NEW WAVE HOOKERS

[Salic]

Swish. Flick. Scratch.

They were small sounds that were easy to get lost in the loud, aggressive thumping of Speakeasy's music. The strokes of a virtual pencil, the scratch of virtual graphite against paper, they were far too minuscule to attract the attention of the rowdy crowd. Besides, their attention on something much more enticing center stage. Well, two somethings, to be exact, and they were some of the largest Kirsten had ever seen. She wasn't surprised, though. It was Thursday night at Speakeasy, and it was something they openly advertised. In fact, it was why Kirsten decided to show up, though for a much different reason than the catcalling audience.

The pencil in Kirsten's hand dipped onto her unfolded napkin, the graphite leaving behind a small, curved line. It was later joined by another, and then another, eventually forming the shape of a dangling high heel. A foot, calf, and thigh were added in quick succession, and the woman's left leg was the first completed part of the drawing. Of course, she needed to add further lines and shading, but for now, it would do.

She turned her eyes back towards the dancer, eyes examining each line and curve as they twisted and flowed with her. Kirsten watched intensely, an unusual focus present in her features. She needed to capture the motion, the grace, the beauty of this woman with each stroke of her pencil. It's what she was here for. Sure, Kirsten could draw people well, but it was always still. There were no hints of movement. Her people pictures would've felt at home in a stuffy museum for eighty year olds, not as something vibrant that pops off the page. It was about time she rectified that.

Swish. Flick. Scratch.

More movements of her pencil and a few minutes later, a torso and a right leg were added, each line capturing just a little bit more of the supple motion of the lithe performer. Kirsten smiled. Now she was getting somewhere. The posing was accurate, the shading was immaculate. She knew she shouldn't celebrate so early, considering she still needed to complete the arms and the head, but it was a victory nonetheless. She dug in her pocket for her pack of Marlboros, retrieving a cigarette from inside and lighting it up. Kirsten took a long drag, exhaling a few smoke rings. A lot of time was lost learning how to do that correctly.

Time was of the essence, though. Resting the cigarette in the ashtray, Kirsten refocused her eyes on the woman's arms and hands, noting each flex and spin, each curl and extension of her fingers. Each detail was sent from Kirsten's eyes to her brain to her fingers, the pencil copying those details onto the napkin. Soon, the arms were complete, and only the head of the dancer was needed to finish up her image.

Before that could be done, however, a break was in order. She felt a familiar ache in her hand and knew it would get worse if she kept up the pace she was doing. Folding up the napkin and placing it safely in her jacket pocket, she put her feet up on the table and decided to succumb to the noise of Speakeasy. The barrier she had put of crumbled, and the wall of sound that permeated through every corner of the establishment made its way into her ears. Sometimes it was frighteningly easy to forget that she wasn't actually at Speakeasy, and that it had no brick and mortar locations. In actuality, she was chilling in her giant room of her giant house, splayed out awkwardly on her bed in her sleeping clothes. She took a look around Speakeasy, taking note of the patrons. She saw a man with a large nose piercing hollering his lungs out, enthusiastically enjoying the show. Nearby, another man with a sleeve of tattoos and a Motörhead tank top was leaning up against the wall, not engaging with anyone near him, emitting a vague aura of perceived superiority. Yet they were not really there either. Kirsten had to wonder where they were from, what they were doing, what they were wearing in real life. She shuddered a bit. She had no idea how people could spend so much time in a fake world that it just became an extension of them.

Shaking the thought from her mind, she took a long, long drag from her cigarette. Something about it was good at calming her down when she thought too hard about what she was actually doing. Her brain backed away from existentialism for a moment. After exhausting the cigarette, she figured it was as good a time as any to finish the sketch. She needed to go to sleep, anyhow. She got back in her drawing stance. Unfolding the napkin and placing it down on the table, she got back to work.

Swish. Flick. Scratch.

A neck was created, followed by a jawline and ears in short order. It was difficult to get a proper view of the dancer's face, considering how often she was moving it around, but Kirsten had a sharp eye. First were the full lips, then the thin, short nose, then the large almond eyes. The eyebrows followed suit. Soon enough, the face was finished, as was the long, silky hair that draped over the dancer's shoulders and ran down her back.

Relaxing her posture, Kirsten leaned back, taking a good look at her completed sketch. Of course, it could still use work, but for a sketch, it certainly wasn't bad. A small smile of satisfaction graced her lips. Yeah. Yeah, this was pretty damn good, all things considered. She got to her feet, stretching out her back and trying her best to get the tension out of her shoulders. She picked up the napkin, folding it neatly and tucking it gently into her pocket. While she knew it wouldn't go back to the real world with her, it was still reassuring to take it with her.

She swiftly made her way to the exit, taking care to not bump into the raucous audience members between her and her destination. Taking a final look back towards the stage, she saw the dancer blow the crowd a kiss before disappearing backstage, prompting numerous cheers and whistles. In a few minutes, another person would be there to take her place. Turning back around, she kept walking until she was at the exit door. Pulling up the HUD, she swiped until she found the logout button, gently pressing it with her index and middle fingers. Before she knew it, the loud atmosphere of Speakeasy was gone, and she was back in her large, dark room.

She went to bed without a word, the memory of the dancer's limber motions lingering in her sleeping mind.