2019-07-31 - What's Your Poison

Things were getting loud in the club, as they tend to do on a Saturday night. Before she came out of the back to do her set, Zoiya had sent Blake another text, but couldn't check if he replied. Shaking your ass on a stage keeps you from checking on a lot of things. She left word with the beefy bouncers out front that she was expecting a friend and to stash him in the VIP lounge.

Blake will find it to be completely empty, despite the activity out front.

Maybe Blake is making sure Zoiya can spot him. Saturday nights are supposed to be busy right? He's wearing a bright, graphic jacket that looks like he stepped out of some sort of period film that captures a time better than the time itself. For once, he doesn't have that infernal backpack. Jacket in the summer time. He's just one of those weirdos.

Annnnd of course he gets carded. Blake pulls out his wallet to hand over his id. "Shit you're thirty?" The bouncer has to prove it to the other one and Blake just stands there. "I'm Mae's friend. Do you know when she goes on?"

"She's been on, bro. I'll get one of the waitresses to let her know you arrived." One of the two burly men escort Blake to the lounge, opening the door and gesturing inside. "Mini fridge is paid for tonight, was told to stock it with soda. Mae didn't know if you were a drinker. Help yourself." He moves to leave, but pauses, "Nice Jacket."

You can see out to the main floor, and sure enough, there is Zoiya on a table, laughing and dancing, some young guy placing a bill in her garter. The garter is the only thing she's wearing, but she's covered in body paint and glitter. The song ends and she hops down from the table some protests being offered, along with some money. She looks like she might give in to peer pressure when a waitress steps up and speaks in her ear. She raises her arms over her head, shimmies her painted breasts in their direction and makes her way to the lounge.

Blake slides his id away as he hears the news that he's pretty much late. He walks along with them, his eyebrows arch, "Oh. Cool." When they arrive, his eyes scan the area, noting the minifridge. He upnods to the man at his compliment. "Thanks." A man of few words at times.

Blake pulls off his jacket as he watches Zoiya a little, smirking as he notices how much fun she seems to be having, even if the thought of getting up and taking off his clothes for strangers sounds personally mortifying to him. He walks over to the mini-fridge and opens it up to look at what's inside before slipping down into a seat, his jacket tossed over something nearby. He's wearing a black shirt with what look like layers and layers of brain waves or scores of rock layers. If one is musically into it though, they'd know it was a Joy Division shirt. If they were extremely geeky, they'd know it has to do with pulsars. It could also just be a cool abstract pattern on a tshirt. This is Blake. He reaches down and pulls his earphones up to his ears.

"You made it!" Zoiya bounces into the lounge, literally, and moves toward Blake. Glitter, paint and little else adorn her athletic form, but she doesn't seem to be embarassed in the least. She opens the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water and twists the top off. "Did you get my text? I found something you're gonna be interested in." She takes a drink and then moves toward him, sitting close enough to him on the couch that her knee touches his outer thigh.

She absently pulls money from her garter, counting it up before she tucks it under her ass. "Oh, and I've been assigned to the lounge tonight, so if you're in the mood for a lap dance.." She trails off, a giggle escaping her.

"I sent you a text back even. You must have been busy," Blake surmises aloud, rather laid back about it. All that glitter might be a little distracting, but Blake knew where he was going tonight, and he seems nonplused by all that body bouncing in. "Is that why you wanted me to come tonight?" He squints at her from out of the corner of his eye, smirking a little. Blake looks Zoiya over as if finally looking to see if the woman actually /is/ wearing anything in that clever camouflage.

"I haven't been backstage again, the body glitter plus paint seems to have made an impression. People really want lapdances tonight." Zoiya gets comfortable, curling up, running fingers through her hair. "I wanted you to come tonight because I promised that I'd take you to see my work. Remember?" She takes another drink of water, gesturing out to the crowd. "I mean, if you really want a lapdance, I could get you one easy. Could give you one easy, but it would be because you asked for it." She waggles a finger at him and then gets to her feet, as if she can't sit still. "So, murder houses, guess who found one. Guess who found one in a place with good internet?" She stands like she's posing, and really, most of the time -- she is.

"Oh yeah. Well. I'm not going to make you work for me. Just do what you want to do. I'll give you money so your boss doesn't think you're slacking off. Just tell him I'm weird. It's true." So Blake's aware of his own...self and how he seems ill fitted to being jammed into a world more obsessed with popular culture than anything else.

Blake straightens up at Zoiya's news. "What?" That perked him up. "It's affordable? Where?"

"I don't think you understand the nature of my work. I like to dance. I can dance without touching you. I can dance touching you, the only difference it makes to me is what the other person thinks, if they're comfortable. You wanna be weird, you do you, Boyfriend." Zoiya picks off a fleck of the body paint, flicking it away from her fingers, her eyes shift to Blake. "Elm Street, not the greatest neighborhood, but seems like shit is set up nice there. I made some inquiries, put a few bucks in the right palm to keep them from offloading it over the weekend. So when I get off, wanna see it? I don't have a key, but it's easy enough to jimmy a window. You can see if it'll suit you." She holds up a hand, approaching so she can kneel down at Blake's eye level. "The rub here is that I get one of the bedrooms, and we co-habitate in some manner of peace. Think you can manage that?"

"I'm not really used to people touching me." The man is completely honest. He's off that way. No outward show of machoism yet, no protection of his own ego. He just is. Blake seems to be doing fine with the little touches here and there between their bodies thus far, but they're hardly anything to write home about.

Blake seems too interested in the prospect of the apartment to think about asking for a lapdance right now apparently. "Fuck yes." Nope, no qualms about jimmying open a window. This little kindness of from Zoiya spurs some of that faint warmth, amplified by its own subtlety. When she kneels down, he leans forward, resting his his forearms over his knees. "As long as you or any of your friends don't go poking around my machines. And as long as you don't mind me getting fucked up when I need to."

"I'm too used to people touching me. They've been doing it since I was old enough to remember." Unpack that shit, or don't, probably best if you don't. Zoiya perks up and grins when he says he's down to jimmy a lock and check out what could be their new digs. She grins at him when he leans forward, and nods. "I don't really know the slightest thing about a computer, so I won't touch anything. If someone comes around to see me, and they touch your stuff, I'll break their fingers." Again, she looks serious. "Fucked up how?" She stands up straight, five foot ten inches of painted, inked amazon. She turns her head to gaze out at the main floor, doesn't see anything disturbing so she sits on the couch again, no closer than last time so she doesn't upset Blake.

"I won't touch you unless you ask, Girlfriend." Blake doesn't quite pull off the nickname, like he's trying to see how it sounds in his mouth. But it's done. It's a thing now. He takes himself along for this harmless ride, a little tit for tat.

"Sounds like we have an understanding," Blake softly presses his lips together at Zoiya's expression. "Like...drugs? Some things just never die. It's easier to numb my demons."

"See how easy that is." Zoiya doesn't mind the awkwardness when Blake uses the nickname, tucking her feet up on the couch. She's still naked, though covered in body paint, enough to distract away from the things she's flashing around casually. She nods as he mentions them having an understanding, and then she shifts her hazel eyes over in his direction as drugs come up. "So what kind of drugs do you use to get fucked up? Wait wait.. let me guess.." She is bobbing her head to the music as she considers, one eye squinting like thinking is hurting her brain. "Adderall?" Her eyebrows are lofted slightly, she seems to be serious.

"So easy," Blake exaggerates without much emphasis. "What does all that paint feel like?" he wonders aloud to her. as he looks at the bend of her knee and the curves of her thighs. As Zoiya tries to work up a guess, Blake slouches back in his seat, head lolling back a little, relaxing. Then he looks to her. "Go fish. I mean. I've done it before. Is that /your/ poison? Or are you just a weed only kind of woman?"

"Glad you agree." Zoiya hears what could be sarcasm coming from Blake, but it doesn't matter. They seem to have an understanding with one another. "It was wet going on, now it doesn't feel like anything. It already started to crack, some hot water and I'll be me again." She rests her head against the couch, turning so she can gaze at Blake. Seems they had the same idea. "No, my poison is blow. A little snort just makes everything better. If I'm sore, it fixes it. If I'm tired. It fixes it. If I gained five pounds, it fixes it. I don't see why people get so uppity about it." She scoffs a bit, rolling her eyes. "Weed is okay, when I wanna get loose and fuck around. Not something I'd turn to first."

"We gotta be careful then. Sometimes I get into morphine, if there's suboxone on the market too, pharmaceutical grade, but that's hard to get sometimes. I don't think either of us is interested in doing speedballs?" Blake doesn't shy away from the casual gazing. There's a sense that this man is very exacting about his drug use, that he has a strategy. "I don't care if you do blow. Just, try not to OD, because that would suck. I don't wanna be that guy that gets you thrown into rehab because I had to take you to the hospital." Well, because someone else would do it, that is. "Coke is good in a pinch," he admits as his eyes trail across the ceiling idly. "Fuck. I need to find a dealer."

"The owner of this place keeps making noises about having what I need. He might mean his dick though. I can't tell if he wants to tap my ass or get me high." Zoiya says this matter-of-factly, because neither of those things bother her. She shakes her head at the mention of speedballs, watching him as he becomes animated in this discussion. She exhales slowly, reaching out to poke him gently in the arm. "I won't OD. I know when enough is enough, and I can stop anytime." She grimaces at the mention of the hospital, she might have seen those a time or two, but certainly not because of her drug habit. "I can poke around, see what I can find out. Hey.. let me go grab a quick shower, and then we can go see this murder place, yeah?"

"Probably both," and the prospects don't seem to bother Blake either. Zoiya can obviously take care of herself and make her own decisions. He puts his hand over his arm where she pokes him, as if wounded, mouth open slightly before nodding. "Cool. Shit. I'm kind of relieved." He nods to her. "Yeah. Hey wait." He reaches out to touch her forearm, to feel the texture and it starts to flake a little. He withdraws his hand. "Meet you out back?"

"Probably." The retort is deadpan, Zoiya rolls her eyes shifting as if she's going to get to her feet. Blake asks her to wait and she pauses, not moving as he reaches out to touch her. She just watches him, following the flaked off gold paint with her eyes. "Meet you out back." She confirms, getting to her feet, her bouncy walk talking her toward the exit. "Be good." She points at Blake, flashing him a grin as she opens the door back out into the loud bass and insanity. She throws up her arms and laughs, doing a twirl before she heads to the back room.