Open log - The Candlelight Club

[una_persson]

Who: Everyone and anyone. Talk to Una, talk amongst yourselves, flirt, bicker—your choice.
What: Just an ordinary night out for the good people of West End.
Where: the Candlelight Club, a small, not-very-skeevy cabaret that (like many, though not all others in town) is a sort of neutral zone for the various law enforcement and criminal operations. (The owner will not take anyone's shit and has been known to throw people out for being jerks.)
When: A night in early fall.

An evening at the Candlelight Club usually started with some kind of a comedy act, or maybe a magician, to warm up the crowd. Then Miss Persson came on and sang; she always finished with "Someone to Watch Over Me". And after her was the act that a lot of the men came for—the fan dancers, Trudie, Suzie, and Lucie. (Una was fairly certain those weren't their real names, but she got along with them reasonably well. Though she never told them she had been a Ziegfeld girl; Lucie's envy in particular would have been too much to bear.)

While the dancers came on and did their burlesque, Miss Persson made her way out into the club to chat, socialize, and charm. If it so happened that people were doing careful sleight-of-hand with flasks under the tables, neither she nor anyone else noticed, or admitted to noticing.

Comments

[una_persson]

"Aren't we all, dear," she said, her smile soft and a little sad. She was under no illusions about anyone here, particularly not anyone who showed up with a split lip. She never asked for details, though. She knew better, for one thing, and there was also an innate uncertainty as to which side she was actually on, and which one she wanted to be on.

Big questions, and no one to talk it over with. Which was why it was easier to flirt and pretend there wasn't a serious thought in her pretty head.

"I just hope it doesn't get worse. It makes me sad to see you out of sorts, you know."

[truth_is_cold]

That selfishly made him happy that she was interested in his well-being, despite the fact that he might be worrying her in some way. At least that it meant the brutality ended in... well... something.

"You seem to be pretty good at yours. You don't like it?" Which would surprise him if she didn't. Una was amazing at it.

[una_persson]

"Oh, I can hardly complain," she said. "I do love what I do, of course. And this place is so much cosier than most." She gestured around the little cabaret; she really did mean it. But she would have liked to tell him how she wanted something more out of her life—not just greater stardom on stage, but something more meaningful, more ... substantial.

But to say so didn't fit in with the role she was playing. "There's always possibilities, of course. But I'm happy here." Unspoken: for now.

[truth_is_cold]

"There are more possibilities than there were." He said, glancing her over. That was one of his bad habits- he was never one to spare a scrutinizing eye and he made no secret of it, for ill or better intentions.

"You're probably too good for 90% of them."

He'd heard the story about the incident up North, and knew Una had appeared at the club not long afterwards. Being an agent, he probably had more access to relevant information than most. But he could only make guesses, and with the patience she'd shown him he didn't pity the man that got on her bad side.

[una_persson]

"It's sweet of you to say that," she said, and lowered her gaze to the table. Part of it was an affected coquetry, but part of it was an unwonted and genuine shyness in the face of his regard. And perhaps just a dash of shame. She wasn't really sorry for anything she'd ever done, but she hadn't actually wanted to kill her old lover all the same.

Even if he'd thoroughly deserved it, the son of a bitch.

"I suppose I'll figure out that ten percent eventually," she said, light again. "But in the meantime I'll continue to enjoy myself here. Especially since the company is so congenial."

[truth_is_cold]

"It's not sweet. It's the truth. If I had it my way you would be here to sing any time I felt the need for a quality voice." Which made him wonder if that was part of why he didn't investigate his very slight suspicions further; outright greed and selfishness. He strongly suspected that he wasn't her type, but that only kept his admiration modest. "I've been known to be irritatingly perceptive."

And then in a dark joke, he waved his hand beside of his face on the side of the darkened eye. "Except when I've managed to ruin my peripheral vision."

That curiosity was sparking, though, and he couldn't quite shut it up. "What was it that you did before?"

[una_persson]

She managed to not flinch at the question. "Nothing you'd have heard of," she lied. "I came over from England at the invitation of a cousin in Boston, but once I got there—well, let's just say I didn't realise how hard she and her husband were to get along with these days." A slightly over-theatrical eye-roll. "So I moved to New York, but you know how it is—a tiny, tiny sprat in such a huge pond. So I came here."

Almost none of it was true, but the story was so well-rehearsed that she almost believed it.

[truth_is_cold]

For a moment, it was hit or miss over whether he'd rise to the bait. It wasn't his investigation, and it wasn't his business; or so he'd tell himself. It kept him from getting too invested in a woman that he could tell was a heart-breaker.

But then he went for it, anyway. "New York is a tough sort of town. I can see why you'd want to get out of there."

His fingers itched for his drink, and he kept from going for it. His mouth felt a little dry.

[una_persson]

"It's much quieter here," she agreed, "and for once, I don't mind that one bit. Well, quieter for someone like me, anyway. Not so quiet for you, apparently." A raised eyebrow. Of course, she had him figured for some kind of tough—so many men here, it seemed, were up to no good in one way or another. Gary didn't seem to be one of the truly dangerous ones—just a bit of muscle, maybe. Cleverer than he let on, though, she thought.