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Hey, it's theme night at Rainbow Road, and the theme is LEATHER because it's a gay bar, now isn't it. There's some thumping music blaring from the stereo, the dance floor is packed with incredible energy, queer folks having fun, and a palpable lack of fucks to give about the outside world. Over the course of her time in Philly, Sturm has gone from something of a wallflower who only ever attended these sorts of functions in order to work security. With that in mind, her former coworkers are probably wildly surprised to see the towering giant enter dressed to theme.
For once it's very easy to see exactly how much Sturm has been working out. Her chiseled abs are entirely on display this evening with only a silver bikini top and a thin, mesh crop top beneath her signature studded leather jacket. Ripped black jeans, a white leather collar, and mid-calf combat boots round out the look, leaving her looking like some kind of extra from a Cyberpunk tabletop game.
The Jotunn taps the bar, ordering herself a coke.(edited)
Cutting a slightly less towering presence than Sturm? Teagan. Today's outfit is basically the same as always - heavy charcoal grey leather longcoat, skinny jeans, combat boots. Just ... no tank top, today. A sleek slice of muscular stomach (though not nearly so chiseled as Sturm) and the subtle curve of small breasts hidden under the coats collar complete the look.
They meander up next to the Jotunn at the bar and lean against it, ordering themself a driver's punch before reaching up one long-fingered hand to carefully adjust the white leather collar buckled around Sturm's throat. "There we go."
The smells of sweat and leather are distinct all on their own, and combined the amalgamation is like something out of an alchemist's first draft: body oils and salt and enzymes and tanned hide and natural dyes, with the sweet and sharp reek of booze rounding it all off, and it hits Sierra like a wall when she steps inside. It's a friendly stink; it's a welcome stink, the stink of something you've been away from for too long, and even if it nearly knocks you out of your shoes, just smelling it again means you are back here. And so she is.
Bee-lining for the bar, Sierra leans forward on it, elbows and edges her way in, and waves a hand to flag down a bartender. Zoom. No luck, busy night. Condemned to wait for service, her dark eyes start to scroll through the faces also crowded around the bar, attention caught by a Cyberpunk character not far down the way and what is clearly her attack hobo.
Sierra is not dressed to theme, but she upnods at Sturm's outfit with a lift of her chin and flashes an appreciative "OK" symbol, features drawn in smothered grin.
Sturm flashes a little wink at Sierra, reaching across the bar for her coke when it's delivered. She only blushes a little tiny bit -- well, actually it's a pretty deep blush for folks who can pierce the Snowskin's mask -- when Teagan gives the collar a tug. She removes her sunglasses, tucking them into a pocket of her leather jacket, and tossing her platinum blonde braid behind her back. Sturm offers her attack hobo a loving nudge in the ribs with an elbow, at last raising her glass to her lips to disguise the remnant of her smirk.
She offers a little come hither gesture, beckoning Sierra to come join them, and then making room by shifting her weight in a vaguely threatening way. You know, the way a bouncer might to get a particularly rowdy customer to move on. Room is made in short order.
The attack hobo, who is clearly here for the protection of Sturm, yep, curls up one corner of their mouth in an expression that they actually allow to slide through their Mask. There's a slight glance toward Sturm and then back to Sierra, as if to say 'I know, right?'
They get a driver's punch delivered to them and raise it in salute to Sierra, taking a sip as they casually arrange themselves after being nudged.
A pause hangs in the air for a moment, a beat, before Sierra pushes her weight forward and closes the distance towards Sturm and Teagan, slipping into an audible proximity. Up closer, her eyes are a dark but a decidedly vivid viridian hue, though a bit easy to mistake for brown at a distance and in the dim light. "You two look well-adjusted here," she starts, raising a hand to gesture indolently at the rest of the bar. "What's the fastest way to get a drink?"(edited)
"That tracks. We're a pair of well-adjusted people," Sturm offers a little smirk, and gestures for the bartender who she clearly knows -- and who clearly is enamored with the buff woman for abs obvious reasons. The bartender holds up a finger as she finishes helping her current customer, but with the promise that she'll be over soon, Sturm turns her attention back to Sierra. "Well it helps to know the staff. I used to work the door here before my fight career took off." She leans forward, offering a hand. "Name's Sturm."
WHO IS THIS CONFIDENT AND PERSONABLE STURM???(edited)
Leaning back against the bar, Teagan lets Sturm handle the talking for the moment - they're busy considering Sierra at the moment. They bring a hand up to absently scratch at their cheek and tip their head toward Sturm when she talks. "What she said. I let her do the ordering in here because she knows everyone."
There's a thick scar across the palm of the hand they offer across to Sierra. "You can call me Teagan. This is Sturm."
Sierra takes the risk of letting Sturm have her hand, gripping it in a congenial squeeze. "Are they taking applications?" she quips as she gives Teagan the same. "The interview process might be shorter than the line. Sturm, Teagan," she repeats, flicking her eyes at each of them in turn. "I'm Sierra. I used to live here, and got spoiled by and accustomed to my local privilege. Being treated like a tourist is breaking my heart." Doubtful, but she sells it humorously enough.
"Fight career, mm?" she queries in a purr. "I was going to say librarian."
"Tragically my librarian days are behind me. Had a bad accident involving an encyclopedia at a book fair, and can't really work my page-turning hands like I used to." She says this with such a deadpan delivery, and a masked expression that almost sells the absurd story. Her lips disappear behind the rim of her coke glass. She sets it down, and sticks out her tongue. Which is pierced. "Good to meet you, Sierra. Was starting to think I knew just about everybody in this city, so honestly it's a little refreshing to see a new face."
"... but yeah. I'm not a big deal, or anything, but I'm having fun with it. Maybe sometime soon people'll think of me when they think of badass buff ladies instead of Gina Carano or Ronda Rousey."
Glitch arrives and approaches the three at the bar, done up in his nicer letterman jacket and sneakers, everything black with a few bright white contrast lines. The sunglasses on indoors, at night, may be a bit much, but they come off as he reaches the group of considerably taller people. "Hey," he murmurs out, tucking away his shades and peering at Sierra past Teagan and Sturm.
Sierra makes a tsk sound, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth and huffing an affected, dramatic exhale. "Britannica," she mutters in commiseration, playing along with Sturm's deadpan and entirely false autobiography. The bartender! She gives her order, just whiskey on the rocks, no chaser, no mixer, and bobs her head amiably at Sturm. "Well, if you know everyone then maybe you can introduce me to a few. I've been away a long time."
She turns her head when a New Challenger approaches, and ticks a nod at him, too. "Like him. I don't know him," she hooks a thumb at Glitch, making the point.
Watching the interplay between Sturm and Sierra seems to amuse Teagan more than a little -- they let a little sharp glitter slide through their carefully curated Mask. (More curated than a leftist's meme collection, that.) They reach for their driver's punch, and then, after a sip, Glitch arrives. As per their rite and custom, they greet, "Player One," and lean down to kiss him at the corner of his mouth. Teagan is dressed as per the usual except shirtless, so bending down more than half a foot for a smooch means a small flash for everyone when their coat swings aside. Oh, also, there's a machete hanging at their hip, too. They don't seem to notice, and lean back against the bar once more.
"This is Glitch. Glitch, this is Sierra."
Sturm doesn't exactly grin she's too Winter for that but the amusement is clearly present in her body language even if it's absent from her face. She leans past Teagan, and ruffle's Glitch's hair affectionately before wrapping him in a one-armed hug. Tiny sprite, big ogre.
"You said you were back in town after a long while, right?" She quirks a very Spock-like eyebrow at Sierra, tilting her head to the side. "What brought you back? Cheesesteak?"
Glitch manages to maintain an aura of cool aloofness for about three whole seconds as his gaze meets Sierra's. Then a tall and bare-chested Them is leaning down to kiss him, and he can barely reply "Player Two" before being hair-ruffled and tugged into a very strong hug in addition. He plays it off, catlike, but can't hide the obvious pink blush across his fair face. "Hi," he squeaks, voice scratching two octaves high followed by a forceful cough. "Uh. Hi. I bet it was Gritty."
"Glitch," she repeats, giving another bob of her chin, eye contact broken when she - finally! - reaches for and receives her drink, and the rest of whatever she has to say must wait a moment while she sips from it like it's liquid oxygen and the air in here is ash.
At the inquiry, Sierra's features curve into a reassuring grin. "Just a little bit of family drama," she replies, which is not technically untrue. "Figured it was time to check-in." She gestures at the three of them with a circular wave of her hand. "So what's this story?"
They lean comfortably against the bar, grunting once. "Family drama, fun times." They have a very deadpan delivery when they want to, which is mostly always. Glitch's blush has their eyes glittering -- quite literally to the Lost, who can see the broken-mirror eyes catching the light from the club's strobes. "Hope it ain't too rotten."
Her question elicits a curling up of one corner of Teagan's mouth. "Polycule," they explain. "Part of one, anyway. Half the nucleus is home sleeping, 'cause Sig and June are off shift at the firehouse and Laura is... I forget what Laura was doing today. Baking, I think."
"... and Johnnie is... doing Johnnie things. Whatever things Johnnie does when she's not around being Johnnie." Sturm offers this as if it's a completely normal thing to say, nodding along with Teagan. She turns back to face Sierra with something of a smirk on her face, but it quickly disappears as the subject changes. "I know how that goes. I was out in Texas for going on ten years, but family drama brought me back home. Fortunately it's mostly cleaned up now, but I definitely thought I was going to have to kill someone."
She, of course, is joking.
Right?
Right????
Glitch isn't too proud to be caught blushing, and isn't too cool to flee rather than be flustered. As Teagan explains, he winds an arm around their side and leans his head against them, eyes closing for a moment. A small, brief, firm public display of affection. Not that he unwinds the arm or draws back. But he does put his little cool pout back on. "I think I'm overdressed for this club," he manages to murmur. "Family is... always the hardest thing to deal with."
Sierra runs her eyes over all three of them again while she contemplates the reality of three more, and hums a short 'hm' noise. "I don't know whether that is inspiring or demoralizing for the rest of us, but I can certainly toast to that," she replies as she gestures at Glitch's final remark, raising the glass and what's left of its meager contents to the trio. Like an afterthought, she adds, "What part of Texas, then?" to Sturm.
"Mmm. Johnnie's always wherever Johnnie is, and who can say where the moment finds her?" The Mirrorskin's forehead wrinkles up a little bit, and they pause, blinking at Sierra for a moment. Their attention stays focused in on her and then their head tips to the side, their arm wrapped loosely around Glitch's shoulders. "Why would it be demoralizing?"
Glitch's comment gets a little murmur in his ear, and they take another sip of their dry punch.
"Some of us can't even get a date with one person," Sierra quips back readily, baring her teeth in a flashing grin from behind the perspiring glass of her tumbler.
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it. I hadn't had a date in, like, fifteen years, and now I have... just a tremendous number of partners. You'll figure it out." Sturm offers a little shrug, passing by the uncharacteristicly upbeat advice. She takes a sip of Coke, leaning herself against the bar on an elbow. "Nacogdoches. Well, not literally in Nac, but the boonies out that way. Which is saying something, because besides the college, Nac is pretty much BFE anyway. S'real nice out that way, though. Especially in the late spring."
Glitch glances to Sierra with a slight frown. "We're taught to give ourselves shit for not getting laid as a status symbol. And it's all wrapped up in heteronormative bullshit. It's a way to control you. So fuck that, don't let it demoralize you." The sudden burst of talkativeness is coupled with a slight squirm at whatever Teagan whispers to him. "We're just... doing our own thing, you know? Anyone can."
The Mirrorskin's eyebrows arch up, and they lazily ruffle Glitch's hair with one hand. "I find that very difficult to believe," Teagan deadpans back at her. "Busy tomorrow?" They lean one elbow on the bar, set their glass down with a solid thump.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the difference between Sturm, Glitch, and Teagan.
Sturm snorts with laughter, spitting a little bit of her drink onto the bar. Ha. She might be hot and confident now, but she's still a bit of a ditz.(edited)
Sierra seems to search her memory and gives Sturm a long shake of her head, failing to recognize the name. "I spent a little time out the other way. El Paso-" and she lifts one of her arched eyebrows, slowly but continuously as Glitch goes on, about to reply with something conciliatory and disarming, no doubt, when Teagan's question and drunk thump down.
She languidly wags a finger at Sturm. "Do I have to fight her if I say yes?" she wonders wryly. A beat, and the same to Glitch. "Or him?" She beckons the bartender to come back around this-away. "I could be busy," she answers anyway. "Give me your phone." And she upnods her head towards what are presumably pockets.(edited)
Glitch allows himself a snort after Teagan swoops in for the kill like that, and keeps the ghost of a smirk on his face when Sierra asks about fighting. "You only have to fight me if you've done something really fucked up. Or if you want to. Just ask."(edited)
"Only if you want to," Teagan answers, rolling their shoulders in that loose and liquid way which is Teagan's entire body language in summary. "I'm not going to tell you that you can't, but it's certainly not compulsory."
"I mean, I'm shocked you're not busy tomorrow, if you're not, but hey. Might be good fortune for me." The Mirrorskin digs out their phone, shooting a little glance and a half-smile aside to Sturm when she chokes on her drink; they unlock the screen and pass it over to Sierra. The menu's in Spanish, but it's not difficult to navigate the basics, even if you don't speak the language.
"You only have to fight me if you want to date me, but it's not like a weird Red Sonja thing. I just happen to think the best way to get to know a person is in a fight." Oh, so it is a weird Red Sonja thing. Sturm taps the side of her class, and the cute bartender runs over to refill her Coke.
"El Paso's not too bad, though. I like the trees out east, tho."
Sierra cants her head at a faint angle at Glitch's response, raising her shoulders in an understanding shrug. "I'm going to keep that in mind in case I need to put something fucked up on my calendar," she muses, reaching for the phone and managing the navigation, plugging in two more pieces of information, including a last initial, R., and a 202 area code. Washington D.C.
"Transient unemployment has its little miracles," she supposes at Teagan, sliding the phone back and flickering a barely-there wink.
To Sturm, she gives another short nod, holding her sad, empty whiskey glass, empty but for sad ice cubes and giving it a helpless little circular shake, as if that might magic more amber liquid into the glass. Alas, for the thousandth time -- nothing. "Didn't see nearly as many trees as I did tumbleweeds," she grants of El Paso. "And angry red rocks." She pauses. "And angry people... wonderful Tex-Mex though," she adds in a concluding chirp.
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