Nov 22 02:43:39 106 PA - Discussions on declarations of love
From Chronicles
The club is a liberal mix of modern and classic styles with a dark, warm lean to the hardwood and metal decor, dressed up with velvet and leather. Set up about the stage with attached DJ station and dance floor at the center, the entrance is set to one end of this, the bar to the other. The entrance itself is tightly controlled. There are always two well dressed people at the front, a bouncer to check each person coming in and another watching the drum and closet lockers that hold all patron weapons.
A broad , semi circular stage extends from the center of the widest wall, rising two feet, with lights rimming the edge and hidden in scaffolds high above. A rich red velvet curtain lies ready to sweep about and veil the stage itself from view. The DJ booth is set up right next to the stage, set into the same wall. With a thick window and biometric locks on the two side doors, one to the stage and the other to a set of stairs down, the equipment within is secure. Within a C shaped desk and racks hold the sound equipment, all linked into a central computer. All done up in sleek, dark cases, mixing well with the warm, wood paneling of the booth's exterior.
A dance floor is central to the club, laid out in a broad circle before the stage. Laid out in a semi circle opposite the stage side of the dance floor are a series of round tables, with smaller two person sized ones at the edge, with larger four person tables in the next row and a few grand six to eight person tables on the outer edge. All staggered to make for the best view for all to the dance floor and stage. To one side of this central focus is the bar, a broad affair taking up much of the shorter wall in width. The bar itself is a mix of modern and classic, with the simple, elegant hardwood design of the bar itself mixing with the display of alcohol behind it, opaque plastic shelves lit from within to highlight the wide selection of common and uncommon liquors for sale. The barstools themselves, lined up in a neat row, mix dark metallic stems with comfy red leather seats.
Later at night, and the Alibi is thumping with music. One of the bench seats in the alcove has a Maya in it, her purple iced drink in front of her. She is lying on the bench, her legs up the wall, her hands behind her head. Apparently talking to herself, although this is drowned out by the music. Obviously the conversation is not going well, as the frowning and frustrated shakes of her head indicate.
A leg arrives, and then a second. Black leather creaks quietly as it hugs a pair of shoulder-width legs above Maya, little holes on either side revealing ovals of tanned flesh beneath. A mesh shirt runs up, roughly opaque at this angle, and one silver-crowned head leans over to peer down at the seated Maya. "Who's winning?"
Maya opens her eyes, blinking up at him for a moment before she grins, shaking her head. "I'm trying to find a way of saying it so I don't sound like a school girl. I mean, saying I really like you... that sounds like I'm ten, but then on the other hand, I love you sounds like stalker material. Maybe I am a stalker..." She reaches up, sliding her hands up the legs above her, lightly brushing her fingers over the holes. "No work tonight then?" She asks,
"All work and no play makes Sebastien a..." His voice trails off at the fingers fining his skin, swallowing. "no less employed boy. I volunteer. It's hard to not get the night off." His knees bend, and Sebastien lowers himself to run a finger along Maya's cheek, positioned as he is behind her head, and he suggests, "Even assuming all of this preparation does not go up in a trail of stammering when the time comes," Sebastien pauses to grin at the thought, "how is delivering anything supremely rehearsed to be preferable? He will say yes or no for whom you are, not for the words you use. But I do recommend love, my dear." He pauses then, eyes wandering her prone form. "It's a potent word to invoke."
Maya's hands slide idly up the outer side of his thighs, to rest on his hips. "Have you heard me talk to him? I turn into a babbling idiot, and stammer, and bump into things..." The rueful grin on her face doesn't cover a rising blush there. "There must be an easier way to do this. Computer chips, something that shows a reaction...A colour coding system, I think, you could use red, green and amber. Amber could be maybe, red wooooo dude, no way, and green oh yeah take me now..." She is babbling now, and briefly, she lifts her hands to gesture appropriately... or inappropriately, given the topic.
"With ah," Sebastien peers down, and he snatches her hands before they can do anything rash, holding them gently still above her, "With men there is that indicator. You just need to ensure he is standing." The young man quirks a red-painted eyebrow, eyes traveling over Maya again, toes and little skirt, then her shirt, the cruel choker, and her face once again ... and his eyes slip closer, peering pointedly between his legs. "Lure him into a supply closet, hit him with chloroform, tie him to a gurney, cut a hole in his pants, and ask him suggestive questions. If he raises a pole, salute the flag!"
Maya laughs, letting him keep her hands, but she shakes her head. "The guy is a priest, Seb...an honest to god priest." She bites her lip, trying to smother the laughter but shakes her head, letting it out. "I want to get deep down dirty with him, all hot and sweaty, doing the wicked dance, but I can't discuss hospital business with him without babbling like a school girl. I don't think I can turn and say, I want to tie you to my bed, and lick my way down your body, until you are begging me..."
"Why not?" Sebastien asks softly. "You think he'd be more interested in an altar boy?" He quirks an eyebrow, and leans down to kiss that hand before releasing it. "Mademoiselle, I can think of nothing more constructive than to say; be yourself. Be open. All people may lie for sex, but not for a relationship. I think you want for the latter." He stands briefly, sidestepping right, and slides in opposite Maya as the waitress approaches. "Rum and coke," he orders, "Tall and neat."
"Because I'll stammer, and blush, and knock things over." Maya sighs, flopping her hands to her stomach as he settles down opposite. "I don't want sex from him." A moment's thought and she shakes her head. "I do want sex. But I want the whole relationship gig too, and that has never happened before. I mean there was a guy once where I thought it might be but it turned out to be indigestion, and I just had a glass of milk." She swivels, dropping her feet to the floor, to face him.
Sebastien's eyes narrow as Maya mentions a disagreement with sex, eliciting a softly-spoken, "Convent?" before his eyes dip and his grin broadens. Catholic schoolgirl or nun, take your pick, that's a multipurpose leer. He looks a little disappointed as she mentions a want for sex, incongruously enough, and he takes a deep drag of the drink as it arrives, calling at the retreating waitress. "Another, s'il vous plait!" His eyes return to Maya, and Sebastien shrugs. "This is who you are. He will need to want to live with stammering, blushing, and knocking into things anyway, non? You could propose a good sex before you ask him a question, just to get it out of your system, and e more at ease when you propose?" He winks at the illogic of that.
Maya, who had been leaning in to take a slurp from her drink, chokes at the mental image, giving him an agonised look as she tries to both laugh and swallow at the same time. The two activities are not compatible, but she finally swallows and then laughs. "Here are the reports you needed, Director. Would you consider fucking me hard on your desk? By the way, I really love you..." She speaks the words loud enough for a passing man to give her a look of confused amusement.
Sebastien takes that choking opportunity to drain the remainder of his first, and he leans halfway across the desk, nodding, only to peer aside at that confused look with the sort of dark, flat look that clearly speaks to anyone with external genitalia; 'not you. Go away.' He smiles back at Maya, shrugging. "Try it. It is very, ah, Maya." He leans halfway across the table, wondering, "So. Shall we dance, mademoiselle, or is it that you would like a walk home perhaps?"
The confused male with external genitalia goes away, taking the hint. "I guess I could try it." Maya is oblivious to hapless male passerby, wrapping her lips around her straw and taking a slurp, hard enough to lower the violet liquid's level by an inch, and raise the blood pressure. "Dance or fuck..." She muses aloud, giving Sebastien a considering look. "Dance and then fuck?" She suggests helpfully.
Sebastien leans across the table, planting a hand firmly over Maya's mouth, scolding, "Please, Maya! There are young ears about!" He slides sideways, out of his booth, and offers Maya a hand up. "Young impressionable ones," he adds, "who might get the impression that beautiful young nymphomaniacs are something more than a midday wet dream."
Maya giggles into the hand, her eyes mischievious over the top of it. "Perhaps I should take them home, and celebrate the night before ..." She suggests, taking his hand anyhow, and sliding from the bench seat. The movement easily flashes bare thighs, before she stands and the skirt swirls around them. "I am not a nymphomaniac... it is a disease with clinical signs and symptoms, and I could turn you down any time I wanted." She informs him loftily, even as she steps in to press her body against his for a moment.
Senastien's eyes are drawn to the flash, so that he only just notices her approach as she comes in contact with ... not quite his knee. His hands meet at her lower back, and one drops a few inches to squeeze her left rump cheek. "True," he decides. His eyes dance, and he leans down to peer his blues into Maya's eyes, wondering, "Then why is it that I would give you the chance? My place. Now." He leans past Maya to gather her purple drink, pointing the straw at her lips. "One for the road."
