2013.11.2 Babylon:Tattoos

Babylon
Never talks to Carver about his new, traditional tattoo.
IC Date	November 23, 2013
IC Time	Night.
Players	Never, Carver
Location	BabylonOld

Begin Log

An hour or so until midnight and the floating rave is in full swing. The music is thumping, the dancers are pumping and and more than a few of the patrons are off hump...well, at least they try and keep the curtains closed around the booths. Never, as one of the shot-boys, is walking around in a pair of navy blue underwear with white piping with a tray of plastic vials full of colored alcohol.

Carver's all out of alcohol, and he waves the kid over with his off hand, from a booth. He's laying down in it, on his belly, his features pinched like he's in pain. Maybe he is, and that's why he wants all the more booze.

Never walks over to the booth and glances down to the man on his belly. "Hey bud - you lookin for somethin' ta drink? I got Dragonfire," he taunts, "...it's cinnamon. Or maybe you're more of a...hey," he pauses his usual selling routine to ask, "...are you ok?"

Carver grunts at him. "Gimme the fire." It seems like maybe he won't say much else than that, but eventually, likely as the drink's being put down, he explains, "Gotta tattoo. The old fucking fashioned way."

Never peers, "Oh dude - let's see. That's kinda cool." With that he pulls one of the nearly clear shots from the back of the rack and adds, "You probably want this, then. It's basically a pain-killer with how strong it is."

Carver takes the shot, and downs it. It doesn't make him sputter. After a moment, letting the warmth of it wash over it, he reluctantly gets up, to put some money on the table for the young-looking man to collect. Then he tugs his shirt up, revealing the tattoo.

Never whistles at the blackwork across the guy's body and nods in approval. "Dude that's cool...and was done the old fashioned way?" He almost winces at the pain that it must have cost the man. "Who did it for ya?"

"My cousin," Carver says. "Could've warned me it was going to hurt like a motherfuck -before- she started, but whatever." His sunken eyes look up at the tray. "Gimme another," he requests. Never offers another of the mostly-clear and somewhat milky mixture which apparently has 'real poppy flavor' for what its worth. The plastic vial is a potent drink that most find too strong but it's definitely enough to help the body forget that it's feeling pain. "Sure thing bud," he hands over the shot and takes the money for the shots and puts the bills in his little box on the tray and pockets a single as his tip; which has to be stuck in the band of his underwear as he has no pockets.

Carver hopes he won't throw up. Opiates had that effect. But in any event, he downs it, and leaves the guy more money for his trouble. He's starting to feel better. The bite had definitely gone from the needle wounds.

Never asks, "So this your first time here?" With a faint glance around the bar he tries to spy if anyone is trying to wave him over. Sure enough - someone's wanting a shot and to cop-a-feel and he wanders over quickly to fill their 'order' and then returns to the booth where Carver's recovering.

Carver watches poor Never get groped with a grunt, then as he wanders back over, "Yeah. Places like this usually ain't much my thing. I'm not much of a dancer," he says, and snorts.

Never smiles and quotes the company line, "Anything can happen at Babylon..." he smiles and rolls his eyes a little at the slogan that he's forced to recite at least a hundred times a night. "Eh - it's not a bad place. It has whatever you're wanting...and I mean -whatever- you'd want." He glances over to one of the other booths and indicates a suited gentleman in his mid to late thirties, "Like that guy...he shows up almost every other night and just sits at a booth. Only orders coffee and watches people all the time. A lot of the girls will try and slut him up but he's not interested. Gives great tips though...at least to me."

Carver's dark eyes slide over to the suited guy. "Gets his jollies just watching, huh? Guess I get it." He gingerly sits up, and leans back in the seat, properly. "What about you?"

Never shrugs, attempting not to look like was just adjusting himself or what could be a tip in his underwear. Nope, never happened. Guy code. "It's a job...and not the worse one I've had. Tips are good - hours work for me and generally I don't have to put up with stupid people. Just...horny drunk ones." He snickers at the last part and sorts through his vials to find that he's out of Poppy Passion. "You want another dragon fire bud?"

"Horny drunk people -are- stupid ones," Carver says. He glances over at the dragon fire, and shrugs, putting the few dollars on the table. He seems to have at least some money. "Wash dishes. The chemicals suck, but at least I'm left the fuck alone for a few hours."

Never nods, "True...true," and sets the shot out for the man to take while putting the cash in his small box. "I don't mind the folks here. They seem to be pretty tight. Everyone sort of looks out for each other, e.." and as he was about to speak one of the bartenders calls out to him, "Never - get your sweet ass over here..." A shifter crawls down his spine as he realizes that he's probably just been standing in front of Carver's booth for a while and not circulating and selling the 'goods'. He holds up a finger to pause their conversation while he returns to the bar for a refill and a small, heated, lecture.

Carver looks dubious when he's told the people look out for each other. He'll believe that when he sees it. Or maybe not even then. The funny dragonfire drink isn't downed like the poppies. He sips at it, actually tasting it. Or what of it he can-- he's feeling buzzed and a little (more) out of it (than usual).

Never accepts the brief lecture of 'not working it' from the bartender and takes his refills to do a quick circut around the club. When he gets to the booth with the 'suit' sitting in it, he does his usual 'can I get you anything' song and dance and is asked to join the man. With only a side-glance to Carver he slides into the booth for a few moments, setting the rack of shots on the table. The man reaches up and flicks the small tie that holds the curtain open around the booth and two are, momentarily, cut off from view. Only after a small 'meeting', perhaps five or ten minutes, the curtain opens and Never emerges and takes the tray from the table to continue his route; having no idea that his underwear is now on backwards.

Or maybe the guy got his jollies from more than just looking. Carver can't really know. Doesn't really care enough to get curious about the man, and the shot boy's business. He just finishes off the shot of 'fire' and looks at his collecting of vials on the table, deciding that he's probably had enough. Fortunately, he'd brought that prosthetic leg of his, instead of just his crutches.

Never wanders back over to Carver's table and, after clearing his throat for a second, "Hey - can I get ya anything else?"

Carver's content enough. He looks at the kid a minute, shakes his head. "You can fix your shit, though," he says, pointing out the backwards briefs. "Fuck's your name, anyway?"

There's a skill in learning to dress quietly in a small, curtained booth and get your underwear back on the -right- way...and obviously Never has yet to learn it. Once he realizes that they're on backwards he groans outwardly and looks down to the floor with a semi-silent, 'fuckmylife' spat out as a curse. "Never..." he explains as though it were his name and not, actually, when he would tell the guy.

Carver guesses the kid didn't get a name like that working -this- business. "Hell'd you get a name like that?" he asks, at first, but then just continues on, "'M Johnny. Everybody calls me Carver, though."

Never shakes his head, "It's what everyone calls me. Sort of a joke, I guess." He glances around for somewhere he could change his underwear and the only thing he can think of is either the bathroom, behind the bar or another booth. "Never amount to anything. Never get a real job. Never get laid..." he snickers at the last part as he's definitely proven that one wrong.

Carver leans back in the booth, staring up at the ceiling, as he has a casual conversation with a guy in nothing but a pair of undies, bills in the waistband. But then, he's done so much weirder. "Nobodies ever gonna amount to anything, 'cause everyone's gonna end up in the same damned place in the end. So who gives a shit about that?"

Never nods, "True enough. It was just a name that stuck with me - and I hate my real name so I just kinda went with the other. Besides - it kinda gets people's attention." With a glance over his shoulder to the bar tender he realizes he's being watched again and looks back to Carver, "I need to get switch some stuff around and keep my rounds up. You hanging out here for a while or heading out?"

Carver looks to the door. "Out," he says. Better do it while he can. He shuffles to his feet, feeling better than he had when he arrived, and without a goodbye, limps his way to the entrance of the warehouse the rave was currently being hosted at. Legally or illegally, he doesn't know or care.