The dancefloors were crowded, light dancing on bodies, red, blue, green, ever changing. Light chased by darkness, chased by light in an never ending circle of something that can’t be named.
You could easily get lost in the erratic dancing light, the spots, the lines, the twirls. It is so easy to let yourself fall into the depths of nothing, let yourself be consumed by wamrth, metal on metal, questing servos and come-hither-glances directed at no one else but you.
Loud music silenced every other sound, every thought is clouded by deep basses. Its rattling your frame and making you loose control, makes you dip down into madness of dance, of closeness only to be swept away rather quick when you take another step, another rhythm stealing you away from what you have known until now.
Sparks raced, fluids streaming and pumping through cables and joints, frames pressing against another, grinding, pushing, stroking, stealing the most sensual of touches from mechs and femmes you can’t see or don’t want to see, savoring every contact you can make in this hellhole of heaven.
The smell of engex, highgrade and parfum is omnipresent and the smell of body fluids is just beneath it. Prowling mechs and femmes picking out their prey without hurry, coming closer, hooking them with their moves, their frames and their coy glances, pulling you into the waiting deep shadows at the edge of this place, letting them sink their claws into their chosen partners. In the short moments between beats of bass, thrumming of guitars and vocals of singers, you can hear them. Mewling and panting, the clang from metal hitting metal.
Its a place of pleasure and fun.
A place to forget who you are, where you come from and where you will go.
A place to let loose, to be yourself when anytime else you live behind masks of your own choosing.
This place is “Heavensend”, a ship, a living dancefloor, living and striving at the edges of society.
And this is where Trailcutter is, not at the bar and drinking his soul away, he did that before.
He is in the throng of others, bigger frame dwarfing others and getting dwarved by even more massive mechs. His optics are offline and he is long since past the point of drunken swaying, he is lost in the music, lost in the beat, grinding up to someone with one step and being bend backwards with servos on his chassis and soft voices in his audials the next one.
Free for just this evening, hopefully having what those others have to offer.
