Logs:First Impressions
| First Impressions | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2019-08-12 "Welcome to Inanna's! We are a classy joint for discerning people who want to look at very nice titties." |
| Location
<NYC> SoHo - Inanna's | |
Inanna's is the newest club in the city, all red and purple and plush. Footlights line the thrust stage, while colored spots hightlight the two poles on the stage and shadow the seats that surround it. A well-lit and well-stocked bar takes up the opposite side of the room, just beside the entrance. About thirty tables dot the room between the bar and the stage. Next to the stage, a hallway leads to the rooms for private dances and the dancers' dressing room.
Joy isn't waiting long when the door opens, allowing in two people and a blast of sunlight and city heat. The second person in lets the door close with a thud. With the backlight gone from behind them, the duo comes into almost stark focus. One is a tall, vibrant redhead with messy curls in a messy bun, dressed in torn and faded jeans that cling to her hips and a band tee with a long-ago faded graphic that shows a good two inches of pale, soft stomach. She's wearing sunglasses, but takes them off to look around the club, revealing bright green eyes. The person behind her is about the same height, but their similarities end there. Dressed in black jeans and a white tanktop, the androgynous figure is all tan skin and lean body, their short hair an almost shocking white-blonde under the fluorescents. They carry a small canvas gym bag over their shoulder and a wears a contagious smile, which only widens when they spots Joy. The smile comes with a type of contagious warmth, a /draw/. "Looks like we found the right place." "Hi!" Joy says, bright and delighted. She hops off the stage and smooths her own t-shirt down over her hips. The redhead sounds like Sierra's description, but the other person, Sierra didn't mention. "You must be Rayne. I'm Joy, I'm... uh, head dancer, I guess." "That's me. Nice to meet you," Rayne greets her, offering a hand out. The other hand motions to her companion. "This is my--" "I'm her worse half," the other person casually interrupts, sliding an arm around Rayne's waist. "Name's Angie, 'Hey Fucker' also works." Rayne continues as if Angie hadn't said a thing, even as the hand she had motioned with ends up in his back pocket. "This is my Angie. He's annoying, but harmless. He can also wait outside if you prefer." "No, it's fine," Joy says, and smiles at Angie as she shakes Rayne's hand. "Nice to meet you both. My partner works here too, actually." "That's pretty much why he came with me," Rayne admits. Her grip on Joy's hand is firm, confident, but doesn't linger. Once she lets go, she takes the bag from Angie. "That should probably wait until after the tour. Trust me, don't start talking to him unless you want to be stuck in one place for an hour." "Babe, you wound me. I can talk for way longer than an hour." Angie's tone is teasing, and he presses a kiss to Rayne's cheekbone before letting his arm drop and stepping away. "But, yeah, I've been a bouncer before. Currently am. And it can wait for later." "Well," Joy says, brightly. She spreads her arms wide and spins around. "Welcome to Inanna's! We are a classy joint for discerning people who want to look at very nice titties." For the first time since entering the building a smile appears on Rayne's face, small but amused. "I have very nice titties to look at," she deadpans. Angie makes a 'Tada!' sort of noise, flourishing his hands like Vanna White to refer to said area. Rayne's smile grows a miniscule amount before fading. "I'm fine with dancing and people looking," she continues, shifting her bag on her shoulder. "I can waitress too, since that's my usual gig. But I don't plan on doing any sort of private dancing, lap or other. Will that be a problem?" Joy blinks. "Well, you won't make nearly as much money," she says. "Sierra doesn't put up with people in the money seats not tipping, but you usually don't get more than a five from them at best. We definitely do need waitresses though." At the mention of money, Rayne shrugs. It is what it is. "I'm fine with taking a cut. I'd rather that than lose the job after someone decides to be handsy and I get punchy." A small hint of a smile returns, before she nods Angie's way. "Besides, punching is the job he wants. Be rude to take it." "That implies I won't punch people for free, though," Angie says, grinning widely. It shrinks, some, when Rayne elbows him in the ribs. "If it's, you know, allowed." "Sierra used to dance," Joy says, and grins at both of them. "Still does sometimes. Punching is downright encouraged." Angie's eyebrows raise, surprised but obviously pleased, if the way his smile has turned almost lunatic is any indication. That contagious warmth is back, stronger now. "One more question before I declare this the best strip club in New York City. Is there a Ladies' Night?" he asks, hopeful and earnest. "Exclusively, he means. No boys allowed," Rayne clarifies, before her brow wrinkles in thought. "If there is, I may rethink the no private dances thing." "It isn't exclusive," Joy says, "but we definitely do have a Ladies' Night." She beams at the thought. "No men in the money seats and discounts for women. But you're still expected to tip the nice strippers." "I lied, I have a second question," Angie says, hand raising like a kid in class. "Can /I/ dance on Ladies' Night? As you can see, I have no titties to speak of." With this, a motion to his rather flat chest that changes into him pulling up the bottom of his shirt to reveal a half-decent set of abs. "But I do a great Magic Mike impression." "Angie, what was the one thing I told you to do before we left the house today?" Rayne asks, clearly expecting the reminder to do no good. "This is not me taking off my shirt, this is me lifting my shirt /up/, there is a clear difference." Joy giggles. "We encourage the removal of shirts in this establishment," she says. "If it'll make you more happy, Rayne, I'll take mine off." The small smile from before returns, Rayne's gaze flicking down to look Joy over for a bare moment. "I appreciate the offer," she says, looking Joy in the eye once more. "Truly, I do. But for the sake of Angie's last brain cell, you don't have to." "Excuse me," the aforementioned Angie pipes up, "considering /you/ are my last brain cell, that seems unfair to both of us." "Life is pain. You'll survive," Rayne deadpans back. "Anyone who says differently is selling something," Joy says. "Well, anyway, no one will tell you who to take dances from, so if you want there's no reason you couldn't only give them to women. Just let whoever's running bar know." "I will, thank you." Rayne looks around the room again, focusing on the tables for a bit longer. Her eyes skirt from table to table, figuring out walkways and sections, before she finally looks at the stage. "Sierra mentioned you were going to give me a few pointers with my routine. Is there anything else to see, or should I ask where to change?" "The back," Joy says, gesturing at the hallway next to the stage. "It's a bunch of private rooms plus our dressing room, which I expect you'll want to see?" Rayne nods, before turning to Angie. "Sit somewhere, play on your phone, do not touch anything," she tells him. "If you're good, you can play an audience member when I come back out." "Bitchin'." Giving Joy a halfassed salute, Angie moves to drop into the nearest seat. "Nice meeting you, boss lady." "Nice meeting you too," Joy says, grinning. "I'm not the boss but I like the title. Shall we, Rayne?" Rayne motions for Joy to lead the way, falling in step behind her. "We shall." | |
