* / DARKWAVE JESUS KNOCK-OFF.

    Oblivious to the requirement of the club ( at least, she was just let in despite looking totally out of the picture! - now who would say no to a paying customer? ), Laurie took a sip of her recently received drink. Neither his question enlightened her about this apparent small ‘rule’ of the etiquette. The first human contact in a day! She studied the stranger seated nearby her from top to bottom. Purple. Was that supposed to be a pick up line? Before her gaze met his again, she took a brief look down at her clothing ( which none had the said colour). But that wasn’t going to stop Laurie from giving him just a little bit to think about. Whether or whether not standing out from the crowds, after paying herself in - she was there to have some fun.

 ❝ Maybe I am. Want to take a guess? ❞ Grin behind the glass was impish. As she set down the glass, there was a slight arch of a brow. Flirting, were we?   ❝ And…❞ She allowed her gaze to linger over him - giving it intentionally longer time than necessary. ❝ …how about you? ❞

Hyper-aware of her gaze, Alex considers the lingering look a compliment -- at least a sign of blossoming interest, but part of him gains a depraved satisfaction out of the possibility her surveyance is judgmental and disparaging. She's a cut apart from the rest, her beige blouse could be considered a cardinal sin by some in here solely for its colour and lack of excess in chiming accessories.              At her rebuttal, he laughs -- a huff of amusement, then makes a show of deliberative thinking, black-brown eyes straying from her as if studying the air.

# 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒:  1  /  2  /  3 + 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄:  high  /  average  / deep 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓:  yes  /  no 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑:  confident /  shy  /  approachable  /  hostile /  other 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄:  slumped  /  straight  /  stiff  /  relaxed

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒:  head tilting  /  swaying  /  fidgeting  /  stuttering  /  gesturing  /  arm crossing  /  strokes chin  /  er, um, or other interjections  /  plays with hair or clothing  /  hands at hips  /  inconsistent eye contact  /  maintains eye contact  /  frequent pausing  /  stands close  /  stands at distance  /  absolutely klutzy fuckhead

𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀𝙓𝙄𝙏𝙔

𝐕𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘:  ◼◼◼◻◻ 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:  ◼◼◼◼◻ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄:  ◼◼◼◻◻ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘:  ◼◼◼◼◻ 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘:  ◼◼◼◼◻

𝘽𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙇𝙔

arse.  ass.  asshole.  bastard.  bitch.  bloody.  bugger.  bollocks.  chicken shit. cock.  crap. cunt. dick.  frick.  fuck.  horseshit.  motherfucker.  piss.  prick.  screw.  shit.  shitass.  son of a bitch.  twat.  wanker.  pussy.

𝙂𝙄𝙑𝙀𝙉 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙍 𝙍𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙊𝙐𝙎 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙓𝙏

christ on a bike.  christ on a cracker.  damn.  goddamn.  godsdamn. hell.  holy shit.  jesus. jesus christ.  jesus h christ.  jesus h. roosevelt christ. lord have mercy.  jesus, mary and joseph.  sweet jesus.

𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏

contractions or enunciation?  straightforward or cryptic?  jargon or toned?  complexity or simplicity?  finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind?  masculinity, neutrality, or femininity?  formalities or abrasiveness?  praise or equivocation?  frankness or lies? excessive or minimal hand gestures?  name-calling or magnanimity?  friendly or blunt nicknames?

𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏𝘼𝙉𝙏 𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎

𝐃𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄? almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄’𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊? almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒?   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒?   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄 “𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐌” 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄? yes  /  no  /  only ironically

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓. 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐔𝐒𝐄?   but  / though  /  although  /  however  /  perhaps  /  mayhaps

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒? walk away  /  ask if that’s everything  /  say that that’s everything  /  give a proper goodbye  /  tell their company they’re done here  /  remain quiet  /  they don’t

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒? titles  /  first names  /  surnames  /  full names  /  nicknames

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊? upper  /  middle /  lower

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒? accent  /  vocabulary  / tone  /  level  /  politeness  / brusqueness  /  it doesn’t

      ❝   the way you flirt is… . ❞   there’s a long pause where you can inform contemplation from the wrinkles on her forehead ————— what was the english word she was searching for? not dirty, but not subtle? … .sad? pathetic? oh. . .  @vamytas​  /  claire calyette

      ❝   shameful.  ❞

     WHY NOT? The final thought encouraged Laurie to step inside the building. Having spent an hour with aimless pace in the city. She yearned a place to go, people to talk to. In such a big place, she was allowed an anonymity - but at the price of isolation.

As she stepped inside. So many new things presented at once, she felt like peeking inside a rabbit hole: into an alternative World where sounds and visuals perked her senses in a new way. To her ears it was odd - yet curious. Different place. A place where no one in their alternative styles represented her. But in a way, she felt welcomed. As she stood by her spot after leaving her jacket by the door, she must have seemed like a lost soul in her baggy sleeved beige blouse, jeans and leather boots. The gazes were curious, yet none seemed of ill-willed towards a new comer. Quick glances, perhaps, she was imagining it. Too aware it was very specific club. Yet, if anyone asked about her rather ‘casual’ appearance, would it be fair to judge one for looks? She planned to respond. 

It took her a while to study the interior from afar, decide a place she could withdraw and observe, she wasn’t sure whether to find there more than few drinks - perhaps new things to learn. Perhaps, even ask about things once she encouraged herself enough. She didn’t belong there, it was for sure - in her mind, that was. The people were of different and she felt like a mother searching for a lost daughter - In a way she felt like breaking some kind of a code as she stepped towards the counter, to see what there was to offer. As she waited for an order, her gaze locked at someone. || @vamytas·

If someone were able to view the club, Indigo, from its ceiling, they would have to squint to discern a figure who wasn’t donned in black. The dark congregation revel in a macabre melody, clubbers swaying to a danceable dirge with a solemnity rivalling a funeral procession, the same percussive rhythm pulsing in every chest; each flickering shadow sharing the same heartbeat. Alex is seemingly no outlier to the same rule, although the musical mimicry of a heartbeat lacked any physiological basis in his body -- half-modestly covered in a sheer mesh shirt and leather trousers.              Blood lingers like an opaque haze in the air, a heady incense willing his thoughts to focus on nothing else but a means to quickly abate the thirst clawing at his throat. He courses a path for the bar, deftly ducking underneath an arm undulating in front of his face, weaving through the crowd with the same ease as a cat slipping through a door left ajar. Emerging from the cobweb of clubbers, he scans for an empty space at the bar, conveniently within talking proximity of a woman. Nonchalant, he leans on the chrome countertop, gaze glazing over the bottles lined up beside one another on the shelves. The bartender glances at him while filling a glass but Alex feels a much longer lasting look from someone more fortuitous.           Meeting her gaze, he doesn’t waste a second in breaking the ice, asking without needing to raise his voice above the music to be heard, “So -- what are you wearin’ that’s purple?” 

Standing at his desk, Alex sifts through a collage of discarded designs; half-hearted lineart of panthers prowling towards pin-up girls, a snake coiling like an encroaching vine around a disembodied, stilletto-heeled leg. What forced a frown to crease his brow, however, was a singular bill that was hidden away and unopened for a week or so, only fished out once the ‘out of sight - out of mind’ approach wore off and he submitted to the droll task of calculating whether he would be in debt for the rest of the week.            Idly scratching at his jaw, the dollar signs blur, unfocusing along with his attention span, his scrutinising stare easing as his gaze flickers then gravitates to a sketched face --- peering at him over the corner of the document he should be studying. The prospect of his financial destitution no longer matters, any consequence of his inaction becoming insubstantial when his eyes lock onto her illustrated gaze.