Difference between revisions of "Imoen's First Day"
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{{Log | {{Log | ||
− | |chars=[[Sebastian]], [[ | + | |chars=[[Sebastian]], [[Imoen]], [[Andréia]], [[Fiametta]] |
|gamedate=2022.08.26 | |gamedate=2022.08.26 | ||
|location=Auburn Gresham | |location=Auburn Gresham |
Latest revision as of 17:22, 1 September 2022
Imoen's First Day | |
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Players | Auburn Gresham Or; as much of it as Andi was present for! |
Sebastian seems to be assessing her after he's done speaking but when she relaxes, he visibly does the same. "It's been a whirlwind for you but I wish someone had been able to mention that before now." The frown is still on his face but something close to pride in his eyes even though they are total strangers. "You thought that might be something you were going to have to deal with and came in anyway?" The easy, friendly smile she will come to know as his default expression returns at the mention of tips, "we share. This is going to be a drama free place, as much as anywhere can be. All the money stuff you can talk to Marigold and Luna about." He pauses a beat, smile trending towards bashful all of the sudden, "this isn't a knock on what you are wearing, I promise. But if there is anything clothing wise you want, just hand the receipts to one of those two. It's all taken care of." A hand goes down to touch his vest and he strikes a playful male model pose of distinguishment, "I could not come close to affording this otherwise. So, just talk to them about any of that." Something has made him seem a little distracted with all this talk of money and only when those basics are out of the way does he voice it, "waitresses are going to get tipped plenty, don't worry. This is a...joyous place. The dancers are only one facet of it. Do we deal with the illicit here? Of course, but it is only as a means to self-discovery for anyone that comes in here."
"er brows shoot up in surprise, "they pay for your clothing here? No way? Like, what, a uniform or?" She finally looks up to meet his gaze, grinning slightly, "you cut a handsome figure, Sebastian. Or...Bash? And that vest looks great on you." A brief pause, "you know, that was sort of another question I had. Is this an ok thing to wear?" She gestures at herself, the draped gray top and the brown corduroy miniskirt. "I just couldn't decide what to wear. And I don't exactly have a set of lingerie and heels I'm prepared to wear out in public." A small tilt of her head, "so, who -does- come in here? What kind of like, crowd can I expect to serve?"
There is a tilt of the head in acknowledgement of her compliment. He looks genuinely pleased and maybe even surprised by it despite how he looks. "They cover all of it, yep. It's a sweet deal." A small but delighted laugh escapes him while shaking his head, "and no uniforms, I wouldn't be here if that was the case. Pick whatever you like, whatever makes you comfortable." His expression grows more thoughtful, head moving a bit from side to side as if weighing what he wants to say, "all of this is sort of tied together. The freedom about what you wear, the dancers, and who is going to be stepping in here. On the surface this it's for anyone that wants a good time. But what we are fostering will, hopefully, inspire more. The hints of Prohibition in tone and decor isn't an accident, I think. It was a time where barriers were dropped, people behaved in ways they never allowed themselves to previously. Met with people they wouldn't have." As he goes on, his already bright eyes are practically gleaming with genuine passion and belief, "I keep emphasizing safety for you but that is what is offered for the customer too. People that are too afraid to be themselves outside can come in here and not hide, maybe get the strength to do the same when they leave. Others know who they are but the world tells them they shouldn't be it. Here they never have to worry." If he were literally glowing right now, it would seem natural and appropriate. But it eventually fades and he offers an almost embarassed shrug, "I know it's a lot but I love this place. The people in it and what it could be. Just...look past the surface and see what all it can offer."
"That's still pretty amazing. I seriously lucked into this place. You guys are seriously awesome. I wouldn't even mind doing a little set up there, if I first learned how not to break my neck or keep from pissing myself in stage fear." After sliding off the stool and patting down her draped gray shirt and brown corduroy miniskirt, she states, "so, how do I do this? Just hand people drinks you make and try not to spill anything? I don't suppose new employees get to test the drinks? You know, just so they can tell customers their favorites?" She shrugs her shoulders innocently.
It looks like he isn't going to have to launch into anymore zealous pitches, so he leans a hip casually against the bar and nods, "if getting up there is something you feel you would enjoy then have at it. The resident expert to talk to is Fiametta." His gaze gets a little more pointed, "and not just for the physical part but the mental aspects. Make sure you are ready. Broken record at this point but no one is going to pressure or rush you." The amused smile she inspired when first coming in goes back on display at her not so subtle efforts, "you hand people drinks but you also listen. Paying attention to people is the most important part. Don't get pushy, obviously, but they might say or think they want one thing, yet you just know it should be another." His tone changes a bit once he can't really put off dealing with the last question. Growing more serious but never losing that understanding stare, he manages to keep any judgement out of his voice, "you came in the other night in a bit of a state. Is being around the drinks going to be a struggle at all?"
People! Honestly! It's like we're here to /serve them/ or something. Sloping up to the bar, the Black Wolf isn't dressed a great deal better than Imoen, all things considered; her flared jeans are smeared with oil and what looks like either blood or rust, and her simple burgundy tank top is crumpled in a way that suggests she's been wiping her fingers on it all night. She's not as sweaty as she sometimes is, but there is that ever-present musk, a natural odor that's repulsive to some and 'I could care less' to Andi. The scent of burned tobacco does a little to cover it, but it remains true. She /could/ care less. She could not bother getting dressed at all. "Oy, kid." She has to got to stop making entrances with an 'oy', thinks the universe, as Andreia overtakes the same customer and then waves him past her to approach the bar. "Look lively, yeah? We are open." Hi, Andi. With that, the Brazilian slides onto a barstool, arching a wry brow at Sebastian before playfully covering her eyes. "Someone's having a good night, at least. You're on about a twelve right now..."
She leans back, amazed. "Well, if my experience here is even half as worthwhile as yours, I'll be rolling in money by this time next year..." In any case, she listens in, perhaps slightly distracted by the disorienting price tag on the man's ensemble. With a chuckle, she admits, "without those drink demos, I don't know if I could give an accurate suggestion to our clientele...?" Then a blink, hearing the reminder of the other nights...proceedings. She sombers, running a hand through her hair, "I...no, I doubt it. Alcohol isn't really...I wasn't so much drunk as..." She trails off, assuming Bash will catch her drift. A certain bestial snarl has Imoen glancing to the double doors, and she smiles warmly at the newcomer, perking up at another familiar face. She doesn't even happen to flinch at the title Andi gives her. There's a skeptical look to her attire, but other than that, she steps closer to the other woman. "Hey again!" She chirps, "Bash is teaching me all sorts of things! I got here at six and couldn't be happier." She lets that statement out despite blurring the truth to her timeliness just a bit.
Logistics out of the way he gets back towards the real concerns. Leaning his long frame over the bar to get closer to her, his voice lowers so no one can overhear, "if you do feel yourself starting to slip or even if it is a full blown fall, just come talk to me, ok?" What a tender moment it could have been. And then Andi comes aggressively bursting through the doors. If Bash is upset over the interruption, it doesn't show and he just nods his head for Imoen to glance over at the woman manhandling a customer, "if you had any doubts about what I said with anyone coming in here? Just watch Andi. Guy's crime was just existing near her so imagine what would happen if someone gets handsy with you?" Beaming, literally, at his colleague, her comment is at first greeted with a confused, "huh?" But then, to Imoen's eyes he notices something embarrassing about his attire and he mutters a, "sorry, giving a sermon about the club to a new convert..." What follows looks like he is doing some simple calming exercises, breath going slowly in and out. To Andi it makes actually seeing an easier prospect.
"Okay, cool," is the flat response, laconic syllables falling into place like lightly-accented slabs. Andi's shoulders roll loosely, and she glances at her phone, realizes how absolutely she can't bring herself to even pretend to care about it, and rolls her dark-eyed gaze back to Imoen. "So," she rejoins, "You might make it to day two. Go, serve customers." She slips the phone away, but waves her other hand dismissively. Sebastian is certainly better at this 'being nice' stuff, but she's failing spectacularly to not be awful today. Maybe she's tired. To her fellow Lost, she comments, puffing out her cheeks a little, "She's on about a nine. You contagious, Bash?" The question hangs a moment, and then there's that smirk, the hint that maybe she's not all ferocious scowls. Just mostly. "Thanks, now I can see myself trying to think." Her head twitches sideways. "She doin' good?"
Relieved nobody calls her bluff about being on time, she rifles through a pocket of her skirt and withdraws a familiar pink lighter. She places it on the counter before Andi, grinning brightly. "That was some nice tabacco. Thanks." She barely even registers the initial cold shoulder. Giggling lightly, she inquires, "what's this about numbers?" An idle wave of one hand, leaning against the counter, "what might get me up to a ten?" The prompt to go serve customers suddenly has her hesitating, biting at her lower lip as she surveys the club. "What, like, now? What do I say? Hey, nice weather we're having. Wanna drink?" Currently, the three of them are at the bar, with Bash tending behind it.
She smiles as she sees the clustered gathered by the bar, making her way over. "Hey," she says in her soft voice once she's close enough to not have to shout. "What's good, tonight? Everything going okay?"
Seeing the shift towards panic in Imoen, he leans towards her over the bar. Soft, comforting eyes boring down, "you have done this before. It's just a different venue, that's all. Greet them, ask if you can get them anything. If they want to chat or be left alone they will give indications either way. You got this, I promise." He shoots Andi a subtle look after, trying to get her to back him up. His hopes for Andi might not have been the highest as relief passes over his face with the arrival of Fiametta. Once she is close enough and after a smile hello, he indicates Imoen with a side nod, "first night and have a little bit of nerves to work through." Turning back to the new hire, he raises an eyebrow good naturedly, "even though she doesn't have any reason to feel that way."
To Imoen, she eases her expression to a more charitable half-smile, replying, "Should try the stuff that got me the habit." There's a positively citrusy sardonic twist to that, inferring this would be a horrible idea and something that should probably be avoided at all costs. "Can't stand the weak shit, though. If I'm gonna do it, I want to /taste/ it, y'know?" It's rhetorical, delivered with a curt upflick of her chin. 'Of course you know'. Despite her manner of entry, there's a lingering air of approval from the Black Wolf, lost somewhere in near-black eyes and loosely-guarded posture. Bash gets a couple of nods in return to his comments, "Yeah. Nerves. Not sure what those are," is she joking? "But..." She trails off, and cants her gaze toward Imoen. "What he said. Don't worry about the numbers, soon tell you if you hit a--" Enter, Sunstone. Fiametta's appearance in her peripherals makes the Brazilian stop /dead/, blinking as she feels her eyes do something she really doesn't want them to do right now. Clearing her throat with a rumbling growl, she lamely finishes; way, way too late for the sentence to be stitched back together again, "Ten." What she can't stop her eyes from doing is being magnetically attracted to the opulently-adorned dancer, though the lustful sweep of her body is brief; Andi goes right for the eyes, unable to stop herself /genuinely/ smiling. "Hey. You look--" Words! Words are hard. She had one, right? Oh, yeah. "Ten." Nailed it.
Imoen's surprised by the sudden glare from Andi, and when the Brazilian doesn't pick the lighter up, she frowns and watches it pushed to Sebastian. With a thought, before the bartender can take it, she leans over the counter and neatly purloins the device. If Andi doesn't want it back, she's not about to donate it to the public. Stashing it back in her small skirt pocket, she says, "actually, I might need it. I'm...running low on them anyway." A small nod, "there's no fun in trying the easy stuff." Then Andi has to go and get distracted by Fiametta's distracting frock, and there's a hint of desperation in her voice when she says, "maybe if this doesn't work out, you could always teach me to fight in Savagery..."
Maybe she's not on the clock yet, maybe she doesn't care, because she takes a gentle lean against the bar, daring to actually shoulder bump Andi playfully. "You look vicious tonight," she murmurs to the Brazilian. And from the tone of her voice? This is SO not a criticism. But then she's gazing back at Bash again. "You gonna join us on the stage this weekend, Bash?" she asks curiously.
A hand absently goes out to catch the lighter but when it's snatched up he looks between the two women in front of him assessingly. Whatever thoughts he might have, they go unmentioned and he just devotes his focus to trying to reassure Imoen once more, "remember, you are in control. You get uncomfortable just walk away and tell one of our scary people." Shooting Fiametta an amused but grateful glance, "you're kind to lump me in with them but I am at peace with my delicate nature." A shake of the head follows, a bit of bashfulness creeping into his expression, "no...not this time. Something to work up to and pretty sure we are going to be swamped at the bar." A beat passes and he adds, "might have to run it by someone anyway."
The murmured words, at least, give her the psychological ammunition to twist it into something more habitually feral, fire swimming in the darkness of her stare as she snaps her teeth at the copper-haired dancer. Patrons likely go undisturbed, but at least she and Bash can feel the heat pouring from the Black Wolf as the blood rushes through her veins. "Melhor para te comer com," she mutters back, in her native Portuguese. It doesn't take a genius to discern the cliche. Indulging the mutual teasing brings Andi down enough to be able to wrench her attention away, though it's like a fly finding the Herculean resolve to rip itself from fly-paper, her eyes clinging all the way down and around to alight once more on Imoen. She at least catches the last part of the intern's spiel, a dark brow surging upwards. "Yeah?" She drawls, flicking an amused glance the length of the smaller woman's body. "Don't let anybody tell you you couldn't, but it doesn't /pay/ well. If you suck at this, we can find you somethin' a little less thankless. Toilets, paperwork, helping the girls get dressed. Whatever works for you." To Bash she throws a very, very little, very faux-pout, "Shame. Was thinking I'd have you train her then steal her for downstairs. Can throw up all she wants down there. Count as empathy."
With that, Imoen cants her head and ventures a response to the redhead's idea she'd one day have real customer-friendly confidence, "r-right. I hope so. Right now I can't really imagine it. Like, isn't this the exact singular place someone will try something with me?" With a blush still working at her features, she dips a nod, bashful yet grateful, "thanks." She waves a hand wildly, "and! D-don't hesitate to ask if you need help or backup too. I'm no Andi-" A glance to the Brazilian, "but I can be a second person for you..." She eyes the other woman's outfit again, then turns aside, nodding with a tenuous smile to Sebastian's encouragement, "anyway..." She drags in a deep breath, "now's as good a time as any, I guess. I'll...let you know if I start having a panic attack."
At the snap of teeth, though, she laughs. Not at all mocking, but inclusive. "I'm not sure what you just said," she murmurs. "But it sure sounded like a promise to /me/." But Imoen's comment draws her attention back, and she shakes her head. "No. Lots of clubs have rules that no one touches the staff without permission. This is the real deal. No one who doesn't understand that will be a customer long. And there's no one here in the group that will force you to do anything either. Or /expect/ anything either. But learning how to defend yourself is a great idea. I hope that we don't have to worry about...anything really going down here, but somtimes even buying a little time, even if you're not the world's biggest badass...it'll give the badasses more time to show up."
There is another grateful glance towards Fi, not just for the words she offered him but all she is doing for Imoen as well. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he seems more concerned with the latter. "Same here, hyping us up wherever I can. Which...might lead to a diverse crowd but that's part of the point of this place."
She certainly sounds confident about that. Unwaveringly so. That carries into her tone as she shifts her dark-eyed gaze back to Fiametta, unable to stop her eyes doing that thing where they betray her by dilating to extremity, but still coolly saying, with a little toss of her head, "Put a contract to it right now, if you want." It's playful, but daring, the stare held for a draw and release of breath, which leaves behind a relaxed, sleepy smile. It remains, unwitting, as she turns back to Bash, pulling the ever-present bar rag from her waistband to throw it at him. Not his face this time - just a hard sling right into the chest of his million-dollar outfit. "Won't be any of us that can't do a little, if you ever bothered comin' downstairs, do what we agreed on. Or are you too busy takin' naps in the dressing room?" The smile's a smirk now, her lips pursing around it, eyes narrowing. "Trouble at home? If you can afford to look like /that/, you can afford the rent."
She leans over to stage whisper to Andreia, "I think I prefer my wolves to run free," she teases. "Keep me on my toes." But when the rag is tossed at Bash, she looks at him with gentle concern for a moment, but listens rather than intervenes in the banter between bartender and Brazilian, and she waves encouragingly at Imoen as she moves off to go back to check on tables.
He starts straightening the bar again, anything that is slightly off getting corrected with slow fastidiousness. He stays busy, not looking up as he mutters, "Marigold said the clothes were covered, the rest I can take care of on my own..." If anyone replies, he just sort of nods absently, only looking up to watch Imoen head off to begin taking orders. A few more beats pass and the sets the neatly folded rag on the bar top and starts to head off towards one of the back rooms, "need to check on something before she gets back..."
There's a hesitation then, before she pulls back away, rolling her attention keenly onto Sebastian as he starts acting in a manner that's all too familiar - but not in any way indicative of the shiny bartender's normal manner. It's something she'd almost crow about, but Andreia is not at all without empathy. She shifts with a little discomfort, throws a glance at the copper-haired dancer that expresses nothing but pure concern, and then she's up and out of her chair the very second that Bash excuses himself. The barstool scrapes loudly across the floor, because Andi's already turning, too, catching it with a back of a bootheel as she explodes into a stride around the bar, regaining the ground on the other side. "Me /too/," she exudes, for nobody's particular benefit, sparing a frowny glance for Imoen but already intent on pursuit. She'll probably be fine. It's not like she's alone, in a scary new place, /without/ a savvy fire elemental to back her up. Exit Sebastian, pursued by a bear. Close enough. |