Participants:
| Scene Title | More Than Publicity |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Nalani ventures to Rapture to interview Eliot, and enjoy themselves after wards. Mature Content possibly near end. |
| Date | March 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.
Rapture is not exactly the most comfortable place to hold an interview. Eliot is more than aware of this as he sits at the bar waiting for Nalani. But he'd rather show her to his office himself than have her directed there, so he's waiting for her out here, near the throngs of dancing figures. Deep, booming bass makes the walls tremble, and Eliot takes a sip of his scotch.
It's not Club wear tonight. It's Nalani wear. As in she's skipped out on some function early and she's decked out for some semi-formal shin dig. Her time management was a little off today. Stephanie's had the day off - damn sick assistants - and so she's had to fend for herself. SO she's dressed very much unlike what Eliots usual clients of the bar wear, something black, slinky probably tailored just for her. It took no work to get past the door, Eliot's waiting for her. So through the crowd she comes, a path clearing as she goes towards the bar. "Excuse me. I'm looking for the owner. I have a complaint" It's whispered into Eliot's ear as she comes to step in behind and to the left of him. "I'm a woefully dissatisfied client"
Eliot's grin is something macabre at first. He turns his head just a bit towards her voice, hand sliding behind him to touch her knee, fingers curling, dragging over her skin. "Well. Let's see what we can do to fix that, shall we? We can't have a dissatisfied client; much less one woefully so." He spins slowly in his stool, smiling at her.
"That's why I keep coming back here. Management easily rectifies it's… inadequacies" There's a glance to the bar and one of the bartenders. A bellini seems to be the drink of choice this evening. "Not that there are any" The right side of Nalani's mouth curls up, a fairly feline smile planted on her face as she leans against the bar. "I cut short a dinner. Boring and draining. Pointless. Came here early"
"You're flattering me," Eliot points out with a curved, sickle-like smile of his own. "That means you're up to something." His eyebrow rises and he takes another short drink of his scotch.
"Am I? I thought it was you who wanted something from me hmm? Publicity, a page in the magazine. And only an interview by me would do. Or have you completely forgotten about that request the other night" Not that she had. Nor had Mohinder for that matter. "Bloody hell what cologne are you wearing tonight?"
Eliot raises a brow and gives her a wider smile. "Same cologne I always wear, Nally. I'm a creature of habit; you know that." He finishes his scotch and says, "And I haven't forgotten, no. It's kind of noisy here for that, though. My office?" His smile just gets bigger.
"Your office. Otherwise there will be interruption after interruption adn the questions would never get answered and my ire would just be raised" No new cologne her ass. The drink she ordered is delivered, but it's her arm that is offered to Eliot with expectation that it will be taken.
Eliot does take it. He wraps his hand around her wrist gingerly, and then slides his other arm around her waist, to lead her away. "We'll get you a more suitable drink for the more quiet ambiance," he whispers into her ear as he leads her to the door in the back.
There's that wrist, still in plaster, covered by something so that you can't see the glaring, unfashionable white below it. Though she could surely get it a thousand different colors to suit her. Down go her eyelids, half mast. "And what is a more suitable drink for your office hmmm?" The sounds of her heels are lost in the music and throbbing bodies on the dance floor and the people who talk loud enough in the hopes of being heard above the music but failing. She actually detests the noise, but endures it for publicity sake and because it's just plain expected. "Oh but all those disappointed looks you are leaving behind Eliot. whatever shall you do" A gesture to the other women who stand in their wake.
"Ignore them, of course," Eliot tells her as he opens the door for her and ushers her through it, adding, "in favor of the much more enticing view you afford." His smile is damn near demonic, but hidden by the shadows of the flashing lights behind him. When the door closes behind him, soft lights turn on, and there's a short flight of stairs downward. He gestures for her to follow him, taking her good hand in his.
"You say that to all the woman" Meant as a taunt and a realization. Rapture's owner is a playboy. It's a known fact. Walk with him at your own risk. Danger, rough terrain ahead. He's the black diamond slope. Dangerous. Which makes it all that much more enticing. The different in atmosphere is appreciated, near immediately. Less distracting. Her hand rests loosely in his, other hand trailing on the wall as she and her dangerously high heels follow down the steps.
Eliot isn't so much a playboy as he is… well, okay, yes, he's a playboy. But he keeps a low profile and is discreet about it, so though most people that run in his circles know it, nobody talks about it too much. He's well liked, and nobody wants to make him look bad. His office is one floor down, and he opens the door to let her inside. It's a spartan affair: a desk with a computer, a miniature bar, and a large leather couch that looks incredibly comfortable.
He's the best kept secret. About as best kept as the fact that Nalani actually owns jeans - shhhh - and wears them even. Towards the couch she wanders, slow enough to take in the office and it's simplicity before she sinks down onto the communal seating. "I almost swear Eliot, that you haven't actually sat in your office before from the looks of it"
"I've sat in my office before," Eliot complains with a small smile. "I just also like to keep it clean and tidy. I'm a modern man. So, what would you like to drink?"
"What you were having. On the rocks" there's a wave of her palm, an indication that she was fine with whatever liquid occupied his glass and his stomach. What's good enough for the boss is good enough for her. "Whats different now, Eliot, about Rapture, that should be noted in the article. Obviously not a change in management"
Eliot laughs a bit. "No, not a change in management. We did, however, add a bar in the last year. And we've improved the isolation for the V.I.P. rooms so that the noise is more easily ignored when one wants to ignore it." This is the point in which most people realize his office is completely soundproofed. Not a drop of the noise from above can be heard now that the door is closed. "I don't think we've changed much else, save for some of the staff. But then, I believe that when something works, it's best to let it be." He comes over with two glasses, one with scotch on the rocks, and the other dry. He sits down next to her, a little close, and hands her the former.
The tumblers taken with the measure of grace someone expects from Nalani and her illustrious career. "I can spin that. Improved VIP, the bar, everyone knows about" The glass makes contact with her lips, a small mouthful taken, held, then swallowed, a savor of the scotch. "Easy enough to get work done down here, you can't hear the music" Nalani shifts, leaning more on her right side, legs crossed at the knee, left leg bobs slowly. "Why here. Why should people come here as opposed to say the.. sutra lounge, or 49 grove?"
"I can't lie and tell you we've got better music or whatever. That much isn't true. What I can say is that we treat our patrons with all the respect they deserve. If a drink is off, it's re-mixed and served to specification. Any of the staff is authorized to call in a cab for a patron who is just too tipsy to make it home. We keep our restrooms clean, our floors clean, and we have a roofless smoking area where the patrons that like to smoke can go and do so, and still keep their drinks. Rapture is designed to be a place where the people who patronize it will want to do so again, and again."
"A typical night, for a person who visits…" There's a pause then a wave of her hand. "I'll have someone question Stephanie about such, since she's spent the most time here" There's another small mouthful of the scothc as she watches Eliot. "Upcoming events?"
"Right now we're preparing an Easter event, where there will be eggs hidden in the club and patrons that find the eggs will be able to claim certain prizes. After that, we'll start preparing for the Fourth of July. I like to keep events very specific: I don't want to have superfluous events just to attract people. I want every night at Rapture to be special — when you come inside, you should feel like it's a party. Coming to this club should be an event, in and of itself." Eliot smiles at her, and takes a sip of his scotch.
"Coming to the club is always an event" Murmurs the magazine owner as she relaxes into the couch. Her eyes study the other man's face, her face canted towards the couch as she does so, as if she was trying to pry into his mind. "whats in the eggs?"
"In the eggs? Tickets to various prizes. They don't actually fit inside the eggs themselves. They're tiny, normal egg sized." Eliot shrugs. "We're still trying to figure out what the prizes will be, though."
That answers her question. To be determined at a later date. "I should have enough to have something written up for the article. Praise you and your genius, how you give a taste of something more, than any other place. Where everyone is treated like a VIP, it should be beyond sufficient to jack up that beautiful ego of yours and make your head swell to five times bigger than it usually its" Evil smile.
"Well, Nalani," Eliot says, taking a long drink of his scotch and reaching over to brush something invisible off her knee, softly. "If there's anyone that can get my head to swell…" Cad.
"So subtle Eliot" There always seems to be something invisible on her knee to brush off, or something only he can see. "You don't want me. I eat men for breakfast and not in that fashion" That doesn't stop her from brushing a heel against his leg. "Any particular issue you want your little spotlight to be in?"
"I am subtle," Eliot tells her. "I could be a hell of a lot less subtle, if that's what you'd prefer," he points out with a snide grin, before taking another drink of scotch. "I'm sure whichever issue you choose will be more than satisfactory."
"No, i'll take this subtle. Directness is.. necessary only sometimes and I hardly think that you need any directness" Mohinder. Fleetingly there's a thought to him. "Is there anything that you can think of, that you wish to add to the article" her Scotch is put down, so she can finger walk her manicured nails across his knee and up his thigh.
Eliot's own scotch is finished and put aside. He glances at her, and then down at her fingers walking up his thigh. He brushes his hand over her knee again, this time letting his fingers rest around it, and slowly slide a few inches up, pushing that short, black skirt up along her smooth leg. "No," Eliot says, looking up into her eyes. "I think I've said all I wanted to."
There's just something about this man. One can never quite pin their finger on it. "Action speaker louder than words" That's Nalani's reply, flushing from his words and his actions. "Then stop speaking"
Fade…
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