A Familiar Face? [achromatic]

'You have a reputation to uphold these days,' he could still hear Rhiannon's irritated voice in his head. 'Lay off me, will you?' he'd snap back. He loved his little sister, he really did, but god, sometimes she could be such a pain in the ass. She had that internal need to be such a control freak at all times, and sometimes it meant even him. Of course, she was right. He wasn't just some punk down in the docks loading ships for traders anymore, and he certainly wasn't one of the thousands of factory workers back in the old days.

Then again, if he owned a bar, didn't that mean he should be enjoying places that served alcohol? He had snapped back that she was well known for her fondness for the bootleg moonshine back in the day, which had resulted in another argument, but this decade, alcohol was legal and he intended to take advantage of it as much as possible. Desire Lounge was a place that was well talked about in the circles. The kind of exclusive space that seemed to radiate a certain mystery to it, according to a patron of his that had recently visited. She said it was something like a private club, where certain rooms were exclusive to the most elite of the elite.

Of course, that had piqued the man's curiosity, so here he was, dressed in the strange-yet-extravagant way he was used to dressing, here to have a good time and perhaps pick up a few ideas here and there too. The DJ was good, he could tell the people were really vibing with the music. The man immediately headed over to the bar; what was the point of investigating if he wasn't at least trying the drinks? Often, drinks at clubs were subpar to the ones at cocktail bars, but still, they were worth a try.

"A G&T please," he waved at the bartender, who gave him a faint nod. If a place couldn't make a decent G&T, he'd have no hope for the other drinks, that was for sure. He glanced around, his eyes meeting a face that looked vaguely familiar. He squinted, as if trying to get a better look.

Okay, that was weird. Hywel wasn't sure if he had ever met this man, but for some reason, he felt the face was...familiar somehow. Of course, the man could blame it on his absolutely horrible memory, or the fact that he really didn't put much effort into memorizing names and faces these days–how could he possibly remember everyone from the last hundred or so years?–but he was pretty sure that the man he was staring at was someone he could've known.

Then again, even if it wasn't, well, he wasn't bad looking either. Well-dressed, with a daiquiri in hand; that probably meant he was a man of decent taste or at least a decent conversation. He glanced to the bar once again to see that his gin and tonic was done, and not in one of those flimsy plastic cups they usually had at the nearest gay club or anything. Even with the thin slice of cucumber inside. Hm, not bad for a club.

Well, he wasn't going to get anywhere by just lounging by the bar, and Hywel was never a man too shy to start a conversation. Sauntering over to the other bar, his disinterested gaze seemed to scan the space, before landing on the demon, masking his curiosity, with a small smirk.

"I'm guessing you're a people-watcher too, huh?" he commented, his eyes fixated on Tucker, head tilted slightly to the side, "–you look like you know this place pretty well."

Hywel laughed at the other man's comment. Oh, that he could relate to, even if he'd never say it out loud. Living for more than a century could do that to anyone; how many false-lovers and one-night-stands had he partaken in? It was more difficult back then, in the wars and the ignorances of men under the guise of religion, but these days, all people wanted was sex, drugs, and a good time, and if they offered, Hywel certainly indulged.

"A man who knows what he's here for," he remarked, amused, "I can respect that, at least. Most people act like they're here to meet friends or just–" he raised his hands in a mocking apostrophe, "have a good time,' but they're not really being honest, are they?" He wagged his brows playfully.

"Mm, let's just say I'm here for a bit of market research," he replied with humor in his expression, "I heard a lot about this place; someone told me it was the new Studio54 of the city, and I guess I had to check it out. Met someone who called it the 'Berghain of New York City' or something, whatever that means." His fake German accent wasn't all that great.

"Guess I just wanted to know what the hottest new club in New York City had to offer."

"Does it?" he mused, taking another sip of his gin and tonic. This man certainly knew about the club, didn't he? Hywel wondered if he was accidentally speaking to an owner, or at least someone who worked here. A recruiter? This man certainly didn't seem like one.

He had been to many clubs in the world too; being a jet setter wasn't always a thing for him but in the recent years, it had certainly been easier. While he hadn't had the guts to go back to his hometown, he certainly found many stops along the way, and at this rate, not a lot surprised him anymore. A hundred or so years would do that to anyone, he supposed.

"So what exactly does this place have to offer?" he smirked, raising a single brow at the other man, "you're being very cryptic, you know. Mind giving a newbie a tour around the place?"

Up and coming artists and great dancers were interesting, but Hywel was certain there had to be more. There were plenty of clubs that offered that kind of thing really. Nothing in New York was all that original, after all; he had lived here long enough to really notice that trends simply came in and out. Every thirty or so years, what was popular back then would be popular once more; it was just reinterpretations of things in new ways. It wasn't a bad way of doing life, but trends were repetitive.

Not to mention, when normal clubs meant dancers, they often meant women, and Hywel clearly wasn't interested in them. As openly gay as New York City brilliantly was, he just wasn't sure all of them catered to his tastes. He wasn't picky, but if he was paying, he had particular tastes.

"I guess for me it depends what kind of dancers you have," he mused, a hand to his lips in thought, "I don't suppose you cater to more...unique tastes? Or perhaps to the other gender? I suppose most bars don't." His eyes were bright, shining in curiosity after all. "–and the downstairs area, is that the mysterious bit that people keep hinting at? Just how exclusive is the place anyway?"

His teeth met his lower lip in a half-smirk, eyes looking at Tucker, as if trying to study him for a bit, "–and what's the price for entry?"

Hywel did love a challenge. He hated to admit it, but when someone asked something like that, it always revived a little bit of his competitive streak. He hated losing out, and while he was certain he must've matured at least a little more these years, it had been a while since he had actually felt like a living, breathing adult. That only meant that he was probably more reckless these days than he was in his youth.

A chuckle left his mouth. "I suppose I'll have to check it out," he mused, before glancing to the stage where some of the dancers were making waves with their moves. The space was impressive, and the energy in the room was off the rails, but he was curious about what the other man meant by money not being the usual form of payment.

"Are you asking for a blowjob or are you asking for government secrets?" he joked, raising a brow at Tucker, "I'm not sure I know what you mean by what I have to offer." He had an inkling that this man knew more and in return, wanted more than a simple business transaction, but he feigned innocence to whatever the man wanted.

Hywel let out a laugh. Selling their souls to get into a party? That had to be a joke, right? He knew this generation of young people had a habit of making hyperboles, but when he glanced at Tucker, he didn't seem like the type to just joke about it. Selling government secrets to get into an exclusive party? That was some whole other underground New York elite sort of thing he'd see a couple years later on a documentary series.

A snort left his mouth, blinking at the man. "You're being serious," he realized, his lips twitching into a smirk, that faded into a sort of thoughtful expression. He couldn't quite say he had a soul anymore; he wasn't even sure himself, after all, if he couldn't die he couldn't have a soul, right? How much was a soul even worth anyway?

"I feel like it's sort of a weird deal though, I mean, I don't even know what I'm about to get in return," he questioned, "if I offer something to you, how do I know I'm not getting ripped off?"

He bit his lip, his eyes gazing over at Tucker. "I'm sure I'll find something to offer, but I do want to know exactly what I'm going to get in return."