Freddy wasn't dancing for the three mother fuckers up there. It was so slow. The dismal weather had left the downstairs quiet, and the upstairs depressing. Even one of Freddy's regulars just didn't seem enthused during his lap dance. It was like they both knew this was happening on the most depressing day of the year. Manuel had sensed Freddy's impatience, as well as the other dancers, and decided to dismiss them for the night. It was uncommon for the dancers not to have clients, and many grumbled curses at mother nature.
Freddy got dressed, pulling his black duffel from underneath the stage. Over his g-string went skinny jeans, and he put on a white, button up shirt that contrasted beautifully with his skin. Manuel had shared a drink with him in silence, the pair mostly tolerating one another. He respected the upstairs bartender, even if he did give Quinn everything.
Joke was on Quinn though, because Manuel was fixing to ask him on a date, and everyone knew it but Quinn. So oblivious, Freddy had thought of the shot boy. He sometimes wondered how someone with such a fake personality even got a job here. Freddy rationalized he'd obviously slept with Jake. That's how most of the male dancers got collected. It was like Jake's deck of slutty Pokemon cards. UGHHH. JAKE!
Freddy finished his drink, slamming it down on the upstairs bar and grunted out a thank you to Manuel. He'd thought of his ex, the dumb, beautiful, amazing, asshole. Freddy could still taste the vampire, the sweet blood fueling him. Being a ghoul had been amazing, but now he was cut off. Jerry was good in bed, but they hadn't broached Freddy feeding from him yet. He figured the other vampire wouldn't care too much. Freddy pretty much felt Jerry didn't care about anything too much. That was just fine with Freddy. He liked it simple.
The wolf in sheep's clothing headed downstairs, fully intending to go to his room in the blood bank part of the rabbit warrens. However, as he scanned the vacant bar, he couldn't help but see Quinn and Jerry talking! He thought they'd fallen out. The jealous boy decided not to jump to conclusions. Maybe they were just talking. Yeah. That was it.
Freddy decided to confirm it by heading to the bar. The new kid tending bar had been made to be slightly afraid of Freddy in the first few hours of working at the Rabbit, and Lisa-Joe had long stopped shielding people from Freddy's acidic edge. The owner had simply warned him.
You say something that get's your nose broke, I ain't doing shit Sugah!
Was this that moment? More likely Quinn would be the one who's shit got broken. Freddy ended up behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of well whiskey, and made himself a quick Whiskey Sour. The other two would clearly see him now, and he smiled at both of them as he clearly interjected himself.
"Hey Jerry," he said, sounding bright. A quick turn of his head later he said, "Quinn," his tone much less excited, a smarmy level of club politeness coating the words like the edge of a diseased spear. "So like, what are you guys talking about?"
