Workin' It

[Duke Bell.]

He looked decidedly happier when she stopped griping at him; he liked her better when she wasn't trying to* pummel him with her words. The water tasted clearer and his head felt lighter but more in balance, and a faint but real grin worked itself into the corner. She reminded him a lot of someone, maybe *Xena; he could definitely imagine her in leather with maybe a whip, though he shouldn't have.

Duke shrugged, mumbling something in reassurance; he didn't mind terribly so long as it didn't escalate into anything. He still remembered his morning encounter with the devil-incarnate and his vow to ruin her. So far, Morgan was nothing like that, and that won her a lot of points with him; casual conversation topics were much more preferred than breathing down his neck and throwing hot coffee at him.
"Hmm, was it my eyes?" he asked, and his grin turned teasing and a touch conceited even though he wasn't even intending to be, "people always say I have deep eyes."
He shrugged again because he wasn't being entirely serious; *Duke disliked aesthetics as much as he disliked anything else.

"Duel? I haven't heard that word since; since Buckingham in the summer."
He laughed then, a first for the night, as images of he and Morgan swiping at each other with their guitars entered his head, but he doubted that was what she had meant.
"I don't know, haven't been in many duels. It's not my thing really, I just like playing."

[morg]

Duke kept sliding out of conversations, avoiding the difficult ones. Morgan frowned slightly, though managed to position her hands to more or less cover it. Slowly a picture of Duke formed in Morgan's mind, and it wasn't very flattering.

"You paid me to get off the stage," she pointed out, "and I'm clearly a horrible mimic who mauled an awesome song. A musician would cringe just about everytime i hit the stage."

She raised her eyebrows, the smirk returning. It felt as though she'd been alternating between a smirk and a frown throughout the entirety of the conversation, and she knew that couldn't be accurate.

"Haven't you heard of dueling banjos?" she chuckled. Pickneyville leaking in now. "I just love competition. Besides, all I could do is monkey see monkey do. Which would be kinda fun, more than anything."

She shrugged, taking another drink. Just like playing. Give this guy a beret or a cheesy band to play with, please.

[Duke Bell.]

"Stop it, seriously," he said, an unsettled frown forming though the rest of his expression was careless, "you're going to make me sound like something I'm not."

Duke hated getting into the deep end of things; talking about aspirations and motivations and pleasures and hobbies and dogs and rabbits and all that stupid, pointless talk that was always irrelevant to the bigger picture.

"You weren't bad at all. I called you off because I really, truly, honestly wanted you to be the other half of conversation. I'm a bit impetuous, Morgan, and a lot self-centered; I wasn't doing anyone favors."

Not his strongest statement, but he wasn't trying to have her detest him just yet. The girl seemed to have it in her mind that she was in possession of some sort of atrocious skill. So far, he'd heard her strum and play one song; not much to judge, but he wasn't writhing in distaste either. He wouldn't tell her that though, because Duke saw, heard, thought and knew; anything else wasn't obligatory.

"I have," he answered, that same slight upset furrowing his brow, "but I don't like competition;" all he cared about was the music and she was going to force him to say it outright at some point, he figured. Something like curiosity flickered over his face, or he was just uncertain about what she could have meant.
"I don't know how you mean," he told her solemnly, wavering between sobriety and a height of intensity that was usually not reached until somewhere around his twentieth glass.
"Are you some sort of copycat or something?"

[morg]

"Fine," Morgan stuck her tongue out at him in a gesture of maturity, "be that way. I just figure that if someone's paying me to talk, I ought to be complimentary. But if you want to be self-centered jerk, it's cool by me."

Morgan shrugged then drummed her fingers along the table. As they often did, they began going on their own, expertly beating out a perfect rhythm to a song Morgan happened to know. The girl didn't even notice, but kept her focus on the conversation.

"I live for competition," she offered nonchalantly, "probably wither up and die if I wasn't competing with someone for something. Be way to dull."

Finally he guessed it, and she favored him with a grin, "Pretty much. I'm good with my body..."

Wait, that sounded wrong: Morgan stifled a giggle, "Scratch that. I can imitate people, occasionally. It's a neat little talent to have."

There, that was as much as she could reveal to someone when she didn't know if they knew about the whole mess. After all, if she just started blabbing about her Gift to everyone in the bar, everyone in the world would soon know about them.

Which would probably be bad.

Still, this wouldn't hurt. Besides, Morgan could swear she'd seen Duke somewhere before.

[Duke Bell.]

Duke shrugged again; "you could say it without the incentive of money," he told her, not bland but a strange sort of dispassionate. He felt sick, a terrible churning inside his stomach, although he was sure that it was all just in his head. Morgan was saying something, and he was half paying attention; focusing more on how he could possibly cross his legs without appearing gay. In the end, he decided not to and merely shifted in his seat.

"So you've got a little freak in your DNA?" he asked her, a noticeable smirk breaking through his poker face. He leaned forward then, most of his etiquette disregarded as he placed elbows on tabletops and rested his chin in his hands, studying her.
"And you're showcasing this miraculous talent in some club," that wasn't a question, more a statement to place all his incredible amounts of wryness on; "isn't that, you know, dumb?"

Certainly he didn't go about jumping off buildings or in front of bullets and saving cats out of trees. The fact that he was kind of super human, and because of his endless ego; divine, wasn't something he liked sharing with people. In most cases, it wasn't safe, but generally, it just wasn't the smart thing to do. Duke would be the first to vouch that the world was a brutal place, and if he had been the saving type, he would have admitted that this was less about her gift and more about how she was a total minor.

[morg]

"Sure, I've got a little freak," agreed Morgan, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, "you've clearly met one of my siblings before. As for showcasing."

She leaned forward, smirking. Morgan jerked her head toward the stage, where the various tools still lay about, unused. "I know, how could I be so stupid? Showing the world my amazing ability to not sing very well and play a guitar like some well-trained person. How really dumb of me! It's a wonder that no one has ever figured out before that I've got a gift. I mean, it's not like there are talented musicians that play here every other night or something. Or that the owner's some huge rockstar attention hog."

Morgan leaned back in her chair, looking incredibly self-satisfied. She also glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should head back up there. How much time did his money buy, anyway?

[Duke Bell.]

Ah, she was a snarky kid. She reminded him of one of his siblings, the only difference being was that he was allowed to be cruel to the relative, and here, Morgan was a stranger, and someone else's kid sister; he doubted that any hand across the head or poke in the eyes would go over well with her family.

"I meant duels," he stated, a little impatient with her showmanship; he suspected that she was always this long winded, and he made it a point to bring it up later, "how would you explain those?"

He remained in his slumped position, pressing his cheek into one hand as the other reached inside his blazer again and pulled out another note. Laying it on the table, he pushed it toward her.

"Don't look at the stage," he told her, because he wasn't sober yet, otherwise he wouldn't be offering hundreds for her time, "and I'll pay you for every ten minutes you sit here. But you really have to stop looking like that."
He gestured to her face, where it was positively saturated with smugness.

[morg]

"Talent," retorted Morgan. She effortlessly slid the bill off the table, shoving it into her pocket. Despite Duke's insistence, she still looked decidedly smug. It was a natural expression for Morgan, and she didn't bother to hold it in check, no matter how many notes Duke slid across the table. She might for the right amount of money though; Morgan knew the value of a dollar, after all.

"And if you're really this desperate for me not to play, you could just say so," commented Morgan. She propped both elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly. A more aggressive posture, certainly. "It's either that or you've got some other reason. I seriously doubt that someone who can fork over money like that wants to waste their time on some kid."

Morgan raised her brows, smirking again. "Unless you've got a thing for younger girls. You've got to be older then me, after all. Hell, you couldn't have gotten in the club otherwise. It's not under eighteen night."

She slid back again, drumming her fingers on the table. "So, you going to ask me questions? oo, we could play a game! I spy with my little eye..."

[Duke Bell.]

Duke rolled his eyes, which was truly an insignificant act because it didn't deter from his usual expression. He wondered if he had made a mistake in keeping her company; she seemed rather lacking in sophistication now, something he had gauged in her earlier and not in anyone else. He let the subject of exposure drop, unwilling to continue on her level of thought; she held some merit, but he doubted that her excuse would fly in some situations.

"Stop being so disgusting," he urged dryly, his fingers itching for a cigarette now; how long had he gone without a drag? Furthermore, he felt compelled to ask for something stronger, his wishes to sober up enough to hail a cab be damned; cue annoyance and complete lack of care.
"I suppose if I really looked inside of myself, I would come to find that the reason I'm so smarmy and bastard like is because of all the disappointment I've been met with in my life. Would you like me to tell you about my childhood?"
The question was obviously rhetoric, and the grin on his face was bland while the hazel of his eyes turned lighter; there was a beat, and he continued.

"This passive aggressive bullshit makes me want to choke on acid. Why isn't the money good enough?" he asked her, not annoyed but not curious either; he was matter-of-fact and bordering monotone, it was enough, in a rare moment, to make him wish for something more.
"I'm not desperate for you not to play, what I do with my time is a riot, younger girls make me sick." Duke frowned then, finding that cutting down to the point wasn't nearly as fun as he would have liked for things to be.

[morg]

"I'm trying to get a rise out of you," drawled Morgan, arching her brows. "And you're really making it easy for me."

Why was she acting like this? Well, for one thing, this wasn't too far removed from how she'd act normally. For another, while she'd taken his money readily enough, Morgan still felt slightly guilty, and slightly trashy, for doing so. Good girls didn't take money from smarmy boys so "they could talk." Her mother would be rolling her eyes.

"Put yourself in my shoes," countered Morgan, putting her index finger down on the table. "Some random guy waves money at you while you're playing at a bar. Says he 'wants to spend time with you.' Remember, you're in the seediest place for miles, and he looks like he's had a few already. Oh, and you've been assaulted a few times, so you're naturally edgy anyway. But you're desperate for money, so you go ahead and sit with him. The money doesn't take the edge away though, and when you guess wrong about his intentions, you get even more nervous. The moment you start shifting, he jumps and offers you even more money. You're poor, and green looks good. so you keep sitting there, pretending the whole situation doesn't make you nervous as hell."

Morgan took a deep breath, then simply looked at Duke, eyebrows raised. "And really, no younger girls? Is that even allowed among guys?"

[Duke Bell.]

"Oh," said Duke, like he just got told, "would you like a hug?"
The sympathy in his voice was dripping with mockery, and he began chucking ice cubes from his glass in large arcs to the next table. The disinterest became apparent, and he looked at risk of lazy eye, or something near comatose until he blinked and his strange, translucent gaze was brought back to her.
"And no, that was not an invitation."

"I knew you were compensating for something," he commented, mostly to himself so it was hard to discern whether it was a real barb or just careless, not quite backhand chatter. He passed his glass to a nearby serving girl, and asked for another; his common sense and lack of responsibility seemingly succeeding over his irrationality. The argument could have been revived again, that she shouldn't have been on the premise in the first place, or anywhere near this part of town; but he wasn't her brother, and she certainly wasn't his sister, or even friend, for him to have been anything remotely similar to concerned.

"Your picture is so sordid," he replied, but didn't refute her right, "do you even know who I am?" he asked, and then remembered; damn, because as much as he hated women, he did love them for one thing, and he often made that a public fact. But he was thinking about how we was an upperclassmen, of the higher than secondary education kind; of how he was worldly rich, and therefore also worldly aware of how inappropriate it was to start anything with someone who was as young as his sisters, inside a club. In fact, he wasn't even sure she knew about them.

"Yeah, it happens," he confirmed, not sounding as sorry or as complacent as he should have, "especially when they're as old as their sisters."
Or if the habit was anything similar to his father's; Judas liked them young, and so Duke tended to prefer them closer to his own age.

[morg]

"I compensate for a lot," drawled Morgan. Her fingertips danced around the edge of her glass, and her eyes bored through Duke. Now that she'd laid it out, she felt more relaxed, and somewhat more willing to take Duke at face value. At least she'd stopped painting him as nothing more then a pimp with a guitar.

"Of course my picture is sordid, I'm American born and bred," she joked, smirking. "And raised paranoid. If you knew my family, you'd be slightly edgy around strangers too."

Not to mention the past. But Morgan certainly wasn't going to be dredging that up. Not now. Not ever. Not if she could help it.

"Ouch," Morgan placed her hand to her chest. "Your sister? Really, you know how to hurt a girl. At least now I guess I know you're not some sneaky perv. Seriously, do you realize how you look right about now? And you wonder why I was thinking 'sordid' thoughts about you."

Her drink was gone. Morgan waved for a server to collect it, murmuring for another. Nothing alcoholic, of course. No need to push the envelope any further.

"I might have heard of you, but, believe it or not, I don't rely on rumors for my information."