WHO:Emma Frost & Hawke WHEN: Recently WHERE: Rear End WHAT: Emma meets Hawke's dare and takes in the sights at a strip bar. RATING/WARNINGS: Lowish/some cussin' STATUS: Complete
Honestly, it didn’t take long for Emma to get bored enough to look up the address Hawke had given her, considering the day trip out of the office and away from the incessant questions from her new staff. Setting up another branch in Orange County had been a marvelous idea, until she actually had to do it. Her initial work was done and now it was done to training up the staff, moving files and branching out.
The boring stuff.
Which meant that Emma was taking the afternoon off, getting a driver to take her to the address, ignoring the way he spluttered a little before blushing and heading on his way. It did catch her interest, just why the address caused such a reaction. Naturally, she found out when he pulled up outside the place, Emma’s eyebrow raising just the same as her mouth curving into a smirk.
Wasn’t Mr Hawke just a charming little shit.
“Well, we’ll just have to impress, won’t we.” She didn’t expect an answer from her driver as she shrugged off her light blazer, unfastening the top three buttons on her blouse to rest just at the valley of her very perky breasts, her skirt was already hugging her ass and her heels did fabulous things for her legs. “Don’t wait, I’ll make my own way home.” Purse in hand, Emma slid out of the car to step into the stripclub, smirk firmly in place.
Ah, The Rear End. Such a lovely establishment of barely-clothed (sometimes frontal nudity, but you had to pay a little extra for those) women wrapping their flexible bodies around stainless steel poles, enticing clients in a look but touch only if you’re gonna slip a twenty in my g-string sort of way. Mostly men entered, the occasional lady for their own reasons (either with their fellow, or if you were Isabela, for the legitimate fondness of the female physique), but this particular blonde strutting like she very much owned the place?
Not what he saw every day.
It wasn’t terribly busy - the time would come, surely - and his bar was empty, the patrons that were in the club preferred to surround the stage for the entertainment they sought. Most of his orders were punched in by cocktail waitresses, and the only one prowling the floors was a wretched rainbow-haired twat with infected faceholes that really grinded his gears. And he was the only one tending the bar, in a black suit vest over a white-buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and don’t ask about the bow tie, he was not wearing that bloody thing.
He was the only one on staff with a glorious, glorious beard. Neatly combed and maintained so he actually wouldn’t look terrifyingly homeless. Hawke’s stare raked the lines of her body in the utmost appreciative way - and eventually made proper eye contact. “Oh, do tell me that you’re that fuzzy teddybear. If not then I apologize for starting a potentially awkward conversation.”
Emma was in no way shy, that had been worked out of her long ago, at Sebastian’s side where she perfected the art of maintaining the ice queen persona for her own safety. She knew what she looked like, she paid good money to look that way too; personal trainers, cosmetic surgery, hair treatments, the array of creams and peels. Emma was a decadent creature and she was very well aware of it.
Her strut towards the bar even drew a few of the patrons stares away from the semi-nude girls on the stage, something Emma knew would be moderately infuriating as she perched her perky ass on a stool at the bar, all but grinning at Hawke’s comment. “Now, I thought we agreed you didn’t have enough information to make that assumption.”
But he had not been lying about that darling beard, or just how rough this little hole in the wall was. “How about you get the lady a vodka martini? Or am I going to be sipping beer from the bottle?” Elbows on the bar, Emma made a point of leaning forward, well aware that her breast were almost sitting on the bar.
“We’ll chalk it up to wishful thinking,” he chuckled, sliding a beverage napkin before her. “But I can very well get the lady a vodka martini - only the best.” A miracle she’d come in. He honestly didn’t think a business woman of her stature would enter a place like this (Hawke was also a bit of a shameless prankster), but color him pleasantly surprised. She did have bite to her after all, though he suppose it came with the territory of having a name like Frost.
Hawke selected top shelf vodka - he didn’t think she’d settle for anything less - mixed it with vermouth, a splash of olive juice, shook it in the stainless steel mixer until his fingers felt like icicles and then poured it into a chilled martini glass.
Once the drink situation was settled, he let his arms rest against the bartop, leaning in. The view was splendid, by the way, but he wouldn’t let his stare remain glued to her bosom. Her eyes were lovely too, let’s focus on that. “Surprise, by the way. You’re absolutely shameless, aren’t you? Here I thought you’d go the other way at the sight of this place.”
Drawing the drink towards her with her fingertips, Emma ran a manicured nail over the rim, before lifting it for a slow sip. She could recall her driver at any time, she didn't need to worry about anything but her already loose morals. “Honestly, a little questionable entertainment doesn't worry me any.” Least of all when she’d been one of those girls, a distant memory now.
“One day, you should look up the Black King in Los Angeles.” Sebastian continued to run it and there was a very questionable painting of her in very little clothing.
“You're quite the devilish one, aren't you?” At least the assumption that she was too high class for this led her to believe he was toying with her.
“I’ve an odd sense of humor,” Hawke winked. “Nothing personal, love, but you could also say it was a test. You passed.” Company that indulged in a bit of questionable entertainment - stripclub or not - was good company to have by his standards. “Though you’ll have to enlighten me on this Black King thing, as I’m still assimilating into your American culture.”
And how was it relevant to the aforementioned questionable entertainment? This ought to be good. Considering business was a graveyard at the moment, Miss Frost here would be his entertainment for the moment being. Ruthless woman metaphorically castrating the patriarchy - she must be riddled with all sorts of stories, and he was genuinely interested in holding a conversation. A shame he couldn’t share a drink with her.
A test, to see if she could keep up with the likes of him? Emma wasn’t one for taking things without a fight afterall. “Congratulations to me then.” She gave herself a salute, taking a drink from her glass before very delicately placing it on the napkin again.
“The Black King is a very classy establishment in LA. Not the glitzy, fake area, the well walked locals known place. It’s four floors of decadence and debauchery.” And all so very fun. Shaw started it as little more than this sort of place; poles and stages and a little section for a lapdance or two. Until Emma brought him the means to make it so much more. She’d done some decidedly naughty things at Shaw’s side, but the payoff meant she could leave that mostly in her past.
“It’s a little more high class than this darling little place.” A glance towards the stage had Emma raising an eyebrow. Honestly, girls these days just didn’t take the effort.
“And you know this because…?” Hawke quirked a brow, fingers drumming against the bartop. “You were a regular of sorts?” He hadn’t pegged her for the type, but good for her! Ladies should be able to enjoy four floors of decadence and debauchery as much as any other bloke with a set of dick n’ balls. Though to be fair it didn’t take much to be of a higher class than this place. Even if Midna strived for improvement - and it was getting better - but she was handed a tough project, all while juggling school things and some eccentric court thing. What a precious little engine that just kept going.
He reached over, finger booping her nose, grinning crookedly. “Though despite the glitz and glam praise you shower on that palace of a club, this place has the most delectable chicken fingers you’ll ever have. Better than what the Black King serves, I’m sure.” Probably because it was fried in bacon grease but who cared? What other food would pair well with a lapdance??
None other, that’s what.
“Of sorts.” She was very regular, almost every night regular, and requested by her stage name more than any other woman there, even after she moved up and away from the seedier methods of gaining Sebastian’s information.
In a very unbecoming move, Emma snorted just a little at the boop to her nose, settling a little easier at the bar with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve eaten chicken wings in… years.” At least that, since college probably, and that was such a while ago that it was hard to remember just what a good chicken wing was. “I suppose I’ll just have to judge for myself how good they are, hmm?”
What the hell, she was in a strip bar, with a strange charming man pouring her drinks, she could indulge a little in some greasy food, it wouldn’t kill her diet just this once. “So, I’ll have another martini and some of those infamous chicken wings.” Why the hell not indeed.
“Look at you living dangerously,” he remarked, the corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. With a figure like that it was safe to assume she didn’t shovel grease and butter into her mouth on a constant basis (there were eventual health risks, of course), but at the very least she didn’t reject the concept of meat. How those vegetarians did it was beyond him; they were not of this world.
Hawke did all the motions to prepare that for her highness, of course. Order put in, extra napkins procured (grease meant mess), and he concocted another mix of the vodka delicacy to pour into a fresh glass. The utmost attention to the only patron of this sad little bar. Charm helped when it came to tips, too. All that rent and tuition to throw his money at. It was spent even before he earned it. Sigh. “Considering you were a regular at the aforementioned club, would it be safe to assume you’re looking for one closer to frequent?” Valid question to him. As much of a pleasant surprise as it was, she really didn’t come across at the type - yet he’d just met her, so he could be completely wrong. “Or do you just like showing up around these parts to prove you're prettier than the girls on stage?”
She was prettier than the girls on stage, and Emma would’ve pointed that out any other time, and she did watch her figure, she always had. It came from being in a family such as hers, where one small flaw was exploited in ways that were known to damage. Her appearance had always been a well aimed weapon of her father’s. Emma took great pride in just how she looked.
But even ice queens liked a little bit of grease from time to time.
“Well, I am used to far more upscale places,” places with high end wallpaper, doormen, chandeliers and champagne, “but if these wings are as good as you say.” Emma just offered a small smirk, well aware that the wings would not be a reason to frequent a stripclub in Orange County. Then again, Emma did like the less obvious of places to spend her time, and she fully understood the plight of the girls on the stage at times. “I’m sure that could add to the perks of being a regular.”
“Burger King’s more upscale than this,” he scoffed, a huff of a chuckle. Though he was the type to shamelessly hang around a club meant for watching women remove clothes if the food was good enough. The show would just be a perk. Hawke had simple tastes, did his best to keep his life fairly uncomplicated to the best of his ability, and overall had no interesting secrets. He probably never would (except for maybe when he realizes he’s a damned maleficarum, but dreams of blood magic hadn’t arrived quite yet).
It didn’t take long for the basket of battered and fried deliciousness to ring up. The bar was connected to a very small serving window leading into the kitchen - he pulled it from there and set it before her, glistening in spicy sauce and piping hot. “Perks also including seeing my charming face, of course. Not that I have much of a social life outside these walls.” He made time sometimes, but it wasn’t often. Soon he’d been transitioning to a different sort of line of work (the kind that involved danger and the potential of getting shot in the arse, thank you, Wisdom), but he’d only done a contract here and there. Still getting a feel for it and all.
Opting to ditch the delicate approach, Emma smirked as she picked through the basket of wings to select one to start with, her fingertips already getting sticky and messy. “Well, that is absolutely a perk, isn’t it?” He was certainly cocky, but then it was probably valid. Charming face and all. “Sometimes the company does make all the difference.”
Although there wasn’t much that could really make this place ‘upscale’, the talent on stage (or simply the attractiveness of the girls and cost of a lap dance) and service at the bar were really all that was needed in a strip club.
She had, naturally, had better food, but then it wasn’t the quality of the food he boasted and simply that the wings were probably the best wings she’d had -the fact that she rarely ate wings probably assisted in that one too. Picking at the bone with a now very messy manicure, Emma smirked slightly as she licked some of the sauce from her thumb. “I think next time I’ll need to sample a dance, just to be sure this darling little place is worth frequenting.”
Wings were messy affairs, weren’t they? But look at Miss Frost here, tackling it like a true champ despite the sauce getting underneath those perfectly filed nails of hers. “I’ll recommend someone for you,” Hawke grinned, both dimples showing. “Considering part of my time consists of watching when I’m bored, I think I know one or two you might enjoy.”
Alas, he couldn’t share a drink with her but he pulled the spritz gun out, spraying himself a glass of carbonated Sprite. “Cheers, love. To having you enter this bloody place like you own it. We could use more regulars of your calibre, I’d say. Painlessly easy on the eyes.”
Oh, Emma didn’t doubt that at all, raising her glass in his little toast to her, she did like toasts to her after all. “I’ll be sure to ask for your expertise. We wouldn’t want all that boredom to go to waste, would we?” Although he likely had a point, and Emma wouldn’t bring up the fact that she tended to tip with hundred dollar bills just yet.
At the very least it was a decidedly fun new place to hang out. At the most she may have found a new debauchery to indulge in. “And I’m sure you’ll have many tips to give.”