SlenderPump Rules

Tonight is SlenderPump's poolside launch party. Pastel blood, monster models, and DJ drops from the netherworld will be combined with barely-there bikinis. They don't do subtle here, but they are most certainly sexy enough staff to get watched.

PUMP's outdoor courtyard is transformed: pink neon snakes around obsidian bars, hunted, floating skulls drift in the pool water, and Ben's thick fog machines line the edges. SlenderPump watches everything, and everyone, from above, his hands folded behind his back, an unexistent gaze somehow always unreadable but intimidating.

In the beauty room, Ann ties the string of her black bikini behind her neck. Pink crystal accents shine at her hips. Her cover-up is sheer, but temporary. Jeff whistles as he walks by, already shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder.

"Ready to round up some hoes?" he huffs.

"I've already got one," Ann smiles, as she hears Leona growl behind her, his tail slightly smacking her thigh. He brushes a clawed thumb along her bare spine, possessive but gentle. "You know, Jane can look all she wants," he huffs, voice low, "but she knows who you burn for."

"Tch, can't wait for Jane to see you in a bikini and combust," Jeff starts.

"Nothing's new," Leona eyerolls.

"Let's give the monsters something to moan about tonight," Toby walks in with the usual pep in his step.

Electric night air, the buzzing of dark glamour, and bass-heavy beats from Ben, who glitches between every attempted track, his eyes flickering static-white under his pink-tinted shades. The guests of the night are already slinking in: beautiful, terrifying, and barely human.

Eyeless Jack leans against the bar, pink pastel sleeves rolled to his elbows, his shirt slightly unbuttoned. He scans the crowd without expression, but his gaze lingers on the pool.

Jane is there.

She's got a long night ahead of her. She's dressed like sin in matte-black latex, her mouth painted the same shade as freshly spilled blood. She sits on the edge of the pool, legs dangling into the glowing water, watching the door that connects inside to outside.

Watching who stands in that doorway.

Watching Ann.

Somehow--suddenly--she growls louder than Leona the lion.

She's on the prowl.

Ann takes her place behind the bar. Her heels click like gunshots to the tile. Her bikini catches every light. Every eye. Jeff follows suit behind the bar, where a line is already forming before it. Leona disappears behind the back kitchen wall to prep skewered meats that hiss on contact with the air. Ann slips off her cover-up and folds it neatly on a lounge chair.

Eyes. Heavy. Possessive. Old friends.

She turns subtly. Jane hasn't moved, but her stare is a blade.

To Leona, Jane's obsession is kind of cute. In a tragic, about-to-get-her-heart-torn-out kind of way. He can only think like that for a moment before baring his teeth, though.

He does not share.

The music drops, and the poolside pulses.

Ben's set shifts into something relective of the night, as well as most nights at PUMP: primal, deep, low, and hypnotic. Fog spills out like it's alive, guests sway in clusters, glittered limbs littered across the floor, and alien eyes flashing beneath the neon. The bartenders are sending drinks out like sin.

Ann flips a shaker in one hand, and Eyeless Jack drifts beside her to top off a drink, close enough to brush arms. His jaw is set, voice low as he mutters, "Does it ever make you uncomfortable?"

"Hm?" She's confused.

"Well, Jane is not the subtle type," he starts, "don't be dense..."

"What? I'm not dense! She's a good friend of mine. Just like you," she bumps hips.

Laughing Jack slides beside Jane with the slow gait of someone who isn't easily rattled. "She's not yours," Jack begins, voice singsong. "Not even close."

She doesn't answer, but her eyes narrow.