This building, obviously an ex-church of some kind, provides a slightly raw acoustic for the pounding music--muffled only by dusty velvet and tapestry hangings on the stone walls. Pillars march down the nave, which has become the main dance floor; a black-pipe grid about fifty feet overhead holds the fixtures and dark-colored lights that sweep the mass of dancers. It's evidently quite the nouveau-goth hangout of St. Claire--boasting more piercings per capita than the punkest of thrash clubs, and more decaying brocade than Anastasia's Antique Emporium downtown.
The sanctuary at the far end of the building is still cordoned off, often used for "entertainments" of varying type and quality. At other times, exhibitionists crowd the higher stepped platform of the sanctuary, or dance on the smaller raised areas around some of the pillars along the nave. A cube of chainlink fence to one side of the sanctuary houses the CD spinner and DJ of the evening. One side chapel holds the main bar of the club; the other chapels along the sides of the church serve as seating areas, filled with castoff furniture in dark colors and the occasional unlit candelabra or swath of dark fabric. Tattered, stained velvet sofas and settees, tucked into the little 'rooms', provide conversation areas somewhat shielded from the noise. The back chapels, arranged in an arc behind the sanctuary, provide dark places for the Nachtskinder to play, exchanging their money for sex, drugs, and other vices.
The arched double doors of the main church entrance lead back out to the street. The wood panels are tall and imposing; only one of them usually can be opened. A bouncer stands beside it at a tall podium.
In both corners, enclosed staircases lead up to the second-floor galleries--balconies from which those less inclined to dance can watch the writhing below.
A set of arched double doors, covered in red leather and studded with metal, leads north off the transept.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a close-fitting black sleeveless tee and camo BDU pants, with a pair of unused black suspenders hanging from the waist. The lack of sleeves reveals a tattoo on his left arm, just below the shoulder: a black parachuting rat, in the style of a spray-painted stencil, holding a crowbar and wearing a pair of glittery-gold star-shaped glasses. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this man's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build, but underneath his clothes is a body fitted with new muscle. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement. During the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. After a mishap with a monster, he was aged roughly five years forward and now looks like a young man in his early 20's. Now at 6'2, he has finally hit the rest of his growth spurt.
At first glance, there isn't a great deal about this woman that clambors for attention. Though possessing attractive features - a subtly angular face with high cheek bones, steel blue eyes conservatively accented with dark eyeliner, and darker complexion (possibly denoting some Sicilian heritage) all complimented by black, short-cropped hair that's parted off to one side - they're not particularly striking. True, her six feet of height may earn some stray glances, but she isn't going out of her way to draw much more than a cursory appraisal.
Nothing exemplifies this more than her preferred wardrobe. Clearly something of a tomboy (though 'butch' might be a more age-appropriate description, if somewhat frowned upon if stated out loud), she wears an untucked, button down, olive drab flannel, the sleeves rolled up to her biceps. Under that is a sleeveless white shirt that, though clean, has clearly seen better days, the material just form-fitting enough to give the impression of a decently athletic physique. Continuing the motif is a faded pair of jeans, the cuffs of which are tucked into a pair of black workboots that ride up to the lower slopes of her calves.
But while the clothing - offset by a single platinum hoop in her right ear, and a dash of subtle lipstick - is largely worn and weathered, the occasional smudge of oil that failed to come out in the morning wash a nod to what's most likely a blue collar profession, she clearly puts enough time into grooming and overall cleanliness to make a decent impression, even if it's not a lasting one.
Saturday night, and the Temple's attracted quite a congregation for the evening, with more still arriving. The focus tonight is Industrial, and the crowd feels somewhat less children-of-the-night and somewhat more children-of-the-apocalypse than is its usual. The air outside is cooling down, but it's hot inside the former church, heated by the presence and movement of the mass of people. This is nowhere more true than the main dance floor, and is probably related to why Felix is still in his black sleeveless shirt and camo BDUs but no longer wearing his jacket; it may or may not be related to why he's up on one of the rather visible raised platforms by a pillar, dancing with a girl with a bright blue undercut, leather corset, miniskirt, and ripped fishnets. ...It probably isn't, really.
Having been tugged along with his best friend, Justin is awkwardly watching Felix dance with the girl, scowling the entire time. Mostly because he's a stick in the mud. The Ahroun is wearing a pair of saggy black JNCO jeans with a coaxial cable wrapped about his waist as a belt with a trio of wallet chains hanging down his hip. He has a see through black shirt over his gangly muscled frame. He is swaying side to side on his feet as young dancing teens make a bubble around him as his natural rage pushes everyone away.
This, it would seem, is more or less the Galliard's element; in contrast to the Ahroun, he looks like he's having a great time, and he dances well. Half of humanity may find themselves uneasy around his rage, but it's hard to tell when he's where he is right now. Especially since the girl is clearly not part of that half. Felix has the vast majority of his attention on her at the moment, although there is a glance toward where his packmate is being a wallflower. The music is too loud to hear what other people might be saying to each other; it's barely possible to hear what they might be saying to you. It's still easy enough to guess that what is being said on the pillar is in the family of flirting, particularly when Felix leans in to murmur -- well, probably half-yell, let's be honest -- something in her ear, arm lightly around her waist.
Pack> Felix says "Find someone and dance, man!"
[...Justin's player has fallen asleep. Tch. ;)]
In the mix of adults, both young and old, many dressed to an aesthetic that suits the brash foot-stomp bass, there's not a whole lot of ways to stand out. Unless, of course, you're up on a podium like it's try-out night for go-go dancers, which, Mona notes, Felix is throwing himself into with gusto, his appearance and frivolity eliciting an amused smirk as she makes her way to the bar, getting a sense of her surroundings as she goes.
Her attire - a button-down sleeveless dress shirt that shows a hint of her midriff, a pair of slacks whose cuffs hang over polished black shoes, and a pair of fingerless gloves - is far more flattering than her usual, the aesthetic suited to her lean figure. Seems she bothered with her hair, as well-- as in, she gave it more than a cursory brush. There's a bit more attention to make-up, as well, but just barely-- just enough to look like it was applied with a practiced hand.
Given the mod-squad suit-wearing additions to the crowd, this, too, isn't much of a stand-out. Just enough to blend in without looking like she's trying extra-hard to shave ten years off her lifespan, and, well-- draw the right kind of attention. For now, though, she seems content to get the attention of the bartender, and order the first round of drinks, her eyes straying back up to the young man responsible for drawing her out here.
Hey, where there's a will, there's a way! Felix's companion laughs at whatever it is he said, and as he steps back, gives him a coy look and grabs one of his dangling suspenders to 'pull' him back, though it can't be that much force to not pull them off. She apparently has something to say in reply, since after she has, he's allowed to step back into a safer dancing range. Another girl approaches the foot of the podium, however, and reaches up to get the first girl's attention by smacking her calf, which is a dangerous move, since the leg in question is moving. Accidentally kicking her friend's hand does get the blue-haired girl's attention, and she leans down to talk to the other one. Felix does not entirely fail to look annoyed, though one would have to be watching him to notice; it's swiftly covered, and he glances around for his packmate. Who appears to have headed off to the loo or something! Instead, he catches a brief glimpse of what looks like it might be another familiar face, from which he's promptly distracted by his partner straightening up and leaning in to say something to him again. A couple more quick exchanges, hers punctuated with a gesture toward the friend below, and Felix moves to help her back down to the floor, hopping right down after her without a look to the ladder.
As it turns out, someone *is* watching-- but, in Mona's case, its intermittent.
If she's uneasy in this environment, she's not showing it. Like everyone else at the bar, she's got her eyes on any number of prospective companions for the evening, gaze flitting from one to the next, allowing her to get an idea of every exit without looking entirely out of place.
It's when she returns her attention to Felix, finally, that she sees him leap down from the platform, his impending arrival coinciding happily with not two, but four glasses being set on the bar behind her: two shot glasses filled with what *looks* like a cream liqueur, and two tumblers of-- beer, maybe?
It takes just slightly longer than one might have expected for Felix to make it across to the bar. When he comes into view, he's sliding something into a pocket and glancing across the array of people where he last saw that familiar figure. His gaze pauses on a couple girls who are quite definitely NOT Mona along the way, but she's the one who gets the sudden grin when he spots her. "Hey," he greets when he gets within a range where stage-projection can overcome the music, "you made it! Nice shirt."
"Nice girlfriend," Mona replies, motioning to the bar. To the bartender's odd look, she says, "Don't worry, he's my nephew. He's got my permission." And, just like that, the look just-- vanishes, regardless of whether or not its usually parents whose word offers some legal protections, and the bartender moves on to other customers. "You're welcome, by the way," she adds to him, motioning to the drinks. "Now, make it quick. The longer these sit, the nastier it'll be."
"Yeah? Do I get to meet her?" Felix asks with just enough too much 'innocence' to keep it from being believable, and is easily moved closer to the ar, adding, "Hey, nice, thanks," as he meets up with the waiting drinks. The bartender's look gets a lift of both his chin and one eyebrow, though the expression continues onward from briefly challenging to friendly and straight through to amused when Mona settles things herself. "And again," he adds, moving in to pick up one of the shots. He lifts it to her in a bit of a toast before dropping it into the pint and drinking up.
Mona allows for a subdued smirk at the immediate response, but is only too happy to move straight on to her drink. "Bottoms up," she says, dropping the shot into her own pint and polishing off the contents with little effort, the glass slammed unceremoniously down on the bar top. Without missing a beat, she waves over to the bartender, and says, "Two whiskey manhattans. Double. I want this to be my favorite genre by the end of the night." And, with that settled, she looks to Felix and says, "Interesting venue," as if the boisterous exchange simply hadn't occurred.
Felix sets the empty glass back down beside Mona's -- not quite in sync, which is too bad, since it would have looked stylish -- and leans against the bar casually, laughing at her remark to the bartender. "What, you mean it ain't already?" he asks, and takes a good look around the place at the mention of the venue, despite surely having seen it enough for that to be unnecessary. "Ain't it? Most night's it's straight-up goth, which is okay but ain't my favourite style, but it's a fuckin' good set-up for a club. Lotta room, acoustic effect's pretty cool, an' all the little nooks an' the back rooms an' shit..." His gaze pauses in the direction of one of the pillars, though probably on the girl currently occupying the platform there rather than the architecture itself. "...it's fun."
"Ask me again when I've had a few more rounds," Mona says, looking over her shoulder towards the girl on the platform Felix seems to be eyeing. "Might be more your style than mine," she says, glancing at the bartender's progress with a note of impatience. "From what I can see, the most action I'll get around here is from two-beer queers."
"Might be," Felix grants, and takes another appraising look around, though this one's got a somewhat more detached feeling to it. "Can't say that's somethin' I spent a lotta time thinkin' about," he admits, "Definitely seen some kissin' an' shit, some nights, but they mighta had them those beers." The grin returns, and he glances back to her, "Worth lookin' around anyhow. Never know."
Mona mn's, happy to accept her drink once it's offered, the other slid over in Felix's direction. True to form, the bartender doesn't bat an eye. "Maybe," she says, her own gaze roaming the floor for a time, without settling on much. "So," she continues, pausing to take a generous sip of her drink, "there a reason you guys invited me out here, or is this just a social call?" It's a blunt question, but it's presentation is personable, at least. Gives the impression that either answer would be an acceptable one.
Felix accepts the other drink, unsurprisingly, with a bright, "Cheers." It seems to be doing double-duty as a toast and a thank you at once. He has a good sip as well, and the question gets a shrug. "Pretty much social," he answers, and the grin gains an extra edge of amusement, "I'm a social guy." It dims a bit as he takes a probably unneeded glance to where his packmate had been, and no longer is. "Someone around here oughta be," he murmurs, but there's another faint shrug and a drift of his visual attention to things more attractive than people who aren't there as he has another drink.
Mona notes the direction in which Felix's gaze wanders, a question that's been simmering since she arrived now called to light. "Where is Justin, anyway?"
Felix shakes his head, with a roll of the eyes for good measure. "He wandered off, somethin' about checkin' on a few things while he's downtown anyhow. If I don't stay right there or drag him over somewhere an' play matchmaker he just skulks in a corner not approachin' anyone. Don't get me wrong, ain't like I don't like hangin' out with him, but if we're at a club or party or shit, I ain't aimin' to end up feelin' like I'm babysittin'," he says, glancing to Mona with a look that says surely she understands his pain, right?
"That's odd," Mona says, brow furrowing somewhat. "He seems pretty outgoing to me." She shrugs, then, raising her drink to take another decent - sized sip, her gaze still occasionally shifting towards the crowd to watch. "To a fault, all things considered," she adds, with a faint smirk. "But making you play babysitter is oddly endearing." And a sign of his age, she's guessing, though she hasn't quite managed to wrap her head around that whole 16-years-old thing.
The assessment gets a smirk and a small laugh, more of a sharp exhalation through the nose than anything else. "He ain't shy," Felix agrees, "...until you get him somewhere like here, or a party. Especially around hot chicks. Then suddenly he's doin' his best impression of furniture. You'd think he'd get over it now he got a girlfriend, but nope."
Mona's eyebrows arch somewhat, an amused half-smile on her face. "Almost makes you wonder how he got her in the first place," she says, as her eyes lock on a redhead further down the bar. The look lingers for a moment, then breaks away, whatever interest that might have been there no longer visible. Age, probably. All it took was the shifting lights to let her know that there's likely to be a gulf of ten years between them. "Still— strange to think of him as a typical high schooler, even if that's essentially what he is. Sans the high school, of course."
Felix glances sidelong at Mona again, also looking a bit amused, and takes another drink, scanning the crowd more idly. "We ran into her in Wal-Mart, an' I chatted her up. 'cause =damn=. Seriously. Girl is smokin'. Anyway," he continues, glancing briefly upward, "I =may='ve kinda ended up aimin' 'em at each other."
Forced to pause the light sip she's taking from her drink at the mention of a Walmart hookup, Mona nonetheless manages to keep from spilling her glass. Or having an unfortunate spit take. "Takes all kinds," she says mildly, the volume of the music helpfully drowning out the sound of her clearing her throat. "Either way, good for him," she adds, distracted by the woman sidling up to the bar alongside her.
The active spit-take-avoidance really does nothing at all to lessen the sense of the Galliard's amusement. "Yup," he agrees to the first remark, and with a hint of satisfaction, "...reckon it has been." The glance to check out what's distracted his companion is perhaps surprisingly subtle, and there's a small change to his stance as he sips again, lessening any impression that Mona might already be busy. Just in case.
Seems he won't have to front for long. Already, the woman is showing signs of nervousness that the both of them are very well acquainted with, her tension and side-eyeing leading Mona to sigh, and say, "Problem?" rather than go through all the usual drama.
Whether it's to spare the poor woman the visceral unease, or spare herself the irritation, well. That's up for debate.
Either way, the girl is at an obvious loss for words for all of a heartbeat before saying, "Sorry," the attempted smile barely staying on her face for the length of a single heartbeat. "I was just--" She glances behind herself. "I think I forgot my friend's drink order," is all she can think to come up with. "I'll, ah-- I'll get out of your way."
And with that, she departs into the moderate throng of club goers, only too happy to get away. Mona, meanwhile, glowers at her drink before taking another long sip.
"Well, fuck," Felix says mildly, that shift of position shifting right back to conversational. He watches the woman go, expression thoughtful over his glass, until she melds fully into the crowd. "You might have more luck without me around," he allows, "seein' as your pool's already smaller to start with. 'course that does make chattin' trickier, but it ain't like you gotta babysit =me=." He grins again, suddenly, "Or we could wander some an' see who doesn't panic."
Mona glances at Felix at the mention of a 'pool,' but doesn't comment. Still, the underlying 'don't count on it' comes through loud and clear. Rather than respond immediately to the suggestion, however, she takes down a significant portion of her drink, sets the glass down (though it remains at hand), and says, "This may not be the best night to go looking," in a lighter tone than is perhaps expected. "You're welcome to try, though."
"All nights are good nights," Felix declares, "An' I prolly will, sooner or later. Unless Tasha comes back." He doesn't sound terribly concerned about it either way. "...dark-haired chick at that couch in the nook keeps glancin' this way, ain't checkin' me. Might be you. Or she might just be real thirsty. Hard to say." It's a smaller grin, but still there, and he sips again. "More important question: do you dance?"
"Sometimes," Mona replies, noting the girl Felix had pointed out. She shakes her head, frowns, and says, "But not tonight." With that, she finishes her drink, sets the glass on the table, and says, "Sorry about that," her hand going to her wallet. "Anyway," she says, fishing out some cash, "much as this seemed like a good idea at first? I think it might've been a bit premature."
Felix shakes his head, with a quiet click of the tongue, and has another sip of his drink; there isn't that much left, but he doesn't seem inclined to drain it just to match Mona. "Premature how?"
"Long story," Mona says, laying the cash on the bar near the drained glass. Then, she pauses for a time, and says, "But I appreciate the invite," and, at least, doesn't seem to be paying lipservice. "Anyway, if you want some cash for another round, you're welcome to it. Just tell the bar keep that I stepped outside.
Felix's head tilts just a fraction at the 'long story', watching her, and nods once to the rest. "Well, so far we like you," he replies to the thanks, and lifts the glass, grin flickering into place, "an' I'm easily bribed." He finishes off the drink, then, settling the glass on the bar. "Though, y'know, for the record, I =love= long stories. Kinda my job." He drums his fingers on the wood, just once, before asking, "Headin' anywhere in particular, or really just steppin' outside?"
"I've got some work I need to catch up on that I should've been dealing with before I decided to join you guys," Mona replies, handing a $20 off to the young Gnawer, and happily breezing past the rest. "Either way, I'll see you later." Beat. "Thanks again for the invite," she offers as one final nod to niceties, before turning to make her way towards the entrance, and out.
"All work an' no play et cetera an' so on," Felix says woefully; it's nearly believable. He does not, however, object to being handed money, nor does he look as though he really expected a response to the parts breezed past. "Oh, well. Ain't like I can't entertain myself. You know how to find me if you get bored or somethin'." He stretches, straightening from the bar, and there's another quick grin before she turns, "Stay safe. I ain't got that many aunts."