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In an alcove tucked away on the upper level of the club, a tall, cloaked man regarded the almost pathetically comic scene at the bar down below. The three main players in that incident were all of great interest to this man. His name was Joseph Locke. He was rather wealthy, and eccentric to boot, but then again, all wealthy people are eccentric to some degree. Locke was, by chance, profoundly interested in the occult and the supernatural in general. Truth be told, he knew that realm all too well, a grim reminder of a tragic past, one he mostly preferred to keep quiet about. He gently swirled a shot glass of whiskey that he downed in one swift motion, then reached into his cloak and produced a silver flask.
This flask was unremarkable in almost all respects, except for an elaborate and mysterious insignia worked into its face. Unscrewing the cap, Locke took a quick drink then stowed it back in his voluminous cloak, which had a rather satisfactory billow to it. He allowed himself a thin-lipped smile, as if some amusing thought, meaningful only to him, had occurred. Or perhaps, he merely thought the scene at the bar had a strange humor to it.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a waitress with shocking bubble-gum pink hair, showing blonde roots, done up in the cheeky spikes of a Mohawk. Multiple studs and rings glinted on her face, reflecting the muted lighting of the place, most notably the ball that cheerfully splattered multicolored light, such as orange and green, all over the club. She shoved some tips into her black and white apron, worn over a plain black t-shirt and navy blue pleated skirt, as she collected various glasses and plates. Well-worn combat boots completed her punk-ish look. Her nametag simply read “Sylvia”. One could only assume that management could not be pleased with her rather casual attire and unconventional appearance, but Locke took no notice of either. His attention was elsewhere tonight, and not invested in flirting with waitresses drawn by his mysterious manner.
“Lovin’ the cloak dude, it’s hot,” she remarked, as she reached his niche. Evidently not annoyed by his lack of a response, she pressed on. “I’m Sylvia, what’s yourname?” She bent closer to Locke and moved her hands to grasp the hood that masked his features. Still not getting an answer, she tried a different tack. Setting aside her things, she took a seat next to him and breathed in his ear: “well, aren’t you playing hard to get.” As she eased the hood back to plant a sly kiss on the cheek, Locke spoke at last.
“Best keep that on, Miss Sylvia.”
“Really? You’ll have to be a bit more specific, cuz you’re really turning me on right now.”
Again with that secret smile, almost a smirk, Locke replied. “Maybe later, love.” He shifted himself so as to deny Sylvia a chance to gain his attention a little more, provocatively, and continued his vigil, as watchful as hawk focusing on a field mouse quivering amongst the grass. Sylvia, still trying to catch his attention, followed his gaze.
“Watcha’ watching?”
“People.”
Sylvia quirked a questioning eyebrow. Locke flashed his enigmatic smile yet again before elaborating. “Yes, they can be quite interesting at times.” Noticing that Locke was particularly interested in Holly, who by now had turned away from the
mysterious chatter and began talking with Brandon, (who had returned from the bathroom at this point), Sylvia grinned and whistled.
“Who is she?” Sylvia whistled again. “She’s hot. I can see why you can’t take your eyes off her.” It was Locke’s turn to quirk an eyebrow in askance this time. Sylvia grinned again before replying, “I like guys and girls. Double the trouble, but double the fun, too.”
Locke made an indistinct, monosyllabic response that, although it sounded like “Hmm,” it had a tone of “ah” to it as well. Several other songs had filtered through the sound system by now, and the newest hip-hop single was blaring throughout the building. It was all very unintelligible to Locke, as he did not particularly care for hip-hop, not the commercialized, mainstream, club-ready variety anyway, and chose to get up and stretch his legs for a bit and get some air. As though she could read his mind, Sylvia checked her watch and got up as well.
“My shift is over in fifteen,” she began in a purr, “want to have some fun then?” she winked at him again. Locke chucked her under the chin and smiled that riddle of a smile again. “Perhaps some other time, darling.” One last glance down at the bar told him that Holly was of the same mind as he, and had excused herself from her gaggle of admirers.
Sylvia glanced over her shoulder and saw Holly getting up. Sylvia let out a giggle, one very unlike her appearance, and said to Locke, “Well, maybe I’ll still hook a hottie tonight,” She turned to find her mystifying companion had vanished. He had gone with a
whispering swish of his black cloak, and in her giggly speculative anticipation of a torrid hookup in fifteen minutes time, she had not heard him leave.
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