The Office is on the classier end of seedy cabaret/exotic dancing establishments. Which is to say that it boasts an actual chef, as in a person who studied to make food, and has enough bouncer presence on the floor to offer at least some low alcohol content beverages. Similar to other establishments of this nature, it's got your well lit stage, poles, a diverse cast of dancing women, and surrounding them a population of tables, velvet wing-back chairs, couches, and people who've got nothing better to do (most of them men).
Eleanor lounged casually stretched out on a plush velvet couch in the center of The Office, Cenril’s prominent burlesque cabaret. The club wasn’t usually all that busy at this hour on a Tuesday, but it was modestly packed thanks to some kind of promotion or other; ladies night perhaps, as indicated by a few flyers both outside and within the establishment. As such, the crowd favored the femme fatales who wanted to get away from their austere Northern-Cenril society dinners, El side-eying the customers with an amused smirk as she sipped from a bottle of whiskey. The label was fine, probably taken from the top-shelf at the bar. Dressed in her two-piece ensemble of leather and cerulean fabrics, the spell-rogue turned much of her attention toward the stage as Moxie and a few other dancers exercised their acrobatic skills around poles to the beat of some heavy rock music played by a live band in the northern alcove of the club’s main room. The room vibrated with the deep bass of the drumset, and the blonde woman’s head bobbed in rhythm with it. With the club as busy as it was, Tuna wasn’t present, probably secured in the basement of the cabaret for now, and in the tiger's place, a burly bouncer hovered near the tiara'd female, standing guard.
Irenic shoulders himself in the establishment unimpressively… You know, aside from being nearly seven feet tall and obviously an avian, but without wings. He is also obviously a man, but without… nevermind. He frequented this place for a while, but forgets why and settles into the familiarity of the faces, scents and sights. Maybe a few dancers argue in the distance who gets to entertain ‘Edlin’ today, but he pretends he can’t hear them even though those elongated pointed and pierced ears pick up lots of different conversations. He adjusts the tie which is tucked into a emerald colored vest over a black short sleeved button up right before he takes a seat at the bar to order whisky on the rocks. One silver eye checks out Moxie and lingers on the end of her act as the other eye is covered with a leather eye patch for now. He looks bored, unimpressed or pissed off… Who knows, but he gets his drink and sits alone at the moment while he gets targeted like prey by the dancers who know of him from before. The usual gossip between the one who care somewhat, ‘it’s a shame what that witch did to him, what was her name again?’ a shrug from one server, ‘started with a V or somethin’, but he’s forgot about it…. The ol’ memory swipe.’ Seems quite common in this land, ‘yeah, he was silking in here for weeks after that, drinkin’ whisky like water.’ Again he pretends he doesn’t hear and sips on his whisky.
Eleanor wasn't the only one keen to eavesdrop, and although she would appear to be lush with the mostly-empty bottle in her lap, she easily picked up the bits and pieces about the witch, her smirk immediately widening as she angled a curious stare over her right sunbrushed shoulder. Her seaglass eyes glinted inscrutably as her smirk darkened a shade, before the sonsie-bodied rogue pulled herself to a stand -- shorter than Irenic by far, reaching about 5'9" with those boots of hers that reach her knees in laced-up leather. The tabard-style loin cloth of a skirt wrapped around her calves as she withdrew from her chosen area to saunter through the tables and chairs to the bar, coming to lean heavily upon its surface as she clanked the bottle of whiskey before her. "Fill me up, Scotty," came her thick, rolling accent as she dipped a not toward the bartender. Thereafter the tattooed female pulled herself into a stool only a few away from the avian-esque man-thing, giving him a blatantly curious sidelong glance. It didn't take long for her to figure him out, at least in the sense of how he was connected however indirectly to her, but nevertheless, she soon offered up a coy, "I've seen ye 'roond haur afair, huvnae Ah?"
Irenic turned his face fully towards the female talking at him because the one eye makes it hard to side eye someone. A strong urge to say ‘what?’ sarcastically arouse, but he refrained for now - she could be a crazy person for all he knew. That chilling silver eye lingers on Eleanor’s face all the way down to her boots like smoke until he was looking her in the eye once more, “it’s possible, but I don’t remember seeing you.” Maybe she’s that witch with a V name and that's why he doesn’t remember her… She does look like a heart breaker and all, but he will not be jumping to conclusions so far in this game. He takes out a handful of coins in order to lay down a gold piece and the tumbler he was given, “could I bother you for the good stuff?” He had asked the bartender, but got some reply of not being able to find the bottle. This is when his good eye falls on the empty bottle being handled by the woman next to him, “I see… Take this anyway,” he leaves the gold on the counter for the tender, “consider it a tip.” The bartender doesn’t seem phased by this from Irenic - or how he’s known in this establishment as ‘Edlin.’
Eleanor ;; The bartender spared Eleanor a glance before addressing Irenic's request, gaze settling on the gold on the counter. The spell-rogue gave 'Scotty' a cheeky wink, and leaned forward to pluck up the coin. "Dornt min' if Ah dae," the club's manager spoke, even as the bartender moved to grab a new bottle from an ice box under the bar, producing that "mysteriously gone" top-shelf whiskey, tossing the empty one in the nearby trash. Taking up the bottle of whiskey -- and just flat-out grinning at Irenic -- she then said to him, "If ye dornt see me in mah ain club, main pure techt aam daein' somethin' reit." At least this time she wasn't shrouded in the shadows of her guild's disguise, always having been more comfortable in her own skin in the club, even though it started as a front for the dust business. "Dornt gie mony ay yer kin' haur," the blonde continued, grin turning devilish. She meant tall of course, but she'd allow him to think whatever he wanted. "Wi' sic' a vantage point, aam surprised anythin' gits pest ye."
Irenic doesn’t even know what ‘his kind’ would even be anymore at any rate so that comment is not even thought of for too long. A dark chuckle given, “um… Sorry, sounded like you called this ‘you club’? Is that right?” Okay, now he was kind of making fun of her accent, but at least he tried not to at first. A grin playing on scarred lips exposing crowded by white teeth and a casual sip of the cheap stuff in his tumbler. “I’m sure plenty gets passed me,” he lies, but with the upbringing he had - yeah, not much gets passed him and he knows that he should always play dumb at first. A dancer or two linger nearby waiting for him to move to more fancy couches which usually signals that he’s ready for a dance. It was a friendly challenge between the dancers to try and get Irenic to smile, grin, or look remotely interested in their ‘talents’. One girl claims she got a smirk once, but it doesn’t count because no one else saw and she's known known for telling tall tales.
Eleanor arched her left brow at Irenic, celadon twins shadowed with intrigue. "Och aye, 'at is whit Ah said, isnae it?" she countered, tongue pressing into her cheek as she swept the avian with an up-down-up gaze. "Ah hae a feelin' 'at isnae entirely true," El called him out. "Ye wooldnae be in a place loch thes if ye werenae payin' attention tae th' finer things." The rogue chuckled huskily as she uncorked the new bottle of whiskey, then gestured with two fingers toward the bartender. He produced a clean tumbler for Irenic, and another for El, and she poured the two of them a drink, pushing the avian's toward him in a peace offering of another "finer thing". "Eleanur is whit they caa me."
Irenic shrugged just slightly, but with broad shoulders such as his, it was hard to miss, “I think that’s what you said.” Again he was only poking a bit of fun… There is plenty to tease him about, I’m sure. “Have whatever feelings you want,” he doesn’t care too much what people assume of him because they are mostly always wrong, but he doesn’t have the energy to debate today. He pulled out a cigarette tin and pulled one out with his lips before flashing her a questioning look, “smoking allowed in here?” Before he even got an answer he was lighting the cigarette end with a nearby candle before taking up his whisky drink. He raises it with a sort of ‘thanks’ gesture as he presses his luck further in mimicking her accent with the name she provided, “well… Eleanur. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. They call me Eldin.” It wasn’t entirely a lie - it is what they call him… here.
Eleanor eyed the cigarette, that blonde brow arching higher at the question. "Far be it frae me tae gonnae-no ye," she offered up, holding up her right hand, palm facing Irenic in a gesture denoting she'd do no judging. It was only a beat later that she withdrew a tin of her own, this one holding hand rolled herbal cigarettes with a skunkier, earthy smell than normal tobacco-based products. She lit it with a blue spark summoned in her palm, inhaling deep as she eyed Irenic. The bartender glanced around briefly, smirking, before snatching it from her in an audacious move to take a quick puff, winking to Irenic before he passed the herb back to the spell-rogue before she could smack his hand away. "Och," she growled at him, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, narrowing that heavy-lashed glower before she was addressing the avian again. "Sae teel me, Eldin. what's yer flavur?" El jerked her chin over a shoulder, indicating the nearest dancers.
Irenic took his time looking around, but he also didn’t give any indication that he cared about her own choice of ‘herbal relaxation’ for he is also non-judgemental. A few dancers beaming flirty smiles at him (seems he gets around), but he only half heartedly waved back at them, “hm. They are all pretty, I guess.” Now that she was a bit closer to the avian Eleanor might spot the scar on his brow spanning down the hidden eye and another on his lips, but what was really difficult to see in this dim light was the crows feet poking into the sides of his face at the temples. His skin is tawny and a plethora of black tattoos spill out from under the short sleeves of his shirt and even the loosened collar on his neck. This is a guy who’s been through some tough crap and maybe not the nicest either, given the circumstances. “I guess I lean more towards blondes,” he said matter-of-factly as if she isn’t even a blonde sitting right next to him. He looked distracted for only a moment looking at nothing, “has this place always been a club? Was it a theater at one point?” He made effort to look away from whatever distracted him and down into his drink being held by the hand which is carelessly hanging onto his lit cigarette.
Eleanor couldn't help but smirk in reply to Irenic, gaze scrutinizing him - and that scar - for only the span of a heartbeat. She had her own tattoos visible across her midsection and curling around her legs and arms, but hers were azure in varying degrees of vibrancy depending on the spell's remaining essence. "Ye frae th' area?" she found herself asking, taking her time in replying to his question. In the end, she added, "Huds an' Ah booght it a coople years ago." It was no secret they were partners in its business, but she wondered nevertheless if the name would inspire some glint of who Irenic was to her; and in particular, if he knew anything of their more illicit enterprises. "Nae sure when it was converted, but it was a club when we booght it." The truth was, she hadn't been in Lithrydel all that much longer before that. "Waur ye a patron ay th' erts, in a pest life?" she asked, playfulness sparkling in her glassgreen gaze that grew redder with each drag of her cigarette.
Irenic felt the air turn a little colder and knew why, but he secretly wondered if she knew was well. He wasn’t exactly ready to share that secret yet, “I’m not from here, no…” The nickname Huds sparks a recognition, “Hudson? Ah, good guy. I’ve seen him in here before.” Yes he knew him, but he doesn’t remember how he even met the guy - something about a witch probably. Patron of the arts? He could be, but he isn’t and he’ll go with the lie because that sounds way better than the truth right now, “yeah. That Shookspear guy has great stuff.” Okay, it was a lazy lie and he sips a little too much whisky from his glas now before glancing around, “is there a gentleman’s room?” He glanced what looked like a warning grimace to the empty seat next to him, or at least it looks empty.
Eleanor's gaze narrowed subtly as she watched the avian with interest. "Ah woods wager ye ken hoo tae fin' it," came the rogue's sly reply, her smirk tempered for now as she considered the other, from his pierced, tapered ears to the scar to the inky dark tattoos spread across his neck and shoulder. Nevertheless, she'd play along, and harboring a nebulous smile, she turned to glance toward a sign above the corridor nearby that indicated the restrooms were at its end. Pressing her herbal stick into a nearby ashtray, she took up the tumbler, swirling the amber contents before downing it in a hearty swig, but blanched, something pricking at the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Something was amiss, and she grew immediately wary upon watching Irenic consider the bar stool between them. "Mebbe ye shoods lay aff th' whiskey, loove." Even as she said it, the turquoise gem in the spell-rogue's diadem seemed to catch the light of a nearby candle as if reacting to something El herself couldn't see.
Irenic stands, “I see… I’ll be right back.” He looked down at the stranger for a long moment, but he wasn’t really looking at her, it was the diadem. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he wasn’t even buzzed yet since Avians have a higher tolerance to just about anything given the makeup of their race, but she was and he wasn’t about to ruin her fun. He took one step towards the men’s room, but turned while offering up gold with the flick of a coin, “could I bother you for another drink of the good stuff?” He’s going to need it. Under his breath as he walked away he said to no one, ‘follow’ but it was barely a whisper. After a small moment maybe a patron came out of the men's room and rejoined his young rowdy frat guy friends while mentioning that ‘some old dude is in there talking to himself!’ Only in Cenril, right?
Eleanor enjoyed putting people together as much as taking them apart, and Irenic had snared her interest. It is that reason she allowed another glass of the whiskey to be spared for him, pouring it himself as the bartender sees to a group of co-eds giggling at the other end of the bar as they try to get his attention. Meanwhile, the spell-rogue's gem glittered more, yearning as it did for whatever -else- it sensed following after the avian, her own pale green eyes fixed on his back. "Hmm." If only Leo were here, maybe he'd be able to figure the scar-faced male out; her co-leader wasn't present, however, leaving El to her own devices, the gears turning in her head as she waited a while for Irenic to return. As she did, she burned down the herbal cigarette until it was mere embers and ashes in the tray, her own second glass of whiskey being finished off as she then lit a normal cigarette. If it wasn't one vice, it was another, all working together as she struggled to keep her own pieces together.
Irenic returned and this time a cold chill in the air did not follow him, but as he promised he would sort that out later. Taking up his tumbler he tipped all of it’s contents between his lips in which forced a sigh afterwards when the liquor burns it’s way down his esophagus. Okay, now he was a little buzzed and that single silver eye looks down at Eleanor, “So… ‘Eleanur’ do you give dances, too?” he motions to an empty fancy loveseat, “or...” he now motions to the dancers still eyeballing the tall man, “should my gold be going to them?” Yeah it was probably kind of rude, but he did come here to be teased.
Eleanor snorted. "Sure Ah gie dances, but nae fur ye." Nice try though, she would muse, smirk returning; there simply weren't enough drugs in her system to facilitate that sort of thing, currently. Too bad Meri isn't around to coax it out of her. "Whit abit ye?" she bounced back, chuckling huskily as she sized up the avian. "Aam aye lookin' fur puckle males tae fill in th' line-up."
Irenic guffawed as she was joking, right? His booming chuckle garnered a few odd looks from patrons, “um… This.” He motions up his tall athletic fame, “does not look good in motion.” Too bad there wasn’t a Lita about to coax that out of him either. It was now that a rather busty dancer sauntered over and gently linked her wrist around Irenic’s forearm in attempts to lure him to that cozy lonely sofa, “oh, hello…” He allows this and gives Eleanor that lazy wave of the hand, “be seeing you, ‘Eleanur’.”
Eleanor toasted the female who arrived with a saucy, knowing wink, allowing her to pull Irenic away without protest. "See ye," she parted with, sliding off the stool and leaving her tumbler on the bar, but taking the bottle of whiskey with her. "If'n ye change yer min', ye ken whaur tae fin' me." That being said, the blonde sashayed with heavy hips toward the corridor down which the bathrooms were, but instead of ducking into the ladies room, she went into the office labeled "Manager", where she'd probably sequester herself for a while.