The life of a freelance bouncer was probably not as exciting as you would think. Did she have to raise her voice? Yes. Did she have to try to look hard? Yes. Was she able to grab someone by the seat of their pants and eject them from clubs and bars much to the surprise of others? Hell yes. But for as exciting as that sounded, A.) it wasn’t every night, most tended to calm down after a scathing look; and B.) it was actually pretty boring. Roxie could feel the level of her strength and durability the second she walked into whatever establishment she was working. She knew what she would be able to handle when she clocked in and, usually, it was more than enough.

Things grew tedious. It was to the point where she began to wonder why it was that she put this upon herself everyday. Why bring herself this much annoyance? Really, she only fought to defend herself (and when she was drunk off her ass), making a quasi-profession didn’t seem up her alley. Then again, it paid well for something that only asked her to use her natural born gifts. That was what kept her going back -- the money. It was hard to not look in the mirror and see a sellout.

But, self-loathing aside, Roxie still went out and did her job, much the same as she was doing tonight.

The Grail Club was one of those pop-up clubs that liked to temporary rent out space in closed department stores in the bad parts of town. Roxie knew when she walked down the streets that her abilities wouldn’t be at their peak. Dilapidated buildings, unmaintained infrastructure, she could feeling her powers waxing and waning every every block that she passed. Thankfully the Grail Club was located in a recently closed down grocery market that used to specialize to a more ethnic community. It still had good bones and was cared for well-enough by the previous owners, it was simply that they couldn’t afford the space any longer. How long before this was turned into another parking structure or corporate hub?

Walking inside, she was glad to know that tonight’s shift would entirely take part in-doors. She job was simple, to roam the interior, keep an eye out for any troublemakers, and remove those who would deem to do so. Really it couldn’t have been an easier paying gig. The only downside was the unforgivable caveat that drinking wasn’t allowed “on duty”. Most clubs tended to be like that, but there have been times when the smaller, pop-up businesses would allow it. Hell, they would try to work it into their hiree’s pay so that less cash had to change hands. But, alas, The Grail Club was one of those places with sticks firmly up their backsides.

Ah well. She’ll just have to deal with it. It was better than being home by herself anyways. There was always the option of stalking the streets for any would-be criminals or seeking a new bedmate for the night, but she was sure that neither of those options would do well for her demeanor -- or her already waning sense of self-worth.

So far the night had been pretty easy. She showed up, dressed in a cheap, black pantsuit, along with a white shirt underneath and a tie. Added with her dark glasses and the leather gloves on her slender hands, the woman certainly looked the part of the bouncer despite her short stature. However the legs of her pants flared out into a bell-bottom type design that helped cover the fact that she was wearing flip-flops (they wouldn’t let her work without shoes), a clear violation of the ‘badass-bouncer’ persona. Still, she had enough bite to match her bark should the evening call for it.

The only incident to really occur was a few moments ago, when a drunken twenty something began to spout of less than desirable rhetoric to anyone who would listen. It got to the point where he was clearly annoying his fellow clubbers, to the point where he seemed ready to start a fight. The second his fists, and a drunken slur, went up, Roxie was one it. Grabbing him by the collar, she dragged him by the back of his shirt, ignoring his shouts to be released, and unfazed by the blows he attempted to land on her. As a matter of fact, the harder he hit her, the sorer his fists got, even so much as for him to realize it through his drunken haze.

“What’reYOU?” he belched incoherently. Luckily Roxie was fluent in Drunken Slobberese.

Roxie rolled her eyes as she pushed open the side door. ”Annoyed,” she grumbled. She pushed him out into the sidewalk and flagged the other part-time bouncer at the front door. ”Make sure he gets into a cab, please.”

Roxie retreated once the other bouncer nodded and walked over to secure the drunken man. Closing the door behind her, the city mutant turned, adjusted the sleeves of her jacket, and made her way back towards the perimeter of the dance floor. God, she could really use a drink now...

Jacky squinted as he saw the club around the corner, lighting up a cigarette. By a stroke of good fortune, some guy had dropped twenty dollars into his case earlier (a kid had also spat in it, but that was besides the point), and he couldn't fool himself that it wasn't already starting to burn a hole in his pocket. This didn't look like a classy neighbourhood, but that suited him down to the ground - he could maybe stretch out a couple of drinks and round out the small change with shots. Shouldering his guitar case, he stubbed out his cigarette and threw the butt in the trash as he walked inside.

He took off his baseball cap at the door, making his way straight over to the bar. He was what you might technically call homeless, but in here he reckoned there might be people with a bed and roof of their own that had bigger problems than he did, so at least there was that. Taking his seat on the bar stool, he was just in time for a rather belligerent man to start making a scene and bother everyone else around him. Jacky didn't pay him too much mind - if you weren't mentally prepared to stumble over drunk idiots, a downtown club probably wasn't your best pick of locale.

What did catch his eye however, was the lady bouncer (must have been a New York thing) making a beeline for the drunk through the other patrons. From the look in her eyes she'd had nails for breakfast, and he didn't fancy the feller's chances. Even so, he found his southern sensibility senses tingling as the guy made a swing for her, and he had one foot up from his stool to intervene when he noticed she'd promptly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck like a mother cat scooping up an angry kitten and marched him over to the door. He was still shouting and swinging away at her but she hardly seemed to notice, bundling him out of the side entrance before walking back in empty-handed shortly thereafter. She dusted herself down and walked straight back out onto the dance floor. Jacky made a mental note not to drink too much.

Turning back around, he flagged down the bartender's attention. The guy cupped his hand as if to say he couldn't hear, just as the DJ span into some obnoxious thumping remix of a song that didn't sound like it had too much to recycle from to begin with. Jacky shouted again, not able to hear his own voice. The barman just shook his head and motioned for him to try again. Jacky sighed, before a brief look of concentration filled his face.

The roaring music in the bar went eerily dead silent, and for three-quarters of a second Jacky's quiet, well-mannered voice was the only thing that made any noise in the club, ringing out like a pin-drop. "Just a beer, please." And just like that, the music and everything else blinked back into existence. The barman looked confused for a moment, before assuming there'd been some glitch with the DJ's set or some other fairly reasonable explanation and sliding a bottle forward. Jacky dropped the twenty on the bar and took a swig as he waited for his change, wincing as he listened to the music. Maybe another five minutes without that would be worth the nosebleed.

Roxie could feel that urge for a drink rolling throughout her body. She knew that that the establishment wasn’t going to allow her any drinks while working but it wasn’t as if the owners were here. Besides, she had gotten chummy with the bartender throughout the night. Nothing scandalous, of course, just a smile and a few kind words. She bartended part-time so she knew everything that the poor guy was going through. If anything they found a kind of common ground thanks to that, allowing her a friendly smile whenever she passed by. He did say earlier that she would slip him a drink if she needed something to see her through the night. Considering how boring it was so far, she could hardly turn down the offer.

Besides, after throwing out the drunken fool, she doubted there would be any further shenanigans, at least long enough for her to take a seat and enjoy a beverage. So once she returned, making her rounds around the dance floor, she paused when the sound of the music seemed to mysteriously dip out. It wasn’t all that uncommon, however, as these pop-up places didn’t always have the best wiring.

Once the music picked up, she sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, made one more sweep before she then moved towards the bar. It was a shame, the silence was actually welcoming in comparison to the type of music that was currently pumping out through the various hidden speakers. Deep, throbbing beats mixed with high-voiced blondes singing about how much they hate Fridays. God, the crap that became popular these days was unfathomable.

As she approached the bar, her eyes glanced around the people who were gathered. Most were trying to get the next round of drinks, not bothering to want to stay more than a few moments. There was on person, however, who had seemingly planted himself near the edge, minding his business with only a beer to nurse. Interesting. This didn’t seem like his type of joint, at least she guessed from his attire, but it took all kinds. Maybe he was just a big fan of Blondes Hatin’ Fridays (seriously, the band name was just as horrible as the song).

Stepping up, she waved her hand to the bartender. While he was surrounded by customers, he did immediately take notice of her, smiled and waved back. She gave him a universally known gesture for what drink she wanted and the man nodded with a smirk. He turned away and started to make her Jack and Coke.

Roxie sighed, leaning against the counter and rolled her neck. She glanced at the man with the bushy beard but winced at the sound of the singers lamenting ‘The Day of Frigg’ and she shook her head at the pretentious of it. ”Unbelievable…” she grumbled. ”Who listens to that crap?”

He must have looked out of place, but he didn't think much on it. His guitar case was still slung over his shoulder, but then again he didn't feel like letting his sole source of income out of his sight just so some twenty-somethings stopped looking at him funny. He looked to his side as the bouncer came up to the bar, the barman sending a drink her way as she leaned up against the counter.

>> ”Unbelievable…” she grumbled. ”Who listens to that crap?”

At least he wasn't the only one here who thought it sounded like a constipated bulldog chewing a wasp nest. He could even hear himself speak between the pauses for breath as the singers began their next off-key verse. "Not sure what everyone's beef is with Fridays, if I'm honest." He finished his bottle, now glad he could just nod to the bartender with it slightly raised to order another. "Honestly, if the worst thing that happened to you this week is that one of the days of it turned up, then I'd probably say you're not doing too badly." It came to his turn as the barman slid his beer across to him, and Jacky swapped back some of his change. He grinned again at Roxie before taking a sip. "Surprised they let you drink on the job. Who'd kick you out - the National Guard?" 

Roxie didn’t make it a point to talk to strangers but sometimes her mouth got ahead of her. When she was frustrated or overly tired, she tended to just talk out loud and, for many people, it served as a invitation to join in the conversation. Leaning against the bar, Roxie was grateful for the drink that was being passed over to her but soon found that she wasn’t necessarily enjoying it all her own. Instead she turned her head to the side and found the bushy-bearded man with the guitar pack on his back responding to her conversation. She actually was going to ignore him but hearing a like minded sentiment caused her listen.

>>"Not sure what everyone's beef is with Fridays, if I'm honest. Honestly, if the worst thing that happened to you this week is that one of the days of it turned up, then I'd probably say you're not doing too badly."

She smirked, staring down at the bartop. Admittedly, he had a point. In this day and age, people led real messed up lives. Homes were foreclosed on, people were robbed, others lost loved ones through the sheer randomness of events. Even Roxie herself had lived through some real sh!t. Both her parents were gone. Both taken away by circumstances that no one could have planned for. Really if the worst thing that happened to your week was that Friday showed up, the you much be living in a god damn paradise.

A glove-wrapped hand circled around her glass, lifted it, and pressed it to her lips. She took a sip, casting another glance in the man’s direction. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to be here and, with his admission that he seemingly disliked the current playlist, she had to wonder why he was here. He didn’t seem like the type to just come to cause trouble, so maybe he was just in to wet his whistle. There were better joints in this city, but she wouldn’t judge him too harshly.

Roxie set her glass down, prepared to lose herself in her own thoughts when the man next to her chimed in again...

>>"Surprised they let you drink on the job. Who'd kick you out - the National Guard?"

A small grin curled her lips. Whoever he was, he must have been in long enough to see her kick out the inebriated fool who kept taking swings at her. There was really little point in hiding that she was on the job, Roxie rarely hid from her “mistakes” and tended to confront them head on. Deep, earthy eyes were turned to face his and she gave him a knowing smirk.

”They could try,” she said. ”But they wouldn’t get very far.” This really was proving to be a long night so rather than scare the man off with a snarl to mind his own business, she would engage. What the hell; it’d kill some time. ”It’s just been a...lengthy evening. Nothing wrong with making it more interesting, right?”

>>”They could try,” she said. ”But they wouldn’t get very far.”

>>”It’s just been a...lengthy evening. Nothing wrong with making it more interesting, right?” 

He grinned at this, and he didn't doubt it for a second. That guy was probably going to wake up tomorrow and conjure up a story about the biggest, hairiest guy kicking him out last night when he got separated from his friends. He'd probably believe it himself, too.

She was humouring him, and he could tell it was only because he didn't look like the type to try and grab her ass that she'd given him the time of day... which was flattering enough, he supposed. He'd probably never find his arm again, anyway. 

He took another swig of his drink before responding. "Interesting is good - can't say I'd wanna do what you do. I've done some working doors at bars down south, but uh... nowhere like this." He left the comment for what it was, without elaborating. 

"I'm Jacky, by the way. I'm not from here," he said, unbidden. "Well, I'm not really from anywhere, but I'm definitely not from here. Just in case you were wondering why I was hanging around in a place like this dressed like I'd just come back from a Mumford and Sons concert or an ale tasting masterclass or something."

Ugh, Roxie really did hate this music but at least the booze was good. Leaning against the counter, she took another sip, trying to make the drink last since she knew that wasn’t going to be able to get another one for the rest of her shift. She would be down to just a cordial cherry and coke. Such was a fate that she wanted to delay for as long as she possibly could.

Though she didn’t come here initially looking for conversation, hey, at least doing so would keep her from downing the rest of her drink. There was something to chatting it up with another person that allowed them to take her to take their time. Besides, one glance at him and it was apparent that he had a story to tell. Why not stick around and see what he says?

>>"Interesting is good - can't say I'd wanna do what you do. I've done some working doors at bars down south, but uh... nowhere like this."

Yeah there weren’t many places like this -- then again that seemed to be something that was changing with the world. “Pop-Ups” were trending these days. It made sense. Any hipster with enough money and a sense towards the nostalgic could make a living off of it. Just latch onto the newest thing and form a “restaurant” or “bar” around it. On top of that, you didn’t need overly lengthy leases or worry about your storefront for more than a few months because as quick as that you would move on and carry the profits away.

”Yeah, I can’t say I would wanna do it either,” she smirked. She turned around, planting her back against the counter and staring out at the dancefloor. She could still work while having her mini-break, couldn’t she? Carefully she lifted her glass towards him when he mentioned that he had worked the doors in the past. Comradery and all that.

>>"I'm Jacky, by the way. I'm not from here...Well, I'm not really from anywhere, but I'm definitely not from here. Just in case you were wondering why I was hanging around in a place like this dressed like I'd just come back from a Mumford and Sons concert or an ale tasting masterclass or something."

She dipped her head towards him in greeting. Again, she didn’t normally chat with strangers but the man was proving interesting enough to hold her attention. May as well do her best to not be rude.

”Roxanne,” she returned his greeting. At his admission that he wasn’t “from here” she just smirked and shrugged her shoulders. ”Yeah, I can see that you’re working the whole ‘Wandering Folk Hero’ look about you,” she chuckled. ”To be honest I just labeled you as another shaggy bearded hipster trying to look interesting.” A sip. ”No offense, of course.”

He tipped his beer toward her own little toast as he mentioned his previous work at bars. There was a shared experience in that - some things you only went through working in such a job. Getting spat on, argued with, swung at... he'd worked as a farmhand for a summer a few years ago, and he'd equated the doorman experience to herding particularly violent, drunk, tattooed sheep that would shiv you if you turned your back on them. Or something to that effect.

She introduced herself as Roxanne. He resisted the urge to jokingly tell her she didn't have to put on the red light, at the risk of her folding him like an old newspaper. "Pleased to meet ya." He said, finishing his second beer. 

He shifted his guitar from his back to the ground next to him, the strap wrapped around the edge of his foot. He was pretty confident if someone tried to make a move for it he was close enough to the muscle that they wouldn't make it out of arm's reach. It would still probably be the first case of grand theft guitar in the club history, though. Probably.

>>”Yeah, I can see that you’re working the whole ‘Wandering Folk Hero’ look about you,” she chuckled. ”To be honest I just labeled you as another shaggy bearded hipster trying to look interesting.” A sip. ”No offense, of course.”

He laughed. "Folk Hero I'm not too sure about, but I'm afraid the look's about as authentic as it can be when it comes to the rest. Sorry to disappoint. I still probably shower more than your typical hipster, if that's any consolation to you." He took out his remaining change, rummaging through. "So in the interest of trying to stay looking interesting, what fine, fascinating beverage would the lady recommend to the tune of say... ten dollars, forty-five cents? You could even cut yourself another drink in if you're feeling thrifty enough."

>>"Pleased to meet ya."

It was a cordial greeting, the kind that she wasn’t all together used to her in profession. Most of the time it was either catcalls or leering eyes. Once in a blue moon someone greeted her with kindness but usually it was after a sh!t night and Roxie wasn’t in the mood to play nice. However, Jacky had managed to catch her on one of those rare nights where she wasn’t running her knuckles through glistening, broken glass. That was enough to earn him a slight smile and further conversation.

Her eyes swept over the dance floor and the darkened corners around the bar. She wasn’t ignoring her newfound friend, but rather she was taking the opportunity to actually do her job and ensure that everything was secure. People were dancing, laughing, nudging against one another. There was one woman was was grinding just a little too hard with any man or woman who was in her vicinity but her friends had finally managed to pull her off the dance floor; they were sober enough to know what would happen. Grateful that she wouldn’t have to lose her play at the bar, she lifted her glass for another sip and moved from patron to patron. So far all was in the clear -- at least enough to allow her a glance back to her comrade.

He really did look like he was a hipster. It was the first thought that came to mind when she saw him but even then it didn’t quite fit. The beard wasn’t as meticulously combed and waxed into odd shapes to truly be the ironic wear of such a person. Jacky actually looked like the quinestial image of ‘The Wanderer’; it was as if he had stepped out of the dictionary from under that moniker. He embodied the image that so many others only tried to imitate, either ironically or from praise. It was...intriguing.

>>"Folk Hero I'm not too sure about, but I'm afraid the look's about as authentic as it can be when it comes to the rest. Sorry to disappoint. I still probably shower more than your typical hipster, if that's any consolation to you…”

She snorted. She really didn’t know what was with hipsters and soap. ”Thank god for that,” she said with a grin. ”Otherwise I’d have to chuck you outta here for offenses against the nose.”

Another sip and she sighed. Her drink was done. Still, she wasn’t in a rush to make her rounds, not when she could see everything so clearly. Setting her glass on the bar behind her, she didn’t signal for another and instead continued to survey until she heard the sound of change jingling. A turn of her head and Jacky was counting out a handful of coins and crumpled bills.

>>”So in the interest of trying to stay looking interesting, what fine, fascinating beverage would the lady recommend to the tune of say... ten dollars, forty-five cents? You could even cut yourself another drink in if you're feeling thrifty enough."

She watched him for a moment and then turned her head back to the dance floor. ”Rusty Nail is pretty good,” She turned, this time facing him, one elbow resting on the bartop. ”Then again, you know what they say about ‘beer before liquor’. In that case they have some darker microbrews if you’re interested.” She shrugged her shoulders. ”But it’s up to you. Just don’t get sick on my dancefloor.”

He slid the beer glass neatly to one side with the back of his hand, noticing Roxanne properly up close for the first time since she'd actually come over. Mainly, it was the gloves - an interesting choice, but again... New York. Still, maybe there was some other tactical choice to wearing them, such as shoveling out the lice-bitten, piss-soaked masses. Or maybe she just had poor circulation.

"A Rusty Nail, huh? Well, if it was good enough for the Rat Pack, why not?" He laid the scraps of change he had on the bar, motioning for the bartender to keep the remainder. Jacky would get more tomorrow. Probably. Someone happened to throw twenty dollars his way, so in his head it was always best to pass something on to keep up the chain, despite the violation of common sense involved in emptying his pockets so thoroughly. 

"Not distracting you from your job with my beardy weirdo routine, am I?" He asked genially enough, tapping his fingers as he waited for his drink. "You're either very patient or very polite; I haven't figured out which one it is, yet."

The drink came back his way, and he took a sip. He coughed a little bit. "Wow, that's decent whisky." He said with a chuckle, scooting the glass slightly away. It'd been a while, and he reckoned somewhere along the line he'd lost the taste slightly. Also, maybe Roxanne wasn't far off the mark about pacing himself with beers and spirits - he wasn't a violent drunk or even a loud one, but he tended to get a bit... mischievous. He didn't understand his 'talent', but drunk him certainly would have found it hilarious to single out a particularly posey, arrogant patron and make them fart at 115 decibels, or some other juvenile action. It wasn't even funny. The fact that he still smiled slightly as he thought about it told him to take a second before he took another sip.

Not that it mattered anyway, as a man who (against any notion of common sense Jacky could define) was wearing sunglasses indoors shoved through the crowd to the front of the bar, with his own goon patrol in tow. The man's foot kicked into the side of Jacky's guitar case, propped up against the side of the bar. Jacky didn't pay it any mind, but the clubber looked down at his foot and sniggered with his friends as he realised what he saw. "Which ****head brought a guitar in here?"

Jacky gave him a warm wave. "Howdy friend, that's me. The ****head."  The man just gave him a look as though he'd had to find a patch of grass to wipe him off his shoe, before flagging down the bartender. They clustered around the bar, giving them both a sidelong glance as they talked. Once again, Jacky didn't seem to pay attention, though his foot wrapped another notch of the guitar strap around itself.

"So where you from, Roxanne?"

>>"A Rusty Nail, huh? Well, if it was good enough for the Rat Pack, why not?"

Roxie grinned, watching as the man ordered his new drink. Seriously it was up to him if he wanted to subject his body to that, she wasn’t one to tell people what to do (when it wasn’t outlined in her job description, that is). So she remained silent, casting her gaze out upon the dance floor, eyeing a few people carefully who seemed close to causing a problem but, for the most part, just ignored them and allowed them to continue on. That was good. She’d rather talk to something interesting anyways than play everyone’s mother.

>>"Not distracting you from your job with my beardy weirdo routine, am I? You're either very patient or very polite; I haven't figured out which one it is, yet."

She snorted as she turned, giving him a slight glance over her shoulder. ”You saying I don’t seem the type to be polite?” Sure she was brash some (most) of the time but that didn’t mean she was some uncultured swine. Though, in truth, that didn’t seem to be Jacky’s point; it was more self-deprecating than anything else. It was a quality that made her crack another smile. ”You’re not distracting me,” she said, her full attention shifting forward again. ”I’m pretty adept at multitasking.”

As a former dancer, she had to be able to multitask. to move with precision, as well as keep an eye on her surroundings, her fellow dancers, and the scenery. It was just something that was a part of her. She could do her job and spend time with someone who was actually turning out to be rather interesting. It was a welcome distraction from the kind of night that she was having.

>>"Wow, that's decent whisky."

A confirming nod followed, one seemed to say “See? I told you…” without the use of words. Roxie turned to cast another glance out to the dancefloor but stopped when someone approaching the bar seemed to be gearing to start sh!t. She heard the sound of the guitar being nudged and, while it was rude, it wasn’t a severe enough to cause her to act. But, before she could fully ignore the exchange, the nasty voice and the sneering comment pulled her back.

>>"Which ****head brought a guitar in here?"

>>"Howdy friend, that's me. The ****head."

She arched her brow. The guy was definitely a douche. Jacky seemed to be taking the altercation in stride though so, so long as he wasn’t bothered, there was no reason for her to get involved. Still, she took a careful second to eye the moron before shifting her attention, cautiously, back to her drinking friend.

>>"So where you from, Roxanne?"

”Olympia, Washington originally…” she commented. She finally looked away from the privileged jack*** and smirked to her bearded companion. ”...moved out here several years ago. Wanted to get away from the small town life, I suppose.”