O-oh. Oh-o-oh. There's a place that I know It's not pretty there and few have ever gone If I show it to you now Will it make you run away Or will you stay Even if it hurts Even if I try to push you out Will you return? And remind me who I really am Please remind me who I really am
Behind the curtain, the silhouettes break away from the singer, striking dramatic shadowed poses as more and more smoke billows out from under. Des' remarks are lost, as everyone, the bartender included, seems now to be utterly transfixed on the stage.
It's hard not to be. Maybe it's the booze, but Des would feel a strange compulsion† to stare as well, as the girl emerges when the curtain rolls up.
Thigh-high emerald green boots gave way to a flash of skin and then an equally dark green mini-dress that's so tight that it looks like it was oozed out of a bottle and molded to her body. Black gloves run up her arms, and her hair is dread locked and streaked alternately black and white. She has an exotic coppery skin tone, and features that are finely balanced, and, Des might note, if he can manage a Spot check (Wis) of 15 or more, maybe hinting at an inhuman quality.
The most noticeable thing about her, however, is about a lot more than her strikingly unique looks. Instead, it's the way she moves, fluidly, entrancingly, the strange aura that gathers about her, a sort of black hole of fascination that seems to suck in the whole place with ease.
Or maybe it's just her voice. It's the most inhuman thing about her - and the strange heartbreaking sense of sorrow and longing and mystery that it conveys feels like much more than just a stage act.]
Everybody's got a dark side Do you love me? Can you love mine? Nobody's a picture perfect But we're worth it You know that we're worth it Will you love me? Even with my dark side?
[† A Will save of 15 or more will allow Des to keep his head. Otherwise, he'll get caught up in it just as much as everyone else: it's a strange, obsessive feeling, an unhealthy rush of desire to be the object of the woman's attention, and a complete loss of focus on... whatever it was he was here for again...]
no subject
The strident voices fall to a dull roar when her throaty voice breaks out across the club.
♬ Dark Side ; Kelly Clarkson
O-oh. Oh-o-oh.
There's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away
Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am
Behind the curtain, the silhouettes break away from the singer, striking dramatic shadowed poses as more and more smoke billows out from under. Des' remarks are lost, as everyone, the bartender included, seems now to be utterly transfixed on the stage.
It's hard not to be. Maybe it's the booze, but Des would feel a strange compulsion† to stare as well, as the girl emerges when the curtain rolls up.
Thigh-high emerald green boots gave way to a flash of skin and then an equally dark green mini-dress that's so tight that it looks like it was oozed out of a bottle and molded to her body. Black gloves run up her arms, and her hair is dread locked and streaked alternately black and white. She has an exotic coppery skin tone, and features that are finely balanced, and, Des might note, if he can manage a Spot check (Wis) of 15 or more, maybe hinting at an inhuman quality.
The most noticeable thing about her, however, is about a lot more than her strikingly unique looks. Instead, it's the way she moves, fluidly, entrancingly, the strange aura that gathers about her, a sort of black hole of fascination that seems to suck in the whole place with ease.
Or maybe it's just her voice. It's the most inhuman thing about her - and the strange heartbreaking sense of sorrow and longing and mystery that it conveys feels like much more than just a stage act.]
Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?
[† A Will save of 15 or more will allow Des to keep his head. Otherwise, he'll get caught up in it just as much as everyone else: it's a strange, obsessive feeling, an unhealthy rush of desire to be the object of the woman's attention, and a complete loss of focus on... whatever it was he was here for again...]