1337/Dance When Ya Gotta

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Dance When Ya Gotta
Date of Scene: 04 July 2017
Location: Metropolis University Campus Greek Housing
Synopsis: Priscilla Kitaen encounters Sarah Rainmaker at a protest for a college party she herself is stripping at. Trouble follows.
Cast of Characters: Rainmaker, Voodoo




Voodoo has posed:
The party has been rather widely advertised for tonight: the Luscious Ladies of Liberty party being held at the Alpha Sigma house is expected to be hugely popular and heavily populated. And there are rumors that some of the brothers at the fraternity have actually chipped in to hire a stripper for part of the floor show.

Most objectionable to some is the requirement that all female attendees have to meet the outfit requirements and be 'approved' to enter. The only bonus here is that ladies who are approved get in for free, rather than paying the cover charge all of the guys are paying tonight.

The crowd outside the frat house is pretty significant. Yet through that crowd threads the jeans and half-shirt-clad Priss. The guys offered her half again her usual nightly rate for a show; she'd have to be crazy or independently wealthy to say no. There's a duffle bag over one shoulder, which has her music, her costume, and a few other odds and ends. Now if only she can get to the front door without being groped ... again.

Rainmaker has posed:
Outside on the street, and partially responsible for the crowd, is a small protest...mostly other college age women of several ethnicties, but with some men mixed in as well. There are several signs that read 'RESPECT' or 'Women, not Meat!', among other slogans. It's a fairly peaceful protest...or would be save a few of the frat brothers who started in on the kegs early have come out to 'counter-protest'.

Read, hurl insults and comments about the looks of the girls protesting and the lack of masculinity of the men involved. One girl at the front in particular is giving as good as she gets, a tall Native American girl dressed in a fringe jacket over a low cut top. She has a confident, even proud air to her, the insults thrown her way washing off her, though she's giving as good as she gets, though she seems to be partially acting as a peacemaker between some of the other protesters who are MUCh more pissed off.

Because it's wrong to treat someone like they're just a toy to you! Have some self-respect!" is her latest sally, hands on her hips, her dark hair falling over her right shoulder. There's some pushing back and forth, but thus far there's no real scuffles yet. Sarah frowns at the frat types. "Listen, we're just saying this isn't what you should be promoting, bringing in a girl just to be a centerpiece to your party or something..." She's shouted down loudly by several of the brothers at that point.

Voodoo has posed:
Seeing the protest and counter protest going on, Priss can't help drifting in that direction. Her empathy is drawn to strong emotions, and there are some very strong emotions being generated over there.

"What the Hell?! It's a f-ing party, just shut up!" comes the protest of one of the already-inebriated frat boys.

Priss steps up beside him and lays a hand on his arm. "Hey. Krak off the cursing at people. She's entitled to her opinions, and she's not all wrong. Just because she won't strip down to her skivvies for you, why are you all pent up? Crushing on her? Or threatened by her big brains and her lovely form?"

Yes. The stripper is defending the protestor.

"Now. You guys asked for Voodoo, right? Well, I'm working my magic //inside//, not out here on the lawn."

Rainmaker has posed:
The bro in question at least is distracted by having a beautiful women walk up to him like that, enough that he gapes at her, his alcohol-addled brain taking a bit to adjust to the situation. It also nicely distracts everyone for a moment, including Sarah who looks over and blinks at the newcomer. And...did she just check you out? It was quick, but maybe...

The frat bro recovers from his suprise. He grins a bit, then attempts to slide an arm around Priss and put her hand on her stomach, leering a bit at Sarah. "See, this here's a REAL woman, she knows where's AT!" he slurs. And that's where one of his friends goes "Yeah, maybe you should be puttin' these to use on stage too!" And makes a drunken grab for Sarah's chest, actually managing to brush his hand across them with Sarah being momentarily distracted. Before he can latch on, she gives him a hard straight harm to his chest, sending him stumbling back. "Hand off!" she snaps, a bit annoyed now. "And off her too, she's not working out here, is she?" She does get some looks from her fellow protestors at the second part of that, as one of the girls. "She's just as bad as they are, selling herself like that!"

Voodoo has posed:
The dancer clearly looks less than thrilled when her attempt at peacemaking results in being pawed and groped. She doesn't - quite - grimace, but she rolls her eyes and shies away a bt in that half-way that telegraphs to most women. Beyond that, though, she's willing to play along ...

Then one of the guys tries to paw one of the protestors - that beautiful girl, from whom she felt a hint of interest a moment ago - and Priss can't help it. //That// strong feeling surges through her, and she responds by instinct. She would lash out, but so far Sarah seems to have 'grabby hands' taken care of, so instead that energy of hers is directed at the protestors who are now upset with her.

"Hey. I'm a //dancer//, not a hooker. And even if I were, isn't that //my// choice for //my// life and //my// body?" Priss calls out, as she pushes her own handsy gent away, walking towards the protestors.

When the guy Sarah stiff-armed drags himself back to to his feet and angrily advances on her, Priss steps in, dropping quickly her rump to her heel and pivoting quickly, leg extending in a sweep that takes him out before he can get too close. "Hey. You did wrong. Now back it up and let it go."

The dancer is back to her feet almost as quickly. And yes, it looks like Priss did that in //heels//. Stilettos, no less.

Rainmaker has posed:
The protestor in question, who was already starting to bluster in response, stares a bit at that. In fact, there's that momentary lull where Prissis aware EVERYONE is looking at her, for one reason or another, either in shock, or due to being impressed with what she just pulled off.

Mr. Grabby Hands blinks as Priss smoothly pulls away from him, his brow furrowing. It takes a moment for his thought processes to catch up. "Hey, who do you think you-" And then there's a hand on his chest as Sarah steps in the way, keeping him at arm's length. "Hey. No touching. You know that part, at least?" she says steadily. "Just...calm down." She looks at the protestor. "Julie, she's right. She's a dancer, not selling it for money. There's nothing wrong with being a dancer."

Of the two troublemakers, one is flat on his back, apparently dazed, the other seems ready to keep blustering, though one of his less inebriated friends steps up to grab his arm. "Hey man, you're gonna get in trouble..." he hisses, though the look he shoots at the two women is a bit unfriendly all the same.

Sarah backs up, hands up at chest level, palms out in a 'no trouble' motion, the situation temporarily defused, though there's certainly a lot of unpleasant emotions coming off the two main troublemakers and to some extent from their friends, though at least one is more embarrassed from the feel of it than anything else. There's mixed feelings coming from the protestors, but the fact Sarah appears to be defending Priss now sways most of them. She looks looks over, then says quietly. "...you sure you wanna go in there? If they're already this wasted..." There's definitely concern in her eyes. She can think of lots of ways even a tough girl could get in trouble alone in a frat house full of guys like that...

Voodoo has posed:
Hoping to defuse the tension a bit, Priss walks over and offers her hand to the dazed protestor on his back - the very same one she legswept a moment ago. "C'mon. Take my hand, let's get you up and get everyone back to the party. That's where the fun is, right?"

The stripper doesn't seem to be unduly burdened by the guy's mass, though she doesn't just toss him around like a sack of fluff, either. She does back up once he's on his feet, giving him space //and// not inviting snuggles or groping, either.

"My choices are to go inside and dance, or give them back their money." Priss offers quite honestly to Sarah. She walks over beside the native american woman, shoulder to shoulder - women of color unite? - and offers a smile. "Rent kinda compels me to take option A over option B."

Not entirely reckless, or heedless of the risks, Priss tries a solution others may not have thought of. "How about you? If I pay your cover charge, wanna come inside? I wouldn't mind a less drunk, better dressed person on my side tonight. And I'm betting you can hold a rhythm and stay on your feet better than most of these guys, too." Was that more flirting?

Rainmaker has posed:
Sarah blinks a bit, hesistating in suprise...but honestly, she was already partway to making that suggestion herself. She can put up with being sexualized by the male gaze for a night, if it helps someone out, and helps keep her safe. There's maybe a touch of flush to her cheeks at that. "...sure. I can do that." she says in response. "I mean, if they'll still let me in after this...give me a second."

She smiles at Priss, then walks over to talk quickly to the protestors. There's a bit of argument, especially from Julie, but Sarah seems to shut it down, striding back over to Priss's side, taking a deep breath to ready herself, then letting it out. She nods. "Alright. Let's go then." That flush is still lingering...this is definitely NOT how Sarah thought she'd be spending her night. But she can't let her face that alone, right? Though a guilty part of her whispers that part of it is likely how gorgeous she looks in those heels.

Voodoo has posed:
"I'm Priss, by the way." the dancer offers, as she - quite cheekily - extends her elbow towards Sarah, prepared to quite visibly be her escort to the party. Let the manboys make of that what they will. "Sorry if this idea upsets your friends." Priss can't help it; she actually cares about people, so she mentions it. That's just who she is.

Priss leads Sarah back to the frat house and up the steps. On the porch, she tells the guys at the check-in table who she is, and then fishes out a ten-spot from her bag and hands it over. "That's her cover. She's coming in with me. And she's not changing clothes unless //she// decides to change clothes."

There seems to be something about a woman taking charge that tends to sap the wind from the sails of the frat boys, as none of them actually protest //too// much over Sarah's inclusion in the party without 'suitable attire'. It helps that Priss found the easy workaround that they can't object since she's not taking the 'free entry' option. They weren't planning on anyone taking that choice, but they can't really stop them.

Rainmaker has posed:
Sarah smiles a bit at the cheekiness, a glint of playful amusement crossing her dark eyes as she makes a show of linking arms with the dancer. "My name's Sarah. Sarah Rainmaker." she offers. "And they'll get over it. Some are just...seeing things a bit too black and white." she says, a bit apologetically, glancing over at the fuming Julie as she walks with Priss. "I'm sorry she threw that your way."

She quiets as you head up to the doormen, just smiling lazily at them, the two no doubt provoking a few fantasies as Priss pays the cover. "I can pay you back for that..." she says, raising her voice as they step inside where it's a bit noisier. There are still more frat boy than co-eds, though the ones that are here have definitely gone the patriotic route, as most are wearing some form of skimpy stars and stripes tops and/or bottoms. "You've...done this a lot?" she asks, looking over at the other woman as they thread through the crowd. It's really something she only knows about in theory...not something she's really looked into herself.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss smiles, pleasure and mild amusement dancing in her gaze - holy cow, are those //purple// eyes? - as she turns around, facing Sarah as she takes the other woman's hands and guides her through the throng of people inside the frat house, apparently feeling her way by mystic stripper sense, as she never seems to solidly bump into anyone, just lightly brushing by as she makes her way towards a side room that has been set aside for her use before ehr show.

"Actually, yes. I dance for a living." OK, truth told, she doesn't have to. But not doing so would mean dipping into the money she gets from HALO, and she's still not comfortable with that, after how everyone reacted to her being part Daemonite. "Why don't we head in here a minute. I need to change. OK? Then we can find you something to drink, and I can start the show."

And with that and very little real warning, Priss is gently guiding the native american beauty after herself as she hips her way through the door into the bathroom set aside for her change. Priss lets go of one of Sarah's hands to tug the shower curtain back out of the way, and then steps up over the tub's edge and stands inside, leaving room for Sarah to find her way to the counter.

Of course, what follows is a page-flip, as a few minutes of things transpire that are not recorded on the comic page, as Priss peels out of her street clothes - there's lots of wiggling, because OH MY are those pants tight - and then opens her bag and starts slipping on the bits and pieces of her Voodoo dancing costume.

"So. Have to admit, I haven't seen anyone protesting a frat party before. But you seem to know what you're doing, so I'm guessing you do that sort of thing a lot?" Yes. Priss is interested in knowing more about Sarah.

Rainmaker has posed:
Sarah follows along agreeably, ducking into the room and closing the door behind it, flipping the lock so someone doesn't stumble in while Priss is changing. She wanders over to the counter, then hops up on it, perching, starting to open her mouth...then just stares as Priss starts stripping down.

Sarah.exe has suffered an unrecoverable error. Reboot? Y/N

She gets a noticeable flush, trying not to stare, but it's REALLY hard. Luckily she's got a great deal of self-discipline. Or at least she's trying. Priss can certainly feel her attraction and her slightly sheepish realization of interest, that grows into a healthy dose of admiration and curiosity as she sees the complex tattoos that run down Priss' body. And, well, watching her wiggle out of those pants certainly isn't a chore.

Sarah does squirm a bit where she's sitting, but also recovers the powers of speech! "Ah...well, not normally, no. This was just a really egregious example, and honestly I'd say it's more a reaction to the new safe space policy they have on the campus. A lot of people are having kneejerk reactions without trying to understand why they're nice to have." She pauses, then asks curiously. "How...long have you been doing it?"

Voodoo has posed:
Priss is not somehow blissfully unaware of the effect she is having on Sarah. But honestly, she rather enjoys that sweeter, more innocent, less possessive feeling of interest and attraction. It feels a lot better, a lot 'cleaner' than what she sometimes gets out of largely male audiences. And besides, Sarah is gorgeous and nice. It's not that Priss is viewing this as some sort of 'reward' for Sarah being so awesome. But she wouldn't hate that idea, either. Instead, it's really just a product of Priss having pretty much zero body modesty; she only covers up what the law demands, and then only when she is sure she can't get away with pushing that boundary. Or when it will hurt someone.

Because empath.

"Dancing? Well, since I was a little girl I've been dancing. Stripping since I was sixteen." Priss admits, which means she was almost certainly breaking the law. "I took a couple years off, but I've gone back to it." So there is at least one thing more to Priss beyond stripping.

"'Safe spaces'. That sounds like a pretty good idea. Is that working?" Priss was never much for college, or philosophy, or high-brow thinking. But she can ask questions with the best of them, and be quite engaged. "Hopefully my signing up for this party didn't create an unsafe space. I wouldn't want that."

Wow, what a costume. She's completely dressed, and yet visually it gives the impression she's a significant sneeze away from being suddenly, explosively naked. A perfect stripper's costume, right?

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's another swallow from Sarah as she tries valiantly to not be too distracted by how open Priss is about switching costumes in front of her. It's perfectly normal! After all, it's not like Sarah has much body shame either at home. It's just...first Caitlin, who's sweet but has NO clue what she does to people, and now Priss...who totally does.

    "Well, pushback aside, a safe space is intended as a place where people can go to be free from discrimination, harrassement, or emotional or physical harm." She squirms on the counter a bit as Priss bends over, losing her train of thought for a moment, though she fairly smoothly recovers with only slight stammer. "U-usually it's for people who are targets of that in wider society, so minority peoples, but it's also for people who have stress due to more personal things, like abuse or rape or because of their...gender preferences, or...LGBT preferences." she manages. Her emotions are a mix of interest, a bit of guilt, and attraction, with a bit of pure admiration...likely for Priss's physical shape.

Rainmaker has posed:
    It's July 4th, and there's a party where you're invited...but only if you come dressed "patriotically," and if you're female, as skimpily as possible. The fraternity holding it has gone with the Ladies of Liberty theme, and even hired themselves a stripper for a dance number, for which Priss got the job. Money is money, after all. Outside, however, she ran into a small group of protestors there to call out the mysogynism in the theme, and ended up getting pulled into a brief scuffle between some slightly drunk frat bros and Sarah Rainmaker, who was part of the protest but trying to play peacemaker. Afterwards, Priss offered to let Sarah accompany her inside if she was worried, which Sarah agreed to...not actually aware of what she was getting herself into until they got to the changing room and Priss did so without either warning or particular body shame. Sarah, currently perched on the bathroom counter, is trying to make conversation out of genuine interest in the other woman, but is also attempting valiantly to...just not stare, to which Priss's question about the safe spaces Sarah was advocating for provided a way to distract her brain.

    There's another swallow from Sarah as she tries valiantly to not be too distracted by how open Priss is about switching costumes in front of her. It's perfectly normal! After all, it's not like Sarah has much body shame either at home. It's just...first Caitlin, who's sweet but has NO clue what she does to people, and now Priss...who totally does.

    "Well, pushback aside, a safe space is intended as a place where people can go to be free from discrimination, harrassement, or emotional or physical harm." She squirms on the counter a bit as Priss bends over, losing her train of thought for a moment, though she fairly smoothly recovers with only slight stammer. "U-usually it's for people who are targets of that in wider society, so minority peoples, but it's also for people who have stress due to more personal things, like abuse or rape or because of their...gender preferences, or...LGBT preferences." she manages. Her emotions are a mix of interest, a bit of guilt, and attraction, with a bit of pure admiration...likely for Priss's physical shape.

Voodoo has posed:
"Well, that all seems like a really good thing, to me." Priss offers, as first she skins off the jeans that were just about literally painted onto her lower curves, revealing the rather impressive tattoos along her thighs. Without a need to really get to the details, Priss doesn't really make a point of being exceptionally seductive, but she is quite shameless - not flaunting, but frankly making no special effort to hide anything, either - as she converts from casual painted-on jeans and a Voodoo-named white t-shirt with modestly heeled boots - proper for motorcycling - to a plaid micro-miniskirt, different matching undies, a white button-down short-sleeved blouse, a waist-length closely fitted navy blazer (with gold-trimmed purple V for a school crest), white knee-high stockings, black glossy pennyloafers with towering six-inch stiletto heels and two-inch platforms, and oversized big round costume glasses.

Priss steps out of the tub and minces over beside Sarah, her hip pressing agains the other woman's knee, and stares into the mirror as she starts brushing and then twisting up her long hair into a little top-knot ponytail, complete with a white bow. "Given my mixed-race, I got all kinds of crap when I was in school." High school, not college. "And those that found out about which way I swung were //not// happy. Thankfully, I wasn't on the cheerleading squad. They'd have kicked me off in a flat second, after someone got a picture of me kissing Kelly Masters. You do //not// want to know the kind of crap I had to avoid after //that//." Not hard to guess, then, why this young woman would have worked to hard to learn how to defend herself and others. Not the only reason, but a good enough one for now, right?

Rainmaker has posed:
    The other woman can't stop a faint shiver at the touch, though she doesn't scoot away, other than to lean a bit automatically so Priss can see the mirror clearly. "You'd be suprised...lots of people get pissed off if they feel like their 'rights' should let them do whatever they want, whenever and wherever they want..." she murmurs, then blinks a bit.

    And oh, Priss can totally feel it, even if Sarah carefully keeps her expression from changing from casual interest. That little surge in her emotions, a mix of relief and delight followed by another round of guilt, as she realizes that the other woman might...well. Nononono. She's cool, and she seems super nice, and...okay, the job is a bit unusual for Sarah to deal with, given her own feminist leanings. But..it's not that different from how Sarah feels about body shame, is it? She works damn hard to look like she does; so does Priss, obviously. Just...having lots of strangers watching versus teasing people she knows or has...interest in, that's...different, right?

    "...yeah..." she murmurs, tilting her head as she reaches up to brush a loose strand of her long hair over her shoulder. "...people on the rez didn't understand that sort of thing either."

    It's still so tentative...for all the strength to her, in this one part of her life...it's hard for her to just....say it. Be honest. It's just...a different kind of rejection when people react badly to it, especially people she confides in, or is interested in.

Voodoo has posed:
The mulatto stripper nods, and turns to look at Sarah, laying a hand on those jeans-clad knees with a light squeeze. "I'm sorry. I know how much that sucks." She doesn't just lean over and hug the other woman, because she can feel - far better than any other talented people person - the roiling mixed-up feelings, and doesn't want to do more harm than good. "For me, the thing they hated most was that I rejected their labels. I refused to just be the 'dyke coon slut.' I was as in to some of the guys as I was some of the girls. And I'm a definite cappuccino." A slang for white and black all mixed together.

With one more glance into the mirror, Priss nods to herself. "There. Sexy schoolgirl, check. Damn glad I never went to a school that had a dresscode anything like this. The old parish schools were rough and tight, but no uniforms. No one would pay for them for the poor kids." Like Priss. "Hey. I know we just met and stuff. But would you be OK carrying my bag around? I don't want to leave it where just anyone can get at it."

Assuming Sarah says yes, Priss scoops up her bag from the tub, stuffs her other clothes and boots inside, and then fishes out her Kordphone, bringing up her stripping playlist, and then attaching it to the portable battery-powered speaker dock. "Thanks." she offers, and leans over, not to hug Sarah, but to press a light kiss to her cheek, just to the side of her lips, close enough her intent is clear. "Hope you'll enjoy the show, and nothing stupid happens."

Rainmaker has posed:
    The touch on her leg is enough; Sarah definitely finds that comforting rather than intrusive. She reaches up to pat said hand, returning a sympathetic smile fo her own, then nods, rolling her eyes at the labels. "Me, it was 'slutty Pocahontas'. Because of course it was." she says, a faint hint of past annoyance in her voice.

    She slides off the counter, leaning in behind Priss to watch her finish primping, her eyes flicking down briefly to admire, then meeting Priss's eyes at the question. "Sure, no problem. I'll keep it safe" she says with a smile, then her eyes widen a bit at the kiss. "Y-yeah..."

    It solidifies something in Sarah, pushing past the roiling feelings back and forth, as she impulsively says, a bit quickly (before she can talk herself out of it again) "...afterwards...would you like to get some coffee, or something to eat?" She can feel her heart beating a bit faster as she asks, a little afraid she's being pushy somehow, but...she doesn't want to let the chance slip past.

    Not this time.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss meets Sarah's darting, beautiful eyes and smiles, nodding. "Sure. That would be really neat. I don't often get a chance to talk with someone who gets it, especially one so well-educated." The dancer makes a little face. "Truth is, I'm a bit of a dummy. I was never good in school, so I gave up after I graduated. That's why I dance: it's the best money I can make with the assets I've got." Truth in advertising: it really is her moneymaker she's shaking out there.

Just before she turns, ready to head out to face the crowded fraternity party, Priss checks her makeup and her look in the mirror one last time, and then checks with Sarah. "Ready? Oh, by the way: do you mind motorcycles? My bike is what I rode to get here. I'd kinda like to take it with us, instead of leaving it here until after." But hey, some ladies aren't in favor of the bitch seat, and Priss is not pushy. It's just not her style.

Rainmaker has posed:
    Sarah breaks into an honest smile as most of that roiling emotion just...poofs. Leaving behind it a warm, happy feeling to go with the interest. Though the feminist voice in her head is still making her feel vaguely guilty, though she manages to push it back. Screw it. She's going to watch this, and she's going to probably enjoy it and she'll feel guilty about it afterwards if she needs to. It's not like she's not genuinely interested in the person as well as the body she's got, right?

    "I love bikes..." she purrs a little playfully as she slings the bag over her shoulder. "Haven't ridden one in a while, but I'm pretty sure I can figure it out again." She puts her hand on the door, ready to push it open for Priss. "...ready?" she asks softly. She's really hoping she won't be tempted to kick too many people out there watching, from the muffled shouts and yells coming from the party beyond.

Voodoo has posed:
"Great!" Priss offers, pleased to hear that Sarah is just fine with her bike, and even a little excited by the opportunity. Nice!

The dancer taps the controls on her phone and then lays the speaker unit on top of the bag now draped against Sarah's side, allowing the music to begin. She takes one breath, and even non-empath Sarah can feel the change come over Priss; one moment she is a warm and genuine, real woman with her own thoughts, feelings and desires, and in the next moment all of that is washed away, muted, tamped down beneath the persona of the stripper and the role.

Britney Spears: Oops, I Did It Again starts the playlist, as Priss nods to Sarah, and then struts - there is no other word for that movement, none - out through the open bathroom door into the party beyond. And as she emerges, buoyed ahead by the small but mighty speaker and its music, the thunderous music on the sound system in the frat house is quickly damped down and shut off. Because this ... this is what all those bad, bad frat boys paid money to see tonight.

They just better all remember the rule: everything Priss comes in with, Priss leaves with. That includes all the pieces of her costume, her street clothes, her music ... and her date.

Voodoo has posed:
"Great!" Priss offers, pleased to hear that Sarah is just fine with her bike, and even a little excited by the opportunity. Nice!

The dancer taps the controls on her phone and then lays the speaker unit on top of the bag now draped against Sarah's side, allowing the music to begin. She takes one breath, and even non-empath Sarah can feel the change come over Priss; one moment she is a warm and genuine, real woman with her own thoughts, feelings and desires, and in the next moment all of that is washed away, muted, tamped down beneath the persona of the stripper and the role.

Britney Spears: Oops, I Did It Again starts the playlist, as Priss nods to Sarah, and then struts - there is no other word for that movement, none - out through the open bathroom door into the party beyond. And as she emerges, buoyed ahead by the small but mighty speaker and its music, the thunderous music on the sound system in the frat house is quickly damped down and shut off. Because this ... this is what all those bad, bad frat boys paid money to see tonight.

They just better all remember the rule: everything Priss comes in with, Priss leaves with. That includes all the pieces of her costume, her street clothes, her music ... and her date.

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's already a good-sized crowd waiting in the room set aside for Priss; and as Sarah had feared, a good chunk of them started on the kegs early. They're a bit rowdy, with howls of approvals and a few shouted comments coming her way as she steps out into the stage area. Some either brought their dates or they don't realize their dates may have other interests than frat bros.

    Sarah finds a spot off to the side, seating herself gracefully crosslegged beside the bag as the music starts up, shooting a death glare at one particular boy who gets confused who is who at first and yells 'POCAHONTAS, WHOOO!"

    If she could set people on fire with her mind....

    The rest seem ready for the show, with more cheers accompanying the start of the music as the main dance party music is flipped off, as Sarah leans back against the wall, folding her arms, feeling a bit conflicted about all this still.

Voodoo has posed:
As much as she may be seemingly completely in the 'role' of the stripper, Priss still hears that shout, and her purple eyes flick in that direction as she considers hurling a platform stiletto heel at him. Or overloading his puny brain. But instead she just lets it go, because reasons. Instead, she just throws herself into the performance.

Sarah will get a very good look at just how athletic Priss is, a renewal of the impressive bit of her legsweep outside. Instead, here it is used in grace, balance, and control. On those heels it should be nigh-impossible to maintain balance just to walk, let alone to do a pirouette in slow motion, leg extended out above ninety-degrees, arms thrown up over her head and backwards, and yet Priss does it and makes it look easy. And that's just the beginning. A pole has in fact been set up, and she manages to haul herself up while spinning with just one hand, and then invert herself completely upside down. And onward the show goes.

Intermittently, as one might expect from a woman who labels herself a stripper, an article of clothing comes peeling off. Usually it's done in slow motion, with plenty of tease. And then it's tossed out into the audience. After a good three songs and over fifteen minutes, Priss is down to those delectable white undies of hers. And there comes the one and only 'toss' that she bothers to aim: her bra, when it finally comes off, is flicked gently but accurately right to Sarah.

Rainmaker has posed:
    At first, Sarah is still conflicted. It's demeaning and degrading to be a sexual object for a room full of drunken guys! But...Priss doesn't seem to have an issue with it. And she IS, beautiful, Sarah admits to herself with a flush thankfully no one is likely to see, though the dancer can certainly sense the emotions behind it. She's proud of her looks; Sarah is proud of her looks. They both work hard to look like that, because they like to look good. Maybe a little bit of it is also looking good for her job, for Priss, but still.

    Is she treating Priss that way? Like a sexual object? No...no, she actually does want to get to know her, and not just because she's...because she can do that with her leg and her...wow, that takes some thigh muscle control.

    As the music plays on, the copper-skinned girl leans back against the wall, her arms eventually uncrossing so her hands can rest on her knees, relaxing a bit more now. Her eyes stay on Priss, only sometimes flicking to the audience...which, by the way, is where she happened to glance as one guy makes a grabby motion towards Priss as she's walking away. Her eyes narrow a bit as her finger flicks slightly, and there's a breeze that blows past Priss as the guy suddenly finds himself sitting down harder, blinking. Maybe the air just kicked on?

    And that's when the bra comes spinning through the air, smacking lightly into her chest as she reflexively grabs for it, then blinks as she realizes what it is. There's a rush of a bit of embarrassment, but also what can only be described as a naughty little thrill as she looks back at Priss, squirming as she throws a smile her way.

Voodoo has posed:
For just a moment, as Sarah finally lets herself feel the thrill of catching and keeping - at least for now - Priss' bra, the dancer pivots around the gleaming pole and purposefully wobbles her unfettered breasts towards the Amerindian beauty, as those deep purple eyes of hers seek out the other's eyes for just a moment of a lock - real connection, however brief. And then she's back to dancing for the rest of the crowd.

As might be expected with an entire room of inebriated frat boys, things are not perfect. There are guys who don't control themselves, and they reach out to touch what is not theirs, only to find that Priss spins away from them, or slaps away a hand. When one of the guys finally lurches forward to try to grab her bare breasts - he just bet his buddies that he could 'motorboat this b*tch' - the dancer twists away, trips him, and then plants one of those heels in the small of his back to keep him down there for a bit as an object lesson. And when Priss finally steps off of him, towards the close of what is now her sixth song, she saunters over towards one of the other women in the audience, brushes against her, and runs her finger from the middle of the other's brow down her nose and then touches her lips.

But there is no kiss.

As the playlist ends and the music stops, Priss gives a sweeping bow, her now unbound mane brushing the floor as she does so, and then she saunters and sashays back towards Sarah. Of course, now it's time to see if the audience restraint will hold, or shatter into a million pieces.

Rainmaker has posed:
    As Priss meets her eyes, it's almost like a shock. She's never really gotten the whole 'felt my heart leap' thing before, but she's pretty sure she just experienced it, taking a deep breath as Priss fades back into her routine.

    Even the frat boys can't completely distract her from that, though she certainly tenses whenever one makes a play for Priss. But she seems able to handle herself...even the one who tried to grab her, a grin crossing Sarah's lips as she pins him under her heel. The girls who are approached get that 'deer in headlights' look as Priss comes closer, their eyes so big, then almost slumping back a bit afterwards as the moment passes, looking a bit dazed. That may partly be the alcohol, admittedly.

    As the show comes to an end, there's a tremendous roar of approval from the room and applause! Also...a rain of 1 dollar bills. Some of them came prepared.

    As the beauty heads her way, Sarah gracefully regains her feet, picking up the bag, then realizes she's still holding the bra and sheepishly quickly stuffs in the bag in question, then opens the door for Priss to head inside before following her, closing it behind her quickly.

    And now she's alone with her again. 'That was...really..." she manages after a moment. "Um, I didn't expect it to be quite like that."

Voodoo has posed:
"Didn't expect it to be quite that hot?" Priss questions, curiously, and then steps close just to rest her hands on Sarah's hips, hovering at the edge of the curves of their bodies brushing one another; it's not quite a hug, but it's very close. "I'm really glad that you enjoyed it. And thank you. It was really great having a special friend there. Especially now that the show is over." Priss delivers just a momentary kiss, but she doesn't dodge, letting her purple-painted lips brush over Sarah's own. Then she starts tugging dollar bills out of her lacy white g-string, dumping them into the bag.

What follows is about seven minutes as Priss gathers up all of the bits of her costume and gets them back into the bag, dumps the g-string, and then gets back into her street clothes. She doesn't make it //too// playful, but she isn't shy, and she does take the odd moment here and there to make contact visually and emotively with Sarah, to be 'present' with her, grinning at the somewhat adorable absurdity of it all, until she is finally dressed again, just as she was when they first met.

Once she is dressed, Priss takes her bag back from Sarah, giving her another little kiss to the cheek as a playful 'toll' to pay for her bag, and slings it over her shoulder. "OK. Now it's time to get out of here and go find a place to sit down and talk together without going deaf." Priss teases, as the major soundsystem has come back on, the whole frat house thundering and shaking. "Once we're outside, just take my hand, so we don't get separated, OK? I know where the bike is, and I pinkie swear I'll get you back home safely. Or to your car, or whatever."

Why bring this up? Because the two of them disappeared, Priss almost naked, back into the bathroom in front of the entire audience. And Priss knows how this works; more than one of those in the audience are not going to want to let them leave. More than one of them are going to be thinking about how watching these two make out should be the second act of that show they paid for. And she still has to get her booking fee. So they can't sneak out the bathroom window.

Rainmaker has posed:
    She can't help it. Her breath catches as Priss steps that close. Not pulling away, but so very, very aware that there's only a thin layer of cotton or such between them. And then there's the kiss...

    Sarah's eyes flutter slightly, tilting head towards Priss reflexively. It's suprise, not shock, though her eyes definitely have a little heat in them when the other woman pulls away to start packing up. She leans back against the door, her eyes taking on a a little twinkle. Yes, she realizes what Priss is doing. Yes, she's actually enjoying it quite a bit. The two of them seem to click in a way she's not run into often, and there's much less of the awkwardness of before. Her emotions have definitely stabilized; though there's still a sort of anticipatory tightness in her chest, there's also a certain amount of humor mixed with her interest now, a comfortableness. She does not shy away...she wants her to look. Sarah wants to look...she admits that to herself, whatever misgivings she might have about the rest of it.

    She nods a bit, starting to push away from the door...right before the nob wiggles noticeably.

    She immediately leans back, eyes wider. "Um...right." She holds out a hand to Priss, a change coming over her now, a certain fierceness. "We'll get out. Who do you have to talk to for your money?" she says. The door pushes a bit, but Sarah is in a position to keep it closed at the moment until she's ready to open it.

Voodoo has posed:
With one exhale, Priss seems to center herself; there's an almost crackle in the air around her as she does so, and she reaches out to take Sarah's hand, a contact that is energizing and galvanizing in a way that is entirely unlike the hot, sizzly sexiness of moments past. This is the air of the woman warrior only briefly glimpsed in the confrontation outside when the evening began. She wasn't needed again until now.

"Best plan is follow the money. So we make for the porch and the little desk where they were taking the cover charges." Priss offers in answer to the question. "Last bit of advice: I know what they're after is offensive and bothersome. Don't engage. Deflect. Engaging slows us down and offers them a chance to exert their collective." Scary, how that was perfectly reasonable advice from a stripper, but comes out more like marching orders from a battlefield commander.

Then Priss nods to Sarah, indicating for her to flip the lock and turn the handle, opening the door.

Rather than allowing the woman closest to the door to lead, Priss leads herself, twisting them around and advancing like the prow of an icebreaker ship in the arctic. She doesn't ram; she twists and deflects and redirects. "Sorry. Bathroom's all clear now. Thanks!" and off she goes, their path a meandering, almost unpredictable flow bouncing from one obstacle to another, winding around towards that front room and the exit to the porch.

Hands grab. Pinch. Bodies slide against one another. Crude comments are made about how quickly the two of them got off together, about how they clearly need some help getting it done, they're still frazzled. And worse. Always worse.

Rainmaker has posed:
    With the plan explained, Sarah demonstrates a similar focus, looking calm. It galls her to NOT engage...arguing and debating is sort of her thing against that sort of...well, abuse...but she can see the wisdom of just moving. No reason to make this a fight.

    She nods at Priss, then waits for the next firm push and suddenly throws it open, stepping to the side as she keeps Priss's hand in hers, letting the frat boy who was attempting to 'accidentally' burst on Priss changing to fall on his face, before stepping over him quickly. "Sorry not sorry!" she says cheerily as she follows, staying close.
    The comments at least wash off her...she's heard worse, certainly. As close as it is with all the bodies, many of which are dancing, it's easy to shake anyone who tries to be a little too close. Though as she passes mister Pocahontas from the dance earlier and he makes a poorly thought out grab for her rear, her hand snaps back like a striking snake. There's a muffled yelp as she grabs, twists to remove said hand...and perhaps just a bit more twist than absolutely needed.

    She moves up close to the woman leading her, and focuses on...well, playing rear guard, mostly for her. Priss is likely getting the worst of it since she was the dancer, with all the baggage people put on exotic dangers. Still, the door isn't far, with the two guy sitting at the desk taking money off the newest batch of giggling co-eds (already tipsy and in the smallest stars and strip bikinis they could find, apparently).

Voodoo has posed:
Propositions are the worst; fraternities seem to often attract those who are the scions of houses of success, power and wealth, who feel all of these things give them privilege others do not enjoy. The ones who pull out fifties and hundreds and try to tuck them into the waist of Priss jeans by way of claiming her - and probably her hot friend - for some after-party fun. Most of these, Priss just deftly avoids; the one she cannot she seizes the wrist, fingers still on the hundred now tucked in her pants. "Thanks for the tip. Sorry, not interested in the offer." A light twist of said wrist and they're bouncing along further.

The only other real impediment comes when two barely-clad stars-and-stripes-attired co-eds proceed to plant themselves from one stance step into twirling, out of control roadblocks who plaster themselves onto Priss and Sarah. "Ooooh." comes the drunken slurring. "You're hot." More airheaded giggling. "We should kiss, that'll drive 'em nuts."

Priss pulls her head back, avoiding the attempt. "Sober up. Come find me at the MysteriX in town. We'll talk." That said, firm hands grasp the girl's hips and shove her - gently - into the arms of her friend. And finally she and Sarah are out on the porch.

"OK! Deal was three-fifty plus tips. Fork it over, we're done."

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's a reason why Sarah was protesting the behavior of this particular frat. While she's not expecting that somehow every teen boy will sudden develop to be a loving, caring, and respectful individual when it comes to women, she IS perfectly willing to call out that behavior, especially when it's gotten as toxic as here. Alcohol, hormones, and a lack of oversight or champerones is not a good mix.

Not that the already very tipsy co-eds aren't equally annoying in their own way.

    Sarah suddenly has an armful of brunette just barely staying in her top, which forces her to let go of Priss to catch the girl and carefully but firmly disentangle herself. "Sorry, not into kissing for showing off..." she says, a bit annoyed, giving her a little push towards her friend as Priss does the same, the two ending up grabbing each other to stay upright as she twists to step past them, coming up behind Priss again.

    The guys beyond the desk look up, looking a little frazzled; they're likely the responsible ones who got stuck with the job instead of being able to screw around, at least for the moment. There's definitely a matched pair of head to toe looks from both, however. "Yeah, so Tommy said you did great, babe. Hey, if you want to earn a bit more, I'm sure we can work something out..." he says, trying to be suave. "Maybe you and your friend need a little extra playing around money, huh? Could maybe go double..." The other guy gets a slightly put upon expression mixed with a bit of sheepish embarrassment, in the 'oh cripes he's seriously doing this' sort of way. Rather than responding he opens the box he's working and starts counting out twenties into a stack.

Voodoo has posed:
When Mr. Suave starts, Priss stays silent. She's not here to start anything, but to finish it. She offers a smile, suggestive while promising nothing, and counts in her own head as the money is assembled. She waits for the instant that the count is her promised three-fifty, and then her hand that isn't holding into Sarah snakes out and seizes the stack of cash.

"No, thanks. We had a deal, we'll stick to the deal. Time to get my lovely friend home." Priss tugs the stack of bills out fron under the hand of the other guy with a nod. "Thanks." She shoves that stack into her front pocket with some //serious// effort (because let's be honest, pockets on women's jeans are not made to hold anything, they're mere decoration). Then she twists them both towards the stairs and down off the porch, refusing to heed the catcalls and further protests. It's good money, but damnit she gets tired of the empathic backlash of the toxic environments.

"Care to go for a jog? It won't be far." Priss offers, as she keeps hold of Sarah's hand, smiles, and starts jogging across the sidewalk towards the closest parking lot.

Rainmaker has posed:
    Romeo looks disappointed. "M-maybe we could do more, I mean, if you..." The other guy just looks at him. "Poor form, bro. Poor form." He nods as Priss snags the money and sits back down, waving up the next group of would be partygoers, as the other guy is forced to live with disappointement as the two slide out into the cooler outside air, finally free of the crush of people.

    Sarah lets out a relieved sigh as they break free. "Finally..." she murmurs, then laughs a bit as she's pulled into the jog, falling in next to Priss with the air of someone who does jog regularly. "Faster and farther we get, happier I'll be..." she says simply, feeling a sort of exhilaration at being out of that place. "I don't know how you take places like that!" There's a definite sense of relief in the back of her mind - nothing went too badly - but it's mixed with a bit of giddiness at being out, and jogging with Priss; it's just a bit of a silly feeling that they are. But she doesn't mind it at all.

Voodoo has posed:
The physical contact, prolonged while they are jogging, likely keeps that soft, warm buzz of emotional, empathic connection singing through the blood. It could almost be a little addictive, if Priss would let it get that far. But she doesn't. That song in the blood, though, is very sweet. It's nice to share that.

The dancer chuckles as they jog out onto the blacktop of the parking lot, and head towards her bike. "Believe me, it's not easy. But parties like that offer lots of opportunity for serious money. I'm pretty sure my tips tonight put me close to a thousand, for a single evening, four hours of work from getting ready to getting home." Not hard to see why Priss would put up with a lot of things she doesn't like for that kind of dough.

The bike, when they reach it, is a lovely dark purple-accented piece. It's no tiny crotch rocket, but it's not a harley either. Instead it is a modern touring bike, styled not unlike a Ducati, but nowhere near as high-ticket.

Priss finally releases Sarah's hand and picks up the helmet strapped to the back, unlatching it and offering it to the other woman. Then she picks up her own, unbuckling that as well, and tilts her head upside down, hair falling in a cascade towards the ground, and then bringing the helmet up to capture it all and then righting herself with the helmet in place. She taps a control on the helmet, and another on Sarah's, and her voice reaches out with that velvety purr. "Hi. Ready for a ride?"

Priss steps up to the bike and swings her leg up and over easily, mounting while she waits for Sarah, trusting a woman who knows and likes bikes to know how to mount without constant guidance; she just offers a steady platform and patience. Then up comes the kickstand, and the bike roars to life. Time for a ride!

Rainmaker has posed:
    Sarah has a thoughful look as Priss explains, then nods a bit. "Yes, I can understand that, that's really good money." she admits, then smiles a bit. "Oooh...it suits you..." she says with a smile as she sees the purple bike. "Purple your favorite color?"

    She takes the helmet as it's offered, pausing to dig in a pocket for a scrunchy as she quickly pulls her long raven hair into a loose ponytail to keep it from flying around too much, then wiggles the helmet on. "Why Miss Priss, I would LOVE a ride with you..." she purrs back, feeling a bit more confident and playful now, before she a bit more carefully slides on the back of the bike, trying to remember...feet go here on the bar things, then she just needs to...lean.

    She can totally do this.

    Priss will feel her shift, then the soft press of her breasts against her back as Sarah leans into her, then slides her arms around her waist from behind. "Like this, right?" she says, pitching her voice to carry a bit over the rumbling engine.

Voodoo has posed:
"Just like that, pretty lady." Priss offers with a soft purr to her voice as she feels Sarah settle into place. She glances under her arm briefly to make sure the other's feet are in the right place - safety is important - and then they are off. "When you have eyes like mine, you make them an asset. So, purple is my signature." Does Sarah remember the color of the undies she just saw Priss put back on?

The ride is pretty exhilarating, as bike rides go. Priss makes a point of running out onto the highway and back around rather than back streets just because it's a chance to open the bike up wide and race a bit. Then it's down the exit ramp and around, as they wend their way through to a lower-rent part of the city. Then Priss pulls off into an alleyway, and tosses down the kickstand once she walks the bike with her heels around behind a pair of dumpsters, out of sight.

Priss helps Sarah to dismount by providing stable reassurance - the pressing contact is nice - and then takes the helmet to snap back into place. She adds her own, and then fiddles with something on the stalk before she turns to gather Sarah and head across the street, to Lo Feng's, an adorable hole in the wall Chinese and Thai family-run place. "So, we know my favorite color, and why. What's yours, Sarah?" she inquires, as she holds the door open for her date.

Rainmaker has posed:
    "They're very striking, true...ah!" The initial start has her hugging Priss a bit tighter as she stiffens up slightly, the begins to relax as she starts to remember how to balance and lean with the bike to keep balance. Still...for some reason she doesn't seem that interested in NOT staying quite close, hugging into her from behind.

    By the time they get on the highway, Sarah is grinning, enjoying the fresh air and the speed, her ponytail whipping back and forth slightly behind her s they pick up speed. She's almost a bit disappointed when they finally pull in, but not majorly. She just makes a mental note: more bike rides with Priss in the future. Definitely.

    As the kickstand down, Sarah finally is forced to let go, though when she does, her hands trail along Priss's sides as she leans back, fingertips trailing against her toned sides, before she finally slides off the bike, pulling off the helmet and offering it back to Priss before she pulls the scrunchy off again, shaking out her hair as it falls in a loose waterfall again, running her fingers through it to make sure there are no snarls. "That was fun..." she says cheerfully. She smiles a bit. "My favorite?" she says as she follows along after. "Green, actually. I've always liked green."

    She slips past as Priss holds the door. "Thanks.." She pauses just inside, waiting for her to step in, then looks around curiously. "I mean...there's green where I grew up, but not a lot, so...I always loved seeing a lot of green." She shoots a smile back at Priss. "And I DO look good in it. Though red is a close second. Maybe a little bit of both."

Voodoo has posed:
Priss considers Sarah's answer with a smile; from what she knows - very little, but not nothing - Sarah's comment would fit with her growing up on the Rez, as she spoke of earlier. So sure, green works. "I like green, and red." She likes all colors, but if green and red make the beautiful Amerindian happy, that's reason enough for her.

The inside of Lo Feng's is very atmospheric. Actual plants decorate alcoves here and there, tiny waterfalls and fountains. The tables are scattered and seemingly mismatched, some round, some square, other rectangles and even a hexagon. Yet there is a pleasing, very natural flow to the space. Each table is a cozy space of its own, but despite the tight fit, there's plenty of room for the servers to get around, and for each table to feel like its own island.

Priss bows momentarily to the older woman standing towards the entrance, hands clasped before her. She even greets the woman by name, a short phrase following in Mandarin.

The older woman glances at Sarah, and offers a nod, inclining her head towards the other woman. Then she motions slightly and gathers both more by her presence than anything else, guiding them to a square table in the corner where they can sit, not quite facing on another, but with their backs to the rest of the room. "Please enjoy." she offers in strongly accented English, and then disappears into the back. She reappears minutes later and makes her way back to her spot by the front entrance.

"You go to school on that campus, right?" Priss questions, confirming an impression from their earlier conversation. "What's your area of study?"

Rainmaker has posed:
    It's interesting, it actually relaxes Sarah a bit from the look of it, all the plants and the water. She lets her fingers trail over one of the plants gently as they walk past it. A brow raises as Priss talks to the lady in her own language, though she smiles at her in a friendly way when she looks otwards her, then follows along to take a seat, squirming a bit.

    Ah, questions. And Sarah gets a bit odd emotionally again. There's a desire to be truthful, but a sort of odd...protectiveness. A little of herself, but focused more on others. A little frustration too. "No...I wish I could, but, I can't right now." she admits, smiling faintly at her. "I mean, I'd like to, but I don't have the money to. I just enjoy helping out with the activist groups on campus I'm interested in; they don't really require you to be a student to be a member. I like being part of something like that, so I make time for it. I only moved here a little bit ago too." Also no real ID she can use, no bank account really, and the chance that going back on the grid under her actual name might alert people to where she and her friends currently are living. "You're not from around here either, though?" she asks, her eyes finding Priss's. Mmm, those are some beautiful eyes, she thinks to herself, a little dreamily.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss smiles warmly and settles beside Sarah, laying her hands on the table, fingertips lightly touching the other woman's as they chat amiably. She can feel the tension rise in Sarah, and she does her best to back up, to relax, to let things happen wat Sarah's speed the way Sarah needs them to be. She doesn't push or pry.

"Mmm? No, not from around here at all." Priss admits, gazing into Sarah's dark eyes just as dreamily in her own way. "I was raised in bayou country. Louisiana." It shouldn't take much to imagine how it would have been for Priss as a mixed-race girl down there, or at least how it could have been. "I've moved around a lot, though. Coast to coast. Even some time overseas, here and there, a little bit. But mostly the States. Mostly east coast, the last year, working my way up and down." It's not hard to imagine that Priss literally moves like a tumbleweed to wherever the dancing contracts lead. That's where she's drawn.

"So, you're an activist. You like to help people, and push back against the stuff you think isn't right. That's pretty brave. I'm guessing that started with protesting the way that white folks dealt with the tribes?"

Rainmaker has posed:
    The touch against her hand draws a few more of those faintly shy feelings, before she pushes them aside, just enjoying the sensation, the contact. "Wow, you're a traveller. I guess that explains why don't have much of the Louisiana accent, huh?" she says, thoughful.

    At the question, Sarah nods a bit, her eyes dropping for a moment. "...I expect some things were kind of like where you were. San Carlos wasn't a rich rez, by any means. So you learned young that things were....bad. And that not many people cared to change it." She meets her eyes again. 'Either because they didn't care or they didn't think they could. I wanted to help. I wanted to get people to...to have the energy to make change. To call out the bullshit people were heaping on people I knew, on me, on everyone like me."

    Her thumb slides up, idly starting to brush over the back of Priss's hand as she talks. "I don't know about brave, I think it's as much stubborness. I've never been good at doing what people think I should be doing." She smiles a bit softly at that. "I had my own kiss when I was in middle school, my own...what did you say her name was, Kelly? THAT did not go over well." She sighs out. "There's..expectations, even as crappy as things are, that you're going to behave a certain way as part of the tribe. People are proud, they protect what they have. And if you challenge what they have, or the way they believe things have, if you make it seem that maybe that's not how it has to be...some of them just..."

    She pauses, old remembered shame and humiliation brushing to the surface a bit. "...well." She shrugs it off, smiling at Priss. "...it's the past now."

    She hesistates, then says softly. "How long have you been traveling around? You said you started at...sixteen..." She's not sure how sensitive Priss might be about why she left. The statistics for runaways generally don't start with a happy family life and move right on to real horrors.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss returns the favor of those shy brushes and touches, occupying their hands with one another in a way that's not at all sexual, but incredibly sensual, a constant connection between them that supports and carries the strength of their words to one another.

"I was in a group home. I wanted out. I didn't have any skills or prospects. But I knew I was hot, that guys liked to look at me. And that I could really, really dance. So, that was my way out. I danced, and snuck around for a couple of years. Then, once I graduated, I left the home, went out on my own." Priss doesn't make excuses. She doesn't talk about sexual abuse or rape. Maybe there was some of that. But maybe not. What is clear is that she got no respect and very little understanding from the System, and so she found her own way.

"I was still dancing on my own when things changed for me. Kinda blew upp, really." The purple-eyed dancer shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "It was bad, really scary. But ... for a while, I wasn't alone. I had friends. Almost a family of sorts." There's both a physical and emotive tension as Priss tells this part of her story. It still hurts.

"Then things blew up again. They found out some things about me none of us had known. Things they couldn't handle. And I couldn't stay with people who, in spite of themselves, couldn't really accept me for who I was anymore." Another shrug, a much tighter one this time. "So I packed up and left, and went back on the road, by myself. Been doing that for a couple years now. Learned a lot. It's not all bad. But it can be lonely. Harder to settle down, make connections with people." Which is clearly what, for Priss, life is all about.

Rainmaker has posed:
    It's becoming a mutually comforting touch, as much as it's sensual. As Priss talks about her life, Sarah's eyes soften sympathetically. She doesn't judge...she wasn't there, and she's not going to claim there was another way or challenge it. She wasn't there; it wasn't her life. If it was the best thing Priss felt she could do, at least it seems to have gotten her into something that she's...proud of. And she does dance beautifully...

    The more recent part causes her brow to furrow a bit as she listens. She can tell she's skipping over some things, and that it's painful. She's curious, but also trying not to poke at old wounds. "....I'm sorry. That must have hurt." she says softly. "Them not accepting you when you were friends." She hesistates, then scoots a bit closer to Priss, her leg pressing to the other woman's lightly, warm skin to skin, before she slides her free arm not already touching Priss's hand on the table to give her a quiet hug.

    She doesn't know exactly what caused that pain...but she recognizes it, feels a reflection of it in the things she's been through. There's a certain fierceness to her emotions, actually...that earlier protectiveness warmly reaching out and encompassing Priss. She wishes she could take that pain away, but...some things can't do anything but get old enough that they don't hurt as much.

    "...my friends and I...some bad things happened too. We had to leave where we were. Go someplace else." she says, a bit haltingly. She's been hiding this so long...it's hard to open up. But with Priss's pain in her voice, in the set of her body, it draws her out more. "...we haven't been able to really stop anywhere until recently. It's...big here. We can sort of blend in." Well, she can, Roxy can. Caitlin...eh. Caitlin does not blend in at all, no matter where she is.

    She doesn't ask what it was that her friends turned against her over. That's hers to say. It sounds like it's not just that she might prefer girls, but...something deeper.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss accepts the hug; indeed, she embraces it, and Sarah, a warmth of acceptance and togetherness flowing between them. There is no rejection here, and no fear of it. That is something both can clearly respect and crave.

"I'm sorry you've had to work so hard to lay low. That can be a hard life. Not the least of which when you feel the pain when what pursues you endangers others if you slip." Priss' words, and her tone, make something clear that would almost seem to have no basis in what she has said of herself: she gets it. Personally, deeply, she gets it. This is a woman that somehow has been hunted, and has had to be concerned about the risks that befall others anywhere near her when she is found.

One of the staff appears, offering two simple one-page paper menus. Chinese characters mark each section and each dish, but English translations rest beside them, revealing the menu for the combination of flavors and opportunities it represents.

Priss waits until the server leaves before she says anything more. "I don't know what you and your friends need to hide from. But if I can be of any assistance, I will." That said, Priss reaches into her bag, and extracts a still-packaged cellphone. "Take this. I'll program my number into it. Any time, Sarah. Day, night, it doesn't matter. I can help, and I will." She smiles to shake the seriousness. "And not just because you kiss really sweet."

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's a soft smile as Priss accepts the hug, though she eventually leans back again. Though doesn't scoot away again, remaining comfortably nearer to the woman next to her. She pauses, then nods a bit at Priss's words, starting to say something but stopping when the menus arrived, asking for some water from the server, then leaning back against the back of the booth a bit, turning her attention back to the increasingly fascinating woman next to her. "Thank you..." she says with suprise as she's handed the phone. "But...but, but I couldn't..." She cuts herself off. She's not known Priss long...but she knows already that she means it if she says it.

    She smiles a bit, then accepts it. "...okay. But, the other side is true too..." she says softly. "If you ever need help, a place to crash, anything...let me know. I think my friends would like you, if you needed to crash." She sniffs a bit, pursing her lips. "...well, some might like you a bit too much, but we're used to him and he responds well to thrown objects." she adds wryly.

    She turns the phone over in her hands, her emotions roiling a bit. That's...that's just so nice. She can't remember when someone's been that nice to her or the others.

    A bit of a dam inside her breaks at that as she takes a deep breath, forcing those emotions back down again. Sniffling in front of your date is bad form, Sarah.

    "Um, and you speak Mandarin? Because that's really good, as...I have no idea what this menu says..." she admits after a moment, the corner of her lips curling up slightly.

Voodoo has posed:
Priss nods. "Alright. So, first, you put in my number. Then, you text me, and I'll grab the number." Then, they can call each other, as needed. It's all arranged, and Priss seems to relax a bit once that is done. They won't lose touch.

"I don't usually need thrown objects. It's easy enough to deflect the overenthused most of the time. And it usually results in fewer dents in the walls." Priss teases, offering a little wink.

"Don't worry. There's english translations. Here, see?" Priss offers, and helps Sarah through the menu. She never quite gets around to explaining how it is she knows Mandarin, but she helps out well enough.

One of the things that will come across in Priss' demeanor is that she does not view herself as smart, as intelligent. Indeed, she probably views herself as less than average. When she speaks of school, she speaks of 'being no good at it'. She never quite says 'stupid', but it's strongly implied. She also seems to struggle to read the Chinese characters, where she seemed quite comfortable speaking the language.

Once they have figured out their orders, and given them, Priss settles in for more 'getting to know your date' talk. "So, I know you're smart, and you'd love to go to school. You like bikes, and have experience riding, though not really recently. You like justice and protests and standing up for yourself and others. Anything else I should know about you? Things you like? Things you don't?"

Rainmaker has posed:
    The Amerindian girl leans in to read the menu with her, asking if she has any suggestions that are particularly good, and ends up asking for a chicken and peanuts dish, though she does perk a bit when she sees there's a dim sum offering of bbq pork buns and also orders one ala carte. She does take note of the difficulty reading, wondering....it's not unusual for someone with a reading problem to do poorly, and nothing about Priss, to her, suggests she isn't anything but an intelligent and clever woman. She'll hand the menus back to the waitress after she takes the order, smiling a bit at her, then turning her full attention back to Priss.

    At the question, Sarah laughs! "Well, yes, I'd like to think I'm more than just that." she says, with easy amusement. "Um, well, in addition to activism for a variety of things, I'm a feminist, if it wasn't already obvious. Not, I stress, a feminazi or something like that. I don't have a problem with men, they're just not...my thing." She shrugs a bit. "I'm more interested in society acknowledging where inequality exists for women, and how to make things equal for everyone. Not just levelling it, but where people can use their gifts without being...well, shamed, or shunned, or belittled for it." Her eyes are a bit alight at the subject now. "Not that male culture is healthy either at times, it can really screw a guy up. Look at those guys at the frat. They'd probably be decent guys, if a bit horny, but somewhere along the line they were taught that that's how you approach an attractive woman, and that wearing less, or, ah, taking clothes off does not mean a woman is a slut or something."

    She thinks a bit. "Well...I like reading, but...I'm not college educated. Most of what I know I've picked up on my own. I had...a lot of time to study when I was younger." And hiding out. "Mm, I like physical exercise, I try to work out every day. I like looking good, and feeling strong. I know some mixed martial arts for that too, though I haven't gotten to train anywhere in a while. I still try to keep up with it when I can though." She smiles a bit. "Something you definitely look like you know a thing or two about, from that leg sweep. Which was very graceful, you've practiced a lot, I'm guess. You don't get that smooth with no hesitation without lots of it."

Voodoo has posed:
The purple-eyed stripper orders herself a mei fun-based house mixture dish, yellow curry liberally applied, with bits of pork, beef, shrimp and scallops included, as well as various peppers and vegetables. She adds steamed vegetable dumplings for the ala carte option, and settles in to pay all of her attention to Sarah as the other woman tells more about herself.

When Sarah's done, for now, Priss smiles again, a twinkle in her eyes. "Well, yes. Those friends of mine who helped me out when everything blew up on me taught me a lot. Every day, a bit part of every day was training. Martial arts, self-defense, even weapons. It did mean when I walked away I felt a lot stronger, a lot better able to look after myself than I had before." And it clearly pays off.

"I like working out. Doesn't matter how: running, swimming, dancing, kata work, sparring. It all feels amazing, and I feel great doing it, and afterwards." Yes, the way Priss says it, this comes off very sexy. Frankly, she probably couldn't deliver a line that wasn't sexy somehow, but this is 'keyed up, excited' Priss, and it drips. It's pretty intense.

"I don't like reading. I really suck at it. But I love getting to know new people. Helping. I'm also a toucher, a hugger. It's kind of my thing. That, and knowing when someone else needs ... something. I can usually feel the opening. My instincts call out."

Priss brings it back to discussions of male gaze culture. "Honestly, I don't particularly care of people think I'm a slut. As long as the people I care about know better, that's all that matters to me. I get that a lot of people are hung up on nudity. And I don't get naked to hurt or upset them. I wear clothes in public." OK. Whenever she can. Sometimes things just happen. "I don't do what I do to piss people off. But I like it. It's fun. I'm good at it. And it pays really well for a woman who struggled to graduate high school."

Rainmaker has posed:
    Sarah's lips part as she flashes a quick smile. "We should practice sometime then. I'd love to see what you know. Maybe I can even teach you some things. And...it'd be nice to have an exercise buddy." she admits. It's not like anyone ELSE she knows is that interested in keeping in shape. Caitlin doesn't need to, and the rest are too lazy to put in a little exercise." There's definite pleasure in finding someone who shares her interest, someone who gets it, what it's like to get that workout rush.

    There's a soft sympathy, briefly, in her heart and eyes as she mentions the reading. "...some people have trouble with it. It's nothing to be ashamed of." she feels compelled to say. "...and..for the record, I think you're very smart, reading or school aside."

    Her left hand, which had to leave Priss's earlier to mess with the menu, reaches out so she can sip from her water, then runs her finger around the edge of the glass slowly. She leans in a bit closer, and this time, Priss will feel her other hand gently come to rest on her leg, tentatively, but warmly, just a soft pressure. "...I don't mind being nude." she admits softly, flushing. "I prefer it to be on my own terms though. And yes, preferably in private, not public." she says, a twinkle in her eyes. "I mean...I admit I've teased some people that way, but only when they were friends and I knew they weren't going to take it badly. But I'm not really an exhibitionist. Well..." she allows. "To...special people, maybe." Her eyes definitely have a bit more heat in them as she smiles at Priss. "Anyway, the human body is beautiful, and I"d be a hypocrite if I said being proud of it or showing it off is automatically bad. So..if you enjoy it..." She shrugs a bit, dismissing it as a problem. "I guess it's just odd for me, doing it in public, so...be patient while I wrap my brain about it?"

    She leans in, then murmurs. "I admire that in you, by the way, that you...that you're touchy feely. That you're open. You're really..." She considers, then says softly. "You seem to have a really good feel for what people are feeling."

Voodoo has posed:
"It's a talent." Priss offers, lowering her hand to rest over Sarah's on her thigh, caressing lightly, just being present. There's warmth and heat in her eyes, as well, though how much of each is a reflection of what is in Sarah is another question for another time. That makes it no less real, after all. "I've gotten really good at it, over the years." All true, but there is definitely a hint that there's more to it than that. What could it be? Hard to say. Maybe that's part of why she doesn't say it; she may not quite know the words.

"As long as you try not to get angry with me for being who I am, I'll try never to take it badly if you're uncomfortable at a time when I'm being less than private with my nakedness. I get that it's not something a lot of people are easy with. I'm not asking you to become someone you're not. I just want to be sure you know who I am, going in, and can find it in yourself to accept and embrace my differences, as I try to do the same for yours." It's a very Zen sort of philosophy of relationship-building.

"I would enjoy working out together. We could go to my gym. I have a room I reserve there most days, with a padded floor and a mirrored wall. It makes a great dance practice studio, and martial arts too." Priss explains. "Sometimes they're harder to find than others. This one wasn't too hard. I get the feeling the owner used to dance, and makes a point of reaching out to dancers when they come into town."

Rainmaker has posed:
    Oh, that makes Sarah immediately perk up! "You have a gym reserve room? Oh, that's be great! I tried the YMCA, but..." She pfffs, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of black behind her ear. "...I wouldn't mind learning to dance." she says slowly, then flushes. "I mean...I don't know about dancing like you do, but...it does look like good exercise and fun..."

    She watches Priss, then says softly. "Okay, let's say something here, then?" She tilts her head. "...I'm not going to get angry at who you are. I do need to fit my mind around some of it, but it's more....I haven't really been around someone who does what you do, so I haven't really had to." She quirks her lips, frowning faintly. "I haven't had to fit it into my personal headspace as more than a thing I knew about, rather than something that was part of someone I know." There's a faint swirl of uncertainty in her mind now; is what she's thinking a mistake? Maybe it's pushy. But....she badly wants to be honest with her. This is...she can't remember when she's clicked so well with someone so quickly.

    "Okay, anyway. I don't want to be judgy, anyway. But I do want to be honest." She bites her lower lip cutely. Grrr, she's SO out of practice with this! "Um, I guess I"m saying, I understand if you have some...old wounds, and I have some too. I want to tell you about them, but...I don't want to rush you into it. So I guess...when you're ready to tell me what you think your differences are, I'll do my absolute best to listen with an open mind. And if you don't want anyone else to know, no matter what, I won't breath a word of it." Because it's a matter of trust for her. You can't bare yourself to someone unless you trust them to keep what they show to themselves.

    Should she tell her? It's right. When...when she's ready. She'll tell her then. Because she'll think she's a nutjob otherwise. Honestly Sarah feels like her life is crazy enough that most people would.

    "Is that cool?" she ventures cautiously, her mind back to a bit of nervousness around that core of wanting to be honest.

Voodoo has posed:
"Dancing doesn't always mean stripping, even for me." Priss promises Sarah, smiling with eyes as well as lips, clearly quite happy to share her gym space with the other woman. She tried the YWCA, but they pride themselves on the C part of that; they weren't comfortable with the stripper, nor she with them. It was a mutual decision. This gym is a better arrangement. It's why she has stayed in the Metropolis area a bit longer than has been her habit.

When Sarah verges the conversation to the subject of their differences, Priss tenses up. Other than discussions of the friends who abandoned her, it is the only time she has. She doesn't pull away, but she's clearly feeling uncertain and nervous. Still, she holds still, she stays connected with Sarah, and she lets the others' emotions flow over and through her. And as she finds reassurance in the other's uncertainties but dedication, she lets her own reassurance flow outward through their connection.

"Not tonight, I don't think." Priss offers, after a bit, letting the tension uncoil and slowly release. "Sometime when we can be together, quietly, privately. A place where we can both feel safe letting down those kinds of barriers." Both? What? But there's a firm certainty to Priss as she says this. Even if the only barrier is the one to acceptance of truth, she knows they are there. And that it won't be easy. "But yes. Yes, that is cool with me."

Rainmaker has posed:
    The Apache woman raises a brow archly as she looks back. "...sooo....you're already assuming the second date then?" she teases playfully, resting her chin on her free hand. Her tone is warm, and she's definitely looking to the idea of future time with Priss. She backs off when she realizes Priss is tensing up. "Whenever you're ready." she says soothly, smiling at her. Heck, if her friends turned on her over this, she expects she's not really interested in talking about it until she's ready...she can't imagine what it would be like if, say, her friends turned on her because she happened to be lesbian. That'd be some deep hurting.

    She rubs her hand against Priss's leg gently. "Deal, then." she says cheerfully. "My turn to ask a question! Do you have people you hang out with here too? I live with some friends now...two girls, Caitlin and Roxy. And some boys live in the room next door."

Voodoo has posed:
"I'm assuming we'll go do that workout, at least. And that you'll call me if you need me for anything. Even if all you need is someone to listen while you seethe about some jerk who made fun of your protests." Priss offers, with a gentle, teasing tone. She lets the rest go, for now. "I //am// hoping you're enjoying this enough that there will be a second date, at some point. My instincts say you are, but I could always be wrong." It happens. Rarely.

The stripper shakes her head. "Nope. I'm living alone in a really tiny hole in the wall. Building used to be an old hotel, subdivided ridiculously. Several of the other girls at the club are staying there, so they mentioned it when I came to town. But I'm alone, there." She's alone. Not dating anyone else. No real friends around here.

Until now?

"Pretty names for your friends, too. Tell them about me, OK? That way, down the road, if we meet they'll feel a little easier meeting the strange girl with the weird eyes who doesn't always keep her clothes on." Another little joke.

Soon enough, then, the food arrives. Priss makes a little game of it, sharing bits of her food with Sarah and 'claiming' bits of Sarah's food for herself. The most interesting trick of the evening might be that Sarah never once sees a bill. Chances are Priss was sneaky and palmed cash into the pocket of their server at some point.

Rainmaker has posed:
    Sarah wrinkles her nose adorably. "You are welcome to cut me off if you feel I'm ranting too much." she says ruefully. She's aware she does it. She's given far too many lectures on subjects to her roommates when something set her off, and she doesn't realize sometimes that others may not care nearly as much about a given subject as she does. "Oh? We're actually looking for a bigger place, we're all stuffed in a little hotel room. And I'm getting really tired of the couch and everything tasting of cigarette smoke." Thanks Roxie. Grrr. "Maybe I can keep an eye out if they've got someplace that might suit you too? I mean, we don't have a huge amount, so it's not going to be HUGELY fancy, but...maybe you'll have some more room that way." And she likes the idea of Priss living down the hall. That's so weird, it's like a sitcom thing. But it would be nice....kind of like a dorm, or so she's been told.

    As the food comes, Sarah responds by dueling back and forth, stealing food back teasingly and maybe playing a bit more about exactly, ah...expressively she eats the food she has. She is likely not as good at being seductive with this as she likes, but she's relaxed enough that she doesn't mind if Priss just finds it silly or ridiculous. She'll laugh with her. And she happily tells her all about Roxie, who really needs to go jogging and is such a pain, but she can tell she's quite protective of. And then there's Caitlin...she has not had anyone to commiserate with Caitlin. The six foot Amazon redhead who is "totally oblivious. I mean, like a brick wall. Like when it goes over her head, it hits the stratosphere, and that's shouldn't happen when she's that tall!!!"

    There is, however, a little back and forth as Sarah realizes she's snuck the bill off, protesting, but shall be reduced to a little pout and mollified that next time she will get to buy Priss a meal

    As they finish off, and step outside to the motorcycle again, Sarah sighs happily, rubbing her stomach. "That was good, you've got good taste." She smiles softly at Priss, then reaches out, taking her hand to squeeze it. "...I had a great time. Are you free Sunday?" she says hopefuly.

Voodoo has posed:
;'s response to the playfullness is more playfullness. She clearly enjoys it, gets a kick out of it. And she soaks up stories about Roxie and Caitlin quite eagerly, obviously looking forward to meeting them. She can tell a part of Sarah, in spite of herself, finds Caitlin amazingly hot, and part of her frustration is that she flirts at Caitlin and the redhead apparently misses it all. But that's OK. Because it's sweet, and clearly she also loves the redhead almost like a sister.

Sarah has a family, not of blood, but of shared experience and spirit. Priss remembers quite fondly what that feels like, and longs to have it again. So it's nice to get to hover on the edge and soak up some of it vicariously. For now.

"Hey, if you find a place, text me. I'll come take a look. I would definitely be open to a better place, if we can find something." Priss never mentions that the reason she stole the check and payed that way was because she got the impression Sarah doesn't have a job, or income, and shouldn't have to pay for a date she wasn't expecting with a woman who just made a thousand dollars tonight. Besides, Priss had that hundred the one creep stuffed in her jeans. Convenient, right?

"I had a great time, too." Priss offers Sarah, and she steps up to rest her hands on the Amerindian girl's hips, drawing her closer, tilting her head slightly to the side, and meeting her lips for a long, slow, tender and incredibly sensual kiss. Steam rises, metaphorically, at least. "And yes. I should be free on Sunday. Call me. I'll meet you, and we can visit the gym, figure out what else to get into."

With that settled, Priss holds Sarah's hand, sweet contact, as they cross the street, gear up, and mount the bike, taking a ride back to wherever Sarah wants to be let off.

It was a really, really good night.