Thread: ▬▬ { PALISADES } ⋮⋮ echo & dogged

I wish I never went into business with my brother his girls are subpar. Moore appeared more enthused by commiserating with himself than his staff. He occasionally peered into the greenroom where Amber was teasing Lotus mane with a flatbrush. She was pouring over a thick, paperback tome, occasionally stealing a swig from her decanter of black bourbon. What is it youre reading? Amber was the smaller and squatter of the two sisters, but the more quiet and profound. She, like her sibling, had a complexion of dark chocolate, and was just as bitter. For a moment, Lotus chewed on her query. There was a lapse of silence she swilled her bourbon, leaned back and sighed, pensive. Amber, rattled by her compatriots complaisance, struck her with the tail end of the brush. I fucking hate when you do that. What are you reading? Lotus grimaced and rubbed her skull. A book about object oriented programming, its theory and practice. Im trying to disprove the rationality of polymorphism versus the assimilation of constructor methods but in order to do so, I need proof to support my argument. I have absolutely no idea what that is. Dont bother trying to explain it to me like you do, either. Actually, you know what? Forget I ever asked. Moores brother, Paul, tried to rake in a few extra dollars by pitting his street girls against Moores high-class hussies. Truthfully, Moore abhorred the idea his girls werent even equipped to be deemed show-starters, but without his companionship, Palisades would likely be razed to the ground by vengeful strippers. The DJ in the skybox gestured for the lights to be dimmed. Half-time, Moore thought ruefully. He reached into one of the closets in the green room and unhooked a mask forged from fake gold and niello. He passed it to Lotus she knew immediately what is was for. When the girls were primed, prepped and prepared for their show, they held hands and said their prayer. Lotus participated, but her pantheist nature prevented her from being meaningful. Amber and Chardonnay both took the stage first, simultaneously. They were a hot commodity at Palisades Moores literal package deal. They assimilated the fantasy of two go-go girls, shaking their confetti-plastered knee-highs all over the stage. By the time their exhibition had concluded Tiny Tina ripped out onto the stage with her highschool pigtails and scant school girl uniform. She was nude virtually thirty seconds into her charade, but it was warranted. A collection of blue-collar workers were throwing their wives money at her and her tiny tits. She was small and pink and agile, but that didnt keep admirers from her. A string of women rolled on after that. Ginger, Bambi and Bunny, Lola, Cherry, Anastasia and among the last, Lotus. She was given a special introductionher show was longer and far more sensual. She parted through the velvety curtains as if they were fronds sprouting from her native palm trees. The shadows sashayed over her body, from the nape of her neck down to her thighs. Hungry watchers pounded the dais and were already counting out their bills. American money didnt have much value in Montreal, but the dollar bills fit perfectly in between their ass cheeks. Lotus was topless. She washed her hands over her breaststhey were heavy, plump and riper than melons. Half of them were covered in bronze tassels threated with faux sapphires. What was most striking was not her mask, but the strange, Polynesian tattoos limning her forearms and back. They were misplaced, like ritualistic runes, but they held little to no meaning to North Americans. The whistles hit a crescendo and she turned. Her hair was wild like a lions mane, her face was concealed, and a paper-thin veil of silk covered her lower half.