hope this was alright!
_________________________________
The deep sound of a bass reverbs. Heads bob with the rhythm of drums, people jump and thrust their fists skyward. With an electric guitar to fill the gaps, and a singer out in front. The band’s sound shakes the very ground throughout the nightclub Anatomy. Sweat flies off the singer’s shaggy blond hair. The heavy sound reverberates in the chests of all inside. Heartbeats quicken as a result. Spotlights shine upon the stage. The olfactory sensation of sweat and lust fills the air as people dance and grind their hips. The lone sleazy bartender does his best to keep the glasses full. He keeps the patrons drunk to line his pockets.
At the end of the bar sits a tall and curvaceous dark-haired woman with even darker eyes. Blood red lipstick is her trademark. Her tight red dress that doesn’t come far under her hips. It contrasts against ashen skin. High-heels that gave another foot of height, and razor-sharp polished-red nails. Such elegance doesn’t have a right to some dim-lit, and musty nightclub. She was out of place, and she has the bartender infatuated. The bartender whom paid little attention to others at the bar. The woman holds all his attention. The man’s mind thinks about nothing but watching her undress.
‘Hey’, Randall calls across the bar. ‘Could I get another glass?’
The bartender continues to ignore them with an eyeroll. The vivacious woman giggles at something he whispers. She sips on her glass which leaves an imprint from her lipstick.
‘You’re punching above your weight’. Randall groans, ‘know your place and get me another drink’.
Yet still the bartender ignores the man that sits across the bar. He wore: blue jeans, that were a little tight. A white tee-shirt, that accentuates defined muscle. His jacket and boots were both black and leather. He has dirty-blond unkempt hair, and a beard that works well.
With an attitude that thought himself better than everyone in the nightclub. Randall sits bored. He pushes aside the childish giggles of a few senior year girls that eye him for attention. His gaze forwards, but attention never leaves the woman in the little red frock.
After a moment when it’s made clear the bartender won’t tend. He stands up from his stall and wanders towards the dark-haired woman. He leans in close to whisper in her ear: ‘You need a proper man that knows how to treat you right’, then he hooks his arm. The woman loops her arm through his. As they start to leave the man tosses the bartender a boyish look, a bombastic grin.
They don’t walk far behind the nightclub before the vampire forces the man against the wall. With a clamp like grip she forces his arms up, they too become pinned. She steps in closer, and her soft lips press against his own. The man lets out an impassioned sigh, as the woman kisses towards his throat. Her angular face morphs into something a little coarser. Her teeth elongate about to pierce his flesh. When someone pulls her off.