Description: Shermie decides to check out the club L'Amour.
L'Amour! It's french!
Theoretically, Shermie should fit right in, yes? She's french, the club is french - she's high-class and exotic, and the club certainly seems to be high class - and the entertainment thus far has been fascinating and exotic as well! Early evening had exposed Shermie to one of the new acts, a singer of some repute, gracing the stage here for the first time. She's watched impassively from underneath Shermie's bangs, a finger idly running along the rim of the wine glass she's been sipping from. Moderation in all things, after all! There's a blase expression on her lips, the act certainly not what she was hoping for, perhaps digging at something she'd been far too long away from doing herself.
As the first act ends, Shermie stretches her arms above her and looks about the crowd to see the mood of the others in the area. She settles back into the comfortable seat with a satisfied little smile, and a crossing of her long, limber legs, pink boot tapping against the side of the stage. She can hear a few whispers behind her, something about 'Isn't that...? I thought she...' and her smile turns to a hard smirk. At least some people still remembered her after all this time away from the stage. Maybe if she got up on stage herself, well - perhaps she'd be able to make more people remember that she wasn't just some pretty face and cleavage!
"What?!" booms a deep voice from a large corner booth in the rear of the club, though it is mostly drowned out by the din of clanging glasses and silverware as the wait staff makes use of the time between sets to serve aperitifs and nightcaps to the patrons of the club L'Amour. Somewhat different now in ambiance than in the days when King worked here, Mr. Big has transformed the restaurant into an elegant yet exciting club in the style of a 1920's cabaret. The club showcases a variety of acts, ranging form jazz quartets and singers in the early evening to burlesques or even strip teasing singers as the night wears on. Though with Mr. Big involved, no matter how classy the ambiance of the business side of the club appears, you can bet there are people committing illicit acts behind closed doors.
"...you can't be serious. We have a contract!" the bald man growls into a cell phone angrily from his seat at the private booth. Two women sit on either side of the man, both dressed in chic, yet revealing eveningwear talk amongst themselves and make sure that they're seen by the other patrons of the club that flow to and from the tables. "Sonnova... fine. We'll sort it out later. I have to take care of things here first," the man that can only be Mr. Big himself mutters shortly as he snaps the phone closed and sets it on the table in front of him.
'What's the matta Mista Big?' one of the girls, the blonde, next to him asks between snapping her gum.
"Nothin babydoll, just business..." he replies as he catches sight of another scantily clad brunette walks by his table.
"Matty!" he says as he grabs her wrist and pulls her into one of the seats at his table. "You girls gotta go on an hour early," he informs her sternly. "...I don't care if not all of them are here, one of our acts canceled, and I need you out there shakin those tits for our customers, so you get on the phone and make some calls." The burlesque dancer opens her mouth to reply, but Mr. Big cuts her off with gentle, yet poignant slap on her cheek. "I don't want to hear any excuses. Make it happen," he says curtly with a finger pointed in her face. Nodding, the girl scampers off to the back room just as the lights dim and a jazz quartet begins to play.
A strikingly beautiful blonde parts the curtains to the stage and approaches the old-timey microphone stand and begins to sing 'You Give Me Fever' in a sultry voice as the din of the club patrons begins to fall silent. Sighing with the exhaustion of a busy club owner, Mr. Big leans back in his booth and puts his arms around the girls next to him, hugging them against the sides of his chest as he enjoys the music. "Hmm..." Mr. Big muses as his eyes wander over to a familiar brunette dressed in pink.
o/` When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear... o/`
Shermie listens quietly to the tussle and talk, the urging of Big trying to get business done, and get something on the stage that'll soothe the savage beast.. er, crowd. After all, high-class entertainment that isn't there is bad, and word on the street getting out that Big can't keep his acts together, well - that would be bad for business. She smirks a bit as she shifts in her chair, watching the hustle to the back area, knowing that they're probably scampering their way to get ready for an act of their own - though their skills are probably less in the way of vocal talents, and instead more in the matters of the flesh. They're ignored - after all, they aren't the competition tonight, if she wants to get noticed. No, no, her competition is on stage, a blonde beauty with a throaty voice, the song pretty much perfect for her.
o/` You give me fe-vah... o/`
And for Shermie. The decision made, she tosses back the rest of her wine glass, brown bangs hanging in her eyes no matter how far she tilts her head back. She places it on the table, and then gets to her feet, walking towards the stage slowly - very, very slowly. In time to the music, she sways herself as she walks, and then puts a hand on the stage, flipping herself up to it and /right/ next to the blonde the next second - there might be a surprised squeak, but it's quickly covered up as Shermie takes up the slack in the song.
o/` Sun lights up the daytime...
Moon lights up the night. o/`
The blonde turns to look at Shermie, and she's given the briefest of playful smiles from the Orochi-blooded girl, then a nudge to fall back in harmony. And that they do, both leaning in and singing against the same microphone now, staring at the crowd which is muttering just a little louder. Was this planned? Was Mr. Big setting up shop with the band CYS? Was this just some crazy act by a washed up band girl who'd had too much to drink?! Who could know, who could guess! By the way - Big, she's (probably) looking your way, and there's a little lilt of her fingers, a waggle in playful greeting.
o/`... Fever all through the night...
"What the hell!" Mr. Big mutters for like, the 3rd time in as many minutes as Shermie sways and sashays her way up to the stage. As Shermie leaps onstage, Mr. Big bolts to his feet and presses his hands on the table, looking like he's about ready to leap over the table and run up to the stage. What is going on? Is Shermie having a Courtney Love moment? This was definitely not planned.
The tension easing out of his shoulders as Shermie begins singing; Mr. Big finally lets the breath flow from his lungs as his girl begins to harmonize with the Orochi-blooded sexpot. "Heh." Mr. Big grins as he starts to drum his fingers on the table top with the beat of the song. Catching the piano player's questioning expression, Mr. Big shakes his head to him. Keep the song rolling. You can't buy this publicity.
'Oh my god, what a drunk tramp,' one of the girls whispers before Mr. Big shushes her quiet. Chuckling softly as Shermie coyly waves at him, the Diamond Don claps for her with a grin, motioning for her to come see him once the song is over.
o/~What...
a lovely way...
to burn...
There may be swaying, once or twice - but it's more the beat of the song, unless the other girl is plastered too. Side by side against the microphone, Shermie and the blonde finish up the song, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and barely whispering the last lyric into the mic. As the song codas, there's applause, and Shermie grins widely - now /that/ is what she was hoping for. She turns her head towards the other girl, and gives her a wink that she can't see, a hug, and then she hops back down off the stage. She'd made her entrance, and gotten the attention of the person she'd hoped to.
"It's a nice club."
Simple and straight forward as she sashays over towards Big's table, straightening up and flipping her fingers through her bangs, ruffling but not disturbing their place. She gives the girls that Big is with a slight once over, but dismisses them quickly after. They aren't competition, not for what she wants. Nope, that was the girl on the stage, and she knows that she could say 'Let me play with her.' and Big'd probably jump at the chance, what with the hubbub and the cheering from the end of their impromptu duet. She laughs, just once, and then motions towards the stage with a nod of her head. "..She's good. Classicly trained?"
"Thanks... Shermie, was it? I've seen you fight, but I'm not very good at names, sadly. This club is a pet project of mine. There's so much ugliness in this work, in this city, that I felt like creating something beautiful," he says with a smile, his pearly white teeth peeking between his lips. Of course, Mr. Big is partly responsible for a portion of the ugliness in Southtown, but that's better left unsaid.
"Girls, why don't you go in the back and see if Matty needs any help," Mr. Big suggests, causing the girls to sigh and roll their eyes as they scoot their way out of the booth, one of them flicking their hand at Shermie dismissively as they make their departure. "I apologize for them. If they could sing or dance I'd put them to work on stage, but all they seem to be good at is sucking down booze and snorting up coke," he says with a grin as he turns a hand towards one of the chairs at the table opposite him. "Please, have a seat and a glass of wine. The Chateau Ducru-Beaucaillou is excellent, but the white is quite nice as well if that suits your taste." Pouring Shermie a glass if she acquiesces.
"The girl's name is Aimee," he says of the other singer once they've gotten comfortable. "Yes, I think she was classically trained in her youth. She came to Southtown with a boyfriend. It didn't end well," he informs Shermie with a frown. "She had a hard time finding work and didn't have enough money to go back home... and well... pretty girl like her; you can imagine where that leads." Taking a sip of his Second Growth Bordeaux Ducru, Mr. Big smacks his lips appreciatively and continues. "Luckily, I found her and luckier still, found that she had a beautiful voice. The rest is history." Taking another sip of wine, Mr. Big gestures towards Shermie. "Speaking of voices, yours is quite lovely as well. I'd heard you were in a band, but I'd thought the music you played was quite a bit more modern."
"Mn. I do a lot of things - fighting, one of many."
There's an implied 'I could show you if need be.' held behind that genial smile of hers, the boiling blood she shares with those special few others occasionally pushing her towards implied or veiled threats. Admittedly, she's certain she's not in his league. Her own practice is slim indeed, and if Big's of note in Southtown, he's probably had to brawl his way up to that level.
Shermie slips into her seat, and sets her feet on the chair opposite, pink boots now gracing the chair next to Big himself. She nods her acquiesence as he offers the Chateau, and has a sip when he's done pouring, a tip of the glass to him before she touches it to her own lips, as a toast.
"It's a common story, though - very common, though the ending's better than most."
Shermie can discuss someone's misfortune with the smile never leaving her face - she's wired that way, that slightly off-kilter sort that makes a person stand out for one reason or another. She's pleased that the girl is here, of course - it made it easier for her to muscle in on the act. But she wouldn't cry if the story'd ended with 'And I found her in a dumpster, dead.' The compliment to her own skills is waved off, the smile and shake of her head one of appreciation, not feigned. "What we played was more modern, but I can't limit myself to just one.. experience, as you say. I have to keep an open mind to new influences, new sorts." Yashiro, Chris, you losers.. where /are/ you!? She almost loses her smile as she ponders that, then adds afterwards. "The band still exists. We're just all.. exploring other parts of our lives, now. Every so often, I get an itch, a... desire to return to it - this was a good way to let that out. And you? Have you found yourself up on stage lately, 'Mr. Big'?"
Grinning softly in amusement at Shermie's nonchalant attitude, Mr. Big, a complex and sometimes quite cold-hearted bastard himself, is obviously intrigued by his fellow fighter. Glancing down at Shermie's boots, and more importantly, what he can see of her legs, propped up on the chair next to him. Mr. Big softly licks his lips and clears his throat before continuing, "Well, you are certainly welcome to scratch any itches, satiate your desires, here at my club." Mr. Big is strictly talking about singing of course. (Suure.)
"I wouldn't insult you by suggesting that I pay you a flat stipend for any performances, but I'd definitely be willing to cut you in on a large percentage of the night's take. A performer, and not to mention fighter, of your popularity would draw a very large crowd to be sure."
As for himself? "Heh. No, no. Singing is not one of my talents. Aside from running my businesses I was only blessed with two talents, though I'm among the best at both. One of them is fighting," he says with a knowing grin. "I have been doing quite well on the fighting stage though; I always try to make an appearance on our Saturday Night Fight program, which I know you have been on before. I also just finished the preliminary round of the World Warrior Tournament. Hopefully that goes well."
Oh, they're nice legs too - Shermie's quite fond of them, as they reach all the way to the ground. It's a very important thing to have in a pair of legs, after all. She adjusts her seating a bit as Big watches her, recrossing her ankles and waving one boot in time with the next act that goes on, listening to him with that nonchalant little smile. "I'll certainly remember it, then - it seems like the man I met on the street today was right - L'Amour /is/ the place to sate my desires." There's almost a predatory look as she straightens up in her chair, jacket opening with the motion of her shoulders. "Do you handle spontenaety? I don't think I'd handle being .. chained down to anything specific well."
"So, a deal, then? I can give you at least a little notice, so the fans might come around as well - you let me work with that girl again, and I promise you a show like you've never seen before?" Shermie draws her lower lip between her teeth, biting it as she grins, the thought of getting to sing, to draw crowds, to feed that slow raging in her bood making her squirm visibly in her seat, in what might appear to be a distracting manner. "And... what's the chance of asking for a demonstration of what /you're/ best at, mn? After all - I showed you mine.. Shouldn't you show me yours?" Yes, there's an entendre there - but it's underlaid with steel, the Orochi blood having been given just a hint of relief, and now clamoring for a better release, pushing her on as she stares directly at Mr. Big under her mysterious bangs!
Biting his bottom lip ever so slightly, Mr. Big's eyes take in Shermie's legs some more from behind his dark sunglasses, darting away to her chest as her jacket opens briefly. There are many reasons why Mr. Big wears his dark sunglasses, being able to discretely ogle women is definitely among them; though Shermie is probably well aware of what Mr. Big is focused on at the moment. "Honey, my entire life is spontaneity," he says with a friendly grin as his focus floats back to her face.
"But yeah, just give me enough notice to set things up on my end and I'll take care of everything. As far as Aimee's concerned, you can do anything you want with her. Your chemistry with that girl is smoking hot."
Speaking of smoking hot, it looks like Shermie is getting quite worked up as well. Licking his lips again as Shermie squirms it takes everything Mr. Big has to keep some semblance of cool. "Well, I told you that besides my business, there are /two/ things that I'm the best at, and I'd love to show you both of them," he says with a sly smirk. "But if it's a fight you're talking about, I guess I owe you that at least. Maybe we'll explore that other thing later on." Watching Shermie, Mr. Big realizes that her bangs serve many of the same purposes that his sunglasses do. He's starting to gain a lot of respect for the mysterious fighter.
Shermie, noticing that she's being ogled? No, no, she's probably completely blind to it. Completely and utterly - Mr. Big, your wandering eyes are safe. Completely safe. She tilts her head back, taking a long draw of her wine, then sets the empty glass back on the table. Her fingers run a slow pattern on its edge, nails brushing the tablecloth to and fro as she listens. When he glances back to her bangs, there's that palpable sense of eyes meeting eyes, even though her own are hidden as effectively as his are.
"Alright, then - I look forwards to it. Two days from now? I don't think I'll be in the mood to sing tomorrow, but I think I can work up to it the day after. You'd better make sure she's well-rested.." She laughs then, the joke funnier to her than to others probably, the second glass of wine perhaps having just a hint of an effect on her. She slips her feet off the chair they're on, one boot brushing the side of Big's leg as she gets to her feet. "Flatterer - but my heart is empty, you know - I haven't found what will flll it." The comment's offhanded, the girl motioning to the heart-shaped cutout, tracing its edges and then standing there, arms folded beneath her chest, motioning to him with a bob of her head. "If you're willing to give me a fight, I'd love it - I want to feel it.." she says, voice dropping to a whisper, for the Diamond Don only. ".. Doesn't your blood burn when you're doing it? It's good to feel so alive, right?"
Smiling as Shermie stands and his leg is brushed, Mr. Big also rises to his feet to see Shermie off. "Two days from now is perfect," he replies. "Empty, hmm?" he asks as he watches transfixed while she traces the cutout in her dress. "Well, we've only just met, who knows what the future holds," he says with a predatory grin. Holding his own hand out Mr. Big attempts to kiss the back of her hand in polite farewell, if she'll allow it. She is French after all.
"As for the fight, I will give you want you want after your performance the night after tomorrow, if you're not too exhausted that is... and don't worry," Mr. Big mutters as he leans closer to Shermie, he mouth near the side of her head. "You -will- feel it, I'm sure of that. I'll make you feel more alive than you've ever felt before."
She is French, and she doesn't mind the kiss to her hand. It's sweet, endearing - and a little charming. At least a little. Plus, it means she's looking down at him, which is something that she's certainly not often going to get to do, what with her five-foot-sevenness. As she pulls her hand back, she nods in agreement - the performance, the battle afterwards, and who knows what else will happen - this sounds like it is going to be a pleasant week, all in all.
"Bold words from a bold man. I'll hold you to it." she whispers back - and then turns on her heel, straightening her skirt as she walks towards the exit - right past Big's girls, giving each one of them the closest possible thing to a staredown that she can manage without meeting their eyes. A challenge, perhaps - a 'I'm doing what I want, and I don't care about your petty bullcrap.'
And then.. she's gone.
Log created by Mr.Big, and last modified on 21:58:54 03/18/2007.