2019.04.20: Auditions, Part 1

2019.04.20: Auditions, Part 1
Dawson evaluates this week's Fresh Meat and discovers something new.
IC Date	April 20, 2019
IC Time	Near Midnight
Players	Dawson, Blodskadi Ulwin, Alice, Jasmine, Ken, Devon
Location	Styx and Stones
Spheres	Mortal+

Styx and Stones - Pool Hall

Nearly midnight at the Styx and the place is packed. The crew are running from the front to the back with such rapidity that you'd swear someone's got them on a cardio-counter. The two tables in the back are full of bikers - from two different groups it would seem. They're loud, annoying, mostly drunk but generally behaving for now.

Dawson, perched on his high chair like some kind of pool life guard, sits about a head taller than most people standing in the place - a perfect vantage point to watch for trouble. Danny, working the bar like a pro, occasionally checks in with the ashen-haired woman to see if she'd like a refill, perhaps something to eat - hell, he's even tried to get her to talk - thinking that she might be upset or sullen or something. Dawson, however, has been watching the room like a well-schooled shot-caller. He's already broken up one fight before it became one at the tables when a guy from one gang 'accidentally' bumped into one from another when he was trying to take a shot.

He's not there to start trouble - it's his job to end it. Sometimes that's offering the two of them some beer and guiding them back to their tables and sometimes it's a bit more physical. His cool, composed demeanor suggests an icy cold attention to detail with the occasional blush of warmpth when iron doesn't work. But, shot-calling takes it out of you so he eventually swaps out with Danny and takes a shift at the bar. "You got no where else to go?" he asks in a tone that seems more question than accusation.

Devon comes out of the kitchen, buckets of ice hanging from each hand. It's an effort, but she lugs them over towards the bar, dumping them in before putting the empty buckets away. Then it's off to grab food, taking it towards a table, balanced on her arms and in her hands. She's got the waitress shuffle down at least, moving around people as they ignore the fact she's there, getting the food where it needs to go.

The woman offers a friendly smile beneath the uniquely-coloured hair as she looks up at Dawson. She takes a swig of beer before replying, "Maybe. I guess I just like the background noise." Despite the contrasting accent, clearly English with a classy tone -- she doesn't seem too perturbed in the biker bar. More than a few times has trouble broken out near her, and despite having to shift her weight on the barstool to avoid the errant blow or bottle before it's swiftly shutdown by the owner, seems rather comfortable. "I thought this was where you went if you wanted a drink with no added questions?" she adds, with a sly and cheeky wink offered.

Dawson shrugs once and holds up his hands in mock surrender to the woman as though he was admitting that he might have been intruding. It's a joke. He winks at her in response and then goes back to doing his bar thing. "You've been alone for a long time..." he mutters low enough that probably only she would have heard him.

While making his...'observation' of the ashen-haired woman, he glances out to the floor to see how things are going. He just can't let it go it seems. He watches Devon work the room with the skill of someone that's ran tables before and he leans over to tell Danny to keep an eye on her. "See if she's worth a payday..."

Devon starts sliding plates out across the booth, and while bent giving the guys on the inside their food the outside 'gentleman' decides to grab himself a handful of asscheek. She pauses, finishes putting the plates down instead of dumping it in the guys lap, then reaches behind her to take ahold of his wrist. It's time like this a manicure comes in handy, and she starts digging her fingernails into the underside of his arm, just staring at him blankly while she drives them in deeper. She gives when he lets go.

Alice laughs, "I'm not alone, I have my beer!" she exclaims quietly as she holds up her bottle. She turns when she hears a loud yelp, to see a blonde-haired waitress releasing the wrist of an older, much larger man. A telling smile makes its way to her lips as she turns herself back around to take another swig from her bottle of rather lukewarm beer.

A woman having her ass grabbed is not exactly abnormal at the Styx. It's not really a question of if, it's more of a when, how often and how you handle it. Danny, up on the perch, watched the scene and was seemingly ready to hop down and lurch his way over to help Devon but relaxes slightly when he sees that she's got it covered. Dawson, from his place behind the bar, only caught half of what happened but nods appreciatively. She got her job done -and- taught him the price for his actions. "Good..." he can be heard saying to Danny and then turns his attention back to the barfly nearby.

"S'ok. Just makin sure you weren't being ignored or anything." It's not that he's trying to pry but, as the owner, he doesn't want people to feel their needs aren't being met. He continues to busy himself at the bar for a bit more when...

A young man with dirty-blonde hair comes in the front and walks straight up to the bar. The man, a lean and well-muscled figure, is wearing a denim vest with a club's logo on the back - which should not be out of the ordinary here. Dawson saw him come in, walks to the edge of the bar and leans forward so that he can hear what the guy has to say. They speak for only a few minutes and Dawson gives him a silent nod in understanding. "Take him back to the yard. I'll get there when I can."

Devon stops at a table on her way back, stacking up some glasses and plates before giving the table a wipe with her rag. She tucks it in the strap of her apron before picking the dishes up, heading back towards the kitchen to rinse and repeat. He wasn't kidding when he said she'd be dealing with issues, but the groping doesn't seem to have caused any sort of emotional fuss.

Alice seems to bite her lip as the man enters the bar, and as he approaches near to her so that he can lean over the bar to talk to the owner, it's as if she'll naw through her entire lower lip. As if a battle was won within her, she releases her lower lip and takes another swig from the bottle of beer in front of her -- a soft smile on her lips as if nothing had happened. Anyone looking close enough would perhaps think she were averting her gaze on purpose.

Family. She tried spending it with her relatives in the area. Naturally, that did NOT go well, which is probably why the young girl needs a drink. Sure, she definitely isn't of age, but with a little wiggle of her fingers here, a waggle of her brows, a shake of her booty, and a decent fake ID, she gets inside. Dressed casually in a pair of snug fitting jeans, and a light grey t-shirt with a black leather jacket to complete the ensemble, she beelines to the bar. "Rum and coke."

The guy talking to Dawson, somewhere in his early twenties, seems to be following the white-haired man's orders. "Right, ok." he mutters and turns to leave as quickly as he came in. "Give him the red bottle..." Dawson calls before he gets out of the door. "All of it." And with a final nod the guy in the club vest is gone. While the Latino ex-marine of a guy sits in the shot-caller's chair, Dawson works the bar and fixes drinks; catching up from the momentary meeting. "Rum and Coke..." he repeats the order and the cost. Assuming that she hands him the cash, he starts making he the drink. This isn't a typical bar. Not with the wall of alcohol behind it and such. That's just like putting candy in front of a diabetic with these Bikers. So he pours out the rum in the glass and then opens a can of coke, because they're so classy here, and pours some of it into the alcohol and slides the cup forward.

Devon looks the tables over, making sure everyone is fed and liquored up before she heads towards the bar. She waits while Dawson makes the drink, then crooks a finger at him to get his attention. A hand goes into her apron, and she pulls out a few crumpled bills. "You said no tips, so where am I supposed to stick the tips I'm getting." Her eyebrow goes up as she looks at him.

Pulling out cash, there's a soft sigh as Jasmine pays for the drink and adds twenty percent in tip. Pouring more of the coke into the cup, she swirls it with her finger before taking a nice long chug and lets out a soft ahhh.

Alice turns to the very young-appearing girl who most definitely is not underage and standing at the bar beside her, and offers a friendly smile. "I guess I'm not as special as I thought." she says, her own English accent saturating her words.

"If it was anything other than your first night I'd tell you to share them with either the kitchen or the bar," Dawson begins, "...but since you're Fresh Meat...I don't see no tips. Do you?" The fact that a new employee is expected to work for free their first night is basically a test. If she succeeds then she'll be hired to come back so anything they make as tips is probably the only wages they'd get on their first night.

There's a BBC One accent in her tone of voice. Raising her brows, Jasmine looks towards Alice as she lets out a soft chuckle under her breath. "If you voted for Brexit, you're special, m'dear." she offers with a wry grin. "Short bus special." she continues with a sage nod as she polishes off the rum and coke, or rather mostly rum at this point.

Devon nods, palming the bills to stuff them back in her apron and moves back off after grabbing a clean-er rag than the one she has. She's stationed out on the floor, so there's little interaction at the bar other than requesting drinks. Instead she's cleaning tables, and taking orders.

The older Englishwoman laughs at that. "You know, I don't think I've ever voted for or agreed on a policy put forward by the Tories." she retorts, "But remember: Brexit means Brexit!". She lifts her bottle of beer in a faux toast, before taking another swig and finishing what was the left of the lukewarm disgrace. Her hand goes up, and she tries to wave down whoever was taking orders, Dawson or Danny, and get another beer in front of her.

Dawson, since Danny's in the perch, (can't call it a high chair and sound cool), is watching the bar and sees Alice's wave for another beer and takes her money before sliding another, colder one in front of her. To Jasmine he asks, "You want another?"

Pulling out some more cash from her pocket, she places it on the counter. "Sure, why not?" Jasmine replies with a shrug of her shoulders as she snickers, glancing towards Alice. "The EU should have made the deadline on November 4th instead of the 31st of October. Would have been more symbolic."

Devon walks by the bar seats on her way to a table that's flagging her down, muttering in passing, "Remember, remember the fifth of November." Then sighs and stops next to the patrion in question. He starts gesturing at the burger on his plate, tossing the bun and generally looking bitchy as he motions to his food. She picks it up, nodding, then turns around to head towards the kitchen with a smirk on her face.

Alice nods with amusement, "The 5th of November would have been too perfect." She brings the fresh bottle to her lips, and adjusts herself on the bar stool -- lifting her legs and sitting cross-legged. "But when was politics ever that fun?" she finishes with a bored sigh.

Blodskadi Ulwin walks in yawning slightly, carrying a full water bottle which he drinks. His eyes squinting at the smoke as he looks around the room for a moment before his eyes dart about as he mumble something about smoke. His other hand carefully with in his leather jacket's pocket.

Nearly midnight at the Styx and the place is packed. The crew are running from the front to the back with such rapidity that you'd swear someone's got them on a cardio-counter. The two tables in the back are full of bikers - from two different groups it would seem. They're loud, annoying, mostly drunk but generally behaving for now. Dawson, the white-haired owner, is helping Danny, the Latino ex-marine at the bar tonight as the two trade off on who's watching the place as Shot-Caller.

"Politicians lose their sense of humor when they win, I think." Jasmine muses under her breath as she waits for her next rum and coke to be prepared.

Dawson -almost- had his mouth open in time to make the quote but Devon beat him to it. I mean how many times do you have to be set up -so- perfectly to rattle off that rhyme from the movie. The white-haired owner gives the waitress a flat-frowning, side-glance and shakes his head with a faint smile. "She'll work out I guess," he mutters to Danny nearby.

Returning to the pool hall after his previous visit yesterday, this Asian fellow makes his presence known in the establishment once more. The bikers glare, stare, and look, some possibly recognizing him from the day before. That pair of shades should be an indicator, at least, since all Asians basically look the same, right? Ken struts his way into the bar, towards the group people and scoots in. "Hi, I'd like to talk with the manager. Some guy named Dawson," he nods his head up to Devon.

Blodskadi Ulwin walks up to the bar, glancing to people he knows as he goes to the bar to order something semi healthy...if such a thing exists in this place. He leans on the bar counter as he nods towards Dawson, flashes a smile at Alice, glances at Ken then to Dawson before his eyes flick about again before locking on to a random beer bottle which he chuckles at "Funny." he says before shaking his head with another chuckle. Like the bottle told a joke.

Devon heads into the kitchen, talking with Tommy for a minute. She looks at the burger, tilts it a little and smirks before handing it over and heading back out. More beer to ferry to tables, so she picks up the pints and heads that way. As Ken comes in she looks at him, her eyes narrowing a notch and his upnod not illicting a response as she continues on her way. Smoke slips into thee room between the legs of an incomming customer. He slinks beneath one of the chairs bathed in shadow and peers out from the darkess at the world.

"Politicians had a sense of humour in the first place? Bloody zombies." Alice remarks. She peers at Blodskadi out of the corner of her eye, before tracking his vision back to the bottle. "Well, at least it's not the chair this time..." she mumbles under her breath.

A white-haired man behind the bar hears that someone's looking for the manager and quirks an eyebrow. "Whataya want?" he asks Ken while filling drink orders and keeping the bar relatively clear of empties and things. He's busy enough but not so busy that he looks like he's lost control of the area. The return of Blod is noted, barely, and he pauses in his work long enough to lean against the edge of the bar to listen to the man looking for him.

Blodskadi Ulwin looks towards the bikers for a second before he looks towards two eyes underneath a table, but he seems to keep going, almost like he thinks they're naturally there. He takes another sip of his bottle as he listens to conversations for now as he awaits his order. A foot slowly taps the ground as his eyes glance at people, random things, or conversations that are happening.

"Work. I was looking for some work, but," Ken's head turns as his eyes scan the interior, though they're obscured behind those glasses of his, then it faces the white-haired guy again. "- it seems like you boys are done renovating the place already. Was tryna lend a hand, carry some stuff. You know, earn some quick buck." A shrug after his remark.

"Sorry bud, we're full up on strippers." Dawson answers with a sarcastinc tone - drawing a bit of a smile from Danny nearby. "And unless you're willing to volunteer as tribute, we already got our Fresh Meat for the week." He looks around the floor to see if Devon could be easily pointed out. "You got some other talents that I could put to use or something?"

And Jasmine just fades into the background...

Alice seems to have lost interest in her beer, and stares curiously at the cat that now resides beneath a chair. She sits perched on the barstool, her legs crossed in a faux meditative pose.

Smoke scraunches down to look out at the world at the floor level. He rolls over to swat at the shoelace at of the person's foot that is sitting above him. Miss, miss, and got it! He pulls it in quickly to a bite, untying the person's showlace in the process.

Blodskadi Ulwin chuckles as he watches the cat, nodding as a meager meal is put in front of him as he flashes one of the waiters as smile as he pulls out a zip lock bag and begins to put the meal carefully into it. Like he's trying to perserve it. Eyes flicking to the cat sometimes with a grin. Dawson tries to see what Blod is looking at but the angle of the bar and where he's standing make it difficult for him to see under the chair in question. So he just asks, "Ok, I might regret asking what you're seeing - but what gives?" And then he spies Alice looking at the 'something' as well and he turns to ask the lady, "oh...don't tell me that he's infected you with it too?"

The joke either didn't register on Ken, or he just wasn't amused at all by it. That impassive look on his face stays as he stares at Dawson, then replies with a deadpan tone. "I'm not desperate enough to put my ass on the grind for no cash, no thank you." That was his reply when Dawson suggested 'volunteering', even though it was just banter, was it? "I don't know, man- kinda talents you looking for anyway? If you need strippers, that fat ass greaser over there's a good candidate. Definitely not me." His thumb jerks backwards towards the group of bikers sat on the tables, which earns him a glance. Having killed one shoelace and not noticed yet, he tries to attack the other. A paw reaching out tenatively to swat the lace. He misses the first reach but snags it on the second, and victory of all victories he kills the second lace. The brave warrior rolls over and meows silently as he contemplates his next target.

"Mmm?" comes out of Alice's lips, before she realises Dawson was talking to her. "Oh, I didn't realise you had a bar cat, Dawson." she says, as she finally turns away from the vicious fluff warrior beneath the chair and back towards Dawson.

Blodskadi Ulwin looks towards Dawson "You've got a cat in the bar, its attacking shoe laces." he says with a smile towards the cat before both eye brows go up as Ken calls some bikers out. He shakes his head as he puts his ziplocked food in his jacket "Dawson, heading out for a job, thanks for the food." he says as he heads towards the door. "Bar cat?" Dawson asks initially not comprehending what the woman said. Once it registers he tells her, Blod - hell, anyone to remove it. "Get it the hell out of here. Now..." Though his voice should be loud enough that he could be heard by those around the bar he's trying not to make it so loud that the bikers at the back tables would hear him. You don't want to see what two loads of bikers will do to a stray cat. Oh no.

Now that the cat thing has been addressed - or as near enough that he can without hauling himself out from behind the bar to fetch the animal and throw it out, Dawson turns his attention back to Ken. "Oh, we're not playing that game bud." he comments while still working on filling drink orders, popping beer bottles back in the bins and such. "This is not the time or the place for -me- to tell you everything. This is when -you- tell me and I decide if I have the time to think about what we might be able do with it."

Smoke spots people looking his way. He looks to the right into the back room with all the loud bikers, probably not. Perhaps a sprint to get behind the bar, but that guy is yelling, no, not that way. He looks to the left, the door opening as Blodskadi leaves, and decides to scrimple that way. He sprints on out into the night. Set.

Alice, watching the cat escape into the night unapprehended, looks at her watch and frowns at the time. She takes her beer and chugs what remains of the bottle, before placing it back down on the bar. "Cheers Dawson, thanks Danny." Stepping off the barstool, she follows the feline into dark.

Ken pays no attention to the cat, nor the fact that an adult male is worried, scared even, of a harmless cat. He does taptap his fingernails on the bar deliberately though, something out of habits. Then he watches as people begin to leave, perhaps trying to come up with a reply while at it, then he turns. "Right. Does it help if I say that I can beat the toughest motherfucker you got in this place?" His nose wrinkles, eyebrows narrows, then all of a sudden he just laughs. A hearty laugh at that. "Ha ha, I'm kidding. Or am I?" Now he's just asking for a challenge.

--Continued in Auditions, Part 2--