003 | OPEN. red lipstick on the end of a cigarette.

[norea]

Who: Hasibe Ozcelik, and OPEN.
What: A show premieres at The Vault.
Where: The Vault.
When: Evening til the wee hours of the morning.
Notes: I will set up sections in the comments for people to hang out.
Warnings: WELL IT'S AN ADULT CLUB, SO.

The show starts at nine o'clock, and the bar is full pretty quickly thereafter, but the variety in the club is pretty striking. Xenians in their best suits, non-Xenians in leather and ripped fishnets, everything in between. There doesn't seem to be a lot of cultural divide here between human and not, even given recent issues. Hasibe makes good on her promise to have members of her cohort given seating preference, as she's sweet-talked the cocktail dress-clad hostesses, and the bartenders (in their vague approximations of suits with very open shirts) are aware that she's invited a lot of heavy drinkers. ...she just assumes people in her cohort want to drink--they've been kidnapped to a strange city with many new things to offer, so why wouldn't they?

Comments

[rhinemaid]

This is not a question she's ever been asked- partly because most people who wanted to know had met Emery and made their own minds up ('no, not really' is the accepted narrative there), and partly because she just doesn't know a lot of people who're inclined to ask. Maybe she gives him an honest answer just for the novelty of it.

"He wanted to be," she says, after a quiet pause, and that's the story of Emeric Featherstonehaugh's life, right there. Damned with faint praise, but always trying. "Daddy is an artist, though, and...that's just how he is." 'Artistic temperament' is not actually an excuse for Ilde's childhood. "He had his moments, though. Good moments, I mean."

Her tone is protective, almost; she sees herself as responsible for him far more than the other way around.

[truth_is_cold]

He was a good enough father to rouse his daughter's concern for him, whatever the case.

"Good intentions can be the source of unsuitable conclusions." Oh Rhade knows that better than he'd ever hope to in his life. "However he appears to do have at least given you the better parts of his DNA and ideals. I do think that counts for something."

Leave it to Rhade to get in a conversation about parents when he's surrounded by scantily clad clothing. Which he is not ignoring, noting the low cut of a dress worn by a woman that saunters out of the room he's next to.

[rhinemaid]

It makes her smile - 'the better parts of his DNA', not the dress of the woman passing them by, although she does fleetingly think how much she likes that fabric - in a curiously deliberate way. It's because of her father that she is what she is, faerie ancestry tracing through his lineage and bleeding out of him into his music, and she'll be the first to call it the better part.

"I think so, too. And," with a thoughtful glance further out into the club, "I learned to appreciate art in as many of its forms as I can stand." Which is a good reason to be here, she thinks.

[truth_is_cold]

"Versatility is a virtue. Even if it's only as much as you can stand. That's why I can play as many tactical games as I do." And he didn't even like all of them. Though Go was eternally his favorite.

He almost offered that his mother was a musician. He held back. But the attempt at words, the cut short offer, was about as well hid as that mysterious shimmer in her appearance.

"Should I let you return to your companion? I don't want to monopolize your time."

[rhinemaid]

The tilt of her head is inquisitive, catlike; she doesn't pretend not to be curious as to what wasn't said, there, but she doesn't ask. (Ask her no questions, she'll tell you no- well, that's not quite right, but close enough.) Instead of pursuing it, she smiles and touches his arm, briefly - personal space is not a concept she has a lot of truck with, and her fingertips coast the edge of his boneblades as she withdraws, just to see. "I should find him before he thinks I've wandered off. It was nice to see you again, though."

[truth_is_cold]

The boneblades are sharp. Not so much that a graze would cut someone, but they're notably sharp enough at the tips to cut through skin with some pressure. He doesn't seem bothered by how close she gets, though, and watches her inspect the bony protrusions (which he plans to make no effort to hide, no matter how it is people treat xenians here).

"Enjoy the rest of the night. Tell me if you see anything interesting." That's almost a joke, considering where they are.

[rhinemaid]

The temptation to apply pressure is there, and after a moment ignored; it'd be impolite, she reasons. Yes, that's why. Her curiosity sufficiently satisfied for the meanwhile, regardless, she salutes him with her cigarette holder-- "I think I saw the designer who made my dress running around without trousers on, if that counts."

In point of fact, she's off in search of her now.