Private Hypnotic House Elektrodance SuperTantra

[Isar du Vain]

"The mess comes with the territory, doesn't it, love?"

He drew his fingers through the air, as if he could touch a thousand strands of their intertwining thoughts and feelings, a complex knot of twisting colors.

"Ain't that what emotions are? All these tangled threads?"

Then again, Isar had never been a slave forced to live in squalor. He had been in some foul places, for sure, but could often chalk those up to his decisions. Nothing to do with a chain around him and a person what's sayin' they owned him.

"Without the mess, how are we any different than clankers?"

Did he detect a flash of anger in her? Probably hated droids now.

"But sure. Maybe you're better than it now. Maybe you don't need the real thing."

Isar's eyes slipped to the side, watching their pale figures move to the thrum of the bass. Some strange and entrancing cognitive dream. A nice dream. But still... only a dream. He couldn't actually feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands or smell the scent of her hair. A pale lilac gaze tracked back to amber irises.

"That right, Elle?"

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

There were many enticing things Isar could do for her — but insisting that sweat, grime, and discomfort were necessities to life. She'd seen people thrive without such impairments. She would be that person now.

Elle would be that person.

That Clanker, the one that made her hair bristle, was on top. In charge. We would have been stomped out.

I can do without that mess.

Elle is nice. She smiled. And, once again, unbeckoned, two more drinks slid across the table. This time with one of the fancy, steaming appetizers to nosh on.

So yes, that’s right.

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Isar du Vain
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​

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar eyed the drink but didn't immediately go for it. His eyes narrowed on her and he idly toyed with an earing, rolling it between forefinger and thumb.

"Hmm," he couldn't say she was wrong. After all, when had he ever been right? It just felt off, somehow, to him. The grit made the whole experience feel... real.

But maybe he shouldn't want to feel real anymore. Maybe the bliss of a neon dream was what he should be seeking. Hell, wasn't that why he crawled into bottles - prescription and otherwise? Just trying to feel something. Anything.

"What's living look like to you? Without the mess."

And the deeper question of what would she do now that she had been taught to wield all this power.

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

We're finding out every day. The exchange between them lilted upward, enthusiasm pricking her delivery. A giddy sort of enthusiasm wound through the syllables, not unlike the delight first found in the stands on Ossus.

That's the beautiful thing. She continued, using the toe of her shoe to work up his ankle to the curve of his calf above his glitzy pants. Above the table, she scooted closer in the booth – a fluid motion, barely perceivable other than the shortened proximity shared. And she leaned in, grazing a fingertip over the shimmer of the accessory on his lobe. It can be whatever I want.

Her fingers gave a tug, not enough to really hurt, but enough to emphasize that this conversation was also happening in the physical world. Living can be with hurt, if I want. Of course she didn't, but it helped drive a point. Then fingertips trailed down the closure of his golden jacket

Or without. It could be all glamour, filled with abundant riches or — her eyes drifted out to the floor, where the pink and red silhouettes of their ghost selves still sway and moved, enjoying the rhythm from the DJ's choice. Whatever. It could be nights like this every night. Or I could run this bar. It's boundless. Then she straightened his collar firmly and sat back again, a wickedly coy grin snaked through the ruby of her lips. But it is not dependent on mess. And it is not be influenced by anyone other than yours truly.

Again her head cocked to the side and she smoothed the sides of her dress around her hips, fabric kerfuffled by her earlier movements.

Have you ever lived without the stickiness of mess?

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

“Without it?” Focusing his thoughts seemed difficult, hazy. Maybe it was the booze. But no. He suspected it had far more to do with her. A lot harder to hide emotions when they were all wound up in each others minds.

“Nah. Probably not. Not even sure what the mess is, Elle.”

Was he not supposed to feel a flush of heat at the pressure of her shoe sliding up along his calf? Should his heart not thud a little faster when she slid close? Should his breath not have stilled when she tugged on his earring with those knowing fingers?

She’d see it all. He wasn’t even trying to hide the cascading swirl of emotions he felt about her. Hiding it would seem like a betrayal of some sort. And he’d betrayed enough people for the year.

Besides, she was the one making all the moves.

“You-…” oh. It all clicked for him.

“The mess. It’s chaos.” The mess was lack of control over her surroundings. He could see the threads extending out from her, to the waiters all around. “You want to be in charge.” Because if she wasn’t, then she might end up in a cage again. Might end up hanging in a warehouse again.

That made sense. He nodded.

“Me though?” His glass came down with a clink on the table.

“When I’m without the mess… When I’m in charge...”

Locking Jedi in mind prisons. Blowing great big holes in their padawans.

“I do bad things.”

Fingers made cold by the ice in the glass settled on her thigh.

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

She gave a slow, deliberate nod. He understood. There would be no world acceptable, no life worthy, where she could not be in control again. Not after so many years under thumb.

And you don't want to do bad things..? Alcariel asked. She did not flinch at the icy touch. Despite the condensation that had gathered at his fingertips, all she felt was the brief flinch of a chill and then only the fiery jolt of searing heat that made her skin pebble.

This was the part of Isar that entranced her so. He wasn't a good guy. With the flick of a finger, he could make anyone around them explode. But he.. somehow tried to offset it with small gestures. Or self-deprecating vices. He could easily be at Mercy's level but something kept him from pursuing such power. It was so fascinating.

What is it you want to do instead?

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

What did he want to do instead?

Well. There was a simple answer to that - an immediate one. One she already knew.

He didn't have to voice it. Didn't need to. She could feel it in the pull of his thoughts, the heat of his emotion, the way his fingers curled against her thigh. Hunger, threading through every part of him.

"Do? I don't know, Elle. I guess I just want to live."

To feel without feeling like shit, without remembering every mistake he'd ever done on display. Being so attuned to emotions meant he always knew exactly how people saw him. They wanted to paint him as the convenient fuckup, the villain without a cause. And he let them. Part of him, maybe most of him, did crave the Dark Side: the rush of power, the heady thrill of control. Could he really say deny how much he enjoyed the way he'd trapped Corazona von Ascania in that nightmare? Oh sure, it sickened him to think about sometimes, but in the moment... it all felt so intoxicating. Proving he could dominate the people who thought themselves above everyone else. Proving that in the end they were the same broken garbage as the rest of society.

Did he regret killing those padawans with Jogon? Maybe.

"Tired of it. All their judgment, you know? I don't want to feel it. Even you. You wonder why I'm not more. Maybe I don't want to be, eh? Maybe I'm happy right where I am."

Or maybe he was just terrified of what he could become - of what he might do.

His thumb traced slow circles over the gooseflesh rising on her skin.

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

It pained her to be lumped into the world of judgement he felt, but only for a moment. Like a stabbing unease. She did wonder, of course she did. And how could she not? To her, his potential seemed higher than the skies, deeper than the seas. Boundless. And time and memorial, he gave no concrete response — he claimed happiness, but reeked of vices and self-deprecation. Uncertain of which path he tread.

Amber gaze slivered at him, narrow eyes suddenly calculating and sharp.

You are?

I'd like you do be. Her heart tapped impatiently behind her breastbone. Worse yet, she was all too aware at the way the nerves beneath her skin blistered beneath his fingers and the vibrant, unsteady, electric feeling in her belly she didn't like.

I'd like you to believe you are. It's hard to pass judgement on someone who seems secure in their convictions.

The air between them was like a solid thing, charged and potent. Like they were so close to something, but the definition of release existed far beyond the tip of their tongues. Was it some sort of definition they chased? Assurance to wickedness? Or simply something more primal, beyond utterance?

Can you make me believe it? If he could convince himself, surely, he could convince her of his personal nirvana.

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

"Could. Not the right question, love." His thoughts whispered through her mind, rustling the threads of her consciousness like a soft breeze through chimes. He could press an illusion so real onto someone that they'd be convinced it was the truth. Could alter their memories. Could leave them stuck in a nightmare. He could make people do a lot. Believe a lot.

He didn't want to make her do anything.

Beside them, their ethereal forms danced to the beat of the constant thrum, which shook the building. Ghostly arms and legs writhing. In his mind, he was a better dancer. Maybe that's why the ghostly version of himself looked so at ease, movements cool and collected. Just enough movement to not come across as stiff and stilted. And not too much to break the illusion of nonchalance.

The lights of the club pulsed, momentary threads of neon pinks and blues and reds that swirled about through the darkness in effervescent lines, bleeding one color into the next and throbbing in sync with the rhythm.

The liquor burned in his veins. The scent of lavender and cinnamon hung thick in the air. His fingers raked up along her leg to settle on hip, he leaned closer, staring into those pools of liquid gold.

"Do you want to believe?"

Then his lips sought hers as he gave in to the hunger, to the temptation. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her hair and the feel of her beneath his hand which drifted to the small of her back.

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

She'd thought it a marvellous question. One that got to the underside of his power and could potentially test her own. Let her go toe-to-toe with the man who'd initially opened her mind. The only thing she believed was that he could not truly convince her without bone-deep conviction himself.

And until that day, she'd remain in the camp of concern. Or judgement. Any tent other than full understanding and belief.

"Hm." She simply smiled knowingly in response. A thin, tight-lipped curve.

Her non-answer was answer enough. He yearned forward and she did not flinch from his intent. Threads between their minds braided silently; the physical language of Zeltrons filled in the rest. Heat. Breath. The slow thrum of music vibrating through their ribs. Full, warm, unguarded heat meeting heat. Her fingers curled in his jacket as she surrendered the stiffness of her spine and let her body move with the pressure of his mouth. A soft sound escaped her throat, and she let the kiss deepen just enough to taste the hunger beneath it. His, and her own.

Her hand slid up, over the open shimmery jacket and his chest, skirting his throat with a featherlight graze — and then, just as the moment threatened to tip into something deeper, she slipped two fingertips between their mouths, pressing lightly but firmly against his lips.

Her eyes stayed closed as she spoke against the sliver of space her touch created. Her voice was quiet, intimate enough to slip through the overcoat of neon and bass.

"What I want," She let her thumb trace his lower lip once, slow and deliberate, and then lifted her gaze to his, amber molten in the lights.

Is for you to stop throwing yourself at airlocks and poisons, regret and shame.

I want to know if this is you in control.

Or is this just another escape? Another mess you'll crawl out of tomorrow?

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Isar du Vain
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​

 

[Isar du Vain]

The roaring engine of desire throttled up at the caress of her curling fingers, the crush of her lips against his, her little gasp, and the way she seemed to melt into him with a yielding suppleness. Then her fingers pushed between their lips and threatened to pull the key from the ignition, idling it with the tracing of a thumb on his lower lip.

Isar tilted up his chin, a half-lidded lilac stare boring into her eyes, their depths pooling amber sap, threatening to pull him in and leave him trapped. The way she twisted and moved seemed a silky allure, but her words held a monofilament edge. He could feel what drove her, their minds interwoven. Could feel the little thrill as a fingertip on her lower back found the divot of her spine and traced the shallow groove between her muscles with a whispering touch. But beneath the want and the lethality of her was a fear. A fear he thought he understood.

Fear that he might just be another person trying to use her.

"Elle."

The name she'd chosen and the nickname he'd given. "Can't promise that I won't stop being me."

His other hand found her throat. "I told you. I'm not a good person. But I know you're not just a mess I'm throwing myself at to escape. You felt it the moment we met, yeah? In those roaring stands. You understand me in a way no one else does. It's bloody terrifying."

Fingers squeezed tighter, just enough that the pressure of his grip stippled her skin.

"And... nothin' else makes me feel more alive. Tell me you don't feel it too."

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

He was as complex, if not more complex, than the lines inked along his skin. Beautiful on the surface, poisoned beneath, darkening into something worth tracing with a nail.

Asking him to be anybody but himself was an unreasonable request of course, but was it so deeply his personality and identity to inflict such damage and melancholy on his soul?

Her lips drew into a neutral line, but she found no falsehood in his eyes or the threads of his thoughts. He'd never lied to her. Not once.

I remember. The spice, the roar of the stands, the way their minds had tangled so easily she almost mistook it for familiarity. All that spice hadn't addled her memory, even though it had torn up her insides and had her bent over porcelain for a whole day.

But knowing his thoughts wasn't the same as knowing the root of him, the why of him. The why behind the danger and the sorrow. And she realized suddenly that she didn't need that answer tonight.

And that was okay.

He wanted to have fun. To live. Everyone was always telling her to live. To enjoy. To revel. To savour.

And she could, with him. She believed that she could. Out of all the things he could make her believe, it was that.

Because Mercy said to use him. And maybe Isar wanted to be used. Maybe it wasn't using him in such plain terms if she was actually honest with the answer she gave him.

I do. She agreed. I feel what your living is.

Her thumb stopped smoothing the pillow of his lip and drifted instead along the edge of his stache. Slow. Contemplative.

Maybe if this wasn't a mess for him, it was for her.

After all, he was just a man — poor thing. And Mercy had imbued within her a sense of misandry that was hard to slip from. That must have been what he meant earlier, about the complications of emotion and tangled threads. She'd been in a better state to ignore that line of thinking then; much better than now, when she'd already started to twist one of those threads around her little finger.

And just maybe you're right about the mess too, she conceded. Less in agreement, more recognition that he named a thing she'd been avoiding looking at directly. Feeling alive. Feeling mess. Being in control.Could they exist at the same time without devouring each other?

Do you feel in control? she asked.

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

In control...

Hm.

What a question, with the way she toyed with him now. He could feel the pulse of her heartbeat through the hand around her throat, a steady rhythm despite maintaining an illusion of them dancing, her dominion over the minds of the waiters nearby, and her thumb on his lip. Impressive, her own control. No one could deny it.

Isar watched her carmine features, eyes rapt and focused solely on her, wary of the venom he knew lurked just beneath her surface. Enthralled by her lethality. No longer some scared, wide-eyed girl confused and scared by the galaxy. At least, not on the surface. Somewhere deeper that fear still lurked, driving her to dominate her surroundings.

"Yes," his voice a husky, half-laughing thrum in her mind, fingers tightening their grasp.

"And no." The eddies of desires swirled within him, a dark miasma threatening to sweep him away.

He could try to challenge her power over the staff around them. But why bother? He liked seeing the way her mind worked and... how she sought to maintain control.

"Seems like you're enjoying testing how far my control goes. Wondering if you've got it hanging by a thread. Ready to snap."

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

A slow, knavish simper oozed through her lipline. This was fun. And ironically enough, it felt like control. A delicate, slippery kind that didn't happen with The Force.

Of course without The Force, she wouldn't have it. The intimacy they'd reached occurred only because the threads of their minds tethered and knotted, weft and weaved.

Her next question was simple, but burning. A root she'd been trying to uncover the moment he'd said that he didn't like control, because it made him bad. But even if he was self-proclaimed not a good man, did he not enjoy being a bad one?

She didn't understand.

Do you want it to?

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

The answer did not come with words, but in a wash of emotions that rolled over and through her. The cacophonous thrum made up of his addictions threatened to tremble apart the beholder like someone standing too close to a starship's engine. Control? Control was in choosing. Choosing the heart-pounding, spine-tingling rush: the euphoria of mind-blasting narcotics, the thrill of pulling someone else apart with the Force, the tremor of skin against skin.

The sensations blasted through her mind and Isar held nothing back. Not his horror over the people he'd killed or the elation he felt in the moment of doing it. Not the way her sudden dangerousness frightened him and drew him in, or all the things he imagined doing to her. His fear that she'd see him like the rest of them. His hunger to do it anyway.

His fingers moved from her throat to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.

His cards all fanned out on the table of their mind in answer to her confusion. And in them and in the way his lilac eyes studied her, depths glimmering with something dark, she might find her answer.

Alcariel

 

[Alcariel]

​

Alcariel's awareness widened like its jaw had unhinged and she exploded into white.

A technicolor detonation flooded every corner of her mind. Addiction, thrill, horror, lust, guilt, elation… all sharpened by the edges of someone who lived too brightly and too violently for a single body to hold. He gave her everything: The horror of killing, the giddy triumph in the same breath, the fear she frightened him, the hunger she awakened in him, the aching hope she might understand him, and the darker ache that she might not.

And she relaxed into it, letting the flood wash through her and the current take her under. The sheer scale was staggering. intoxicating. Feral. Brilliant. Sick. Beautiful. She leaned into the press of his hand in her hair, into the answering pull inside him.

Through the rush, she fought the impulse to close her eyes and fully slip into the torrent. She kept her eyes on his, dilated wide, drinking in every flicker of lilac as he opened himself wide open.

When she felt the intensity taper, she breathed out a gasp, awe heavy on her exhale. Once again, he was nothing but genuine.

For a few beats she stayed like that, silent, staring, and simmering in the heat of his offering.

Then she was on him. Her hand fisted the front of his glittering jacket, twisting it over knuckles and dragging him down into her mouth with a sudden, ferocious hunger. Deep and consuming, the crush of her lips all heat and want and the aftershocks of everything he'd just poured through her surging back into him tenfold.

When she pulled back, her threaded voice was low, wrecked with heat: Show me more.

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

The reverberating empathic blast crashed through him, rebounding from her with the force of a wave of overpressure. The weight of her body pressed against him, fist tugging him by his jacket into a searing, devouring kiss full of lips and teeth and tongue. His hands roved out across hips and thighs and back, exploring the thin, slick fabric of her dress separating them from the heat of her skin.

Show me more, she begged. Commanded.

Isar looked up at her as she pulled back, saw her golden eyes full of a raw and primal hunger. Wolven.

"Take it then, if you can handle it."

So he did, letting the gates of his mind swing open and pouring into her every strip of doubt and fear, moments of triumph, of regret, and every imagined lustful thought of what he could do to her. A thousand daydreams collided into her brain and he breathed life into them, twisting them with the aspect of the Force they called the White Current so that even dreams could look and feel as vivid as reality. Wild, lucid visions of sweat-slick bodies intertwined, sensations of every single one flooding into her brain in a detonation of serotonin within the mental prism, emotions kaleidoscoping.

Fingers threaded into her hair and he yanked back on her head, driving his teeth into her neck savagely, devouring her. A wash of oxytocin swept over him from the physical contact.

He reached out in the Force, feeling the threads of ecstasy from all those on the floor below in the euphoric throws of a half-dozen different drugs. Isar seized those threads from a hundred minds and ripped them away, leaving them slumping on the floor in sudden crushing depressions even as he channeled their stolen happiness into Alcariel . The deluge of dopamine cascading for her could obliterate her senses in a sudden, maddening torrent to ignite every pleasure center in mind and body in a cloudburst of bliss that glitterstim could only dream of.

"Take it all."

 

[Alcariel]

​

All training about resistance and protection yielded to the onslaught of pleasure. And Alcariel gloried in gluttony for all he gave.

Head tilted back, abundant with want, the enormity of her desire built and built, taking over everything so completely that she had no room left for anything else.

And while it was all unified in the positive, all for her benefit, for his, she saw the lives of those who he extrapolated from. Hundreds of lives, hundreds of nodes waiting to b strung together to a single, vast, beautiful mind. From here, Alcariel could see the great unity that the galaxy could become, and more than that, she could do it. He could do it. They could do it. Bring something new and grand and strong into the universe. Alcariel let herself look forward through epochs to see the brightness that could be spread through the galaxy, discovering and creating and growing in its chorus. Reaching beyond anything a single mind could conceive. A blanked of scathing, shadowless light that rivalled the diamond stars themselves. Such a thing to behold nearly made her body weep with awe — or perhaps that was just a result from the combination of all the feeling. He'd feel it too, through their woven intimacy.

It verged on too much a couple times, but she throttled her acceptance of it, letting it deepen and curl within. Her hands skimmed up over his back, beneath his shimmery jacket, greedily touching every warm curve she could get to. Her body felt electric, like energy crackled just below her skin. Sharper than fire, brilliant and biting. A brightness lit by his torch like touch. Wrapped up like this, it was as though she could feel him pulsing in her veins. Addictive and intense.

Incredible. Her breath ragged.

You see it too? What they could do together.

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Isar du Vain
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[Isar du Vain]

I see it.

Nodes of control. Threads connecting puppets. A massive web with her at the center, weaving her will. And him there with her, dominating the minds of lessers so that none could ever take her a slave again.

She sought to rule the emotions.

But he sought to lose himself in them.

Did she understand? What she did would only create a million more of her. A better man would have told her this. Tried to guide her to a better path.

Isar was not a better man. He would do as she wanted, whatever it might be. Anything. Anything at all. No matter how much it might keep him up at night, or how much alcohol he would douse himself with to try to forget it. Because he was getting addicted to the way she looked at him now, with such a dark promise in her hands and in her lips.

If she wanted him to, he would snap his fingers and break the minds of every single person here. Their minds so wrapped up, siphoning every drop of chemical ecstasy from their emotions, she could see how easily he could tear those threads and send them all crashing down into fits of madness.

Is that what you want?

Alcariel