Summary:Jimmy and Priscilla discuss the attack and investigation. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Jimmy had never been to a club like this before, but he wasn't going to shy away from helping out during an emergency. And he's not going to shy away from following up, either. This time, he actually comes in through the front door. His cheeks glow, though not in the same literal sense as the night before: it's just a hot, heavy blush this time around.
He's in a different coat, a short black one. Though he doesn't have the distinctive, booming glow about him, that radiant Awkwardness is still enough to make him more… recognisable. He finds a corner table and tries not to look too much like a creeper.
Some who don't know Pris as well assume that she is pretty tone deaf to others' discomforts with her lifestyle and profession. After all, she honestly hasn't an ounce of body modesty anywhere within her, and while she knows shame in others, she hasn't an ounce of it in herself. (Not actually true, but we're writing for effect and hyperbole, here. Stop poking holes in the concepts!) But Pris does not purposefully make others uncomfortable; as an empath, others' feelings are as real and as valid to Pris as her own, and she works hard to respect them.
What does all of this mean? Well, she invited Jimmy to the club tonight so that she could talk more with him, so she left a guest pass with the bouncer so he could get in without paying the cover charge. It also means that Priscilla comes out from the back and approaches his table not dressed in her costume, or clad in only a g-string, stripper heels and a translucent short robe. Instead, she's wearing her street clothes, with actual full-coverage jeans (OK, OK, they're painted-on levels of tight-fitting, but they're whole dangit!) with colorful beadwork, a full-length off-white t-shirt with a stylized green bit of text reading 'Voodoo' across her chest, and a purple-accented black leather motorcycle jacket to match the black leather boots she's wearing. She also has a purple full helmet with gold-accented green coiled dragons on each side in her left hand. Now, Pris does nothing to hide the naked or nearly-naked women all around the club. But at least she, approaching Jimmy at his table, is fully dressed.
"Evenin'." Pris offers with that thick, syrupy Lousianna accent. "How're you doin'?"
Jimmy's eyebrows lift with surprise when he finds the guest pass waiting. Not wanting to be greedy, he at least gets a couple of drinks — just soda for himself, and whatever the bartender would recommend for Priscilla. He keeps his eyes away from the stage, away from the passing girls; yet, even their presence, and the sense of /others'/ passions, is enough to keep that blush warm on his face.
Surprise rises again when he sees how Priscilla's dressed to meet with him, though with a flash of thankfulness afterwards. He smiles at her once he's processed it. "Not quite as nerve-wracked as I'd expected. Thanks for that." He holds out a hand. "Our friend Eve knows me as Jimmy, but I've been going by Heavensent for… you know. And the bartender mentioned that you're" He nods to the word written across her chest. "Voodoo?"
Priscilla smiles and takes the hand offered, a light flaring within the depths of her purple eyes at that touch, something within her responding to something within Jimmy. It fades when she lets go, and she sits down across from him, picking up the drink left for her and sipping it. It seems the alcohol has no effect upon her whatsoever, from what Jimmy can feel of her. She is confident, strong, capable, and feels very protective about her friends, her people here at the club.
"Eve is … special." Clearly, Jimmy knows this. "But I don't know if she has a name for that. Voodoo was my dancing name. Some old friends … they made it something more. They're gone, at least for now. But the something more remained." Pris explains. "But Pris will do just fine. That's who I am. Not much point in trying to hide it, given how we met." Hers is an easy, blunt sort of honesty, without pretention.
Jimmy doesn't have such a flare of response. If not for seeing her in action before, he wouldn't have any way of knowing she's other than how she appears. Once the handshake is done, he lays his hand back on his side of the table.
"She is," Jimmy says. "And she uses that specialness for good things. I've seen her help others like that before." He laughs at the blunt honesty. "Y-Yeah, that's a point. I've been terrible about keeping it hidden, lately." His sense of self-consciousness rises as he considers that; he feels generally awkward about being such a big glowy /thing/. "Pris it is, then. So… do you know what, exactly, was going on here the other night?"
The dancer shrugs her leather-clad shoulders a bit. "Some. Not all. Guy was apparently some sort of big-ish shot, business dude. Made a massive deal with a fashion house. Some up-and-coming thing. McCabe was in his mind. No idea who that is. Anyway, he doesn't have enough emotional awareness of anyone else to realize when it started or why anyone else would do this to him. He didn't do it himself, but someone laid a curse on him." Pris shrugs. "An imp latched onto him, and started projecting aggression, inciting violence. I'm taking a wild guess to say that a business rival he screwed - he couldn't even remember her name - may have had something to do with it. It's the one clear thought he had of someone he screwed over, other than McCabe themselves."
Jimmy grimaces at that, a hand lifted to his mouth. "Damn. That's not much to go on. Mostly the name… McCabe, you said? In the fashion industry? Could track that down, and see what their rivals are like. If anyone involved seems like they're the curse-y type." He shakes his head. "I, ah. Have a sense for people, for feelings, but not for magic, I'm afr—" It just so happens that, behind Priscilla, he has a view of the stage. The current performance must have done something eye-catching, because Jimmy blushes. He tilts in his seat, to face more towards the wall than directly at Priscilla. "B-But there are some other people in the city who kn-know magic! I could check with a-a friend of mine, see if she wants to be put in touch with you?"
Priscilla shrugs. "I'm … not looking to join the Superfriends." She doesn't honestly mean it to be dismissive, but it probably comes off that way. "I'm afraid I suck as a researcher, except through people. Book smarts, I ain't got 'em." She cannot help the amused grin at Jimmy's discomfort with the performance going on behind her; she can tell from the other patrons' responses that it was a good bit, and she's proud of her friend and coworker. "I'll ask around, see if anyone knows anything about McCabe and fashion. Maybe that can lead me somewhere, someone to talk to." Still, she shouldn't discourage Jimmy, and she rolls her shoulders, trying to ease a tension that has built there. "You want to tell someone else, someone smarter, you do that. I don't want other people getting hurt by crap like this, if it can be avoided. My stupid pride isn't worth that."
Jimmy sees the grin, feels her amusement, and it makes his blush a little brighter. Not /literally/ brighter; there's no glowing here. But there's definitely more colour to it. "S-Sounds good. And if I pick up on any good information myself, you want me to forward it your way, too? Don't have to join the Superfriends to join forces and keep this from happening again." There's a sense of tension in his tone. That's the important thing, to him: to prevent that danger.
Pris shrugs and nods. "Yeah. If you hear something, send it to Eve and I. Dunno what we can do about it, but we can try. If I find anything, I'll call again." Like she did to set this up tonight. "Maybe next time, we'll meet in a park." Fewer naked women that way, right?
Jimmy nods firmly. "I will. Finding out more about this McCabe seems like a good start." He coughs at her last comment, his chin ducking. "I'm just, ah. Not used to a venue like this. It's not a bad place to be, and I'm not going to tell people how to dress when I can just be more careful with my own eyes, you know?" He hesitates for a second. "I mean, I /hope/ I'm not shaming anyone."
Pris reaches out a hand and rests it on Jimmy's forearm. "Jimmy, honey, you have nothing to prove with me. OK? You're not comfortable. That's not evil. I'd rather everyone be comfortable with beauty in all its forms. But I'm not going to force it on anyone, anymore than I would allow anyone to force their ideas on me. So. We can meet somewhere you can be more comfortable. As long as you never make fun of my dancing or my outfits, we're golden."
Jimmy relaxes a little after the touch, though to her senses, he still shines with 'gah shy'. He smiles at her. "Thank you, Pris. And hey, you did look good in that costume, and I'm sure your dancing is wonderful." He takes a breath. "So; sounds like we've got the agenda sorted. Catch you next time, or…?" Is there anything else for them to talk about?