D : < Shut up, you lot.
It's not like I ever role play or anything.
Hell no.
Th-this is for, umn... MANLY THINGS.
Yeah.
Like football or something.
-----
An Exerpet~
The club was crowded tonight.
It was a little thing, just off the Bund and down into one of the shadier alleyways, with no signs or whispers to indicate its existance. Before the windows had been blacked up people had often stopped to stare, curious to see the meshing of foreigners and controversially dressed young Chinese under the strobes and black lights. But there had been doubt as to the legality of their practices, and for fear of drawing media- and, thus, legal- attention, they had drawn their club into itself and retained a great number of eager clientel. It couldn't be called a rave, exactly, in the same way that a moon cannot simply be described as 'a large rock in the sky', but it was something of that nature. The clubgoers, who slunk into the entrance by means of a staircase winding below street level, wore glow sticks, dressing in tight black and neon. The music bellowed out into the streets, and it was deafening within.
The club was small, unbelievably so, only spanning three floors and barely ten meters of room. Most of the walls on the bottom floor had been knocked out for a dancing space. Along the upper railing above the main dance floor (For there are always such things in underground clubs) stood a conservativily dressed foreigner. He was tall, broadly built, with pale skin and white blonde hair and a Slavic face that completely failed to intimidate. Though he wore a suit from one of the finest boutiques in the city, it hung off him at odd angles and seemed several sizes too big. The suit was very light beige, giving him a washed out look or perhaps the impression of being covered in flour. Indeed, he gave the impression of only being half-way there. The only striking things about him were his eyes, which were a very vivid, very strong brown.
He was staring down at the club below, cheeks hollow and dark eyes morose. He crossed his legs, leaning on the glowing blue metal as if he were barely aware of it. His eyes darted perpetually back and forth, momently focusing either on the clubgoers or the entrance. There was a sense of urgency and starvation that seemed to hang about him like a thick cloud.
"You look famished. Bad night?," came a voice from behind him, audible over the pound of the club beat. A voice, he realized, that he recognized. His body relaxed ever so slightly, and a smile attempted to tease its way across his face.
The man replied after some consideration, in a thin Russian accent, "Not so bad. These clubs have a wonderful pulse to them," He spoke softly, voice bearing some trace of sadness, in a deep baritone. He had answered her in Mandarin Chinese, a language he seemed to have at least a comprehensive grasp of. He did not turn around, but moved slightly to the side on the rail in order to accomidate her. She drew up beside him on the railing, folding her arms and glancing carelessly at the mass of people below. She glanced at him, a single thin, black eyebrow arched.
She made no reply, smiling beneath a small layer of eye shadow and bright red lipstick. The woman, clearly Chinese, was wearing all casual attire- a black hoodie, gold coloured undershirt, several gell band bracelets, red flats and thin jeans. She was tall, not quite as thin as her counterpart, but well porportioned and atheletic. It was obvious that she had never been 'pretty'- There were no gracefully curving cheek bones or perfect thighs. She bore the traces of a rougher life, in the scar that traced its way across her forhead, in the lines at the edges of her eyes, in her dry lips. Here was something tough that had only recently retired to a life of relaxation, an odd thought considering she looked to still be in her mid twenties. But there was a certain charm that radiated from her as well, and he was grateful for her company. Her hair was black, shinning, and cut just above her shoulders in a sort of slanted bob, with sideswept bangs and two streaks of red and gold running over her left eye. Like her counterpart, her eyes were a very dark shade of brown.
Suddenly, he sighed. "He'll finish us. Slowly, perhaps, but I know. I can feel it," he muttered, lapsing periodically into Russian. His features contorted into a strange expression somewhere between confusion, surprise, and concern. The words seemed to come out of no where, and he was sorry as soon as he'd spoken. It was wrong to place so much on her. After all, she'd already done so much for him...
"You wouldn't have said so a month ago," She lay a hand firmly on his arm, searching his face for a more obvious expression. Her mouth twisted up at one end in a sort of smirk. When she spoke, it was with a far heavier Shanghai accent. "The others weren't... Connected. They were aimless, almost drifting. You've still got the school," There was concern in her voice and expression, but it was tried. This was hardly the first time he'd complained. It was such a burden, always having to console him; had it always been like this? She couldn't see how they had tolerated him, back when they... Didn't it mean anything to him to be one of only two left? Here they were, at the point of extinction, and he was willing to curl up and surrender. It made her sick. At this point, she'd almost rather...
He frowned at nothing in particular, and was ready to reply in the negative once more when he suddenly caught sight of something moving below. He squinted, trying to make out the figure more clearly. Something about it had- Yes, there was no mistaking it. He was here. Somehow, against all the odds, their plans had failed. He had found them once more, and now...
The man hastily withdrew from the balcony, stepping backwards and trembling. A cold sweat broke across his forhead and his eyes contracted to pinpoints. The girl was pushed back against the railing, surprised and more than a bit annoyed. She followed his line of sight, prepared to scold him for making a scene.
"Really, now, what is this? There's noth..." she began, breaking suddenly when she saw it as well. A darkly clothed man, hunched over and moving rapidly across the dance floor (Or, at least as rapidly as the crowd would allow). Occasionally he would dissapear behind the masses, only to reappear after shoving some indignant teenager out of the way again. She stared for several seconds more, heart pounding quite hard now. Surely it wasn't him. Surely they were mistaken. She wanted to wait to see his face, to confirm, but he was headed very quickly towards the back door. It would lead him straight up to them. There was absolutely no time to waste with guessing games- If it was him, truly him, then they would be dead before long.
She wheeled around to face the other man. He had sunk into a crouch against the wall, and was currently running a large hand through his hair and staring at the ground in fear and shock. He was muttering something under his breath, but she couldn't make it out. Quickly, she hoisted him up by the arm and began tugging him in the direction of one of the side rooms in front of them.The catwalk was only a balcony to the right- On the left were several small, private rooms one could rent from the club owners for a small fee.
The girl never left anything to chance. She quickly produced a small key and began looking for the appropriate door. If they could only make it to the room, they'd have enough time to escape.
It was a little thing, just off the Bund and down into one of the shadier alleyways, with no signs or whispers to indicate its existance. Before the windows had been blacked up people had often stopped to stare, curious to see the meshing of foreigners and controversially dressed young Chinese under the strobes and black lights. But there had been doubt as to the legality of their practices, and for fear of drawing media- and, thus, legal- attention, they had drawn their club into itself and retained a great number of eager clientel. It couldn't be called a rave, exactly, in the same way that a moon cannot simply be described as 'a large rock in the sky', but it was something of that nature. The clubgoers, who slunk into the entrance by means of a staircase winding below street level, wore glow sticks, dressing in tight black and neon. The music bellowed out into the streets, and it was deafening within.
The club was small, unbelievably so, only spanning three floors and barely ten meters of room. Most of the walls on the bottom floor had been knocked out for a dancing space. Along the upper railing above the main dance floor (For there are always such things in underground clubs) stood a conservativily dressed foreigner. He was tall, broadly built, with pale skin and white blonde hair and a Slavic face that completely failed to intimidate. Though he wore a suit from one of the finest boutiques in the city, it hung off him at odd angles and seemed several sizes too big. The suit was very light beige, giving him a washed out look or perhaps the impression of being covered in flour. Indeed, he gave the impression of only being half-way there. The only striking things about him were his eyes, which were a very vivid, very strong brown.
He was staring down at the club below, cheeks hollow and dark eyes morose. He crossed his legs, leaning on the glowing blue metal as if he were barely aware of it. His eyes darted perpetually back and forth, momently focusing either on the clubgoers or the entrance. There was a sense of urgency and starvation that seemed to hang about him like a thick cloud.
"You look famished. Bad night?," came a voice from behind him, audible over the pound of the club beat. A voice, he realized, that he recognized. His body relaxed ever so slightly, and a smile attempted to tease its way across his face.
The man replied after some consideration, in a thin Russian accent, "Not so bad. These clubs have a wonderful pulse to them," He spoke softly, voice bearing some trace of sadness, in a deep baritone. He had answered her in Mandarin Chinese, a language he seemed to have at least a comprehensive grasp of. He did not turn around, but moved slightly to the side on the rail in order to accomidate her. She drew up beside him on the railing, folding her arms and glancing carelessly at the mass of people below. She glanced at him, a single thin, black eyebrow arched.
She made no reply, smiling beneath a small layer of eye shadow and bright red lipstick. The woman, clearly Chinese, was wearing all casual attire- a black hoodie, gold coloured undershirt, several gell band bracelets, red flats and thin jeans. She was tall, not quite as thin as her counterpart, but well porportioned and atheletic. It was obvious that she had never been 'pretty'- There were no gracefully curving cheek bones or perfect thighs. She bore the traces of a rougher life, in the scar that traced its way across her forhead, in the lines at the edges of her eyes, in her dry lips. Here was something tough that had only recently retired to a life of relaxation, an odd thought considering she looked to still be in her mid twenties. But there was a certain charm that radiated from her as well, and he was grateful for her company. Her hair was black, shinning, and cut just above her shoulders in a sort of slanted bob, with sideswept bangs and two streaks of red and gold running over her left eye. Like her counterpart, her eyes were a very dark shade of brown.
Suddenly, he sighed. "He'll finish us. Slowly, perhaps, but I know. I can feel it," he muttered, lapsing periodically into Russian. His features contorted into a strange expression somewhere between confusion, surprise, and concern. The words seemed to come out of no where, and he was sorry as soon as he'd spoken. It was wrong to place so much on her. After all, she'd already done so much for him...
"You wouldn't have said so a month ago," She lay a hand firmly on his arm, searching his face for a more obvious expression. Her mouth twisted up at one end in a sort of smirk. When she spoke, it was with a far heavier Shanghai accent. "The others weren't... Connected. They were aimless, almost drifting. You've still got the school," There was concern in her voice and expression, but it was tried. This was hardly the first time he'd complained. It was such a burden, always having to console him; had it always been like this? She couldn't see how they had tolerated him, back when they... Didn't it mean anything to him to be one of only two left? Here they were, at the point of extinction, and he was willing to curl up and surrender. It made her sick. At this point, she'd almost rather...
He frowned at nothing in particular, and was ready to reply in the negative once more when he suddenly caught sight of something moving below. He squinted, trying to make out the figure more clearly. Something about it had- Yes, there was no mistaking it. He was here. Somehow, against all the odds, their plans had failed. He had found them once more, and now...
The man hastily withdrew from the balcony, stepping backwards and trembling. A cold sweat broke across his forhead and his eyes contracted to pinpoints. The girl was pushed back against the railing, surprised and more than a bit annoyed. She followed his line of sight, prepared to scold him for making a scene.
"Really, now, what is this? There's noth..." she began, breaking suddenly when she saw it as well. A darkly clothed man, hunched over and moving rapidly across the dance floor (Or, at least as rapidly as the crowd would allow). Occasionally he would dissapear behind the masses, only to reappear after shoving some indignant teenager out of the way again. She stared for several seconds more, heart pounding quite hard now. Surely it wasn't him. Surely they were mistaken. She wanted to wait to see his face, to confirm, but he was headed very quickly towards the back door. It would lead him straight up to them. There was absolutely no time to waste with guessing games- If it was him, truly him, then they would be dead before long.
She wheeled around to face the other man. He had sunk into a crouch against the wall, and was currently running a large hand through his hair and staring at the ground in fear and shock. He was muttering something under his breath, but she couldn't make it out. Quickly, she hoisted him up by the arm and began tugging him in the direction of one of the side rooms in front of them.The catwalk was only a balcony to the right- On the left were several small, private rooms one could rent from the club owners for a small fee.
The girl never left anything to chance. She quickly produced a small key and began looking for the appropriate door. If they could only make it to the room, they'd have enough time to escape.
