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Brief Title:


Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:

Aurora - East Village

In a crowded nightclub with the music turned way up, who can hear your screams?

Social or Plot:


-----==[ Aurora - East Village ]==--------------------------------------------

The club is composed of two public areas, the Lobby and the Dance Floor:

This section of the club has the most visible security. There is a bouncer outside, and one by the door that leads out onto the dance floor. A receptionist keeps vague tabs on the things that people were dumb enough to leave in the cloakroom. Neon in blue and white are not quite glaring, working quite well with the deep blue pile carpet and the grey and silver patterns painted on the midnight-blue walls. The lobby isn't very big, but it serves its purpose quite well: to prevent a large group from entering the dance floor en masse.

Dance Floor
This part of the club is the heart of the matter. It's all glitz and glamour, hearkening back to the neon-infested 80s, rather than the metallic-infested 70s. Everything about this area is sharp, bright, hyper-active. The whole area is done up in deep sapphire blues and shiny silvery and golden accents. The main pit is the dance floor, home to some frenetic individuals whose body parts are going to hurt them in the morning. At the far end of the floor is the raised stage, all kinds of lights and smoke devices present to illuminate and titillate the senses, including huge speakers to pump up the jam. At the near end of the floor is a score of tables, all round and fluid, their chairs mostly silver with blue seats and backs. The bar is sidled up right past the exit, so people just coming in can get themselves a hookup of booze before getting down to the dance floor. Overhead is a series of metal girders in the industrial look, all painted blue, silver, and gold to match the rest of the decor, giving the whole area a futuristic and trend-setting veneer.

Obvious Exits:
[O] - East Village - New York

With Thursday fully in bloom, Aurora's near to capacity as the better seasoned college students with the sense not to schedule Friday classes have started their weekends early with alcohol and plenty of high energy music. How appropriate that the music within this club has gone to a rock and metal mix to allow the club goers plenyt of opportunity to burn away their frustrations. The dance floor is full and there are only a few tables left unoccupied.

Master Thief, former X-Man, one-time Horseman of Apocalypse, Gambit walks into the club. He's not really sure why he chose this place tonight, it's not his usual style. Something though drew him here. He's dressed casually in jeans and t-shirt, and looking for a chance to unwind. He smiles suavely to the young girl watching the coat check room, who looks incredibly bored, and heads into the main area of the club. Eschewing the dance floor, he makes his way instead towards the bar.

The dancing slows as one song starts to fade away, stalling as the down beat of the next song overlays, leading to a new rhythm. Upon the music being recognized, the dancing continues.

As Remy makes his way over to the bar, there's a familiar looking figure. Or at least from a distance it looks familiar. From a distance it looks like an onstage persona Mick Drago is leaning against the countertop, setting a few bills upon the black rubbery strip on the other side before picking up his beer to sip. Upon coming closer it becomes more and more obvious this is a different person. Just another of the college age crowd, just dressed to look like someone else.

Gambit looks around and shakes his head at the assembled crowd. "I'm getting too old fo dis," he mutters to himself. Noting the college kid dressed as his favorite rocker, Remy decides to have some fun. He walks up behind the young man, puts on his best gushing fan voice and begins. "Oh my gawd, I am such a fan," he all but squeals, "Can I get yo' autograph?" He commits to the part, and shows no sign that he's messing around with the man.

Hearing someone behind him, the Mick Draclone turns, contact colored eyes looking towards the Cajun, seeming a bit surprised. The front of the shirt varies a little from the stage attire in that the collar of the shirt is stretched to hell, giving the peek of some familiar looking markings under the shirt. The surprised expression of the guy is compounded as he sees Remy's eyes. Jaw dropping. He smiles, "Cool contacts!" He tilts his head, flicking his done up hair, "How much did those set you back?"

Gambit smiles devlishly and drops the act. "More'n you could eva afford, gosse," he says. He signals to the bartender, looking for service. "You dress like dis e'ry night, or just when de rest o' yo clothes be dirty," he asks with a somewhat condescending grin.

The guy shakes his head, "Not EVERY night." He admits, "Takes a long time to get like this, not even Mick does it every night, right?" He grins, holding his arms out to show the outfit a bit better, "But for metal and rock night here, abso-fucking-lutely. Looks great though, right?"

The bartender comes over, looking towards Gambit for the order.

Looking back to the kid, Remy shakes his head a bit and looks back to the bartender. "De strongest you got," he says in a low shout to be sure his order can be heard. He shifts his attention to the kid again, and smirks. "I s'ppose looks 'bout right. Gotta be honest wit'cha, gosse. I'm not too familiar wit 'is stage show." He motions to the markings peeking out from under the stretched out collar of the shirt. "Mais, what's wit de chest? You some kinda," he pauses trying to think of the right word, "Cutta or somet'in?"

The bartender glances towards the guy Remy's talking to and rolls his eyes before giving a nod and turning away to fulfil the order.

Draclone fronws as Remy reveals himself not to be an actual fan. But the disappointment is short lived as Gambit asks about the markings on the shirt, "Oh this?" Draclone asks as he starts to lift up his shirt a bit, exposing what looks to be reasonably new tattoos, made to look like scarsh set in a familiar enough shape. "Just got them. Cool pattern, right?"

Gambit frowns at the pattern. If only the kid knew. "Yeah sure, gosse, chouette," he says rather dismissively. "Dunno dat I'd get de same ink maself, mais ifn dats what'chu into. Guess e'ryone needs a hobby, non?"

The guy gives a shrug, pulling out a business card offering it over to Remy "The guy I got it from is pretty good if you want-"

There is a bit of a girlish squee as a rather attractive, blonde college age girl makes her way over to the bar, looking to the tattoo, "Oh my- Where'd you get that?"

Draclone's attention moves completely away from Remy as he lowers his shirt and switches over to the girl. Oh darn. So much for the beginings of another friendship. The card is dropped. Whether it goes to the floor or to Remy's hand is debatable.

As the card is allowed to fall to the floor, it'd Remy's turn to roll his eyes. He nods with gratitude to the bartender as his drink is delivered. Grabbing the glass, he takes a snip, turns his nose up a bit and decides to move away from the bar and the fanboy. "Really too old fo dis," he again mutters to himself.

As Remy makes his away from the fanboy with his drink, fanboy and apparently fangirl head off on their own direction, chatting away, likely about the AWESOME STYLE CHOICES college students make. Either way, they skirt along the edge of the dance floor, seeking out a quieter spot.

As they walk off, the music shifts, bringing about more coincidences as a familiar voice filters over the speakers as people start throwing up their fists and swinging them to the words. "...Monster...From a monster...It's in the blood it's true..." It's almost like a big joke being played on Remy.

As the music changes, Remy puts his hand to his face, massaging his temples. He looks upwards with a pained expression. "You tryin' ta tell me somet'in," he grumbles. With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, the cajun contemplates finishing his drink and finding another bar more to his stylings.

"Monster...I'm a monster....But not as much as you." The rhythm shifts and the dancing calms down, leading to just a bunch of shoulders shaking and bodies swaying. Across the room, Draclone isn't paying much mind to the music as he follows the blonde girl to the hallway leading towards the bathroom. Guess some things DO take priority over his preferred music. "Amazing how it goes, How someone you don't know, Can screw with all that you've set to do...."

Remy realizes that he's never actually listened to any of Mike's music. He knows the man has some talent, based on what he's seen personally, but he's just not that into current music. Listening to the words, he finds a lot of underlying messages that he knows no one else in the room gets. He watches as the pair of fans makes their way to the bathroom and smiles briefly. At least they're enjoying themselves. He makes his way to a table as far away from the commotion that he can manage. He doesn't have much luck, but he does at least find an unoccupied booth out of the limelight. He sits back, and he watches the assembly. Part of being able to do the things he does, means he spends a lot of time watching people, and this place will do just fine for that tonight.

As Remy listens and watches, there dancing continues. People smiling as the move to the rhythm, while some at the tables simply sit, sipping their drinks and watching the going ons in the club as well. "...Difference is, I'm born with this And decision was with you. Fate or choice, I'll raise my voice that the formers rather mute. Monster..." Near the end of the song, fanboy emerges from the hallway, rubbing at his neck as he straightens his shirt. His head cocks aside, pausing before shaking his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets and heads around the dance floor rather irritable looking.

Gambit furrows his brow watching the fanboy reemerge from the back. His demeanor is not quite what Remy had expected to see. He waves over to the young man, motioning for him to join Remy at the table.

As he makes his way around the dance floor, Draclone does spot the wave. The pace falters but soon shifts to bring him towards Remy's table. "Yeah?" His tone of voice is less than happy but audible with the loud music finishing up, blending into what appears to be a doubleshot of the same artist. This does not seem to improve Draclone's mood. On the side of his neck, there's a bit of a red mark.

Gambit motions for him to have a seat. "T'ing not go so well wit'chore lady frien', mon ami," he asks. His tone is genuine and sincere. He knows something's not right about the situation, but what exactly he doesn't know. He hopes he can suss it out with a little talk. He notes that the girl in question still hasn't shown back up.

Draclone gives a nod but doesn't sit. "She was a bit too freaky," he replies, bringing a hand up to rub at the red mark, frowning, "Guess I misjudged." He looks to the door, starting to take steps in that direction, giving a glance back as he's already leaving, "Hey, uh listen man, I got to head out. Just remembered this project I got to work on. I'll give you a call later, alright?" He gives a half smile before starting to head towards the door.

For a moment, Remy watches the departing rock fan. Before long though, he's making his way towards the bathroom hall, hoping to find little miss blondie.

Draclone doesn't linger. As indicated in his earlier statement, he's out the door. There's not much of a crowd around the bathroom hallway area as most of the folks are either drinking or dancing. The hallway appears clear, no people hanging out in there, just a payphone bolted to the wall. Hmm, wonder if that's an actual payphone or just decor. Either way, there's not a person in the hallway. A couple pushes past Remy and split up, going into their respective bathrooms.

Gambit frowns. No sign of the girl. He decides to wait it out a bit, just in case she was still in the bathroom, as unlikely as that may be. He moves over to the payphone and picks it up. He mocks a phone call where he seems to be arguing with a girlfriend, keeping a close eye on the door to the women's room. "I told you I was goin' out tonight... Yes I did... fine... no I picked up de milk... well is in de fridge... non I will not..." and so on.

Gambit doesn't have to put up the charade for long as a scream emits from the women's bathroom. This actually does manage to draw a few people in. More likely drunken curiousity than concern. The door swings open and the female half of the couple looks around frantically, "Do we have a doctor in here?!"

One of the drunkards lifts up a hand. "I'm studying to be one...." He offers.

Gambit hangs up the phone, and pushes his way into the ladies room.

As Gambit comes in, he finds the handicapped stall door open. Sitting in the corner of the stall, eyes closed but head twisted in a funny manner is the blonde woman from earlier. Maybe. She seems a little older. Not OLD person old but more having the appearance of someone who has already finished college and has gained a steady job afterwards, old. Either way, with the vantage point of a mostly sober person, it's looking obvious that the neck is broken.

Cursing in french under his breath, Remy runs out of the bathroom, and out of the club altogether. He looks both ways down the street trying to catch a glimpse of the Draclone. It's almost certainly too late, but he has to try and see if he can't catch up with the kid.

If his speed unhindered wouldn't make him too late, the growing crowd of looky Lous and approaching bouncers most certainly contributed to his tardiness. Upon Gambit reaching the outside of the club, the sight of the fanboy is not one of the things he gets greeted by. Instead, he gets the look of another bouncer looking at him before straining to look inside despite trying to guard his post and keeping new people from going into the club.

"Merde," the cajun mutters. He considers trying to make his way back into the club, but by now there are too many rubberneckers getting in the way, and at the end of the day, it's not like he's a doctor or anything anyways. Something is going on though, and he's not really sure what it is.

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