Participants:
| Scene Title | Face To Face With It. |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | All in a nights work, Ina meets Logan's new bitch. |
| Date | August 25, 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.
Ina stands outside one of the change rooms near the exit to the fire escape that the girls at Burlesque have been using all day apaprently. Smoking, nasty fucking habit and sadly, it was one that she had. She was used to it growing up thanks to her father and the laws that were not in place then like they are now. Second hand smoke became more dangerous than actually smoking.
"Come on girls. Your on in five Cherry, can you just hurry up getting your pasties on already? It can't take you that long to slap them on. If your areola is showing, so what. The guys will tip you more, just get your ass moving already before Logan comes in here and gives you hell."
Whatever arguments might be thrown through the door or warnings, Ina misses it as she turns, stalking down the hall so she can go check on the floor and make sure that everything's fine. Logan will be around at some point and until whatever time period this prophecy that Linderman's pet prophetic painted passed, Ina's here and working. Four weeks had turned into much. Much. Longer.
Black heels with red soles stride down the hall and eventually come to a rest down on the floor of the main room, music playing in time to the writhing blonde up on the stage in her erotic state of dress, or rather un-dress. A few of the other workers of the female variety are perched or twisting here and there, private dances one on one with patrons.
"Pull Jenny off the guy she's with" Ina murmurs to one of the servers, a gesture to a youthful woman in red who's gyrating as she proffers her rear to the blinged out low pants wearing guy who's just slapping his buddie's shoulders and pointing to the sequined g-string that's quite almost nearly in his crotch. "He's not here to pay, just play, he's been nursing that drink the whole damn time I've been in the back. She's better off working up that guy over there and not encouraging that one. He's been through two drinks at least" There's a gesture to a tweedy looking guy. God, she hates it here. Not because of the girls strutting about in the clothing equivalent of floss.
No, Ina loves that part. Logan knows that enough if the whispers behind the doors are any hint. "Tell her to hit up that guy. Guaranteed, he'll cough up money, little blinged out wanna be won't. He's putting on a show" There's a glance down to the watch on her wrist, a wrinkle of her nose. "God, I need a smoke. Call if something happens" And she's gone, shoes striking back off across the floor towards the doors that lead to the back and employee's only.
A stop by one of the rooms not occupied by women plumping and fluffing breasts or shimmying into garters. A second or two to appreciate the view, a wink for the brunette in the corner and she's grabbing a smoke, liberating a engraved zippo from a pocket in her skirt near the waistband.
Palm slaps down on the exit to the ground, door swinging open and heels striking soundly as she steps out the back door into the parking lot. One cigarette out, placed in the corner of her mouth and lifting so she can cup her hand around the burgeoning flame and let the end of the smoke turn orange and red with the lighting up of the tobacco inside.
She freezes soon enough when the growling starts, frozen in spot as her eyes flicker around to try and figure out where the hell that not so good sound is coming from. Strays? D'Sarthe and his rumored fucking tiger come to chew her up and spit her out for her indiscretion earlier in the day?
Tigers don't… growl do they?
It comes again, Ina's hands still up as if protecting the slender stick of nicotine in her mouth while she pivots on her expensive heels and comes face to face with it. "Holy Shit" The smoke is dropped, sliding from her lips when her mouth drops and probably as fast as anyones seen the brunette move, she's gone, fingers scrabbling at the door to whip out her key and let herself back in. It's when she's inside, managed to close the door behind her.
It's when she gets the nerve up, that she opens the door again, sticking her head between the door and wall, wide eye'd as if to make sure that what she saw was what she saw. There on the ground, chained near the door, glaring at Ina when she dares to poke some portion of her body out, is Cheza. The saarloose wolfhound and Kains present to Logan.
"Logan" It's bellowed out, bouncing around the parking lot and down the hall, prompting more than one look in the womans direction by other employee's as the door is slammed shut.
No wonder all the strippers were smoking on the fire escape.