The Scarlet Room (Rania Lark x Gravez)

[Rania Lark]

The city was beginning to awaken for its weekly evening of vice and debauchery. The streetlights dimly lighting the downtown streets were quickly eclipsed by the spotlights and neon signs of the various clubs and bars catering to all whims of whatever patrons could ask for. Bass pumped loudly from dance clubs while piano music emanated pleasantly from a pianist in a classy, leather boothed social club. Between the extremes was an eclectic mix of pubs, bars and clubs that attracted vastly different audiences with one thing in common; the desire to have fun. And Saturday night was the busiest night for anyone’s version of fun.

The Scarlet Room was one such bar. A mixture of a bar and a club, it catered to a higher end clientele with plush semi-circular booths dotting the black walls. The crimson leather coating the cushions an homage to the name. A large bar took up an entire wall of the building, it’s counter a sparkling black quartz that reflected the dim lights like a night sky was trapped within it. The dark wooden structure was polished to a shine and the red leather low backed stools lined the entire length of it. Behind the bar, the wall was packed full of various bottles of liquor in varying levels of emptiness while delicate glasses were stored beneath the counter. On the other side of the building, a disco ball spun on the ceiling while a DJ spun a mixture of EDM and techno for the various go-go dancers and patrons that found it much more entertaining to dance rather than sit and chat at the bar.

It was midnight on that particular Saturday and Blythe was working behind the bar. She had been a bartender at The Scarlet Room for the better part of two years and was by far the best the club had. And her sultry looks made her the most popular among the patrons. This night she was wearing a white, button down shirt with the buttons undone to reveal a sultry lace bra and pushed them up on her chest so they protruded spherically when she bent over to take orders from patrons or when she needed to scoop ice up from the metal bin. The white shirt was tucked into a pair of tight, black leather pants that hugged the curves of her hips, pulling slightly as if they were almost a touch too small for her. She wore a pair of comfortable ankle boots with a slight heel on her feet.

Blythe’s hair was curled into soft waves and parted to the side, framing her face. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to tilt upwards as if she was smiling permanently with them while her lips were full and painted with a purply-pink lip gloss. She moved gracefully along the bar, leaning over it to get orders over the loud music from the dancefloor. Making her way down the bar, she stopped at a man sitting near the end. Leaning over in an almost practiced to perfection move, she smiled politely and motioned towards herself, indicating that he needed to lean in.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, her voice friendly with a slight uptick to it that gave her a slight air of flirtiness, a standard for any female bartender to get more tips.

 

[Gravez]

In the Scarlet Room, at midnight, on a Saturday, Magnus had snorted about three lines of coke, drank about three drinks, and chatted his way halfway through the club when she approached him. One look at those eyes, those pouty lips, her figure, and there was one answer to her question. You.

Though, he had tact, so he didn't say it. His light blue eyes turned to look at her. He showed her his stubble, a broad jaw, and short blonde hair where not a single strand looked out of place. Not out of place, also, was his outfit, which quickly established him as one of those upper-scale clientele. His black Armani suit, snake skin, leather shoes, and tight-fitting black breeches all looked expensive. He smelled like lavender and vanilla.

Those blue eyes swept right over her, from head to toe, not shy at all in their intent or their contemplation. A million-dollar smile formed right above his immaculate jawline, not a single spot of yellow on any tooth. "Well, hello, there." The fact he hadn't seen her earlier already filled his eyes with surprise, considering if he had, he would have been on her like a fly-on honey. "I suppose you is not a valid answer." He looked thoughtful, scrunching his eyebrows together and tilting his head to the side. Considering the fact she worked in a club like this, looked like her, he assumed she'd heard it all before. So many men had thrown awful pickup lines at her day in and day out.

He did, however, have something separating him from the rest. He was handsome, his gravelly voice sounded enough to shake bones, and the golden Rolex on his arm probably cost as much as a house. "I'll take a Macallan. Neat. And a... Name. " Having tilted her body towards her, his eyes locked with hers, he aimed his body away from her again, looking away as if suddenly there was something else holding his attention. There wasn't anything that held his attention better than a pretty woman, but pride and all prevented him from being too forward.

 

[Rania Lark]

Blythe smiled at the man as she caught his attention, her lips curling slightly with a flirty coyness. She wasn’t unaware of the labels that adorned his body and her charm was an almost foolproof method to a higher tip (in addition to her looks of course). When his gaze began to descend over her body, meticulously dressed to hug and emphasize each and every curve, she made no motion of embarrassment or nervousness. She was used to it. Men like him were always doing the elevator look with all the girls behind the bar on any given night. It wasn’t unusual and neither was his corny joke.


But Blythe’s reaction was calculated and rehearsed. Pointing her finger at him, she smirked playfully at him. “That’s a good one,” she responded, her voice filled with a serviceable kindness possessed by anyone who worked for tips. Straightening up, she placed her hands on the lower counter behind the bar as her own cerulean blue eyes met his and if she didn’t know any better, she could swear there was a tiny spark that jumped between them.


His order came within seconds after the pick up line before he also asked her name. Turning around, she pulled the ornate bottle of whiskey off the top shelf of the bar along with a glass tumbler from beneath the bar. Placing the glass on top of the bar in front of the man, she filled it with the appropriate amount of amber liquid before placing the bottle back behind her and sliding the glass across to him.


“Blythe,” she responded, offering him her name while leaning over the bar, just as he turned away from her. “But my name isn’t free. How about you tell me yours?”

 

[Gravez]

"You're just saying that because I'm handsome aren't you?" Magnus batted right back, a small laugh following. Self-awareness was a capability he possessed sometimes. It was diminished by the cocaine of course, feeling more like a god than anything else, tanned skin slightly paler than usual, his heart thumping fast in his chest. The blue of her eyes, the playfulness, and the ease which she handled with him all had him feel a slight pull to her, cocaine induced arousal feeling like euphoria without even being too powerful.

He looked at the expensive glass curiously. "This shit is too expensive, even for me. Why don't I buy you a glass too? I'm sure people buy you drinks all the time, but have you ever tried Macallan?" He offered her a temptation that seemed laced with more, the question coming out with a smile. Pretentious about his whiskey, usually he was a simple man who liked simple things but cheap whiskey wasn't even worth drinking.

"Blythe," he repeated her name with another smile. There was something about the way her name sounded when it came off his lips. "A pretty name for a pretty face." He said, with a sly smile. "Magnus Redd. Or Redd. Like the crayon. If you'd like." He smiled in a way that searched for a laugh. Corny jokes could be less corny when told by those with enough charm.

"So, Miss Blythe... Is bartending what you want to do with your life? Did you ever have any dreams?" The question seemed strange and out of place, the easy question coming. Magnus appeared to be trying to keep her attention on him instead of anyone else, moving with the movement of her eyes as soon as their eyes met. He was an attention whore, after all, and attention whores never could get enough attention.

 

[Rania Lark]

Blythe smiled as the man wittily responded to her shooting down his corny pick up line. Turning around, she returned the bottle back to the shelf behind the bar, the curve of her spine leading to the gentle swelling of her backside accentuated by the tight leather pants she wore as he looked at his own glass, offering to buy her one to join him.


“Sure, darling,” she responded with a smile, quickly putting in the cost of a second glass of the top shelf liquor into the bar’s point of sale system and onto his tab. Turning back she grabs the bottle and a second glass before pouring herself the same amount, “People do but I haven’t tried Macallan yet.” She raised her own glass towards him in thanks before taking a sip of it, the smooth alcohol coating her throat before flowing down into her stomach. Laying the glass back down, her blue eyes seemed to have an ethereal glow in the dim lights of the bar as he repeated her name back to her.


“Well, it is nice to meet you Magnus, or Redd. Or maybe I should just call you Crayon,” she said with a coy smirk and a joking laugh. Their repertoire was definitely leaning towards the flirty side as the spark between them seemed to burn a little brighter. He was definitely a handsome man and his manners were something that Blythe found rare within the normally raucous bar. Turning towards another patron, she smiled at them and began to lean forward just as Magnus continued their conversation, pulling her attention back towards him.


“Well, I went to school to become a teacher but learned very quickly you can’t live on a teacher’s salary in this city,” she told him with a friendly smile, “And bartending pays well, especially with such ‘friendly’ patrons.” She winked at him as the double meaning of the term friendly indicated that she knew his wealth from his looks.