Glitter (luke)

[Dale McCall]

Dale loved clubs. There was just something about it that got you caught up in the music as it pumped through the club; each person effectively oblivious in their own world of vinyl records and beats.

Thank the almighty Ruler’s of the universe that the legal drinking age was eighteen, in London. London club’s were certainly not for the faint hearted. London’s fetish scene scorned the casual dresser. For Fetish clubbers, the more extreme and perverse, the better. Dress to sex-press, if you will. The dress code varied between clubs. In some cases there would be no admittance if you were not dressed in the right gear, while other clubs preferred members to simply use their imagination.

Punch ups were an expected occurrence. Though Dale was a rare one for getting involved in punch ups in a bar but he’d witnessed his fair share during his life and had never had the interest in getting involved. He usually sat out of the way sipping his drink and watching the blood and fists fly and listening to the crowds either screaming or jeering the fighters on until security hurried over to put an end to everything.

What Dale loved most, he thought, was the fact that he just seemed to fit into clubs. Even in this little rural area, everyone was dressed their best. He didn’t feel as if he stuck out as much as he did, because everyone here was dressed in their tight outfits, heels, boots, make-up, hair spray and accessories.

Dale remembered clubbing with friends in London, before coming down to Firefly Fields. One of them, a fairly misanthropic young man had commented that he always loved watching Dale in clubs: the clothes he wore, the way he held himself, the elegance and confidence, the way he was always open and friendly. They were complete polar opposites.

Dale twirled on the dance floor, his eyes glittering with laughter and barely contained energy as he danced to the rhythm and beat of the vinyl records that vibrated through the the dance hall. Despite the fact that you had to practically yell into someone’s ear in order for them to hear you, he talked animatedly to a group of people who he’d just been introduced to and couldn’t remember any of their names.

He was wearing white-spotted black legging’s tonight, with white boot’s, a black t-shirt with a dress-shirt/bow tie print on the front, a bright red plastic ring on right index finger, and a pink and red head scarf tied around his forehead. Coal-black hair around his temples and around the back sticking out over the top, looking disheveled, and unkempt. He knew not to make a huge fuss over his hair, before leaving the academy tonight. After all, he’d be dancing most of the time, and didn’t plan on heading back till late. It was a little later than 9pm, judging from when Dale had last asked for the time.

The dark-haired Londoner let out a short exhale of breath as he weaved his way through the groups of people dancing on the dance floor, and away from the music. It might’ve been cold outside, but inside the club, it was difficult to tell. Dale had arrived at the club at 7 and had been walking back and forth from the bar, to the dance floor since then. His main drink of choice that night had been a daiquiri; a marvelous little drink made with light rum, lime juice and sugar syrup with ice cubes. Girly yes, but it was cheap, and you could get tipsy quite easily from drinking them.

Dale found himself sat on some kind of stool by the bar of the club, where he was now watching everyone else dancing on the floor. Dale’s brow creased as he watched them gyrating and twirling, snogging and touching. The strobe light’s of the club distorting, and altering the colors of the dancers, disco-ball lights rolled over the walls, and he could see the dry ice of a smoke machine whooshed somewhere beside the DJ booth.

It probably also didn’t help matters that Dale was now decidedly drunk. Despite the fact that no one in the club now seemed to think him worthy of talking to, out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Dale could perceive the outline of a large person staring at him from a few seats away. The feeling of the man’s eyes on him, made the hair on the back of Dale’s neck stand on end as he pretended not to notice, and took another sip from what little was left of his lime daiquiri. Just ignore it, he told himself. But then, he noticed the figure rise to his feet stroll over and sit down on the stool beside him.

“You look as though you could use some more,” The guy said roughly, holding out another drink.

“Cheers,” Dale replied distractedly, taking the glass in his right hand and downing half of it in one go. He thought it tasted bitter, but in his mildly intoxicated state, he found he didn’t really care. On some level, he was aware of the fact that he should care. He wasn’t even sure what the drink was. Beer, possibly. Which could explain the bitter taste. Yes, that’d be it. He took another sip, smaller this time.

“You know,” his new drinking buddy began insouciantly, and as he did so, Dale became dimly aware of the guy edging closer, he was considerably more muscular than Dale was. “you’re a pretty little aint ya?”

Dale sighed. So the guy probably thought that he was a woman. Dale rolled his eyes, a slightly tipsy chuckle escaping his throat. It was a common occurrence that men often mistook Dale for a woman, especially whilst out at night, when it was harder to see. Dale often looked like a pretty goblin, or a witch, thanks to his pointed features, and long hair. More often than not, when he was out, Dale also wore the odd lip gloss or black eye liner to ‘make his eyes pop’.

“Y’know I’m a bloke righ’?” This guy really was huge - Dale was having to crane his neck just to look at him. Though whether looking at him was something Dale actually wanted to do, he hadn’t quite decided yet

“I know. I’ve been watching you.”

“Oh. That’s... nice.” Dale’s brow creased, as he felt someone move his hair out of the way to stroke the skin at the back of his neck. He shrugged the guy away, leaning to one side. “I don’ like it when people touch m’hair.” He objected. “Now, if you don’ mind, I think I’m jus’ gonna go, ‘cause you’re a bit weird.” Dale attempted to step past his new friend and get head back towards the dance floor, only to find himself stopped by a huge, meaty hand.

“I don’t think so. Think I’m gonna play with you a bit more first.”

“I’m no’ a doll!” Dale pulled his arm away from the guy - though he really couldn’t have been restraining him too hard, or he never would have managed it. “Although, I got’a tell ya, you’re no’ gonna ‘ave much luck with the ladies when ya ge’ out of here if you don’t do somethin’ abou’ that hair. I mean, what’s goin’ on there?! Talk about split-end central!”

Dale was babbling, as he was prone to do when nervous. It was safe to say that, in this situation, he was nervous. He felt his back hit the wall and swore, realizing he was now well and truly trapped. The guy was now right in his personal space, regarding him in an openly lascivious manner.

“You could probably do with some deodorant, too. Not to mention toothpaste. An’ probably a good psychiatrist -”

The other man was clearly unimpressed, as a huge hand shot out effectively put a stop to Dale’s rambling by squeezing his jaw closed. Now he was genuinely scared. It probably didn’t help that the guy was applying so much pressure, he’d probably end up crushing his jaw if he carried on much longer. Dale really should have known not to provoke people further while having his jaw practically crushed.

“Your talking irritates me. You can put that pretty mouth of yours to better use.” Then, Dale felt another hand, the hand that didn’t still have his face in a vice-like grip had now slid under his t-shirt, touching his skin suggestively. In that moment, Dale let out a pathetic choked whimper, closing his eyes tightly in sick anticipation.

“Hey, you. Yeah, you. Let go of him.” Came another voice. It was one Dale didn’t know at all but it sounded kind and helpful. Almost strong. Moment’s later, he felt the vice-grip move away from his mouth and felt a hand on his shoulder. [b]“You alright mate?”[/b][/i] Dale flinched at the touch, but relaxed as he realized that it was only one of the bouncers. Another one, a large bald guy was escorting Mr Bad-Breath out of the club.

“Yeah. ‘M right.” Dale nodded, massaging his jaw and hastily re-arranging his clothes.

“You gotta be careful, alright mate?” The bouncer said, brown eyes scanning over Dale’s slighty body as if to see if the little Londoner was being truthful.

“A’right.” Dale nodded once, before moving away, easily ducking under the bouncers arm as he headed back towards the front of the bar. Right, Dale decided. No more drinks, unless I know what’s in ‘em. “A wa’er please.” Dale spoke as a stout, dread-locked woman leaned over the counter to take his drink order. He perched himself up on the stool, and wrapped his hands over the glass as his boots tapped against the stool, to the beat of the next song. ‘I Do Not Hook Up’, he recognised the beat, by that Kelly Clarkson, chick, and allowed himself to focus on the music again.[/size]

[Luke Peters]

I love people watching.
So do you, don’t lie. Yes, you, the one in the back, pointing at yourself and shaking your head in disbelief. I know you love people watching, because everyone does. Still not sold on the idea? Let me put it in perspective for you: when you’re on the subway, what do you do? Look around you, see people. When you’re sitting outside at a café, what do you do? Look around you, see people. When you’re, oh, I don’t know, sitting in a crowded bar, trying not to fall off your barstool, what do you do? Look around, se—okay, have I made my point yet? Moral of story: like it or not, you people watch, and you enjoy it too.

I was enjoying it.
Well, from what I could see, anyway. Situated at the bar, twirling around recklessly on the stool, I scanned the crowd for interesting or familiar faces. More of the latter really, since I felt like dancing. Strange to come to a club alone? Not if you plan on leaving with someone. No children, not like that – I was a personable individual, and I planned on making a friend or two before the night was over. I’d already almost accomplished that, just by buying drinks! Who knew, eh?

The bartender – or should I say bartendress – obviously was the type of person who didn’t care how old you were as long as you gave her an acceptable tip. I vaguely remember trying to pull on one of her dreadlocks after I’d swallowed the entire contents of my martini, but she continued to serve me faithfully. In return, I tipped her, maybe even a little too generously. I should have known not to drink such massive quantities without a designated money-holder. It seemed that I could not hold my alcohol very well, therefore leaving me in a sticky situation almost right off the bat. I’d laugh about it now to the patron next to me, swaying slightly as I poured out my words to their ears, “Oh well, that’s the thing ‘bout monies, you can—hiccup—always make more!”

I was what you’d consider a ‘fun drunk.’
When trashed, I became incredibly amiable and outgoing, even more so than I already was. Although I was one of those people who might be thought of as, ‘the life of the party,’ it really ended up screwing me in the end. For example, although I was normally fun-loving sober, I would never do something like, stand up on a table and imitate a penguin. When toasted, the sky was the limit, unless I was required to go to the moon, for I’d do pretty much anything intoxicated. I was thoroughly surprised I hadn’t gotten in trouble for it yet, either with the law or with myself. I think that after a night of partying, waking up in my own bed – or at a friend’s house – really surprised me. I half expected to wind up having to locate my pants from the room of a guy I didn’t know, rushing then to the nearest drug store to purchase the appropriate barrier mechanism. Every night that this didn’t happen, I awoke feeling relieved but confused. I guess I should just thank my lucky stars that my drunk self was either a) unappealing or b) still smart enough to make the right choices. I decided to go with b most of the time.

After my first martini, I was feeling tipsy.
After my fourth martini, I was sufficiently trashed, but in a pleasant way. I liked being drunk, but not to the extent that I would do it every night. Unlike all the males in my family, I was not an alcoholic. By this point in the night, I sat on the bar stool, spinning around with my legs crossed under me. Good thing I was wearing shorts, for if I’d opted for my usual attire of flowing skirts; I probably would have been in big trouble by now. No, on nights I knew I was going to be clubbing, I dressed appropriately. Tonight I happened to be clad in a light blue v-neck shirt, plain black short-shorts, and sandals to match. I wore a glowstick around my forehead, pouffing up the hair above it in the manner of a small hair-cloud. One of my sandals had fallen off, and I found myself not really caring at all.

The men next to me held good conversation.
Granted, I could barely hear them, but that didn’t matter much since I was the one doing most of the talking. I was telling them stories – quite animatedly – using many gesticulations and facial expressions.
“You see,” I slurred, nodding seriously, “my mother was going to name me Ralph. I didn’t like this one bit, b’cause I knew, I just knew, I was gonna be a girl, ri’?” I paused only to swallow the rest of my drink. “So you know what I di’? Well, when I was justa leetle tiny fee-tuss, I knocked right on my momma’s tummy and I said, ‘momma, you need to make me a girl!’ and she said, ‘okie,’ and here I am!” Satisfied, I leaned back on the barstool, with my arms crossed. I almost lost my balance, but one of the men saved me. I think that they held their alcohol better than I did. Speaking of drinks, noticing my empty martini glass, I frowned, and looked to one of my flanking sides.
“Will oneaya be kind enough to by my—me lady a drink?” To clarify for them, I yanked a thumb to myself, and patted the bar with my palms. Even if they hadn’t agreed yet, I would make them in due time.
“HAY BARTENDURH, get me another mar-tee-nee, will ya?” I realized she hadn’t heard me, but it was taking a while to process. Leaning down the bar, I saw that she was attending to another patron. Horrified she would ignore me (that was my drunk logic) I excused myself from my seat and staggered down the bar, hands on my hips. As soon as I reached the side of the person that had ‘stolen’ the bartender from me, I tapped him on the shoulder and settled there with a straight face.
“E’scuse me sir, but you know that you stole my bartender, you know, I was calling her over, and then nope! Had to steal her, please don’t do that any—”
Now, If I would have been sober, I probably would have realized that I recognized the person I was talking to, but my processing time had been raised drastically come martini number three.
“Dale?” I slurred, probably looking quite confused. Once I fully realized it was him, my greeting was much more exuberant.
“DALE!” I shrieked, throwing my arms around his neck and planting a drunken kiss on his cheek. “How are ‘ya? Hey, no time for monkies, let’s dance!” With a little smile, I grabbed his hand and attempted to wrench him away from the bar and onto the dance floor. If I would have had any logic by this point, I would have been hoping that he was as smashed as me, but believe me, by that time, my logic had left the building.

[Dale McCall]

Dale was leaning against the counter of the bar, the glass of water wrapped in a loose hug between his palms. He really had little interest in the colorless (nonalcoholic) liquid; it’s only purpose there was to get rid the bitter taste of the refreshment that Mr Bad-Breath had supplied him with.

He couldn’t say that something of similar nature had never happened before. There had been a few instances where Dale had been mistaken for a woman. There had even been a couple of time’s where he’d played along, just to see how many free drink’s he could score, until of course the guy would start getting a little too close, then Dale would discretely excuse himself to go to the ‘ladies room’ and retreat to the other side of the club.

Dale had never been stupid with his drink’s of course. Even in his most inebriated states, he would always make sure he was completely aware of what was being put into the drink’s he was being served up.

For the most part, Dale was the sort of drinker who’d just want to run amok, and cause mischief. He was more or less his own usual self, only allot more energetic, and less considerate of peoples personal boundaries. Not in a bad way, oh no, he was just the sort who’d want to grab random people’s hand’s and skip around in circle’s with them, hug, flirt shamelessly, or offer piggy-back rides, despite the fact that he had all the upper body strength of a plastic bag.

He could remember getting so plastered one night at a party that he, and a couple of friends had actually wound up back at Dale’s mother’s home. The house was locked. Of course Dale had forgotten where she hid the key, so he volunteered to try and climb in through the bathroom window, since he was the smallest. The group removed the fly screen, and pried open the window just enough to lift Dale and, whist trying to stifle their giggling fits, pushed him through it.

About half way through, Dale’s snake hips wedged into the window, so that he, or at least the top half of him, was hanging through the window as he tried in vain to push himself through. One of his friend’s had suggested cooking oil, but Dale had screeched at him that there was no way that they’d get anywhere near him with cooking oil while he had on the outfit he was wearing!

There was really only one way of getting him through, without waking his mother, and that was to try and force him through to the other side. So whilst Dale dangled there, one of his friends, Sandy, her name was, shifted to the other side of Dale’s rear end, raised one hand in the air, and walloped him sharply on the backside. Dale had yelped in both shock and displeasure as Sandy gave him another smack, whilst his friends guffawed loudly. Another whack, and by then Dale was struggling to free himself and escape from the tyranny of Sandy’s hand. Laughing uncontrollably, Sandy had smacked him again, provoking a string of slurred obscenities.

“Dale McCall! Watch your language!” Came his mother’s voice as he was clouted one final time, his backside dislodging from the window. Dale scrambled all the way through, and shimmied back to the ground, looking up at his mother, standing in the middle of the bathroom with her hands on her slender hips and expression of utter irritation.

Dale had simply stared at her for a long moment, as Sandy, and his other friends all tried to hide themselves behind the window frame, before his mother pointed out the obvious. “You’re wearin’ my dress.”

“I’ve go’ trousers on underneath,” Dale reasoned. His reward was an exasperated smack round the head. After that, his mother had unlocked the front door, reprimanding Sandy as she explained that she was only trying to smack Dale through the window, by calling her a kinky nut-job, and making them toasted sandwiches before banishing them all to the lounge room to sleep off their liquor.

There were times where Dale had taken home the occasional girl. Irresponsible, yes, but he had always tried to be careful. There had been one time where he’d gone out with one of his mates, and he’d met a pretty red-head, and of course one thing led to another... well I’m sure you don’t need me to spell out what happened next. Hardly a startling revelation; you’d simply assume that most night’s when you go out to a club, you’ll usually end up taking someone home with you.

It was really only a drunken fumble on her sofa. She kicked him out her flat later on that night, half naked from the waist up mind you. Upon arrival at her flat, the girl had told him that she wanted to keep his shirt, if she were to allow him to go upstairs. Of course, after six daquirri’s and a few shots of vodka, you could have asked him if he wanted to bungee jump of London Bridge in his brief’s and he would have been the first in line.

He didn’t think he was going to see her again, which he was kind of glad about - she was a bit of a cow, really. He swore she stole ten euros off of him. Anyway, she somehow got his number and texted him a couple of weeks later saying ‘I’m late’. He thought she was talking about the money, which was a bit strange because he didn’t know thieves had a time limit until they gave what they’ve knicked back. But then he worked it out.

His mother had been furious! Telling him that he’d been careless, and that he was old enough to know how to use protection. Dale was appalled. Sure his mother might’ve thought he was a slag, but he was definitely not that much of an idiot. And if she weren’t so frigid she’d know enough about condoms to know that they can split!

Turned out though, the girl just wasn’t very bright, and decided to have her little cycle about a week after informing Dale about her little food-baby. Needless to say, after that, Dale decided that if he’d ever make that decide again, he’d wear at least three johnny’s.

The music was loud here, deafeningly loud. The harsh lights of the dance floor served to dim, and alter the shapes of the gyrating and spinning figure’s on the dance floor. A young man, not too far away from where Dale was perched was leaning heavily against the bar, trying to vociferate above the pounding music towards another bartender; a woman with an olive complexion and wire-rimmed, red glasses, who was leaning equally as close, straining to hear his drink order.

Dale almost considered buying himself another drink, when, unexpectedly, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and heard a boisterous voice next to his ear yell his name over the loud beat of the music. “Wow! GISELLE!” He beamed with delight, wrapping his own arms around the petite blonde’s shoulders as she practically threw her arms around his neck, planting a kiss upon his pale cheek. Her face was so close to Dale’s that the Londoner could distinctly hear everything his friend said. He could even feel the vibrations of the words against his skin. As they pulled apart, he felt one of his hand’s gripped tightly in one of Giselle’s own as she took his hand and began haul him off of the bar stool, and lead him towards the harsh lights of the dance floor, a fast-pumping beat vibrating through the floorboards.

Dale wobbled slightly as they weaved through the crowd, still feeling the effect’s of the daquirri’s in his system. Leaning forwards a little, so that his face was closer to one of Giselle’s ear’s, Dale spoke loudly, hoping that he could be heard over the vibrations of the music. After listening to the slurred quality of Giselle’s voice, a wide grin planted on his face and he cackled, “So our eques... equestri... horsey princess can dance eh? You been holdin’ ou’ on me?” He lifted his hand slightly, and moved it across so that Giselle would face him, the smile planted across his features.

[Luke Peters]

I felt like a beam of electrified light, I had so much energy. The tips of my fingers were tingling with pent up enthusiasm for life. It was almost like I couldn’t wait to start experiencing everything. I should start drinking more often.
As my eyes danced around the bar, I could not keep a smile from my face, especially not after finding Dale. My shoulders bobbed up and down in time to the music, even before I dragged Dale out to the crowded dance floor. Music was contagious. Like a bad cold, it infected everyone who heard it. Even if you didn’t like a particular song, chances were that if it was popular, you knew the lyrics. Already I had caught the disease, and was bouncing along to the beat. I found that if I moved a certain way, I got a tingling sensation in my belly, and so I made the dance move my main one. Hopefully it wasn’t going to end up hurting me in the long run – what if I dislodged my appendix? – but at this point, I didn’t really care. Sorry, mind’s closed. Too busy having fun.

When we arrived at the dance floor, me dragging Dale behind me like a ragdoll, I was so happy that I let out a squeal. It was probably drowned under the intense boom of the music, but it was a squeal nonetheless. As soon as I’d successfully positioned Dale on the area in front of me, I began to wiggle my hips in time to the music. Well, what I assumed to be in time, I’m sure that the alcohol had impaired my judgment significantly. I moved my hands around sporadically in kind of an avant guarde kind of robot, totally not in time with my hip-wriggling, I’m sure.
How did I learn how to dance? I was just barely able to hear Dale over the thumping bass in my ears, but somehow I managed to single out his voice. Smiling, I beamed at him and shrugged my shoulders in time to the current song’s repetitive beat. The music’s catchy trance-techno sound soon had whisked me away to another world, where I was maybe a whirling dervish or something by how insane I was twirling around. By this point, my brain was probably reduced to the consistency of scrambled eggs, but like I mentioned previously, my judgment and common sense were greatly impaired. It was most likely because of this that I completely forgot about Dale’s question. Oops. I stopped my dancing and turned back to face him, suddenly serious.
“They told me never to tell anyone the secrets,” I looked around shiftily, my eyes widening, “but I feel you can be trusted…” I looked around again, and then leaned in to whisper/yell in his ear, “It was the ducks. They taught me my moves.”
With that, I pulled away, did a one-person wave, and continued to ‘dance this mess around.’

Only once did I get in trouble at a club, and it was only because of who I was with. Obviously, I’m not the most coordinated of beings whilst intoxicated, and this time was no exception. Believe it or not, I was probably more smashed then then I happened to be now. But that’s not the point. The point is, that after drinking my weight in cheap beer, I was led through the crowd by a now long gone male ‘friend’ of mine, who just happened to be my ride and my date. He wasn’t exactly gentle with me as he dragged me through the horde of people, tightly packed like sardines, and so I pulled away and quickly lost him. Feeling it in my best interest to navigate the crowd in a quicker way, I dropped to my hands and knees and began crawling in between the legs of the sweaty club goers. After pulling myself around for a few feet, a song change came on that would change the course of my life forever. Okay, maybe a little too dramatic, but still, it hurt. For some strange reason that I cannot even begin to comprehend, the individuals at the club decided it would be a good idea to begin rapidly jumping up and down, and hurdling each other into the air like ragdolls. I was quickly used as a sort of trampoline to gain air time. What seemed like hundreds, but was probably only about five people began climbing on top of me and bouncing into the air. Every time I went to pull myself off the floor, I was pushed back down by a wailing woman with alcohol stains on her dress and disheveled hair. Let’s just say I needed about ten icy/hot patches the next day when I woke up for my injured back.

You’d think that because of situations like that one, I’d think before I drank. Wrong, so wrong. The truth of the matter was, I loved drinking. It made me feel loose and alive, and the rush I got from it was so worth the side-effects the next morning. Like now, for instance, cavorting around on the dance floor, frantically bumping against Dale and inventing dance moves that looked good in my head – I was having the time of my life. Yes, I was the dancing queen, only seventeen. I laughed out loud to think how perfectly that song seemed to be molded to me. It was so perfect, I had the urge to hear it above all other things. So of course, I stopped my movement and began to shriek it at the top of my young lungs.
“DANCING QUEEN. DANCING QUEEN. PLAY IT. PLAY IT. DANCING. QUEEN. D-A-N-C-I-N-G Q-U-E…”
My throat began to hurt, so I stopped screaming and continued dancing. Then I had an idea.
“Here Dale, sing it with me: Friday night and the nights are gooooooooooo…”
I smiled, passing the invisible microphone that I had just conjured up to him. I realized only after I’d handed it off that the lyrics had been wrong, but no time for pumpkins now! Maybe I could still get the DJ to play it, but there was no way he’d hear me over this crowd. Then I had what seemed like a brilliant idea. I’d just back handspring over to the DJ booth to request my song. The people would get out of the way when they saw me coming. It was a perfect plan.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to back handspring. This may have put a tiny dent in my idea, but that was alright, I’d still try. Giving no explanation to Dale, I bent backwards as far as I could, and hung there for a little, hoping something miraculous would happen, and I’d suddenly be flying backwards through the air. No such luck I’m afraid. Instead, I merely hung there like an idiot, swaying my arms to the music as all the blood rushed to my head. If I were Dale, I’d feel pretty embarrassed to be with me right now.
Embarrassed, or pleased. Either or.

[Dale McCall]

Positioned in front of Giselle, Dale's head spun pleasently as he rocked his head from side-to-side; long, jet-black hair swaying in rhythm with his movements. The harsh textures and lights of the dance floor flashed behind his eyelids as he lifted his arms over his head, moving his torso and jumping to the beat of the music and bass as it pumped around them.

He felt confident. As he twirled on the dance floor, he could feel the energy and sense of freedom that flowed from his body. His eyes were aglitter, with fireworks and barely contained energy as he danced to the music. Giselle danced in front of him, incorporating her own style of rhythmitic moves into the music as the lights flashed, creating strange patterns and colors to intermix with the crowd, distorting the shape's - or perhaps that was just an effect all of the alcahol that he'd consumed.He was now completely immersed in the world of hot beats and rhythm.

So enguled, in fact, that he had almost failed to realize that Giselle had stopped dancing, and for the briefest of moments, wondered if there was anything wrong, as she looked at him, beautiful facial features showing the appearance of intoxicated seriousness. As she leaned in towards him, Dale stopped dancing, his own face falling just as serious as hers.

"What?" His eyes widened, but brow furrowed as she leant in close to his ear to 'whisper' the secret. Of course, when inebriated, it's near impossible to actually whisper anything. Even when not drunk, it's difficult to be discrete. Did you ever play 'Chinese Whispers' as a kid? Dale had, and he'd spoil it for everyone, everytime, by whispering too loudly into the next person's ear. Eventually the students all simply stopped playing.

Sure it didnt helped that Dale was never the most subtle person on Earth either. He had never really been one for lying, apart from the occasional 'obvious lie'. Back in London, he'd have dozen of absurd excuses for getting out of doing things: 'Got attacked by a giant beetle', 'Left his oven on', 'Spent three hours climbing on top of the world's biggest Nurofen', 'was with someone, re-enacting the NASA moon randings with a (talking) skipping rope', 'was at home glueing sim cards to a karate belt'... to name a few.

"The duckies?" He called back, equally, if not a little louder, into Giselle's ears as she revealed the information regarding her top secret dance moves, genuinely honoured that she entrusted him with such knowledge. He'd have said so too, if he weren't so drunk he couldn't form such large words. "I though' it'd be them! Them duckie's they..." he trailed off as a large hiccup escaped his lips, causing his already wide eyes to open wider in surprise for a brief moment. "Oh! They're always flappin' bout on the breeze of secrecy! I always...knew them were up t' some sor'a shady ducky businessing's."

Distantly, Dale remembered again, of a time where his mother would take him down to feed the ducks. Even then, he knew that they were up to no good. With their bread theiving way's, and colorful plumage. Why didnt they ever teach him to dance? he thought with dissapointment. Maybe he would have liked to have learnt how to dance, too.

Without realizing it, Dale had started to dance again, feeling one of his leg's, or hip's bumping into Giselle every now and then as they careened about the dancefloor. "I love this song!" He shouted, yet his voice was barely audible over the obstreperously loud music. "Lookin' ou' for a place, too looooooooooooooow!" Raising his arms over his head and into the air, Dale jumped up at down in circles as he did so, his long dark hair flopping about from under and around the reddish scarf wrapped around his forhead.

"Oh wait!" He stopped abruptly, placing a hand over Giselle's own as she 'held' up the invisible miscrophone. "Tha's no' the words innit? Okay okay okay!" He began, but all of a sudden his grey eyes became wide and uncertain. Automatically, Dale ran his fingers through his hair, curling them into a fist at the back for the briefest of moment's before he allowed said hand to fall slackly to his side. "Ugh, I feel all woozy." He said outloud, but was sure that to anyone else that might've happened to be looking, it would have simply looked as if he were mouthing the word's.

"'Ey," He leant towards Giselle, who now looked as if she were in the middle of some sort of slow-motion back-flip, which was odd, because everyone else seemed to be moving at a normal pace, if not a little faster. Looking at it, Dale knew that it should look very comical, but for some reason, and he wasnt entirely sure why, he couldnt remember, but he could not bring himself to laugh. "Can we ge' some air?" He reached out to take hold of her arm, in an effort to get her attention.

[Luke Peters]

Dangling there made me start to think of things. I’m not really sure whether it was all the blood rushing to my brain, or watching my arms sway to the music, but I began to contemplate life in a way I never had before. Then again, it was probably just the drinks. My earliest childhood memories came rushing back to me in a tsunami-like flood, and I smiled at the thought of some of them.
Age four. I’m sitting in my living room with my feet crossed. My mother’s sitting in front of me, her hands over her eyes. I think we’re playing hide-and-seek, but I can’t seem to grasp the concept. She begins counting. 1…2…3… I sit there like a statue, breathing lightly. She told me to hide, but for some reason, I feel like it will be a great surprise if I am still there when she opens her eyes. 5…6…7… I giggle lightly when I think about the way she will squeal when she sees me. 9…………….10! Ready or not, here I come! She unfurls her hands from her eyes, only to see me sitting there, biting my lip to keep from tittering. She laughs, and grabs me by the sides, lightly throwing me into her lap. Waggling a mock-serious finger at me, she gives my side a tickle and says, ‘I thought I showed you how to hide!’
Age seven. I’m standing at the front of my driveway, hand on my hips. My hair is the shortest it’s ever been, and I am not too pleased. In fact, there are tear stains on my cheeks from crying about it. Now I’m home though, and my friends are outside. We were turning cartwheels in the grass, but we started to get itchy so we decided to play ‘red-light-green-light’ instead. I became the stoplight, therefore am the only one allowed the freedom of movement. Right now, I have Taylor and Frederick stopped in very awkward positions, and I can already see Taylor twitching from the strain. I feel bad, so I turn the light to green. My fingers wander to my hair, and I am momentarily distracted. Distracted enough that Frederick pulls through and tags my limp hand before Taylor, winning the title of stoplight. Taylor pouts, but I could not care less.
Age nine. I am crying, but for a more rational reason than my hair. It is hard not to these days. It seems that there is not a happy moment for me, I feel like the most depressed third-grader on the planet. Ever since my mom died, it’s hard not to think of anything else…
Okay, done with the memory recollection. It’s pretty sad that every time I take a trip down memory lane it has to end so tragically. It’s pretty much like ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ my brain. Starts out all peaches and cream, ends up stabbing me in the gut. Luckily, these days – and the fair amount of alcohol swimming around in my blood helps too – I can detach myself from my memories rather quickly. Like cutting a string: snip, snap, done.

I make a ‘whooooop’ sound as I replace my body back upright, and crack my back in time to the furious techno beat blasting out of the speakers. I’d noticed Dale’s hand on my arm before, but I only took the time to address it now, blinking slowly as his words registered. With a minute hiccup, I gave him a hearty pat on the back with an enormous accompanying smile, and dragged him from the crowd. I felt like Moses, parter of the red… well, the crowd of dancing people. “E’SCUSE ME! COMIN’ THROOOOUGH! CHOOOO CHOOO!” At this point, I turned back to Dale, and nodded reassuringly. “Say it wif me Dale, choo choo. CHOO CHOOOOOOO!” I made fishy lips as I chugged through the crowd, which seemed exponentially larger than it had coming in, but maybe that was because I was weaving in and out of people rather than bee-lining a direct path out. Eventually though, I managed to extricate myself (and Dale, if he was lucky enough to survive with all his limbs) from the hoard of gyrating individuals. A backwards glance at them made me expel a retch sound and shake my head like a disappointed mom. “Look at ‘em,” I said to no one in particular. “aminals.” Shrugging, I attempted to find Dale again, and proceeded to lead us out towards the back door. It all seemed very surreal, like a movie, and I giggled at the thought of the stereotypical back alley way, chock full of yowling cats and an unidentifiable smelly liquid.

The back alley did measure up to my expectations, minus the smelly cats. The what? Anyway, the back alley boasted a whole lotta broken glass, as well as garbage cans stuffed to the brim with people’s trash. “Filth,” I whispered under my breath, shaking my head in disgust. “FILTH!” I said somewhat louder, shaking my fist at the sky. As if in response, a smelly drop of something smelly landed on my forehead. I stuck out my tongue, and squinched my face, but quickly got over it. Because, you know, I was drunker than a barrel of monkeys. But despite my drunkness, I was still able to reason that this alley was probably not the best place for someone who just wanted ‘a breath of air.’ Truth be told, I don’t think you could have found a breath of air in that alley even if you brought out specially trained dogs. Oh well. Standing at point, I grabbed Dale again, and led him out of the alley, dramatically dropping to my knees and inhaling heavily as we reached the exit. Actually, this position sitting down felt pretty dandy, and I decided to stay there, regardless of what Dale chose to do. “Gotta smoke?” In reality, I had no interest whatsoever in smoking, but it just sounded like something they’d say in the movies. To confirm this point, I shrugged, and drew a line across my throat. “Smorking,” I sighed, and tried again. “Smoking isn’t my thing anywhoo, you know? I’ll leave it to all those guys with… with the cigarettes and the donkeyssss... do you think the Dali Llama smokes? I don’t, because I don’t think! Buhaha!” At this, I became silent, because a sudden rush of dizziness passed over me. I blinked slowly, and lay down on the pavement, stretched out like a sea star. The sky looked pretty, so I decided not to move from here.
In reality though, it would be physically impossible for me to move. Oh well, let’s look on the brighter side, eh?

[Dale McCall]

Dale had hardly been expecting to recieve a pat on his back, so when he did feel the sudden thump between his shoulder blade's he stumbled forwards slightly, collecting himself quickly before he felt his hand being grasped and he was being pulled - no dragged - through the gyrating crowd of dancing people. Dale entwined his finger's with Giselle's as they weaved through the bodies, giggling as he half muttered half sang a "S'cuuuuseee meeeee" every few paces, thoughtless to the fact that the people around him might not have heard him.

He laughed, and tottered around at an unsteady pace as the crowd's soon began to disperse and lessen in numbers the closer they got to the door. Untangling himself from the number of people in their way, the first thing that Dale noticed as they stepped (or staggered) out of the club was the chill of the night air as it blew through his ink-black hair, and pale face, which looked slightly paler than usual on account of the alcahol he'd consumed, yet his cheek's remained a little flushed. He spun in an unsteady circle, lurching to the side as he lost his footing before being pulled upright once more as Giselle's hand wrapped itself around his and she began leading him away from the noise of the thumping sound of the reverberating music.

He was really only half aware of what was going on around him as his feet threatened to trip him up every few paces. Through unfocused vision he looked around him. Everything seemed dimmer, and his ear's rang slightly, he assumed because of the sudden transition from flashing lights and fast paces music, to a darkened alleyway. The smells around him assulted his nostrils as he breathed, and he felt and heard an odd crunching underneath his feet as he walked. "Oooh a ki'y ca'!" He pointed toward's a pair of glowing green eyes and flicking tail, half hidden between the shadow's beside some bins. "Meeooow!" he laughed, adjusting his shirt with his free hand as Giselle spun him around and then began leading him away from the alley and towards a more breathable area. It was a little closer to the club, but it was cleaner at least.

A light shone above them, and like a moth attracted to some sort of bug zapper, Dale started up at it as he allowed himself to flop down beside Giselle, his leg's sprawled out in front of him, so that the toes of his shoes could tap together. Both arms rested at his sides, tapping against the cold pavement. The scarf he'd been wearing on his head had loosened slightly, and was now sitting just below his eye brows. Distantly, he could hear that the song had changed, and he now leant his head back to hum (rather loudly) to a song called 22 by Lily Allen.

Lily Allen. Now there was a familiar name that took him back. Dale's head lolled towards Giselle as she began to speak again, and a grin plastered onto his pointed features. "Well tha's lucky I don' own a donkey!" He laughed, "'cause I'm sure that alla them chain smoking donkey's wouldn' be a good *hick* infl...uwence on all them llama sheepies I dun own neither." His shoes continued to tap together, as if on thier own accord, he wasn't even fully aware he was doing it.

He felt movement to the side of him, ad looked to the left of him to see Giselle flop down rather uncerimoniously to lay on the pavement, stretching out like some sort of drunk angel. For some reason, this was extremely funny, so the small man snorted at her, before realising that this was not an attractive sound, so he put his hand over his mouth, tittering behind it like a five-year-old who'd just said the word 'penis' for the first time. "Now! An' lemme say this..." He slurred, a stupid smile still gracing his drunken features. "Eeeew! I don't feel... well.” Dale sluured as he tried to stand, and very clumsily, he managed to get onto his legs and into a sort of stooping position before he started to sway in a zig-zag fashion. “Toilet!” He trust his pointer finger in the air, shouting out, and then for some reason, he began to giggle again. Stumbling back towards the alley, he knocked over a small box which for some reason, held a potted plant that tipped over, the soil scattering the ground. “Sorry, plant!” Dale cried, tears leaking from his eyes.

He finally entered the beginning of the alleyway and vaguely recognised it as the one he had to walk down to reach where Giselle was now lying. A few steps down the passage, Dale felt the nauseous experience reach a new height and he fell to his knees, vomiting out the salivary remains of the drinks he had consumed over the past few hours. When he'd finished, he stood up clumsily and with unfocused eyes, looked around. "Where's the toilet flusher thingy?" He spoke, more to himself, before shrugging it off and, only narrowly missing the mess he had produced, walked back to Giselle.

The moment he did, Dale walked down to Giselle's side and flopped down into a prostrate possition beside her, the back of his head bumping onto the pavement only just missing Giselle's arm. He barely noticed however, and as he lay there in a heap beside his new friend, lost in a mixture of laughter and tears, oblivious to the bemused glances from passers-by, he wrapped an arm around her briefly, pulled her back, and planted a brotherly kiss on her cheek before flopping down into a stretched out possition again. "Y'know wha' missy Giselley?" He said, looking past the street light now, to peep up at the stars. "I recon you an' me are like ‘chalk an' cheese’. My mum used to say tha' sometimes. I still dono x'actly wha' it mean's but *hick* I like the sound of it. Whad'bout you?"