ArchivedLogs:Combine Equal Parts Future Regret, Angry Dancing, And Vampire Fetishists, Shake Vigorously

Combine Equal Parts Future Regret, Angry Dancing, And Vampire Fetishists, Shake Vigorously
Dramatis Personae Anette, Dusk, Natalie
In Absentia	2016-03-23 "What's she going to do, cut off her /skin/ and sell it?"
Location <NYC> Rock Bottom - East Village
The outside of this sizeable establishment is perennially wallpapered with colorful posters for shows, concerts, and parties. Inside, everything is painted black, though intermittently decorated with art (either seasonal or specific to an event). The floor space is about half bar and half performance space, the former somewhat crowded with tables and the latter wide open except for the stage and a somewhat creaky balcony with somewhat creaky seats. A wide variety of local musicians perform here Wednesday through Saturday nights, and the rest of the week it's open just as a bar with a particularly large dance floor. It's exuberantly loud in here tonight; though the first act of the evening was mellower the current band on stage has got the mosh pit whipped into a raucous frenzy. Dusk is not, currently, engaged in any such moshery, though he looks like he might want to be. There's a lot of metal and tape splinting one wing, the corresponding arm swathed in a sling and its forearm in a cast -- /probably/ these things are contributing to keeping him out of the action. He's lingering instead by the bar at the side, good elbow leaned up against it as his head dips to the energetic sounds of Destruction Unit. Even playing wallflower tonight he's still fairly eye-catching -- not so much in his clothes (faded jeans, black wrap shirt, Vans sneakers) as the enormous and well-decorated wings he doesn't bother to hide, currently painted black with a stark white pinion motif that looks more like nested rows of knives than feathers; silvery fuzz that runs from gunmetal near the skin to bright chrome near the tips, so that the color shifts seamlessly with movement or change of light. In similar motif his cast has been painted, too, silver, with somewhat less depth and details in shades of gray, rendering it looking more like a CANNON than a piece of plaster. The sling matches, and looks like a part of a robotic exoskeleton or armor. His /good/ arm holds a glass of tequila, the base of the squat glass tapping absently againt the bar in time with the music. Natalie, on the other hand, /has/ been in the mosh pit. Very enthusiastically in the mosh pit. Sweaty and flushed, she's just extricating herself from between a pair of men considerably larger than her to stomp her way off the dance floor and back over to Dusk. She's dressed pretty bland, herself; black jeans, black Docs, a tight white tank top, red hair hanging down around her shoulders. She's careful to avoid all the broken-bandaged-cutup parts of Dusk as she wiggles her way up to the bar, tucking herself up against his /good/ wing. "{Is that /good/ tequila?}" She has to raise her voice considerably over the music, switching to English after the initial Spanish. "Or do I want beer?" Anette has been in and out of the mosh pits, though she's currently out of it at the moment. She's already beginning to sport a couple bruises along her bare arms from some of the rougher collisions. Though judging by the permanent grin plastered on her face, she doesn't seem to mind or possibly even notice. At the moment, she's taking a breather, rum in one hand and the other resting against the bar as she stands beside Dusk, watching the crowds. Tonight she wears her hair up in a ponytail, not that it's not a complete mess by now, an 80's band tee, grey jeans and black combat boots. On her shoulder, where there had been rather nasty scarring from what looked like a wild animal bite is a freshly healed tattoo of two entwined phoenixes, conveniently covering up the worst of the scarring and at least making it less noticable. Once Natalie reapproaches, she raises her glass in greeting. The spanish goes uncommented on but the switch to English is met with a quick shake of her head. "Not beer, you need stronger." Dusk's wing curls out automatically, draping around Natalie's shoulders and hooking her in close as she approaches. It stays draped there, resting across her lazily. "This is shitty tequila," he says regretfully. "Shiiitty tequila. I do not advise the shitty tequila. Get a whisky. Get a jager bomb. Anette's right this is not a beer night this is the kind of night for --" He /eyes/ his tequila with a press of lips. "Regretting your life choices. Join me." Natalie leans in, sniffing at Dusk's glass. Then /swiping/ Dusk's glass when he bemoans it. She downs the rest of it in a gulp, shaking her head sharply as she sets it back down. "Whoo, you are /not/ lying." Though she's hailing the bartender anyway, gesturing to the empty cup for -- "Two more of the shitty tequila? Please and thanks you. /That/," she's adding to Anette with a nod towards the tattoo, "is looking fan/tastic/, where'd you get the ink?" Her lips crook up in a lopsided smile at Dusk, short-trimmed nails reaching out to dance very lightly down along his cast. "Are you regretting? Your life choices?" "Is there such a thing as good tequila?" Anette asks with a chuckle, taking a sip of her rum. "Jagerbomb sounds fantastic though." At Natalie's praise, she glances down towards her tattoo briefly, grinning. "Well thanks. Jackson did it actually, along with most of the island it seems. Though he is clearly fantastic." Another gulp of rum and she turns her head to glance at Dusk with a slight frown. "As the Queen of Terrible Life Choices, which life choices are you regretting tonight?" "There is /excellent/ tequila that is so very worth drinking. This -- is just not it." Dusk certainly isn't refusing the next round of booze, though, answering the bartender with a cheerful grin (it isn't /returned/) and a nod of thanks when their drinks come. The grin fades slightly at the mention of Jax, though he glances over the tattoo (not for the first time) with appreciation. "His work /is/ amazing. And I'm probably going to be regretting all this booze and then the mosh pit. I don't," his brows lift slightly as he looks down at Nat -- looks down at the sling on his arm -- "regret this, if that's what you're asking. Not even a little." "Woah. So if he goes to prison forever, does that ink appreciate in value?" Natalie is tipping her glass -- first towards the bartender in thanks! But then towards Anette's shoulder in CURIOSITY. "There's definitely worse life choices to make then rescuing -- how many was it, now?" "You know, it just might," Anette says with a grin. That smile falls a bit as the rescue mission is brought up. "Hey, from what I've heard, you guys did a fantastic job. I mean, might have gotten a bit...messy," she says, vaguely motioning towards Dusk's bad wing, "but it's fucking amazing that it went as well as it did." She suddenly smirks and waggles her eyebrows playfully towards Dusk. "Plus, if you play it up right, you could walk out of here with /so many/ phone numbers." "What's she going to do, cut off her /skin/ and sell it?" Dusk grimaces at this thought, a shudder rippling through his wings. The grimace remains as he knocks back the tequila, slumping in against the bar. "Oh there are so very many worse life choices I /could/ be making and I think two of them have /already/ offered me their numbers tonight. Like the hardcore vampire fetishists. I just can't swing that way anymore. Once upon a time, maybe, but I have some self-respect these days. That dude, though," he's nodding to a musclar man at the edge of the dance floor, wing squeezing gently around Natalie's shoulders, "he's definitely eying /you/. Though I can't tell if that's lust or anger." "... good point." The thought of tattoo-leather puts a wrinkle in Natalie's nose. Head shaking. Kiiind of distastefully. She turns around, leaning back on the bar, elbows propping there as she sizes up Dance Floor Dude. "Funny how often that looks the same in men." Anette tries so hard to hold back her laugh but it instead comes out as a loud choking snort, which she quickly washes back with more rum. "I never thought of vampire fetishists. Oh god, do you run into a lot of Twihards? I have never been more thankful there aren't owl fetishists." She is happy for the change in conversation though, perking up abit at the mention of Dance Floor Dude and his lust/anger gaze. "Does it matter?" Anette says, turning to find Dance Floor Dude herself, a single eyebrow raised as she checks him out for herself. "Angry sex is fantastic." "With someone who respects you, sure. I mean, I'll have all the fighty sex with, like, Isra I can /get/. But --" One of Dusk's thumbclaws twitches towards the guy who had been staring at Nat, his shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. "I don't know. I think I need more tequila." "With some asshole in a club? Angry generally means they're pissed I'm giving someone else attention and not them? Yeah no someone that entitled is not going to be a good lay. Angry sex needs some /passion/ to it. Not -- some weird sense of ownership." Natalie downs her drink, too, rapping knuckles on the bar. "What /you/ need," she announces, to both the others, "is another round in the mosh pit." Because isn't that just what the doctor ordered for broken bones?" "Hey, never said you had to hook up with him," Anette says, throwing a hand up in defeat as the other's begin to argue with her. "Just throwing out ideas." She glances towards Dusk as the mosh pit is brought back up and she frowns slightly. "I'd rather not see Dusk with both wings in splints." "Hey my /other/ wing is strong as hell." See? It's wrapping around Anette, now. Steeering her out towards the dance floor, Dusk nudging Natalie with his shoulder to follow. "And a mosh pit is basically the clothes-on version of angry sex. It's a good /start/ for the night, anyway."