Summary:Jean and Oliver guard the VIP tables at the club like the party animals they are. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Clubs are not usually Jean's scene. When you add the physical noise of the music to the psychic noise of a crowd of people all looking for a good time, it tends to make for a worse hangover than several bottles of cheap booze. But graduation is tomorrow, which means all of the finals are over and everyone is looking for an excuse to go out one more time before they have to start thinking about being adults and getting real jobs.
So Jean came out with a group of college-age girls, all out to have one last night of fun. Well, all except for Jean, who is mostly there to make sure no one ends up sleeping it off in the alley so that everyone can walk tomorrow. She's dressed in a bright green sleeveless romper with a cropped brown leather jacket and a pair of ankle boots with just enough of a blocky heel to pass for club wear without making her feet hurt by the end of the night.
The group sprung for one of the VIP tables, but at the moment it's just Jean, standing guard on the collection of clutches and purses while the rest of the pack is on the prowl.
The club is in the heart of Brooklyn, and while it is a super trendy place to be and be seen, it also draws a strong local hipster and indie community. It's a mishmash of locals, mingled with pounding music and drinks. The lights flash and lasers spin about, bathing the dancers and hangers-about. Music pounds from the DJ, who is some local celebrity or other.
Jean isn't the only person occupying a VIP booth on their lonesome. Oliver Queen lounges back in one, nursing a local beer as he watches the place. Tight jeans, polished boots, a faded Doors t-shirt. His jacket is slung over the back of the booth, and the outfit hugs his tightly muscled body in a very purposeful way. He brushes his fingers over his Van Dyke goatee and furrows his brow a bit. A group of non-locals pause by the booth and lean in long enough to snag a selfie with him without asking, and he offers a small, friendly smile before they head off. Anyone with a sense of empathy can see the tiredness around his bright green eyes, and his distracted nature.
His gaze ends up landing on the redhead a few booths over, and he watches her curiously for a moment, bringing his drink to his lips.
Jean doesn't have the walls all the way up. As in, she hasn't resorted to scrolling through her phone yet. It's just that there's not really any point in prowling the dance floor when you can accmplish so much more with just a little bit of mental exercise. Any lingering feelings of guilt over the idea that she's invading people's privacy are dismissed with the excuse that she needs to practice her filters anyhow.
Horny, drunk, drunk, drunk, horny, angry, sad…It's like flipping through a deck of cards, really. And most of them are wanting something. Looking for anything that feels different.
Oliver pings against those senses, standing out against the background noise of the other minds simply by the lack of searching. Looking over, she flashes a crooked smile in the salute of the designated driver.
He offers a smile to her when she glances over, and he raises his drink to her in greeting. He glances about briefly before he returns his gaze to her. He gestures to his booth and cocks his head to the side, clearly offering a spot with him. Two people that are not searching might, at least, find some company in eachother.
If Jean ends up taking him up on the offer he sits up a bit and sets his beer down on the table. "Hey there! Holding down the fort while your friends enjoy themselves?," he asks curiously. He has a deep, pleasant voice with an almost feline casualness to his pacing.
Well, the good part about the VIP section is that ther's a snowball's chance of actually being able to hear someone. Plus not sitting alone probably decreases the chances of creepers, right? She checks the stuff at the table, but grabs her glass of water and heads over to Oliver's booth. "Hey now, you say that like I'm not enjoying myself," she replies, though her wry smile gives her the lie. "Yeah," she admits, laughing low and leaning against the side of the booth where she can still keep an eye on things while she talks. "Let's just say they're a little more motivated than I am. But hey, they deserve some fun, right?"
"They absolutely do. So do you, though. And you can have fun -while- being responsible. Really. Shocking, I know." He grins at her and winks. He brushes his fingers back through his blonde hair as he considers her for a moment. "Ollie," he states. "I'm Ollie. Now, you're probably the driver, which is great…even with uber and lyft and all of that. What would entertain you instead, then?," he asks curiously.
"Uber and Lyft have done wonders for the designated driver game," Jean grins, lifting one shoulder in an idle shrug. "So less designated driver, more designated good decision maker. Which is pretty much my role anyhow?" She leans forward to offer a hand at his introduction, smile easy. "I'm Jean. Nice to meet you, Ollie."
"I wouldn't be averse to some good conversation. Best part about the VIP section, right? Close enough to hear the music, far enough behind the speakers to be able to hear yourself. What about you?" She looks around, arching a brow. "There's a marked lack of purses to guard here, Ollie."
"Well, fair enough," Ollie replies with a small chuckle. He reaches out to take her hand and shake it. He has a surprisingly calloused hand for a man dressed like him, sitting in a VIP booth. "Nice to meet you too, Jean!" He arches an eyebrow at her question and he glances around at his empty booth.
"Oh, eh. My little sister was with me for a bit, but she had to handle some business. She owns the place. I just take advantage of her importance to do nothing all night." He grins.
"Well-played," Jean laughs at the admission, taking a look around with the new perspective. "Your sister's doing great for herself. I've heard this place is crazy hard to get into. The girls saved up for three months and have been planning since Christmas to get in here." She pauses, grin slipping crooked. "Pretty sure that's when Becca started dating the bartender," she adds, dipping her chin toward where a blonde girl is sitting at the end of the bar.
"I'm not one hundred percent sure if that's the reason she started dating the bartender or not. But to be fair, I'm not sure she is, either. Kind of waffling between the fact that she likes him and that she thinks she ought to be looking for something more serious now." The words come out almost absently, as subconscious readings just bubble to the fore.
"She's doing alright, yeah. She's a brat, but…" Ollie trails off with a teasing grin and shrugs a shoulder. He glances over at the bar and laughs. "Well, modern problems need modern solutions, right?" He winks. Things might begin coming together in Jean's head now. This club is notably owned by the billionaire Queen family. Multibillion dollar corportation and all that, plus old money. The only son, Oliver, happens to be a recovering ne'er-do-well who spends a lot of his time and money donating and working with charities now. The other old money families are often a lot more conservative, and the society sections constantly spew vitriol towards the 'overly liberal' Queen.
"Mmmm," Jean tilts her head, squinting one eye doubtfully. "You can call it modern, but I'm pretty sure trading sex for things you want is commonly referred to as the oldest profession." Wait a minute, did she just call her friend a prostitute? Judging by the grin, though, and the fondness as she looks back over her shoulder, it's all in good fun.
"Personally, I think she should just quit thinking about what she should do and just think about what she wants to do. Who cares what someone's job is as long as you're both enjoying yourselves?" The pieces are there, but Jean is too conscientious to show that she knows. That weariness she noticed earlier is still there in the back of her mind.
That statement brings a real laugh from the man, and he shakes his head. "I guess you're right." He brings his beer to his lips for a sip, before he sets it back down on the table. "I absolutely agree. Life is way too short for all of that nonesense." He glances out over the club before returning his gaze to her.
Jean looks back over at him, a knowing quirk to her smile. "Gotta be honest though, Ollie. You don't so much look like you're enjoying yourself. Which is impressive, because the papers all say you've got nothing to be unhappy about." Ah, so she does recognize him. Or at least she's gleaned a few things from his surface thoughts. "Penny for your thoughts?"
He blinks at that and then offers a small smile. "Money doesn't buy happiness, but yeah…it makes it a hell of a lot easier, sure…by removing the fear of going without." He glances down at his beer, idly peeling at the label. "Just lost in thought. Nothing major. Dealing with a local company that's raising issues against one of my youth programs. They think it's encouraging…eh. I don't want to get into it. I'm just trying to get it handled without lawyers being involved. It'll be handled by the end of next week. Just frustrating. I can't stand people that care more about their bottom line then the personal well-being of others."
With a real conversation on the table, Jean finally takes a seat at the edge of the booth, looking genuinely interested. "What kind of issues do they have with a youth program?" she asks, arching a brow. "Don't want the darn kids on their lawn? They're in the wrong part of the state if they're worried about lawns."
"It's for two-time offenders under the age of majority. The program has to do with finding them local work and job training, or third-chance schooling if they need it. A company that…will remain nameless…is saying they don't want that kind of 'element' urged to stay around here. Their excuses are garbage, but they're vocal and have sway with local businesses and the conservative crowd, who…well…don't exactly love me."
Ollie certainly doesn't sound upset about the fact that they do not love him.
"Yeah, but the whole point of them staying is contingent upon them evolving out of being that sort of element," Jean snorts, shaking her head. "That's how this actually works. The part where you make things better. You have to give people the tools, and that means that they have to have a chance to actually do something. And then you can reward them for it. And they see that there are choices outside of slinging drugs or taking what they want."
She sounds passionate about it herself, getting on a roll before she catches herself with a self-conscious smile, cheeks flushing. "Sorry. I'm actually graduating tomorrow with a psych major, but I've been thinking about getting a masters in social work," she explains.
"That's my entire point," Ollie grunts softly. "But they're worried about it effecting their own businesses and judge people on past mis…look…it's just going to ruin my mood." He chuckles and picks his beer up for a long pull. "Psych? Very nice. Microfinance for me. Effecting larger economy by focusing on smaller. Think globally, act locally…but in a degree." He shrugs.
"Sorry," Jean says ruefully. "I just…I get it. But it's great to see someone taking action on it. I really do think that most people will do better if you give them a chance. The world's a weird and scary place if you're out there on your own. Microfinance is like the science behind those small loans though, right? Like where you can donate twenty dollars to a womens collective in India and they can train women with marketable skills and build a business so they don't end up falling into sex work."
"No need to apologise," he replies quickly. "But, yeah. I happen to believe very strong in second…and third…chances." He drains his beer and sets the bottle aside. The labvel has been cleanly peeled off, and he picks the paper up to fiddle with.
"That is exactly right. Also, there's nothing wrong with sex work when the worker is the one in charge. The issue is when it's sex -slavery- but…" He shrugs. "Sorry. There's a reason I don't have many friends," the billionaire replies with a laugh.
"Also true," Jean agrees. "That's just very rarely the case in…most places, unfortunately." She quirks a brow at his apology though, looking amused. "You don't have a lot of friends because you've got the sort of ideals a decent person has? Man. That must be rough." She winks, leaning back and getting a little more comfortable. "It's cool. I do volunteer work over at the Mutant Town community center pretty regularly. And I've got a friend who's opened up a shared workspace in that part of town, too. We all do our part and maybe the world gets a little bit better, right?"
"It's getting better, at least in the United States, at least. But yeah." Ollie shrugs a shoulder and glances down at the beer label, which he is slowly doing origami with. "I can't really shut them off for long, or shut up about them. Take that and mix in the fact that I happen to be rich and people find shit to be mad at you about. I don't blame people without who are angry at people who have, of course. But…I do what I am able. I can do more good -with- my money and contacts then if I just gave it all away." He nods to her, chuckling.
Jean's brows furrow as she watches him, bemused. "Wow." She blinks, shaking her head. "Well. For what it's worth, you just reminded me how great my friends are, so thanks for that." Shifting in the booth, she tucks one leg up beneath herself. "You need better friends, Ollie. Friends are people who are passionate about the same things you are. And who don't get mad at you for things about yourself that have nothing to do with your character."
"I'd need friends to replace, Jean. Only person I'd call a friend is my sister, and -wow- that makes me sound pathetic." He smirks. "I just spend a lot of time working, I guess." Mixing a life of charity and business with…shooting trick arrows at villains…is very time-consuming. "But yeah, cherish the ones you have, whether they're dating bartenders or not."
"To be fair," Jean muses, "Most of my friends are the people I grew up with. Who are practically like siblings. In most cases. So I can't really judge you on that basis." She takes a sip of her water, shaking her head as she leans over to check on the booth again. "College friends aren't quite the same. But that's really my own fault, for spending so much time going back to school. By which I mean- Sorry, that was unclear," she laughs.
"I went to a boarding school upstate from the time I was ten, so. That's a lot like my family," she explains. "And I'm really close with the people there, so I'm usually up there on weekends, or holidays, or…just because. Which is nice in some ways, but also always makes me wonder if I'm limiting myself, and wow you do not need my entire life history, do you?"
"My dad sent me to a boarding school in France eventually. Figured it'd straighten me out. It…didn't." He laughs and shakes his head. "Then Yale, just like dear-old-dad. Didn't help, either. Took a terrorist attack and attempted kidnapping…followed by two infamous years stranded on an island in the south pacific to get my head on straight." That story was all over the news for a long time when it happened over ten years ago. That could explain the hands.
"So what I'm hearing you say is that the secret to world peace is to kidnap all the rich people in the world and strand them on their own private islands for a couple of years, then bring them back to society?" Jean grins, arching a brow playfully. "Because I feel like that's a plan you should quote the next time you want to get the reporters off your back."
He grins. "I don't know. Sounds like it could also create some pretty nasty supervillains." He winks. Ollie chuckles softly and then sighs, sitting back in his seat a bit as he watches her. "What do you plan to do with the degree?," he asks curiously, changing the subject.
"Ironically, despite what I just told you, I've been thinking about going back to that boarding school," Jean admits, rueful. "A lot of my old classmates went on to become teachers, and part of the reason I came out to the city to go to college was that I couldn't see myself as a teacher. It just wasn't enough for me. But I realized recently that there are other ways to help out, too. I was thinking I might take on a counseling position while I work on that masters in social work. I want to help people," she concludes, shrugging. "I want to make things better."
"Well, that's cool. Nothing wrong with wanting to help people…regardless of what folks might try and tell you." His phone suddenly beeps in his pocket, and he withdraws it. He frowns a hint at a text. "Some business just came up. I'm sorry, but…" He slides out of the booth, pocketing the phone. "It was cool to meet you, though, Jean."
"Yeah, you too," Jean says, sliding out of the booth and backing toward her own again. "Keep fighting the good fight, Ollie," she encourages, raising one fist in the air as she backs away.