Log:Bourbon and Strippers
|Bourbon and Strippers|
31 July, 2019
Widget meets Boudreau at The Treasure Vault. Pleasant conversation and adult oriented dancing occur.
The Treasure Vault
The Treasure Vault is done up in primarily black with gold accents, the overall quality of the place a good deal higher than most would expect from a strip club. The floors are hardwood with a dark varnish. Music pulses from speakers. From the entrance, there's a long bar along the left wall serving drinks. To the right is an area with tables large enough to seat four to six people, black bases and clear glass tops with the name of the club written in gold lettering. The entrance to the kitchen can be found in this area as well. This section is lighted fairly well, and there's no speakers directly in it so it's quieter as well. The bar and restaurant area is separated from the rest by gold-colored railings.
The main area is a couple feet lower than the rest, with a few broad steps leading down to it. The tables here vary in size, from enough to hold two to three patrons to those that could seat a dozen, the chairs padded and comfortable. Booths line the walls. The focus is of course the stage, a half-circle with a pole in the middle then a much narrower part that extends out maybe a dozen feet with a second pole at the end. There are two other smaller stages out amidst the tables. The lighting overall is somewhat dim other than on the stages, and there are speakers that pulse out music. There are doors leading to the backstage area, private dance rooms, and the managers office as well.
Widget is a common patron in Damion's den of sin, mostly because she knows him quite well. She hasn't had to actually /pay/ for anything yet, which to the imp is a green light to go absolutely hog-wild. By now the bartender knows her tastes for as much as they change, the kitchen can expect orders to skyrocket, and the dancers are on real-name turns and have ended up fairly fond of the gremlin. She's remarkably inoffensive, happy to find a nice spot to herself and eat and drink herself into a coma.
Does she still look out of place? Yes. A twiggy clearly-foreign latina in an ancient jumpsuit will do that, but at least they can't see her for /her/. All rusty, seams on the skin, eyes crackling and fizzing periodically, and a definite hint of exhaust to the breath.
At least she follows the rules?
Boudreau isn't a regular, so he has to pay. He shuffles in, stinking of stale cigarette smoke, with a note of fresh smoke from the cig he just extinguished before entering the strip club. He inhales deeply, then smiles, his eyes rolling up a 2 and a 3. "Lovely," he muses in his gravely voice, handing over his fee and heading towards the tables. Of course he spots the rusty gremlin, and makes his way to her. "Evenin, mademoiselle."
Widget looks up from her steak, smiling at the approaching Lost. She's as beaten-down and grotty as he is, scooting aside to let him sit. Not that she needs to, but...y'know. Trying to be nice! She's new to social...everything. "Hi! Sir. Yes." Mexican accent? Probably, but it's...coarser, worse-off. She fired back with Sir because that's about as fancy as she can talk and that's pretty obvious. "Saw you! At the meeting. Few times. Yes."
Boudreau eases into the offered seat with a grateful "Thanks". He's an older man, and old men like to sit. "I think I may have seen you as well." His voice, besides the scratchy gravely tone, has the hint of New Orleans in it, a bit of Cajun spicing it up, as it were. "My name is Phillipe Boudreau, but you can call me Boudreau." He'd almost seem charming, save for the way his eye-dice occasionally roll in his head. He's taken off his hat and is now fussing with the brim. "Do you come here often?"
Widget smiles sharply, incisors a fair bit sharper than they should be. Fangs? Little needle-sharp bastards, by the looks of them. It fits, the girl twitchy and impish enough to look like she should have 'em. Not charming at all, really, but she could do cute if she gained some weight and didn't look and smell like an industrial accident. "Widget. Hi. Sound neat." A new accent to be logged! For as scattershot as she looks there's a rather unnerving sharpness in her eyes. Not much is missed, it seems. "Yes. Lots. Know the owner. Damion? Giant red dragon man. Or giant black man. Depends. On who looks at him."
Boudreau looks thoughtful for a moment. Then he puts out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Widget. You sound pretty neat yourself." He smiles a little more, and it really is a wonder that his teeth aren't dice too. He rests his hat on the table. "I do believe I have met Mr. King at least once. With the bunny girl, lovely thing."
Boudreau waves for waitstaff and orders a bourbon, neat. "And whatever the little lady is having."
Widget looks confused, head listing at the extended hand before she realizes what that means. She shakes it with a giggle, looking pleased as punch to finally do that. Given she looks like a hobo-bot in the making, it's likely nobody's bothered to do that before. Or the fact that her skin feels rusty and oily, leaves stains on contact, and is probably mildly toxic to ingest. Suits her fine, even if she's always confused why nobody ever wants anything she borrows back. "Thanks. Met Damion? Yes. And Itsuki?" Wait. Oh! "Was a boy. Yes."
"Bourbon too? Yes. Please." Sounded fancy enough, she'd try it.
The waitstaff, a woman wearing clothing a few levels more modest than the dancers, knows Widget, so the bourbon order seems to amuse her where anyone else might be asking for ID. She nods and walks away to get the drinks.
Boudreau's expression at the "gender reveal" goes from mild shock to a slow look of impressed approval. "I've seen queens over my many years. He's good. Tres belle. What is his name again, Sookie?"
Widget does seem pretty comfortable here. Her eyes are wandering, enough to bring to question if she's here for more than the food and drink. For now she's focused on the conversation, looking confused at the talk of queens and bells. Itsuki was Apple Queen that one year so it must the that yup. Unless it was...oh! Right! Gay queen stuff but she got yelled at when she said that last time. Decades of time passing will do that. "Itsuki! Japanese. Yes. Pretty. For a boy."
"Oh. Itsuki. Not Sookie, got it." Boudreau offers the slow nod of an old man who just learned something new. "Does...Itsuki...do a show?" He says the name real slow, in an attempt to get it right.
And here comes the booze. The waitress puts the drinks down, and gets a nice tip from Boudreau. "Thank you, chere."
"Sookie?" Widget's head tilts the other way, nabbing her drink without breaking eye contact. She's good at that. "Show? Does magic. Yes." That was it, right? Widget looks about as confused as Boudreau does, tasting her drink after sniffing it. Yup. Alcohol, all right. Swig. Clack. More?
"Magic? He's a magician? Like Harry Houdini? The Great Blackstone? I have to see this," Boudreau says, clearly curious. Then Widget downs her drink. "Whoah whoah whoah, petite! Do you drink like this on the regular? That's enough to drop you to the floor in one swig!" He's a little tense, watching to see if she does indeed fall.
"Yes! With stages and everything!" Widget looks down at the glass, looks up, looks down, blinks. "...Yes?" She seems fine. Maybe it's the fact that she's...what she is. Toxins might not hit as hard when you're close to extruding them.
The lights begin to dim in the club. It's time for the entertainment to begin. A young man to the side of the stage cues up music with a heavy bass; he's clearly the DJ. Over a mic, he proclaims: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WELCOME TO THE TREASURE VAULT, WHERE WE OFFER YOU THE FINEST IN ADULT ENTERTAINMENT! TONIGHT, COMING TO YOU ALL THE WAY FROM BOSTON, HERE SHE IS, PUTTING THE WAVES IN YOUR OCEAN AND ROCKING YOUR BOAT...NAUGHTY-KA!"
The dancer who steps onto the stage is wearing a pseudo navy-eqsue outfit, as if she stole Donald Duck's clothes and added a thong and clear heels. She beams broadly, gives a salute, and spins and gyrates to a thumping cover of "In The Navy".
Widget can't help but laugh and blush in equal measure. Well, that settles that, the gremlin is very much interested in the precedings. Giving a spirited clap, Widget pauses to celebrate before returning to eating. She eats quickly. Weirdly quickly. It's like a starving dog, wolfing it down just in case it goes away and never comes back.
Boudreau smiles. He's not like the people, mostly men, who scramble to the edge of the stage and toss bills at Naughty-ka, fulfilling the "make it rain in the club" metaphor. He just smiles and watches like a man carefully and calmly enjoying a meal. Speaking of meals, he glances over at Widget, about to murmur concern about her gulping down her food. Then he remembers how she handled her drink. He chuckles, then rises from his seat, walks over to the stage, and places a bill on it - a fifty. Then he walks back to his seat. "How's the food?" he asks Widget.
Widget is focused on the meal enough that she can fight off the urge to scuttle over and start looting the money. It's better back here anyway, the gremlin being so short it's impossible to see over anyone. "Good! Very good! Want some? Can get! Yes." It's not cheap but for the money it looks /excellent/.
"That does look good. I might grab some," Boudreau ponders. "No one else seems to be getting any right now."
"AND GIVE IT UP FOR NAUGHTY-KA!" Naughty-ka has finished her set, to thunderous applause, and more tossed cash. She spends some time picking up her earnings and clothes and scoots off with a wave.
The DJ cues up more thumping music. "OUR NEXT DANCER HAILS FROM LITTLE ITALY. WHEN THAT THONG HITS YOUR EYE LIKE A BIG PIZZA PIE, THAT'S NOT AMORE, THAT'S HOTTI BISCOTTI! LET'S HEAR IT FOR HOTTI BISCOTTI!"
The new dancer does look like Fellini would have cast her in a movie. She's less about the pole and more about the bump and grind, moving to Italian techno.
And of course, she wears the red, white and green of the Italian flag.
Poor Widget. If she ever ran into a succubus she's /doomed/. No resistance, no restraint, staring openly and looking rather overwhelmed at this point. Right! Food! And friend. Yes. Boobs later? Both? No! Friend now! Boobs /slightly/ later. Yes. Can do that.
"Like the meat. Lots of it. Not tough. Yes."
Boudreau waves over the waitress as Hotti Biscotti does her thing and Widget does her thing. "I'll have a cheeseburger, well done, fries, and another bourbon for me and the little lady." Then he walks up to the stage to make sure this dancer gets her fifty bucks as well.
Widget beams, happy to have made a new friend. "Look like Carter. Met him? The Devil! But nice. Yes." To her, anyway. She talks about him like one might a favorite teacher or grandfather, a sort of casual respect. "But with music and stuff and not games. Yes."
Boudreau sits back down, and Widget mentions Carter. He blinks, then lets out a harsh cackle of laughter that can almost be heard over the cheers and the music. He claps a hand on the table. "I never thought I'd be compared to that old devil! Carter is a good friend of mine. We've been through a lot together." He downs the last of his bourbon. "He's a damn good musician, with a golden voice."
"Neat! Happy for that. Together There. Yes. Dunno any. From mine." Widget continues on, having downed enough liquor by now that she's starting to talk a bit more loosely. Sure, she should be /dead/ by now, but still. "Is! Yes."
"Is. Yes," Boudreau repeats, a faint wistfulness in his voice. "Enjoy the friends you have here, Mademoielle. It'll all be over soon enough, but at least you'll have their joy in good times and their back in the bad." Very Dusk, is our Boudreau.
"AND LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR HOTTI BISCOTTI! CIAO, BELLA!" And dear Hotti Biscotti absconds with her clothes and cash as well, going back stage.
"Know that. Yes." Widget looks hurt at that, but there's a dark acceptance there. It's not that she wants them to, but they might. They might leave her. It will hurt but that's what she's here for. It's expected.
So she gets drunk and shags strippers, like any well-adjusted person. "Live here?"
"I've been here for a few months. I tend to...wander...sometimes. So I've been away for a little while, but I'm back," Boudreau says sheepishly. "And you?"
The DJ is back. "AND OUR NEXT ACT IS ALLLLLL THE WAY FROM ATLANTA. YOU'RE GONNA HAVE GEORGIA ON YOUR MIND AND IN YOUR PANTS! GIVE IT UP FOR PEACHES DE CREAME!" Peaches is straight from the infamous strip clubs in Atlanta, so here comes some "Dirty South" rap music, and a woman who is all about dropping it down low.
"From far away. Southwest? New Mexico? Yes. Walked and walked and made it here! Took a long time. But like it here. Us here. Yes." One wonders how she didn't encounter a Lost before. Either she didn't know it, assumed she was seeing things, or avoiding people the entire time. Or something else. Widget is pretty weird, from what can be seen.
And perhaps somewhat gay, judging by the way her attention keeps slipping back to the stage.
"New Mexico? That's a long walk, Widget. But I'm glad you made it here safely." Boudreau lifts his fresh bourbon in salute, then takes a sip. And on to his newly delivered burger (along with Widget's new glass of bourbon).