||| ... Ec§tasy ... ||| [Chaos]

Everything seems so very new to your wide eyes as you make your way across the winding path that marks the trail to your cabins. It seems that darkness licks as careful flame up the taut expanse of your slim arms and complicated angles of your countenance - you relish the impersonal shadow which gently twines around lithe digits. Your gait is a slight lurch, so accustemed to the rolling swell of the waves that each step a feeble imitation of that powerful force. It will prove nigh impossible to run like this, tripping over your own feet in an effort to rid yourself of whatever invisible assailant would grace the crystalline shores.

Absently you wonder of your roommates. The feral howl in your gut refuses to be silent at the thought of the shy, twisted girl that resides so in the creases of your memory. Though prepared, it still startles you with it's intensity. You know little to nothing about about the other, Qilena. There are flashes of dirty clubs and cheap booze, with leucous locks that deliver the scent of vanilla and a warm, fleshy body under your questing palms that sways to the throbbing beat.

You have the irritating habit of immersing yourself in daydreams, for when you return to the waking world it is in the face of who must be Ms. Zwarck (god, if she does that in the middle of the night you're not held responsible for your actions). Your eyelids flutter a few tines in alarm, but you quickly regain composure before she can comment - you will not make a fool of yourself here - and give a small smile in her cheerful exuberence. Whatever small amount of resentment for her getting so close to your childhood friend vanishes; it is one of your faults, liking and forgiving too quickly and with little reason to. You will shatter before this trip is over. Her lips form syllables that take a moment to form purchase, floating around your head but not entering the lukewarm-rigidity of your skull.

There is an answer on the tip of your tongue, then what she asks of you sinks in.

A drink? This early? The sun barely sets over the horizon, and you cab still feel the gentle ebb and flow beneah your feet. You've never liked alcohol (the way it burns your throat should be foreign, but feels so very familiar) unless it's a special ocassion. Today has been trying, yes, but tha doesn't mean you can't have fun. With a salacious smirk you take her arm and hold it close, adopting a sensual but always natural stride as you tug her along with you. "That would be a welcome idea, Qilena." Her name sends shivers reverbrating like a tuning fork down your delicate spine, and the secret grin that appears is not entirely unfounded (you will both be the best of friends). "Lead the way."

The humid darkness traces the gentle curves of your hips as you stride alongside your new-found conquest. She is a welcome respite from the normalcy you find yourself saturated in - why do you always go for the pretty women? it's an epidemic - with her long tendrils and svelte movement. You've still yet to be used to the firmness of the ground underneath your feet, and the warm dew of this night makes your missing digit throb its haphazardous song. Still, as the sounds of laughter and quietly pulsating dance music reaches your ears, you allow a grin to curl viciously along the firmness of your lips. She is yours, and she doesn't yet know it.

You don't even classify yourself as bisexual. There's just always this innate tug in the pit of your navel towards a potential partneraidmate, whether it be their charming looks, easy attitude or - you take great delight in this - their innocence that begs you to shatter it into tiny little fragments. It's honestly not intentional, and you feel bad the day after if you care enough to remember, but you just seem to gravitate towards people that are broken, or are easily so. Perhaps a reflection of yourself?
Both eyebrows raise slightly as your consort for the night saunters over and quickly gets two men to move with nothing but a husky purr and the quick flick of her hair. It seems she will play the seductress in this game, but you will be hiding in the shadows pulling the strings. There's already a fair idea of how this night is going to end, and you smirk at the thought of bodies gyrating to a tune of their own making.

As she works her magic you glance around, noting the various exits should the need arise. A bar isn't close to the safest place, especially on an island where nobody can get in or out. Sheep to the slaughter. Qilena motions for you to come and you obey, trotting over and swallowing the sudden rush of molten flames that lick up the expanse of your throat as her scent plays tricks on your mind. You blink once, twice, trying hard to pass the wave of vertigo that sends you onto such unequal grounds. When you regain coherent thought it's alarming to think that she has such control over you, where initially you thought opposite (be cautious, succubus. Her trap might be the greatest paradox of all). Still you gracefully slide into your seat, noting with the faint narrowing of eyes - a clandestine motion covers it with a sip of your drink - that the chair is still stickywarm from their previous occupants.

For a moment you don't talk, simply resting elbows back on the bar (yes, darling. Stare all you want, I'm inviting your gaze) and chest rising in time to the natural rise and fall of your treacherous heart. It's dinner soon, isn't it? The thought is pushed aside without even a tiny portion of guilt - this is more important than fancy food for people that you don't even like. "I haven't seen you around before." You purr, watching from half-lidded eyes the natural pull of her chest and the stance in which she is (you have chosen well, succubus. She will be yours). Seductive without perhaps even realizing, you two will make an ideal pair.

From afar you see the two brutes watching, and you grin a secret victory after reassuring yourself they mean no harm. With leisure you cross your lithe legs and wrap your lips around the glass, relishing the feel of depravity slip down your throat in a desperate waterfall. It does nothing to quench the liquid agony in the base of your neck or the incessant throbbing from your abdomen that refuses to quiet (god, nobody has made you shiver from mere presence like this in a long time) but it gives you time to come up with something plausible to say. From her expression and eagerness to drink it's obvious she's not new to this cat and mouse - even if you play the roll of both - and she probably wants it as much as you, but tact is required. You hope the lust that radiates from your skin is not blatantly obvious, but you want to ensure at least a second round. Wait, what is this?

"Strange, considering it both sounds like we're party animals."
Sometimes you think your memory remembers a flash of supple skin and brightbright locks, but it vanishes from your being before it's able to be grasped. The longing begins its howling cry inside your soul, and your teeth tingle in anticipation. While the night has just begun, the fall of darkness signals that it's your time to lord. Shadow is your domain, and they are (she is) not prepared.

Your semi-lucid eyes admire the way she struts, enticing you with a sultry gaze and the not-so subtle shake of well-defined hips. Qilena is concupiscible in her own right; it's a small miracle that you've run into this blonde goddess on a god forsaken island filled with sluts and rich little brats. While she disappears into the writhing crowd you take a moment to breath in large amounts of heady club air, relishing the way it gets caught in your throat and sets your lungs on fire. Through the flimsy fabric of your new shirt your spine curls as a serpentine fossil, arching along the ridges of your back and snaking through the canyons of your physique.

As discreet as one can be (one that has had a few drinks) you dip fingers into the space between your breasts, coming up with a small baggy that shields five little pills from view. Unassuming and unnoticable, they hold an unknown portal into ecstacy. For a moment one rises to your lips but after a stuttering hesitation it's placed back down, and instead stuffed into the pocket of your skinnytight jeans for later use. Perhaps your imagination, you witness a blur of champagne-dyed locks, but they disappear back into the crowd of grinding bodies as soon as a gap opens. They're as a singular living organism - they grind and groan and moan together, slippery sweat on a stranger's skin. You are queen over this domain, and they will all fall to your bidding underneath the harsh strobed glare. (Sheep, sheep! All of them are worthless against your radiance!)

Perhaps liquid courage (hah, succubus. It is her that will require gallantry) to aid you in your endevours you drain the dredges of your amber blood and sashay onto the dancefloor, lips twitching into a familiar smirk at the sensory assault that the space enduces. Soon you've lost yourself in a sea of pulverizing force, punctuated by your own rasping breath and expert bodies that sway against yours. Being short has its advantages and disadvantages, but if your heigh permits you to look anywhere but the person's face, it will save you the unneeded hassle of remembering come dawn. A stray glance to your left and you catch Qilena; the sight takes your breath away for one surreal moment.
As if caught in time her hair ripples about her as another being, sweat snaking down the valley of her breasts to disappear into the low-cut shirt [?] she currently wears. Your feet travel over to her - for a fleeting moment she is the sun and you are the worshipping planets orbiting around her brilliance. The feeling is gone and replaced by a momentary sense of confusing and self-disgust, soon washed away in the tide of unadulterated want and late-night mistakes.

Your frame weaves effortlessly through the crowd of ferally gyrating strangers, lingering gazes seeking perhaps too far into the flaws of others so caught in this madness. It is filled with people who come to remember, or those who are desperate to forget (yes, it is always better with a mix of apathy and agony); at times you believe yourself a bit of both. The years of your youth have just begun, but you believe you can sometimes feel them... slipping away.

She breaths in and out in tune to the of the throbbing music, her body disappears and reappears with the epileptic lights. It is strange that you thrive in this setting - aphotic beings flourish in darkness - but perhaps the grimy mystery surrounding late night stands are what draws you. She is but a featherlight touch underneath your palms, but it prompts the most electrifying jolt that travels straight to your core.
You graze her hips with lithe fingertips, enjoying the shallow dip in the hollow of her pelvis. Muscles shift just under the surface, and you can't
help but wonder what it would take for you to induce that movement. Qilena's hips shake and so must yours; you set yourself firmly in front, expertly moving in time to her song. Both arms lace around a swan-like neck, and a hand momentarily dips into the pockets of your skintight pants to search for satisfaction.

With a little white soldier set firmly between your teeth you look up at her, and you can't help the small grin that blooms along with half lidded eyes. Head resting on her shoulder, you grind your body against hers with as much lust as you hope even a blind man could feel (honestly, darling. you aren't even trying anymore). "Want to get a little wild? My treat."