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

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Antonin doesn't respond immediately; he glances at Hasibe, giving her a once-over that is without question the least appreciative look a man can be giving a woman when she's dressed in lingerie - as though he's assessing the situation. He's almost fifty, after all, and has a little self-control.

Not much, but it's there.

When his gaze reaches her face, he gives her a flash of his twisted smile and toasts her with a freshly-refilled glass.

"My advice is to stop being charmed by men on the Network." With that, he gestures for her to join him. "Let strange men at bars charm you, instead."

[norea]

She slides into the seat next to him, legs crossed neatly. In one hand she takes her drink, and the other she leaves lightly balanced on the bar top, half-turned toward Antonin. As of yet, she isn't sure what she makes of him, since they've only really had the one conversation, but it's worth investigating further.

Besides which, she's a sucker for accents.

"I think that's very solid advice, thank you," she says approvingly, a thread of breathy laughter in it, "So what do you make of my workplace? Be brutally honest; I'm meant to be improving the atmosphere."

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

He turns more fully toward her - something about body language when engaging in flirtatious behaviour. Or perhaps he'd rather just look at her properly rather than slump morosely over a bartop.

At her question, he gives a glance around - What, this place? - and muses for a moment. "It's not to everyone's tastes. But you're filling quite a specific economic niche.

He toasts her and continues, "I wouldn't mind coming back, personally."

[norea]

"Well, I sincerely hope that you do," she says, with a pleased little smile, tossing her hair back--it was up, earlier, for her performance, but she prefers it this way, down nearly to her waist. "We have a lot to offer. The place's motto is 'anything you want', so just bear it in mind."

Hasibe rests her elbow on the bar top, drink in hand. Her high heel on the left hooks through the rungs of the stool, comfortable; she could put them on the ground, but it's a relaxed, gamine mannerism, particularly so coming from a girl who's closer to thirty than twenty.

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

"You talk as if you own the place." He gives a glance around, then a quick once-over of Hasibe, as though to say he probably wouldn't be working the floor if he owned a place like this. Then again, maybe she likes her job.

"What I want right now -" Antonin looks pensive, then chuckles. "I'm almost fifty. We are simple creatures with simple tastes. Vodka and a pretty woman for company. Who can ask for more?"

Well, besides supreme power, wealth, and fame.

[norea]

"Well, I am the best new soloist. But I don't need to own anything to get things done." She raises her eyebrows, a little playfully skeptical, at his pronouncement. If the age difference is something that even strikes her, there's no apparent sign of it--after (fairly recently, admittedly) hitting the twenty-five milestone, she just no longer cares.

"Many people, I think, but I applaud your restraint."

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Antonin raises his glass to her, then finishes off the contents. "Why don't you show me around? I'm sure we can find something more interesting to do than sitting at a bar, talking about my self-restraint."

The age difference, clearly, is not an issue to him; he has a type, and its name is 'Willing'.

[norea]

She slides effortless of the bar stool, landing deftly on her towering heels. Most people would have a lot more trouble in those things than she does, but it's one of the gifts of supernatural balance. "Always. There are the other stages--on one you can see a young woman use magic to do some interesting things with neon. She's not the best witch in town, but she mastered that one."

There is a moment in which she pauses to straighten the angling of her costume. It's not actually intended to be gratuitous or draw attention, even if it has that side-effect--clothing this delicate just requires some adjustment.

"There are also the private rooms, if you feel like having a look at what goes on there."

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Antonin gives her a glance as he stands and gathers the coat he slung over the back of his chair. There's a good deal of appreciation in it, but faint amusement, as well.

"Is that an invitation?" Subtlety is a Slytherin thing, and Antonin isn't on the same page as his Slytherin comrades; he's not even in the same book. Sometimes you have to be upfront about the things you want in life. Not every is attuned to being subtle or dropping hints.

[norea]

"That depends on how much trouble I can be persuaded into," she says, a tremor of a laugh in her voice, "My employer probably wouldn't look very kindly on it."

Technically, she's not supposed to entertain anyone but the high rollers, but the high rollers are so often boring. Sandor's on her list, certainly, for her own ulterior motives, but Hasibe sees no reason not to have fun whenever the whim strikes her elsewhere until she gets there. She cuts across the room, but she's in no hurry--her pace is more of a meander than anything else.