Description: Felicia meets up with Cracker Jack and a few of his friends for a job!
In Sunshine City's redlight district, sits a seedy nightclub called 'Strawberry Kisses'. On the surface, it's a club catering to the poor and criminal of the city, but beneath the surface are tendrils of vice creeping into the surrounding neighborhood. Drugs, prostitution, white slavery, fencing, rackateering, and more, are run from this business. It's surprising that a public figure like Cracker Jack has used his status as a belt holder to endorse this place, but he has. There's a cardboard standup of him outside smoking a cigar, and although it's daytime, the neon sign is still on, indicating that it's open for business of some sort. It's, apparently, time to hire new hostesses at this business made more reputable by a professional fighter's signature. The owner, Jamal "Superfly" Love is outside the business, talking to a few men in black suits with sunglasses and gesturing across the street where cops have staked the business out in a warehouse bungalow. Superfly is a tall African-American man in his early forties, with dreadlocks and pink-rimmed sunglasses, a pink and black suit, and several gold teeth (along with gold rings). In the back of the club, a truck is delivering alcohol. And inside is Cracker Jack, using his endorsement's contract stipulations as an opportunity to peruse Sunshine City's local ladies of the evening that frequent the club between hours.
Has Felicia really hit rock bottom, if she's approaching a place like this seriously? Well, she hadn't seen her last employer for a bit, so when the catwoman woke up that morning and realized she had to find some work, it was time to hit the streets. She wasn't the sort to beg anymore, not after she'd found some success, and she definitely wasn't going to be caught dead rooting about behind a restaurant again. Right now she'd rather have any kind of work, even if it was unabashedly sleaze. Showing up outside the Strawberry kisses in a long coat and sandals, as well as a pair of sunglasses the darkstalker spots the cardboard standup and grins a little. Seems one of the local 'heavy hitters' was endorsing this place. And it wasn't exactly like she had a lot of success today so far, not many establishments wanted to employ a 'monster' after all.
And so, she approaches Mr. Superfly, taking her sunglasses off and trying to edge her way between him and the suits he was speaking to. "Hey there, looking for any new talent around here?" she asks, her voice somber enough to not seem threatening, but also a bit of a come-on.
Superfly and the goons turn to face Felicia as she approaches, Mr. Love raising his right hand and lowering his shades with his bejeweled pinky raised. "Yeah, we hirin'," Superfly's low voice slides as he waves at the men in suits. "Boys, go 'round the corner and get yo'selves some coffee. We got some business to discuss here." The club owner isn't sure if it's make-up or one of those Darkstalkers that took over Metro City, but he does know that a pretty freak has some potential here in Sunshine City to make his club even more popular than Cracker Jack has. Superfly extends his hand to Felicia and grins widely, showing off that gold grill. "The name's Superfly. I own dis here place. What kind of work you lookin' for?" As his hand remains out, he turns to place his left hand on the door inside and push it open, the dim insides visible. Cracker Jack's silhouette is visible inside at the bar, a martini glass in his hand that he sips from.
Huh, Felicia is somewhat surprised that it seemed to be that easy, but then, she was easy on the eyes, or so she had been told. "Hi there, I'm Felicia, I was curious if you were looking for any performers--I can sing I can dance, I can also Emcee," though Felicia doesn't have too many illusions at what they might be needing at this place. She places her own white-furred hand in Superfly's and lets him take it--shake it, whichever. She'd shake his hands back of course, taking care that he didn't wind up on the business end of any of those red nails that capped each of her fingers. "What do you think you need here at your... club?" she looked up at the sign again, straining her neck, while taking a look into the doorway, noticing that yes, it definitely seemed to be a men's club. Oh boy.
Superfly's hand slides Felicia's along to guide her into the club, letting the door close behind them. "This is Strawberry Kisses, my little home away from home. My boy Jack endorsed us, so we've been gettin' a little more business. 'specially from the fighting circuits in town. We could use a singer...Whatcha think you can do? Oh, this is Jack." He gestures at Cracker Jack, more visible now in the shadows of the club with a cigarillo blazing in his left hand, a musky smoke emerging from the blunt as he sips his drink. He says nothing, merely raising his left hand to briefly lift his hat to Felicia, showing off his deep brown eyes, before he puts it back down over his face and smirks. The club appears to be empty besides Superfly, Jack, and Felicia, although there could be people in the back, from the sounds of glass and metal being moved around. Probably that alcohol truck that was outside. Superfly points at the stage. "Go ahead and show us what you got, little lady." Superfly smiles and takes a seat on a couch in the VIP area, pulling a joint out of his upper pocket and lighting it. The blazing doobie reflects off his sunglasses as he watches, flicking a switch and putting on some ambient music to accompany her singing, the lights lowering.
"Charmed," Felicia smiled at the man, putting on a fair amount of guile--she wasn't here to deceive the men, though she did have to say the man sitting at the bar with the glowing cigarette end as one of the few visible traits about him was just a tad... intimidating. "Okay, sure," Felicia undid the front of her jacket, pausing to Superfly, whom she looked up to briefly. "I might need to take this off--shoes too, don't worry, I'll try not to scratch the floors, okay?" she sheepishly grinned down at her sandals. The red claws that gleamed at the tips of her feet were more like nails really than claws, though they did seem to curve. Strange.
Revealing her normal self with the jacket and sandals off, she stuffs her sunglasses into a pocket and tosses the jacket over a barstool, walking up to the stage. Once she was up on the stage she'd search for the mic, then try to compose herself enough to try singing something--taking a moment to clear her throat. Of course, she did have to try and ignore the rather obvious pink dancing pole with it's sultry velvet curtain back there, it gave her the jitters, a little.
The microphone is up front on a standard stand, a wire leading towards the DJ booth where the central sound augmentation equipment is. Superfly flicks a switch with his finger, and the stage lights up, with a spotlight from above on Felicia, along with runners along the bottom and top to make the stage glow pink red. "Just do your thang," he says over his microphone from the VIP lounge to the side, before he turns his microphone off. He blows out a large cloud of smoke, smiling as he watches her without her trenchcoat and sandals. Very fine. Cracker Jack, meanwhile, continues to lean against the bar and sip his martini, putting his cigarillo out in an ashtray on the black bar counter. He smacks his lips, before he pulls out an olive and pulls it off a toothpick with his teeth. He chews on the olive as he watches, tapping his foot.
As sleazy as this place was, and how some part of it seemed to give her a bad feeling--she had to admit, this really seemed like it was fun. She could feel the heat from the spotlight and noticed the elaborate stage lighting, it was suggestive and all, but it obviously looked expensive. With the light shining down on the catwoman's elegant and curvaceous form, she steadied herself in front of the mic, once it had been given power. "She wooore bluuuee velveeet... bluer than velvet, was the night," the song was quite slow at first, something that sounded like what Orbison might have been singing, though in Felicia's high and feminine voice it took on an alluring quality. Her feet and legs together, she clasped her hands around the microphone stand, her eyes closing and looking as if she was serene and melting into the velvet backdrop.
"Not bad," Superfly says to himself, as he flicks another switch. A low beat joins the ambience, slow and steady, matching Felicia's singing. "Needs a little production..." He fiddles around with switches, and soon the microphone is audialized, giving the kitty's voice an eerie resonance. "Much better." Cracker Jack, meanwhile, pushes off the bar and strolls forward through the club, up to the stage. He puts his gloved right hand on the stage and looks up at Felicia. "Hey, pussy. Let's see how you dance." He snaps his left hand, and then points with a grin. Superfly chimes in over the VIP microphone, "Yeah, honey, dance for us." Jack looks up at Felicia with a predatory grin, tapping his toe to the mood beat. "What's your name, anyways, sweetheart?" Jack asks as he stares at Felicia from below.
"I'm Felicia," the catwoman responds to Jack, stepping back just a little as she notices they didn't want her near the microphone anymore. She was drawn back toward the pink metal dancing pole, almost bumping into it--if her tail hadn't made contact with it first. Her long white tail actually curled around the length of the pole, as she turned, her furred hands curling over it soon after as she turned to face the men. Inside her head, Felicia was probably thinking something like: Okay, gotta make this good, gotta make it sexy--but she had not done a lot of this sort of dancing herself. Sure she had seen it before, and understood how it worked, but, well, here goes...
Brushing her long blue voluminous hair back, Felicia's chest became flush against the pole itself, her knees bending as the pink pearlescent metal was allowed to slide right between her breasts as she sunk down--knees bowing out, before she pushed herself up again, showing off the strength of her legs--rising swiftly. Then, with one hand on the pole itself, she grinned--yes, grinned, either allowing herself or actually having fun with this display, turning to face the men as she put one knee up against the pink bar, her hands raised high up over her head as she grapsed the pole and started to spin, slowly.
Jack's smirk slides into a lopsided grin as he watches Felicia, stroking his chin with his bare left hand. He looks over to Superfly, lost in a cloud of weed smoke, before he nods to himself. He moves over to the VIP lounge and begins discussing things with Superfly quietly as Felicia dances, the two of them gesturing at Felicia as they chat. Then, Jack's voice cuts in over the microphone. "You're hired, Felicia. Every Saturday night, primetime. Show up at eight, go on at nine, get off at ten. Congrats. Now, money. C'mon over here." The two of them sit on couches in the lounge, the pungent smell of marijuana notable in the air as it shrouds the pair. Superfly has somehow pulled out a pimp cane, his right hand perched on it. Jack, meanwhile, has a baseball bat across his shoulders, his right hand gripping the base. Negotiations require weapons, always.
Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself, it seemed, the little exhibition is over--she blinks and looked over at the two men, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights thanks to that spotlight. Letting her alluringly raised knee slide down from the pole she got down off it and the stage, walking over to the men. "Just like that? huh," she felt a bit of surge of confidence however, rising in her belly, going 'yes, just like that, you did it!' and to not be so confused or awestruck. Her ego beginning to get the better of her, a little, as a smile began to crack at the corner of her lips. "Please, boys, put away your weapons, there's more than enough of me to go around, I think," Felicia smirked as she casually slid onto the couch between Jack and Superfly, more like she was sprawled out against it, one leg folded under her while the other hung over the side. Her face was turned towards Cracker Jack, however, while her tail might playfully flop about near Superfly's lap.
Superfly strokes the tail on his leg with a chuckle, as Cracker Jack grins at Felicia. "You're about what we're looking for. If you don't have the endurance to handle it, you're fired, of course," Jack says. "First night's the charm, right?" He nods his chin upwards at Superfly. "Five hundred a night," Superfly states in his basso voice, tapping fingers on his cane. "Whaddya say?" Five hundred bucks, once a week, for a draw that will net them every Black Dragon Cult lowlife in the city, plus more than a few west coast big name fighters that live in or near the city. Definitely a good deal. The two grin at Felicia as they watch her, Superfly's grin shark-like, while Jack is more cocky and crooked.
The tail being stroked elicits a little purr from Felicia, who hangs an arm over the top of the couch, grinning as she peered back at Superfly. This was a little taste of adoration, not that she minded--she just had to make sure this didn't get too hairy! "Huh, that sounds good to me, Mr. Jack, or do I call you Cracker?" she peered at the cocky man, then back at the pimp-cane wielding Superfly. "And we've already been introduced, I think," she nodded to the black man with a smile. Huh, success, was this what it felt like? Or sort of like it? She still had some impressions to make, it seemed. "So dancing for an hour, huh? I think you'll find, Mr. Jack... that I have quite a bit of endurance," she purred.
Jack taps his index finger on his bat. "Jack will do," he murmurs to her, his left hand popping his hat brim up so he can look at her with his squinting eye. "C'mon, let's have a drink." Superfly stands up on his cane and then snatches it up into the air. "I gotta sign for the delivery. You two play nice now, y'hear? Heh-heh-heh." Superfly ambles out of the club's main room, as Jack stands up with his bat and moves over to the bar. He moves around behind it and sets his bat down atop it, before he plants both hands on either side of the bar's corner. "So, catlady, what's your poison?" he asks with a smooth upslide to his voice, canting his head to the right. His tongue tip briefly emerges from his mouth, licking the upper center of his mouth before retreating.
Felicia's rather... pure upbringing begins to rear it's somewhat awkward head right about now as she's asked what to drink. She tries to think of something, sure she's seen beer ads before--what big TV network wasn't constantly hawking alcohol, after all--but she wasn't sure what was appropriate in this case. "Uhh, got any Sam Adams? Oh! Mike's hard lemonade, is that good? That'll be good," Felicia smiles and nods a bit too quickly. Clearly she's a bit new to this adult scene. She quickly trots over and settles herself down into the stool next to Jack, trying to relax a little from the whole thing. She almost doesn't notice the movement of Jack's tongue suggestively like that, blinking a little. She doesn't comment on it, though. "So you really own this place, huh? or just a business partner, sorta deal?"
Lightweight, huh. Cracker Jack fishes a Mike's out of the cooler and cracks it open behind the bar, sitting it down on a coaster before Felicia. "I'm endorsing the joint for a mild stipend. Won a belt a month or so ago from Lightning Spangles before her career imploded, just at the start of her downfall. It was before the incident with that dead kid." He mixes himself up a white Russian between a glass and a cocktail shaker with some ice and liquid in the middle, before setting it down on the bar. "She was hammered during the entire fight. Heard word from backstage her manager was pissed at her. So that incident in Arizona wasn't exactly a shocker to me."
"Oh, huh, I see!" Felicia takes that information in and takes up the frosty transparent bottle and downs a gulp--woo, it was definitely alcohol, but also didn't seem to make one go blehhh like regular beer did. Of what she had remembered it tasting like. Setting the bottle back down, she peered over at Jack. "Huh, so you're kind of a big deal around these parts, what about this thing in Arizona?" Felicia has been a bit out of the loop, to be fair. Her furred legs pulled a bit closer together as she sat on the stool, unused to a high seat like this. She looked like she was trying to sit more primly, even as the alcohol began to trickle into her system.
"Spangles...I guess, Jezebel, now...Got drunk and killed a kid at a fight, according to the news. Young kid, too, like a toddler." He shrugs a shoulder as he sips his white Russian. "Lost her acting contract as Lightning Spangles, now she's in the press and she's broke. That's how it goes when you can't control your vices. So, what about you. You one of those, dark stalkers, that took over Metro City?" he asks, gesturing to her paws and furred arms as he jiggles his glass in his hand. "About the only explanation I can think of, don't be insulted."
"Yes, I am,' Felicia responds to the question, tilting her head a little. "No, I'm not, I just lived there for a bit, I didn't take anything over," Felicia's reply is a bit more grim than it has been so far, since she wants to make that part clear. "I got raised by a nun, I'm not exactly a killing and marauding sort, if it helps?" she tilts her head back at him, downing a bit more of that liquor. Sure, her regeneration and metabolism could handle stuff like alcohol fine--but she was also not paying attention to how fast she was drinking it. Which would lead to some tipsiness.
Jack shrugs a shoulder. "Okay, fair enough. So you haven't seen much of the world, huh?" he says with a lecherous leer downwards hidden by his hat as he swirls ice cubes around in his glass, before taking a deep sip and setting his glass down. "Metro City's still pretty trashed, I gave it a visit to scout it out for my boss. Military got called in, they're trying to keep order. It'll be fine, though. Mike Haggar runs a tight ship. He's taken on worse problems in Metro." He gestures at the bottle. "So, if you were raised by a nun, then you didn't do a lot of sinning. How's that hitting you?" he asks curiously.
"I've been around, just not a monster, is all, I was born in America," Fel doesn't say exactly where, but she doesn't notice that look at Jack gives her then, either, as she's distracted. "I didn't know it was a sin to drink actually, not one of the ten commandments, anyway," what Jack was thinking about currently most probably /was/, however. She shrugged a little, not seeming to show any signs of getting trashed yet. "It's alright," however the belt-holder would probably begin to notice she's seeming quite a bit more relaxed as time wore on, and she got closer to the end of that bottle. But would he keep ordering her drinks, was the question.
"Depends on your denomination of Christianity. I was raised Protestant, it's a sin to indulge yourself in vice. Nuns are Catholic, that would explain the confusion." Cracker Jack takes a deep draught of his drink, before wiping the milky froth from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "We lived in Vegas, but my father was Texan. Never touched the bottle a day in his life. Mom, on the other hand, enjoyed a little cocktail. She was from Cleveland." He tips his head back as he finishes off the Russian. "I need to run, love. Enjoy the rest of your day, and make sure you don't let Superfly down. He's a bad man to piss off in this city." He makes a gunsign and a click, before he strolls out the door with his bat in tow.
Log created on 15:10:01 10/06/2015 by Felicia, and last modified on 19:19:18 10/16/2015.