Participants:
| Scene Title | Harmless Fun |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | No, really. Laura probably wouldn't hurt a fly. She'd just — make it disappear. Like coasters and quarters and just about anything else that affords her the opportunity tonight. |
| Date | June 28, 2009 |
The pulsing beat of bass throbs through the walls of Rapture, a high-class nightclub in the heart of Harlem. Rows of expensive cars line up out front of the exclusive club and a crowd of would-be patrons wait outside, cherry-picked by the bouncers to have only the cream of the crop on the interior, while leaving just enough eye-candy outside to entice other patrons. The club serves as a respite for the trendy and the influential from the grind of daily life.
On the inside, Rapture is as much a spectacle as it is a structure. Multiple dance floors in tiered balconies overlooking an enormous central dance floor ringed by plush leather-upholstered booths. Pale blue light shines on the wrap-around bar that curved around the back of the establishment, and the entire building is filled floor-to-floor and shoulder-to-shoulder with the pulsing, flowing sea of people dancing to the rythmic beats of electronic dance music piped through the expansive sound-system.
Glitzy light, elegant decor, loud electronica, and ample alcohol… Laura doesn't actually wander down here all that often, where the sound is probably slowly killing her ears. But once in a while it is entertaining to drop in.
She's wearing a sight more makeup than she does for either of her jobs — dark, bold eyeliner and mascara, a streak of glitter along either cheekbone, lip gloss, cerulean nail polish. A blouse nearly the same color as the nails, beneath a loose black jacket left open; the knee-length skirt is black and blue shot with silver, as is the scarf that is surely nothing more than decorative. But Laura is neither dancing nor drinking, at the moment; not with that glint in her eyes.
The imp smiles a small, mischievous smile, and makes her way over to a likely-looking booth. Occupied, of course. Hey, can I borrow that coaster?
Eliot is where he always is when he's in the club and not wanting to be alone: the bar nearest the entrance. He's even dressed like a patron rather than an owner: slacks, untucked button-up with the sleeves rolled up, his sunglasses tucked in his collar. He spots Laura — he knows her from somewhere — when she comes in. Hard to miss, even in the throng.
It's the hair. White-blonde, in this environment allowed to fluff up in something that's almost spiky rather than combed into tameness — it tends to get noticed. Or maybe it's the young woman's enthusiastic energy, as she plucks the coaster from a bewildered hand. Thanks. Spoken with a beaming smile, one that never quite goes away as she continues.
I bet you've never thought about what else you can do with a coaster, have you? They make really good frisbees. Laura mimes throwing the coaster, but seems to rethink this idea before letting go, catching sight of the crowd on the dance floor. You know… maybe not in here. They'd never forgive me. Oh! I know! I can pass it through the table. Shall I show you?
Eliot is close enough to watch, but he can't hear. He doesn't need to. He drags his drink closer and lifts it, taking a short gulp and leaning his elbows back against the counter. What in the world is she doing now? He grins a little.
Still looking bemused, but curious, heads bob, clearly giving permission for the demonstration. Sure. Go ahead. Maybe just so Laura will smile again, which she of course doesn't fail to do. Cool! Then, if you could take this… She shrugs off the scarf, directs them to hold it under the table, presumably to catch the coaster. Now, of course, this is your coaster… She holds it out, turns it over so they can see both sides. I didn't do anything wonky to it, honest. And yet…
Laura sets the edge of the coaster against the table, hand flattened above it, and presses down steadily. The coaster does indeed appear to pass through — or down into the table, at any rate. When it's gone, she sweeps her hands away, lets them poke and prod at the space in question.
Now, if you could hand me my scarf… She takes it from them, shakes it out… no coaster. Well… huh. It was supposed to go through… Laura gives the table's occupants a perplexed look. I don't suppose you know where it went…? Of course not.
Eliot raises a brow. Magicians, always the showman type; or showoman, as the case may be. Eliot's brand of magic is a lot more personal, and a lot less… ledgerdemainish. He finishes his drink and stands up, starting to head Laura's way while she finishes the trick.
There's magic, and then there's magic. The little stuff is all about the show. Are you sure? Have you checked your jacket pockets? She asks the person the coaster came from; nothing in the pockets. Okay, what about yours? Wait, how did this get in there? Well, how about that! I think it likes you better. We'd better give him your coaster instead. Laura proceeds to shuffle the other, untouched coaster over to the person who now lacks any, before even the thought of protest or any other response enters their heads; then she wraps her scarf around her hands and steps back to take a bow, fringed ends of the adornment dancing. Enjoy your drinks! Laura beams at them one more time, then turns away, blue gaze sweeping the crowd for another subject. Which of course leads to… "Eliot! Hi," she calls as he closes the distance, offering yet another bright, broad grin.
Eliot slips his hands into his pockets and perks a brow at her. He stops when she bounces over, and smiles briefly. "Laura." A short glance at his patrons, and then back at her. "Dazzling my patronage with your antics, I see."
Laura chuckles at Eliot. "It's a little harmless fun; wouldn't begrudge me that, would you?" she asks. She does the innocent and plaintive act rather well, even if the impish glint in her eyes belies it throughout. The young woman plants a spontaneous, chaste kiss on Eliot's cheek; drops a coaster in his hands. "Here, I think this belongs to you. More or less." Laughter in her tone, though Laura doesn't quite actually laugh.
Eliot catches the coaster and raises his brows a bit, again. He flicks the coaster at the table she took it from, with a wave to the charmed patrons, and swings an arm around Laura's shoulders. "I'm not begrudging you anything, hon. What brings you over? Or did you just want to play magic pixie for a crowd tonight?"
"Oh, nothin' business," Laura answers, leaning companionably into his arm. "And if I wanted to play the crowd I'd pitch for a stage gig." The imp gives this its due — which is to say brief — consideration. "Maybe not here — they'd never hear me over the music. Just got bored, figured I'd shake things up a bit." She grins at Eliot.
Eliot is many, many things, and a flirt is one of those things. "World could use more shaking coming from you." Smooth. "You want a drink? On the house." He leads her to the bar.
Laura laughs softly. "Mm. That sounds like the kind of thing that gets my face plastered all over the media. Counterproductive, don't you think?" She lets him lead her across the room. "Sure, I'll take one. What do you recommend?"
"Trust me, babe, there's more famous people than you in this club. No media affiliates would give you a second glance unless they were on break and trying to score." Eliot sits down on a stool and motions for her to take a seat next to him. "Daiquiri. Margarita. Martini."
Laura looks sidelong at Eliot; not what she meant. She lets it slide, though, not being an important topic; places her order and perches on the stool indicated, swiveling around to face Eliot.
Eliot smiles a bit at Laura and then takes his own drink — he usually has a steady flow of it — and takes a sip. "So if you came here of all places because you were bored, then your life must be seriously lacking in excitement, hrm?"
Accepting her drink from the bartender with a murmured thanks and accompanying flash of a smile, Laura shakes her head. "Nah. It's only stuff you do all the time that get boring. And I just do enough…" She lifts a hand, produces a quarter from 'thin air'; walks it across her knuckles; vanishes it again. "…to keep my touch. Different places, different tricks." She looks sidelong at Eliot. "Maybe you need to get out more."
"Eh. I get out enough. Not that one can get out much lately." What with curfew and all. Eliot watches the quarter and then smiles, wide and bright. "Maybe you just need new things to do. More exciting job prospects."
"Clearly not!" Laura has no compunctions about disagreeing with Eliot, even if he's spotting her the drink. She smiles at him over her glass. "Sure you can. It just takes… a little more work." The woman takes a sip of her drink; one pale brow arches as he continues. "That might be. Would you — have a suggestion, perhaps?"
"Trust me, I try plenty hard." Eliot takes another long drink and adds, "Not really. But if I think of anything, I'll be sure to let you know." He leans against the bartop and glances at the dancefloor, before having another drink.
"Well, if you're still bored, something's not working right." That's Laura's obligatory piece of unasked-for advice for the day. She finishes her own drink, slides off the stool. "Thanks for the drink, but if you'll excuse me…" The imp winks at Eliot, then slips off into the crowd, in search of more people to dazzle and amaze — at least for a while.