AN: Hello, everyone! So I've never actually touched my FictionPress account until this day, so I thought 'SCREW IT' and posted the prologue to one of my many stories, "Checkerboard Angel." I hope sincerely that posting this will help me actually work on it.
So yeah. that's it.
May 5, 2116, 10:21 PM
Los Angeles, California
The nightclub was full of people, noise, and the smell of alcohol. A dancer on stage was finishing her number. Drunken men were chattering in front of the stage.
"That Checkerboard Angel sure is something, isn't she?"
"Hell yeaaaaaahhhhhhhhh. Check out her rack. Wish she did a strippin' number."
A burst of laughter and agreement.
"Oh hey, new dude, d'ya know?"
"What?" The 'new dude' was a blonde elf, one feather earring on his left ear. He was the only one in the group who was completely sober…and he wasn't even the DD, although he'd probably wind up driving anyway.
"She's, like, weird 'n' stuff."
"Whenever 'nyb'dy tries'n talk t' 'er, she gets out this 'lil pocket-watch-thingamerbob 'n' says a time, then 'no' then walks away. I asked her out once. Got like a year and a half and sommin."
"Y' sh'd g' tak t'r," said another guy, who was even more drunk than the other one, " 'n' 'sk if sh'll d' a la-la-ug, y'kn'w."
"Ugh, you're disgusting. No. Plus I can hardly understand a word you're saying."
"Duuuuuuuuuudeeeeeee, not cooool."
"…Your mom's not cool, Jack."
"Dude no yourself."
"Dude—" The music stopped, and Checkerboard landed from a turn, leaping gracefully off the stage, pulling an elliptical locket out of where it had been tucked in her black-and-white shirt when she was dancing, gazing at the picture inside for a long moment, then letting it fall onto her chest. Then she turned and walked over to a table on the other side of the club, sitting down and saying something to a waitress with a plastic smile. The waitress grinned at her and nodded, walking away.
"Dude, your chance," said Jack, elbowing the elf, "go get y'r time."
"Oh spirits, Jack-"
"Cur, dude, don't start spouting that elf-spirit-shit. Just go get yer time."
"Kuro, and I am offended by your blatantly insulting my religion."
"Jesus, dude, just do it."
"Jesus was a zombie with magic powers and you insult the spirits?"
"Oh, fine." Kuro stood up, pushing through the crowd to the table Checkerboard was sitting at.
"Do you want something?" She said, looking at him with such a cold look he almost stumbled back. This was the first time he had really gotten to look at the dancer, and her appearance surprised him almost as much as the look in her eyes. She was shorter than she appeared on stage—maybe 4'9" or something similar. She wore a tank top that was torn and resown down the middle, the right side being solid black and the left solid white. Her shorts were the opposite, causing a checkerboard effect. Her hair, too, was monochromatic-the front black and long, the back white and short.
Her eyes were the most shocking aspect; not only were they devoid of any emotion whatsoever, they were differently colored. And Kuro couldn't see a contact in either. One, her right, was ice blue and slitted like a cat's, and the other was dark green –a relatively normal eye.
"Uh—I just—um, wanted to say I really liked your dancing. You put a lot of emotion into it, and your technique is flawless-especially how you integrate moves from ballet and classical jazz into a more lyrical pop style. I loved your tourjetes towards the end of the piece." When all else fails, nerd about dance. That always works with dancers.
It did. She looked up, curiosity in her eyes. "A guy at a nightclub knows shit about dancing? Wow. What's your name?"
"Eh, I go by Checkerboard or Checks. I don't tell people my real name often. Do you dance?"
"Centrally ballet, but also jazz, lyrical, classic partnering, and a little bit of pop."
"…And you're straight?"
"Wow. Nice hair ya got going there, Earringsy." She looked like she was genuinely relieved to be talking to someone.
"I like my hair," he scoffed. His hair was parted to the left, covering one eye completely. The rest went down to about three and a half centimeters above his shoulders. "And my earring is awesome and you know it."
She laughed. "That's shocking. I don't think I've ever met a walking stereotype that wasn't the stereotype they were portraying before."
"Ouch. That hurt."
"…Wait." Her face went blank.
"Are you sober? At this bar?"
"I don't drink."
"Then why are you here?"
"It's my birthday. I got dragged here by coworkers who wanted me to 'have sum fuuuun'."
"Plus, I did some "research" and saw that there were lots of good reviews on the dancers here. My studio's director was singing you and the other dancers' praises."
"Yeah. 'They have the most gorgeous lyrical dancers! They pour all of themselves into absolutely delicious dance. Ooooooooohhhhhhh~' Gah." He mocked.
She burst into laughter. "Delicious?"
"Yes! That was a direct quote! And she's a girl!"
"You should come more often. It's a nice club. Here—my number." She handed him a slip of paper with the words 'Checkerboard Angel' in graceful, curving handwriting and a seven-digit number. "Maybe we could hang out sometimes. I bet you'd like my sister, although she's not a dancer."
"Awesome. Got a pen?" She gestured to the middle of the table. "Great." He grabbed the check-pen, pulled a scrap out of his pocket, and wrote down his number.
"Great. Oh, I bet your coworkers are regulars. Did they send you to get your time?"
"Oh, I had actually completely forgotten about that. Sure, why not, lets be mysterious."
"Haha, but no. I'm not going to."
"I won't check your time."
"Because I like you."
"Thanks, but this is relevant how…?"
"I have a dance in five. It's been great talking to you."She stood, apparently done, and turned.
"Wait, wha-" but Checkerboard Angel was gone, sucked in by the chaos of the club.