𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡 | 𝘞. 𝘈𝘹𝘭 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦

Ⅵ

𝟎𝟖.𝟎𝟔.𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

Linda and Duff stepped through the heavy velvet curtain. The air, thick with the mingling scents of cigarette smoke and a medley of music genres intertwining like vines in a dense jungle.

    Dimly lit by the warm glow of strategically placed spotlights, the club's interior unfolded like a sensory feast. A crimson haze hung in the air, casting a bewitching spell on the surroundings. The walls, embellished with eclectic memorabilia and vintage concert posters. The crowd, united by the rhythm, moved like shadows in the half-light. Leather-clad people, their defiant spirits emanating from every inch of their attire, blended with bohemian spirits in paint-splattered clothes and odd jewelry. Tousled hair and dark eyeliner concluded the form.

    Duff suddenly found himself at the epicenter of someone. A girl, a whirlwind of effervescence, flung herself onto his shoulders and exclaimed so high-pitched as if calling a dog.

-Duffy!

Duff, caught off guard, instinctively embraced her. The girl's laughter danced through the air as he held her tall, shapely figure, his hands tracing a path down her back, lingering playfully as they ventured toward her waist. He leaned in, his lips curving into a sly smile, and whispered something into her ear that was swallowed by the sounds of the pulsating music, leaving her laughing and swaying in delight. As Linda's eyes adjusted to the low light, the recognition settled in like a puzzle piece finding its place. Katharina Kerekgyarto, the Hungarian beauty who he's been dating for a year, give or take. Her brunette hair cascaded in loose waves, framing a long face. Hazel eyes held a lively spark, and a subtle smile played on her lips as she bantered with Duff.

Linda headed toward the bar, leaving a self-absorbed duet behind. The bar counter was a polished field of dark mahogany and behind, on a black glass shelf, stood an impressive array of rainbow bottles, lined the mirrored backdrop like an alchemist's inventory. She sat on a leather-clad bloody violet stool.

 
-What can I get you to drink?-A bartender with ultra-gelled hair turned to her, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he wiped the cocktail shaker with a rag.

    Uncertain about her drink choice, she found herself in unfamiliar territory, never having experienced a genuine club atmosphere before. In St. Petersburg, her occasional choice was Sauvignon Blanc. After careful consideration, she decided that whiskey with Coke would be the safest option.

-Whiskey and Coke.

-It's on me.

    Linda's gaze pivoted swiftly as a low voice rumbled behind her. A leather jacket flowed on his broad shoulders, and his strawberry blonde hair was slightly teased. High cheekbones, chiseled as with an X-Acto. A jawline as sharp as a blade defined the contours of his face, framing features that spoke boldness. His vibrant, which caught every movement, eyes, deep emerald gems, locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. Another rock scene dude, she thought, yet this was a bit of a misnomer. He didn't stick to the Eastern European male canon she knew from high school though-wide uncalifornian faces, shaved heads, handsome as a Cossack, Slavic blondes with sleepy blue eyes, milky white skins veined with blue. He was a strange concoction of complete chaos and frightening calmness, an embodiment of anarchistic rebellion laced with unlikely tenderness. His aura drew people's attention like a magnetic force, and Linda saw a strange mixture of everything and nothing in him. It was just a matter of time before she found herself in hot water.

-Well, then.-she replied, the corners of her words edged with playful skepticism.

-Everyone else from the band seems to know you,-he sat on the stool.-but I don't think we've met before?