2015.08.14 - Sin at Sinema

**Emitter:** N/A

*Fun and mayhem at a nightclub.*

August 12, 2015

Sinema in Beacon Hills

**Sinema – Beacon Hills**

*It's a dance club. The lights are kept low, the floors are cement so as to be easily cleaned when various fluids spill, and the floor plan is simple: It's basically a big, open rectangle where people can dance. There's a bar along one wall, where drinks and glow-sticks abound, and the beat of music fills the air at all hours. Placed strategically around the dance floor are dance cages, where scantily clad young men and women are often found, leading the crowd around them in various dances. Along the perimeter, smaller private alcoves allow for intimate conversation -- and probably other things--and every bare patch of wall seems to be used for having classic black and white films projected on them, silently giving homage to the club's name.*

A fake ID works a lot better when there's a fifty wrapped around it, and that's just what Ethan hands the bouncer at the door. Shrugging off his leather jacket at the coatcheck counter, he exchanges it for a poker chip with a number, which he tucks into the front pocket of his jeans, before making his way toward the bar. As he swaggers, his eyes scan the crowd, paying particular attention to the dance floor.

Dressed in tight clothing, Timothy manages to grease the wheels well enough to gain entry into the Sinema. He'd heard it was a cool place and he decided to check it out. It didn't match up as well as some of the clubs back home in NYC. His hair's a bit bright in the darkness since it is rather blonde. This kind of place was a little difficult for him given the constant surges of emotions from all those present.

Well, guess who's here? The well-dressed LJ is no less well-dressed, though he's traded his blazer for a tighter, more club-appropriate dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Naturally, this reveals his athleticism more than his usual warddrobe, as well as a good portion of his tattoos, which he displays without thought. Presently, he's sitting at the bar with a tall glass of something amber, conversing with one of the bartenders... and blending in surprisingly well. The glasses and the haircut give him a hipster chic that's not entirely incompatible with the club scene.

Ethan Carver doesn't notice LJ at first, his nose assaulted by too many different scents at once to pick out anything or anyone in particular. So he saunters up to the bar and grabs the stool right next to the librarian and shouts to the bartender, "Scotch!" And just to be sure he has the 'tender's attention, he gives his bare arms a good flexing. Once his order is placed, he spins on the stool to face the club, leaning back and resting his elbows on the edge of the bar. And finally takes note of the guy next to himself. "Oh crap. Uh. Hey, Teach. Nice night, huh?"

Going to the bar, Timothy just requests a soda. He might have bribed the guy for entry but Tim's not about to do underage drinking. It takes a lot of control right now to keep his emotions in check and keeping the emotions of those here from mixing into his own.

It's a good thing LJ had already squeezed that bartender for information or he might consider aborting Ethan's plans for drinking. Both LJ and Ethan are sitting at the bar; Timothy's not far away. "Ethan," he instead says pleasantly, nodding to the teen as he lifts his presumably alcoholic beverage and takes a slow, languid sip that does not at all infer oncoming extortion. Nope. "It's been a fair evening, indeed. I'll admit I didn't expect to find you here. But the pleasure's mine, of course. How are you?" And now, dear Ethan, you have his full attention.

Ethan Carver growls deep in his chest, but manages to keep his expression relatively neutral. "Uh, yeah. Doing okay." He glances at his drink when it arrives, but makes no attempt to take the glass. He just pays the bartender and lets him keep the change. "I don't actually drink this stuff. Bar scotch, right? Doesn't get much worse." He glances around for some smooth exit strategy, zeroing in on the younger looking kid with the soda. Lifting his chin, he gives a cocky grin and says, "Hey. Nice shoes." Oh yeah, that's real smooth. "Wanna dance?" Slightly better.

"Do you know how?" Tim asks with a bit of a smirk on his face as he takes a drink of his soda. Crap. Really. Seriously. Couldn't they have a decent soda here at least? Timothy kind of stood out in some ways, since he wasn't from these parts. "If you know how, we can but I'd rather not get my feet crushed." He says with a bit of a cheeky grin to him as he sets his drink aside and hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

Probably missed when Brock came in, which was probably a bit earlier, and probably where all of those empty beer bottles on the edge of the bar came from. It looks like a small frathouse came through there. The big dude pushes noisily out of the bathroom with his shoulder, with a fanfare of drinking university students cheering his return. Large, blond and teeming with so much party right now. The majesty aura having lion shuffles back with that small crowd, dropping to park a seat at the bar, "Oi! Gimme another round of that shitty American water ya call beer!" he yells to the bartender, popping his hands onto the bar and grinning. He doesn't sound drunk, maybe buzzed by his voice. But really? Is he? I mean, given what Brock is, he might just be playing it up. "I dunno how you blokes call this a party! There ain't enough fun goin around right now! Nobody gettin naked, jumpin on tables, gettin in fights over dumb shit! I mean, c'mon! Where's ya spunk! Ya fire?! It's the middle of the week! Get yaself wild!" Curious thing, Majesty sometimes. Brock has this way of getting people bolstered up. His little pep talk seems to jolt these already suggestible college students into a hooping hollar. Energized, the all get up and distribute across the bar for dancing and things.

With a dark, inward chuckle, LJ doesn't actually make a scene about the alcohol. Quite the opposite, in fact: "Take your drink, Ethan. If you're responsible enough to do what we do," and this is the royal, shifter sort of we, "then you can probably handle a bloody drink." And with that, he takes another long sip of his own. "Just do me a favor," he adds with a short, almost uncharacteristic, bemused wink. "Don't get caught again." And speaking of getting caught, that's when LJ notices the Big Man On Campus, and jerks his head at Ethan so the wolf can make his own decision about how he wants to handle that. As for LJ himself, he stays precisely where he is, precisely the way he was, and simply takes another pull from whatever it is he's drinking. "Cheers, Brock. I see you always happen to know where the fun is."

Ethan Carver's eyes flash with amusement, his grin widening as he slips off the barstool. "Watch that for me, would ya?" he asks LJ, nodding to his untouched scotch. And then he peels the muscle shirt off over his head, dropping it on the stool. "That too." Turning to Timothy again, he lets his gaze slide up and down the teen, finally finding his eyes. "Your feet are safe with me. Can't promise the same about the rest of you." And because he's him, he just has to flex a few times, strobes flashing off his bare torso. His expression falters a bit at Brock's entrance (or re-entrance), and that growl rumbles in his chest again, as his eyes follow the large Aussie across the room. Is the whole school faculty here tonight? When he looks at Tim again, his eyes are fierce, though still brown (rather than glowing blue). "Let's get your butt on the dance floor, Muffin."

The place reeks of humanity, there is however a nearly animal like quality to the scents as well. So as much as he wishes the scent he is follwing had not lead here. Well, Jason Christopher is rather ambivalent about it. He was only here to find Ethan Carver, and then he would leave. Not just this club, but potentially leave Beacon Hills entirely. He had done what he sought to do here. He had now met with the areas True Alpha, Scott McCall again, and that ended so much better than he had any right to hope really. Now he had one more promise to keep, and hopefully it would mean a travelling companion back north.

 Jason Christopher surveys the room, and locates his quarry. Ethan Carver is sitting at the bar. Jason glances down at his phone and the most recent text messages from Jacob Black. He types a quick reply. 'I'll be back soon, I promise.' Then with purposeful strides he starts across the room. He catches the scent of cats mingled in among the humans, and certainly when Brock starts bellowing well, the mystery is gone. He never slows his pace as it carries him with liquid ease past everyone between him and Ethan though. Single Minded, just a lil bit. As he approaches he concentrates and singles out Ethan for his Nightstalking talent, remaining visible for now, but selectively augmenting his voice. His words tickling Ethan's ears only. "Ethan. I need to speak with you." When Ethan turns around, he will find Jason Christopher just behind him.

The wave of emotions hits Timothy like a freaking ton of bricks and he pulls off his shirt. "Name's Tim, not Muffin and don't forget it." Blue eyes meet the brown with a challenging look in them. He's probably the only person that Jason DOESN'T have to worry about overhearing anything that he has to say. The slender young man's not as ripped as Ethan, but he's in pretty darn good shape. "Dude... Creepy much." He says looking directly at Jason Christopher. Tim's got mostly the scent of humans.

"It's the goddamn truth, and ya know it!" Brock has two beers set down in front of him, and he palms them both, one in each hand. "S'not downright bash, but ah guess it'll have ta do till somethin betta comes along." Brock shrugs just in time since two of the students jump to surround him and start to tug at his biceps to go and dance with the group. Brock raises both brow, "Well, the life of a party animal ain't over till the party's over, right?" the big guy sorta resolving himself to being pulled out there. He puts both beers to his lips and guzzles at them at the same time. In a few thick gulps, he is able to hand the bottles off to some standing kid as he passes, "Take care'a these for me, will ya mate?" And off he goes! He is in a mode of fun, and he somehow makes it so much more inviting. Like a bounce house waiting to be joined.

Oh, busted. Ethan is well and truly busted now. Being spotted here by two teachers he barely knows is bad enough. But Jason Christopher, the self-styled Prince of Werewolves, potential teacher and mentor? And what's Ethan doing when Jason appears? Flirting shirtlessly with an equally shirtless pretty young blond who is definitely not his boyfriend. "You...here...how...what?" He stammers, trying to remember exactly what he was doing a moment before the voice appeared in his head. In his head? Or did his wolf-hearing just zero in on Jason's voice? His brow wrinkles with confusion, and he glances at Timothy again. Oh yeah, that's what he was doing! But wait, didn't Jason need...something? Ethan gives his head a quick shake. How did everything get so confusing, all of a sudden? He narrows his eyes in Brock's direction. He's to somehow to blame!

It would be a lie for LJ to say the magic of Brock's majesty had absolutely no affect on him--he's simply very good at shrugging off mental influence. Still, the temptation is there to let his barriers down and just have-at, but fun in one hand is trouble another, and that follows a tiring trend of ending poorly for him more often than not. So he remains at the bar, finishing up his drink, watching the carousing and the frenzy, all while keeping an eye on a particular human at the other end of the building--his actual reason for being here. Stalking. He's very good at that. Sip. For a moment, however, his eyes flick to Jason for no particular reason other than to watch. Brock as well. He is the watcher in the woods... just minus that whole alien thing.

Jason Christopher inclines his head softly towards the human with Ethan, but otherwise spares him little attention. Unless they do something to prove interesting, most human beings are just not something he pays a great deal of attention to. That this one was with Ethan, well it earned him a moment's recognition anyway. Jason Christopher IS creepy, much. From the intensity of his eyes to the sheer menace he gives off. Which thankfully seems to be on low ebb for right now. His eyes merely smoldering, instead of the blast furnace intensity. If Brock represents the life of the party, well Jason is something of the opposite. There is a presence about him, though not quite like Brock's. People go out of their way to step well around him. Something he seems quite happy to encourage as well. All things considered though, this is a good mood tempered by being around entirely to many humans.

 "Ethan." His voice a hiss of annoyance, a whisper and yet somehow still audible. "Snap out of it already. I am leaving, tonight, to go back to Washington. I know we still have things to discuss. But I need to know Ethan, if you are coming or not. If you wish to be my student or not." The moment of truth really. The moment of truth. He glances distastefully at the source of the good times aura. It smacks to closely to his father's influence style ability for his tastes. Thankfully he had centuries to learn to resist such.

Where Brock fails in supernatural persuasion, he makes up for in outright personal space and boundary violation. He leaves the space of the dancefloor to literally drop on LJ quite frankly. Brock is so large that he can easily bring his entire body to coat LJ in his sitting position right now. Like a rowdy, drunkard youth, he goes to do just that. To flop onto the Scotsman and grab for his waist. "I believe yah've been a wallflower a bit too long this evenin, thank ya much!" And Brock in fact goes to yoink him, if he can catch hold of him. Might not be too much of a stretch for someone of Brock's size and obvious physical condition to two handed lift LJ up from the bar like a picked up cat, and carry him to the dance floor to be deposited right on it. "Oi!" He calls out across the bar, "Carver! You and yer lil friend get yer asses over here and at lease ACT like ya know how ta have a good time." Brock challenges, "You're making yourself look bad! Don't decrease the value of the place!"

Ethan Carver does snap out of it, almost at once. His back straightens, his shoulders square, and his jaw clenches. Maybe Jason's commanding aura is being supplemented by Brock's majesty. Maybe it's all Jason. Either way, Ethan is at attention. "Sorry, Timmy," he mumbles, glancing at the younger teen. "Gotta go. Raincheck?" And so the night isn't a complete loss, he reaches back to give Timothy's bottom a good squeeze. Forgetting his drink and discarded shirt, he steps up to Jason, lifting his chin. To a human, it's a gesture of defiance. To a wolf, it's a show of submission, baring his throat to a superior. "I just need to say good-bye to Liam. Then I'll be ready to go."

It's a good thing LJ is stronger than he looks, lest both he and his stool go crashing beneath all that is Brock. "That was by design!" he half-whispers, so it comes out as more of a hiss than he really intended. There's really no point to it, though; he's not about to flail about like a monkey--he's far too cool for that. Decorum! Also, oof, manhandled. "Really, Brock, I honestly have absolutely zero sense of rhythm." Thump, his feet are on the dance floor. If he had a tail at this moment, it'd be fluffed to twice its size. But, barring that, he exhales like he's been tasked with putting out a fire, and tries to 'When In Rome.' He holds up his hands in fists and pumps them up and down along with moving his shoulders. That's how people dance, right? His legs... aren't really doing anything. Maybe a little shuffle. "Am I doing it right?"

Jason Christopher nods to Ethan, and in what may seem uncharacteristic to the wolf teen, Jason actually seems pleased. He must have had a truly good day or so since Ethan saw him. He seems, while not a different person. Certainly somewhat changed. Like a portion of a weight was lifted, if not so much the entire thing. "Good. I should like to say farewell to Liam as well. Are you packed? Either way, I will meet you there. I have a few other places to visit first." He planned to stop and say something briefly to Hale, then Liam. Then he would be on his way back to La Push and Jacob, who quie clearly missed him terribly. Something that, for reasons he didn't fully dwell on long enough to grasp, was really quite mutual. Then he grasps Ethan's hand and starts to lead him out, unless Ethan chooses to resist such. Lest he accidently fall victim to any further party hearty suggestions.

Brock is not Gene Kelly on the floor at all. He's much to large, and strength is his trait, over agility or the others. But he has the rhythm and beat at least, so that is enough to carry him through. LJ however, conflicts with the music, but Brock doesn't give him ridicule or let on about how bad he might be. "Just about." The big blond smirks, "Yah kinna gotta-- here." Brock takes LJ's hips, and he holds him steady for a few moments, and then uses it to start to sway him to the rocking beat. "Ya don't listen, ya FEEL it. Get it? The vibration?" The good time vibes continue to pump through the club, and with the two cats in this type of vicinity, they take on a bit more physical levels. People inspired to buddy and pair up.

Ethan Carver offers no resistance whatsoever, allowing Jason to lead him out of this den of sin and cinema. He stops only to trade the numbered poker chip for his leather jacket at the coatcheck window, as well as one last, almost longing look toward the dance floor and the pretty blond boy he probably won't be seeing again. Oh God, and there are the two teachers, dancing together. What're they even doing being in public in the first place? Teachers are supposed to live at the school. No matter, it's not Ethan's problem right now. He has to figure out just how to tell Liam he's leaving for an unknown amount of time for somewhere Way Up North. Slipping on his jacket, he follows Jason out of the club.

Don't be fooled--LJ has not forgotten about Jason or Ethan, and continues to glance in their direction from time to time, until they're gone. Maybe he heard something, maybe he didn't--the music was pretty loud. (And he has earplugs in, to boot.) But given that both men seem decent folk, he otherwise doesn't invade their privacy, and refocuses on Brock, whose hands are suddenly upon his waist. Welp. "Frankly, I do try my very best Not to feel," he says, which probably explains that constant composed coolness, if not the reason behind it. That said, he does give it a good college (if not frat) try, and follows Brock's guidance with a very serious, focused expression, his hands on the other man's burly arms. "Academically, I understand what you're talking about," he says, still not quite getting it. "But I feel like dancing has this tribal primacy to it I've never quite mastered." To his merit, it does get a little better after a song or two.

Jason Christopher doesn't look back, longingly or otherwise. He does spare a nod to the cats on the way by though, asa courtesy. Hmmmm If there had been less humans present. Well it might have been fun to sing or perform in such a place like this. Thoughts he really had not allowed himself to think, for a very very long time now. Yes, something like this, could be fun...But then he is gone as well. With Beacon Hills set in his rear view mirror for a time.