Logs:Imoen's First Day

Imoen's First Day

Players

Auburn Gresham
26 August, 2022

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."

Blushing slightly, Imoen turns her eyes aside and shrugs her shoulders sheepishly, "it's a strip club. One figures strip clubs mean horny men, and horny men mean handsy men that don't understand personal space. Plus, they've got to be at least halfway drunk." Another shrug, "I just thought it would be a good thing to ask, just in case..."

"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?"

Demeanor softening even more at her blush, Bash just shakes his head slowly, trying to exude reassurance with every fibre of his being, "there are dancers but we are so much more than a strip club. People will be drunk and a lot of other things too but there's no space for assholes." An eyebrow shoots up again, "you met Andi and Luna. There is another badass named Misha that will be around too. There won't be a safer place in the world for you than in here."

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."

Imoen smiles lightly, "I like the sound of that. I was...to be honest, I really thought this was just like any other strip club. Or any strip club in my head. All kinds of dirty, sleazy, and hardly caring for what happens to its employees so long as they cough up the club's cut or something. But if you say it's not like that? Then I believe you..." Of course, she follows this up with a lean forward and a stare of disbelief, "wait, cover all of it? Like, there's gotta be a limit though, right? I can't go buying designer clothes and handbags, or something, and just charge it to the club?" A look of greed flickers across her eyes in a mischeivous thought process, although the curve of her lips suggests she probably already knows the answer.

"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.

What traces of embarrassment were lingering in Bash fade when it appears like she might just understand what he was trying to convey. It helps that her question about limits gives a momentary distraction. Looking down at himself for a moment and his previously mentioned new outfit, "shit, I hope not. I dropped over ten grand on this..." When he glances back up there is a smile to let her know he isn't too worried about it. "I might suggest at least talking to Marigold first before you go nuts, though?"

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?"

Andreia wanders up here so often it's a wonder she ever gets any work done. Fresh off a smoke break, she slips through the front doors, barely opening them after first poking her head around to squint the length of the room down to the bar. A smirk plasters itself over her lips as she sights the pair set up there, but it quickly transmutes to a scowl as a customer tries to get around her. She turns, palms the poor fellow in the face until he's forced to take a couple of steps back, then with a snarling huff she pushes through the double doors, holding them open with a booted foot until he anxiously scurries past.

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..."

"Ten...ten grand." Imoen says this flatly, then reiterates, "you spent ten thousand dollars on that outfit?" A shocked shake of her head, "and Marigold paid for it? How'd you ever convince her to do that? That's like, a good half a year of earnings, easy, right?" She blinks, still clearly struggling to wrap her mind around that one, "what did you do, sell your soul? That's incredible." She leans in, "seriously, the owners must be loaded or something to pay that much for a bartender's outfit, however well it fits on you..."

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.

With pursed lips, Bash shrugs, "I mean, she hasn't seen the receipt yet?" A wave of the hand and he dismisses the concern, "will be fine. Was a rush order and I had to get the color just right to match Luna's outfit." He seems particularly pleased about that last detail and the good humor carries over to the more serious conversation, "if that's the case then, yeah, you get to be a test subject for me. Before shifts, I'll let you and the others know if I have anything new or if there's inventory reasons to push something more than others."

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.

Andreia stares levelly at Imoen, visibly shifting away as she approaches, though rather than leave her seat she turns the instinctive retreat into a reach for her back pocket, sliding out her phone. She hasn't been in Chicago long, but she's learned what people do when they don't want other people to get close to them, and she begins to swipe with a complete lack of interest at the screen. While still staring the smaller woman down, as she brightly chatters at her.

"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?"

Imoen appears quite pleased at the prospect of trying new experimental drinks Bash might concoct. The move to remind her about the other night makes her shift uncomfortably and rub one hand over a shoulder, "s-sure. Yeah..." Then she's smirking at the imagery of the fool that would try to get handsy with her while Andi was looming, "I think I'd feel sorry for the customer, even if he -did- smack my butt or something..."

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.

Fiametta glides onto the floor from the dressing room, apparently on to work the floor, based on her attire. A dress of sheer ivory is one shouldered, the hemline hitting just below the tops of her thighs. Only the pattern of embroidery gives any hint of modesty, with a cascade of writhing snakes falling from her shoulders, coiled about her breasts and lower back, another settled at her hips. The surprisingly intricate embroidery has little crystaline beads studding the reticulated patterns of the snakes, and the snake that guards her hips is coiled around a small copper-and-rose-gold threaded apple that covers just enough at the juncture of her thighs that any well meaning licensing board inspector that might wander in couldn't find a technical violation, even if it does rather draw the eye to a certain location. Her hair is left to tumble where it wills, though there's little threads of sparkling beads woven in to add a hint of flash to her bright hair when the light hits them just right. Clear platform heels give the illusion that she's walking on air, a certain confident sway to her steps.

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?"

A few more moments of breathing and then Sebastian glances over at Andi with a nod and a, now just metaphorically, radiant smile, "she is. Had some legitimate concerns about the place, given how we might superficially appear." A pleased glance over at Imoen, "but I think we managed to get rid of all of them." When he turns back to Andi, he has a positively beatific expression on his face that is probably carried off more effectively than he realizes, "I am a wonderful influence."

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."

Andreia's breed of 'cold' is more like a bonfire on the tundra, driving back the unwanted snow. Prickly like a hedgehog, she's nonetheless warm-blooded, and easy enough to draw into a conversation she's not actively walking away from. The lighter gets a glance, which promptly narrows and whips across to Imoen. It's a judgemental glare, really, that says, 'I gave that to you.' But here's her gift, being handed back to her. The intensity is fleeting, and then the item is shoved toward Bash on the other side of the bar. "Stash it. Good to have a spare around."

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.

Hearing Fiametta's voice, Imoen glances over and her eyes widen. Cheeks burst with pink and she shifts uneasily on her feet, before hurriedly looking aside. Someone else can answer her questions, surely! Instead, licking her lips and brushing a slightly shaky hand through her hair, she actually appears to relax when returning to the question of work. A couple nods of her head, "right. Should be simple. Say hi, ask if they want something, and hope they don't lock me in conversation about my relationship status. Easy." Sebastian indicating Fiametta has her peeking over again, but the look doesn't last.

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..."

"It's all right to be scared with a new place, new people. Especially when you might be running from somewhere that wasn't good at all." The deep blue eyes, usually somewhat remote when she's working, focus on Imoen. The embers in them light, but her expression is kind, almost tender, for several heartbeats...but the willowy redhead's expressive face doesn't hold any one emotion for very long most of the time. "No matter how often someone says nobody will touch you without your consent, it's hard to believe, I know. Hopefully when you really start to /know/ that things will settle." She beams up at Bash. "Working the bar or tables is hard work. Not everyone can handle it, I know that I couldn't. But I know between Bash and Luna and Andi backing you, you don't need to take any shit."

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.

For some reason, Sebastian was unnecessarily tidying up and rearranging the bar during any discussion of 'numbers.' Though he does give Andi a brief but firm single nod after 'ten.' Always willing to offer support and let her know that she did indeed nail it.

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."

Yep, nope, Andreia is completely distracted for a moment. She doesn't notice Imoen's sneaky hand sneaking the lighter away, nor listen to a word she says for several seconds after the fact. It's probably a boon for the former street fighter that Fiametta is strutting around like she is; who'd suspect she's anything but a red-blooded human with a libido? It's completely without thought for guile or any concept of playing it cool that she's biting down on her bottom lip, hard enough that she leaves a dot of blood behind as she absorbs the teasing body-check with a furiously goofy grin.

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."

Imoen grimaces at the suggestion coming from Andi for alternative employment, grimacing even more darkly at the second idea on the list of jobs. "I don't know if I'd -want- to feel thanked for cleaning a toilet. It's kind of the sort of work you do and promptly eradicate from memory." A light shrug, "but like, I certainly wouldn't mind learning to defend myself. You know, in case a customer really does get handsy or I need to permanently keep their beer breath off my face. That sort of thing." A hesitant pause, "but hey, maybe I'm a genius with makeup and wigs and can help put a costume together. Who knows. You could see me next giving flourishing wings to eyeliner or helping someone squeeze into their medieval-themed corset."

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."

"Bash..." For a moment, Fi's expression is quietly solemn, as she considers. "I mean, there are people who guard your ass...and those that help shield the heart. Don't sell yourself short." But within a flicker of a flame, the solemnity has melted away again. "I do think we're gonna be swamped. I've been trying to get the word out to people I know too," she smiles. "But they better not give any of you any shit, no matter what. Unless it's a big. Fat. Tip." Is there a little sharply glittering flare of ferocity for a second? Perhaps so. She does, however, give a little sniff as the lighter passes. Not out of snobbishness, but some kind of delight springs to life in her eyes, before it's suppressed, and probably a too-thoughtful pensive look comes into her eyes.

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."

A little close mouthed smile is the only thing subtle about Sebastian as he watches the dynamic between Andi and Fi. His body language and overly expressive, betraying eyes might as well be doing a high pitched squeal of excitement. He does manage to focus enough to engage with the conversation, at least. Shaking his head in faux disappointment at Imoen, "going to abandon me already. Start training, leave me the only one who can't fight." Smiling after, "it is a good idea though. Getting a routine, staying physically active. Only going to help keep you level."

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."

Imoen's querying about this 'type of place' draws a flare of the nostrils from Andreia, and a very emphatic, "Fuck no. This is the kind of place where if they try anything I /literally eat them/. If dancers wanna get closer to the customers, that's up to them. Same shit applies to all of you. Anyone steps past the boundaries," she jerks a thumb loosely over her shoulder, kinda-sorta indicating the place where all the rules are hung on the wall, "They disappear."

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."

Imoen still can't help feeling a slight hint of warmth along her cheeks to see Fiametta in such risque attire, but she appears emboldened by the woman's reassurances. She chuckles at Sebastian though, "it's not like you can't learn too. Andi could teach us both, and then we'd be able to train together and learn...whatever kinds of martial arts Andi knows. Then nobody would ever think to mess with us." Andi's remark about what she does to bad customers elicits a chuckle, "I wouldn't want you to get any indigestion." She clearly doubts this concept, even smirking at the threat of disappearance. The flat tone and the certainty in the Brazilian's expression somewhat eases her mirth, leaving her shifting uncertaintly. "Yeah. Some say they see them at the supermarket buying cabbages, but that's just a myth." Another indrawn breath. "Right." Shortly, she turns and heads bravely into the unknown, to encounter drunk customers and wandering eyes aplenty.

"I think almost everyone who been invited by me would rather see you or Roman or Kumanhi on the stage than me, when it comes to lighting their fantasies," Fi laughs. But it's affectionate, as she considers, and is not at all dismayed by this. "But I think they'll enjoy all the performances no matter what. Hopefully the vibe. I guess we'll see how many come back, but I think a lot will. Even if it's just to watch people throw each other across the room downstairs!" She shakes her head. "I mean, I can handle most grabby hands or creeps when I need to, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't last too long downstairs! But that's okay. I know I'll enjoy watching."

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.

Sebastian's nose wrinkles up playfully as the rag hits his chest. Giving the vest a once over, he then begins to fold the, likely, filthy rag out of unthinking reflex. There's a shrug and he is about to stick up for himself in his usual good natured fashion but as Andi goes on, everything just sort of leaves his face. He doesn't look sad or even particularly upset, just expressionless. Nothing like this has happened in front of them before and the degree of coldness he manages to exude might be a bit disconcerting just out of sheer, sudden difference.

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..."

Fiametta's counter-flirtation is regarded with a sidelong glance, and arched brows from the Black Wolf, who looks anything but displeased at the profession. She does give a little snort, but amusement overpowers disdain, even as she leans a few inches closer and offers back - in what's equally teasing, but with a little less /stage/ on the whisper - because some ideas, customers in a strip club don't need to be given, "What is it about you and toes?"

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.