Who: S. Ellery and J. Warda What: Drinks and women Where: Jazz Alley When: One night this week Warnings: Possibly language, possibly not
Jazz Alley was the sort of club where the red lights could barely cut through the smoke in the air, where the wood floorboards were so soaked with whiskey and gin that the smell stayed thick on your boots long after you'd left. Silas liked the place, reminiscent of an old Prohibition speakeasy like it was, and he frequented it regularly. The clientele was dangerous, just this side of legal, and the morals were as loose and slow as the old jazz that played from the vintage jukebox in the corner.
On this particular night, he had just finished cleaning up at a bar across town, and he was in the mood for something dangerous and something boozy, not necessarily in that order. He made his way to the bar, slipping off the worn, brown leather coat he wore and asking the bartender for a whiskey sour; a sweet indulgence. The sharp v-neck of his white t-shirt revealed a tattoo of five notched tally marks, clearly rudimentary.
Dream a Little Dream of Me began to play on the jukebox as the bartender placed the whiskey sour on the bar, and Silas turned to watch the couples filtering onto the makeshift dance floor. This club was entirely human, entirely devoid of Creations, and entirely equal opportunity when it came to gender, as evidenced by the couples swaying to the slow song; Silas liked that about it too. It was simple. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure.
He pulled a pack of Lambert & Butler's out from his jacket pocket, and he lit one as he watched the crowd. With any luck, he'd have some simple pleasure to take home himself this evening. He was counting on it.