Don't I Know You from Somewhere...? (T-M, language, adult content,etc; Private)

Their dance was quick, each move unplanned, a dance of wills and pride more than of bodies and minds. Despite the clear, controlled display of acrobatics earlier, her motions made it clear just how much of her strength lay in her abdominals and thighs, each quick movement like a battle stance. At one point, she very nearly seemed like a tiger, poised and ready to pounce.


...and she did.

Fingers tangled in her dancer's hair as she tilted her back towards her, encircling her and moving out when the light laid claim.

Ezra tipped the glass back, savoring the momentary distraction the beverage provided. A careful glance confirmed what he had previously thought; every eye was trained on Rose. The hoots and hollers of a traditional bar were scarce as most watched with silent captivation. Admittedly, he was faring no better.

The next three minutes were all but a haze, the next three girls seeming to struggle against the tigress in futile attempt at surviving what now appeared inevitable. The fifth held her own for a time, succumbing to her fate only after being pinned nearly two feet up one of the poles. The next two seemed too strict, to stiff and firm to their own nature, unmalleable and set in their ways, though the contradicting dances were a marvel of their own. Each new routine made it obvious just how much control and favor she had for her hips, alternating between every style respectively, though maintaining the belly dancing aspects all the while.

The ninth of the dancers seemed to be the calmest since the third, but was far less of a pushover in comparison. If nothing else, she would neither allow Rose to consume her nor to leave, at one point actively tearing the skirt away to try to prevent her departure. The dancer had stopped, eyes all fire in their golden-amber depths, turning around and ensnaring the woman, both legs hooked high up on Rosaline's waist, nails dragging down the lengths of the woman's bare thighs. A moan broke out, the only to have actually been heard, as the Mistress pressed the advantage, pinning her against the stage's partial side wall and biting down at her neck. Both hands went up to pin the girl's wrists, and the light blared.

Ezra jerked a hand upwards, shading his eyes to the glare caused by the stage lights. Any mobile stage light available had been turned to the center of the platform, enveloping the dancers in searing, white light. Blinking, his focus readjusted as he lowered his hand, eyes scanning the stage, hopeful that he hadn't missed anything in the process.

When the light faded, the stage and all it's other lights had dimmed. The music was slower, now, and Rose was on her knees, the sashes removed from her form and discarded where she'd previously been standing. From backstage, another form appeared, white hair trailing down in smooth, ethereal waves. Her attire was far more concealing that that of the other's, leaving only her abdomen visible, as far as intimate standards went. Her eyes, pale purple, seemed to shine as she walked, and a faint blue glow followed her from the silver accessories of the attire.


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The figure moved with transcendent grace, each step soft and intentional as she walked. Her hair drifted lazily to one side, windswept though there was no breeze to be felt in the building, artificial or otherwise. She captivated in a way all her own, eroticism forgone in favour of mysticism. Crystal, Ezra mouthed to himself, eyes dancing indecisively between her and Rose.

The girl knelt, gentle hand reaching to caress her sister's cheek, met with a lash to the hand Rose recoiled and pushed back. Pain shot through the girl's gaze, quickly chased away by understanding as she stood once more. Much to the surprise of everyone, she took to one of the poles. Every move she made was flowing and freeform, refined and elegant, graceful, and yet deliberate and trained. Her dance was less about sex appeal and more about the beauty behind the art itself. Meanwhile, Rose seemed to circle her, golden eyes a stark contrast to her sister's, relatively bare body even more a contradiction in the face of her sibling.

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Crystal moved with ease and fluidity, her body turning and twisting in a continuous flow of motion. Rose carried herself as one would expect, circling Crystal like a tigress watching her prey. Where Crystal moved with serene grace, Rose moved with deliberate power, her muscles tensed liked coiled wire. They were complimentary contrasts to one another in dress and behaviour, holding the gaze of everyone in the bar, patron and employee alike.

Ezra watched intently, eyes watching from over the rim of the glass he refused to set down. The sisters' performance held him in limbo, his body lingering in a state of relaxation akin to a storm cloud that had not yet struck lightning.

In a sudden flash of music, Crystal dropped towards the ground, hanging upside-down and caught with her legs, less than a foot from the stage floor. Rosaline's eyes were all predatory as she looked down at her, domination and power ruling every physical aspect of her being. Even still, Crystal seemed undaunted, righting herself and stepping up to her, collected and calm as ever. A hand reached up, moving to cup the other woman's cheek, only to be knocked away. Still, the weapon was unphased, stepping forward gripping the woman by the shoulders, pulling her close even as she tried to pull away. Leaning back, she ignored her sister's dramatic display as one leg stretched out behind her.

The light flashed...

But in it's fading, both women remaining. Rose seemed to tremble as if crying before all the lights dropped out, leaving only the stage's edged orbs for guidance.

The music faded into nothingness, the stage itself dimming to reduce the sisters to a pair of silhouettes offsetting the coloured backdrop. Silence held throughout the bar like a fog until a single pair of hands broke out in applause. A second pair followed and a third after that until the entire bar was at its feet, cheering and yelling in obvious praise. Ezra slid from his seat to join them, finishing off his Dew to raise the glass to the stage.

"Fantastic, Rose!" He yelled, even as his voice was lost to the deafening roar of the other patrons. Sliding back onto his barstool, he exhaled sharply, chest relaxing from the sheer tension brought about by the performance. "Another, please!" He said cheerfully, passing another $10 to the bartender.

The woman rolled her eyes, taking the money and sliding it into the apron-esque pocket before refilling both his Dew and his Whiskey.

Rosaline appeared soon after the lights had returned, with each of the girls on-stage, still in uniform, and running as a typical strip club would, should it have the flair for art that this one was so famous for. Rose, on the other hand, had her sweat-dampened hair loosened and her black trenchcoat back over her form. She made it to the bar with a virgin colada already waiting and a grateful smile on her lips.

"Enjoy the show?" she asked.

"That was incredible," Ezra admitted, raising the glass to her appreciatively. "You and Crystal are the real deal. I had actually forgotten to breathe for a good while there." He bit back the grin playing on his lips, dragging his stool to one side to allow for more room at the bar for her.

She slid into place, drinking the virgin beverage appreciatively. "As you say," the woman said, looking over and grinning, "I take it that it was at least somewhat worth the wait?"

"That was the closest I've come to developing a sense of patience," he admitted ruefully, arching his back to ease the tension from his shoulders. "It was well worth the wait, yes. The music was killer and the girls were great and you were..." He trailed off, face flushed anew as he buried himself in his glass.

Her brow quirked, the glitter and sweat glistening across her skin, even in the low light. "I was...?" The tone had recollected its previous level of coy, a teasing suggestion tainting the tip of her tongue.

"Oh no. I stopped myself for a reason. Admitting it outright would be far too easy for you, given that I doubt any man and many women can carry much resistance to the likes of you." His eyes were alight, teasing and challenging. The tone itself was laced with the feigned air of willpower, belying the desire for her to discover for herself his true meaning. He pushed his hair from his face, grinning as he took another large drink from the whiskey.

"Another whiskey?" She teased, eyes trailing from the liquor to his hand, up his arm and over his form, blatant, obvious, unrestrained, and unrestrained. "That's your second one just since I hit the stage." Her body reangled, leaning forward, the top of the coat billowing out and revealing that she did, in fact, still have her costume on. Her hand went to his thigh and she leaned forward. "One way or another, you will tell me, Phantom Prince."

"I'm more than a little curious as to your methodology," he retorted with a grin, eyes dancing along every inch of her figure that he could take in. Calloused fingers trailed over the back of her hand, settling his over it as his palm pressed hers harder to his thigh. Frosted-blue eyes swivelled up to meet hers. "You're going to have to crack that whip a little harder, doll."

Her lip curled into mouth at one corner, pushed out light and slowly by her tongue as she smirked and clicked it. "You're wanting the whips out already?" The meister's tone had taken a level of huskiness, and she took to gripping his thigh as she slid her hand just slightly upwards. "I thought that might be a little too... advanced for you..."

"You'd be surprised," Ezra admitted, tugging her hand a fraction of an inch further up his leg. "And I would love to surprise you." His lips settled into a thin, smug smirk as his eyes held hers. Tension rolled through his muscles in waves, coiling and uncoiling with each heartbeat.

Her smirk widened, and she pushed her luck further than he was, sliding her hand up, eyes narrowing as she pressed her forehead to his, "Would you, now?"

"I reeeally would," Ezra admitted, his voice dropping to a low purr. It came less as a voluntary act and more as a signal that he was truly putting his weight behind the endeavor before him. He leaned into her, pressing her forehead back slightly with his own. "Don't make the mistake of believing that I yield easily, though. I don't bend a knee to just anyone."

She raised a brow in response, surprised by, and curious at, the reaction. "Is that to say that you do, in fact, bend a knee, though?"

"I bend to power, not position," he cooed, the mocking edge creeping back into his voice. "It doesn't take a big woman to make a big shadow, but I prefer a little more than smoke and mirrors."

She laughed softly in response to his words, shaking her head and grinning back at him. "Preference? And what all is yours, Ezra?" There was a strange way that his name left her lips, no accent claiming it, but a huskiness that seemed to breathe power over it.