spin_kick_snap: (Over the Shoulder)
By Sunday morning, Kathy was ready to leave Boston. It was colder in Boston than in Baltimore and her attempts to forget herself in bars and clubs had had sub-optimal results. She was going to chalk it up to residual concern over Ezra's warnings about the Coterie, even if the truth was likely far more complicated.

With far more clothing, makeup, and accessories than she'd left with (look, they called it retail therapy for a reason!), Kathy quietly let herself into the apartment. Trading her shoes for her indoor slippers, she realized just how much she'd missed the place; it had only been theirs for a few days, but she'd already gotten into the mindset of thinking of it as home. And if this were home, she had to start acting like it. No more running away. She might not know what she was doing or anything like that, but at least she had somewhere she could feel safe to not know from.

She put her bags in her room, promising herself she'd put everything away later along with the rest of the unpacking she still had to do, and went looking for her roommate. Everything between them was still up in the air, including Kathy's own feelings, but avoiding Raven wasn't going to do much good for either of them.

[For the roomie if she's around, but open to visitors and phone calls!]
spin_kick_snap: (Strut)
That morning, under the guise of calling her family to wish them a Happy Lunar New Year, Kathy had asked her sister, Sarah, about all-ages clubs in LA. After Sarah had spent ten minutes explaining that no one over the age of fifteen went to an all-ages club gawd, sis, seriously? Kathy'd asked if she knew about any dance clubs that weren't too keen on looking at IDs. Sarah had been so excited at the idea of her nerdy big sister wanting to go clubbing that she hadn't even questioned why Kathy was looking into places on the other side of the country from where she went to school.

Fortunately for Kathy, Sarah knew just the place. Situated in Hollywood, just a few blocks away from Paramount Pictures, was Club Risqué. It was technically meant to be 21-and-over, but the bouncers were well-known for ignoring IDs in favor of Grants. Or, better yet, Benjamins. While the age limit wasn't enforced, the dress code definitely was: dress to impress only, losers need not apply. There were rumors of the owners being a little shady, but even if that were true, there were no ties with the South Seventeens.

That was good enough for Kathy. After getting back from Selkie Peak with Edward and taking a long shower (a warm one this time!), she made a few more calls to let everyone know that they were good to go tonight.


Coming to LA had been the perfect choice, Kathy decided. Rather than freezing on the walk from their portal to the club and the following wait in line, they got to enjoy temperatures in the mid-50s. Maybe it was appreciation for the lack of shivering, but one of the bouncers noticed them right off and gestured them forward. They even got a break on their entrance fee; for an extra $200 he waved them all inside without even mentioning the need for identification. Once the heavily soundproofed doors were open, they could hear the loud hip-hop/dance-pop playing over the club's speakers. Even without that, the heavy beat was palpable, the floor almost vibrating with it.

A huge bar took up one section of the club, and across from it was the DJ's island. Along the walls were plenty of tables and padded booths for people to sit in, if they wanted to--or more than sit, as they could see when the brightly-colored lights would flash over them, illuminating couples making out like LA had been filled with pollen, too. More bouncers held positions inside the club, scattered in little pockets of isolation, keeping careful watch over the club-goers, occasionally touching their ears to hear information relayed through their headsets. Several doors dotted the walls, leading to the coat-check, a back room area in the bar, bathrooms, and a VIP area, where small 'champagne rooms' could be rented for the hour, or enjoyed by high-profile guests and friends of the owners. The rest of the space was dominated by the dance floor, filled with writhing bodies, while bubbles and even foam occasionally rained down to roars of approval.

"This is it!" Kathy yelled, trying to be heard above the din. So long as they stood close and shouted, they could carry on a conversation. "We ready to dance?"

[For the LA clubbers, please, and NFB! Up early for timezones and great SP]


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