Participants:
| Scene Title | A Ticket To… Love |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A cop visits Oh So Sweet, on a mission that doesn't sit well with some of the employee's. Especially when the cop, isn't really a cop. |
| Date | October 23, 2010 |
"Dee! I need more apple turnovers!" Abby's behind the counter, calling back through the open archway that leads to the kitchen before she heads over towards the giant oak bar as she consults an order that was placed by someone who's walking back to his little table. It's not bad for a saturday, people wanting coffee, the place right now being three quarters occupied by people. She doesn't know what's bringing them out but she can appreciate it and does appreciate the influx of customers.
"Tell dalton that I need another shortcake if she's not done making it yet" And then she's out of yelling distance and by the big copper contraption that promises handmade cappuccino goodness. Just past noon, it's looking promising. Everything is looking promising.
A healthy level of stress is okay, though Abby is like a hawk- if Dee seems like she needs a break, she probably gets one whether or not she wants it. For the most part, however, she seems a tough gal when it comes to working at the bakery. Midday is primetime, technically, with the lunch hour rolling about like a great fat cat. Lots of content cats in here today, anytime Dee glances out or takes something out of the kitchen.
"It's almost done, actually." The redhead that flicks into view in the doorway is wearing long sleeves, gloves, and an apron over her large midsection- house rules that she cover up. "Wow, there's more people here than last I looked." The first part is to Abby, but the second is murmured to herself. At least one or two people glance over to her out of curiosity.
Through the door enters a man dressed in a policeman's uniform. He looks a little sheepish as he waits in line and fidgets before he gets to the counter to place his order. All the while, he's looking around with a rather confused expression on his face. There's quite a few people milling around the cases and waiting for 'to go' orders that have been placed but he pastes a smile on his face and steps up, taking a deep breath to puff out his rather admirable chest.
"Excuse me ma'am," he says to the woman taking orders. "I'm looking for the owner of the establishment."
"Delilah" When the 'cop' comes to the counter, the blonde who is indeed the owner has suddenly gone ashen in color, a coffee cup thunked to the counter of the oak bar a bit more roughly than it should have done. You can't see the GPS tracker, it's hidden beneath a pantleg. What was he here for, she hadn't tampered with the GPS, she hadn't gone anywhere, she'd been behaving, exemplary, model citizen, on god she can't breath,
"Dee" It comes out higher and shriller than it should come out.
"Yes… Uhm…" The young man clears his throat and adjusts his tie with one hand before giving the blonde a winning smile and twitching up his eyebrow once rather suggestively. "I'm here to inform you that you have the right… to remain silent."
One of his friends is sitting at a table somewhere close, having come in with an iPod, he's already got it attached to a set of speakers and when he presses play, a rather loud blaring of horns starts, drowning out the soft music already playing. The customers all turn to look at him and he just shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and watching the counter, completely enjoying the show.
Whipping off the tie, the young man loops it over Abby's neck and lets it slide off, pulling it with one hand. "You've been a pretty naughty girl, Mrs. Caliban… and you have the right!" Pause. "And I'm here to give you a ticket.. to loooove."
Baby, take off your coat, real slow.
Baby, take off your shoes. I'll help you take off your shoes.
Baby, take off your dress. Yes, yes, yes.
Wiggling and gyrating in time to the music, the twentysomething nameless man begins to unbutton the shirt. When it gets down to the remaining few buttons, he rips it open and flexes his pecks, making them dance to the beat.
You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.
"What? I heard you the first time." Delilah sidles out of the doorway completely wanders out behind the counter when she hears Abby again. Her mildly scornful look changes when she sees the man in uniform on the other side. Needless to say, that expression changes dramatically within the next few seconds. The music for one, and the fact that the man is now- well- stripping at the counter. Her jaw slackens visibly, likely the same response out of much of the people in here.
She's not allowed to say anything before Abby does. It is a very new and very tenacious rule. What she is allowed to do, however, is watch him. (Appreciatively.)
That he's not there to cart her in for some unknown infraction that would have violated her bail, the blonde is still pretty ashen. You know, until he flex's his pec's in time to the music. Ever seen a Baptist turn bright red? She's doing such right now, even as someone is plucking up their phone to take a picture to capture this kodak moment from the backroom behind Delilah.
"Oh my lord…. Turn it off" Abigail's hands slap across her mouth audibly before she turns around, showing the stripper her back.
Bad move, the wall behind the bar is mirror and so she's not saved from the sight, she can see him still moving and grooving and pectroals twitching in time to the music. "Dee! Turn it OFF! Get him out of here! Oh my lord!"
Before the young redhead has enough time to make her way around the counter, the man turns his back on the blonde and bends at the waist, showing off a very nicely shaped derrier. That well formed behind winds around just before the pants are pulled off, whoever invented velcro is the hero to male strippers everywhere.
Some of Abby's customers are smiling widely and a few of them are clapping along in time to the Tom Jones tune. As nameless twentysomething year old man, spins around, Abby gets a nice view of a glittery smiley face on the front of his g-tring.
Go over there, turn on the light. No, all the lights.
Come back here, stand on the chair. Ooh, baby, that's right!
Raise your arms in the air, now shake 'em.
And boy… does he shake 'em.
Likely by now there are more people recording this, and there will be public record- so when Delilah tells anyone about it, they will totally believe her. She can't hold in her laughing now, even as she tries to alternately watch the stripper cop and try to get around the counter to intercept the music. She stops midway, when he rips his pants off. Delilah gets to see his glam before Abby does, and she lets out a slightly pitched squeak before laughing again. Oh my god.
Unfortunately, if she wants to keep her job- she has to put an end to it! Dee moves to where the iPod sits with its speakers and wingman, taking her liberties in moving to unplug the cord from its jack and put the music to an abrupt halt.
No. No, this isn't funny. Maybe if it was anyone else, say like Delilah, yeah, it'd have been a hoot. But this is Abigail, who spends a week agonizing over whether a dress she's wearing to a party is showing too much cleavage or if the hem that sits an inch above her knee is just too short. Who can't hide from the smiley face on his crotch.
She's heating up, heating up fast in a way that's not safe for anyone.
"Out!" Abby yells - not meaning to be vicious, it's truly more horrified. "Out! Get out of here! This is a business this isn't…this isn't some god forsaken house of harlots and slipskirts, go dance for someone else!" She's going to blow, preggo, someone, get the fire extinguisher.
The silence is deafening. Without the music, Abby's mortified shriek fills the dessert bar. The young man stops dancing and just stares blankly at her for a few moments, just blinking. "So… does this mean I'm not good enough?"
There's a heartbreaking quality to dashing the hopes of a nearly naked man in the middle of an eating establishment. Dressed in nothing but his g-string, policeman's hat, socks, and shoes, he slowly begins stooping to pick up his tossed clothing. With every piece to pick up, either Abby or Delilah gets a good show.
"Man, that's sort of a weak finish." The wingman says, his voice also carries through the bar, as people are still a little too stunned from the owner's outburst. "You need to work on your moves bro. I think I saw a joint down the way you can practice at. I bet you'll even get some tips."
Delilah all but shoves the iPod and speakers up this wingman's arse, so to speak, as she is brandishing both at him with a dose of irritation. "You too! Out!" She drops the electronics in his lap and promptly goes about backhanding his arm to get him out of the seat. "I don't know why, but I sure as hell know you're not going to again." Dee, being roughly the size of a small whale, uses this and her natural height to hopefully be enough of a bouncer to find success.
"Oh, oh- wow- dear-" At least she offers the cop a gesture towards his pants. "Your knickers are right there, grab'em get up out of here, before someone knocks you silly." Abby, or Dee, or just someone else?
"Good enough for what?! This is a DESSERT BAR not a STRIP CLUB" Abby's loosing it and he's not going to get off easy. Going from thinking she was about to hauled downtown and that was it, please dear god call cat to a man gyrating in front of her with barely anything left to the imagination. "This is a bloody //restaurant this is not a place where you can come in and just take your clothes off! I hire waiters not lech's and whores!"
Dee was right though, Abby's coming around the corner even as she starts to sport damp clothing in parts from the sweat building up and the heat radiating form her as she grabs those pants and takes the guy by the ear with her hand, walking him towards the door.
There's a squeak that comes from the nearly naked man being pulled by the ear and tossed out of the bar. The wingman is laughing practically the entire time that the pregnant woman is slapping him silly, ducking and trying to avoid getting hit in too valuable a place, like his head or his jewels.
Abby's questions are never really answered after the stripper receives his. Once the two men are out the door, they run as far and fast as they can, trying to avoid real police officers and a ticket for indecent exposure.
Angry Abby is angry. She doesn't quite cower from it, but there is a certain dogged, omega look on her face. Delilah knows better than to allow Abby's anger these days to last long, and while the two men are being forced out of the building, she is going into the back to fetch a metal pitcher of ice-water. It's mostly ice, and she is there waiting with it at the counter whenever Abby comes back.
"Should we call the real cops?" One person, somewhere in here, probably has by now, but Dee is going to ask anyway.
"No", The pitcher is taken from Delilah when she's back, the worker in the back making her way to the front while Abby - Hopefully with Delilah, heads to the back. AT least there she can douse herself in the kitchen. Her steps are quick, hand slapping against the door leading to the back quick as she can, trying to do Huruma's meditation and calming even as she leaves the slightest of warps on the varnish. In the hall though, she upends the pitcher over her own head, smothering a shriek from the pain and discomfort that follows from water contacts hot skin.
"I'm going to kill whomever did that!" She sputters, little drops of water gong every which way and the walls now wet. But better wet than scorched.
Dee knows better than to follow Abby right away; for a better bet, she goes to find a clean kitchen towel before catching up with Abby. The walls are wet, the floor- but nothing is on fire. She offers Abby the towel, her manner very gentle and her voice trying to be soothing. "I don't know-"
"Do we really want to find out?" IE, will it just make you mad?
The laughter is easily heard from here, that's out in the main dining area, likely some of the nerds are already uploading video as abby takes the towel from Delilah. "I won't try to find out. Whomever did that is going to rear their head to crow and the day they do, you can be sure that I will give them something that they won't forget should they contemplate even doing such"
The towel is run across her hair, a glance down to her shirt and a thankful thought that at least she went with the pink, blue and brown shirts for the uniforms for the place and not white. "Can you grab me some clothes from my locker. I'm going to go change and see if I can't salvage something of my bloody dignity"
"I can try and field some of that if you want." Delilah gestures with a jerk of her head towards the doors back into the restaurant. "I'm glad you didn't pick white shirts." It seems like the thing to say, doesn't it? "We'll handle it if we find out, if we don't, don't worry about it, alright?" It'll be fine! Though now, the two will probably second guess any uniforms that come in here. Dee shifts away from Abby, taking up the pitcher to return it.
"I'll get you some clothes, hon, you do your breathing." Funny, the pregnant one tells her this.
"Tell them their coffee's are on the house but their pastries aren't and not to hire any strippers just to get more free coffee" The wet rat that is Abigail, slinks off towards the bathroom so that she can do what the smiley faced g-string guy had been doing minutes before. Dressing down.
