Nightclub Masquerade - Russell and Spectre

[FreestylePoet]

"Nah, it's great! Really!"

The music was the slower kind of electronic, the type without all those power-drill-sounding things, but Russell could still barely hear himself over the bass. Sight wasn't any better. Stray too far from the neon bars or hanging pendants, and he couldn't see a hand in front of his face. And like hell would a place like this have that classic dive bar scent.

So much going on, and Russell Reyes could hardly make out any of it. Goddamn, though, was this place a party. Dive or no, the people were packed and the drinks were flowing -- and the hotties were out in full force.

He leaned in towards one now. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and at least a passing interest in LAW. "I said -- 'nah, it's great!'" he said, low-key straining to be heard against the music. "What? Oh, I mean... nah, the pay's grea-- Huh? Yeah, a few. Had one with Audrey Trovita-- Ryan Ashford? Never met him, why?"

Aaaand there they went. "Gotta find my friend for another round," his ass. Another strike-out. Probably for the best, though. Russell couldn't even count how many red flags they'd thrown up in those last five seconds. Asking about his paycheck. Trying to use him to get with other, more famous guys. Not to mention interrupting him like it was some kind of interrogation.

But Russell took it in stride. Just like he did the last five times he'd swung-and-a-missed back here. He just leaned back up against the bar, took another sip of soju, and looked out across the crowd once more. Dance floor, booths and tables, private rooms, all filled to the brim with cute guys and girls. All he needed to do was lock eyes with one, and the game was back on.

[Monsy]

"Another one."

Spectre raised her hand at the bar to call a refill on her shot glass. This would be her third. Not too shabby. Her neck felt loose and her back stopped quaking like someone was about to make a grab from behind. She slumped towards her elbows on the bar, got her refill shortly after, then shot it back without a second to waste. Just how does one relax? Was on her mind. So many filled days, so many tasks, minor ambitions and schedules to adhere to. It became college except the reward was much better. This was summer break. Typically that meant fun and games, right? The safe kind. She can handle that.

Maybe...

The person next to her starting talking, giving her a sweet-smiled innocent look. Something about her mask and how it frames her cat eyes. It was only the second time since the bouncer out front. She didn't have an interest--and any other she did find appealing gave her more thoughts of stealing their wallet than going into a private room. To the black-hair, brown-eyes, small face and average build fella that tried to chat her up, she tapped her ear protection that looked like a normal albeit semi-bulky black headset. "Wait till my song is done." The bar tender leaned over to the man, whispered something in their ear, then soon left in a calm hurry.

Cheers to that. Nothing quite against him, but just making a fellow scurry was still exhilarating when off the job. She couldn't really talk about that unless this night was planned to be a short one. Part of her wanted that, but another relented. Dot wouldn't take that excuse. If she was going to get in on that action so this wasn't a total waste, then she'd better get on it soon before her ears wear out from the bass. After all, she did choose to wear something fresh. A crop-top with an underlayer of nettings that spread over to her arms, exposing her shoulders and becoming a sleeve down to her wrists. Her black skirt had intersecting laces at the hem, frills and lace in layers and beneath that was another set of fishnets in a spiderweb pattern, leading down to black stockings and tall black boots that made her seem 5'4" instead of the flat five she was. Her makeup was the trademark purple sitting in her domino mask to cover the gaps, then a black upper-lip and purple bottom. The accessories were a simple black strap on her thigh and one on her neck.

Outfit

Crossing her legs, she turned around in her bar stool, stretched out her arms and leaned so she impeded on anyone sitting next to her. Then she searched, slowly swivelling her head to those who hardly met it. The crowd was thick and moved in pairs and bunches between 2 and four. Amidst the moving clumps, she spotted someone handsome with pushed-back hair and a white dress shirt. He looked sturdy. When did she last see green eyes? And having spotted the blonde, she connected the dots together when he didn't follow. Instead; he continued searching. Just how desperate was he?

She looked him straight down from her spot and kept it until he found her cat eyes. If and when he did, her sternness was all she gave until a heat caught her face inexplicably and she'd look away sharply. When it came to round two, she served up a glance, leaning her head towards one side and twirling the black tress around her finger as she spied him, her boot kicking to the beat.

[FreestylePoet]

Russell bobbed his head to the beat. This was one of those clubs that put up a front, the kind that Japan didn't have a whole lot of, as far as Russell could see. Which made sense. He'd heard there were a lot of spots where all the fun stuff happened out in the open, right there on the dance floor even. Why go somewhere more buttoned up if the goal was the same?

Well, really, it wasn't. Sure, everyone in the joint knew the respectability act was just that: an act. This club really wasn't just like any other. People snuck more than a touch or a smooch, and the private rooms weren't just for bottle service. At the same time, the DJ knew what they were doing, and the bartenders never watered things down. That alone made it a good spot, whether or not he got lucky by the end of the night.

Not to say that Russell wasn't doing a bit of trawling.

Nods and winks were overrated. Flashing that trademark Reyes smile, never letting it leave his face no matter how many guys or girls shot him down. That was the way to go. No shot a whole damn room of people could resist it for long.

"And there it is," Russell laughed to himself. "Damn." A real cutie this time, too, even if she was trying to eye-beam some daggers into him. He could only just make her out thanks to the lights by the bar, but that outfit was straight out of Kingdom Hearts in all the right ways. Plus, the glower was a good sign... Her looking away the first chance she got, not so much. Strike twelve it was, then.

Or not? She looked back his way, this time with a little nervy-finger-twirly on the side. Was that an invitation? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it was reason enough to make his way past the throng of dancers and over to that armed-off spot next to her.

He whistled, too short and low to be mistaken for a catcall. "Diggin' it. Like... ballroom meets badass, yeah?" Before she could respond, he hunched over both the stool and Red's arm. It just wouldn't be right, after all, to sit next to a girl unless she wanted him to. Elbows posted on the bartop, he turned his attention to the man behind it and raised a finger.

"Lemon sour, please. Just one. Or..." Back to Red. The middle finger came to join its brother. Up, down, up, down. One or two? Did she want a drink on him? He didn't want to assume. Whatever her answer, Russell went ahead and put in his order.

As he fished for a couple sen-en, Russell couldn't help but snort. "I know, I know. Big strapping lad like me should go for somethin' just as strong right? Whiskey neat, or maybe a shot. But a sipper, like a lemon sour?" He nodded towards the other side of the counter, where the bartender was filling up a up with soda water. "Lotsa drink from top to bottom means way more time for two people to get to know each other, right?" He smiled, then shifted in his seat. "Plus, I like the flavor."

[Monsy]

The more she watched the area around him, the more she considered he could be weighing his own options. This stranger was handsome, tall for this place, physically fit and... gh-, well-dressed too. So, money, right? A salaryman. He did look comfortable, but still was somehow free. Perplexing. A tourist? Could be--. The longer she looked at him, the more alone he seemed with no eyes on her prize. It was her place to know these things. Anyone could be anyone. She watched him approach through the dim lights, surveying him. His clothes were clean, skin clear, eyes... Green? Green.

The

Now for the big reveal. His voice--.
Normal. Something she imagined easy on her ears. B-Ballroom? “O-Oh.”

She kept quiet, making eye-contract before trailing to his strong arms that went over her smaller own. Does she play this game?--or just make it up for when she goes home. Perhaps a bit of exercise will simulate the sweat and maybe she'll try one of those pod hotels to nod off this pending glow instead. Was he really still through with an order? Turning her attention to him again, three quick thumps hit her chest and she followed her body's consensus on the matter. She glanced at the sen-en, his fingers, then gave the bartender a subtle nod.

The arm blocking him was taken away as she turned in her seat to face the stool he leaned over and then presumably sat. Her legs piled thigh over thigh. Her elbow and fist propped up her head; a discreet way to nudge her headphones off an ear and let him come through cleanly. She listened and didn't reply until he finished, letting him worry about the drink's progress. As for her? She glanced at her empty shot glass, then back to him. "I'm only into those because it keeps my butt in this seat." Even now she felt warm enough from her tiny glow that it coaxed her to be content here. Her jaw was looser, her posture naturally imperfect with her lean and an idle kick of her boot was biding time to a melody she hardly listened to consciously. “If I were god, I'd serve some popsies between rounds. Cherry, blueberry, lemon, whatever. Nothin' beats ice on a stick.” The bartender took her shot glass . Two lemon-sours were placed on the bar before them. She picked that up, thought of what to say, then took a sip from her lemon-sour.

Her shoulders almost flinched from the initial taste. The fizziness hit her nose and the alcohol’s bite was tickling and nibbling with spice. Her tastebuds had a scream when it all came together, neither good nor bad. Just something she wasn’t used to yet. “M-Mm, so, I’m ballroom meets badass. What are you? Detective meets…” Her head tilted, giving him another look over. “Wrestlin’ coach?”