Summary:Kori is improving at her new job, and decides to catch up with the friend who got her the gig in the first place. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
  |
It's a Wednesday, which means Kori's just finishing up the notoriously parsimonious early afternoon club, and Priscilla's just coming on to get warmed up for the more lucrative evening crowd. She comes off her set to scattered and lazy applause, clicking into the backroom on ludicrously high transparent heels that bump her to a staggering near-seven feet tall.
"Priscilla!" she exclaims, spotting her friend getting changed. Kori pitches the remains of her artfully removed outfit into a laundry bin, and tugs on light grey exercise shorts and a sports bra. "They seemed to like that new routine you composed for me," she exclaims, proudly. "I saw many more dollars on the stage than usual. Thank you, again, for getting me on the main stage," she says, with sincere gratitude. "It is much more fun than the lightboxes." The table stands on the lower floor where new girls end up tends to have the leanest tips and the most number of grabby perverts. Up on stage, dancers are out of convenient reach. And they're the center of everyone's attention. "Are you starting early tonight or are you going to wait for the crowd to get 'up the warmed'?" she inquires.
Pris chuckles softly as she peels off her purple-accented black leather jacket and hangs it up, then sets her purple full-coverage motorcycle helmet with the twin gold-accented emerald green coiled dragons on the sides up on the top of the rack. Then she turns to embrace Koriand'r. "Hey there, Kori. Glad the routine is going well, and that you're liking the main stage better. You definitely have the curves, poise, and athleticism of drawn for the main stage. We just have to get your showwomanship up to scale for the main event shifts."
Pris kisses the towering goldenrod on the cheek, and then starts unbuckling her boots to slip them off. "I came in a bit early because I'm actually going to change costumes tonight. I wanted to take my time getting dressed, and go through the removals once off-stage just to refresh my memory, make sure everything will go right on stage." Pris really does take her job dancing very seriously; it's what makes her cover so darned convincing.
The embrace and kiss to the cheek is returned in kind. If Kori perspires at all it doesn't show. The scenet of cinnamon and ozone gets a bit stronger around her after vigorous exercise, though given her anatomy its' more likely endorphins from dancing than any actual effort. Someone who can juggle cars doesn't get winded from vigorous dance numbers.
"I have invited a few of my friends to see the new routine," Kori informs Priscilla. "I hope they like it. They are all very supportive of my new job, and I am feeling much more confident than I was when I first started." It's true. Under Pris' tutelage, Kori's gone from a somewhat wooden waitress/table dancer to a rising attraction. "I am hoping eventually I will get to share the evening stage with you and Michelle," she says, referring to one of the other primary dancers. "And then I can keep more of my money. This 'pooling of the tips' is grossly unfair," she frowns. "Especially with as much of the percentage as the owner takes."
Priscilla perspires only very lightly herself, of course, and that more because she gets warmer with more physical activity, which enhances her natural pheromones. She may not juggle cars, but she is incredibly athletic and strong, far moreso than her frame would lead one to believe.
"Did you remember to give them all guest tickets?" Pris asks, smiling to her friend as she continues undressing. "Those will save them on the cover charge, and help identify them to the rest of the staff, who will look out for them when you're not there to do it yourself." The little things tend to slip by Kori in Pris' experience, so she reminds gently.
"Honestly, the owner here doesn't take nearly the percentage a lot of clubs do." Priscilla offers. "And he provides for us very well from our contributions. I've been pretty pleased. Their portion of our tips are paying for the makeup, costuming, laundry, and our share of the parking permits in the garage." True, Kori doesn't need a parking space, but most of the other girls do.
"Oh! I had forgotten about the guest passes," Kori says, looking abashed. "And you are right— I had not thought about how the tips pay for our equipment," she confesses. It's one thing to understand an intergalactic economy, but even a princess isn't immune to the outrage of paying taxes, apparently! Some things truely are universal.
"Oh! And I need a new cellular phone." The girls share vanities in shifts, and Kori unlocks her small locker and pulls the phone out. The screen comes online with incoimprehensible and broken lights, flickering angrily. "Silkie was hungry and angry and he decided he wanted to chew on my cellular phone whne I was not looking," she says, crestfallen. "I do not know what model I should replace it with. There are so many options! This one was given to me by the refugee program so I could find work more quickly. What phone do you use?"
Pris perks up to pay closer visual attention when Kori speaks of needing to replace her phone; her first instinct is to assume the incredibly strong woman crushed it negligently. But when that proves not to be the case, Pris still looks it over and winces. "Mmm. I don't really pay much attention; I just use one my friends got me a year or so ago." Pris walks over and pulls hers out from her jacket to let Kori look it over. It is, or appears to be at least, a mid-line eighteen-month-old model, showing no sighs of whatever enhancements her former teammates may have applied. "Just ask your friends what phone they think you should get. That's what I did. Oh. And get a stronger case for it, to protect it the next time your pet is feeling peckish."
"Yes, that is what I am doing," Kori explains politely. Aww, Pris is her friend! She squints at the phone, making careful note of the logo and the model designation. She mutters repeatedly, saying it out loud— written English still gives her trouble, being only semi-literate still.
"Also, I wanted to ask if we could spend time together after work," she says, handing the phone back to Pris. "The environment here is not amenable to being social. We could partake of a meal or a movie," she suggests with a bright enthusiasm. "It would be most fun to spend time with you when we are not working on dancing or yelling over the loud music!"
The caramel-skinned dancer chuckles softly, mentally adding 'touche' to Kori's explanation; she hadn't really gotten to thinking of them as 'friends' yet, herself, just coworkers and acquaintances. "I meant the folks you were inviting here to see you dance. But OK, fair enough." Pris offers.
Pris considers Kori's request, and then shrugs. "Better to do something before work, I'd think, than after, given I get off well after midnight. Unless we got the same day off some week. But I wouldn't say no to going out to eat, and maybe watching something together." Not that Pris could tell Kori what's out, or what would be good to watch.
"That would be very much the fun," Kori assures Priscilla. "I do not need much sleep though. And school is not starting for some time. My friends have told me I should continue to learn and study, and I have been offered a scholarship so I will resume my learning soon. I do not know /what/ to study, but I wish to study /something/," she remarks. "It is always good to learn new things."
The other dancer in the room leaves, and Kori fidgets a little, then moves closer to Pris. "Friend Priscilla, if we are to be friends, I must be honest with you. I have not been totally comings of the forthness," she says, voic a bit subdued. "I am a mutant. I know that is very complicated for some people and I do not wish to put you in a position of the awkward for you to find out later. I hope this is not too unusual for you," she apologizes, fretting her lip.
Priscilla just turns and chuckles at Kori, then hops up and kisses her on the forehead. "Kori, honey, don't worry about it. You're damned near seven feet tall even without the heels, orange, stronger than Captain America, and you fly. I guessed you were meta the day we met. I'm not exactly Jane Normal myself. We're fine."
Kori brightens with relief when Priscilla engages her, and hugs the woman tightly. A kiss is pressed to one of Pris' prominent cheekbones and she giggles in relief. "I did not wish to do the assumings," she assures Pris, and squeezes the other woman's hands. "I do not know Jane Normal, but if she is a friend of yours then she is a friend of mine as well." Dancers tend to be notoriously blaise about personal space, so weirdly Kori fits in with Pris and the others better in some regards than the rest of the world, enjoying Pris' proximity.
Her eyes widen. "Oh! Wait, are /you/—" she breaks off and looks around, then stoops and holds her head closer to Priscilla's. "Are /you/ a mutant too?" she asks, looking stuned.