Lucy yawned, rolling out of her comfy bed at the inn. She was surprised by the darkness at the window - she had slept all day. She ruefully remembered over-exerting herself at the Alley Cat Club the night before. How had it started?
Really, the first thing was the rope - the anti-gravity dancing. A staple of entertainment back in the old village, it had lent itself well to a performance in the intimate club setting. Lucy had been making small talk, joking with the evening's patrons. She saw the rope being strung in a corner, and distracted everyone by climbing onto a pretty girl's lap and purring outrageously. Behind her saucy demeanor, she was trying not to quiver with nervousness. "I'm a storyteller," she thought, "and sometimes a singer - what am I doing in a place this fancy? There isn't a chewed bone in sight."
The rope was strung from floor to ceiling, taut. Lucy slipped over to it, discretely shrugging into her gauzy belt of golden bells, her long necklace of gleaming amber and gold. Her makeup was simple, except for gilded lines around her eyes that glittered as she turned.
With a bound, Lucy caught the top of the rope - the musicians drove into an addictive drum-beat - lights flashed, turning the corner into the main event. All eyes were on her as she began the Dance Without Gravity.
It started in a spiral, slow sweeps around and down the rope, her legs and tail slowing her descent so she seemed to drift. She alit on the floor, all curves, tail swept around her. One hand reached to grab the rope, and with a powerful leap she was spinning around, clinging to the rope now with the claws of one hand, now with only a foot and a tail.... It was like magic, how she defied the rules that pulled all things down.
It was more than magic, though, because behind the drifting aerial pirouhettes, the exciting leaps from the floor, the ceiling, the rope itself, was only flexing muscle and the sound of the drums. Her breath could be heard, and as she continued her acrobatics, standing sideways on the rope and floating down in this way, her skin shone with sweat. This was religion, the Dance Without Gravity, and meditation, and sex. Her brown eyes were distant with the pleasure of it.
She jumped from her perch at the top of the rope. She seemed to hang in the air a moment and then landed, delicate on her hands and feet, tail swept outwards. A standing backflip finished the routine, landing at the same time that the drums crashed and the lights of the room came back. Blinded by the brightness, Lucy could only smile as she heard wild applause from her audience.
She bowed theatrically, and said in her throaty purr, "You haven't seen anything yet, folks. I'll be back on soon, but for right now, who wants to buy me a drink?" She grinned, winked, and thought to herself, "I can't believe they actually like me...." Men appeared at her elbow, offering her wine and cream and foot massages. They hadn't brought flowers, but they would - next time.
"Baby, you're a star," Lucy said to herself. And because she'd always secretly believed this, she started to purr again.
Really, the first thing was the rope - the anti-gravity dancing. A staple of entertainment back in the old village, it had lent itself well to a performance in the intimate club setting. Lucy had been making small talk, joking with the evening's patrons. She saw the rope being strung in a corner, and distracted everyone by climbing onto a pretty girl's lap and purring outrageously. Behind her saucy demeanor, she was trying not to quiver with nervousness. "I'm a storyteller," she thought, "and sometimes a singer - what am I doing in a place this fancy? There isn't a chewed bone in sight."
The rope was strung from floor to ceiling, taut. Lucy slipped over to it, discretely shrugging into her gauzy belt of golden bells, her long necklace of gleaming amber and gold. Her makeup was simple, except for gilded lines around her eyes that glittered as she turned.
With a bound, Lucy caught the top of the rope - the musicians drove into an addictive drum-beat - lights flashed, turning the corner into the main event. All eyes were on her as she began the Dance Without Gravity.
It started in a spiral, slow sweeps around and down the rope, her legs and tail slowing her descent so she seemed to drift. She alit on the floor, all curves, tail swept around her. One hand reached to grab the rope, and with a powerful leap she was spinning around, clinging to the rope now with the claws of one hand, now with only a foot and a tail.... It was like magic, how she defied the rules that pulled all things down.
It was more than magic, though, because behind the drifting aerial pirouhettes, the exciting leaps from the floor, the ceiling, the rope itself, was only flexing muscle and the sound of the drums. Her breath could be heard, and as she continued her acrobatics, standing sideways on the rope and floating down in this way, her skin shone with sweat. This was religion, the Dance Without Gravity, and meditation, and sex. Her brown eyes were distant with the pleasure of it.
She jumped from her perch at the top of the rope. She seemed to hang in the air a moment and then landed, delicate on her hands and feet, tail swept outwards. A standing backflip finished the routine, landing at the same time that the drums crashed and the lights of the room came back. Blinded by the brightness, Lucy could only smile as she heard wild applause from her audience.
She bowed theatrically, and said in her throaty purr, "You haven't seen anything yet, folks. I'll be back on soon, but for right now, who wants to buy me a drink?" She grinned, winked, and thought to herself, "I can't believe they actually like me...." Men appeared at her elbow, offering her wine and cream and foot massages. They hadn't brought flowers, but they would - next time.
"Baby, you're a star," Lucy said to herself. And because she'd always secretly believed this, she started to purr again.