But Nikolai wasn’t going to be the one to do it.
There was a band onstage; a new band, on a tour. This, apparently, was their last song, which the lead singer–a tall, pale young man with a shaved head–advertised as such:
“It’s almost time for us to get the fuck outta here kids. Yall’re givin’ us swelled heads,” A disappointed hiss arose from the portion of the dance floor still paying any kind of attention, “Yeah I know,” he lamented, “But we got one more. Special. Treat, for yall tonight.”
Another band member began the song, with a tambourine jingling rhythmically at their side, quickly joined by a gentle bass line and riff on the snare from their drummer. Their keyboard joined in.
Then, the voice of the club’s resident riot-folk Goddess rang out over the speakers, as a previously unnoticed figure at the far end of the bar dropped her latex trench coat to the floor. “Alright, you fucking monsters,” she crowed, “Show me what you got.”
“Don’t be scared,” the goading laughter became a sultry purr, “I’ve done this before.” One foot, clad in a 9-inch stiletto heel fashioned like a knife blade–and looking just as sharp–and then the other, stepped onto the cushion under her, and she stood.
“Show me your teeth.”
Morgaine was dressed in latex head to toe. Tits were pushed up to improbable heights by a black bathing suit with a plunging neckline that separated a transparent heart in the center, and the club lights reflected off her transparent stockings. Half gloves covered her fingers, and spiked bands encircled her wrists
The relentless, pounding bass kicked in, and she stepped onto the bar, lifting a microphone to her bruise-colored lips.
“Show me your teeth.” She bent over and lifted her face to the crowd that was now gathering at the bar, lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal a set of fake vampire teeth.
Don’t want no money she sang, only to be echoed by the band onstage, taking on the role of gospel choir after very line. Her own recorded voice echoed back to her, mocking and smoky over the speakers: (Shit’s ugly)
Just want your sex Her own laughter rang out through the club as she marched across the bar top.
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (take a bite of me)
Show me your teeth (let me see your mean)
Got no direction (I need direction)
Just got my vamp (uh-uh)
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (take a bite of me boy)
Show me your teeth (the truth is sexy)
At the end of the bar she stopped and faced the crowd, watching them with black make-up smeared eyes under blunt-cut black bangs, stamping one foot on the bar as she belted the chorus:
Tell me something that’ll save me
I need a man who makes me alright
(Just tell me when it’s alright)
Tell me something that’ll change me
I’m gonna love you with my hands tied
Show me your teeth (just tell me when)
Show me your teeth (Open your mouth, boy)
Show me your teeth (show me what you got)
Show me your teeth-teeth-teeth-teeth
One of the bouncers–dressed similarly for that occasion–came out from behind the bar, and she sat on his shoulder as if he were simply another stool as he carried her across the dance floor, still singing–
Got no salvation (Got no salvation)
Got no religion (my religion is you)
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (take a bite of me, boy)
Show me your teeth (I’m a tough bitch)
–And pointed straight at Nikolai’s table; it just happened to be the biggest, most central group in the place.
When it became apparent that he intended to set her down on the tabletop, the Disciples scrabbled to move their drinks and elbows out of the way, and the Goddess descended.
Got my addictions
And I love to fix ‘em (no one’s perfect)
Take a bite of my bad girl meat
Show me your teeth (I just need a little guidance)
As she sang, she looked down at the creatures surrounding her, baring her teeth at them. Her eyes flashed recognition and fear when she recognized Nikolai. Then, a wicked smile spread slowly across her tattooed maw. She was the warm-blooded queen of this viper’s nest. All she needed to do was show him. What was there to be afraid of?
Not skipping a beat, She turned her back on him, showing him her strong legs and round, tight ass, one foot beating on the tabletop. There was a new, demanding edge to her voice as she launched into the second chorus.
Her foot jostled a glass of blood on the table, spilling it. The Disciple to whom it belonged wiped it up quickly, but not before the blood pooled around the sole of her shoe. She could feel the chill as drops of it splashed onto her ankle when she brought her foot down, and she looked over just as the last of it was wiped up. Smirking, she sat down on the table, legs spread, in front of the man and ran her fingers roughly through his hair.
Show me your teeth (just tell me when)
Show me your teeth (open your mouth, boy)
Show me your teeth (show me what you got)
Show me your teeth-teeth-teeth-teeth.
As he reached up to grasp her thighs, she placed her bloodied shoe on his chest and pushed him back against his chair. In response, he grasped her ankle tenderly, and ran his tongue worshipfully along the bottom of her shoe, cleaning off the blood there. She lay back on the table–long, glossy black hair fanned out around her–and sang with everything she had into her upturned microphone.
Show me your teeth
Hoooh (my religion is you)
Hoooh (my religion is you)
When his hand began to wander, she shoved him back against his chair again, and moved her legs under her so that she was on her knees facing the dance floor, running her hand through her hair, and over her latex-covered curves lasciviously,
Help, need a man
Now show me your fangs
Help, need a man
Now show me your fangs.
Help need a man
Now show me your fangs
She got to her feet, rolling her spine –
Show me your teeth (It’s not how big, it’s how mean)
Show me your teeth (Open your mouth, boy)
Show me your teeth (I just need a little guidance)
Show me your teeth-teeth-teeth-teeth
The music stopped on a powerful note, and–as a punctuation–she tongued the fake teeth off her own human canines and spat them over her shoulder, into Nikolai’s lap.
And the club exploded into applause.
She smirked as she stood and bowed to the crowd, and then, true to form, gave them all the finger.
“Give it up for Lady M!” cried the bandleader, “Couldn’t you just eat her up?”
This was why the club wanted her alive; this was why Nikolai couldn’t touch her–because she was a money-machine, a sensation. A goddess.
And she’d just dared him to try something.
(Lyrics © Lady GaGa)