The Business of Trust
| The Business of Trust | |
|---|---|
| Players | Auburn Gresham A wild floor manager approaches. |
The throaty purr of a Yamaha R1 thunders through the narrow alleyways of Auburn Gresham, the sporty motorcyle winding with easy abandon through the milling traffic. The bike pulls up in a skid outside one of the buildings, where it's perched on its stand with a nonchalantly-aggressive kick. Her tangled hair worn free and wild, unrestrained by the sensibility of a helmet, Andreia Lopes slides off the back of the Yamaha and rises to her full height, one hand on her hip as the other reaches into the pocket of her oxblood leather pants. The keys to the building emerge, dangling from sharp-nailed digits. She casts a weather eye across the facade, her habitual resting scowl pulling into a tautly-approving line as she gives a few brisk nods, noting the fresh coat of paint, nostrils flaring as she inhales the pungent fumes. The work is unfinished; a step ladder is propped beside the front entrance, draped with a pair of dirty coveralls and neighbored by a mound of paint tins and tools barely covered by a spattered tarp. But it's /getting there/. Stepping to the door of what's soon to be christened Satin & Savagery, Andreia opens each of the three locks with a vigorous clunk-chunk-snap, and flicks it open with the toe of her heavy-buckled boot. The entranceway plays host to an attendant's booth and two possible routes beyond it; a set of double doors with ornate fittings, and a gloomy stairwell leading down. No prizes for discerning the Satin from the Savagery. Sparing herself a brief, self-satisfied grin, the Black Wolf of Summer slinks a few feet inside, yanking over a black metal stool to perch herself upon as she pulls a scratched, dented smartphone from inside her biker cut - it's all she seems to be wearing on top - and awaits her appointment for the afternoon.
Black knee-high spiky heeled boots step out of the car first, legs that look like they go on for days wrapped in black fishnet stockings come out first. The tall 5'10" woman was tall as it was, but she was easily over 6ft tall with the boots. A short black leather skirt hugs her hips low and is met with a strapless zipper front corset with a sweetheart neckline. Staring up at the building, Luna looks it over as she shuts the car door behind her. Confidently she walks towards the entrance. Her hair had been let down with just a bounce of a curl, it moves over her shoulders and cascades down her back with the force with which she walks. When she enters the building she looks around, "Hello?" calling out first, evaluating eyes looking at the construction that was still going on.
"'sup!" For better or worse. Her casual reply is delivered with a sharp forcefulness, as Andreia slides to her feet and steps into the light spilling through the doorway, shoving the phone back into its couch against her breast before tossing out a casual salute with the same hand, almost in after-thought as her fingers slice the air and fall to rest against the inside of her hip. "You're, uh," she pauses, working her mouth as if she's got a thousand names to remember, then grinning in a way that completely gives away the tease. This one's more full of blunt mischief than guile. "Luna, yeah? Didn't catch the last name. Doesn't matter. I'm Andi." A smirk, and an upflick of the chin, her own tousled hair bouncing faintly. "Lookin' good. Figured you might be more corporate, less one o' the girls. Like it. Welcome to our little home from home." There's a sardonic edge to the last, dark eyes widening, though precisely what she's mocking may be unclear.
Moving in further, she doesn't attempt to offer a hand, she didn't get the idea that it would be expected, this all felt rather informal. A light chuckle, "I managed a 'brothel'. White button-down shirts and jackets with shoulder pads ever never really been my thing." Her idea of what corporate it seemed. Not that she was looking for approval, but she seems to accept it as a compliment that the look was good, nodding her head once and then twice, "Thanks." A smirk placed on deep red painted lips. "So whats the story here?"
"Huh," is her only response to the amused confession from Luna, the information digested as easily as it's offered. Andreia doesn't seem stupid, at least - she's attentive, filing away the information, she's just very brusque about the whole affair. "Story, right. Yeah. Don't let this mess fool you; we're almost there with this shit. It's a game of two halves. Down there," she flicks her head toward the narrow stairwell, descending into the basement, "That's my half. Savagery. We'll drink and we'll fight, and anyone who makes it /political/ or /personal/ bites off exactly as much as I can chew. Rough stuff." She pauses, flashes a toothy grin that quickly relaxes back into that resting scowl. "Maybe you know a thing or two about that, but that's not why you're here. That'd be /Satin/." Lifting a foot, she kicks it back against the double doors - they're not secured, swinging open and staying open as they catch on the plush carpet within. The club beyond is a work in progress too, but it's lit up and shows the bones of what it's going to be. Polished surfaces, well-appointed furniture, an ornately-provisioned bar. Nothing at all what the unfinished facade suggests. "Here, it's only as rough as the girls want it. Equal parts sexy and classy. Theatrical. Burlesque. Peddles fantasy but doesn't put up with bullshit, cuz the story is..." She turns and swaggers inside, flicking her head to beckon Luna join her, before sweeping a hand across the room. "This ain't really about /money/. It's about fun, and family. We're starting something to make all our lives better. We look out for customers, but we look out for ourselves, too."
"Course not" She answers dryly, that was not why she was here, she knew that much. Her eyes looking towards the lavish double door and her eyes are alight with curiosity before the door swing open. A single eyebrow arches on the right side as she takes a step forward towards the doors, just enough so that she can peak inside. Nodding slowly in approval. "That's good news, Cause I don't put up with bullshit either, and neither do the girls that are in my care." Understanding the gestures, Luna follows after her. Another smirk and then a short snort, "Everything is about money." But she nods, "I know what you mean though. How soon are you looking to open?"
It's fired back quickly, with a daring quirk of the lips and an arched eyebrow, dark eyes flashing as they align with Luna's. Andreia doesn't leave space for a reply, rushing in after her own challenge with a shrug, "As soon as. Got a few dancers to chat up, couple more already on the books. If you're into it, we'd need to get you and them together; if you don't know 'em, you don't give a shit about 'em, and you can't do your job. I'll be real with you." She clears her throat, showing the first sign of discomfort as she shifts from foot-to-foot. Her glance drifts downward, introspective. "This is all some of us have got, maybe all we're going to have. Can't speak for everyone, but that's how we approach this. Maybe everything's about money, somewhere, somehow, but to me, to you if you wanna do this..." She lifts her eyes, positively smoldering with intensity. "This is about taking care of this place, these people. We only answer to Roman, and to Marigold. The rest look to us, first among equals, the ones who make sure they're /good/." She folds her arms, looks out across the floor, toward the stage - which is covered end-to-end in a thick velvet curtain. "Soon as we all understand that, we open. And we rock this shit. /Best/ club in town."
Carefully, she watches the discomfort, scrutinizing, watching every move the Brazilian makes. Realization hits at her next words and she gives a single nod. Licking her lips, Luna holds her gaze, "I know what its like to have nothing. To hold onto something that is your everything." Looking around the club again, "If you'll let me, I'd like to help you keep hold of your everything. You won't find someone else like me. Someone that knows. Someone that cares. Someone that will put in the work, sweat, and tears to make this place become the best club in town."
"That's all we need. The more you're willing to do, the more you'll get. Bosses look after us. You can talk money with Marigold, but you know how this business works? You know what to expect. Expect a little more than that. Those pockets run as deep as we need 'em to. Girls - and guys, once we get some - they get the same treatment, little private area in the back, solid bottom line and tips are theirs. Any side work they wanna do, we help 'em do it. Like they were our sisters and kids." She rolls a shoulder, loosely easing aside the implication. Luna clearly gets it. "One other thing. Need to know about you. You've got a past, we all do. The more you share, the more we can help each other. There ain't no judgement here - not for us, not for customers, so long as they don't /fuck/ with us. Kids call it a safe space these days, right?" She snorts, nostrils flaring, tossing her tousled hair. "Safe maybe ain't the word for what we're selling, but between ourselves? Some of us are killers. Some of us have done awful things. Worse." Her throat clears once more, in a low rumble, akin to a growl. "Some of us ain't what we seem. Me included. Aim to use that to help, not hurt. You ask me about it, I'll be honest. You can't handle that, we'll have trouble with each other when there's trouble. You understand me?"
There is a flash of doubt that crosses in Luna's eyes when she says the bosses look after them, "Huh." The sound/word comes out low and probably was even missed. "Side work?" she questions, "Are we talking about them being allowed to use the back or private areas for prostitution? That kind of help with side work?" Leave it to the ex-brothel manager to let her mind wander there. "I don't have anyone chasing me, I don't have a target on my back, I'm not wanted for anything." Starting with that. "I don't have a family, they died when I was kid. Was in multiple foster families over the years until I could get out at 18. Been on my own since then." Didn't sound like she didn't have family or friends, a keep people arms length feeling across. "I worked with the Hawthorne family, they used the brothel I managed to do some shady shit. Drugs, gambling, money loaning you get the idea? Besides that, sometimes I had to enforce deadlines for gambling debts, or make some trades for drugs." There is a shake of her head, "The only thing I kill is my prey." Smirking at that. "I can handle more than you think." Shrugging her shoulder though, "But I wont push you on it. That's your business." Nodding her head that she understands.
"Officially, we're not doing that," she responds, her voice serious, the smile lapsing. "But yeah. If they wanna be in that business, we don't deny it to them. It's just /their/ business. Honestly," she appends with the whisper of a sigh through her teeth as they momentarily grind together, "Not my kind of game either. But we look after our own. You'd rather talk to 'em, try to convince them there's a better way - great. That's up to you. None of us is under some kind of dictate." With a shake of her head, Andi leaves it at that, and listens to Luna tell what amounts to her life story. It's her own turn to show her underbelly, the resting scowl deepening to an empathetic frown, dark eyes softening at the confessions of loss and loneliness - or of /being/ alone, at least. It's intense, how she watches Luna now, the stare unbreaking, given no relief until nigh the end. 'Prey'. At that, her eyes narrow, nostrils flare, in a bloodthirsty sort of amusement. Then, she outright snorts. "/My/ business," echoes the Black Wolf, with a sardonic twist of her lips, "Thing is, Red, that's like to become /our/ business. You get this gig - and I'm not gonna fuck around, I /like/ you - then you're me, but up here." Pausing, she casts her eye over the unfinished room, rolling her way back toward Luna with an arched brow. "Where it's shiny and sexy, where the problems ain't always so obvious. I stop fights, lick wounds, and make sure we don't betray the Accords more than our fighters mutually agree to do, and you look after real people, with real problems. Sometimes that'll be drugs, but not because we're the ones dealin' 'em. Sometimes a girl can't look after herself, and you bring her to heel. Sometimes, worse. A customer loses control, and it just happens they ain't so human." Her gaze casts downwards now, and when they rise there's something aflame within near-black eyes. Her voice isn't quite a whisper, but it's low, a captured husk within that wouldn't be comfortable to normal ears, the spirit of a growl. And just a tiny, gleaming touch of the genuinely inhuman, the magical. For a heartbeat the 'image' of Andreia flickers, and there's a flash of something larger where she stands. A long muzzle, drenched in dried ichor, elongated canines - matted fur, a tail that thrashes behind her, impatient and hungry... It's perhaps all too familiar to Luna. "Need to know you can deal with that."
When the gaze rises back to hers, the black fiery eyes meet Luna's and without flinching, Luna keeps her gaze fixed on those eyes. The flickering of glamour was removed in snippets so that she gets an idea of what was behind the mask. There is no gasp, there is no withdrawal or look of fear in her eyes. Staring dead straight back, scrutinizing eyes looking over the details to really take it in. The unasked question hangs in the air for a moment, then Luna's eyebrows shoot upward and grin curls the right left side of her face, "I don't see anything I can't deal with."
"HA!" It's from the belly, a single, forthright bark of laughter that she follows a moment later by pulling a hand away from her body and heartily slapping a palm against Luna's right shoulder. "Good girl," she exudes along with it, grinning ear-to-ear. "Look," comes the casual follow-up, as she wraps the hurled arm back around her waist, idly stretching out her neck, "That's enough for a recommendation from me. We could talk all day, or I could offer you the job and you could agree to come back and meet the bosses in a day or two, get this all hashed out. You got questions? Ask 'em."
"I can't think of any question I haven't asked or you answered before I could ask them." She says truthfully, "If this is the official offer, then I accept it." Nodding to come back in a couple of days to meet the bosses. Which then does bring up a thought, "I did just think of one question. What about housing? My last place was a room at the Brothel, Do I need to look for an apartment or is there somewhere I can crash here?"
"Mm," she acknowledges the question with another nod, snapping her fingers as she pulls them away from her mouth. "Marigold's got you. She's got a place nearby, whole-ass apartment building with plenty of space. Nobody crashes here. Least of all someone as," she gestures loosely, waving a hand over the vision of the new floor manager, "Nice as you. /I/ don't sleep in the corner like a dog, no way she'd let you." There's the implication that Andi probably asked if she could. It's not even a subtle implication. A beat later, she's turning back toward the bar, sweeping a white sheet from off one of the stools in passing, then ramming a hand onto the bar and driving her lithe form straight over the top of it, landing with a firm bounce on the other side. Beckoning Luna over, she grabs up a bottle of rye and a couple of sparkling-clean shot glasses, starting to pour. "Should cap this off with a toast. You and me, we got this. This place is gonna be /somethin'/."
Following Andreia over, stepping back so she can remove the sheet from the barstool, she slips onto it and then watches her grab a bottle of Rye, "Ah, a woman after my own heart." She says moving her chin to indicate liquor. Taking up her filled glass, she lifts her cup up in support of the toast, "To this being something." Repeating after her.
She hammers the rye down her throat with a more rapid, hungry burst of motion, twirling the little glass in her hand as she smiles through the warm bloom of the liquor, "You don't build something like this," she says, with a softness yet unexhibited, "Without a few risks, and trust is a risk we've all gotta take. I've slept in places most people wouldn't believe, and been treated worse than the shit in the corners of those places. Reckon you have, too. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong." Rolling her shoulders loosely, she collapses into the shrug and leans out across the bar, bringing her gaze level with Luna's and staring with that same intensity from earlier, dark eyes awash with the smolder of deep, deep emotion. "Wouldn't it be fucking great if I was right? And both our lives get better?" Her lips twist, and she sets down the glass with a duller, thudding clunk. "/Stay/ better?" | |