Participants:
| Scene Title | If The Sun'll Rise |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Because good help is hard to find. |
| Date | September 19, 2009 |
Burlesque: Outside
A good dinner of a huge burger stuffed with french fries and washed down with a pepsi is the first step of getting ready for a hopefully good night. Job search has been a wash…so why not go out with what's her name after all? Kase has managed to toss on a button down shirt in a dark blue color, sleeves long and rolled up a bit to reveal that slightly lighter blue bandana wrapped around a wrist and a few buttons are left undone for the casual feel as it is left unbuttoned over a pair of dark jeans…a clean pair of dark sneakers for easy movement tying the outfit together. It is well known though by folks that know him…you are rarely going to see Kase without a hat, and he wears a ball cap that matches the shirt and bandana worn to the side.
…dressed for a good night indeed, not alone and currently sporting that hint of a smile as he lingers outside of a building, arm wrapped around what's her name's waist, other hand pressed against the wall behind the woman as he murmurs softly about god knows only what and draws a soft giggle from his companion and soft protest about work and so on that draws a fake pout from Kase as he presses closer. - Typical scene for the young mechanic. Some alley he followed the chick down, gentlemanly walking her to work and all.
"ANGELA!"
The masculine bellow reveals the name of what's her name and for a second as Kase looks up to look down the alley there's a 'doh' moment. But he doesn't move as the chick swears and the guy stalking towards them so doesn't look very home. "Shi-not again…" He backs away slowly and holds up his hands. "No trouble here brah." That really rarely works but it was worth a try. Everything would've been fine if…
It was the first hit that did it really, the shoving of the hawaiian transport back that makes those husky blue eyes narrow and by now he's got the bandana wrapped around his hand and that's all she wrote…panicky stripper chick over —-> there and over time there is a flash forward to Kase holding the guy by his hair and pinning him to the ground with a knee in the middle of his back, head pulled back far enough so Kase can meet his eyes and just stare, taking deep breaths.
"Don't put your hands on me brah."
Saturday night is always a promising time of week and day to see something interesting, and while the venue itself is packed to the gills of mostly naked women and patrons of both genders mingling to see the show— it would happen that something slightly more captivating is occurring in the vein of alleyway just next to it. Hidden from the flashy lights and spectacle of Burlesque, two gentlemen make the damp concrete and the roughed up brick wall their stage.
Word travels fast, too. A door opens, a feminine face peeking out, disappearing, hollering something behind her shoulder and she's moved in the next instance and the door opens wider. Shoes of Italian leather, an oil-slick scaly glimmer and bright gold encasing the pointed toe scuff against the concrete as Logan steps out some distance away. Pitch black slacks lead up to a waistcoat of the same tone, save for the silken back which shines a bright crimson. The white shirt has an open collar, stark pale wings unfettered by buttons or tie.
The stripper turns guilty eyes towards her manager, chin up and haughty and making nimble steps for the door, which Logan steps aside to allow, pale pale green eyes watching the scuffle going on instead. He dips a hand into the pockets of his slacks to retrieve both a lighter and a silver cigarette case, though only holds them for now.
It's about when one man finds himself face down on the alleyway floor, hair grasped, gasping, that Logan allows the sharp flick of the lighter to punctuate, a flare of light touching the tip of his cigarette.
Fingers still tangled in greasy hair, even as a mildly irked Kase is shifting to start getting back to his feet, squinting at there is that flare of light in the alley, dragging the guy up with him before grunting as Boyfriend man (whatever his name is)twists around to slam a fist in his gut. He reflexively slams an elbow into a face before releasing the man's hair and starting to back up slowly, holding up hands and eyeing the new person warily.
"That was my girlfriend!"
Kase rolls his eyes though, on edge, warily looking between people. "Relax, I already tapped that…" Probably wrong thing to say, honestly, but he says it so easily! With that Hawaiian lilt to that raspy and somewhat deeper than usually expected voice, he sounds laid back. - He hasn't gotten pissed off yet.
When Kase sends that chilly eyed look towards Logan, he only raises a hand as if to negate his own existence - don't mind me. The cigarette end flares bright orange as he takes a drag, and white smoke thickens the air on the exhale. Not a moment later, a bouncer shoulders his way into the alley, a little late to the party. He gets a vague and princely gesture from the Englishman to hold off, and quiet words at the very edge of hearing of the two brawling men—
"No, it's all under control, I'm sure - you can kick out the loser. Want to put money on it?"
Arm comes up to block/deflect a punch as Kase frowns and listens to what is being said. Money? Money…changes everything. He is briefly winded by a couple of punches. Stomach, Chest, barely ducking another blow for his face.
Insults fly, and Kase is just quiet, backing up slowly towards a wall and then clearing his throat. "Sorry brah." That's all he says before there is a hint of parkour/tricking in his moves as he flips off the wall to land behind the guy and slam a fist against the back of his neck in a very strategic place. Okay…so he drops like a rock but Kase just thumbs the side of his nose and takes a few steps back from the body, fidgeting with that bandana around his wrist, scanning for the next opponent.
"I just do self defense." He's quick to call out, defensive.
No bet was made, in reality, the bouncer shifting uncomfortably because either he doesn't like Logan enough for such offers, or perhaps the winner is too clear. Likely a mixture of both. Logan slides a hand, casual, into the pocket of his jacket, and gestures with the other one, cigarette pointed— "Clean that up." The security man steps forward, barely looking at Kase as he moves to hoist the jealous boyfriend in question up by one limp arm and the collar of his shirt, the sound of scraping staggered foot steps of frog marching echoing through the alleyway.
Logan, meanwhile, flicks some ash off his cigarette. "It's strange, innit," he says, directing his voice to Kase for the first time, "how men with strippers and whores for girlfriends seem to be the most likely to kill anyone who touches them off hours."
Kase watches warily, idly shifting weight from foot to foot, posture still a touch defensive even as he flicks invisible dust off his shoulders and shrugs. He stays quiet as he watches the guy get toted off and such. Then his attention goes back to Logan, husky blues linger on that cigarette for a bit before licking his lips and grunting.
"Yeah…not like I forced 'er or anyting, she just looked so sad and sang so sweet." Wry grin before he coughs and ducks his head again. "The jealousy thing just make you look like a pussy."
A few steps carry the Brit forward, and a flash of silver in the evening light flares as he offers something out - the cigarette case, lid flicked open and pristine white smokes all lined up in as a neat row. "That it does," Logan agrees. His accent is hiked right up a class and a half then what is natural, enunciation falling pristine and clipped, as much as his tone is lazy and drawling. "And yet it happens often enough, and really, the girls don't help a bit - often, they encourage it. I'll thank you for keeping it outside, or I'm afraid you'd both have been kicked to the curb.
To take the cancer stick or to not take the cancer stick. Kase looks a bit uncertain, it is like looking at Satan as he offers you an ice cream cone after you haven't eaten in a week. Just not. He bites his bottom lip and takes a few steps forward to reach out and carefully pluck one of those sexy white sticks, holding it carefully before two fingers…
Then he's taking a step or two back, hand shoving into his own pocket to pull out his cheap green Bic lighter. "…thanks, what you want?" It slips out before he can help it really. He swallows. "I no mea-I mean, I don't mean any uh offense. Thanks." He salutes a bit with the cigarette.
But he has to agree with another nod and a cringe. "I didn't come out here to fight really, sorry man. Didn't think I'd be fishin' in this pond tonight either…"
"Perhaps you should have. Come out here to fight, I mean." Logan drops the case back into his pocket and wraps a long arm around his midsection, other elbow balanced against it as smoke lifts off his cigarette in lazily, stagnant curls, only to disperse when a chilly fall breeze whistles through the alleyway. "You weren't bad, were you? A little tricky, I think, there's only so much acrobatics will get you apart from tired."
Icy eyes go up and down the other man, observing with more detail, now. "Then again, you're built for it, aren't you?" Logan lifts his chin up in a jerk of a nod, meeting eyes again as he sucks in more cigarette smoke, lets it out in twin streams from his nostrils. "What's your name?"
"Nah, I like to bus' heads too much to go out to fight, it be too much fun." Kase mutters around the cigarette as he places it between his lips, cupping his hands as he lights up then frowns as he realizes he said that outloud. He takes a drag off the cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke and shrugging as the tiny white stick is clutched between two fingers. "Maybe, but I came out here cuz Angela has this piercing and I didn't think she took it out ye-"
Babbling isn't always good as he listens and narrows his eyes, trailing off and looking away. "You haven't seen me fight…I'm built for many things, tricks have their place yo but you haven't seen me fight." He coughs softly on a bit of smoke, patting his own chest and shaking his head.
"Name? Heh, M' Kase…" He gestures towards the strange man, still on guard. "You got a name?"
"Logan." The name is offered simply, mouth curled into a smile, as the sound of foot falls echo back through the alleyway, the now empty handed bouncer eyeing Kase with some suspicion before chin upping towards Logan with question in his eyes that doesn't go voiced. "Everything's fine, thank you. I'll finish my smoke out here," the strip club manager dismisses.
It only takes a few more seconds before they're left alone again, the door swinging shut. "I haven't seen many people fight, to tell you the truth," Logan says. "Not out this way. I used to have a place on Staten Island," is all the explanation required, at least, for native New Yorkers. Kase's accent indicates anything but, but then, so does Logan's. "Over here, it may as well be all pansy fisticuffs and masculine posturing. Good help is so hard to find. What is it that you do?"
Husky blues cool as Kase finds a wall to lean against, one hand shoved in a pocket to put that lighter away and the other occupied with holding the cigarette as he smokes quietly and just leans against the wall, foot coming up behind him to rest against/prop against the wall and his head turns to just study Logan carefully, waiting as the bouncer leaves and taking these few seconds to give the man quick once over.
He isn't native, but he knows vaguely about Staten from 'don't go there man' and so on from friends and one night stands since he's been in the city. He just shrugs a shoulder and lets a puff of smoke veil his features to hide a small smirk. "Them shoes, that suit and you talk 'bout pansy? You too slick to care I'm guessing…"
It is the question however that make him bow his head and consider how to answer. "What do I do?" A low chuckle. "I look for work, that's what I do when I'm not meeting the chicks and dicks runnin' around the city." A wave of a hand, cig clutched between two fingers for almost dear life. He's savoring it yo. "But I just fix stuff and hit stuff man."
Rather than take offense— Logan always let's the first one go by— the Brit gives a velvety chuckle and a wider smile. With a languid gesture, he indicates the cut of his clothing. "Never judge a book by its cover. Then again, I try not to hit things if I have people to do that for me."
The mostly spent cigarette is dropped and crushed out into dead ash with the edge of a lifted heel, before Logan takes out a slim, leather wallet. A square of card is extracted, shiny black with the name of the strip club written in neon bright pink. Finer white font gives more important details - a name, a number - and this is offered out across the way, far enough that Kase will have to step forward.
"Not sure about fixing things, but if you're looking for work as you say, I might be able to help you."
Kase actually chokes again on a bit of smoke at the quote about books and judging man, turning away and clearing his throat a couple of times before putting the cigarette out against the wall and damn if he doesn't hold on to the stub left and just stare at her feet for a few moments.
Head finally lifts as he reaches out to take the card…and he has to push off from the wall to take a few steps forward and take the card between his thumb and pinky, squinting a bit and giving a small nod. "Yeah? Cool…" A pause. "I don't strip." He makes sure that is clear.
Logan's eyebrows go up, before he simply states; "No offense, but— thank goodness." With a smile that's knife-like in its quickness, the erstwhile pimp goes to step back at a swagger, turn on his heel and head back for the side entrance. "If I hear back from you soon, I might well have a job that pays handsomely. If you're any good, perhaps there'll be another one like it." His pale fingers curl around the door handle, twists and wrenches it open. "For now, I'll bid you to enjoy your evening."
Kase just pockets that card with care, running his tongue along the back of his top teeth, lips parted, eyebrows raising and he just stares at Logan with eyes that lean a bit more towards grey than blue at the moment, lips finally pressed back together as he loses the retort behind a cloud of 'dude might be your future boss, shut up' in his mind. So he just works on unwrapping that bandana from his hand and back around his wrist. "I'm good at what I do Logan." He arches an eyebrow. "Let's just see if the sun'll rise on the side where I do it for you."
Flash of a grin that slides into a smirk he turns not on his heel but the ball of his foot and starts to head back out of the alley, raising a hand…cigarette butt stowed away safely for now. "Peace out man."