Thea dances.
The white-haired (and highly tattooed!) punk's movements are explosive. Dynamic. Somewhat unpredictable, perhaps. She moves in time with the music, that persistent, heavy thrum of bass. It would almost be fair to describe her movements as closer to just.. thrashing. Except there's something about how her figure strikes a silhouette against the backdrop of smoke and neon lights that to describe her dance as such would seem to invariably skip over the *presence* Thea has as she moves.
Mavis steps into the lobby and enters the nightclub after waiting in a line to cough up her ID card at the end of it. Young and pretty-faced, Mavis Octavia Baines was used to this sort of thing. She'd only legally been allowed to drink two years ago, after all.
She finally enters the nightclub itself, drifting out onto the floor and propelled by people coming in behind her. Saturday night, the place was packed and she's alone. The dusky-skinned mortal scoots off to the side of the doors to peer out across the dance floor with wide eyes. She couldn't help but notice how dark this place was, how the lobby's windows were tinted and not a shred of sunlight could reach into the nightclub proper.
Fuck it.
Squaring her shoulders, Mavis sets off onto the dance floor, intending to cut through it to reach the bar. She'd feel better with a drink in her hand and half of that drink down her gullet. She weaves through dancers, sometimes turning and altering her trajectory. There was no use in going AGAINST the flow, but the goal was to maze her way through the mingling bodies until she reached her destination.
It's when the tide of people parts and she sees the bar that someone staggers into her from behind. She stumbles hard and might have immediately gotten to know the dance floor rather more intimately, but she collides right INTO someone with white hair and colorful tattoos.
"Ofhh--!"
The tide of people surges. And for the first time tonight, the sea of flesh threatens to encroach on Thea's personal space. She had, of course, avoided it earlier (by in fact dancing like a lunatic). Slow. Slow. Slow. The beat is dropping. Her hair's a mess. Her skin, pale (tattooed) is dotted with perspiration. Her lips tremble as she finds herself pressed up against someone and-- Nope. Sucking down air, she twists, she turns, she seeks freedom.
The tide parts. She's free.
Relief.
Thea's eyes catch every bit of light within this place, reflecting like mirrors. The strobe lights flicker, flicker, alternating between pitch blackness and unnatural, surreal blues and greens and pinks. Thea's eyes are violet. Vivid. Violent. Violet. One might mistake it for a trick of the light. But no. They're purple. And her eyes alone turn, tracking the woman stumbling towards her.
Thea moves. Moves to catch, though really, it's with some force that the tripping dusky skinned woman collides with her. "--hfff-" she exhales, purple eyes flashing with some surprise.
Her skin feels clammy. She's overly warm. She's suddenly so aware of how many people are here. Crammed in against her. And still, she asks, raising her voice over the bass, "Are you okay?" British accent.
Mavis thought she'd caught a glimpse of those eyes. She thinks she met them in that brief moment of, almost indignant, surprise when suddenly gravity is lurched away from her. Those eyes had been violet and loud. Then hands were catching her, arms were steadying her, and already Mavis feels her tawny cheekbones darkening.
Ohgeez.
Her hands were gripping the other woman back, the right laid across her shoulder and the other on her waist as she was about to lead then into a waltz.
"Y-Yeah," croaks Mavis, wanting to die, and, suddenly, the prospects that vampires might treat this place as their haunt didn't seem so bad. Maybe one could drag her off right now instead of leaving her to stare dumbly startled up into Thea's eyes. Yep, they're definitely purple. "Jesus-- I'm sorry."
Mavis, realizing she's still TOUCHING this stranger snatches her hands back as if they had been burnt.
If anyone's clammy, Mavis is. She then half-lifts the left like she's about bring it to her mouth to gnaw on a fingernail, but she catches herself and straightens it back out at her side. Mavis' face turns to peer back, grateful for a reason to pull her gaze away from the speaker of that British accent. She looks angry for just a second, pretty features portraying this with a purse of lips and pinch of brow. "Someone knocked right into me," she huffs, peering back at Thea again, unsure. "I-- Are you okay?"
Oh, for the brief moment that the two embrace it really does look like they are about to waltz.
Thea **stares** down at Mavis. Runs her fingers through her white hair. Tucks her curls behind an ear. The lighting in here makes her hair glow. Her eyes glow. Heck? Are her tattoos glowing? No, that's just the blacklight. Beads of perspiration dot Thea's forehead. Was she okay? "Oh, fine," she says, tone light as she inspects oh-so-pretty Mavis, gaze lingering on the other woman's lips.. "Bit crowded in here," Thea says, again, forcibly cheerful, voice raised to be audible above the music.
The music changes: Beat. Beat. Beat.
On impulse, she offers her name; "Thea." A hand. "You seem familiar."
Mavis' throat goes dry and tight as she stares back with a look like a stunned hare. A mortal, she must be, because only a mortal could become that earnestly swept up in the neon lights painting bright hues against Thea's white hair. She breaks eye-contact to glance at this, eyes moving to follow the flicker of shifting colors then the glow of her rainbow-hued tattoos. Just then, Thea reminded her strongly of someone else. Rude! Her gaze skirts back to Thea's just in time to catch the other woman glancing down at her lips and Mavis quickly bites the bottom, trying to hide it. She has a sliver-gap between her two incisors and, of course, pretty teeth just like the rest of her.
A hand is stuck out, offered with a name, and Mavis peers down at it dumbly. She slips her hand into it and has to raise her voice, too. "That's pretty. Nice to meet you, Thea." A gentle squeeze. "I'm Mavis." As an afterthought, she adds, "Thanks for being cool about it." She slamming into Thea, she meant. "And so do you." Her hand slips back and Mavis sweeps her hair back away from, and out of, her face."
"Do you need something to drink?" she wonders, vocal chords feeling hoarse, and while covering one ear with her palm to try to blot out bass booming with the music. This wasn't some kind of pickup line. Thea didn't look well. "Like-- water?"
Thea didn't look quite right. Didn't look quite well. Seemed almost jumpy. Her hand is clammy. It threatens a tremble, but Thea's grip is solid when Mavis accepts the handshake. It's an enthusiastic squeeze-shake which meets Mavis' squeeze. Thea's pupils dilate, gaze tracking the flashing lights. Her lips are dry. Her jaw aches. "..haaah. Being cool about it? Whatcha expect me to do, try and punch ya out for it?" Thea drawls, attempting a joke and yet. There's something on edge about the athletic punk. It wouldn't be hard to imagine her punching someone. hea's gaze shifts towards the exit. Towards the memory of open spaces. Across the room, to the bar. Aand back to Mavis. Her handshake persists longer than it probably oughta. She's stepped closer, attempting to slide her arm up and around Mavis' shoulder. Either an intensely friendly gesture, or a creepy and threatening one. Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Thea adjusts her glasses, attempting a smile. Friendly enough. "A drink?"
Thea smells overwhelmingly like gunpowder. Like something's burnt.
She seems to ponder the question for a time, before nodding. Her curls bounce. Catch the light. Glow. Eerie. "Ooh," she whisper-shouts. Again, forcibly, overtly cheerful. "Yeah, I reckon I do, lovely."
"Ha! I mean," Mavis half-shouts back, forced to raise her voice against the music while keeping that hand still cupped to her ear. "You'd be surprised at how rude people can be. Mebbe YOU wouldn't punch me out for it, but your girlfriend might."
She flashes a wide, crescent grin and that little gap between her incisors again. It lent her an impish innocence, if such a thing could exist, and Mavis' dark head turns. Her hair is glossy, black and the lights merely sleek over the locks with their colors subdued. For just a second, it's like she's looking for someone... Thea's girlfriend to come running out to take a wild swing at her. Mebbe it has happened before.
Then, an arm is sliding around her shoulders and Mavis' back unconsciously stiffens at the unexpectedly casual touch. Her face snaps back towards Thea's and tilts up, presenting her wide, startled eyes. Her pupils dilate, too, and she sucks in a quick breath then holds it while Thea speaks. She blinks, recalling the last few words they'd exchanged in an instant then shakily sighs.
"Okay, cool. Don't take this the wrong way," she warns Thea, "But you're not lookin' so hot. Like, maybe I should call you a cab home?"
Thea smiles bright under the strobe lights. The white-haired punk almost has a wolf's smile. There's something primal about it. Something which burns in her unnaturally purple eyes as her dilated-pupil gaze tracks out to where Mavis looks. "Mm," she exhales. Imagining the angry girlfriend's approach with a **shiver** of pleasure. Thea's gaze remains in the middle distance long enough to be noticable. And then her attention *finally* is successfully drawn by Mavis offering to call her a taxi.
Blink. The room is feeling cramped. The light in here uncertain. The darkness persisting between each flash making the pit of her stomach lurch. Thea is suddenly aware that she's breaking out in a cold sweat. That she's shivering. Her skin is burningly hot to the touch. She smells like a gun's just been fired.
Thea swallows. Inclines her head. Leans in. Aaand, with a force of will, her grin deepens. The strobe lights flash in alternating colours, catching the lenses in her glasses. Concealing her eyes as she leans in, aiming to whisper against Mavis' neck, her ear. "Why, ya got a girlfriend what would be a mite irritable to see you in my arms, Mavis?"
Thud. Thud. Thud. Her mouth tastes like metal. She feels sick. Irritable. She grimaces. "...Or, what. You just gotta rescue every girl what picks you up when you stumble?"
Mavis is breathing deeper now and it takes her a handful of scattered seconds to realize why it is she's doing that. The woman cozied up to her smells good, like, really good. Almost like sulphur and spice, but it made her think of fireworks and dazzling explosions hanging in the starless backdrop of a black, suspended in splendor.
Geez, Thea sure is warm. Come to think of it, so is she, although Mavis had only just noticed this. A mouth presses close to her ear, a breath rolls against her neck, and Mavis swallows. She doesn't taste metal, she tastes sand. Then, suddenly, the mortal was twisting and eeling to set hands against Thea and push her away. Firmly, but not violently.
"You're drunk," she frosts, although there is not a hint of temper in her tone. Just that chilly deterrent. "And, no, I just thought-" Mavis pauses, tilts her head, trying to decide what to say. She then leans in closer, so that she wouldn't have to shout too loud against the thud-thud-thud of bass.
"I that thought you were nice," she tells Thea, leaning back again. Her lips give a disappointed purse as she stares at Thea, letting her eyes get led astray by all of the moving colors and lights before landing sincerely on the Lost's violets. "I hope that you get home okay, Thea." Wow. She means it. "It was good to meet you."
And, with a final frown of worry, Mavis turns away to finish making her way across the dance floor with her head still spinning.
As quickly as Thea's anger rose, it fades. The punk's temper flares, but afterwards, her expression softens. There's even the barest fraction of a second where, when Thea is staring down at Mavis, that the woman thinks to lean in, to steal a kiss from those almost-innocent lips.
And when Mavis pushes her away, Thea doesn't resist. "Mmm. I'm drunk," she agrees, amused. The smoldering grin is once more at her lips. Those violet eyes regard the pretty little mortal. The grin threatens to turn somewhat lopsided. Wavers. Uncertain. Her gaze flicks from Mavis, to the lights, to the bar, to the exit behind her. Slow exhale. And, almost swaying, the white haired woman reaches into her shirt pocket and promptly places a single cigarette at her lips. Mavis thought that she was nice?
Thought. Past tense.
Somehow, that actually wounds. The fake smile vanishes. Snaps away. "Whatever." Thud. Thud. Thud. Her voice low, she murmurs! Frowns! Cigarette still in mouth. Regret. She exhales through her nose, nostrils flaring, as she runs her hands through her hair, watching Mavis turn. Taps a foot. And then her hands are shoved into pockets. Her shoulders square up. Her glasses catch the light once more, obscuring her gaze. It is highly likely that the single muttered word was rendered inaudible by the pervasive thud of bass.
For a moment, Thea's gaze stares through Mavis. She can imagine the woman walking off. Heck. She can imagine all sorts of horrible, terrible things. Thea shivers. Her eyes wide behind neon reflecting glass. And then, with impulsive energy, Thea surges forward. Her movement almost feels slow to her. It's like time is stretching out. With the utmost of urgency, she reaches out to grab Mavis' hand. To attempt to drag her towards the exit, with the alarmingly desperate idea that she *must* make whatever was happening here *right*.
Just like that, Mavis dusts her hands of Thea. It's not done with any ill will and, perhaps, that is what's so bad about it. Thea's blind jabs had actually rankled her, not so much the one about her girlfriend, although, she wasn't sure how Amity would feel about the image of Thea with her lips so close to her ear. It was the rescuer comment that'd gotten under her skin. She didn't HAVE to rescue anyone.
It felt good to walk away. At least, she wouldn't have to explain to Amity later that she ran into someone that reminded her very keenly of the Waykeeper. Not so soon after her girlfriend and November had tentatively patched things up.
But, then, a hand closes around hers. Mavis halts dead and half turns to stare at the inked hand that has captured hers. She slides her gaze up Thea's arm to her face with a patient expression then looks shocked as the Lost begins to haul her for the exit.
"aaAH-! H-Hey!" squawks Mavis, arm being pulled out in front of her. "Whaddu-you-think-yer-doin'? Geez!"
Dancers got out of the way for the pair bowling for the exit. She shoots the bouncer a bashful smile and wave in all of her bewilderment, letting him know she was fine. Cute girls making a dash for the exit probably didn't raise much alarm.
Once they're outside and the cold air hits Mavis, she snatches her hand back and folds her arms. Her fingers are tucked into the warm crux of her armpits and Mavis glares at Thea as the chilly air frosts her breath.
"What, Thea?" snaps Mavis and it's like she'd known her for a long time with the way she spits that name with such familiar contempt. She'd allowed the woman to insult her-- twice, if she was going to take offense for Amity's sake-- and allowed her the further imposition of dragging her all of the way out here. "What is it?"
She'd literally just met her, and yet Thea gave no indication that she had any inkling that grabbing Mavis' hand and dragging her out of the club was at all rude, invasive, or even UNUSUAL. Her pale skin is flushed. The ink makes quite the contrast. Almost seems.. shiny. Strange how the geometric patterns catch the light.
"Look," Thea starts, stopping as Mavis snatches her hand back.
Thea's cheeks look almost cherubic. A sudden flush of colour, from the cold, perhaps? Steam rises from the pale punk. The heat around her almost makes her seem.. shimmery. "Look, Mavis. Can I call you Mav? --" She stretches out the first syllable of Mavis' name. It's either affectionate or beligerant or both. "You've got two options. Ya let me start over, and ya forgive the whole 'I was an arsehole' thing."
Delicate fingers pluck a zippo lighter from a pocket. Soon enough, the end of her cigarette is glowing. "You want one?" She asks, exhaling a puff of smoke (with some small display of consideration to at least blow the smoke away from Mavis). And hurrying along, her words rapid like machine gun fire, she concludes the ultimatium she'd started; "So yeah, forgive me and lets start over, or get real mad and hit me right here." She gestures to her cheek, before adding, "I won't even hit you back, love. Promise."
Look-- Thea says-- and Mavis looks back at her with a defiant stare, waiting to hear what the tattooed punk has to say. She's breathing heavy, like someone about to start shouting, but the tawny artist does no such thing. Her eyebrows raise in appraisal when Thea rolls out option number one. Then, they lower and her nose scrunches up cutely. She had a feeling that, whatever the second option was, she wasn't going to like it.
"You CAN," says Mavis, not unkindly but not warmly either, but Thea hadn't asked if she MAY call Mavis by her shortened nickname. The offer of a cigarette, though? She could use one for her nerves right now. Less snappishly, Mavis adds with a lamenting sigh, "I'm tryin' to quit, but-- Please. I'd like one." It took most of her willpower not to try to huff Thea's second-hand smoke.
But, forget the smoke. The colorfully inked Lost was actually steaming. Literal steam was wisping off of her skin and Mavis has to wonder just HOW cold is it? Or how HOT had it'd been inside of the club?
Then, Thea rolls out the second option, which is far more surprising than anything else she'd been expecting and Mavis barks out a quick, hard laugh. She lifts a loosely curled first and scuffs the knuckles against Thea's jaw. Sohft-swipe.
"Nah, I don't even know you. Whatever our grief, it's not worth fighting about," she tells Thea in a wiser, gentler tone than she'd taken with her when they'd first gotten outside. She looks at Thea, eyebrows shooting up again as she considers giving her that chance she'd dragged her out of the club to plea, except not plea, for.
"You want my forgiveness? How about," she pauses, glancing up and pretending to think about it for a tick before her eyes land back on Thea's violets again. "Just say that yer sorry for being a jerk back there."
Easy.
The smile returns. Why, yes. She *can* call Mavis 'Mav'. And goodness, it seems like the grinning punk would. Goodness. It is almost like Thea's most comfortable when those around her seem irritated. Either in general, or at her. The impulse, the erratic need that had possessed the woman with hair whiter than starlight, it seemed to have eased. Eased, as she seems to find a certain degree of *control* in pushing buttons.
Tap tap tap. Thea kept tapping her cheek, bending ever so slightly forward as she seemed to brace herself to be struck. But then, Mavis laughs. The laughter isn't entirely unexpected, or, indeed, unwelcome. The smile shifts into that smoldering grin once more, cigarette at her lips, a trail of smoke rises, combining with the steam.
"Oof," Thea murmurs, amused, a flash of teeth as she mimes being staggered from the gentle brush of knuckles against her jaw. "I deserved more than that," she mumbles, still amused, still with the cigarette at her lips. And then, as Mavis speaks, Thea finally reaches for the pack of cigarettes in her flannel shirt's pocket.
A cigarette pops up as Thea flicks the packet open, offering it to the pretty, pretty, pretty woman. Aand then the serious words register. Say she was sorry? The punk looks surprised for a moment. Lost, even. Her eyes widen, scanning Mavis' face as if trying to check if she was serious. "Mav, love. I'd rather you hit me." Honesty, from Thea, as she finds herself scratching her head with her free hand, end of her cigarette glow, glow, glowing.
Thea looks up at the sky, finally taking cigarette in hand before exhaling. Sloooowly. And then, letting the tension ease out of her shoulders, she (with probable authenticity and minimal side to side swaying) says, "I'm sorry for being a jerk to ya, back there."
Heart felt apology given, Thea firstly offers Mavis a light before reaching out to pat her firmly on the upper back. Again, it's impossible to tell if the action is merely beligerant or intended to be affectionate. "Well. Enjoy your night, love. I'm gonna.. mmn." Thea's eyes track to the side before she shrugs and begins to stagger off!
She laughs at Thea's play-acting, shaking her head at the way she Lost had pretended to be felled by the way her knuckles had gently bumped. Still grinning, Mavis plucks a cigarette out of the pack when it's offered out to her, brings the filter to her lips, and leans in to light it from the flame Thea holds out for her. A warm, orange glow baths the human's face when she gets close and Mavis flicks her eyes up to peer into Thea's own. There's a bit of grudging distrust in those pretty browns, which are revealed by the zippo flame to be a pale honey-brown with deep deposits of emerald.
She leans back, puffing on her cigarette while keeping it pinched between her fingers. A shudder rachets down her spine as she breathes in the sweet, nicotine-laced smoke. It satisfied a craving she'd been battling since her morning coffee and the mortal curls her other arm around herself, feeling cold and shivery, but very much content.
"Yeah," she drawls, voice still hoarse, but it was nice that they didn't have to shout anymore. Her skull felt like the music bass had stuffed cotton into her ears. Mavis pauses to pull another drag from her cigarette, sighing out the words, "I kind of got that impression, but thank you." Smiling at one corner of her mouth, she adds, "For apologizing-- Apology accepted, Thea."
Even if Thea WAS going to continue calling her Mav.
Then, Thea turns to start staggering away. Mavis blinks in surprise, she'd not expected such a quick dismissal after they'd buried the hatchet.
"H-Hey," she calls out. Now it is Mavis' turn to flow forward into a step, arm reaching out, free hand curling around Thea's wrist to catch her before she goes. She tries to pull her back 'round to face her. "Hang on a second," Mavis tells her, muttering around the cigarette filter she has pinched between her lips, because the hand that'd been holding that was now sinking into her hoodie pocket to withdraw her phone.
The screen comes on, lights her face.
"Take my number."
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