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Quinn

A Night On The Town (IC)

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Date: November 16th, 2010 (Tuesday). Evening.

Temp in the lower 20s. Rainy, no winds.

Infinity was pulsing tonight. The bass thrum of the music echoed, barely heard above the driving rain outside, where a lineup of die-hard party-goers were waiting in front of the bouncer to get in. No live deejay tonight, unfortunately, and the crowds were a bit thin, but in the most popular dance and nightclub on the Waterfront, that wasn't really saying much. The chrome and strobe lighting lit up the floors and contorted the shadows, changing men and women's skin to blue, then purple, then red, then yellow, while bodies gyrated on the dance floor and others sat in hushed booths discussing...things.

The bouncer checked off names as people went in, thumbing some by automatically while stopping others, inspecting, then using some arcane method to decide whether or not they would pass. Some walked gleefully through the doors, already tapping feet or swiveling hips, while others went trudging away, soaked to the bone for their trouble. The music was techno tonight, remixes and new mixes blaring from hidden speakers all over the place, churning out "phat beatz". The drinks were flowing too, lounge lizards sitting on stools offering a drink to any pretty thing that would stop and chat for a while. Some got the drinks thrown back in their faces. Others were a bit more successful.

Everything looked exactly like it should. A perfectly average night in the Infinity Nightclub...right.

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I need better earplugs.

Carrie had been let in the club fairly quickly that evening, and somehow she wished she had been made to wait outside. Though she liked some techno the remixes everyone in the room bouncing around too were just overly popularized techno with only half decent beats. She looked appropriate for the club in a rather short purple sleeveless dress that was being kept up by the miracle of two layers of double sided tape, and long black tights that kept her modest in case she had to bend over. Her hair she was straightened and framed her face with a soft rimmed black hat covering her forehead that matched the tubbing on her dress and on her arm dangled a median sized black handbag which had just enough room to carry her very tightly folded costume and her wallet without deforming in some odd way. Some light purple eye make up and lip liner finished the ensemble which made her feel uncomfortable exposed as she sat at the bar as she sipped her Roy Rogers.

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Carson had had doubts about the whole affair at first. He just wasn't part of the "club scene", as he put it. But, a couple of the other teachers at the College had practically begged him to go. They needed someone to play wingman, and maybe play "sober man". Carson, while not against drinking alcohol, rarely did so outside of his home. No matter, they said. He could get free soda at the bar!

So, he'd agreed to stop by Infinity right after work. That this gave him an excuse to be wearing his small backpack was nothing but good news.

He saw his friends standing near the front of the line. With a smile and a nod, he easily joined them. Any hurt feelings were quickly assuaged by his natural charm. The man at the door let them all in without a hitch.

Carson smiled as his friends made a beeline for the dance floor. The music was loud, but nothing too bad. Then again, he was perhaps a bit biased in that regard. He felt the unconscious urge to shape the sound, something he rarely did. He almost always generated his own generic sound waves. Nodding slightly with the beat, he made his way to the bar.

"I'll have a large Coca-Cola, please. I'm the designated sober man tonight."

A knowing wink at the bartender got him a nice discount on the drink. The tip he placed on the bar more than made up the difference in price.

Taking a seat on one of the stools, Carson turned and went about people-watching, keeping one eye on his two friends. Frank and Tim were good guys, but sometimes displayed impaired wisdom on a "party night".

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Her watch seemed to have slowed down because it said she had only been there for twenty minutes when it felt like ages. Letting out a breath she took her hand off her drink and started to look through her purse, as small as it was, the crowd of items made her take a minute to try and fish out what she was looking for and it was in that minute that a pair of guys had decided to make a trip to the bar, which was less of a trip and more of a race to one of the few available barstools that happened to be to her left side. Maybe it was the slight inhibriation, or maybe he was going to fast but the victors impact onto the bar shook it just enough to knock Carrie's drink over and let the contents drip off the bar and onto the skirt of her dress. If she hadn't of noticed them over the loud music before, the cold and unwelcome wetness certianly tipped her off to there presense.

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Frank and Tim were in enough of a rush they didn't notice what they'd done. They got their drinks ordered and were telling what they thought were funny stories, the noise and the press of people having masked Carrie's spill

Carson, on the other hand, noticed. He shook his head, downing the last bit of his Coke before walking over. He grabbed several napkins and offered them to Carrie with a wry grin.

When he spoke, Carrie might be shocked that he was clearly audible, and yet he didn't seem to be shouting. Must just be the distance, and strong vocal chords. Certainly she could still pick out the signs of a moderate Irish accent in his words.

"Sorry about that. I think it's hard to pick up on things in a place this loud and crowded. My name's Carson, by the way."

He gave her a winning smile, his teeth shining in the lighting of the club as he held the napkins out to her.

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Her face was sort of pinned into a deeper scowl then usual as she looked up to see that someone could actually talk in this place, and talk clearly at that. She didn't even have to reach to remove her ear plugs as he came towards her with some napkins. Taking a few seconds to glance at the guys who were probably responsible for spilling her drink and the guy who was saving her a trip to the disgusting pit that was a night club bathroom she let her face soften to a light smile.

"Thanks."

Taking the napkins she pressed them against the area then started to wipe up the spilled drink on the counter while setting the glass rightside up once more. At least it hadn't broken.

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Carson took to helping her mop up the spill on the counter. As he did, he continued to chat.

"Tell you what. I'll buy you a replacement drink. My treat. That sound alright to you, Miss...?"

He paused, clearly waiting for her to finish the sentence and give him her name. Only fair, since he'd given his!

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She wasn't really planning on talking to anyone one because the crowd she was waiting to stick up for information usually came much later, and two she could hardly hear anybody anyway. Though that particular problem didn't seem to apply to this person,

"Caroline, umm Carrie, a replacement sounds fine, a Roy Rogers."

She glanced at the two guys who had found a seat at the bar indulging in shots then to Carson,

"Designated Driver?"

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Carson nodded and turned to order her another Roy Rogers. He then turned back to face her as the bartender fixed the drink.

"Nice to meet you, Carrie. Sorry for the less than ideal trigger, I suppose. And I'm more just the Designated Sober Man. I'll keep an eye on them, help out if they get in trouble, and call the cab for them at the end of the night. I don't mind coming out to places like this, but I generally just take a drink or two at home, if that."

His friends, having finished their shots, had turned to go back to the dance floor. Frank saw Carson's current conversation, and gave him an exaggerated thumb's up. Carson made a shooing gesture, and the fellas were back to work dancing.

"Are you just here to enjoy the club, or are you meeting someone later?"

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Who could enjoy a club like this, it's just a random excuse for people to get hammered and dry hump on a crowded dance floor to new age techno dribble.

"I'm meeting someone here."

Though they don't know that yet.

She glanced around quietly,

"I sort of don't really come to places like this often."

Unless I'm going to kick someones face in afterwards.

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"Fair enough. It's not necessarily my usual scene, either. I mostly just came to keep an eye on Frank and Tim."

He shrugged.

"Are you more of a homebody, then?"

While there were obvious tones of flirting in his voice and conversation, Carson was being careful to keep it subtle. He was mostly just being polite, but Carrie was a nice-looking young lady, after all.

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"Non-drinker really, not even church wine. I sort of like a clear mind at all time."

Though I'll have to get some mock champagne to play drunk when the stoner crowd comes in.

She let out a light shrug as the drink was put in front of her and she sipped it lightly.

"In college this sort of made me the permenant designated sober person."

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Carson kept up his slight smile, though on the inside, he was more ambivalent.

'She seems distracted. I probably ought to leave her alone, lest I become "that guy".'

Taking a final swig of the last of his Coke, and laying more money on the counter, he stood from his stool, giving a slight bow to Carrie.

"Well, it was a pleasure speaking with you, Carrie. I'll leave you be, in anticipation of your friend's arrival. Have a good evening."

With that, he wandered off to the other end of the bar, going back to crowd-watching for the moment.

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