ArchivedLogs:Marketing Team

Marketing Team
Dramatis Personae Doug, Lucien, Morgan	2015-02-13 "Soak it up, bitch."
Location <NYC> Door 94 - Clinton
Not a large place and not a particularly well-known one, tucked out of the way in a corner of Hell's Kitchen, Door 94 has in its favour that even on a Friday night it isn't egregiously /packed/. Isn't blaring overly loud music, isn't swamped and sweaty, thumpy and crowded, and this is probably what draws Lucien here to a seat at the polished bar. He's dressed down, coat and scarf shed to leave just a grey sweater and jeans, fingers drumming against the bartop. Though the place boasts a rather extensive cocktail menu he's contented himself with an old-fashioned, his fingers cradling the squat glass and his eyes slightly droopy as he looks down into it. A tall, blonde woman sashays slowly and confidently into the bar. Her black pumps click quietly as she moves. She is office-dressed in a silky blouse with a few buttons undone, and a tight, charcoal pencil skirt. Her longer hair is pulled back into a artfully messy bun. Her make-up is minimal, but some effort has been put into it. Calmly, she pushes back her shoulders and slides an out of place, worn-out brown leather coat down off of her and flings it casually over her arm before transferring it lazily onto a bar stool. The bartender comes over right away, but seems to shudder somewhat as Morgan regards him in a gruff, abrupt tone. "The same," she nods sharply to Lucien's old-fashioned as she brings up both hands to unceremoniously unclip her hair-piece and shoving it into her purse. She gets some looks for that but doesn't pay them any mind as she combs out her bob-length hair with her fingers. It's probably the quiet of the bar that draws Doug into its dim interior. Or maybe it's the biting cold outside that's driven him inside when he appears in the door, stepping through quickly to minimize the cold air that accompanies him. The blonde is wearing a navy pea coat and a grey scarf that he peels away to reveal an outfit similar to Lucien's with green replacing the grey in his sweater. A relatively new addition is the three week's worth of beard that decorates his chin. Pulling up to the bar, he shrugs his coat off his shoulders as he looks around the room, giving the blonde woman who thumps down next to him a curious sort of look. Spotting Lucien just beyond her, he abandons his spot to fall in on Lucien's other side. "Hey," he says cheerfully, abandoning the many cocktails to order a beer when the bartender comes to him. "I didn't expect to see you here on a Friday night." Lucien's eyes lift from his drink, ticking over first to Morgan and then to Doug. His brows lift, slightly, a very small twitch tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Goodness," he murmurs, giving Morgan a longer looking-over, "you look almost respectable." He lifts his drink in quiet salute to Doug. "Non? I thought bars were a fairly typical place to be at this hour." He takes a sip of his drink, setting it back down. "You seem cheery." Morgan lets out a single, animalistic grunt as a response, though by the way her head cocks back she may not have even seen Lucien before she sat. "Soak it up, bitch," she murmurs with a twinge of a smirk. The woman gives Doug a once-over as she brings a finger up to her lips to trace the outline of her lipstick but is soon distracted paying for her drink. "Well, generally," Doug allows, shrugging as he sits down on the stool. "Maybe it's more accurate to say I'm surprised to find you /alone/ on a Friday night." He offers a loose sort of grin, nodding at the woman when she inspects him. "I am," he says to Lucien's observation. "I may have had one or two before I got here. A guy at work got engaged, we took him for drinks, and I ditched when they decided to go to a strip club." He grins again, and leans on the bar. "How've /you/ been?" "/Almost/ respectable." Lucien's tone has edged towards disappointed, here, though there's amusement dancing in his green eyes. His forefinger traces lightly around the rim of his glass. His other hand turns upward, fingers spreading. "Busy. As ever. Drinking here is a fair sight cheaper than drinking at a strip club, to be certain. How has life been treating you?" Morgan grunts again in amusement of her own. Ear pricked to the men's conversation, she contents herself to stare down solemnly into the brown liquid of her drink. A man sits down on the other side of her, leaning in predatorily. As he opens his mouth to strike up conversation, she shows him the back of her head. Bringing her glass to her lips, Morgan gives Lucien and Doug her attention. "I've never been here before," Doug admits, looking around the bar briefly. "I wasn't ready to go home just yet, though. But you're right -- it /is/ cheaper." He grins, and takes the beer when the bartender brings it, and lifts it in salute before tipping it to his lips. Lucien's question gets a shrug of his shoulders, and he leans against the bar again. "Pretty good," he says. "At least, it seems to have stopped kicking me in the teeth for a bit. Which is something, at least." Another swallow of his beer, and he peers around Lucien to study Morgan for a moment before looking back at the older man. "Colleague?" Lucien's brows hike up higher, at this last question. "Most assuredly not. She simply --" Here he skips a beat, fingers briefly drumming against the side of his glass. He pauses, head tilting to cast a brief look, "Used to impersonate one, from time to time." His eyes flit down over her again. "Though for an officer of the law you're looking downright secretarial." "Oh, I could never do what Lucien does," Morgan purrs graciously, flicking her shoulder-length hair as if it toss it. The shot at her attire humbles her enough to make her blush, but not enough to stop her. Not one to lose control of a situation, she extends a hand across Lucien's space and over to Doug, "Client?" "A cop, huh?" Doug asks, leaning back over the bar to give Morgan another look. "You could probably do it," he says encouragingly. "I mean, with the right marketing...." He manages to keep a straight face as he says this, taking another swallow of beer that nearly comes right back out when Morgan voices her question. Mopping at his face with a napkin, he grimaces. "Do I look like I have that kind of money?" "There all sorts of tastes out there in the world," Lucien acknowledges mildly, "you can find people looking for just about anything." He tips his glass towards Morgan, looking at her thoughtfully. "Those wanting someone to insult them and treat them like dirt isn't even that much of a niche market." Doug's sputtering puts a small curl of smile on his face. "Doug goes to my gym. That is as far as we have worked out together." "I mean, those lips couldn't have been cheap, honey. And it's former* cop," Morgan corrects, looking away for a moment to avoid seeing Lucien's reaction. She switches her crossed legs, hellbent on a fast recovery from embarrassment, "So, if you have the right marketing team, let momma know. Till then, it *is* secretarial pool." Doug furrows his brow at Morgan's comments, reaching up to touch his mouth thoughtfully. "These are mine," he murmurs. There's a quacking from his hip pocket, and he fishes out his phone to read the text there. "I don't think Lucien /needs/ a marketing team," he says distractedly as he thumbs a reply and stands up. "His word of mouth is pretty good." He drains his beer, suppressing a belch as he holds up his phone. "Gotta jet. Groom-to-be got separated from the group." He shrugs on his coat, and offers Lucien a smile as he buttons it up. "We should have a meal sometime," he says, and pats his coat once it's buttoned. "Or coffee." He lifts a hand in a wave directed at Morgan. "Good luck with your new career." And then he's off, humming something unidentifiable as he heads back out into the cold, dark night. Once more Lucien's glass lifts in a quiet salute of farewell to Doug. "My afternoons are often free." There's another twitch at his lips at Morgan's news, a small lift of eyebrows. A thoughtful-quiet hum, his eyes focusing on her with more interest. "I see." For just a fleeing moment the twitch of lips spreads into an actual smile. He knocks back the rest of his drink, clinking the glass back down onto the counter; by the time it is set down, the smile has faded away. "I /am/ a marketing team. And I certainly know the business. But the work isn't for everyone. Secretarial pool --" His hand tips upwards. "Far less messy." "Not the way I do it," Morgan smirks. She does shake her head, though. "I couldn't /do that/, though. ... Can disconnect from a lot of dark shit," she brings her glass to her lips, touching the cold glass to her bottom for a moment before throwing it back, "But not that." Her glass clinks down beside Lucien's. Pressing her palm to the bar's surface, Morgan rises from her seat. "Have a good rest of your night." She doesn't pretend to say something like, 'It was good to see you,' nor does she wait to have another drink with him.