1025/Goth Goth Baby

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Goth Goth Baby
Date of Scene: 07 April 2020
Location: The Grand Edward Ballroom - Hellfire Club
Synopsis: A group of teenage mutants end up storming the castl....err Hellfire Club. NOTHING BAD HAPPENS.
Cast of Characters: James Proudstar, Tabitha Smith, Julian Keller, Illyana Rasputina, Hope Summers

James Proudstar has posed:
It is rare to find the Grand Edward Ballroom of the Hellfire Club QUITE this lively, but with the extremely popular Dungeon Nightclub out of commission for a while longer, the Club decided to have a "New York Gothic" night at least once a week until that situation is remedied. So tonight's crowd is younger, and as hard as it is to believe probably drunker than the usual posh Ballroom crowd. Heavy bass beats and Goth Rock blast from the sound system, and the holographic display above the dance floor is tuned to the same style usually seen in the Club below: Hellscapes, stormy skies, all manner of dark and spooky cliches.

The Crowd loves it. It's a packed house, almost straining the air conditioning systems to keep it from being a figurative inferno thanks to all the undulating bodies out on the dancefloor.

It's the hottest club in town, in more ways than one.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
This is not the kind of place someone like Tabitha Smith usually ends up, unless she's broken in, snuck in, or otherwise pushing her luck trying to get to something. To be boldly walking in the front door? That's a new one for her. Not that she's going to let on that this isn't her usual place.

Really, poor sorts like her go to fancy clubs like this ALL THE TIME.

In honor of the goth theme she's put on black clothes in the form of black leather pants, heeled ankle boots and a black bustier. It's sort of goth meets Madonna from the '80s with the addition of cheap rosary beads hanging from her neck. "You think we can convince them to serve us booze?"

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller is part of the grouping of mutant kids, the younger set of the Hellfire Club out and about and on the prowl, so to speak. His hair is freshly cut, shaved on the sides and with a bit of height. He's wearing a crisp suit of burgundy and black, shined boots and a studded facemask while he's pushing among the others. (Outfit: http://imgur.com/a/b6ZEKOs )

When he sees classmates heading his way, he raises a hand in greeting, "Welcome to Hell," he says in the most jovial way imaginable, his eyes shining. He's very much in his element.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
New York Gothic: that means hiding in the garret and writing drippy poetry about the Fall of the House of Rhodes. Slap a black ribbon on that thing with a few meters of black lace, and voila. Gothic. Choosing not to show up as a nihilistic take on the Statue of Liberty, Illyana could get away in this crowd with just being herself and absolutely no one else. But it is a crowd, and in the bobbing sea of people eager to sample a taste of sin, she could almost look amused at the inferno as imagined by the slickest marketing team in Williamsburg.

It's enough to say showing up in spiderwebs is probably declasse to most designers. Yet that is what she chooses to wear, spun from a dark sparkling strand that twists its way in evocative peaked ripples around her lithe figure, threatening to unravel the silhouette if knocked too deeply. The skirt is fuller than it should be, and in substance, could probably pass through Julian's fist. No telling how she found Cuban stockings, or a fierce mask-crown combination that turns wispy, articulated lace into spiderbite filaments wrapped around her eyes like a columbina reduced to skeletal mists. It rises in fragile spires vaguely evocative of Notre Dame. Which make her dress possibly the stained glass windows, the ashes of the fire, and the dark allure of Hell all in one. A cathedral desanctified, a cathedral doused in the shadows of her own nature. "At least we tried." At least she's got skin bare to deal with the heat, albeit it doesn't touch her. She has to glide behind Julian, her boots themselves balanced on twisted dragon wings and tails. The heads of the beasts? Snarling under her toes, like an inverted Eve.

Hope Summers has posed:
Hope has never 'partied' in her life. Not once. She hasn't even really had time to watch movies about clubs and parties, so she's at something of a loss here. But hey, new worlds, new experiences, right? If people were going out for this, then she might as well go to.

The matter of clothes was a little more complicated, but she managed to scrounge together enough things to look like maybe she belongs. In the way that people who are well-off manage to make not caring look like haute-couture. A pair of ripped black jeans and a cropped, faded black t-shirt a few sizes too large, hanging off of one shoulder, match up well enough with combat boots. There's not much to be done about bright red hair, but at least she's comfortable with the post-apocalyptic hell look.

"This is...a //lot// of people," she observes as she follows the group in, looking up at the ceiling, across the dance floor...and taking in each of the entrances and exits out of habit.

James Proudstar has posed:
Oh hey look the new bouncer's here.

Oh wait, he's not the bouncer? Oh sorry, go right in sir.

That's happened at least twice since they got into the ground floor and made their way up here, but honestly, could they be blamed? The 7'2 Apache makes an impression.

Goth? Well...sorta. An effort was made, but it may have veered more towards "biker" than "goth." Maybe not entirely though. Steel-toed boots, black leather pants, a sleeveless black mesh shirt, and fingerless gloves. More striking though, is the Apache war-paint that covers his face....black over the eyes and forehead, and the lower lip and chin, with vertical white slashes running from hairline, down across cheekbones to the jawline. His hair is left loose. Is scaring the crap out of folks the goal? Knowing Jimmy...maybe? Still, War-Paint game on point.

"Yeah." Is his monosyllabic reply to Hope's observation. He's definitely looking over things, but what's not immediately obvious is that he's taking in all the extra sensory input his mutant abilities allow him. It's almost overwhelming...but not quite. There's a grin, almost feral in it's cast before he adds, "I think I kinda dig it."

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"That's the point." Tabby points out to Hope with a laugh, reaching a hand up to grab the sunglasses on the top of her head, pulling them down on her nose. They are not the ones stolen from her by a certain someone, and they are those thin, tiny tinted sunglasses that could be attributed to Lennon or Dracula.

Take your pick.

One hand lifts upwards, flicking a wave towards Julian, "Sup?" She calls before glancing at the gathered group of mutants, making a choice very quickly before she grabs at James' arm, "You probably can convince them to serve you, right?" Being tall means being over 21, doesn't it?

The pursuit of alcohol doesn't last too long, at least. Easily distracted by another idea, "Everyone is going to come dance, right?" She holds her hands out, snapping to the beat before she does a purposefully off-beat very disco-like shuffle.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller laughs and shakes his head at Tabitha, "Nobody's going to card you here. You got in the door, you get to indulge. I'm not entirely sure what the standard for entry is, but that's a velvet rope that keeps out the unwanted, always," he says.

He holds up his own drink as evidence, taking a long drink of it and casually floating it over to a nearby passing waiter, "Cocktails made to order. Or you can just get a beer, huh, big buy?" he says, raising an eyebrow at James.

Illyana is spectacular, of course, that goes without saying, he doesn't need to inflate her ego by reminding her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"This," Illyana murmurs to Tabitha nonchalantly, "is a strange crowd." It's certainly one she should be able to mingle with easily, blending Russian fatalism and the Rasputin sense for drama in a way that might bring empires to their knees and least a few of the dancers in place. The tangled elegance of the latticework crowning her head and descending to a point over her nose has strange echoes of James' war-paint. More feminine. More serpentine, difficult to follow, labyrinthine echoes in place. Utterly truthful in a slant sort of deception, as she throws her shoulders back and stalks right through the meandering, bunched up masses who dare to encroach a little too closely upon the party-of-five.

Dark chrome pointed claws cap her fingers, steel descending to sharp barbs atop the parade of rings. It's a disturbing look. It is meant to be, after all, because this is coming awfully close to the Darkchilde alter ego. "They will serve me," she says apropos of nothing for Tabby. "ID, da?" Or, you know, the fact that dress isn't actually opaque at all but the threnody of umbral apparations sketched out leave saints and geometry of the sacred in ruinous arrangement upon the body feminine. She flicks two fingers on the bias against her unsmiling mouth. "What is your desire?"

Casual? What the hell is -casual-? Her tongue flicks from the corner of those parted lips and traces a glistening drag to the opposite side, briefly paused to blot the tip of a canine. "Nothing simple. Toreador, Negroni, Second Prelude? Or you want me to surprise you?" She spins as she asks, backing into the masses, an onyx-aspected Madonna beckoning to the masses to join the sacrifice.

Hope Summers has posed:
Hope snorts a stifled laugh at James' approval of the music, shaking her head and finishing her survey of the room. This isn't exactly the sort of environment anyone can control, but then again...this is supposed to be that elusive thing called fun, right?

Tabby's dance moves elicit a laugh as she watches Illyana back away, still taking everything in. "Fair warning, I have never danced. In my life." For most people, that's probably hyperbole. Hope means it very literally. "So, you know. If you want to pretend you don't know me, I'll fully understand."

James Proudstar has posed:
James smirks at Julian, but doesn't verbally reply to the somewhat subtle barb. Though truth be told, as little drinking as James has done he really doesn't have a preference, not that it much matters...it'd probably take gallons to get him drunk. As he's starting to get tugged away by Tabitha, he does aside to Illyana as she solicits suggestions, "Sure, surprise me."

He jerks a thumb at Tabitha, "Probably her too." Though that does allow for Tabby to counter, if she has other ideas.

"Yeah, I'll dance." Does he dance? Well...tribal dances, and some awkward shuffling at school dances back in the day. Probably not the usual fare here but honestly given the eclectic crowd, probably far from the worst or strangest thing people would have seen. Thankfully what he might lack in experience he can...probably make up for in sheer coordination? Just gotta be careful not to accidentally break anybody's bones flailing around or something. At Hope's declaration of similar inexperience, he laughs and beckons her over, "Come on. We'll be all right."

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"Surprise me."

Seems James is right about the surprises, because Tabby doesn't correct him, or change the directive to Illyana. "You get whatever strikes your fancy, and then you come help dance." Help dance? Something like that. And then because Julian is so very confident of the ability to get drinks, and has gotten one, she points to him. Then Illy. Then she mimes drinking. As though this'll explain what she's trying to indicate.

"C'mon. No one cares if you look like a fool in a place like this. Just rub against someone and flash skin, or never smile and be super vogue." She then starts to move towards the throngs of dancers, voguing right along with the music like she's the expert here. And not just another kind of fool.

Hope Summers has posed:
"I understood half of that," Hope follows after Tabby, grinning despite herself. As they move through the crowd, she watches the people currently dancing, tries to listen to the music. To the extent that any of it passes for music, at least. On the up side, her musical experience is pretty limited anyhow.

Soon, she's at least moving her feet with the beat, swaying from one side to the other. Dancing, Cable didn't cover. Blending in with your environment, on the other hand...

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Surprise it is, then. Illyana doesn't exactly vanish into the crowd, since it can be difficult to lose track of a woman on the move. Not the girl in the Danger Room, not the cold ice-maiden taking lessons on being chilly from a certain Frost. This is an element where she whirls with those in passing and throws herself with abandon into the masses, letting the music thrum through the veins and lift her up on the swell of a dirty, thumping beat. It might be the only kind of music she knows. Arms lift to the air, striking every second note, the swivel and twist needed to bob towards the bar without knocking back dancers and revelers crouching too close with the filthy swelter of EDM and strobe-lit visions of 'Hell' all around. It's almost comically red in places, dystopian diesel-punk in another. Rock and riot, all the way to the unimpressed bartender paid way too well for this.

True to form, she has state ID. Literal state ID in this case, for a state not in the US. Numbers are clear enough though, and it's procured with no special flourish. Four fingers are held up. With it, she teeters over on her toes to make the order. Corrections fly. Or compliments. Or death threats. "Quince," she states emphatically, watching the others dance.

A world away, a globe upturned and full of ashflakes in their beauty. How very far away, how very lonely it is on that islet in the night. Hope figuring out the steps, Tabby dragging them in. James fearless in the trying. Julian too cool without even trying.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller isn't much of a dancer, per se. He can do it if he has to and do it well, but, frankly, he's not all that crazy about sweaty people rubbing against him unbidden. The right person, absolutely, or even the right people if he's feeling hedonistic, but the unwashed masses (even privileged ones)? No.

He instead perches, taking a spot not so much at the bar as atop it, feet braced on a stool. There's some vague attempt to get him to get off the bartop, but he just casually tips enough to get permission to do as he pleases. Which he would do anyway, but at least now he's not being harassed by servants.

James Proudstar has posed:
"Come on Keller! Come and show us how it's done!" Jimmy calls out to Julian as they start to move away, figuring if anyone here knows what he's doing (Besides Illyana, who always seems like she knows what she's doing, or is faking it until she makes it really, really well). He may have claimed his perch, but the big Injun doesn't seem inclined to let him get away -that- easily. James himself? Not terrible, actually. There's a sense of rhythm, and just the right amount of abandon that even if it isn't likely to impress, at least it isn't going to embarrass. Certainly a far cry better than a good many of the folks flailing and flopping throughout the crowd.

Plus he gets a bit of a berth on bulk alone. Intimidation goes a long way, even if it's passive.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"You understood the rubbing against people part, didn't you?" That is the best part, and thus the easiest to understand according to Tabby. While she might have been going out of her way to be rather silly about the entire thing before, once they've claimed a spot to dance in, she starts really dancing.

Truth is, unlike usual situations there's not a whole lot of worry about random people getting in too close and being too anything. Or everything. Anyone crazy enough to wade in close to the group is probably going to be shocked when they find that James isn't the only one of the group they should be scared of.

While Tabby moves to the rhythms of her soul, making sure with half her attention that her dance partners don't seem to be drowning out there, the rest of her attention is directed barward in anticipation of Illy's return.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The girl takes her time to coordinate her answres at the bar. It won't be quick for the process, no matter how one approaches it, cannot be rushed. Trust the Demon Queen to lead one into a pit of sin and vice. The mere taste of it dances on the lips of her unsmiling visage, those eyes so pale in this realm streaked by sin and striated with hopeful ambitions resting on dagger points they might as well be a ghostly white. More is the merrier, nonetheless, for those who swirl around her in abandon might reach out to touch the dress, to be raked by pointed nails that slide against the skin, catch in cotton, snag leather and leave the wearer glade for a last layer of defense.

Illyana Raspustina, procurer of poisons, will soon be on her way. She has no means whatsoever to carry four glasses, especially a highball, so the choice is simple. Gesturing to a platter, this will be the one and only time, likely, she plays waitress for their pleasure. Trying to snap open a portal mid-club, absolutely not, for the watching eyes will question. Instead, she takes the tray with a smirk and a promise, then starts twisting her path back. The sinuous indulations of her fellow dancers might threaten to knock something astray. Swinging Julian's way, she nods to one of the glasses. "Hope's. Go." One down, four to go. Does Piotr know she's dispensing libations and snake oil promises? Too bad if he doesn't.

Midnight comes as she slinks with that predatory stride, and if they don't move out of her way, that blunt, icy stare will move them. First up... Tabitha!

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller hears James challenge him and pushes himself up to his feet, standing on the bar. He summons a bottle of whiskey to his hand and walks down the length of the bar, leaping over a few standing drinks in the process.

"Do you call this a party?" he yells out at the top of his lungs. "Well, I don't. This is nothing. I am Julian god damn Keller. I have partied in LA, Boston, London, Paris. Berlin! I have closed every club in this city before I turned sixteen years old."

"This? This is the motherfucking HELLFIRE CLUB. You can't get away with just a bit of shimmy and a few drunken antics. We need to make a noise loud enough to shake the heavens and get every single one of us cast out to the pit! We need to unleash something inside ourselves tonight and let it loose."

"So get off your asses, start breaking some laws of god and man and let's burn this place down!" he cries, punctuating it by pouring whiskey down his throat until it spills down the front of his fancy suit.

Hope Summers has posed:
"That part was pretty clear, yeah," Hope grins to Tabby. "Also flash skin and never smile, those made sense. What the hell is a vogue, though?" she calls over the music.

Then Julian is declaring full party mode, and she arches a brow, shaking her head with a laugh. "Maybe we can skip actually burning the place down. I think that's probably going to get us in a little deep." That said, there's still so much going on. So much to take in. Closing her eyes, she tips her head back to let her senses expand.

There are powers here. More than just the Xaviers students who came with her. Mutants. She can feel them, like lights in the darkness. Like passing scents in the crowd. Usually she does her best to keep from picking them up, but if they're going to relax...

She puts a metaphorical finger on one of the powers in the crowd, then starts to glow in shades of blue and pink and orange, cycling through the colors like some sort of bioluminscent creature of the deeps.

James Proudstar has posed:
James gives a mighty "WHOOP!" at Julian's scenery-chewing, followed by a bellowing laugh, though not of the mocking variety. Jimmy isn't the first on the list, but he gets his drink soon enough, slowing down with the Dancing long enough to take a sip. Dark eyes widen a bit and he regards the glass with a bit of surprise, before taking another sip. "Complex" is definitely the word, and while James sense of taste isn't directly enhanced, with an enhanced sense of smell it gets a bit of a boost regardless, making it that much more layered. The only downside? He can always taste the alcohol, but hell, he figures that's part of the package. The dancing has to remain a bit calmed down while he sips, but hey, he may not be likely to get drunk but at least it tastes good.

Hope's display does attract a bit of attention, but the reaction, so far, tends to be more cheering and admiration than wariness.

Julian's however, does get several of those around him hooting and hollering and spilling drinks as they throw them back and generally just starting to gladly go wild.

You know, in a good way. Mostly.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
The fact the first drink is delivered to her makes Tabitha happy, and she accepts the glass from Illy before she lifts it upwards, "Prost." Wrong language, Tabby. Wrong. Language. But she tries, and that is what counts, right?

Then the glass is upended and she swallows the contents with the skill of an old alcoholic that is twice her age. The fine hints of brioche and maple is lost on her, and in fact the little flower petal in the glass gets swallowed as well. Which, hopefully it was edible, otherwise this might be a bad end to the night.

As soon as the glass is empty she carelessly tosses it over her shoulder towards the crowd before she shoots her arms up into the air, "Wooooo!" Woo for Hope's light show. Woo for Julian's declaration. Woo for Illy brinking the booze. Woo for James' dancing. Just woo for everything.

One person who has zero problems cutting loose? Tabby.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller takes the drink from Illyana and drinks it in a guzzling motion, which is insane because it's a very intense and rich and zingy and just overwhelming sensation. But he doesn't let that stop him, revelling in the excess of it even as his throat burns and he sets the glass aside.

"HELLIONS RULE!" he cries and, with a laugh, he leaps into a crowd of dancers and crowdsurfs across the top.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
One drink left: Illyana's. It's clear and unremarkable, but she smirks at the sudden eruption of water bottles, tipped back glasses, and a bottle wasted on clothing. Flashing lights bring her to raising her hand against her eyes, blunting the sheer extremes of illumination limning Hope like those chemical glow-sticks beloved at raves. Ooh, something to admire with a careful look, direction enough.

She doesn't actually do more than sip her own drink, lingering back. Altogether easy for her to melt into the shadows, which may be the point.

Hope Summers has posed:
Hope takes her own drink belatedly, taking a small sip of the fiery liquid within before a spray of color cascades over her skin, echoing the bright and fiery flavors of the drink. She doesn't seem worried about anyone looking at her here. Hope Summers doesn't //exist// on this world, in this timeline. Who are they going to see? What is there to fear from //being// seen?

As she tosses back the rest of her drink, she laughs, raising her hands above her head and spinning with the music, more light glowing from her hands. Sure, it's a pretty useless power. But she doesn't need to be //useful// right now.

James Proudstar has posed:
James finally does throw back the remainder of his drink, mainly because it's getting in the way of more dancing. He actually throws some horns for Julian's pre Body-surfing exclamation, giving another roar of approval. And then he's back into the music, throwing himself into it with that same earlier abandon. He might even get a little better as he goes along.

The crowd's on fire (not literally, don't get ideas, Little Snowflake), the music is thumping, and for a little while at least, humans, mutants, and whoever and whatever else is out here on the dance floor manage to be united in the common cause of just having a good time.