overview Yuta Black All thoughts and angry comments about the cold evening and long line were long forgotten by the time Yuta had settled in with his friends. They were at O'9 again tonight, just like most nights. The music was blaring, and even though they sat as far away as possible from the dance floor, Yuta could feel the heat radiating off of the mass of moving bodies and towards his dark-clad group. "So what's he like?" said Hans. "Her ex-boyfriend. What's he into?" He glanced at Sammy, across the table, before his eyes drifted back down the room to Gerard, who was smiling at a random blonde woman beside him but had the fine glaze of preoccupation of someone about to make a speech. "Shots," said Nick, who was drunk and fluent, but still wary of Hans's encouraging tone. He twirled his glass on the shiny table. "Shots. Lotsa girls…um…" "Power," said Sammy sharply. "Power…" Julie nodded it into the list. "Fine cheese. Oh, and the music of Beethoven--that especially." Her voice dripped sarcasm. The remark made Yuta laugh. "Face it, Hans. You're not her type." Sammy said, and pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. Yuta smiled, and contemplated. "I honestly don't think she's your type either." "B-but..." This forced the male into a moment of introspection. If Yuta was agreeing with everyone... His friend dropped his blushing face into his hands, and it grew quiet enough that Julie lit a cigarette. "Look at her." Hans did, then regretted it. He too-quickly spotted the neon-haired girl dancing in the corner of the dance floor. Her short frilly skirt was riding up, and the straps of her low-cut top were being pulled down off her shoulders by the man she was grinding against. Yuta noticed the way the air left Hans by his shoulders drooping, and simply smiled to him, "It would be better for you to find a girl that isn't from the club." ...A girl that wasn't an insider to the vomit-smelling floors and dirty walls. That wasn't familiar with the way booze tasted on a stranger's tongue. Hans wasn't an angel, but he wasn't an incubus like Lily. Yuta watched the human spectacle behind him for a while longer, not really listening to the conversation anymore. Then he tentatively removed something from his pocket. 'Cue Julie', he thought, and like a charm, Julie suddenly became very interested in Yuta. He played with the tin labeled 'breath mints' as innocently as he could, and watched her creep to his side from the corner of his eye. She leaned forward, leather top straining against the armrest of the red couch, and asked, "What do you have there...?" Despite the loud music he could hear the excitement in her voice. He slid the lid open with a black nail, revealing a cluster of multi-colored pills. "Want one?" He smirked, and just like he predicted, "Hell yeah! Let's get this party started!" Dallas "Booney" Tries Dallas was breathing heavy, not all that used to being in a place so full of bodies. He was on a platform, a strange overhang overlooking the dance floor. There were couches and seats and a bar behind him, but he had already sat and drank enough. Now he was watching, just staring at the masses of flesh and clothing melting together like technicolor water droplets below him. It was a groovy mutilation of morals and personal space. He didn't know why he was here, or he had forgotten under the blare of the lights. Dallas Tries had always tried, and tried, and tried to feel less like he was looking in. Life had always been a monotony of laughing at the right moment for him, and a catastrophe of ruining things. He could hear people talking behind him, and suddenly he was drowning in a sea of music and verbal bullshit, adrift and wondering how people could hear each other when they definitely couldn't hear themselves. He was tired of coming here night-after-night, and standing alone along the railing with a cup of future piss and the sounds and smells of more, and more bullshit. Utter bullshit. This was what he deserved, for the crime of not fitting in. At least he made everyone else around him look good.