THE beat of the disco was alive, a cacophony of noises orchestrated by dancing, technicolor lights, blaring music and the clanking of heels on floor, sometimes heels on heels. Outside, seizures of neon lights broke the darkness as a throng of people waited to join the incense of sweet liquor, spirits- this one night of a week.
On the other side of the building, a redhead continued his search in a sling bag. He’d slipped in from the rear, long legs swift and soundless with clothes that blended in the night, graceful as a panther. Now in the quietest part of the club, where the sounds were muffled by a soundproof door (at least before everyone got a little tipsy, and walking in meant the reek of vomit), he swung his bag over the restroom sink.
He had donned modern apparel, new ones, not tried and tested- but he’d always had an eagle eye for fashion. Thinner articles clung better to his body and pulled over more glances. A long-sleeved brown shirt, translucent scarf, dark red vest that matched his hair, and skinny jeans. He didn’t doubt them.
Finally finding his comb, the adolescent brushed his bangs gently aside, as he always would before looking for game. That was the only thing he really needed: a subtle shift in his hair, revealing those half-lidded wine eyes, and the next thing his clients knew, they would both be tousled in bed.
Taking one last look at the mirror, the boy tugged on his vest slightly. He rested the sling on his shoulder, almost like a protective rifle against his lithe frame.
Yes. Everything is in place.
And with that, the panther stepped foot in the tempest of vigor and human abscess.
