Trish walks into the bar, with an urge as strong as her bloodlust welling up inside her.
She wants to dance.
She moves to the bartop, smiling as she approaches and greets the Cat. As fellow immortals, they have run into each other several times over the years. Each popping up in unusual places. The focal points where history is being made. She shows her fangs to him. “Be a doll and put on something I can dance to, would you, Mr.?” She pauses, looking into him while he looks into her. “Cat,” she says, like cutting a steel suspension cable and watching it shoot away from the tension.
The Cat grins. “As you wish, lady of the dance.” He opens a laptop behind the bar. Opens a folder and browses cat pictures for 30 seconds while Trish watches with growing impatience. She makes what can be construed as a cough or a growl, and he looks up, the silly grin leaving his face. He double-clicks a script on the desktop.
The sound of mechanical machinations let Trish know he finally did something. The center of the bar lights up, and a disco ball descends from the ceiling.
The cat opens a playlist of fun dance songs. He clicks at random, and the first note of music plays. Trish whirls her way to the center of the floor.
She begins dancing. It is the only thing she loves as much as life. She whirls and twirls. At first alone, but soon other guests of the ranch start dancing along.
She grabs a passing lizard person and dances with them, twirling them and leading them in the steps of the dance. But to her disappointment, they have to be let free, as their balance gland is overwhelmed.
She dances over to the table with Mars, who is sitting with arms crossed, watching the immortal beauty dancing. “Dance with me,” she says.
Mars, never graceful on his feet or knowing the modern dances, replies “no.”
She grins a venomous grin, then makes a pouty face. “Oh please, it’s nothing more than strategy of feet.” She grabs his muscular arm.
He looks down and grabs her hand and removes her hand.
She frowns and moves away in disapproval. She gazes into his eyes and pushes her will onto him. She feels him wave it away with a literal wave of his hand.
He glares at her, forcefully pushing his will on her, and she starts to sing with the music, “I am an amphora filled with wine. Pour me out; I am divine. When I am used up, throw me out.”
His laughter breaks his will, and the spell is broken. He watches the elegant form move away from him.
Trish, shaken but not broken, goes back to the center and goes through some ballet forms to recenter herself.
With her mood soured but her psyche recentered, she goes after another victim. This time she finds herself drawn to Grup sitting, eyes downcast, at the end of the bar.
“Grup, come dance with me,” she asks, not using her will, just with gentle words. His heavy eyes look up at her.
“The child is still lost.”he says gravely.
She refuses to let his sadness infect her; she moves on. After all, “a child is always missing, but the dance is momentary and fleeting.” She spies Izzy and Jacob and flitters away. The house music pulsing each bass drum lifts her a graceful inch from the floor.
“But my hunger for the dance is immortal,” she says as she holds out a hand to Izzy.
Izzy looks at the vampire. For that’s what she truly is: the embodiment of everything beautiful about being a creature of the night.
“Dance with me again,” she begs.
Izzy stands up a little tipsy. 2 large whiskeys in, she is feeling loose. She takes the vampire’s hand and attempts to follow the gothic princess’s lead. She watches the vampires ephemeral moves to Izzy; it looks like magic. Every move is predictable and correct. Izzy imagines she must understand the underlying rhythm behind music.
Jacob and the Cat watch as Trish’s movements sync with Izzy. “What is this?” Jacob asks no one.
The cat is forever a no one and everyone at the same time. He answers, “It’s what makes her special.” He admires her for her freedom and lack of restraint. “I have never enjoyed dancing, but maybe if I danced with her, I would.”
The song changes to an old 70’s rock song, the beat fast and the music loud. The vampire transforms her movements into a mockery of the era of hair bands. Her hair is wildly moving, and her steps are less rigid and more free-flowing.
Izzy tries to follow but also be original, the magic of the dance giving her unnatural grace. But the song is soon over and is replaced by something from the 40’s, and without skipping a beat, Izzy feels the vampire move close, their bodies brushing each other.
The cat grins. “It’s not an orgy, but it is something.” He reaches over to the laptop and cues up a slow song.
Izzy’s heart is racing from the exertion when Trish takes Lizzy’s hands and leads her into a much slower dance; her movements are still flawless, but the intensity of her lust for the dance flutters. Her bloodlust rages.
Izzy feels the woman grow closer. Her body now pressed against hers. The feeling of their breasts pressing on each other. A hand brushing across her cheek as they change positions. A gentle hand on her hips. Izzy blushes with the growing tension.
Izzy feels something inside her; she can’t identify it yet, but it’s something.
The next song is a faster one where you jump around, and Izzy laughs, delighted in the reverie. The whole bar filled with 30 people jumping and bumping into each other. The sight was surreal and unnatural. A part of her brain realizes that it’s Trish manipulating the room, but she doesn’t care.
The cat puts on another slow, intimate song, and Trish dances close with Izzy again, who is now filled with euphoria. The cat watches hopefully, waiting to see some sign of ignited intimacy.
They press back into each other. Trish can smell her blood. She can almost taste it; she finds herself rubbing the back of her fangs. With her tongue. She presses her lips to Izzy’s neck.
She stops herself. “We don’t do that anymore.” She misses a step in the dance, and the magic is broken. People look around confused and leave the dance floor, leaving Izzy and Trish holding each other in the center of the room, Trish’s lips brushing on her neck.
Izzy, eyes closed, opens them and looks at the vampire confused. “Why did you stop?”
“I don’t feed directly from humans anymore,” Trish whispers into Izzy’s ear.
A shiver runs down her spine. “Does it hurt?” izzy swallows with her neck still bent.
Trish grins as the monster that is filled with lust for blood, izzys blood quietly tears at its cage. “Bite her; just do it. She wants it. You can take just a little. A taste.” it screams in her mind.
Izzy presses her lips to the vampire’s lips. She is surprised when Trish returns the kiss; it’s brief and intense but only momentary. Trish then breaks it apart, pushing Izzy away, whispering, “Thanks for the dance.”
Trish rushes to the bar and is greeted with a glass of blood already waiting for her. The warm liquid calms her needs.
By the end of the night, Izzy had drunk more than her share. the feeling of Trish’s lips on her neck and the power of the music still dancing in her veins as she sits at the bar.
Jacob, on the other hand, is sober.
Izzy tries to stand up, but the world spins. “I can go to space?” She mumbles.
Jacob holds her hand and stabilizes her as they make their way to the motel room.
Izzy stumbles to the bathroom, sits on the toilet, and regrets life. She crawls into bed and falls asleep quickly.
The next morning…
“Jacob, save me.” Izzy cries out from the bathroom; Jacob wakes up to find her curled around the toilet, severely hungover.
Jacob gets aspirin and a glass of water. He helps her take the pills and drink the cold water. He plays with her hair for a few moments before going and getting her a pillow and a blanket. He wraps her up loosely and takes her makeshift dirty laundry pillow away.
Izzy thinks about the music and how it felt flowing through her. She closes her eyes.
