Participants:
| Scene Title | Secrets Secrets… |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | …are no fun, unless they are for everyone. |
| Date | March 17, 2019 |
A club in Brooklyn.
It's a party! Maybe the place is under new management, maybe they're trying to get fresh blood. Maybe something completely different. Whatever the case may be, the cover charge is minimal, deals on alcohol are great, and there's plenty of it to go around. There are also plenty of people, probably taking advantage of the exciting low low price of getting drunk for the night.
Extremely talented waitstaff move through the crush to some tables on the edge, but most of the floor is reserved for dancing. A mass of bodies gyrate to a heavy beat as lights flash and move across the faces, lighting one up here and there before they move on in a dizzying display.
Hey, Sahara Jackson will take whatever reason there is to party. Any excuse to dress well and let off some steam is excellent, and clubs like these are one of the boons that lured her to city life. A drink isn't currently in hand, but she's out in the center of the floor, taking in the light and dancing. Her head is tilted back toward the ceiling, arms raised up above her head while she sways with the beat. She's waiting for a friend, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy herself in the meantime!
Who's popular at a club? The guy selling molly. Sure, it's fake popularity, but Rex Kallis is all about instant gratification and instant monification. Not a word? It is now. His lean form moves through the crowd much like the talented wait staff, but he's experienced enough to stay off of their radar — somehow managing to make a deal here or there when no one's looking.
It doesn't look like a sale, of course — it looks like a whisper between friends, a dance shared over a few bars of music, and maybe a quickly copped feel, when product meets back pocket on one side and money meets front pocket on the other. There's nothing to hide up top, given the slinky purple tank he wears, but punk-style cargo pants on the bottom have a lot of pockets to stow a lot of pills and maybe even a syringe or two.
It's been a while since Remi got to go out and actually party. Back in her acting days, she would frequent upscale clubs in Hollywood, often getting a private booth and inviting only those she liked the look of in to party with her, sharing expensive champagne bottles and generally enjoying the life of an A-list actress who could have anything she wanted. Occasionally, she would all but take over a VIP area, and have a general good time.
It's different these days. She's not a household name who can simply walk into a room and have everyone's eyes on her. The woman whose face and DNA she shares (and not much else) was famous, but not Hollywood famous. Still, she isn't poor right now, and so Remi, or 'Amelie' as she goes by now, is dressed up in a fancy little dress from the Davignon Fashion House, a sleeveless black and pink and purple number, complete with a pair of Jimmy Choos — she has to have at least one nice dress, after all. Once entry is gained, the redhead makes her way up to the bar, intent on obtaining some kind of sweet alcoholic beverage or another.
Also out near the center of the dance floor Isa Wesley-Khan swings her hips in a circle and shakes her shaggy looking tonight brown hair. Hazel eyes half lidded as she raises an arm to point a finger at Rex and wink, she's already had one pill and the feelings of ecstasy washing over her have hit strong. The lights in the club seem brighter to her, the music feeling as if it's actually moving through her. Her body rolls and waves of heat radiate out from her gently but rising from the effects of the drug changing her mood.
A firm stomp of her booted feet and slap of her hands on the well fitting black jeans. Isa's bare shoulders shimmy to the beat of the song and she twirls before she's strutting over to Rex with a light in her eyes. Something behind those eyes.
"Yoooooooo," stopping in front of him and reaching her entirely too hot hand to grab his arm in an effort to pull him out onto the dance floor. "Come dance. All work and no play and bullshit!"
Isis arrives late. We can't even call it fashionably late, because well… she's not frumpy but she doesn't lay a claim to any 'Jimmy Chews', a dress worth naming, or … any dress for that matter. What she does arrive in is a pair of skinny jeans frayed purposefully at the knees, ass kicking boots with a polished sheen that boarders on kinky quality, and an open backed black shirt that reveals her tribal inkwork - a intricate, ebon contrast to the plane of her pale, alabaster canvas.
The newly arrived redhead stops short with the look of one clearly giving themselves an internal pep-talk. How do you know? Well, hazel eyes go from searching to a fiery fuck-it - counseled by the bass of music and smell of booze that encourages one and all to throw cautions to the wind. The bar is the first stop, a brief tour and she's weaving out onto the dance floor with a sway already at her hips, hazel eyes trending towards a vibrant green as they seek out a familiar face.
A trio of girls who miiiiight be too young to actually be at this club right now but have done their best to look like they aren't approach Rex, and one of them leans in close to him to say something so that only he can hear. It's loud enough that it's unlikely she has to be very careful, but still, one never knows. When Isa comes to pull him away, though, she says a little louder, "Hold on a second."
"What can I get for you?" The bartender comes over to Remi pretty quickly, giving her an appreciative look that is a little bit less than professional. Not too much less, but hey. He's only human.
Suddenly, Sahara gets jostled by someone someone else who's dancing very enthusiastically. "Oops! Sorry," he says as he catches himself with a hand on her arm, though it's only a brief touch before he moves away.
Only to bump into Isis a few moments later! He's a very exuberant dancer. However, he's not the only one who brushes past her as she makes her way across the dance floor to Sahara. Another group pushes toward her like an amoeba, pulsing and dilating and also bumping into people which is kind of annoying but par for the course.
When one song shifts to the next, Sahara's eyes slide open. The new one isn't as familiar to her, and she takes a moment to reorient herself, seeing where she is in relation to the rest of the club, and the bar in particular. When her head turns that way, her arms remain in the air but with more tension to them before. One drops, and the other waves with more purpose than rhythm. "J—!" she starts to call out when she's jostled.
She's not immediately offended, the spoken apology certainly helping. A forced smile along with a, "You're good, you're good," send the man along his way … right where she was trying to go. At least he helps cut a path for her! "Joanna~" Sahara calls out with singsong excitement, trying to ignore the flailing dancer. She reaches out to grab Isis's hand and pull her closer if she has to. "You made it!" Her honeyed tones are heavy tonight, weighted down by alcohol.
"Ah, but my work is play and my play is work, darling. I am dancing!" Rex protests, but he doesn't protest. "Just keep those pretty little hands of yours out of my pockets. You look like you might know you're way around a pocket or two. Takes one to know one, don't be offended."
He slides his hand into hers, to hold her there a moment, when Jailbait Number 1 comes to whisper in his ear. The man doesn't care that she's too young to buy cigarettes or alcohol, let alone illicit drugs — he's a businessman after all. He nods and leans to murmur in her ear, his dark eyes sliding around the club to keep an eye out for signs of authority as he reaches into one of his pockets. "Speaking of pickpockets," he murmurs to Isa, a nod for the guy bumping into everyone — it's a common trick, after all. "Watch yourself, Oliver. It's looking downright Dickensian out there."
Blue eyes meet the bartender's for a moment, before she moves on to briefly sizing her up. The less than professional look is filed away — at one point, the looks that men frequently have given her were a nuisance, but now they're a bit flattering. A charming smile is flashed to the man. "Mm, let's do a Tequila Sunrise. Light on the actual alcohol, I have to be responsible." She chuckles, before turning away from the bartender to people watch as she waits for her drink."
Being cut off by a young woman use to end up with that woman's hair on fire but now that Isabelle is a mom (a mom who parties, does drugs and murders, its 2019) to a very vocal young woman the pyrokinetic has learned to chill just a little and not immediately start lobbing fireballs. Also she wanted to stay free in this timeline, this was apparently the last stop. Sometimes she had her suspicions. Waving the girl off to make her attempt at buying narcotics her eyes do peep the man as he bumps into people.
"That was my favorite move," spoken lazily but loudly enough for Rex to hear, "When I was sixteen." A roll of her eyes but she nods. Isabelle almost wills fate to send him in her direction. Feelings of ecstasy or not.
doubt that silent pep talk. But, then there's a quick jostle, a social-awkward chuckle of forgiveness from bumpee to bumper, and… Sahara's smile to light up the day! Before she knows it, Isis is grinning back. She casually double checks the seatbelt and tray table on her ability - secured and stowed in the safe and proper position, before reaching out to take Sahara's hand.
"Hey, girl, ~hey~," the redhead singsongs back over the music. "This place is crayzay! And, you seem to be lovin' it!" Her tone has all the weight of an accusation that her tilted grin does not. No prompting necessary, no second guessing, no delay - with a lightness about her she hasn't felt in some time, the woman answering to Joanne gets to the purpose of tonight's outing - the dancing.
The girl smiles at whatever Rex says to her, she and her friends clearly appreciating that he doesn't go off with Isa and leave them bereft — of what they want, that is. It's not his presence this time. No offense, Rex. You're great. One of the friends has to take a step or two forward when she gets bumped, but she takes it in stride. It's not her first time here.
Either the young man bumping into people doesn't hear Rex's comment, or he doesn't care. He continues to bump his way through the people around, and soon he's out of sigh among the crush.
The bartender laughs when Remi does, and says, "Coming right up," before he turns away to get it for her. Another patron of the club comes up next to her then, leaning his forearms on the bar as he waits to get his own drink. He turns to Remi absently, as one does when one is waiting for something, then turns away again…only to turn back again. "Hey," he says slowly, "you look really familiar."
Sahara grins, attempting innocence in her look, but the guilty pleasure she's taking from the evening ruins her angelic disposition. She lifts her other hand to her mouth, finger held up in a shushing gesture. "Come on, don't make a big deal out of it! It's been a while since I've had a good reason to come out, I've got to make the most of it!"
She had things on her mind, things that needed worked out of her with a night out like a good knot needed a skilled masseuse.
"It's been a while, how've you been?" Sahara tries to keep her voice at a level so she's heard, but not shouting over the music on the floor. Her shoulders continue to sway back and forth to the beat out of habit. "You need anything?"
Trading a trio of tabs for a trio of bills, Rex grins at the set of Heathers. "Come again, and don't tell your parents," he says with a wink, before he turns back to Isa. "I'd say mine, too, but let's be honest… I pickpocketed the boys I'd lured into the bathroom stalls or back alleys. May as well make it a two-for, right?" He lets her pull him onto the dance floor, pretty sure the dance was all she wanted and that she'd already caught onto the fact she's not his preferred flavor.
"So what do you think of this place? I'd complain about the doormen not keeping out the children, but, well, it's not like I mind the extra customers. Get 'em while they're young. As clients, of course."
"I get that a lot," she replies in her California accent, grinning to the man who has decided to talk to her. "Probably why I do so good as a celebrity impersonator!" She smirks at the other man, looking him over thoughtfully, before turning her gaze back over the crowd. "If I danced ballet, I don't think anyone would be able to tell the difference between me and the late Remi Davignon!" She laughs, then, glancing back to the fellow.
"Lured!"
Isa shouts over the music as they dance their way through the crowd closer to the center of the place. Spinning around in a circle with a laugh, "You would've loved my girl Brenda. Sound just like her!" The thought of her friend brings a faint look of hurt across her face but the questions asked gives her an easy out, "Its cheap here, I like that." Shrugging her shoulders, Yamagato was fancy enough for the pyrokinetic and even then she missed the dirt and grime of the New York of old. It was grimier now and more fucked most would say but Izzy knew how deeply fucked this place could potentially get.
"The drugs are very good." Another wink for her newfound friend and Izzy takes a step back as she shakes her hair, "We need to find you a man, I've given up my days of being an unclean woman!" Air quotes with a snort. It's in that moment that Isabelle realizes she hadn't even looked at another man in that way since arriving, she didn't notice them really. Not anymore.
"Me? Need anything?" Joanne's pale brows knit nearer and up - much like the way one looks a really adorable cat their about to adopt, even though they may not have planned it. The redhead rests a hand on her sternum, her feet still doing the two-step as she calls back, "You're just the sweetest, you know that?" There's something about the rhetorical question that has the same quality as a drunk dude's 'I love you, brah.', sans slurring.
"You are a good friend, really. I heard what you-" Scratch that, start again. She smiles anew. "I mean, I have be a better friend. Case in point, did you know my name isn't even really Joanne?" The hand upon her sternum pulls away and is offered into the small space between herself and Sahara in some physical representation of the connection and real friendship she's offering here. Her smile and the subtle dance she indulges, though, are both unwavering.
The girls go on their merry way, giggling and heading quickly toward the facilities just as the DJ changes the song for another similar song. Can anyone really tell when these songs change, though? It's all EDM noise anyway. Yeah, I said it. Don't @ me.
"Wow, really?" the guy talking to Remi says, squinting a little but and leaning toward her. "Yeah, that's who I was going to say!" he says after she mentions Remi. "Wow, this is so crazy. I cut her picture out of a magazine and had it up on my wall. Actually, I still have it up. Well, actually I'm still in the same room." He says it all very easily, though after a second, he seems to realize what he's said, and a look somewhere between embarrassment and confusion settles onto his face, for some reason.
Sahara's brow shoots up in surprise, but instead of being alarmed by something that simple being a deception like some might, she's deeply appreciative of being let in on the secret. "Honey, that is so sweet of you to say about me, you know? I bet you have the prettiest name, even if it's hard to say. Some people just can't get their brains around 'Sahara' and shorten it to 'Sara', which is really frustrating, but I try not to mind."
Leaning in to confide something meaningful, she confesses in a rather loud hush, "It's at least better than what my brothers called me when they were being foul to me. 'Hairy'. Can you believe that?" Her hand flips up to wave it away, not letting any one thing or another get her down. "But really! Let's get some drinks. First round's on me?" she beams warmly. Because that's just what friends do!
"A man! Scandalous," says Rex with a laugh, dancing in the close way that Club goers often don, getting up close and personal as he moves his body against hers. "I really don't do monogamy though. Tell me — you're a changed woman? Just one man to all of this?" he asks Isa, hands finding her back and sliding lower. "I mean, poor every other man in the world who isn't flying the rainbow flag. I'd be heartbroken if I played on that team, darling."
He reaches into his pocket to pull out two tabs, offering one to her on his finger and taking the other for himself — Fred and Wilma Flintstone shaped, but much more adult than vitamins. "Freebie for making me take a few moments for myself, sweet thing. What's your man's name? Does he swing my way once in a while? Maybe we can mix it up. You know, for variety's sake."
The telepath with the broken ability blinks a few times, looking somewhere between uncomfortable and amused and sympathetic. She stares for a long moment, before shaking her hed and waving a hand. "Oh, that's nothing. Once, I was doing this really important play. I must've had something awful the night before, because I totally shit my pants. I don't think anyone noticed, but I certainly did." Remi snorts, shaking her head — then, she realizes what she just said, and turns red. "I — I mean…"
A roar of laughter at Rex and Izzy playfully shoves at him with her tongue poking out, "Yes one. He's one of a kind, truly!" That has her thinking of the waffles Shaw might have at home waiting for her when she arrives drunk as a skunk.
The compliments are appreciated and Isabelle laughs and pretends to look sheepish but when he offers the tab for free her eyes widen and she gets a mischievous look on her face, "What. A. Wonderful. Night." There's a funny moment for the brunette and she leans in to say to Rex's face,
"I murdered my mother and father when I was young," in a completely normal tone of voice, "And sometimes I dream about killing more."
Cheerful smile. Wait. What?
There's that puppy-love look again! How sweet and innocent must one person be to entirely misinterpret Isis's confession of secret identities? Isis tips her head, a few errant curls cutting across her gaze that has soothed back to a prismatic hazel. Her smile softens and brightens and even dares towards a little chuckle in all the proper cue points of Sahara's childhood tale. "That's my dad's name!" Isis's voice doesn't usually hit that merry, high-chipper octive. She then just as quickly wrinkles up her button-shaped nose. "Wait. You said hairy not Harry." LeviosA, anyone?
Isis starts laughing indulgently at the mix-up… and the story, now that it has clicked just a half second later than most. She turns at Sahara's invitation to the bar and hooks her arm chivalrously into the crook at the blonde's elbow. "Now we're talking!" Isis grins a bit too proudly at the double meaning in her choice of phrase, and works with Sahara to cut a path to the bar.
The guy who's talking to Remi's eyes widen when she shares this very intimate detail with him, and while he does probably feel a little bit less like he's said the most embarrassing thing in this conversation, he does look even more confused. Because who would willingly share that with a random stranger? "Wow, really?" he asks. "That's crazy. I guess they're not kidding about the show having to go on, right?"
Isa isn't exactly quiet, and a young woman dancing near her hears what she's said. She turns around quickly, a little gasp escaping her, and she grabs the hand of the guy she's dancing with and fairly drags him away.
The music continues to ebb and flow, and another song comes on. It's still in an EDM style, but this time there's lyrics to go with it. It sounds like a remix of something.
Let me know that I've done wrong
When I've known this all along
I go around a time or two
Just to waste my time with you…
Sahara laughs right along with Isis, beaming and placing a hand on her shoulder as she tries to get her breath, even though her cheeks are burning with embarrassment. She normally doesn't make a habit out of sharing anything that personal, but her and Isis have been getting on for a while now. When she's taken by the arm and swung back in the direction of the bar.
There's a sigh, relieved and happy that comes from her. "You know, I'm so glad we ended up meeting, Jo. I was worried about moving up here and being up here all alone, and so was my family." They're passing by the twined dancers of Rex and Izzy at this point. "They were so concerned about the lack of patriots up here, but I told them I'd be fine…" Sahara turns back to Isis with a fond, warm smile as they keep heading for the bar. "City life ain't so bad after all, you know. You stay in the same groups long enough, everything starts to get that small-town charm again!"
"Did you!" shouts back Rex. He looks impressed, not disturbed, which is probably disturbing in itself, really. He sways with the music, lean hips pressing against her backside as he shouts back, "I drugged this asshole so my friends and I could kidnap him. We cut off his finger. You would like my friend Astrid. You two would totes get along, I think, and oh, my God I could dress you both up like my salt and pepper barbie shakers. You know, because she's blond and you have all these raven locks," he says, pulling her hair off her neck and letting it fall again.
His eyes find Sahara and Joanne coming their way, his ears catching on that word patriot. "Interesting," he purrs out against Isa's neck. "Are they the only two you've killed?" He asks, as if he's asking her if she's only seen a couple of Broadway sows. RIP Broadway. "I do a bit of wet work, but mostly, you know, for information or a little revenge. Murder is so, I don't know. 2011."
The look on Remi's face can only be described as mortified. She stares at the other man with wide eyes. "…Yeah." Unfortunately, she's embarrassed herself without even meaning to; with a shake of her head, she pushes a bill onto the bar for the bartender. "I should probably not drink tonight. You have a good night." Then, the woman is turning toward the door, face pale like she just ate something bad. What on earth possessed her to say that?
It allows her to hear both Isabelle and Rex's proclamations of killing people, and she pauses, briefly focusing on the two. She knows Isabelle, didn't she not make it through? Or is this some other version? She stops and stares rudely for just a little bit too long.
"Get out!" In this instance Isabelle means get over here like minded person. "Did you keep the finger as a trophy? I'd love to meet Astrid! I need some salt in my life." Winkwink.
As Sahara and Isis walk by and she too hears the words patriots and there's a bark of laughter in the direction of the blonde and her redhead companion. "Yeaaaaa about that…" Her eyelids flutter under the effect now various drugs coursing through her system. She doesn't feel that her confessions are strange, Rex is a friend! A trustworthy friend! So his next question isn't that no brainer to answer,
"Nah, I've killed way too many people to remember the number I'm not OCD." A wave of her hand, "Once I barbecued a pin full of children!"
The redhead, still miraculously going by Joanne, grins and tips her head forward, eyes widening slightly. "No way - I was worried about coming back alone, too…" The bent elbow in the crook of Sahara's arm gives a little squeeze of reassurance. "It's scary feeling so isolated around so many." A wary gaze is cast about the barroom, looking to the throng of people as a perfect example.
With that uplifted gaze, with Rex's eyes directed on her person and her companion, it's impossible not to catch the horrifying secrets bubbling over in that sharing circle. If Isis had found anything odd in Sahara's choice phrasing regarding patriotism, she's not afforded the opportunity to remark on it. The entwined killers are a bit more pressing.
"Oh great, dead children jokes - are we back in the friggin' ninties? That's not even fucking funny…" There's a lurching disgust in Isis's stomach that broils up into her pale, cherbbic features. Her hazel eyes start to change shades with her mood as she tries to divert Sahar's path now. "Maybe we should leave?"
"Uh…okay." The guy stares as Remi practically runs away, but hey, he was kind of embarrassed, too, so he doesn't really mind it. He finishes up his drink and pays his tab, then starts away toward the door as well, maybe to go take down his poster of Remi Davignon in his room at his parents' house so this doesn't happen again.
Suddenly, the song shifts again, and those feelings are gone. All those relaxed happy vibes, all those desires to tell complete strangers things they may not have even told their best friends. The things that don't disappear, though, are the memories. People stop dancing and start looking at each other very weirdly, and a few of them start turning bright red and walking out.
Sahara looks back toward the two talking about death, still arm in arm with Isis. "Yeah, maybe we should," she agrees, right around the time the song shifts and the warm haze over her starts to strip away. Her earlier embarrassment is nothing compared to the way she feels now, a sickening feeling in her stomach.
Man, she never talked about politics, even obtusely, unless she was already absolutely certain of the other person's stance. What had gotten into her? This was even worse than when she'd went off after the whole Dirk incident. Had she really drank that much?
She suspects it's something more, but doesn't want to give any voice to it, afraid of getting that look again from Isis … or worse.
So she puts on a cheery smile and squeezes her friend's arm in her own. "Guess we're drinking at home."
Rex raises his brows and steps back a little from Isis, looking still impressed but a little worried. "I am morbidly curious to know what that means, but also afraid to ask," he says. "Are you a cannibal?" he whispers.
The music shifts and he's still got a bit of the feel-good vibes, thanks to the molly — and the money in his pockets, because it's been a lucrative night. Still, he takes a step back from his dance partner. "Well. This bit much oversharing hasn't been seen since Facebook in late 2011, I think. Shall we impose a 'you don't share my secrets if I don't share yours?' clause in our business contract?" He holds up his hand to pinkie promise her, before winking at Sahara as they walk by. "Tom Brady has a fine ass," he tells the patriot.
A brief glance is spared to the man who has Remi's likeness up on his wall — that in itself is a bit mortifying, and would be enough to turn her away, but admitting that incident that caused way too much embarrassment on top of that is just…too much. At least she (hopefully) ruined whatever he did with that poster on his wall.
Shaking her head, Remi turns and makes her way toward the door, after memorizing Rex's face.
"Of course not!" As if being a cannibal would be the worse thing compared to what she's already said. "I'm a pyro." Duh. Her index finger erupts into fire. The orange flame tiny but bright. Isabelle laughs it off and that's when the music shifts and her face slowly fills with dread at what she had divulged. "Um.." looking down at Rex's pinky. The secrets were enough to almost drag her to soberland.
"Deal. Whatever your supplier put in that stuff," Isabelle grimaces and rubs the back of her head. "Tell them to not do it again."
That upward lurch of disgust is suddenly contradicted by the sinking feeling of 'oh, shit'. Isis clears her throat as she considers Sahara at her side. What just happened? Is this that social aspect of anxiety that she's heard about - the one where you regret things you say and play them over-and-over-and-ov…
Oooo. Look! Fire. Thats a coo- No! Wait! Child killers (even ones we assume to be joking) without appropriate appreciation for the benefits of O.C.D. are not friends, damnit. Isis steers her real friend away and out the door. "Home it is. It's much cheaper there and I've got a sudden itch to get wasted."