"Julian," he replied, knocking back the shot without so much as a wince. The liquor started out sweet before dissolving into a bitter taste on the tongue - he was all too aware of how quickly that bitterness could dissolve in the wake of inebriation, and a smirk lighted on his features. "Julian Veilleux. I own CASKET." He let the name be, assured of its own weight and reputation. Even if this Michael was new to the area, Julian was assured that he would quickly become aware of his club and its offerings.
"What brings you to our beautiful Newport Beach?" He detected a tone not unlike the aftertaste of the absinthe -- one that stated Michael was less than pleased to be away from the hectic nature of Hollywood. There was certainly a possibility here for similarities to align in many ways, but Julian was still uncertain whether it would be a positive or a negative. He'd never done well against people of his own ilk, what with the need to dominate clashing, but there was always the off chance that he was wrong and could be convinced to behave. That chance was always slim, as Julian could recall. Still, his curiosity won out, pushing him to pry into the man -- if he was like Julian, undoubtedly he'd be willing to be read like a book.