faith in their return.

[Roman Turner] He'd managed to slip in, not with a fake ID but by simply sneaking in the back fire exit. It didn't mean he wouldn't be asked to leave. Didn't mean he wouldn't be tossed out. What it meant was that for a short time his curiosity would be quenched.

Like normal he was in jeans so crisp they looked like they might stand up in a corner all by themselves. His chestnut hair had been finger combed right before he snuck in. He'd worn a black tee because black was more formal and it helped blending in shadows a bit. And yes, the ever present boots were on. Though to dress himself up a bit, he wore a black leather thong around his neck with a tooth pendant and an assortment of thin black bracelets. Woo howdy, this was putting on the hog for him.

[Helen Moore] "Definitely. If you ever give me that creep vibe, I'll be sure to let you know." Honestly Helen probably wouldn't, not until she got really upset about it, angry that is. Until then she often kept her thoughts about others to herself, dealing with them in her own way. Unless they really got to her, like the infamous Fianna Rep, she tended to sweep things under the rug.

Easing back in the chair, she crossed over her legs and let her gaze wander just over his shoulder to the dance floor, where she watched the masses move out of sync to one another and yet in time with majority of the music. It was a square space of chaotic rhythm. Alcohol had long made her feet tolerant and her aching limbs almost cured. But she's not yet ready for another spin on the dance floor, having a bottle of bubbly to get through.

She sipped from her glass and focused back on Trance. "Did you catch up with anyone? I remember saying something about old friends here.." Maybe he told her. Maybe she forgot.

[Trance-Dance] Speaking of the bubbly, the first bucket is replaced by the waitress with a fresh bottle, the ice in the bucket causing condensation on the outside of the silvery surface. Trance empties his glass, smiling.
“You are a good liar, and Ah appreciate it”

Said with a wink, and then he shrugs. His back to the dance floor to be able to keep his attention on his partner in crime for now.
“Not really. Ah think they are all dead or gone.”
For some reason, it does not seem as if Trance is very upset about that. Perhaps because it is the way of Garou life, they fight and die. Perhaps because the Metis had very few friends among those now dead and gone. He does not say in either case.

“ Luckily, Ah got my work to keep me busy.”

[Roman Turner] People danced. Drinks ended up left unattended when people moved out to dance. This made it simple enough to snag a glass in passing, throw it back and deposit it on the next empty spot. He weaved through tables in a leisurely, I know what I'm doing, manner. Smiling ear to ear with the noise and crowd. They sure as Hell didn't have anything like this back on the ranch. While the music wasn't country, it had a beat he could get in to. One stolen, tossed back drink later and he was heading to edge of the grinding mass to show just how good he could shake it. He wasn't just dexterous, he was smooth, lithe and knew how to thrust his hips to a beat.

[Helen Moore] Roman might spot the blond sitting with some guy wearing a cap. She's wearing a little black dress that came off the shoulders, with a thin black belt around the middle, its buckle a nice shining silver colour. She's got a lot of spare leg, from mid thigh down to where she's wearing a pair of low black heels. Helen's a bit of a bombshell when she's dressed for partying, rather then working. The elegance has turned to something far more sexy, and that lip piercing seems to be easily overlooked in the clubs darkness.

She doesn't deny lying, or confirm it either, she just laughs quietly instead, flashing pearly whites in his direction. Another mouthful of drink is gone, and she's clearly intoxicated by this point, but not legless, yet. After swallowing, she's still smiling at him, eyes bright. "Now you've got me to harass you weekends. I know where you live."

"Not that I will remember, tomorrow." Laughing easily again, she shook her head and ran her hands over her curls, fluffing them at the back.

[Trance-Dance] “Admit it, you just want to bounce around my couch, don’t you?”
He laughs. The alcohol made him a little warm, but barely more then that, his body burning through the poison of the alcohol as rapidly as it would heal from being struck or shot. A true downside to his birth, one he could not escape.
“Wait til you see the bath-tub. You now how much trouble Ah had custom ordering a Jacuzzi in a size that would fit me normally?”

He shakes his head and empties the glass with a smile. The young metis should have, would have noticed the other presence if it were not for his pre-occupation with the other. He simply does not have the instincts to stay always on guard like so many of his kind.
“Alright, ah think we need to dance some more before you fall over the table. You have to tell me off when Ah get started… Ah’ll drink the whole night if you don’t!”

[Helen Moore] Her eyes had gone a little wide when he said that, then she started laughing. Enough that she had to put down the glass in fear of spilling it. Its the sort of laughs that comes from the belly, brings tears to the eyes, and makes her face go from rose cheeks to flush red. "Oh my god!" She's laughing still, a hand moving to her side in no time as a stitch begins to form. "I thought you were going to say something else!" Which, apparently, the Fianna kinfolk thought was very funny. Maybe she's a little embarrassed too.

Trying to calm herself down, her laughter turned to the occasional chuckle and she fans herself with a hand, grinning broadly at him. One hand reached to wipe the tears away from her eyes. "Phew.. . you're going to have to show me that bath sometime." She snickers a little some more. It had been the couch comment that had her rolling in laughter.

Now she was calmer, she nodded and motioned for them to get up towards the dance floor. "Let's. I'm drunk enough." Still chuckling under her breath she peeled herself out of the chair and wiggled the hem of her dress down her thighs, steadying her footing before she began towards the dance floor.

[Roman Turner] He was sidling up to any female he could, even if it meant a brief wiggle and thrust before whoever they were with gave him the evil eye. Once he even managed to get between two girls dancing and that was pure heaven. A one point he had a clear shot of Helen and his instant response was to turn his back so she wouldn't see him. That was all he needed. Pretty Kin and busted all at once.

[Trance-Dance] ”What? What did ah say now?”
Wide eyed, laughing at her reaction. He truly had no clue why she found it so funny, perhaps a hint of exactly how sincere the metis had been when he said she was safe with him. Oh, he had used his imagination at some point, but he just a guy, and the kin was scorching tonight, but beyond that?
“What did you think Ah was gonna say?”

Asked as he leads her to the dance floor, his body already starting to flow into the beat. He has already had his share of the ‘Trance’ tonight, so this time, his focus is more to dancing with the kin woman. A glimpse of a young boy as he spins Helen around once. Something in the back of his mind poking him for attention, something about the boy. But the young man turns away from Trance and Helen, and Trance shrugs, focusing back on Helen. The music to loud to allow any conversation.

[Helen Moore] Its good that she's tall, it makes her as tall as quite a lot of the men around, and its makes it easier, once spun, to loop her arm around the Metis' shoulder to answer his question by his ear. All smiles and hints of her laughter thread under the music, and she leans enough back to catch his reaction with dancing eyes surrounded in faint laugh lines.

Roman, who had turned away, is safe from her scrutiny. While she's good with details and quite attentive, Trance is actually dancing with her this time, and she's focused on him instead of the back of a black t.shirt. She doesn't even notice the way Trance is momentarily distracted by something over her shoulder.

[Roman Turner] He was short compared to many on the dance floor. 5'5" didn't exactly stand out. His rage was a low thing, Imogen had asked if he were Kinfolk. His purity of breeding was a low thing, just enough to tickle the back of the mind of most. But he could move, even if from time to time he seemed to jump in to a two step. Step, step, shuffle, shuffle, turn. And by God, he could do the waltz and Cha Cha, because they were all entwined in country dancing. Once or twice he found himself facing the couple from a bit of a distance away when the crowd parted enough. He checked out the guy with Helen, wondering if this were her wolf. And if he got a clear shot, sure as hell he checked out her tits and ass.

[Trance-Dance] Trance is a fair dancer, much thanks to the natural grace of his race. When Helen leans in to answer him however, he stumbles, losing the rhythm completely, and blushing bright red, eyes so wide in shock they seem to be saucers. It takes him a few beats to find the rhythm again, and perhaps it is a good thing the music is so loud, because whatever he tries to stammer is drowned by it.

He goes back to dancing with her, fighting to get his face less flushed from embarrassment. His gaze darts away from Helen, trying to find escape, and he lays his eyes directly on Roman. At a glance, he had not noted it, but now? There can be no doubt. Trance had no breeding to show what he was, but even that spot within Roman told Trance everything. A true born, pure blooded. The gaze the young man casts in their direction could possibly be interpreted in many ways. (Helen had an amazing body after all, and those legs…!) But the metis has been conditioned well.

All the color drains from his face, and he stops dead, eyes locked on the other true. Where he had been bright red, he was now almost white, pale as a ghost. A second he looks at roman, then his gaze snaps down to the floor and he shrinks back from Helen.

[Helen Moore] Embarrassment is all fun and games, Helen does not have a mean spirit in her, and so anything she had said had been light in jest and she assumes that it's taken that way, so when Trance gets all flustered she had laughed and squeezed his shoulder before letting her hand drop from him again, returning to dance.

But only a few seconds after he has backed away from her, like he'd seen a ghost and was looking somewhere in particular. Following his gaze, her feet stopping on the floor and a moment of what the? passes through her. Until she spots Roman. She does not share Trance's white features and shameful eyes, her mouth splits into a broad grin and she lets out one of those girlie yells, "ROMAN!"

"That's Roman," she tells Trance, hand brushing his as she leaned in to inform him that it wasn't anyone to be frightened of - at least that was her intention, before she's beginning towards the very young man who seems to be enjoying himself in a club.

"How the hell have you been?" She's asking him, shouting over the music, reaching in to give the shorter man a shameless hug and a kiss on the cheeks. Her skin is warm, hot really, from dancing around, and all that alcohol.

[Roman Turner] He was slightly confused with the reaction from Helen's dance partner and for a moment he looked like he was going to turn and slip back into the crowd. In that moment Helen spotted him, came towards him and hugged him. She smelled great and damned if his teenage body didn't stand up and salute that. And she kissed his cheeks and in that moment they were just as red as Trance's had been for a second. His face burned, his body burned in another way. And his hands closed around her waist for just a moment, lingering on her hip as he resisted the urge to cop a feel.

"Howdy Ma'am."

He had to yell over the music that made his ears throb.

[Helen Moore] "What are you doing here?" She's all smiles and her pale eyes shined brightly, glittering with the lights that reflected back. Her arms rested over his shoulders loosely and she didn't seem to mind that his arms were around her waist, resting on the slender curve of her hip. There isn't much left to the imagination in that dress, as it was, all snug and form fitting. Helen doesn't have any lumps and bumps to cover up, she's thin, with only a pound more flesh then those starved models are, and that comes from the fact that she likes to swim and run so that she has some actual definition.

While he's resisting the urge to cop a feel, she's resisting the urge to scruff his chestnut hair as she smiled down at him. For the moment the music is forgotten and so is the dance. "Come over and meet Trance, you'll like him. He's a good sort, a bit shy like you!"

Fingers grasp at his shoulders gently and she begins to take step backwards, regardless if people are in her way and whether she bumps them or not, intend on dragging her prey back towards the other wolf in the building. If he's co operating, she slides her hand down his arm to take up his hand instead so she can weave through the bumping crowd better.

[Trance-Dance] Helen brushes her hand against Trance’s and tells him the name of the other. Trance nods slightly, but does not really look up. He does however look up, peeking under the edge of his cap at the young man as Helen goes to him. At least it seemed the True was not going to punish Helen. It gave the young metis some peace of mind. His fear had not been for himself or what the other might do, but for Helen’s sake.

So it is with a little more color to his face the Metis waits as Helen drags roman back to where they were dancing. His eyes, brown and green with flecks that seem almost golden focus on Roman. A slight nod, and Trance reaches up to adjust the cap, making sure it is pulled down low on his forehead. A motion back towards the tables where the metal bucket still stands, the fresh bottle cooling on the ice inside it. To loud for any sort of conversation here on the dance floor.

[Roman Turner] He was going to need new pants, that's all there was to it because these were going to end up with an embarrassing wet spot on the front. Helen's scent wove around his head, mingled with the smell of perfumes and aftershaves, sweat and booze and she was leading him through the crowd by his hand and all he could do was check out her ass and hope he didn't burst his shorts. At that moment he wasn't paying attention to what anyone else did, he was too busy checking out the flex of ass cheeks within rubbing distance, while telling himself not to rub, not to grab, not to squeeze.

[Helen Moore] "Great idea!" Tables, as Trance had indicated. They had drinks over waiting for them already, and it was better then trying to talk out here on the crowded dance floor. Trance, as it was, had lost some of his mojo for dancing and there's nothing worse then trying to groove with someone that had lost theirs, so she wanders in that direction with them, loosing Romans hand once they were out of the crowd, with a thrown smile in his direction.

Back over at the table, she's reclaiming her seat. "Trance, this is Roman. Roman, Trance." The introductions are short, at best, but very to the point. She adds on to it as she's reaching to fill up the two glasses already there. "I met Roman awhile back, he's one of few sane ones."

[Roman Turner] He nodded, straining to sort words out of the noise in here. Waving faintly with the introduction and looking as uncomfortable and guilty as hell for checking out Helen's ass.

"Howdy. I really should be going." Before he got busted that is.

[Trance-Dance] Trance walks with the others, head still held a little bent, gaze somewhere on Romans knees. He waits until Helen sits down, and until Roman has taken a seat before taking a seat himself. Looking at the young coggie from underneath the rim of his cap that is pulled down near enough to his brows. It must be uncomfortably warm to have that felt cap on in the heat of the club.

“Hey Roman… good to meet’cha n all. We were jus dancing and takin a break from work n stuff, so mm Ah convinced Helen to join me and she was nice enough to agree.”

A glance around and then back to Helen and Roman. Yeps, he is rambling now.

[Roman Turner] He blinked, watching Trance for several seconds. Something was off with him, but he wasn't sure what it was yet. Maybe the guy was just nervous around him? It wouldn't be the first time, but it was rare. So he gave his best smile and said very loud to be heard over the din.

"Well that's right fine of ya. Though I gotta reckon about the last thing y'all want right now is a third wheel."

[Helen Moore] "Going? Nonsense. Sit down and have a drink," she's telling Roman, nodding to one of the spare chairs at their table. "I'll get someone to fetch you a glass." The idea that he's too young to drink doesn't even cross the Kinfolks mind at this point, she hasn't even considered how and why he was in a club in the first place.

Chuckling at Trance, she looked from Roman to him and back again to explain: "He hasn't gone out in a lifetime, and I don't know why. He's really good at dance. But trust one of my lot to come and drag him out again. It's done him a lot of good."

"And how about you! I saw you busting a move. You really can. Who would have thought." Like most, she thought country folk were incapable of doing much more then ride horses and tend lands.

[Trance-Dance] v”Ohh Of course, sorry, Ah should have considered... Ah apologize. Ah’ll leave ya to it.”
A glance cast to Helen before the metis is rising to do just that, remove himself from the two pure blooded at the table.

Helen had seen him this nervous once before, when she had been surprised to learn what he was, and he had tried to explain it to her then that he did not want to cause her trouble. He had been raised in another atmosphere then what permeated Chicago these nights. He has not yet learned the new ways, if he ever would.

[Roman Turner] He looked uncomfortable still, though the tightness in his jeans was easing some and he was resisting the urge to adjust.

"Er, is he serious? And for that matter, are you?"

He was looking between Trance and Helen. Damned if these two weren't off somewhere and he just hadn't figured it out yet.

"I gotta say, I feel out of my own pond at the moment."

[Helen Moore] [sorry, didn't realize I had been booted from the room.]

[Helen Moore] There's a moment of confusion that she's still trying to catch up to when Roman asks if Trance is serious. Her brows are drawn together and that laughter had faded rapidly from both eyes and expression. "I'm not sure," she answered Roman, more quietly.

Raising her voice she called to Trance, moving to stand up. "Where are you going?" The Kinfolk is baffled, completely. She hasn't quite figured out what it means to be a Metis in the society, and there's no reason for her to know the ins and outs of it.

"Both you boys trying to ditch me?" Trying to make it a little lighter, she raised her brows as she looked between them, searching for something she's obviously missing.

[Roman Turner] Where he came from, Metis were as rare as Alien landings, maybe more so because folk had pride and enough shame not to do things that were against the basic laws of a race's survival. So, he wasn't the brightest apple when it came to figuring out what was weird about Trance, other than wanting to leave his date with a teen. Baffled, he shrugged to Helen.

[Trance-Dance] He stops when Helen rises, looking at her from beneath the cap, eyes a little wide.
“Ya’ll don’t need meh to be a bother n all. Ah figure ah was goin to take of the bill n leave ya in his company, as is right n proper n all.”

There is trepidation there, in his voice, just loud enough for Helen to catch. She is perceptive and even with alcohol in her, she can sense the young metis fear. Not for himself, but for some reason, for her, as if Trance’s presence here and now is causing some danger for her.
“Thank ye fer takin me out. Ah really enjoyed it.”

And he really had enjoyed it, even her teasing him.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A fourth joins their table even as one or two are thinking of leaving. He clicks his drink down first: a collins glass filled with some electric-blue liquid containing some unspeakable concentration of alcohols.

At an establishment like this, all low lights and sleek modernist styling, ten million dollar sound-and-light systems, you get your usual sorts. The ones that come to see and be seen. The ones that come to get laid. The ones that come to get high. The ones that come to dance, and to lose themselves in walls of bass and moving lights. The ones that are here to stay all fucking night.

None of them fit under these labels. They stand apart: their group composition, their nature, the way they look and talk to each other, the way they burn with rage. The newcomer most of all, perhaps. He dresses like one of them, the young humans with money to burn: distressed jeans and a sharp shirt. Rage and pureblood rides in his veins, though, unmistakable, and the way he looks at them, the way he simply invites himself to their table, is far too direct.

"Sorry if I'm intruding," he says, which is more a courtesy than any genuine apology, "but I recognized you guys."

[Helen Moore] "Wait a minute, Trance..." Her tone has changed, the good mirth taking a back seat as she's picking up that things are really spiraling out of control and she doesn't know why. He's afraid, but she doesn't quite get it. Roman wasn't offering her any sort of threats. Instead of frowning though, becoming upset, she's drifting more into the questioning ways. "Aren't you going to see me home safely? Rules are, you take someone out, you see them home." Calling out on his sense of genuine honour, which had nothing to do with not trusting Roman, and all to do with the fact that she had came here with him and wasn't going to see him wander off alone. Helen is simply too kind of heart, even drunk.

But then Lukas is also there, a handsome man with an imposing demeanor. He's certainly well put together and would get a second glance from the Kinswoman. He's timing, however, is horrid. "I'm sorry?" She doesn't know who he is, and casts a quick glance to the other two to see if they might recognize him. Maybe Lukas is a friend of theirs.

[Roman Turner] He was feeling like the date buster and having a horrible time keeping his eyes off of Helen's tits. Each time one of them looked his way, his eyes shot back up a little. Then the sudden arrival of Lukas really flustered him. Fuck a duck, all he needed was a Fostern Lord. Immediately he found interest in nothing above Lukas' chin, which made Helen's tits all the more inviting an object to stare at. His ears rang, throbbed like the vibration through his very bones from the bass.

"Right nice of ya to stop by to say howdy, sir."

He wasn't going to say Rhya in a place like this.

"I was just, er busting up a date I think. Not on purpose."

[Roman Turner] ((Holy fuck my cat brought in a huge ass flying bug with big ole pincers through the dog door and it got loose and was having a stand off with the damned cat.))
to Helen Moore, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Trance-Dance

[Trance-Dance] Helen reminds him of his promise, and it stops him in his tracks as he was about to turn. Or perhaps it was Lukas that appeared that pulled the young metis to a stop. Nostrils flaring out, eyes widening even before he sets eyes on the other. That Rage, the breeding evident in the shadow lord, and more than that. The cliath drops his gaze to the floor.
“Ah… Ah will wait outside, and Ah will take ya home safe, if Roman is busy.”

It is clear he does not really believe he will be needed for it, not with Roman, and now Lukas here. But he did promise her to see her safe if she joined him to dance. He turns slightly towards Lukas, nodding to him, his voice low enough that to be heard over the music, the others would have to strain hard.
“No need fer apology Sir.”

He knows his place well. It would be hilarious if now for how it had been learned.

[Trance-Dance] (*LOL* Film that shit! Priceless : ) )
to Helen Moore, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roman Turner

[Trance-Dance] (If NOT for how it had been learned even)

[Roman Turner] "Hey now, ya make a promise, ya keep that promise."

He wasn't about to get between a woman and a promise because he knew better. His momma didn't raise no fool.

[Helen Moore] It seems that the others knew who Lukas was and that was fine with her. Her gaze slipped from the others, past Lukas, and back over to Trance who still wanted to leave her there. He didn't feel as welcoming as he had earlier on, and while she knew that he had some issues under that facade, there wasn't much she was going to do about it right here and now. If he wanted to leave? Well... "It's alright Trance, I'll grab a cab outside the door."

Sitting down in her chair, she picked up her flute and took a sip from it. Pale eyes shifting up to watch Lukas by the table, having no idea who he could be, other then someone that makes both of the other Garou stand up a little straighter. Crossing over her legs had her sliding the mid-thigh length of her dress more across the bared flesh beneath the table.

She doesn't interrupt them.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] People are standing. People are talking about leaving. As though oblivious to it all, Lukas is folding his tall frame down to sit on the lowslung, minimalistic chairs and couches scattered around this corner of the club.

"What's the rush?" he asks Trance. "Have you got business, or are you just clearing out because Roman and I are here?"

[Roman Turner] Maybe Lukas knew Trance and would shed a little more light on the subject? He was certainly curious enough.

"I think he was leaving cause I'm here, but ain't positive. And this here is Miss Helen. Miss Helen Moore, this is Lukas Wyrmbreaker."

He knew his manners well enough.

[Trance-Dance] Helen draws his attention, but he still does not look up, his attention somewhere around knee level of the gathered.
”Ah promised Ah would see ye home safe Helen. “

He releases a slow breath, still remaining where he was as he turns his head towards Lukas once more.
“Ah have no business elsewhere Sir. Ah do not wish ta be a bother fer ya. Ah was just dancing.”

But he does not go. The fostern had not given him leave, and there is still the matter of Helen.

[Helen Moore] For Roman's introduction she had a smile, grateful for his manners. She turned that smile over to Lukas, but it was a hint of what she was smiling earlier in the night, where her laughter came easily and often. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wyrmbreaker." Its not until after his name does she think it odd as a surname, and figures its probably really not. Her wits are a little more slow, clearly she's drank a lot tonight. Not yet falling off the chair even close to slurring crisp British lilts, but she's got enough that she's spoken her mind more often than she might have at any other time.

"Are you going to sit down then?" She asked Trance, glancing towards him. "There's another drink here, for you." Earlier she had poured them both another champagne, but hadn't yet got around to getting Roman another glass. Things had went south rapidly since arriving back to the table.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's eyes are level, his brow faintly furrowed. "You're not bothering me," he says. "I came here for the company of my own kind. So unless you want to go, you should stick around."

Roman's introducing him: This is Lukas--

"--Kvasni&+269;ka," Lukas interjects, unhurriedly but completely overwriting whatever might have come out of Roman's mouth instead. He turns his attention to Helen, then, reaching his hand across the low, matte-black table. Anglicizing it, "Just Lukas is fine. I was friends with Taggart. His next door neighbor, actually. You're distantly related, I think."

[Helen Moore] Her glass is set to the table as she reaches across to take Lukas's hand, not catching any warning signals that others may be giving out - Trance, in particular, seems to be really odd since the others had arrived. Fear for her. She's still trying to figure that one out. "I'm not going to try, Lukas, I'd butcher the name," she says on his surname with an easy smile, which is a little apologetic too.

"It's nice to meet you." Pulling back her hand, she rests in the chair, winding down from the earlier high that she had been on. Its late as it was, well early as they say. She had been out, dropped by Trances, and then came back out again. For someone that keeps relatively regular normal hours, its well past bedtime, dawn's only a handful of hours away.

Hatchet is mentioned and the smile is a watered down version. "You're right, we are." That's about all she has to say about that, while picking up her glass to drink from it again.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [cuz i can! empathy!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)
to Helen Moore

[Helen Moore] [LOL! No you can't! *grin*]
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [...SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL! *dies* watch him botch >_
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)
to Helen Moore

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [ok i give up. *LOL*]
to Helen Moore

[Helen Moore] [*dies* Apparently they do!]
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Roman Turner] Well shit, here he sat with a woman he kept ogling....did she have to wear such a tight dress? Was there anything under it? Shit, STOP looking!....and over there was the guy she came with, still wearing a hat but acting like he dropped something on the floor, which made him wonder. And now Lukas mentions Hatchet to Helen and as for himself, he was damned thirsty and hot. Strands of chestnut hair had stuck to his forehead, turning dark where sweat soaked it.

"Pardon me, I'm gonna find something to drink."

That was his excuse for slipping off. The poor sucker Helen was dating was on his own.

[Trance-Dance] Confusion is clear in the young metis. He reaches up, tugging at the felt cap on his brow, making sure it is down low.
“ah.. ahlright. Thank you Sir.”

Trance glances to Helen, then sits down in the chair he had occupied earlier. He glances up (which means he can set his eyes on the table and the fluted glass instead of trying to look under it) and takes the glass full of champagne. He does not drink yet however, instead he offers it to Roman, since Lukas has his own drink, and the young pure does not.
“Ah convinced Helen to come out tonite, when I ran into her at a coffee place. She was gracious enough to tag along with meh. Ah did not mean to overstep.”

It seems as if Trance is telling them not to make a point that he was here first, but rather as if he expects Helen to be in trouble for being out with the young metis, shifting the focus from her to himself. It is clear that he is worried about the kin woman, as if he expects her to be punished for some reason.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's pale eyes flick between Helen's for a moment. Ultimately, whatever hides beneath the surface of that watered-down smile stays there, and the Shadow Lord's attention drops away. He picks up his drink instead. The collins glass is smallish, perhaps a doubleshot's worth, and he shoots it down in a single neat gulp. A faint meniscus of blue lingers after he clicks it down.

He sits back, then. Lounges is the better word: knees apart, shoulderblades to the back of the seat. His very presence has made the two lower-ranked Garou tense up and snap to attention. In one case, it's chased one of them right off. For his own part, though, the Shadow Lord seems relaxed tonight; a little lazy. A little lax.

Off duty. That's how he used to think of it, back when he was Edward's beta.

His keen eyes rest on Trance for a moment, though. "Overstep how?" He sounds genuinely curious. "You mean because of what you are?"

[Roman Turner] Trance offered him the drink and from behind Lukas, Roman shot Trance the biggest smile he'd seen from the teen yet. Trance might get the impression that just for a moment Roman was laughing his ass off at Trance's being stuck with the Fostern. With a casual salute Roman faded off through the darkened club.

((Thanks guys, I gotta sleep))

[Helen Moore] Roman had got a smile and a nod, whether he took Trance's drink or went off to find his own, she didn't pressure him into staying as well. He had said he was going off to find a drink, only, not to run off and leave her with the strange Garou and the stranger acting Trance.

She sat quietly while the two spoke, taking a back seat to the conversation herself, and drinking her way through that flute as though it was sips of water she was ingesting. Since he wasn't listening to her protests, she let Lukas have his turn at it. They seemed to know of each other. Not surprising given what they are.

Sitting there, crossed legged and with an arm draped over her waist, she let her gaze wander from them over the crowd, taking in the roving lights and the brighter moods elsewhere.

[Trance-Dance] Trance nods at Lukas question, placing the drink back on the table when the young pure left the table. He draws in a deep breath, trying to relax, but failing quite miserably at it.
“Yes Sir. Ah did not think. Ah just wanted a break from work. S’not her fault.”

His gaze remains on the table and he reaches up, tugging at the black felt cap, making sure it is low. It hides his face from Lukas, and allows Helen only a glimpse at the side of his face. If she looks, she would find his jaw tight, still very much unsure.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A few moment of furrow-browed pause, the Ahroun's fingertips scratching idly at his stomach. Then he pushes himself a little straighter.

"Look," he says, "first off, I'm neither your cousin nor hers. From where I stand, as long as what you're doing doesn't affect the combat-readiness of our people, I could care less. Secondly, there's a difference between having a drink with a girl and chasing a girl. The former, I don't think anyone would have a problem with. The latter, her cousins might just take umbrage with -- but I don't you'd let it get so far.

"So," he shrugs, shoulders moving against the back of the couch, "I really don't have a problem with any of this. Now loosen up. I didn't come over here because I wanted to lord over my underlings or something."

[Helen Moore] Lukas' words bring her attention back to their conversation and she looks from him to Trance. "See?" she prods him with a light tone, "I don't know why you're so worried. It's a dance and some drinks, nothing to get yourself so worked up over. Come on, you've hardly touched your drink." She encourages him to continue on with the alcohol, living up to her Tribe's reputation.

"If you really don't want to, we can leave here and we can call it a night. It's probably almost morning as it is." Which was hard to tell when in a place like this with the lack of windows, and plenty of darkness and artificial coloured lights. Time could really get away.

[Trance-Dance] ”Ah...”
His brow furrows. In truth, he had never considered anything beyond dancing and a drink. Even when Helen had teased him his mind had not gone down that path. Not to say he isn’t human, but somethings are better left unexplored even in the safety of your own mind.

“Yes Sir.”
Another breath taken and he tries once more to relax. Again, of course, failing quite miserably. But Lukas had said he did not mind, so it meant that Helen was likely not in any trouble, and it allows the metis to raise his head a little, to where he can see the fostern’s chest. He glances to his drink, then to Helen.

His smile is just a ghost really, but he is trying. He raises his glass to Helen, almost completely hiding the slight shake of a normally very steady hand.
“Yer right of course. Sorry fer… ehh. Cheers.”

Finished weakly as he brings his glass to his lips. When he puts it down, the flute that was full moments ago are now empty.
“Do ya want a drink Sir?” He wont call him Rhya in the club, but its there yet the same, in the way he puts emphasis on the Sir.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Lukas," he corrects -- rather gently, all told. A faint, crooked smile follows, "And no thanks. I'm good."

An imbecile would be able to sense Trance's nervousness right now. Maybe it's some sense of mercy or courtesy that has Lukas turning his attention from the metis to the kinswoman instead, curious. "So," he says, "Helen, is it? Have you been in town long?"

[Helen Moore] "A good matter of months," she answers easily. She's glad for the topic change, the whole nervous thing was getting under her skin and really dragging down the mood. Having gone from party mode to, well, this, in a short period of time wasn't leaving her with the desire to stick around for much longer herself.

When Lukas shows an interest in moving along, to forget or ignore whats going on, she's all the more happy to follow the same path. "It could be about three, four by now," she's not sure, and her memory isn't the best right now, "but I was in LA before Chicago." Obviously in England before that. Those Brits have a certain way of speaking.

She's turned back to their table and reaches for the bottle in the bucket to fill up her own drink, offering to do the same for Trance before hand. Lukas had just said, moments ago, that he was right for a drink, and so after glancing to his empty glass, she sets the bottle back into the ice. "How about yourself? Are you a native?" Her smile comes with a good nature, social.

[Helen Moore] [got to grab some chow. I'll be back in 15. sorry for the awkward pause!]
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Trance-Dance

[Trance-Dance] It seems as if Trance is the happiest of the three that the conversation and focus shifts from him. He offers a smile to Helen as she refills his glass. Leaning back a little, some of the tension starts to bleed from his frame. He reaches up, tugging at the black felt cap again, then takes a sip of his drink.

His attention divided evenly between Luka’s chest and Helen’s.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "LA," the Shadow Lord replies, pleased. "My sister's actually out in Westwood these days for her law degree. She likes it. Too warm for me, though."

He sits up briefly, snags his glass off the table. Leans back again, tilts his head back, and drains the last few drops out of it. It gets set aside beside him, and his hand falls to rest on his stomach, his body laid out nearly horizontally on the low couch.

"And, no," he continues. "I was born just outside Prague." That would explain the odd foreign consonants in his name; the flawless pronunciation of his first language. And this explains the similarly unaccented English, "Grew up in New York. I've been out in Chicago for about a year and a half.

"How do you like it here?"

[Helen Moore] "It took me awhile to get used to the heat," she says with a small laugh. "If one can ever get used to the heat. Here would be as bad, except it rains all the darn time." Something that she was easily more accustomed to. It made it unbearably humid though.

There's a pause as she listens to him, leaning a touch forward to rest her elbow on the edge of the table, glass held aloft, caught in her fingertips rather then held by the stem. "I loved New York. I haven't spent a lot of time there, but the few trips I have had, unforgettable."

"What made you come here? For me it was work." She assumes it something similar to that for him, but has no qualms in asking outright.

[Trance-Dance] Strangely enough, Trance is actually smiling a little now, and he is relaxing noticably. Unlikely that it was the alcohol, but something else that has changed. Something that is familiar and natural to the Metis. Leaned back, he even raises his head enough to actually look at the bottom part of their faces, and taking the time to glance around the dance floor as well, watching the crowd as it moves to the rhythm.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Work," Lukas replies, the quirk of his mouth faintly ironic. "Chicago was pretty quiet when my crew came to town. Not a lot of ours around; a lot of the other side. I guess we saw both opportunity and need.

"Your friend Taggart came to town around the same time," he adds. "Word has it he's left recently, though." To Trance, then, "What about you? What brought you to Chicago?"

[Helen Moore] Taggart was not a friend, but she swallowed that idea. He could have been, but wasn't. He was more alien then the Metis sitting next to her, which was saying something. She nods only to that, raising her glass again for another sip and allowing her elbow to slide from the table as she sits upright. Helen needs to stop drinking, she's beginning to get a throbbing headache at her temples.

It isn't until he's already asked Trance the same questions that she speaks up, a little late on the subject but never mind that. "He's left... left, or... ?" Died. She wasn't sure whether she should be relieved or sad.

[Trance-Dance] Trance blinks, pulled from the safety of being the third wheel in the conversation. He looks to Lukas, seeming almost thoughtful for a moment.
“Ah… I was born here.”

A slight look of concentration as the Metis schools himself to work past his natural guttural mix of a dialect. Then Helen interrupts, and the Metis easily falls back to silence, a glance to Helen (grateful?) and then to his glass which he busies himself by filling again.

[Adamidas] There are things that makeup can do that make life work.

There are things that she knows how to do, with quiet and meticulous work. With an attention to detail that isn't actually there. With an application of glitter and glam and what-have-you. She knows what she is doing. She knows what she should do, because she's watched tutorials cover-to-cover and seen people do this time and time again, and at her core, Alethea Adamidas likes wearing makeup when the mood suits. It's not natural, not at all.

But, this is like pretending. She likes that. Wearins a skirt that is comfortable. Wears... well, Hell, who really cared what she was wearing. Because, at that moment, she was blending into a crowd when she got in. She wasn't any different from any other clubgoer.

Except, of course, because of the rage. That kind of caused problems. Enough to make grabbing her ass look like a bad idea, but not enough that being around her, right now, with a complete lack of moon in the sky was intolerable.

She came here to dance, because maybe the rhythm and the sounds and beats might remind her of something more primal, put her in the right frame of mind for thought.

Summer is brought into this world by a great hunt. Adam wouldn't fuck this one up.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where the Fury enters the scene: through the front door, courtesy of a fake ID and damn good makeup.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That Trance was born in this city raises the Ahroun's eyebrows a touch, though he's soon diverted by the kinswoman's unspoken inquiry. His regard is long and curious, his eyes piercing in both hue and quality

"Left," he affirms. "I would've told you if he'd died. You didn't know, then?"

[Helen Moore] Before Lukas was looking for some signs in the Kinfolk, which isn't all that hard to read sometimes, but at that point she had been. She's polite enough to try and keep such things not written all over her face, but as he tells her that he meant left and not deceased, there's a little ease in bared shoulders and a small nod with an equally small smile.

"I wish him all the best," her glass had been raised in a small salute and she drank to the departure of the true-born representative of her Tribe.

The empty glass was set on the table, and she pushes her chair a little back, hand steadying herself on the flat surface that shares their glasses. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to find a bathroom." With a quick grin, she eased out of the chair and smoothed her dress over her legs before taking her tall, five foot ten self away from the table to... look around a little lost, searching for signs of the bathroom. They can tell when she does spot it, her stride becoming more focused and purposeful.

That she nearly bumps a few people on the way through is indication of her judgment impairments, courtesy of a long night with alcoholic beverages.

[Trance-Dance] Trance looks up as Helen stands, and his gaze follows her as she walks. A slight crease of his brows and then a glance to the half full champagne bottle on the table. Alcohol does not really affect the metis, and he can easily drink down bottles by himself without becoming noticeably affected, unlike the kin. Only after that does he look to Lukas chin again.

“Yes. However, my mother brought me away to her camp before my ability to change manifested. I was raised travelling with her pack. I came back to Chicago a little over two years ago.”

A slight shrug of his shoulders.
“I went to the Cyber-realm for a quest, and time… became strange, so I just recently returned to the city…. I am sorry.”
He looks back after the kin and then to Lukas.
“I think I should see her home. She seems a little unsteady.”

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Hey."

It's quiet, but there's a touch of stress there, enough to draw and hold attention. The Ahrouns are the leaders on the battlefield, where a good loud voice counts for more than any amount of rhetoric or oratory skill. This one, though, has the presence to command without bellowing.

He waits for Trance to look at him, or come as close as he's likely to. Then:

"Stop apologizing. I'm not one to hold a hidden grudge. If you've done something to offend me, you'll know. Until then, don't grovel to me. You may be sinborn, but you're no cub, and you're no criminal. You earned your rank and name just as well as anyone else."

A beat, and then the Fostern goes out of Wyrmbreaker; leaves him relaxed and lazy again, off duty, chill. He nods, "Yeah. Have a good night, Trance, and wish your friend the same for me."

[Helen Moore] [dont wait for me to post.]

[Trance-Dance] ”Ah...”
Trance falls quiet, watching the other closely. Curious, and nervously.
“Things have changed quite a bit since I left. I do not mean to offend Si… Lukas.”

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a drink from it, near enough emptying the glass.
“But I just want to make sure that Helen is not punished for what she would not understand. But thank you. I… I wish you a good night as well.”

And with that, the young metis stands up. Reaching up, he tugs the cap down a little on his forehead with one of those uncomfortable looks without ever raising his gaze above Lukas chin. Unless Lukas stops him, he turns for the bar to settle accounts there.

[Adamidas] There is dancing, or there was dancing for a moment. She watches people leave, head out, go do whatever it is that they need to do, which... keeps her butterfly attention ever-so-briefly.

She follows it to its source. She follows it to wherever she needs to go, wherever reason and impulse takes her which is, of course, off to a corner. By a table. With the cool kids who don't dance. Aren't dancing.

This simply will not do.

So, there she goes. Taller than usual. Older than she is, with her hair too straight and her eyelashes thicker than usual. Mascara does these things.

A little time passes.

"You waiting on anyone?" what a wonderful herald of her arrival! No hi Lukas, just curiosity.

[Helen Moore] The bathroom break is longer then normal, mostly because clubs women's cues are ridiculous, but when she comes back she's a little more refreshed, even if she's feeling worse then when she left. She makes her way back towards the table, and when she's close enough spies that there's a woman instead of Trance with Lukas, and Trance is somewhere...

... her gaze drifts across the club, wondering if the Garou had bailed on her at the first opportunity. She really hoped not but wouldn't be surprised.

It's back towards the table she approached, where she had left her purse anyway, giving a smile to the new arrival and a questioning glance to Lukas, a stranger who she has no problems speaking with. He'd been perfectly pleasant to talk to over the course of the night, despite how others had reacted to him.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I will not punish your friend," is Lukas's only reply, which carries the weight of a promise.

Trance leaves. Lukas bides by himself for a while, sprawled on the low couch. His glass is empty; he toys with it idly, pawing it this way and that as his eyes follow the humans on the dance floor. A year or so ago, he did this more often. A year or so ago, there were ulterior motives, purposes; he wasn't so very unlike the single men he can spot even now lurking around the edges of the dance floor, eyes on the girls.

Things change. People grow, or perhaps simply change as well.

He looks up, then. In this light, his eyes refract and reflect the light; seem colorlessly pale one second, shadowed the next. He studies Adamidas for a moment, and then -- quite suddenly, and disarmingly -- he smiles.

"No. I'm just passing the time."

Then Helen's back. And Lukas looks mildly surprised, but is polite enough not to ask questions: What are you doing back? I thought you left! He straightens a little, though, sitting up, setting his empty glass back onto the table.

"This is Helen," he says. "Helen, this is Adamidas. A colleague."

[Helen Moore] "Hello Adamidas." There's a slight tilt of her head and an accompanying frown as she tries to remember where she's seen this woman before. Then it all swims back to her, almost makes her want to vomit up the alcohol burning through her stomach. She's a little paler in that moment, but pushes past it with a false, small smile rooted in place. "We've met. Unfortunate circumstances. But you were really kind to me that night. I never thanked you."

"So, thank you." It feels awfully inadequate, even if there wasn't much more she could say about it.

Helens fingers grope her small purse and take it from the table where it had been left, her gaze sliding between the two of them. She doesn't go on yet, with asking where Trance was, but she's thinking about it. She had only gone to the bathroom, and now, the Glass Walker was gone.

[Trance-Dance] And then Trance returns. He had paid the bill and tried to intercept the kinwoman by the bathroom with no luck, and wandering back, he finds her at the table. It seems the Shadow Lord had attracted another woman, which is not surprising at all to the young metis. For some reason, despite, or perhaps because of their rage, humans was drawn to the danger in places like this, when their minds and fears were dulled by alcohol and drugs to a point where danger equaled excitement.

He stops, in view but away from the table, head kept low, just enough to keep an eye on the table, and the legs of those present at it, unsure of what to do.

[Adamidas] "Hey Helen," she says. She remembers her, and she does smile. Remembers to be a gracious host, remembers that hospitality is important, "and no problem."

She seems to mean it, too. Either she was an ingenuine creature, or she really did mean no problem. Nice enough creature, this one. Lukas introduces her as his colleague, as Adamidas instead of Alethea, which conjures a smallish smile.

He's just passing time.

"Well," she says, "when you get tired of passing the time here, you should come dance with me."

She tries to make it sound like a good idea. And she does. His eyes go from light to shadowed to light, depending on the light. Adam's eyes are justdark. From dark, to black, to dark, to black. They aren't black. they aren't brown, either. Who really cares what the color is in this light, though.

"You both should, actually, because the music here's pretty solid."
Revel, the undercurrent says. Revel her eyes say.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas laughs. It's quiet, but it's genuine. It's also probably the first time either of the others have heard him laugh.

"Maybe," he says. "Let me toss another drink or two down before I make up my mind." He stands, picking up his empty glass. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's off to the bar with its vast glass surfaces and bottom-up lighting. There are a lot of humans there, a lot of shouted drink orders, a lot of laughing and bottle-juggling, flashy tricks with the glasses. Most of that dies down a bit when Lukas shoulders his way through. Even from across the room he's easily visible, tall as he is. When he leans over the bar to shout his order, his shirt pulls tight across his wide shoulders, and the delineated, tapering sweep of the broad musculature of the back is a shadow under the fabric.

He's back a few moments later. His new drink is the same as the old: electric blue. He thumps back down and looks expectantly at Adamidas, waiting for her answer as though he'd never left at all.

[Helen Moore] Another smile is given to Adamidas, and when Lukas runs off to get another drink, she spots Trance lurking nearby. Her smile returns, relieved and glad that he's still around. To Adamidas, she calls quietly, "I'm going to head out of here. It was nice to see you again."

Then she was heading off to meet up with Trance. "I think I'm going to head on home, I've drank far too much." Even for a Fianna. That throbbing headache was now pounding and she was feeling physically sick. "Did you want to stay here, or are you going to see me out?" She adds the last with a small smile.

[Trance-Dance] ”Ah was just about to ask if ya wanted to go Helen.”

He leans in to talk to the woman so that his voice is heard by her over the din of the music. He gives her a small smile and offers his arm to her, nodding towards the front doors. He walks out with her, into the chill night air. Late, but not yet morning, it seemed to the young Metis he had spent hours under the others gaze. The open sky is a liberation to him.

[Helen Moore] With her hand curled around Trance's arm, which, at this point, is a welcomed grip to steady her, she heads out of the club and into the early hours of the morning outside. She's got plenty of questions about the handsome Garou she's left behind, but she's probably not going to remember most of them in the morning, and she's too preoccupied with getting from point A to point B to be asking them right then.

The Kinfolk leaves with the Metis.

[Helen Moore] [thanks for the play, been fun!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [night guys!]

[Adamidas] (night 'yall! Thanks for playing!)

[Adamidas] "You too, keep safe, okay?" she offers to Helen. Who moves off on her way, who catches a look from the Fury. She watches, and though her attention span is short, it is direct. Enough that she keeps her eyes on Helen. She watches, with patience as she heads off. Helen is headed off.

Lukas is asking what she's doing here.

He's getting drink, singular, and she waits. He comes back, and she responds like he never left in the first place, "I figured I was going to be in Chicago for the rest of the foreseeable future, and I figured hey, I never come to this part of town, this is a problem. Then i realized I've never done this whole clubbing thing before. The last kind of club I went to was with Irene."

We can guess how well that went.

"There's nowhere dry out here that plays good dance music. And dancing with people is different from dancing with yourself or with the wind. Different ritual, different spirits, different reaction. I needed a heavier bass, and so I saw a guy handing out fliers for this place."

A beat.

"To make a long story short, I'm here because the music is good and the door man has bad eyes."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's goodbyes are a little more subdued -- a glance to the not-couple, a nod, polite but quiet. Then they're departing and he's upending his glass, pausing to laugh around the rim as Adamidas says she's gone clubbing with Irene.

Yes. We can guess how well that went.

All the fluorescent blue liquid goes down the hatch in a single smooth toss. A son of Slavs after all, Lukas Wyrmbreaker. He sets the again-emptied glass aside, leans back, slings his arms up along the low back of the couch. It's designed for lounging: long, wide seat, low back. Like this, he can feel the bass rumble across him and through him, as primal a drumbeat as any.

"I'm glad to hear you're sticking around," he says. "Your sisters too?"

[Adamidas] "Irene is dealing with some things up north," she says as she gestures up and to the side, "but Alek and I are staying here. Won't be long before we're all back here, though."

He may remember the conviction she had spoken with, once when it came to her sisters. It's a sort of unwavering faith that may seem a little disconcerting to others. Her sisters will be back. Things will be this way, and Alethea Adamidas' faith was usually well-rewarded.

All that blue liquid disappears, and after awhile, she has to ask, "what was that?"

As though she was convinced he just drank something radioactive.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That sort of faith may seem disconcerting to some, but perhaps not to Lukas. He's not quite the same. When his brothers and sisters disappear into the Umbra, or on quests, he knows chances are they'll die out there. Chances are he'll never see them again. But that's pragmatism. Faith, conviction, devotion: that's something completely different, and something Lukas is not in short supply of.

Pack means a lot to him. Ties of blood and spirit matter. It pains him right now that Caleb isn't in Chicago or even on this earth; that Sinclair is somewhere in Kansas. It pains him that two of his packmates are buried in the graves, and several others scattered to the four corners of the world.

It pains him that his mate is a thousand miles away in that city of towers and glass, so close to her fucking brother.

These are thoughts beneath the surface, though, no more than shadows in the blue. He looks at his empty glass when Adamidas asks after it, and the corners of his mouth turn up.

"That," he says, "was something you're not old enough to drink." Theurges aren't the only ones allowed to sound mysterious. After a moment he relents, though, adding, "It's called an 'adios motherfucker'. As in, you drink one and it's lights out."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [...since mindy's comp went kaput and i'm heading to bed, here's a fadeout!]

He sits up, then, holding his hand out to her in some vaguely ironic mockery of chivalry.

"Come on. You ready to hit the floor?"

[Adamidas] That, was something you're not old enough to drink.
"Oh ho-" is her reply, despite the fact that she does not, in fact, drink. Or smoke. Or do much of anything in that regard. Most people equate it to the fact that Adam might very well be a stick in the mud, but that's irrelevant, "but since it's something I can't have, that makes me want it. Have you forgotten the whole allure of the forbidden thing?"

He relents.
It's called an 'adios motherfucker'. As in, you drink one and it's lights out.
"Lukas," she says quite seriously, "it was blue. I don't think you should be drinking something that's that blue."

Drink aside. Blue aside, she takes his hand, and grins from ear to ear. She doesn't say anything to him, she just heads for the dance floor. her thoughts of summer, of a Great Hunt, is set aside. She's here for the bass.