Don' Let Her Say A Bleedin' Word


edgar_icon.gif roderick_icon.gif smedley_icon.gif

Scene Title Don' Let Her Say A Bleedin' Word
Synopsis Smedgar heads out to Burlesque for a bit of gratuitous nudity. While the cat's away, the mouse will play!
Date September 23, 2010


A flashy little strip club, its name advertised in bright neon pink above the door in swooping cursive, with the figure of a woman outlined in the same seeming to kick a leg with each flash of the light. Two bouncers stand by the door, which is a reflective chrome and stays closed unless opened by the security duo, with a red carpeting extending out onto the pavement. They will check you for I.D. before permitting you entrance. You'll be greeted by a woman in full burlesque regalia, with exaggerated makeup, a corset that barely keeps everything in, fishnets and feathers. Provided you can pay the cover charge, she will show you to a table, offer to get your first drink of the evening, and leave you alone to enjoy what Burlesque has to offer.

The main room's focal point is the generous stage, a circular platform with Broadway lights around the edges, and a catwalk that extends further out into the scattered round tables where patrons can sit and drink. The lights that shine down on it are never particularly clear, often shards of pink, green, blue, which hide as much as they reveal. There is almost always a dancer on the stage, even as even more girls move around the room to give more intimate shows on tabletops. There's a long bar that crawls along one side of the room, with a couple of bartenders behind it, a counter of black glass with rows and rows of liquor on display on glass shelves. Leather booths are tucked away towards the back, offering some privacy for whatever purpose.

Despite the proposed theme of the club, impressions of burlesque only factor in with the permanent staff and particular shows of featured dancers. Otherwise, the tunes are standard for any kind of strip club, and the girls will wear what they like. There are private lounges for more expensive, personal shows, and a darkly lit, obscured staircase leading up to both dressing rooms and the manager's office.

After a scare that did not involve karaoke, Edgar found his other half for a new place to enjoy a quick bevvie. The other man seems down in the dumps and being a man, Edgar knows of only one thing worthy of cheering Smedley up. Gratuitous nudity.

Whether he's wrong or right, the speedster managed to cajole the smuggler out for a round or five. The place? A thumping strip club on the other side of the bridge, Burlesque. When the two of them walk in, the place is already in full swing. Edgar's eyes don't wander to the stage, rather, they flit to the bar. A beeline is made to the liquor, with instructions for Smedley to grab them a seat at the edge of the stage.

There's no reason to sit so close to the stage, other than to have women waggle their womanly parts in front of you so that you can feel obligated to give them money, even if they aren't that talented. Not that the girls at Burlesque aren't talented. Still, it's with a strained, accommodating sort of expression that Smedley weaves his way through tables and booths toward the stage.

Thankfully, there is often more than one reason to come to a strip club. Smedley hasn't been seated at the edge of the stage for more than a minute before a man who had been sitting toward one end of the catwalks stands, presumably to go and use the restroom. But he walks along the side of the stage, his eyes still watching the current girl who is working the pole, and passes by Smedley. At that moment, a folded, innocuous piece of paper falls from his hand to the space between Smedley's chair and the empty one to his right.

Already there at the bar, back to it and seated on one of the stools, is a short little man. His shaggy head of blonde hair bops a little to the music as he eyes the current girl on the stage swinging around a pole to the tune of Wild Wild West. Roderick does very much love coming here when he gets done working for the big guy. He nods a little greeting to Edgar as he steps up to the bar near him.

A bottle of Guinness is currently being consumed, one of — by the looks of the empty bottles behind Roddy — four. Okay, so he's only been there a short time. "Go on, Tina. Spin those tassles ag'in." A regular obviously. When he's obliged, the Brit hops off his stool and strolls up to the stage, giving the girl a smug smile as he waves the bill. Leaning past Smedley, Roddy goes about tucking that bill away right proper like. "Lookin' lovely tonight, Tina." He gives her a toothy grin and wink.

He doesn't return to the bar right away, instead he drops into a free chair, eyes on the stage, looking like a kid in a candy store. A glance goes to Smedley beside him, and then glances back again, a brow darker then his hair hitches up. "Oi…" He motions to the stage with the neck of his beer. " can you look so glum with that pretty bird, shakin' her thing up there?" He the guy a knowing look, full of amusement, as he says in a all knowing lowered voice. "She's trying to get through law school, ya know."

Edgar barely notices the short limey at the bar, what he does catch is the man's accent. From the corner of his eye, the speedster watches the Londoner until he gets up and joins Smedley in his seat. Like a jealous girlfriend, Ed grabs the bottle of Jack, two glasses, and stalks back to the chairs. "'Ey, Smeg'ead, you're in my sea'."

Nevermind that fact Tina is currently wagging her unmentionables right at Roderick, in his seat. Those unmentionables should be wagging in front of Edgar (not that he's looking for that sort of thing). Slamming the bottle and glasses in front of Smed, the carnie flounces down in the other chair on Smedley's other side. For tonight, Edgar will be the left hand man. Now that's a depressing notion to drink to.

There's an annoyance in the fact that Roderick sits down right as Smedley was about to make his move to secure the dropped piece of paper. Instead, he grunts in reply and adjusts his position in his chair, snaking a foot out to pin the folded note down and pull it beneath him so that it can't blow away.

"She gonna sway a jury like that?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows slightly as he reaches for a glass and the bottle. "Don't get me wrong," he says before he slams the shot back, giving Tina gracious nod. "You're beautiful, kiddo, but y'ain't my type."

Smedley looks over at Edgar and smirks, jerking his head slightly in Roderick's direction in a who the hell is this guy? gesture.

"Wot?" Clearly Roderick was distracted by those wavin' lady parts, his fingers with their silver rings and black out nails, tap on the dark glass of his bottle. He manages to pull his attention from the stripper and lean forward enough to look past Smedley to Edgar beyond. "You say somethin'?" This is Roderick's innocent look, it's been perfected. Blue eyes widens just a little, brows lifted, how can you hate a face like that.

Yeah… don't answer that.

His attention shifts to Smedley. "You don't think with a chest like that, she won't? My bets on her if a judge is trying it." The look that passes between the other two is ignored as he leans over. "And word of advice gentlemen. You see a leggy blonde, with curls like Shirley Temple… Don' let her talk to ya, yeah? She's a beauty, but the moment she opens that mouth… you'll be wantin' to end your life with an ice pick through the skull."

His 'nice deed' for the day done — countering the email he sent out to the whole of the Linderman's company to congratulate Kain on his new spawn, from one of the intern's terminals and convienently forgot to add Kain too — Roderick turns back to the stage in time to wiggle fingers at Tina as she turns attention to other guests.

Emitting a low growl, Edgar just shrugs his shoulders in response to Smedley's gesture. The bottle is uncapped and two liberal pours later, Smed n' Ed each have a full glass of Johnny. Taking his glass in his left hand, the speedster leans way back in his chair and begins to sip very slowly.

He's got his blue eyes on Tina, in his right hand… the hand behind the cowboy's head, he's got a ten spot caught between two fingers. While it's not much to a few people, it seems to be more than the other limey's shelling out at the moment. What does that result in? Tina crawling right onto Smedley's lap for a little bit of a private party.

This is a win-win situation for Edgar, who releases the bill to the tart's clasping hand. He managed to lure the pretty away from the little blonde guy and get the smuggler's mind off anything but getting the girls off his lap.

What would Peyton say if she found those stains?

As the girl crawls into Smedley's lap, Roderick can't help but laughs. Leaning close to the smuggler so he can hear him, Roddy comments rather brightly. "Exibit triple D's, sir. As you can see from there, that pretty bird's got one hell'o'va pair of assets. Any judge is gonna be too busy wantin' to bang her wit his gavel, then to object her."

Flops back in his stool, Roderick tips back his head, to down more beer, only to find it empty. Huh… when did that happen. Straightening, Roderick glances around until he can flag down one of the girls. Pulling out a bill, folded long ways, he holds it and the empty bottle up. "Can I get anotha' and keep tha change sweetheart."

"Whooaah," Smedley coughs out as Tina is right there. And he wasn't lying - she is a very beautiful young woman. "Whhoooaaah." He clears his throat and turns his head to glare at Edgar before Tina starts to work at earning that ten dollars. But he leans back as much as he can in his chair, his hands up and away as if Tina were an ATF or DEA agent with a gun rather than a college student in lingerie and impractical shoes. "Sweetie, you really don't-" But then there's a chest that close to his face, and the westerner grimaces.

When Tina is courted away to do pole work again by a group of rowdy boys that can't be much older that have just sat down, Smedley lets out a heavy sigh and grits his teeth. "I get what you're tryin' to do, Ed. I do. But it ain't like I got left." Not really. She's coming back. Hopefully.

As the girl crawls into Smedley's lap, Roderick can't help but laughs. Leaning close to the smuggler so he can hear him, Roddy comments rather brightly. "Exibit triple D's, sir. As you can see from there, that pretty bird's got one hell'o'va pair of assets. Any judge is gonna be too busy wantin' to bang her wit his gavel, then to object her."

Flops back in his stool, Roderick tips back his head, to down more beer, only to find it empty. Huh… when did that happen. Straightening, Roderick glances around until he can flag down one of the girls. Pulling out a bill, folded long ways, he holds it and the empty bottle up. "Can I get anotha' and keep tha change sweetheart."

Of course, he doesn't hear everything going on next to him, "Left? Did I hear left?" Roderick glances past Smedley, to Edgar and asks in a rather gossipy tone, "In denial?" He doesn't wait for an answer tho'.

Eyes focusing on Smedley now, "Ah, mate… you need somethin' stronger." He turns and waves at the waitress who just left, giving a loud whistle. "Hey, bring three shots of tequila as well, love." Roderick the not so helpful.
ORDER: It is now your pose.

A few snorts at Smeldey's reaction almost has the Johnny Walker making a reappearance through Edgar's nose. Instead, he's coughing comma chuckling into his fist before leaning back again and howling with laughter. It's a really good thing that Smedley's acting like a woman on the plugs tonight because revenge can sort of be a bitch.

"I'm sorry mate, y'jus'.. tss tsss tsss" The speedster can't help but suppress another laugh as he tries to console his buddy. "Sorry, no more, I promise.." Clearing his throat with a long harrumph, the carnie shakes his jowls out and straightens his expression to something more neutral.

"You 'member 'ow I was before I found my Lydia? I don' wan' you teh ge' like tha'. 'Course she's comin' back… it's jus' a li'l trip, no' like she's gone gone… a few days, no' a few years." Little does he know. Taking another long swig to make up for the one he just coughed up, Edgar settles back again to watch the show.

"Yeah," Smedley says with an uneasy sigh as he takes a sip from his drink. Just a few days. But when Roderick orders the stronger drink, he snaps to attention. "What? Wait - no. Not left. Just…s'fucked up. Don't ask."

Smedley drags a hand over his face and then shakes his head. Why is he here? Blinking, Smedley looks to the stage again, where several girls have come out to do a sort of preview set before the next round starts. More than one has had work done, and he frowns at that. "Never got why y'd need more'n what you can handle," he muses, taking another calming sip from his glass of whiskey.

Roderick eyes Smedley for a long moment, "Fucked up?" As his beer and the shots are set down, the precop pushes them towards the men next to him, keeping one for himself. "Ya still need a stiff drink, if ya ask me." Not that Smedley is.

"Bein' tied up in a girl… dunno what all the fuss is about." The tequilia disappears quickly enough, followed shortly by a swig from his new bottle. Roderick actually sounds a bit bitter now, "They'll just end up leavin' ya for your taller rugged buddies." He does flash Smedley a grin tho, especially about the women.

"Amen, mate… Seriously." Leaning over he offers a black nailed hand, "Names Roderick." He glances past Smedley, adding Edgar into that introduction, despite the other mans seeming attempts to the ignore the Brit.

Pulling the shot of tequila closer to him, Edgar eyes it warily. There's no salt or lemon, just straight. Not that he needs salt or lemon, he's a real man, like Melissa. Not some little girl like… some little girl. With a side glance to Smedley and Roderick, he keeps his fingers on either side of it, waiting for the signal to toss it back.

But they're still chatting, so in the meantime, Edgar takes a long slug of his Johnny. His eyes drift up to the woman on stage and her impossibly large bosoms, shaking his head. "I think they're 's big as my 'ead. Whadd'ya think ma'e?" He doesn't address Smedley by name, not here. Just in case.

When Roderick reaches over with one hand to shake, Edgar grasps it in a firm grip and gives him a twitch of a smile, just a little one. "Liam, Liam Banks." The grin grows just a little as he adds in, "One of the taller, more rugged buddies."

Smedley can't help but laugh at Edgar's reply, and he shakes his head as he takes the proffered shot of tequila. No matter how manly one may be, the wicked drink without the crutch of salt or lemon is diabolical indeed. "Todd Grahame," he says with a slight nod of his head before he looks to Edgar and throws back the shot, immediately pressing his lips to the side of his hand as the liquid blazes a fiery trail down his throat to his stomach.

"Knockers d'need to be bigger'n whatcha can hold," be it hand or mouth. "Anythin' more, and a man's just makin' up for the shit he ain't got." Still, the sage-like philosophy from the slightly older man is colored with his own thoughts of the single pair of womanly features he's been enjoying for the last month or so. He pushes the more intimate reminiscences out of his mind, and the name Roderick paired with the general description of the man to his right sparks a memory, and he studies the shorter Englishman out of the corner of his eye. "You ever work in the redistribution business?" he asks as he clears his throat, setting the shot glass back on the small strip of counter that rests between the chairs and the stage.

A finger is point at Edgar and shaken at him, but for lack of a better thing to say — possibly due to the fact that he's a bit addle brained with drink — Roderick simply says, "Noted." As he straightens, another shot is set down in front of him. "Ah… lovely…" He gives the waitress a big grin and offers her a good tip. "You girls spoil me sometimes."

Smedley's question pulls Roderick's attention from the girl to the man, brows lifting a little out of curiosity. "Most of my life — here and over tha pond — yeah. At least til I got picked up." He comments lightly, eyes drifting back to the stage. "I dabble now and then, but mostly I work for Linderman, doing… well… we'll just say I am one of his employees" It's not exactly a secret, since the old man pulled so many strings within the PD to get the painter into his employ. What Roderick does for the guy is.

He picks up the new shot and salutes them both with it, before downing it as well. There is a small cough, brows furrowing at the burn, before he adds, "Why? You too, mate?" He asks, flashing a another grin at Smedley.

Shooting back the tequila, Edgar gives off a violent shudder worthy of a dog coming out of the pool. It goes all the way up his spine and ends in a face wagging 'bbrrrrrr.' That shotglass is slammed down in front of him, much like the other two, then his own glass of liquor is pulled up to his lips. Tequila with a whiskey chaser, nothing manlier than that.

As Smedley and Roderick talk about business, Edgar's eyes are caught by some shiny pasties being twirled around in front of him. His head follows the movement of the tassles like a cat watching a laser pointer on the wall. "Tha's jus'… I' ain' natural 'ow she can make 'em go in diff'rent directions…" He's fascinated as the stripper comes nearer, whirling the decorations first one way, then the other, then in two directions, and finally their reverse.

"Nah," Smedley says with a shake of his head and a glance toward Roderick as he sips from his glass. "Transportation." Related, but not quite the same. Smedley rarely takes something that wasn't intended for him to take - that's a job that goes to someone else in the chain of illegal goods. He just moves it from from the crew that did lift it (if applicable) to the buyer or fence. The fact that Roderick works for Linderman isn't a surprise - it seems that everyone who has ever been in their field or one related to it has or does work for Linderman in some way or another.

He looks back to Edgar, then to the woman and the jiggling extremities he's enraptured with. "S'just talent, boy. Don't stare too long'll she'll hypnotize'y with 'em." A grin creases his face before he takes another sip of the whiskey.

"Really?" Roderick sounds impressed. "I was never one of the blokes that took care of that part of it." He takes a bigger swig from the dark brown bottle of Guinness, letting his eyes wander to watch the tassels. "That bird there… She's a mum… two kids."

Over the PA, which whines a bit when the mic is first opened up, there is announcement about the next dancer. Daisy. There is a grimace and Roderick hops to his feet — swaying just a bit — headrush. "Well, blokes, that's my cue to get the fuck out of here." A glance is given the stage as the music starts, ducking his head a bit, he moves to stand behind the other two.

Leaning down between him, Roderick slaps a hand down on the shoulder of each man. "It has been fun time, mates. I do hope I see ya both around. However, I'm out of here before she sees me." There is a chuckle and a mischievous grin. "Told her I was takin' someone else to this… bloody boring ball." He rubs a hand against his jaw and works it back and forth, "Crazy woman didn't take it too well." Eyes flick to the stage where a blonde is starting her routine. "Remember… don' let her say a bleedin' word."

Patting their shoulders, Roderick steps back with a wave to a waitress. "Another shot for me mates there." He's at least leaving them with a…. parting shot. Ha ha… Yeah I know lame.

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