Drunk and Disturbed

"Faster Lightning! Come on, we have to catch up to the troll!" Scream urged his ever-so-cooperative mule onward. The stubborn beast trudged slowly ahead, the troll gaining distance by simply walking. The adventurer had signed a contract with a local village that he would rid them of the pesky troll, who had a love for sweet treats and had kept robbing the baker every Wednesday for reasons unknown. Whatever the reason, Mr. Wednesday would cease to exist when Scream was done with him. That is, if his trusty steed, Lightning, would be true to his name for once and run like his life depended on it. He'd started out running, then slowed to a walk, then ran a bit more after Scream had urged him on, then he'd slowed down again. And now here he was, moving slower than a slug. With a sigh, Scream clenched his hands into fists so that his nails dug into his palms. This would never do. But how could he make Lightning even begin to move? As he pondered, he didn't pay attention to where he was going. He figured that the mule would be going slow enough anyway, so that if he did go somewhere unwanted he would have time to react.

Lightning, on the other hand, was hellbent on getting a drink of water. He did not want a sip, he did not want a few slurps, rather the poor creature wanted to immerse his whole body in a small pool, unfortunate rider still upon him, and drink until his little mule stomach was satisfied. It was bad enough that he had to let the adventurer ride him, but when he urged him to be faster than he felt like moving at the time, that was when Lightning got annoyed. He'd attempt to drown the stupid human and get a drink in the process. It was a win-win for the animal. Unfortunately, when said puddle was discovered and the mule set one hoof into it, Scream found himself in a rather odd environment indeed: the room was dark and filled with smoke. It wasn't completely devoid of light, however, as strange lights, produced by unseen devices, lit up the room at different times for a fraction of a second.

His mule, the troublemaker who had done this to both of them, was now safely stored away in his inventory pack. Scream couldn't yell at him now, but boy was the mule going to hear it when Scream got back to his house. Wait, what was he thinking? By then the mule wouldn't even know what he'd done. Scream sighed in annoyance. Revenge would be pointless in the long run. Perhaps he'd better just suck it up and explore this new place. This very loud, very obnoxious new place. The music was deafening and there were people all over. Some of them were dancing, others were drinking strange liquids, and others were....what? No, it couldn't be. That woman upon the stage was definitely not taking her top off. But as he looked, and unknowingly started to drool, he realized she indeed was.

He wanted to watch.

The discarded shirt was flung away from the stage, only to land right in front of his feet. With wide eyes, he hurriedly picked it up before the other patrons could grab it. He went back to watching the woman, his jaw figuratively upon the floor. He'd never seen a woman do that before. Granted, she still had her bra on, but this was as much flesh on a woman as he'd ever seen before. The pathetic 18 year old stared and began to walk forward, not of his own volition. It was as if his feet were in control, rather than his head. Perhaps something else altogether was in control, but he had no idea what; he'd never masturbated before. He'd never found reason to. He was a pure boy with a mother that would have died if she ever even thought of him knowing what Playboy was.

He wanted to touch.

Her skin looked so soft, so supple. He wanted to feel whatever it felt like. He wanted to run his fingers through her...sexy? was that the word? Yes, he found himself agreeing, that was it. He wanted to run his fingers through her sexy, wild red hair. She was beginning to push down her skirt now. Her hands looked so dainty, her nails polished a red even brighter than her hair. Red was a sexy color for this woman. There was that word again. Sexy. He'd heard his friends say things like that, although he hadn't understood it then. Now he thought he did. Her feet were in unbelievably high high-heels, again colored red. He was close enough now to see that they were made of a sleek, glossy material. He didn't really care about her footwear though; instead, he was interested in the foot within the shoe. So dainty, so soft, so perfect. So he reached out and gave it a gentle poke. And all hell broke loose.

A strict 'no touching the dancers' policy was enforced in that club. He soon found himself face down on the ground, pinned down by a burly bouncer breathing heavily in his ear from his latest exertion that night. Little did Scream know, men had been doing this all night. It was always like this. All night, every night. The poor guy never caught a break, and so thought that Scream shouldn't either.

"Can't you see the sign, puny worm!? Don't touch the women!" He snarled, booze faintly traceable on his breath. It helped to give him an edge when yelling at men like Scream, a fact that the poor 18 year old could wholeheartedly attest to. With a whimper, Scream found himself tongue-tied and remained silent. The bouncer shook him like a rag doll, urging him to answer like Scream had urged poor Lightning on earlier. Oh how he could have kicked that mule for getting him into this mess. "I-I didn't know sir..." He started and then broke into sobs. A mommy's boy until the end, he believed that crying would fix everything.

Loud music pulsed in her ears as Java sipped a cool, neon pink drink that her left hand encircled. Her purple eyes gleamed from the reflection of her drink. They watched the various activities that were occurring in the club: men drooling, women undressing, couples giggling amongst themselves. She sighed and took another sip, stretching her back against the bar. She raised one of her legs and placed tall black heels against the bar, her knee bent. Her black dress slipped up, exposing her taunt things and barely covering her bottom. Her zebra stripped belt hang low on her hips and so, she hooked her right thumb into it and cocked her head to the side.

This was a normal day for her in Samora. She had just finished work and taking care of her mother and therefore, she was free to login and go where she pleased. Deciding to be a little different, a little daring, she paid a visit to this lovely spot: The Candy Shop. She needed to see some of her work on display and since she did much of the development of this place. So, once logging in and arriving at her apartment, she put on one of her favorite dresses, raised her hair into a high ponytail, prettied up her face, and stripped on her ridiculously high heels, she caught a cab and arrived.

Things had been proceeding as normal with many of the regulars recognizing her and saying hello. A couple of men attempted to pick up on her, but seeing how she was certainly not in the mood, she frankly dismissed them. Few called her some obnoxious names, but she settled that quickly with a small fire ball on their rump. After that, no one seemed to bother her, which satisfied her just the same. However, a sudden and rather random flash of light caught her eye as she noticed one of the portals inside the club activating. She raised an eyebrow and turned her attention towards it. What she saw she almost did not believe. Granted, she had been on Rorgar before and even had her set of medieval style of clothing; however, she would not be caught dead wearing in out in public here. Yet, at that moment, she spotted someone that was straight out of the middle ages. Wearing a green cloak, some black gauntlets, and a pair of good boots (that she even might attempt to purchase), a young man stood bewildered and lost. He was tall, only a couple of inches taller than her with her four-inch heels. He had dark hair and from what she could tell, dark eyes. After realizing that he wasn't in Rorgar anymore, his eyes became transfixed on the current dancer on stage. Java followed his gaze and chuckled. It was Licorice.

The out of place man glanced down when Licorice took off her top and threw in his direction. It dropped before his feet and he eagerly snatched it up. Java waited to see if he would smell like most of the others did. She honestly didn't understand the point of smelling people's clothing, but to each their own, she guessed. He did not, but moved forward, getting closer and closer to the dancer. She leaned back and sipped her drink again, watching the amazement of the newcomer. It was as if he had never seen a woman before. She narrowed her eyes when he raised his hand gently touched her foot. The bouncer for the night quickly onto the poor lad, tackling him to the floor and then raising him up while shaking the mess out of him. Java grimaced at the scene and soon saw that…the young man…was crying? Crying? Really?

'God, how old is this kid?' she thought, 'Is he even old enough to be in here?'

Knowing that this could get out of hand and not wanting a brawl or whatever in here, Java rushed over to the confrontation and tapped the bouncer on his shoulder. His head snapped in her direction, nostrils flared. He looked ready to fight. She stared him down and glared at him. Eventually, he got the hint and slowly sat the young man down. She nodded her head away and he got the hint, returning to his post. Java then looked at the crying piece of work and frowned up her face.

'My work is never done.'

"Welcome to the Candy Shop," she said, shouting to be heard over the music, "You are certainly not from around here. My name is Java or JC, whichever you prefer. What's yours? And you had better come with me if you don't want to be killed or injured too badly." She waved her hands and turned around, heading back to her place at the bar.

For once, Copland was in normal people clothes. A bunch of his Mainframe coworkers, who worked inside the construct, had decided to for a night on the Samora and brought him along. They decided to check out the Candy Shop because it was new. Whoever could get coding permission from the Samora memory core had to have something interesting. Copland had also been invited to go there anyway by one of the club's dancers: Black Licorice.

As the name suggested, Black Licorice was a toned woman of African descent. She was supposed to come on to the stage after the current red Licorice. What most people didn't know was that BL was a ripped black guy who Copland hired as his Real World personal trainer. BL wasn't a transvestite or a homosexual, but he certainly knew the power of sex for marketing. And it didn't hurt that he had a history in theater as an ensemble dancer. A "Don't Touch the Dancers" rule just added icing to the ad campaign.

Copland was in a booth with his buddies, sipping on a digital soda. He didn't like to spend credits on faux-cohol. It was a waste of money that he could have used for gear or ship components. Soda, on the other hand, had some beneficial buff effects. Everybody at the table started beeping as their keytools picked up the activation of a portal inside the club. It wasn't really that unusual, as they had all portal'ed in from Core...but portals such as this one were more likely to destabilize than the systemic ones. They all looked over to see Frodo Baggins stumble into the Shop.

"Looks like we're not in Rorgar anymore, Toto," Maxx said as Frodo blinked about. There was an envious groan from him as the kid picked up Licorice's shirt. For Maxx, catching discarded clothing was like snatching a fly ball from the air at a baseball game. Dude, don't do it...

But Maxx's warning was not heard over the roar of the club. Frodo made the briefest of contacts with Licorice's foot before getting laid out on the floor. Everyone "Oooh"ed in sympathetic pain. A classily dressed woman moved over to the kid's aid. Something about her seemed familiar, so Copland got up for a better look. The others had gone back into their earlier conversation and did not notice he left.

"Yeah, it is her." No one could hear him either.

"......or injured too badly."

Copland squatted down and brought his left wrist to his mouth. "Gadget, medscan." Two rods appeared from the device and resembled the rabbit ear antenna from the old television sets as the cogwheel did a basic damage assessment on Scream. "Probably just a bruised ego."

{More than I thought if he's balling his eyes out.}

He helped the kid up and looked at Java. "Zombie hunter by day, socialite by night?"