Fantasy The Magical 20's (Millie & Ze)

[DarthMillicent]

• @ZeMatticus
• @DarthMillicent
• Other Characters

• 
  Arthur (Art) Maddox
  Age: 29
  Height: 6'3”
  Weight: 235 lbs.
  Hair: Brown, streaked with early gray.
  Eyes: Brown with flecks of blue.
  
  Personality:
  Art could be basically summed up as a world-weary boy-scout.
  He grew up in a little farm town outside Chicago and his ma and pa raised him with good, strong moral character. So when the war broke out, he immediately signed up to go try to help people and do his duty to protect his home and family. As a kid, he was helpful to a fault, looked after his little sis (who he called Tidbit, being as he was always tall for his age and she was more then a bit short for hers) and her friends and quick to try to de-escalate conflicts from a fight. But once something came to blows, he wouldn't back down short of being knocked unconscious. He was always complete garbage at lying. And forthright to a fault.
  The war beat a good portion of that earnest out of him though. He's come back less gung-ho about stepping up to every fight, knowing most of them aren't near so black and white as they look now. There's a sarcasm to him that was absent in his younger years, if one thats largely inwardly pointed. There's also a quiet weight of some burden he wont speak of. But its plain to anyone looking at him he drowns out a lot of what happened in those years in the glittering, light filled halls of speakeasies. Watching the magical light-show and knocking back what he can manage to afford.
  
• 
  Minnie Adler
  25
  5’ 1”
  
  Minnie grew up rather plainly, in a lower middle class part of the city. Her mother was a seamstress, and her father had died soon after she was born. Minnie inherited her magical powers from her father, her mother was just ordinary. Thankfully, one of the old women in their building helped Minnie train her powers.
  At the age of eight, Minnie’s mother decided to move back to where she had grown up which meant leaving the city behind. Minnie didn’t mind much, as she had much more freedom in the more rural area. At 22, her mother passed which prompted Minnie to move back into the city. Trying her best to get a job, Minnie fell into a bad crowd. The life was glamorous though.
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  Coming Soon
  
  

 

[ZeMatticus]

For not the first time in a very long week, Arthur Maddock would find himself shin-deep in effluent mud, injured, and with no one to grip about it to but himself. “Supposin' that could have gone better...” He would murmur quietly to himself as he dug his fingers into his side. Now, there was a maneuver he wouldn't recommend to anyone on the right side of sane, digging a bullet out of themselves. But, well, he was a bit unusual in his recuperative abilities. And of course, it wasn't like there were too many doctors that were going to stitch up some broke hobo wandering into their practice off the street with a bullet hole. Least of all in Boston. It took a few moments, a lot of stifled cursing that would make his mama wash out his mouth with soap, and a utterly unfair amount of discomfort. But eventually, he manage to dig the slug out of his abdomen and tossed it away into one of the nearby puddles. “Go figure. Go off to war, get myself all shot up, go through all manner of unpleasantness in that bunker, spend better'n a decade puttin the hurt on everything evil west of Prauge. And what do I come home to? A bunch of the fuzz trying to bump me off.” He uttered grumpily as the skin around the wound writhed uncomfortably before stretching to knit back together, just as it had with several others in his somewhat... inelegant final return to the country of his birth. After that, he could do nothing but lean back against the storage shed he was hiding behind and sink down to the ground with a sigh. The sudden lack of blinding pain was almost like being shot up with narcotics all on its own, and for a moment, his thoughts went all fuzzy as some of the built up tension of the last few minutes eased out of his neck and shoulders.

He supposed it was only fair to expect that the return wouldn't go well. After all, legally, he was dead. And thanks to the number of people (and not people) who wanted that legality made into fact, well, it behooved him to let as few people know he was still alive and kicking as possible. So, going through the army that had sent him to Europe in the first place was pretty much out of the question. For that matter, so was going through customs, or immigration. Too many questions. Too much paperwork. And way too many people. Thanks be to the Lord a few friends he'd made had helped him out before he'd left. But even then, due to the unfortunate circumstances of his present condition... Well, riding up with the well-to-do passengers just wasn't much of an option.

So, he'd done what he had to do. Which in this case, meant smuggling himself home with the luggage. Unfortunately, he'd sorta bungled the sneaky part of his departure, and been spotted climbing onto the plane. So, of course, a whole bunch of cops had been all rev'd up and waiting to dig his still-frozen corpse out of the baggage compartment on arrival. Too bad for them he wasn't still a corpse. But, he had at least tried to be gentle, and didn't think any of them had worse then a few broken bones.... But what did he get for it? Shot. That was what he got for it. He got shot, and now he could feel a persistent nagging at the edges of his consciousness, between keeping alive for the plane ride, and patching up bullet holes, he wasn't in the best way. He'd have to do something about that too, before he started trying to find himself a ride west.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~

Three days later, Art was all bundled up and reclining in his ride west. It wasn't glamorous, but is was comfortable, and the company wasn't overly likely to complain about having a smelly, ragged-looking transient napping beside them. Of course, they had a tendency to try and nibble on his clothes and rucksack. But despite that, Art liked them.

“Good morning to you too” He would reply to a irritated bleat from one of the nearby sheep whose eyes were suddenly in the beam of the sun rising slowly up the horizon. He chuckled a bit, and wiggled till the hay beneath him re-molded itself to his back, settling in. He'd managed to sneak onto the train headed west two nights before. Wasn't all that hard. He'd learned a thing or two from the french hobos about getting free rides. And back home, the weigh stations weren't watched near so close. There hadn't been a lack of options either. He'd considered a cargo container. But that was all metal and wooden crates. Here, he had nice, comfy straw to lay up his sleeping bag in, and sad as it might be to say, the smelly critters reminded him of home... One of these days, he had to figure out what it was about sheep. Just about every animal under the sun seemed to either hate, or fear him these days... Except sheep. Part of him thought they were just too stupid to pick up on what it was the bothered the rest

By now though, he could tell he was getting close. “See that guys? Those cornfields mean i'm almost back. Another few hours, and you all will be rid of me!” It was nostalgic really, watching the landscape as it went by. Half a lifetime ago, he'd watched a lot of the same, only going the other direction when he shipped out. Kind of funny, back then, he somehow got it in his head he'd be seeing these sights again only a few short years later. Maybe less. Maybe even as a hero. That earned a laugh echoed as bleating by some of his nearby companions.. Times had certainly proven him wrong. It had taken eleven years... And here he was, almost home. Not as a hero by any means. Or as anything he'd care to admit. But, well, he was home....

Now, going home was right out of the question. Wasn't any way on this blue earth he'd be letting Ma and Pa, much less Tidbit and the girls see what had become of him in the war. Best the boy Arthur Maddox kicked the bucket fighting for his country and the bum presently riding the train could be a whole new fella. Instead, he figured heading back to Chicago though, would at least give him the advantage of a town he kind of remembered and used to know. Make it a bit easier to find work. Find a way to keep his condition quiet and from becoming a problem for anyone but him. The fact they'd gone and made everything from enchanting, imbuing, or even brewing up potions illegal made that whole problem a good bit more complicated.

But if there was any place an enterprising body could find his way into otherwise illicit goods, well, Chi-town was probably a good bet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~

So come the night, Art found himself wandering the streets around the rougher end of town. Somethings after all, never changed, least of all the sorts of places that catered to different sorts of folk. There was an order to things. Even if the specifics tended to move and shift around. "Ol' Doc Brannigan's pharmacy used to be right there. Bet he could have used a hand..."

He'd murmur as he made his way along, eyeing the corner unit where one of Pa's friends used to have his store. Of course, with the Prohibition, all the old pharmacists were probably out of business. Or just peddling snake oil now that they couldn't legally ply most of their trade anymore. Damn shame too. Wasn't like the Brannigan's would have been caught dead mixing up anything dangerous that could find its way to the neighborhood kids. But the public didn't much care. Not with all those newsreels of street punks turning themselves into monsters like were running around Europe in the war.

He'd give a sigh at that. He'd need to find himself some paying work soon or he'd be on the street in another few days. A good portion of the cash he had left on hand had gone to renting him a room to flop in for the night so he could shower and give one of his two lone outfits a wash in the sink before donning the other. At least an attempt to look presentable would hopefully help his case. Even if he didn't have a razor to shave with at the moment, or a pair of shoes that didn't look like they'd gone through a war.

 

[DarthMillicent]

Minnie Adler had gotten herself into quite an interesting predicament since moving back to Chicago a few years prior. Everything had started normal. She worked in a laundromat, tending to clothing that had been ripped or worn. It was a simple job, but one she could do well as she had watched her mother do it for so many years. It was also a job she could do without worrying about her magical abilities getting out. It paid fine enough, and she lived in a women's home nearby. That all lasted for about a year.

She had been scouted, in a way, by one of the members of a rather prominent Magical Gang. They called themselves the Torloni Family, though they weren't all actually related. His name was Max and he had found her at her job. She had mended quite a few of his suits and caught his eye one day when she was the one who brought his suit out to him. He found out through a series of events that she had her own powers and offered her a spot at one of the family run "clubs".

The clubs weren't exactly legal, but the life style that can with working in them was lavish. She was able to afford her own apartment, was always kept wonderfully dressed, ate out at the nicest restaurants, and best of all was able to use her magic every night. She was a performer now, dazzling those who came to the club with not only her looks and a bit of singing, but with magical feats. She would put on lovely shows for all those who came by, projecting things like stars all around the room and enchanting objects that lay about. She was considered part of the family now. There were a few other girls like her that performed or waitressed, all taken care of by the others.

Friday's were her night. She was in house most other nights of the week, but then it was just mostly mingling and keeping the customers happy. On Friday she performed. She got to dress up in her very best and just let herself go.

"Hour to show time, Min." One of the brothers called, knocking on the door to her room backstage.

 

[ZeMatticus]

Walking down sixteenth, Art caught it.
It wasn't something he could really describe to anyone who didn't share the particulars of his circumstance. And, well, all the rest of those fine and not so fine folks weren't still around anymore. Or, if they were, they wouldn't need the explanation. They knew as well as he did.
It was a sense in the air. One that didn't really fit into the senses he could readily describe. To him, it felt light a brightness. Not really hot like the sun. Or sharp like a lamp. But... A brightness that didn't really care that it was night out and the street wasn't all that well lit. It brought the world around into a sharper focus. Just a little bit.
It was the touch of magic in the air.
Magic that was plain illegal.
But someone didn't care. Probably a lot of someone's by the fact he was picking it up on a mostly deserted street. So it couldn't be all that close. Maybe one of the speakeasy's he'd heard tell of hopping trains on the way back.

For a moment, he waffled in place, rocking back on his heels. Following that sense wouldn't do a damn thing to solve his money woes. Wouldn't buy him a hot meal or let him rent out his room another few days. And right now, those were the most immediate concerns.
But it might help with another problem that wouldn't be too far behind those.
And at least it was a lead.
So with a bit of a grimace, he'd turn in place until the grimy alley's got just a little clearer to him and start walking again. Straitening up his vest and hat as he walked past a window and caught his translucent reflection. Making sure he was at least reasonably presentable.
Two blocks. Three.
No. That wasn't right. Too far.
Back a block.
Dingy. Dull. Not the butchers then.
Not the furniture store. That was all closed up. Hall couldn't make money if it wasn't letting anyone in.
There it was.
Restaurant on this side of town should have been bit grimy. Little run down.
This one, the paint couldn't be six months old. Still bright and vibrant. The interior all nicely lit up and clean.
No one around here was going to be able to afford to keep their business that nice looking selling plates the locals could afford.
And he could feel it here.
The clarity in the air. The way it all was just a little more then it could be otherwise.
This was the place.
So, he set himself down on a bench nearby to watch, and to listen. And to see what it took to get past the hot meals and into whatever was going on that wasn't presented up front.

 

[DarthMillicent]

Minnie sat in front of her mirror, making sure that her hair was just right. It was funny how even with magic she could always use a bobby pin or two more. Her long hair was down tonight, in finger waves with a braid at the front. With all the things she loved about this new era's style, she just couldn't get behind cutting her hair short. Most of that was due to a picture she had from her childhood, where she had a short bob and her ears looked much too large for her head. Ever since then she kept it long.

Her dress tonight was a dusty lilac color, one that the feather on her jeweled hair pin matched perfectly. It had a dropped waist and ended right below her knees, finishing in a row of beaded tassels. The entire thing was done up in intricate patterns of clear sequins that caught the light with her every move. Even just sitting at her vanity, she was a dazzle. Her makeup was simple as usual. Bright rouge, red lips, and a bit of cat-eye style black eyeliner.

For now, she was to stay in the back. A meal was bought to her, which she ate quietly alone. The moments leading up to showtime were always interesting. She would get ready, and then just relax for a bit while she ate. She wasn't allowed up front for now, as to not spoil her act or show off her outfit of the night. So she ate, and read a bit of her current novel from the library. A tale of romance in Paris, something she always day dreamed about.

Up front everything was starting to get on track. Patrons were rolling in one after the next, some familiar faces with their reserved tables and new comers who usually kept to the bar as they tested the waters. Of course, the patrons knew how to come and go without being suspicious. They filtered in slowly and at odd times, usually in numbers no larger than four, and anyone that left did so with a bag of what looked like leftovers. They had the local beat cops on the payroll, but you couldn't be too careful.

 

[ZeMatticus]

It really wasn't all that hard to spot. Not when you really sat and watched. Anyone paying attention with a set of eyes could figure a few things out. The doors clearly opened around six. Thats when he noticed another couple of staff turn up in the building that hadn't come in the entrance, or walked in through the alley beside the building.

Friends seemed to turn up around six-thirty. Couple of relaxed looking folks chatting quietly with dates. Maybe wives. Too casual to be business. Not half near fancy enough to be buyers looking for a good time.

Around seven was when business partners seemed to turn up. Sharp dressed men in suits who didn't look like they were having much fun or expecting to. Investors maybe. More likely part of the local outfit coming or going for purposes more work then pleasure.

Eight though, he started seeing what had to be customers. And in pretty hopping numbers.

The local fuzz must be on the payroll. No way the blue boys in this area wouldn't notice a restaurant where so many folks walked in. Yet the tables were almost always three-quarters barren.

Between six and nine, he counted ninety people walk into a place with visible seating for thirty. Thirteen came back out again. But he never saw more then five sitting and eating through the windows. And they'd been... eating... for three hours strait.

It was a pretty slick operation all told.

By nine though, it was time to get a little closer. There was only so much even someone really sharp could pick up from a quarter block away. So he spent a good ten minutes standing just outside and really listening.

Only then did he step inside. Giving the sharp young man behind the counter a nod and asking about the special on the boysenberry cobbler that a surprisingly large number of patrons had been quietly inquiring about in spite of the fact the place clearly didn't serve dessert.

Sometimes it was awful handy, having a sharp set of ears.

Sometimes it opened doors.

Like the rather fancy hidden panel door neatly sandwiched between the restroom entrance and the kitchen entrance where no one with common sense would expect to squeeze an extra door in.

This place did though. Along with a awful fancy set of banistered stairs leading down.

Down into a world growing sharper and more into focus with each passing step.

 

[DarthMillicent]

The club was decorated to the nines. Everything was luxurious, and if it was your first time there it would be hard to find a place to look. Everything was lit by the soft glow of floating candles, their yellowish light making everything seem much more serene than it was. Against one wall was a long wooden bar, complete with scrolling inlay work and a polished granite top. Behind the bar were two men, slinging drinks with the help of a bit of magic. Magical cocktails were once loved by the general public not only for their taste, but for the feelings they could give you and their presentation. More than a few sparked or bubbled quite a bit.

In the middle of the room was a dance floor that doubled as a stage. Behind it, was a lifted bandstand where a six piece group were busy tuning up. On a normal night there wasn't only a show, but dancing and music to pass the time. It was a wonderful way to let off steam. Twenty tables filled the nooks and crannies around the club, small and round with crisp linens and fine china. In some corners were plush red velvet couches, often where patrons would take a break from dancing to mingle.

Minnie had finished her routine by nine, having gone on around eight with a small break in between. Now was time to mingle and make sure the guests were happy. Three other girls were on tonight, two sisters names Georgie and Marie, and a older girl named Opal. Georgie was Minnie's closest friend, in and out of the business. A lovely girl with short, red hair and soft freckles. She was s few years older and had taken Minnie under her wing when she first arrived. Marie was her twin, though they looked little alike especially due to Marie's dark hair.

Minnie lingered by the bar, a glass of something bright pink in one silk gloved hand as she talked to an older gentleman, Richie, one of their regulars. The conversation was polite, mostly about his work and how Minnie was excited to see the beach for the first time in a few weeks time.

 

[ZeMatticus]

Thirteen steps down. Art wondered how many folks counted them.

Probably not too many he figured. Most folks were probably too busy being impressed by the hardwood fixtures. The snazzy lighting. And the two rather imposing looking gentlemen who probably served equal purpose keeping the wrong folks out and helping the ones inside who got too rowdy to settle down.

They definitely gave him a long, hard look up and down. Not that he blamed them. He doubted either of them was much used to having someone taller then them, or as broad in the shoulder show up.

The fact he still was sporting a hefty stubble from a lack of a decent razor and his suit was looking a bit rough on the edges probably didn't help either.

But after half a moment the hard eyes seemed to determine that, scruffy or not, his money spent just as well and he was all right.

Or else they just didn't feel like getting into an altercation with anyone his size unless they needed to.

So, Art would step past them into the basement club.

For just a moment as he stepped into the space, he stopped. Frozen.

The scale of it probably should have been enough. It was like something you'd see in the movies. Bright and glamorous, and fanciful all at once. A condensation of bygone times when a trip to the corner store could buy you a drink to truly lift your spirits. Or, for that matter, to lift you entire.

Given he saw more then one couple was literally dancing on air, apparently somebody here or somebody supplying the place knew how to whip up a pretty damn solid hover charm.

He could see a patron who had a glamour-ed cloud of tiny butterfly's in a prismatic array of hues dancing around their hair and shoulders like an insubstantial fluttering cape. And another one who's smile was both figuratively and literally incandescent.

But none of that was really what hit him. Well, not the details his mind and senses were drinking in.

Instead, it was the way that the as soon as the door opened for him, the world abruptly snapped into laser-focus. The murky, muddy uncertainty of the normal world burned away and was suddenly replaced with a world of vibrant sharpness and crystal clarity.

He didn't head the din of people enjoying the evening. He heard a hundred different conversations. Silvery peals of laughter, cheerful words, angry implications, and lower, more intensely intimate insinuations slithering over and around each other like a pile of snakes that tangled on top of the chattering of shoes on hardwood. Clinking glassware. And a thousand other subtle tiny sounds that all stood out together and individually.

And it was just that same for each of his senses.

It hit him so hard he rocked back on his feet for a moment before a slow, deep breath could settle his nerves.

And fight down the sudden feeling of pressure beneath his skin that went momentarily pale.

It was the bouncers which probably saved it. He heard one of them behind him snickering and remarking something about bumpkin farm boys in Italian he probably thought wasn't going to be understood. While he was undoubtedly correct, the flash of irritation at the insinuation cleared everything up enough for Art to settle himself and head towards the bar.

Ok. Keep the tenant in line.

Making his way over, he took note of the suits that were probably spotting for the two big boys by the door, in case they needed to come in and have a conversation with someone. And he took note of the girls circulating among the patrons, doubtlessly doing plenty to make sure everyone was all smiles and those conversations weren't likely to happen.

At least not unless someone just got way too much in them.

In that sort of heady atmosphere there, even Art's bit of roughness around the edges wasn't likely to be much remarked on. If anyone even noticed in the chaotic lighting.

So it wasn't hard to make his way up and flag down one of the boys slinging drinks to order something that sparkled and would cost him more then he could afford right now.

 

[DarthMillicent]

Richie started to talk to one of the Brothers, something about business that didn't interest Minnie much. She gave them a smile and sauntered away. The night was still young, and there were patrons to see. After her show she could do just about anything she wanted as long as all of the guests were happy. And they usually were. There were drinks and magic, most people were pretty comfortable being there for hours.

But it was on the off chance that she found someone new, someone by themselves who didn't look like they had gotten a hold of things yet, that she had to work. A new customer meant the potential for repeat business. It also of course meant things getting out, or something happening. Both cases were just as important as one another. One of her main jobs was to keep new customers happy so they would not only return, but want to keep the club safe.

She found one such newbie tonight.

Sitting at the end of the bar she saw a man who didn't quite fit it. It wasn't just the fact that he seemed to have never seen the club before, but also the fact that he was pretty underdressed.

"Hey, Dick, put that one on my tab will yah?" She asked in a sing-song voice as she sat herself down on a tall stool next to Art, and pointed at the drink being served to him. "I'm Minnie." She said, extending her hand to him. Atop her white glove sat a dainty ring with a pearl in the center.

 

[ZeMatticus]

The new arrival would blink at the sudden attention for a moment. Seemingly not knowing how to react.

He was tall. Rather markedly taller then even the gent's working the door. Young-ish. But it was hard to pick out whether he was floating somewhere in his twenties, thirties, or forties. The gray sparkling heavily in his hair and the tired slump to his shoulders suggested the upper range. But his face read younger. As did the wonder in eyes that looked the same mundane, muddy brown of his hair until the light caught them just right and what looked like flecks of saphire emerged.

He was wearing a suit that had been a fine things once. But was well past that point now. Slightly ill fitting that meant either it had been fit to someone else entire, or the one wearing it hadn't always had quite his current shape. The sort someone bought years ago, wore often with much love, and kept together through the years by virtue of an extremely dedicated and talented seamstress and sheer will. But that didn't have many years left before that will gave out and it began to entirely fray apart.

In fact, the look of the suit seemed to reflect more then a fair bit about the man wearing it. Right up until something seemed to register in the mans face and he simultaneously flushed a slight red in the cheeks and bloomed a warm smile on his face. Both of which together worked to melt fifteen years off of him as he lifted his own hand, gently taking her own for just the moment it took him to reply. “I'm sorry. Been a long time and half a world since I've had anyone buy me a drink. And they weren't anywhere near as pretty.”

He would admit with the sort of shy sincerity that reeked of someone who grew up on a farm somewhere and somewhere. Even if it had been a number of years and miles since. It went well with the smile. “Arthur. Or Art mostly these days.”

 

[DarthMillicent]

"Well I make it my business to make sure I meet everyone who comes in here, and make them feel comfortable." Minnie answered with a firm single nod of her head. "Good business, don't yah think?" Her smile lit up, reaching up to make her eyes wrinkle. It was somewhere between genuine and forced, even she couldn't tell anymore. She had flashed the same smile at so many men, it was just an involuntary action by now.

"And I know you're new around here, so you'll have to tell me where you're from and how you found us." It was meant to sound like simple small talk, but in fact Minnie was gathering intelligence for the Brothers. They always called her their little spy because not only was she good at getting information out of the patrons, she had a wonderful memory of it all and of their faces. She knew everyone's business like it was her own, since it sort of was. She wasn't exactly a gossip though, since she mostly kept it to herself. She only told what was important. Who had money and who could help out the cause. Everything else was trivial.

 

[ZeMatticus]

“Guessing so. Awful lot fancier then anything I'd have have expected from outside, that's for sure.” Art'd admit with a smile and a long, slow glance around the room, taking in the surprising grandeur and scope of the operation again. It let him mostly bypass the not-so-genuine smile. Even if he heard it reflected in her words when she started asking her questions.
It wasn't really small talk. He'd need to be a lot drunker, or a lot younger to take it for that. But it was a fair question. Folks here were running a business that walked the wrong side of the law. True, they probably paid the law plenty to look the other way, and that kept things well enough. But some scruffy looking stranger shows up, its bound to make people nervous. Make them wonder how he went and walked up, finding their happy little hide away like someone had gone and marked a sign out front. So seemed fair enough a question. And besides, he really wasn't much of a liar, even if her wanted to me.
Though probably for the best no one got the thinking there was a bloke around who could sniff out magic without a divination to do it with. Would end up raising all kinds of problematic questions. So, he gave most of the truth. Just, not quite the whole bit. “Tell ya' the truth... It's my first day back in town. Only been back stateside for 'bout a week now. I'm still getting my bearings.”
Smiling a bit wistfully as he considered the little glass in his hand, which perhaps oddly, had lost its sparkle sometime turing their conversation, and looked like just plain old alcohol floating in the glass. “Things have sure changed the last ten years.”
He'd muse with a little shake of his head.
Looking back up to her then, he'd give a little shrug. “As to finding, there's really not much story to it. Just paying attention really. Spent most of the day pounding pavement, looking for work and was having a sit to relax outside you all's restaurant upstairs. Didn't take long to take to noticing that a lot more folks were walking into the place then were leaving. But it didn't seem to be getting any fuller. Sort of thing that makes a guy curious. So got a little closer. Listen a little more. Didn't take much more time to figure out there might be a place to get a drink and close out the day in a better note. Took even less to notice the fact the folks who were vanishing in back all seemed to order the same weird plate.”

 

[DarthMillicent]

"So what you're saying is we're doing a lousy job here? What with keeping up appearances?" Minnie asked, looking at him over the rim of the drink she had just picked up off the bar. Opal's brother, Jimmy, was one of the bartenders and he knew Minnie well. He knew what she liked to drink and was always coming up with new things for her to try. Tonight it was some sort of purple-hued gin martini. "Or you're trying to feed me some bunk about how you really found us."

She fluttered her eyelashes, trying to keep up the appearance of being innocent. Even when she was getting down to business, she always kept her tone light and sweet. "I'm not some dumb Dora, Mr. Arthur. I've seen it all." He obviously either had an in or was some sort of magic user. No one found their place just by "looking", it was designed to blend in.

"Since you're new in town, I'll expect you don't know but this club is run by the Torloni family, and you don't exactly want to be withholdin' information from them. If you get what I mean." She delivered this with a smile, sipping her drink and keeping her eyes on Art.

 

[ZeMatticus]

"Not a remark on what folks here are doing." He would retort with a mild smile over his glass at the unexpectedly defensive remarks. Strait to business, and not bothering to beat around the bush with it. She much really think he was up to something fishy. Or just figure he was likely to get riled.
Nodding his head at some of the patrons dancing nearby though, he'd just muse instead. "One about people. Most of them dont pay much attention. Even when they're paid to. But when they start doing it, its awful hard to hide much from them."
Silently, he wondered if she realized that the sweet little tone she was affecting only made the rather pointedly threatening words seem... Well, quite a bit menacing.
Probably.
But seemed like an awful lot of effort to scare some poor bloke who just wandered in off the street for a drink. Still, even if it took an fair bit to scare him these days, it only seemed fair to keep up appearances, just like she was. So, lifting his hands a bit as though holding them up in surrender, he would insist. "Not a bit of bunk in me Miss Minnie. Could put that to a Falsehood-Finding brew if it will let you feel better."
Which was all true of course. He hadn't told a single lie. Or anything even close.
Well, maybe that french lady had been sort of pretty too. But he stood by Minnie being quite a bit prettier.
And honestly, if they wanted to feed him a spell to speak the truth. Well, he'd just keep on doing it just as well as he had been, while the tenant got a little more of a kip and everyone was a good bit happier.
Though that probably wasn't going to be the end of it. By the sounds of it, it was a mob joint. Though he'd be damned if he had any clue who the Torloni's were. Wasn't anything for a self-respecting teenage farm boy to know. And he hadn't been back this way since that had been exactly what he was.
Tilting his glass in acknowledgement then as he let his hands down, he'd promise.
"If your bosses are so inclined, I'm sure they'll find the room I'm renting in short order, just like I said. And be able to talk to folks to track back where I've been looking for work. Honest as the tides. Just here for a drink or two to take some of the sting off the day. Be back out to the job hunt sooner then latter."