what's your sign? (r)

pleasure

matter

Whoever invented double-stick tape was a godsend. Though if you asked Harley, he was probably one of the disciples.

Harley bore holes in cracked bathroom mirror, her stare focused on her chest. For the past twenty minutes or so she had tried readjusting her (rather racy) dress in such a way that gloatingly showed off 'the twins', while keeping one from popping out and possibly giving some poor club patron a black eye. The stares she received from other visitors of the ladies' bathroom were completely ignored, but if she were paying attention she would have seen expressions ranging from utter disgust to mild (and drunken) attraction. Not that she would have cared. She had quite enough of the clubbing scene and those who frequented it for tonight.

After multiple attempts at fixing her very minimal wardrobe, Harley sighed and gave her already tousled hair one last shake. She clopped out of the bathroom, the alarmingly high heels that were strapped to her feet making noises akin to a horse's trot. The moment the door was pushed open the sounds, lights, and smell of the club hit Harley in a rush. There was a dry, uncomfortable heat and that mixed with the smell of perfume and sweat and vomit that made Harley want to rush back into the bathroom to do some vomiting of her own. But she had smelt worse; some patients came in with week old wounds that were unattended, gruesome, and positively rancid. They were charged extra with no lollipops given.

The pulsating lights illuminated her hair a glowing green color that changed color with the lights. The effect would have mesmerized her, but she was preoccupied with dodging a gaggle of intoxicated girls. The tightness of her dress matched with the heat tempted Harley to bulldoze her way through the gyrating crowd and out the front door, but she didn't have the temper or the size to successfully do it. "I need a drink." she mumbled to herself, slipping through the small spaces left between the dry humping crowd.

Thankfully, the bar wasn't as packed as the dance floor. The college girls doing body shots on the bar counter were no bother to her. She smiled tranquilly at the pair before she turned away and ordered a drink. Drink in hand, Harley leaned against the bar counter and scanned the club. At this point she had no clue why she had come here in the first place. The lights were blinding, the music was deafening, and all the people here looked subpar even after all the vodka shots she had taken before. Harley sighed and took a sip. No point staying if she preferred her hand to any of-

Oh. Nevermind. The rotating lights spotlighted a pretty little thing Harley's eyes had so disappointingly missed before. She assumed she was a blonde (what with the colorful lights messing with her eyes), possibly a new face? She wouldn't know until she gave her a peek. She slinked over to the woman, her expression deceptively innocent. "Flying solo tonight? I can relate," she cooed, eyes lidded as she moved closer. "Well, if your hand gets a little tired you can always borrow mine." Screw it if the girl was straight; many a 'strictly hetero' girls had succumb to her before and this time would be no different if she could help it.

Since you been gone, I been having withdrawals. You were such a habit to call. I ain't myself at all had to tell myself, She's better with some fella with a regular job, I didn't wanna get her involved. By dinner Mr. Benjamin was sittin' in awe. Hopped into my car drove far, Far's too close and I remember My memories no sharp, Butter knife what a life