Welcome To The Hotel California

Hotel California - Conference Room
Though fairly expansive, this room is typically partitioned off to create the
illusion of a more intimate setting. An elongated ovular table takes up the
majority of the space, running down the center of the room with high-backed
office lounge-chairs complete with rollers for the comfort of the occupants.
When needed, the proxy wall to the north can be folded back to lie flush,
revealing the true size of this large room. A large bay window to the west
gives a charming view of a well tended garden. Heavy shutters are equipped on
automatic rollers should darkness be required.

* Exits *
east - Hotel California - Lobby (Avg NPCs: 10)
(Jonathan) A tall man with long messy brown hair. is here. (App 2) [ ] ||

Okay, your doing is now practices some sweet moves on the conference table.

As the jungle continues its hostile takeover of Los Angeles outside the walls of the hotel, it seems that perhaps some people didn't get the memo about how severe the situation really is. Strutting across the large, ovaloid conference table is a leggy redhead wearing what amounts to a scarlet sequined bathing suit, with two black ribbons on her hips keeping the bottoms in place. Candles set at either end of the table provide some measure of light, the light reflecting beautifully off of her suit and the black platform heels she wears on her feet. Attached to her upper arm by a velcro pouch is a small, thin iPod with white wires connecting it to the earbuds in her ears. Her eyes are half-shut as she dances languidly across the table, her lips moving now and again in time with whatever song is playing.

The doors to the room open to admit a tall man with long shaggy brown hair that rests against either side of his bronze-tinted flesh. It seems to have an almost shined luster to it though not quite there as the light catches it. He gazes up at the woman on the table briefly before raising a brow and setting down the saxophone case he'd been carrying. Perhaps he was going to play in silence. He leans back against the doorframe though as it closes and raises the bottle he'd held in his opposite hand to take a short drink of whatever it was that was concealed within. Still he only watches, having come as quietly as what could have been a predatorial cat or wolf though he doesn't seem to be quite interested in the woman's motions, rather the irony of the situation.

After a misstep that nearly causes the young woman to topple off the table, she has the audacity to laugh uproariously and pull a hand through her coppery hair. Under the faint light of the candles her hair seems to shine like dark garnets as she tosses her head, a smile still twitching on her lips as she counts the steps, slower this time. Nodding her head as if her little gaffe had been corrected, she lifts the back of one hand to the underside of her nose, breathing out a long sigh. Behind her a plume of smoke drifts up towards the ceiling, the scent of peach cigar tobacco heavy in the air nearest where she stands and just beside it sits a bottle made of a dark blue glass. It's the former that she squats down to reach for, putting the half-consumed cigarello between her plush lips and taking in a long drag.

Jonathan allows his lips to curl in somewhat of a wry smirk as he watches that cigar raise to her lips. He raises a calloused hand to brush through the brown locks of his own hair to press it away from his face as he takes another drink of the bottle at his side, "Having fun?" He says calmly, breaking the silence of the room though he had no doubt she may not even hear him over the IPod.

It's more the movement she catches out of the corner of her eyes from her position than anything else that gives the lustrous woman a jolt, both of her russet eyebrows lifting high as her free hand tugs out the earbuds so she can hear properly. She makes no move to rise as of yet, instead rather steady and content to squat where she is with her elbows resting on her knees. A husky voice falls from between her reddened lips as her eyes rake over the man in the doorway, "You're not one I've seen in this place before." No sooner had she stopped speaking than the cigarello is tucked back between her lips, her cool gaze still resting rather openly on the only other being in the room.

Jonathan gazes back at her from his spot on the wall, the bottle raised again for a long drink before parting it from his full lips to set down on the saxophone case at his side, "Ye've have not seen me, because ah've chosen not ta make mahself known." He replies as those lips curl into the same smirk. Oddly his eyes don't seem to travel your form as any regular male would, even a gay man as a woman of her stature could quite possibly even draw, "Ah don't believe ah've seen you before though."

Rising with astonishing grace for one bedecked in such torturous heels, Madison strolls with a sway in her step towards the edge of the table with the click-click-click of her platforms heralding her arrival. The smoke from her chosen flavor of cancer-stick trails behind her, her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. "Or you just didn't think anyone was here and so you came here," she nearly purrs after tugging the cigarello from her mouth between her middle and index fingers. "If you don't make it a habit to visit The Empress, then no I would imagine you probably haven't seen me before." She gives a light sniff before continuing, "But what brings you here now? Did some bull-horse thing try to smash you to pieces? Or was it the laughing trees, hm?" she questions with a giggle at the end, amusement riding high in her voice.

Jonathan chuckles softly as he watches the woman, his gaze drifting over the cigar between her lips. His arms raise to cross over his chest, compressing the trench coat worn about his form though if she was perceptive enough she'd notice long hilts of daggers within. Likewise, a wrapped hilt of another blade on his back, "Oh, ah came here because Gollum's fucking mother started chasin' meah through the brush. Ah've found the jungle ta be more interesting than naught though."

With one hand held lightly against the swell of her hips, the scarlet-haired dancer seems momentarily confused by the reference but merely shakes her head gently from side to side. As she listens to this newcomer, she expels a few rings of smoke, tilting her head back and only vaguely concentrating on the motion. "Interesting is definitely not a word I'd use for that shit outside, that's for damned sure," she mutters with a frown twitching on her lips. She bends over and stretches one leg down to the ground and, as the other drops down as well, she stubs out the remainder of her cigarello on the wooden tabletop with just a practiced twist of her wrist. "I don't dare go out at night and I've only been out twice at all. Everything's brighter at noon, makes it easier to see those bull-things coming."

Jonathan laughs softly at that, his voice naturally muted though ringing with something of a deep baritone, "Ah, but at night…it makes it easier ta avoid tha stuff out there." He reaches down to the case then and take the handle to pick it up as he lifts the bottle, making his way over to the table where he sets the two down together, "If ah was not interrupting ye, ah'll admit ah did come here ta play mah saxophone. Jazz is one of the tunes ah enjoy. Tha name's Jonathan Krenshaw, but ye can call me Jon."

Madison sweeps one arm out to the side in a grand gesture as if to indicate the rest of the room while chuckling low in her throat, "Ah, well then.. have at, Jono." This she says with a smirk writ across her face and a glimmer in her eyes that, upon closer inspection, seem to be a peculiar lavender in color. "I won't stop you, even if it's not the usual thing I tend to dance to. Let's just hope the sweet melodies of the sax isn't confused with some sort of mating call by the baddies outside," she says as she turns around, her natural gait putting a sway into her hips as she rounds the table to get to the bottle sitting all alone on the opposite side. Each one of her tattoos are readily visible in her mockery of an outfit, but if she were shy or uncomfortable about any of it she gives no outward indication.

Jonathan chuckles softly as he gazes out towards the shuttered window, "Hmm, ah don't think they'll be comin' in here. If they do….you're well protected ah can assure." He replies with something of a ghost of a smile on his lips before opening the case. The saxophone gleams in the light, polished by a careful hand. He pulls each of those polished pieces, circa 1920-1930 if one knew what she was looking at, and begins piecing them together, "If ye want to dance, ye can. Ah've no stopping ye. Ye do have ah talent for it though otherwise ye wouldn't be here."

"What I have a talent for is running away faster than my pursuers are running -at- me," responds the bikini-clad woman in a droll voice as her slender fingers curl around the neck of her bottle. "I'm a bit rusty at the Charleston and the Turkey Trot, sorry to say, and it takes two to swing," she pauses with a salacious grin splitting her lips, "dance." It's then that she tips her head back and gulps down some of the pungent liquid in the blue bottle, which by the sound of it sounds nearly empty. "Bastard, making me waste decent tequila," she mutters under her breath as she pulls the thing away, glaring at it half-heartedly.

Jonathan chuckles briefly once more as the saxophone finds itself pieced together completely before the man stands and walks around the room at a casual pace, "If ye have a stomach for strong alcohol, then ye can try what's in the bottle, but know it kicks like ah mule." He offers a small wink before bringing the reed to his lips, testing the instrument with a few low sounds to check its tuning.

Madison just shakes her head, clinging to the bottle she knows, "No, no, not yet. This Cabo Wabo and I go way back and I'm no fairweather friend to ditch him when times are tough," comes her solemn response, which could be quite an indication of exactly how much she's had to drink. With a casual grace, the svelte woman pushes her rear up onto the table, sitting in a half-turned position usually used by models in photo shoots. With a keen sort of interest she watches Jon tune his instrument, waiting for the real music to start.

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