Segue

[Ehcorn]

OPEN TO ALL
Group RP. No posting order.
Dress nice per club rules. Note: It's Friday night in this RP.

Normally, Dana hated clubs. They were too noisy, too crowded, too much, but she’d stopped at the liquor store before coming to Club Zero. She was too buzzed to give a damn now. Voices had become background noise, and yeah, sometimes people bumped into her where she sat at the bar, but their presence was always temporary. Once they got their drinks, they left. If anyone lingered and tried to strike up a conversation that wasn't relevant to her next story, draping herself over her whiskey and pretending they didn’t exist usually got them to leave her alone.

For the more persistent ones — the sort that didn’t take hints because they were shit-faced — she resorted to a tried-and-true tactic.

She asked them if they’d accepted Jesus into their hearts. Did they want to know more about the sacrifice he'd made and the path of redemption he'd opened to them all? She had pamphlets. Did they want one?

Her latest victim, a lumberjack of a man with big tree trunk arms and a beard that hung over his barrel-shaped chest, had lasted an impressive ten seconds before he took off so fast his beer sloshed out and splashed onto Dana’s arm.

"You’re not going out of your way to keep company, are you?" inquired the bartender as he offered her a wad of napkins that she quickly accepted.

Dana flashed an appreciative smile and dabbed the sleeve of her black pinstripe pantsuit. There’d been a dress code, but nothing that said she had to wear a dress. Two smokey eyes and one pair of bright red lips later and she’d transformed into someone respectable, someone who was allowed into fancy night clubs like this one. God, she couldn't wait to change back into a sweatshirt and jeans.

“I’m not,” she said, handing off the crumpled napkins and securing her heels on the middle rung of her barstool.

The bartender cocked his head at her, but she didn't elaborate and he eventually walked away, wiping the counter down as he went.

[Seragil]

The Cage scene had been mediocre tonight, a bunch of vamps wailing on some lower class demons. He should have a word with his sister or their godmother. The fights needed more guidelines and structure if they wanted to snare the big punters. So instead of watching the fights he had come to the main club area and danced.

The club was buzzing tonight and the dance floor was full. Thirsty and a little worse for ware he made his way to the bar. he sat a stool over from the woman huddling over her drink glaring at anyone who sat too long beside her.

"Water please Marcus." He said to the bartender once he had caught his eye. he then flicked his eyes over the woman near him and smiled slightly. He knew her from somewhere, had seen her before but not here.

" Hey, you going to drink that drink of yours so I can buy you another one or are you going to just glare at it all night?" he asked with a teasing tone as he leaned slightly over in her direction so she could hear him over the noise. She seemed absolutely human but when he leaned towards her he recognized the slight muskiness of wet dog. Was she part of the pack then? maybe that was where he had seen her.

[Ehcorn]

Dana had been fully prepared to run off her aspiring drinking companion, but one glance at him and she breathed a disbelieving laugh. He might not have recognized her, but she knew who he was. The last time she’d seen him, his hair had been a writhing mess of snakes and she’d learned he was a gorgon: a species she’d thought was nothing more than an ancient myth. She knew his name, too, because it'd been unique enough that she didn’t need to reference her notebook to remember it.

Phoenix. Yet another mythical creature (unless those turned out to be real, too).

At Ben Samson's campaign tent, he'd stood with his sister at Saraekiel’s side, though she couldn’t recall if she’d heard him speak or not. She’d been too busy writing all the names of the people who were friendly with the dark angel and, in her mind, damned by association. Had she written down Ben’s name? She should’ve written his name down. Where the fuck was her notepad, anyway?

She turned, looking for the familiar shape of her messenger satchel at the base of her barstool. It wasn't there. Her stomach sank at the same time panic rose until she remembered that they’d taken it from her when she came in. They didn’t like her kind there. Not werewolves. Reporters. Couldn’t have anyone walk away with hard evidence, could they? She’d have to use her mind, rely on her memories, but when she settled back into her chair and chewed her lip, she couldn’t feel it. Goddamnit, her whole face was numb. It was too late now, wasn’t it? She might as well take advantage of the offer.

"I’m not glaring at it," she said slowly, enunciating each word so one didn’t slur into the next. "That’s just how my face is. It’s a curse. Goes right along with the other one, I reckon." She snorted and knocked back what remained of her double shot of whiskey, then thunked it onto a cardboard coaster. When Marcus — the bartender — came by with Mr. I-Pretend-I-Don’t-Have-Snakes-For-Hair’s water, she pointed at her empty drink.

"He’s paying for this one," she said as he dutifully refilled her glass.

Once the bartender was gone, she twisted to prop her elbow on the counter and pillowed her cheek in her palm. She eyed Phoenix suspiciously. "So. I noticed people don’t turn into stone when you look at them. How’s that?"

And to think, she'd considered coming in there undercover.

[Black Philip]

Apep looked upon the warehouse, his eyes gleaming gold in the darkness. His pretty face bore a smirk, his mask firmly in place for the evening he had planned. The Scarei had slithered out from his opium den to witness Butler in one of his legendary fights, and to remind those who would be interested of the services he provided. The White Rabbit and Club Zero had been steady sources to find buyers for Venom, and so Apep occasionally undertook the pilgrimage to other houses of sin and debauchery with the intent to peddle his wares. This particular establishment's sin was violence, wrath and pride born in its fighting pit. Apep didn't fear violence, but often found it an ineffective way to get what one wanted. It was brutish, and a poor substitute for charm and wit. It was the reason his fellow serpent fascinated the theif so much. Butler was an utter contradiction; internally a bottomless pit of aggression, but externally a practical dandy.

The sinister serpent wore clothes to fit the dress code, a grey three piece suit, slim cut to his dancer like body and custom tailored. The vest bore large silver buttons that caught nearby streetlights. His shirt wasn't buttoned at the top, and he wore no obvious tie. His open shirt exposed just a tad of upper chest, with dog tags running down his neck and acting as an incredibly loose bolo tie. His cuff links were silver too and held the image of coiled snakes. It's not as if he was going for subtlety. Apep had struggled hard to do anything about his hair, but ended up gelling it into soft little waves, with one tendril falling dangerously close to his eye. His beard was trimmed and brushed with oil, and it helped to keep his hair and beard a consistent unit.

The serpent smoked another two cigarettes before moving towards Club Zero's entrance, the whole time observing everything about the space. Who was coming in, who was leaving, who came out to smoke, how it smelt, how loud the club was from the outside; it was all data. He found he learned the most when he simply took the time to watch a scene unfold. Apep entered the bar and underwent the checks for bugs, making small talk with the guards as they searched him. He would never actually bring V to the club, and thanked them for keeping the club safe before slithering into the main bar. Despite the fact that he could be in his true form if he wanted, Apep decided not to transform fully. Instead, he simply let his eyes revert to their serpentine form, large orbs of gold with black slits.

The demon approached the bar and sat on the other side of Dana, ordering "whiskey, on the rocks," in his smooth and silky sounding voice. He turned to the pair already assembled and nodded politely, refraining from conversation, as to not interrupt any chat they might be having. He scanned the rest of the bar, looking for an opportunity to create a little mischief.

[Seragil]

The water was cool and refreshing, rejuvenating his dry parched throat with his first mouthful, a small sigh of pleasure slipped from his lips as he pulled the bottle from his mouth and smiled towards the woman as she ordered her drink. Her drink of course would cost him nothing, not that she needed to know that. Her comments about being cursed was interesting and not the first time he had heard lycanthropy described thus and he had to admit if only to himself that he kind of agreed, lycanthropy was not a gift he would ever want to receive. As for her face, there their opinions had to differ. He would describe it as austere rather than beautiful, well defined with sharp angles. It was an interesting face adorned with a pair of sharp and watchful eyes.

He placed his water bottle on the counter as the impressively dressed gentleman in the grey three pieces took his seat. He was glad of the weekend dress code of the club; it was a nice change from the dross of the weekday. The scent of snake that wafted towards him from the male who just took his seat had Phoenix’s nostrils flaring as he turned his face in his direction in surprise. It had been awhile, a long while since he had come across a Scarei but he would recognize that spicy scent anywhere and the trouble that seemed to follow in their wake.

Dana’s question had him returning his undivided attention back to her. His eyes turned serpent from startled surprise. When or how…? He hardly ever allowed his true nature to show and he liked his hair curly rather than hissing. He studied her with renewed interest.

I’m not cursed, was his first thought in response to her impertinent question.
How do you stop yourself from chasing cars and howling at the night sky? was his second.
 
The band started playing The Big Bopper's 'Little Red Riding Hood' and the room was suddenly filled with the howls of various weres in the crowd showing their appreciation of the song choice.

“With control and choice,” was his actual verbal response which was given with a sharp yet slightly amused smile. “Marcus!” he called to the bartender with a slightly raised voice, his eyes never leaving Dana’s face. “I’ll have an ouzo with lemonade. Sprite not that 7up shit, thank you.”

He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Have we met before?” he asked Dana curiously. “I take it we have but I can’t seem to place you.”

[Ehcorn]

Aside from the time she spent as a moon monster, Dana’s nose wasn’t any more sensitive than it had been before she’d fucked up and gotten bitten. It didn’t prevent her from smelling the man that’d settled onto the stool next to her, though. Every intake of breath and she got two big lungfuls full of acrid, burnt tobacco.

Some people might’ve disliked the smell of smoked cigarettes lingering around a person after they’d had their fix, but Dana didn’t mind it — she’d just found someone she could bum from. She’d partially twisted around to look at him the same moment Phoenix shifted to inspect him, but her suggestion that he be a pal and give her a cigarette for later died on her lips when she got a good look at his eyes. Definitely not human, but beyond that, she didn’t have the foggiest what he was except someone who also appreciated whiskey. Then his weird eyes were off and peering into the depths of the club and Phoenix began talking and her moment passed.

Dana swiveled to face the gorgon. Her drink had found its way back into her hand, though she didn’t remember picking it up. She took a sip from it anyway. She couldn’t taste it.

“Naw, we’ve never met before,” she drawled. As she tapped the sides of her short black heels against the legs of her stool idly, Dana contemplated leaving it at that, making him work for it the same way she had to work for all her fucking answers, but she was too drunk to play games without falling on her face. “Saw you, though, at the campaign tent last weekend. I’d just finished interviewing Ben Samson when you rolled in with Sareek... Sareekrr…” Only on her second attempt to say the dark angel’s name did she realize how badly she’d mangled it. No amount of enunciating could’ve helped her navigate that minefield. “You know. Wings. Runs things in the North. That guy.”

She sat up and thrust her hand out at him to be shaken. “My name’s much easier. Hi. I’m Dana.” In a stage whisper, she added, “I’m a reporter.”

[Black Philip]

Apep received his drink, and swirled it around the glass. The ice clinked  as it hit the sides. and the gentle sloshing of the whiskey was like a respite and a symphony within the confines of Club Zero. The demon took a sip, parting his lips in a "tisk, tisk, tisk," sound before slowly pushing the glass back towards Marcus. The bartender didn't notice at first, busy tending to snake-hair and dog woman. Their scents were clear enough now that Apep remained near them. Neither had outright spoken to him, but he was learning about both by proximity. 

The gorgon stated choice was the primary reason he hadn't turned them all to stone, but Apep wondered if other factors were at play. Who held this monster's leash? Apep had heard a wolf-mother ran this establishment, and that they all sucked the proverbial tit of the district leader, who's name Dana was struggling to remember. Was it really choice that steadied his hair, or was it orders given by someone with more clout? Apep was determined to find out.

The Scarei learned a lot about people from what they chose to order. The specificity of the soda mixer caused the corners of Apep's mouth to curl every so slightly as he considered the illusion of choice. To Apep, it was all the same garbage; Sprite, 7-Up, Freska. It was all no calorie fizzes with a lemon-lime twist. Apep thrived on providing the illusion of choices to customers. People liked to feel in control, and making a confident choice was a path to that feeling.

The wolf-woman, Dana, ordered whiskey. Apep had ordered the same, and wondered if it was for the same reason. He wanted to taste the alcohol as he drank it. For Apep, this was to temper his own intake, but for Dana he couldn't be sure that was her goal. He leaned into the bar now, catching the bartender's eye with a neat smile.

"You gave me well whiskey," he said factually, but with no malice. "My mistake of course, but perhaps I can have something a bit higher up the shelf? Basil perhaps, or at least Bullet?"

His tone was kind, but the untouched first drink told the bartender that he wasn't pleased. "Actually, what kind of whiskey are you drinking," Apep suddenly asked Dana. "I don't drink often, so I want it to be good when I do." He looked to Dana, gold eyes sparkling. To Phoenix, he smiled something deeper, and there was a familiar nod of his head, as if to say, cousin.

[pentagrandma]

Weren’t a single opponent worth his time of day in the ring tonight. Not for fighting, and not for watching, neither. With no one making any fuss in the club proper, and nowhere for him to focus his energy, Jesse was wound up tighter than a three-day clock. It didn’t help matters none that he was suited up in his Sunday best. Still, he did clean up nice in all black, with the top few buttons of his dress shirt left undone beneath a blazer worn casually open. Being sober as a judge, though - that was a problem he reckoned he could fix.

With all of the swagger of a proud peacock, he beelined for the bar. He didn’t queue up and wait for service as he ought have. Nah, our Jess hadn’t the patience. Instead, he made his way behind, snatching up a glass along the way; like he owned the place. Pulling a bottle of Jim Beam from the well, the one Apep had just so pretentiously spurned, he poured himself a healthy measure - only to down it and pour again. His second glass he raised in salute to acknowledge the snake demon, lifting two fingers from the neck of the bottle to offer some semblance of a wave toward Phoenix.

[Seragil]

The tent with the vampires, of course! He should have placed her immediately, especially after the uproar her recent article had caused here in the club. She had some serious spunk to walk into a known northern pack hangout after accusing them all of being a bunch of housebroken, boot licking, lapdogs to a dark angel.

He clasped her offered hand within his own and shook it, glad to discover that although she appeared to be rather drunk, her grip remained firm and sure. There was nothing worse than shaking hands with a limp fish. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Phoenix and the winged ones name is Saraekiel.” He said with genuine warmth and welcome as he relinquished her hand, his eyes glimmered with amusement as he lifted his glass and saluted her. ”I remember you now, from the tent I mean. You wrote that recent article about the Northern wares and their relationship with said dark angel yeah? I found it very interesting and amusing, if a little miss informed.” He gave a little shrug of his shoulders and smiled teasingly. "Not that my opinion matters to you, I'm sure." The uproar her articale had caused here had also been amusing in the extreme. He was surprised Val or Saraekiel hadn’t hunted her down in the interim and dragged her out of her bed, where ever it may be; demanding answers and an explanation.

He took a sip of his drink, enjoying the unique aniseed flavor and alcohol burn as it swirled over his tongue and slid down his throat as he swallowed and wondered why he had suddenly thought about the whereabouts of her bed. “Still, if that is what you truly believe about the situation here in the north, why choose this gin joint to…” He was about to continue with 'drown your sorrows in?' when the Scarei intruded into their conversation. The demons smile and nod of familiarity had him raising an eyebrow in return as he caught and held the creatures golden gaze. He was a pretty demon, he would give him that, and his serpentine nature called to him, true; but there was no kinship between them if that was what he was inferring, nor was it excuse enough for his rude interruption.

Jesse's sudden appearance dragged his attention away from Apep for a moment and made him smile, although his attitude and self-service did not. The kid was looking for trouble, but the club wasn’t his to run nor was it his job to instruct the staff about proper protocols and job procedures. Marcus should be taking this into hand. He flicked his gaze to the bar tender and shook his head as he watched the guy turn a blind eye whilst pretending to search through the whiskey selections.  “Oh buddy, you’re totally fucked!” He said, referring to both in warning and in resignation. Jesse loved to push the boundaries and Marcus will get slapped for letting this kind of behavour slide.


Phaedre watched the coming and going of her club from the comfort of the VIP section, enjoying how it kept her hidden from sight but allowed her to see all. She wore a sleek, black, silk Jovani evening gown that trailed to her ankles with a leg slit that stopped just shy of her ass and met with the diamond shaped, lace embroidered, peek-a-boo panels that followed up her sides and down her long, form fitting sleeves that ended at her wrists. Thinly strapped, black, high heels that criss-crossed up to her lower calves, and the gem encrusted, Eye of Medusa pendant that dangled between her cleavage, finished off the outfit.

Her brother seemed to be enjoying himself on the dance floor, but she was worried about him. At home they had their duties to keep them occupied and grounded, but here, she had the club to keep her busy, and Saraekiel; he on the other hand seemed to be slipping between the cracks. How long till he became seriously bored? Hanging out in the club all hours of the day was not good for him. She needed to find something for him to do, or someone, before he started to cause trouble simply for the fun of it. Maybe she should set him loose to play amongst the vampires like Saraekiel suggested.

She lost track of her brother when she noticed Apep slither in. She knew of the soul dealer who peddled drugs as a front for his main business. He had come to her attention when she had heard his name bounced around her club. She didn’t care what people did for their kicks and kinks, as long as they kept their shit out of her house. She narrowed her eyes in speculation as she tracked the scarei with her eyes and watched as he made his way to the bar, taking note of any and all he spoke to. So focused was she on him, she didn’t notice Jesse until he sauntered behind the counter like he owned the place and helped himself to her booze.

That fucking werewolf was a god damned thorn in her side; the proverbial pebble in her outrageously expensive fucking shoe. Her nose flared in irritation as he poured his drink and swallowed it. Jesse was likable enough, she supposed, but he respected nothing and no one he didn’t fear first, and the only one on that list so far was Val.

As Jess poured his second drink, she blinked herself to his side, a sensual smile curving the corner of her lips upwards like a bow, belying the wrath that filled her as she appeared at his side from out of nowhere.

“Why, hello Jesse” She crooned longingly to the were in greeting, ignoring everyone else at the bar for now. Her tone kept soft and seductive as she snatched the drink out of his hand before he even noticed it was gone, her other hand trailing up his arm and over his shoulder as she began to slowly circle him, her steps slow, sexy and totally predatory. “You look very dashing this evening. When does your shift start?” She asked, knowing full well he didn't have a shift tonight. Her hand trailed slowly up his neck and along his jawline, her hands making sure his face and attention was focused entirely on her.

She was pissed and so very fucking tired of the majority of the weres attitude towards her nightclub.

[Ehcorn]

Dana snorted indelicately. Phoenix had found her article a little misinformed? He was the misinformed one. She wasn’t like other ‘journalists’. She got references for abso-fucking-lutely everything she wrote, no matter how insignificant. Her first obligation was always to the truth. Her eyes narrowed to slits when he went further, insinuating that her analysis of the North was an opinion, not a fact. And he’d said every bit of it while smiling at her with that stupid smarmy smile and an amused glint in his eyes, like she was his fucking entertainment for the night.

She fought back the urge to throw what remained of her whiskey in his face the best way she could: she drank it. When she clunked the glass back to the bar counter, she opened her mouth to tell Phoenix at least half of what’d run through her mind, but her fellow smoker and whiskey drinker asked for her opinion on what to order, and she let loose a surprised burst of laughter instead. She twisted to face him again.

“I’m no cono… con-oh-sss—” Dana’s face fell. Words weren’t her friend tonight, were they? “I’m no expert. Jack’s good enough for me.” Before she could say more — like ask for that cigarette she’d been fiending for — two more people made an appearance. She recognized Phoneix’s sister from the carnival, and while she didn’t recognize the man, he was definitely part of the group, given how Phaedre rubbed herself all over him like… Well, like a snake. Which was appropriate, considering. Dana went to take another drink from her glass, but upon realizing it was empty, pushed herself up and reached over the counter to snatch the bottle of whiskey from Jesse’s slack hand.

"Jim does in a pinch, though." Dana smiled at the golden-eyed man before she topped herself off. “You with them?” she asked, setting the bottle to the side and glancing over her shoulder her at the trio.

[Black Philip]

Apep gave Jesse a lazy salute and smile in greeting, enjoying that Jesse had taken the bottle he'd just spurned. Irony was a hateful one tonight. He didn't make any verbal greeting. Most people didn't like being seen chatting with their drug dealers. Apep instead turned to Marcus who'd filled his drink order. He paid and gave another good tip. If he was going to be particular at least he could be generous. Marcus seemed on good terms with him despite the change in order. It had made more money for the bar that way.

Apep felt Phadre's eyes on him, but made no moves to look at her. Let her stare. If she was bold she'd speak to him, and besides, he had Dana here to learn about. He liked her look, and was curious what had brought her here. Was their a customer waiting to be found? Apep looked fondly at Jesse as Dana asked if he was with them. No. He wasn't. They were customers or competition.

"We're associates," he replied, tone more casual than his businessmen answer. "I'm here to see my friend Butler fight, although he doesn't appear to be here yet. Can I buy you a drink?"

His offer sounded like a blend of physical interest and politeness, hard to probe for intention, but certainly charming. Apep was always a little charming, especially when he met new people. 

[Pocky]

Trick and Harm walked around the building until there was an obvious door, but no bouncer stood at it. Further along the warehouse were a small group of people huddled together, speaking in low voices. Trick thought he could feel a bass pumping but he couldn't hear anything. The soundproofing was wild.

He pushed on the door they faced, anticipating that it would swing inward because there was no handle. It didn't move. He looked over at the small group when one of them laughed. As he watched, one of them smacked the other two in the arm or chest and then the lot of them were looking over, their expressions drenched in shadow.

"Fuck," Trick said softly to himself. With a fist he pounded on the door until a hole appeared in the middle of it and an eyeball stared at him. Music, like something out of an old-fashioned jukebox, wafted through that hole.

"Whaddya want?" a gruff voice asked.

"Phoenix invited me," Trick said, on the off chance that he would be believed.

"Yeah, right."

Trick approached the peephole. "Phoenix invited me after Jesse fixed my car. They know each other," he explained, hoping that both names together would have him believed. The eyeball left the hole and it was covered up. Trick looked at Harm apologetically and shrugged, stepping away from the door and turning away. The door opened and some weird 50s rock and roll music swamped them, halting Trick's motion. Surprised but pleased, Trick grabbed Harm's hand and pulled him in. He instinctively looked around for speakers, expecting the cloakroom they'd entered was playing different stuff from what the club proper had. He couldn't see anything like that but his attention was captured by an unusual request.

"Put your phones in here, you'll get them back when you leave," the bouncer said after the front door shut behind them.

"What? No," Trick looked at the open box offered them and frowned at it.

"We don't allow recordings to be made in the club. You should know why, fae," the gruffly spoken bouncer declared.

"My credit card is stored on my phone. How am I supposed to pay for drinks?" Trick challenged, talking loudly over the shitty music and wild eyed at having been outed, checking to see who was around who could've heard.

[Seragil]

Phoenix blinked as Dana ignored him for favour of the scarei. He was about to say something when he saw one of the bouncers wade through the milling crowd on the dance floor and wave at him, calling him forward. His eyes narrowed, why would they want him? He was neither bouncer nor manager of his sisters club. Curious he mumbled something near unintelligible and made his way towards the demon. "What?" he asked as the band finished their set and made way for the DJ. The few people left on the dance floor started clapping and pumping the air in appreciation as the incubus started playing around with his mixer. Soon the club was filled with the resounding beats of electronic dance music.

Phoenix followed the demon door man back to the cloak room and was pleasantly surprised to see Trick.

"Trick! You made it! Cool." he said with a broad smile as he approached Trick and his companion, his hand outstretched to shake the good looking supes hand.

[Pocky]

Trick had managed to create a full-blown argument by the time Phoenix was summoned. He and the door guy were trading arguments back and forth about the virtues of taking away phones. It was another staff person who'd signalled for Phoenix and when a familiar face entered the fray, Trick was momentarily silenced.

"Hi," he said after processing the dynamic shift caused by Phoenix's entrance. He clasped the other man's hand and shook it firmly. He looked from Phoenix to Harm after he shook it and thought it best to make an introduction. "This is Harm, my new boyfriend. We're here to check out your club but they want to take my phone!" His gaze moved rapidly from Harm back to Phoenix, the plea unspoken but apparent in his expression.

[Existentially Odd]

Harm was standing behind Trick, watching events unfold with large blue eyes and a firmly closed mouth. He held his phone in his right hand because he'd been ready to hand it over when asked but he'd withdrawn it when Trick objected to the seizing of his device. As the debate continued, Harm's left arm crossed his body and he gripped his elbow in his left hand, feeling this club wasn't worth entering if Trick didn't like the rules. Harm hadn't liked the way the bouncer had sneered Trick's supernatural type, anyway; he completely sympathised with Trick's levels of offence.

At the sound of Trick's name, Harm looked beyond the doorway altercation at the speaker. The physical presence of the man caught his attention first, followed by his curly hair, then his friendly smile. He was pretty damn good looking. Harm's eyebrows lifted and he was amused that Trick hadn't bothered to mention just how hot the club owner was. There was no way he hadn't noticed it. And they'd met at the carnival Sunday, when Harm wasn't even on Trick's mind. Intriguing.

He grinned at Trick when he was introduced as his 'new' boyfriend, finding the specificity odd but endearing. When Trick then pressed his case for keeping his phone, Harm gave a little laugh. "Hi, Phoenix, right?" he queried, having put together all the information he'd received but still wishing for confirmation that he had the Adonis' name right. He dropped his crossed arm and stepped forward beside Trick, transferring his phone to his left hand so he could hold out his right to shake the club owner's hand. "Cool suit," he complimented with a smile.