09-29-2013, 06:46 AM
<small>[[Lots of moding of Oriena here.]]</small>
Jaxen was not inclined to make a fool of himself without good reason. As he walked the owner to the center of her establishment, he was firmly aware Kallisti's was not Manifesto. The only dancers here were the ones peeling away their clothes.
They drew eyes alight with curiosity. Oriena's dress bounced light like it were sewn with the dust of diamonds. A flat-chested disco ball. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Flat chests usually meant a bony ass, and there was something special about the way his hands wrapped around the jutting ridges of the hips of women with bony asses.
He paused on that open space Jon was calling a dance floor and pulled the arm of his companion around to face him. A tall thing, she was. Another point in her favor. There was also something special about the way long legs of tall women wrapped around his hips.
The smirk of a vivid imagination faded as the task came into focus. Normally, Jaxen welcomed all eyes on him, but he did not appreciate the glares and curses from those telling them to get out of the way. Not that he blamed the poor drunk bastards. They were blocking view of a scantily clad flamingo dancer.
"Really?"
Jaxen asked Oriena and kicked a nod at the feather headdress as the woman wearing it spun off stage.
"I need to class this place up,"
he shot Oriena a wink and went about the all-pleasant task of rearranging his own clothing. First, shoes and socks came off. Then the tie loosened and popped off his neck. Finally, he untucked and unbuttoned the shirt so it draped down his sides open at the front. The material was lighter than it looked, the sort to catch the air and billow slightly as he moved. Between that and the stage's backlighting, which he signaled to the stage crew to crank up, he should cast a rather nice silhouette. He heard an anonymous groan of disappointment when he stopped there, but the devilish grin on his face didn't blame the bemoaner's disappointment. Quick work of his Wallet sent a song choice to the system, and he deposited it alongside the rest of his belongings, signaling to Jon to keep an eye on the pile of stuff.
He hopped up to the stage with all the ease of someone used to scaling walls without so much as a handhold. Then turned to help Oriena without making her flash the crowd bits that Jaxen was reserving for his eyes only.
The performance area itself was small by theater's standards, but not too different from what accommodated the usual ballet recital.
Hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to peer through the lighting, he regarded the room. They certainly had everyone's attention.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.
As he pulled Oriena close, his head built up the fourth wall between them and the audience. He hadn't realized it until her palms were laid upon his body that he'd been doused with goosebumps from stomach to throat that refused to back down. Between the fire coursing within, it was like Oriena's ice cubes sizzled and melted with her every touch. It was kind of obscenely addictive. As the music started, a final thought was given to the topic. Why was he the only one affected? The air wrapped with stage lighting was stifling as a sauna. A bead of sweat already formed in the small of his back. So why the chill? Bastard Tony better not have lied. If this was the Sickness again, he'd rather not end up in another rape dungeon.
The instrumental at the opening of the song was a high key piano followed by the trance-like strumming of a guitar. A dance like this had to match the story of the music, so to partner the tale building up in his head, of two people begging for one another, he slid one heel back and stretched near to a full split as his pants - and cool hamstrings - would allow. That is, inches from the floor. Oriena bent, chasing after her sinking partner, but before she captured his face in her palms, his spun and curled out of her reach--a panged look on his expression as the lyricist and full beat of the band amplified.
Fuck choreographers. A touch here; a push there, a nudge and pull and tug. He led Oriena around like she were on the beck of call of his fingers and eyes alone. The character of their dance might be of forbidden romance, but Jaxen was keenly aware of exactly who led who. And he liked being in charge.
Oriena was languid and accommodating. Though clearly Jaxen was the only one of the pair with any formal training. Even if it had been .. a while, he wasn't too hindered. The choreography of a master thief was not much different than the artistry of a dancer, and Jaxen was a talented thief.
Crouched low, he suddenly exploded into a series of jumping steps that accompanied the upbeat tempo of the chorus. The allegro ended with the gesture of one leg extended far behind him, his hips and spine likewise arched backward. It was a harsh, but beautiful move, implicating the character's suffering. Which meant it was time to return to his partner. He summoned her by catching her eye. From arms wrapped longingly around her ankles, his palms slid up the contours of her legs as he pushed to stand. His cheek pressed to her chest as he held a delicate object likely to break under his crushing grip. Through the heat of the Power, he heard her heartbeat swell in speed.
Breathing heavy and sweating with exertion, the goosebumps persisted. The curiosity of such notation momentarily crossed his expression before it blanked out of focus once more.
He manipulated her away once more. Coming and going. Teasing and giving in. The music amplified with crescendo, and on point with lightness, rapid footwork carried Jaxen away from inflicting any more of his irresistible spell upon her wearied soul. His head thrown back, he landed once more on his knees, and the slickness of his pants on the stage added another half-spin to the velocity of the move. Shit he was going to be sore tomorrow.
But he didn't remain there long enough to come to a full stop. A rather gymnastic-like explosion popped him to the points of his feet and he rocketed into the fullest, arms bent, and toes pointed ballet-like move of the dance thus far. A four-seventy degree spin landed him facing away from Oriena.
His shoulders sank, but upon her touch, he turned, crouched to one knee and cradling her neck, he lowered her body across his leg until she lay on the floor completely at his mercy. Oriena was going to flay him alive for this next move. But he smiled anyway.
One leg pitched straight and he threw himself over her body. Held aloft by palms and the points of his toes alone, he lowered slowly until his lips were pressed to the curve of her neck. Hopefully she didn't knee him in the balls and shove his ass off her.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Sep 29 2013, 06:52 AM.
Jaxen was not inclined to make a fool of himself without good reason. As he walked the owner to the center of her establishment, he was firmly aware Kallisti's was not Manifesto. The only dancers here were the ones peeling away their clothes.
They drew eyes alight with curiosity. Oriena's dress bounced light like it were sewn with the dust of diamonds. A flat-chested disco ball. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Flat chests usually meant a bony ass, and there was something special about the way his hands wrapped around the jutting ridges of the hips of women with bony asses.
He paused on that open space Jon was calling a dance floor and pulled the arm of his companion around to face him. A tall thing, she was. Another point in her favor. There was also something special about the way long legs of tall women wrapped around his hips.
The smirk of a vivid imagination faded as the task came into focus. Normally, Jaxen welcomed all eyes on him, but he did not appreciate the glares and curses from those telling them to get out of the way. Not that he blamed the poor drunk bastards. They were blocking view of a scantily clad flamingo dancer.
"Really?"
Jaxen asked Oriena and kicked a nod at the feather headdress as the woman wearing it spun off stage.
"I need to class this place up,"
he shot Oriena a wink and went about the all-pleasant task of rearranging his own clothing. First, shoes and socks came off. Then the tie loosened and popped off his neck. Finally, he untucked and unbuttoned the shirt so it draped down his sides open at the front. The material was lighter than it looked, the sort to catch the air and billow slightly as he moved. Between that and the stage's backlighting, which he signaled to the stage crew to crank up, he should cast a rather nice silhouette. He heard an anonymous groan of disappointment when he stopped there, but the devilish grin on his face didn't blame the bemoaner's disappointment. Quick work of his Wallet sent a song choice to the system, and he deposited it alongside the rest of his belongings, signaling to Jon to keep an eye on the pile of stuff.
He hopped up to the stage with all the ease of someone used to scaling walls without so much as a handhold. Then turned to help Oriena without making her flash the crowd bits that Jaxen was reserving for his eyes only.
The performance area itself was small by theater's standards, but not too different from what accommodated the usual ballet recital.
Hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to peer through the lighting, he regarded the room. They certainly had everyone's attention.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.
As he pulled Oriena close, his head built up the fourth wall between them and the audience. He hadn't realized it until her palms were laid upon his body that he'd been doused with goosebumps from stomach to throat that refused to back down. Between the fire coursing within, it was like Oriena's ice cubes sizzled and melted with her every touch. It was kind of obscenely addictive. As the music started, a final thought was given to the topic. Why was he the only one affected? The air wrapped with stage lighting was stifling as a sauna. A bead of sweat already formed in the small of his back. So why the chill? Bastard Tony better not have lied. If this was the Sickness again, he'd rather not end up in another rape dungeon.
The instrumental at the opening of the song was a high key piano followed by the trance-like strumming of a guitar. A dance like this had to match the story of the music, so to partner the tale building up in his head, of two people begging for one another, he slid one heel back and stretched near to a full split as his pants - and cool hamstrings - would allow. That is, inches from the floor. Oriena bent, chasing after her sinking partner, but before she captured his face in her palms, his spun and curled out of her reach--a panged look on his expression as the lyricist and full beat of the band amplified.
Fuck choreographers. A touch here; a push there, a nudge and pull and tug. He led Oriena around like she were on the beck of call of his fingers and eyes alone. The character of their dance might be of forbidden romance, but Jaxen was keenly aware of exactly who led who. And he liked being in charge.
Oriena was languid and accommodating. Though clearly Jaxen was the only one of the pair with any formal training. Even if it had been .. a while, he wasn't too hindered. The choreography of a master thief was not much different than the artistry of a dancer, and Jaxen was a talented thief.
Crouched low, he suddenly exploded into a series of jumping steps that accompanied the upbeat tempo of the chorus. The allegro ended with the gesture of one leg extended far behind him, his hips and spine likewise arched backward. It was a harsh, but beautiful move, implicating the character's suffering. Which meant it was time to return to his partner. He summoned her by catching her eye. From arms wrapped longingly around her ankles, his palms slid up the contours of her legs as he pushed to stand. His cheek pressed to her chest as he held a delicate object likely to break under his crushing grip. Through the heat of the Power, he heard her heartbeat swell in speed.
Breathing heavy and sweating with exertion, the goosebumps persisted. The curiosity of such notation momentarily crossed his expression before it blanked out of focus once more.
He manipulated her away once more. Coming and going. Teasing and giving in. The music amplified with crescendo, and on point with lightness, rapid footwork carried Jaxen away from inflicting any more of his irresistible spell upon her wearied soul. His head thrown back, he landed once more on his knees, and the slickness of his pants on the stage added another half-spin to the velocity of the move. Shit he was going to be sore tomorrow.
But he didn't remain there long enough to come to a full stop. A rather gymnastic-like explosion popped him to the points of his feet and he rocketed into the fullest, arms bent, and toes pointed ballet-like move of the dance thus far. A four-seventy degree spin landed him facing away from Oriena.
His shoulders sank, but upon her touch, he turned, crouched to one knee and cradling her neck, he lowered her body across his leg until she lay on the floor completely at his mercy. Oriena was going to flay him alive for this next move. But he smiled anyway.
One leg pitched straight and he threw himself over her body. Held aloft by palms and the points of his toes alone, he lowered slowly until his lips were pressed to the curve of her neck. Hopefully she didn't knee him in the balls and shove his ass off her.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Sep 29 2013, 06:52 AM.