Imma Feelin' Hella Good {OPEN}

[bells]

The lights reflected on Bells pale face as she stepped into the club, her footsteps involuntarily matching the beat as they echoed in her ears. The music surrounding as she entered the club was loud, but not deafening, not so loud that she could not hear some of the conversations going on around her as she walked past, heading for the bar at the far end of the room.

Bells' eyes of bright blue scanned the room as she walked, looking for anyone she knew. No one really stuck out to her, but she shrugged it off. It was normal, she had few friends, but those she had were close to her. The night was young, perhaps a familiar face might show up later. The club was fairly dark, with only the flashing neon lights here and there to light it, and it was packed tonight.

Bells turned her gaze back to the bar as she approached. Tonight she had gone comfortable, wearing a pair of tight jeans that hugged low on her hips with a low v-necked shirt that showed off just a hint of cleavage, enough to tease. Bells finally reached the bar after climbing over the bodies that swayed with the beat of the music. She only had to stand there for a moment before the bartender noticed her, oh the perks of having good connections.

The man appraised her, as he usually did, before speaking, "Would it be the usual, ma'am?"

Bells smiled kindly, oh he knew her, and nodded before turning and leaning slightly against the bar, not bothering to sit in the stools lined up for the attendee's pleasure. She knew she wouldn't be standing still for long. What fun would that be?

[feathers4]

There was no age at which Balam had suddenly and incurably lost the love of dancing, as some did. He had never really adopted the insufferable pride that many of his fellow elders had-- well, that wasn't really true. He'd been proud and ruthless and violent once, but that was a time long past. For now, he was a gypsy in a nightclub. A happy gypsy.

Modern music was really great, too. For a very, very old man like himself, he had cultivated an excellent taste for hip-hop and techno and all that 'darned electronic noise nonsense' that jarred the nerves of others. Yes, it was clear he liked new music very much; he'd been dancing for awhile already, and a few drops of sweat were beginning to bead on his brow. Something about the steady, compelling bass lines and the soaring, repetitive melodies was irresistible, and besides...the club was full of lovely young women.

Balam Xbalanque, with his exotic features and long, lithe shape had always had the benefit of being popular with women. Big brown bedroom eyes and the grace that came from moving in a jaguar's body for thousands of years were some of his more physical methods of magnetism, but he had a friendly, easy disposition that drew ladies in as well. For all his ties to nature and affinity for odd cultural artifacts, Balam was something of a shameless flirt and, well, womanizer.

Perhaps womanizer was the wrong word, though. He wasn't out to mislead anyone or use people-- he just liked wooing women, taking them home, and then going on his merry way. He was, in effect, always looking for a good time, but not any sort of attachment. The ancient shapeshifter was married to his wanderlust, after all.

And now, wandering again, this time away from the hot mass of pulsating bodies, Balam stepped up toward the bar. He needed to cool off for a second-- and a drink was always welcome. Dark eyes surveyed the variegated bottles that were lined up at the back of the bar on a typically mirrored shelf and, once his eyes alighted on something that looked good, he waved a hand to the bartender. "A rusty nail, please." He slid into a barstool, one leg propped up on the crossbar in his seat and the other stretched out on the floor. Balam's arms lolled on the bartop, awkward and sprawling in their absolute lankiness. He was a cool customer, absolutely comfortable in both his surroundings and his own skins.

Tonight, though, he'd dressed himself in the usual oddly attractive mish-mash of clothes. What looked like a half-unbuttoned tuxedo shirt revealed the many tattoos on his person, all done in straight, faded black ink. His neck was ringed around with a pretty assortment of beaded necklaces and odd pendants and woven things from every corner of the world, as were his wrists. His jeans, into which the shirt was half-tucked, were faded and torn and splattered here and there with oil or paint or god-knows-what. His feet had been covered with cowboy boots, of all things, possibly a strange choice for a nightclub. Still, being dashingly handsome gave him the ability to pull this whole thing off, which he did quite well.

Just after his drink was ordered and he'd settled himself in his seat, he'd throw the odd glance around him. Well, wonders never ceased. To his right, an angel leaned on the bar, looking...well, delectable, in Balam's old eyes. He smiled, an action which reached his eyes and made them little half-moons in his sunny face. Always curious, he was truly wondering what an angel was doing in a nightclub. "Was the church too quiet this evening?" It was a teasing little jab to get her smiling, not really intended to insult her at all. The disarming smile on his tanned face would attest to his lightheartedness.

[bells]

"Was the church too quiet this evening?"

She smiled, inclining her head slightly in order to face him, a smirk placing itself on her lips. Bells reached back for her drink as it arrived, a tequila sunrise, great for loosening up. She held it for a moment, swirling its contents as she looked into her glass before meeting his gaze again and cocking her head to the side a bit. "I must say, with the things everyone says about us you would think we were the most terribly dull people you could ever meet."

Bells smirked and chuckled softly to herself before taking a long sip from her glass. The man seemed to be an interesting fellow, he said that if no other way, by the way he dressed. The cowboy boots thrown in there seemed to make her want to raise an eyebrow. Conflicting much? She gathered his carefree disposition by his emotions as well. It was a nice change from what she was usually immersed in.

Her thoughts came away from him and back to her own comment. Many of those like her were terribly dull people, the reason she saw few to none in this such environment, the reason she tended to sway from such company. Bells took another sip from her drink.

The music here was so monogamous that one could barely tell when one song ended and another began, save the subtle change in tempo. Monogamous was not always a bad thing she supposed. Oh how she loved the atmosphere though. Bells didn't quite understand it, but being around people who had no care in the world, even if for only the moment, gave her a very uplifting feeling. She smiled to herself as she looked back over at the stranger.

"Anything bring you here other than the most obvious answer?" she said teasingly, knowing that was exactly what he had previously asked her, but received no answer. Skipping around a question was one of her specialties and necessary to use especially in the fact that she didn't really know herself why she was here tonight, if not looking for trouble she didn't need.

[feathers4]

"I must say, with the things everyone says about us you would think we were the most terribly dull people you could ever meet."

Balam responded to her smirking chuckle with his own little laugh. "Oh! Nah, just the easiest to spot. Vampires, sadly, tend to be much more dull...poor things." A toothy grin blossomed on his mouth, a strangely friendly face for a pirate. Angels he generally found rather interesting. Usually, unless they were one of the stuffy higherups...but most angels had some wonderfully heartwrenching backstory or other to explain how they'd gotten their wings.

And, of course, they were all total knockouts, absolute stunners. He had once known, while in antique Greece, a young werewolf sculptor who went to great lengths to model all of his works on angels. They had been some very, very fine works, too. This angel before him was no exception to the rule of her species. Balam took a moment to fully appraise the face that peered down at him amongst the flashing lights, his staring perhaps a bit rude but otherwise not really lecherous, just...appreciative of the soft lines of a pretty face.

She was dressed well, he thought; simply, sure, but minimalism had been 'in' for years now, and it looked quite pretty anyway. Quite the contrast to himself, hung with artifacts and fetishes and smattered with paint. Well, that was his way, though. He'd been dressing himself with a fair amount of disregard for his appearance for a long time, and in the last 30 or 40 years, that sort of thing had become miraculously popular. Consequently, Balam blended in a bit more now that he had a century ago.

A hand ran through his hair as he waited on his drink, eager to dislodge any rogue sweat that was conspiring to make his fuzzy brown mop of hair mat down in some awful style. It was one of many little tics the shifter had either kept or developed over time. He was always messing with his hair when he wasn't rubbing his thumb and forefinger together absentmindedly. Or, of course, turning his head at sudden noises like a raven might, or sniffing things a lot more than your average human might. There were subtle clues to hint at what Balam's true nature were, but it would take a canny observer or another shifter to really recognize them.

The angel was still smiling when she spoke to Balam again, which he took as an excellent sign. "Aheh, no, 'very obvious' is definitely me." He noticed after he answered that she had very gracefully managed to dodge his question. The shifter was mildly impressed, but just then he heard the clunk of a glass being set on the wooden bartop before him, and looked down to find the drink he'd ordered, made very well. Hello, old friend! Drambuie and whiskey...the very Scottish mashup was like a blast from the past. Handsome Mr. Xbalanque took the drink comfortably in hand and turned somewhat in his seat to continue the conversation. He took a little appreciative sip, but not an overindulgent one, and carried on his lighthearted chatter. "My name is Balam, and you are...?"

[bells]

"Oh! Nah, just the easiest to spot. Vampires, sadly, tend to be much more dull...poor things."

Bells smirked at his words, big enough that it reached her eyes. Calling vampires dull was quite a stretch; all the vamps she had ever met seemed to be an ironically lively bunch. She never liked vampires, though, they generally creeped her out, and the whole affinity and dealing with slaves and less than reputable actions tended to turn her away. It was expected, being a white angel and all, but it truly ran deeper than that. Even many white angels had dealings with such types and it was unwise for people to judge an entire race based on stereotypes. Her distaste, no pun intended, for vampires was personal.

Though she had looked away, sinking into her thoughts for a moment, a bad habit of hers, she did not fail to notice the staring he was doing. A light blush colored her cheeks for a split second, something he probably wouldn't notice or think it to be the alcohol. That lasted only a moment though before her low self esteem shot her down. He probably wasn't even looking at her; Oh how stupid she was for considering it.

A grimace flashed across her eyes, the rest of her face maintaining a perfect mask of mellow content. Well, she thought she was good at hiding her emotions at least. Bells glanced over at him as he answered her question, taking another sip of her drink, dulling her senses little by little with every sip she took. How it was nice to let the control slip at least for a little while. She grinned at his answer; an expected answer it was. The reason for most of those here was, indeed, obvious and she was included in that 'most.'

"My name is Balam, and you are...?"

"Bells, an odd name I know," she said as she extended her hand politely. Through the ages one of the many traditions she had kept was a respect for the traditional handshake. There was no more honorable way to meet someone than a handshake; it showed respect and made a connection, let alone the things you could tell about someone by the way they gave a handshake alone.

As she did this, observing his face and the rest of him, she finally got around to wondering exactly what he was. Definitely not human, but the fact he had recognized her for what she was, and certainly not a vampire by the way he seemed. Bells eyes him subtly, wondering in silence, far too polite to come out and ask such a thing.

[feathers4]

She seemed to like his little snap about vampires being dull-- that was good to know. He thought it was rather true, after all. They were predictable creatures, vampires, with a few notable exceptions. White angels, though-- those were really fascinating. When you were used to studying ancient beliefs from around the world, it was very exciting to be able to speak with the sort of people who helped shape those beliefs, and links to divinity themselves. It was kindof an obsession for Balam.

His eyes watched as her cheeks took a rosey hue, though whether from the alcohol, the heat or an actual smidge of fluster he wasn't really sure. Damnable, that he'd never developed any empathic talent. He supposed he was quite the opposite from an empath; his emotions were usually pretty easy to read, if not from his face then from the weather patterns that followed him. Thankfully, Balam tended to be a mellow, sunny man, and spring days full of sunshine tended to follow him wherever he went. Then, however, his winged friend's face made some odd movement, one he couldn't follow or recognize, and the blush faded. As usual, Balam was anxious to know what sort of thoughts ran through her head.

She sipped her drink and he sipped his, both fairly potent tinctures. He thought it was actually really funny, finding an angel in a bar at a nightclub nursing a cup of tequila and some nectar or other, and the amusement showed in his face. "Bells, huh? Well, as long as both of our names are weird, it shouldn't be a problem." He easily took her hand, curious at what sort of lady proffered her hand for a handshake first. A good one, he thought blithely. Assertive and beautiful women had always been a combination to make him weak in the knees. He wore an easy smile as he shook the lady's hand, his grasp comfortable and warm, but energetic and wild as well.

The expression on the angel's face as she peered curiously at him finally gave one clue to Balam towards what she was thinking. He had, of course, picked her out for what she was, so he wasn't human, but he tended to mystify people somewhat. Shapeshifters were not a terribly common race next to angels or lycans or vampires, probably just a smidge more populous than the fae and the werewolves. Should he tell her? It seemed a bit weird, to just come out with, 'oh, and since I figured you were wondering, I'm a shapeshifter,' but he felt just a little bad at leaving her wondering, especially since he knew what she was. Oh, well, it would come out in time. Meanwhile, he was wondering what it would take to get an angel to dance with him. "So, miss Bells, you didn't come here alone, did you? A place like this isn't necessarily safe for pretty winged girls like you." Balam teased, his laughing eyes obviously recognizing that he was using a corny pickup line as a joke...and yet, he was sort of wondering whether some big jealous lover was going to appear in a moment or two and punch him in the face for hitting on the angel. A wry smile curled his lips, as though the two nonhumans were the co-conspirators of some private joke.

[bells]

"Bells, huh? Well, as long as both of our names are weird, it shouldn't be a problem."

Bells grinned, finding the name 'Balam' much less odd than her own. Though a traditional name straight out of the textbooks, Balam was still a name. Bells had the unlucky plight of being named after an inanimate object. And in fact, this inanimate object was not just random, but the object was selected on the precognition that it would go together ironically with her last name. What a sense of humor she should have.

The woman returned his gaze as she grasped his hand, gently and softly, but not loosely; It was a handshake that reflected her own personality. Kind, soft, gentle, daring, but no bullshit. Bells released his hand, feeling the cold after the warmth of his grasp left. She recognized with slight surprise of how aware she was of him in that small moment, looking at her hand for a moment in thought before grasping her glass with it.

The angel brought the glass to her lips once again and took a long slip, allowing the alcohol to wash over her senses, so potent that she swore she could feel it, if she ever did swear. Though she enjoyed the relaxed warmth being intoxicated brought her, she would only have one glass. Bells would only drink just enough to dull, never impair her senses. She knew well the meaning of self control and the consequences of its absence.

"So, miss Bells, you didn't come here alone, did you? A place like this isn't necessarily safe for pretty winged girls like you."

Bells smirked, setting her glass on the bar-counter top; leaning towards him unconsciously as she spoke, catching his corny yet ironic pick-up line. "Nowhere is safe; and this is probably the last place anyone who wants to find me would look," she said quietly, winking at him playfully as she played along with his comment. A wide smile played on her lips, showing her amusement.

"But yes, I did come here alone, however, it looks as if there's enough people here that, alone or not, I'm sure there's someone here I can have fun with," she said, gesturing around at the crowd, turning and ending with a slight gesture including him as well. Bells raised an eyebrow at him, a direct sign of her interest, overcoming her own insecurities for the sake of a good time; a difficult thing for someone like her.

[feathers4]

Handshakes were strange things, a formality generally overlooked outside of business relationships anymore, a relic from older times. There was a time when it would've been unbecoming for a lady to give a handshake, but he was much happier now that they could. Some went to it with gusto, giving a somewhat colicky, overzealous handshake. Some treated it more as the other person grasping their unmoving hand. Some, like her, did a decent medium, soft in the grip but with a definite grasp. Balam gave a smile at that, which was more a widening on the half-smile that seemed to sit on his lips at all times. His disposition, it could certainly be said, was sunny like a warm day on the beach.

Deceptive, how personal such things as handshakes were when they were meant to be so very impersonal. How many hands had passed over hers? He knew he couldn't begin on his own hands. Balam watched the long draught the angel took of her drink and wondered what the hurry was. A brow raised at this, but he didn't question it. Many of the unhuman had a strong resistance to the effects of alcohol, so perhaps the speed at which the angel drank didn't matter. Perhaps she was thirsty, or perhaps she just wanted to skip woozy and go straight to silly. Whatever floated her boat was just fine by him, though. Balam was one to get drunk when it suited him, but it didn't really suit him tonight. For one, he didn't have the cash on hand to fund a drunken lark, and even still he didn't have anything weighing on his mind he needed to forget. On top of all that, he wouldn't be able to dance with the angel if he was wastey, so he refrained for the night and took another small sip at his 'rusty nail.'

"Nowhere is safe; and this is probably the last place anyone who wants to find me would look,"

Her wink, conspiratorial tone and that big smile were enough to illicit a toothy grin from the shifter, but he let her continue speaking like the gentlemanly pirate he was.

"But yes, I did come here alone, however, it looks as if there's enough people here that, alone or not, I'm sure there's someone here I can have fun with,"

Spice-brown eyes followed her gesture as he relaxed into the languid ease of the alcohol working it's magic on his state-of-mind, drifting into effortless happiness and a loosened tongue. He'd noticed, of course, that she'd included himself in that blanket statement, which made him cock his head to the side slightly, a wry smile on his attractive face. "What a pleasant coincidence! I'm in exactly the same position. Maybe we could help eachother out-- birds of a feather, y'know? I promise I'm usually at least slightly fun most of the time." He laughed a whit, quite happy enough to use a bit of jovial self-deprecation. After another sip of his drink, he would lean forward towards her a bit, setting the glass on a napkin on the bartop. Balam's eyes glittered with a smidge of mischief and daring, but mostly from the shifting lights that surrounded them. "Do you dance, Bells? Would you like to?"

[bells]

((My sincere apologies for the wait. Ran into some computer trouble and had to send it off to be repaired.))

"What a pleasant coincidence! I'm in exactly the same position. Maybe we could help eachother out-- birds of a feather, y'know? I promise I'm usually at least slightly fun most of the time."

She had gathered that he was probably at The Syndicate alone tonight by his demeanor, and the fact that no bubbly blond bimbo had already snagged him and was grasping onto his arm for dear life. Thus would be the case minutes from now if she decided to show no interest in him. But honestly, even she could not ignore his good looks or his very pleasing demeanor. The handsome man just screamed enjoyable with his half grin and big brown eyes.

"Do you dance, Bells? Would you like to?"

Bells smiled at him, meeting his eyes of brown with her own lazy blues, before feigning a look of mock doubt. She looked him up and down for a moment, "I dunno, slightly fun? That seems like a bit of a risk," she said, teasing him as she looked him straight in the eye once again with a playful smirk.

The angel set her drink on the bar close to his, not bothering to finish it at the moment. "Of course I dance... and I would love to." The woman wondered silently as his dancing style, worrying slightly in the back of her mind that he was a hell of a lot better than her. Oh how she would hate to make a fool of herself. Even so, she took the offer, a "Leap of faith" one might say.

Bells had no need to ease herself off the bar stool as she noticed she had never sat. She ran her fingers through her hair, an unconscious action that had become a habit decades ago, one of the few actions which might ever betray her thoughts.