#carnival

(His grin might be a clue that no, she probably -- no, really -- doesn't want it)

(And it also reveals something that might be offputting -- he lacks teeth)

"Ian?" She giggles. "Sure I can remember that. That's easy." She flutters her lashes. "So Ian you wanna dance or something?" If she notes his teeth, she says nothing. Her hips swaying to the music. The satyrs playing washing over the crowds. The drugs flowing, drinks being given out for free. Food laced with glamour being offered to both fae and mortal alike.

He can have her for a moment, but he can't keep her - dancing towards and evading in turn, like a white hind through the wood.

"Or something." (His lidded eyes flick to the buffet, and back) "You, want something? You look like you could use another."

A stroke along and then she's gone, a brief glancing contact, and away she whirls... like a knight enchanted to follow the questing beast, a sinner seeking a wisp not knowing nor caring it may lead him to his doom.

Spiders are sent out. Her most clever ones to follow Zara and Earl. Ones that are use to avoiding feet, ones that are use to following others. One is left with Ice, and Thirteen goes to shadow. To glean glamour. To watch her companions though the eyes of her chimera.

"More to drink? Yes. Do you know they have drugs here and they are all free." She flutters her lashes at him. Want me to show you?"

"Sure. Show me whatever you want to." (A VERY amused twist of a grin) "I'm new here, remember?" (He takes her hand in his gloved one, her fingers, and lifts chin) "Lead on, Cally."

When she is thirsty, she takes one of the ready glasses - not asking what it is, barely pausing in her mazelike dance.

This is nothing like the party before. There seems to be no rules. Dancing, fighting, sexual pleasure. Nothing seems forbidden. Drugs, drink, music, all things to make ones will weaker. Cally leads Ice off towards a booth on the side of the street. One filled with beer, and a gentlemen dressed as a vampire offering even more. Needles with the promise that they are clean. Filled with a -surprise- .

The Baron Samedi watches his prey like a lion watching a gazelle at a watering hole, and he closes to get a drink of his own. And he whisper something near her.

(He looks back, trying to keep the two he came with in sight. Earl, at least, he can see. And is led. His eyes narrow at the needles. No, he knows what those are. But he WILL take the beer, after making sure Cally gets what she's after)

Grey lips curve in a smile, a teasing reply as she dances away.

Cally gets a beer. Zara some wine spiked with glamour, with a berry sort of flavor. It hits swift, filling a person with a warm heat.

He takes a swig of the drink, not even caring just what he slammed back, and whispers, "To the chase, to the chase, though the prey sets the pace. Key to her lock, to turn and twist. Chase Chase, a chance at bliss." Glamour flows

Cally moves back, as close as she can to Ice. "Do you wanna dance or something?"

And he kicks into the air and twists and turns over acrobatically and then lands before his delight cutting off her path of escape, or at least forcing her to find a new one. "Roar." He says and shakes his hair like a lion

"Sure," (He murmurs, although he has to lean near her ear to do it) "But afterwards, maybe we should go somewhere you can hear me better?" (Again, mingling with the scents of alcohol, sweat, food and perfume, there is now a scent of decay; she notices it when he leans in. And no, it's not his breath) "There's something about you, Cally." (He twists truth and lie together) " I'd really like to know more. You know?"

"Okay." Her nose wrinkles slightly, perhaps at something she smells. But she does not back off. "Where do you wanna go? I mean there's like people everywhere." a bit wobbly on her feet as she waves her hand about.

"I thought you were the local." (He takes a drink of his beer, and then rubs the back of her hand with his gloved thumb)

"You, you tell me."

Spidery fingertips reach out, grazing his chest. A smile, and a sinuous turn - finding the driving beat of the music, and allowing herself to move in time - just beyond arm's reach.

She grins. "Yeah. I know where to go. Come on, dancing won't be as much fun as being alone." She thrusts against him once, then moves to lead him off, away from the cul-de-sac that the party is in.

He presses his chest against her hand , pressing, a feral and lazy smile, his arms are long, and he hopes to use it to change her evasion of his 'reach' seeking to side finger tips around her waist and pull her in yet.

And spiders are working over time as they attempt to keep up with a leaping troll and dancing sluagh.

Like every scrawny goth girl in history, Zara's dancing resembles nothing so much as a swaying tree... but this time, it is one encircled, and not pulling away just yet as she is drawn in by the troll.

(He follows, smiling -- a smile that fades when no one is watching, to be replaced with a narrow, watchful flick of eyes over and around, wary)

The troll presses her closer, the heat of his skin like a fire under a tarp, he tilts down his own eyes plunging into the ebony pools of her gaze. A creature of drowning she was in the dreaming, how apt that feels.

She leads him off, giggling as she drinks her can of beer. She does not take him to far. And perhaps he can hear the scuttling of a spider. Though it can't seem to be seen. She pauses in a small park, one that looks like it had better days. A swing set with a missing swing, leaving only one to move in the cool night air.

Boneless, pulling Earl into her own swaying pattern of shimmied hips and sinuous arms - a cool hand reaches up, brushing against his jaw.

"When was the last time you were on a swing?" (After a quick, assessing look at the chains, to see if they will hold an adult's weight)

"I don't know. When I was a kid I think." She eyes the swing. "You?"

Caught in her orbit, pulled down into her gravity; the touch on his jaw reels him in like river vines snagging a swimmer who can not fight the currents. He kisses upon the mouth, meaning only to take a taste, but finding himself savoring a bit deeper than that.

"Same. Want me to swing you, or that a bad idea right now?" (A wolfish grin, grasping the chains, and leaning, almost a challenge in his tone)

She blinks then she nods. "That would be cool I guess." She moves to take a slightly wobbly seat in the swing. From this Ice can tell that under that long shirt she only has her panties on. The beads around he neck clink lightly together.

Surprised - too surprised to evade! Her kiss is -cold-, ice water in the heat of the dance.

(He waits for her to sit, then gives her a light push, setting her swinging)

"So, what brought you here?"

"Tell me, wasn't your boyfriend."

"It was my feet." She laughs. "I might have drunk to much. My boyfriend is a bitch. I left him like a week ago.

Where dark waters cold meet flames, steam arises, and his lips play with hers, seeking to draw her into his passions, and know her own. The rest of the hold is forgotten to him. The crowds are just a light buzz, the music just for them.

"Yeah? He a real asshole? What he do, smack you, sleep around, not appreciate what he had?" (Pushing her slowly, not so much to get her seasick)

"Can I get your number?"

The spiders click excitedly as they kiss, and one can almost 'hear' Thirteen rolling her eyes. So much for them sticking together. She shakes her head in her shadow. A few people paying her a visit. But for what purpose, her companions will never know.

"Maybe, see you with your mask off tomorrow?"

She nods agreeing with him. "He was an asshole and did not appreciate me. He wanted the bitch with the bigger boobs." Her mask slightly cock-eyed on her face. "Sure, yeah, my number." She reaches into her shirt pocket, fumbling out her phone."

Zara rests a hand on his cheek, not pulling away - not with the blood rushing in her head, the music driving her heartbeat into the red. All that exists is this moment.

He tilts his head leaning into the caress. He glances to her, then to a private alcove, a question in his eyes

She hands the phone to him. Perhaps a little to drunk to get her own number off it. Luckily it does not have a screen lock.