Warren, Gabriel and a Brooklyn Basement

[x-velocidad.livejournal.com]

Warren and Gabriel run into each other at a grungy, punky Brooklyn basement nightclub, where Gabriel gets to feel superior for a change.

I've made a huge mistake.

When Thomas Scully, a wealthy investment banker had mentioned his incredibly talented daughter (who happened to also be gorgeous, naturally), Warren's interest had been piqued. For the last few months, he'd been trying to get Scully to partner in a few trades with no luck. It didn't help that the man was as dull as dish water, and had a face to match, but a daughter -- Warren could work with that.

Turned out said daughter had a gig at some club. The details weren't important at the time. What was important was that if Warren went to this concert, he'd be able to finally have something to talk to the man about.

Arriving at the club though, he realized very quickly that he was under prepared and over dressed. When Scully had said the band was Hell Itself, he thought it was a description. He wasn't expecting to see a group called Hell Itself, being opened by Hinx with Punx...Hulk with Puck...whatever.

Warren gingerly entered the club, mentally chastising himself for not bringing any drugs. Every surface looked to be crawling with disease, as well as half the occupants. This was going to be a long night.

For all his love of seedy, dark places, Gabriel made a point only to drink from bottles and cans when he came here. Even the plastic cups had a hint of grime about them, as if the dirty floor mixed with the sweaty club smell to leave a residue on every surface. It wasn't something he totally minded, except when it touched his lips.

With a PBR tallboy in hand (free, since bartenders looked out for each other), he turned his back to the bar and scanned the room. It had been a while since he'd been to this particular Brooklyn establishment, and it was nice being somewhere he could feel comfortable in skinny jeans and a black tank top, his tattoos on full display with no fear of reproval. Salem Center this was not.

That's why the suit stood out, even worse than it might have on someone that tall at any other city music venue. The disdain being directed at Warren was practically palpable, and had Gabriel not been so intent on spending just one night in his old life, he might have crossed the room to rescue him. Instead, he met the man's eyes, smirked and took a sip from the can.

The waitresses weren't even attractive, Warren thought mournfully as he tried to weigh the pros and cons of being there. Sure, he might stand to make money, but at what cost?

With a shudder, he picked up his beer bottle and tried to lean next to a wall. His dry cleaner would be amply rewarded for cleaning this filth. Hand in his pocket, he looked around the room, doing his best to ignore the 'what the fuck' looks he was getting. Money didn't talk in a place like this, which was a pity. It looked like it could use a little.

Catching the eye of a patron, he was startled to see that he looked familiar. It seemed no matter where he went, he was sure to bump into a mansionite. Raising his bottle in a mock salute, he took a drink, doing his best to stomach it. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd come this far, he would've walked out but no -- he was committed, damnit.

And then the music started and he sorely regretted his resolve.

The crowd started to sway and thrash as the opening act played, and Gabriel glanced toward the stage, more amused than entertained. The band was a queercore-inspired pop-punk outlet with a mixed track record, and he not once been roommates with the bassist, he never would have sought them out. Still, they put on a reliably good show, and the crowd was enthused.

Except for one lone exception. Despite his best efforts, Gabriel's eyes kept being drawn to the bewildered look on Warren's face, maybe because it was more engaging than the show itself. "Oh fine," he muttered. He turned to the bartender, held up two fingers and downed the rest of his beer while he waited for a second.

Half a song later, he appeared next to Warren's side and elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Here," he shouted over a guitar solo. "Drink up."

Warren turned to Gabriel, incredulous look on his face. "This is music?," he asked loudly, completely confused. Taking the beer with a thankful nod, he sighed. "No amount of alcohol will convince me of that, but I appreciate the beer."

Was all this really worth a potentially pretty face? The daughter did have Scully wrapped around her finger...and he really did want that trade....

"Are you here because you want to be?" Warren tried not to sound rude, but he was having trouble trying to fathom this.

"Uh, yeah." Gabriel stared at Warren as if he'd asked a stupid question. Because he had. "God, seriously? Man, who goes places they don't want to be?" The song ended, and the requisite hooting followed. "I'm young. Bars like this, music this loud? That's why people come to New York."

A girl with an eyebrow piercing elbowed past them, splashing a little rum and Coke on them as she turned to eye Warren. She looked from him to Gabriel and just raised an eyebrow before moving toward the stage.

"Please tell me," Gabriel said, eyeing her as she walked away, "you can lose the suit."

"Not really," Warren admitted, finishing his beer. "I have a cocktail thing in an hour with some of my father's business partners. I came here right from a different meeting, and to be honest, I don't know if I own anything that isn't business attire." He quirked an eyebrow. "Am I embarrassing you?"

"Well, no..." Gabriel shrugged before using his beer as an avoidance technique. "Just – like, I don't know. You came to a place like this, wearing that, and it's just... weird." Standing next to Warren, Gabriel felt so self-conscious of how grungy and not put-together he looked, which defeated the purpose of being here in the first place. "Anyway, I just thought we could, like, dress you down a bit."

Warren shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions, as long as no pictures are taken.". A pause. "And a certain something is taken into consideration." He moved his shoulders for good measure.

There was a very good reason Warren dressed in layers. As flexible as his wings were, it was still hard to fully hide a harness. True, he could always pass it off as a gun halter, but that would be even less welcome than Prada.

"Oh. Yeah." Gabriel tilted his head, studying Warren's behavior and shrugged. "Might be beyond help. Sorry, dude." The band moved into another song, a kind of angry guitar onslaught that blurred at the edges. Gabriel watched as his friend's fingers moved up and down the bass. He watched the band, feeling the music, then turned back to Warren. "Hey." He finally said. "Why are you even here?"

Warren sighed. He'd been asking himself the same question. "Would you believe business?" This was followed by a sharp laugh and a firm shake of his head. "I don't even believe that, never mind. The singer in the next band is the daughter of a business partner and I clearly tuned out when it was explained that she was a metal singer. Punk. Whatever this noise is." He smiled ruefully. "This, my friend, is why you don't make decisions with your cock."

"Uh, no," Gabriel couldn't help the side eye that appeared. "That is why you don't make decisions with your cock. Mine has yet to lead me too astray, and it has the good sense to Google before it leaves the house." He didn't bother to hide the trace amount of contempt he had, because it's not like Warren was. "Sorry that you feel like you're slumming it, but you're here. Might as well lean the fuck in."

Warren looked at Gabriel with a vaguely amused look. "I'm sorry, did I invite you to come stand with me? Because no one is forcing you. I am happy to stand out all by myself." This wasn't exactly true. If Gabriel hadn't come over, Warren would have left already, but damned if he'd let on to that now.

"Dude, fine." Gabriel shrugged, glancing back at the bar to see if there was still a space where he could wedge himself in. "Forgive me for trying to ease you into the seedy underbelly of New York. Where people can afford drinks, let their hair down and just be people." He figured the implications were obvious.

And that earned Gabriel an incredulous stare. "I'm not people?" Warren stood up straighter, almost feeling himself bristle at that comment. "Am I not allowed to be here because I can afford to take a shower?"

"Don't be an asshole." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

Warren returned his attention to the stage, jaw clenching slightly. He hated not fitting in. "So what do you mean then?"

"Just stop being so..." Gabriel gestured from Warren's head to his toes. "You know, 'you.' And be more you." Gabriel took a sip from his beer, his head turning back to the stage. "And, you know," he added with a grin, "please don't throw your millions of dollars at this land to turn it into a luxury condo building, or whatever it is rich people do."

Warren caught himself before he explained that it would be a waste of money to try to modernize this location but he bit his tongue. "I'll hold back," he responded dryly. Finishing his beer, he put his bottle down and gave a wry smile. "I have to agree with you though -- I don't belong here, nor do I want to. Thank you for the beer and I'll see you around."

He'd find a different way to get to Scully.

"I'm sure," Gabriel nodded. He wasn't, but if he never crossed paths with Warren again, he figured he'd be fine with it. "Good luck with your... business thing."