[hr][center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjk2LmY5OGJjYS5UTU9zZU1PNlpTQWlUR2xqYTNNaUlGcG9ZVzVuLjA,/nuku-nuku.regular.png[/img]

[sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXeIF3sbpXs]You're a strong flame, burning bright. It's our turn, to light another
It's our turn, it's our turn[/url]

[@MyCatGinger][@lovely complex][@Viciousmarrow][/sub]
[hr]


There came a moment everytime she took the stage where the background noise and ambiance no longer factored into anything. The flashing lights and the still pumping bass and beats from the speakers around her - the headphones were noise cancelling to a point - were nothing more than set dressing. She could close her eyes and not miss a beat, not miss a cross fade or a rewind, eyes didn't matter here. Of the senses only two mattered when she got into that groove - the sweat dripping down her tanned cheek, her mouth hanging slightly open - so slight that only the barest glimpse of her teeth were visible between the thin lines of her lips - her hair sticking to the back of her neck while simultaneously bouncing along her forehead - all of those were lost amidst a complete sensory blackout. No sense of sight, no scent, not even tasting the warm, salty spray of hot air and cheap cologne and perfume. The only things Licks needed was hearing and touch. 

The hearing was obvious enough. Her ears needed to be alert, to pinpoint the exact moment in a song to flip it, to spin it back, to swap. A moment's hesitation or miscalculation and  the song would change, the vibe would shift, and the people deep in their sixth drink and their second empty promise wouldn't even care. But Licks would. 

Touch was less obvious but just as important. Her fingertips could tell the grooves of the spins, the buttons, everything that mattered she could guide underneath her fingers. The simple touch, a gentle guiding hand was needed. Too hard on the flip, too early on the get down, missing the crucial part where the rewind has to happen to keep the beat going...any number of mistakes in something as little as a touch and the only thing these people would hear would be the screech of a failed scratch and the frustrations of the night's MC. But of course Licks was a professional. She took her craft seriously, the same as anyone who wanted to excel in a field. A surgeon couldn't afford to make mistakes, couldn't afford to slack off and neither could Licks. She wasn't fooling herself into thinking her skills were harder or more important than a surgeon, only that a similar mindset was needed. The music was the patient suffering from a life threatening injury, the crowd was the family crying in the waiting room, and her fingers were the scalpel cutting into the vinyl. 

At this point these grooves, these trances she found herself in were second nature. Though it was routine, Licks still got into it, giving each rotation her all, bouncing her head and throwing her body into the groove and rhythms. Her right hand was pressed against the can of her headphone while her left hand hovered over the table, ready to spin the next song like a proper jockey. It helped things considerably that she had something inside of her increasing the vibes that she was sending through the soundwaves. 

How long was she at the table? It was hard to gauge the passage of time when the only watch was the start, stop, and looping of a track. A simple sample could still last for minutes and the only signal of the end was when the vibe cooled, or when Licks was tapped on the shoulder. Time didn't matter in the groove, nor did it matter when a body was being controlled by pure ecstasy. With that inside of her and her mind gone, lost to the groove, Licks felt like she could stay up there forever - guided by just her sense of hearing and her sense of touch. 

But of course, Licks opened her eyes, slowly, blurry sights slowly taking tangible shape, eyelashes laying in the corners of her field of vision. Had she kept her eyes closed she might not have noticed a familiar face and had she kept her eyes close she might not have suddenly been jonesing for a refill. If only she could be so lucky. 

And that was who she saw amidst the wave of faceless, formless bodies. It was hard to mistake the guy, with his red hair and rough features that could fool a naive little thing enough for one night. Licks only knew Lucky through a former acquaintance - most likely mutual - who got out of the 'business' and turned the Chinese woman onto Lucky's services. Only it wasn't mechanical needs Licks needed from him and he respected the down low, respected the chill between dealer and customer. Having a rapport with her dealer was second nature - it was a way of ensuring a down on their luck dealer didn't blab to the press in a tell all. 

Not that she suspected Lucky would do that. He didn't seem so malicious. 

The music didn't come to a stop, but Licks knew how to slip away just long enough to fulfill her own needs. It wasn't the most professional thing in the world, but her plan would take no longer than five minutes, plenty of time to put on some filler track and conduct her business. Spinning her vinyl as she removed it, ending her own personal mix, she swapped to the second table, flipping on a new track, [hider=one that was sure to help boost liquor sales, not that the bartenders would thank her][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNtTEibFvlQ[/youtube][/hider] 

And as soon as the music began, Licks was gone, slipping away from her stage and down into the ocean proper. It was like swimming with sharks, only instead of teeth and a natural predatory instinct there were bodies, sweat, and a different sort of predatory instinct. Licks kept her head down, making her way through the crowd by doing what came naturally to those around her. Shaking her hips. Swaying her body. Dancing with her legs and her arms, her eyes locked on her destination. The red hair acting like a guiding star on the dance floor. 

The problem was that the red haired Lucky was not alone. But that wasn't going to stop Licks from doing what she came all the way over to do. 

[color=magenta][b]"LUCKY!"[/b][/color] she called, having to raise her voice to match the music, [color=magenta][b]"LUCKY!"[/b][/color] if the mechanic didn't hear her she wouldn't blame him, not just due to the music but also from the dancers on either side of him. They didn't look professional, as in hired, which only seemed odd due to there being two people who would tolerate the guy to the point of not saying a damn word about his lack of shirt. [color=magenta][b]"YOU KNOW THERE'S A DRESS CODE, RIGHT? I SNAP MY FINGERS AND SECURITY'S ON YOU FASTER THAN A VIRGIN IN A BROTHEL."[/b][/color] Licks continued to speak, cupping her hands around her mouth. Hardly the ideal setting for a conversation, but at least it was more audible here than up where she was working.

[color=magenta][b]"HOW'D THEY LET YOUR DEGENERATE SELF IN HERE ANYWAY?"[/b][/color] She asked with a teasing grin, eyes darting to the two women that appeared to be hanging on him or on each other - it was hard to tell. [color=magenta][b]"AND HOW MUCH LIQUOR DID YOU GIVE THESE LADIES, LUCK? ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU LOOK DESIREABLE, EH?"[/B][/COLOR] Licks was not above a bit of banter, it was mostly in good spirits. Much more chill than one of her last dealers who assumed jokes meant Licks was wearing a wire even after months of shopping. [color=magenta][b]"IF YOU'VE GOT A MINUTE, THOUGH, I COULD DO WITH SOME...SKITTLES, YEAH?"[/b][/color] 

The first step in any successful business relationship was ensuring both parties spoke the same language. There were virgin ears - virgin to the club drug scene anyway - no need to let them suspect anything other than a perky Chinese girl wanting to taste the rainbow. If only candy was what Licks had in mind.[/center]