Live A Little

The Empress (Avg NPCs: 20)
This club of ill repute holds none of the usual qualities that have come to be
associated with most of the other seedy establishments that are dotted through
the City of Angels. While it is, at essence, still a haven and showcase for
women who display their flesh for money, it is a glorified version of such.
The women here are succulent, sweet and as tempting as the fruit from the
gardens of sacred Eden. Those who work here are called, in tribute to the
heritage of their hometown, Angels. Never of virgin stock, they always appear
as such anyway, playing to the fantasies of those who haunt this most esteemed
establishment. Poles of pure silver are lined along the length of the east and
west walls, harboring maidens of driven snow, with each lit in the background by
a soft, white light, dimmed so as to not outshine the prizes that they
illuminate. Any person, male or female, can rent the bodies and confidence of
these Angels, if the price is right, though anyone seeking to do so should
ensure that their pocketbook is thick.

* Exits *
south - Intersection of Santa Monica and Vine

Ceasar is standing at the bar wearing a completely white Armani suit with a matching fedora, and a white Kiton shirt with the top few buttons undone. He's leaning his back against the bar with a cell phone held to his ear. His legs are casually crossed beneath him as he speaks into the phone, "Sure, I can do that. I do have to wrap a few things up first…"

Strutting from table to table just across the room is the club's resident she-devil, bedecked in nothing more than her customary pasties, platforms, and g-string, all fire-themed of course. On her head are the twisting black horns, large enough to be visible, yet small enough not to hinder any of her dances. Her body moves with sinuous grace as she loses herself in the dance, her lips parted just so and her eyes peering down at her customers with a half-lidded sort of desire. As always, the wallets empty once she begins working the room, and everything about her demeanor tends to show that she enjoys the hell out of every minute.

Ceasar notices Madison dancing across the room and offers a slight smile in her direction as he continues speaking into the phone, "I would need to wrap something up before I leave. Is this something that has to be done at the lounge, or can we just meet up at the Empress?" He watches Madison work the floor with his sparkling, crystal blue eyes. An impressed look sits upon his face, either at her ability to manipulate her clients out of their money, or the sheer magnetism of her physical form. He continues, obviously a bit distracted, "Of course, I'll be there as soon as I can." He flips the phone shut and slides it into his right pocket as he continues to survey the floor, trying not to stare at Madison.

The last bill she takes from a patron is folded lengthwise in one hand, allowing her to brush it along the side of the man's cheek with a full-throated laugh as she stalks away from him. Without preamble, she slithers her way towards the bar, and Ceasar, walking as if she wears nothing but the finest of clothes, her chin inclined in the slightest. The hoots and hollers are ignored for the time being as she bumps her hip against the bar, leaning against it with a casual sort of elegance. "How goes the business, hm?" she asks while quirking an eyebrow, her shimmering amethyst eyes standing out in stark contrast to the jet black eyeliner she wears.

Ceasar turns towards Madison, shifting his weight from his back to his elbow, now leaning against the bar. He looks her over for a moment, a slight smirk forming on his lips as he responds, "From the looks of things, it's going well." He gives Madison a quick wink before looking at the bartender, "Get this gorgeous young lady a…" He looks back at Madison, arching an eyebrow just slightly, "..Mojito?"

A grin washes across Madison's face as she shifts her gaze from her employer to the bartender and back again. "Now, now, Mr. Salerno. Don't go corrupting the help," she admonishes teasingly while waggling one finger in his direction. "I'm on the clock. If I need a little liquid encouragement, I'll take it before my set," she winks at him, amusement rife in her voice.

Ceasar shrugs and looks at the bartender, "Delay that request till the end of her shift." He looks back to Madison, grinning, "Well if you're working…work." He tilts his head towards the floor playfully as he nibbles on his lower lip. He looks her over one last time before tilting his head back, locking eyes with her with a jovial smile on his face.

The doors to the Empress are opened by two men, both of them rather in the tall and built side and both with military crew cut hairstyles. The only difference is that one has black hair and looks perhaps of Latino origin, the other blonde hair and seems to be standard American. Following through the door is a large, blonde haired man with a crew cut and a quite Nordic look to him, and following behind him is Markus. Markus is dressed rather casually as he wears a brown Motocross style leather jacket, the lining carrying the trademark Burberry London print. The jacket hugs his form quite nicely, it doesn't slouch off his shoulders rather it hugs them, and the jacket follows the form of his body. The jacket is left unzipped to about over where his navel would be to reveal a white t-shirt that says "Mezcal. Lick it. Suck it. Swallow the worm." The top of the jacket hits his waist, covering the top of a pair of dark, well fit jeans. On his feet he wears a pair of vintage, low-top, black leather boots with silver buckles. While the sleeves end just above his wrists to give a peak at a silver link bracelet, his hands are covered by his trademark black leather gloves. As he enters the club, he reaches up to the frames of a pair of smokey lensed aviator glasses and removes them from his eyes. As soon as Markus and the Nordic man step in, the two men close the door and presumably wait on the street or in a car. "Go grab us a table, hmm?" Markus says softly to the Nordic man who gives a nod and makes his way off. Markus' eyes are however somewhere else, as they scan the room and land squarely on Madison and Ceasar, a slight amused look coming to his eyes, though his overall expression stays neutral and dispassionate.

Another bout of laughter makes its way from Madison's throat as she cants her head to the side, lithely pushing away from the bar itself with her hip. "I'm letting them stew," she explains in a lowered voice, leaning in towards Ceasar so that she can still be heard above the thundering music. "They still have their eyes on me, I know it. The more they wait, the more they wonder if I'll take another tour of the floor, and if it'll be my last for the evening. They'll be more inclined to share some of their wealth with me if they think it'll keep me around longer." An eyebrow lifts as the newest occupants make themselves known, her gaze shifting from her boss to the potential customers. The club's lights reflect prettily off of the pasties sticking to her body, shaped like small tongues of flame, which only matches the flame-inspired g-string. "He actually wore it," is her only comment before falling into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth with one hand.

Two large bouncer's take a step towards Markus upon seeing his attire. Once they recognize who it is, they both look towards Ceasar in unison. Ceasar sees them looking at him first, then quickly after notices Markus. An amused grin creeps across his face and he give the bouncers a nod to let them pass. The bouncers quickly return to their posts without giving it another thought, and Ceasar looks to Madison, chuckling slightly as he lets out, "That what was in the package?"

"Burberry, boys, learn to recognize it," Markus says to one of the bouncers as he passes by him, and tugs a soft tug at the collar of the leather jacket, "It's a little more than a week's worth of your work." With that, he keeps on walking and gives a nod to the Nordic man, who stopped for just a moment but continued walking. Markus gives the man a soft wink, who merely shakes his head as if to say 'Long night.' The Nordic man sits down at a table, and when a waitress comes for his drink order he drinks a coke, and jerks a thumb at Markus. When the waitress looks to Markus, he merely inclines his head to Ceasar and gives her a wink. "Mister Salerno," he says to the man and takes a look at Madison, lofting an eyebrow. A soft snicker is elicited from his lips, the eyebrow falling and he says in a slightly 'professional' mixed with playful tone, "Persephone."

Violet eyes wander up and down Markus' frame with an approving nod, the bills stuck in the g-string crinkling beneath her hand as she presses it to her ample hip. "Ah, it suits you just as I thought it would. It's good to see you're taking a professional's advice," she purrs with a wink at Markus. "Sorry, boys, but I have to get back to work. The daily grind and all of that you know," she adds with a shimmy of her hips and a light note of laughter. Leaning towards Markus, she drops her voice to a whisper, "I think Candi's on tonight, a little later." And with that enigmatic missive, the horned woman grins and turns about, making her way towards the first table to wave a bill in her general direction.

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