Sorry about the delay folks, Chap 4 has taken me a lot longer because of its larger content and other things. Could use advice for the next chapter (which is going to have SEX in it! (Yay! Finally!) Enjoy and remember, comments and suggestions to the usual place: Condor@thevortex.com
"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple." -Oscar Wilde
The Rain came then. Cascading from the Sky in a torrent of drops intermingled with the red dust of this once barren world. It was like a god, a god crying blood. The raindrops trickled off the roofs of the mile-scrapers and poured like waterfalls. Neon glow refracted off them, creating strange pale after glows and iridescent dancing forms, Avatar's of light swaying in time to the waters patter and splash. The rain coruscated down walkways, across lift shafts, through transTube stations and into electrical systems, causing them to short. It was everywhere. It refreshed and soaked the world all at once, invigorating yet destructive. Gentle yet profound. Stinging, yet cooling at the same time. It was the worst storm anyone could remember that year and it showed no signs of letting up.
Cricket was bored. Very bored. The problem was, she decided, that this job was far, far too easy. Far too easy. She had already made Jimmy's quotient for the night. 10 wallets. Nearly all had CredCards in them. True they would take a while to decode, and probably most people would have replaced their data set by the time they had been hacked. But there was always one. One who forgot, or ignored or simply couldn't be bothered. They were the ones who always suffered. In the end, Cricket grinned to her self, they always won. In the end.
2000 in Cred Slivers wasn't bad either she though, on reflection.
Along time ago, Cricket had come to a single unifying conclusion. Humanity was stupid. Dumb, foolish and complacent. Why do things now when you can do them later? Why bother with the more important things in life when you can just cruise through it watching viddiscs and drinking reprocessed coffee. Everyone did. By ignoring the fundamentals people were just prolonging the inevitable for themselves. Making themselves suffer. Those people too complacent to be bothered going on GRID to change their data set and up grade their SecSys would be the ones who fell through the net, right into her hands.
Cricket grinned to herself. Jimmy had taught her well. She remembered all this nearly verbatim from something she had heard him say long ago. She had mulled it over many times during the years she had lived with Jimmy. He had been a good teacher and explained things so she could understand them. 12 years old she might be, but that didn't make her stupid. You'd never catch her being complacent or whimsical. She was too good! Too smart. And now, Too rich!
Slipping back out, she activated the energy umbrella she had stolen minutes early from a suit and wandered around, looking for her next strike. She was bored with wandering the Ariel walkways and so had gone back down below to see if she could locate something to eat. She was safe down below. Most people knew her by name and knew that she had the protection of Jimmy. And woe betide anyone who got in Jimmy's way.
She stood in a corner alley, standing under a neon sign that projected the image of two guys copulating with each other. The sign flickered through the cycle of entry and withdrawl, entry and withdrawl. An endless assult. The child in Cricket couldn't help feelings sorry for the neon men, locked together until the end of time. Then, the street punk in her slapped her mentally and told her it was only a sign. A Figment.
Sex was an unavoidable part of being below. It sold and sold well. Jimmy had told her once that sex was the new food, or oxygen. She didn't know quite what that was supposed to mean but it sounded important so she had remembered it. Personally she didn't see what all the fuss was about. She pulled out the wallets again and examined them under the pink glow. She defiantly had enough to give to Jimmy. But one more, One more Just for herself. For herself to buy something. Just for herself. Jimmy would probably scragg her If he found out but, hey, he never did.
Thunk
She looked down. One of the wallets had tumbled to the floor and now lay in a puddle, floating lazily like a cruise liner on an oily sea. The cards had spilled out and were floating around. Plastic icebergs. She was reminded of a old Vidimovie she had once scene about a ship being hit by an iceberg. She remembered thinking how stupid they were not trying to build rafts or something out of the materials they had available. That was why she never watched movies any more. She was too cynical.
She bent over and picked up the wallet, the scooped up the cards. One of them caught her eye. It had a holo-imager built into it. That was interesting. Cricket loved those, she had never learned to read and so, anything with pictures of moving images was a joy to her. She turned the card slowly over in her hand and thumbed the activator.
The man danced. He was a beautiful man, Cricket supposed. He was naked, except for a simple white loincloth that covered his 'bits' Thin, or 'willowy' as Jimmy would have said. Cricket sighed in disgust. Oh well. She could at least add it to her collection. It sure beat having to look at baseball holocards. Or football. She pocketed it.
The ones she liked the best (though she would never admit it to anyone) were the one of a ballerina girl. She had stolen it from a women's purse along time ago. Cricket wondered if it was her daughter. It was so beautiful and graceful, the little girl had such poise and grace. Cricket sometimes stared at it or hours, watching the petite movements pirouetting and twisting in a timeless dance. One that would be repeated forever.
For one minute, Cricket felt regret. In that brief moment she wished her life had been different, that things had happened another way. That her parents were alive. Then the cynicism, like a protective shell hit hard and she spat on the ground in disgust. She was glad Jimmy couldn't see her. It would have slapped her and told her to act her age. And he would have been right. She was acting like a child. In below, if you acted like that, you ended up on the receiving end of an energy pulse. Not a happy ending. This wasn't a fairy tale and Cricket wasn't the princess in dire need of saving. She was a women with a job and that was 'selective repossession of monetary goods'
She wound her way through the streets, dodging and skipping. Sometimes smiling, sometimes swearing with the sort of language that would make people three times her age pale. She was a woman on a mission. An easy target. A simple lift. She didn't want any trouble. Not that she didn't know how to handle her self. Small fingers stroked the molecular knife inside her ragged jacket. No, no trouble. She just didn't want anger Jimmy. If he found out there had been trouble she would be questioned and Jimmy had an uncanny way of looking beyond the lie. He would see she had taken something and not turned it in and there would be trouble indeed.
Chancery Square was buzzing with neon and sweat, rain and smell, taste and sound. A usual night. There were always ripe pickings here. Money to be made, if you knew how. Within minutes she had spotted her target. Perfect. The fool was sitting on the edge of a dried up well with his head in his hands. Cricket appraised him carefully. He was late teens, perhaps early twenties. His face she could not see, it was hidden in his palms, but he had beautiful hair. Red, she noted, but not red like a carrot top (a phrase that always made her laugh) This was much darker and richer. A burnished copper, deep and majestic. Like some of the filigree she had seen on the Mars Central Cathedral, minus all the green stuff! It was beautiful and Cricket had to wonder if it was artificial. She put the thought form her mind and concentrated. From where she was standing, her had his back to her. This was too easy. A fool and his money were soon parted. Easy Creds!
Casual was the best approach here. Nonchalantly, she pretended to examine her surroundings, all the while making slow circles, gradually tightening the radius until she was just a few feet form him. Not that he noticed. He was oblivious. He could have probably hit him with a sledgehammer and he wouldn't have noticed. As she stepped up behind him, she ducked, using the lip of the well as cover. An inviting bulge in his pocket suggested the presence of a wallet. He was marginally well dressed. Not exactly glamorous, but smart enough to show that he wasn't a pauper. Cricket could almost smell the plastic of the Cred slivers. She reached out...and almost bit her tongue in fury.
His pants were baggy and he was sitting on the opening to his own pockets. Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! She almost decided then and there to find another person. Professional pride stopped her though. This was not the easy cash and carry she had first hoped for, but still not too difficult. She was just going to have to modify her battle plan. She sighed and took out her molecular knife. She adjusted the blade to the finest cut level. The golden aura burgeoned into life around the blade, letting her know the knife was ready to slice.
She bit her tongue in concentration. This bit was going to be tricky. There was a strange angle to be negotiated, and, crouching she was going to have to cut up. Much as she wanted the wallet, she didn't want to injure this man and a sliced buttock wasn't going to make him very pleased. She twisted her body to a strange angle, crouching and leaning, twisting slightly. Her knife touched the edge of the material and immediately it split, as if rent by unseen scissors. She smiled, confident in herself. No rain could stop her, no challenged grind her down. She wasn't a complacent fool like so many of her victims. Once again she had beaten the odds and once again had one. She was invincible, she was...
...The holocard, unable to grip the material of her pocket with the strange angle of her body, cascaded out and clattered nosily to the ground with a sharp report!
...In deep trouble, she amended as the man suddenly leapt up, spinning around to face his would be assailant. His wallet hung half out of his pocket. She glared at it angrily, as if it were somehow responsible for the major oversight she hadn't predicted.
The man was handsome enough. Not body builder strong "I,ve got a huge jaw" types. More like a young athlete. His copper hair shimmered and curled around his head, ending at the top o his shoulders. It was tied back with a simple leather thong, His eyes were a deep cobalt blue, the colour of sapphires that were backlit by some sort of blue light. Highish cheekbones made a nose slightly too prominent stand out even more, given him a slightly hawkish look. Full lips parted in a slight snarl to reveal while teeth. He was clean shaven. Not the sort of face that would launch a thousand ships, cricket thought. More likely 20 and maybe a small luxury yacht, but he was definably no slacker when it came to features. In hr expert opinion.
The two stood, staring at each other for a moment. Cricket realised abruptly that this man had been crying. His cheeks were red and tear trails trekked them, making black lines down to the corners of his mouth. The other stared back. He lost, she thought, truly tormented. Had seen that look a thousand times before. The haunted eyes, the slightly vacant expression. This was man who had lost something badly. What she could not say, most were Rapz fraks who had lost their will but she didn't figure him as one of those. No, he was too...respectable. What then?
She gripped the handle of her molecular knife tightly, hoping it wouldn't come to a fight. He was larger, stronger and she knew it. She had no delusions of grandeur when It came to the narrow line between life and death. She took a step backwards. This situation had gone very wrong, she had misjudged badly. She stared at the man, who took a step forward. She took another. Time to cut her losses. She spun on her heels, eyes scanning for possible escape routes.
"You dropped something" came a voice from behind her.
It sounded sad, dejected. So alone, it made her stop. Her brain screamed at her to carry on, hurry up.
She turned back around. The other as holding the holocard she had dropped. Gingerly she took two steps forward and grasped it out of his hand. He made no move to restrain her. They eyed each other.
The man reached down and took his wallet out of his now ruined pocket. He held it up, letting the light reflect of its slick black surface.
"You were trying to take this?"
She stared back, defiant.
His next move took her completely buy surprise. He opened the wallet, took out a 50 cred sliver and handed it to her. Then he closed the wallet and put it inside his jacket
"There, go and buy yourself something nice."
Cricket stood there dumbfounded as the man turned away. This was the first time anyone had given her anything of there own free will. The first she had no had to barter, trade or turn down the salubrious offers of enamoured Riff raff. What did this guy want?
Apparently nothing. Nothing at all. In fact he seemed to have forgotten about her and was staring around the square as if in a daze. What was he looking for.
Cricket walked around to the side of the well where the man was hunched, staring into vacant nothingness.
What to do, what on earth. This had never happened before. Most people just roared "stop thief" as she scuttled away. She'd never had to deal with someone who actually GAVE her their money. Man this guy was whacked. Was he mad or something.
What could she do? Leaving him out on the street to end up being mugged or killed was her first choice. She discarded it immediately. She was slippery and hardened, but she wasn't cruel, and in the below it was easy for the feckless to soon be taken advantage of, especially if they looked venerable. So, somehow, she needed to motivate him. Some how get him on his feet and on his way. How? She wracked her brains.
Threaten him? With a knife. She had one and it might work, but she didn't really feel comfortable with wielding it. It would attract too much attention, Plus, if, by some pitiful chance, someone came to help, she would be outmatched. That wasn't a good idea. They might have a side arm and she'd always felt that burn holes in her head would do nothing for her complexion. So what. As always, in these sort of situations, she pondered what Jimmy might say. Mentally she ticked all his useful quotes and lesson, looking for one that might reveal the answer.
"Don't count your chickens befor they are hatched?"
No.
"An armed cop is a trigger happy cop"
No.
"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the..."
No! No! No!
"Sex Sells!"
No...wait a minute...hmmmm
Cricket knew guys. She knew what they were like. They had two brains, one in there head and one in...other places. And, on most occasions, it was the second one that called the shots. If she could get that second brain thinking then he would probably snap out of his funk and drift off to the nearest whore house. Genius! She smiled to her self. Jimmy would be proud.
Then she realised the floor in her plan. She didn't have any thing on her, Only a card of a dancing naked man, and if he wasn't "a fucking faggot queer" (jimmy's words) then she was back to square one.
Then again, he might be, after all, he had cried. And men she knew never cried. At least, not unless they were about to die. And this guy wasn't. Maybe, maybe it would work.
She poked the other. He still had his head in his hands. She poked him again. Still nothing. A third time.
"Go away!" said a muffled voice.
That was it. She had enough. Ok, true this guy was upset about something but she had not seen such bouts of shameless self pity in a long, long time. It was pathetic. Honestly, what a wet blanket. He needed shock therapy if he was to snap out of this. There was only one thing to do.
Summoning all her strength, and allowing her hand to close over the hilt of her knife, she kicked him. In the Shin. Hard!
The dance that ensued amused her considerably. All that hopping about, clutching the ankle (she wished she would be able to see the bruise in a few days time) Swear words that she had never even heard before (and stored away for future use)and a ridiculous moment where he over balanced and fell face first into a puddle. By the time he was finished, she was bent over nearly double, roaring. It as the funniest thing she had even seen. She couldn't have hoped for a better reaction.
She helped him to his feet, as he brushed the water off his jacket and glared at her.
"You little......What did you do that for"
She took a deep breath
"Scuse Mr but...well...Since you was nice enough to give me dosh an all, I fawt dat..you know...you might want somewhere fun to go. You know...To show how much I appreciate it un all."
He took that card from her extended hand and turned it over hand. His features crinkled.
"Uhhh, thanks but I,m not really into night clubs..i,m..I,m here on...uhhh...buisness. Look.....I don't suppose...I don't suppose you,ve seen.....Oh My!"
He had absently mindedly thumbed the activator and now his gaze came to rest on the figurines who gyrated within the confines of the holoimage. The effect was immediate. His hand started to tremble, he went very pale. Cricket started to panic, he wasn't going to have a fit was her. She started to look around, in case she needed to leave quickly.
The man just stood there, staring into nothingness. His mouthed formed a word, but she couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, it was short. He looked like he was about to be sick, or burst into tears. Cricket sighed inwardly. Man this guy needed help. A good "one - two" would probably help immensely. Even if it was with a guy.
He disengaged the image and appeared to be studying both the front and the back for a minute. Then he looked up at her. Their eyes looked and Cricket swallowed. A new clarity was there, a fierceness of intent. As if all his inner demons had resolve. He had the look of a man on the Warpath and Cricket, suddenly felt afraid. What had happened? What had he seen that would turn him from a lost into someone with a terrible purpose? She didn't know, and didn't ant to know. She had done her part, it was time to go. She knew she had better leave.
She couldn't. As much as she wanted to, inner curiosity got the better of her. Who was this man? Why was he searching? Did he know the other? Was he going to kill him? (always an important question in below) Not that that really bothered her of course. She had seen enough death before to know what to expect. Yet, somehow, to kill this dancing figurine saddened her a little. He was beautiful. And graceful. Not like most of the other men she knew, who could be cat quick when needed, but never really sublime in the same way. She mentally chuckled at the though of one of them trying to dance the way the holo image did. They would probably be in bed for a week!
He was talking to her, she realised. She hadn't been paying attention but he was definitely saying something, now she noticed. She turned her attention back to him.
"...... lace corner club?"
"What sorry?"
"Do you know where the silk lace corner club is?"
Cricket racked her brains. She had heard of it. It was one of the more upper class gay night-clubs on the very edge of below. One could get into the upper areas within few minutes walk. Tragically for those who came to use its facilities, it was also a favourite haunt of thieves and muggers who knew that the unwary felt safe only being a few minutes away from the real world. It made them more susceptible to 'unfortunate business' According to Jimmy and, indeed, Cricket had had good nights of business there herself. She looked up and him and nodded. He looked faraway, almost lost and suddenly, very afraid.
"Take me there"
They stood outside the night-club, bathed in the pink and blue glow of the neon signs and holo images of various men in various positions. The bouncers on the door were dressed in a bizarre mixture of tight leather and lace, like some sort of French maid gone seriously awray! Somehow, Cricket did think men should be dressed in fishnets. The man grimaced in distaste and Cricket could not help but follow suit. Why anyone would want to dress up like this, man or women? Actually she knew the answer already. Sex sells, right?
The man turned to her, bent down and pressed something into the palm of her hand. It was a twenty-cred sliver. Her eyes widened. He smiled and tousled her hair, something no one had ever done before. It made her feel a bit silly and warm at the same time.
"Thank you for helping me, in more ways than one."
The man whispered in her ear
Now what was that supposed to mean. And why was he rubbing his ankle where she had kicked him? Was he trying to tell her something? She wanted to ask but her tongue seemed frozen to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed and blinked a few times to try and clear the funk in her head. She suddenly had so many questions to ask, but, when her eyes cleared and she turned around, the man was gone.
Cricket stood there, clutching the sliver, then shook herself. She pocketed it and turned in the direction of a good market she knew. Perhaps she could trade her new holo-card in for something more to her liking. Then she realised the man had taken it. She swore softly then smiled. Oh well, she had more than enough more than enough money to buy plenty more. She turned and looked back to the door of the night-club one more time. Would she ever see either of them again?
She stood and pondered for a second. Probably not. It was a big world after all, and her own small life couldn't possibly bounce off every other one. No, it was probably best to forget about it, spend the money and go back to her own troubles.
Yet, as much as she tried, as much as she wanted, she couldn't quite forget, and couldn't help but feel that this wouldn't be the last time.
The price on the door was ridiculous. Two creds and 50 shards just to enter! Gabriel found himself casually wondering if the drink was going to be as expensive then shook himself. He wasn't here to drink. He was here to find Zak. He didn't yet quite want to believe what he had seen on the card the little girl had shown him but there was no denying the fact. Yet still he needed to see it with is won eyes, to witness it first hand. He swallowed and nodded nervously to the other men, openly kissing or sucking in the hideous pink glow of the neon lit corridor. He hurried past and tried to focus himself again. He was dressed all wrong in here.
Apparently, in here, leather was in and smart casual was OUT! It made him feel holy uncomfortable. Gabriel didn't own anything leather, apart from a leather pair of trousers he had bought cheap on GRID years ago when he had first experimented with the new feelings he had of being gay. They were about a size too small, extremely tight and revealed everything. He had felt as if everyone were staring at him when he was walking around, and that made him feel self conscious. He was sure you could have cooked eggs on his face such was the intensity of his blushes. He had never worn them again. Now, he wished he had them on, tight or not!
The interior of the club as equally gaudy. In Gabriel's view, tasteless. The walls were covered in leather padded cushions, as was the cealing, which gave the impression that one was trapped in side a leather office chair. Each of these cushions was laced around the edges in keeping with the clubs theme. The floor was back lit with electrical pulses that gave the idea that a huge electrical conduit was running just underneath the club and the electricity was surging and seeping up, lancing around the underside of the heavy duty plastiglass floor tiles. Gabriel had to admit that looked quite cool. From the ceiling hung every type of light and sound system imaginable. Smoke, foam, laserlight, and other fancy gadgets, including a sonic generator. These worked by tuning the frequency of the music to the bodies' own resonating frequency. This gave the effect that that music was actually playing form inside you. Of course it made everything inside of you judder and jiggle, like a ferret trying to escape but that just added to the fun. Gabriel had heard that it was one of the ultimate love making experiences for the few people who happened to own a personnel system, but couldn't say for sure.
At the back of the club, a raised stage was covered with poles, hoops and various other equipment that Gabriel assumed was for the dancers that (according to the card) were supposed to be performing tonight. The dance-floor next to it had been covered with tables (leather, lace combo) and various people, ranging from the sublimely beautiful to the more prosaic were laughing, chatting, kissing and drinking. Gabriel suddenly felt very alone and, not for this first time since entering, wondered if he should leave Then he steeled his resolve. Zak was here, he was sure. He would watch and wait and make sure that he was right.
What then? How would that affect him? He was in conflict. One one hand, the rational part of his brain was speaking to him calmly saying things like
"its his life, and he can live it how he chooses."
Or
"He isn't doing anything wrong, why are you getting so upset about this?"
Why indeed, Gabriel thought. That reason was easier. His heart was also murmuring to him, with comments like-
"Why is he disrespecting himself so much, why would he want to do something so cheap?"
Or
"Shouldn't he be home with you?"
Now where had that come from? Why should Gabriel care how Zak lived his life. But he did care, because he cared for Zak a great deal. Deeply. He didn't want to see him taken advantage of again. The thought of men leering and salivating over him made Gabriel want to scream at them, shout that this was a person, a friend. Not just an object of lust. This was Zak, a person he had come to know and love.
Love?
Had he thought that? Did he love Zak? More to the point, did Zak love him. Oh, this was all so confusing. Gabriel wondered if it was always so difficult to sort through your emotions. Probably not, he mused. Probably, it was just him and he was a fool and a sap, which didn't help at all. He felt vaguely sick that he was here, about to watch his friend perform in a strip show. It was such a violation. And yet, at the same time it aroused him in a way he couldn't understand. What was wrong with him?
The lights dimmed and the crowds shouting and yelling dimmed to a quiet murmur. Gabriel adjusted his crotch, smiling as he noticed several other men perform the same function. His attention turned back to the stage, where a small man in a black leather tuxedo, frilled with lace, twirled and span a cane. He was short, bald and had a huge moustache that twitched when he talked. Gabriel had to look away for fear of bursting out laughing.
The gentleman coughed and began
"Welcome one, welcome all. Tonight is your lucky night, for tonight you will see the best that we have to offer. The best skin, the finest pecks and the most wonderful..."
Here he closed his eyes and winked, coquetishly at the audience, prompting a smattering of laughter. "... Personalities"
He finished, casing another round of raucous giggles. Gabriel felt somewhat ill. This was wasn't tasteful or arty. This was smut, pure and simple. So why did it excite him so?
"So, put you hands together and lets have a warm silk lace welcome for Brad!"
The cheer was so loud, Gabriel was sure that everyone on Mars would have heard it.
As the evening progressed, Gabriel gradually forgot the reason he had come here in the first place. Ok it was smut, but at least it was classy smut. All the guys he saw up on the stage were excellent, from the muscles of a large brawny hunk who seemed to reveal in the crowds cheers and lewd comments, to the athletic prowess of the thinner, yet no less appealing types. Gabriel began enjoying himself and sinking in the atmosphere of the place. The sexual energy that flowed like a particularly heady wine and the warm, relaxing glow it produced. Although he was not quite ready to get totally hedonistic (like some of the other patrons who were busy making out on the floor underneath the table, unable to wait any longer) he allowed himself the small pleasure of stroking himself underneath the material of his trousers. After all, what the hell. It wasn't as if anyone else would mind.
"And now, for out final act tonight, we,ve been saving the best for last. This man is a conisuer of pleasure, an expert in joy, and a body that will drive you wild! Put your hands together for...ZAK!!!"
The cheers were ecstatic, loud and long. The crowd were ready for it. In the Lace, the best was always last and they never disappointed. That's why, night after night, they continued to play the exorbitantly high fees. No down and out for them. The lace's men were of the highest quality.
The cheers were ecstatic, except for one. One man who sat, staring dumbly at the stage, his hand hovering forgotten over his crotch, caught in the downstroke.
The curtain parted and Zak came onto the stage. Floated, almost glided. A graceful cats paw, stepping lightly, as if unaware that his body was the lustful focus for nearly 150 aroused men. Seeming not to care.
And it was Zak, his Zak! There could be no mistake. The chestnut brown hair, the intense green eyes, the slight build. Here he stood, proud and tall. Ready to display for the world and not caring a jot! He was dressed in a long, flowing white robe, tied at the middle. His eyes and hands were raised upwards, in a gesture of homage, but not to any god Gabriel could thing of. There he stood, almost frozen, a statue of ivory and alabaster, seemingly oblivious to the crowd who had gone strangely silent.
Then the place went dark, the lights came down, the music started and the performer sprang into action.
The next half an hour was like a slow motion dreamscape for Gabriel. He had never seen skill like it. It was if Zak was on air, one with the space around him, defying gravity. He whirled and swapped, spinning of poles, hand standing and somersaulting off beams and horses, land with deft grace on the ground only To launch again into a whirling blur on the vertical pole. Legs tucked and clinging to the metal, arms stretched out wide, as if inviting the audience to join him. 10 minutes in the robe seemed to melt away from him, revealing nothing more than a tight white G-String and yet the act never slowed. Gabriel was harder then he had ever been in his entire life, so much so that it hurt to have his erection press into the material of his trousers. Yet he never tore his eyes away from the sight that took place before him. Without thinking, his hand danced casually over his crotch and he shivered. This wasn't just about watching any more. This was about seeing, understanding,
Feeling the very essence of the dance buzz in air around him, shimmering like a heat haze of sensuous movement, a blissfully requiem of movement. Every muscle rippled, every sinew glided, all to form a perfect binding of total bodily harmony.
This was a new side to Zak that Gabriel had never seen before. Here, in this place, He had seen for the first time the true form. The final metamorphosis, from shy mortal to angel of light, wings unfurled for the first time, as if finally allowed to be free. He was raptured, he was enraptured. His heart felt as if it were expanding, a hot coal of pleasure and warmth, the feelings of love he felt for this fragile person.
And it was love he felt, real love. He could no longer question it, no longer deny it. It was with him, it was in him and he was in it. He wanted to shout it out, tell the whole room about it. Never had he felt so alive, so in tun with himself. If this was what love felt like then he never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted to tell Zak how he felt, he wanted to tell him. He had to. He had to tell him...NOW! He stood up and opened his mouth, the words bubbling up from his throat, an eruption of emotion.
All went dark and Gabriel gagged! Yuk! What on earth? He stumbled back, his hands clawing at the something that had engulfed his face. In his confusion, he misstepped and his foot caught on a bottle that was rolling around on the floor, It curled from under his foot, Causing him to tilt alarmingly and windmill his arms. Too late! With a yell, he teetered then crashed through his table, which was luckily made of metal and hit the ground with a thud, causing glasses and bottles to tinkle round him like chiming rain.
He sat up and removed the offending piece of material from his face and examined it. It was a white piece of tight material. A G-String.
Realisation dawned on him, followed by the glowing leaden ball of horror as he realised who it belonged to. Everyone was staring at him, everyone. Some were laughing, others concerned. He heard no one. Slowly he stood up, brushing glass from his clothes. A lance of pain stabbed through his hand, and in the back of his mind he was aware that he was cut. Somehow, that didn't seem important. His gaze slowly swept across the stage to the naked form, who had stopped dancing and was now staring back at him, his mouth open as if in a silent song.
Their eyes locked. In an instant, Gabriel saw it all. The hurt, the betrayal, the horror mirrored in his own. Now Gabriel understood. He was one of them. He didn't care about Zak, all he cared about was the thrill of watching, the pleasure it brought. To Gabriel, he was sub-human, a thing without emotion, just a pretty face. The Green eyes bored into him, making him want to look away, but somehow he couldn't. He just couldn't.
"How could you?" they seemed to say.
"How could you?"
Zak let out a strangled sort of half sob, turned and ran from the stage.
Gabriel stood, a throng of people milling round him, staring at him, watching him, trying to speak to him.
Yet he was utterly alone.