All One Dance

[Pher 0]

 

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a brief kiss, then wrapping the offered skirt around my waist. “Very kind of you.”

 

“Do you want the rest? The top a least?”

 

He seemed eager to be my personal champion. I had to be careful to laugh at the world, not at him. “Look, you could get it all back with your fists, and have some fun in the process. I could get it back with my lips, and have fun in the process. Take a look at the kind gentleman behind the bar. He owns the place. Nice guy. Nice place. Which do you think he would prefer?”

 

“Ah…” He considered. “Lips?” The conclusion disappointed him.

 

I kissed him again. Who says all males are dumb? They’re just… focused. “I think so. Besides, if I didn’t want a chance to say hello to old friends, I am perfectly capable of having my stuff land on the stage instead of in the audience. Buy me a drink, and maybe this time I won’t be remembered as the reason the riot started.”

 

He ordered the drinks, and found us a small table. I arranged my hair for a token pretense of what the human girls curiously call ‘modesty,’ while quietly signing the bar girl that I wanted the alcohol this time. I wasn’t apt to dance another set, and thought it would be nice to relax a bit. Sides, it wasn’t like I was one of the full time girls. I was just stuck visiting old friends while my ship was stuck on the ground.

 

“Your dancing is… interesting.”

 

“Are you a dancer?”

 

He hesitated. “No… A martial artist.”

 

“Ah. Then you noted the dances came from different traditions.”

 

“Quite.”

 

“The first is almost a parody. It’s how Surf Side animal women portray Lee Shore animal women portraying real animal women dancing.”

 

“Surf Side?”

 

“Never been to New Risa?” I changed my voice to assume an autocratic air while raising my nose in the air.” We Surf Side girls have class. The Lee Shore folk do the whole rags, chains and cages thing. I never used to take bump and grind quite to Lee Shore levels, but once you get off New Risa, if the audience sees green skin they seem to expect drooling cave women.”

 

“I was really more interested in the later numbers.”

 

“Of course you were.” This wasn’t entirely fair. He was interested in the middle kata piece. The martial aspects of that one, to him at least, were more significant than the exotic aspects. Still, in love and war, all weapons are authorized. One had to make a token attempt at the high ground.

 

“But… Well. Frankly, you should look into pain stick technology somewhat. If your prop were a real stick, you wouldn’t actually have to touch to get an effect. There is a nimbus around the tip. The way you were handling the stick would have been quite painful.”

 

I gave him my best innocent ignorant little girl listening to wise male look when a pain stick tip suddenly appeared under his chin. Oh, dear. I seemed to be holding it. OK. So, I have the occasional odd quirk. Scorn the girl with a hot libido. Assume a greenie can only earn money one way. Call me Annie like it’s what I am not a job description.

 

But talk about my pain stick with respect, OK?

 

I walked around the table once, watching male pride fight with the logical rational desire to evade. I gave him a bit of hip and a lot of chest, shook my head carelessly, and looped the tip of the stick around my body and his in turn to the applause of sundry and all. Pride he had, and discipline, and that little something secret. For some, pleasure and pain weren’t so far apart. He might almost be green. He might be worth training. I collapsed the stick, settled back into my chair, but didn’t stop smiling.

 

“I have a fine pain stick.”

 

“It’s a wonderful pain stick.”

 

“Power and field projection units are Klingon made. The gems, gold and enamel work are of the finest New Risan craftsmanship. It’s Federation legal… barely.”

 

“Nice.” It’s really easy to be appreciative of my stick when it’s powered up.

 

“You don’t get the second dance at all, do you?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it a dance,” he said. “It’s a martial arts kata.”

 

“It’s both,” I insisted, collapsing my stick and slinging it into it’s sheath on my belt.

 

“Which seems wrong,” he said with firmness. “The purpose of martial art is to defeat the opponent. Does one compromise a fighting style with dance, with entertainment?”

 

I sighed. “Technically, the resort owners don’t own their girls on New Risa. They just own the girl’s contracts. Some consider this to be an important distinction.”

 

“The girls don’t?”

 

I shrugged. “We poor uneducated tramps haven’t the legal training to properly understand the distinction. Anyway, New Risan social mores change one’s perspective. The purpose of gladiatorial combat is entertainment. Some girls might be trained to win, and end up standing at the end of the dance. Others might find themselves on the floor, but are sooner invited to another high stakes fight. Winning and loosing isn’t just about the two girls. It’s about keeping the tourists and suits happy.”

 

“And you’re good at keeping the tourists and suits happy?”

 

I shrugged slightly and shook my head a bit, noting the number of heads that turned as I did so. “I manage.”

 

“And the point of the dance, other than to get the tourists and suits interested, was…”

 

The original mistress of the style didn’t think girls should be down. Down means helpless. Tourists like you helpless, but that doesn’t mean, no mater what position you find yourself in, you shouldn’t be able to defend yourself while shaking your assets. You can’t stop dancing.”

 

“So all the low stances were fighting stances?”

 

“Not first choice fighting stances. I’d far rather argue with someone standing up. Still, it’s a training form. If you’re going to go down, and you are going to go down, it teaches how to get up quickly while defending. It’s also a conditioning form. Maintaing low stances gives the muscles a work out. It’s also aerobic. The way it keeps moving, if you do it several times consecutive you stay in shape.”

 

“And it teaches to whack yourself with your own pain stick?”

 

“Do you stop lifting weights when the reps start to hurt some?”

 

“No…”

 

“Do you slow down when doing a conditioning run, just because breathing hurts a little?”

 

But…”

 

“Now, how would you train for pain stick arena combat?”

 

“That’s… crazy.”

 

“Got to keep those tourists happy.”

 

“That’s sick.”

 

I laughed. “Vulcan have their logic. Klingons have their honor. Humans love to talk of freedom while enforcing their endless rules. Me? Pleasure and pain. Sex and violence. Dance and conflict. Male and female. Master and slave. Coupling and death. None of them are really opposites. They all make each other, complete each other. One is the other. It’s all one dance.”

 

“Or one kata?”

 

“Dance is kata. Look. This sort of heavy philosophical conversation needs privacy and fewer distractions. They keep some rooms upstairs for just this sort of deeply penetrating intellectual pursuit. Interested?”

 

He politely drooled in response. Of course he was interested. This sort of dance and talk always got me going, though I judged he would be roused even without the pheromones.

 

“I’ll be right back.” I stood, arranged my hair again, moistened my lips with my tongue, and glanced about the room. Several of the guys helpfully held up various items of clothing. I slowly strode towards the nearest with a little more hip and upper body action than absolutely necessary...

Edited July 11, 2010 by Pher