The Lady Don't Mind


perry_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif

Scene Title The Lady Don't Mind
Synopsis Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Perry has a successful conversation with Tartarus' DJ.
Date July 7, 2010


Tartarus is in full swing, the thumping beats of 'The Bells' running a dark metronome under Brittany Bindrim's voice, decrying her loss of radiance. Bodies move and sway, grind and bump, weave and wave in a time set by DJ Ravenfall. The darkling crowd is in force, and their painted faces and dark lace and leather shiver beneath criss-crossing lights.

Pericles Jones couldn't be more out of place. He's trying hard just not to wince at the volume of the music, and every time he bumps into a tranced out dancer, he babbles an inaudible "Oh, excuse me!" or "I'm sorry! Sorry!" that is so much worse than just keeping on going. He knew this was a goth club, he even knew from Melissa's outfit the kind of thing he should maybe wear so as to not look totally out of place - black. Just… just some black, dude. But nope. He's wearing a white shirt with a black sketch of an electrical circuit on it, and his thick-rimmed glasses are more hipster or emo if they're anythig at all - which they're not. He makes his way to the bar, and tries his best to catch the attention of the 'tender, but he's not nearly aggressive enough even to get up to the bar proper, let alone shout out what he intends to shout out: 'Excuse me, do you know where I could find Melissa'. Which is entirely too long a thing to say anyways.

At least, Perry figures, Melissa's doing good business. He looks around, helplessly. Maybe… he'll see her… somewhere?

As the song fades, so does Robyn Quinn's first set for the evening. As she grew more and more used to her professional DJ work, her breaks were becoming fewer and fewer - particularly on the nights Melissa was working, heh. Even despite that, it's hot as all hell tonight, and the number of people in the club just isn't helping. So, it's time to take a short break - mingle, get a drink. Something non-alcoholic this time.

With a thud she lands down from the stage, rolling her shoulders as she approaches the bar. Plopping down at stool just down from Perry, she shakes her head when asked if she'd like her "redheaded slut", laughing all the while. "No thanks. Just water, for now. I have to actually drive home tonight…"

Wait… is that the DJ? She works here. Perry seizes the moment, making a break for a gap that opens between a thoroughly pierced couple. His lanky arm nearly knocks a blood red cocktail out of an antedeluvian's hand and he stammers a perfunctory apology in passing before stumbling up next to Quinn. It was only a five foot distance, at most, but he's panting from the psychosomatic effort of it. He shifts from foot to foot, this close, but not sure how to open.

"Uh… hi," he says, not really quite loud enough to be properly interpreted, but at least loud enough to be heard. He won't get too close. He always respects the personal space of people (unless its an inadvertent intrusion), especially that of attractive women. "Um… do you know Mel- er… Ms. Pierce?"

Quinn notices the man stumbling over right before he reaches her, and when he does, she quirks an eyebrow. "Um, hi?" Even when people come up to her for requests or to flirt (which usually ends in disappointment for guys), they're not quite that awkward. Is this what she's like sometimes? God, hopefully not. But when he poses his question, she sits up a bit, a smirk on her face.

"Someone else lookin' for a job?" she asks with a laugh, turning on her seat to face Perry. "Yeah, she's my boss! Not sure if she's around tonight, I haven't seen her yet. I can go check if you want!"

Perry's face falls upon being told of Quinn's uncertainty. He suddenly feels like an intruder. He paid cover, whatever, because like anyone would believe him when he said he 'knows the owner'. But at least it was true, and he felt he had a purpose. A goal and aim and a validation for showing his face here amongst members of an actual scene. He's not bitter enough to view them with scorn.

"Oh… oh no," Perry explains, "I know her from, uh, social networking. Just… uh… just going to say hello." His eyes move out across the dance floor, as if hoping that, by some miracle, Melissa will emerge from the crowd. "I'm, uh, Perry. Perry Jones. Short for Pericles but," he smiles, awkward by necessity, "I think people prefer Perry. You uh… you played some excellent dance songs." This is something he believes. The evidence is all around him. He can't say more as to the quality of the music. He's more a New Wave man, himself.

"Perry?" Quinn repeats, making sure she heard right over the noise. Pericles! What a bizarre name, truly. "Hey, thanks! If you got somethin' you want me to play, just let me know and I'll see what I can do, you know?" She beams, a long sip of her water. "Are you sure you don't want me t' go find her? I totally don't mind, the music's on automation now anyway. If not, I can- well, I can at least pass it on to her that you came by, if you want!"

"Oh… oh no," Perry says, laughing nervously, "I'm not… I really don't know… I, uh, it's not really my kind of music." He realizes how this must sound (or at least how he imagines others think it must sound) and immediately scrambles to add, "Not that I didn't like it! I did. I just don't know anything about it. Or about…" he gestures, "This."

Here it comes. The slight hooding of his brow. There is a moment's hesitation before he commits, plowing right ahead. "I don't understand the, uh, 'Gothic philosophy' I guess you'd call it, right? Not that I know it and think its invalid. It's just that I don't know anything about it. I mean… I think maybe I could understand it, if I knew more. I understand, for example, the idea of 'Being-towards-death'. But I'm not sure if that's the same for, uh, Gothic philosophy." He adjust his glasses unnecessarily, "Maybe you could give me a, uh, tutorial?" A caveat swiftly following. "If you've got time. And if I'm not bothering you."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at Perry, looking at him with amusement in her eyes. "Well, I can't really speak that well on real gothic philosophy. I like the music because of how it sounds, the instruments used, and because a lot of it is surprisingly technical." As she speaks, she's counting things off on her fingers. "And the fashion, I just recently got into, thanks to a friend. Not that it was hard, there's nothin' like a woman in a corset, so…" She shrugs again, looking around the dance floor with a smirk on her face. "So, I can't really help you with the philosophy, I'm afraid. But I can help you with everything else."

"Um, yes," Perry says, trying his best to be agreeable, "The corset definitely has a, uh, elegance. It's not uncomfortable, is it? I heard they can be uncomfortable." He blanches, "I'm really sorry if that question was too personal! Sorry! I'm…" he gives a half smile, half grimace, "I don't get out a lot." He points at this t-shirt, "Electrical engineer."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head, patting the barseat next to her. "No need t' be so nervous!" she says loud enough to be audible. "I have a bit, sit down! To answer your question, I thought the same thing. But honestly, it's not too bad, particularly once you get used t' it." When her points at his shirt, her head tilts. "Jesus, science. I am absolutely no good at anythin' like that."

Well, since she's asked him… Perry takes the seat next to Quinn, one only recently vacated. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, a fussy little gesture that achieves nothing whatsoever. His knees spread and he sets his hands on them, elbows bending as he gives Quinn a smile. Trying not to be nervous. Trying to be comfortable. "It's not even science, so much as logic, is the way I think of it," he says, "There's a language to circuitry. A grammar, mostly. And one that's actually shared. Hydraulics use exactly the same system of rules. Just replace batteries with pumps, and the resistance of wires with thinness or thickness of pipes." This is a favorite fun fact of his, and he delivers it with a noteworthy lack of stammer or pause. "I also like philosophy. Mostly political. But, uh," the hesitation returns just as soon as he turns the topic back to Quinn, "You're, um, a music person, right? That's, uh, that's not so different, is it? Music has a grammar too? Right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Quinn remarks with an enthusiastic nod. The majority of what he says is a bit over her head, at least the specifics. The concepts he's trying to relay sink through without much problem at all, though. "Notes, phrases; tone and pitch, it all comes together on sheet music or tablature to form a distinct language of its own. It's really quite remarkable, because music can communicate so much, but almost none of the words and phrases, so t' speak, are the same!" She nods again, sitting up a bit straighter. "I think sayin' I'm a music person is a bit of an understatement, you know?"

Perry nods vigorously. He has a way of fastening onto topics he feels at least marginally conversant in, and just going for it. "That fascinates me, the universality of music, but the variety therein, you know?" he says, "It's a wordless language that still communicates an emotional state. Major and minor, pleasure and suffering. Neitzsche," oh no, here it comes, "Spent a great deal of time with Wagner. Until their, uh, differences. Over the matter of Jews. Which, of course, I side with Neitzsche on," does he sound almost defensive for a moment? "Anti-Semetism is harmful to its espousers, as well as its targets. Not that I'm inviting a comparison. Uh…" Quick, subject change! "What, uh, what would you call yourself then? What would be a sufficient statement?"

Philosophy was never something that really interested Quinn, and Perry has her attention up until the point he mentions Neitzsche, Wagner, and more, and Quinn's head just sort of tilts to the side. She's listening, but it's more or less gibberish to her, outside of "anti-Semitism", certainly something her lapsed Irish Catholic self doesn't have to worry about. When he asks his last questions though, she rights up a bit, looking cautious. "What do I call myself? I don't think Ig et what you mean. But, uh, either of that."

Perry regathers himself. He needs to make himself understood. "You, uh, you said that saying you're a 'music person' is an understatement," he explains, "I was wondering what would be a statement that wasn't, uh, 'under'. So to speak. If that's not too vague a question. I guess I'm asking for a self-description. I guess," his smile is self-consciously awkward, "I'm asking you about yourself."

"Oh!" Now that Quinn understands, she nods enthusiastically. "An unabashed music lover. I write, play, DJ… lately, I'm even considerin' taking up teaching. If I wanted t' be self centred, I'd say that you should call me a music master," she responds, with a joking wink and a laugh.

The wink disorients Perry. He's not sure how to interpret it. He has a few second hand matrices and none of them account for this gesture, particularly with that laugh thrown in. So he tries to laugh as well, eliding his confusion. "That's wonderful to hear!" he states, "You're not content to be a Last Man. Mediocrity isn't sufficient for you. Mastery is exactly what we need, you know? True dedication. A will." His fervent belief is evident in his words, even if the words themselves don't make a great deal of sense out of the context he's thinking in. Though Quinn may find that this is less important than it might otherwise be. His belief is contagious. His words sense-making despite themselves.

"Hell no, I'm not," Quinn says, nodding. A tilt of her head for a moment, as if thinking, and then she continues nodding. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I mean…" she reaches up, scratching the back of her head. "I'm not content with not doing the most of what I can with what I have, you know?"

"When did you decide? Was there a moment?" Perry says, adamant on this matter, "When you said 'this is not enough'? When you knew you were more than you were asked to be?" His eyes narrow, "Did anyone try and tell you otherwise? Did anyone tell you to mind your place?"

"I… don't really remember," Quinn says with a tilt of her head. "My mum insisted on me bein' a musician when Iw as kid and it all just came from there." She shifts in her seat, taking a long sip of her drink. "My dad used t' not take well to me bein' a musician, until Is tarted doin' right good with it."

"Are you sure, then, it's what you want, what you are, and not just what your mother wanted?" Perry poses. A contentious thing to say, particularly coming from a mama's boy such as he. It's not mean spirited, though. He just considers the question very important.

"Absolutely," is Quinn's quick response, leaning forward with eyes narrowed at Perry. "I don't see my mum very often anymore, but I keep at it. It's a part of me, somethin' joyous I wouldn't give up for anyone. You're goddamn right it's something I want." She sounds fierce, though not defensive. You just don't question her dedication to music.

This delights Perry. "I envy you!" he exclaims, "I want to feel that way. But it's always a struggle. I… I guess I haven't yet found myself in that way. I don't know, yet, what I am capable of. What my height is." This is a little much to talk about with a next-to-total stranger, but Perry's shyness has an obverse - with no one in his life to be open to, he'll take what chances he can get. "I do believe some people are exceptional. That there are people who are capable of more. I… I am one of them. This I know. I just hope I can find out what my exception is. I want what you have. You're lucky."

Quinn quirks her lips at that, a hand raising up to Perry's shoulder, a finger from the hand that holds her glass pointing at him. "Find something you love, and just throw yourself into it. It may not be exactly what you're doin' now, but it out there. Don't stop until you find it, and then just totally wrap youself up in it. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise about it. Then you'll have it."

Perry nods, receiving this advice and subsuming it under the beliefs he already holds. Alone, a man's beliefs are as thin as tissue paper. With the guarantee of others, it quickly becomes ironclad. Which is ironic, since it's an indifference to the words of others that forms the basic requirement of Quinn's advice. Perry doesn't want to dwell on this fact as it occurs to him. Instead, he turns towards another realization. "I… don't think I caught your name."

Quinn hops up from her seat, heel clopping to the ground. Her hand thrusts out, a smile across her face. "Quinn," she says nod. "Robyn Quinn. Pleasure t' meet you, Perry."

Perry's handshake, at least, is nice and firm. He's worlds less nervous already, leaving only a residue of relief that is pathetically evident on his face. "The pleasure's all mine," he says, all earnestness, "That's a lovely name, if you don't mind me saying." His compliments don't register on the level of flirtation. Attraction, if he feels it (which, let's be honest here, he cannot but), doesn't seem to inflect his speech more than in making his desire to be well received all the more poignant. "And a lovely accent. I've always felt like I might sound better with an accent. It might distract people from, heh," he smiles, "My many conversational failures." Self deprecation. Very sexy. Not.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "A lot of people tell me that they like m' accent, but it's usually just unlucky boys who want t' bring me t' bed, fruitless as that is. So, it's nice t' hear it from someone who means it. An' I didn't think you were so bad, really," she says with a nod and a smile.

Is Perry blushing? Oh man, how lame. The very allusion to… that causes a spike of disturbance under layer upon layer of repressive 'good breeding'. "I… can certainly imagine that being a… 'pick up line'," he says the phrase as if he were quoting a idiom in another language, asserting that all such concepts are utterly foreign to him, even if he's heard of them, "I assure you that's not the case with me. I… um. Yes, well…" There were a couple things he thought about saying, as his trailing off makes obvious, but none of them are both polite and bereft of what might (heaven forbid!) be taken for an advance.

Quinn smirks, noting his slip back into nervousness. "It can be. AN' it can e a good one, dependin' on who it's coming from." A shrug, and she finishes off the last of her water, setting it back down on the table with a clink. She chuckles, shaking her head. "Even if it was, I'd be flattered, but it wouldn't really matter. I get hit on by guys a lot ever since I started working here, but that's not my… scene." That's probably not going to help the nervousness, but.

Perry nods a vigorous, and totally misguided, agreement. "Work and personal life are kept separate for a reason," he says, assuming he knows just what she's talking about - they've been on the same page so far, right?

Quinn tilts her eyes, an eyebrow raised. "I- well, I guess that's true too," she says, eyes moving back to the bar. That thought made her kind of glad Nadira wasn't here. She was too cute a woman to be saying that around, even though Quinn knew she'd never follow through. "That wasn't quite what I meant, but it works."

Perry blinks. Out of synch? But… but things were going so well! Making mountains out of molehills is a philospher's chief occupation (that or explaining the essential non-difference between the two) but this is not a philosophical position. Just social anxiety. "Oh… I'm sorry. Um… what did you mean?"

Quinn blushes a bit, waving a hand dismissively. "N-nothing so important," she remarks, chuckling. If he can't get the suggestion, Quinn apparently has lost the nerve to just come out and say it.

"Oh. Okay," Perry says, his awkwardness a whole lot less charming, lacking a blush as charming as Quinn's. He just makes another needless adjustment to his glasses. "Sorry. I don't get out much." Did he already say that? He thinks he may have already said that.

Though Perry may not know it, the awkwardness is a bit endearing, and if Quinn were into men, she'd probably find it at least somewhat cute. At his admittance that he doesn't get out, Quinn laughs and shakes her head. "So?" she replies with a mirthful shrug. "No need t' be so nervous with me, Perry. Um… I guess I can answer you earlier question, if you want," she says sheepishly. It's not important, but if you're really curious…"

And if only he knew, it might help his confidence a bit. Not that it would do him a lick of good in this situation. "No, it's fine. I don't want to pressure you. I wouldn't do that to a stranger, or a friend." The unspoken but very obvious hope being that one can lead to the other, and that either way, he knows how to respect a person's privacy.

A smile quirks up on Quinn's lips, nodding in response. "Alright. Not that you were pressurin' me, but I get you." She straightens her skirt a bit, giving another nod. "Most people would've been like 'Ooooh, tell me', and while I don't mind telling people I'm gay" - there it is - "In fact, usually I try to, to prevent anything unfortunate, it's nice t' see someone who's more restrained than that for once.


The unworthy thought - 'you're awfully pretty for a lesbian' - is not under any circumstances voiced. Even if he believed it was anything more than an asinine, prejudiced observation (which he doesn't - he's a progressive fascist), he'd never have the nerve to say anything so uncouth. "I see…" he says, "That…" his smile is good natured if tentative, "Makes sense. I mean… it explains what you meant."

Quinn watches Perry appraisingly, and then a pleased smile crosses her face. "If that didn't scare you off, I'd say that makes you pretty damn good," she says with a nod. "If you have anythin' to say, just go ahead," she says with a laugh and a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure I've heard it all before."

Perry blinks. "I really don't know what you mean," he says, and he's being honest. What would he say? She's gay. He has nothing against homosexuals. There was a gay man in his cohort back in grad school. Nice guy. Great with a soldering iron. That's not gay slang, by the way. Perry wouldn't really know any gay slang. "What do people usually say? Is there something I'm… supposed to say?"

Quinn laughs, a hand over her mouth. "You don't have to say something. But a lot of people have some of crass or demeanin' comment up their sleeve, so you never know. Sometimes, someone has somethin' nice to say, though." She shrugs, and laughs again with a shake of her head. "Relax a bit, Perry. You're fine here. Though I should get back t' the booth before much longer."

"Well…" Perry says, trying to think of something nice to say, wanting to be one of those someones and to make this one of those sometimes. "If you, uh, aren't already… I know you're going to make some lucky woman very happy."

Quinn blushes a bit at that, trying to hide it. "T-Thank you very much, Perry." She hadn't expected that, to be honest, and it causes her to reach up and scratch the side of her head. "I wonder if this what Ygraine sees when it get around her?" Another bit of sheepish laughter, and Quinn hops down from her perch, extending a hand to Perry.

Perry reaches forward to take her hand once more, and shakes again. He seems pleased. Really pleased. This went astoundingly well, by his standards. "Thank you," he insists, "It's been really nice meeting you, Robyn. Please, do say hi to Melissa for me. But I hope I'll get to say hello to you as well, quite soon." Confident enough to overcome his faltering speech. Impressive.

Quinn blinks, her head tilting. She's still acclimated to the idea of people calling her Robyn, but it still garners a smile from her. "I'll be sure t' pass it on the next time I see her, and don't be afraid t' come back herself, or char for a bit!" She withdraws her hand and waves. "Hopefully, yeah. Soon." And with that, she turns, making her way back towards the stage.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License