Log:A Night at Alchemy
| A Night at Alchemy | |
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| Participants | 6 July, 2018 A night out clubbing - learn all about the children of Count and November! |
| Location | |
| It's evening and the establishment is getting underway for the night; it's far enough along that there's more than a few patrons seated against the glowing Lucite bar, and at least three or four tables full in the arboreally-decorated section of the room. On stage, a couple of people appear to be setting up tech for a band, although at the moment, canned music is playing. Near the entrance is a stocky red-haired woman wearing a colorized version of the Alchemy logo on a black t-shirt along with black jeans, and a pair of combat boots, and behind the bar, a siren with her hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing a spaghetti-tank version of the same thing, black skinny jeans, and leather, knee-high stiletto boots. She's currently mixing an oddly pearlescent purple drink for a patron, chatting cheerfully with them. It is one of Sara's quests in life to find a club in this little hick town that she can make her regular. Thankfully, the heavy concentration of Lost means there not all beer and skittle places. Alchemy looks promising. The dark haired woman wearing a tight white t-shirt under an open leather jacket, a leather skirt that reaches around mid-thigh and high heels. She manages to clear the redhead and makes her way to the bar, looking over the interior as she does so. Finding a bar stool, she gracefully sits herself down and waves, politely, for service. Poppy finishes the transaction of drink for money, pocketing the bills left on the Lucite by way of tip, then turns to the newcomer, opalescent eyes bright, silver scales of her skin glittering in the blue light of the bar. "Evening," she says cheerfully, the harmonics of her voice complex, over- and underlaid with an eerie-sounding chorus to Lost ears. "Don't think I've seen you around before. What can I get you?" The siren gives her an inquisitive look. "Fun. Excitement. Adventure. But for now I will take a drink" Sara replies with a wry smile, her own voice melliferous. "How about a Bloody Mary?" A pause. "Please tell me you make cocktails. If this is another place that only serves beer and beer than I'll scream. And you don't want me to scream" she winks. "I'm new in town. Sara. Sara Fry." She offers her hand across the bar to her fellow Lost. "I mean, it's a fucking bar, so we've got fun and hopefully excitement, but we're a little short in the adventure department, depending on what the hell you're looking for," Poppy says with a sharp grin. "Bloody Mary, I can do. There's also the specials." The siren gestures to the menu behind her, listing a series of drinks named for alchemical metals. "You're in Fort Brunsett, not Tamarack Falls. We do more than just fucking beer." A rather musical laugh, then she grabs a glass from under the bar before turning to retrieve alcohol and mixers to start making the requested drink. "Then it sounds like I've come to the right place" Sara smiles, her eyes turning to the list on the wall. "I might try a Mercury next" she decides before a little laugh. "Or first, since I intend to try the whole list. After the Bloody Mary. Apologies for making it sound like you were a hick. /You/ are definitely not a hick." She can't help admire the boots when they come into view. "I'm from Boston though, yes, I am also one of the Frys that infest the woods around here." While Poppy is off doing her thing, she looks around, head bobbing to the music. "Do you let amateurs play here?" "The specials are a little fucking heavy on the booze; you might want to make sure someone is picking your ass up, if you want to drink the list," Poppy says, adding tomato sauce to the vodka and other ingredients, then mixing with a stainless steel mixer. "I've fucking noticed," she says dryly with regards to the comment about her not being a hick, although her eyes glint with humor at that. Pouring the contents into a fresh glass, she sets the opaque red drink on the bartop, garnishing it with olives and celery before pushing it towards Sara. "Anybody can submit music and it'll get reviewed and someone will get back to them," she says cheerfully. "Or, rather, you, since I'm assuming you're talking about yourself." "I like a bar that encourages picking up people" Sara laughs. "Though I suppose I have a family reputation to uphold in this town." A sigh at how unfair it all is. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me your name?" she asks with a curious gaze. "If you need to keep customers separate from staff then I understand. And, yeah, I meant me" she nods before sipping at the cocktail. "Mmm...that's nice. Bravo, barkeep. I suppose I should pay for it too" she smirks, reaching for her wallet in her jacket pocket. "Do you perform here? What kind of music does this crowd like?" Poppy smirks. "As long as everyone involved is consenting, they're welcome to whatever the hell they want. Although I prefer no trashing the bar, and for the love of fucking god, no gum on the tables. I seriously have no idea why the fuck some people can't act like goddamn adults." At that question about her name, she grins sharply. "Poppy Devereux. I can't care too much about people knowing my name, since there's always the chance someone already knows it anyways. What's yours?" A nod at the comment about payment, and she names a price. "I do, some days, although less than I used to now that it's more established. And honestly, Jake's had a variety of shit in - rock, jazz, folk, and then also magic shows. contortionists, whatever. Don't think he's had classical; that might be a hard fucking sell, but." A shrug. "What's your preferred style?" "Unfortunately, I think most people come to bars to NOT act like adults" Sara giggles. "Nice to meet you, Poppy. I'm Sara Fry" she reintroduces herself. It's a loud bar so easy for words to get lost in the noise. The money is handed over along with a healthy tip for the blonde. "I guess I'll leave the violin concerto solos for another audience then. I'm sure there's an opera house in town. Otherwise, I can play anything. Folk. Rock. Shit...I can hammer out techno if you want. Contortions I leave for private audiences. Magic? Well...we're all magical. Right?" Another sip of her drink as she peers at Poppy over the rim. "I just like playing...and singing. Let's say I had a teacher who was very insistent I enjoy it." "Might explain a hell of a lot," Poppy says dryly, grabbing a glass from below the bar; it's filled with a clear liquid - water, perhaps? - and she takes a sip, glancing towards the door before giving the room a once over, gaze finally settling back on Sara. "Nice to meet you," she says belatedly, expression faintly apologetic. At that list of styles, she nods. "Whatever the hell style it is that you're looking to perform, then; MP3 is fine." The siren arches an eyebrow at that comment about magic, then gives a rather musical snort at the comment about a teacher. "Haven't we all." "MP3? I can play live" Sara assures Poppy before a little shrug. "Not that anyone cares about live music anymore. Even I don't really. Music is an expression of the soul. You shouldn't need to spend ten years learning an instrument to express yourself. Or even just for pleasure. I don't suppose you know of any bands looking for a member? Is there much of a music scene in this place?" A nod towards the possible water. "All you're allowed on duty?" she asks with a warm smile. "What do you do for fun around here? I mean, this is work. Can't be much fun for you." "I meant MP3 for a sample for Jake to look the fuck over," Poppy says. "Or, well, listen. The music here's typically live, although there are exceptions depending on what the hell people are doing. Some get clever." A smile, then she gives a half shrug at that questions about bands. "There's one looking for a drummer," she says. "Don't know if that's something you do." At that question about the water, the siren laughs. "My preference when I'm working," she says. "Club Violet's fun, honestly. If you like swimming, the lake's pretty fucking interesting. Big, if nothing else." "Oh...yeah...the sample" Sara blushes a little when it is explained to her. "Sure, I can do that. I could bash at some drums but not my best instrument. If you've got a number I can call might be worth talking to them at least." She finishes off her Bloody Mary and pushes the empty glass to one side...after rescuing the celery to chew on. "Club Violet? Okay, I'll look that one up. And I'm a Fry. All we do is roam the woods hiking and camping. Well...except when we're in bars. I was wandering down there the other day when I had some time off work. Getting reacquainted with the area. Are you the camping type?" "Drop off whatever it is the hell you're interested in soloing," Poppy advises. "I can get you the info on the group looking for a drummer. They have a website," she adds, lips quirking in amusement before she rattles off the url - at least it's easily remembered - then nods at the glass. "You looking to start your tour of the goddamn solar system?" she asks with a sharp grin. A shake of her head. "Not really much of the fucking camping type, if I'm being honest. Water's something else, though." "Yep...send me to Mercury" Sara nods with a grin before a quick look around the customers. "Not that there is anyone I want picking up my ass. So far." She gets out some more money for future drinks while she is still sober enough to remember. "A website? Sounds like they're serious. Are they any good? Summer is made for swimming. Maybe we can go down together sometime." She screws up her nose. "Unless I'm sounding pushy. Since, you know, we met all of ten minutes ago." "Done," the siren says, taking the old glass and putting it with the dirties behind the bar before grabbing a new one and setting it down, turning to snag bottles of alcohol from behind the bar. "They're decent," Poppy replies. "And any season is made for swimming if you fucking want it badly enough," she adds absently as she starts to layer liquors - it looks like something black with something silver, garnished with what appears to be a truffle. "Hopefully you like sweet shit," she comments wryly. "And enh, if I don't want you around, I'll just fucking tell you." "You know, I'm pretty sure you would tell anyone to fuck off" Sara grins. "Nice to meet someone who ain't afraid to tell it like it is." She studies the cocktail as it is made...intrigued. Such colors! "I like sweet shit" she nods, "Otherwise I wouldn't like me!" A little laugh at her own joke to show she isn't serious. "Did you come up with the recipes for these drinks? Or is it this Jake guy?" Poppy smirks. "Most people, anyways. I typically don't tell Jake to fuck off." A pause. "Most of the time. And it was a joint effort. Jake knows a guy, so to speak, except in this case it's a pretty fucking experienced bartender who likes to experiment with shit and he was paying pretty fucking well." The drink goes on the bar, and she names a price again, then grins. "If you like sweet shit, then you'll like this. Mint and chocolate." "Sounds perfect" Sara grins, pushing over some notes - more than she needs to. "That's so I don't forget to pay you later tonight for more drinks. I might get slightly inebriated...if I'm lucky." She picks up the glass, studying it, turning it around in her hand. And then a sip. Her cheek twitches as her eyes narrow. "Oh...smooth" she rasps before another sip. "Mmm...that is good shit. Let me buy you a water?" The siren nods, accepting the money. "I can start a tab for you," she says cheerfully. "If that shit's easier. And if you keep working your way through the list, you'll be pretty fucked up, unless you're particularly...mm...resilient." A wry look, then she smiles. "Glad you like it. And heh. If you like." Poppy offers a brief toast with her water glass, then glances around the bar for a moment, murmuring brief excusal as she moves to serve a couple of newcomers. Two pints of beer later, and she slides back over across from Sara. "Thoughts on what you want next?" A bright, if sharp, grin. "A tab? Ooh...that makes me sound all adult...and alcoholic. I'll take it!" Sara laughs. She will sip and savor her Mercury cocktail while Poppy deals with the drunks...because Sara is soooo not a drunk. Yet. "It occurs to me" she muses as the barkeep returns and asks her what is next, "That I should move through the solar system...but I missed out Gold. Which I assume is Sol. So maybe a backtrack to Sol before we proceed." She holds up her glass. "Though I haven't quite finished this yet." A pause. "Though that is not a reason to not keep them coming." Also bright: November's clothes. The tall and rainbow-haired Totally Human Woman is wearing a far more thoroughly descriptive loose and billowy peasant blouse in vibrant fuchsia fabric over magenta-black-blue-violet galaxy leggings and kick-ass black leather boots with three-inch heels with shin-high lacing done in fuchsia silk lacing. Most notable jewellery would be the Venus Fly Trap choker with a hapless mosquito frozen in amber at her clavicle. While stepping in, she has a slim black smartphone in hand, completing something on the screen. Since she is Definitely A Human Being, Not A Fairy, she doesn't feel very wei--okay, no, that's a lie. She still feels uncanny to any mortals in her vicinity. Rather than be one of Those People, she steps to the side of the doorway to complete whatever-it-is, THEN looks up at actual human beings (presumably -- one never knows!) instead of a flat screen, flashing a smile toward the ladies at the bar. Poppy grins sharply. "As adult as people fucking get around here, anyways. I can run it through the cash you gave me, but do you want to back it up with a card?" A tilt of her head, then she laughs. "True, that would be first if you wanted to start at the beginning. You can mix shit up if you want, though." Opalescent eyes gleam, then she gives the bar a quick once-over, gaze settling on November, offering the Lost a cheerful nod at that smile of greeting. "I'd love to back it up with a card" Sara nods, "Not sure the card can back up the spending but, hey, that's why we have credit." She takes a credit card out of her wallet before handing it over to Poppy. "So we can mix up the metals? Won't that cause a cosmic catastrophe?" A look over her shoulder to notice November...hard to miss someone so bright in the room...and Sara can't help but offer the unfamiliar woman a wave. Sara is terrible at meeting the people she should meet. Satisfied by something which pops up on her phone, November lingers by the door, waiting. Surely, one could not compare her to a lioness stalking prey at a watering hole. It isn't as though she could possibly have any nefarious plans for the person with whom she was just texting... ahemhem. That said, she lifts a pale and graceful hand in greeting when Sara waves to her, all fingers curling into her palm but one -- which she promptly places against her lips in a sign for secrecy, then uses it to point at the entrance, gold-green-blue eyes dancing with mischief. "Pretty sure that's how that fucking works," Poppy says frankly, taking the card from Sara. "You can do whatever the fuck you want, but I can pretty much tell you that if you're planning on doing the entire goddamn solar system, no matter /what/ order you do it in, you're going to end up pretty fucked up. Not quite on the level of crossing the streams, but pretty close." Opalescent eyes gleam with humor at that, then her gaze returns to November. That sign of secrecy is rewarded with a skeptically arched eyebrow, the siren clearly well enough informed to have some concerns over that particular individual and that particular gesture. "Maybe I'll only make it to the asteroid belt then" Sara sighs at Poppy. "I'd hate to have my family have to pick me up from jail. I wouldn't want to lose my job...or end up in that gossip column." A nod to the stranger at the doors' request before she looks back to the barkeep. "Umm...do you know her? She looks the kind that could do adventure...though you did say there was no bar fights allowed, right?" November, for what it's worth, looks exactly like the kind of person who could get away with mischief. I mean, in those boots, she's a good 6'3" of better-than runway model androgyny, and she carries herself with the air of someone who expects the world to conform to her whims. It's the natural order of things. That said, she is doing quite the opposite now. Anyone passing by would see that she is, in actuality, twiddling her thumbs. They're very lovely thumbs, slim and graceful, eminently twiddlable. The rainbow is a patient huntress. "Jail, hospital...one or the other. Assuming you're not secretly She-Hulk." Poppy smirks, then grabs her glass of water from behind the bar, sipping from it. As someone raises their hand for her attention, she sets the glass down and excuses herself, moving over to fill their orders before eventually returning to Sara, answering her question with a nod. "November. And if you start a bar fight, we've got the bouncers to deal with that shit, so if you can't take it the fuck outside, they'll help you. I strongly recommend against picking a fight, however, if you enjoy your fucking sanity." T'was a Dark and stormy (not really) night, down at the scene, and you glance to the door, who could it be? The one... The only, C. O. U. N. (dramatic pause) T. The Horned Beast of Winter is not wearing a skirt, despite the Rainbows offer, and the pants that he was forced to put on in order to leave the house without getting a ticket, are distinctly and very, white. Considering he's usually in all black (and indeed the rest of his clothes are), it's a bit of a change up, and in the lights of this club, they nearly glow. The rest of ensemble is very…Count; which means there are heavy motorcycle boots (to go with the motorcycle he does not own) and a black sleeveless hoodie, leaving the heavily tattooed arms on full display. His wrists are both covered in various leather straps and chains, some of them spiked. He slips into the club with all the subtlety of a monochrome peacock, head high and tilted just so, to perfectly display his jawline and 80's goth smudgy eyeliner as he peeks over the 3$ gas station sunglasses that yes, he is fully intending to wear indoors. That smile of his is bastardly and full of bestial teeth, it's an overacted sort of confidence, a fully self aware display of fiendish smarm. Behind those shitty plastic shades his eyes are moving, searching, and then finding November, and in that direction he moves, almost prowls. Like a Tiger in Times Square, leagues out of place but still primal. A Primal Goth Dweeb, who is much (5'7") shorter than the rainbowy (so called) "Goddess" (Super heavy air quotes) "Definitely not She-Hulk" Sara smirks. "And don't worry, I try to stay out of fights...I just shoot from far away. Though I can't say I have much sanity to enjoy. November." She is committing that name to memory. And since she already remembers the month, that will be pretty easy. "Hey, do you know someone called Isolde?" And then it feels like their should be a fanfare in the air and Sara glances over her shoulder to see the arrival of Count. To her credit, she does not giggle at the style combo on display. She turns back towards Poppy and starts to sing under her breath...and she still has a lovely voice at low volume. "You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you." -> >> November to Here << <-==========================================Rolled 4 Successes < 1 1 3 3 4 6 6 6 8 8 10 10 > -> >> Manipulation + Expression.Convincing_Delivery + 1 [9-Again] << <-=Upon spying Count in all his ridiculous glory, the Totally Human rainbow's entire attitude immediately shifts -- it's a bit uncanny, if anyone's watching. Facial expressions, posture, all of it. "Snookypuddum! My darling! My love!" She outright flings herself at him in dramatic adoration with full intent to plant a smackeroo of a smooch on him, and, shorter man or no, appears to be expecting him to -catch- her in mid-air. If he doesn't, she's...well. Let's cross that painful bridge when we come to it. "You haven't been home in MONTHS. Were you hunting the bad men who kidnapped our adorable daughter Elsa?" Poppy nods. "Appreciate it," she says. At that question about Isolde, she tilts her head. "Of her, not personally. Why?" A glance towards the door, then she gives a sharp grin at Count's appearance, offering the Beast an amused wave of greeting before she glances back to Sara, lips quirking at that bar of song. And then November flings herself at Count and the siren doesn't /quite/ burst out laughing, but it's close; thankfully the music playing mostly covers the harmonic squeak that escapes before she stuffs her fist in her mouth. "I was given her name as someone to talk to" Sara shrugs. "I think my brother in law told me. Raymond. Know him?" She gestures at the club around them. "This isn't really his scene though so you probably have no idea who I'm talking about." She has to check out what has Poppy so amused and smirks at the tall woman consuming Mr. Style in a flurry of long limbs and rainbow hair. "They seem to have found love" she smiles to Poppy. "Not sure with each other..." This must be the surprise reunion that November wanted to keep secret. So nice to see families reunited. It's only there for a second, a fraction of a moment, the complete and utter confusion at November flinging her HUMAN self at him, before his instinct of bullshit kicks in. Like a cavalry charging, his expression changes into faux and overdone adoration and the exclamation that follows is... saccharine. PUMPKIN CAKE!" He all but bellows and indeed, he steps forward to catch her about the waist with one hand, while the other lands smack on her derriere. "I was, but alas, I had to let her go." (deep breath) "Let her Goooo let her GOOOOOO... to her miserable dead fate, tragic and what not, but good news, we have one less mouth to feed." Big cheesy grin. It should be noted that while November is a fantastic actress, Count has an expression score of 0. On the other hand he is a liar without peer. He then glances up from his... estranged wife? Crazy Relative? Unstable stranger?, and glances towards Poppy, whom he recognizes and lifts a had (away from the rump) and wriggles his fingers in greeting, and then looks to Sara, whom he does not know, and does the same little wave. November, unlike Count, is an excellent actress. One might even term her performance Exceptional. She accepts the arse-groping and saccharine TERRIBLE SINGING without a single wince or expression of pain. No, she soldiers on, like poor, lost, dead Elsa. "But," she protests, brows furrowing, "what about her sister? However, will she survive the loss? What if it drives her to drink?" Dramatic wail incoming: "Oh, my poor, dear child! An alcoholic at such a tender age! She'll never give us grandbabies." Which would be a feat, seeing as November looks like she's barely in her mid-twenties. Meanwhile, Count gets a 32 degree body plastered to all pertinent parts. Performance issues indeed. Count's response to November's dramatics has Poppy cheerfully rolling her eyes and grinning broadly, sharp teeth on display. She grabs her water and sips again before glancing back to Sara and nodding. "Don't think I've met anybody named Raymond, but I sure as hell don't know everyone, so that means all of jack and shit." A smirk. "They found something," she says dryly. "Hard to say what." As the Rainbow Popsicle flops onto the Beast, she smothers another laugh. It's certainly quite the show - amateur dramatics win Oscar winning performance. It would be Count who gets the Oscar though, since he is emoting way beyond his range. Even if badly. Sara watches, an occasional comment to Poppy. "Is this the same Jack who runs the bar?" A tilt of her head as she watches the long lost parents of abducted children - brave line of humor for the Lost. "Hmm...they may have found it, but I think they just lost it again. She is way out of his league. So far out I don't even think they're playing the same sport. " -> >> November to Here << <-==========================================Rolled 6 Successes for an exceptional success. < 2 3 4 4 4 5 6 7 8 8 9 10 10 10 > ===============================-> >> Wyrd + Composure [No Flags] << <-"Honestly?" Count asks of November, when talking about the fate of the alleged Daughter #2 "...I was probably just gonna leave her on Franklyn's Doorstep, she already has a knock for dealing with the disabled." Snark? So much Snark. While November continues on, his attention span seems to be drifting just a little, or at least tipping back and forth on stormy seas. "I mean honestly Darling Galadriel, you act as if you cant just pop out another one." Bad Actor + Poor Taste? Then his expression changes, dropping back rather comfortably into something more natural, still containing traces of the cheesy peacock, but much much less. "Where are the drinks you promised to buy me?" He asks more directly to November, looking between her eyes and then sticks out a long blue tongue to lick the furrow between her brows. "All this Drama makes me thirsty." His voice too is much more, not insane. November surreptitiously rolls her eyes at the forehead-licking, but stays in character, declaring, "Come, my love! Let us drink away our sorrows, except you can do most of the drinking because unlike you--" she wriggles free and gives his chest a shove in a fit of expertly-feigned pique, "--I have been working three jobs to support our little munchkins while YOU have been off traveling the world and rolling in ladies' perfume!" She even leans in to sniff him, to make her point. While he didn't smell like it before, he does, indeed, reek of a variety of ladies' perfumes, expensive and not. Pivoting on the ball of one foot in expert runway style, she takes her long-legged self over toward the bar with a graceful sashay, head held high, her oddly heavy, oddly straight knee-length hair queerly un-mussed by all the smooshing around Count was doing to it over her rump. Upon reaching the bar, she informs Poppy that, "Count's going to get drunk or at least convincingly pretend to get drunk. He likes girly things." The rainbow smiles to Sara as well, assuring, "Don't mind him. He can't help himself. He's a gourmet; he just has to massage a good rump roast." Poppy's eyebrow arches again at Sara's question. "That's not Jake, no," she says in amusement, then nearly spits her sip of water at that comment about 'popping out another one.' Swallowing hastily, she sets the glass aside, glancing towards the other occupants of the bar and excuses herself long enough to pour another round of beers for one of the tables, carefully setting them on a tray for one of the waitstaff. November's response, however, does not go unwatched; thankfully she's clearly in possession of enough experience to easily watch the exchange without screwing up the order. She's just finished by the time the Rainbow informs her of Count's drinking for the evening - planned or otherwise - and flashes her a grin. "Any flavors you fucking hate?" That seems directed to the Beast, assuming he's followed along. "Who doesn't like to enjoy a good rump?" Sara shrugs to November. "His name is Count?" She looks over at the 'stylish' fellow and, for some reason, that seems to make perfect sense. She will keep all the puns to herself...for now. "Since you've just lost your children, let me buy you both a drink" she smiles to November. "I'm on a journey through the solar system if you'd like to join. Though I think Count is more the Pink Passion type." Count ion fact smells like food. And what kind of food and how good it smells is entirely dependent on what your favorite foods are and how much you like him. Those that detest the man smell spoil and rot, while those that genuinely adore him will always have the aroma of their very favorite most private preferences. Also now he smells of various perfumes too. Damnit. This newly developed scent has him wrinkling his nose, and instinctively that tongue of his flicks out to taste the air and by the face he makes, he immediately regrets it. So much so in fact that he misses some of the conversation and ends up staring blankly at poppy while he mentally rewinds a few things and then nods. "I don't like Punch flavors or too much passion fruit. Otherwise I like them brightly colored and sweet. Midori Sours and Tokyo Tea are my go to, but you know I'm flexible." And then he glances over towards Sara "My name is, indeed Count." I mean clearly it wasn’t the one he was boor with, right?" D'aww. Sara is so sweet. Laughing lightly at the offer, November shakes her head and assures, "Thank you, lovely, but I'm not Galadriel." So she says. The elf-related moniker is explained by dint of dropping her Mask just long enough for Sara to get a good look -- and feel -- of her icy/crystalline/refractive/glittering/rainbowy/COLOURS EVERYWHERE self. With pointy ears. Oh, and the tiny detail of hitting a few of the same subconscious buttons as a Keeper, on top of the distinctively primordial aura of the Lost Pantheon, in her case a quicksilver and fickle thing to match the possibilities in her decidedly Dawn Mantle. Back to being Totally Human once that is complete, she explains, "Count needs excitement in his life. I am a frigid bitch-" she flutters her lashes at him, russet again instead of crystalline frost, "-as he well knows. Also, he's agnostic. The man just won't worship a woman the way she deserves." Poppy grins at Sara's comment, then sniffs a little as Count draws closer to the bar, expression turning more amused as she notices the perfume. A rather businesslike nod greets Count's preferences, her expression turning thoughtful before she offers, "Want to try something lemon ginger? Or I can just do one of those two." Perhaps having a premonition, the siren is very much NOT looking at November once the other Lost starts to drop her Mask; on the other hand, she's made it quite clear on multiple occasions she dislikes having her brain fried. November's true look is quite the dazzling, and haunting, experience as Sara blinks, squints and then hurriedly looks away. Thankfully, there is Count with some sunglasses to help and she considers plucking them from his face but decides against bothering the man after he has suffered so much. And he smells like a Turkish Nookie Palace. "That's quite the aftershave you have on" she smiles to him, nose twitching. "I'm Sara. Sara Fry" she says to them both, suddenly realizing what a mundane name she has around here. "What are you Count of?" she asks the grieving father before frowning at November. "Frigid? What a shame. And if Count is agnostic, that's his choice to not be interested in women." That might explain the overdose of aftershave. Count is rolling his eyes. One can tell, because he takes off the glasses so that the aforementioned ocular rotation is clearly visible. he rolls them so hard that one can see the edges of leonine sclera before they settle into position again. "Salvos about my masculinity now? Futile really, as I am the most secure man you will ever meet." Sage nod. "I have learned my lessons however, when it comes to worship." the words a titch more serious, his eyes, for a moment, looking... not quite nostalgic, but not quite disgusted, but somewhere between. When Sara speaks her name, he commits it to probable memory, likely at the very least, definitely probably he will remember it. "I am not the Count of a specific place, I am more freelance, I do general Counting about wherever I happen to be, currently I hold domain over a small Laundry, and forgive the smell, a hussy fell atop me and rubbed off a bit." this prompts a sidelong to November and then looks to Poppy and purses his lips thoughtfully. "Fruitier, Sweety, like... an upside down hula girl, or that’s what they called it in Gomorrah, tasted just like an otter pop." A horrible ring tone sounds from the rainbow's pocket. It almost sounds like a sick cat yowling its love, but on closer inspection, that's actually (an illusion of) Count's voice overlaid on top of itself, singing, "What's looove got to do with it? got to doooo with it? What's loooove but a second-hand emoooootiooon? Who needs a heart when a heart can be broookenn?" It's close to the real thing, but recognisably false. Letting it 'ring' for just long enough to torture the ears of everyone nearby, November lifts her phone, taps the screen -- which was even glowing appropriately, if vaguely, the speed at which she taps it likely obscuring that -- and assumes a regretful air. "Puddysnookins, I must abandon you to the cruel mercies of attractive women in a public place full of alcoholic beverages." One frigid hand lifts, cupping the side of his face for a more serious, "You know you're always welcome to change your mind, but I know you won't. You'd be my first, unless Edmond counts; he gave me a rock." Glancing toward Sara, the Trickster assures, "He's single, and his only child is his lizard. He calls it Fucker." With a kiss blown toward Poppy, along with a wink, she -- and Count's perfume miasma -- departs. Sara's question of Count has Poppy looking amused, but she seems to be primarily focused on the Beast for his response to her; consequently, she's paying rather close attention as he makes those comments about worship, expression briefly considering. As he replies with regards to the drink, she grins. "I mean, I could just make an Upside Down Hula Girl. Although fuck all if I know how one of those tastes like an otter pop, since I've never seen a pineapple one." The siren winces at that yowling ring, giving November a half-amused, half-pained look, then grins at the Rainbow's farewell, tossing her a salute before grabbing a glass and moving to start on a drink. Sara quirks a brow upwards at Count's words. "Are you saying gay men are insecure and effeminate? Shame on you, Count. You do know it is 2018, don't you?" A moment's hesitation before she looks over to Poppy. "It is 2018, isn't it?" A nod to Count. "Count of the Omo it is. Sorry, you're /complaining/ about rubbing hussies? Sheesh, you really have your priorities turned around." The excruciating ringtone makes Sara wince and cringe. And feel sorry for whatever had to die to make it. "Edmond rocked your world?" she asks November, "That's what you meant?" A smile to the rainbow queen's words. "For some reason, I already thought Count was single. Nice to meet you." A wave goodbye to her fellow Dawn before it is time to start on that journey to the sun. "Could you put the Count's drink on my tab, Poppy. He probably needs his change for his domain." A playful elbow of the man. "Just playing with you." "It may seem to you that I'm acting confused When you're close to me If I tend to look dazed I've read it someplace I've got cause to be There's a name for it There's a phrase that fits But whatever the reason you do it for me ooo... WHAT'S LOVE Mm Mm Mmmmmm..." Does Count know the Words? Yes. Does Count know how to Sing? Not even a little. Is he enthusiastic about it anyway? Oh yeah. Lucky for everyone, after he warbles and screeches out a few lines, he settles for humming the rest and shaking his hips as he leans against the bar, lost in the musical moment like someone who's just had his edibles hit him. Then November is cold-handing his face and he blinks, focusing on her and cracks that smile of his that foreshadows a truly bad and likely inappropriate joke. "He can keep the rock, I'd rather give you my Co-- ooohkay, I'll see you later." and he purses his lips, kissing the air. Then he reengages with Sara, holding up a finger and says "Not what I said at all, and there's a number of thing I'll let you put in my mouth dollface, but words aren't it, I am Woke as shit." a pause and then he says "But yer right, the language these days is tricky, so many old associations, what words me what with what group... who make take when the who way." he blinks "What?" Squint "oh yeah, i'llt ake the change, i am a proud capitalist, and a lazy one. And yes, Very Single. By Choice." Probably True? Maybe? Yus, probably more than one hula girl, mebbe a um, Something? Japanese Slipper? Midori sour? Like em up, if they taste like candy." The siren confirms the year with a wry nod, and also confirms the adding of drinks to Sara's tab. A musical peal of laughter greets either the singing, Count's response to November, or his request for drinks; it's hard to say which. Regardless, Poppy seems amused as she sets about making drinks, reaching over that low-lying flame for bottles of alcohol. The first one is layered red, orange, and yellow by the time she's done with it, garnished with maraschino cherries and a wedge of pineapple; the Fairest pushes it across the bar towards the Beast. "Your drink, your lordship." Opalescent eyes glint at that. "Single by choice?" Sara nods to Count before adding, "But is it your choice?" A wink for the man before a shake of her head at his witty ditty about rocks. "/Two/ thousand and eighteen" she reminds him, "Not one thousand and eighteen." A sigh suggests she has given up trying to explain and instead takes in the cocktail he is being given. "That's quite the effort, Poppy. I'm impressed with what you can do with your hands." Then a sudden look of concern. "Poppy...it's not karaoke night, is it?" The thought of Count being amplified as he sings terrifies her. That bastards grin only grows wider. "Gimme a few drinks and I'll go all the way back to plain ole year Eighteen." he wags his eyebrows in a Groucho kinda way, and then holds up one finger as he turns to his drink, picks it up and has a sip (pinky raised because he has class) and then that sip keeps on sipping and before too long it is all gone. "And yes, by choice, well, sorta, my own even, me and monogamy don't get on well you see, but I'm not like a slut, ya know? Never ever fuck on the first date, 's a Rule you see." Oh but then she mentions karaoke and his eyes get wide, and excited, like a kid on Christmas. No one wants to hear Count sing, Count has ruined Prince for many people in Fort Brunswick. Something clicks, belatedly and then he looks to Poppy, not a lord, A Sir, Caballero, Knight of the tongues." and to emphasize he peels lips back from too sharp teeth and bites the air. Which seems incongruous, because he said tongue and showed teeth, but for those paying attention, Count seems all sorts of incongruous tonight. Poppy smirks at Sara's comment about her hands, making a gesture that consists of touching her crooked index finger to her upper cheek, then lower cheek, then holding her hand in a fist with the thumb and fifth fingers extended - some kind of sign, it seems, then she shakes her head. "Band's a little fucking late to start, is all." A glance towards Count. "There's a fucking visual," she murmurs with regards to the comment on the year, although her expression is amused. A nod greets that correction in title, then she laughs at that mock-biting. A quick glance around the current bar makes it clear she has another moment to breathe, and she grabs her water, taking a sip. "I don't think I mind monogamy" Sara notes, "But celibacy is a killer. Which means I've been slowly dying in this town." She holds up a palm in Count's direction. "That was not an invitation. For you at least." Her eyes narrow. "So, we get you drunk and you will literally leave 2018 and go back to 18? If so, I'm buying!" A pause. "Just kidding." Though when he does his mouth thing, she considers it more seriously. And she has no idea what Poppy gestured but it looks good. "This isn't the band that is looking for a drummer, is it?" "Hold on, I read about this, now that you've said that, it's my turn to say I wasn't interested in you anyhow? Or is this where I find a fedora and call you a bitch?" he frowns "Imma be honest, I had some special gummies about an hour before Rainbow Bright sent out the bat signal, and when I made the comment about th' year 18 I was picturing some caveman shit, like, if for a second I thought all our history happened in the last two thousand years. Year Eighteen, I coulda been, a... Pharaoh? We’re talking harems there... or that one asshole, fuck..." pause.. pause.. "..Judas! Me, Mister Iscariot." he grins a little more. "Celibacy is a dirty word." he wrinkles his nose and looks to Poppy "You ever make a... whats it called? Tequila, Tripple Sec, Lime, Cherry Vodka and... I don't remember. But there was sugar on the rim." "I know jack and shit about functional relationships," Poppy says cheerfully. "So I'll stay the fuck out of this, I think." Another sip of her water, then she shakes her head at Sara's question. "Nope. Some Rasputina-style shit that's either going to be fantastic or terrible," she says cheerfully, then looks towards Count, arching an eyebrow. The list of ingredients has her giving a thoughtful hum. "Fuck all if I can remember what it's called, but I can make that shit, anyways. You want that now?" She sets her water aside. "Sugar on the rim sounds fun" Sara smirks - the drinks must be getting to her. "That sounds like a drink you want to name after yourself, Count. You won't be the first one to call me 'bitch' so you can do that or say you're not interested. Up to you" she shrugs. "Special gummies? Little blue tablets? Not sure Judas was a great one with the ladies." At Poppy's words she looks over to where the band is setting up. "Cellos? So this place leans a little towards classical. What a shame I didn't bring my violin." "Pink, Cubes, Sour Watermelon, fuckin..." and he seems to lose track of his surroundings for a moment, his eyes drifting closed with a little flutter before he resurfaces from that morphean well and finds Sara again. "...good, they're amazing. Of course, now Emberella has ditched me." glancing towards whence November left. "just like her really, so flighty, but she'll deny that. Fucking Ephemeral Wyrdoes." Then Poppy mentions Rasputina and he makes a face. "Okay really? I dated a girl that was totally into them, but I just couldn't, like i get they had this whole shtick back in the 90's, like ohh weird and old timey, and shrill, like the birthing cries of Steampunk, which in itself is terrible. Switchblade Symphony were so much better." he glances to the stage and shakes his head, pre judging the not yet here band. Poppy shakes her head at Sara's comment. "Don't know I'd call Rasputina fucking 'classical;' either way, that style's the exception, not the rule. Most of the time around here you're going to find rock-based shit." A smirk is directed at Count's meandering description. "Right; sounds like you're pretty fucking good." She then grins sharply at his assessment of Rasputina. "Now there's an opinion; to be fair, their shit is a little out there. Switchblade Symphony is way the fuck easier to get into." Opalescent eyes twinkle. Sara is way too young for this conversation. At least she had a vague idea who Raspatunia were! The 90s? She was barely out of nappies. So now it is time to hide herself in her drink. "I can play rock too. I'll do that MP3. I could get Count to sing on it." "Rock?" Count, like his player, is a musical snob, and he looks, for just a second, pained. "Oh girl..." he lets out a breath, shaking his head "..that's way too broad. I mean you could be playing Nickelback with that description." Is he talking to Poppy? Sara? It's unclear. "You /really/ wouldn’t want me to sing, I mean, at least record it, for some reason I sound bad on recordings." or more accurately, recordings show him the reality that he is a terrible singer and he refuses to accept this simple fact. He spaces for a moment and then once more he's in the present and says "You know, I think I’mma call myself an Uber, I'll pick up the car later." Poppy gives Count a sharp grin. "Better than fucking 'Pop' as a category," she says, eyes glinting. "And any goddamn accompaniment you want is up to you, but it's essentially your audition." As he excuses herself she tosses him another one of those casual salutes. "Don't walk into a fucking lamppost - or the doorway." A glance over her shoulder and she makes a brief face, a rather philosophical grimace. "Right, that's where everyone's fucking been." The siren returns to the far side of the bar and to serving drinks. "Nickelback is not rock. It's genre is crap" Sara explains to Count. "So, no, I wouldn't be playing them with that description. No, maybe not sing, but if I could sample the noises you make..." But it looks like the man is off so Sara waves him adieu before the crowds in the club also attract Poppy's attention. The Dawn sighs and finishes her drink before slipping off the bar stool. "Looks like another celibate night." "I still got a hand!" Count objects, but he's already going, going... there he go-.. no he over shot it, wait, there, doubling back.. he finds the exit! | |
