@Muramura
Why in God's name Adair came here to pick up clients was beyond him. Maybe because he was always desperate for the cash, but it was more likely that he came here because the owner never had a problem with him doing business in the club. It may have taken a couple 'favors', but being on the owner's good side meant he could do his job in peace, in a place that was familiar. Unfortunately it wasn't the swankiest club on the strip, and they had this 'talent-night' where people could come perform. Most of the time it was terribly cringeworthy, which is why Adair tended to find somewhere else to work on these nights. But the young male was too tired to go walking about on the street, and it was a bit too cold for his current attire. In a tight faux leather pencil skirt, black tube-top, a fishnet shirt, and a pair of suede black mary-jane platform heels, he wasn't really dressed for this cool night. So instead, here he was, walking out of the men's bathroom, adjusting his skirt and then moving his thin hands to the long locks of his most prized weave. He flipped the hair a few times, making sure any tangles were out of it before heading straight to the bar.
Slipping up onto one of the stools, the bartender sighed and poured the small male a shot of tequila, then told him his lipstick was smudged. Adair frowned and pulled out a compact from a pocket in the shirt and wiped the stray red cream off his cheek. He turned his gaze onto the stage for a second as a man who had been reading poetry was leaving. Turning back he wrapped his fingers around the shot glass and put it back, barely even flinching at the burn of the liquid in his throat. The taste of his latest client was washed away by the alcohol as he saw the man scurrying out of the club in his peripherals. For a few minutes he made small talk with the bartender, busy night, bad performances, lousy customers, small-talk of those that worked on the strip.
It was when the room got significantly more quiet and a soft set of 'ooohs' and 'ahhs' rang out that Adair finally let his green eyes move back to the stage. Immediately his eyebrows raised, and his bottom lip dropped lightly in surprise. It was as if a ghost from his past had suddenly appeared right in front of him and he couldn't help but watch the apparition as it curved and bent in almost inhuman ways. The crowd was entertained but not as transfixed as the little male escort was. The bartender spoke to him but the words were lost on Adair as he left his empty shotglass and moved across the floor of the club. He moved between a few tables, ignoring any soft beckonings from potential clients as he made his way to the center of the floor. Staring up at the stage his mind finally gave in, this had to be reality, he couldn't be dreaming. The last thing he ever imagined was to come across one of his old troupe ever again. Especially this one... with everything that happened... Adair couldn't stop the flooding of emotions and his chest tightened with affection and pain, terror and glee, all at once that he could barely breathe. His adrenaline kicked in and he moved, quickly trotting in his high heels towards the side of the stage, pushing through the curtain to the backstage area and waiting, watching from the sidelines as his past performed right before his eyes.
Why in God's name Adair came here to pick up clients was beyond him. Maybe because he was always desperate for the cash, but it was more likely that he came here because the owner never had a problem with him doing business in the club. It may have taken a couple 'favors', but being on the owner's good side meant he could do his job in peace, in a place that was familiar. Unfortunately it wasn't the swankiest club on the strip, and they had this 'talent-night' where people could come perform. Most of the time it was terribly cringeworthy, which is why Adair tended to find somewhere else to work on these nights. But the young male was too tired to go walking about on the street, and it was a bit too cold for his current attire. In a tight faux leather pencil skirt, black tube-top, a fishnet shirt, and a pair of suede black mary-jane platform heels, he wasn't really dressed for this cool night. So instead, here he was, walking out of the men's bathroom, adjusting his skirt and then moving his thin hands to the long locks of his most prized weave. He flipped the hair a few times, making sure any tangles were out of it before heading straight to the bar.
Slipping up onto one of the stools, the bartender sighed and poured the small male a shot of tequila, then told him his lipstick was smudged. Adair frowned and pulled out a compact from a pocket in the shirt and wiped the stray red cream off his cheek. He turned his gaze onto the stage for a second as a man who had been reading poetry was leaving. Turning back he wrapped his fingers around the shot glass and put it back, barely even flinching at the burn of the liquid in his throat. The taste of his latest client was washed away by the alcohol as he saw the man scurrying out of the club in his peripherals. For a few minutes he made small talk with the bartender, busy night, bad performances, lousy customers, small-talk of those that worked on the strip.
It was when the room got significantly more quiet and a soft set of 'ooohs' and 'ahhs' rang out that Adair finally let his green eyes move back to the stage. Immediately his eyebrows raised, and his bottom lip dropped lightly in surprise. It was as if a ghost from his past had suddenly appeared right in front of him and he couldn't help but watch the apparition as it curved and bent in almost inhuman ways. The crowd was entertained but not as transfixed as the little male escort was. The bartender spoke to him but the words were lost on Adair as he left his empty shotglass and moved across the floor of the club. He moved between a few tables, ignoring any soft beckonings from potential clients as he made his way to the center of the floor. Staring up at the stage his mind finally gave in, this had to be reality, he couldn't be dreaming. The last thing he ever imagined was to come across one of his old troupe ever again. Especially this one... with everything that happened... Adair couldn't stop the flooding of emotions and his chest tightened with affection and pain, terror and glee, all at once that he could barely breathe. His adrenaline kicked in and he moved, quickly trotting in his high heels towards the side of the stage, pushing through the curtain to the backstage area and waiting, watching from the sidelines as his past performed right before his eyes.