Logs:Crazy Plans for Asylum

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Crazy Plans for Asylum


Characters: Molly and Tris
Date: 2020-02-01
Summary: Tris talks to employee, Molly, about changes in plans for the studio, the bounty hunting business for the freehold, and plans to remodel Asylum and her job description.
Disclaimers: {{{disclaimers}}}

Attendance has been down at Asylum. As is the way with some night clubs, what's new and hot is in and what's old news is out. Asylum's pendulum has not swung all the way to 'out' but given the lack of an obscene crowd on a Saturday night, it's a good indicator that if something isn't done, the wave of popularity will carry the tide of attendance out with it, permanently. That may be why Tris has texted his Favorite Summery Employee to meet him at Asylum tonight, once again settled at one of the VIP tables past the bar with his drink in hand and his dark gaze casting speculatively across the dance floor down one level in the cutaway.

His scars are glowing a soft lavender, green with contrasts of orange, though as the dance lights change over the floor, other colors are snatched by the gossamer veins and split into varying colors. For those who can see the mien, he's almost as good as a laser light show all on his own.

--

Molly is so very dull. Look, her feathers are black, her talons are black. Her trusty black leather jacket is black. The t-shirt underneath is black. Okay, there's a faded red ZZ Top legs and automobile situation, but still. Her jeans? Black. Her shoes? Blue, at least. She either isn't quite sure how to dress for the place, or couldn't be bothered today, and there's not enough of a crowd to matter. She weaves around people, hands at her sides, and makes it to the VIP section with a quizzical look on her face, head tilting sharply to the side. "Hey. So... what's up?" She glances back over her shoulder in the direction Tris is looking at.

--

The optimistic might point out that all of Molly's dullness just serves to set off Tris in all his glimmery glory. Tris probably wouldn't prefer to be set off that way, but hey, that's not one of the calls he gets to make in life. He doesn't seem to be overly concerned with Molly's adherence, or not, to dress code, even having never really followed up with wardrobe changes for the projected photography studio front person.

His, "Hey Molly," is casual as anything, for all that it is, by necessity, a little loud to be heard over the DJ who's only mediocre (and maybe that's part of the problem with Asylum these days). The gesture that likewise invites her to join him is easy. "Changes in plans." He doesn't immediately offer more, but he does ask, "Drink?"

--

Molly shrugs as she drops into a seat, pulling one leg up to tuck it under herself, in a rather awkward stance for these seats, talons folded together over one knee. She eyes Tris, studying him for a second with those sharp, blinking eyes, then cocks her head to glance around the place again. "Sure," she says, probably answering the question about a drink. "A beer or something?" She continues, then returns her attention across the table, nostrils flaring, nose seeming to sharpen and grow more beak-like. "What plans are we talking about?"

--

"All the plans." Of course. Why not all the plans? This is life working for an impulsive Summer with a ridiculous bank balance. "The photography studio is going to go forward as planned, but as a regular studio. I met a couple of us," Lost? Summers? Something. "Coming into the area who have experience running bounties." There's so much noise in Asylum that he doesn't really need to guard his words. If a mortal overheard? They'd probably just think Tris is on drugs. "I'm going to back their play to set things up here. But they want this place for it. Foot traffic, noise, reason for people to be dressed in all manner of ways." And why not? It's a lot more interesting to bust up a dance club full of mortals than a photography studio that's decidedly not, right?

"I'm not sure the studio's going to be doing much real business." That's to say it's becoming Tris' pet project that doesn't need to be in the green or even the black to operate. "So how would you like to work over here? You can work out the details of what you'd like to do," because that's how it works when you get a job, right? Employees dictate terms? "when you meet them and whoever they have manage the--" He gestures a hand around at the club on the whole. "The lawyers are still working through the purchase agreement and there'll need to be a renovation before it re-opens." Because if it was getting stale, it needs a makeover to be fresh again, right?

--

"That's a whole lotta plans," Molly comments on all the plans, arching an eyebrow sharply over her tight, watchful eyes. Her nose crooks a little further, giving Tris a dubious look at the mention of mysterious, experienced bounty hunters. She moves one hand from her knee to her jaw, scratching lightly with the sharp tips of her claws. Very, very lightly. "I guess," she mutters and takes yet another look about the place, as if trying to figure out how that might work out. "From the looks of it this place ain't doing much real business either." It's just a statement of fact. She looks back at him. "Work over here? Maybe?" She unfolds her legs, crosses them in the opposite direction. "Depends on the job, right? I don't know. I'm not working as a bouncer, and probably not behind the bar, either, so..." Her hands come up alongside her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll meet 'em, sure. But what, these people just showed up outta nowhere? Sounds kind of fishy."

--

It's very tongue-in-cheek, judging by the twist of Tris' smile and the palm up spreading of his hands into a wide shrug, when the Beast replies, "What can I say. I'm a visionary." No, he's not. He's an impulsive man with lots of money. At least some people can rest easier knowing it won't be his lack of brainpower behind something that might be important to the freehold.

"I checked up on them. Used to be a journalist, you know." The man flashes the smile that got him into a lot of private clubs and gigs when money alone wasn't doing the job, even knowing its lack of effect on Molly. "Found enough of us in other places to vouch for them that after they swore into the freehold, I'm willing to work with them. Our court, formal or informal as it may be, can't help in our strongest capacity without some numbers in our favor. And I certainly don't want to end up in charge of all of that, even if I have a personal stake in the safety of our friend with the glittery hat." There's a great deal of humor in being able to give that description, and, of course, they both know he's invested in Jules' safety and more or less why.

"You have the abs for being a bouncer, but somehow I'm sure you can work out between you all what suits. If not, we can see about finding you something else." This is Tris' way of saying he won't leave his fellow Summer out in the cold, even though she's a terrible employee to have. She's part of his matching set; the other half to being a terrible employer to have. How could he do without her on his payroll?

--

"Uh, okay, if you say so," Molly nods to Tris's background check on the new arrivals. Her eyes say doubt. But it's obvious she's not terribly bothered, not beyond that constant low-grade wariness that colors her every move, the flicking of her gaze to the dark corners of the room at random intervals. "Yeah. Sure, that's fine. There's weirder assholes around already, probably," she offers in a conciliatory tone, then shifts. "Should get a new DJ," she offers this too, as a helpful piece of advice. Then she snorts, rolls her eyes, drops her hand to scratch at her stomach. "Right? But you kind of need a cool head to be a bouncer, you need to - I got claws, I can't be held responsible if they end up inside someone."

--

Constant low-grade wariness is the underlying current for so many Lost. Even Tris. His eyes do casual sweeps, and make no mistake that his eyes are taking in much more than his pretty face might suggest. One does not receive such scars and remain oblivious to the dangers of more than one world. "There are," Tris agrees, briefly flagging down a server to get Molly's beer ordered as the server passes by their particular table.

His attention goes back to Molly and his head tilts just slightly. He's probably not thinking about her in the context of being a bouncer when he asks, "Just how effective are they? Deadly or just enough to run?" If it helps, for all his direct inquiries, he's not staring at that particular bit of the birdlike Lost. There's a beat before he ruminates aloud, "There might be enough of us," Summers he must mean this time, "to get together sometime and see what we can do." Competition is good, right? Who doesn't like some healthy competition? BRING ON THE HEAT. (Because they're Summers, get it?)

--

"And sure, 'Asylum' but, really, padded walls?" She's contributing. Her critique is accompanied by another slight crinkling of her nose. She gives him a longer look then, pale eyes blinking as her head angles with a jerky, inhuman motion. Both sets of claws wrap around her knees. "Effective against what?" She asks, squinting her eyes curiously in Tris's direction. "If you can kill it with a knife, sure. Other times - I can make them worse than knives, if I got to. Can't say I get a lot of use out of them, but that's just the way it is, they're more of a fucking bother than anything..." She uncrosses her legs. Again. This time she stretches them out, feet bobbing up and down to the beat. "Yeah. Sure. I'm not real sure what I can do. It's - I don't know, need to think about it."

--

Molly earns a laugh from the man with the money. "I like the name." Fitting, for so many Lost who have some issues. "But the decor needs an overhaul. This is..." He trails off, wrinkling his nose. Surely Molly can guess. "We'll close it down once the paperwork goes through. Overhaul it, let them do a grand re-opening." He glances up, "I'm thinking, a balcony." There's enough space for an upper level. "Maybe move the VIP section so it's really VIP." Then he shrugs, drumming his fingers. Probably, Tris will only get so much say even if it's his money doing the work. He has people to tell him what sells.

He shifts in his seat, setting his empty drink on the table. "Some people like to think of what we come back with as gifts. Mostly, I think it's a load of shit to try to feel better about things that are shitty." Things that make him angry, really. It can't be any wonder that he's sliding out of the booth. "I'm gonna go for a run." He says it like it's the most natural thing in the world to be doing. "I'll get you in contact with the right people in the next couple of weeks. You can finish supervising the studio work until you've sorted things with them." And keep getting a paycheck for what is probably ultimately very little work, liaising between the construction crew doing the remodel on the studio storefront that's nearly done anyway, and Tris, himself. "Let me know if anything comes up before then." And with that, Tris is heading out, passing the server returning with Molly's beer.

--

Molly shrugs, arms spread out and draping against the backrest of her seat. She crosses her legs, too, one foot still bouncing. "If some people like looking at it that way, it's no skin off my back. Depends on - shit, I don't know, depends on a lot of things. I mean, I know we're all in this together, but some people just - some people got off light compared to others, that's just facts." She lifts a hand, waving her talons at Tris as he announces he's going to run. "Guess you should go do that while it's not raining, sure. And yeah. Whatever, I'll be there, ain't like got I got anything better to do." Looking up, she spots her beer, and holds out a hand to pick it up as soon as it gets set on her table. "Thanks!"