Chicago Noir (II)

The two blonds are caught off guard but don't seem particularly interested. Still, the bartender is a fierce ally -- you can't gay a bartender. They engage.

The cuter of the two is the further from you. Naturally. Green eyes. Round face. Tiny freckles. An American girl through and through. Her clothing suits her well enough. Flattering low-cut strapless top. Nice shoulders. Seriously, why isn't anyone hitting on this girl?

The closer girl is boring.

You have a good eye line to the farther girl at least. Closer can't really turn to speak to you very well due to the extreme proximity. Well, not without making out with you. You should reposition yourself. Give up the spot leaning against the bar and pull behind the two girls to engage both. But, you need the bartender.

Closer, on the topic of the uniforms, speaking more to the bartender than you, "I think they're classy."

You fire back. "I dunno - I think it just makes the rest of us look under-dressed."

Green Eyes leans around her friend, "I think formalwear for everyone might be a bit impractical."

"Psshh."

You like her. A little bit. Actually, neither girl gave you much to work with. Their blink reaction to you is a bit hard to read. You quickly remind yourself that you're playing a game stacked in your favor. All you want is to collect girls to mess around with -- try and fail as you might, and you often do, you will sometimes succeed. Try as the girls might, no girl at a club in Chicago is pedigree enough to keep you.

You decide to be very indirect. To the bartender, "What's with the earpieces in the bouncers yo? Got to be fake." Not so clever, but you're on the spot.

He runs with it. Because he's a bro. And he wants to help you. Help you get inside these two girls. "Those are totally fake," he laughs. "Look at the collar of their coats and you can see the cord bulge stops."

"I knew it," you say half to him and half to the two girls. Back to the bartender, "You need one."

"An earpiece?"

"Hell yeah."

"How's just wearing some of those bud earphones work for you?" Talk to the girls not just me you fucko.

With particularly venomous sarcasm, "You'd prefer to listen to something other than your cover band?"

"Not my band." Touchy. Nice.

Green Eyes is a sport: "Wouldn't that make it a little difficult to tell what people are ordering?" That's right. She's a fucking sport.

You spot Alpha working a tall, and simply ridiculous, brunette. Five ten. Full lips. Red dress. Oriental print. Silver bracelets. Very tan. The print on the dress looks to be a giant golden dragon that snakes it away up and around the back. Very hot.

He spots you. He whispers something to his girl. She points to you and waves for you to come down. Shit, you know this girl. You met her at a fashion show you were dragged to a few months back. She was modeling jewelry, but the memorable part was that she wore nothing but body paint for the show. Didn't recognize her with...clothes.

That evening when you met her was a total fuckshow. You and two of your friends were invited by a girl photographing the event. First, she abandoned you to take pictures promptly upon arriving. Then, both your friends spent the whole night making out with two busted girls as you stood around by yourself bored out your mind. The consolation was that you chatted and bullshitted around with one of the body paint girls about some of the new Commes des Garcons collaborations for an hour after the show. She had a boyfriend--

Your bartender is still keeping your two girls warm for you. The tools to your right still haven't been able to get a drink ordered. You roll your eyes to Alpha and Dragon Girl signalling you're working the two next to you. Dragon Girl gives you a goofy thumps-up and signals to you to catch up to them outside for a smoke. You aren't even sure how she signalled that. It was very commando. Your girls suck.