17823/Not Quite Dancing At The Blue Iguana

Not Quite Dancing At The Blue Iguana
Date of Scene:	01 May 2024
Location:	No5 Orange
Synopsis:	Eddie is back hunting New Lots for stories worth writing, and encounters Vanessa slinging drinks at No5 Orange.
Cast of Characters:	Vanessa Carlysle, Eddie Brock

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Vanessa Carlysle has posed:
It's evening at No5 Orange. The strip club found in New Lots is of middling quality. The drinks aren't too watered down. The girls are mostly pretty. The bouncers are the kind drawn to the job at the prospect of getting to beat up people without charges being filed. Probably.

Vanessa Carlysle picks up her tray after the bartender sets a trio of drinks on it. He's got a toothpick in the corner of his mouth which he takes out as he openly looks her over. "Looking good tonight, Van. You know you'd make more up on stage," he says.

The young woman does look good. Tight black skirt and thigh high stockings, with a snug fitting top that shows her fit midriff plus some cleavage. Dressed for the tips she'll earn carrying drinks around to the men looking to sate not just thirst for alcohol. "I would. But I don't want to get dragged into, certain things," she says. Vanessa casts a quick glance over at one of the 'managers'. A member of a notorious bike gang that owns the place.

The bartender replaces the toothpick and grins at her. "Well, we could always reach some private arrangement after hours." Vanessa is already turning away with her tray. She pauses to look back at him and look him over lingeringly. "I'll give it some thought," she says, flashing him a grin and then carrying the drinks off to the table where a trio of guys are watching a blond in a white cowboy hat, and stars covering the crowns of her breasts, dancing on a stage above them.

Eddie Brock has posed:
At a small table near one of the stages, Eddie Brock can be found. An ink pen clutched among his fingers and his eyes down on a small notepad; he's at work. He jots down notes, scrawling out quick little thoughts or points to be made. Since his investigation into New Lots had began a few weeks ago. More and more Eddie's presence has been cropping up. Never too intrusive or invasive, but simply lurking. The little bit of help he's provided to the local economy has, up to now, likely been the reason that he hasn't been harassed too much for his presence. At least he's spreading a little cheddar around among the various establishments while he's occasionally jotting some note or observation down, but otherwise he tends toward keeping to himself. The truth of the matter is that he's been operating rather discreetly. He doesn't harass people on the streets or ask bold questions in public. He makes quiet arrangement for more private interviews and interactions, in a place that's less likely to result in someone drawing the ire of some of the local unsavory elements.

   <<Venom>> "We're hungry."

Eddie's head shakes out of instinct. Despite it being years since he and Venom had started working together - being together, living together, existing together - there were still moments that Eddie believed he could simply shake the voice from his mind. It never really works.

   <<Venom>> "Look up, Eddie. Look around. We know there are bad people here. They could sssate us."

Eddie takes in a long, sharp breath as he leans back from where's been hunkered over his notepad. The glass of whiskey that he's been nursing for the last twenty minutes is room temperature as it should be, but the watered down nature of it simply throws the flavor of it off. Eddie's gaze travels about for a moment. Not too obvious that he's checking out those present, but neither does his gaze linger for long. The stage is regarded with passive interest, but his focus doesn't linger. He does what he needs to do to not be thrown out of the No5 Orange, but isn't there to gawk. Not too much, anyway.

Vanessa Carlysle has posed:
The three beers dropped off and a tip collected, at the cost of a pinch that earned one of the men a glare from Vanessa and a laugh from his friends, the waitress makes her way through the club. Watching the dancers doing their rounds looking for a man to make the evening a financial success for them. Keeping an eye on her tables and those within them.

Vanessa's eyes fall on the rather burly looking dark-haired man sitting over by himself at one of her tables. His whiskey has been going down quite slowly, yet going down just the same. Not much left in it. He's paying as much attention to his notepad as she walks over his way as he is the dancers that usually draw the eyes in the club. Or at least the TV sets in the corners showing the latest big game.

The shapely young woman settles into a seat close beside Eddie, a hand reaching over to rest on the back of his chair, fingers just brushing his back. "I'm guessing poetry," she tells him. "Though if so it's an interesting place to choose for inspiration."

Eddie Brock has posed:
"Mmm," Eddie quietly murmurs back at Venom's observation and, frankly, it's hard for Eddie to argue the symbiote's point of view. The pinch given is regarded from a distance, but soon enough Eddie's attention lowers back to the notepad laying on the small table before him.

   <<Venom>> "We have a visitor"

The voice that sounds like it belongs something that crawled straight from Hell offers a little heads-up for Eddie. Which is why just as the shapely young woman begins to remark as her hand moves to rest upon the back of the chair that he occupies, Eddie's already looking up to acknowledge her and casually flipping his notepad closed at the same time.

Her words bring a quick, albeit uncertain smile to the face of the burly man and Eddie offers a light, casual response, "Oh, yeah, definitely poetry. I do my best stuff when there's nice things to look at, you know?"

Because admitting that he's in the midst of writing a piece on New Lots, the hardships faced there, and undoubtedly the unsavory elements of the neighborhood? Probably wouldn't be a good thing to be found out, Eddie's hand moves to casually rest upon the notepad. He's at least personable, which is a perfect cover for his discretion. He shifts in his seat so that he may angle himself more toward the young woman toting drinks and offers her a smile before he continues, "Name's Eddie," he begins before his chin inclines, further inclining his gaze along the length of her, "if you're offering to distract though? I'm in the market for a private dance. Somewhere discreet? I," he pauses a moment, casts a glance toward his notebook, and the promptly back to Vanessa, "could use some help with my poetry."

Vanessa Carlysle has posed:
The young woman's eyes are nearly luminous with the warmth that they show as they regard the large man. "I don't think I've ever been considered a muse before," Vanessa replies, watching Eddie's overt gaze move over her. She turns towards him a little bit more, likely aiding the man's perusal. Her fingers brush a bit more along his back in a way that won't be mistaken for an unintentional touch.

"Oh if I had a dollar for every struggling poet who came through these doors," she says, a lovely smile growing as makes the light-hearted comment. And then she takes a moment with her eyes glancing down Eddie's impressive musculature. The gleam in her eyes and the growth of that smile signaling she likes what she sees.

"Vanessa," she says, offering him her real name. She's too well known in the area to bother with a fake one. "Mmm, very tempting. So would such a dance be sure of immortalizing me in some sonnet or... ok that's about the only type of poem I can think of. Afraid I didn't listen too closely in Mrs. Worthington's English class," she says. Her fingers brush a bit more, further up his back towards those muscular shoulders.

Eddie Brock has posed:
If the touch at his back and eventually shoulders were to bother him? Eddie doesn't show it. He does not shy from the touch, but neither does he go seeking it out. For the moment they're dancing; just verbally. Her initial commentary regarding being a muse and the prevalence of struggling poets does at least bring a genuine grin to the face of the man. His head shakes and his shoulders slouch ever so slightly, his eyes down while he answers the jests, "Maybe this'll be my big break? You as my muse, maybe I'll get published in something swanky?" The grin persists a moment, but it does gradually fade away.

"Good to meet you, Vanessa," Eddie remarks looking up anew. The smile that he holds isn't the grin that it was a moment ago, but it's friendly and casual. "Ode of Vanessa; drink provider, right?" He takes up his drink then and downs it. The glass isn't handed back to Vanessa though, but instead placed to the tabletop. "So," he says with only the slightest hiss to his words from imbibing the whiskey. It likely would have been a harsher sound if it hadn't been watered down a touch. "what do you say about a private dance? For my poem."

Vanessa Carlysle has posed:
The man's roguish quality and that deep rasp of his voice add more to the young woman's smile. "And you, Eddie," she replies to the greeting. She breaks out in a soft, warm laugh at Eddie's title for the work. "Exactly," she says, glancing over to her round, brown tray that she'd brought over to the table but set down beside her when she'd taken the seat close to Eddie.

The young woman's tongue touches her lips as she seems to consider the request. The pretty dark brown eyes shine with the light of temptation, though she also seems to be making up her mind about it.

The pads of her fingers caress along the definition of Eddie's shoulder just below the crest, her eyes drifting over to the man's thick arms and fine physique that she's touching. Before she turns her gaze back to him.

That pretty little smile, he can tell she's accepting before the words come out. But then something prevents the words. Vanessa glances up away from him, and when her eyes come back they are more guarded, the flirty warmth fading. "I'm afraid I just carry the drinks, Eddie," she says, and if he turns he might notice the blond in the white cowboy hat looking over at them from nearby. Vanessa's eyes steal over to her again, very briefly, before looking back to meet his own. "I can get you another drink. Whiskey right?" she says. "And if you like I can send over one of the dancers."

She rises back to her feet, her demeanor subdued compared to the sensual warmth that she'd exuded for him before.

Eddie Brock has posed:
It's been said before that one should treat a strip club like fine paintings or works of art in a museum. You don't touch the artwork. They also say not to go looking for love in a strip club. No5 Orange is hardly the place that someone should go looking to do it either. Yet here resides Eddie. Though if one were to know the truth; he's in it for the story. Something to be added to his notepad of facts. Details about the life of a dancer - or drink server - at No5 Orange. What it's like trying to get by in New Lots. Every question that he could line up and present to a potential information drives him motivations for being in the gentleman's club.

The refusal seems to deflate him however. It isn't the loss of a private dance that causes him to suddenly dip his chin and nod along with Vanessa's casual refusal. It's the loss of a potential testimony for his story. That doesn't deter him from not sticking out like a sore thumb however. He's quick to smile, even if he doesn't necessarily want to. He accepts the refusal though, because he doesn't want one of the bouncers to perceive things incorrectly, "Hey, listen, that's okay. Thanks for considering it though, you know?"

Eddie shifts slightly, reaching for his wallet, though he doesn't quite retrieve it yet. He motions to gather it, but doesn't pull it out, "I actually think I should get moving, to be honest. Everyone's been great," he says of the establishment, no doubt for the sake of appeasing eavesdropping ears, "but I should get going. Maybe a walk will clear my head and help me with these lines, you know?"

Vanessa Carlysle has posed:
The waitress gives an understanding nod, and now her eyes go anywhere except to the dancer watching from not too far off. "Wish you the best of luck with it, Poet Eddie," Vanessa tells him. She leans forward, picking up the mostly empty whiskey glass to bus it back to the bar.

Her eyes lift to his as she does, and there's a flash of regret where the dancer behind her won't be able to see it. And then she's straightening and giving him the smile before walking the glass back over to the bartender to add to the dishwasher under the bar.

The blond in the white cowboy hat watches Vanessa pass, a smug look on her face before she continues on her way down the aisle between tables, stopping to flash a brilliant, fake smile at a man as she sees if he wants some company.