It's mid-evening, and the entertainment du jour for the evening appears to be a contortonist of all things; a rather boneless, androgynous performer dressed in a black, slightly glittering unitard that glitters silverly in the stagelights as they move. Rather than being behind the bar, Poppy is seated at a table off to one side of the stage, a glass of what appears to be water near one hand and a tablet on the table, screen dimmed against being distracting. She's still dressed for work, however, in her usual black skinny jeans and alchemy logo spaghetti tank; she's wearing a pair of dark green suede stiletto boots, however, rather than her usual black.
And enter, Mavis, who gets carded the moment she toes through the front door. The mortal endures this with polite ruefulness, hadn't the same redhead carded her the last time, but she's 23 and used to this sort of ordeal. Mavis gets her ID-card back and pulls down the hood of her hoodie, ruffling her glossy, black hair to un-scrunch it. She wears an aviator-styled jacket over the hoodie, halfway zipped, and her hands a gloved in knitted, fingerless gloves in gradients of gray and pale yellow. Other than that, Mavis is garbed in her usual jeans and worn-out, black working boots.
The dusky-skinned human stands there by the door, scanning the club as though she were looking for someone she knew, while pulling off her gloves and cramming them into her jacket pockets. First, her attention is directed to the bar, but Mavis doesn't see who she's looking for. She finds the pale, slim blonde when her gaze eventually slips over to the stage then falls to the table where Poppy is seated. The mortal walks over to the bar, though, placing an order with the bartender manning it today, and shoots Poppy a rapid, cheerful wave from there.
Carter has been here for some time, watching the various performers come and go. He's migrated, occasionally, between bar and booth, depending on how much interest he has or lacks in the current stage show. And he's been both eating and drinking steadily since he arrived, as well; it's frankly incredible that such a whip-thin man can pack away as much as he has, without any apparent difficulty.
Eventually, though, as the contortionist performs a particular intricate series of movements, Carter decides it's time to shift again. This time, when he moves, it's down towards the table where Poppy is seated. He limps his way through the crowd, apparently not even noticing the way the mortals around him move instinctively aside, staring with open mouths. Mavis' arrival doesn't even seem to register. Not at first, anyway.
He just moves to stand beside the siren's table, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair opposite Poppy. "Miss Devereux," he says. He's speaking quietly, but there's only so much mere volume can do, when it comes to Carter. His voice /carries/, whether he's putting effort into it or not. And he just gives a little smile and inclines his head. "I do hope I'm not interrupting. Is there room for another at this table, or shall I wander back towards the bar?"
Poppy has seemed content to let Carter find his own pace for the evening, although as he approaches she looks up from her tablet, grinning sharply at the other Lost; it's unlikely that such Wyrd would go unnoticed. "Good evening, Mister Logan," she says cheerfully, eyes glinting with humor. "You're not interrupting; I'm happy to have an excuse to ignore my attempts to adjust the fucking bartending schedule." She sips from her water, then gestures to one of the empty chairs. "Please." Perhaps out of habit, she gives the room a once over, and noticing the wave from Mavis, raises a hand in greeting in return.
Mavis leans against the bar, not bothering to seat herself here as she didn't plan on hovering around this barkeep for long. The one she wanted to talk to was over there, seated near the stage. The human turns her raven-haired head while the bartender fills her order-- "a pint of Guinness"-- and she spots a familiar, suited-man making his way through the crowd. People parted around him like rain-droplets rolling off the back of a leaf and Mavis just observed this phenomenon with unblinking eyes. What's more, Mister Logan was heading toward the same table she had planned on joining, but now she's not so sure about intruding. Mavis fails to notice that her drink has been set in front of her and the barkeep was awaiting payment. Poppy /did/ wave back at her, perhaps she /should/ go over there and say something to the pair. Mavis startles to attention when the bartender says something to her and is seen trading over her debit card.
Carter turns slightly when Poppy offers that wave to the bar, and a slow, amused little smile creeps over his imperious features as he seats himself and hooks the end of his cane over the edge of the table. "Well, well," he says, still quietly. "Miss Baines again. She does seem to have a talent for finding interesting social circles."
He turns to look back at the artist again, and lifts his own hand in a brief, acknowledging wave. "And I'm happy to give whatever excuse I can for you to shirk responsibility," he adds, in a more conversational tone. "You work far too hard, Miss Devereux. It's a worthy cause, and a fine establishment, but I'm more than pleased to be able to give you some time away from it regardless."
The siren arches an eyebrow at Carter's amused smile, then glances back over at Mavis before turning her attention to the other Lost, smirking. "I see," she says simply, then takes another sip of her water, watching him over the rim of the glass. At his comment about working hard, she gives a rather musical snort, nearly snarfing some of her water, then sets the glass down with a hasty swallow, expression only somewhat reproachful. Poppy then grins again. "Well, who am I to fucking argue with you on a matter of indulgences?" Her eyes gleam impishly at that. "How are you doing?"
Woops. She did it. Mavis peered back over her shoulder and got caught glancing off at the stage when Mister Logan happened to be glancing in her direction. Or had he? It sure seemed like it and Mavis gives a little jolt and looks straight forward again, minding her own business. She checks her phone for the time, no new text messages, and puts it back in her pocket. All right, enough stalling.
One-two-three and swivel, Mavis turns around and flashes a smile at Poppy and Carter. She looks nervous as she trundles on over, side-stepping and turning to avoid colliding into people on the floor. They didn't move to avoid /her/ like they did Carter, but she's graceful about negating impacts. The human just flows in her intended direction, making minute adjustments as necessary and, sometimes, coming into shoulder-to-shoulder brushes with others. She manages to arrive without so much as having sloshed her drink and Mavis breathes a throaty, "Hi, Poppy," then nods respectfully at Carter. "Hello, Mister Logan. You two look like you're conspiring over here." She sounds teasing and, also, slyly opportunistic. Hey, a struggling artist never knew when someone might need her aptitude with the creative applications of powertools. "Anything interesting?"
"Marvelously, thank you." Carter inclines his head towards Poppy, that small, amused smile still playing about his features. "It's been an extremely entertaining couple of months, actually. I'm quite pleased with how things have been going. Today has been quieter, obviously-" he gestures towards the stage "-but I've still been enjoying myself immensely."
As he says it - and, coincidentally, as Mavis approaches - he lifts his right hand and snaps his fingers, once. Immediately, a waiter scurries over, positioning themselves silently by Carter's side of the table, and shooting a slightly bemused look towards Poppy. Carter's been here often enough, and placed orders often enough, that the mortal employees have come to understand his preferred type of service: quick, efficient, and silent, rewarded with a frankly staggering tip.
"Good evening once again, Miss Baines," he says, as Mavis draws up to the table. For a moment, that heart-stopping smile is turned towards her. "And I'm always conspiring about /something/. Best not to trust me with anything. But, for now, why not join us? It's about time for dinner, I think." He flips open a menu and peruses it for a moment, then shrugs, turns to the waiter, and adds, "Another Gold, I think, and the ribeye, medium rare. Surprise me with the sides."
He glances back towards the two women, eyebrows slightly lifted. "Anything for either of you, then?"
Poppy grins cheerfully at Carter's response. "Glad to fucking hear it," she responds, then nods at that gesture to the stage. "And hey, it's different than the usual shit; I appreciate it." One assumes that has to do with the current act. The waiter Looking over at the sound of her name, the blonde gives Mavis a bright nod. "Hey again," she replies. "I mean. We could be conspiring. Although to be fair, frankly, I'm shit at that. He's much better." A grin as she gestures to Carter, then the waitstaff is given an amused look. She shakes her head at the remark about food. "I'm good, but feel free to go ahead." That seems directed towards Mavis.
Mavis dips her head, another polite nod, as Carter greets her. "Oh, I will remember that," she tells him, sounding as though she had taken his cautions to heart but she wasn't judgmental of them. Not at all, in fact, and Mavis pulls out a chair to join them when Mister Logan makes that suggestion. It seemed the finest idea in the world and why not? He'd smiled at her and Mavis is, after all, mortal and subject to her weaknesses. She gingerly seats herself, setting her pint-glass on the table with a clack of glass-to-wood and snickering at Poppy's observations. "Seems like a lot of work, to me, masterminding. I'm more of the technical grunt sort," she shares, straightening out her jacket and peering off at the stage. Mavis notes to the pair, "Nice seats you got," then blinks and snapps her attention back to Carter when he asks if either of them would like to order anything.
"Nah," she tells him, shaking her head and admitting. "Not hungry and Guinness always makes me feel "full" afterward, too." Her honey-brown eyes turn to look at Poppy and Mavis tilts her head. "Water again?" Huh.. Mebbe Poppy was holding out on the club party-drugs. She doesn't ask, though, that'd be rude as hell.
"I am an immensely talented liar and an extremely underhanded bastard, it's true." The amusement in Carter's voice is incredible to listen to. It's almost music in and of itself, low and light and rhythmic. Poppy's voice shares the same hypnotic quality, too; between the two of them, more than a few nearby mortals keep turning to glance at their table, straining to catch a glimpse of where that wonderful sound is coming from.
As usual, Carter ignores them. Everyone not immediately seated at their table is, it seems, currently beneath notice. Save for the waiter, that is, whom Carter sends scurrying off towards the back with a quiet, "It seems that will be all, then," and a wave of his hand.
"Well, Miss Baines," he says brightly. "You certainly seem to have landed on your feet, in moving here. You've already met most of the people worth knowing in the area. Have you found time yet to resume your artistic endeavors? I'm still curious to see your work."
The blonde sips from her drink, then grins again at Mavis. "Nothing wrong with that; too many cooks and all that shit." She smirks at that remark about water. "I'm working," she says simply, then shifts her attention to Carter. "Damn straight," she agrees easily. As the Devil turns his attention to Mavis, Poppy tilts her head, clearly waiting to hear the answer to that question.
"Not yet," Mavis says to Carter, mournfully, then brights to add, "thanks for the glowing marks, though. There's a shed out back, behind my grandma's old house. Needs clearing out, but I think it'll shape up to a fine workshop once she's all kitted. This isn't," she hums, going quieter, "the first time I've started from nothing." Things usually seemed to go her way, though. Like Carter had said, she'd landed on her feet. The mortal goes silent then, feeling uncomfortable with the pair of eyes on her and hides behind a sip of her Guinness.
"It's a good skill to have, rebuilding from nothing," Carter says conversationally. "I did it a few times, just to see what it was like. Always an interesting experience, though not necessarily one I'm looking to have again." He settles back into his chair as he says it, and shifts oddly against its back for a moment. "And I'm sure you'll do fine."
He glances up towards the stage for a moment, watching the contortionist's movements, then shrugs. "And you've already met quite a number of interesting persons," he says. "I do hope that Widget has been behaving herself. She has a tendency to be rather clumsy, in her interactions with others. But she knows her way around a set of power tools, and where to get all the best scrap."
"Oh yeah?" Poppy asks Mavis curiously. "Inherit the house or some shit like that?" A grin. "Sounds like the start to a fucking movie." That remark about starting from nothing is met with a thoughtful hum, then she glances towards Carter, nodding agreement with the man's observation. A sip from her drink, even as she follows his glance stage-ward; her gaze is sharply considering - perhaps at the quality of the performance - then she looks back to the other two. A wry look greets that remark about Widget. "She's...something else, definitely."
The contortionist, for their part, is currently gliding through a series of rather complicated moves, pausing very briefly in each new position without quite stopping completely, rather like a human version of a kinetic sculpture.
"Widget?" blurts Mavis and, for the barest of seconds, it almost seems like the mortal is feigning having ever met the grease-monkey. She then shrugs and comments, casually, "Oh yeah. She's doing fine." And, for some reason, Mavis decides not to mention how the gremlin had startled her in her own kitchen this morning while the mortal had assumed herself sitting there alone, mulling over her tea. "We get on like a house-fire."
She snickers at the blonde and sets her drink down. "I try not to think about it like that, but my best friend IS named after something infamous." Widget? Wait, no. "Amity, I mean." The mortal shoots Poppy a look, maybe they'd talked about her at some point, then looks down to pull out her phone and check it again.
Carter gives Mavis a long, considering look which is, despite his obvious notice of her brief hesitation regarding Widget, more amused than inquisitive. He gives a little chuckle, shakes his head, and murmurs, "Always a strange turn of phrase, that. Get along like a house on fire? Not my idea of a good time, at least. I wonder how it was originally intended."
The waiter returns, just then, with another tray, which he takes a moment to unload in front of Carter. The suited man grins a beaming, exquisite grin, then plucks up his glass - full of something that looks, appropriately enough, like molten gold - and gives Poppy and Mavis a silent toast before drinking.
"Miss Amity needs someone like you in her life," he says, as he sets the glass down again. "Someone who can pull her out of herself. She has the definite air of a woman who keeps far too much hidden, even from herself. Honesty is always far more entertaining, in my experience."
Poppy arches an eyebrow at Mavis' response about Widget. "Oh? That's good to fucking hear, assuming you don't mean that shit literally." She smirks at that remark about the house, then nods for the further clarification about Amity. "Well. I suppose we'll fucking find out, won't we?" A gleam to her eyes, and one has to wonder if she's expecting the basement of the house to contain a gate to hell. One never knows. Glancing to Carter, she grins sharply. "I suppose that depends on the goal."
"I dunno where the saying came from either, Mister Logan. Always likened it to "having so much fun you knocked over a barrel of fireworks and they roll into the fire, but no one cares" or something. Party haze. Or bath salts." She shrugs, chuckling weakly. "I dunno about Amity," says Mavis, cryptically, "She gets out more than you'd think." No comment on the rest of Carter's words, about honestly.
Mavis frowns, feeling glum, and for reasons she couldn't put a finger on. Maybe it's because she wasn't looking forward to going home and facing Amity orrr maybe it's that the mortal is reminded that she's the last of living Baines. Whatever this mood is from, it has Mavis picking up her drink and swallowing one-two-three times. She doesn't quite drain the glass, that would be too much, but the mortal empties most of it and gets to her feet with a hissed wince. Her phone chimes and she checks it, setting her glass down without looking it it, then locking her phone. "I.. need to head home," she tells the pair of Lost, smiling apologetically at them. "Have a "thing" I need to do that I didn't think would happen til a little later on."
"If it's a barrel of fireworks worth having, people will start caring very quickly," Carter says, still sounding greatly entertained by something. "Unless the party favors are /remarkably/ good, that is." He laughs, and takes another sip of his drink before reaching down to pluck up knife and fork, starting in on his steak. "And I'm sure that she gets out considerably. But I'm /also/ quite sure that she isn't the type to actually get what it is that she really wants, no matter how long she spends trying to hunt it down. Trust me."
He swallows a bite of steak, then continues, "I've known more than enough people like her. Whatever she actually puts her energy towards, it will only end up getting in the way of her achieving her actual goals. She's too wrapped up in her ideas of decorum and restraint and safety." He glances towards Mavis, noting her glum expression, and his smile takes on something of a knowing edge. "Farewell, then," he says. "It was nice to see you, if only briefly. And I do hope that whatever you're heading off for isn't /too/ intolerable."
The blonde mms at Mavis' guess at the phrase, then arches an eyebrow again at that rather subdued response to the mention of Amity. As the mortal excuses herself, she tilts her head, expression considering, then nods. "Good luck with that shit," she says simply; perhaps she's recalling the previous conversation the two had at the bar the other day. Poppy glances towards Carter, smirking a bit at his observation for whatever reason, even as she sips from her glass of water.
Mavis shoots Carter a furtive, skeptical glance as he says that so casually and just gnaws on his steak. It was a very astute observation and Mavis observes, somewhat grimly, "I see where your niece gets it from, Mister Carter. Gotta start being more careful around her." She grins rashly at him and raising her black eyebrows, appraisingly. "She notices a lot more than she lets on or folks give her credit for." Mavis shoots Poppy a warmer glance, widening her eyes in feigned-but-kind-of-real terror. "Thanks," she says to her then puzzling a little as she tacks on, "Enjoy your.. Water." That's all she ever saw the blonde drink.
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