2020-01-10 - Pretty Party People

Summary:

Monet and Shinobi have a chance encounter at a nightclub.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Fri Jan 10 08:03:24 2020
Location: RP Room 4

Related Logs

None

Theme Song

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monetshinobi

The club is called UnSaNe. The usual pop-up sort of place, this one with a mental asylum theme. Waitresses dressed like nurses, go-go dancers in straight jackets. Pills, of course, abundant and passed out in little plastic cups to be shot with a wide selection of drinks, all of them potent and quite a few of them hallucinogenic. The music pulsed, an electronic thrumming that seemed somehow constant even as it switched genre and language.

Shinobi makes his way through the crowd quite literally. Having no desire to bump or squeeze himself into gaps, he simply utilizes his mutant gift to make himself intangible, cutting a straight line across the floor. Those he passes through mostly don't notice and, if they do, well, there are an awful lot of drugs tonight. Not that he cares if they notice. What're they going to do about it?

He makes his way up to the VIP bar, flashing his handstamp at the bouncer as he climbs a short set of stairs, his angular face and sharp jaw bathed in the oozing neon blue from the strip of tubing above the bar. "Anything you have that resembles an actual wine. White, preferably."


Monet is, of course, already present in the VIP section. She'd promised to accompany one of the satellite 'friends' who orbit her highly select social circle, promised this girl months ago that she would join her and her 'girls' for a night on the town at the most exclusive spot. Of course, M hadn't had any intention of keeping that promise, but the bitch managed to pin her to it in a clever way that meant that just *going* would be less trouble than finding a way to weasel out. So, dressed in a /very/ nice black playsuit made by Dior — simple, classy, sexy (http://i.imgur.com/7vJFUf0.jpg) — and a pair of matching black stilettos by Louboutin, Monet is nursing a glass of rose, the pink liquid tinged purple by the club's lighting scheme. The blue light does nothing to diminish her beauty. She looks good and she knows it, all clearly spoken with her bored body language, leaning back in her seat, legs crossed at the knee with one foot bouncing sullenly, holding her glass in a drooped-at-the-wrist hand — this club is so gauche it serves rich people expensive wine in champagne glasses, to siphon the money that much more quickly. Not that Monet cares. She's fine with paying whatever. The wine helps her get through each second she spends with the insufferable blonde who's co-opted her night.

Gigi, as she insists on being called, despite the fact that her name is Virginia, is well into her cups and is making quite a show of it. She'd reserved the VIP table (which is more like a coffee table around which luxe little armless sofas are positioned) using Monet's name, and invited four of her best friends, all of whom were simply lower on the social totem pole than Gigi and sucked her ass for what little scraps they could glean from it. Bardie (not Barbie!), Genipher (Geni sounds just like Gigi, doesn't it!), Cass (totally in love with Bardie and will do anything she wants to do, just as long as she can be near her while she does it), and Martha (old names are making a comeback, it's chic). Monet could not be more done than she is, and yet time drones on, backdropped by tired club music. Thankfully, the girls all occasionally have to crowd around Gigi to help her avoid falling onto someone, showing her boobs to people she demands them to dare her to do it, and other obnoxious drunk-girl behavior. It's these moments alone that Monet cherishes.


Shinobi stands out a bit in his own right, his stylish Japanese club fashion a little more modern and perhaps a bit more runway than most of the locals are used to seeing, even in these kind of environments. He wears a bulky jacket of stylized angles, tight-fitted jeans and the kind of expensive sneakers usually reserved for collectors. He takes the glass of wine and takes a sip, eyes flicking over Gigi's group and then lingering when they come across Monet.

Not in the least the shy type, he wanders up, reading the hint of disdain on her features as he sidles up close to her, just out of earshot of her so-called friend. He sets his glass down carefully, as he leans in, just enough, his conspiratorial voice pitched for her alone.

"They seem a little beneath you. Are they pets? What do you feed them?" he says with a wry glint in his dark eye.


Monet had so thoroughly zoned out of the repetitive cycle she'd been put through for the past two hours that Shinobi's voice in her ear is a bit of a surprise. She starts slightly, her wine sloshing at the bottom of the champagne flute as she slaps a hand to her chest, expelling a hushed oath in French, "Putain. You startled me." She turns her head to get a better look at the body that goes with the voice in her ear. Her irritation is mostly mollified as she takes in the details at a very quick pace. Designer clothes, expensive shoes, pleasing build, seemingly good tastes…and, a handsome face? She relaxes in her seat and looks at the vacant spot next to her in a pointed-enough fashion as to hint at an invitation. The music is loud. She's not about to raise her voice to respond. "Merde, if only zey were pets. I could sell zem and be done wiss it," she says in her thick, French accent. "Let's just say I made a promise and it came calling," she concludes, glaring balefully at Gigi, who is singing loudly — her own song, produced by her father's money, and only remarkable in the way that it was completely unremarkable. "'Ave you come to save me from ze death of boredom?" she asks, turning a wry smile on him, a compliment to the wry glint he offered her.


Shinobi makes a tsking sound, shaking his head, "Ah, one of your first mistakes. Making promises. Of course, it's always worthwhile to consider who you're promising. Some people aren't deserving of the trappings of honor," he says.

He gives a slight bow at your implication, brushing a hand through his bangs to push them from his forehead, "You have no need of a savior. A distraction, perhaps. Or simply that I saw something I liked and wanted to get a closer look. You must be aware that you shine even more brightly when kept amongst such gaudy and cheap baubles as these. Perhaps that's why you tolerate their presence," he says.

"Shinobi Shaw, at your service."


Monet laughs at the correction, shaking her head. "I'm sure you're aware of how it goes in social circles of the wealthy elite. Promises are made and broken as easily as breathing. It just so 'appens I got cornered into keeping one I made, and z' story is too long and boring to recount. One night here will last me a lifetime. If she ever asks, in z' future, I will simply make a veiled remark about her appalling behavior zis evening and rain-check her into eternity. I zink of it as an investment," she says, glancing at the handsome young man for a prolonged moment. "I believe I may yet be making a profit on it," she smiles coyly.

She inhales deeply, stretching and preening ever so slightly, under the praise, laughing quietly as she replies, "Mm, you give good charm, Monsieur Shinobi Shaw." She looks down at her phone briefly and sends a text to the group. Then, she rises to her feet. "Come. Let's go somewhere quieter. I can't 'ear myself zink, and the stench of cheap perfume is beginning to turn my stomach," she murmurs, gathering her clutch and offering Shinobi her free hand.


Shinobi takes the hand smoothly and leads Monet around the side of the bar, "I know a few of the hidden spots. Speaking of acquaintances, I know the club manager. He organizes quite a few parties both here and in Tokyo. He likes to do gaming and horror themes. He thinks it makes him seem young, even though he's well into his thirties. The girls he likes keep staying the same age, though," he says.

He leads her into a hidden staircase, into the VIP of VIP areas, dimply lit and with a fair amount of privacy, finding a small room with a private bar and some comfortable couches. There's a couple there already, clearly blizted and with the girl's skirt halfway up her thigh. A firm glance from Shinobi sends them scurrying.

"I might not always mind being a voyeur, but I'd rather not have the distraction at the moment. You're more than enough to hold my attention."


Monet walks gracefully through the dimly lit club, as regal as a queen, with an air of confidence so strong that one might presume she owned the place. She is only marginally taller than Shinobi in her stiletto heels, but his presence is equally formidable, and they to seem to turn heads and quiet conversations briefly, in their wake.

As the would-be lovers clear the area, Monet makes herself comfortable on one of the couches not recently vacated. She stretches her legs and arms and back languidly, unfolding like a delicate nightbloom, as she settles and regards Shinobi with a smile. "I am most certainly of z' same opinion. I do 'ave quite a voyeuristic streak, but usually in an event specially designed for such dark delights," she says without a hint of shame or embarrassment. "Not z' sort of fare for most UnSaNe customers."


Shinobi settles in and draws a cigarette case from his jacket, lighting one casually and proferring one if desired. No one's likely to be enforcing petty pollution laws in a space this private, especially since far worse ones were likely being broken at every other turn. Shinobi imagined one could get quite a high simply from the cocaine remnants left on the counters in the restrooms.

"Dullards, mostly," he says. He does have a hint of an accent, but it comes more in cadence and tone than in pronunciation. He's vary sharp and he pauses differently, a mark of his Japanese upbringing. "But then most people are. Better to profit off of them, I imagine, than to be one of them. Stupidity is one of those endless resources worth tapping, more renewable than gas or oil, ever in abundance and hardly missed when it's gone."

"A club with more stringent boundaries might be useful, should anybody ever devise such a thing."


Monet doesn't take a cigarette, but not for health reasons — simply because it would make her breath smell bad. Instead, she chooses to vape and, even then, she only vapes high grade marijuana and hash. She left that stuff at home, though. She doesn't judge Shinobi harshly for his smoking, as it's something that's common amongst the idle rich. To be expected.

She sighs softly and slides fingers into her floofy halo of curls to massage at her scalp briefly. "I might agree with you, except it seems zat z' stupidity is like one of zose non-native plants brought to a place and it's so aggressive zat it chokes out all z' natural plants. Z' stupidity flourishes and kills off all z' interesting, smarter ones. It means we are being taken over by cows. You know 'ow zey talk about cows being bred to be dumber? Like zat," she says.


Shinobi smiles playfully, "I admit, I'm not conversant in the finer points of cattle eugenics. But the point is taken nonetheless," he says.

He opens up the little bar, drawing out a couple of bottles: brandy, rum, absinthe. He pours himself a slim shot of the latter and gets out a can of cola to mix with the second, something sweet to wash down the wormwood sharpness of the absinthe.

"Seems like it might be a matter of gardening, then. Again, not my forte. I used to like watching the gardener sometimes. Until my grandfather had his hands cut off for stealing. So old fashioned. And so unnecessary. I, after all, am the one who actually stole the money from his drawer. The old fool didn't even bother to lock it."


Monet laughs and shakes her head, rubbing her palms along the tops of her thighs, enjoying the feel of the luxurious fabric. "No, I know very little about z' topic, but z' comparison seemed fitting," she looks at what's available in the little bar as he brings them out. She selects rum for herself, neat, and sips at it as Shinobi talks of a childhood memory. A rather dark one.

"Your grandpapa was a little extreme, no? I grew up in Monaco and my childhood was as charmed as it could be. Of course, I was z' favored child, but I paid for zat later on," she smiles thinly, taking a deep gulp of her rum to help wash that memory back into the dark corners of her mind. "Besides, you stole it for fun, did you not? To see what would 'appen?"


Shinobi smiles thinly, "My grandfather is of the old guard, in the most literal sense. He wears an armor of tattoos and lets others be his sword, but he is no less that. He is a fearsome and cruel man. He genuinely hates me, I do believe. A bastard polluting his bloodline, half-American, half-white. Many traditional Japanese, such as he, see purity as a form of potence. They think my tainted blood leeches me of the strength that should be my birthright. If only they knew," he said.

He casually converts his hand into its diamond hard state, finishing his cigarette and grinding it out in his invulnerable palm before crushing the filter in his hand and tossing it in the trash.

"I stole it because I wanted it. I do not like asking. I am more of a taker," he says directly.


Monet listens with interest. They've barely met, and already she's learning about his family drama. Well, a portion of it, anyway. That can help to form us, so she pays attention. She's interested in Shinobi. For obvious reasons. "You grew up wiss him?" she asks. "You speak English well, but in our families, it's common to speak more than one language fluently. I carry z' accent of my native tongue, even zough I could speak wiss an American accent…because I am proud of my roots and I do not wish to be mistaken for a pathetic American socialite," she shares a bit of information about herself.

She watches as he grinds the cherry out on his palm, her brows lifting. "Are you very tolerant of or impervious to heat, zen?" she asks out of curiosity. "Or, is zere somesing I missed?" She smiles at the last, mostly to herself, but it's visible to him. "Zat is a very admirable trait, in most situations."


Shinobi takes a sip of the absinthe, rolling it around in his mouth. "I grew up in his household, although I came to boarding school in America in my teens. My mother is there, too. Aunts and uncles and cousins. Most of them in the family business. I could have joined, perhaps, but only as something lesser. Again. Impure. Still, they like me better than my birth father. I've only met him a few times, although much of my money comes from him. He called it a trust fund, but it was hush money. A payoff. To stay out of his hair. Well. We'll see about that, yet," he says.

"I like your accent. Not Parisian, though. Monaco, maybe? Or further south. Morocco. I don't think you can help standing out, regardless of your inflection. You're quite special, as I'm sure you know. As for me, well, I have the ability to…change myself. I can be as untouchable as a ghost…or as invulnerable as steel," he says. "Useful gifts both. I've mostly kept them to myself, lest my family try to exploit them. The only one I want to profit off of me is me."


Monet nods, listening with more genuine interest than 99% of the conversations she usually finds herself sitting through. « I have enjoyed Japan every time I've visited. Of course, having unlimited funds to fuel the trips and ensure I have the best of everything helped, no doubt. I hope my accent is not too poor. It's been a while since I've spoken Japanese, » she replies with a beautiful smile. « Perhaps, sometime, you could show me some of your favorite places there, if we should happen to be there at the same time? »

"Ah, yes," she laughs and nods. "Monaco, as I said. Charmed childhood. Charmed life, in most respects. You 'ave powers zat allow you to become untouchable or invulnerable… I 'ave gifts zat make me…" she pauses, searching for the right word in all the languages she possesses. spinning a hand as she thinks. "Perfect?" she smiles, again, a hint of playfulness about her expression, but she means it earnestly. "I cannot, ah, narrow zem down to one or two. I fly, I'm very strong, I'm difficult to damage, I can move sings wiss my mind, and so on and on… I'm, well, I'm perfect. So, you are right. It's impossible for me to blend in," she says with a self-indulgent, though somehow slightly endearing, grin.


He can't help but laugh a bit at the description, "Perfection. What it must be to be born something that others spend a lifetime trying to achieve. You must deal with a great deal of envy. I imagine many of those girls with whom you were with tonight harbor secret grudges against your immaculate nature."

"Mutants, then, the both of us. Homo superior, isn't that the term that was bandied around a few years ago, during all the registration nonsense before their government came to its senses? I am almost grateful that such conflicts have died down in recent years. I'd hate to have to pick a side. I'm more of a shades of grey type - but I wouldn't have let them put a leash on me. No, no, no."


Monet grins in satisfaction as he laughs, her playful nature having the effect she'd hoped for. Then, Shinobi goes on to say words she's been needing to hear from someone besides herself. It's like he touched a very secret, very hidden spot in Monet's emotional core and it's very hard for her to not just…fall apart, in some way. "Yes," she says with a slightly shaken voice. "For once, I am not z' one saying z' truth. People tell me I am rude and snobbish, but I am only trying to be honest. Yes, I am self-centered, but who isn't!" She gives herself a bit of a mental shake and takes a deep breath, letting it go.

"Correct. I was not on z' side of registration, as I'm sure you would surmise. I do not register for anything! I am not a 'bad guy,' because I do not go out of my way to 'urt others, and I do try to 'elp, if it's absolutely necessary," she says, lifting her shoulders before dropping them. "It's just zat I have better zings to do wiss my time zan putting my life in danger. Am I perfect? Yes. Am I killable? Probably, also, yes. I do not want to find out," she holds up a finger as she shakes her head.


"In my experience, most people complain about others being rude simply cannot handle truth. And snobbery is only a sin when it's undeserved. Having standards and respecting your own worth is the only sane response to the world. Westerners place too much value on humility, I find, so much so that they can be almost arrogant about it."

"No, we are not soldiers, to be out in the street fighting battles. It may happen, from time to time, because that is the world in which we live, but it is not our purpose. Those like you and I, I think, have a higher calling, to shape the world as we grow older, not with sheer force but with…influence," he says. He knows he sounds like his father when he says things like that, only his father means to do such things ensconced in age, using tradition and old fashioned levers of power. Shinobi's more interested in shaking a few foundations. Perhaps toppling a few towers.

But he's not going to get into that. Not here and now. Here, he focuses more entirely on the beautiful woman before him, powerful as he - perhaps even more so. He has her ear, yes, but he wants more than that, he can tell already.

Like you, he tends to get what he wants.


"Well. Enough people have said zat I'm a bitch zat it makes me start to wonder if I'm really z' problem," Monet admits. "Even zen, I knew zere was little I could do to change who I am, so I zought about just trying to be a little less forth-coming wiss my zoughts. It's 'elped, but it also feels dishonest," she exhales. She pauses, then. "And, in your culture, is humility not also strongly featured? Westerners are usually looked down upon because zey are too arrogant and have no respect for others?" she asks, looking a little confused.

Monet doesn't seem to disagree with anything Shinobi says, regarding the shaping of the world with influence. "Zat sounds good to me, zough my influence is mostly directed toward aesthetics and being wealthy in a dignified way. Not enough money for everyone to become as wealthy as me and, if there were, I would want to stay on top… Works against me," she says, perhaps the first truly gross thing she's said all evening.

Shinobi smiles, "Humility is highly valued, among those who are meant to be humble. The lowly, the weak. Those who fail. We must acknowledge our weaknesses, after all, if we are to conquer them. I am not sure what my weaknesses are. If I have them, they have not impeded me as of yet," he says.

"Desiring the outcome that is best for you makes you no monster. Not in my eyes, at any rate. And if you were, you'd be the most beautiful monster I'd ever seen, so I'd likely forgive it."

"I hope we can use this chance encounter as an opportunity to build a proper friendship," he says. And perhaps more, although he doesn't say that allowed. He likely has no need.


Monet chose an awesome moment to begin questioning her usual behavior. Right when she meets a handsome, rich, beautiful half-Asian man who shares her views. Mostly. So far. "Merci, for clarifying," she smiles, downing the last of her rum and putting the tumbler on the table as she stands. "And, sank you for z' compliments. I was having a really dreadful evening and…" she trails off, chewing at the fullness of her lower lip. "You turned everysing around, she lifts rich hazel eyes to Shinobi.

"You're very interesting and I definitely want to get to know you better." Here, she brushes a hand over his shoulder and leans in close to press a soft, glossy kiss…/so close/ to his mouth, right at the corner, that it's juuuust shy of being on his lips. Then, she takes her leave, pressing her card into his hand. On one side, a very stylized M with a crest. On the other, her name: Monet St. Croix. But, not her number. She's fairly certain he can find her. If he can't, she has his name and she'll find him. But, tonight isn't their last meeting. Not by a long shot.

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