[ 001 ]: all you need are your kicks when you need them

[littlspecificty]

Arthur had started working in dreamsharing with his friends the Cobbs but ever since they started a family together he had started taking more "solo jobs" where he basically had to work with a different extractor and architect nearly every time

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[sebastian_moore]

Sebastian Moore, more commonly known simply as Ian, was an extractor slash point slash drunk slash party boy slash knows-how-and-when-to-get-his-work-done-thank-you-bloody-fucking-much. His methods were rather unorthodox but they worked. His morals -- well, they were very much in the gray which suited him and his job perfectly.

Within the next week it would be work taking up much of his time but until then, he could live it up in the style he was accustomed to. Well, the style he had become accustomed to.

Ian knocked back a shot of tequila and motioned the bar tender to bring another. "Can't you play something dancy-er instead of this 'slow jam' shite that you have playing? Is it too much to ask for some Madonna or Lady Gaga? I bet," he said, knocking back the next shot before continuing, "you would have a lot more business if you played something more relevant."

[littlspecificty]

Arthur couldn't help smirking as he sat down at the bar, not able to help over-hearing the other man at the bar complaining about the music.

Dryly, amused, "Pretty sure you'll have to go to a club for that kind of thing."

He then ordered a rum and coke, not wanting to indulge in shots tonight.

[sebastian_moore]

It admittedly took a moment or three before Ian realized someone had spoken to him. He looked over at the man, the very beautiful man, sitting at the bar who had spoken to him and allowed his lips to curve up in appreciation. "There should be a place where they play good music and yet isn't bloody irritating to stay at for five minutes because you can't hear yourself talk much less think."

Motions for the bartender for another shot before resting his elbow on the bar and looking the man over. "And what is your name?"

[littlspecificty]

Snorting softly as his drink was placed in front of him, "I'd prefer some jazz to Madonna or... whatever her name is." But then, that's why he usually brought his own music with him when he traveled (but tended to tolerate others' music until he got back to his room or was on the next plane to finally indulge in his own preferences).

After taking a sip of his drink he looked over at the other man, a brow arched, voice smooth, "Depends on who's asking."