The club was full of bodies, living, breathing, sweating bodies. It was disgusting to watch them wriggle around on the dance floor together, sliding against each other, swaping sweat and other bodily fluids. The dance floor was a messy pretzel of wriggling, squirming, jerking bodies and it was disgusting, yet, it was intriguing.

It was interesting, the way one gave themselves over to the music, to the mercy of another’s movements, the way the body jerked and jumped spastically, seemingly without any organized thought and yet the overall effect came out as though choreographed by a professional.

Long, thin fingers tapped the shiny, sticky surface of the bar in beat with the solid thunk thunk of the drums in a song that was heavy with guitar solos and a whining, hissing vocal whispering the entire song after the fashion of what seemed to be the new rock scene’s favorite type of music. It wasn’t eerie the way it was meant to be, it was laughable.

The hand was dressed with two silver bands without decoration and a long charcoal gray sleeve of a button down shirt. The shirt managed to be elegant and simple at the same time, it managed to be gothic without being drastic and without making a statement. The shirt was a button down number, dark gray, and with little black buttons. What coaxed it into a Gothic touch lie in the fact that the points of the collar came down into longer, sharper points then an average shirt and that there was a large cross, cut from a black material, covering from the base of his neck to the base of his spine and from shoulder to shoulder pinned onto the back of the shirt with a dozen silver safety pins. His pants are dress slacks, fitted to his tight waist and slender legs.

Valentine Lovell Heart is sitting on the bar stool with one foot on the floor, leg straight to keep him perched on the edge of the stool, the other foot on the bar of the stool, knee bent. One hand rests on his slender hip, the other, as mentioned previously, on the bar. His long, black hair falls in loose waves and curls, reflecting the blue, green, and pink lights off of the black surface from the lights above. His skin looks nearly luminescent under the black lights, the colorful lights, in the darkness of the room.

He’s only just arrived and when he entered he stole several people’s breath. The intensity of his blue eyes is focused on the mass of bodies becoming one on the floor. There’s something almost open, almost inviting about his gaze, about the way the corner of his mouth lifts up.

The music, the lights, the people - it was hot, sweaty, and disgusting, for sure. But fun, too. Besides, the sweat never seemed to touch Jennifer. She moved and grooved with the music for a good hour. She had endurance, that girl. Finally deciding to quit, she ordered a soda and headed back to her table. She danced the whole way there, just for the fun of it, but changed her mind and decided to plop onto a red plush sofa in the lounge area instead. It was courderoy and soft. Comfortable. In short, a good place to sit. Jennifer watched the people dance as she drank her pepsi.

Then this guy walked in that made her cock an eyebrow. He wasn't perfect, really, but he was pretty good-looking. Not her type, though. She might not have been the typical 'goth', but she was certainly into guys with dark, shoulder-length hair and pale skin and tattoos - and preferably a few piercings, too. No lip or tongue piercings, though. How could she kiss a metalmouth and enjoy it? But nose rings, earrings, nipple rings - those things were cool. And you'd be surprised how many guys had nipple rings.

OOC: Just so you know, Valentine isn't the type to get up and walk across the room to sit by a girl. It isn't stubborness, just that he doesn't care enough.

IC: Valentine's awed eyes followed the wriggling bodies. It was amazing the way people incorperated themselves into the mass, seemingly melting right in and begining the action of squirming as if they had been there all of the time. It was equally amazing the way people broke away from the group as though they were not being dispelled but merely reaching out further.

Valentine's gaze followed a group, three young men pulling away from the crowd. His eyes lingered on them as they made their way to a table and sat around it, laughing. The image of them throwing their heads back silently, drowned through by the music, was comical at the very least.

She broke away singularily and his gaze followed. Alone, had she come here that way or simply made herself scarce from her group? So many questions and answered could be derived from the act of walking away from a dance floor alone. His eyes remained on her, his mind sifting through many short stories of the young woman's life.

Actually, that was the funny thing: that's part of the reason she'd left the floor. Jennifer was composing a short story in her head. She had an excellent memory, which served her well for her favorite pasttime: writing fiction. Short stories, poetry, and the like were all her forte. Finally, though, she needed a cigarette. Near where her silent watcher was, there were three or four smokers. It was the smoking section. After finishing her drink, she got up and walked over. Pulling out a cigarette and her lighter, she lit up as she noticed the guy.

"Nice shirt," she shouted over the music.

It reminded her of her uncle, actually. The guy was a prick, but he had good taste in clothes. Not much style, but at least he had taste.

Valentine’s eyes stayed on her as she moved across the floor, following her with an intensity that wasn’t easy to match. His gaze didn’t leave the lingering feeling of heavy eyes burning a hole into a person, he didn’t stare at someone to leave the lingering feeling of being watched. His gaze was nearly inviting, light, free, and always seemed to have a hint of a smile in the corner of his eyes.

His eyes followed her until she joined the smokers and he turned away and went in search for another interesting person to watch, until she spoke.

Valentine’s blue eyes swept back in her direction and a smile was in place by the time his met hers. “Thank you so much,” he replied. He made a motion towards the dance floor with his long fingers. “You were having fun,” he commented in passing.

She nodded as she took another drag. She blew out the smoke and then said, "Most people do in this place." It wasn't sarcasm so much as it was dry wit. She was merely stating the obvious.

"You dance much?"

Even now, she was starting to dance in place, not stepping yet but certainly moving to the beat of the music as she smoked. She'd probably die of lung cancer, but everyone died eventually and she could always ward it off with a spell - unlike most people, who were so unaware of their world they went through it trying to do everything instead of living it one day at a time. Shame on the unnish.