2020-08-14 - You Only Get One Chance to Make a Bad Impression

It was the day after the Nazario’s had spirited Kip to the hospital. Nova was surprisingly sober, likely something to do with the seriousness of the day prior. Landlords did not seem privy to the strangeness of the Harbor, so off to work it was.

The Latina had chosen a white fringed leotard with plunging neckline for the day. Complimenting it with over the top white eyeshadow and stick on gems. She looked far better than she felt on the dim stage of the club, smiling and doing a few warm up spins. Evenings were far busier, but these were still working hours. A spot light turns on, aimed at her pole, glinting as it touches sparkles. She waits for Rekani’s music, knowing that he was a bit behind her from the house. They were not early to work types.

The first challenge of getting in to any place that cards or otherwise IDs is of course not being possessed of what a lot of people consider proper ID. It takes Ravn a couple of minutes to convince a naturally suspicious bloke out in front that yes, actually, a EU passport is legitimate ID. Coupled with this and the fact that he's inarguably over twenty-one and dressed like Steve Jobs with depression, he eventually does pass the gatekeeping challenge; guys who dress like that aren't necessarily tech billionaires but nor do they live in a cardboard box under the nearest highway bridge, and their money is the same colour as everyone else's.

He looks around curiously as he enters the club. He's not new to the idea of a club scene with a dee jay booth in the middle, lights and music and sweaty bodies. He's not new to the idea of near-naked women doing things around poles either. It's just that the combination of the two added to the fact that this is some sneaky place out on the outskirts rather than downtown Copenhagen is new. He's not entirely sure what to expect -- thank you, Hollywood and GTA for giving him all the wrong ideas -- and heads towards the bar. It's always pretty safe to order a scotch and, well, use your eyes and ears.

Even with a lot on his mind, it was typical of Rekani to throw down some sick beats on cue. A testament to Nova’s ability to fully crush him in their typical racing, Rekani had just entered the music booth when his sister was stepping out onto the stage. It didn’t really matter to him. Nova’s sets were usually allowed for him to do something off the cuff, as he’d use a song rhythm she knew, then hand-mix the embellishments. It was a strange habit the both of them had. Even if the music blasting out of the Cabaret’s sound system was heavy and well-threaded, anyone looking into the sound booth would see he was pretty much standing still, distracted, hands moving by rote, none of the usual mixing boisterousness. It was a strange dichotomy.

Noting Rekani’s rigid state, Nova does her best to maintain a decent stage presence. Other poles nearby were being taken up by dancers arriving for their own shifts. Her time slot for center was the present however and she was going to use it.

Her brother’s lack of energy effected her just a bit, spins not entirely as graceful as they could be. Her performance was still good, if not it’s usual great. Fringe sweeps in the air with a few fan kicks and she begins an inverted climb.

Noticing the stranger at the bar she gives a coy wave and wink with a single studded eye, all while upside down, inner thighs wrapped to the metal for support.

Typically she would give Rek some shit for subpar mixing, but she knew it had been a day.

A scotch is acquired, and Ravn turns around, resting his elbows on the counter behind himself and looking at the proceedings. He's got a 'new in town' kind of aura to him, evident in the way he looks at people and things. Some people are used to this kind of environment; some people, not so much. He notes the wink from the girl at the pole and inclines his head slightly -- politeness doesn't cost, yanno? -- but his gaze wanders away in the fashion of someone who's either quite uptight or into men. From the appearance of him it could be either; he's definitely the kind of bloke who invests a fair bit of time in achieving a seemingly effortless casual look.

Subpar mixing was a slight one could not generally aim at Rekani. Sure, his stage presence was lacking, but that mix was fire. You want impressive? Maybe it’s the fact during the bridge, he actually has his phone out in one hand while he mixes with the other, and the music still sounds seamless and bumping.

He seems to be clicking through some things, waiting, his face under lit by the white of settings screens, then he was looking down at the board, hitting some things there near the top between actual work on the music side. Anyone but Nova might not even notice.

<<Give yourself something easier.>> Rekani would hear in the back of his brain along with the beginnings of the next song she wanted before a break. She was in all honesty worried about him. Rekani seeming more stressed than usual in Gray Harbor. Nova blocks this thought out with the challenge presented to her by the dark horse at the bar. What would typically put someone off, the glittering tanned girl only took as an opportunity. Now she was genuinely curious which side the man fell on.

The routine with the next song involved more floor work than most of her others, a lot in the way of typical slinking across the stage. She sent a few more flirtatious gestures his way as though trying to work out the mystery of him. To be fair it was less to do with being disrespectful and more to do with the fact that Nova hit on whomever she found cute, including her brother's straight Russian girlfriend.

In a form of punctuation, Ravn might swear he sees pink and purple flower blooming fireworks in the background of her performance. He would be the only one to.

Ravn glances at his drink. Then at the beautiful woman in the admittedly very, shall we say, scarce white dress. And back at the drink. I'm a little old and, well, male to get roofied, aren't I. Then again, he's got no idea what being roofied actually would feel like, and this is Gray Harbor where half the city's occupants walk on water, read the history of objects or each other's minds, and claim that people glow with an inner light that attracts demons. On the sliding scale of aw pretty to preternatural terror from the depths, fireworks are pretty low key. He cracks a small grin all the same, though, because it's an experience he's not had before, and it's interesting.

He does glance occasionally at the other patrons, looking for signs and cues -- do they see this? They do not. Well, then. I guess she's like the others. She can tell I can do something, too. It's probably a way of saying hello.

The Dane decides to linger, savouring his drink and watching the show. It's not like she's exactly painful to look at, either.

Rekani just glances up at Nova as he receives her sending, shrugging. This time he just seems to do some searching on his phone, then clicks on something. He peers down at his board as the song begins to play stock, unmodulated or mixed by him, just some remix from the internet. That was how little he was feeling it, he’d just linked the sound board to his phone so he could just grab a seat and select tracks as needed.

He steps down from the booth and heads to the bar, maybe he needed a drink at this point. His little silver pen vape makes an appearance, taking a good drag of it, holding as he peers at his phone, then slowly lets it out through his nose.

If there was a way to send a mental eye roll emoji towards Rekani, Nova was doing it. <<Just go see her, I’ll cover for you.>> The mental tone is resigned. Kip was being taken care of by people far better suited to than the two of them. He really just should have just stayed with her if he was this concerned. <<You’re cleaning up the sludge in the apartment though. That stuff looks diseased.>>

As far as the dark horse is concerned though it could be hello. It could also be ’Do you want to get high together?’ or ’I’m coming to sit next to you at the bar and ask a lot of personal questions.’. In this case it was the very last one. She steps gracefully from center pole and deviates to the DJ booth long enough to plug her own phone in with Rekani’s emergency premixed playlist.

Grabbing a seat next to the mystery man, the bartender hands her a water. “Gracious.” She says to the bartender before turning her full attention to the patron. “You’re new.” She states obviously, crossing her legs and settling in on the stool.

The blonde man's lip twitches. "New here, new in town, new everything. And you -- do things with fireworks. Besides the obvious." He inclines his head towards the podium. "I didn't realise I was that obvious, though."

His accent certainly is obvious. Definitely not a local boy -- not even the right continent. "Local girl I met said I should check the place out. Then somebody died and well, they were carrying a loyalty card to the bar here so I figured I would."

Nova does her best not to spit out a sip of her water. “No Papi I meant to the club!” She is giggling now. Poor guy must get made to feel out of place regularly if that’s his answer. She titles her head in interest, smiling sweetly in contrast to how dangerously she was dressed.

“If it makes you feel better, we aren’t from here either. Soy de Miami. A lot of weird here though right?” Nova rests her tilted head on one hand, sipping more water from the straw.

"Haven't made it to Miami yet. Heard it gets pretty hot down there in summer and the beaches are to die for," the European says with a small smile. "But yes... Weird doesn't really start to cover it, does it? I am -- trying to find my bearings. Get to know the town. Learn the rules. And I haven't seen Lyric for a couple of days so I thought that I might check out the place the dead guy went to, and look for one of the friendliest persons I've met in town so far."

Medium length dark waves drape loosely over her wrist as she stretches her neck farther. Nova watches him in amusement through thick lashes, which may or may not be fake. “Beaches are bonita, parties are better. Good strips for street racing. Great food.” She pauses, looking him up and down. “You would probably hate it. You don’t look like you eat all that much or know how to relax in the sun.” Her tone is teasing rather than mean spirited.

“I don’t see too much of the girl you mentioned. Mi hermano is the DJ usually scheduled on my shift. We travel together, package deal at clubs. She seems sweet though.”

Ravn cants his head, listening carefully -- in part because his Spanish is pretty much limited to Hollywood's Hispanic Villain archetype; the terms the woman is using aren't all that complex but he still wants to be certain he doesn't misunderstand. People can get prickly about that sort of thing. "I think the sun and I might not be on quite so familiar terms," he agrees, quite aware that he's the pale, Scandinavian type whose idea of sunbathing is along the lines of possibly squinting at that strange, bright object in the sky on the rare occasion it's not raining. Denmark does get its occasional hot, sunny summers but by Miami standards -- well, you can certainly take 'hot' out of that sentence.

"I actually came here to ask about a guy named Henry." The tall guy looks back out at the dance floor and the people undulating on it in strange and energetic fashions. "Henry Fitzgerald. Mid-fifties, I think he's a park ranger, something? Not sure he's a regular -- he got involved of some of Gray Harbor's strangeness and I'm sort of trying to figure out what kind of man he is." Because now he's the kind of man who's in a body bag with his head missing, his mind supplies helpfully, along with ample imagery. And the odds of him having been kinky or weird enough to be personally known to a random dancer and her dee jay aren't good but what the hell.

Nova sits up at the shift from casual conversation to murder talk. She had dealt with law enforcement enough in her time to know that someone like her should stay out of it for their own sake. She takes another sip of water and her eyes wander to the stage where a woman in small leopard shorts is slinking about. “Honest, folks don’t come in here with uniforms on. People want to be kind of anonymous usually, some are married. Probably wouldn’t be able to place him if he did though. Not a local.”

The immediate shift is easily detectable. Nova hated cops and Ravn was beginning to ask questions like one. She was being honest that she didn’t know anything, but she didn’t seem interested in discussing it further either. “If I see Lyric I’ll tell her you came by.”

"That's fair," Ravn murmurs; he's not familiar with how things work to any great extent but he recognises reluctance when he sees it. "I've honestly never been to a place like this before. Wasn't looking to get you in trouble."

Nova gets to her feet and takes her water in one hand. “You gotta have proof to have trouble.” She says vaguely, giving him a wave with her free hand. “Thanks to mi hermano I have two jobs for right now. Nice to meet you though.” With that she walks off from him, clear heels clicking against the floor.

Ravn watches her go and makes a mental note; you're not a private eye, don't try to be one because clearly, you're an embarrassment. Then again, the odds of finding out much here were never good to start with. He glances at the other patrons and wonders briefly how many of them are indeed married and here without their wives knowing where they are -- and then shakes his head. This is a side of America he's probably not going to come to terms with, and on some level, he's okay with that. Hope the girl isn't in trouble, though.