Falling Stars Explode {Loki} [OPEN]
Jul 21, 2015 19:02:06 GMT -5
Post by Loki on Jul 21, 2015 19:02:06 GMT -5
Loki Constantine
Bio
I would never admit it, but as much as I love watching the Hunger Games, (and who doesn't,) I get a bit bored with it all at times, or just sick and tired of sitting around watching a viewscreen even if it is with other people at a nightclub. I need a good rousing party with plenty of illicit substances and bad behavior going on, and fortunately, I may have heard of just the thing.
A new club has opened, called the Hyperborean, and I am going to be there tonight with bells on. Literally, with bells on: the fringes at the end of my cobalt leopard print scarf are trimmed with tiny gold bells. Otherwise, I am wearing a pinstriped tailored suit jacket and pants, purple pinstripes on black silk, and a dark coral silk shirt. And exquisite leather boots, of course.
I mess about with my makeup and hair for longer than it should take, but I am just killing time, as I don't want to arrive too early. I'm also blasting the latest tunes, and practicing my dance moves, just for the pleasure I take in dancing. I dance around my apartment (two bedrooms, one bath, gigantic living room and tiny kitchen, and I probably would impress anyone watching as a bit of a loon; no one is watching, though, as I have the privacy screens up over the windows.
Finally, after simply an age of waiting, it's time to go: I am borrowing the parental car so that the driver and not me can worry about where to park.
Upon arrival, I am sure the bouncers at the nightclub will recognize me and wave me to the front of the line and inside, but still there is that scary moment as I head for the double doors open to allow the music blaring and throbbing inside to escape. What if they did not let me in? I would be simply mortified. Of course, that doesn't happen, I am recognized and allowed inside.
I walk into an absolute cacophony of light and sound, screens everywhere, some showing the Games, but some featuring dancers from around the club; I make my way to the overcrowded bar, and have to wait a few minutes for the tender to serve me, I order the most alcoholic beverage I know of at a shout, and while I wait for it, I notice some glances thrown my way, though no one here is about to be so gauche as to point.
Drink in hand, sipping from the silver straw, I move in a slink that matches the heavy beat, weaving my way into the crowd dancing and join them, all of dancing obscenely close, a mass of writhing bodies. I check out the other men as I dance, nothing too obvious, just a quick notice of who is hot and seems to be alone. I feel much better, now, and quickly finishing my drink, I head to a table briefly to relieve myself of the empty, and plunge back into the dancing.
A new club has opened, called the Hyperborean, and I am going to be there tonight with bells on. Literally, with bells on: the fringes at the end of my cobalt leopard print scarf are trimmed with tiny gold bells. Otherwise, I am wearing a pinstriped tailored suit jacket and pants, purple pinstripes on black silk, and a dark coral silk shirt. And exquisite leather boots, of course.
I mess about with my makeup and hair for longer than it should take, but I am just killing time, as I don't want to arrive too early. I'm also blasting the latest tunes, and practicing my dance moves, just for the pleasure I take in dancing. I dance around my apartment (two bedrooms, one bath, gigantic living room and tiny kitchen, and I probably would impress anyone watching as a bit of a loon; no one is watching, though, as I have the privacy screens up over the windows.
Finally, after simply an age of waiting, it's time to go: I am borrowing the parental car so that the driver and not me can worry about where to park.
Upon arrival, I am sure the bouncers at the nightclub will recognize me and wave me to the front of the line and inside, but still there is that scary moment as I head for the double doors open to allow the music blaring and throbbing inside to escape. What if they did not let me in? I would be simply mortified. Of course, that doesn't happen, I am recognized and allowed inside.
I walk into an absolute cacophony of light and sound, screens everywhere, some showing the Games, but some featuring dancers from around the club; I make my way to the overcrowded bar, and have to wait a few minutes for the tender to serve me, I order the most alcoholic beverage I know of at a shout, and while I wait for it, I notice some glances thrown my way, though no one here is about to be so gauche as to point.
Drink in hand, sipping from the silver straw, I move in a slink that matches the heavy beat, weaving my way into the crowd dancing and join them, all of dancing obscenely close, a mass of writhing bodies. I check out the other men as I dance, nothing too obvious, just a quick notice of who is hot and seems to be alone. I feel much better, now, and quickly finishing my drink, I head to a table briefly to relieve myself of the empty, and plunge back into the dancing.
