Discworld - Ladies' Night at Biers
Title: Another Night at the Undead Club
Prompt: 'Ladies' night at Biers', by amazon_syren
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Sally/?
Count de Worde: 250
Rating: PG
Notes: 250 words didn't seem quite sufficient...
Ladies' night at Biers meant no men got in, and the ambiguous only if the doorman liked them. It was an idea Igor was trying out, and now beginning to regret. Sally von Humpeding had convinced as many as three Igorinas to step up on the corner table and show tricks with their hands. The band was playing some new-fangled jig which was mostly drowned out by the general hullabaloo. Who knew women could make so much noise?
Half-way through the night Igor sent for his sister and retired to his apartment, bidding her to please not let them burn the place down. He was barely gone before the barmaids cleared the bar, got up on it, and began a dance that was about as raunchy as any frequently rehearsed at the PussyCat Club.
Sergeant Angua approached the bar that night only to veer away several steps outside; Susan Sto Helit settled for a peek; many others, for whom unlife tended towards drab and monotonous, exclaimed "Hot dog!" (or an equivalent, depending on which century they were born, and whether there were werewolves present) and joined the fun.
Sally came to work the next morning looking fresh and satisfied, her skin as smooth and pale as ever, but Angua could smell extravagances on her skin; ones that made her flush with more than the usual kill-urge. She changed her clothes behind the lockers, with more than her usual modesty. Sally's laugh bounced through the metal lockers, a merry, wicked echo.
Prompt: 'Ladies' night at Biers', by amazon_syren
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Sally/?
Count de Worde: 250
Rating: PG
Notes: 250 words didn't seem quite sufficient...
Ladies' night at Biers meant no men got in, and the ambiguous only if the doorman liked them. It was an idea Igor was trying out, and now beginning to regret. Sally von Humpeding had convinced as many as three Igorinas to step up on the corner table and show tricks with their hands. The band was playing some new-fangled jig which was mostly drowned out by the general hullabaloo. Who knew women could make so much noise?
Half-way through the night Igor sent for his sister and retired to his apartment, bidding her to please not let them burn the place down. He was barely gone before the barmaids cleared the bar, got up on it, and began a dance that was about as raunchy as any frequently rehearsed at the PussyCat Club.
Sergeant Angua approached the bar that night only to veer away several steps outside; Susan Sto Helit settled for a peek; many others, for whom unlife tended towards drab and monotonous, exclaimed "Hot dog!" (or an equivalent, depending on which century they were born, and whether there were werewolves present) and joined the fun.
Sally came to work the next morning looking fresh and satisfied, her skin as smooth and pale as ever, but Angua could smell extravagances on her skin; ones that made her flush with more than the usual kill-urge. She changed her clothes behind the lockers, with more than her usual modesty. Sally's laugh bounced through the metal lockers, a merry, wicked echo.