OPEN LOG: Opening night at Fangtasia

[vampingitup]

Who: Eric Northman, the vampires of Siren's Port and YOU
When: Saturday Night, sundown
Where: Fangtasia, Sector One
Summary:  Fangtasia's opening night, and the place is thumping. It promises to be an exciting experience.
Warnings: Vampires. Please add your warnings in your comment headers as necessary.

Comments

[vampingitup]

[There is a vampire serving drinks, and as much as it is a menial job, Eric is actually very good at it. When there's a rush on he just uses his speed, blurring up and down the bar and delivering the drinks into the hands of the expectant customers. And then slips away back to his schmoozing, or his office or wherever.

Feel free to speak to him in his office, behind the bar or in the club itself. He's in a remarkably good mood, mostly because nothing's kicked off and things seem to be going well. All he could ask for on an opening night, really.]

MIDNIGHT

[kingofrooks]

[ The trouble with vampires are their enhanced senses. Their hearing, for one. He's wearing a biorhythm-scrambler just above his heart - it'll mix the sound of his heartbeat, rendering it as close to unrecognizable from Bruce Wayne's as possible. It's the same thing that he wears for Batman, but on an entirely different setting.

He's rather late because he has to finish his shift at 24, go to a safehouse, shower (with unscented soap because he has an inkling about a vampire's nose and a Viking's taste-), change, and come back. And Matches is waved through the door easily enough.

He takes a round through the club before he makes a beeline for Northman's office, leaning against the doorframe as he looks in. ]

Busy night fer ya, eh?

[vampingitup]

[Eric retreats to his office often during the night. He's used to just observing - an object to appease, the Sheriff of the club sat on his throne on the stage - but tonight he's been busy, and as much as he likes showing off he misses Pam, and his ever helpful bar staff.

So he sits in the back room taking some time to himself, a cheesy modern romance novel folded open neatly in one hand, and he glances up at the sound of the drawling voice. Oh wonderful. Yes, he does look the part. Smells it, too. The masculinity is appealing, even if Eric doesn't care much for the beard--reminds him too much of the French style that was so popular a few hundred years ago. Bristley.]

You could say that. Close the door behind you.

[kingofrooks]

[ The beard is a diversion along with the sunglasses and the match permanently stuck to his lips, helping to convince those stubborn enough to try to draw links between Matches Malone and Bruce Wayne despite the wildly different accents, interests, spoken history and posture.

He spares a glance for the romance novel before walking forward and dropping down in the seat. Automatically, he slouches down against it before turning around, taking a scan of the room and schooling his expression into something appreciative even as he starts to piece together the clues, the hints contained in the room about Eric Northman's personality.

He cocks his head to the side. ]

Thought you'd be out there, socializin' with the masses. [ He grins, all white teeth stark against the match in his mouth. ] It's the hottest 'our, ain't it?

[vampingitup]

Mm. All the more reason for me to catch a few moments to myself. There's very few things I dislike more than the taste of a drunk man, and happy hour just ended.

[The room was meticulously tidy, if only because his possession of it was new. In time it would become untidier. The desk was more expensive looking than anything else in the room; sturdy, on strong legs.

There were shelves of oldish looking books, a number of posters of old acts that had been advertised to the club before it had been passed along to Eric, and three neat, matching filing cabinets.

Standing, he stepped around the desk, moving around Matches quietly, studying him with all the interest of a predator seeing something new and different and furry moving and wondering whether it can be chased.]

Matches Malone, you said.

[kingofrooks]

[ It's almost as if this office is one of a bureaucrat, what with the filing cabinets and the folders and the books and the advertisements- like pieces of copy, really. Bruce's lips quirk upwards. All of it clash horribly with the vampire who is the centerpiece of the room - the long rolling steps, the shifts of the shoulder, that gaze... The room speaks of a harmless man, but the man himself cannot put up those pretenses.

Bruce wonders why he bothers. In fact- he wonders if it is a contradiction at all, or Eric Northman follows a kind of logic that Bruce hasn't managed to tapped into yet. ]

Matches Malone, I said.

[ His voice is a roiling drawl, and he half-stands up, grabbing onto the chair and swinging it around until it's perpendicular to Eric, and flops onto it, legs swinging off the arm of the chair. ]

I ain't a piece of meat ta be eaten, Mister Eric.

[vampingitup]

[ The whole point is the comfort of familiarity. Eric the Viking Vampire is off-putting enough on his own, and it would be terrifying were he to surround himself with the vampiric and gothic. Besides which they don't make gothic filing cabinets. He'd have to have them special ordered.

When Matches turns to face him, natural as ever, he smiles.]

I need employees who are aspirational. The kind that people want to be and vampires want to eat, but above all that. Someone who can't be touched, can't be bought, can't be manipulated.

Are you that kind of person, Mr. Malone?

[kingofrooks]

[ There's something about the sheer magnetism of this man. It isn't the vampirism, no- Bruce has met vampires in his time, and there have been pathetic creatures as well as grand and magnificent ones. Quite like humans, really. (It's usually Clark who insist that there are no pathetic humans, for Bruce has no such delusions.)

He looks at him and doesn't stand up, even though he's most certainly being loomed over. Bruce parts his lips before he closes them, biting down on the match between his teeth with a click that's surely audible for a man of 'exceptional hearing'. ]

I can be whatever ya want me ta be. [ He spreads out his hands, entirely casual even though he looks like he's going to fall off the chair at any moment. ] But at the same time, ya can't make me into anythin' I don't want ta be.

[ He smiles. ]

If ya want me ta not be buyable- then how will ya pay me?

[vampingitup]

[He hears it. Could get annoying, though.]

A little more than you were being paid at your last job, free drinks - within reason - and the potential of bonuses.

And perhaps other work on the side. Part time. I have errands I can't run on account of the difference between day and night. You will have to earn my trust, of course.

[kingofrooks]

[ He doesn't do it much. A point is wasted and becomes worthless if too often repeated, after all.

He raises an eyebrow about the 'errands', cocking his head to the side. ]

It ain't 'ard to top my last job. [ Droll. 24 pays its bouncers just a little bit above minimum wage, after all. ] But now ya got me interested.

What sort o' 'other work' are ya talkin' 'bout 'ere?

[vampingitup]

That depends on you, Mr. Malone. I'm looking for a Bouncer primarily, but someone to run errands, I suppose, to run protection, intelligence. To keep me up to date on goings on in the daytime, or perhaps check out the competition, when necessary. To keep a particular eye on VIPs. That kind of work.

The help of an employee in whom there is mutual trust is much better than say--favours gained through blackmail, or money. Don't you think?

I left all my reliable employees at home when the Core dragged me here. And it is most disappointing having to start from scratch.

[kingofrooks]

[ Matches tilts his head back, and laughs. It's a little rough, a little coarse. ]

I ain't yer puppy dog ta order 'ere and there, Mister Eric. I ain't the type the sniff on command. [ He cocks his head to the side. ]

If ya want information, ya 'ave ta pay extra. [ He smirks around the match. ] And if ya want someone ta find information for ya specifically- well, that's sayin' somethin', ain't it?

[ There's a pause, and he opens his hands slightly. ]

Ya ain't given me a trust ta trust ya. That's lackin', ain't it?

[vampingitup]

[ He comes back around the table, sitting opposite him, tilting his head slightly. ]

Very well. A tidbit, Mr. Malone. Vampires from our world have the power of persuasion. You'll note that I haven't used it on you, but the point is that I could, if I wanted to.

You can trust me because I have not. Because I have no reason to, and because of this.

[He takes a piece of paper - a contract - out of his top drawer, and a set of keys, and pushes both across the table.]

The key to the basement, the underground entrance and to the main doors. You'll be paid extra for extra work, naturally. And I appreciate an employee who has something of an entrepreneurial spirit; I know you have it. Find me things worth paying you for, and you'll be rewarded for the effort.

[kingofrooks]

[ Bruce's curls his lips up slightly, a full-fledged smirk this time. He looks at the contract, fingers tapping over the worlds, over the wood.

Vampires having the powers of persuasion, indeed. It makes the issue of consent very dubious, doesn't it? How much strength does a 'yes' hold when it's drawn from a shallow breath, trying to escape the knife pressed against the throat? How much strength does a 'yes' hold when it's given under persuasion?

Matches Malone can't say this. Not now. Bruce needs a better source before he does something about it. ]

Will ya promise me ya won't use that power on me?

Ain't gonna mean much of anythin' if ya say that ya didn't, but ya do it just ta make me sign this.

[vampingitup]

Mr. Malone. [He looks admonishing.] It would be boring to take consent through a glamour.

[He motions to the contract again absently, but smiles.]

I enjoy the challenge. The hunt. The seduction. A thousand years old, it's hard to find joy in anything, but seduction changes no matter the object of it. What would be the point?

[kingofrooks]

[ A glamour. Is that what it's called? Bruce stores the information at the back of his head, looking at Eric for a moment, then at the contract--

In one swift motion, he signs the contract with Matches Malone, his handwriting with all sharp edges and rapid whorls.

Then, he slams his hand against the table and leans in, in, until his breath was enough to touch Eric's skin. This is dangerous territory- but Matches Malone hasn't made a name for himself for being predictable. ]

Ya tell me, Mister Eric. [ A low, liquid drawl. ] Don't make me waste my time, yeah?