Logs:Girls Night Out Wooooo
Girls Night Out Wooooo
|Characters:||Axle, Fawn, Seraphine as themselves, Pole Bunyan as ST.|
|Summary:||Axle calls her packmates to party, to take her mind off of things. It goes real good, y'all.|
Eiffel 65 -- I'm Blue
We open on the scene of a street corner. The east side of New Orleans is home to many great things. The Dong Phuoc Vientamese Bakery for one, and across the avenue from it, Chopper Dave's, an establishment begun by former news helicopter pilot Chopper Dave with his pension from Channel 99, where the drinks are bad and the stripping, also bad, but popularized the move also known as the Chopper Dave. Hither came Axle, the Wolfblooded, black-haired, sullen-eyed, stolen wallet in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of Earth under her pink croc'ed feet.
The first rule of petty theft: Don't hang on to the wallet once you've got it out of the other guy's pocket. Ditch that fucker and take the goodies inside. But Axle's in a bad mood, bad place, self-destructive phase, so she doesn't bother to toss it. Tucks it into the back pocket of her jeans, along with the chain that came with it. So what if it belongs to a badass biker? He wasn't one of Emmet's crew, so he was fair game; he and his wallaet. So now she sits, having used her Fake ID for "Rebecca Hewes" to get into Choppers. She stopped off at the change machine in the vestible and put five twenties into it until 100 ones in various states age have popped out in a fat stack that she takes to a nice booth with its own table and pole setup. "Cachaca. I'll have the bottle, if you have it. And a bowl of limes. And some eats. Like... You have chicken tendies? And some tater babies. And nachos. Extra gooey."
Fawn arrives at this.. bar.. club? What the hell is it? She's standing just outside, her eyes up on the signage and staring it down. What lies beyond? Dancers in various aviator outfits? Bears in bondage gear? The name can confuse someone who's never been there before, or heard about Dave... but here goes anything. With a slight grimace on her face, Fawn steps up to the entrance, shows valid ID, and moves inside. Does she dare open her eyes? Yes, she must. She's not a bat! The redhead starts to look for Axle.
Seraphine got the message. Loud. And. Clear. There's a meeting in the ladies room, except Chopper Dave's is standing in for the ladies room. The Darkling mistakenly thinks Chopper Dave's is a motorcycle bar, hence the name, Chopper Dave's. She's in for a big surprise. She's worn a black lace tanktop, black (faux) leather mini and thigh high black boots with quite the impressive heel on them. "Where is she..." She mutters to herself, obviously looking for the brains behind this mission, because lord knows it isn't her. "Axle!" Seraphine cries out once she finds her and Fawn inside then grins and gives them both a hug, if they'll allow such a thing.
The music at Chopper Dave's is mid 2000s Eurobeat tonight, it seems like. Which you wouldn't think would be good. And it's not. But there are five dollar pitchers! And 2 dollar shots of blueberry whiskey. It doesn't have a name. The bottle just looks blue. As poles are danced to Eiffel 65, accompanied live by a clarinet, a tray of jalapeno poppers is set on the table. These were not ordered, but the bartender gives a solemn nod of someone who too has known sorrow, and has an extensive backstory that you will never learn.
There's food all over the table by the time Fawn and Seraphine have arrived. Axle has been there for a little bit and downed a couple of shots of the sugarcane rum as well as half of a $5 pitcher, but she has also binged through half the 'tendies', some of the nachos, a full potato's worth of babies. And then the poppers arrive and and she puts both arms in the air and cheers out. With a mouthful of food, she greets Fawn, and then Seraphine who has arrived miraculously around the same time, still trying to talk with a strand of onion hanging out of her mouth. If one is able to translate she tries to tell them, "Welcome to the Wienie Wagon!" while standing up and offering hugs across the table full of food and drinks.
Fawn finds herself at Axle's table soon enough, and after giving Seraphine and Axle both a hug she finds herself a seat and plops on down. "Never been here before," she notes as she glances about. "You been here before?" she asks Axle before looking over the food to see what she should try first. Jalapeno poppers are awesome, so she takes one, then pours herself a glass. "I'll get the next pitcher," she offers.
"What are we celebrating?" Seraphine assumes a celebration. She looks at the food and then the pitcher and shakes her head. "We need more shots. Tequila." She raises her hand to try and signal a server and asks for a bottle of Patr??n. She has some money too, in the form of a stolen credit card from the shop. Hopefully they don't get busted tonight... That's always so embarrassing.
Bottle service at Chopper Dave's is a dicey proposition, but sometimes you gotta live a little, and the little squared dome with the cholula bottle cap is brought out, with the first round of shots already poured, and a selection of lime wedges that are clearly just from the bartender's little refridgerated bin. There's a quesadilla bar getting set up on the buffet situation for those willing to push their luck, and the announcer thanks Thunder as he finishes up on the catwalk and takes his fireman's hat to the back, before the dulcet sounds of Scatman John come on and out struts Kohl Robby, the sexy root vegetable salesman.
There's so much to see and do and eat and drink and lots of singles still on the table in a couple of stacks when the newest dancer comes out to strut his stuff... Annnd about that time Seraphine accidentally asks the question to end all questions. Axle has, by now, wiped her face with a napkin that she holds balled up in one fist. One moment she is swallowing down a pull of beer and the next thing she unravels "I broke up with Jah-ha-nee!" she blurts out. Let's hope the Sultan of Celery is able to dance past her subdued histrionics.
A hand lifts that glass to her mouth and Fawn sips, but when she spies the shots she puts the glass down and takes one of the leetle glasses. The shot's knocked back, eyes shift to Axle.. and another is taken. It's gonna be one of those nights, isn't it? Fawn pops a lime wedge into her mouth, eyes squinting at the sour, and when she pops it out she says to Axle, "I didn't even know you two were a thing. Huh.." She looks up to the stage, nope. Looks elsewhere. Fawn scoots a bit closer to Axle and puts a hand on her shoulder, "It's alright, hun.." She tries to help by gently patting Axle shoulder.
"Oh no... you did? You didn't. Did you?" Seraphine wonders if she should ask. It's really not her business, but when has Seraphine ever stuck to her business. "What happened?" The dark-haired girl helpfully tries to offer Axle a shot, letting Fawn console her with a hand around her shoulder. Seraphine nods at Fawns sentiment. "It's going to be okay." She offers, sort of lamely. What do you say in these types of situations? Is there a Hallmark card? She picks up a shot for herself and throws it back, skipping the lime. Just extra calories, right?
No offense, but dancing and pelvic thrusting with his ding-dong out in front of crying women is kind of Robby's ouvre. Where some might shy away, he sees a way to expand his Art. He lives for this! It is... Not comfortable. The Home Alone 6-ish spread of booze and snacks on the table lends all the more tragedy when there's a sound that isn't soothing scat and eurodance happening, as someone is being questioned near the back door it looks like. Cops? Something else?
Axle picks up another napkin and uses it to dab her face, comforted by the gentle pats of Fawn -- poor Fawn, who doesn't even know Axle all that well yet. What better way to get to know someone than over a smorgasbord of strip club appeteasers? Snuffling quietly into her napkin, Axle has the nerve to say, "I don't want to talk about it." Ugh. She reaches to pick up a few dollar bills off the stack of cash on the table, waggling them in the direction of the dancer and forcing out, "C'mon, it's a party!" in the least convincing tone ever. No sign she notices whatever is happening at the entrance just yet. She's preoccupied with luring the poor dancer closer so she can tuck some money into his costume.
Fawn casts Seraphine a little 'oh shit' look when she hears that answer, and she then looks back to Axle and the nearby dancer. Fawn lifts her second shot and says, "To.. parties?" That'll have to be good enough. The second shot is downed and Fawn makes a face again. Better take the beer and pace yerself. A bit of nachos is enjoyed then, and Fawn tries her best to watch this fantastic dancer without her eyes being drawn to floppy bits.
Sweet ignorance! Of course, it doesn't take too much math to realize that the table that's making it rain like the inside of a mid-grade gas station car wash is maybe who they're looking for, and two figures in dark blue windbreakers start across the floor toward the table where the party is at. Robby, of course, can smell a cop a mile away and he's got warrants so he takes this time to back away and do some face obscuring pole work, tips be damned!
"Aww, fuck," Axle mutters as she spies the two in windbreakers headed in their direction from the entrance. There's still time! Thankfully she has been eating as much as she has been drinking. "Fee, Fawn, we gotta get the fuck out of here," she warns, before she reaches to scoop up the two stacks of dollars and screams out, "DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE, BITCHES!" and flings the singles every which way in an attempt to cause a riot of drunk bitches to help mask their escape.
Fawn is just finishing her third shot when she hears that they gotta get out of there, and at first she looks perplexed. "Huh? What's.. I thought you wanted the sausage," she says to Axle before glancing around to see. Oh. That. "Oh fuck. We should be going? Why?" she questions. She's gotta get used to being around people with sticky fingers! Fawn rises from her chair and hurries after Axle, a little wobble to her step. That's what happens when you're tiny and don't know how to pace yourself.
What? Wait! Huh? Seraphine is puzzled by the order to vacate, until she too notes the Men in Blue headed their way. "Oooh, shit." She can't ditch the cards successfully at this point (yes, she has several stolen care on her person). "Right. Outta here." But not without the tequila! She grabs that then follows the girls towards the exit.
Strippers and patrons begin to brawl over scattered singles like NPCs at a Skyrim wedding. It's not pretty. Their pursuers are mistaken for money-wanters and dragged back, while the bouncers attempt to break up the scuffle. Run! The door is unmanned, and an easy egress. One pair of eyes watches them go. The bartender, who knows so many secrets. What is one more to add to the burden upon those shoulders?
Fwip fwip fwip fwip FWING! As she runs with the other girls in her pack, her posse, her fellow pussies... Ok, let's start over. As Axle flees with the other girls, she pulls that filched wallet out of her back pocket and whips it in a circle above her head, letting loose of the thing so it goes flying in a random direction, whacking some poor woman in the back of the head. "WAUGH!" goes the whacked lady, who must think she has been shot in the head by a terrorist threat from the way she flails and drops to the floor. Axle's not about to abandon her friends. She makes sure Seraphine and Fawn are both with her as they pass by the bartender, who gets a quick glance from the spooked wolf-blood.
This seems to be a common theme recently. On the run and having no clue where she's going, but isn't that life? Ahh. Fawn is running along with Axle, ducking when that chain whips the wallet around and laughing when it's released. "Should I have parked out back?" Fawn asks while laughing, eyes lit up now as they make their escape!
Seraphine doesn't pull ther stolen cards out to fling; she is much more practical/greedier than that and keeps a hold of them. After all, they're going to need the $$$ wherever it is that they're going. She watches the wallet go flying though, then eyes the bartender with a threatening glare, just in case he decides to alert anyone of anything. Mostly though, she just wants to get out of there with her bottle. "Do one of you girls have a ride?" Because as fast as Uber can get there, it's not going to be fast enough!
The street is relatively empty save for a man carrying a tray of chocolate brioche turtles from the asian bakery who has the engine running and the trunk open, loading them in for a delivery. A delivery which may never occur due to the misdeeds of our heroines...
It is a Subaru WRX in blue with a white double racing stripe. The license playe says DESTNY
"Cheese it!" Axle calls as the trio breaks free of the front of Chopper's -- sadly before any of them ever got to see the signature dance move. The poor delivery man will never know what hit him. At least he doesn't end up in the trunk with whatever remains of the turtles. That'll learn him not to leave the vehicle running. Axle makes for the driver's side door of the vehicle, obviously intending to choose the sports sedan over the bus; not just because the bus can be traced back to our feckless heroes.
Fawn's face grimaces when she sees where they're running. Oh lort. Help them. The redhead scurries along after Axle and tries not to look at the poor soul who owns the car. Must not make eye contact or the guilt factor increases! Fawn opens the back door and tosses herself inside, sliding across the seat and leaving space for Sera in case she's right behind her. As she grabs onto the back of the passenger headrest she calls out, "We'll take care of it! Just borrowing for a sec!" That should clear the conscience.
"Shotgun!" Seraphine is starting to lag behind as she's in 6" heels and wasn't expecting to have to run for their lives tonight. She should have known better. Hopefully she gets to the door before the cops do, helpfully slamming the back door shut for Fawn before jumping in and pulling her own door closed. "Step on it girl!" She yells at Axle as she looks back over her right shoulder to see how far back the cops really are. Or aren't.The little Subaru squeals and peels out, driving off into the night. As they round the corner, Axle plants those tires to the pavement so that the cops, finally emerging from the club see only the fishtailing drift and the rear of the car. And a startled man shouting "My buns!" Success! The roads thin out a bit just out past where they're at, starting to get more rural, and they turn down one road. Anyone born in New Orleans would know not to turn down that road... But Axle isn't from here. Perhaps it is Seraphine that will realize the folly they have fallen into. What awaits them in the darkness on Grunch Road.