Mix the Bourgeoisie and the Rebels

[Elita-1]

Day 27, Club Con, Open.


Music thumps through the casino's club, enticing those with too much energy and to move out to the dance floor.

Entering through the dance club entrance is a tall, lithe, white and lavender technorganic female. Her fingers are overlong and delicate. Her nails and teeth are sharp. Her ears are pointed and decorated with studs and hoops of various precious metals. Her long, white hair is braided with leather and silver wire.

She's dressed in a pair of deep purple thigh high heeled boots and a flowing sheer black poet's style shirt that is just opaque enough in certain places to keep from being indecent. The shirt is long enough to brush the tops of her boots, and is belted at the waist with a silver chain belt.

The woman glides through the dancing throng to the heart of the club, pushes aside a fawning groupie, and leans against the railing.

"Hey, Mister Deejay," she purrs, voice husky, "How about something dark and fluid? Something to steal away the senses and inhibitions and chase the posers off the floor?"

[Jazz [G1]]

Jazz turns, and for a moment, his optic band widens. Good thing he hasn't been clued in as to what Elita-1 is disguised as - makes playing dumb easier when the times comes!

"Whe-ell, I can certainly do that, miss," Jazz answers from his disc-spinning perch, and thumbs through a stack of records, before pulling out one as the current, rather generally dancey song ends - he puts the record on, and before dropping the needle, he grabs the mic - "Alright, dudes and dudettes, let's see if we can't kick things up a notch! Show me what you're all made of!"

The needle falls, and a heavy bass starts up...

[Sable Conolly]

Scourge doesn't really like wearing clothing. He finds it a silly hindrance, he's arrogant enough to not want to bother trying to blend in on this planet. Despite his misgivings, he is in a devastatingly well-tailored jet black suit with gleaming gunmetal threads running through in pin-striping. He looks very much like high-priced muscle, something above the run-of-the-mill mook, and it's accurate enough.

Watch the floor. Make sure Jazz doesn't do anything dangerous to their operation here. Leave and do something more productive in an hour. Scourge is bored. This is not his kind of music nor is the new song coming on just now.

However, that lavender woman faintly reminds him of someone, and he tilts his head, contemplating just how dangerously bored he is. Scourge shoves away from the wall, strides over to her, and asks, "May I have a dance, miss?" holding out a hand courteously.

[Elita-1]

The woman tilts her head as the music starts, then nods her head approvingly. She turns away from the railing, intending to move out onto the dance floor, only to find her way blocked by several tons of intimidating black muscle.

Inwardly, Elita-1 feels a slight moment of panic. She knows this one from the archives. This is Scourge! The one who can go toe to toe with Rodimus Prime! He's dangerous! And he- wants to dance?

Well. He is terribly handsome in that suit. For an angry evil guy, that is. And she is supposed to be distracting the Decepticons.

Outwardly, however, none of this turmoil shows. The tall woman flips her braids to one side as she sizes up the other robot, a slightly predatory- and possibly familiar- smile on her face.

"Mmm, I suppose you may," she purrs, placing her hand in Scourge's, "You're hot enough to not hurt my cred."

She tries to tug the tanker out onto the dance floor.

[Jazz [G1]]

Jazz pushes the volume up juuust a smidge as the patrons start to get into the groove. He headbobs, peering over at the lady who made the request, and her dance partner. Lady, if you only knew who that guy was...

And if only Jazz knew who she was.

Right now, he's more worried about getting out of here once the stuff goes down.

[Sable Conolly]

The woman's smile is indeed faintly familiar, and Scourge looks puzzled for a brief moment. The moment passes, and he murmurs, half in teasing, half in warning, "I wouldn't sorry about me hurting your cred." Other parts, possibly...

Ah, but she is a patron! And he only needs to be nasty if she acts up.

Scourge lets her lead him to the dance floor, caving early and easily. No sense in letting her know just how much he can resist a little tug. Scourge will save his strength for later, when people need to be thrown through walls. Now, he stays gentle, imitating the moves he's seen on the dance floor in his bored hours of watching. Scourge even gives a good impression of keeping his focus on the lavender lady, though to tell the truth, his attention remains divided.

[Fleetwind]

One of the servers is finally off the clock! A pastel yellow Seeker glides into the room, flowing white tunic with blue details floating behind him.¹ He looks around the room, a puzzled frown corrupting his features, and then drifts over towards the DJ. He looks up at the ceiling, than around the room, then up at the ceiling.

"I heard that people dance in here, but I don't see how they possibly could be doing so, with the ceiling so low."

¹ Fleetwind is wearing this.

[Misfire]

Misfire is also working security in the dance club area. There are certainly worse duties to be stuck with- Misfire rather likes the music- but he absolutely hates wearing these annoying clothing things. He tugs at the sleeve of his coat, a black and gold fitted thing with a military flare¹. Misfire has no idea how the casino tailor made this design fit his frame, but it was managed all the same.

Fleetwind's entrance catches Misfire's optics; it's hard not to catch the pastel Seeker in the white robes amidst all the dark clothing here. The Targetmaster smiles and steps forward in time to hear Fleetwind's lament.

"Well, most people can't fly, remember?" he says, "But the ceiling isn't so low that we couldn't show them what they're missing."

"If that is, you wanted to?"

If Scourge is dancing, Misfire ought to be able to dance too, right?

---

And Misfire is wearing this!

[Elita-1]

OOC: Fleetwind and Misfire's outfits are awesome!

Elita moves with the music, dancing in close to the tanker at times, fingers trying to just skim over his body before she moves away. Her braids swing around her as she moves, the sliver wire braided through them glinting under the club lights.

Part of her wishes she could do this more often, let go of herself and just be herself. Not a Cadet, not a burden, not that woman whose death ruined her friends.

Maybe she should ask Mirage about borrowing on a semi- regular basis.

"For a big boxy guy, you're mighty light on your feet," she purrs, "Nice of your bosses to let you mix business and pleasure."

[Sable Conolly]

If Misfire can dance and pay attention at the same time, Misfire can dance.

Scourge lets her touch. He's not afraid of her! The contact is not disagreeable. Scourge idly wonders how she'd transform if she could. Of course, he knows she can't!

He shrugs one shoulder, agreeing almost impishly, "I'm a nice piece of work."

[Fleetwind]

Fleetwind looks blankly at Misfire suggests that the ceiling is high. "But... what about alternate modes!" he protests. Then he frowns and tilts his head. "Although come to think of it, I suppose Swindle or Shockwave might object if we opened fire in here as part of a dance, too."

[Jazz [G1]]

Jazz just gives Fleetwind an odd look, then shrugs. "Place is built with ground-bound folks in mind," he starts, glancing up. "Though I guess you guys might be able to do a little like he said," he adds, nodding in Misfire's direction.

Jazz gives them both a knowing grin. "Better hurry though, the song won't last forever, and I don't do repeats."

[Misfire]

"Considering that we're supposed to be cultivating good will and funds here, yes, we should probably keep it more dance than martial art," Misfire says, grinning.

He looks over his shoulder at Jazz. For a moment Misfire's optics narrow in suspicion. He doesn't trust the Autobot, and he doesn't understand why Shockwave and Swindle are taking this risk. Quickly enough though, the Targemaster is all smiles again.

"You might not repeat, but can you follow it with something that compliments? Preferably something with some finer notes for flowing moves?"

One Jazz answers, Misfire rises a short distance off the floor using his antigravs and holds a hand out to Fleetwind.

[Elita-1]

"That you are, lovely. That you are," Elita says as she quirks a smile, "My name's Laverna."

She twirls a bit away from Scourge, crossing between the two jets who are looking so fine. One outstretched hand brushes against the pastel fellow's wing as she undulates to the music. Elita flashes Fleetwind a smile of apology- and appreciation- before she dances back in close to Scourge.

Now she twists, back to the tanker's front, one arm up and around the back of his neck. She looks up at the tanker, eyes dancing with mirth and says, "Tell me, do I need to worry about some jealous girlfriend trying to pull my hair out later?"

Her hand slides across his neck as she whirls away again.

OOC: all touching and posing with permission.

[Sable Conolly]

Scourge feels a very familiar tingle when Laverna gets up close and personal with him, and he wonders. Best to be bold, he confesses, "You remind me of a certain someone, but if she's my girlfriend, that'll be news to me."

He doesn't think Blackarachnia's that serious yet, and he's sure he isn't!

What's also news are Fleetwind and Misfire. Friends? Something more? Secretly loathe each other's guts and are attempting to make each other miserable?

And there's a pickpocket off in the left corner. Scourge tries to guide Laverna off that way. No need to make a huge scene about this.