(2018-10-09) Business Meetings at Night Clubs
Kyrie is out like a normal person and Isaac is doing something.

The entrance outside holds a velvet rope that forms a line beneath an awning for security to check IDs and ensure everyone was 21 and to limit people if the inside has already reached max capacity. The latter rarely happens except during tourist season.

Inside, the bump and thump of music is unmistakable, setting the tone for the club. A bar lined with neon lights as well as circle, rotating bar stools affixed to the floor with a red neon. Behind the bar is a large mirror, rows of liquors and glasses and a vast array of fixings for about any cocktail imaginable. With beer on draft, there's a flavor from the local brewery as well as other popular brands. No less than 2 bartenders are manning the bar at any given time, though during busy hours, there are up to 5.

An area surrounded by mirrors on two sides, a mirrored ball above, is a dance floor that lights up when stepped on. The color of the lights depends on the tile and it makes for a colorful display that is popular with the tourists.

Dotting along one wall is a line of tables and booths and a hallway in back leads to the restrooms. Neon shaped cocktails and things are placed on the walls for decoration.

A churning drum beat thunders off the walls as the 970 keeps the dance party going almost every night - tonight is no exception. Although a weekday isn't the most popular night for partygoers, the crowd at the club is making up for their lack of numbers with all that more vigor. Most of the crowd skews on the younger side, twenty-something singles looking to mingle, but a few veteran revelers can be spotted holding their own amongst the kids.
On the dance floor, one of those infamous twenty-somethings is swaying to the music with all her heart can muster. Her blonde curls bob to the beat as she throws her hands in the air, careless of who might be watching as she loses herself in the music as she casually flows from partner to partner.

Isaac isn't exactly the dancing sort and he's a fair bit older than the rest of the crowd. But for a person to make it from the entrance to the bar, they need to slip through the crowd of reveling dancers. Easy enough for a smaller, more nimble person. More difficult for a man like himself, the sort of person that's used to people moving out of his way with a glower or simply bumping into them. As the glowering is mostly ignored tonight, he's forced to bump into people. And so his path comes directly in contact with Kyrie and her careless dancing, unintentionally disrupting the flow between her and her current partner. There's a very gruff, "Sorry," which sounds entirely insincere before he starts moving on. Rude.

The man brushing past Kyrie pulls her out of her musical trance and his gruff demeanor is such a notable contrast to the rest of the crowd that it demands her attention. She follows behind, waiting for an opportunity to slide up beside him as she says in a voice loud enough to be heard over the thumping rhythm, "Hey, frowny face," she taps him on the shoulder for emphasis, "What's with the death glare? This is a party. You should be enjoying yourself."

Isaac is on a direct route to the bar and he's not going to be distracted by anything. Unless of course, anything comes along and starts tapping him on the shoulder and calling him /frowny face/. That prompts him to deeply furrow his eyebrows and look around with confusion until he spots Kyrie at his side. Perplexed, he gives her a curious look before taking a few more steps to his destination. Is she still following him? "This is what my face looks like," he tells her deadpan, giving it a general sort of wave with one hand. "Difficult to change. I'm enjoying myself very much, thank you for your concern."

Sensing a challenge, and an interesting change of pace for the night, the young woman follows along, "Unfortunate," Kyrie says with a playful grin, "because you totally look like a man who's girlfriend ran over his dog with his own truck while she was leaving him for his best friend's dad." As she reaches the bar, she leans back against it with her elbows propped up on the railing, "And, for the record, I'm not writing a country song. Those dude-bros over at KYSS are my arch-enemies. O.k., friendly rivals, but it's more dramatic if I swear eternal vengeance on them." She inclines her head as she looks the man up and down, "How close am I? Dog? Girl? Truck?"

Isaac appears to think that his easy and enjoyable (not really) demeanor will encourage Kyrie to discover greener pastures. So while he's ordering his drink, he finds himself even more bewildered and very clearly in the wrong. She's still there, she's asking more questions and seemingly undisturbed by his dour expression. He slowly turns that deadpan back onto her again as his eyebrows lift in a kind of tired wonder, "I don't have a dog, a girlfriend, a truck or a best friend with a dad. So you're batting exactly zero." This is punctuated by a job of his index finger before he tips back the short glass of amber shaded whiskey. "Is there a particular reason why you want to be arch-enemies with some rando guys at a radio station? Or is that just a hobby for you?"

"Am I? If you don't have any of those things, maybe that's what's troubling you? I know this guy, a vet, who can get you the cutest puppy you can imagine. He's also looking to rehome a charity case," Kyrie offers with undeterred energy, "As for Cowpoke Clowns," the young woman says with a flip of her curls, "Professional rivalry. I work over at KROQ. You know, the Croc? Rock Out With Your Croc Out? O.k., marketing says I totally can't use that one but I think it's radio gold. You ever listen?" She doesn't give him much of a chance to answer as she piles on, "I know, I know, that voice is unmistakable. Yes, I really am that Kyrie, the night D.J. You may now be impressed and stammer." Her tone makes it clear her boasting is more parody than serious.

"No, no pets. I don't really have a lifestyle for pets." Isaac is pretty dead serious about not adopting anything, but then again, he looks like the sort of person that's serious about everything. He busies himself drinking from the glass, glancing over periodically as Kyrie continues to be there. Continues talking. "Do you talk this much because your occupation requires you to talk this much and so when you're not at work, you have to keep it up? Is it a skill you lose if you don't fill every moment with words?" says the man sitting in a loud ass club full of people talking. He doesn't seem to recognize her name, but perhaps he just doesn't listen to radio! Maybe it's all Spotify and Amazon music!

"I like to think of it more as a talent than a skill. Whenever I hear silence the words just start coming. That's probably why I got into music. I just could stand quiet. Drives me crazy," Kyrie says as the concept of editing her speech seems to not cross her mind, "But, really, c'mon, why would you come to a club to scowl in the corner and drink? There's plenty of places you could go for that. What's your story Grumps?"

"A skill is a very charitable way of putting," Isaac mumbles into his glass before he slowly angles a look at her out of the corner of his eye. Initially it seems that he's prepared to enter a mode of Total Silence, zero responses as he looks forward at the wall of bottles. But Kyrie has endured this far, there's no reason to think that she's going to wander off now. "I'm not here to party, I'm /working/." His green eyes eventually wander back to her again, "I'm supposed to be meeting someone, but they haven't shown up yet."

"Working? At a club? That's definitely a line of work I should look into," Kyrie says with an affable smile, "Now you have my curiosity piqued. What kind of business are you…" she stops mid-sentence and her brow presses down. She turns around to face a rather large and, definitely inebriated young man, "What the hell, dude? Get your hand off my ass." She says as she starts to get in the man's face, "What makes you think you have the right to do that?"

The man growls back as he jabs a meaty finger in Kyrie's face, "And where do you get off dancing like that and sending mixed signals." There is a pause and the nest word is spat out almost as if in slow motion, "Slut."

"Not working at or for the club. A business meeting." At a club, at night. Which sounds very legitimate and not at all incredibly sketchy, all things considered. Isaac doesn't get around to the part where he explains his very real business model to Kyrie, because there's suddenly a drunk person engaging with her. For a moment, he seems like he's just going to sort of fade off into the background. He doesn't look like and isn't really, any sort of white knight. But as the guy gets into her face and starts slinging some nasty insults, he sighs down into his glass. He looks down and over at him before he lifts his voice loud enough for him to hear, "Hey, guy! Why don't you find something else to do besides chase your case of blue balls?"

The man turns his snarl to Isaac and says, "What's it to you? This little tramp yours? How about I take her off your hands while you suck on than drink? Or I could just kick your ass and show you who has the blue balls." As far as threats go, it doesn't make sense, but this man is probably not exactly those most well-spoken fellow, even if he was sober. He cracks his knuckles and sneers at Isaac.

For her part Kyrie continues to look even more annoyed and that lack of editing feature comes out, "Really? How small is your fucking prick?" She doesn't appear to be skilled at disarming the situation, "Back off or maybe I'll kick your ass?" Despite her tough talk, the size discrepancy between her and the brute is almost comical.

"Please, don't embarrass yourself any further." Isaac drawls to the drunk guy, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. When Kyrie continues to go toe to toe with him, he lets his shoulders drop. This isn't going to end well, he can tell that it won't end well. "I'm not going to get to my meeting," he concludes, mostly to himself. He slowly gets up off of the stool, stretching to his full height and cracking his neck. Calmly, he puts his arm in between the two of them. "The only thing you're going to be taking into your hands is your own dick. So why don't you wander off now, call a cab or an Uber and get out of here."

"Why don't /you/ get out of here?" the drunk would-be- pick-up artist turns to jab that thick finger into Isaac's chest. Although a big guy, he is still ends up looking up at the taller man. "Or, maybe you want I should save you the trouble and I'll just help you by throwing you out on your lanky ass? Now fuck off or get beat."

Kyrie forces her way in and says to the aggressor, "Just fucking leave, dude. What kind of an asshole do you think you-" her words are cut off as the man pushes her away, a combination of drunken force and her own heeled boots sends her sprawling across the floor.

Isaac is about to say something when the guy pushes Kyrie and knocks her onto the floor. His mouth opens for a second and he looks down at her and then at the drunk idiot before nodding his head a couple of times as if deciding on something internally. Then he cocks his fist back and punches him dead in the face. "But by all means, keep insisting that you're going to kick my ass, frat boy." In theory, this guy is at least briefly preoccupied by getting slugged. So while he's shaking the pain out of his fist, Isaac will stoop over to offer Kyrie a hand up. "Come on, DJ. All your bones intact?"

The brute may come across as tough, but as Isaac's fist crumples his face, he reels back, blood dripping between his finger as he tries to cover his face, "Mudder fudder. You broke my node," he protests in a cry of pain and anger. He clenches his jaw and starts to take a step forward, his arm pulling back to level a return blow of his own. But, at the last moment, the bouncer finally arrives and intercedes, grabbing the young man and dragging him towards the door. His night is over. But, his mouth is not as he shouts, "Fud you man. I won't forgged dis! Your ass id mine!"

On the floor, Kyrie takes a deep breath, taking a moment to try to center herself. Despite the situation, as she listens to the asshole's muddied speech, she kept help but find a bemused smirk. This night is so absurd it would be funny if it wasn't such a disaster. She looks up at Isaac and says, "I think you just made a new friend. He seems kind of sweet on you."

"Mmmhmm. Play bitch games, win bitch prizes!" Isaac calls over his shoulder with a smirk. If the young man is planning on holding a grudge for later, he doesn't appear to be particularly concerned about it. Hopefully this guy won't be hanging around his car after this is over, because that would be an unpleasant surprise. "He'll have to get in line. I have a lot of 'friends'. You plan on staying down there all night?"

Kyrie shakes her head in response to the questions before she awkwardly climbs to her feet, tentatively leaning on a stool as if until she is sure of her footing. Finally, she says, "Yeah, well, um, thanks, I guess. I totally had that under control, by the way. I can take care of myself." She purses her lips for a moment and asks, "Is your hand o.k.? Do you need ice or something? " Her cheeks are a bit flushed with embarrassment over the whole situation.

"Yeah totally, I can see that." Isaac slowly stands back up since she doesn't appear interested in his help up. Rocking on his heels, his eyebrows gradually inches up and he pouts out his lips before saying in a voice that doesn't sound entirely serious, "You definitely had everything under control." There's a glance downward for his hand and he shrugs and pulls out his phone, glancing down at the screen. "It'll be fine, wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah, well, just because you do something a bunch of times doesn't really make it hurt any less. You just kind of get used to it," Kyrie states as she watches the man check his phone, "So, um, I hope all this didn't scare your business away." She takes a beat before she comes out and asks, "Are you looking to buy or deal? I've been in enough clubs in my day to get the kind of business that goes down here. I'm not judging," she says as she glances back and forth before saying, "Just be careful. There's a lot of cops that hang out around here and after you just did me a solid, I'd hate to see you get busted holding."

"Well, I'm used to it. Just like you're apparently used to taking care of yourself," Isaac remarks with a cocked eyebrow, gesturing to their general vicinity. He makes a face at the phone before sliding it back into his pocket. "Thanks for the advice, DJ. I've been in Calaveras a few years, I know what the deal is." He goes for his wallet next, pulling a few bills out and tossing them onto the counter to pay for his drink. "That said, I need to go meet my business elsewhere." He's poised to leave but ends up stalling, looking at the ceiling as if debating something. Then he turns back around, "Isaac Abernathy. I have a place downtown, Double Action Guns and Ammo. You need something sometime, call there."

"Isaac. 'He will laugh.' Because Abraham and Sarah laughed when God promised them a child." Kyrie recites the origin of his name with a lopsided grin, "If that's not the definition of irony …" she muses Before saying, "Well, Mr. Abernathy, my full name is Kyrie Morgan, and I just might take you up on that offer. I'm not sure I really need a gun and without a gun I probably don't need ammo, but it might be fun to give you a chance to try to change my mind. Oh!" she almost jumps as an idea springs to her, "Do you have a range or something? I've heard that's a killer experience and…" she finally stops herself, "And you have to go take care of business. It was nice meeting you, Isaac. And, um," she lowers her voice and says sheepishly, "yeah, thanks for looking out."

"You got any more bible quotes rattling around in there?" Isaac is now looking at Kyrie with a bit of concern, possibly trying to calculate her Jesus level. And when she starts becoming animated, he leans back a little as his eyebrow does the creeping up thing again. "I don't have a range. But if you wanted to go to a range and try out some guns, that's a thing that I can make happen." His wallet is still out in his hand, he flips it open and digs out a business card, handing it over. Her last has him watching her dubiously before he looks up and then cracks the world's most reluctant smile. He quickly glances around in case someone catches him looking amused for this briefest of seconds. "Yeah, no problem."

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