2011-01-24: Drunken Thoughts

Starring:

Domino_V5icon.pngRemi_V5icon.pngPortia_V5icon.png

Date: January 24th, 2011

Summary:

Slick foreigner finds out that drunken chicks in New York don't really have much to hide! (Note: this log is sort of unfinished because it was getting laaaaaaaaate.)


"Drunken Thoughts"

Midtown East - Fly By Night Cocktail Bar

You know how they say it's 5 o'clock somewhere? Well, for some people of privelege, it's 5 o'clock around the clock, at least when it comes to 10-dollar cocktails and hosting clients. That is, ostensibly, what Domino di Vincenzo - a totally fake name if there ever was one - is doing at this particular historical venue. Clients. EvoEnt clients. Directors and producers who have long been forgotten at the upstairs bar while she's been downstairs enjoying the warm lighting and the warmer booze in her belly. Purse and heels long since abandoned at the bar, she seems to have taken up residency in the middle of the floor, 'dancing,' if it can be called that, and loudly blaring out the lyrics to some song. "Bottoms up!" she advises everyone.

The redhead that leans against the bar is dressed in the latest fashion, in a soft purple sweater dress with a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt and matching leggings. On her legs are knee-high boots; protection from the cold without a loss in style. She doesn't often drink. A single beverage, perhaps, but nothing more than that. No need to lose that tight control over her ability that is essential to being in a crowd such as this.

Picking up the electric blue martini glass, Desiree Remi Davignon makes her way over to one of those black couches, seating herself and crossing her legs as she scans the crowd with blue eyes.

It would be hard, almost impossible, to miss Domino really. She is, at her core, something almost antithetical to Remi. One drink versus a few; raised in privilege versus raised on abject squalor; the polished foreigner versus the guffawing midwesterner. In no way is Domino dressed for the weather, not in those abandoned pumps and stockings, not in that one piece dress that clings to every ample curve, not with that cleavage. No doubt dressed to 'impress' the investors and ensure their commitment to EvoEnt.

At the moment, said blonde is sloshing her way across the dance floor. The martini in her hand seems to have lost more to drips and spills down the side of the glass than down her gullet. The fact that the music isn't very loud at all doesn't discourage her; rather, it encourages her to provide her own soundtrack as she shakes her butt and gyrates with more than a few of the handsome male patrons - girlfriends or no - as she is at least moving in the direction of the staircase upstairs. Afterall, she does have clients up there!

Reclining on one of those leather couches, Remi seems happy to be on her own right where she is, sipping gingerly at that martini glass of hers. Blue eyes do find, Domino— it's hard not to, with one acting a bit more crazy than most folks in here. Not that the guys escorting Domino seem to mind as much. Remi, however, rolls her eyes just a little, lifting her glass to her lips and slurping down some of the blue, fruity-flavored liquid as she crosses her legs at the ankle. Her parents did well, raising her to be a charming little lady of monetary stature.

Sometimes there's a question of how the heck certain people got into the bar. It's not that Portia doesn't have complimentary fashion sense, as her outfit is fairly stylish, it's… she looks slightly too young. It's not bad, some people just have those baby faces… but Portia's not there. And then suddenly she is. Sliding her ID across the bar to get a drink, it's accepted. Nothing quite like fake IDs.

Gertrude Higgenbotham. That's Domino's real name, you know. What can you really expect from a woman named Gertie, honestly? You can give the poor girl money, but you can't take the crazy almost-redneck out of the girl. She's from the land of barbecue and Budweiser, after all! Of the crowd in here tonight, Remi might be setting herself up to be noticed, being one of the few actually sitting alone on the couches. Most couples take to the tall tables to mill around and enjoy their drinks, or elope to the second floor for more intimacy. Plus, why isn't she up and dancing?! These are the thoughts that tend to flit and fly in and out of Domino's mind.

"Hey! You there! Why aren't you dancing?" Yes Remi, she means you. That's probably why she's pointing a finger right in your direction. "Come on out and shake it! Whooooo!" There's no question of how Domi got in the bar at least, and no question of why she's there!

Oh god, the crazy girl is coming over here. What the hell does she want? Remi quietly sips at her beverage, leaning forward ever so slightly on the couch. She raises her blue eyes up to Domino, offering a faint smile…then, she raises her glass. "I'm not dancing because I am a dancer, and I do not dance when I am not at work." Well, that's a lie, but she doesn't dance like the people here do.

Stop. Pause. Blink blink. It takes a moment or two for Domino to process what the redhead is saying. "So…you dance for tips only? I get it! That's cool!" A knowing wink passes between Domino and Remi as she can take a hint, wrong though it may be. Does she look like the kind of woman who hadn't at least considered stripping for cash in her younger years? "So…you're like French or something, right?"

Stop. Pause, blink a few times. Remi stares at Domino with a rather incredulous look. "Est-ce que je ressemble a une femme qui lui enleverait des vetements pour l'argent? Est-ce que je regarde comme j'ai besoin d'argent? Bon seigneur!" She shakes her head, a frown on her features. "Non, I am not zat kind of dancer. I am with a ballet company."

Oh boy, time for her face to get as red as a strawberry! "Oh…oh shit! You don't say!" That might be the worst thing to do, acknowledging Domino that is, because now it would seem that someone has a new best friend! To emphasize the point, Domino sits her butt down on that leather couch with about as much of an unlady-like flop as a sophisticated ballet dancer might imagine. She looks like a ballet dancer - all legs and no curves! My boobs are WAY too big to ever do that! Domino thinks, looking at the girl.

The woman frowns quietly as Domino promptly invites herself to sit with her, her brow setting. The thoughts get little notice— you get used to it when you can hear thoughts all around you, catty thoughts are no different than perverted thoughts she gets from men. Telepathy is a wonderful exercise in psychology, at times. "Je ne crois pas que je vous ai invite a s'asseoir." She sighs softly. "Oui, I do say."

"You know…I don't speak French! So what, does that mean your ballet troupe or whatever is in New York to perform or something?" Sitting down now, the booze really starts to hit Domino. Not making herself stay up and dance around, the lightheadedness is sinking in. "Whoa…there's the booze!" she says out loud, as if the swooning, back of the hand on the forehead gesture doesn't say enough.

Remi mumbles something else in the foreign tongue, shaking her head slowly. "Non, I live 'ere." She frowns over to the rather intoxicated girl sitting next to her, reaching up to rub a hand at her forehead. Daintily, she sips at her blue martini, closing her eyes. "I am a ballet instructor." She closes her eyes, looking rather displeased that this conversation is happening.

Sheesh, could she LOOK grumpier? It's a bar, for crying out loud! In a particularly inebriated state, those thoughts are coming louder and louder as the self-control diminishes more and more. "Whoa, that's cool!" Domino says, but what she thinks is Jeeze, she needs to loosen up! "I'm an executive…can you believe that? A real live corporate executive!"

Remi tilts her head to one side, watching Domino thoughtfully. Women are always so catty in reality. It's hilarious, really. The designer-dressed woman sips down the last of her martini, folding her hands in her lap. "Zat is interesting." She says it in a bit of a placating tone, running a hand through her hair. "My father, 'e 'ad ze same job. Owned a company, oui."

"I don't own the company. I just work there. Head up a whole division though! I get to make the decision about how we get the word out about movies and everything else. Frankly, I'm shocked we haven't done any marketing for your ballet school…seems like this company deals in anything and everything some time!" Excited about the conversation now, Domino's drinking turns into a little burp, then the hiccups. "Whoo*HIC*oops!" and the like!

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