2019-10-06 - He's Not Toxic, He's Latino

Cristobal hasn't been in this Godforsaken town for very long and yet he'll claim, perhaps falsely, that he's done everything there is to do here. Twice. So he's back at the Firefly Club and Cruz is cruising for drinks and something to entertain him. He's currently drinking a dark amber liquid over ice, sans the straw either because he's staunchly against one use plastics or it really looses the whole brooding facade when you scrunch up your face to drink through a tiny tube. At least the music isn't annoying? If you like the steady thud of electronic House music.

Dante finds himself here for much the same reason Cristobal does. Writing is a deeply solitary experience and he is an aggressively social person. Which means he needs to be in the company of others when he's not entrenched in writing, researching or editing.

His wardrobe is a tiny bit less flash than normal, if only because he's peacocked through most of the wardrobe he brought since arriving and now has to mix and match or repeat. Today, it's a yellow-gold three piece suit with a bold flash of red in the pocket square. He walks in, re-settling his jacket over his shoulders and surveys the room. His eyes have yet to adjust, so he hasn't yet spotted any familiar faces.

Sutton walks into the Firefly Club wearing a pair of short navy blue shorts and a long sleeve, oversize sweater that falls off the shoulder. It's a soft knit, black, and specked with knobby little bumps from hand-spun yarn. It's not particularly club-worthy, it it's warm, cozy, and shows off a lot of toned, tanned leg. She's still wearing flip flops, holding strong to the illusion of summer. Summer is over, but when you're a native of this state, sometimes you persist until snow falls. Her blonde hair is wild and wavy, slightly damp from the drizzle outside. Beeline: bar.

Cristobal doesn't own anything that could even constitute as flash. He's in a pair of dark jeans and shiny black dress shoes paired with a slate gray button down shirt that he's rolled up at the elbows. Such a disregard for the fabric would leave the sleeves in a terrible wrinkled mess were he to push them back down. Does he care? Fuck no.

His light blue eyes seem in stark contrast to his darker features in the club, almost flashing every time there is a sweep of the laser lights around the room. Those eyes some how lock onto Sutton as they easily single her out of the crowd. Maybe it's the attire. Maybe it's because he's spent a great deal of time staking out Ruiz' motel room. When he moves, it's almost as a slink through the crowd to cut in the direction of the bar.

Dante turns to say something to someone behind him - a Townie who by now has connected his face to his name. "Ah, cheers. Just let me get a drink in my hand and I'd be happy to regale you further!" And then he turns, side-steps a group of young women, smiling charmingly, then stepping directly into Cristobal's path by no conscious choice. His hands go up and he murmurs, "Pardon me. Getting a bit congested in..." then he looks the other man in the face. It takes him a moment to place him, "...here."

Sutton has been down with the flu for almost two weeks, has barely left the motel room except to go to the vending machine, so if Cris is a creeper like that, he's definitely seen her a few times. She hops up to take a seat not far from pretty-eyes and she clocks his watching her before she chooses her seat. She flicks a glance over Dante too. Probably the accent. Back to Cristobal with those amber-trending hazel eyes. "What are you drinking, love?" There's a mostly-American with a hit of London in her accent, more specifically Hampstead.

This time, by some good grace or good reflexes, Cris doesn't spill his drink all over the front of Dante's rather expensive looking suit. "We gotta stop meeting like this." He rumbles deep in his throat at the other man, flashing an almost predatory smile with his tongue testing the tip of a canine before he takes a sip of his drink and swivels in Sutton's direction. The smile she receives has shifted slightly, softening just around his eyes. "Anything of the Glenn variety, and my friend here likes Cosmos. But really, let me." He makes an up nod at the bartender. "Whatever the lady is drinking. Unless it's the entire bar, and then it's on this one's tab." That one, being Dante.

"Cosmos? Really? That's the joke you're going for?" Dante tilts his head and watches Cristobal, like he's not quite sure which way to step - both metaphorically and literally. Then he inclines his head towards Sutton. "Apologies. Some of us do have proper manners." He steps around the other man and up to the bar. "Gin and tonic." He side-eyes Cris, "...a double, if you please."

Look at Cris making other people pay for her drinks. As long as she doesn't have to pay for her drinks, Sutton's on board. She didn't even have to wear a short dress tonight. RIP hot grey dress killed by ghost-cops shooting up TIBS a couple months back. She hasn't replaced her going-out go-to. "The lady wants a Bees Knees, so don't be a drag and tell me you have no honey syrup." She's tried to order this damn drink at every bar in town.

"Cosmos are good, but gin cocktails are better." She's been on a vodka kick for a while, but that ended in tragedy last time, so it's back to gin for this paramedic. For once she isn't wearing her profession screenprinted across her upper back. She leans on the bar, legs crossed at the knee.

Oh look, one of the numerous spoiled Addington brood, out for the night on the town... Which means it must be a day ending in 'y.' This one, whichever she happens to be, arrives in her little black party dress, covered with a big fluffy coat that she checks once inside, and sporting sort of ridiculously over-large sunglasses that she likewise stows in her handbag. Not that it was especially bright outside, but who knows. Whatever the situation, she's promptly off to the bar. "Vodka appletini." She definitely looks like the sort who drinks fruity 'girly' drinks, and lives up to the appearance. And then, turning her back mostly to the bar, and not knowing anyone in particular to say hi to, she pulls out her phone. Maybe she's coordinating with her 'squad.'

"I didn't want to get you laughed out of the bar for saying a Shirley Temple." Cris says nonchalantly as an aside to Dante. His finger taps the side of his own diminishing drink to ask for another of the same. Upon hearing the newcomers order, even over the din of music, he comments. "See! One of your kindred spirits." Even if Dante orders a gin and tonic and ruins his little joke. His head dips a little towards Sutton's shoulder, "Cristopher." Anglicising his name by way of introduction. "Sorry, I didn't get this one's name...last time." So he can't introduce Dante.

"I won't even go into detail about how drink preference as a measure of manliness or femininity is a ridiculous concept. And that I know of some very sweet classic cocktails that would put you on your ass in one drink," drawls the be-suited man to Cristobal. He salutes his newly-arrived gin and tonic towards Sutton. "Dante Taylor. Hello." And a smile that is a little bit tense.

"You don't look like a Christopher, love." Sutton glances over, giving Cris a once over with those hazel eyes. "Sutton." She glances over to Dante. "You could. You could go down that road, dragging pretty-eyes with you, but I'm really not sure it'd sink in, Dante." She regards him for a beat, then asks, "New to town?" The blonde turns back to Cris and says, "Shirley Temples are delicious, frankly. Who doesn't love grenadine?" She then asks Cristobal, "Are you familiar with the concept of toxic masculinity, pet?" She rests her elbow on the bar, perching her closed fist under her chin. A grin follows the question.

Julia makes her way into the Firefly. Tonight's an off-night, so thankfully she's not in her work clothes, and she doesn't smell of fish or the fryer or any combination thereof. Red dress, red lip, hoops in the ears (her big ones, thanks), and a gentle greeting for Andre by the door in passing. Familiar, but not overly so. She heads for the bar, lifting a hand to flag down the bartender and ordering a mojito.

"Huh?" To her credit, Aubrey isn't quite so far in her oblivious little bubble that she fails to notice someone talking at/about her, though she's clearly not paying enough attention to put the comment into its broader context about the sexual politics of cocktail preference. She blinks once or twice at Cristobal and wonders, semi-accusingly, "Uh, do I like, know you or something?" And although she's a frequent-flyer party type, she's been out of town long enough she may in fact not know all the (current) bouncers and other staff on a first-name basis yet. Give it a week!

Cris slips around to the other side of Sutton, putting the woman between himself and the Brit as he leans an elbow on the bar after replacing his old glass with new, letting it dangle from his fingers in a loose three fingered grip. "Cristobal Ybarra Cruz, El placer de conocerte es como el helado que se derrite al sol, lento con resultados deliciosos." This is said more seriously to Sutton, before he straightens up with a sip of drink. "Don't call this one toxic. Once you get past the pretentious accent and pretty clothes, he's at least a decent lay. I mean. Guy."

Cris gives a little finger wave to Aubrey, "Not yet, but the night's still young. Are you familiar with the concept of a spinner?"

"Yes, do tell us what you know of toxic masculinity," drawls Dante to Cristobal as he settles one hand in his pocket, sips his drink and gets a shit-eating grin on his face. If he was leaning on the bar, he'd Willy Wonka hand-to-chin. But alas, he gave that spot up for others to order their drink. There's a little scoffing at Cris' smooth-moves on Sutton. Not quite eye-roll level but approaching it. He swallows a mouthful of his drink. He inclines his head to Audrey. "Likely you don't know him, my dear. He's got such a forgettable face. But apparently, unforgettable bad manners."

Julia is handed her drink, and just as she's about to take a sip, lets out a laugh, and holding the glass carefully. Her grin is amused. "De que sirve coquetear con la blanquita en espanol si ella no te entiende?" The question - it sounds like a question, anyway, to those who don't speak Spanish, from the uptick at the end of her words, is not seemingly said to anyone in particular, though it may be obvious who she's addressing. To Sutton, "He's not toxic. He's Latino." Her tone is very dry.

Aubrey gives Cristobal what is probably something of a somewhat excessively innocent-faced bat of her eyes to be genuine rather than a put-on. "No, what's that?" Then she lifts her slightly green-tinged glass for a too-poised sip. The banter and... rivalry? Simmering sexual tension?! Between him and Dante provokes a laugh by the end of it, and without any other obvious recourse, she glances toward Sutton. "The two of them going back and forth is kinda hot. You think they're gonna stop and make out?" Also there is not-English. Which causes a confused glance as there's MORE not-English. And maybe a bit of a frustrated frown.

"There you go. You definitely look like a Cristobal Ybarra Cruz." Sutton's eyes narrow slightly at the Spanish. Maybe she doesn't understand what he just said to her, so much as the tone he used. She glances down Cris' arms to his hands on the bar. mhms and says, "He can be a decent guy and a decent lay. The two aren't mutually exclusive. His accent's lovely. I don't mind undressing a man in a suit. There's something to be said for a waistcoat. All those buttons."

Sutton smiles to Dante, though, and mms in agreement, "He's ill-mannered, but he's pretty, which makes up for a lot. And he looks like he knows how to dance." She laughs softly when Julia chimes in, turning to address the woman. "He can be both. I think he is both, or he wants us to think he is." She lifts her hands. "No one at this bar's going to offend me tonight." She looks at Cris. And she looks him over again. It's not a neutral look, but her expression may be hard to read. When Aubrey speaks up, she smiles even wider. Dante and Cris breaking into a sudden make out sesh? "I hope so."

Cris makes a little round and round gesture with his hand as he fires back at Julia in their apparent common tongue. "Suena bonito Pero supongo que las almohadillas femeninas sangrientas de panqueques de banano y comida para perros tendrían el mismo resultado." At the notion that his manners leave something to be desired, he grins to Dante, "Pardon me, good sir, could you kindly pass me one of your Fucks? I seem to be fresh out." The words said as a finger goes to attempt to trail down Sutton's forearm until he finds a finger to entangle with his. "Did someone say dance?" Now there is a point to prove. Sorry girls, the make out sesh will have to wait.

"They're synonyms." Julia advises Sutton blithely, still grinning, and to that point, offers Dante a lift of her glass in greeting. "Eres un hombre muy malo." she says with a smirk to Cris, adding archly, "Las blanquitas no pueden bailar." With that, she gestures, as if to say, by all means to Cris in his effort to get Sutton on the dance floor - the latter of whom she nods to encouragingly, and then turns her attention to Dante and Aubrey. "How are you both this evening?"

"I am woefully flat-footed when it comes to all this Spanish, though I do enjoy the way it sounds. I know some Latin but speaking that just makes you sound like a priest. And that's woefully unsexy." Dante half-sighs, then watches Cris' come-on with a little head-shake. As they're walking away, he lifts a hand and flicks open one of the buttons on his waistcoat.

There is another big-eyed pouty look from Aubrey as her dreams of spontaneous makeouts between Dante and Cris are (MOMENTARILY!?) shot down by one of the pair excusing himself to the dance floor. "Aw. And he didn't even bother finishing his porny come-on routine," she complains. "I don't know what anyone is saying either," she confides to Dante. "And its like, kinda rude? I don't mean that in a racist 'omg speak English' way," Uhuh! "Just, you know, HELLO? We're right here."

Sutton finally has a drink delivered, and she's just lifting it to her lips when Cristobal fires off again in Spanish. The drink pauses, then resumes, perhaps a single heartbeat in between. She's drinking when he asks for some fucks, and then puts her drink down on the bar. She turns her hand when Cristobal's finger hooks one of hers. "If he gets out of hand, I'll take him out back and teach him some manners." She laughs, obviously joking. Obviously.

"Just assume everything they say is equally come-on and catty and you have it, love." Sutton says this to Dante. "Are you asking me to dance, Cristobal? Are you any good?" She looks to Dante. "Is he any good?" She already heard the reverse. "I no longer have the flu, so that means I've def been worse. You?" She has get to get out of her seat, though she's definitely watching Cris now that he's touched her.

"Is he any good. He's Latino." Apparently these are also synonymous. The world according to Julia.

Cris throws out his hands to the side a little, accompanying the gesture with a little shrug. "Guess you have to find out, hermosa luz del sol." He replies smoothly to Sutton in Spanish, perhaps because it's his default or perhaps just to needle Dante and Aubrey a little more with words they can't quite understand. Julia gets a little amused finger point, and laugh. "We'll see. She has the hips."

"If that gentleman stuck to 'kinda' rude, it would be a minor miracle," drawls Dante in response to Aubrey. He points with his drink hand in Cristobal's direction. It's a drink he finishes in short order and nudges his glass onto the bar. "Unfortunately, I'm not in for the night. I was just getting a little claustrophobic in my flat all day and needed a dose of night life. Just a dose though, I'm afraid." As indicated by the second drink he doesn't order.

"Bored," Aubrey tells Julia, since she's kind enough to ask in specifics. "And a little disappointed. Actually, I'm kinda feeling a bit shitty. I was supposed to meet some people here later, but I feel like maybe I'm coming down with something." There's a bit of that going around, as it seems like Dante doesn't have as much gas in the tank either, although at least the Addington girl seems to be trying to power through for the moment. Alcohol isn't exactly good medicine but its good for blitzing yourself so badly you don't remember you feel like crap! And then there's the Cristobal show. This she's just watching with... fascinated anticipation?

Sutton looks at Cristobal as he fires off something that sounds pretty, but does she understand it? What she says is, "You talk too much, pet. Show, don't tell." Oh, she must think he's talking up his dancing or something. Goodness. "If you can fuck, you can dance." She throws a hand up into the air, with her posh little accent that prompts half the PD to call her British. She is not. Her mother is.

She gets to her feet, right about the time he says something about her hips. "Well?" She moves out onto the floor. She slides in close to Cris and turns her hand in his. She holds up a finger, slides her hand out of her back pocket, which has vibrated several times, and takes a moment to return some texts. "Show me what you have, Cristobal."

Is Cris the type to tilt his head a little to try and see what Sutton is texting? Yes, yes he is. But then she's asking for less tell, more show, he's more than happy to oblige. His hips suddenly clip in tight to hers as his other hand spreads across the small of her back and then in one fluid motion he takes her in a quick set of spins that takes them into the center of the dance floor. Over the tops of other merry goers' heads, he sees Dante preparing to leave. Surely that little kissy face isn't meant for that Brit?

"Well,

"Well, I hope you both feel better." Julia offers to Dante and Aubrey kindly. She seems content enough to be on her own, though she does lean over and ask the bartender if Hannah's in this evening.

"Thank you. I'm actually feeling fine. Just a titch weary and realizing all I need to do in the morning. I've been cursed with a love of the nightlife, but am at my most productive in the early morning hours." Dante inclines his head in farewell to Julia, then Aubrey. As for Cristobal? When the other man makes a kissy face at him, he simply reaches up and flicks open another waistcoat button before turning to depart.

Aubrey watches the pair finally head out to the floor, but once things get under way, she doesn't exactly make an effort to disguise the fact that she's a little disappointed with the results. "Well, he's not /bad/," she's willing to admit. "But if that's how he fucks, I'm in no rush to sit-and-spin." Yes she clearly HAS held on to that opening remark, and now keeps milking it! Dante's farewell leaves her with Julia, who she now considers, shrugging off any commentary about her well-being for the moment. "You look kinda familiar."

It's Julia's turn to to regard Aubrey. "You're an Addington, right? Erin's my cousin. Her mom was my mom's sister." She takes another sip of her mojito. "I was at the funeral. But so were a lot of people."

Sutton pauses in texting when she notices Cris craning his head. She glances up, levels a look at him, tips her phone to her chest and keeps tying without looking at the screen, which probably results in some spectacular autocorrects for whomever it is she's talking to.

Which means when he reaches for the small of her back and presses her hips in against his, she's only just glancing up to look at him. She's being spun about the floor, and has to take that opportunity to grab hold of his shoulder, slide her phone into her pocket, and pay attention to his hands and his steps if she has any hope of keeping up. Once her hands are free, Sutton slides her hands up to the back of Cris neck and shows him exactly what her hips can do. Her hair's only shoulder-length, which takes her game down, but it becomes quickly apparent that someone likes Latin dance.

"Not bad, pequeña pimienta, not bad." Of course Sutton's doing a fair sight better than he is, so Cris is going to have to up his game a little bit. She seems to take his lead rather well, and so his hips nudge hers into a little triple step cha-cha and with her phone stowed away, he's more inclined to start throwing out the random spins. Even though he twirls her away, he's never far behind as with most Latin dancing it's all about the close contact and two bodies moving as one. At one point he has his arms wrapped around Sutton's waist as he sways behind her, face tilted down so close to her neck that his breath and perhaps a slight pass of his lips tickles the slope from ear to slouched collar of her sweater.

"Oh. Yes. You know I actually just moved into her old apartment. Well, it's great aunt Margaret's, really, but. Aubrey," the young woman (finally) properly introduces herself, now that Julia has detailed out a bit of geneology. There are an awful damn lot of them! "Yeah, I had to rush back." It is, in fact, not the only reason she came back, but it's a far more socially acceptable reason to give than 'I ran out of money and came back to mooch off the family.' "It's been a hard time for the whole family, really." That said, she seems like she's getting along alright. Free apartment, score! Finding her drink empty, she signals her committment to the evening out, despite whatever boredom or health issues, by wagging the glass at the bartender for a refill.

The Firefly isn't de la Vega's usual stomping grounds, though he does seem to be known by the bouncer who lets him through after a few brief words exchanged. No love lost between those two, apparently. The police captain's in a rain-spattered leather jacket thrown over a faded grey tee shirt, and black jeans shoved into motorcycle boots. A baseball cap with the brim pulled low over his eyes, just for a little extra anonymity. Not like he's fooling anyone here who knows him, anyway.

Phone out while he checks his messages, he shoulders his way toward the bar with an occasional glance over the sea of faces in here tonight.

"Having to rush back happens a lot in this town when you try to get away, unfortunately." Julia admits to Aubrey, her eyes sliding briefly to the door. Oh, it's Dresser Guy, aka Ruiz. Her gaze returns to Aubrey. "She's not in her apartment anymore? Where's she living now? I need to text her. She's supposed to be part of the court for my quinces."

Truth be told, the only dancing Sutton is proficient in is Latin dance. Tuesday nights in Seattle, Latin clubs. Hot Latin men and women and hours of dancing, sweating, enjoying music and flirting and drinks. "One dance, pet. I'm still recovering." This between spins that have her hand tightening on his neck when a little bit of dizziness hits on the heels of the third spin.

She's better locked in close to the tall, blue-eyed Cristobal's body. Thank god he didn't go straight for Salsa. Once he's slipped around behind her, Sutton's arm curls up and around like that funny little move from Dirty Dancing and she laughs when Cris' lips tickle down her throat. "Watch your mouth, cabrón." Her fingers trail down his cervical spine.

Unfortunately, Sutton misses Aubrey talking about the apartment, and also has only been back to her own, next door, twice in the last two weeks, and only then to fetch something briefly. She doesn't know the woman lives at Bayside. Yet. She'd probably miss it standing next to the woman. Fighting a dizzy spell is a PITA when you're trying to show a hot Latino he can't lure all the ladies into his trap with one little finger. She entirely misses Ruiz's entry, though there's no doubt that'll be rectified soon enough.

"Mmmm. I think she said something about getting a house? But I really don't remember the details." Demonstrating her sieve-like memory when it comes to other people's problems! Aubrey gives a helpless shrug. "Owning really seems like too much trouble to me. It's a great apartment, though." Blink. "Your what?" She continues to score amazingly poor marks on the whole cultural diversity thing! Her eyes flit out to the dancing couple, and the requisite peanut gallery commentary continues, "She has some pretty good moves."

"I'll text. I'n sure it's fine." With another swallow of her drink, Julia watches the dancing for a few seconds before absently keeping an eye on Ruiz. "A quinces. It's a special kind of birthday party. Like a sweet sixteen. Or a bat mitzvah." Thanks, Itzhak!

"One dance." Cristobal promises, and seems to have enough mercy in his undulating muscles to keep the fancier moves at a minimum after she comments that she's still recovering. At the warning pertaining to his mouth, there is just a soft laugh that has him lifting his face away from the crook of her neck and resting his cheek on the soft waves of her hair instead.

For all his bluster, he's true to his word, and as the song ends he wraps an arm loosely around her waist to help her off the dance floor, mindful of keeping others from their path with his ability to bulk up his frame and throw an elbow if necessary to make sure she has safe passage back to the bar and doesn't go tits over tequila in the process. "The fact that you did that in flip flops is worth my praise alone." Ruiz? Where? Huh?

Taking a lean against the bar, Ruiz knocks his knuckles on it to gain the 'tender's attention. He tips his chin up to the man, orders a, "Tequila. Straight." Ice is for fucking chumps. Then his dark eyes slide back over to the dancefloor, or whatever passes for one here, and he pays particularly close attention to the younger Latino man dancing with the blonde. "Evening," is offered in askance to Julia, seated nearby. He recognises her enough for a polite greeting, but seems inclined to little more than that. Smiling? Is also for chumps.

Aubrey first nods, as if she understands the explanation well enough. Then she does a bit of a record-skip pause-and-backup. "Waitwait. So who is it for? Your... niece?" It is 100%% true that Aubrey is not very good at math, but not even she is bad enough at it to either mistake Julia for a sixteen year old or assume she'd have a daughter that age. Soon she has her drink refilled, which creates the illusion that she's barely touched the first one by the time Sutton and Cristobal finally make it back from the dancefloor. "You two looked pretty good out there! Especially you." 'You' aka Sutton aka NOT CRISTOBAL.

"Julia." The aforementioned adds to Aubrey, regarding herself. She looks ovr at Ruiz, eyes full of suspiscion, though her body language is calm. "Hola." she replies, and drains the rest of her mojito. She signals the bartender for another. At Aubrey's question, she laughs. "No, it's for me. I never got a proper one when I was fifteen, so my friends are organizing one for me. The one I was supposed to have, but never got." She flashes a grin. "Not bad, blanquita." she says, nodding and smiling in appreciation.

Sutton laughs when Cris relocates his mouth, nodding. "Good boy." Approval and a sweet tone all in one. Her nails tickle over the side of his throat and she says, "When I'm back at full strength, y'll tell me where the Latin dance nights are." There have to be some in this town, even if it's small. She leans a little into Cris' embrace of her waist when they wander off the floor. Her hand pauses at his ribs, then she pushes off lightly. "You'd be amazed what I can do in rubber shoes." It's probably a little odd that her voice takes a sultry dip with that ridiculous phrase, then she laughs and returns to her drink on the bar. She immediately orders another and waves off this one. She never re-samples a drink she left unsupervised in public. "Another Bees Knees, please."

Just one little dance and she's reaching up to brush her hair off the back of her neck, a light sheen of sweat rising on her skin. "Whew, Cristobal. The lady preferred my dancing to yours." Yes, she points it out for him in case he missed it. "Thank you, love. Sutton. I didn't catch your name." She leans against the bar, looking right past a familiar profile. "Javi." She leaves her previous seat and moves a couple down, which puts her closer to both Latin men, though she's still addressing Aubrey. "You look... sort of familiar." Something about her. Has she seen her in the Bayside parking lot, perhaps? She smiles to Julia. "Gracias. But it's easy when the man leads with his hips."

Cristobal rumbles a promising, "Mmhmm." to the mention of Latin dance nights, no doubt carrying a hint along with it that no only will he tell her, he'll show her. His grin turns somewhat feral at Sutton's comment about rubber shoes and only turns more so when the blonde identifies the baseball hatted man at the bar. "Jefe, how's it hanging?" He then pointed looks in Ruiz' direction as he puckers his lips and blows a cooling stream of air at the exposed nape of Sutton's neck. "Because you're muy caliente, Little Pepper." He says to Aubrey's compliment as he leans to her side to order around her, his hand straying to her lower back briefly. "Another Glenlivet 18, on the rocks." Because he's a chump.

Julia makes a sound like she's possibly getting strangled, or snorting from her nose. That other sound? Might be coughing. Or laughing. Maybe her drink went up her nose? Leaning over her drink, she wipes her eyes carefully, still chuckling, and addresses Cristobal. "Dime la verdad, te golpeas con chicas blancas porque las chicas latinas conocen tu juego, verdad?" Ruiz gets a smile as she tries to school her face, and then she looks at Aubrey and Sutton. "Sorry," she says, genuinely apologetic, but still extremely amused.

"Oh, ok! That's super cool, that you get a redo, well, er, not a redo but a..." Aubrey answers Julia, making a vague gesture with her drink-free hand. "... later is better than never first-do, I guess?! I remember my sweet sixteen, it was great." And probably terrible excessive. In fact, she blathers on: "I had the prettiest dress, and daddy got me my first car, and I hooked up in it aftewards with Mark Harrison - he was so cute - and..." OK maybe she is oversharing. And a bit of a lightweight, noticably friendlier and more outgoing as she works on the second drink. "I bet you'll have a blast!" That too friendly demeanor also faces Sutton as she introduces herself. "Aubrey." The inexplicable familiarity earns a quick addendum: "Aubrey Addington." Who wouldn't know who she is, gosh! Even if that is totally not the reason.

Ruiz has a faintly cagey look about him when Sutton spots him and calls him out. Like a fox caught in the henhouse; he flickers something that's meant to be a smile, but comes off more like he's baring his teeth at her. His dark eyes are trained on the blonde for a few moments more as he swirls his drink, then flick to the Latino who's been putting the moves on her. His smile turns wolfish. "Vete a la chingada, cabron," he retorts in a low, even voice, glass tipped to his mouth for a sip without taking his eyes off the younger man.

Sutton glances over her shoulder as Cris leans in and gives her a little more of that flirt that seems to roll off of him, and the breath across the back of her neck. That raises all the fine hairs there and she makes a point of looking him over like she's considering him for a purpose other than dancing. Could be lawbreaking, could be something else. "You remind me of someone, Cristobal. Always walking the edge, always courting disaster. I like this about you." This time, when she says it, she gives it the full flavor of a Spanish pronunciation. She snorts at something. Right around the time Julia apologizes. She waves it off with a hand, just as her fresh, honey-sweetened drink arrives.

"Quinciñeras?" Maybe she caught a little something of their conversation. She's distracted from asking more by Aubrey's reply. "Addington, mm? Relation to Erin, then. Cousin?" Maybe that's the familiarity. "Aubrey's a pretty name."

The blonde's just taking a sip of her drink when Ruiz speaks up. That has her hiding a little smirk with her glass. "You seem tense. Let me buy you another drink." He hasn't finished his first, but that doesn't stop her waving on another one when the bartender looks their way.

And in true Latin flare and exuberance, Cris knee-jerk answers Julia, "O tal vez no he visto a una latina en esta ciudad tan caliente como tú todavía, chica." Cue the smile as he flicks out two twenties across the bar and flicks a finger between him and Sutton and Ruiz to indicate he's paying for all three drinks. "Because you have a poor taste. Which I like about you." He tells Sutton. As he pulls his drink back and is 'greeted' by Ruiz, he calmly responds in casual English. "Been there, done that. I give it a six out of ten for lack of cuddling afterwards." His head tips towards Sutton slightly, "She knows Spanish doesn't she?"

"Some sort of cousin, yeah," Aubrey confirms to Sutton. "Thanks." 'Bad at math' applies here, as does the fact that NO ONE can ever keep that second, third, once, twice removed crap straight. It is impossible and so she doesn't try! There is, again, a whooooole lot of conversation going on it not-English, causing some level of visible aggitation, happy-tipsy mode or not. "Ok, ok, I don't know what ANYONE is saying and it's starting to annoy me, ohmygawd."

"Of course she does." says Julia. "She's clever." Cristobal has her shaking her head, well-humored. And with that, she answers Sutton. "I was very sick, growing up. I never got a proper one. So some friends are arranging one for me. They want me to do the whole shebang, with a court, and the dress with an enormous skirt. We're even flying in my father." AubreyWe gets the mildest of smiles. "It's natural for us to want to speak the language that connects us to our families. Apologies." The apology is not sarcastic, but neither does it carry particular emphasis.

Few people understand the family tree, but Cassidy certainly looks like the type who could keep it straight. She's not here to dance - apparently. She wears a starched white blouse buttoned fully and a heather gray pencil skirt. Attached to the waistline of the skirt is an old beeper style pager. A handbag hangs from her shoulders and is held close with one hand while the other removes way-too-big sunglasses from her face to expose a bright blue gaze.

She walks with a tight gait, clacking against the floor with her pumps. An exasperated exhalation, a light tostle of her tresses and a roll of the eyes for the bouncer (now behind her and out of sight) that greeted her at the door. She approaches the bar.

Cris is yanking Javier's chain. Cris knows this. And Javier knows this. And anyone paying even an nominal amount of attention to the exchange also knows this. The cop's hackles are up, and he doesn't seem to give a fuck whether Aubrey approves of the amount of Spanish flying around or not; his response to the other man is offered once again in his native tongue. His accent screams Tijuana street rat through and through. "Si haces daño aquí, te pondré en el maldito suelo." His eyes are narrowed at Sutton's suggestion of another glass of tequila, and he pushes off the bar, steady gaze still fixed on Cristobal. "Atornillarte," is hissed right as the twenty's slid across the counter to pay for his drink.

He turns to shove his way to the door, and practically mows Cassidy down with all 190 pounds of agitated Mexican.

Sutton picks up her glass and glances over her shoulder at Cris again, right as he inquires after her fluency. She doesn't answer him — the question wasn't for her. "I have excellent taste. I just trend toward reckless decisions. Different." She mms and sips, "Tamale, Tamale, really."

"I don't know if like five times removed counts, but that makes us cousins too." After a fashion. In reality, they may have very little in common except a grandma like... 5 generations back. Family trees. "Pleasure. Don't mention me to grandma." She means the living one. What a cranky old bat. Not that she's met her. She's heard things. Sutton takes off its case and slides her phone along the bar's surface, after she unlocks it. "Give me your number, love." This is to Aubrey, but it has to slide past several people before it gets to her, like a little air hockey puck.

She smiles, and looks over to Julia. "That sounds beautiful. What a sweet gesture for you." She pauses briefly, then adds, "May your day be filled with love and laughter." Her hand rests on Ruiz's torso, to rest her hand against his ribs — nope. She reaches for him, but he's getting up to go bite out some words at Cris. "So you two know each other then." She turns her head to gaze after the Mexican. She says something under her breath, though it's unlikely any but the closest to her hear it.

"No deberias dejar que te alcance." Julia calls after Ruiz. She inclines her head to Sutton. "Thank you." she says, and lingers over her mojito languidly.

Cristobal's hand snaps down in a near blind grasp on the bar to barely catch Sutton's phone in its slide as his eyes are busy tracking Ruiz as he takes his rather brusque leave of the bar, "Sorry, little Pepper. I didn't realize you had a jealous boyfriend." Yet, that doesn't stop him from thumbing his number quickly into his phone before sending it back on its intended path down the bar.

Cassidy gasps and tucks her arms in and steps to the side to avoid being bulldozed by a large angry man. She watches him pass and lets out another exasperated sigh.

She flicks out those too-big sunglasses again and tosses them back on her face. She sticks an unlit cigarette in her mouth and finger waggles at the people at the bar where Ruiz came from, with a smile. Then she turns and stalks after him.

With no regard to her protest, the whole jibberishfest continues and even gets louder! And angrier! Julia's diplomacy, in the end, turns out not to matter much. "Doesn't exactly sound like friendly family talk from here, hon, but forget about it." Aubrey puts it aside! Tunes it out! Or at least, she attempts as much, in part by taking a somewhat more exaggeratedly ill-advised gulp from her glass. It is not really a gulping drink. "Haha I think at that point I'm related to just about everyone in town," she then informs Sutton. "Well, anyone, y'know, who's got any kinda family roots here. Ugh. Its kind of the worst, cuz like, what if you meet some dude and it turns out he's a somethingsomething cousin or something? Laaame." The phone then comes sliding along and she reaches out to catch it... and yet there's Cris, again.

Now she tips over the (mildly drunken) edge!

"Oh my god! Rude! Like, seriously! I don't know who you think you're impressing with all this fucking macho swagger bullshit, but tone it down a fucking notch or ten! And give me that!" She's getting grabby for the phone even before he surrenders it, which also involves pushing off her barstool, swaying a little tipsily in the whole process.

"It's not him, not entirely." Whatever that means. "Don't be sorry, Cristobal. You know what Latin men are like with a little fire under them." There's a brow raise. She takes a moment to tip back her drink, draining it much faster than one should with a cocktail that expensive. She watches the blue-eyed pretty enter his number into her phone, shakes her head a little. "It wasn't intentional, but I think he's leaving so he isn't tempted to choke you to death. Maybe we'll talk about it later, if you're a good boy."

Sutton calls out, "Sorry about that, love. Places to be." Yes, she just apologized for the off-duty police Captain. Of course Cassidy turns right around and stalks out too. Welp, clearly she knows about places to be as well! She grins down to Aubrey. "That's only a problem if you plan on making babies." When Aubrey lets Cris have a piece of her mind, Sutton leans over on the bar and laughs. "I love you. I'm so glad we're related." She laughs like she hasn't laughed in a while.

"Ugh." Julia says, and downs her drink in one go. "Things are getting ugly. Time to take off." She reaches into her clutch, pulling out the cash to pay for her drinks, and regards Aubrey with mild sympathy. "Cheers, blanquita." she offers in departure.

"So you're saying he doesn't want to flirt with me again." Cris says sideways to Sutton because his attention is now solely going to the fired up Addington thirty three and a half times removed minus one from Sutton, his head tilting slightly at Aubrey as she wobbles. "Whoa there." And immediately his hands go out to scoop her up at the waist and gently deposit her back on her stool, bending over slightly so that he's eye to eye for the next bit.

"My apology would sound much more musical in Spanish, but for now let me say I'm sorry and call you an Uber, hmm?" And just like that all his bravado is gone as he asks her this. Cristobal's hands smooth down her hair on both sides of her face to momentarily cup her cheeks as he musters the best damn apologetic puppy eyes he's got.

Julia lets out another laugh, and scoots off the bartstool. Walking past the pair, she calls out over her shoulder, "Ella sabe que estas lleno de mierda, papi." and heads for the door.

Aubrey flails a bit as she's scooped up, making a whoooooole scene of it. It's fortunate her dress is kinda tight (if perhaps inconvenient for some other reasons), as it keeps him from getting an ex-cheerleader split kick to the general face region. But how does she /try/. "OHMYGODLEGGOPUTMEDOWN!" the young woman exclaims, in all her less than terrifying rage. And then he does. Which leaves her quietly fuming but without as obvious of an outlet for her frustration. Oh wait! He's getting touchy! Game on! "Ugh! Get off you creep!" She swats one of his hands. Nope, his this case, his latin charm is a spell that has evidently failed to take hold.

Presumably, she's eventually left alone on the stool, whereupon she gives a long, exasperated, almost utteral groan of "uuuuugh." Turning to try and find Sutton again, she mutters, "I do not see what you see in him. Blahhhh." She even sticks out her tongue in a comical sort of exaggeratedly performed show of disgust. They can at least find one area of agreement, though: "I am so out of here." Which sees, for all that effort, her slip right off the stool again, although this time she does mostly land on her solid two feet. And despite all her protest she won't protest a free ride if one shows up. While she waits, Aubrey will finally get around to putting her number in the phone. "Text me babe, we'll hang out. UM, not him though!"

And some short while later, she stumbles out! Fly home, drunk white girl!

"He might. He might flirt with you again, but this week... ay, bebe, this week is a bad week for that." Sutton finishes her Bees Knees, and puts the coupe glass on the bar with a click. "Do you know how things in this town sometimes go?" She asks while Cris is scooping Aubrey up. She smiles, watching, and reaches over to pick up the tequila that was delivered after Ruiz left. She'll have that. No leaving until she has her phone back. "This is one of the less pleasant things offered up." Does she explain this? Maybe. Really it depends on Cristobal's response, and thinking over Ruiz's distinctly unfavorable reaction to the man. He's gruff, sure, but he's not usually rude. When he puts his hands on Aubrey, of course, Sutton expects a backlash from the woman. Handsy men.

"Him? He has a nice butt and hips made for dancing. Pretty eyes and trouble in his smile. If I were drunk, I'd probably even go home with him. Sadly, not drunk." She lifts her tequila (Ruiz's tequila, paid for by Cris), and shoots it. "There's only one man I'll be handcuffing to my bed later tonight." Overshare. Over. Share. She moves over to where Aubrey was sitting, hopefully to find her phone there, and not gone with the Addington out the door. "I don't think she likes you yet, Cabrón."

When Aubrey starts on her fresh tirade, Cris' hands immediately fly up and in capitulation. He's not about to get any heat for laying hands on a girl, no matter how good in intention, this far from the southern border. Of course it brings about a whole new flurry of Spanish, "¿Qué diablos es? Tratas de disculparte y hacer algo bueno para asegurarte de que la borracha blanca llegue a casa con seguridad al cálido abrazo del dinero de papá y casi me escupe en los ojos." He makes a motion of dusting one hand off against another, "Eso es. Lo intenté. Si ella envuelve su auto alrededor de un árbol, no es por mí." There is an intake of air that cools his ire before he looks back to Sutton.

"I agree, he seems a little more testy than normal. Usually, it's a dance, back and forth. Lately, it lacks the finesse. And the fun.“ It takes Cristobal a moment to break himself of the patter of espanol and smooth out its edges. But after a little twist of his neck, he eases back into it. "But it's Gray Harbor's unique qualities that draws us all here, isn't it? There used to be a Cenote near my families' land where stuff like this would happen. But on this scale?" His smile finally returns, slow and sly, "I guess if you're going to be handcuffed, by who better than the man who has access to so many sets."

Sutton picks up her phone from the bar top, sliding it back into its case. She's smiling by the time he's finished firing off in Spanish. "At least you know when to take your hands off a woman." She watches him, sliding her phone into her back pocket. "Speaks well to your ability to take direction." She glances back at the door. "I doubt she's going to crash, but if she does, she's probably in a car that can take it."

She's quiet for a couple of beats, her knuckles lightly rapping the bar. "Maybe it is. I was drunk and don't remember applying for a job here. They're either desperate or I'm eloquent on five vodka martinis." She leans back against the bar, turning to face out, legs crossed. "I'm pretty sure I have more handcuffs than he, but his are the good ones you can't pick."

Sutton pats the seat next to her. "Tell me how you two know each other. Tell me where you're from, Cristobal."

So that confirms it's Ruiz she's to be 'handcuffed to the bed' by. Check. "So you do speak Spanish." Check. "And it's not that I take direction," Though Cristobal is conveniently sitting down after she pats that stool, twisting to face her and keep the main entrance in his field of vision, at least in the peripheral. "It's that I know when to cut my losses and move on." He wraps his knuckles on the bar to ask for another drink without interrupting the flow of conversation. "Captain de la Vega pulled me over for having a tail light out. Among other things. How did you two meet?"

Sutton's not the one who wears the cuffs, but Cris hasn't explicitly asked. She hms. "You don't?" Take direction. "That's a shame." There's a quirk of a smile on her lips when she says that. "Claro que si." Of course. Of course she speaks Spanish.

When Cristobal tells her how he met de la Vega, she mms. "I used to dispatch for the PD. I knew his voice before his face. We ran across each other a few times — it didn't go well and we didn't speak for months." She smiles. "He didn't take direction well either." She flicks a hand through her hair, brushing it back from her eyes, her shoulder-length locks tousled and messy.

"Ah, but is it that I said I don't take direction, or just implied that's not the reason why I unhanded her." Cris lifts his new drink with a little silent salute of thanks to the bartender before he slants his grin back towards Sutton. "If anyone can say that a hundred percent of their encounters with Ruiz went well, I'd call them a liar. Or his mother. But that's part of his charm, no? So did you pick up Spanish from him, school? The mean streets of Gray Harbor when you used to run with the Latin Kings?"

"I'd definitely call them a liar." Sutton agrees with Cristobal on that front. "But the ones that go well." She smiles. "No, I'd never learn a language for a man. I learned it because I'm a paramedic and I like to be sure I can do the best for the most patient in my city, whatever that city is. It's a beautiful language." Or she used to run with the Latin Kings and this is some elaborate deception. "It's a perk that I like Latin men, Latin dance, and street tacos. You get more free street tacos when you order them in Spanish." She pops her eyebrows and then smiles a little wider. "All that profanity for one little broken tail light?"

"Well I did say 'other things'." Cristobal's smirk is hidden by the rim of his glass as he sips again, ice clinking together against the curving line of his lip. "So if you wouldn't learn a language for a man, what would you learn?" He doesn't dispute the notion that ordering tacos in Spanish gets her freebies. This is widely accepted to every street truck he's visited. It also gets you the better meat and the fresher avocado.

Sutton thinks on that for a couple of beats, mhm-ing at the 'other things'. She says 'other things' all the time. All. The. Time. Her hands drop into her lap, brushing briefly over her thigh, and then she tips back against the bar again, hooking her elbows over it. Her off-the-shoulder sweater slouches off a little more, this time off the left side. Her skin is inked in a sleeve there, capped with flowers at the top of her shoulder, black and grey. "I've learned to lie better. I've learn to fight better. For the right man I might learn to tell the truth most of the time, but only if he deserves it. I think I'd be willing to try anything once." She looks over into those pale eyes. "What is it you'd learn for a man? Or a woman." She lifts her shoulder in a slight shrug. "Lo mismo." The same.

Cristobal's blue colored gaze drops to that slice of newly exposed shoulder, his tongue riding along the ridge of his teeth mimicking what it looks like he'd want his finger to do along the subtle peaks and valleys of the texture in her sweater's collar to trace that ink. "Like you said. It would depend on the man or the woman. But yes, for the right one? All those things. Or the wrong one. But let's just say I haven't learned a new lesson in quite some time." His eyes seem suddenly intense as they travel back up to her own. "Do you need a ride home?"

"More probably the wrong one, if you're anything like me. I think you are. Like I said, you remind me of someone." Sutton mms. It could have been an accident that her sweater shifted like that, but perhaps not. She reaches up to run her fingers over her shoulder. It's a cold night, and she has to wait for a Lyft. "What is it you do for a living, Cristo?" At last, a shortened version of his name.

Sutton watches the man's face for a time, then inspects his blue eyes. Does she need a ride? "Yes. I do. Is that an offer, or are you going to call me an Uber?"

"I'll take you." An offer that wasn't given to the drunken Aubrey.

Cris is suddenly on his feet, leaving the rest of his drink on the bar to the mercy of melting ice as he digs more money out of his pocket. He's lost track of what he's paid for or not, but he peels off a few twenties from their brethren and assumes it'll cover it. He reaches a hand for her elbow but stops just shy of touching it. "I'm a bouncer at the Platinum. And I believe, if my sources are correct, we'll be working The Boiler Room together soon." AKA the Fight Club.

"Your sources." Sutton moves to rise, legs slipping uncrossed. She hops off the stool, adjusts her clothing briefly. She says nothing about his phrasing, but that amusement persists in the slight twitch of the corner of her mouth. "Joey?" Not a leap, considering. "Are you bouncing or fighting?" She pulls the shoulder of her sweater up, preparing to head out into the cool autumn night.

"That should be a good night. I think I'll play medic for most of the night. Maybe climb in the ring at the end, if there's someone who's willing to play with me." Sutton looks fit, like a runner, but doesn't have the bulked up frame of a boxer, not at all. "Though straight boxing isn't my favorite. I might get booted."

Cris' hand strays to the small of her back in a gesture that might be suddenly possessive or protective. Or it's just a Latin thing. It's hard to say. Whatever the case, he's merely waiting for her lead to the door instead of taking control of that particular decision. "Both. But the deal is I don't touch the money and I don't referee, to keep things fair. I just keep the peace in the audience and make money for the house." While lining his own pockets for any win, of course. "I used to fight MMA down in El Paso. Aikido, Hapkido and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. And anytime you want a go, little Pepper, count me in." But he neither confirms nor denies any source.

Sutton doesn't seem to mind the hand where it is, even if he touches her. He's not the first man to stand close in that way. If his hand slid under her sweater, she might react differently. "You're sweet." An offer to fight her anytime after he lists his MMA specialties. "That's quite a spread. I know a little Aikido, Muay Thai, Krav Maga. My twin taught me the last one." She mms. "Hard hitter."

She moves through the club and then out through the door, glancing up into the misting rain. "Washington." She takes a slow, deep breath. Sounds like she loves it here. She reaches up to hold her sweater up, tp keep that chilly rain from slipping down her clothing. "Are you a cautious driver, Cristo?"