Diva Headrush
Diva Headrush might seem lackadaisacal, but you will never find someone so precise.
She takes the drugs, but the drugs never take her.
Give me a rhythm and I can get used to just about anything. I'll hopscotch through hell if the bassline is right. I'll sing a dirge for the Gods with a grand orchestra at my back.
There she was, the Undaunted diva. All rolling hips and endless curves, limbs jerking in motion, conducting the song rather than following it. Heart-shaped pupils glowed in golden eyes, matching pink paint glimmering on her cheeks (both sets). Each stamp of her foot reverberated up calf, up thigh, further and beyond to animate the vim spirit.
With a clap and a spread of her hands she summoned her projections. They moved in time with her, backup dancers with synchronicity unmatched. Another clap, spread. Clap, spread. Dozens on stage now, moving in sensuous, hypnotizing motion. They embraced her, supported her, swooned over her as they dipped her low to the floor and lifted her high to the roof. She sang, but the lyrics were inconsequential—sounds which supported motion rather than the other way around.
I stood, shaking hands clasped around the grip of my pistol as I aimed it at her. My reputation and price-tag were well earned; never before had I faltered at a job... yet here I was. I looked into her eyes, and she into mine, and hers cut the deeper of the two. She said something, and though the motions of her lips held no breath I found myself so swept up in their dance that I could only comply. Come to me.
Diva's moan, undeniably aroused, pealed out over the room. Her hands held onto her Gristing headphones, her body rocked with the Grist Drop hitting her. She cast a hand out, and her projections flew out over the crowd, over me. They exploded, blasting glitter every which way. I knew what it was, but I had no desire to stop it—the MDMA glitter settled onto my flesh, where my sweat caused it to soak into my pores.
Her pleasure, boosted by speakers as they were, were drowned out by those of the crowd as her Glamour, boosted by the effects of the drugs, kicked in and washed away all semblance of allegiance, of self. I found myself beholden to the beat and the Diva commanding it.
The F-Bomb had dropped, the concert had ended, the orgy had began as a dance anew.