2132/The Speakeasy Adventures

The Speakeasy Adventures
Date of Scene:	16 June 2020
Location:	Harlem
Synopsis:	Jemms, Jane and Daisy go visit the finest speakeasy on Harlem and talk about suspenders and astronauts. And Jemms even gets to dance without being drunk! But then a mystery happens and they get on the hunt of an illusive couple that are more than they seem at a first glance. To be continued! Furies Assemble!
Cast of Characters:	Daisy Johnson, Jane Foster, Jemma Simmons

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Daisy Johnson has posed:
Fine. Daisy hadn't really been able to create her own little speakeasy out at the Triskelion. BUT she did the next best thing. Which was to find one in Harlem. A small little thing, secluded, perfect for a night out and of course with their own seeecret way to go in. But that was the fun of it.

And so, as to celebrate, she sent a couple of messages to the usual suspects:

> Girl's night out tonight. A speakeasy I found out in Harlem. Come dressed appropriately! (followed an emoji of a woman dressed in a 20s dress)

True to her words, Daisy came dressed as she promised. A green dress, all very proper and nice, high heels, her hair done up in the way of the 20s and a small purse. The meeting point: Harlem. Close enough to the place they were to go in.

Jane Foster has posed:
Where on earth is Jane supposed to find clothing from the 20s? A flapper dress is out of the question. A suspect beaded curtain, definitely too revealing and maybe too 60s hippies looking for her purposes. At least the profile of the sheath dress is right, cut in an appropriate but not too revealing vee. Because it's cool enough outside to throw something over it, Jane's gone with a rather hilariously festive peacock shawl. Probably a gift from someone, because the stars decorating the sky are very ornate indeed.

Still possible to navigate her way from Staten Island, no less, up to Harlem. Might as well have just called up a flying horse, but at least she has something to work with.

> 5 minutes out!

The text pops up as she has to navigate her way from the station out into the depths of Harlem, and fire back at twenty messages piling up on Twitter and various social media outlets. Pings fire off into the aether, satisfying a glowing public's curiosity. She's pretty easy to spot, flappy pavonine wrap-thing or not, navigating on this mysterious location for delicious cocktails.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    A speakeasy? In 20's ensemble? Surely Daisy is joking, right?

    That...was the thought that crossed through Jemma's mind as she reviewed the text message left on her smartphone. Followed shortly thereafter with 'Wait...this is Daisy. Of course she is serious when it comes to fun.' And...Jemma knows not to try to deny the force of nature that is Daisy Johnson.

    And so, Jemma herself walks up to the appointed meeting place, dressed appropriately. Appropriately in this case is a solid maroon dress with matching heels. Nothing too flashy normally, but this is Jemma...and the fact she is in a dress at all is enough to catch a lot of heads turning. Her hair is styled in a chignon fashion, the nape of her neck covered with a rather elaborate burnette hair knot, rather elegant in styling. And cosmetics! A bit of lipstick and some blush...a rarity for the usually lab-bound Simmons. All together, a rather curious (and lovely) sight to behold.

    There might be a roll of the eyes as the biochemist approaches...but a slight smile betrays that yes, even she is having fun with the idea.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Seriously fun Daisy. Yep, that's her. She checks on her phone from time to time, a glance about the street but as the message pops out she grins. Yes, about time for them to go visit it. And she was rather curious about the place, because in true Daisy fashion she hadn't checked it out before visiting. Let it be a surprise for everyone!

When she spots the duo coming by she lifts her arms up briefly. "There you are! And lovely, thought you guys hadn't taken me seriously about the dresses. Good that I was mistaken."

"And now, cocktails and adventure await us!" She takes a moment looking over each of their dresses before nodding her head approvingly. "But first...!" and she takes out her phone, joining in with both Jane and Jems, hand extended up so she can take them in a selfie. There! Social network responsibilities done!

Leading on she turns towards a rather unassuming doorway. It's surprisingly unlocked, she continuing on towards a stairwell that leads down to where a larger door is, on the side of it a 20s-looking phone being mounted on the wall.

Jane Foster has posed:
First: selfie! She knows her angles, considering her image appears all over social media.

"Believe it or not, I wear fancy dresses and attend flings all the time," Jane quickly fires back once she is within earshot, appraising her companions with a warm smile. "But good to lure us out, Ms. Johnson, considering we need the fresh air and the fine company. Jemma, you look superb. Let's make the most of this, shall we?"

A skimmed look around takes in the location of the venue, partly to remember if she's going to sneak back in here again. Daisy wins that bright grin. "I wasn't able to secure any pastries or chocolate cake, but doubtful the deputy director will claim the alcohol this time, either." A quick laugh follows up as she squeezes in down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Glancing to the telephone, she moves to take the receiver and lift it. "Shall we?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    The selfie catches Jemma off-guard...but at least she has the wherewithal to smile when the flash erupts.

    "Yes, well, I do have dresses. It is just...in the lab....they are not very practical in function. And you should see the funny looks Fitz gives when I wear items that are not very practical." The corners of Jemma's lips curl into a smile as she shrugs. "Still, I do like the opportunity to escape the doldrums of normalcy, once in a while."

    Leave it to Jemma to use the big words.

    Still, as the three of them approach the door, the telephone gets a look. "They...still make those?" The words are partially in jest. But...only part. Otherwise, Jane gets the nod that says Jemma is ready.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Funny .., looks..?" The eyebrow wiggling along with that knowing smile out of Daisy is enough to let anyone in a mile radius to know what she is thinking. A veritable matchmaker this Daisy is! "But you are right, prepare to have your doldrums shaken to the core, Jems." or at least she hopes so!

"And please, no Ms. Johnson. Just Daisy. Or if we are drunk enough I can accept Skye too." when the phone is picked up Daisy then whispers. "Dial one." just as a light turns on to illuminate them fully. If the number offered is dialed a small latch will open, a pair of eyes on the other side and finally the door gets opened up.

And indeed there's a speakeasy to receive them. Very old school, low illumination, tables about the place. It appears to have been made where once was an old bank vault, the door still there on one side even if not functional anymore, giving way to another room on the back. 20s music is being played out of what looks like antique radios placed around the room, even if them most likely have more powerful speakers inside. But it looks good for the illusion.

"Oooo, fancy." Daisy says, showing she hadn't been here before at all.

Jane Foster has posed:
The handset held, the receiver at her ear, Jane assesses that mysterious chunk of ancient tech from the dieselpunk era. She presses her finger into the rotary dial, assuming it even has one and isn't limited to just waiting for someone on the other side to answer the switchboard. Not the moment to hum the banana phone jingle, anyway. Her dark hair curls around her shoulders in a wave and the precipitous arch of her brow in muted query about shaken doldrums is all in good fun.

"Daisy," she repeats, "let's save the shaking until we sit on a stool." No sound there, only the latch unhooking and eyes peering through. She lowers the receiver, standing up straighter to prove the value as a client. She relays a grin to Jemma over her shoulder, then sweeps on ahead into this mysterious place wrapped up in layers of anonymity. Swing beats and quick-stepping gives some pep to her gait, and she sashays into the place glistening with an impressed tin ceiling, brass and wood and shine. Time to give a little courage to get them where they want to go.

"Bar or a table? We could bypass them all for the dance floor, if we dare," she plies that option, positioning herself to let the others glide right past her if they want.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "Oh please, Daisy. I can clearly see what you are thinking and if you think that Leopold Fitz has any inclination to the more baser instincts of the male gender when it comes to me, you may be in for quite a rude awakening." It certainly seems that Jemma knows what she is talking about. Or, rather...that she is using that hyper focus of hers and is not seeing the forest for the trees. Still, it is bound to give Daisy a laugh or two, certainly.

    "Oh, dancing? No one said there would be dancing involved." The comment is given with about as straight of a delivery as Jemma always give...but, there is a sense that even Jemma is joking in this case. However, the question of bar or table does get a serious response. "I believe a table would be better suited for our purposes." Whatever that purpose might be.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The mention of shaking things up makes Daisy give Jane a good natured grin. "I can't help myself, it's as if it was in my nature." she striding inside as well, an eyebrow quirking as more and more of the place is revealed.

"I will let you know that I introduced Fitz to the joys of Kitkat a couple of days ago, so....." And then Daisy tosses Jemma one of her teasing looks. "Expect chocolate gifts in the near future." one of her knowing winks given at her friend. But it's all part of the tease she often goes on about. She then whistles at look of the place, bobbing her head back and forth. "Hashtag approved." a very non-roaring-20s thing to say...

The choice between where to go makes her hrm. "Drinks at the table first and then we dare the dance track?" then she grimacing. "And I just remembered I didn't look into dancing styles of the 20s. Is it too late for a youtube crash course?" She does start to near a table though to settle down.

Jane Foster has posed:
Too late to pick up on those styles? A faint lift of a smile and a shake of her head give Daisy a silent reply. "I will forfeit any ideas of cutting a rug to sit with my best gals and pour a toast to actually leaving." Jane is soon to find that peacock-and-stars shawl a bit too much, but she waits to be seated, because this seems the sort of place where a server dressed to the nines like a Boston gangster is going to come get you. And so that proves the case.

A lanky man in a white button-down shirt, black slacks, and what could just be an illegal pair of brass knuckles glides in to give a toothy grin and offer his arm. Sort of. He makes leaning an excellent preoccupation. "Dames looking for a spot? Got the perfect spot to perch with a view of everything," he offers, the heavy overtones of a brogue about authentic, though every 'r' terminating a word becomes an 'ah' instead.

Cue a smirk from Jane as the path of relocation gives them a spot with the former wall of deposit boxes to their back, swanky seating and a polished round table with at least four different drink menus bound like old books.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "I am a doc....I mean...yes. That would be quite lovely." It seems that Jemma thought twice about her own Star Trek impression and decided to drop the title for the moment. Instead, she offers a warm smile and follows (without her arm held) the 'gentle' man up to the table. She does offer a nod and another smile in passing, as she takes a spot at the table. The drink menus are perused with a passing interest, whereas Jemma's interest clearly lays in the environment, rather than the leather bound books before her.

    "My word, they certainly are playing up the theme well." There are no complaints with the seating arraignments, either, as there is certain comfort to be had with the seating. "How in the world did you ever find this place, Daisy? I mean, I have heard of themed establishments before...but I sincerely doubt this is something you find advertised in an obvious manner."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy makes a small o with her mouth at the presence of the man dressed to match the place. Very nice. And then she can't help but grin as Jemms almost corrects the man. Typical! But being supremely amused doesn't stop her from taking the man's arm for him to then lead them towards that nice table near the former wall. Quiet and nice. But then again, every place in here is nice. "You know Jane. I think that dress of yours is already getting looks from the other tables. I like the stars pattern. It's very you."

She gets down on one of the seats, purse on the table and she immediately digging into the drink menus. Because those are important! "I think I will have a Scofflaw to open up." Of course, Scoff the Law. Very Daisy.

Though the question from Jemms makes her peek up, give her look and then she slooowly leans in. She looks around and then whispers. "I could tell you. But then I'd have to ..." she leaves that sentence hanging and just laughs. "Well, it was a mix of knowing the right people from my past and meeting up. The knowledge of the place goes from word of mouth, so I couldn't use my trusty interwebz skills to find it." it probably also explains why it's not packed up with people.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    There might have been a glance at the drink menu by Jemma. And, only fleetingly, as if she was confirming that there was a particular concoction on the list. With a small smile, those brown eyes of hers look up and the drink menu is set aside. "I will have a French 75." It seems that someone did their research on prohibition drinks before coming out for the party. Just like Jemma to study for a social occasion.

    Daisy earns Jemma's attention for the moment. "Well, I can certainly imagine that it is a strictly word-of-mouth affair. Certainly sound historically accurate, if nothing else." Jemma offers a smile as she leans back into her seat, those eyes of hers shifting to take in the rest of the room. "It is almost as we went back in time. Very well done."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Nope, no study beforehand. Daisy just went head in. She doesn't even know the proper dance moves! Outrageous! But she is a good learner on the fly so she peeks at where a few people are dancing ahead to Tango. Very well, she could get into that. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, eyes staying on the couple of dancers for a small while, grinning. "I will have to bring Matt here.." she says it almost distractedly but then eyes fleet to Jemma.

"Speakeasys are very serious business. I wouldn't discount there even being a smuggling aspect to their drinks, which may make it a bit against the law buuuut..." Scoff the Law remember?! She lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

"I already told you Doctor Jemms, I know all the best places to bring you. Need to trust me more you know?" she grinning. "Where have I ever disappointed, mmm?" as if she is daring Jemms to challenge it. But she is grinning nonetheless, adding. "Next time we go to a place of your choosing, how about that?"

Jane Foster has posed:
No need for Star Trek titles, totally a need to settle in comfortably at the table and give a full scan over all the drinks. Then, as it happens, Jane has a humming note from her cellphone that doesn't at all match up with the decor or the era. Excusing herself, she slips from the seat no sooner than she settled into it, leaving Jemma and Daisy to order for themselves or bask in the brassy jazz of the slickest era. Slinking away isn't quite Jane's style; she mosies over to a little enclosure with a velvet curtain for privacy and soundproofing, as this may be the only 'talkies' place in the venue. Apologetic smiles to the bartender and another bruiser in classy dress intends solely to make up for the faux pas.

In the meantime, a pitcher of water and tumblers of ice appear like that, the shards within formed into a cracked ball. Rather like an actual highball, but not nearly so weighty. Orders taken in kind find their guide vanishing off to the polished bar to invoke a few requests and see to deliveries without any issue. Let those ladies pick their poison with delight, and they won't be left disappointed.

Hastening back post call, the brunette sighs. "Sorry about that. My boss insisted, we have company coming next week to review the schedules and see a few moon rocks. Leave it at that, one of them collected said rocks." Her grin shows a moment and then she pours herself into her seat, pushing over her shawl and getting down comfily. The tango is moving into something more seductive, less lively, the kind of music that requires torches and dames and smoky numbers. A smile lingers on her lips. "It's a pretty place down here. Easy to imagine all kinds of business out of the sight of the police."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "Oh, it is quite alright, Jane." Jemma waves off the apology with a hand as her drink arrives, a mixture of gin, simple syrup, lemon juice, and champagne..in a champagne flute with a twist of lemon garnish. There is a murmured thanks as the biochemist slides the base of her glass closer. "We certainly understand the calls of employers. They are rather hard to ignore." With that, there is a soft laugh as Jemma finally takes a sip of her drink.

    Daisy receives a glance as that smile of Jemma's slips into a smirk. "Well...at least here there are no oiled musclebound men allowing four women to use him as a jungle gym." A rather unique image, to be sure. "And seriously, unless you are fond of libraries or TED talks, I would imagine you may not wish to go to my usual haunts. Really, it is better if I let you pick the social interaction, Daisy. However hazardous to my delicate sensibilities it may be." That smirk widens back to a full smile, almost Chesire-like in quality, before Jemma cannot hold back and laughs anew.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
With Daisy's own drink also brought up to the table, that mix of bourbon, vermouth, lemon juice and orange bitters it makes her eye it. Of course that she had no idea what it was before it was brought to the table. She takes a brief sip. "Uff, right to the brain this bourbon goes.." she comments. A chuckle and she placing the flute aside. She listens to Jane's explanation but then arches a brow. "Wait, an actual someone who was up there? That's actually pretty cool." then she laughing. "You should bring them here." she suggests.

"And hey, don't tell me you didn't love that outting. You met all the fun people. I still got the photo, you know?" because who would ever delete that photo?

"Delicate sensibilities, right." She grinning then at Jemms. "Don't believe a word she says, Jane. She holds her liquor a lot better than I do."

Jane Foster has posed:
Being the odd person out on the drinks, Jane will eventually get around to worrying about hers as the server returns in all his punchy glory. Those are indeed suspenders. "Island in a Misty Sea," she asks, which is probably a rarity that has them diving for the books. Or it might be a secret code. She doesn't go to great lengths to explain it, smiling as he takes it and vanishes off again. Water will do for now, poured from the pitcher with a mildly shaky hand. Hey, it's heavy and she is not the queen of the gym. "What are you talking about? Libraries are some of the best. There are amazing locations hidden around New York, those dedicated to purely obscure topics. I've been to the Ashmolean Collection, too. That's a mecca for learning and utter oddities. Antiquities abound." A toast of water, and she takes a sip. "I suppose we could always visit the vivisection exhibit going on, but truly that isn't necessary in the least, is it?"

She swallows and indulges in the pure crispness of the water, cold from the ball of ice, before setting the glass down with a clunk. "I think my guest is going to be like eighty-six. Probably unwise to walk him far out. He was on Apollo 16, as memory serves. Best to let that be left to the important people. I merely direct starry affairs."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    There is a moment's consideration before Jemma responds to Jane's mystery guest with a question of her own. Or...an answer in the form of a question. "Is he Charles Duke?" Because of course Jemma is going to know who was on the Apollo 16 mission and who was on the moon. It's a pretty short list. "That would be rather amazing. I am officially jealous."

    There is a glance back to the green-clad Skye. "It isn't that I can hold my liquor. It is merely a matter of identifying the amount of alcohol by volume, calculating the affects of said alcohol upon the human body, and applying simple mathematics to determine the appropriate amount of time to partake of a drink to remain lucid." A beat, then a continuation. "In other words, it is all about moderation...and taking small sips." A wink is tipped to Jemma's compatriots as another sip is taken, before a glass of water is poured, to be placed next to her flute.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Why are suspenders so damn sexy?" This said in musing after the server has left their table. Daisy peers after the man and then lets out a chuckle, shaking her head and returning her look back to the table. "I am jealous too actually. Those are the real heroes." another sip out of her drink but then Jemms starts going on about the proper measures about drinking... It makes Daisy eye her drink and then looks up at Jane with a 'see what I have to put up with' look?

"It's important to let go and be a little wild sometimes. Life isn't only made of logic and uh .., mathematic formulas. Got to live it." Daisy says in her wise ways about life and experience. Granted, she isn't the best to talk about good life experiences, sure. But they are improving!

Her eyes then go back to Jane. "So are we saying we will go spelunk into a library on the next foray? I am up for that. Just no vivisection exhibits, please." she smirks at that.

Jane Foster has posed:
"It is not enough to have a good mind; the main thing is to use it well," quips Jane, her and that relentless MIT education. Her glass is back up to her lips, a sip taken. "Given you have two choices, Jemma, I should stay mum. Though whether or not Gary Sinise played him, I leave to the wisdom of time. Though the astronauts are always interesting, especially those from the Apollo program. I've met a few, not many, but enough. My advisor was the one who got in deep with them. Doctor Selvig said they were, to a man, among the humblest people you would ever meet and therefore made no sense they worked for the government. It takes a lot of courage and character to log those flight hours, and then sit on a tin can full of jet fuel to go to the Moon. One of these days I'm going to have to see about screening Apollo 13 again. We can demand men wear suspenders."

The manly kind, not the stocking kind. She doesn't need to explain that for Jemma, does she? Though the grin is there as the odd drink she requested shows up, four kinds of rum from stormy to sweet, lime juice, pineapple juice, demerara syrup and cold-pressed coffee. No wonder they hate or love her around here. Play to the masses, hipster classes. The dancing has slowed, though, and she lifts her head briefly to the dancefloor. Swiveling couples, partners swaying, people caught in the drowsy embrace of jazz abound.

It's rude to stare, but stare she does.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "Well...I did like my odds, Jane." Jemma takes a sip from her water glass as she is seen to visibly relax. "Charles Duke was the youngest to have set foot on the moon, so I was hedging my bet a little there, though Gary Sinise played Ken Mattingly in Apollo 13, so now you have my interest doubly piqued." Science and pop culture aside, Jemma truly does seem interested. "Granted, either would be rather enlightening to speak to. Both? Even moreso."

    Now, Jemma might be a bit innocent in social terms, but she certainly doesn't need explanation about the fine art of suspenders. Those brown eyes of hers shift, flicking over to take in the sight that the two others have already partaken...and lingers there perhaps a *touch* too long. "Ah, yes....I see your point. Clearly so." There might have been a hand reaching up to cover Jemma's face earlier...but the infusion of jazz and spirits have effectively helped to lower the embarrassment potential of the Briton. For her own good, of course.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
A guffaw. Yes, Daisy actually guffaws as the two comment on the suspenders. "I only bring the important points up." she says in a sagely manner after the laugh dies down, resting back a bit against her chair, relaxedly, fingertips brushing over the edge of her green dress, she briefly looking towards the dance track as well with a grin. "We will all definitely need to step in there soon. I think Jane is already dreaming about it." she noticed the stare! Attentive Daisy.

"Do I need to hack into your work to find out who the mystery person will be?" She then questions in good spirits, winking at Jane. "And I don't think Jemms will let you go before she knows the answer."

A pause and then she lifts her glass. "But I have a toast to propose. To suspenders and our heroes on the moon?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Fifty-fifty odds being what they are, naturally Jemma's got a good to excellent chance of knowing what she talks about. "Yes. To braces and lunar explorers." Jane lifts her rum-infused drink, flicking her tongue along the float of pineapple juice, and then taking a sip that mostly misses the mark. In that she swallows wrong or the coffee kick is awfully hard, because her spluttering becomes a cough stifled with the back of her hand. Not perfect etiquette but the best one can hope to manage. Oof, it rather hurts for a second there.

Her eyes are a bit unfocused when she looks back up from the table, fixed off past Daisy's shoulder. Then back to the bar itself, possibly seeing whether anyone is on their way. Nope. Definitely not on their way back or rushing off, the tender with his fancy sideburns and attitude tattooed in fine blue and black ink up muscled arms drying a glass with a white towel. All hums along to the moody celebration of life's hardships, the opposite of a fiddle and an Irish lilt, but plenty important all the same.

"It's going to have to wait. That dancer's having an aneurysm." A concerned nod to the dance floor where at least four couples are happily swaying with absolutely no signs of alarm in the shadows, held together by the music swirling around them. "Or... a clot, something."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "Yes. To heroes, spirits and stars." The flute is raised into the air, then down as Jemma takes another controlled sip of her drink. Life isn't math? Bah! Math is life! But....science is better. The citrus flavor is invited, as the glass lowers.

    Only to lower more quickly as Jane begins to sputter. "Are you alright?" Ever the concerned one, Jemma shifts to pay attention to her friend, the emotion clearly etched on her face. So much so that Jemma doesn't notice the dance floor as Jane receives a cursory once-over visibly. No hands, but an expert eye given.

    It is only after Jemma ensures Jane is okay (mainly by Jane speaking clearly) is when the medical doctor shifts her gaze back out onto the floor. "Which one?" The medical professional that is Jemma slides into prominence, rather than the slightly socially awkward friend. Those brown eyes survey the floor, looking for any evidence of medical anomalies among the patrons.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
As the other two drink so does Daisy, downing half of her scofflaw on one go. But it's for a good cause! Celebrating a good toast. The cough brings her attention over to Jane though, she leaning in just a bit, also unaware of what goes on the dance track just yet. She was just about ready to give the other woman a good tap on the back to help with the cough. But as recovery seems to come she smiles. "All good now?"

Yet her eyes follow over to the dance floor when Jane mentions something going on there. She lifts a brow, perhaps a touch confused. "What's going on?" her drink is put down on the table and she cranes her neck up to peer. Not very spy-like! Because she is not being subtle at all. Oggling almost in search for what's up.

Jane Foster has posed:
The liquid libations are downed, elements of sparkling sunshine or dark forests or clear water, as the mood and vintage take. Specks of heat floating in the bloodstream sing with hidden nuances. Jane isn't more than half-done with her rum-soaked infusion, misty islands indeed. The snap of citrus plays on her lips, a sparkling bite against the storm cloud sweetness grabbed from one of the Dry Tortugas in a distant Carib dream. All to say: she's not inebriated.

The cough might be the act of aspirating a sip, choking on a thought, but her gaze is riveted across the distance. "Like Carter," she reports softly, her voice still rasping with the bitter retort of suspended liquid. Another cough into her napkin and she mostly clears the few nasty droplets causing trouble. Apparently she's a brilliant astrophysicist and incapable of drinking something properly. It's a good thing Thor isn't around. Or the other Asgardians. They might never let this down, having no idea of the crystallized promise on her wrist. Shaking her head at Jemma, she pulls a few more breaths. "Can't be sure. Guy in the dark t-shirt and..." Squinting at the dancers is awfully telling. "The one with the brown pants. Khakis? Near the back. They're moving, must be for a door." For that matter, /she/ is moving, sliding out of her chair with a coherent sense of not exactly sure. "That man's in trouble."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    The champagne flute, with its garnish of a lemon twist, is forgotten as Jemma ever so obviously shifts to look out over onto the floor. Those eyes scan over the floor, the gaze rather piercing as she locks in on the individual that Jane has described. That expression is one that both Jane and Daisy has seen before. It is the calculating gaze that Jemma adopts when she is reviewing data.

    And....it doesn't take long for Jemma to come up with a collaborating opinion. "possible nausea. Swaying. Confusion. Supported by that other. Either that man is rather inebriated or he is indeed suffering an aneurysm. In either case, the exit is in the opposite direction. Yes, I would say that he needs assistance." And...with that, Jemma starts to slide out of her seat as well. Those doctor instincts are hard to repress.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
All that training comes to the fore, Daisy searching for those cues, the dark shirt, brown pants. She gets just a glimpse but enough to identify and nod at the assessment given by both Jane and Jemma. And as if they were all mindlinked she also starts to get up to her feet around the same time the others do, hands pressing to the table to help her up. Damn, that bourbon is strong ...

But a blink later and her gaze is all focused and ready. And then in a true example of scoffing the law she start walking towards that back room without paying! But those spy instincts tell her to be ready. Even if it has to be ready in heels and without her gauntlets. Almost as if she was naked! "Whatever it is we need to figure out what's going on."

Sliding out of the way of a dancing couple she walks on through to the other side and to where those men were last seen, her eyes seeking thoughtfully. Furies Assemble!

Jane Foster has posed:
Training might give away details. Nothing straight up looks odd, only the indication of dancers turning to the sway and swirl of jazz music languidly played out. It's an intimate, slow weaving song that has no rush to the tempo, pulling like waters through the bayou. One of the couples is towards the back, one wearing a dark t-shirt, handsome in a common kind fo way, just like so many of the people here: tattooed arms, five o'clock shadow groomed well, clean-cut. The older man dancing with him is maybe five years older at most, khaki pants and button-down shirt, pretty much a hipster through and through. There isn't much to see at the fore for them other than being two men slow-dancing together, arms around one another. The hipster has his arm around the t-shirt-wearing fellow, who in turn embraces him, swaying and pulled back from the others. But other tells are there.

Tells of the slow drag of the feet, the dependency on the younger dancer. That there is perhaps an exit that way that goes into the bathroom or perhaps a utility closet hidden by the edge of the stage, an unoccupied platform right now. No live music at the moment. So it's not hard to find a way there through the swaying and slinky couples, but it's clear that passing through this group will be obvious. No clear way to go about it. Even from the side as Jane might do, cutting where she might be seen to seek a partner or an excuse to join into things.

No confrontation, perhaps, but possibly on the way. The servers don't show any awareness of the trouble, if there was trouble. It's so telling there is not, but...

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Well, if there is one thing that Jemma is good at, it is doing the obvious. And, despite the British sensibilities of keeping calm and carrying on, Jemma only is following the first part. The keeping calm. She follows Daisy as she heads to the dance floor, slipping through between the couples currently on the floor to that one particular couple. The clinical examination expression has been replaced with that perfectly crafted bedside manner expression every doctor develops, as if it was an pre-requisite to graduate medical school.

    Because it is...

    Hands up, palms outward, Jemma takes the direct approach and steps to the male couple directly. "Oh, please excuse the interruption, but I couldn't help but notice that your gentleman friend here appears rather in need of medical attention. If you don't mind, I could assist in escorting him to a quiet spot so an examination could be performed?" The hands shift, palms pointing to the ceiling. "I would be happy to do so. I am a medical doctor."

    See? Direct and to the point. That's Jemma for you.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The more they go near, and those tells are examined by the ever-attentive Daisy the more she grows aprehensive about the whole thing. If the young man needs assistance why wouldn't they call for it? So the situation gives her pause. She is about to reach up and perhaps have Jemms stop on her direct approach but then off the scientist goes! Ever the medical doctor.

It brings Daisy to the role of group 'thug', approaching, next to Jemma, smiling just so in that 'we are here to help!' manner, even if she is getting ready to act if need be. Paranoid much?!

She gives just a small look around, perhaps looking for where Jane is, then back. "You are always trying to help out .., maybe they are just looking for a little rest from all the dancing, mmm?" she says up to Jemma, brow quirking. Perhaps trying to divert attention that they may be finding something odd on the whole situation.

Jane Foster has posed:
Prerequisite assessments: adult male, 25, alert and well. Adult male, 30-something, pale, not self mobile it would seem. The uncoordinated state, the need for support, all of it rather subtle still, it wouldn't stick out. Not unless someone has a reasonable degree of perception and training can decipher the problems. They don't spin, the couple swaying, softly guided in some passive direction until Jemma interrupts. Then the younger man raises his head. He stares blankly at this British woman standing there, in the way, blocking him from his intimacies of the gentleman he's snuggled against. "What?" His eyes widen in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

His companion lifts his head a little from resting on the younger man's shoulder. Following in the dance, that's him. His pupils are blown, face pale, but not unhappy. "Mm? I'm fine--" Is he? Sort of. Maybe he's there. Maybe he is going to... teeter. Wiggle.

Daisy's probably able to feel the wobble of the heart, the beat not right, if she's that sensitive. If not, then it's merely a dance or a swivel to answer. Jane is just looking from the side, hanging back, the frown on her face considerably darker than it was before. She shakes her head, eyes narrowed. The dancer pulls his partner back a step or two. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," says the younger man. "But...? It's up to him?"

"Maybe?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Regardless of what the older and pale gentleman says, Jemma is watching closely. Those hands slowly lower, because she isn't going to just jump ahead and to a physical examination, but there is nothing stopping her from a virtual one. Those eyes look over the form as Jemma's mind swirls with thoughts. Pale. Euphoric. Weak. Possibly dizzy. A myriad of possibilities flitter in her mind, with only a select few seeming to fall into place. Still, she keeps her distance as she offers a small question, in her reassuring tone. "Are you sure? If you feel fine, then I suppose I was being concerned for nothing. Silly me."

    With that, Jemma turns, but she doesn't immediately leaves. Instead, she leans over into Daisy, whispering softly in her ear. "Apart from the euphoria, I would almost guess to venture that he was suffering from anemia. Though, excessive alcohol could explain the added euphoria, too." Then, with a smile over her shoulder back to the men, Jemma takes Daisy's arm and makes like she is going to lean her to dance. Again, a whisper back to Daisy. "That man is not well. Jane was right. I am nearly positive..."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
While Jemma examines their physical condition from a distance, the weakness and the paleness, Daisy appears to focus on assessing if any looks dangerous, off, or carrying a weapon. Those instincts were telling her something was off, or it was her trusting what Jane had told them but ..., it all seems mostly normal. Perhaps they are on drugs. It makes her press her lips together but so as to not look too suspicious she simply shrugs. "You know how medical doctors are. Always on duty."

But just as she is turning to dance along with Jemma she notes that wobble of heart. Brows furrow, that shouldn't be. But it goes toward what Jemma is saying. Anemia, weakness. She starts to focus further even as she takes Jemma's hand because they may just as well tango a little while they are down here. And she didn't even have to get Jemms drunk so she actually tried dancing! All it took was a possible medical emergency and maybe even danger!

She whispers quietly in return. "Something isn't right with them, I agree. The heart beat just isn't right. Anemia though? Lets stay near and see what else we can figure out." her eyes go towards Jane and she offers just the subtlest of nods, telling that something isn't indeed fully right.

Jane Foster has posed:
If Daisy and Jemma start tangoing, Jane needs her phone out to make a video or take a call. Make a call, take a video? Who knows. But the opportunity for the best social media scoop this side of Fury dancing with the lampshade on his head in '76 will not be lost. Emergency on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove, SHIELD Furies! The third Fury nonetheless has that phone, and the flick of her finger scrolling around the keyboard is precise and speedy. Clearly so important to get a message off right now. At least she refrains from the selfie and winks when someone going by, headed for the bar, seems to recognize her on the double-take. A little wave would be too much for the speakeasy and so she fashions a more noteworthy nod. Then it's back to her peers, her eyes narrowed.

The skitter-start of a limpid heartbeat might be due to pot, a bit of lust, the drowsy influence of a dark club with smoky jazz instead of actual smoke. Tis the environment for mellow highs and sultry looks. The dancers pivot and twirl as the beat flips over and the song gets a bit more convivial instead, the speakers pouring out the saucy warble of the brass section to a torch song. A kiss of the piano twinkles in the background. If Jemma and Daisy depart somewhat, the two men are going to take advantage of the situation to cozy up to one another towards the opposite wall from where Jane is, clearly intending to slither their way right along and possibly out into the main seating area. Booths and tables, a good place to loiter.

The younger man goes in for a kiss, light and brushing, clearly adding a murmur into the whole of it. That's just how a couple in love and maybe unwise with their drinks are...

And if you believe that, the bartender has a bridge to sell you.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Well...the leading out to dance was *supposed* to be a cover to give an excuse to be on the floor in the first place. Jemma didn't actually expect to have to dance...or that Daisy would have been a willing partner. Oh well. When in Rome...or, in this case, when on a dance floor with 20's jazz, do what the other dancers do.

    Of course, Jemma lets Daisy lead. That wasn't an agreed upon thing. It...just happens.

    Still, it is ample time for Jane to get her blackmail material as the two begin to dance upon the floor. It looks perfectly harmless, starting out, but it is apparent that Jemma is not much of a dancer. Or at least...wasn't. She stumbles a couple of times as her feet tangle up with themselves, causing a blush of red almost as deep as the maroon dress she wears. But, eventually, the good doctor finds her rhythm. And, when she does, she also finds her observation skills are better, being closer and not worrying about tripping. That couple makes all the appropriate motions to signify love and affection. And...that's what is troubling, at least to Jemma.

    It looks much too rehearsed. An act, rather than spontaneous.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Dancing? Daisy is always willing! So that's what starts to happen, Daisy certainly not minding to lead the way. And she really had no time to watch a nice youtube video explaining her the dance moves. But well, time to use that natural agility of hers to get things done! Perhaps a bit clumsy at first as they find their footing but eventually she gets in the pace, not hiding her grin at Jemms blush at the tangled feet. Might as well enjoy it a bit even if there may be danger afoot right?

"Maths can't help you on the dancetrack, Jemms!" She says in that teasing manner of hers. Does she note the phone on Jane though? That just seems to amuse her more. But she quickly goes back to her focus and as they twirl and dance so does she take her time inspecting the two suspects.

"They are up to something." She begins leading the dance to the edge close to where the couple is, perhaps ready to follow if they leave. It's a shame really, because the whole ambience of the club seems to go right into the type she enjoys!

Jane Foster has posed:
Ooh, let the beat drop! The speakeasy isn't the most busy place, not packed to the gills by eager, sweaty dancers catching the latest trap beat. But when the slow song turns to something more danceable, a few more partners slink out of the booths. One of the waiters gets into it, finding a damsel in need of a date--

"No," Jane insists to the chap in suspenders and a kicking bowler hat. "I'm just fine." Polite negation shows a definite disinterest in taking to the floor, though she probably ought to get away from the sidelines where only the wallflowers congregate. She herself is no wallflower; still, the impression might be a further cause for being drawn out or looking like a pretty sad case of spinster scientist.

She waves to her friends, and then takes a quick path back to their table where the drinks need to be disposed of. Her shawl gets folded up, and tucked under her arm, the better for shimmying up to the bar and getting an eye on.. Something. She's looking around, not a good sign.

In the cross traffic of people coming and going, the ambling partners seem to be missing. Here and there are quiet nooks and crannies... But then how do you lose a couple? They seem to have vanished.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Curse Jemma's two left feet! Her stumbling, coupled with the dance number picking up tempo, which in turn increased the number of bodies on the dance floor, caused her to lose sight of their quarry. "Did you see where they went?" is the not-so-hushed whisper that floats to Daisy's ear. Dancing is hard work! The tone is a little breathless...and a whole lot worried. "I lost sight of them. Oh, if something were to happen."

    Nevermind the fact that no one else seems concerned in the least. That is odd in itself, but it is the medical state of the older, more decidedly pale individual that holds Jemma's focus. Those brown eyes shift, from Daisy to the floor...to the sidelines and beyond. But...nothing comes to her. And that in and of itself is troubling.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Ouch, denied. Was it the suspenders? Maybe the chap needs to up his game with those. Regardless, he takes it with a smile, moving on to the next dame that he finds by herself. Noone is to be left sitting down apparently!

But the increased activity makes Daisy lose sight of their quarry as well. She crunches up her nose in frustration. "They were right there a moment ago."

Taking one of Jemma's hands she then begins to lead out of the dance floor. She again attempts to focus, trying to find that wobble of heart she did before. Too many people up and moving now though. Hard to pinpoint ... She mutters. "I am not finding a lock on them.." whatever that means! She gestures towards where Jane is and begins walking there to join up and they can talk, "There's only so many places they could be. If not here where would be the most logical place?" Nothing like using the brains of the team.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Well...Jemma might be able to figure out exactly what Daisy is meaning. Though, honestly, she is not too worried about deciphering Daisy-speak at the moment. The glance over towards Jane, with her stargazer friend offering a shrug, is all the deciphering that Jemma needs to confirm her suspicions. The couple of lovebirds have flown the coop.

    Jemma breaks from the dance with Daisy as her eyes drift back towards where last the intrepid trio of Furies saw the apparently delirious duo, scanning the floor in what is a good approximation of where they have gotten off to. And...with a start, Jemma almost dashes into a particularly robust dance between a couple rather joyous individuals. But, she manages to avoid a collision as the brunette dips down quickly, snagging a piece of folded brown leather from the floor before it is kicked along from boisterous jitterbugging. Then, making a beeline to the former table, Jemma snags Daisy's hand and drags her along.

    Back at the table, Jemma lays out her find. "I don't know where they went to, but I do believe we have a lead on our poor pale person." The leather is flipped open, gingerly at the corners, to reveal what Jemma hoped it would be. A wallet, with the ID of the older gentleman visible. "I do believe we have some research to do."

    And, with Daisy, Jane, and Jemma? That will be some most impressive research, once it happens.