| A Crowded Bar |
| Summary: | Bogart finds his way into the Voodoo Lounge |
| Date: | April 21, 2014 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | None |
| Scene Runner: | {$runner} |
| Social/Plot: | Social |
| Players: |
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To all outward appearances, the Voodoo Lounge is just another popular bar, with the requisite crowd of young partiers, up and coming personalities, and all the assorted people you would find in such an establishment. Even for the beginning of the week it is crowded, though there are still a couple of empty tables and there always seems to be at least one seat open at the bar, no matter how busy it is. There are a few waitresses wandering around the tables, doing what they do, and two bartenders, one a gothy looking man and the other the rather well known, in certain circles, Topaz.
To Bogart's eye, it's just another niche bar where only those into 'it' would fit in. To his nose, that is a whole different world. The descent took him twice as long as it should and now he is inside, he rushes to get a seat, the first he can find. All the accents, the tinges, the zests… better than the best of drinks and ten time as dizzying. After a moment, he forces himself up to trek to the bar, where he can see a stool awaiting.
While sure the bar reeks of magic, it's the petite Indian bartender who smells as if she has been soaking in it all her life. It could leave one to believe she wasn't wholly human. She seems to be one of those showy bartenders, flipping bottles and doing a small tricks here and there as she mixes drinks. To the uninitiated it looks just like someone skilled at mixing drinks, but it is not. As soon as the newcomer sits Topaz is in front of him, setting a napkin on the bar top "Welcome to the Voodoo Lounge." a warm smile is given "One drink coming right up." she doesn't ask what he wants, "Your first time here. What do you think?" she seems to have no problem being heard over the talking crowd or the live jazz music being played by a small quartet on stage.
"Thank you…" he says, then hesitates. A really good question, one that requires a special effort of Bogart. He scans the place with his eyes to get a better idea. That buys him some time. So far, he cannot say if he likes the place or not, only that his heart is racing still. The jazz is probably the only thing he can anchor his attention to, besides the bartender. "…very intriguing, lady. Not sure I can ever get used to it, in a good way." He smiles to her, because she is so easy to smile to.
"It can be overwhelming." her tone is pleasant, with an accent that isn't quite Indian, but isn't British either, she is certainly easy to understand "It helps if you just relax and let it wash over you like a cool breeze." as she speaks she is busy mixing a cocktail, the bracelets chiming a counterpoint to her movements. It's a quick mix job and she sets it in front of Bogart, she has an uncanny knack for serving drinks that the customer wants even without having to be told what that something is. "This should help." though whether she is talking the drink or the calm aura she pushes towards him is debatable, could be both.
Oh yes, nothing like a drink to get Bogart steady. After a thankful nod of his head, he takes a sip. This is exactly what he was hoping for, it tastes like vacations. He takes another sip. He lets out a tiny sigh. "I never tasted the like," he compliments. "Is it safe to exchange names here?" he adds, uncertain.
Topaz smiles brighter at the compliment. She has undoubtedly heard them all about her looks, but probably very few about her drink making skills. Something she has worked quite hard at cultivating "I am glad you like it." at the question her eyes scan the bar quickly and then go back to him "With the staff yes and with most of the patrons. I would be leery of the man at the corner of the bar. By himself he is harmless, but his master, not so much." she'll even start the exchange "I am Topaz." though that is probably a given.
Bogart leans in closer to get all of Topaz's words. He nods, resisting to look at the 'dude over there' right away. "I am Bogart. Grant. Very pleased," he offers back, relieved that he could set a basis for trust in this place. He reseats himself back upright. Now he gives the man at the corner of the bar a glance, from over a sip of his drink. Bogart wishes he knew what scent he should be looking for. Returning his attention to Topaz, the frown he's just developped melts like ice cream just before it jumps off the cone and flops in front of the lucky dog. "I am a private detective," he adds without thinking.
If the man at the corner was closer and Topaz farther, he would probably stand out more. "He is a homunculus. He and his master know better than to make trouble here, so he is welcome. Plus he tips good." the true bartender, never kick out a paying customer without a /really/ good reason. "The interesting kind or the kind that just follows around cheating spouses?"
Bogart hmms, totally lost about what is what until Topaz mentions cheating spouses. In here, the old friend Trouble is not the same as anywhere else. "I used to work in Gotham's vice squad. I know people, both sides of the law." He scans the patrons once more, trying not to think of who or what might follow him home, later. "I should have come here earlier." He should have.
Topaz ahhs knowingly "The interesting kind." she has little trouble multi-tasking, filling a pitcher from one of the beer taps and setting in at the waitress station with a few empty glasses for pick up, "Some would consider it a curse, may you live an interesting life." she reaches over the bar, a hand brushing his, seeking to wash away the regret the statement brings "You are not the first to say such a thing. There are certain places one cannot or should not go until they are ready. This place is one of those.
More prophecy talks, offered with the best of intents, just like he was looking for help with his 'gift'. He has followed his hunches more than once before, even though cold, hard, teeth knocking facts do pay more. Bogart smiles and nods, his returning pessimism eased by the gentleness of her touch. "Now I know I will be back often." Reaching inside his trouser's pocket, he finds a crumpled five he smoothens across his thigh, leaving it beside his glass, to lay like a sun crisped roadkill. "My guts tell me this place is a new market." He finishes his drink, he rises. "About the poor tip, I'll make it up to you," he promises, about to turn and leave.
