Beatrice rolled over to find her bed empty, as it had been for the last two nights… Since the thing she’d feared finally came to pass.
Amareth hadn’t come home.
Beatrice stared at the ceiling, her chest was taut as a violin string. She’d been in a dreamlike daze, initially dismissing Amareth’s disappearance, telling herself she would wake up to her strong amazon slipping into their bed. That Amareth went to help an old friend, anything to assuage the creeping fear that was slowly gnawing at her. Beatrice crimped herself into a tight ball wracked with tears.
She wasn’t coming.
Sometime later her computer began to beep at her incessantly. She angrily kicked the blanket off.
Beatrice still had responsibilities that couldn’t wait… Bills did not pay themselves, she reminded herself, even if her dearest person was missing. As she dressed for work she felt the emptiness seeping back into her, pulling out everything until she was just hollow.
She checked her computer as she collected herself over a cup of coffee, one of her few loved vices. The coffee was bitter as her fridge was empty of all but condiments. It was enough, coffee was always enough.
She checked the peephole and then slipped out into the hall slinging her rucksack, with her uniform packed inside, up onto her shoulder. As she exited the twisting apartment complex’s airlock she sent a message with her computer to a local owl, Arthagia, who she hoped could help her find out where Amareth went missing. The dark black pit pulled just a little tighter with the thought that by the end of today she would most likely know what happened to Amareth, for better or for worse.
She was off down the corridor dodging people and picking up a long bounding sprint that was hardly touching the floor. Her movements were fluid and graceful as she flew up the long ramps that connected the different levels of Luna City.
By the time she was on her final approach to Club Errabelle she was only touching down every thirty to forty feet, each landing followed by an immediate explosive thrust of her foot. She was able to accomplish such high bounds because the upper levels of the city had significantly taller corridors.
She arrested her momentum by deftly swinging around one of the tall poles on either side of the club entrance. She spiraled down to a perfect landing in front of the bouncer, Bradley.
“Looks like you’re getting in quite the warm up today, Miss Donne?” Said the bouncer.
“Mhmm.” Said Beatrice, trying to slip through the door.
“Nice try, but you know I need to check your card first, Beatrice. Procedure is procedure, even for you!” He said with an admonishing look.
She groaned, while quickly routing around for her card in her rucksack.
The large bouncer inserted the card into a reader mounted on his forearm, a moment later it spat it back out.
“Thank you, Miss Donne .”
She bolted through the door and practically bowled over another young woman who was moving at a much more sedate pace.
“Ohmigosh, I’m sorry Julie!” Beatrice gasped as she continued into the mildly crowded lobby of the club.
“You could just try not being late? Y’know for such a showgirl you certainly don’t show your interest.” Julie said in a half serious tone over the heads of some patrons as Beatrice picked up speed again.
“Not late yet,” She said darting through the entrance to the performers locker room.
Beatrice changed in a blur of motion using microgravity juggling, and experienced movements. She was now adorned in one of her all time favorite articles of clothing, a skin tight green catsuit with a plunge cut out that went almost all the way to her most intimate parts. The whole outfit stuck to her body like cling film revealing everything without showing much. It had intricate winding Norse rune cutouts branching out from the plunge.
Her feet were encased in a matching pair of green heelless ballet style boots. Which were more than met the eye, each one contained a unique tool of her trade. Tiny little monopropellant thruster packs placed into the chunky wedge heels of each boot giving her the ability to almost fly in the microgravity of the moon. There were also several other smaller stabilizing thrusters on her torso to counteract unintentional spin outs.
This combined with the padded armor plated opera gloves meant she could spin or slide down a pole with unmatched speed.
Thankfully she had opted for nanite embed makeup the year before. Which meant her entire makeup routine was simply selecting the look she wanted on her phone.
Beatrice stepped into the launch tube, grabbed onto the worn handles and braced her lithe body for acceleration. As the tube sealed she could faintly hear Tilly announcing her.
“Up next in the grand dome the lovely glistening green fae, Hecate!”
The Grand Dome was a leftover from the early days of the city when open spaces had been limited. Early Lunies carved out a seven stories tall one hundred fifty meter wide dome, to create an open air space within the crust of the moon. But, over the years the city and technology had advanced beyond it. An entrepreneurial minded individual had purchased the space with the intent of making a “theater” of sorts.
Then she was flung up and out with one great surge like the launch of a rocket, for a moment she hung high in the air suspended above the upturned faces of the club goers in a classical divers cross.
The dome had evolved into a jungle gym mashed up with a strip club. Poles and curved bars allowed a performer with sufficient skill to pole dance in three dimensions. The microgravity of Luna enabled great leaps and lovely maneuvers, but with the assistance of thrusters one could vartibly fly across the space.
She flexed her toes engaging the boots thrusters and began her routine. Beatrice used the whole space, her dance was a series of graceful three dimensional vectors.
As she neared the end of her first dance she corkscrewed down the great central pole to the audience pit below. Gracefully strutting around the stage to uproarious applause from the group of men, and the few women scattered amongst them. This was her encore and she was going to milk it for every drop of badly needed cash.
A man beckoned her with a solid gold slip, a mark of the wealthy Martian Confederacy. She slipped down onto him much like the pole she’d just left, sliding her slick body against his. Using her strength to pulse, bounce, and writhe in the way she knew would drive even the most contained man to feel a primal want for her flesh.
The music switched from the elegant synth track to a classic thumping beat that she synced her intimate movements to. She thrust and ground as the man’s upturned face grew more enamored with her. Then she made to leave, pirouetting up onto a toe tip balanced on the edge of the pit.
Beatrice was an expert tease.