[OPEN] sing-along, cause it's one we know;;

[Mercy Abigail Harris]

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The music pounded, shaking the dance floor and the club's walls. But yet, it was so familiar to Mercy, she barely noticed it. She stood behind the bar, watching the men and women grinding to the music, as she poured another round of shots for the man leaning across the counter. He wasn't cute, but had more of a rough edge to him, with his barely shaven face. In his late thirties, maybe. Either single, or his wife was pissed off at him. Mercy flirted with him anyhow, because if she didn't, she didn't get the tips, which she loved having, even though she didn't really need the money. She loved the feeling of being paid for, basically, her looks. She tried to bring attention to herself, wearing bright colors, high heels and low-cut shirts. It brought the attention of both men and women. It amused her. She chose to be a bartender for that exact reason. She could get paid to be hit on by drunken men and women, and usually she had the pick of the lot, as long as they were patient enough to wait until 2AM.

The drunken guy pulled out his wallet and wadded up a bill and tossed it, aiming it for Mercy's chest. She swiped it in the air before it could roll down her shirt, unraveled it, smiling at the guy as he walked away. He was so drunk he didn't notice he had given her a fifty. She smiled, knowing he'd regret that decision in the morning, and rang up the drinks on the cash register, keeping the change he had left her. The Basement was a large club, with tons of people in and out the doors continuously. Some people she recognized, as they were usuals, and some were new, or underage. Security was pretty tight, most of the time, but a little flirt could go a long way. Mercy knew that from experience. Those security boys liked a lot of cleavage and a skinny waist, and just a few simple hints at something sexual coming their way, as long as the girl was over eighteen. Anything younger than eighteen, the girls wouldn't be able to come back until they turn twenty-one, no matter what they tried to do with the boys.

Mercy loved the attention she got from being a bartender. She loved the looks she got, and the attempts of boys and men trying to grab her chest. Or even the occasional girl slipping in a grab. The blonde loved it. If she wanted, she could slip herself a drink and be a little buzzed on the job, and nobody cared. It was her lifestyle, all wrapped up into the perfect job for her. Mercy leaned her arms on the bar, scanning for anyone attractive to take home. So far, nobody was catching her eye. Sure, there was cute girls and guys, but most of them were with someone, and Mercy wasn't into a fight tonight. Not while she was working anyhow. Maybe if she was off the clock, but she wasn't done until 2AM when the bar closed. The blonde was hoping to find someone to suit her by the end of the night. Someone she could tangle herself up in for the night and be gone by morning. She just needed to release her sexual frustration on someone, and hope they don't care if she doesn't call them the next day.[/ul]

Outfit;; here.
Words;; five seventy-five.
Tagged;; open.
Notes;; (:
Horse;; not in the bar, silly! [/size][/color]

[Maxxie Ivy Dane]

There's nothing quite like the particular sound of banging music and boisterous voices in a confined room. Flashing lights in random darkness slightly clouded Maxxie's mind, everything was blurry for a moment and then clarity. His ears blacked out everything until the person who had dragged him here pulled his attention back. A short, stock person who had a loud mouth and hot-temper. Jon came up to him and pulled on his shirt, Maxxie followed with out much opposition to the gesture. He didn't know what exactly what he was doing here at this point in time but for whatever reason he was here. Jon turned him over to the bar with some relief and vanished in to ever growing crowd. Maxxie sighed and guessed that that would be the last time he would see him for the rest of the night. Taking a glance up he noticed the bartender, blonde, small structure.

He didn't really take to much notice of her other than those few details what he did notice was the guy throwing some wallet at her. She grabbed it without a second thought and he assumed that this whole routine was normal. He looked back down at the wooden counter top, blocking out all the noise around him, a smile brought out by the thoughts of simplicity that bounced around in his mind. The club was full enough, people being whores and sluts, a good time really. He glanced over his shoulder to take notice of some of the people round. Brown aired beauties in crop tops and booty shorts, boys in jeans and generally tight shirts. Maxxie just enjoyed watching, both genders, so he had no feelings of jealousy to anyone. Perhaps coming here tonight even might serve a porpoise, smiling slightly at one boy in the crowd.

So yeah, he liked to have a good time but he had no intention of going up to anyone, not because he was self-centered but because he just knew the type he liked. The bold ones. Watching the crowd the occasional member of the human race would shoot him a glance and he would just smile back at them, winking and flirting from a distance. Some high strung girl, clearly just made 18 or something finally got enough courage to come up to him and speak after consulting with her group of friends just as old as she. How they even got in this place he didn't know. As bold as she may have been, Maxxie knew that this "thing" would be morally illegal. So he eventually shooed her away with some glance at a passing guy because she apparently took affiance to that.

[Mercy Abigail Harris]

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Tonight was a typical night at The Basement for Mercy. Drunken strangers clambering over one another, and laughing loudly at what appeared to be nothing. Mercy poured drink after drink as people came up to the bar, shouting slurred words at her. Names of drinks, people they'd slept with, the drama in their lives. She didn't sign up to be a psychologist when she became a bartender, but it was all part of the job. She nodded along as a pretty brunette told the sad story of her life. The bartender didn't pay too much attention as she wiped out the inside of a glass, but she smiled softly at the girl when needed. A few, 'it'll be okay's, and a couple hand gestures here and there, and the brunette was smiling happily, ready to face the world again, drunk and stumbling. It happened every night, and Mercy was used to it. These girls were willing to give everything up, just for someone to listen to them. They were the most vulnerable, but the brunette just wasn't Mercy's type. She didn't like vulnerable. She liked someone who knew what they were doing.

Mercy looked up as a young, cute blonde guy sat down at the bar. She didn't go over to him at first, as a young girl approached him and was rejected. The bartender snickered to herself, knowing all too well the girl was too young to even be in the bar. She wouldn't get any drinks from Mercy, because she wasn't the type of person to serve alcohol to minors when it came to her job. As the teen left the guy, Mercy walked over to him, and leaned on the bar next to him. "What'll it be?" she asked him, trying to catch his attention. She had watched him look at a guy with interest, and she wondered for a minute if he was gay, but she had to test her luck. He was cute, after all. Just what she had in mind for the night. Hopefully she could catch his attention to keep him at the bar for the rest of the night. Or at least get him to meet back up with her after work. [/ul]

Outfit;; here.
Words;; three seventy-one.
Tagged;; Maxxie;
Notes;; hello!
Horse;; not in the bar, silly! [/size][/color]

[Maxxie Ivy Dane]

I won't go back again...

As the man walked to far for Maxxie to actually keep eye contant with, the bartender came over. The thud of her body gently resting on the table was what initially caught his attention and turn, then it was her voice. "What'll it be?" The question lingered, but unconsciously, like a well known routine, he responded "Jack Daniels" It was really only the only thing he ever ordered, ever really liked. Whiskey, man's drink his father always told him those nights in the barn with the horses, in no clear condition to walk in a straight line. Maxxie looked closer, at the bartender. She was cute, a bit more out of the norm for him, but still. The pink creased shirt she was wearing hugged her features quite nicely, he couldn't help but smile a bit when his eye wandered up to her face past her chest. God, he was such a whore.

Maxxie sighed slightly, tapped the counter for no apparent reason, glancing down for a moment then back up to her. He thought that this night would probably have a porpoise and this technically counted as coming up to him so he decided what the hell. "I'm Maxxie." he spoke casually, his accent pretty apparent charming in a way. "What might your name be?" why he asked he didn't know. Conversations had always been something he was good at, drawing people out. Honestly though, if she was just going to be another fling he didn't really want to know her name. No matter the truth he was still attentive, waiting for the answer. God, he was such a whore.

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[Mercy Abigail Harris]

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Jack Daniels straight. Bold, that was for sure. Mercy poured the drink into a glass with ice and slid it across the counter to the blonde. Most people mixed the whiskey, with some sort of cola, or maybe even a weird combination they invented themselves. She couldn't do more than a couple shots of it straight herself. She'd rather drink the more fruity drinks, or vodka. Although some people compare the taste of vodka to hairspray. She didn't want to know how they knew what hairspray tasted like. The blonde sitting at the bar across from her introduced himself as Maxxie, with a strong accent. British, maybe? It was attractive though. She hadn't noticed him watching her chest, but mostly it was because she was used to it. Especially at the bar. Guys watched her all the time, looking at places on her body that outside of the bar they would be scolded for looking at.

"Mercy," she replied, her name flowing over her lips. She could've made up one, but he probably wouldn't believe her name anyway. It sounded like a stripper name, although it wasn't. As much as the girl loved strip clubs, she had never been a stripper. The closest she'd ever come to was being a waitress at a strip club in her hometown. Another redhead walked up to the bar, her skirt almost too short for her frame, and ordered a Bloody Mary. Mercy mixed the drink, and slid it to the girl. The redhead plops down a ten, leaving a small tip after the price of the drink, and walked away. Mercy sighed and smiled softly at Maxxie. "What can you do?" she asked, slipping the change into her jeans. She'd count out her tips later. The thought of giving drunks actual glass to drink from always confused Mercy. Glass was a lot easier to break than plastic, but it kept up the appearance of being a bar rather than a college frat party.

So far tonight, the bartender hadn't noticed anyone looking for a fight. Some guys wandered into the bar, looking for a hot girl with a guy, just to provoke a fight. The girls loved it, and usually went home with the guy who wandered into the bar. It was dumb, in Mercy's opinion. Their boyfriends, or exes now, would usually go home alone, all bruised and battered, wondering why they couldn't find a faithful girlfriend. Exactly why Mercy never bothered with relationships. She just like the sex the men gave her. It pleased her, and she was usually gone by morning. She hated to stick around and lead the men on. Men and women drunkenly grinded against each other on the dance floor to the beat of the music. At least the majority of the people could dance when they were drunk. "So, what brings you to the bar?" Mercy asked, her attention turning back to Maxxie.
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Outfit;; here.
Words;; four ninety-three.
Tagged;; Maxxie;
Horse;; not in the bar, silly! [/size][/color]

[Maxxie Ivy Dane]

The familia sound of glass smoothly grading against wood raised Maxxie's attention a bit from his previous state of not really have anything to say. When it neared him from it's rally across the bar top, he grabbed ahold of it lightly and took a swig. It burned, but not nearly as much as it did the first time he had tried it, that was something he'd never forget. He ignored it, and glanced around the bar once more a bit more of an optimistic attitude toward everything. Whiskey was like the key that opened up a good time, it made him relax and realize hey everything's good. When the over view was over he looked at the blonde bartender again. Usually not attracted to other blondes he would have to admit that she was cute. Perhaps he'd already admitted that but hey what is a second time round, it not like he didn't have time.

Mercy was her name and he smiled a bit, leaning forward to finish off the rather large shot that for some reason he decided to split up. Mercy, nice, strange, attractive. Really he did like the name for those reasons but also noticed that it sounded like a stripper's name but what the hell, it worked. He noticed a spunky little red head come up to the bar, short skirt red plaid print and some tacky looking heels that looked painful to dance in... maybe she was the stripper. Maxxie smiled to himself with slight amusement. She ordered a bloody mary, he saw Mercy mix it and collect what was hers. When she smiled at him a little he decided to make his little commentary. "She looks like a slutty school girl, what's your age policy?" He meant it jokingly knowing perfectly well that they actually tried to regulate some of the people here.

"So what brings you to the bar?" she said smoothly. Maxxie held the glass playing with it unconsciously before he turned in the spinning chair looking for a moment then pointing out in to the crowd. There was his rather shit faced friend dancing with these two girls that frankly, Maxxie didn't exactly care for. She they might be nice people when sober but they defiantly we not attractive drunk. He looked back and Mercy and explained. "I'm here... with uh... that. Whatever that is." When he was done explaining he started sitting normally again not really too concerned with what his friend got in to by himself. Maxxie passed the sht glass back over to Mercy and smiled, fully this time. "Can I get another?"

[Mercy Abigail Harris]

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Mercy loved to watch the people at the bar. She couldn't get enough of them. Some of them were hot and she'd have them in a heartbeat. Others weren't so great, but if she was drunk enough she'd probably sleep with them too. The blonde at the bar was cute, and if she could convince him to go home with her, she was game for it. Besides, wasn't she the one slipping him all his drinks? If she could get him drunk enough, he'd be a sure thing. But then again, maybe he already was. She had watched him watching other girls and sometimes even guys. She'd just have to watch him a little longer and flirt a little more. Mercy wanted to take him home and have her way with him. She didn't want to go home empty-handed tonight, that was for sure. She needed some of that magical one-night loving.

Mercy gave Maxxie a smile as he checked out the red-head that came to the bar. Hell, Mercy wouldn't mind taking her home, either. The girl with long legs in a mini skirt, all dolled up with only this nightclub to go to. Poor thing. If things didn't work out with Maxxie, the redhead would be the sure way to go. She'd just have to keep sending her drinks all night, on the house. Drinks on the house weren't recorded and the owner hardly ever noticed drinks missing. Which is why it was so easy for her to drink on the job. Mercy really didn't need the alcohol to help her coerce someone into going home with her, but it sure helped. She looked at him again as he spoke, and she pondered his question. Age-policy? What was hers? "Eh, they just have to be legal and can't look old," she said, giving him a smirk. If that didn't tell him the type of girl she was, she didn't know what would.

If he didn't get the clue, she'd have to start making out with random chicks. Hell, she got paid for it, so who cared? "And I have a thing for school girls," she confessed. Mercy watched as he pointed to a guy dancing with two sluts who only looked good when the lights were out. Sure, they had nice bodies, but their faces were something else. "He looks, uhm, great," she said, and poured his request into a new glass. She grabbed his old one and set it below the counter with the rest of the dirty dishes. Mercy was glad she wasn't the one doing the dishes at the end of the night. Once she called last call, and the clock hit 2AM, she was out of there with the fling she had hooked up for the night.
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Outfit;; here.
Words;; four sixty-three.
Tagged;; Maxxie;
Horse;; not in the bar, silly! [/size][/color]