Participants:
| Scene Title | Vodka and Vocations |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Two strangers drink vodka and discuss career paths in a club. |
| Date | February 27, 2010 |
Rapture, on a Saturday night, even in the less than favorable economic and political climate of late, is still one of of the city's most popular hot spots. The scantily dressed women and their dates outside are willing to withstand the wintry night's chill for a chance to get green-lighted by the bouncer into the steamy dance floor that waits just inside. The line is at least fifty people deep tonight, and the bouncer seems to be in no hurry to let the pretty people in — though the pretty people do in fact get in at some point. There are always a few who have to wait, because then the line is a standing, breathing advertisement for what awaits inside.
Daphne may or may not be a patron who would be allowed in quickly — she's not going to find out. Why waste her time outside when she can skip the line? After all, five minutes in a line feels much longer when you're a speedster. Speeding up to the establishment, she doesn't slow when she sees the queue, but instead rushes inside, passing the waiting patrons in a blur of white and blue (the color of her short little dress, no coat since she doesn't plan to stand still while outside!), the wind in her wake ruffling the skirts and coats of those standing.
"Wha?" Joe the bouncer blinks and looks around, then shrugs, pointing with two fingers to one of the patrons a few people back, then waving them into the entrance.
Rachel isn't exacty one of the A-listers, herself, but, she does somewhat agree with Daphne's philosophy of not waiting if you have the means to. She does feel guilty about it, however, and still looks upon her gift as something of an abnormality. Figuring that maybe she'll be cured of it, and go back to being just another faceless soldier. Until then, she'll patiently wait in line like the rest of America. The little black number that she has on does catch the eye of Joe the bouncer, who gives her the wave in, and she is allowed to enter the club. Lately, she's been going to the clubs a tiny bit more often. As a male soldier might be more inclined to grumble about, her bunk has been cold and its not that comfortable. So, perhaps she can find a man to drag away tonight.
Daphne had disappeared down a hallway that leads to the bathrooms, then comes out walking at a slowly measured speed, a curious glance over her shoulder as if to wonder what blur of color and wind had just passed by. She should win an Academy Award. A couple of other patrons are glancing toward the hallway as well, and seem to buy the act the innocent (ha!) Daphne performs. The speedster gives a shrug and heads toward the bar. She climbs on one of the barstool, leaning across the counter for the bartender's attention. Patience maybe a virtue, but it's not one she possesses. "Blueberry Stoli and Red Bull, please," she says politely once the bartender glances her way.
Rachel is slipping her own way towards the bar, and catches half of what Daphne says, and grins lightly before asking, "Need an extra kick tonight?" Her eyes looking at the blonde for a few moments, before her own attenton is given to the bartender when his attention passes to her, "I'll have a screwdriver, half-n-half, please." She smiles, before looking back at Daphne, seeing if there will be an answer forthcoming.
"Always need an extra kick, and I don't like the sleepy feeling that comes with straight alcohol," the petite towhead says with a smirk. "The only time I like to feel sleepy is when I'm asleep." She smiles her thanks to the bartender and hands him a ten to cover the drink and the tip. Drinks are expensive in places like this, but least she didn't have to pay a cover charge. She glances at Rachel. "You were at the Lindergoon Ball," she points out, not really a question. Daphne recognizes the other woman from the gala event.
Rachel shrugs her shoulders a little and replies, "Yes, I was." She smiles and pays for her drink when it arrives, taking a sip of it, before her eyes go back to Daphne and she says, "My name is Rachel, by the way."
Daphne raises her brows. Considering the fact she just used her power in front of a few dozen people, she decides against honesty tonight. "Millie," she says — hell, if her real identity is ever made known to the other woman, she can lie and say it's a nickname from her last name. "Nice to meet you." She lifts her drink and takes a sip. "Red Bull tastes so much better with flavored vodka in it," she adds. "You affiliated with Linderman?"
Rachel shakes her head before saying, "Nope, not at all. I'm here to keep folks protected, part of Frontline." The last is said more conspiratorily, she really doesn't want it know she is Frontline in a bar. You never know when someone might take offense to it.
Strange how suddenly she's surrounded by people trying to protect people from the dangerous Evolved — when the only person she knew — or she thinks, anyway — that might be in that line of work was Thompson, and he didn't count. "Frontline, wow," Daphne echoes, her voice quiet enough that she's not announcing the woman's secret. "That's hardcore. What's your power, then?" It shouldn't be rude to ask, since obviously if she's admitting she's Frontline, she has one, right?
"My… abnormality is being able to go from one place to another pretty much instantenously," Rachel says with a smile, if Daphne had seen her, then she might have noticed Rachel's and Sanderson's exits, as she teleported them back to the base.
Funny, so is mine, Daphne thinks to herself — not instantaneously, but about as close as you can get without being a teleporter. Which means Rachel's a teleporter. "That's a handy one," Daphne, aka Millie, agrees, taking another sip of her drink. "Hey, that guy's checking you out," she says, nodding toward a man watching both of them, but more conservatively dressed, so Daphne decides he's more likely interested in the more conservatively dressed Rachel. "Works well in a place like this — no need to wait through a cab ride to get back home for a roll in the hay, hm?" She gives a sassy wink, then puts her empty drink on the counter, lifting her index finger for "1 more" to the bartender.
Rachel snickers faintly before she replies, "Depends on if I wanted to get him shot, I suppose. They're a little strict over there at the base, but, I figure I can eventually just rent an apartment for my one-nighters." She grins and winks back at Daphne, before looking at the man a couple of minutes and then going back to talking with Daphne. Can't be too forward.
"How's the pay for that? Better than regular military, I hope?" Daphne says, as if interested in any sort of regular job with a boss and a salary — she's never had anything of the sort, as she still lived at home when her power manifested. "I know regular military pays crap, but since you are all special, you should get a bit of a bonus, right?" She puts down another bill for her drink, and takes the new concoction to sip.
Rachel hmms for a couple of minutes before shaking her head and replying, "Better than regular military, but not really anything to brag about, at least in my opinion." But then, she's one of those people who quite like being unnoticed in the corner. Its better to not be special, then you don't have people constantly looking at you.
Daphne nods. "Well, Kudos to you. Thanks for keeping us all safe and all that noise, right? Cheers!" she says, lifting her glass to the other woman, then taking a large swallow. She raises her brows when the man watching them behind Rachel's shoulder catches her eye — then glances at Rachel again. Message: she's into you, check her out! "All right, Rachel. I think the dance floor is calling my name, and someone else is interested in your number." With that she winks and slips off her barstool to make herself scarce.
Rachel smirks faintly and she says, "Well, we shall go see!" She grins and looks at the man, before she takes her still mostly full screwdriver and heads towards the man. She tilts her head when she reaches him before saying, "Well… hi."
Her work here is done. The little matchmaker heads first toward the dance floor, but then makes her way to the back hallway to exit through the employee's entrance — into an alley, where she can then speed away home.