Boys and Girls
Boys and Girls
Summary: A night at the Destiny's strip club. Evan lives up to her new stage name: "The Lioness".
Date: 78 ACH
Related Logs: None

Private Club Destiny - Deck 9
78 ACH 23817 Souls

This is, or was, a private men's club aboard the cruise liner. Simple, yet effective. Low lighting, with a tinge of gold, sets the scene as scantily clad women move about. Yes, this is a strip club. Booths surround the walls, while small tables litter the rest of the room. To one side, a long bar is set, while across from it a cresant moon catwalk, complete with poles on the stage, and stools next to it, allows the customer to see the lovely ladies dancing.

In the back, across from the hatch leading out, is a curtained doorway, leading to the back office, as well as a few private 'VIP' rooms.

Please read +lhelp rating

It's a quiet night in the private club. There are a few customers scattered about, in various stages of drunkenness. A lone female stands over in the shadows, on one side of the room, arms folded over her chest.

Nicholas is sometimes grateful for the quiet nights. And for customer drunkenness. He's been weaving his way around the club for the last hour, dropping in and out of conversation with some of the more inebriated customers, just long enough to sow a couple words before he's off again. There's a natural smile on his face, which as soon as he turns his back on the room dissolves into a subtle roll of his eyes. He moves over to a corner of the bar close to where Evan is in the shadows, though his eyes don't flicker that way, and taps his fingernails against the bar counter, signaling for something from the tender.

The tender is occupied with customers down at the other end, though he spots Nicholas. There's a flash of fingers toward the shadows and Evan is beckoned out into the light, somewhat reluctantly. She's not dressed for "work" tonight. "What can I get you," she asks Nicholas. There's an air of familiarity about her words and actions, as if she knows OF the man she's speaking with, but doesn't know HIM.

Nicholas has a lone business card between his fingers, which he bends gently over his thumb. His other hand scratches gently around his temple as he looks past Evan to the row of bottles. Some, he knows, are only filled with coloured water. "What's not watered down tonight?"

Evan looks between man and bottle then says in a low, somewhat amused voice, "Depends on how much you've got to pay." A brow swoops up slightly and she glances over toward the bottles before reaching out, fingers playing lightly over the neck of one, as if assessing.

Nicholas smiles at her. His brow loft as he glances down the bar towards the busy tender. "Yeah. Well. Tell Roy down there that he can blow me. And take it out of my paycheck." It's all said fondly. He flips the card between his fingers, setting the edge against the counter.

The bottle is jerk-lifted and caught in the air as she's reaching for a glass. "Neat or rocks," she asks Nicholas quietly, holding the bottle poised above the rim of the glance, close to pouring, but not quite yet.

"Neat. Can't imagine what the pocket charge is for ice cubes," Nicholas hasn't sat down and doesn't look like he intends to. He leans his hip against the bar, crossing one foot over the other.

There's a deft twist of her wrist and the bottle rolls, neck barely touching the edge of the glass. While she's deft and the bottle rolls, she's not perfect. Luckily it's a small fumble, without a drop spilled. The glass gets filled partway then gently nudged toward him. "I'll let Roy take payment up with you," she murmurs, turning away to replace the bottle in its rightful spot.

Nicholas picks up the glass and turns just enough to raise it up towards Roy. The mock toast is accompanied by a wink at the man, which earns him a flip-off in return. It must be some sort of routine, as the young man smirks and turns back to his drink right after. A light sip, and he watches Evan put the bottle away again. "You…" His head tilts as he studies her. "…are beautiful." Something about the tone is more casual than one might expect, for words as direct as that. It's a true observation rather than a pick-up line. "You haven't been working here for a long time, have you."

She glances over her shoulder at him, a brow arched slightly and a faintly flirtatious smile on her lips. It doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Just since the attacks," she says quietly. "Not long at all. You're quite familiar…" Her voice trails off and she turns again, moving to make her way back toward the bar so she can lean across from him.

Corinne comes in from Passage.
Corinne has arrived.

Nicholas grins. It's such an easy expression for him. "I should hope so." He's standing at the bar, sipping on a drink that Evan's just poured. She's behind the counter, covering this end of the bar for Roy The Tender, who's dealing with some military drunk down the way. His eyes go back up to her wild hair, and he hmms. "So remind me of your name, before I get tempted to call you The Lioness."

Evan leans on the bar, arms folding neatly under her. "Evan," she says simply, leaving it at that. Apparently poor Nicholas isn't getting much more than that from the woman. "Though I answer to just about everything. I take it Lioness was your idea?" She considers the man across from her.

"Well, it does stand out more than 'Evan'," Nicholas replies, glancing over her again. And again it seems more an appraising lookover than a lewd one, filling in details about her face that his first sweep didn't catch. "People don't remember names. They remember what caresses their senses. And you have quite a lot to offer." He takes a sip of his drink, testing it. Not watered down, excellent.

Tychon comes in from Passage.
Tychon has arrived.

Corinne enters, her pace brisk but somehow still faintly sensual. Trailing behind her is a short, energetic man who is trying desperately to shove a folded piece of paper into her hands. "Look, Mike, I'm just not interested," the lounge singer slings over her shoulder with a hint of finality. "I don't care how much he's offering. I /don't/ do private shows." Arriving at the bar and leaning over it like she owns the place, she rolls her head towards a random man near her and adds in a low, smirking tone, "Not for him, anyway." Mike throws his hands in the air and skulks off.

What do military types do when they have leave? They go out and party. And if there's a strip club within range, they probably go there. Which brings Tychon -here-. See how that logic all works? And so the tall young man enters, looking perfectly well at ease in the setting. Not oggling anywhere or one in particular as he comes in, he instead makes a line toward the bar. A sidelong glance takes in the spectacle further down, and then he stands and waits a few moments to get the bartender's attention. Simple procedure, nonchalant.

Evan glances over toward the woman and man entering, studying them for a time. A faint, amused smile tilts her lips upwards. Then she turns back toward Nicholas. "One would hope," she says quietly to him, arching a brow - speaking more with her eyes than she does words. Then she's sliding down toward Tychon, moving in a slow prowl that's much like that animal for which she's been nicknamed. "What can I get you for this evening, darlin," she asks Tychon, a slow smile turning her lips upward even further. Her voice is one of those low, smoky voices, a gentle alto.

Nicholas leans a hip against the bar, watching Evan go. "Lioness, it is." He repeats under his breath, sounding quite pleased with the word. He slides a hand into his pocket and takes another sip of his drink, only to tilt his head back as he hears a woman's voice nearby. "Corinne…" He calls out without looking directly her way. It's more of a call towards the ceiling. Then he turns his head towards the singer. "Whose heart are you breaking now?"

"Nick, baby," Corinne replies with a saucy grin, shifting so her side is what meets the edge of the bar instead of her stomach. "You know I'm contractually obligated to break every little heart that comes my way looking for a private song and dance routine." She flips her wavy hair over her shoulder and adds, "Those nasty promoters don't like me making a little extra on the side. I've been /trying/ to talk them into fifteen percent…" She makes the universal sign for cash-money, rubbing forefinger against the other fingertips, "…but they keep slinging astronomical figures like forty percent at me." She levels a pointed glance at Nicholas.

Micah comes in from Passage.
Micah has arrived.

Glancing toward Evan as she approaches him, Tychon offers a fairly slim kind of smile, a little reserved for the surroundings. Better than the drunken wild kind of military guest, at least. "Hey," he greets the women, offering just a bit of a friendly flare, before realizing that she'll be hanlding the drink. "Ah, Ambrosia I guess." His attention flits away then, bouncing around the room, taking in the stage, some of his fellow patrons, everyone really. Inevitably, attention shifts back to the apparent songstress and her acquaintance. Curious, in a way, more than outright leering. Of course, in his current surroundings, its perfectly acceptable to leer, and he does a bit more general sight-seeing.

Evan's behind the bar, just in front of Tychon. She studies him for a long moment, longer than a proper bartender probably would. Roy, fresh from his stint at the other end of the bar, drifts back up to rescue poor Lioness from the pilot's uninterested clutches. A hip bump knocks her out of the way as he reaches for the bottle, smirking. "You're due on in 20," he comments to the redhead, who just stares at him. Before she can protest, he adds, "Boss saw you and is adding an extra ten in." Her mouth snaps shut fairly quickly at that and she nods, once.

For a private club, there seems to be a whole lotta not-private happening in here. Maybe the irony strikes Micah, maybe it doesn't, but it's not stopping the swarthy pilot from stopping inside to take a gander. Military boys tend to stick out here like sore thumbs, especially when they're dressed in navy fatigues with a splash of leather jacket to break things up.

"Forty? Oh honey, never. More like…thirty-nine," Nicholas' eyes sweep the older woman up and down and a brow lofts, cattily. But it's followed by a pleasant smile, clearly getting the age shot in just because it was so easy. "Look, I have a gig for you over at Spotlights. You know that club on the Carina? I even tested out the sound system for you personally, and I -might- be willing to do twenty percent. Maybe. You haven't been nice to me lately." He sniffs and sips his drink, his eyes flicking back down towards Evan and Tychon. That exchange was interesting. He raises an eyebrow at Corrinne, indicating Evan with a tip of his chin. "New. She's pretty, isn't she."

So, perhaps, Tychon will go unnoticed, as he's avoided the stick-out-like-sore-thumb motif, even gone and gotten dressed up. He certainly doesn't make any move to signal Micah, even when he spots him coming in. By the time he looks back from his entering squadmate, the woman serving him has apparently been replaced by someone slightly less lovely, though, which is mildly dissapointing. Eavesdropping on a little of the conversation between them, he offers the new tender a sort of amiable look.

Corinne's mouth drops open and she emits a distinctly offended, scoffing breath. "You'd better shut that smart little mouth of yours, some of that silver on your tongue is oxidizing." She considers his proposal seriously after a moment, then nods once. "We'll see. I'll have to check the place out myself." When Nicholas draws her attention to Evan, she looks the woman up and down appraisingly. "Not bad. A little on the tall side, but that always looks good around a pole, doesn't it?" Her eyes drift back towards the bar as the place starts filling up, and she regards Tychon and Micah in turn.

The Lioness swings that mane over one shoulder as she strides toward the back of the club. Passing Micah, she offers him a warm, polite smile and a dip of her head. Lesson one, always make eye contact with potential customers. Then she's brushing past Nicholas and Corinne, murmuring softly, "Looks like it's a work night after all."

Micah probably hasn't even spotted his squadmate across the way, yet. He's still.. gandering over there. Not awkward, no, he's obviously been in a place like this before. Ambling out of the doorway eventually, he heads for the bar while digging a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. Corinne, as it happens, catches his eye for a few beats, and then the 'lioness' who passes him by with a smile. It's returned with a twitch of his lips, though he avoids eye contact. Just call him socially awkward.

"You know I'm just teasing you, Corinne. You look gorgeous," Nicholas smiles at Corinne. "We can swing by Spotlights later tonight if you want. I give my personal guarantee that you'll love it. Almost as much as these two military boys are going to cream their pants at this poledance." He sets his glass down with his hand still around it, flicking a look at Evan as she goes past. A little sympathy as she's called up. Not really. "Knock them dead, Lioness. You're stunning." He glances down towards Micah and Tychon, then towards the stage.

Presumably, Tychon gets his drink - the neon-green beverage of certain infamy. When it arrives, he takes a glance down into the glass, admiring the liquid's distinctive look for a few moments before he ultimately takes the plunge. The color should not give any false impression that this is light stuff, as his reaction indicates - its something of a half-wince, half-pleased shudder. Appropriately named. After taking a sip, he swishes the glass around and lets his eyes go up toward the stage.

Corinne receives one of her complimentary drinks from the bartender, whom she regards but briefly. Taking the glass of amber liquid on ice in hand, she swirls the drink around and nods to Nicholas. "I've got the night off, that'll be good," she replies belatedly, lazily. She's busy glancing down the bar at Tychon, then at Micah. She sips from her glass, expression thoughtful as her eyes make subtle movements in their study of the younger of the two. Then, quite suddenly, she looks back at Nicholas. "I don't know. Doesn't the military breed at least /some/ stamina into them?"

Micah settles in a few seats down from Tychon, finally spotting the Lieutenant as he's in the process of cupping and lighting a cigarette. "Hey, Armedes," he mumbles across at the other viper jock. Like. Fancy meeting YOU here. It's Corinne that seems to have tentatively held his interest though. Twisting to settle back against the bar with a soft protest of leather, he smokes. And keeps tabs on her now and then, in between absently watching the 'show' that's about to start.

The woman who emerges from the back room scant moments later to a slow, rolling beat, seems to live up to her name. She doesn't stride, she prowls slowly, almost lazily. The circuit doesn't take her directly to the pole, though, but around past the bar, brushing past the two pilots with only a whisper of material and the faintest hint of an almost undefinable scent in the air. Sandalwood? Bergamot? Lemon? Whatever it is is clean, sharp, with just a taste of smoke behind it. The music takes her on a long path of the room, ending at the side of the stage. There's something very demure about the way she carries herself, a lady in a whore's body, perhaps? The innocence an illusion or is the illusion what's presented?

"I suppose," Nicholas answers Corinne as he leans back against the bar. "Can't spend that much time polishing your gun without learning how to keep it from going off. One would hope." He gently scratches the back of his head, watching the stage with a critical eye as the music changes. His voice lowers as he speaks to the lovely singer next to him. "Oh, she does look nice…took that Lioness thing right to heart, look at her." He sounds a little proud.

Being that Tychon saw Micah on his way in, there is less surprise in his reaction, although he greets the other flyboy with a sort of friendly nod of acknowledgement. "Hey, you off too, eh?" The schedules can be strange, with round-the-clock coverage of the fleet on the menu. And that's about as deep as the conversation gets. Fortunately, he doesn't hear much of the banter between the songstress and… manager? Whoever the guy is. The music is up, and his attention is much more clearly turned to the stage. He's watching, definitely, although its hardly a leering, drool-worthy kind of look. If anything, the secret pleasure he's here for seems to be the glass of liquid bliss, which is sipped tenderly, cautiously for its strength.

Corinne smirks at Nicholas, rolling her head to give the military men another quick once-over before she turns her attention back to the stage, where Evan emerges as the Lioness. "You came up with that?" she asks, one dark, sculpted brow lifting subtly as she considers the stripper, head to toe. "Apt, I should say. Hope she fights like one. I hear the strippers on this ship are catty bitches." She takes a slow sip of her drink, then slides her gaze sideways to check up on Micah. Maybe see how he's enjoying the show.

With slow deliberation, on bare feet, the Lioness ascends the stage. She doesn't walk up onto it, she doesn't step onto it, she makes it her own. There's nothing hurried about her movements, and only those closest to her can hear the faint jingling of the bells on her ankle. Like a lioness in the sun, she approaches the first pole as the music begins to climb to a crescendo. One arm reaches up and back, palm curling around the metal as her back arches in a long, lazy stretch, her head tilting back until those curls nearly brush the floor at her heels. It's a very measured slide down, a tease as the scarves begin to flutter. Then there's the slow lift back up, hips circling in lazy figure-eights to the beat of the music. The music isn't harsh or driving, but more fantastical, contemplative. Woman and instruments seem to be quite comfortable together, old friends coming out to play together. As she achieves vertical again, there's a gentle spin to the music as her palm and sole of her foot make contact, allowing her to wind around the pole, down to the ground in a lazy, lady-like sprawl.

"Aye, rest of the night," murmurs St. Germain in between drags of his cigarette. His accent is thick, and obviously Aerelon. Cuttles Breath Wash, for those in the know, fiercely northern. He's watching the performance, in that his eyes are turned that way. Enjoying it? Hard to say. Micah doesn't look the sort to enjoy much of anything, and he seems particularly distracted at the moment. Smoke pours out of his nose, fogging his view of the sinuous thing slinking around the pole.

"Yes, nobody's -ever- made that comparison before." Nicholas replies in deadpan, and sips his drink. His eyes make a subtle flicker towards Tychon, having noted the glance their way, and he smirks behind the rim of the glass. "Think you have a new fan in the making, Corinne. Might have to take a little promenade once the show's over."

Cigarettes and booze, the two seem to have their vices down, and Tychon continues to enjoy his. The show continues, and he continues to watch in a half distracted way, although what else it is that fights for his attention is a persistant question - isn't the woman up on the pole supposed to be the distraction? Well, maybe, apart from the drink, it is the two further down. He can't help but continue to note the attention focused on him and his fellow flyer, the discussion that he can't quite make out. And so, emerging from whatever quiet trance, he calls down to them, "You know, you two can come and say hello if you like." There you go.

Corinne takes another sip of her drink, then sets it down on the bar at Tychon's words. She turns in his direction and levels a secretive smirk that way, looking the pilot up and down. "There's something about 'hellos' that have always rubbed me the wrong way," she tells the man, taking a few steps closer. "I prefer to skip them, get into more interesting business right off the bat. Like," she tips her chin towards Micah and asks, "Do you happen to have a smoke?" Her thumbnail goes between her teeth.

She doesn't stay down for long, everyone's Lioness. Within a moment, she's back on her feet, arms sliding above her head - both of them, this time - as she begins to undulate with the music. It's as though she's doing the bellydance hip-twist in halftime. Stepping down from the stage, dancing her way across the floor with a series of twirls and scarf-lifts, she comes to a brief pause just in front of Nicholas. Her eyes are dark as she studies the promoter, abdomen muscles rippling under the scarf as she arches, body forming a perfect bow before she rolls back up - long enough to leave a scarf at his feet. The barest sliver of rib is revealed. Just when it seems as though she'd go for another one, the beat of the music picks up some and she's twirling away - this time toward Micah, delicately swirling around the lovely Corinne.

Let Armedes be the good cop. Micah's intent on his cigarette and his thoughts, and slumps his elbows back against the bar while that red-headed fox of a woman works the pole. Or was it lioness? St. Germain's doing a good impersonation of a sloth right now, himself. A sloth with a nicotine habit. And then the pretty creature from down the bar's talking at him, and he lifts his eyes to fix her with a long look. "Might do." Wait for it, wait for it. "You happen to have a name?" There's a flash of teeth when he grins, as Evan swirls past him.

Nicholas keeps an eye on Evan as Corinne moves towards Tychon, following behind a few moments later. He's intercepted on the way by the scarf-bearing stripper and pauses, smiling a little bit as she performs for him. He watches the whole display with the kind of eye that people turn to lovely paintings when trying to decide if they are indeed going to hang them in a famous museum. A light wink is given her before she goes twirling away, and he crouches down to pick up the scarf she left behind. "Remind me to get this costume colour changed…this shade isn't doing her justice," he mutters to Corinne, draping the scarf over the singer's shoulder as he completed his walk to the table. "Gentlemen," he greets Tychon and Micah, in an unobtrusive way. He does seem to like them focusing on Corinne.

Bayless comes in from Passage.
Bayless has arrived.

There is a certain look of satisfaction on Tychon's face when he gets the pair further down to come over and say hello - even if one of them apparently objects to saying hello. Oddly, he fixes his attention on Nicholas more than either Corinne or the twirling, swirling 'Lioness' - what, is he gay? - although he does glance back when the former begs a smoke of his squadmate. Surely, Micah is in no short supply. "Evening," he greets the other man, and actually sets the drink down to offer him a hand. "Tychon Armedes." He doesn't bother giving his rank or any of that - its meaningless and perhaps even a little inappropriate given their surroundings. "So, you the manager, or owner, something like that?" It'd be hard to miss the chit-chat about Evan's costume details and whatnot.

Corinne drops the hand from her mouth as she finds herself being draped with a scarf. She watches Evan go by and smirks distractedly at Nicholas, but doesn't confirm whether she heard his request for a reminder. Her eyes are on Micah. "I do, honey. It's right outside, on a big poster with a picture of me looking ever so pale and sensual." She stretches her arm out and closes her eyes, striking the same pose that's on the poster that is, indeed, just outside the club. The image shatters after a few seconds and she straightens up. "Coming to a sports ship near you, apparently." She glances askance at Nicholas to confirm this. "Spotlights? You boys should come, give your ears a rest from all that guttural military grunting and let a songbird fill the void." She holds her hand out to Micah, palm up, expectantly. "In the meantime, I need to make my voice a little smokier."

The tall red-head dressed in scarves is obviously performing. Whether or not the crowd is paying attention to the woman stripping for them is another question altogether. Evan continues to stalk her prey for a moment, apparently easily bored when they find greener pastures, as it were. Wilder pastures, at the very least. Then she's back on the pole, slowly swirling scarves off one by one.

Bayless makes her way into the club, wearing her duty greens and her hair tied back in its on-the-clock ponytail, though she's very much off said clock. Evan's performance gets a couple seconds of a glance, then she spots Archer and Jailhouse elsewhere in the club. She grabs herself a seat in one of the booths for the moment, after sending a couple of greeting nods their direction.

Nicholas reaches across the table to shake Tychon's hand, once. "Welcome over, Mr. Armedes. Nicholas Luma." At the question as to whether he's the manager, he smirks. "Good gods no, I don't run this place. I'm only reponsible for making sure the crowds show up, and that they like what they see." He glances back at Evan, then to Tychon again. "No disappointment tonight, I hope?" He then gestures to Corinne. "And this creature, who will singlehandedly keep the literacy rates up at this pace, is Corinne."

Now that's just damned wrong. Micah's no gentleman. "Evenin'," he greets Nicholas however, amiably enough. His eyes skitter over the slinky redhead and her wafting scarves, then settle on Corinne again. It could be a leer, the way he watches her, if it wasn't ever so faintly distracted. He's here, yet not. With a hoarse little laugh that, itself, betrays too many years of smoking, he murmurs, "Ah'm not a marine, honey. Only grunting I hear's my bunkmate gettin' it on with 'is wishful thinkin'." He opens and closes his free hand a couple of times, for emphasis. Leaning back then, he digs about in his jacket for the pack of cigarettes. One's slid out, along with a lighter, both offered in his palm.

"You bastard, it's called mystique," Corinne mumbles theatrically to Nicholas as she reaches out to take the cigarette and lighter from the pilot's open palm. She lights up, elegantly so, then offers back the lighter. "Oh, well that's a little disappointing. Here I was, imagining men in tight tank tops, engaged in a never ending series of military exercises, forever drenched in sweat. No - no, make that baby oil. Smells nicer, and the sheen is more… dramatic." She takes a drag, then releases a cloud of smoke into the empty air on the side of her that Nicholas is not. Her eyes drift to the stage, watching Evan work the pole for a moment, appraisingly.

A scarf flits through the air, drifting to catch just the far edge of Bayless' ponytail. Half of Evan's scarves are gone, revealing rounded, creamy skin. She's not a stick figure, she's not a Barbie. She's a slightly smaller Ruebens Dream Woman. The pace of the twirling, spinning and sliding takes on a more frenetic pace. There's even the impression she's not even watching the crowd, but, instead, is simply lost in the sweet carnality of the dance, making love to the music.

Bayless blinks as she feels the scarf nudge her hair just enough to notice. She glances at the scarf as it falls to rest on the back of the booth near her shoulder. Her eyes drift back to Evan, an amused smile playing on her face. Her gaze momentarily drifts over to her fellow pilots, as well as the new friends they've seemed to make.

"Nice to meet you," Tychon offers back, relatively informally. With some clarification of the other's particular mode of employment, the nods and takes another look around, in part following Evan's trip back toward ye olde pole. "Seems like its going pretty well, you're drawing a nice crowd now." His gaze rests there as he chats. "Oh, none at all." But the exchange nearby, between Micah and the mysterious 'woman from the sign out front' draws a curious cock of his head. He laughs a bit. "I think you've got an odd idea of how PT works."

Nicholas smirks at Corinne, gently chiding. "People have to know what name to…you know, call your breasts when they speak to you." His tone is fond despite the words, though her graphic details about military men make him shake his head. "And you accuse me of destroying mystique." He glances back at the stage, always keeping an eye on Evan's performance. He seems to approve, if one goes by expression alone. A brief nod to Tychon. "Good to hear. So the two of you are both over from the military, then?"

"Aye. Real funny." The lighter's tucked back into his jacket, and Micah resumes his slouch 'n smoke while addressing Tychon, "I prefer to do mine in the gym." Bayless is greeted with a quick grin when he spots her, and with the eyes of those nearby turning back to the stage, he lets his lashes slip half-shut. Maybe he's feeling the music. He'll let Tychon field that question from Nicholas.

And there goes one of the skirt scarves. Her movements are a bit more determined now, Evan's are. Twists and turns give way to sinuous rolls of her body. It's as though she's quite literally making love with an imaginary partner. Nothing else exists except the dance she's doing for whomever the lucky man is.

Bayless seems to be having a hard time not being transfixed by the young woman on stage, but all the same, she notices Micah's acknowledgement of her presence from her booth and sends a casual salute in his direction.

Corinne takes another dignified puff of the cigarette as she resettles her gaze on Tychon, then Nicholas. "Stop personifying my breasts, Nick. We find that sort of behavior offensive and degrading." She tilts her chin into her throat and regards her chest. "Don't we, girls." They don't answer, in case anyone is wondering.

With his gaze cast over his shoulder at Micah and Corinne, Tychon gives the latter a more thorough look up-close. Her… promoter does seem to have a point, except its not her breasts that he's looking at, just by virtue of how the group has gathered up and the way she's facing. Ahem. When she turns around, though, he can properly address them: "Nice to meet you, Corinne's girls." Back to Nicholas moments later, he bobs his head in a quick confirmation. "Yeah. Guys and a gal now, actually," as he too catches on to Bayless joining them, "We're all Navy, air wing." He doesn't go into more detail than that - but it is, apparently, -very- important to reinforce what Micah has already told them: They are -not- marines! And then, as he's talking to Nick, he spends a few more taking in the show, which has progressed to the point of being a little more oggle-worthy.

Nicholas laughs at Corinne's display, picking up his drink. No further comment. He twists slightly in his chair as Tychon indicates Bayless sitting by herself. "Really. Didn't know pilots were so shy." He raises the glass towards the woman alone, then looks back towards the stage for this writhing crescendo, lifting his chin to watch. His expression doesn't change much, regarding the stage with the same appraising look. The approval does increase though. Even progresses to an impressed nod.

Micah doesn't seem to have anything to offer, on the subject of mammary gland oppression. Not that he doesn't steal a glance at said 'girls'. He's male, it's practically part of the DNA. Smoke sifted out of his nose again, he turns away from the dancing for a few moments to place an order for a drink. "Glass of the picon brandy," he's explaining. "Neat." As in, nothing to water it down.

Scarves are falling away with a bit more determination, revealing, well, quite a bit of skin. In fact, bottoms seem to be missing the back half. As the scarves fall away, her body is on display and she seems comfortable with that, accepting. Whomever she's thinking of, whether it be Nicholas, whose face her eyes lock on, or one of the others to whom she glances from time to time is unclear. Eyes drift half-closed, lips part slightly, glistening, as she continues to dance.

Corinne leans over, her arm stretching back behind Nicholas as she reaches for the glass she abandoned a bit further down the bar. Once she's got it in her grasp, she straightens up and takes another drag off her cigarette. Half smoked, she stubs it out. There's a big 'frak you' to rationing. She exhales the last bit of smoke, then clears her palate with a generous draught of bourbon. She watches Evan now, and something occurs to her. She bends over to whisper that something to Nicholas.

Bayless ceases her antisocial self-exile and rises from the booth to make her way over to where her fellow pilots have touched down. "'Evening, Archer, Jailhouse," she says in greeting to the two Viper-jocks. "Fancy spotting you here." The irony of her being here of all places is not lost on her.

Nicholas tilts his head as Corinne whispers to him, still watching Evan. He smirks at whatever the singer mutters to him, saying something quietly back as he lofts a brow.

Its apparently the time for people to be regrouping and securing their beverages - Tychon still has a glass with a sliver of green liquid at the bottom, which he reclaims and promptly kills off. More idle chit-chat with Nicholas follows, with just a bit of a shift and a curious glance as Corinne moves over to whipser… sweet nothings? Vicious plots? Who knows. "Shy? Nah." It might be hard to explain the particular mindset at work, and so he doesn't bother to go into it in great depth. Instead, a simplified offering, "But its not a bad way to relax." No, clearly not. Ah, but here comes Bayless. "Hey there," he answers her greeting. "Quite a show, eh?"

It's Corinne's turn to smirk, and she does so with an added roll of her eyes before she mutters something back in Nicholas' ear.

Oh, hey. It's a Bayless coming in at two o'clock. Micah ticks off a lazy one-fingered salute to his forehead, and reaches for the drink that's slid toward him, with his cigarette-holding hand. "So what's miss pale an' sensual like to sing about?" he directs toward Corinne and her girls, after a healthy pull of his drink. A trickle's swept away with the back of his hand across his lower lip, followed by a drag of the smoke. Is he hitting on her? He might be. Never mind that she's nearly twice his age.

<Trait Roll> Evan rolls Seduction and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb* (8).

Nicholas answers Corinne with a slight grin. He is sufficiently amused, and from the look on his face it wasn't sweet nothin's. He picks his drink back up and nods to Bayless, attention off Corinne now as Micah moves in on her. Back to watching Evan for whatever heart attacks she's about to cause most of the male population. And probably most of the female, too.

Around and around Evan goes on the pole, the movements of her body quickening to match the tempo of the music. It's not a slow, sensual seduction. It's not gentle lovemaking on a Sunday morning before he goes to get the pastries and coffee. It's become a dance of seduction and claiming, giving and taking, utter and complete trusts. Whomever she's dancing with, dancing for, is someone she -trusts- implicitly. With that trust comes vulnerability, expressed in the arch of her neck, the offering of her throat.

Nicholas' words elicit a low laugh from Corinne, but when Micah starts talking to her, her attention makes the switch. "Whatever I want to," she answers, if a little distractedly as the new stripper starts making a name for herself up there. "I like the slow, sultry songs. You know, the ones that move a little like molasses, but are too full of longing to be considered sweet." Her eyes grow thoughtful as she lifts her glass, finishing off the rest of the liquid amongst the half-melted ice. Almost twice his age? Says who.

Bayless glances over to Evan and nods a couple times. Answering Tychon, "Girl's got the goods, for damn sure. Beats the frak out of the dancers at the clubs my buddies and I used to hit back on Aerelon." She then pulls off her fatigues jacket. "'Scuse me. Bit warm in here."

Nicholas lifts his glass, taking a slow sip of whatever that amber liquid is in there. The rim tipped up over his nose, his eyes subtly flicker away from Evan, taking a turn around the table and watching the reactions of the others being treated to this dance. He seems as interested in that as he is in the dance itself.

"So you're sayin' you like jazz and blues. Maybe a little folk, those old crooners that used to play the seven an' six—" In Micah's hometown. Back on Aerelon. Bayless' remark draws a slantwise look from the stick jockey, then his glass is lifted to his lips. After the swallow, "Maybe ah'll come see you there some time. Been a while." Since what, he doesn't specify.

Micah can go ahead and hit on Corinne, her girls, or the whole lot of 'em. Tychon, for all his initial nonchalance… has clearly been 'sold' on the 'Lioness', or at least on her perfomance. "Mmmmmhm," he readily agrees with Bayless, even as his eyes stay fixed on center stage. Still, it is not some magic spell, and the latter comment has him glancing back, giving a bit of a chuckle. "Heh. No kidding. This the first time you've been here? Just stumbled on it, myself."

And so the dance, like all good things, must come to an end. The last scarf to go isn't the one that had been protecting her best assets, but the one worn like a veil. She ends the dance lying on the stage, on her back, arms stretched impossibly high over her head, legs angled to one side, tucked neatly together. Madonna/whore complex, maybe?" After a few moments, body sheened with sweat, she rolls to her feet, balancing on tiptoe, and makes her bow. Almost with a wardrobe malfunction.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Nicholas lowers his cup as he watches Evan heads off. His voice sounds quite satisfied with the evening, and he gestures towards the darkening stage. "The Lioness."

"I don't do folk," Corinne corrects Micah, sliding her glass towards the bartender and declining a refill with the lift of a hand. "But you should. Come see me." As the stage darkens and Nicholas makes his call, she brings her hands together in the polite applause reserved for fellow performers.

Bayless blinks as she sees the performance has ended, which elicits a healthy round of applause from the senior Raptor-bunny, her jacket held between her arm and torso as she claps. Sidelong to Tychon, "Yeah, first time… went exploring, heard some guys talking, came on down."

"Might be more inclined, if you did," St. Germain counters in a murmur. He lifts his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of Evan's performance, but doesn't applaud. Oh, he's been appreciating it, stealing glances here and there almost.. one might say, guiltily. He even tracks her movement off stage, before dropping his gaze back to the drink in his hand."

With an easy grace, a grace that is aptly described by her new stage name, the Lioness saunters off the stage, leaving her scarves behind. In nothing more than the engineering nightmare of a demicup and some bits of cloth that have been sewn together to keep the view legal, she begins to circle the room, starting with a couple of guys off in one corner. The Lioness is, apparently, in search of her share of the hunt and kill.

Nicholas looks back at the table, taking a sip of his drink. He settles back in the chair, casting a glance across to Micah that studies the man for a couple moments. He looks fleetingly amused and ventures, "You married?"

Tychon, too, brings his hands up and together for a round of applause. Of course, apart from appreciating the woman's obvious talents as a dancer, as a performer, he's been likewise well and thoroughly introduced to an appreciation of the woman's various other -qualities-. Thus, in a return aside to Bayless, he can't help but offer the essential flyboy (or girl!) perversion of the moment, "Yeah, I'd take that for a ride." What? What? Ahem. "But yeah, pretty much the same. Though I'd heard a bit of word about the Destiny having some good entertainment." This prompts him to look over at Nicholas, "Seems like you've got the word of mouth going pretty well already." And with this gaggle of rocket jockeys now 'in' on the secret, more are sure to come!

Corinne looks back at Micah after the stage lights come back up to their neutral frequency, and she smirks. "Who knows, honey. Maybe I'll change it up at the Spotlights show, throw in a jazzed up version of Petri, Phil and Moira's 'Aeleron Sunshower.'" She settles into a comfortable lean against the bar, casting a glance Nicholas' way as he asks after Micah's marital status. "Nicky's in the market," she confides in the pilot, just loud enough to carry straight towards the promoter.

Evan's path takes her, surprise surprise, right up next to the promoter. She sidles in near him, head canting slightly to one side, a brow arched a bit.

"There's only one reason a man looks guilty in a strip club," Nicholas replies to Tychon. "That's 'a woman'." He hears Corinne then and says in a catty tone, "And Corinne is just fabulously jealous that some people's biological clocks are still ticking." His expression blinks into a smile at her, then he looks up as Evan comes over. "Oh there she is, Brilliance Herself. Come on, have a seat. Have a cigarette, enjoy the afterglow. These folks sure are."

Bayless leans back on the bar, propping her against it by her elbows. The arriving Evan gets an appreciative nod, she then says in agreement with Tychon, "Yeah, I'm sure the rest of the wing wouldn't mind filling this place up a few nights a week…"

Micah smirks slightly at Nicholas' question. Is it THAT obvious? "Naw. Not hitched." He drags from his cigarette. "Not yet." Whatever that's meant to imply. The butt of his smoke is jabbed out finally, and he tosses back what's left of his drink. "'s fine," he adds to the promoter, "I prefer my women like a good Leonis valley red." Old as the hills? Or just expensive? He's already pushing out of his chair though and looking like he's getting ready to leave.

Expensive? Expensive just walked right the hell off that stage. She has a body that begs to be draped in fur and pretty jewelry, and Micah just made sure the lapstore was open for business. With a swing of her hips and an impish smile at Nicholas, Evan slides around closer to Micahs' table, intending, clearly, to end up in his lap. Yes, she even turns The Eyes on the pilot.

"I have evolved past such archaic concepts like 'biological clocks,'" Corrine replies with a dismissive wave of her hand in Nicholas' general direction. "There's a word for that, and it's 'timeless.'" Her eyes track Evan's movements this way, and her dark brows lift amusedly. She watches the impending interaction, one ankle crossing over the other as she continues to lean her back up against the bar.

One thing Tychon is not going to do is speak up for Micah in this matter. Being that they are comrades in arms, he may very well -know-, but he'll keep it classified unless the other pilot is going to spill his own beans. Which isn't to say that Nicholas' logic is not… sound. Tych just isn't going to say. "I'm sure Corinne and the girls will do just fine." A nod, again, echoes Bayless. "'Cause she's right. You're gonna have hordes of good-looking, eligible military men and women coming in here now. Better make sure the girls are up for it." As Evan re-enters the fray, his gaze sweeps briefly after her. Funny how one's image of a person can change… when that image is updated to include large expanses of typically-concealed flesh.

"Not yet?" Nicholas arches a dark blond brow at Micah. Out comes a business card, flicked out and held between his fingers towards the pilot. "Well when 'yet' becomes 'imminent', give us a call. Bachelor party you and your friends will never forget." To Corinne he replies with a smile, "Is that the word? Funny, though it was 'botox'." He looks over at Evan as she makes her draping entrance and chuckles under his breath.

Okay, so maybe not so much with the standing up. Micah's suddenly inheriting a lapful of hot, half-naked woman, and no man in their right mind is going to ditch THAT on the floor. Settling his back against the bar again, he gives her an awkward smile and a not-quite meeting of eyes. Seems the big bad viper jock gets nervous when beautiful women crawl into his lap. Business card? What business card?

One arm drapes around Micah's shoulders while her body settles against his, rather as if it belonged there. Yep, that takes confidence, confidence Evan seems to have in spades. She leans down to murmur in the Viper jock's ear, voice very low and soft. Of course, if he's looking down, he's introducing himself to the ladies.

Corinne watches Evan slide into Micah's lap, her amusement intensifying at the pilot's awkwardness. "Potato, potahto," she mumbles to Nicholas as she pushes off the bar, heading his way. She pulls the scarf from her shoulder and wraps it haphazardly around the promoter's neck. She leans in close to him and asks, "Where'd you find her?" while angling her chin in Evan's direction.

Evan whispers to Micah.

Nicholas smirks to himself, just flicking the business card across the table. Maybe it'll go with the pilot, maybe not. Either way, watching Evan and Micah, he's sure the man will be back. As Corinne speaks to him he slides a finger under the scarf just in case she's planning to garrotte him, before answering under his breath. "I didn't, she came to us." He hmpfs quietly. "I see I need to give the military a crash course in tipping, though, before our Lioness flees the cage."

Bayless grins and watches Micah gain Evan's interest. She remains otherwise silent for the moment, drinking in the atmosphere and the conversation.

Micah would need to have his eyes closed, to miss out on that. He's a little stiff in the shoulders at being touched, though whatever the woman whispers to him seems to help. Or possibly hinder. He's downed a drink not too long ago, maybe a little of it's still buzzing around in that husky laugh he gives. Something's murmured in return, head angled to the side so he can feast his eyes on something less… feast-worthy.

Micah whispers to Evan.

"Jeez, looks like he's got a pack of raiders on his ass and his wingman's nowhere to be seen," Tychon comments, probably mostly for Bayless' benefit given the flight-centric language, in a sort of general amusement at Micah's 'plight' - such as it is.

Evan leans down to murmur something right next to Micah's ear, seemingly taking care not to touch said ear, directly. It only looks like she does. Of course, she's laughing a low, husky laugh. Something quiet. There's a definite intimacy in the way she's got herself curled against him, like a kitten on the sunbeam of his lap.

Corinne gives a faint 'heh' at Nicholas' words, and she lowers her own voice to reply. "It's always a little jarring for them when they realize the girls are doing this for the cubits and not simply the pleasure of their company and warmth of the laps. Give him a moment, let him indulge, he'll come around." She pulls the scarf off Nick's neck, because it looks ridiculous. "I think I'm going to head over to that sports ship, check out the bar you were talking about. Want to meet me there when you're done here?"
Evan whispers to Micah.

Bayless nods to Tychon, "Yeah, I'd toss him a tow, but he just looks so comfortable there." She smiles in devilish amusement at the display, her jacket held in both hands by the collar in front of her.

"Oh, yes, we should go do that." Nicholas makes no move to get up. "Meet you over there in thirty. I've got to grab some of those posters. I don't have a single one of you over there, and that's a tragedy." He gives the scarf a disapproving look as it's pulled off, eyes tracking it. "Ugh. That shade. That thing is dead to me."

Shaken, Micah definitely is. Maybe what they say about pilots and their reputation for hemorrhaging women just doesn't apply to this one, because he really does look awkward. Cubits however, he does have. A few untucked from his leather jacket, however much they may be worth these days, and slid into that skimpy bit of bra that he could probably flick with his fingers and spring her 'ladies' free of. He doesn't, of course, though there is something murmured back to the woman curled up in his lap.

Micah whispers to Evan.

Corinne waves the scarf threateningly in front of Nicholas' face, then tosses the offensive thing at an unsuspecting busboy. "See you then," she intones, giving a parting wave to the bartender as she strides away, shapely backside swaying as it disappears from view.

Corinne leaves for Passage [O].
Corinne has left.

The back and forth between Nicholas and Corinne makes Tychon chuckle. Clearly, its not the first strip club he's been to, and he's clearly not in doubt about the monetary nature of the transactions that occur therein. Perhaps this has something to do with that initial, oh so perplexing snub of the lovely lioness? Who knows. Again, he could just be super gay and faking having a good time. But money matters are at hand, and he does, at least, have a drink to deal with - Micah can get her for the lap dance. He fishes out his cash, what there is of it, and lays some at the bar, muttering to Bayless, "Last intersquad triad game really wiped me out." And then, there's a whole 'nother topic to consider. "Did she say there's a shuttle to the Carina soon? I need to get over there, anyway."

Evan mmmms softly and smiles at Micah, leaning down to brush her lips against his cheek. She shifts in his lap slightly - not quite a lapdance, but almost. Perhaps she feels his discomfort? Then she's sliding off his lap, patting his cheek with her fingertips, and making her way toward Bayless, a brow arching delicately as she all but stalks the woman, lips quirked upward in a slow smile.

Nicholas rolls his shoulders and stands up. As Evan starts for another victim he reaches out his fingertips — not touching, first rule of strip club — but enough to get her attention as he says something quietly to her and then lets her continue on.

Bayless glances over to Tychon and responds, "Hmm? Um…" She checks her watch. "Yeah, should be one headed for Carina ready to launch in a few. Think you've got plenty of…" It's then that Bayless notices that Evan's heading her direction in something of a predatory manner. "…time."

Then again, maybe it's all an act. Maybe Micah's not the awkward kid he's projecting himself to be, and is merely reining himself in considerably at the moment. His lower lip's dragged between his teeth when Evan gives that little writhe on his lap, that not-quite-kiss to his cheek. And then, thank the gods, she's climbing off to stalk the Ares squadron leader, and St. Germain's pushing to his feet and vacating the premises while he still can. The business card gets left behind, alas.

"Scorch, break, break, you've got a hostile at twelve," Tychon quips as the predatory Lioness goes from one potential mark to the next. He flashes her a grin, then shakes his head. "Nah, I'll leave you to have some fun, unless you really need the cover. Next one might get me over a bit late." The lieutenant goes so far as to flick his wrist and get his watch out past his cuff - revealing a standard military timepiece, at odds with his civie threads. "Yeah."

Micah leaves for Passage [O].
Micah has left.

Evan glances at Nicholas over her shoulder, lips tilted upward just a little, then turns back toward Bayless. The stalk continues. The Lioness is on the prowl. The statuesque redhead makes her way toward the Ares squadron leader and leans in, one hand on either side of the woman - not touching, but on the bar. She leans in, back arching slightly, and simply smiles at Bayless. "Evening," she murmurs, voice low, throaty.

Nicholas slides the card back off the table and tucks it into his pocket, getting ready to go. Can't waste these things when you can't print them anymore. He glances over at Evan and Bayless, then down at the watch-checking Tychon. The raise of his brow seem slightly amused. "Well, Mr. Armedes, pleasure to have met you. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and perhaps I'll see you around next time."

Bayless glances over to Tychon with a cocked eyebrow. "Um, yeah, Archer, you do that…" Then Evan's very friendly greeting has her full attention. a not-all-that-uncomfortable smile playing on her lips. "Hi there," is about all she can manage to respond with for the moment.

"Oh, I sorry, I don't mean to be antisocial," Tychon offers Nicholas, mustering up a smile. "This really is a nice operation you've got running. I'm sure you'll have plenty more Air Wing company to look forward to." Whether its him or an apparently dumbfounded Bayless. Smirk. "You'll have to forgive me for running off, but we don't exactly get a lot of leave time. Have a good one." The nature of his appointment remains unspoken, of course. "Archer to Ares lead, I'm breaking formation. Good hunting." A little half-wave, half-salute goes with the announcement, and he thus abandons Bayless to her new friend.

"Brilliant," Nicholas replies to Tychon about the plenty of Air Wing, just a liiiiittle too drily to be totally sincere. But he does smile. And heads out.

Tychon leaves for Passage [O].
Tychon has left.

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