Starring:
Summary: Just another Saturday night at the Silver and Gold. Emeline, Leo, and Oz briefly discuss music, Leo and Oz make a bit of a connection. Grant and Cordelia start to make a connection, but Gwen's inadvertent intervention reveals Grant's employer to Cordelia, who quickly flees.
Date It Happened: January 10th, 2002
The Most Swankified Place in Town
The Silver and Gold
Saturday nights in LA typically find clubs filled to the brim with people looking to kick off their proverbial shoes and enjoy a little freedom of expression. The Silver and Gold is no exception tonight. Things are bumpin' out on the floor; there aren't many who are occupying the tables, really. Which is just fine with Grant, who happens to be one of those who are, in fact, occupying the tables. He's dressed rather differently than his usual fare in a blue button-down shirt and black slacks, and watches those dancing with a casual and rather bored sort of expression. Last drink for him, then he might call it a night.
A figure sits at the bar - a little slumped over the top of it, and nursing a particularly lethal looking murky drink. Leo has been here for a while, by the look of him, and he certainly ain't dressed up. He looks like he came straight from the mechanic workshop, grey t-shirt smudged here and there with grease marks. He takes a long sip of the 'everything' cocktail in front of him, lowering his glass as the bartender walks past him. "You!" Leo comments loudly, jabbing a finger towards the man before continuing in his thick scottish drawl. "You're alright."
Call it a night so early? That would simply be a crime in Emeline's opinion. It's been a little while since she's actually managed to go out clubbing, but she's thrown herself back into it as if this is what she does every night. She is not one of those people who occupies a table. Instead, she's throwing herself into the music that is inspiring all those people to be out on the dance floor. Her curly hair is pulled up with pins, already starting to fall out of them with the ferocity of her dancing as she tosses herself one way and another.
Cordelia Chase is out to party. Hey, wouldn't you be if you'd been all demonized for a couple weeks? So she's out in clubwear, even if not skankwear. Nice black dress, nice heels. She's out looking for something to take her mid off things. That would be nice.
Oz makes his way up to the bar to place an order, glancing around at the dance floor while also keeping an eye on the tables to see if there are any empty one or ones that might be emptying soon. He's here to kill a little time and just enjoy some music, not so much for the dancing. Still, the dancing is not disagreeable to watch while he waits for the bartender to come down to this end of the bar. Leo's loud comment gets a sidelong look before Oz finally gets his chance to order.
Grant's playing a game. It's called Is Anyone Here Interesting Enough To Take Home Tonight? And the answer is "no". But his eyes travel over Emeline and Cordelia passively anyway. They're good-looking enough. His attention only wanes a moment to shift his gaze toward Leo momentarily at the man's loud comment, but then it's back to the dance floor. He takes a sip from his glass and watches.
A female with a particularly low-cut dress meanders off of the dance floor towards the bar, brushing next to Leo as she leans in. He turns towards her and gets a face-fulla-cleavage, narrowing his eyes as he glances up towards her. She doesn't get a chance to say anything to him before he's yelling at her in that thick accent. "Y'know, resistin' and staying on my… particularly bland and annoying path would be far less bothersome if you didn't make it so easy for me." She's taken aback, not quite sure how to respond before Leo helps her along the way. "Buzz off, you trollop." It's still uncertain if she was even there to talk to him or just get a drink, but either way she turns and storms off. Turning back to the bar, he reaches out and snags the Bartender's arm as he walks past (most likely on his way to Oz' side of the bar). "Hey! Tell them to play Pink Floyd!" Fat chance.
Cordelia is checking out the place, looking for someone to dance with. Or someone to buy her a drink. So it's Grant that she catches sight of her, as he's caught sight of her. The brunette smiles, and gives him a faint nod. The "yes, I see you" acknowledgement.
Whatever game that is going on, Emeline certainly isn't privy to it. Nor does she seem to hear Leo's loud callings for the bartender. After the song finishes - more like pauses, since it just merges into the next one - Emeline decides it is certainly time to get something more to drink. She's in a mood to drink and dance and whatever comes after that. Elbowing her way off the crowded dance floor, she actually manages to run into Grant's table accidentally when someone dances into her. "Sorry!" she tells the man absently with a friendly grin before she moves toward the bar. Slipping in somewhere near Oz, she gives Leo an incredulous sort of look. "Pink Floyd? Are you daft?"
Oz isn't quite sure to make of his fellow barfly, especially since the guy seems determined to keep Oz from getting his drink. Not that he's in any particular hurry for it, but still. Yet, as always, he just rolls with it. "Not sure it's that type of place," he notes, though he may go unheard since he's not speaking in much more than his conversational tone. At Emeline's reaction, he gives a nod as if this backs up his words, while he himself is also backing up a bit to give the woman more room to step in.
Grant, thankfully, has his drink already in-hand, otherwise there'd be spillage when Emeline bumps his table. He gives her a tight smile, but it's neither forgiving nor amused. Yes. Yes, you are sorry, miss. But it's a minor annoyance, and he's not terribly ruffled. His attention goes back to Cordelia, who gets a much more friendly smile and a nod in return.
The Bartender finally shakes Leo off, knowing when it's wise to address the crazy drunk people and when to just keep on truckin'. Leo faces the front of the bar, pursing his lips unhappily before they're hidden with his glass. Given the shouting, cheering, shimmying and not to mention the loud thump thump of the music in the club, anyone'd think it would be next to impossible for Leo to hear Oz' and Emeline's comments from the other side of the bar. But he does, turning his head to look at them. Despite the obscene amount of alcohol that appears to have been consumed, his eyes are sharp as they flick from one to the next, but he smiles in an amiable kind of way. "One of the greatest bands of all time. Way ahead of their era. It /should/ be that kinda place." Ah, so this is the bit where the drunk educates everyone else on the way things are 'meant to be'. Lifting his drink again, he concludes, "People just don't know good music anymore."
Lazily, Emeline waves over that same bartender and gives him a smile. "I'd like a vodka and tonic," she tells him and starts to unpin whatever hair has remained in those pins so that she can put it all up again. She doesn't seem to be one of those people who cares about going to the ladies room to powder her nose or anything of the sort. The problem she encountered with Grant doesn't really seem to matter to her any more and instead she leans across the bar and starts to pin up locks of her hair again as she waits for her drink. "He's insane," she confides in Oz as they seem to have had that nod in solidarity. "Out of his bleeding mind." By now her London accent should be apparent as she turns back to Leo to talk louder. "Pink Floyd's alright. But can you really compare them to the Ramones or the Clash?"
Cordy debates it. It's just a drink, Cordelia. No demons involved. Really. She stands, and then heads over Grant's way. She smiles as she draws nearer. "Hi there." she says. Always the awkward part; the social intro. But then, this is her specialty. "Here alone on a weekend?" she says, putting in a surprised tone.
"Beer, whatever's on tap," Oz puts in before the bartender can disappear on him again. Leo gets another look for what is presumed to be his drunken rambling, before Oz's attention comes back to the woman at the bar beside him. "I don't know if I'd want to get into the middle of that debate. Could turn ugly," he points out with a faint hint of a smile, the only real indication he's perhaps joking. "All great groups, influential in their way. None likely to be played in here, unless it's a cover or remix, I'm thinking."
Oh look, a someone. Grant's eyebrows slip upward a little and he sets his glass back down on the table, lips curling into another smile. "Yes, actually," he replies. "Until now, apparently. And you?" He already has an inkling as to the answer.
"Oh. /Oh/," Leo says is dismay, slamming his empty glass back down to the bar-top. "Those posers? Next you're gonna start comparing Led Zep the the Sex Pistols." He waves a hand at Oz with his diplomacy - or, well, /logic/. "I never has a punk phase. I always found it funny that they stuck it to the establishment by conforming to their rules and making mountains of cash out of it from dupes." Yep - definitely turning ugly. Looking back around for the Bartender, Leo calls out to him, waggling his empty glass. "Hey, I'm running on empty over here, buddy. I thought we were friends."
Finally the bartender is back with her drink and Emeline is finished with her hair. It's all pinned up nice and tendrily, just the way she likes it. Taking her glass, she takes a long swig and just looks at Leo. "You've obviously no taste." Emeline's whole music phase is a punk phase. Dropping enough money on the bar for her drink and for Oz's beer, she grins at him. "G'luck with diplomatic status, kid." Stepping away from the bar, she points at Leo, "You, get sober and get some music education." And away she flies off onto the dance floor again to toss and turn with the other dancers who hopefully have better ideas about music.
She smiles. "Honestly, it's been just a craptastic week." Cordy tells Grant. "Just figured a night of getting out and relaxing might be what the doctor ordered."
"I've had some practice," Oz assures Emeline as she wishes him luck, adding in a little nod of thanks as he realizes she's also paid for his drink. There might or might not be some arguing on that, but she's gone before he gets the chance anyway. Turning back to the bar, he takes his beer, offering another thankful nod to the bartender. Finally, Leo gets another considering look. "I make it a point not to argue music. Makes politics and religion look like discussing the weather."
"And your idea of relaxing is to come to a noisy club and dance with a gaggle of sweaty strangers?" Grant remarks with a grin. He's joking, of course. "Very interesting. May I buy you a drink?"
A look is sent after Emeline's retreating form, Leo's eyes narrowing. He stays silent, no doubt internalizing the constant beat of, 'Mustnoteat, mustnoteat'. Looking back to the bar, and noticing his glass is still empty. Frowning, he leans on the bar towards the tender. "Seriously, I'm getting thirsty. You wouldn't like me when I'm thirsty. I'm even more of a jerk." Not getting a response, he slides back grumpily, looking towards Oz again. Finally he wanders over that way, shoving past one or two bystanders on approach. "Very true," he notes, voice thick with that Scottish drawl. "But you can't shy away from a good argument. It's good for the soul." Something seems to tickle his funny bone about that, and he flashes a wide grin as he steps closer. Gaze drops to the beads curled around Oz' hand, and Leo's brow creases. Lips purse in contemplation. "Nice beads," he comments mildly. "Where'd you pick those up?" There's almost a sense of familiarity present.
"I wouldn't call it shying away so much as conscientious objecting," Oz says with a thoughtful nod, not defensive about his lack of arguing, but just stating the matter for the record. He takes a sedate sip of his drink, letting his gaze wander back to the dance floor for a moment, until Leo's question demands it back. His gaze flickers down at the beads and then back up to the other man before he gives his well-considered reply: "Tibet."
Cordelia smiles. "Girls don't sweat. We glow." It's an old quip. "And getting in touch with people sounded just right. I'd love a drink." She takes a seat at his table.
That gets another grin from Grant. "Quite true, and in more ways than one." Innuendo? So early? Dear god. He gives a small wink and then rises from his perch, ready to head off to the bar as soon as he's got her order. "What can I get for you?"
"That a fact," Leo responds evenly, not taking his eyes off those beads just yet. He, too, doesn't seem to be giving anything away, instead just seeming somewhat.. knowing. "Finely crafted." A smirk tugs his lips. "They suit your complexion." A long pause follows, and Leo gestures vaguely around the club. "In this light, anyway." He moves on immediately, reaching across the bar to snag a man's scotch on the rocks while he's staring towards the dance floor. Taking a sip, he continues. "Tibet. Nice place, I was there some time back. You must be well-travelled. What brings you to a hellhole like LA?"
Cordelia laughs. "Honestly, just something light will do for me. How about a Cosmo?" Yes, it's a froo-froo girly drink. Too bad.
Oz just nods that, yes, it's a fact. His expression is almost always neutral yet thoughtful, so it hasn't exactly shifted, but he's now studying the other man with more interest. Not too many people get fascinated with old beads, especially not in a place like this. Which means either this guy might know something, or he's hitting on him. Being watchful, it's easy to see Leo steal the drink, but Oz doesn't really react. "Have some friends in town. As good a place to visit as any," he replies with a shrug. "Sounds like you must do some travelling yourself."
"A Cosmo it is, then. I'll not be long." And with that, off Grant goes to the bar to retrieve a refill of his own drink and a Cosmo for the lady at his table. Looks like the night's not such a bust after all. After waving down the bartender and giving the drink order, he waits patiently for it to arrive, listening absently to the conversation occurring nearby.
With that handled, Cordelia seems to be relaxing a little. She smooths out her dress a bit, and watches Grant. Just a normal night. No demon-possessed anything. No demon drinks. No visions. Just…normal life. Part of her feels guilty she isn't out with the AI team, and the other part is just glad to have some time to breathe. She watches Grant as he goes, considering him.
"I've been around," Leo notes absently, considering Oz in return. It has only been a few minutes since he's been off the hard-liquor, but he seems to be coming down from it remarkably quick. Or perhaps he's just a poser, and was never all that drunk to begin with. Extending a hand towards Oz, he simply states: "Leo."
"Oz," is offered in equally simple reply, as he shakes the offered hand after setting down his beer. "Around. Yeah, I've been there," he goes on, speaking of it as if it were an actual singular place. "Guess we just never ran into each other there." There's a faint smile as he picks up his beer to take another sip.
Unfortunately for Cordelia, the evening is not entirely demon-free, and the demon aspect happens to be of a similar nature to the one she just escaped. But Grant's keeping it in check, as always. Drinks are procured and he returns to the table, setting down Cordelia's first before retaking his seat. "One Cosmopolitan for the lady," he intones, "and an introduction to appear less rude. I'm Grant." He extends a hand toward her.
She accepts the drink, with a smile as she looks back to him. "Thank you." She's doing her best to be charming, which for Cordelia is pretty good. "Cordelia." She takes the offered hand and gives it a quick shake.
That offered hand is particularly cold - but maybe that's just from holding an icy drink. "Guess not. But I guess LA is the place where magic happens," Leo smirks, draining the last contents of the other man's drink, who has since been looking around wondering where the hell it has disappeared to, then sets it down on the bar. "Tell you what, Oz.." He dips a hand into his pocket and tugs out a white grease-smudged card. "I operate a garage on the east end of town. Don't tell too many folks, 'cause I'm not all that fond of clients. But if you need some car work done — do you have a car? Anyway, if you need something done, you let me know. Well-travelled people like you and me have to be on the lookout for this kind of thing." He studies Oz as he extends the card towards him, gauging his reaction.
Oz would be a master poker player, though his control in this case is aided by the fact that he's still not entirely sure /what/ to make of the other man, even if he is beginning to form an idea or two. The cold hand might go unremarked upon, but it doesn't go unnoticed. Still, Oz takes the card with a nod, giving it a glance and then nodding before he tucks it away in his pocket. "Thanks. It's a van, actually. Put a lot of miles on it, you know, around. Might be due for a tune up."
"Cordelia. What a lovely name." Grant sounds sincere in that, offering a smile to go with it. The name rolls over his tongue wonderfully, but then people with British accents (however faint) seem to make everything sound better. "What is it you do, Cordelia?"
Cordelia smiles back. She does like the accent. It was one of the things she noticed first about Wesley, though getting her to admit it now might be problematic. "I work for a detective agency. Office manager." Because that sounds better than "secretary". And hey, she does keep things rolling around there!
"A van; very practical. Got a '65 Mustang myself - not so much on the practical, but she's my baby." Leo nods as the card is taken, seeming satisfied with the result. Maybe he thinks he has found a brother-in-restraint. He straightens, obviously preparing to leave. "Swing by, and I'll make her purr. And maybe you can tell me some more about what you've seen.. around." He gives a very slight nod, before stepping away. "See you 'round, Oz."
"Nice car," Oz agrees with a nod. "Probably wouldn't want to live out of the back of it though." Not that living out of the back of the van is exactly the high life, but it has its advantages. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he replies to the offer, giving another nod into another sip of beer. "Might be interested in hearing some of your own stories too." He lifts his glass in lieu of a wave, before turning back to face the bar, pondering on this newest acquaintance.
"Office manager." Which means "secretary". Grant's no fool. But it doesn't seem to bother him, really. "Sounds interesting. I'm sure you see a lot of unusual cases, this being L.A." Smilesmile.
Cordelia smiles back. "You know, we do. We just got done with a pretty weird one. I guess that's what I'm doing here. Just looking for something…more normal, you know?" She takes a sip of her own, enjoying.
Well that's got Grant's curiosity. He quirks an eyebrow. "Oh yes, I know the feeling. I had a client recently who was divorcing her husband because he insisted on the wrong color of tiles for the kitchen. She called it 'irreconcilable differences'." He takes up his drink in one hand, but doesn't sip from it yet.
Blink. "You're a lawyer?" That perks Cordy's interest some. Handsome, AND a lawyer. Yes, she has Groo at home. But she's not dead. She's allowed to be interested, at least. "Divorce lawyer, I'm guessing?" She considers his attire, mentally sizing up his income from it.
The smile turns into a grin. "That's right. I help people end their marriages by taking their money and giving them good stories to tell the judge. It's quite glamorous." So very glamorous. Like his clothes. Just a simple blue button-down shirt and black slacks, but they're clearly expensive, as are his shoes. He's successful at what he does, to be sure.
Cordelia assesses. Fashion is her forte. Nice shoes. Pricey. Good material. Nice stitching. "You must have a heck of a business out here in L.A. People change their marriages like some people change their shoes out here."
"Very much so. Los Angeles is one of the prime places to be for a divorce attorney." Grant takes a sip from his drink, sets it down again. Nice little table they've got, here. While it's not entirely out of the range of the sweaty dance crowd on the floor, it's out-of-the-way enough to afford a bit of private conversation. "And it's apparently a prime location for detective agencies. What was this strange case you were handling?"
Cordy's sitting at a table with Grant, sipping from a Cosmo, dressed in traditional Little Black Dress and heels. Clubwear, not the skankadelic fashion of the last couple weeks. And goodness. How to describe this one to the mundanes. "Someone had slipped a couple women a drug that was altering their behavior. The agency had to track down the person, and find the antidote."
The Silver and Gold. God, what an awful, awful name. But Gwen has a client meeting set up, and the cash is quite lucrative, so she got herself dolled up and made her way to the Chinatown club. A crushed velvet purple shirt covers her from neck to wrist, but it also clings like a second skin. Black leather pants do much the same impression, and her thick hair is pulled back in twisted knot at the nape of her neck. A pair of slim silk black gloves cover her hands, and she goes straight for the bar. "Redcoat, please. Double the voddie, and one of those swizzle sticks if you got 'em, okay honey?"
That piques Grant's interest even more. He's not quite as mundane as Cordelia would think — but of course, she doesn't have to know that. Detective agency and a case involving behavior-altering drugs for women. Choices are starting to narrow a little. But of course, it's probably just a coincidence about the Victoria's Secret, right? "Very interesting. And quite unfortunate. I'm surprised it wasn't brought to the attention of the police rather than a detective agency." For the moment, he doesn't yet notice Gwen. Were the club not so crowded, he might be able to pick up on her presence.
Cordy smiles. "You'd be surprised how many people in this town want to keep things hush-hush. With all the celebrities out here, and the way a person's reputation is its own form of currency, sometimes it's worth more to them to have it taken care of under the radar than let the press get word of it."
Gwen gets her drink and starts to circulate, until she comes upon a petite Asian woman. "Lao-Ma." she greets, bending down to air-kiss both cheeks. Lao-Ma gestures for Gwen to take a seat, which she does - crossing one leg over the other and assuming a casual air.
"I suppose that's true." Catching sight of something out of the corner of his eye, Grant glances over briefly and catches sight of Gwen just as she's bending down to greet the Asian woman. Business in clubs. It seems to be a trend. His eye remains only a moment before his attention has returned to Cordelia, along with a smile. "So then, someone hired your agency to investigate the matter. It must have been someone famous enough to be conscientious about it and was adversely affected by it." Or it's all a lie to cover up something else. He hasn't known Cordelia long enough to tell.
Cordelia notices the move of Grant's eye, and her own flits over that way. Ooh. Nice shirt. Wants the shirt. But then it's drawn back to the conversation. "Mmm…something like that. Client confidentiality, you know. Can't really talk about specific details. Just like you guys." Another sip of the Cosmo goes down.
The pair engage in what seems like a casual conversation, but what ultimately occurs is that a slim black portfolio is placed in Gwen's gloved hands. She gives it an initial perusal, seeming pleased, and murmurs a cheerful exchange with the asian woman. Gwen is in fact, extremely pleased.
Grant's subtley keeping tabs on that other conversation from the corner of his eye, but his focus remains mostly on Cordelia. Annnd there's the folder he was expecting. Only this time, there is no violence. Must be a good job with hefty pay. "More's the pity. I'm sure it's quite a story," he chuckles, taking a hit from his own glass. "The things we could tell if not bound by confidentiality, mm? And the business we would lose."
Cordelia remains oblivious to the transaction taking place to the side. Cause let's face it, she's Vision Girl, not Clue Girl. She grins a bit. "True, in both cases. But I suspect we can't afford to lose the business as well as you might. A detective agency is a lot more hand-to-mouth."
Gwen rises at the same time her contact does, and once more they do the air kiss before Lao-Ma slips off, and Gwen, visibly triumphant, goes back to the bar, passing maybe a table or two distant from Cordelia and Grant with that folder tucked under her arm. She's focused on the prospect of her second Redcoat, however, so isn't really bothering with noticing those around her. Very slack!
"Undoubtedly." Seeing Gwen and her contact stand, Grant finishes off his drink and sets down his glass. "Though since my cost of living is likely higher than yours, I really couldn't afford to lose any real business, nor could I afford the ensuing lawsuits." Lawyers aren't at all immune to such things. "Can I top you off?" Pause. Smirk. "The drink, I mean."
Cordy smiles. "Well, true. But sure. I'd love another drink." Her smile is knowing. She suspects it was a move, and the smile (close on a smirk) is intended to let him know that she thinks it, and that it didn't work.
Gwen hops a barstool, flirts with the 'tender, and waits for a second Redcoat. Oh yeah, Electro-Girl is in a very good mood.
Grant at least has the decency to look a twidge embarrassed, because nobody likes a ridiculous line. He picks up his empty glass and excuses himself with a smile and a quiet, "I'll be back in a moment." Then, he's off to the bar — and moves straight for the spot just beside Gwen. "That nice Asian woman must be paying you quite handsomely to make you glow like that," he remarks casually to the side as he slides his glass forward on the bar. He orders another Cosmopolitan and then a water. He's had his fill of alcohol tonight.
Cordelia looks over, and…oh no he didn't. Ditched her for the floozy in the hotpants and the admittedly awesome shirt. Cordelia's expression is less than pleased as she sees who Grant has chosen to sidle up to the bar next to.
If Gwen is startled, she gives no sign beyond the initial dart of her eyes. "Really Grant, you promised you weren't stalking me." Gwen says in a pleasant tone. "As a matter of fact, I did just handle some business. Dare I ask what you're here for?"
"Pleasure." Simple enough. "Though once again, I was here before you walked in. I could make a case for stalking, if I were so inclined. After all, I'm not the one who has broken into your house." He smiles a little and steals a quick glance out the corner of his eye at his table. Ah, yes. He's been spotted. He should have expected nothing less. "I dare say, you may have caused a little feather-ruffling for the woman at my table." Grant's got some fast-talking to do.
Cordy hasn't gotten up and left. Yet. But the expression suggests it might not be that long, given that Grant's already chatting up another hottie. Cordy's a poor loser.
"Well then by all means, don't let me keep you from her." is Gwen's equable reply. She doesn't seem kerfluffled that Grant's chatting up some other dame. It's not like she has any claim or reason to be jealous. She is perhaps, enjoying the schadenfreude of the moment's situation a little bit, though.
"You are welcome to join us. I have a feeling any chance of her wanting to go home with me has been nullified." Grant raises a hand toward Cordelia and offers her a reassuring smile. Because the best way to assuage jealousy is to remove the threat, isn't it? "Regardless, I do have something for you, if you would care to drop by the house again." Breaking and entering or not.
Cordelia gives a faint nod to Grant. It's a minor nod, but it's there. She looks back at him and Girl In Purple. She'll give him another couple minutes, but not so much with the patience.
Gwen gets her second drink handed to her. "Thanks, honey." she purrs to the bartender, and takes a sip. "Sure, why not. I've never cock-blocked someone before, especially lacking one of my own, and not even intentionally. It's a unique experience."
Gran't own drinks arrive along with Gwen's, and he picks them up with a nod of thanks and a generous tip. He seems a little bemused at Gwen's response. "I wouldn't call it 'cockblocking'," he responds in a low voice. "I hadn't quite made up my mind about her." Really quite picky is Grant. Once back at the table, he sets down Cordelia's drink in front of her with a warm, if not apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for the wait. I happened to run into my friend here and offered for her to come join us." He pulls up a stool from a nearby empty table for Gwen. "Cordelia, this is Gwen; Gwen, this is Cordelia. Gwen is a friend and associate. She's done a little freelance work for me."
Cordy may not be a good loser, but now that it's clearly not in date mode anymore, she can transition over gracefully. She gives Gwen a pleasant enough smile. "Nice to meet you. Love the shirt." It sounds honest, rather than anything catty.
Gwen smiles. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Cordelia." she offers just as easily. Despite her lack of contact with people, Gwen can be quite the social chameleon when it suits her. "I did tell Grant I hoped I wasn't interrupting anything, but he said it would be fine." She gives Cordelia a little 'you know how men are' face. "I didn't want to be rude." She sips her Redcoat.
Grant takes his own seat and takes a drink from his glass as well, opting to remain silent for now. Let them grow accustomed to each other, get the formalities out of the way. But that is a very nice shirt she's wearing.
Cordelia smiles back to Gwen. "Nice to meet you too. And no, it's okay, we were just talking." If the decision hadn't been made before then, it was then. She looks back, and sips her Cosmo. "So how do you know Grant?" Did she divorce some guy to get the money for that wardrobe? Cause, damn.
Gwen gives a mild shrug. "Acquisitions, mainly." she says. "Occaisionally he has clients or superiors at his firm that he likes to find particular gifts for that aren't always available at Barney's or Sachs. I have a knack for getting my hands on such things - you know, unique pieces of jewelry, or rare vintage wines, or first edition Dickens novels. Did you two just meet?"
"Yes, just earlier this evening," Grant interjects, the smile returning. "Cordelia works at a detective agency." Then he retreats back into observant silence.
Cordelia looks back at Gwen, and blinks. "Interesting." Because that sounds like something that might be useful to the AI team. "So you're some kind of a professional shopper?" Or something else.
Gwen dimples at Cordelia. "Acquisitions Specialist looks better on the business card." she replies, without batting a lash. "Truth be told, I tend to specialize in antiquities, but Grant is so terribly charming when he needs something, a bit like a puppy. He's hard to resist." Gwen's smile shows some teeth, but she seems to be more making fun of Grant than antagonizing Cordelia.
Which Grant seems to be taking in good humor, scoffing quietly and curling his lips into a smirk. "It's my money that you find hard to resist," he states blandly. What a coincidence, they both like to call their jobs something far more glamorous than it is! They could be sisters.
Cordelia smiles back. "Money is always hard to resist." And they COULD be sisters. They're both brunette, they're both hot, and they're both fabulous. Cordelia looks to Gwen. "Antiquities. You have a card? My boss might be able to throw some work your way."
And again, not even a bat of a lash. "I don't." Gwen says, and then impishly, "Have Grant give you one of his cards though, and I'll put my information on the back."
Grant is in the middle of another drink from his water when that statement comes up. He pauses, eyebrows pulling upward slightly, then lowers the glass again and begins to search his pockets. "I may not have one on me at present," he utters — but he's an attorney, and a divorce attorney at that. Clubs and bars are some of the best places to find unhappy spouses on the teetering on the edge of marriage. A well-timed card can drum up good business. So he produces a card and slides it toward Gwen. "There we are."
Cordelia smiles. "That works." At this point she's hoping Gwen is talking about Weird Stuff. But she can't just come out and SAY that. Damn supernatural stuff.
Gwen comes up with a pen from her portfolio, and scrawls her name - Gwen Raiden - on the back, with her number. After a moment, she adds the words 'acquisitions specialist' underneath before sliding it over to Cordelia and leaving it on the table for her to pick up. "I'm a bit pricy," she admits, prepared to kick Grant under the table if he so much as coughs, "But I'm quite reliable when it comes to getting the job done."
The corners of Grant's lips look as though they might lift, but then he gracefully finishes that drink he was taking previously, obscuring any amusement he finds at the inadvertent joke. But he's not so distracted that he doesn't catch the name Gwen's written on the card. Now he has her real last name. Excellent. "I can personally vouch for that," he adds, lower the glass to the table once more. "My information is on the card, of course, if your boss needs to contact a reference." The card that has the name of his firm, yes.
Cordelia smiles. "Great!" she replies in perky fashion. She takes out one of her own (Cause she has 'em. On the show and everything!), and then passes it over to Gwen, replacing her card with her own, on the table. "There you go. That's me." she smiles, taking the other card and HOLY SHIT WOLFRAM AND HART. She doubletakes briefly when she sees the name, before putting the pleasant smile back in place. "Thanks!"
Gwen holds the card with two fingers, taking a look at it. "Angel Investigations." she says. The little motif looks kind of like a lobster. Hunh. She slips it into the little black portfolio. "Thank you." she replies affably, and then she catches a glint in Grant's eyes. "What is it?" she asks of him, arching a brow.
There's a glint, all right. There's a glint for so many reasons. Firstly, he also glimpses the card Cordelia's passed along to Gwen. Now he has her name committed to memory, too. But more importantly, he saw the logo on that card, and Cordelia's reaction to his own card is more than enough to tip him off. She's suddenly grown very interesting to him. Very, very interesting. Gwen's question draws him out of his thoughts, and he puts on a casual smile. "I was just thinking of inviting Cordelia to dinner."
Cordelia is still smiling, but now it's very much a put-on smile. "Actually, I've got a boyfriend at home that I should be getting back to." Thank you but no, Mr. Lawyer Predator! She looks at him, then to Gwen. So she works WITH Wolfram and Hart. Time to go, Cordy! "I should get going."
Gwen is more of an independant contractor, but Cordelia doesn't know that. She seems quite amused by Cordelia backtracking, and observes to Grant, "I don't think she wants to go to dinner with you." She looks back up at Cordie and is unable to keep from grinning, "You're a very wise woman. Have a good evening."
Indeed, Gwen does some work for Grant. He would never say she works with his firm. In fact, he'd prefer to keep her far away from his firm. Cordelia's sudden change in attitude only causes his smile to grow. "It would seem so," he utters to Gwen. To the woman hastily escaping the situation, he adds, "Some other time, perhaps. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Chase. You have my card." In case she wanted to forget that fact.
Cordelia nods. "Thanks so much for the drink." God, stupid Cordy. What if he'd drugged it? She heads for the door with a quickness.
"Now why did she suddenly decide she didn't like you anymore?" Gwen is prompt to query once Cordelia has left. "She didn't get all spooked until she saw your card."
Drugging drinks isn't really Grant's style. There are much more interesting and enjoyable ways to bring someone under control. He watches Cordelia until she's disappeared within the rest of the crowd, then turns his attention back to the table and takes another drink from his glass. "Perhaps upon seeing my last name, she discovered we are closely related," he responds blandly. The glass returns to the table and he frames it with his fingers, turning a smile on Gwen. "At least the evening has not been a total waste. How have you been?"
"Well enough. The turning of the year always brings good prospects. People are wanting to try new things, and it generally requires a bit of a shopping list. How did you spend your New Year?" Gwen seems amused by the whole exchange with Cordelia, and now them sitting about like a pair of socialites.
"At a private party," responds Grant affably. "Nothing terribly extravagant, but just as dull as most parties tend to be." He might be just the tiniest bit elitist. Casting a quick glance at the dance floor, he adds, "Would you care to dance? Or should we go somewhere more private where there is less risk of inadvertently causing bodily harm?"
Gwen casts a look out at the dance floor, her face immediately shifting to a cautious expression. "I might bump into someone." she says, and shakes her head.
Grant smiles a little at that. "I wasn't meaning here, per se. It's much too crowded." He's not a big fan of roiling seas of grinding sweaty bodies either, actually.
"Going someplace private with you to dance sounds rather illicit." Gwen says. "Whether or not it's intended to be."
"Oh, come now. It wasn't illicit before, was it?" He says as innocently as he can. "It seems a sin to visit a dance club and not dance at least once in the evening." Even if that once is not actually at the club itself.
"We wouldn't be in the dance club anymore." Gwen points out with a patient sigh.
Grant grins. "These are extenuating circumstances. Where we are hardly matters." She can't dance in the club, obviously, without running the risk of killing someone. He finishes off his water and sets the ice-filled glass back down on the table before rising to his feet and tilting his head inquisitively. "Shall we?"
Gwen knocks back the rest of her Redcoat, and then rises. "Sure." she says finally. "We shall."
