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Post by avis on Feb 18, 2013 23:27:09 GMT -5
Avis held her hair up, staring in the mirror, before letting it go. Clearly, the up-do look was not one that was on the table this evening. Never really was, really, damn little narcissist loved her own hair far too much to put it back most days. It was just one of her things. Looking like a damn librarian wasn’t much on her list of things to do. No, the things on her list for this evening had nothing to do with hitting the books. Possibly hitting the streets, but no, no books. The closest she got literary criticism was reading the gossip rags to make sure that she stayed in the front pages and didn’t slip. It was key to her entire little James Bond gig that her cover, however thin it may in fact be, stayed intact as the reigning bad girl of noble society. She’d worked hard for the title that she had and she wasn’t about to let that slip through her fingers. And that was part of the rationale for this evening.
She examined herself a moment longer in the club bathroom, quickly applying one more coat of red lipstick before heading back out into the fray. As much as she loved Indulgence, this was much more the kind of place she would like to be. No trash, no one cheap, and definitely no one who didn’t have some kind of in-born or hard won right to be there. Luckily, this cunning little minx had enough of both to open doors pretty much everywhere, something that gave her an inflated sense of self, a problem that rarely got remedied. She’d never been unprivileged, even when she’d been living as one of the city’s criminals, thanks to her little gift.
On the floor, she merged with the rest crowd, her body joining the continual heave and surge that was called dancing in the modern world. She loved it, loved every sweaty minute of it as she moved around the crowd, looking for something, anything really, that seemed to be promising. Promising what, she wasn’t sure, but promising something. Even with its standards, this club wasn’t free of the same kind of annoying ass that seemed to crop up at every single one she’d ever been to. Clearly, money, breeding, and luck were not enough to save her from the creeps and the lechers. There was just something that emanated from them, probably desperation, that made her skin crawl. There was no confidence and that was just sickening.
She made her exit and gravitated to the bar, looking for someone to con into a drink. The same old criminal urges were in control as she scanned the hordes of men crowding the bar, vying for the attention of the bartender. Look for the ones that most likely didn’t have roofies on them, someone confident, but not too much, someone who looked like he could be played, that was the real thing. She found a mark and after a few moments of carefully placed touches, smiles, and compliments, she had what she wanted. Men. They were about as easy to play as a harmonica and a great deal more useful. Satisfied, she left the bar, assuming a watching position on one of the few open plushy chairs that were scattered about, watching the interplay between the crowd as it surged and the women and men working what they had for what they wanted.
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notes: i'm pretty much crap at starters, but TAH-DAH!
words: 575
outfit: here
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Post by punk on Feb 19, 2013 13:42:02 GMT -5
Punk didn't care much for appearance. Take it or leave it. He was not there to impress anyone. Bright blue eyes shifted over the crowd as he watched with interest. One little fox stood out as he watched quietly from the bar. He watched as her body moved on the dance floor. Beautiful. Stunning. Not something he would want to get entangled with; not for long at least. He would never dare the dance floor. Even if he wanted to show off his ability to dance; he was much too large to fit into the crowd. His hand lifted as he ordered a drink. Pale lips went to the glass taking a gulp before he looked back to the dance floor. She was gone. He blew it off as bad luck. So much for shacking up for the night with that minx.
Piercing blue eyes moved from the crowd to the bar. Drunks were too sloppy and he was not looking for something easy. No. That would take the fun out of it. He looked at the closest woman, but she was no match for the vixen he had spotted earlier. It was then that he had spotted her. She was closer than he had thought. He figured she had left for good. No matter how tall he was he was still pretty soft with his hands. He quickly picked the pocket of the man next to him paying for his drink. Quickly pocketing the money he followed the vixen to the plush chair. He took a seat next to her crossing one lanky leg over the other. His posture suggesting that he was either from a strict family or perhaps once military.
"What is such a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?" He looked at her. Eyes moving over her body before he stopped himself bringing those piercing blue eyes back up to meet hers. Even sitting down he towered over her, but it was quite rare for him to find someone who could meet his height. He turned his body towards her slightly in the chair as he tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. An air of confidence surrounding him. "Don't you know places like this are simply to drink yourself stupid?" He asked lowering his eyebrow.
He lifted his hand running it through the wild unruly dirty blonde locks of hair. It didn't matter what he did with it. It always seemed to do what it wanted so why not let it do as it wished. Once more, he was not there to impress anyone. Their opinions mattered little if any to the man. He was clean and that was about all that mattered to him. "How about another drink?" he asked. After all, it wasn't his money he was spending. It was that poor sap at the bar's money. Too bad when his tab would come he would find himself in debt. Plus, what is the worse that could happen? Its not like he had been caught. That is, unless the vixen had see him.
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Post by avis on Feb 21, 2013 0:49:19 GMT -5
There was a certain allure to the club scene, outside of the simulated sex on the dancefloor. It was one of the places where people had the loosest lips and that appealed to her. She was, after all, an information acquisition professional (even though none of these morons were aware of that fact). Here, she was just another face in the crowd and although she had her share of infamy and trouble, here she was new. Sure, she knew the bartenders, she’d known them when they were slinging drinks in shitty bars, honing their skills on the poor and individuals dumb enough to head to those bars for a night of fun on the town. It was the benefit of a criminal history and a general acceptance in the underworld, something that she had worked hard for during the interim between school and becoming a spy. She was no angel, and that was something that surely everyone knew by now.
Her moment of a break from the world around her came to a sudden halt as someone tall entered the frame. Not the worst looking to be sure, but clearly full of all of the annoying kind of questions that came with men and these places. However, she was supposed to be dumb and charmed at the moment. What a thrill. She stuck her best bimbo smile on her face and batted her eyelashes.
“Playing,” she said as a response. This really was a kind of play for her, seeing who she could get on the hook and whether or not they’d stay that way. There was no other reason to be here, really, other than image maintenance. She’d recently acquired a rather insane pet who served perfectly for what she was needed. And, well, most nights she’d rather head to the shitty bars where her friends had poured drinks to look for the rest of her fun, she still had a bit of something for the criminal type, it was nostalgia most likely.
The next pair of questions gave her pause for a moment. She was going to need to ask the bartenders to keep an eye on her drinks for the rest of the night. “There’s dancing too,” she said, using the age old excuse. “Are you trying to get me stupid drunk, then?” she asked, toying with the straw in her mostly full drink and batting her eyelashes. She very well did not need one more of these at the moment, not when she was busy sizing up the man who’d suddenly taken an interest in her. She wasn’t the greatest moral character, but she could read people and there was no more drinking until she was sure of who and what she was dealing with. Lessons her mother had taught her: don’t make avoidable mistakes. She’d just have to play the game she was always playing and figure this entire thing out.
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notes: she's a brat
words: 482
outfit: here
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Post by punk on Apr 3, 2013 13:08:25 GMT -5
He wasn't one for the high class clubs like the one he found himself in tonight. He was usually found in the dumps drinking. He was not even close to being a regular himself. He felt a bit out of his element to be honest. He wasn't suited to these types of clubs. His eyes looked around as he watched the dance floor for a moment. This was not dancing in his own opinion. It was sex with your clothes on. Women shopping for a good lay, judging men by the grinding. No. This was not dancing. It was far from it. Then again, for someone who actually knew how to dance it wouldn't look like anything special. Though, he would have to be drunk off his ass to actually go through the motions of the dances he knew. Hell he would have to be drunk to even mention he knew the tango.
He was definitely not an angel, possibly more corrupt than this little thing before him. He didn't have the classy look to him that most in the club had. As he looked around he definately stuck out like a sore thumb, but he was pretty use to that by now. "I would believe you were playing if you were on the floor." He mentioned with a chuckle as he motioned to the dance floor. He shook his head before turning to look at her once more. "I'm Punk Delphi. How about you?" He mentioned with an outstretched hand. It was a friendly enough jesture. Innocent enough.
As she mentioned the dance floor he looked back and let a laugh slip. "If you can call that dancing. I would call it more of a disaster." He mentioned as he watched the grinding for a moment. "They are barely even listening to the music, simply going through the motions. Muscle memory is all. Not dance." He stated before he bit his tongue. He didn't really want to dance nor hint that he could. Bright eyes tried to make contact with hers as he lifted a long lanky leg and place it over the other. "No. I don't plan to get you stupid drunk. I picked you because you looked as out of place as I do here. Well, not quite as out of place as I do. I doubt you keep these types as company, but its a simple guess. I could be wrong." He shifted in his seat as he rested his arm on the back of his chair turning his body towards her showing the muscle definition on his body.
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Post by avis on Apr 3, 2013 23:06:28 GMT -5
"Playing isn't always about the short con," she said, almost sweetly. She'd been running scams and cons since she was little and sometimes the most important part was waiting it out, seeing what would come out of the effort expended in one or more avenues explored over the course of the evening. Games, as she understood them, were more than just what was on the board. She was not one to be crossed in a game of chess, she thought more moves ahead than her opponents normally gave her credit for. Why her mother wasn't the spymaster, she wasn't sure, but it would be a fitting position for the woman and her specific talents. And it would have made Avis' career path a lot easier to figure out, rather than spending time bouncing around between being a spy and being a criminal master mind and any of the other options that she had considered during the lag between starting her life and the end of school (well, what she considered the end of school at least, she didn't much like to think about the spare year she was there, given a late change and failing practically all of her classes).
Her answers had become short, mainly because she was trying to figure out precisely what type of person she was dealing with. There wasn't much to be said during the weighing process, although it could be taken as a cooling off in whatever interest it might appear she had in the conversation. The calculations were rolling in her mind, putting pieces together and trying to extrapolate a base model for how to deal with every thing. There were, in the end, several ways that she could go about the rest of the evening, the only problem was choosing the right path.
She smirked at the comment about dancing. "But they don't know that," she said, shifting to better make eye contact. "Muscle memory though it may be, they're not here for arts' sake, they're searching for something a little less structured and a lot more sweaty." It was the truth of the matter, no matter how bold or daring the statement seem to the matrons of the world. She'd never precisely stuck with the conventions of any age. Even her own mother grew vexed at times with her youngest child's pretensions to be older than she was or something beyond the pure and simple truth that she was a born con, someone who could trap anyone and everyone in some kind of web to extract information or goods. Sometimes, Avis wished that she had carried on further with the dream of having a criminal empire. But that, as she still believed, would have been entirely too much work and too much time spent setting up the ground work on her part. It was better this way, she did what she did best, got paid, and got to live the life that few were allowed to. It was a win-win for her, only improved by the fact that she was allowed to use her talents full force in the name of the crown.
"It depends on the night," she said with a shrug as she settled back into her seat. Whether or not they were really her type of people, well, that was debatable. But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that it looked like they were her people from the outside and if this was the response that she was getting to that this evening, well, she was just going to have to work harder at being like them. It wasn't that she wasn't a member of the young and dumb, gods knew she had her nights of being there, a complete member of the crowd and the life of the party. But there came a point in time where it just got boring. The intrigue was the same, the problems average, and the level of thought of the average member, well, it was below average. It was just something that she had to deal with, however.
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notes: well, she's awake now...
words: 675
outfit: here
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