The Downtime [Quinn / Shane]

[Shane Jasper Harvey]

--//-- Shane Jasper Harvey

^{pdq: atlanta, georgia}
_{chapter one: indulgences}

Today had been one of Shane's better days. It was productive. He had done a great service to The Vice, who commissioned him to handle a dangerous information leak, and patch things up with the local representatives of the cartel. The best part was that nobody even had to die... oh, and he hadn't been working with one of the apprentices today, either. He had gone with the Vice himself, and it had been... quite a treat.

Okay, so 'today' was more like two days, and Shane found himself coming out of a real fast 29 hours enjoying a reward from The Vice for his swift success in what had turned out to be an easy fix. It had been his own commissioner who had handled much of the work in the first place- Shane seemed to be more or less along for security reasons.

How is it he plays with our minds?

He wondered to himself as he sat alone in the second-floor club and bar, in a back corner during slow hours. He's like a human drug... I don't know what I'd do if he didn't force us to take him in moderation... I don't think I could keep myself back... his thoughts rambled in his skull as he tried to recollect the experience.

His server would be over soon, and he already know what he wanted to order. On that note, he began to wonder who would be handling the cocktail waitressing of the PDQ on this particular evening. He had little time to get to know the club's hired help, but he had worked with a few of them on several occasions.

[Quinn Nichols]

Q Ꮜ Ꮠ И И
И Ꮠ Ꮳ Ꮋ Ꮎ Ꮮ ϩ

Quinn skirted out of the reach of a drunken patron, annoyance written across her young face as she spun out of reach of their table. Once and a while they got assholes that belonged in a yokel bar, when the usual customers were there for quick lust fixes and to have fun and dance. Circling around the perimeters of the dance floor carrying a drink tray she headed back towards the bar to trade the empty drinks for fresh ones. That night her area of the club was almost empty, giving her a break. She was used to it being packed to the brim. But, she found, she was rather good at that. She was fast and could slip in and out of the crowd easily without notice, balancing the drink-laden tray with one hand as she scurried around. She was one of the better waitresses, only her older and more experienced coworkers holding rank over her.

She forced a smile for the man behind the bar, wanting to appear friendly as she told him the drink orders, knowing with her young face she could pull it off rather well. She learned that if she wore a smile she would get what she wanted from him faster, rather than demand it. She forced a bit of patience as he filled her order and placed them on the tray for her, his fingers brushing across the back of her hand as she turned away. With her hand gripped tightly in annoyance to the bottom of the tray she slid through the dancers to get to the tables waiting for her, trying to block out the unnecessarily loud music that spurred on a headache faster than connecting with people. She could feel the bartenders’ eyes on her butt as she walked away, knowing she was giving him a good view. She was more conservative than the other waitresses, wearing tight black jean shorts, a under bust corset that wrapped tightly around her stomach, and a tight black shirt that would frame cleavage if she had an abundance of it, which she didn’t.

She was grateful that the dark club was considerably slower than what it usually was, which was somewhat rare, enabling her to get through the crowd easier. She was used to being on her feet the whole night, running from table to table in order to please the customers. She’d been able to sit down once and a while that night, though she didn’t need it. She liked the physical ‘challenge’, a lighter load than she was used to handling during training. It helped keep her in shape.

As she delivered the drinks she refrained from looking into their eyes so she didn’t forget and automatically connect with them, hurrying away once her tray was empty. Her eyes scanned the section of tables, looking for anybody knew, or anybody trying to flag her down. Finding nobody but the drunken idiots avidly watching her, she made her way towards a table that had been empty when she last checked but was now occupied. Once she reached the edge recognition slammed into her immediately and she had to work to keep her face blank as she gave the young man a quick smile. She had noticed him coming in and out of the Mayhem door once and a while, and deemed him to be one of the more important members. She didn’t know his name, but she remembered his face. He was one of the youngest members she’d noticed, though he looked older.

Despite the headache already forming she reached out and connected with him, holding back her own thoughts and emotions lest he find out. She felt his disorientation, but couldn’t tell what spurred it. He seemed to be coming down off of a high, or a huge party. Without missing a beat she held her smile and held eye contact with him as she asked the same question she felt she said nearly a million times every night, “What can I get you?” She almost had to shout over the loud music to be heard, but knew he most likely heard her anyways. People like him didn’t miss things.

Quinn hadn’t served him before, but knew to regulars that hers wasn’t a face they could really forget. She was years younger than the other waitresses, and looked it in size, features, and her exuberant energy. She knew even if she was of age to be serving drinks and working there, she would still look underage by far.

[Shane Jasper Harvey]

--//-- Shane Jasper Harvey

^{pdq: atlanta, georgia}
_{chapter one: indulgences}

Looking up to the girl, he seemed to snap to attention, out of a daze, and she looked familiar. The notion he came to was that he recalled perhaps that she had helped one of the other attendants a few times, but he couldn't even recall whom. Strangely enough, he remembered her name, and confirmed it by glancing to her nametag.

"Quinn, right?" he asked in a tired sort of tone, "Pretty slow tonight..." he pointed out the obvious, and leaned back a big shrugging, "I could use the quiet. It's been a crazy-ass weekend..." he chuckled a bit, rolling his right shoulder as he sat up and leaned forward onto the table, folding his arms, "The bartender knows what I want, just tell her Shane's coming out of the party..."

He glanced to the bartender and back to Quinn, but went quiet, watching her as if expecting her to either proceed without delay, or chat a bit with him and then head that way. He wasn't sure just what kind of mood the girl was in tonight, but it wouldn't take him long to figure that out.

[Quinn Nichols]

Q Ꮜ Ꮠ И И
И Ꮠ Ꮳ Ꮋ Ꮎ Ꮮ ϩ

Quinn shoved the tiny notebook she held in her under-bust corset, alongside the tiny easily accessible throwing knives tucked safely inside. She practiced with the knives every night in her apartment, never knowing when she would need them. They were easy to conceal, and she could pull them out quickly. She had them tucked in the bottom of the corset as well, so all she had to do was put her hands on her hips and nobody would know she was pulling them out. Half of them were cured with a clear liquid that numbed the part of the body when introduced to the blood stream.

Smiling at Shane she nodded slightly when he mentioned that the place was quiet. She didn’t need to be a kyther to tell that he was tired and worn out. It was in his body position and voice. “It’s getting late, so it will most likely slow down even more in another thirty or forty minutes,” she predicted as she glanced around her area once more. Turning back to Shane she gave him a quick smile that she didn’t mean. “You sit tight and I’ll be right back with your order,” she said in a friendly tone before turning on her heel and walking back towards the bar.

Quinn was grateful that he had mentioned the bartender was female. She didn’t feel like dealing with the bartender from earlier that seemed hell-bent on flirting with her. Weaving her way towards the bar she caught the attention of one of the other bartenders, relaying Shane’s message. The woman came back minutes later with his drink, and Quinn started her trek back towards the table. She was glad she was smarter than the other waitresses and wore simple tennis shoes, instead of the high heels the other girls preferred. Quinn didn’t care if her ass looked good or not, she knew she wouldn’t be up to par for a fight if she had blisters on her feet, or was decked out in a pair of four inch pumps.

Returning to Shane’s table she placed the drink in front of him, lingering for a moment. “I’ve seen you around here,” she stated, glancing around to see that nobody was looking before she slid into the seat in front of Shane. Nobody else surrounded his table, preferring the tables on the outskirts of her area. The music was loud enough that if there had been anybody next to them, the chances of them overhearing were slim to none. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” She asked as her eyes flashed to the door she had spied on when she first got the job; the one leading to the Mayhem headquarters, or so she presumed. “You’ve hired the other waitresses to do jobs for you, or your friends have…” Before he could accuse her of spying, or being more than just a hard working waitress trying to survive in the harsh city, she kept speaking, “They’ve mentioned it from time to time in the dressing room, and I’ve seen you around here a lot.”

[Shane Jasper Harvey]

--//-- Shane Jasper Harvey

^{pdq: atlanta, georgia}
_{chapter one: indulgences}

Adjusting a bit in his seat, Shane looked up at Quinn as if trying to focus on what she was saying... or asking. His eyes looked tired and prone to shutting, despite his efforts, and although he tried to sit up a bit, he looked no less exhausted for his efforts. "You're potential has been measured, in a number of ways..." he explained cryptically, "I know who you are... general opinion is that you could go far..."

Although he offered promising feedback, he left off the second part. Who was she... not simply who was she but who was she. She was a ghost, that's who. So far, not even the able investigative skills of Attendant Sinclair had managed to fish up any information on this particular associate. Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he took his drink in close, and huddled down to the table for a sip, as if shy to the light. His movements seemed meek in general. Whatever he'd been through, it seemed to have done a number on his body.

"Haven't worked with me, though..." he took another sip, and eyed her with a sort of caution, "I'm told I'm a pain in the ass to work with," he chuckled, amused at his most easily-recalled memories of clashes he'd had with people while handling matters of Mayhem.