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northborn wrote in singularitylogs
who ; Open to everyone
what ; Eric's Halloween party
where ; The End of Line club
when ; After dark on Oct 31st.
warning(s) ; This is a group log, so ratings and warnings will vary by thread.

So, something about a Halloween Party. Eric Northman's extended an open invitation to the station to attend. The club itself remains mostly untouched, but with some minor decorations and festive additions to the menu. The club still sports the neon lights, clean metal, and soft leather seats, but how about that bubbling neon blue cauldron there?

Since Eric had joined in his partnership he's made a change and an addition or two. The Dance floor now sports two shiny new poles to encourage dancers. The VIP floor-- the upper floor of the club, open by invite --now has dimmer lighting to suit his eyes. The rest of the club remains mostly the same.

Drinks can be obtained at the Bar, the clean, semi-circular island at the back of the club. For the purpose of the event, catering tables have been set up in spots along the back wall and the outside of the club has been decorated and opened up to welcome those who might be too large to fit inside without use of a holomatter. For those who would like some privacy or just plain would rather enjoy relaxing, there are plenty of lounge spots around the club, including seating around the dance floor.

One stipulation. If they want to party, guests will check in and leave whatever weapons they're carrying at the Weapon and coat check. Nothing like bloodshed to ruin a party.

ooc: Please hold off on posting until all the bolded sub-headers have been posted!

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They made a lovely contrast of archetypes. Or an impending trainwreck. Right now, fresh from a drink and a dance, Clu was fine with a little bit of both.

It took him almost a full minute to register what was going on with the costume--United States flag, though to his eye it was a chaos of allegiances, white, blue, red.

Well, hello, officer.

If he just laid it on as thick as possible, he might eel his way out again in one piece.

"The wall, good sir," soft and slick, "has been standing there for some time. I think it can manage without your support."

Smooth. The Cullens would be so proud.

Edited at 2011-10-30 06:54 am (UTC)

Tron's expression darkened as Clu approached, and he barely managed to stop himself from turning and leaving right then and there. He'd promised Flynn he would stay for at least some of the party, however, and he wasn't going to let Clu ruin it for him, even if they hadn't seen each other since their... encounter several days past.

"What do you want, Clu?" he growled, not bothering to respond to the other program's comment about the wall.

So much for that.

It was kind of amazing, just how fast Tron could kill any buzz he was ever on, just by being in the same room.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." And then, quietly, "I'm not going to, oh, I don't know, camp out on your lawn and goad you into a fight in front of your User, or anything."

The cruel smile worked even better with the fangs.

Tron clenched his fists, trying to remain calm, though the flicker in his circuitry was even more obvious in this costume. "If you're searching for an apology, you won't get it," he said through his teeth. "And if you are simply attempting to provoke me, then I advise you to stop."

His own lights were out for the duration, but he wasn't above admiring the show. If he couldn't have anything else--distress was beautiful in its own right.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Never saying if that meant he'd never dream of provoking Tron, or whether it had never occurred to him to stop. "Here. I'm curious." No, there was nothing at all suggestive in his voice, or the angle of his hips in these ridiculous trousers, or in the way he insinuated himself ever. More. Closely. Into Tron's personal space.

"Why don't you tell me who you're supposed to be, hmm?"

Tron wouldn't give Clu the satisfaction of backing away. Standing firm, he watched the other program out of the corner of his eye, tension only evident from the way his fists clenched tighter.

There was no reason not to answer Clu's question, however. "Captain America. A hero of the User world. Flynn's idea." Inclining his head away from Clu, he gave his costume a glance. "I do not even want to know what yours is attempting to emulate."

Tron didn't move, but his spine went just a little straighter and his fists clenched tight--circuits twitched with the motion, blue and red.

"Fantastic. He knew what he was doing." There was nothing bitter in it, a slick, warm hum. "It suits you, y'know."

The line of Tron's throat as he looked away was almost compelling enough to--whoa, there. That took it a little far into character. But it was such a brilliant display, light in a jangle of color, that it went to his head a little; didn't matter if it was for him or not. Even reformed vampires only resisted temptation to a point.

"It'd be easier to show you." This with the slide of a hand along Tron's arm, fingers delving into red and white, warm and alive with current, down under the hologram.

"Hm. Perhaps." He didn't mind the outfit so much... Flynn had explained the meaning to him, and he'd been flattered by it, even if he didn't quite think he deserved the symbolism.

None of that mattered in this moment, though, because Clu was stepping closer, causing Tron to tense even further. "What are you...?"

As Clu's hand slid along his arm, it took everything in Tron's will not to shove him away in revulsion. The circuits were real enough, the costume rezzed to cover his skin the way his normal clothing would, the lights connected to the more delicate tracings on his body. Jerking away, he looked down in horror, feeling an unwanted shiver racing along his circuits, the lights pulsing and brightening in reaction to the other program's touch.

No... no, that shouldn't have... that can't...!

"Figured that was obvious." He didn't step back, chuckling around a startled huff of air as Tron shook him off. "You wanted to know what I am, what I'm supposed to be?"

Well. That was not the reception he'd expected, brightening flickers of response. Why argue with that? He leaned, moving almost flush against Tron, so close that the air between them nearly crackled with the differential--and his own outline helped cut back the glow, darkness descending over too much light.

"It's a new twist on User folklore: immortal, beautiful, and too strong." Which. Also covered Programs, to a degree, if anyone had ever stopped to think about it. "It feeds on very. Close. Energy exchange."

He saw that shiver. Did you need some help staying warm?

"And those it touches," Clu underscored the point with his palm, fingers splayed over lines of white, of all things, "take on a similar power."

Tron couldn't back away further, pressed against the wall as he was, and the shock had frozen him momentarily, enough to allow Clu to get in close. His circuits flared with unwanted reaction, too many cycles of reprogrammed want and conditioning unable to be overcome. Suddenly he was back there, the mindless servant again, desiring nothing more than the touch of the master program...

"N-no...!" The word came out more of a moan than a protest, and his hands came up to grip Clu's arms, tense, intent on pushing him away. His circuit-lined fingers connected with the hidden lights under Clu's costume, sparking and humming, shuddering up his arms and into his core, drawing out a gasp and a low, rumbling growl.

[here's your BADTOUCH and/or DUBCON advisory only, like, three tags late]

Current spiked up his arms in a rush of feedback; his disguise flickered, flared gold to the elbows, before the wearable compensated. He pressed an answering groan into the crook of Tron's shoulder, dragging teeth and stubble over hated, hateful white, eyes screwed shut against the burn.

That, a low thrum he knew he shouldn't be hearing, almost gave him pause.


"Easy. Steady, there." There was something wrong with his vocalizer. "I've got you."

The rest of him, after all, worked just fine--and he wanted everything he could get.

[Oh yeah, all the badtouching.]

He was lost, the club and noise fading around him, his world narrowing to the program in front of him, his entire existence validated by the master. Hands traced invisible circuit lines by memory, roaming over Clu's arms, shoulders, chest, pressing, touching, completing feedback loops and sending shivers through his own body.

"Nnn..." His circuits were flickering now, red-blue-white-violet, pulsing brighter with every touch granted. A low moan rumbled from his throat as he tipped his head back against the wall, letting Clu closer, inviting him in...

Stop, no, this is wrong, don't let him...! He tensed, gasping, pulling himself back momentarily. "No, what... this isn't...!" His hands came up, bracing against Clu's chest, as he fought the surge of current racing up his arms.

The noise, the crowd, they didn't matter. All Clu's focus was directed to the program shivering in his grip--his program, always his, just under the surface. Potential waiting for an outlet, for a User who had never come--for someone to turn him loose.

Clu sighed into the hollow of Tron's throat, digging into bright, bold new patterns with his thumbs, crooning warm approval as they flared violet.

Tron went rigid and pushed away, braced against him, floundering in protest and that felt good, too.

"Work with me." It was almost a moan, one hand closing over Tron's, stroking. Right didn't matter anymore. "Not gonna hurt you."

As if to prove that, he arched, mindful of Tron's wrists, and brushed their lips together so gently that they were barely touching.

There was nothing gentle or subtle about the pressing track of his knee between Tron's thighs, goading hidden and more intricate traceries to life with sheer pressure.

Tron shuddered as the touch to his hands sent unwanted--wanted, desired, needed--pleasure flooding through his circuits, pushing him spiraling backward into memory again, losing his processes in time and conditioned response. Lips brushed against his, and he parted them with a soft gasp, tilting his head, pressing forward. He felt Clu's knee insinuating between his legs and he responded eagerly, pressing back, shifting his stance wider, rocking against him, hidden circuits pulsing with need.

Clu trembled like high-tension wire, bright and coiled, want in every track of his fingers, desire in every gesture, like he could engrave it into skin, just with a touch.

He ground down with his hips, traced his tongue gently across Tron's lower lip, needing to get closer, so much it ached. But he drew away, slowly, still tracking insistent patterns in light with shaking fingers. He wanted to see it. Wanted to watch Tron's face as--


Not. Rinzler, no matter what color he wore, not ever again.

Clu froze.

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