Stripping or... ironing?
Stripping or… ironing?
Summary: James and Evan discuss employment opportunities
Date: 80ACH
Related Logs: One for the Ladies

Evan glances over at James, head tilting slightly to the side. She studies him for a moment then offers a small smile. "It looks like I missed something," she murmurs softly.

James smiles slightly, setting his wine down on the bar top. "I believe the young man was offered a position, miss," he explains simply. "I rather seem to have walked in on audition time, I think."

A brow arches upward and she glances after Sasha, making a soft sound in the back of her throat, something almost a purr. "I see," she murmurs. "Interesting. Very interesting." Then she's turning her attention back to poor James. "Not a bad time to walk in, I suppose," Lioness says in her low, quiet voice. "Could have been worse. Of course, if you get the chance, there's a chanteuse who visits from time to time. Her show is not to be missed."

James nods his head in gratitude. "Is that so? Well, I shall be certain to come back to see her sing, then, the very next time I'm able. Your dancing was very good," he adds hurriedly. "Very… moving. Artistic."

Her look to James is, well, a touch bemused. "Thank you," she offers, dipping her head graciously. "He was faltering a bit, and I was hoping to either distract Nick or inspire the young man into something a touch…different. I didn't realize you were here in time to see part of the act."

"Barely," James admits with a light smile, taking up his drink for another sip. "I think I was a few minutes late to enjoy the whole show. I'm sorry, where are my manners, would you like another drink, miss?"

"Evan," she supplies softly, offering him her hand, palm down. "Or Lioness, if you'd prefer." There's something a touch incongruous about her. Things don't quite click. She's a dancer - on the pole, if the earlier display was an example. Yet she has the manners of a lady. "And no, thank you. This one's fresh and I tend to make them last." Lips tilt upward a little, though her eyes are kept demurely lowered.

James takes the hand to squeeze briefly, bowing his head in a gentlemanly manner. "A pleasure, then, Miss Evan. James Holloway, nice to meet you."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Holloway," she replies, dipping her head. "What brings you to Destiny this evening? It is…rare we see gentlemen such as you in a place like this."

"To be frank with you, I was passing and found myself curious," James admits with a disarming smile. "I heard the music, you see, and since the place seemed otherwise quiet, I was intrigued. And, naturally, it seemed rude not to stay for a small drink or two."

Eyes crinkle just a little at the corners as she studies him, considering the man in front of her. "A gentleman, certainly," she says, leaning back on her stool. "Not many would think of those little…civilities." Then she smiles, softly. "Nick runs a wonderful club - fair."

"The gentleman in the suit?" James hazards a guess, then nods. "He seems a hospitable fellow, and the club is very well kept. I will admit that I've otherwise stayed away from here until now, expecting sticky carpets and barroom brawls every night. Perhaps a little unfair of me to judge, but still."

Evan can't help but laugh quietly at that and she shakes her head. "That is…for the lower class clubs," she says with a slight lift of her shoulder. "He runs a much higher class establishment." There's a pause and she grins, a bit impishly. "I take it you…have previous experience with such places?"

"The sticky carpets and barroom brawls sort of places? Oh, gosh, no," James hurriedly corrects her. "I'd like to think I have more sense than to find myself in somewhere like that, or more accurately to find myself shortly outside somewhere like that, battered, torn, and without my wallet."

"Mmmmm," she replies, laughing softly. "I don't know," she muses playfully. "You strike me as a gentleman who has had enough experience to…comment."

James shakes his head earnestly. "I assure you, Miss Evan, my experiences are of the far more mundane kind. You're more likely to find me at the golf club than any other sort."

Evan can't help but chuckle at that and she finally gives up teasing him. "I wonder if we'll find a ship with a golf course on it while we're out here," she murmurs quietly. "We found one with a water park, after all. What is it you do when you're not on the golf course?"

James gives a self effacing smile. "I'm a senior partner with Pike and Holloway. We're a Caprican firm dealing in property law. Although I'm not altogether certain how much use that still is given the circumstances."

Her smile gentles a little and she nods, once. "Sometimes, though, it's…rather nice to hold onto the old ways, the old things," she murmurs quietly, understandingly. "How did you come to be with the fleet?"

James extends one hand to take in the club and the ship in general. "Two weeks vacation after the completion of a particularly tricky trust fund case. My client suggested a cruise holiday, so here I am. Relaxing," he adds wryly.

"As two weeks turned into three months," she says with a little laugh. "The cruise holiday turned into a fight for your life. Oddly interesting, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm not sure it's the classical definition of 'interesting', ma'am, but it's certainly not quite what I'd envisioned," James agrees, taking up his glass for another sip of wine. "I assume you work for the cruise line?"

"Evan, please," she tells him, smile fading briefly as she takes a sip of her drink. "And you can say that, I suppose. I strip, have an act here several nights a week." Well, at least she's honest.

James coughs into his wine, before patting at his chest. "Well, gosh. How… yes. It must be a very interesting profession. Have you…" a pause as he can't bring himself to refer to it as stripping "…danced for long?"

There's a shadow in her eyes as she studies him, then looks away. "Ten weeks, or so," she says quietly, looking out over the quiet club. Ten weeks, not long after the attacks. Lone civilian. Female. "It's good exercise," she allows after a bit, a weak joke.

"I'm sure," James readily agrees, brows drawn together. "I'm terribly sorry, I really shouldn't pry, should I? Are you sure I can't get you another drink?"

Evan glances over at him and chuckles softly. "It's alright," she tells him softly. "There's no need to apologize. It's…a fact of life, now. We do what we have to do to survive. Some of us have the skills needed by the military. Some of us…provide comfort."

"Well, I don't want you to think that I'm treating you as some sort of charity case, ma'am, but…" he trails off, wrinkling his nose as he tries to find a polite way to put it. "I'm not too badly off myself. If you would rather find something more… ahem. Well. A different way in which to survive."

She tilts her head slightly to the side, considering him with no small measure of surprise. "Ahh," she begins quietly. "It would depend on the nature of the arrangement," she says, voice going a bit more quiet. She's still now, barely breathing.

James settles his hands flat on the bar top in front of him and spreads his fingers, a nervous habit. "Ah. Well. Perhaps I really shouldn't have said anything. It's dreadfully rude of me, after all."

Evan laughs quietly and leans in, gently nudging his shoulder with hers. "Thank you for the lovely offer," she murmurs quietly. "But I don't know that I'd do well as your whore, Counselor."

James starts at that, eyes widening. "As my… no, no, no!" he hurriedly insists. "No, not at all! I didn't mean… no! Gosh, I'm not that sort of a fellow. And I'm sure you're not that sort of a lady either! I was thinking more along the lines of, you know, cleaning. Ironing, perhaps. Watering the plants for me. Not… oh, gosh, no. Nothing else, I assure you!"

She gives him a small, wry little smile, a brow arched. "Nothing else," she asks quietly, leaning in toward him a bit. There's a low, quiet sound in the back of her throat, not quite a growl, not quite a purr. "Is there's a reason you'd not be…interested in the type of lady I may, or may not, be?"

The hands go flat on the bar top again. "I'm sure you're a delightful young lady, ma'am, but… really! A gentleman doesn't make such suggestions of a lady! I couldn't possibly!" James insists, cheeks flaring up.

Oddly enough, she doesn't seem to be taking any delight in teasing him. In fact, there's an air of sadness in her eyes. "No, no they don't," she says after a moment, glancing away, fingers curling around her drink a bit more tightly. She takes a sip, shoulders falling a bit, as if she's exhausted.

James clears his throat softly, composing himself. "Well. Quite." He takes up his glass for a long drink, shaking his head. "I do apologise if I seemed to imply anything untoward, ma'am. Are you married?"

"I don't know," Evan says softly, looking down at her drink blindly. Another sip, and she's looking back to him, head tilting slightly. "Are you?"

"Engaged," James replies, setting his drink down. "Do please tell me to be quiet if I'm being overly curious, but how can you not know, exactly?"

A sip before she answers, eyes darkening as she watches him. "Because my husband was taken by the military command aboard Pegasus," she says quietly, flatly. "When the military raped our families and ships, leaving us for dead. Does that answer your question, Mr. Holloway? And your fiancee', is she with you? Is she one of the survivors?"

James nods slowly at that, brows drawn together. "I see, yes. I'm terribly sorry, I really am. I shouldn't have asked. I should have guessed. You have my sincerest condolences, ma'am. We can hope, however, that the crew of the Pegasus are at least caring for him and that he's well."

There's a gentle, gracious dip of her head, though the anguish is still visible for a moment or two. "Thank you," she says, voice low and quiet. "And your fiancee', I hope she is well?" Back to cocktail party manners.

"She was with her family at home," James replies simply, finding it wholly unnecessary to fill in the blanks.

Evan dips her head, once, understanding in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says softly, after a moment. Then she lifts her glass in toast. "To loved ones gone, but not forgotten."

James lifts his glass in kind, inclining his head. "To loved ones gone but not forgotten," he echoes. "I'm sorry, I really am. I've rather lowered the tone to something terribly morbid, haven't I?"

She doesn't look at him, but at a point off in the distance, in front of her. A single tear tracks along her cheek. "It's life," she says after a moment. "We have it. We have to hold to it, no matter what. That's not morbid. It's survival."

"If I can possibly help with survival, do please ask," James insists, reaching into his inside pocket for a business card. "My number, if you find yourself in want of some more, admittedly rather mundane, employment."

Evan glances over and offers a small smile, reaching out to take the card. "Thank you," she says softly. "I likely won't be contacting you. But thank you. Please feel free to come see me dance? I'm here several nights a week, for a few hours, at least."

"I'm not entirely sure that would be appropriate," James allows with a sheepish smile. "I'm afraid I'm rather old fashioned about these things."

She watches him for a moment, a brow arched slightly, then chuckles. "You'd best slip out now, then," she warns. "This morning's entertainment will be taking the stage in ten minutes."

"Oh, gosh, I think I'd rather had, then," James agrees, taking another sip of his wine, then setting the glass down, still with some dregs in it. "I'm sorry," he adds, voice lowered, "I'm not terribly familiar — is it polite to leave a tip here or would that cause offence?"

"I'll take care of it," she assures him softly, a gentle smile on her lips. "You'd best make good your escape, Counselor."

James pulls out his wallet, leaving a generous amount on the bar. "Thank you kindly, ma'am. I wish you every success with your new career."

Evan watches him with a hint of bemusement in her eyes. "And yours, as well," she murmurs quietly.

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