DON'T TRUST ME-- [dancethread]

[i n k]

BLACK DRESS WITH THE TIGHTS UNDERNEATH;

z a n d e r

i have the taste of a last cigarette on my teeth; and she's an actress.

THE LIGHTS FLICKERED in the moving bodies; teens ground and wound their troubles away across the cement of the shelter, heels clicking to the high-paced pop music above the sound of mulled voices. The base of the grafitti-lyricked tunes pounded through the pulses of the kids. They were trapped between eachother, swaying, sinking, drowning between eachother and the rhythm. The chaperones struggled to make out innapropriate behavior in the dull light as they wrinkled their noses at the sounds bursting from the speakers.

In a corner, slumped in one of the 'wallflower' chairs, sat Zander; his horns shimmered against the shafts of brightness that dodged between the dancers and he scratched his scalp. The two pointed shell-like growths protruding from his skull were growing with his maturity and the skin at their bases was cracking and expanding to release the thickening spirals; it wasn't painful anymore, just annoying. He tried to remember why he'd come to the dance, staring at all the people, and blinked. He didn't know, and he couldn't bring himself to leave. And, he noted, despite the entire 'sitting alone' thing, he didn't look like a complete dork. He'd dressed perfectly- thanks to Clari- and blended in with the average croud.

If you ignored the whole "red hair, horns, twiddling thumbs" part.

Leaning back in his chair and stretching, Zander caught the eye of someone walking towards him and smiled slightly. "Hey! Didn't expect to see you here..."

[Zip]

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time

Neither did the tall, awkward young man dressed in a black suit that was just two inches too short for his body. These types of social events didn't call for people like him, people that had ideas, people that were critical, born to be skeptics and laughed, desentisizing everything from race to comic books. Not that he was completely serious--it's the fact that other people were.
Neil scratched his head, eyes slightly rolling to the ceiling.
"Ah, yeah, I didn't expect to see me here either."
He shifted, pants slightly hitching on his twiggy shins, revealing extremely hairy skin and tattered, unmatching tennis shoes.
Being crammed in this small of a space, with the hot breathing and new slapped on deoderant, was driving him slightly nuts. Especially since he was trying to pick out one scent in particular. That forest smelling girl, Damasin, the really cheerful one. He knew she'd be here, at least at some point, maybe even on time. She seemed like the type to be punctual, and made it a point to be energetic and polite.
As always, he carried a book at his side (he was still on The Stand, reading slow but steady and absorbing every detail that Stephen King had to offer).
Unfortunately, he had to rely on just his nose, since this night he decided against wearing his blue-taped glasses.
"...so, you're here..."
He chuckled, the sound wiggling above the heads of the dancers.
"...any reason why?"

[i n k]

.SHE WANTS TO TOUCH ME, WO-OH;;

she wants to love me, wo-oh, she'll never leave me wo-oh, wo-oh, oh, oh.

z a n d e r

Zander motioned for Neil to sit down and smiled; he still didn't know much about the kid, but figured there was no time like the present to learn. "I'm not really here for much of anything; I just had a... a feeling. I guess, like, someone really wanted me to be here. So," he spread his arms and flashed the biggest of his grins, "Here I am."

A girl crashed into the wall near them as she was flung like a drunken ragdoll from the moshpit; her entire dress was soaked in what Zander's nose picked up as Vodka and he frowned. She giggled, slid into a chair, and then laughed full out as a friend- a man friend- pulled her back into the mass.

"Sick." Zander mumbled, furrowing his brow. He caught himself and smiled back at Neil. "What about you? What are you up to?"

[Zip]

THAT'S RIGHT, A GAY!

Neil sniffed. Mmmmmm, alcohol.
"God, do you have any cigarettes?" he asked, ignoring Zander's question.

Abruptly, his head whizzed to to crowd, nostrils flaring, his bulbous nose sticking out almost comically from his narrow face.
He laughed again.
From the crowd, a small, rectangular figure that looked uncomfortable with touching anyone emerged from the crowd. And it was....
...June Vedder, holding black high heel shoes like they were posessed rather than they were inatimate objects.

Neil sat a chair away from Zander, sticking his nose into The Stand--no time better than the present to ignore it!

June flung the heels under the chairs and sat down, sweat dripping. She was out of breath, and smiled to Zander almost drowsily.
"Hey...I know you!" She said, leaning back comfortably.
"What's been up?"

[i n k]

.But they'll eat black clouds;;

we'll all eat black clouds.

z a n d e r

"Sorry, I don't. We're not much on smoking in my house," Zander explained, thinking. It kills you, too. He turned to see June and waved, recognizing her.

"Jane, right?" He asked when she'd sat down. Ouch, boy. "Nothin, really. Just surviving school and trying not to get sucked into the vortex of bodies." He motioned to the crowd. "And I'm talking to-" He turned to Neil, saw he'd become preoccupied, and turned awkwardly back to June. "Nevermind." He smiled, forcing.

"What about you? You look tired." His eyes danced.

[Zip]

"Ah...I'm just here on a bribe from my father." She explained, tilting her head back.
"Juuuuuuuupitoooooooor!"
"Whuh?"
"Get out of your room! You have a dance going on, don't you?"
"I dun't. They do. No money. Sleep."
"You have all night to sleep! C'mon! Get out of there! I'll pay for you!"
"Nuh."
Her father opened the door, flipping some bills in his hand. Slapping them down on her bedside table, she groggily looked up, still in her jeans and tank top from the school day.
"C'mon. You got fifteen minutes."
Eyeing the table, she saw it was more than what she needed. Her hand flipped out from under her, pulling up the corners to count how much was there.
Ten. A decent amount. For the dance, and maybe a container of Ice Breakers to keep in her car.
He closed the door.
"Daaaaaaaad!"
She groaned.
"....they won't have good music..."
Lazily, she rolled out, elbow hitting the floor and numbing her humerous bone. She groaned again. There was only one dress in the closet. That black one, rather strappy and loose, and covered up the lack of figure she had. In addition to the black, she patched pieces of red plaid designs on it several years before as a halloween costume.
"Ten minutes, Jupitor!"
"OKAY, I'M GOING!" she yelled to him. He thought to her,
"Maybe you'll get a date..."

TO THE PRESENT:
Breathing in, her arms folded roughly, as though the air was electrifying and bothering her.
Her eyes darted to him, and she smiled a little.
"Why do you got such a look in your eyes, Zander?"

[i n k]

.haven't you people ever heard of;

shutting the goddamn door, no.

z a n d e r

"Just... You know. I'm happy to see you." It was true; his mind had started soaring as she stumbled out of the crowd. Zander didn't know what it was, or why it was, but he hadn't been this happy to see anyone since... Well, ever.


"But you didn't answer me- are you tired? You look great, by the way." He found himself rambling. "I mean, you usually look good, but I like your dress.. and... um... the lights are nice. Y-yeah."

Eh heheh.

Zander's hand tousled his hair nervously, causing a few fire-engine-red strands to tangle around his horns. What to say, what to do?

[Zip]

They can see within your soul

"Tired?"
Definition: Being woken up from a well-deserved slumber. Right.
"Yeah, I s'pose I am."
Watching him twirl the crimson strands to a tangle was irritating, if not a bit cute. Unavoidably, she leaned to him, pulled the strands from around his horn, tucking them behind his pointed ear. The hair didn't feel as soft as it looked, just thick and wirey.
"Sorry."
Surprisingly, he sat still as she did this, looking straight forward and bending his mind to focus on other things in the room. The quivers in his stomach were contagious; as were the buzzed thoughts whizzing through his excitable mind. As her hand pulled back, she was surprised to see her hand shaking. The unconcious part of her mind was nervous, for whatever reason. Covering her anxiety, she ran her fingers quickly through her hair, trying to spike it.
Even then, it was difficult to keep cool, since Zander's mind was a work of yellow spurts, distractions, constantly in a more eager-to-please state. His persistance to be surprised at everything influenced her mind to be the same way. Bright lights cheered him, the atmosphere-although suffocating-energetic and thudding.
Back and forth, like a game of Ping-Pong between champions, his mind flew, to her, to room, to her, to room, to lights, to room, to her, and everything else.
All of it made her dizzy. June's thought normally was patient, but a bit menacing. In contrast, his was a rapid session of machine gun bullets, appreciative, optimistic, similar to the speed and panic of a mouse. It was like listening to a new band--trying to absorb every note, every pitch and strand, every word and interpretation--impossible, but nonetheless she tried to do it anyway.
Hints of facial hair rubbed along his jaw, once soft and boyish.
"Tell me Zander," she said, smiling, "what goes through your mind when you go inferno? When your mind's ablaze and all you can think is fire?"
As odd as the question was, coming from her, she honestly wanted to know, from his own lips.


The black witch feeds sedative,
Sweet dreams...