|Characters:||Buster, Molly and Tris|
|Summary:||Asylum: the modern hunting ground.|
<text> Tris to Buster: Where did you even get that trash panda?
<text> Buster to Tris: They're everywhere
<text> Tris to Buster: So you just yanked him out of living his best trash panda life to be your errand minion? Couldn't come yourself?
<text> Buster to Tris: I have things to do also your boyfriends don't like me
<text> Tris to Buster: ... and?
<text> Buster to Tris: Sanctity of the home is p. important to Kindred
<text> Tris to Buster: Okay, but <text> Tris to Buster: I was worried, dude
<text> Buster to Tris: What why
<text> Tris to Buster: I can count a bunch of reasons I can't put in a text message. <text> Tris to Buster: Meet me at Asylum tonight?
<text> Buster to Tris: Bring hotties
<text> Tris to Buster: Okay. What's your taste?
<text> Buster to Tris: You are unusually accomodating sir. <text> Buster to Tris: Blonds or Redheads
<text> Tris to Buster: Men or women?
<text> Buster to Tris: Men tonight i think
<text> Tris to Buster: Aight. 9?
<text> Buster to Tris: 8:30 so I can be late
<text> Tris to Buster: You're high maintenance. <text> Tris to Buster: VIP section. Tell them you're with Tris Kesel. They'll let you up.
<text> Buster to Tris: Oh don't worry about that but TY.
Sunday nights in the South frequently aren't known for their mad party times, and though the crowd in Asylum isn't as thick as it is on a Friday or a Saturday, the gyrating bodies on the dance floor seem hellbent on forgetting whatever they learned in church that morning (if they even went). The DJ is more amateur than the one for earlier in the weekend, but the crowd is working with her and the beats are sick. The booze is flowing freely and everyone seems to be having a nearly riotous good time.
The relatively small VIP section that's close to the manager's office on scant ground floor, past the bar and toward the manager's office, but this is where Tris has set up shop. Settled at a table that has at least four drinks (belonging to the attractive young people he's charmed with his grin and his cash into joining him. They are more actively engaged on the dancefloor below, leaving Tris there with his whiskey sour. The fringe toppled over his brow has a hint of sweat to it, so surely he's been busy on the floor himself since Tris arrived and started working the club floor to secure Buster's hotties.
Buster's arrival is... well, as usual he's in a devastatingly well-tailored outfit, in this case a black turtleneck and slacks, and black sunglasses, and chelsea boots. He walks in and sits at Tris's table, before he flashes him a wide, sharp-toothed grin. "Hey." He seems much recovered from the other night.
Dark blue eyes trail the length of Buster as he approaches the table. Tris Kesel is in designer jeans and designer tee-shirt, per his preferred norm, the scars along his arms gleaming violet, silver and rose, and shifting fast into orange, blue and green, and back again, as the various lights of the dance floor flash and shift not far away. The glowing scars on his face and neck mimic the quick shifts, glittering like strings of stars. The man looks in his element, though, the (former) playboy at play.
"Hey Buster." Tris' lips twitch into a smile over the rim of his glass before he sets it on the table top and slides along the couch to position himself nearer to the Kindred. There's a long moment where he studies Buster, just how alive does he look right now? "Claws not go with your outfit?" He inquires with a single lifted brow, a twist of his lips into something lightly teasing. "Your dance partners got bored waiting for your fashionably late arrival and are on the floor. You might have to pry them apart far enough to fit in. Then Tris is lifting a hand with every intention of touching Buster's cheek. It might be an intimate gesture since it doesn't appear that he's about to poke him.
Buster sits back, and then says, "Eh, they'll be back eventually, they need you to buy them drinks." He sits with his legs uncrossed, his hands behind his head, before he murmurs "Claws go with every outfit but they tend to stand out in a crowded nightclub--" He tracks Tris's hand as the Changeling reaches out and lays a palm on his cheek -- he's flushed, ruddy, warm, to all external appearances entirely alive. "Well hello to you too."
Tris' hand, and really, all the space around him is hot. Hotter than the last time they met. It's not on fire this time, but the Crimson Courtier is distinctly grown in the strength of that dry heat that rages now two body lengths away from him. Like the nice dry heat of the desert at high noon on a cloudless day? Snuggle up with Tris. Well, don't. Probably it wouldn't be a good idea. In any case, the hand that touches Buster's cheek is soft, fingers brushing lightly, expression openly curious as he briefly traces cheek and then line of jaw with that cheek. "Huh." That's about the extent of the Changeling's intelligent remarks before he withdraws his hand and cracks a wider smile. "I'll buy their drinks since I can't buy yours." Unless blood sacks take that kind of currency.
Tris angles to back off after that, reaching for his drink. "Everything work out at your place? I was... Well, not thrilled when I got out of the shower and you were gone."
Molly was down on the dance floor, or maybe vibe checking the restrooms. Probably the dance floor, since she looks - sweaty, somehow, radiating heat. She's wearing what she had been wearing before coming here, maybe not quite clubbing attire, depending on the club. Under a black leather biker jacket, she is also in jeans and a tee-shirt. Presumably, there was a designer involved, at some point, in the lettering for 'Call of Duty 2' writ across the chest of the olive green t-shirt. It rides up on her stomach, presumably because it's sized for twelve-year-olds who just banged your mom. The jeans are skinny and black and torn across the knees, and she has combat boots on her feet. And her claws are out. She's managed not to disembowel anyone with them as she weaves her way through the crowd and back up to the VIP section. "Hey, so..." she starts in on Tris, then stops, tilting her head to stare at Buster with narrow, fixed eyes. "Hey."
"Oh, you already did." Buster says, before he adjusts a gold ring on his left hand, and says, "What." He says, "Did you think I was made of wax or something?" Then he looks up at Molly and then reaches down to lift his shirt, showing abs tautened, less by sculpting and more by a sort of active, hungry lifestyle -- and you have no idea. "There you go. You're welcome." He lowers his turtleneck, and says to Tris, "Everyone wants to see my abs."
Is it every Changeling that can laugh at a vampire feeding joke? Tris does and it isn't the hollow kind either. "I didn't think you were made of wax, but I met another of you the other day and she... did not look like you do now." The Millennial gives a helpless shrug before swallowing a gulp of his drink and glancing to Molly, only to look back to Buster's abs and grin. "The world is better with abs," he remarks lightly before gesturing to the woman with the claws.
"Molly, Buster, Buster, Molly. Molly's going to be staffing the photography studio for me. Buster's going to be a client." There, now they can all be friends, right? "I'm hoping Buster will also think about helping me get a line into problems that he might hear about before we do. You know, universal enemies." Wait, what? Possibly only Molly knows Tris must be babbling something about the business behind the business in Central City.
"Oh. Yeah, I pretty myself up before I go places." Buster says, "Ladies pinch, whores use rouge. Some of us are really stuck up, they think that they're too good for that sort of thing, or that it's vanity. If you saw me when I first dig my way out, I -- well I mean I'm still pretty but it's more the cold, hard way a Rodin is pretty." He seems utterly, at ease, relaxed with the whole thing.
Molly cocks her head left in a small jerky motion, pale eyes blinking as Buster lifts the turtleneck. She holds up her hands-slash-talons in a puzzled shrug, glancing over at Tris in a quizzical expression. Eventually, after the introductions, she gives Buster a nod. "Nice abs, bro?" The eyeroll is nearly audible. And then she yanks up her t-shirt, carefully not to rip anything. Underneath, Molly is unhealthily cut. If she were slathered in fake tan, she might look like she was competing for something. The t-shirt goes back down. "What?" If Molly knows what Tris is babbling about, she's obviously missed it, and gives her employer a blank look and another shrug before flopping herself into the nearest seat.
"Interesting," Tris really means it, listening carefully to the description the vampire gives him, that glimpse into life as an attractive vampire. Hopefully Tris will never need the information as anything beyond academic, but weirder shit has probably happened. "I probably failed to mention when we were talking the other night about my photography studio that I'm planning to quietly," can he be blamed for stressing this word to Buster? "collect opportunities for upstanding citizens," read: supernatural ones, "to help make their communities safer places. By, say, dealing with things like disturbingly sentient puddles of blood before they creep out and explode a man. Are things all good at your place?" He asks more directly this time, genuine concern showing in his eyes as he looks a Buster.
Molly's abs haven't gone without notice and she gets an appreciative grin, too. More abs make the world a better place in Life According to Tris. Besides, when you get Summers together, there's that health spirit of competition. Still, Tris doesn't add to the tally of displayed abs just now. "Have you ever been into Chubby's Cabaret?" Who knows, maybe seedy strip joints are Molly's jam?
Buster says, "That's a level of community improvement I usually don't bother with. I do know you might be competing with some internal interests so you might want to be careful and lay down some more goodwill groundwork." Buster gives a blink, and then he says, "I have to ask, Tris, why do you care? I specifically got your boyfriend to kick me out of your house so I'd have an excuse to leave. I was a complete jerk."
He looks over at the dance floor. "So where're the hotties at?"
"Oh, that!" It sounds like maybe Molly has heard about this, after all. Somehow, she manages to snap her fingers, though her awkwardly long-clawed fingers don't quite manage anything audible, even if music weren't thumping through the place. "Sure. Wait, that's a thing? Puddles of blood?" She blinks in Tris's direction, then scratches lightly at her jaw. "I think maybe I need a drink or something," the bird-like woman announces. "Chubby's? No, can't say I've been there." Her accent isn't local, but it places her origins in-state, likely somewhere further up north.
"Is that so? Beyond the Wardens, you mean?" Tris inquires of the vampire. "Do tell me more, Buster. I'll get you a hottie." He'll personally fetch one, he means, of the four or more whose drinks are still on the table. "Why did you need an excuse to leave? You could've just gone if you didn't want to stay." The counter comes with an inquisitive tilt of his head, though there's enough surprise in his eyes to indicate that he hadn't heard that Buster was a jerk to Miles. "I like you, Buster. I can't fuck you, but I like you. Don't you ever make friends?" It's a chronic Achille's Heel for Tris, that desire to connect, to make friendships. "And I thought we might be able to help each other."
If this is the sort of conversation one is not supposed to have in front of one's employee, then it's just all the more clear that Tris has never been an employer before, or simply mounting evidence that the one-percenters don't share the same concerns as members of the 99. "It's closed for renovations now, but I'm sure it's going to great when it reopens." Tris praises the formerly seedy strip-club with all his confidence and zero evidence. It's fine. "It was new for me. The blood thing." He looks to Buster with an arched brow of invitation.
"Who'd want to be that close to me?" Buster says, apparently not upset or affended by the inquiry at all. He remains seated, and then crosses his feet at the ankles. "Because it was making your boyfriends uncomfortable. If I'd left, I would've been rude. If they told me to leave, I have an out. There's rules to this sort of thing, you know?" His eyebrows raise.
He looks back and forth, and then says "Yeah well, I have to find a really discrete cleaner company to hose the place down and bleach it now. Doooon't look at me, I'm still trying to figure out what it was."
Wait? Did someone leave drinks on the table? They're Molly's now. Molly doesn't even particularly seem to care what they are, reaching out to snatch an unattended glass in a talon before pulling it to herself for a sip. She seems content to listen to the conversation, the corners of her mouth growing amused as she reclines, rear sliding forward in her seat. "Alright. I mean, I'm not real sure it's the sort of place I'd visit," she comments, likely on the subject of Chubby's.
"Me, asshole." That basically requires Tris to reach out a hand to gently shove Buster's shoulder. "Are there? New to me." The rules. But then, Tris doesn't seem to know the rules of any other normal thing so why would these be any different?
"I might know a guy who knows some guys, but he's been busy, so..." The Crimson Courtier shrug. "What do you want to drink, Molly? I'll have it sent up while I go get Buster's drink and something for myself." But he's not talking alcohol this time. Predators be predators? "No accidents," he gives a pointed look to Buster. "While I'm gone, maybe you fill Molly in on the basic no-nos? Start with the one about fire. She's Summer sworn like me." Because they're all friends here, in Life According to Tris.
Once Tris has Molly's drink order and either one of them moves to let him out, he'll be off on his mission of procurement. He does make good bait between the abs and the ass and the fat wallet.
Buster turns to look at Molly and then he looks back at Tris, and he doesn't say anything. Truth be told, he seems somewhat mystified by the whole thing. "I don't get him." He says, sitting where he's at. "I don't get him at all." He shakes his head, and then says, "Not at all, lady..."
Molly's drink? She pushes away the glass she'd been sipping on, and aims a finger at Tris. "Bring us a bottle of Henny!" Though she arches an eyebrow, glancing from Buster to Tris as the latter wanders off to get drinks. She then sits there, tilting her head and returning the look. Her eyes stay steadily on Buster, occasionally blinking, but her head moves, tilting. Then she shrugs. "What's there to get?" She shrugs off her jacket while she's at it, displaying rows of quills jutting along the length of her arms. "Other than the money thing, but you sound like you got money too."
Molly gets a single 'you got it' finger gun back before he's down, pausing at the bar to place the order (which will be delivered by some helpful bar minion to the VIP table in fairly short order) while he moves onto the dance floor. It doesn't take long for Tris to locate 'his' hotties, but it's not them he dizzies himself into dance with. The Changeling sweeps in to steal a partner from a bro in a mesh shirt (he deserves it, right?), a sweet young thing who looks like it's her first time at a club. Emotion soars and rather than taking the subtler spark of annoyance from the dude losing his dance partner, it's the soaring elation from the first-time clubber who finds herself the center of a brief rivalry that Tris feeds from.
It's enough that the young woman leans into Tris, suddenly more tired than she expected to be, as the song finishes, and he leans in to speak in her ear (probably telling her to go get a drink on him) while he breaks away to collect up two good looking young men under his arms (owners of those drinks that might not be Molly's) to head back toward the table. It'll take them all a moment to get there, though.
Buster considers that, and then says, "See, the thing is... I'm a jerk. I'm impulsive, I'm thoughtless, I'm *frequently* cruel. Nobody sane should WANT to be friends with me, and I know that. I'm well aware--" He watches Tris, and then says, "But there's this weird combination of both 'I don't care' and 'Why can't you be more pro-social' coming off of him--" He looks at Molly and says, "Are you like... an echidna-bird? Or something?"
Molly listens, suddenly claps her hands. "No, you got it right. I mean, I don't know you or anything, but... nobody sane. Well, I ain't too sure sane applies to any of us," she offers this casually, with a small shrug and a faint smirk across her lips, broadening into a sharp smile as someone brings over the bottle of Hennessy she'd asked for. She opens it and, obviously, drinks straight from the bottle, as you do. Then she considers Buster. "Fuck if I know. I get the impression he just does things, right? Just does them." She runs her claws back through her hair and thinks over the question. "Or something." She replies, then pauses for a beat before digging into her jacket for her phone and Google. "How do you write echidna?"
There are many notable differences between Tris and Buster, but the list Buster rattles off might well be applied to Tris some days. Maybe that's why the Beast is working to forge a bond with this Kindred in particular. Maybe he really does find him to be a kindred spirit. Surely no one sane would look this buzzed and blithely unconcerned as he brings a different kind of drink back to the table. They're talking, they're laughing, they are getting along famously. Blond hottie and redhead hottie just love hanging with Tris. But who wouldn't?
"What did I tell you?" That's Tris to the hotties as they arrive back at the table. The attractive young men unwrap themselves from under Tris' arms to make immediate move toward the vampire with laughter, grins and, "Well hello," and, "So cute," commentary. Tris really does make an excellent wingman, it appears. There's an up-nod from the Crimson Courtier to his fellow with her bottle, perhaps acknowledging that Molly's drink got to her.
"Uh. E-c-h-i-d-n-a." Buster rattles it off, and then watches Tris work. "I mean, I'll forgive him any amount of idiosyncracies, you could bounce a quarter off of that ass." He says. He takes a quarter out of his pocket. "In fact, when he comes back, I will." When Tris comes back, Buster flicks the quarter, which bounces off Tris's rear end, and he tries to catch it, but he misses and it clatters to the floor. "Whoops!" He flashes a grin at the two, and then with a few whispers, if not so wildly charismatic as Tris, he gets both of them shirtless on his lap.
"Echidna," Molly repeats, and stares at her phone, scrolling down. "These are cute, but why the - oh! No. Those are - uh - feathers. Will be. Something," Molly stretches out her arms, eyeing the row of quills, then shrugs, looking rather uncertain about it. And then, for the benefit of the new arrivals, who clearly have no idea what she's even talking about, she reaches up to toy with one of her earrings. It's a feather earring. The other's just a hoop with some metal charms hanging off it. Metal, as in, there's a skull. She holds up her bottle, showing it to Tris, and takes another brief sip, watching the coin bounce. "Yeah, it sure bounced."
Tris' head turns at the feel of the impact of the coin, and he tenses, but he doesn't burst into flame or anything, so it must not be that startling to the Changeling. He does lift both brows as the distracted vampire and roll his eyes, because that's what Millennials do. He laughs low as the hotties accommodate their newest friend and he glances over toward Molly. "Speaking of bouncing, I need to get home. Do you need a ride back to Jules' place?" He inquires of the Winter's boarder. "I assume you have everything you need, Buster?" He glances over to the vampire for confirmation.
Buster looks up, and then says, "I still have no idea what I'm supposed to do with you." He says, "But that's fine, man. Go on, head out, I'll entertain these two." And have a snack. He beams at them both. "So... let me guess, you're stripping your way through medical school and you're an english major?"
Molly takes another small sip off her bottle and gives Tris a thoughtful look, then shakes her head. "It's still early. What's there to do, sleep? I'll catch a ride later," she dismisses the offer with a grin and a flick of her claws. "See you at the - well, or not, I don't know. I guess I'll be there for the contractors tomorrow, right?" She sits up just a little straighter, giving Buster and snacks a curious look before her gaze sweeps across the rest of the club past Tris.
Tris' eyes might linger more on Buster and friends than on Molly because... well, maybe he's just a little curious? Can he be blamed for wanting to see the other predator in action? It won't make him linger though, not this time.Tris pulls his eyes away to address his employee. "Yeah. There'll be workmen in tomorrow. You can call me if there are problems," since overseeing things has, by default, become Molly's job, though thankfully she doesn't have to be there with them the whole time. "I might come by." He might not. He's that kind of boss. There are perks to this job. "I'm sure you'll see me sometime." It's basically a guarantee for her at this point. "Have fun," is for both, with the weight of a genuine wish behind it. He'll even leave his tab open (within reason) at the bar for them. He can always settle up later, he's that kind of VIP.