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Post by Jean-Michael on Dec 5, 2010 7:11:01 GMT -5
(The Coward Lives a Long Time)
Jean-Michael didn't complain about the bourbon - it was passable enough - and he didn't complain about actually finding the one place which seemed to actually allow smoking still in all the known world. He didn't mind the carpeting or the divan he was sprawled upon, the drapings were decent enough and thick enough he couldn't hear much of what was going on to either side. Not that he was worried about that either: there was something of the red-light district in the arrangement and he was no stranger to that.
But he didn't like the pressing feeling that this was also the perfect place to get killed in. After all, what was the good in patting him down for weapons? Or anyone else for that matter, provided they were actually here.
The "they" in question was rather nebulous - Jean was still rather new to the whole "Secret Society" thing and wasn't entirely certain how he felt about being a part of it. No, that wasn't true - in honestly, it got in the way and made life rather difficult. He had enjoyed his life as a well off ne-er do well socialite of New Orleans, even though the hurricane had seen the end of the teetering fortune. He had enough to travel about and enjoy himself with and he had at least enough self-preservation to realise investing a bit to keep him in the lifestyle he was accustomed for a while was worth doing.
But this damn business with the bees and the gede and all the other hullabaloo was putting a serious crimp in that. He had discovered what it felt like to be a single candle in a roomful of moths: demons, ghosts, and things he couldn't even put a name to kept surfacing out of every nook and cranny and coming at him. In such cases, Jean had done what he did best.
He ran like hell.
He didn't call it cowardice, but a highly developed sense of self-preservation. It had been rather humbling, actually - nothing in his thirty-odd years of life had prepared him for the past eight months, and he was starting well behind the game. Gris-gris and voudoun was just something someone did, like recitiing the Hail Marys or going to mass. Just as it might have bewildered a Christian for an angel to actually appear to them in full glory, so did Jean-Michael feel when the dead actually rose up and began to talk to him, and even more to the point, when whatever foul things stirred in the workings of the world decided to take him out for being able to do so.
So now, against his better judgment, seriously cramping his neo-libertine style, and putting himself possibly at even more risk than before, Jean was here, with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, waiting. For what, he had zero idea - and his teachers hadn't told him much either, close-lipped bunch that they were. He was just to sit here...and wait.
All this damn wax-on, wax-off shit is gettin' old though, and no lie.
Still, the Powers That Be knew Jean's strengths as well as he knew them himself...he had patience. Infinite, uncanny patience. He could wait and bide his time and listen to conversations around him without giving much away. In another life he would have made a brilliant river-boat gambler in the days of old, "poker faced" and able to keep it together under pressure. Even now, though his nerves were singing like a cloud of mosquitoes on the bayou and any sudden movement beyond the draperies made him want to jump out of his skin, he sat where he was, his bourbon in hand and his fragrant clove cig in the other.
The precautions had still been placed, regardless: there was a shot of rum under the table, close at hand. He really hoped like hell he wouldn't have to use it, but it was there. Just in case.
So...wait.
Wait and see.
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Post by Laylei on Dec 5, 2010 21:12:43 GMT -5
Laylei was in a rather pleasant mood. And when pleasant, one means she is able to tolerate others without utterly annihilating them verbally or physically. Which was classified as being in a 'pleasant' mood. Perhaps it was the rather lax week she had gone through. Not monsters to be slain, no stupid 'assignments' she was placed on. It was all rather a smooth ship, and that was certainly something Laylei enjoyed to hear about.
Being the owner of the club, did have it's perks when she was in this once again pleasant mood. Being newly single, was also a great plus. She didn't exactly know what her relationship status was, but all she knew was that she hasn't talk to her 'boyfriend'; Kima in quite a couple months. Which was no hair off her back, seeing as how she had the club to live in. Which was much nicer than the apartment that Laylei, Kima, and her daughter Kaylei lived in.
The move out was quick, Kima was never home...ever. So Laylei, being the independant little flower she was packed up the scarce amount of items she had stowed in the house and left; Kaylei in hand. Sure the child wasn't Kima's daughter but the girl wasn't exactly thrilled about departing. The two of them had bonded much to Laylei's dismay. So when it was time to pack Kaylei's shit, the ten year old stomped her foot, bitched and moaned, and generally acted her age. Which was a rather interesting change from her oh so mature manner in which she usually graced the world with.
So here Laylei was, two days after completely washing the Dragon operative out of her life. And she felt envigorated, cleansed, jubilant, and all those other bullshit fancy words that poets and authors used.
Stepping off the last step, ontop the first floor. Laylei lets her hand slide off the staircase's pole gently, before walking slowly to survey the floor. Guards littered the room, and who else knew how many under cover agents disguised themself in the mosh that was the dancing patrons.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Laylei shifts her head left and right. Finding the music a bit too rowdy for her current mood, Lay quickly finds her body on auto-pilot. Her mind currently adrift in the fact that she was in a good mood. All the while, her feet went left and right, as they guided the woman to the entrance of the club's lounge.
Let in without an issue, seeing as how she owned the fucking place. Lay let out a soft sigh as the main room's music was droned out by the sound proof walls, and the soft music that flowed through the speakers of the lounge. The lights dim and soft, almost colors of magenta and turqoise. Lay walked quietly and calmly down the middle of all the couches.
The women nodded to the regulars, and smiled to any new faces, as she moved aside the curtains on each little 'chamber'. Stopping by ever so often to introduce herself and ask if they were enjoying their stay. She didn't do it often, but Laylei wasn't a fool with her business. Quality control, and keeping the customers happy was and always would be a necessity in the club business.
Waving to blonde man and woman, Lay closed their curtain as she moved to the next. As she moved aside the next curtain, Laylei saw just one man sitting there. Drink and cig in hand, lovely. Putting on her best 'I am the owner' smile, Lay introduced herself calmly.
"Hello Darling. Welcome to the Underground Night-Club. I am Laylei and I am the owner. You're obviously new, as I know all the regulars, trust me, darling, I do. I hope you're enjoying your stay. Anything I can do to make it more enjoyable ?"
Laylei said, as she walked a little closer into the man's 'room'. She didn't really know what new-comers thought of her on first contact, which bothered her slightly. Her overly sexual outfit, and tattoos were normally something that lead people to miscontrue her into something else. Though if they vocalized said opinions, someone's face would be getting smashed in quite quickly. Lay would garauntee that.
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Post by Jean-Michael on Dec 6, 2010 1:27:54 GMT -5
Jean settled back into the divan, his eyes half-lidded, and waited...he could do that much. The drink helped but he didn't want too much of the stuff; these days he didn't allow himself too much of the amber nectar - it slowed him down, and when you never knew when some godforsaken thing would pop out of the woodwork, it never paid to be too slow on the mark.
However he was comfortable enough - comfortable enough that he didn't jump out of his skin when the curtain parted, but merely adjusted his gaze and stayed where he was. However, he wasn't expecting who, or possibly what (you could never tell sometimes) walked in.
Snapshot - he did nothing yet but allowed his mind to take it in. Because he was Creole, and because he was mixed race, the first thing he always did was look at the eyes. All his people did; a way to see what scars one had growing up in neither one culture nor the other, and trying to straddle them all when none of them wanted you. She was definitely exotic...and probably sick of hearing it, so he filed that away. The outfit and the tattoos told him a little more, though nothing very lofty - he didn't have that kind of experience with this new life, and he knew it, she could be packing a magic bazooka and he'd never know She was being professionally polite, he could get that much, but it was a coup if she owned the place. One less worry then...unless she was lying.
So, this be it, or no? Guess we see.
His assessment took all of two heartbeats - he was well practiced in the art of observation. Enough for him to decide the path and mode he'd take. Jean was on the clock now.
"M'cher, bonjou," Jean broke into his habitual 'gombo', Louisiana Creole, tilting his glass in a small salute and making the effort to rise from the divan. His killowat smile was in place though he had taken it down a notch to keep it 'real' and allowed himself to look a bit awkward, juggling his cig and drink as he stood up. He could be polished when he wanted to be, but this wasn't the time.
"My compliments, the club is fine. I was just...well, to be true, sitting about." A bit of truth never hurt either. Jean raised both brows and took a lengthy drag off his clove before stubbing it out - who knew, maybe she hated smoking, best to be safe unless told otherwise. He grinned slightly through the blue-tinted smoke. "And you're right, I'm new. Jean-Michael. I'd give you de double-barrelled name but we just met and some things I have to prepare people for - don't blame me, I didn't pick de name." He shrugged self-depreciatingly and nodded toward the divan.
"Would you be so kind? Only if you will...and don't worry you can drop de Club Owner Face if you want to, I won't tell a soul."
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Post by Shelly on Dec 6, 2010 17:45:22 GMT -5
Shelly sighed tiredly. She didn't sleep worth a damn last night, both drink and "other" things kept her awake. Her recent "tryst" with Conor had left her somewhat unsettled. Emotions still raw, she was not fully prepared for the call she had received that morning informing her of her new assignment.
"You mean today?" She had asked her boss, who with no idea of her previous night's activities replied with a firm "yes." Shelly said ok, and hung up the phone. Shaking her head trying to clear it of the cobwebs only too much alcohol can weave, she staggered to the bathroom where she gargled to get the bad taste out of her mouth. 'Damn, today of all days' She thought irritably, quickly getting dressed. She had ventured down to the hotel dining area and had drunk 3 cups of strong black coffee, which had perked her up somewhat.
She had carried out her assignment with deadly precision, happy she was able to compartmentalize her emotions. For Shelly, emotions were the bane of her existence. They had almost gotten her killed more than once, and for her to put them aside today had meant progress.
Coming back to the present, Shelly pulled out her VIP card and entered the club. She looked around, and not seeing anyone she recognized, decided she really needed some peace and quiet. The music was too loud, and was causing her head to expand and contract like a visegrip.
Moving toward the doorway that concealed the lounge, Shelly stepped through, and was immediately surrounded by warmth and relative quiet. The music was soft, the lighting even softer. She glanced around at the exotic looking lounge chairs, and picking one out in the corner, moved toward it. On her way there, she saw Laylei talking to a strange man. Keeping her eyes on Lay, she was rewarded when Lay turned around and saw her. She gave Shelly a little smile, which Shelly returned. Shelly glanced briefly at the man, before coming to a stop in front of the lounge chair.
"Anything for you tonight?" A waiter asked politely, waiting for Shelly to respond. Thinking a moment, she replied, "please bring me a dirty martini. And make it very dirty..."
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Post by Laylei on Dec 6, 2010 18:39:26 GMT -5
Laylei had a few things that annoyed her. Few of course equating to book fulls, which lead to trilogies which lead to extended feature fucking films. Which once more would just showcase the limitless bounds in which Lay's aggravation meter rose by.
She didn't particularly like fancy cheeses. Nor was she a fan of snooty bitches who partake in such acts of douche-baggery. She didn't like the majority of fish, unless it was Salmon. Something about the slimy little bastards tasting of salt and just pure disgustingness put her off. It reminded her of Louisiana, another place in which she rather despised.
It could be the amount of stupid assignments she was sent on there. Go kill this doped up magic freak. Go investigate this drunken Shaman. Go capture some Vodoo priestess queen, bitch, whatchu-ma-call-'er. Louisiana did not appeal to her, what-so-ever. Nor did their damn accents, french accents included.
Perhaps it was her inner-Italian thinking. Perhaps she just was born to dislike them. But in her head, it was mostly because all of those french speaking bastards had one thing in common; And that was that they were all ape-shit crazy in the Vodoo ritualistic 'I eat your soul' type shit. Which let Lay be the first to tell one, is stupid and ends up getting the asshole killed, instead of 'infinity' power or some shit.
Dropping down casually, but slowly onto the Divan. Laylei stares at the man somberly. Her glare reading of that of somewhat revulsion, but mostly interest. Was he some crazy warlock ? A shaman who makes deals with demons ? Oh how exciting, it's like a choose your own adventure novel with this one. "Charmed, I am sure you are." Lay stated, forcing her light Italian accent to rear it's ugly little head. What ? She had a cool accent to bring to the party, damnit. Might as well use it.
Craning her neck around the small enclosure, Lay crosses her legs casually as she focuses back onto the man. She wasn't sure if he comment meant to relax, or he was accusing her of just being a random street bumb. And begrudgingly enough, she realized if she thought on it, she'd jump to the latter and get overly angry. So she simply mentally disregarded the reply."Jean-Michael, Darling. What brings you to my Club now ? Who referred you ?" The woman stated, her eyes slightly narrowing, as she lets her bang bob low, covering her right eye slightly. A bemused smile on her lips.
In this world, it is always convenient to know of whom's allegiance you're talking to. And if that means prying, then damnit someone get Laylei a crow-bar, because she's going in.
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Post by Jean-Michael on Dec 6, 2010 23:34:33 GMT -5
Jean's face didn't change, but internally he grinned. So maybe the old man had been right - this was a challenge, and Jean liked challenges. He wasn't an amazing shot, he wasn't honed and toned like Bruce Lee, but he could talk, and he could observe. These two things actually were a lot more valuable than most people realised. It was probably why he'd been guided the way he had been. Talk was worth a lot more than most people realised.
More important when Shelly walked in, and Jean flashed another of his smiles - snapshot again; looking a bit rough round the edges. She hadn't introduced herself - whether it was planned or whether it was a gang-up, he wasn't certain but regardless, the rum was there if he needed it.
If it works, Jean thought to himself. That was the question, wasn't it? Well it was a last resort, and if things got that bad, he'd not give a damn whether or not he could get in here again.
He gestured to Shelly to sit, and didn't do so himself until both of the women were sitting down - downing his own drink and then sitting back in the chair, sprawled and at least looking fully at his ease.
"I was referred by Anthony Bregnano; he did mention you'd ask." True enough, though of course whether or not that was "Tony's" real name, or what affiliations he held, even Jean wasn't entirely aware. Perhaps that was rather the point: Tony knew the game and played it well, hence the old man sending Jean his way. "Neutral ground doesn't mean you sleep with the enemy," |Tony had said in preparation for Jean's introduction to the Underground. In any event, through the long convoluted track of references, cross-references, and advice to see Mr A, Ms B and Agent X, Jean was here.
He had been given a small tidbit of advice here and there, and then sent on his way...apparently right into the dragon's den. So, it was going to be a test. Or something. Jean wasn't sure, but then that was part of the game.
When in Rome....oh the irony. Not that he'd ask what province, or even break into the somewhat secondary-school Italian he knew. He had a suspicion that even if he guessed it correctly, the club's owner would pretend he'd got it wrong. Just that sort of person, he could read that much.
Watch it turn out to be a set-up. Nice trick if it is.
"As I said, new in more ways den one...sent here and ain't so sure why, but I guess I find out." Again, no harm in sprinkling a bit of truth in there. He ordered himself another bourbon - not that he wanted it, but it looked well - and raised the glass in salute in Shelly's direction.
"Jean-Michael, m'selle. I don't stand much on formality, so you jump on in." Was she part of the game? Back up? Someone to worry about? He wasn't sure yet, but he kept his attention as equally divided as he could manage, which wasn't difficult in the small space...also not difficult considering he was pretty sure what he was up against unless someone threw him a curve, but that wouldn't be the first time.
We see how it roll, then.
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Hecate
Illumanti
That Paranoid Lady
Posts: 163
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Post by Hecate on Dec 7, 2010 0:47:23 GMT -5
"Crap."this was the first word to tumble out of Hecate's mouth once she got out of bed that morning. Shaking her head side-to-side, she looked around her apartment, not recognizing it. It took her sleep-clogged brain to recount the events of yesterday;killed a man, got paid, took my slipping pills..oh no.
Stumbling out of her bed, she flicked on her bedside table light and glared down at her alarm clock. According to the little electronic device it was exactly 12 o'clock in the afternoon.
"CRAP!!"thus began her first rant of the day.Most of it was incoherent and covered with curse words and cruel slurs, most of them pertaining to a certain therapist of hers. "Damned sleeping pills..I shouldn't have taken them two days before my next assignment!It just jerks around even more with my magic." As she spoke, her reflection in her mirror seemed..off, somehow. The normally pallid, androgynous face she was used to was asymmetrical, one eye larger than the other.
Sometime after the first 'incident' of the day Hecate found herself in the Underground Night Club. The last place I need to be when my magic's all out of whack.Murmuring silent curses, she easily slipped through the crowd.For once she had decided to wear something vaguely fashionable, rather than her usual baggy jeans and hoody. Adjusting her black suit and blue dress shirt, she sent a grin towards a staring passerby-probably wondering what to classify her as.Look at them all, manipulative little rats all of them. And I'm one of them to.
With a shake of her head- no wig today- she continued on her way into the Lounge. It wasn't difficult to spot Laylei, apparently conversing with a newcomer.But you can't judge books by their covers, now can you?
"Ah, hello Laylei. It's been quite sometime, hasn't it?" as she spoke, she looked over at the new comer, Jean, with her dull brown eyes."Why hello hello, what, or rather, who do we have here?" An itch drew her attention away from the new comer to her still cast-encased arm. Looking away from her arm she spotted Shelly, who she gave a wave to.
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Post by Shelly on Dec 7, 2010 7:08:44 GMT -5
As Shelly ordered her dirty martini, she glanced back at Laylei and the man, who she noticed was smiling and motioning to her to come over. 'Hmmm' She thought, puzzled by his apparent friendliness. 'I wonder who he is' She thought a moment, and then decided to walk over. As the man motioned for her to sit down, he said, "Jean-Michael, m'selle. I don't stand much on formality, so you jump on in." Shelly smirked at the formality remark, then replied, "Nice to meet you Jean-Michael. Since you don't stand on formalities, my name is Shelly." Looking over at Lay, she said, "Hello Laylei. Nice to see you again."
Sitting down, Shelly noticed Jean-Michael point toward his glass. "I just ordered, thank you." At that time, the waiter returned with their drinks. Shelly was pleased to see he had taken her at her word, and made the martini very dirty. She took a long sip, sighing in pleasure as the liquor made it's way down her parched throat. She finally began to feel the cobwebs disintegrating from her brain.
Settling back in her chair, Shelly took the opportunity to study Jean-Michael. He had a different look about him - judging from his accent he was Creole, or had lived there for some time. His skin color gave away some of his heritage, although in today's society, that was not always a sure thing. He seemed friendly enough, but Shelly knew that many people hid their true selves, portraying a picture to others of what they wanted them to see...
Just then, she heard a voice from behind her. Turning, she saw Brook amble in, surprisingly dressed nicely: a welcome change from the night before. Shelly was in her customary black tank top and black jeans with boots. Her long blonde hair lay flat against her back. "Hi there Brook. Might as well come over and join the party." As Shelly turned back to face Jean-Michael and Laylei, the Dragon tattoo on her arm seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the lounge...
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Post by Jean-Michael on Dec 7, 2010 10:54:59 GMT -5
Again, Jean was back on his feet as another woman came in -
Tony, you bastard, should I curse you or punch you for sending all these women my way?
- and gestured to a seat with a bright, easy laugh. "Just Jean, m'cher, come on in, seems dere's a party and I didn't even know. Tres bien! Please, by all means have a seat."
Jean sat back down again, his green eyes sweeping them all in turn with the same easy smile on his face. But he was seeing everything, not stupid enough to linger long here or there, but he was seeing it - he caught the sheen off the woman Shelly - at first he thought it was a trick of the light, or some sort of hologram cast from the fancy lighting, but no, that was on her skin. He took in the "in between" of Brooke before him - that could be bad luck, as in New Orleans among his rather libertine friends it was called "best of both worlds". He kept himself firmly away from any speculation along those lines; probably safer.
"Bienvenue, Brook is it? Order yourself a drink, if it suit you fine." His accent was coming on a bit thicker and he clicked his tongue, shaking his head with another self-depreciating chuckle - put on? Genuine? Hard to say. "Now, I'll try that in normal English. Please, by all means, first round is mine. If anybody can't understand a thing I'm saying, I've probably had too much bourbon. Just remind me to speak mo'beddah...or more clearly."
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Hecate
Illumanti
That Paranoid Lady
Posts: 163
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Post by Hecate on Dec 7, 2010 21:38:26 GMT -5
((OOC: Sorry, I should have made this clear earlier, but I'm RPing Hecate at the moment. Sorry for the confusion, 'twas my mistake!!))
Upon hearing her name spoken, Hecate looked away from her cast and at Shelly then Jean.
"Ah, Shelly, thanks for the invite." she said with a bob of her head before settling herself down at a seat in the lounge. Stretching out her long legs, she looked over at Jean-Michael as he spoke.
"Bienvenue, Brook is it? Order yourself a drink, if it suit you fine."
"It's Hecate, actually.Thank you for the offer, but I don't drink." As she spoke she adjusted her suit and tie before crossing her legs. Without bothering to hide it, she openly stared at Jean, as if sizing him up. For what was a mystery for the ages.
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Post by Shelly on Dec 8, 2010 6:58:00 GMT -5
"Ah, Shelly, thanks for the invite." Hecate replied sitting down in a chair opposite to Shelly. "Good to see you again Hecate. Seems we have a regular party going on"
Shelly too sized up the man, and grinned. He appeared uncomfortable, with three women around him. His state of mind was not immediately apparent to passer-bys, but it was to Shelly as she was very skilled in observation. She sat back sipping her drink. The cobwebs had finally disappeared, and the familiar warmth seeped through her body. The atmosphere of the lounge was tranquil, and just what was needed after her activities of the past 24 hours.
It was funny how she kept meeting up with these people, minus Jean-Michael. Shelly strongly believed in destiny, and that everything happened for a reason. She wondered what her reason for meeting these people was, and figured it was to be a strong point in her life.
Her attention back on Jean-Michael, she decided to break the silence that had suddenly enveloped all of them. "So, what brings you to the club?"
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Post by Jean-Michael on Dec 8, 2010 7:23:18 GMT -5
The only thing Jean might have been ill at ease about was that he was in a room full of women and was fully dressed. Otherwise, he was settling in and letting the game play out.
He raised both brows and grinned over his glass. "De bourbon's good. People come to clubs for the hell of it, no? Pretty much my own reason. Though I get the feeling people aren't given a VIP pass just to check out the upholstery."
He frowned slightly, and then clicked his tongue - as if something had just occurred to him and he started patting pockets and rummaging about inside his coat. "As a matter of fact, Anthony gave me something...fellow I got de referral from. Dunno what it means, but what the hell, maybe someone else does. Ah, here we go."
He finally managed to produce a small plastic bag - tiny - which he tossed casually on the table between them. Inside was a small two centimetre object - a bone of some kind, large at one end, smaller at the other, and yellowish brown, considerably old.
"Don't even ask me, have no clue," Jean shrugged as he leaned back in his chair and then reached again for his pack of cloves, tapping them against his thumbnail reflectively.
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Post by Conor on Dec 8, 2010 10:35:04 GMT -5
Sat up against the bar in the main room of the club, Conor was alone,aside from the hundred or so people around him, no one he knew was there so he sat, aimlessly drinking and noting anything interesting going on in the place. Conor had never really taken a good look around the place: mostly because of the tighter than normal security vibe the place had going.
He stood, leaning back to straighten his back, he noted one room of interest, it had security at the door, but it looked as though he was allowed, wading through the people like waves of inebriated fish he made it to the door. He flashed his VIP pass and they allowed him entry.
Stepping in he felt like he'd been punched by the way of heat and smoke, he had to take a step back by it. Shaking the feeling of he walked in further, he looked over, noting the faces he knew. First his eyes as always were drawn to Shelly, giving her a smile, second to Laylei, whom he didn't know entirely well, but still gave her his charm full smile. He tilted his head slightly at the sight of the new guy, but gave him a quick wave, finally he saw Hecate and smiled at her as he did before: doing all this in the space of a few seconds
Not wanting to interrupt, and because he felt a little claustrophobic in her, Conor walked over to a secluded spot, he practically passed out onto the seat, he lifted himself up and sat back. Pulling out his Ipod he slipped on his headphones and put on some music more to his tastes, he then closed his eyes and relaxed in the room
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Post by Shelly on Dec 8, 2010 17:24:02 GMT -5
"De bourbon's good. People come to clubs for the hell of it, no? Pretty much my own reason. Though I get the feeling people aren't given a VIP pass just to check out the upholstery." Jean-Michael said in response to Shelly's question. She grinned, and said, "no, they certainly don't."
As the four of them sat quietly, Jean-Michael began rummaging through his pockets. "As a matter of fact, Anthony gave me something...fellow I got de referral from. Dunno what it means, but what the hell, maybe someone else does. Ah, here we go." As he threw what appeared to be a very small bone onto the table, Shelly stared at it intensely. It looked like a bone used in voodoo or hoodoo, she wasn't sure which. It was either a good luck charm, or the fellow who referred Jean-Michael meant him to use it to destroy an enemy...
"So, this fellow, Anthony, you said, just gave this to you without explanation? That seems rather odd.." Shelly asked, puzzled, yet wondering if this man was being truthful. You never knew in this place...
As she pondered the situation, she felt a pair of eyes on her back. Turning, she saw Conor enter the room, smiling over at her and the others. She smiled in return, glad to see him. When he sat down by himself, she wondered what was going on with him.
"Please excuse me for a moment. I see a friend over there and will see if he wants to join us." With that, she got up and walked over to sit next to Conor.
"Hello there. Fancy seeing you here" Shelly said softly, gazing into his deep brown eyes. She tentatively touched his chest, fingers lingering for a moment before withdrawing. Yet, she had felt him tighten up in response, and was glad to see she still had that affect on him. Feeling the effects of the dirty martini, she boldly leaned down to plant a kiss on his full lips. Feeling him respond, she moved back and said, "Will you come join us? There is an interesting character over there. Perhaps you can unravel his mystery...."
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Post by Laylei on Dec 8, 2010 19:45:08 GMT -5
Laylei's senses were pretty much assaulted. Everyone and their mother seemingly decided to come into the Lounge tonight, and it certainly caught Lay off her guard. If anything, it was more or less funny that everyone assumed her to be such a pleasant woman to be around. She had a reputation for being a bitch, and apparently she wasn't doing that well at keeping it so vehemently nasty.
Letting her eyes dart around the room, Lay put on a rather cross expression as she tried to keep her composure. What she wanted to do was call in security and possibly just kill all everyone who intruded with fire. But that was against the Club's Code of Ethic's book and would probably be frowned upon in Faction situations. So that idea was mentally veto'd.
So instead, Laylei sat there calmly, and quietly. Looking rather pissed. All she did was lean back in her seat, and began to trace the intricate tattoo's on her arms carelessly and aimlessly.
What ? She liked her privacy damnit. Especially when she was trying to be a good host...but more importantly when she was trying to snoop about someone's personal life.
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