Abbey Randelle (night): *should she not let off some of this.. emotion.. she would snap in twain. and being it was a full moon it hardly was appropriate for ~everyone~ at Randelle manor to be on a hair trigger. There would be another.. incident. and so she finds her pristine self brushing elbows with the masses, rave music thumping. she'd be up high.. but that they were ...cages.. and that was simply tawdry*

Spitfire: The doors slam open he walks in with about 10 other people stopping near the door, the man walks like a Cowboy one hand with his thumb hooked over his belt buckle the other hanging at his side. Brown eyes look around as he looks to his 'posse' "Enjoy yourself boys, this ones on the Spitfire." That half mad grin as he swaggers into the place, the men each head to the bar quickly disappearing in the crowds.

Abbey Randelle (night): *she's hardly the tallest girl in the crowd, but she's distinct. How many albinos did you run into that looked.. THAT good? Not many. The blade case hanging down her back does little to impede her grace, as she carefully avoids letting her uninvited dancing partner touch her delicate self in any capacity, radiating purity and cold. Some one put that thing in the Louvre. She doesn't belong at a rave.*

Abbey Randelle (night): d10: per alert: 5,7,6,5,

Abbey Randelle (night): *grey eyes slip across Spitfire a moment, appraising him unabashedly, as a matter of course. She notes the entourage vaguelly, a thin white eyebrow slipping up. interesting. *

Spitfire: He is punked out as usual, everything about him screaming trouble. He also looks to the cages and has a few crazy stunt ideas that manic grin settling as he heads to the bar, eyes pass over the pale goddess....hmmm white meat.

Abbey Randelle (night): *the whitest of white meat. flick flick. razorblade eyes look him over a moment, before the song changes and she steps gracefully away from her "partner" and proceeds to dance on her own, To some crazy techno remix of Aerosmith's "Dream on"*

Abbey Randelle (night): d10: dancin! dif four: 6,5,7,2,7,5,6,8,

Spitfire: He looks to the tender who clicks his fingers as he looks to the blonde punk, he loved meeting fans who were bartenders, a dead cert for free drinks and this one was no exception. A whiskey is placed in front of Spitfire, as he turns round and leans on the bar all relaxed.... otherwise knows as the calm before the storm. Eye forced to look at Abbey, man get that fucking bitch move.

Abbey Randelle (night): (*blinks*.. 7 suc)

Spitfire: ((DAMN! I just want to eat her right up! Along with most men in the nplace I can imagine, NO wonder she carries a sword!))

Abbey Randelle (night): ~Sing with me, sing for the year....Sing for the laughter, sing for the teeeeeears.~ *she's poignant sorrow in motion, face calm. movements expressing in perfect grace an infinite sadness, and as the chorus picks up, a compellingly icy determination, girl's eyes shut, face upturned, white hair wisping as she glows in the lights, people give her room, its obvious this is important* ~ Sing with me, if it's just for today... Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you awaaaaay ~

Spitfire: His head tilts as he watches her with a relaxed look, even the punk is drawn in by her amazing movements, eyes watching her as he moves forward slightly for a better view of this creature.

Abbey Randelle (night): *oh the anger! It waves off her chill and tense in every movement. One can't help but wonder how she can express such violence with such a calm face, and such graceful motion. What could something so pristine possibly have to be angry about? Or sad for that matter. Its a crime! But it appears she'll have no lack of people wanting to help her forget, punky rave crowd gathering. Grey eyes open and gleam in the lights as she slowly realizes people are looking at her. Odd. she doesn't seem to be here with anyone. Attending the rave alone*

Michelle Morgan: She steps into the place, sunglasses coming off...yes, this one wears sunglasses at night. Corey Hart would be proud. The woman, upon first glance, is for once mistakable...the blonde hair has been dyed black, well enough that it looks entirely natural, even the red streaks flowing through. She's wearing an outfit that is very much NOT what you would expect to see the host of the Anti-Spin in...no political T-Shirt, no full-length skirt. Her look is pure sexy goth, in a daring halterneck mini dress with cut-out diamond-shaped side panels and thigh-high PVC boots with strap back and high heels. Very different look for the rock chick, as she steps in and looks around.

Spitfire: The punk’s head is tilted. He is actually impressed by something other than cunning, a trick or physical might, he actually looks half disgusted with himself.

Abbey Randelle (night): *oh dear. she's drawn a crowd. she finishes dancing, and moves from the floor, ignoreing "hey I know you's!" and "hi I just wanted to say's..", pale girl acknowledging them with a polite nod, as she doesn't respond, moving for water*

Michelle Morgan: It's not hard to notice the crowd gathering, and after she takes her, um...medication...she makes her way over, a water bottle in her hand, to push through to the front and get a view.

Spitfire: d10: Per & Alert: 2,8,1,4,

Abbey Randelle (night): d10: per alert: 2,2,5,5,

Michelle Morgan: Of course, she stops pushing through when she sees Abbey moving away. A quirked smile, and she moves to slip through the crowd, following behind her.

Abbey Randelle (night): *And Abbey is oblivious, lost in her own thoughts, whatever they might be, slipping to sit on a stool beside spitfire, after brushing it off with a dainty silver hanky. She murmers to the bartender* Water please. thank you. *voice allbut swallowed in the boom of the music*

Spitfire: He doesn't notice the Anti-Spin host, it is just enough he draws his eyes away from Abbey. He snorts bloody hell the first decent rave he has been to all because of that.

Spitfire: He looks to Abbey "Fuck me can you move!" He nods oddly a sign of respect maybe. He notices the skin....Kindred?

Michelle Morgan: She slips onto the stool next to Abbey, pulling a cigarette and placing it between berry-colored lips. A lighter is pulled from a little black handbag and raised to her lips, water going onto the bar in front of her.

Michelle Morgan: "Good evening, Miss Randelle," she murmurs to Abbey, the faintest sort of smile on her face.

Abbey Randelle (night): thank you sir. *a thin eyebrow darts up at the profanity. she inclines her head, chill hand moving to take the water from the tender. a purse of lips as she regards the cap. grimey. oh no. she would drink her won.. thank you. a near inaudible sigh as she sets it on the counter rather than drinking it, grey eyes casting to Michelle, area suddenly radiating cold. her hand drifts to her blade case* Good evening. *she murmers. polite. but wary, and ready for action*

Michelle Morgan: She raises an eyebrow, grinning slightly to Abbey as she takes a drag off the smoke. "One of these days, Abbey...dance off. You and me."

Spitfire: Cold, he can handle that his eyes flick past Abbey to Michelle; he stares at her quite blatantly till he remembers where he has seen her. Then cringes when he remembers he has heard her sing, just great, open the doors, the Queen of Teeny Bobbing is in the house.

Michelle Morgan: ((Oh, hell, no. Michelle is NOT a teeny-bop singer. *G* Think Tori Amos with a much stronger rock edge and a political bent.))

Spitfire: ((Ah got you, ignore teeny bobber then *s*))

Abbey Randelle (night): *mm. cheeky. yes. she has a handle on who it is now. the cold recedes, air becoming somewhat less pure* Indeed Miss. Perhaps we shall do so once the current difficulties are seen to. In celebration. *her eyes slip to Spitfire a moment, keeping track of the man with the entourage. Her eyes slip away from him, searching the crowd for her escort. As usual, Piotr escapes her likely hiding under a buxom blonde somewhere, eyes on the alnino*

Michelle Morgan: She glances over her shoulder, catching Spitfire looking her over. A quirk of an eyebrow, then she looks back to Abbey. "Sounds like a good idea to me. How are you?"

Abbey Randelle (night): Well. *she murmers insincerely* And yourself Miss. No difficulty with the infidel i trust *infidel?? what the hell? who was this white thing, a member of the ariyan justice league?*

Spitfire: ((Bah, phone back))

Michelle Morgan: "Nope. He's nice and securely within custody." She raises the bottle to her lips and takes a drink, lipstick remaining perfectly in place. "Our boy's transgressions are a little worse then previously imagined, by the way."

Spitfire: This conversation just got real boring, and far too high profile, he didn't know the pale chick but the Michelle would warrant a lot of attention. He doesn't excuse himself as he gets off the chair, hell there are 20 guys lined up to take his seat, though most of them watch him like a flock of sheep watch a wolf.

Abbey Randelle (night): *a wisp of hair tucked behind her ear. she raises an eyebrow, air snapping with cold as she raises her chin and inquires softly* indeed?

Michelle Morgan: A nod from the gothed-out rock chick, cigarette smoke exhaled into the air to wafter away, joining the haze at the roof from the fog machines and the other smoker's residue. Bright green eyes look Abbey's way. "Yeah. Verbal indiscretions."

Spitfire: His phone rings as he looks down, the caller bringing a devish grin to his face. He stomps for the exit, he had a bad Tor-A-Doll to punish.

Spitfire: ((Alas, as Chum knew short and sweet am afraid, thanks for the scene Rav and Chum, see you both soon. *hugs*))

Michelle Morgan: ((No prob, Jud. *Hugs* See you!))

Abbey Randelle (night): *an inclination of her head, cold eyes skating to watch the dancers.* I see. Miss Tuplin is contacting those abroad so the traitor might be dealt with due authority. *her eyes slip back to the gothed rocker* And of his other indiscretions? how much damage has been done?

Michelle Morgan: "Beyond the indiscretions that we already got bit in the ass for?" She shrugs. "Minimal. He married outside of his religion, and decided to share with his new wife. I think she's safe, personally."

Sady: ~Tromp.... Tromp....... Tromp.......~

Abbey Randelle (night): *an eyebrow raised. chin raised haughtily. that hit a little too close for comfort. she folds her hands in her lap, ignoring the stuttered pick up line of some bar-star raver* Did the man expose only his religious beleifs? or those of others?

Michelle Morgan: "Only his, near as I can tell." She shrugs. "I haven't spoken with him at length about it. I was afraid I might get overzealous."

Abbey Randelle (night): Understandably. I've yet to address him myself for those same concerns *she murmers politely. man. does ~she~ look out of place*

Abbey Randelle (night): d10: per alert: 9,3,7,2,

Sady: ~Boots thumping down with the beat at each step, head bobbing, eyes swiveling around~

Abbey Randelle (night): *pale eyes note Sady as she dances. ah yes. The woman who was in a domestic dispute with the large german fellow*

Sady: d10: Per + Aler: 8,4,3,1,

Michelle Morgan: She follows Abbey's gaze to Sady, head tilting slightly to the side, then glancing back to Abbey.

Sady: ~Nope. Doesn't spot a thing. Including the little raver she walks right into. Making a face down at the offending person that touched the leather and sneers~

Abbey Randelle (night): *Abbeys eyes slide back to michelle. polite smile going thin as the kohl make-up wearing emo kid behind her puts a hand on her shoudler to get her attention. cold spikes the air and her eyes narrow to pale razors as they go from his hand to his face*

Michelle Morgan: She looks to Emo-Boy and reaches out, grabbing the boy's hand and removing it from Abbey's shoulder. "Not smart. Run along." All said with a ghost of a smile.

Abbey Randelle (night): *the kid is apparently too hopped up on his chemical of choice to be offended, giving a goofy pout and making for a seat nearby with a stumble. Abbey glances to the dance floor* Had you cared to dance? *satin hankercheif brought out, and used to dust the shoulder where the boy had touched. ew. cretin residue*

Abbey Randelle (night): ))damnit. my hands are cramping up something awful I don't think i'm going to last much longer here))

Sady: ~The little thing flashes her a smile, to which she shoulders past and sends him stumbling into others, and she continues on. Gaze sweeping yet again now that her attentions been refocused. Maybe there'll be something that won't be too hopped up on junk to make a decent pal for about a half hour~

Sady: d10: Per + Aler: 10,7,6,9,

Sady: ((nooooooooo))

Michelle Morgan: "I'd love to." She nods to Abbey and stands, ready to follow the woman onto the dance floor.

Michelle Morgan: ((Okay, hon.))

Abbey Randelle (night): *the pale creature radiates icy purity as she slips to her feet and moves towards the dancefloor, a demure smile as she brushes past Sady, leaving her and michelle's hopless admirer gaping from his now somewhat less "prime" seat*

Sady: ~Her head tilts at the two women moving past her and quirks a brow. One of the two somewhat familiar. She makes herself a perch somewhere off to the side and just watches, scoping out the croud for a target~

Michelle Morgan: She follows along behind Abbey. Where the albino is icy purity, Michelle is almost the opposite, a warm sort of naughtiness, by her dress and attitude. A very strange duo, as they make their way through the crowd.

Abbey Randelle (night): d10: dancin! dif four: 4,8,8,8,4,2,8,5,

Michelle Morgan: d10: Dancing (Diff Four): 8,2,4,8,3,8,8,

Michelle Morgan -> Sady: ((You need a DD for Michelle?))

Sady -> Michelle Morgan: ((Sure ~S~ You need Sady's?))

Abbey Randelle: *liquid moonlight and sensational sin. Abbey And michelle turn heads and drop jaws* ((((my computer is attempting to eat me as well apparently. *sighs and flails hands a little* Ok to say abbey/michelle draw some crazy sort of crowd, and Abbey excuses herself from the rave? She'd be followed out by a lean dangerous looking hungarain gentleman that looks like an older more expressive version of Ingvar?))

Sady: ~Aha. Target locked. She starts weaving through the dancers, her eyes settling on a sort of stand-alonish dancer somewhere in the center~

Sady: ((That's fine Chumb. ~Snugs and pouts~ Beat the computer into submission and go get a hand massage. ~nods~))

Michelle Morgan -> Sady: ((Naah. <--Ravyn. *G*))

Wow, here comes sex in a flowing skirt. The woman walking ahead radiates “hippy free love,” and has the body to prove it. Standing about 5’7” and weighing probably around 110-115 pounds, she is one of those people that everyone secretly despises; she looks good without really trying. Her hair, a light honey blonde, hangs free, curling slightly where it ends at the shoulder. She has bright green eyes, filled with an exuberant, rebellious energy. A white tank top covers her from the waist up, with the phrase “I'm a gay woman, and I hate Bush. Deal with it.” silk- screened across it. From the waist down, it's an ankle-length forest-green skirt and sandals.

Modifications: The woman, upon first glance, is for once mistakable...the blonde hair has been dyed black, well enough that it looks entirely natural, even the red streaks flowing through. She's wearing an outfit that is very much NOT what you would expect to see the host of the Anti-Spin in...to politcal T-Shirt, no full-length skirt. Her look is pure sexy goth, in a daring halterneck mini dress with cut-out diamond-shaped side panels and thigh-high PVC boots with strap back and high heels. Very different look for the rock chick.

Sady -> Michelle Morgan: 5ft. even, and built like a brick shithouse. Alright, so she isn't huge, but she's built pretty damn good. Sweet, dark honey brown eyes peer out from her slightly paling skin. Her hair falls in dark blond waves, just past her shoulders with a perpetual wind blown look to it, framing hardened features and giving a mildly intimidating look from a strong set jaw and pursed, full lips to the vertically challenged woman. She wears black leather low rise pants, from one belt loop dangles a chain, leading around to her back pocket containing a wallet, the seams down the length of them from hip to hem dotted with small silver studs, leading down to the pointed upwards toes of shit kicking combat boots. When eyes trail back up the curvy little figure, her shirt is simple enough. A black leather tank top, snugly fitting to her form. More of a boustierre, than a tank top really. Draped over her shoulders is a leather jacket, pins, studs, and chains scattered haphazardly over the thick fabric. Her step is sure and confident, her eyes unwavering in their constant sweep to take in everything around her.

Michelle Morgan: ((*hugs the chumble*))

Sady -> Michelle Morgan: ((~LOL~ Sneaky!))

Abbey Randelle: ((*hugs on with a morose sigh* bah. see you all lata))

Michelle Morgan: She weaves and dances through the crowd, even after Abbey is gone...the lithe, sexy little thing is thrown completely into the music, her consciousness of her surroundings seeming to be nil. Nothing else matters but the pulsing beat, and her gyrating movements, equal parts belly dancer, gypsy dance, and hip-hop sexuallity.

Sady: ~She brushes past Michelle and the departing Abbey, glancing her over, and smirking at the shirt she wears. Dance? Not likely even going to come close to their moves. She continues on towards the guy she spotted, and starts moving with the music~

Sady: d10: Dancing: 8,7,3,8,4,8,4,

Michelle Morgan: She dances alone, although anyone she comes close to is automatically a dance partner, if for a short while. Hey, folks, wanna dance with a celebrity? Now's your chance? Occasionally, her eyes open, sharing a look and a smile with her dance partner at the time...every bit living in the now, in the moment.

Sady: ~They brush as she passes, that moment of dancing there, with the woman. An appreciative glance, and quickly moving away. Eyes going back to the meal~

Michelle Morgan: She looks up to Sady, the appreciative look returned with a little smile. She watches Sady move away for a moment, and then, slowly starts to dance her way toward the edge of the floor.

Sady: ~The little thug moves with deceptive smoothness on the floor. Sliding right up to the guy for a dance. Not really noticing Michelle on her heels just yet. Sady's no supermodel material, but she's above average for looks. The guy looks her over, as she goes into a turn to put her back to him, and he slips a hand onto her side~

Sady: ((eep!))

Sady: ((~Staples tag~))

Sady: ((Grrrrrrrrr))

Sady: ((~Staples again~))

Sady: ((~Wrinkles nose~))

Michelle Morgan: She's not necessarily following Sady...rather moving to get off the dance floor. The woman's body is slick, a sheen of sweat covering her, and she makes her way back to the bar for water, with another quick glance to Sady.

Sady: ~And then.... he steps on her foot. She makes a face and glances over her shoulder at him, snorts, and pushes away with a shrug. She's not in much of a hurry, so she moves off to the side once more~

Michelle Morgan: She gets the water from the bartender with a grateful smile, looking back over as she rehydrates herself. There's a wince as Sady's foot gets smashed...one misstep, and your chances are all over, it seems. She grins a little, lighting a cigarette.

Sady: ~She eyes the bar, makes a face, then eyes the floor again. She makes for a table instead, digging into her pockets and producing a toothpick. She slides it between her teeth before taking a chair and taking another glance over at Michelle~

Michelle Morgan: The woman's eyes scan over the club as she smokes, eyes falling on Sady's, briefly locking gazes. A moment's pause, before she shrugs and slips off her bar stool, making her way over.

Sady: ~She lets her eyes roam, arms crossing over her chest, toothpick flipping between her lips. She looks back to Michelle, quirking an eyebrow, and offering up a smirk~

Michelle Morgan: "Hey." She stops just short of the table, offering a grin. "Mind if I join you?"

Sady: ~One heavy boot pushes a chair out for her~ Sure. What happened to yer friend?

Michelle Morgan: "Had to go...previous engagement." She settles herself in the seat, offering a hand. "Michelle."

Sady: ~She reaches over and grips the hand firmly, giving it a shake~ Sady. Nice shirt.

Michelle Morgan: "Thanks." She grins, sitting back in the chair. "So, you a rave regular?"

Sady: ~Then gets a chuckle out of her~ Not really. Too many fuckin E-tards fer my taste. But I like th'music an I get in less fights than in tha clubs.

Michelle Morgan: The E-tards gets a laugh from the woman. "Yeah, I can sympathize. Easier to be anonymous here then in a club scene, too."

Sady: ~Nods~ Yep. Once they know ya and know they can fuck with ya it's over. Then it just gets lame. What about you? Ya come here alot?