09.23.3013: Greysons and Prostitution
Summary: Imogen slinks into the Blue Nirvana for a drink with Lincoln.
Date: 13 September 2013
Related: None
Imogen Lincoln 

The Blue Nirvana — Blue District, The Ring
Entering through the heavy wooden doors decorated with relief sculptures of flirtatious cherubs, visitors find themselves in the tiny waiting room. Only a single, plush red velvet bench sits in the small area, and the walls are covered with a darker, more rich red velvet. Opposite the wooden entry doors is the floor to ceiling black velvet curtain visitors must pass through to reach the main sanctum.

Once inside, light piano music fills the dimly lit air of The Blue Nirvana main sanctum. Unlike the cold steel found in so many other places on the Ring, the walls of the sanctum are covered in plush red velvet curtains and Arborenin cherry oak trim. Larger than the entryway would make outsiders believe, this main area is actually two stories tall, the lofted ceiling covered in similar Arborenin oak planks and golden trimmings that flow into several ornate crystal chandeliers that outstretch almost a dozen feet each. A grand piano sits at the far corner of the room, and various love seats and couches made of the same wood and crushed red velvet cushions rest in various positions for privacy or presentation. Across the back wall is a long bar, again fashioned from the Arborenin wood, where a bartender serves drinks from thousands of bottles, vials and containers lining the wall behind him. The space above the bar is a balcony stretching the entire length of the room, the upstairs wall lined with more heavy, fancy wooden doors that lead to the private chambers of business. The red carpeted staircase gently descends and curves towards the center of the room from the wall to the far right.

September 23, 3013

It's evening, and while business hasn't been great, it's been better than it been. Lincoln's behind the bar, and only a few other employees are sitting around the Blue Nirvana. He's dressed nice, but casual.No clients lined up for tonight so far, so he's helping behind the bar. Mostly just wiping down things currently. His conversation earlier with Ren has put him in a slightly foul mood, but when he makes eye contact with any of the girls int eh room, he'll grin cheerily, the frustration seems to melt from his frame.

The door to the Blue Nirvana opens and a familiar face, angel to some and demon to others, steps through. With dark lashes lined with kohl and a quiet lift to her brow, Imogen Rose waits for the door to close behind her while her dark eyes scan the room. There's a soft jingle that chimes from her many bracelets as she peels a lock of her long, black hair behind her ear and then starts again, her calf-height boots clapping against the floor as she walks. "Hello again, Lincoln Dunne," She says to him, leaning forward against the lip of the bar. "Before long you're going to be doing every job in the house, aren't you?" She pauses, looking him over. "Greyson's on ice?"

Lincoln looks up, anytime someone says a specific name, it's always best to look up immediately. He'll grin, honestly, "Hello Imogen Rose." he's already slowly reaching for a glass for her as she asks, "well, I am a man of many talents. You should taste my waffles." He'll raise his eyebrows, giving a bit of a goofy smile. The ice clinks as he prepares the drink, "Here you go. Greyson's on ice." There's even a nice napkin underneath and everything.

Through the haze of the raven-colored bangs that hang over her eyes, Imogen takes the glass into her hands and presses her elbow to her side, holding it aloft as she regards Lincoln. "Waffles?" She replies, narrowing her eyes just a little. "Oh, Lincoln, do you have any idea what those things do to your body?" Her painted lips tsks as she shakes her head from side to side. "You may as well drink fucking pancakes, or inject lard directly into your femoral artery." She smiles as she brings the glass to her lips for a small, debutante-like sip. "Do many of your clients order the breakfast job?"

Lincoln laughs, placing his elbows on the counter to lean forward slightly, "They're that good, Imogen." He won't mention that she's drinking alcohol, and what that does to a body. "You'd be surprised. I also make a mean streak too." He's all smiles, better to talk than just wipe the bar. "Not as good at the baking, but I'll get there…Although that may have been to see me covered in flour…" He'll purse his lips a moment, in a play pout before tilting his head to ask, "So, how have you been?"

With a press of her lips together as she swallows the expensive liquor, Imogen sets the glass back onto the top of the bar and rests her hip against the barstool beside her. It allows her knee to slide against her leg softly before the heel of her boot locks in at the brass rail that lines the underside of the bar. "I'll take the steak long before I take the waffles, Lincoln," Imogen replies dryly, her brow lifting to suggest that he'd likely have to force her to eat such things. Her head tilts with him, eyes sharpening at the way he looks to her. "Oh, you know me. I've never been better and I complain for nothing. Bad things happen to people who are bad to me, what more could a girl ask for?" Her smile is almost poisonous. "You look like you've put on some muscle."

Lincoln laughs , raising a hand in defeat. he'll not force anyone (unless that's what they want him to do, Clients can be weird).Shaking his head,he'll tease, "Well, for starters, you could ask for a steak." He'll glance down at his own chest, "Yeah..I suppose I have. We had a few….uncouth patrons a few months ago. So, new roll to fill. Ren and I took care of them, but…better to be prepared, right?" Again with the grin, although it does reach his eyes, he's not unhappy with the new muscle.

"It looks good on you, Lincoln. You don't look so scrawny. I'm sure some women or men go for that sensitive man thing, but it doesn't hurt to know a guy can take care of your problems. Has it brought in new clients?" Imogen replies with a smirk, reaching for her glass once more as her elbow bends against the bar, giving her something soft to rest against. With a twist of her hip, she slips onto the bar stool and crosses her legs tightly over each other, her feet dangling towards the floor, sidestepping the offer of the steak for the moment. "New clients, new supply, do you and I need to do some business, Lincoln?"

Lincoln shrugs, "yeah, at least, I've not heard any complaints." He'll move over to the fancy looking coffee machine and starts pulling levers and turning nozzles. "You know that's all Ren. I don't do //that part of the business." He'll look up, catching her eye, "I'll let him know you asked though."

"He knows where to find me, Lincoln. Or find the people to find me, at the least." Imogen replies, her black, laquered fingernail tracing the rim of the glass as she watches Lincoln step away. Looking down to her glass, she taps the clear wall with her thumb, sending one of the squared cubes to shift and fall alongside the other, a matched pair in the clear-colored alcohol. "I didn't come here for business, though, Lincoln, so don't worry. It's a wandering night. It's going to be a late night and I knew you had this on hand. It's good stuff," She looks up, her brown eyes watching him work at the coffee maker. "Any new developments with you, Lincoln? There's got to be some good gossip."

Lincoln nods, not wanting to get pulled into any of the business side of things. that's Ren's schtick. Finishing up some crazy triple foam latte capachino drink, he'll pour it into a mug. "We're a good late night stop." For a lot of things. "Me? nawh..not really. Doing some stuff for the Community Theatre group. we've got a show coming up, sides that, not much." He's laugh softly, "Wish I had all this extra bulk when we were doing the sword stuff last fall. i could have been the lead, instead of the muscle head they grabbed."

"And now just think, Lincoln, you could take a bat to the muscle-head's kneecaps with that extra arm strength and claim your spot on the throne." Imogen's laugh is soft and throaty, scratchy in all of the right places as her lashes whisp over each other, blinking. She brings the glass to her lips again, eyeing him from over the rim. "But you know, no one moves up from community theater, the money's in performing higher class. You should ditch them and try to move up."

Lincoln does laugh then, "It's a talking head piece. I think if I went in swinging, I'd be demoted. I'll end up pulling the curtain for sure." He'll take a sip of his caffeinated ambrosia and smile. that's the stuff. With a small shrug, "Can't reality do my job here and try to move up, Imogen. Steady work and Community theatre go hand in hand better than no work and the possibility of getting to be an extra."

"And you're not paid to be a starving actor." Imogen confirms, not so much agreeing the man as reaffirming his place in things in her own cold, doom-and-gloom manner. The glass emptied, she slides it forward to him and tap-taps at the rim, silently suggesting that she would like for him to fill it. "If it's a talking head piece, loverboy, then none of them need their kneecaps. You don't get the part…they do their role from a chair…if you're stuck doing set-work you'll smile your way to the grave or to your fucking waffle griddle." She laughs. She winks. "You're all right, Lincoln, too sweet sometimes, but you're all right."

Lincoln nods and will set his drink drown to refill hers. he'll chuckle, "I got a part, no need to take anything out on anyone's kneecaps. i need people to act with. It's not a one man show." he'll laugh again, shaking his head, "You leave my waffle griddle out of this. It's treated me right all theses years." he'll pull a small face as he reaches back to grab his coffee again, "I prefer to think of myself as health balance of bitter and sweet. One needs the other, after all."By the time he's down with his statement , he's back to smiling and sipping his coffee.

Taking up the glass once more, Imogen simply stares at the man with that dead, quiet look she often carries around. It's her thinking face, which she keeps in line as she presses the cool glass of liquor to her temple. "Lincoln Dunne." She repeats his name, shaking her head softly which sends her long, black hair brushing over her shoulders. "In the end, it's the sweet things that kill you. Give me a pen and paper. You'll appreciate this."

Lincoln watches her, not wanting to argue. When he's behind the bar, everyone else is right, to an extent. it's part of his job. He'll grab the requested items from underneath the counter and slide them over to her.

"You've got a tongue, Dunne, use it. Don't think I don't know what that look on your face means." Imogen replies, waggling her fingers to him quietly as the pen is handed over. She spins it over her knuckles as she lowers her eyes to the paper and tries to decide what she needs to write. The inspiration hits, and she presses the tip of the pen. "I'm going to give you a list of ingredients for a breakfast dish. Big surprise, they're all healthy, but when they're all together it comes out right. This should murder that griddle forever and save your arteries for bloodflow Ren can profit better from."

Lincoln is able to cover his worried look as she starts writing down a list. "I use my tongue plenty." He'll smrik, leaning forward some to watch her. He'll nod though, "I'll give it a go."

"I'm sure you do, Lincoln," Imogen muses, a sly look brushing over her lashes and through a few locks of her hair as she continues to write. To emphasize her point, she glances to her lips before turning back to the grocery list. Quickly dotting the i's and crossing the t's, she slaps the paper and pen down before him. "At the least, if you get a health food loving client, it'll get you a bigger tip."

Lincoln looks down at the list and nods, "Maybe I'll even try it out on Ren. Couldn't hurt." He'll give her a genuine smile, 'Thanks." He'll slip the paper, pen and recipe back under neath the bar. as this happened, a few young men come in, one is blushing madly, and the other two have him clasped by the shoulders. Linc will give Imogen a wink, "Show time." moving to the side pif the bar they are at, "What can I get you gentle men tonight?" The girls that were lounging have all perked up.

Lincoln looks down at the list and nods, "Maybe I'll even try it out on Ren. Couldn't hurt." He'll give her a genuine smile, 'Thanks." He'll slip the paper, pen and recipe back under neath the bar. as this happened, a few young men come in, one is blushing madly, and the other two have him clasped by the shoulders. Linc will give Imogen a wink, "Show time." moving to the side pif the bar they are at, "What can I get you gentle men tonight?" The girls that were lounging have all perked up.

Looking over her shoulder to the men as they enter, Imogen's black-rimmed eyes flash her brown orbs towards the men, realizing what they've come for. Scanning the men and women preparing for their John for the evening, she's given a rare opportunity to see the lineup at work. And so, like any curious woman would, she brings the glass to her mouth for a sip and turns to rest her elbows on the bar, crossed legs dangling to observe the show.

While Linc's no Ren, he does decent at the Host. getting the men their drinks as the other employees mingle with the men. They're drinking, which is good, drunks give better tips. it's not long before the two friends choose a girl for their blushing friend and he goes off upstairs. It doesn't take long after that for the tow men to be convinced that maybe they should also participate in a nice evening. Linc will make his way back and check on Imogen, "Need anything?" He seems pleased, although he's keeping an eye on something behind the bar now.

"No, I'm fine, Lincoln, I should probably get going before someone thinks I'm an employee." Imogen replies, quickly downing the last of the drink. She doesn't cough at the burn to her throat, instead she closes her eyes and softly breathes out the fumes as she sets the glass aside. Slipping carefully off of the barstool, she smooths her dress down over the backs of her legs and starts for the door. "Let me know how the recipe goes, Lincoln."

Lincoln laughs softly, "Would that be such bad thing?" It's a tease, no need for a reply. "I will, Imogen. I'm sure it'll be crackerjack."

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