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The bass beat like a heart, throbbed like blood through veins and arteries, like life in the people on the dance floor who swayed to it. It lifted Sidney up, carrying her like a wave of warmth and vibration, drowning out everything else. Everything that was too hard to deal with, no boring or stressful. The bass didn’t care about any of that. The music didn’t care about your petty, mundane worries. All it cared about was making you move, bringing you to singing life.

Sidney wavered like a little candle flame in the middle of the crowd, her fishnet arms above her head bound by glowing bracelets full of chemicals. A too short shirt flirted peaks as she swung her hips from side to side and stomped silver and leather boots against the floor. Tonight wasn’t a night to work, it was a night to party and enjoy herself while someone else manned the table, and she was well on her way already with a couple of drinks down her throat. The alcohol seemed to pick up the music, making it richer and more vibrant with its buzz. It felt good, like it always did.

What ever had happened that night, with the train and the floor made of meat and the man with the cat ears, none of it existed here. She was intensely grateful for that, even if the strange pen he’d given her hung on a leather cord around her neck, under the shredded tshirt-turned-tank that remembered the Combichrist Tour in ‘06. It made her nervous to have it. It made her more nervous not to, so along it had come, hidden away like a secret between her breasts.

Sid dug thin fingers into the rioting rainbow that was her hair as the driving techno song faded into another, her dry throat pushing her towards the bar for another drink. The bartender knew her, if only because she’d made a few trips tonight, and when she waved a hand he moved to make her Long Island Iced Tea without needing to specify. The short, asian woman plucked at the front of her shirt to fan herself and relieve some of the heat generated from dancing in a packed club crowd. Did she need a smoke? Mmm, no, not yet. She still felt good, so there was another song or two before she’d want to slip outside for one.

He was not, strictly speaking, a sociable man. Archer’s tastes ran to observation, rather than interaction, but clubs were different. Clubs were loud, raucous, vivacious, music pounding through the walls so that the vibrations of the rhythm could be found in one’s very bones, reverberating through their soul. All manner of people could be found here, from the ones who came to have a good time, eyes closed, heads tilted back as they swayed to the music; to the ones who came to have a good time, eyes darkening with interest as they sashayed closer to someone else, hands on hips and lips against ears.

Archer was technically neither of those people, but he was still here, because the endless, ever-changing beat of the club fascinated him on some level. He loved to try and figure out what sort of person everyone else, what their story was, why they were here, what they wanted, all without leaving the bar, a drink (usually some sort of whiskey) in hand. Occasionally, however, someone succeeded in piquing his interest, and he’d attempt to garner a little more information, filing it away for later.

This was one such occasion.

The young woman on the dance floor was a veritable cascade of colors, from the tips of her hair, all the way down to her feet. Archer had been watching her for a few minutes, glass raised to his lips as he took in the multiple piercings, the swing of her hips, the brightness to her eyes as she waved at the barman. She’d come over once or twice, but he hadn’t said anything then, and wasn’t quite sure he planned to. It would take careful consideration to make Archer leave his seat, after all.

He finished off his drink and signaled for another, but it seemed that he’d made up his mind. Archer pushed himself off of his stool and made his way idly across the dance floor, sidling between people with the practiced ease of one who was used to moving among people, until he was near enough to the girl to make a difference.

Archer said nothing at first, simply easing into a sway behind her, dark eyes filled with a quiet curiosity.

Drink consumed in short order, there had been nothing to keep her from diving back into the crowd like a fish into water, using her small, thin frame to ease between people until she was right where she wanted to be. The middle of the floor was the best spot, if you didn’t mind people pressing in from all sides. The shy chose the outer fringes, the deaf the spots near the platform stage where the speakers were. As Sidney was neither, the center suited her, giving her a 360 view of the people around her.

Half the fun of all this was people watching. Most of the time, people got a weird sense of privacy being packed into a crowd like this and you could see them relax and act like no one was watching. You saw real people then, with a sort of anonymity yourself, and that had always appealed to her. Ice had shared that, in small part, but the thought of him would only sour her mood and she pushed it away. Ice was in New York. Ice was a lifetime away.

Hair rose on the back of her neck as someone sidled in close behind her, closer than what people normally chose even in a crowded place like this where you could be shoulder to shoulder at times. Interest sparked and drew a little smile across her lips before she turned her head, slanting a glance out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze met cloth covered chest and that alone gave the impression of height even before it traveled upwards to confirm maybe a full foot’s difference in height. Not surprising… most people were taller than Sid was, sad fact of life. It could be enjoyable though… it was a lot of fun in certain situations. She got an impression of dark eyes and hair on pale skin, most probably male. Lean, fit.

Lovely. She’d caught someone’s eye and maybe gotten herself a dance partner. Maybe, if she was lucky and played it right, she might get more. No one else had caught her attention so far, why not?

First off, play it cool, keep dancing. Lean back a little, give him an opening. Wait to see if he chose to take it or if she’d read the situation wrong and he was just passing by. Always a possibility, when people got so close. Her hips swung as she moved her arms, her hair bouncing around her face.

She was such a tiny thing, really; Lorne had matched him height for height, but this girl was much shorter, nearly a foot if he had the chance to count. Still, that made it interesting; she was slender and curvy in the right places, at least in his critical eye, and Archer found the multicolored hair and dozens of piercings to be curious, even if they weren’t anything that he himself would have considered wearing.

And she seemed to have noticed him now, head turned only slightly so that he could have been mistaken; but she’d shifted, tilting back a little towards him - an invitation that Archer could read, his slightly narrowed eyes sweeping over her.

He was not the sort to beat around the bush, nor play games - unless they suited him, really, and even then Archer was the forthright sort. He took the opening and slid his fingers lightly over her waist, just a grazing touch, the music filling his ears and thrumming through the ground and walls so that it felt alive in the people around them.

After a second or two, working with the rhythm of her swaying and the music, Archer thought it prudent to move his hands a little more, settling them securely on the top of her hips, following the curve of them. He wondered whether she was the type to go with the flow, or whether she was more the look, but don’t touch sort.

Well, he guessed he’d find out, Archer taking a minute step forward.

She felt him step into her and she knew for sure he was interested, her smile spreading wide across her face. Well good. It was always fun to have someone to dance with, and she liked the way his fingers felt on her hips.

He kept his touch light, which was nice. Some guys didn’t. Sometimes that was fun, other times it was just annoying. Sid had ‘accidentally’ stomped on enough toes to know how to deal with that. They usually didn’t repeat the actions. As he stepped forward, she shifted and met him halfway, her shoulderblades coming to rest against his chest as she turned her head to the side to offer her smile to him. It was a little loud for casual conversation and that probably wasn’t what he was here for anyway. Just a smile, to let him know he was welcome and the drift of her fingers over his wrists and up his forearms.

White teeth seized her lip, tugging on it before releasing again. Her dancing changed with his proximity and was now less free form and a little more focused on her new partner, rocking back against him. Whatever pace he chose to set, she followed, attentive to where he wanted to lead them tonight.

Her height, rather than put him off, was short enough that Archer found it curious instead. She was not like the tall, willowy girls - or men - he usually fell into bed with, but instead was someone smaller, thinner. And yet she still had the confidence of someone much taller, judging by the way she leaned lightly against him, the light touch of her fingers on his arm, the smile that was directed up at him. Archer did not offer one in return - at least not a smile, but a slight quirk of his lips upwards, an almost sly, subtle smirk.

He was quite interested in that vibrant hair of hers, Archer’s fingers itching to touch it, but instead he simply matched her rhythm, knees bent slightly to accommodate her smaller frame, every movement suggesting he was more than a little experienced in the clubbing scene. For someone who disliked extraneous conversation and unnecessary chatter, he was remarkably interested in the world - and the people - around him.

His fingertips slid upwards, traced the lines of her ribs ever so lightly. Archer dared to lean forward and down a little, his face near hers, but not quite touching, instead continuing in his light, curious ministrations.

“Have a name?” he asked, voice raised enough that she could hear, but low enough that it was almost a low purr by her ear.

They danced well together, two people with experience at just this sort of dancing. It was fun and a bit exciting, because his fingers were moving upwards and she sort of hoped he’d reach farther. Probably not the best thing to be wanting, in a crowded place like this, but hey. All in the privacy of her own mind, so she could indulge herself a little.

She leaned further, arching her back so the conservative curve of her a** ground into him, just a little, in invitation. Look, Touch, Enjoy. We’re all here to have a good time. Sid could feel his breath by her ear as he leaned in and she laughed, lifting a hand to touch the his cheek and run gently down his jawline.

“Chou!” The pixie girl called back over her shoulder, a laugh in her voice. “You?”

Not that it mattered so much, but it was kinda nice to know what your partner-for-the-night wanted to be called. Just in case you had an opportunity to shout it out, or something. Didn’t even need to be real, since hers definitely wasn’t, unless you counted a DJ handle.

Archer essentially viewed it as hiding in plain sight. Here, out on the crowded dance floor with alcohol and music flowing through their veins, no one would think twice about two people getting a little too close. As if in example, two girls off to their left were draped across each other, liplocked passionately. No one paid any mind to them, too lost in their own interests, their own curiosities.

His fingers shaped the ribs on her side, feeling the dip of her waist. Archer felt her significantly now, her body pressed back against his, her fingers sliding along his jaw invitingly. He found that the size and slenderness to her hand appealed to him, and he turned his head into the touch, eyes half lidded.

“Archer,” he said, and one of his hands dipped curiously forward, briefly skimming under her raised arm, along the side of her chest; a glancing touch, not tentative, but not messily, sloppily groping ether. Archer did not do sloppy groping. Everything was carefully thought out, situations analyzed, people observed.

His hips pressed against her backside, Archer’s lips at her ear.

“You move well,” he murmured, and from anyone else it might have seemed like a line, but to Archer it was simply a fact that needed to be said, Archer trailing his fingers down one of her thighs.

Sidney felt a thrill as his hands wandered and she couldn't help flicking her gaze up to glance around the crowd, just to see if anyone was watching as she rocked into him. Everyone called it dancing, but everyone knew it was just a PG version of what they all wanted to be doing. She caught some eyes, but they were fleeting, more interested in their own affairs than what she was going with her new partner. Shame.

With nothing but netting under her shirt, she felt his fingers keenly and she shivered delightfully, letting out a soft laugh that drowned under the sea of music.

"Thanks! Lots of practice!" She called back, her booted feet moving to brace apart and both give her a more solid stance and put more of her weight on him. Archer. Cool name. Not a mainstream name and she liked that.

Dancing settled into a comfortable back and forth between them, the music carrying her, at least, to a different sort of headspace she could only achieve here. It felt good... Like nothing else existed, like she didn't exist as anything more than a shadow. It was always such an appealing feeling, when life proved so much harsher.

After a while, between one song and the next, she pulled away from the warmth of his body and turned. She lost the heat he radiated, but now she could look up at him through her lashes as she reached to curve her fingers around the back of his neck and press close. She teased him with her smile and her teeth on her lower lip as she danced for him, a hand reaching to skim across the cloth over his stomach and down to hook in his belt loops.

"Having fun?" She said as she leaned in, putting her cheek to his for a moment.

He liked the reactions he garnered from his curious hands, the shiver that he could feel beneath his fingers. Archer didn’t mind the added weight, smoothing a hand over her hip again as she leaned against him, fingers dancing across her thigh. Her confidence was appealing; Lorne’s shy averting of his face was interesting, most assuredly, but this girl’s openness was equally as fascinating.

A few times during the song, he let his hands drift - never aimlessly, always purposefully - over her thighs before they moved up again. Once or twice they brushed against the sides of her chest, but never fully or openly grasping, fleeting touches, almost teasing, more testing than anything else, Archer gauging how she acted when he did.

When she turned around, he smiled, even if it wasn’t a brash, full grin, just a simple curve of his lips, because even here, with a pretty girl in his arms, Archer was always reserved in some manner. Her smile was pleasant, teasing, her face warm against his, and he liked the forwardness of those fingers across his stomach, tugging at his belt loops.

“Very much,” he murmured, tilting his face against hers, and one hand remained on her waist, while the other slid down, Archer sliding his fingers briefly over the curve of her backside before he moved them back up again, both hands on her waist to ease her against him.

“Are you?”