Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140611001434

Story: Black Velvet If You Please Katrylle Morgahn posted November 14, 2000 12:29 AM

She had split her week between the Club and the Grill, restocking the things that needed restocking, paying those who needed paying and just generally keeping busy. The draw of the cards had her in the Club this day.

It was silent for a change. A little past noon was not late enough for the employees to be disturbing the silence well insulated walls greedily protected. It only took a few moments, however, for the silence to grate on her nerves.

Dropping the damp rag she had been using to wipe down the bar in one of the many "sub-bars" in the building, she strode to the juke and began to punch in a series of random letters and numbers. Within seconds, the heavy strains of jazz-like drums, pulsing bass and electric guitars filled the room. She couldn't help but chuckle. The song, Black Velvet, was a favorite of hers, one used frequently to...."entertain" her husband. It had also been the source of a rather long debate between herself and Ry on appropriate songs to strip to. The debate was settled by the discovery of an ancient CD hidden away in a dusty old antique store on Alexer23.

It had been many years since her short stint as an exotic dancer, a stint that had netted Jack and the Raiders a rather large profit in gold antiquities and uncut precious gems. Still, the rhythm of the music coursed through her and suddenly, it was as if those years had never happened.

Lost in the music, she began slow gyrations, letting her body wrap itself through the throbbing strains. Within a few heart and drum beats, she was in full swing, though her clothing remained on for a change. Still, it was evident that she had been on a first name basis with the profession. The world around her melted away and, eye closed, there was only the music and the rhythm.

As body, soul and electronic sounds blended into one entity, she did not hear the front door open nor did she hear the repeated calling of her name. All that was her world was movement caressed by the seductive foreplay of all consuming longing expressed with every pounding her heart matched to each echoing beat vibrating over her body. Only the forced "clearing" of a male throat as the music died away drew her from the depths of her self imposed hypnosis. Stumbling, she whirled to face the possibility of an oncoming attack, cursing herself silently for letting her defenses slip even if only for a moment.

Ben Stinel posted November 14, 2000 01:44 AM

Ben shuffled his feet as Kat stumbled to a halt. The song on the jukebox was one he vaguely recognized. He had probably heard it somewhere around Rhydin city or on a classical music station. Anything over a hundred years old was generally considered classical music in his mind. Mozart and Bach generally came in somewhere around the famed motion picture soundtrack styling of Thomas Newman or Danny Elfman. Or the fantastic work of Nobuo Uematsu in the never ending and poorly named Final Fantasy games.

Kat was poised to lash out against an attack and Ben silently praised Ry’s wisdom in stopping twenty-feet away before trying to snag her attention. Somehow Ry shouting her name above the music hadn’t managed to pull her out of it but a little cough from her brother-in-law had.

Ben was acutely embarrassed by the whole situation.

The song ended and the speakers on the jukebox hissed as the record (genuine vinyl) was moved away from the needle and slipped back into its slot. Ben heard the whirring as another disk was queued up and he jumped forward to yank the cord from the wall, half afraid he was about to be captive witness to another show.

“Careful now,” Ry chastised him. “That machine is vintage.”

Ben looked at Ryax. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, putting his fingers to his temples. “Holly shit!” He dropped into a chair next to the jukebox. At least he meant to. He caught it on the corner and it tipped, dumping him onto the floor between the music machine and the wall. He decided not to risk moving and leaned his head back but ended up banging it against the side of the jukebox.

Kat recovered from her momentary surprise and her brow furrowed at his puritanical response. She glared at him and put her hands on her hips. “Wha’?”

Wincing, Ben rubbed his head and realized there was already a bump forming. I should have just paged her, he thought. I knew it wouldn’t be safe. Even at twelve o’clock.

“Well, ifin y'werenae setch a prude, it wouldnae hae mattered wha' time y'came 'ere!" Kat shot back at him and Ben realized that he had said his last thoughts out loud.

“Well excuse me!” he half shouted, rubbing his scalp. “A man shouldn’t see his sister doing that sort of thing. I wasn’t raised in the hills of Kentucky you know!”

She snorted in response to his puny defense. “Ain't like we're birth relations, Ben, though lord knows sumtimes I seriously wonder on tha'.”

Ry didn’t involve himself in the argument but Ben did see him raise one furred brow and try out the phrase, “Back hills of Kentucky,” wrestling with the meaning behind it and wondering just what those damned hillbillies had been getting up to that he wasn’t privy to.

“Hey,” Ben shot back, “In for a penny; in for a pound, I always say!”

Smirking slightly, she leaned over and patted his stomach buried within the folds of his flight jacket. "More than a pound, m'boyo...more than a pound."

Ben’s face reddened at this undeserved and unwarranted attack on his physique. After all, he was still well under the New Oregon Navy’s weight requirements and even if he hadn't been jogging every day like he had back in his days as a cadet he was still extremely fit! His mouth moved soundlessly as he desperately tried to formulate a scathing comeback.

He never got the chance because at that moment Ry gave up his intellectual quandary about the hillbillies and cleared his throat, cutting him off… 