The Taste of Satin
| The Taste of Satin | |
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| Players | Auburn Gresham A good bar is like a garden. |
Stage Floor - Satin It's easy to see Satin as someone's interpretation of a pleasant afterlife, given all the gold, brass, red leather, and velvet. It lines the walls, accents the bar, highlights the stage, and even marks the ceiling in places, providing a uniform theme of Art Deco sophistication throughout the club, highlighted and accentuated by purples so dark they look black, pinks, whites, and dark blues scattered around. The main floor is dominated by a circular bar that claims the center of the room and is stocked to the brim with expensive liquor and booze of all origins and styles. Atop it is a large, tiered cage complete with a pole to accommodate dancers, reachable only by a bridging platform that extends from one of the raised side stages over the seating area. All around the central bar are an arrangement of tables that are spaced well enough apart that one can expect some level of conversational privacy when the music is playing and pumping through the speakers hidden throughout the room. The tables eventually congregate at the far end of the room, where a slightly curving main stage dominates an entire wall. Two poles are installed on either wing, and a long catwalk extends partway onto the floor with a third pole mounted at the end. All around this main stage floor, tiered seating areas exist for more influential visitors, while curtained booths allow customers a modicum of privacy when enjoying private dances. Jutting out from the upper levels and overlooking the entire area is a private VIP room lined with tinted windows that allow only rough silhouettes of those inside to be seen by anyone on the main stage floor. Tucked away into a corner near the main stage is a locked door watched by a bouncer that leads to a staff area. Sphere: None Great success! What was yesterday a sheet-wrapped, ghostly sprawl, strewn with half-dried paint tins and discarded tools, is now the echo of its masters' visions. From the foyer to the pole, what was once a dream is now fully-realized, writ in luxurious Satin. The club sullenly pouts and gleams, promising a bright and very certain - if genteelly-sordid - future. Of course, this transformation does nothing to polish the current occupant of the central, circular bar. Andreia is clad in her customary careless Mufti; crimson leather pants and a black, stylistically-matching vest over a gruesomely-clashing forest green tank. She's relatively free from stains, at least, though she's working quickly to try and remedy this oversight, having arrayed before her perhaps two dozen bottles of newly-arrived liquor, shot glasses prepared in front of each. A few have been filled, others have already been drained, and she's now musing over which to sample next, arching a finger thoughtfully against her left temple as the other hand reaches into a party bag of paprika chips. Another, empty bag lies next to it, and there's two more out of sight around her booted feet. Working makes her hungry. /Everything/ makes her hungry. Caught up as she is in stuffing her ever-crunching maw, whilst considering which heady (and probably quite expensive) chaser to wash it down with, she's at least not forgotten to leave the door wide open, inviting the appointment she's made and then allowed to lapse from memory as she focuses instead on the other matters of opening the best damn nightspot in Chicago.
Whatever it is about the place, it must please him, subtle smile spreading across his features as he angles towards the bar in long but easy strides. Even if the place were packed to the brim, his arrival would be impossible to miss, excitement and approval over the venue influencing the corona of light around him to flare. Growing more muted as he nears, a thick dark eyebrow raises questioningly and he nods towards the liquor, already moving as if to help, "need a hand putting those away?"
To he approaching, she's more than just a tall, scowling Brazilian woman. The heat of her /other/ countenance is palpable; waves of foul, humid air pouring from her figure, the temperature accelerating, the cloy intensifying as Sebastian closes distance. Her hand pulls away from its ministrations, and across her mouth, her mask smiling in a way that's at least a little more pleasant than the alternative, the scattering of chip crumbs adding a comically-messy rounded edge to both. "Nah," assures Andreia, shaking her head and holding out the slightly-greasy hand. "Just got 'em out. We're still getting set up, but depending how this goes, I guess you could save me the job later. Se... bastian, right? You're, uh." Early? Late? Does she even know what time it is? "Posh." A beat, and she shifts her head sideways, looking up at him. "Tall." "Oh." Another beat, and she grins, the effect equally aggressive on both sides, but it appears to be what she thinks of as 'friendly'. "Andi. Roman's around somewhere, but you know bosses. In and out. We can chat without him."
As she offers the staccato description of him, his glowing eyes get brighter and brighter with amusement, "posh, I suppose. Tall, not feeling it at the moment." A hand gets raised for a shake and if taken, the touch is cool but in a soothing manner rather than off putting. The accompanying grip is measured, firm but not veering into competitive. The practiced shake of a bartender who has done this innumerable times.
The strides she takes are confident as she makes her way towards the center bar where Andreia already stands, "Lost track of time." Murmuring as she gets closer. There was no apology, but it was hinted at. Turning to the side, she leans one arm on the bar and pops out her hip in a lazy casual stance. Looking Sebastian over as he stands there, tilting her head just slightly to the right, but remaining silent for now. "Bash it is then." Luna arrived just in time for the conversation that Sebastian welcome potential nicknames. Why wait? Might as well start it off the bat. A grin plays on her red lips, he wasn't going to feel so 'tall' around these two, Luna wasn't a short petite things herself, turning her head to look back at Andreia and then back again to 'Bash'. "I'm Luna. You're the one wanting to be the bartender?" looking between the two, "Satin or Savagery?" she snorts which is sort of a laugh, "Nevermind, he's too friendly for Savagery."
But he's just good at it. A moment later, she's snapping her hand back like she's been burned, but her expression is more restful, cautious but approving as she slowly nods her head. Luna's gracefully-confident, scantily-apologetic entrance distracts from the next opening of her mouth, Andi electing to let silence clutter the air for a moment as her gaze snaps to the burlesque club's recently-appointed floor manager. Her opening remark draws a snort of amusement. "Bash," echoes the Brazilian, eking out a narrowly-committed smirk, "Good shit. Little Savage for the Satin." "Bash, meet Luna. We ain't much for hierarchy, but she'll be... taking care of you, up here." Sparing a nod to Luna, confirming what she already confirmed to herself, the Black Wolf of Summer pulls up the shot glass she was about to sample a few minutes ago. It's held out to the other Changeling, long-nailed fingers curled around the rim, the base and lower half freed for his grip. The liquid inside is a virulent green; not much mystery what it could be. "Drink," she urges, "Tell me what you think. Maybe you'll feel taller?" That last summons up the feral grin, which reaches her eyes with a mischief bordering on the malevolent. She's still holding something back, and it howls in the gloomy depths of her stare. Not quite a threat, but dangerous all the same.
Turning to see the new arrival, some reluctance present at leaving Andi's visage, Sebastian gives a friendly nod and extends his hand in the same gesture and manner he had previously. Something about Luna's name generates a pleased raising of both dark eyebrows, what is a metaphorical glimmer of amused joy in his gaze is something more actual for Andi. "You want to call me Bash but think that this..." and he dramatically waves a hand over himself, "is too soft for downstairs?" A self-deprecating glance down follows and he shrugs, "not wrong. But I can help out with things down there." He's not even done talking before reaching out to take the offered shot, downing it without a single thought given. It burns and it shows but not too much. Throat clearing and, to Luna, his eyes getting a bit glassy, "you should let me make you both something next. No telling how many bartenders make the claim but it's more than a drink, I promise."
"Fuck!" A loud thud and a mild roar of frustration filters through from the dressing room behind the main stage, before another crash silences everything. Then... "Andreia!" Roman comes stalking out onto the stage, all six feet nine inches of angry predator hunched forward as he pushes through the thick, velvet curtains and rises up to his full height on the other side. "Where's the fucking broom and dust-pan, I broke..." His question trails off as he walks forward and catches a proper view of the trio at the circular bar. Immediately a broad grin stretches his lips, displaying teeth in a savage display of friendly wolfishness. "Oh, he's here." He hops off the stage when he reaches its apex, landing surprisingly lightly for someone of his size as he strides forward and wipes his hands off on a rag sticking out of his jeans pocket. "You must be Sebastian," he growls at the man as he gets closer, the bassy, rumbling tone normal in Roman's throat. He holds one hand out as eyes fix on the prospective bartender and flick him over in appraisal as he adds: "I'm Roman." Then he turns slightly and swings that gaze over Luna in a similar manner before she too is offered that large hand. "And you must be Luna. Good to finally meet you."
Though she was much more interested in him taking the shot. Luna's eyes narrow and glisten as she watches 'Bash take the shot from Andi, amusement rising in her features, waiting for his reaction. Seeing the burn, seeing how he tries to hide it, slowly her eyes brighten and the grin on her face matches it. Running the tip of her tongue over her upper teeth, she turns her head to Andi, "He's right. You should let him do the work. How else are we going to know he can do anything?" The roar of curse and call for Andi causes Luna to still, "Uh-oh That didn't sound good." Sure enough, the boss man comes around to ask a question only to stop short. Taking the minute it takes him to walk towards them to look him over from very tall head to toes. Leaning against the bar, she waits for him to make his introduction to 'Bash before he turns to her, taking his hand, "Good to meet you."
And then letting out a dry, somewhat-growling chuckle at his reaction to the impact. Physical, and otherwise; he may not give a direct expression of what he thinks, but she assumes he thinks what she does. It's okay, palatable, but a little stiff. A little boring. A little mortal. Liquor can hit, but it won't always /resonate/. CRASH! Andi jolts upright, her attention sweeping toward the pinpoint of profanity that follows, before an out-breath removes the tension from her body, and she smirks, idly sliding a boot through the empty chip packets as she starts toward the emerging Roman. "On it," she mutters, voice flat, matter-of-fact, as she neatly vaults the bar and slides to her feet on the other side, with a twist that keeps her facing Luna and 'Bash. A hand waves between them, for both Roman's benefit and her own. "Drinks are fair game. Mix whatever you want. Make the boss happy, and you're hired, right?" There's a grin, altogether like the giant's own, to Roman, and she whirls away to let him make his introductions, snatching up the broom that conveniently is leaning /right against the stage/, her brisk stride barely breaking as she pops up onto the same place he hopped down from. She vanishes into the back the same way, whistling nonchalantly past her canines.
Shaking the offered hand in the same practiced way as the others, "I am...Bash now though, apparently." The voice that emerges from him is approaching the same level of bass as Roman but it is it's total opposite in tone, nothing but smoothed edges instead of rumbles and harsh growls. Nodding to Andi as she vaults past, he seems happy to demonstrate and heads behind the bar like he's been there for years. While giving the inventory a slow scan, "not sure where everything is just yet obviously so this won't be overly fancy..." Grabbing some vodka, kahlua, and three small glasses that he fills with a large amount of ice, "I could learn some more tailored things if you want but they always strike me as a little self-indulgent." Small amounts from the two bottles join the ice and the rest is filled with coca-cola. Two of the glasses slide in the direction of Roman and Luna, the third he keeps off to the side for Andi's return. Head tilting to the side with a close-mouthed, expectant smile, he waits for them to try the offering. When they do, whatever aches, pains, dragging feelings of fatigue just fade away as if they were never there at all. The sweetness and coolness of the liquid seeming to infuse their bodies.
Back to Luna, he looks her over a bit more pointedly before asking: "We're making you the Floor Manager for Satin, right? You dance at all?" He tilts his head as his predatory gaze turns a little heated and his grin a little crooked, "I bet you'd draw a crowd." Then his gaze swings over to Sebastian and he gives him a similar look, "You too, Bash. If you ever want to take the stage, just let me or Luna know." He pauses to lean against the bar, giving them both a sort of non-committal shrug while he dances his hand back and forth in the universal sign of 'maybe.' "I mean so long as you can dance, I guess." Another snarling laugh emits from deep in his chest as he catches the glass on the bar, and then immediately tips it back, swallowing the whole drink in one quick motion. Eyes widen and he smacks his lips once in surprise, "Fuck, Bash... That's some good shit." He looks almost suspiciously impressed considering how simple the drink was, but it passes a moment later with a shrug as he slides the glass back across the bar. "Job's yours." Well that was easy... "Anyway," he says as he straightens back up, "Think about it. Shaking your bits for tips is lucrative cash. You keep everything you make on the stage." With that said, he gives them both a once over with another wolfish grin before he turns around and starts heading for the stage while shouting out: "Andi! I'll finish it up! Bash has the job. Break him in!"
Hazel eyes with a hint of green turn back to Roman, "That's right." Offering him a smile as he looks her over, "Should I do a little spin?" she wonders, but then she laughs softly. The appraisal was over and it looked like she passed the inspection. "Actually, I was talking to Andreia about that. I offered to dance while we are short on dancers." The drink is set down for her to take and she picks up, lifting it further to look at it from the side and from behind it, skeptical. Waiting. Watching. As Roman takes the drink first. Well, he didn't die. That was a good sign. Surprise registers on her face when Roman seems to like it. So, she brings it to her lips and takes a drink, suddenly feeling the muscles in her body loosen, and sighs, "Damn, that's like an orgasm in a glass." She says before finishing and setting it back down on the counter. Roman wanders off towards the stage and Andi again and she salutes him on his way out.
The offer of dancing gets a full blown joyous laugh rather than anything so muted. "I can get by, I guess? But if it's slow or the total opposite, I might get up there to give the regulars a kick." Then just like that, he's hired. A little nod of acceptance and then he just gets right to work, putting away the newly delivered bottles and calling out to a retreating Roman, "thanks, Boss!" Crouching down to put something underneath the bar, his head briefly pokes back up with a big smile while looking to Luna and Andi, correcting what he said with, "bosses, rather."
Turning her attention to Andi, she watches her take the drink, her eyesbrows raising and nodding slowly as if to say 'riiight?', smiling at her she laughs, "Yeah, he hired him already." Setting the glass down on the counter, she pushes it back to 'Bash to take care of. "Well, if you two don't mind, I think I'm going to go shopping for some work and dancing attire." Smirking. A final glance at 'Bash, "Welcome to the team, bud."
Her dark eyes roam back to the glass, and she hums with an unusual softness, nodding distractedly to Luna as she re-considers the mixture, then remembers herself and casts a quirky half-grin to the departing floor manager. "Do what you gotta do, Red. Look forward to your debut." There's just a flutter of lust beneath that, though it's hard to tell - she's perpetually aggressive, perpetually hungry for /something/. Once more back to the glass, and she finishes it without much further thought, slamming it atop the bar. "Make it less..." She hunts for the word, and snorts before she decides on, "Girly, next time. Dark flavors, like blood filtered through the earth. This one." Reaching out, she taps the cap of a 25-year malt. "Tastes like this works. Like /life/. Whatever floats a customer's boat, but when you make it for me I wanna taste it like I've been punched in the throat." Grunting, she shifts herself onto a barstool. "Reminds me. Got somethin' I wanna do. For people like us. You and me. Care to take a trip in a few days? Might help with your process, give you some ideas. They brew stuff on the other side like I've never tasted here." A cursory shrug, that has more emotion in it than she may ever admit to having. A longing. "Miss it."
The smile returns after orders are given and he briefly picks up the malt to give it a once over, "I already assumed as much. You want me to just have one ready whenever you are around?" Probably a silly question but he had to ask. Grabbing a shot glass to pour her one now, just in case, he nods, "I could do that. This a market trip or you have a spot already scouted out?" Idly moving the shot towards her with a slow slide across the bar top, "speaking of people like us...how much do the others know about it?"
The glass is laid more carefully on the bartop this time, with an almost delicate clink. "Don't plan to buy it, exactly," she utters, a sigh whistling past her teeth, "Maybe work something out, maybe get a little rough. Can't exactly be at peace between these worlds." It's clear she doesn't have a concrete plan, but the side-glance implies a mental picture - a place, maybe a particular acquaintance. She waves it off for the moment, closing in on Bash's next question with a faint snort. "Showed Luna what I am, and she didn't run a mile. She's somethin' else herself, I'd say. Don't know what, but could guess. Roman? He knows. Whipped my ass so good I told him everything because I wanted his respect." She inclines her chin upwards, with a hint of pride and daring both. "Told Marigold because figure anyone he trusts, I'll trust too. But what you do is your business. We're tryin' to make a /family/ here so to me that means, sooner or later, I tell you all anything you care to know. But some things ain't that simple, are they? Sometimes, telling's hard. Sometimes, there's a good reason not to." She slides the glass back across the bar. It'll slide straight off if Sebastian doesn't catch it. "Figure, once we understand each other, there's no good reason left."
"Fuck, that's what /I/ figured," confesses Andreia, the amusement ringing through her tone with a measure of self-awareness, "You wanna run a fight club? I've been fighting things and literally eating them for almost a hundred years, apparently. Can't beat everyone but I can step to 'em all, and if anyone's out of line... got experience disappearing things." She pats her stomach - which is lean and flat on the mask, just a little grotesquely bulbous where the bleak and hairy mien is concerned. "But we all got our ways. Yours are more subtle, yeah? Maybe you remember better, what it used to be like." Her cheeks puff out, and she rummages up another handful of chips, before hesitating. A loose shrug, a little helpless. "You know, before it got weird." Andi blinks. "You're easy to talk to. That's gonna make us a lot of money."
Whatever that might be, he lets slide for the moment. The only break in his demeanor comes with the reference to 'before.' He doesn't look sad exactly, just some of that recently passed thoughtfulness reasserting itself. "I do. It was..." and he can't help but smile, "nothing like this. All of the terrible things after, I'm here now in what looks like a dream I might have had. I try to focus on that." A brief pause and he looks glancingly over, "you're here too." The compliment, or likely just statement of fact from her, returns his blazing self back to its full glory and he tilts his head from side to side consideringly, "I can do that for sure. But I can also listen to you."
Andreia doesn't look convinced, though at the same time there's a haunting in dark eyes; the kind of ghosts you accumulate when you slaughter your way across battlefields, hunt scared children into dank holes and consume them. Become the boogeyman you were always taught to fear. The trouble with embracing any other life, for so long-- "This is-- not worse, but weirder, to me. Shaking hands. Sharing stories. Building somethin', 'stead of tearing it down." --it's everything else that becomes the struggle. Andi draws a breath, releases it slowly. "This isn't the only time I'd like you to listen to me, but it's the most important. I'm trying, to make this work. I'm not your boss 'cuz to do that, I need you more than you need me. None of us are really any different. Sure, Roman's in charge, it's his baby, and the money's with Marigold - you'll meet her, she'll give you whatever you need," she asides, waving a hand again as she slides to her feet. "But the heart, the soul, of this? That's every fucking one of us. We build this on our backs, for you that means drinks and listening, maybe a little twist n' grind on the stage." She smiles, and for the first time there's a sincerity to the warmth that isn't blood and fire, isn't the humidity pouring from her grisly mien. It's a woman genuinely trying to fit in, move on, be better. "For me, that means keeping every one of you /alive/ and /safe/. Welcome aboard, but don't think this interview was about you measuring up so anyone could rinse you dry and pick up the profits. Test you passed means more than that." The smile fades, back to that grim resting line, but it remains in her eyes as she twists upon her heel and starts to stride off toward the open entrance - to the doors beyond that lead down into Savagery. "You're family now, Bash. Make yourself at home." | |