1523/A Gothic Gathering

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A Gothic Gathering
Date of Scene: 05 May 2020
Location: An Underground Club in NYC
Synopsis: Andi sneaks out to a club and meets someone with the best name ever, who could also be a bad influence.
Cast of Characters: Death Reaper, Andi Benton




Death Reaper has posed:
    The critical subculture mass needed to divide into sub-subcultures has taken a hit over time; the idea of an exclusively romantic or rivethead goth bar almost seems laughable when having to share scenester space with EDM and dubstep and everything else now. So there's no real faux paus for Death Reaper showing up in 'Betty Page but sleazier' punkabilly; an actual shirt, faith and begorra, though the sateen short-sleeved blouse - one sleeve of which folded up around a square package, how retro -does have a pretty distinct and distinctly unnatural black bustier to go with it. And the black Empire waist skirt flutters in unnatural ways, too.
    Not that it's really noticeable right up front, given the general low lighting interspersed with flashes of brighter colors in disturbing red-green-purple selections. As far as dancing goes, she's keeping her best for last; or at least something more energetic than the witch house retrospective going on currently. So while she's waiting, she can do it at the bar, getting prime pick for the spot at the corner underneath a black light that makes her blouse practically glow. It's a weekday night, not a lot of competition.

Andi Benton has posed:
A weeknight means a school night, but Andi can deal with a little less sleep...or just ditch classes for the day. Who cares?

As connected to the internet and social media as she is, she's got a few people she follows in 'the scene' that occasionally leak info on secret club gatherings. Tonight was one of those nights, just within New York City. Since the old man fell asleep early - he had a long day of work - she set the lock on her bedroom door and snuck out the window, hooked up with someone else who was going, and off they went.

It wasn't a long drive, traffic moderate to congested the closer they got, even as it was near midnight, but they found parking, made it to the place, and their fake IDs did the trick.

And then, the one she was with flowed deeper into the club, a dark, thumping, colorful place with numerous people enjoying themselves. "Shit, where'd you go, Alicia?" she asks nobody, under her breath. Tonight's attire was, well, about the usual for her. She didn't have a very big wardrobe, not possessing a lot of money. Dark purples and blacks, faux leather bodice in purple, black leggings of the same material, ankle-length thick boots. Not the best to dance in, but so far, she's merely people-watching. Now that she's here, the question is whether or not she'll get into any of what the others are up to. The waiting gives the chance for her to look over one person or another, noting styles, personal body art, and things of that nature.

Death Reaper has posed:
    Tipping the glass in front of her towards herself, Death Reaper reviews what's left and goes for the quick method of making sure it's not tampered with; leaning back and finishing it in one go. While not too far removed from needing fake IDs as a matter of age - they're kind of a way of life anyhow with her career - there is a certain comfort and ease of movement; one bar ends up being pretty much the same, and being surrounded by people in outlandish costumes featuring heavily in leather, rubber, latex and unnecessary spikes/studs is also kind of second nature. Drink finished, she's getting up and back into the mix of things, though without any particular rhythm to it. Not that there's really a high demand on rhythm in a goth club but still.
    It's distinctly not dancing-style movement. More purposeful, though easily interrupted it turns out; bumping into someone else's shoulder has her rebounding slightly to maintain even footing, and as a consequence, backing up into Andi there and interrupting the search for Alicia. Not really the type to apologize, there is still some latent curiosity; she turns enough to look over and then down a bit, with a curious tilt to her head and a mild but, for the surroundings, comparatively effusive smile. "Not sure where you're going, are you?"

Andi Benton has posed:
"Hey, watch where you're--" Andi starts out, playing the part of someone quick to take offense at her personal space being invaded, only to find herself staring up a few inches at the colorful woman she'd just begun to address. In that moment, the standoffish attitude develops a crack, which she quickly tries to hide, but the shifts in her expression give it away rather easily.

She's spotted the people in their various styles, the leathers, the tighter, shinier things, the metallic touches that show in various ways, but she catches herself staring at the woman before her. "What makes you say that?" she asks, still trying to carry on the charade that she's at home here.

Death Reaper has posed:
    Not having any particular reason to be nice, Death Sinclair ain't. Or doesn't. "You look like you're here because Abercrombie was closed the day you went shopping." Maybe it's not so much active malice as being a jerk at heart, but she says it with that minimal-level smile. But on the bright side she's keeping position, sort of swaying in a loose, subconcious way that keeps her from being bumped further but also provides some shielding for Andi as well to prevent an all-too-soon repeat. "But don't worry. We all started somewhere, didn't we, baby bat?" Though the moment she says it there's a faint frown, before shrugging it off, "Well, maybe not the best sobriquet with Gotham just across the bridge, but.. ..well, it's traditional, let's say."
    Then her smile picks up a bit, or at least quirks up at one corner in a sort of sardonic half-smirk. And then she gives Andi a little tap on the shoulder, giving a slight push to help guide her away from the flow of those getting down to yet another song about coldness mixed in with D-level horror movie voice samples. "Like it so far? ..or, I didn't see you come in, so are we still in the feeling our way about stage?"

Andi Benton has posed:
Oh, snap! This bitch just went there! A thought of that nature runs rapidly through Andi's head, and she can't hide the look of surprise at the insinuation. "Hey, I don't do that preppy shit, Miss 'I Needed Extra Attention So I Did A Whole Body Tat.'" Even if it's only a partial body tat. She begins to raise a hand defensively, as if realizing she may have gone too far, pausing at the thought of a baby bat. "Dunno what you're talking about with that," she claims, awareness of Gotham City and its denizens or not.

Smile or smirk or whatever, she's still watching the woman carefully, the nudge at least getting her in motion. "I mean, the tats are, you know, good. And I like the piercings. And the outfit. Looks fucking rad." Eyes turn evasive, before she admits, "I came with someone else who heard about the gig tonight. Wanted to check it out."

Death Reaper has posed:
    "Letting your imagination run away with you there." Not exactly a denial on where the ink ends but a lever to wedge in there when Death Reaper lifts her half-smile up to a half-grin, complete with a light click of a tongue-stud against her teeth. "Thanks. It's pretty adaptable, but the most basic of black is." Ohohoho, darkforce joke. Not that she's being obvious about it currently, despite the way her skirt kind of shifts despite a lack of breeze or much movement, but that could just be the tricky lighting that's mixing up strobes and kliegs liberally depending on the ambient level of beat. "Besides, you've got a nice start for yourself, don't you?"
    As for the specific set list and later gig, Reaper seems a bit ambivalent. At least, her attention is starting to drift from that point, or maybe there's something interesting just above the level of Andi's head. Either way, it's a second or two where she's not really saying anything. "It should be .. interesting. Darkwave isn't my first choice but it's acceptable." Now her attention returns to Andi in full, with one of those curious tilts of the head again, "You dance, or just going to watch the spectacle? Fair warning, some of the cybergoths aren't picky about where their fiber-optic stuff whips around."

Andi Benton has posed:
Andi Benton clears her throat, once. "I have a lot of time to daydream," she explains, shifting her gaze elsewhere for a moment before a hint of motion draws her attention back down toward the skirt. Even with the woman not really moving, she could swear the skirt did. Strange? Or just a trick of the light?

"Me? I dunno. I got a couple things, nothing special. I'm just a poor student. The struggle is real," she states, flatly, though she's beginning to tap a booted toe to the beat, a slight bob of her head following. "It's not bad," she allows, picking out a few of the people that have been brought up. "Hey, it only takes one time to learn that lesson." Her style, if there is one, is just...basic.

Death Reaper has posed:
    "When in doubt, stick with the basics; pretend you're being attacked by miniature ninjas at your feet, and blocking attacks from ten foot tall ninjas above your head." And this is her duty to the next generation (with an age difference of 4-5 years) dispensed with, so Death Reaper lets her attention drift again for a moment, speaking to Andi in that semi-distracted, semi-thoughtful way. "Ignore the beat, that's just there to give the drum machine maintenance people a job." It's a temporary lapse again as she lets her grin broaden just a bit further. "Just keep some attention to where you're swinging."
    It's not quite dancing with Andi, but close enough to demonstrate the more advanced techniques. Which starts mostly at the ankles and skips the calves in a stiffer set of movements; more thighs and hips to something that's more of a sway, just a bit more front-to-side and side-to-back than just one way or the other. Little hand/arm movement; it's still not her favorite style or even a preferred track so far. "So what are you during the rest of the week? Lawyer? Doctor? Indian chief?"

Andi Benton has posed:
The dancing barely qualifies as such, but it's something. Something, just like her choice of attire. It, and the fake ID, got her in, looking the part, her own piercings giving her a certain 'tude she thinks she projects. "That's one way of looking at it," she admits, an actual sniff of nearly disinterested amusement sneaking out. "The beat's all right, though." She didn't expect to be dancing, or moving in semi-unison with a total stranger so soon, but there they are. She's got a few moves, a sign this isn't her first time getting down.

"When I'm not sleeping through my classes, I like to remind the other losers how likely they are to fail at life," she remarks with a smirk. "I'm Andi, by the way."

Death Reaper has posed:
    "Death Reaper." No self-conciousness with that, nothing to really precede a pronouncement like 'I am Lord Voldemort' or similarly ostentatious self-given names. So yeah, that's Death Reaper, adding a looseness to the wrists so they're not in lock with the restrained movement of her arms, elbows, that's like half of a waltz performed on half a tab of xanax, slowing down as the EDM track goes to the crescendo just to be contrary and at least offer a counterpoint to it. "Hm. Never had a lot of use for school. But I'm not really in tech or anything that'd need it." At least the moment is nice and comfortable even if the atmosphere surrounding is mostly not; not that the cybergoths and other industrial types are predominant, but they tend to set the pace.
    In comparison, Reaper and others in that slower mode of being are at least present in numbers enough to keep this from becoming a half-assed rave or something. Ick, way too much effort. "NYU, then? Or something more exclusive?" A teasing smirk comes back to play, though there's also a touch of speculation there when looking Andi over more closely, "Or something more exclusive?"

Andi Benton has posed:
"Fuck off," Andi reacts to the name given, and it's not the '/fuck off/' kind but more the 'get the fuck out of here' kind without being the '/get the fuck out of here/' kind.

"That's fucking wild. No way that's on your license," she adds. It's like her opinion of the woman has done a complete 180, turning from skepticism and mild curiosity to instant interest. "So, like, school can fuck off too, and by that I mean it can /fuck off/, but I'm only finishing it because I don't want my dad to get an ulcer about it." She keeps her distance from some of the bolder dancers who are taking up more real estate. In fact, she's forgotten to keep moving.

The question of which place she attends is met with an evasive response. "It's kind of more exclusive, but it's not important. I'm done in a few weeks anyway, and that's it." She works her tongue a bit. Sounds like a stud in there, too.

Death Reaper has posed:
    "Really. Death Reaper Sinclair." Not that she's in a hurry to dig out her license to prove it - even if it's fake, it's for different reasons - but Death Reaper has that same self-assurance, like someone was doubting whether the ink was real or not. No need to go out and lick it but the option is there if pressed; for the ink, that is. "And that's good. Just get it out of the way and then move on; who hasn't made a compromise here or there along the way?" Her smile is a bit subdued but at least it's present; some sort of inner commentary going on or maybe a bit of self-reflection. Whichever.
    Though when the current track is winding down there's not much of a pause before the next start. The next, though, is definitely more towards the moody and introspective type and therefore starts out aproximately as slow as turtles climbing uphill under the weight of aquanet and black #1 laquered on past all reason. "I ask because I'm one of those annoying entrepeneur types." So instead of an ID she does have a card; it's tucked into her half-rolled up sleeve next to the boxy vape pen and secured with a rubber band along with folding money and a door key. See? 'DEATH REAPER SINCLAIR' right there on the fairly cheap looking but at least genuinely printed and not run off a Xerox card. 'VICE SPECULATION.' "And fresh flesh for the grist mill is always needed. Mature and satisfied types need not apply."

Andi Benton has posed:
Andi Benton grins. "Bitchin'," is the extent of her reaction to the full name, though she sticks with just her first for the moment. Waving a hand, she explains, "You know, he /is/ my dad. I could have been a mistake, or my mom could have swallowed instead of.." She gestures lower, leaving it at that. "So at least they succeeded in one thing."

She isn't paying as much attention to the music as before, subtly moving away from the main dancing area, trusting /DEATH FUCKING REAPER/ to do the same. "Yeah? What kinda stuff?" She peers at the card, then comes the predictable question. "What's 'Vice speculation?' And what do you need fresh, uh, flesh for?" Does she look mature /or/ satisfied?

Death Reaper has posed:
    That's easy enough; drinking time always comes soon enough. Though there is a pause to look away towards the bartender, the hand signals to follow call for two cocktails, or maybe Death Reaper thinks the situation calls for a knuckball, or that it's time to kick the door and flashbang things. Hand signals are weird. But it does result in two cocktails coming up eventually. "Funny you mention burst rubbers. Take the Genosha thing.." Tapping her fingers against the bar, the other hand makes a little 'one, two, three' gesture with an index finger like a bunny hopping from one hill to the next, "Everyone's stressed but tightening their belts, therefore they need release and security, therefore it's time to look to investing in rubbers that're going to get a lot of charity business soon."
    Sipping from her drink - it's kind of grey and murky looking and tastes like strong tea with alcohol in it, amazingly enough - there is a little swish of the brandied cherry on a toothpick that garnishes it. "Same for a lot of commodities. Booze, small-calibre bullets, cigarettes. Looking into buying Genoshan dollars for a revaluation later too, but until then? Cigarettes are going to be in demand as a de facto currency, like a little international loan from Phillip Morris." Glass is set back down as she broadens her smile back to a full grin, "The tough part is getting in before the rest and getting backers to make a larger return. Which is a lot of legwork."

Andi Benton has posed:
"...I see a few people here in rubber, but that's about it," Andi remarks, keeping a partial eye on the drinks and all that, then she follows the path of Death Reaper's fingers, nodding slowly. "I kiiiinda follow you, but I didn't pay much attention to all the Genosha shit. I just know it was bad." Understatement.

She clears her throat. If one of the cocktails was for her, she isn't touching it at this point. "Anyway, people got things they want to do, forget about all the bad shit for a little while, right? Dump some stress and the like. That's where you come in, like buying stocks low and selling high?"

She isn't dumb, that much is soon clear.

Death Reaper has posed:
    "Genosha's the big one; easy, slow moving target. Completely flattened again, lots of high-rollers with personal or political interests. Someplace in Africa blows up, it's more of a crap shoot beyond just the basic relief efforts. Or if it's, like, Metropolis getting tipped by some dickhead from Pluto; lots of money but also lots of suppliers, not as much money." No rush this time, she's not planning to go back onto the floor right away. And there is a certain self-satisfaction there too. "But pretty much. It's like any of those scams where you wear a suit to it; get in quick, let the right people know you're in business, and then you're getting it good from both ends."
    Pausing, she sips from her glass again and then fishes out the cherry, popping it in and chewing on that and the toothpick as well afterwards. "Financially speaking. It's a lot simpler than some of the other shady tricks." And, toothpick and all, she shows her grin again. "Besides, my name might scare off people looking to buy pork belly futures, but for guns, liquor, and cigarettes?"

Andi Benton has posed:
Andi Benton says, "I know that's the country with all the mutants that can do stuff. The place I've been going to since we moved over here, there's something weird about it. I've seen a little crazy shit, but I haven't figured anything out yet." She listens, the mention of Metropolis no doubt bringing the Doomsday incident to mind - everyone heard or saw about that - and she crosses her arms as she sits in place by the bar. "Haha, from both ends," she snickers.

"I get what you're getting at, though. I'm not exactly into that kind of stuff, but.." She scans the room, glances back at Death Reaper. "There's some nice stuff in here."

Death Reaper has posed:
    "The ones that can do stuff live in the country clubs or play terror commando out in the boonies; I think Genosha's mostly for the jerks that have talking fistulas or turn purple when they're horny." Up comes the glass again for a deeper sip while contemplating the plight of mutant kind. And just like the toothpick, the topic is flicked away and mostly towards the direction of the trash can behind the bar by Death Reaper. "But it's something to keep in mind; if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, there's a lot of easy money to be made and without qualifications." Grinning again briefly, she sets her glass down. And in a fairly bright mood despite the gloomy surroundings, she actually pays for her drinks as well as the one left in front of Andi.
    "And you at least have a good eye for the entertaining options. Call me, I'll let you know when there's a nice event. Leather and rubbers optional." Finish strong which, in this case, is a quick wink accompanied by a click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. A bit overdone, maybe, but it at least works with the punkabilly exterior tonight.