Owner	Pose
Rose Kolodny	Molly isn't a paying member of the club, nope. It's the small things. That dress? Not designer. And the only excuse for that hair is that she must have done it herself. And that's without touching on the heels. Who the hell wears chromed silver and black with a black dress? That's without touching on the fact that she actually has the nerve to be wearing what at first glance is probably mistakable as sunglasses, in Lux, at night. It's the tattoo's that set her apart though. A tracery like circuitry along her arms that in the softer lighting of the club shift color slowly over time. Paired with the way she stands with her back to the bar, the boredom of one who isn't necessarily there for a good time inherant in the way she leans on one foot, nursing a whiskey.
Penance	It's been too long since Monet allowed herself to let her hair down and go have some fun with the less fortunate. Of course, that includes pretty much /everyone else/ on the planet. She's one of the richest people, from one of the richest families, in the world. A true one-percenter. And, though the peasants would play the World's Smallest Violin to hear it, this kind of lifestyle presents its own challenges! Reputation: it must be upkept, all the time, and doing so often makes one a social pariah, due to serious cases of the envies. This is why Monet has no friends! Not that she needs them. She's perfectly fine without them! She's PERFECT.     But, it still surfaces, from time to time-- the urge to /socialize/. So, she prepares herself in the best way she knows how: intensive pampering. A spa day, with shopping for the right outfit, and the best of everything as she gets ready to greet the world at large. She is a member of Lux, and she's treated like the VIP she is when she arrives. She is swept inside in style, with people waiting on her every wish to be voiced so they may fulfill them. Her dress? Definitely designer. It's a classic-seeming LBD (little black dress), but it fits her like she was poured into it, and it moves with her body like a second skin. Her heels are black stilettos, and also designer. She's got on a large, heavily bejeweled bracelet and a pair of black opal solitaire earrings. And, as she slides onto a stool at the bar, right next to lounging Molly, she orders her usual, which the bar tender seems to know as a matter of his job-survival. She smells divine, if one can get past her breathtaking appearance, that is. And, she slides her rich brown gaze over to Molly as she rotates her stool's seat, to look for interesting people to watch.
Rose Kolodny	Molly's attention is slow to rouse, the lion's share of it watching a couple of guys do a business deal at a nearby table. But the motion of the stool does bring her attention around to scan Monet. It's perfunctory, assessing, but there's no parting of her lips in awe, nor wrinkling of her nose in envy. Somehow, the lean woman seemingly fails to recognize her. The dip of her head by way of acknowledgment casual, unpreturbed. It's the ultimate faux pas for a social inferior. The nails that are tapped on the side of her glass are fake, so fake. The burgundy tips not the right color at all for her outfit, either. It's not even a deliberate snub, on behalf of the cyborg, even. Bereft of the social awareness in the current century to have the awareness that she's potentially making herself an enemy simply through being distracted by the suits.
Penance	It's really egregious, the number of fashion no-nos that Molly is committing, right now. Though Molly's nose doesn't wrinkle, Monet's /does/, but not out of envy. This is the look of someone with incredibly refined tastes that is faced with clashing colors, cheap knock-offs, and the blissful ignorance of a plebe. The sad thing is that Molly /probably/ thinks she looks pretty decent, and is just completely unaware of the fact that the Fashion Police would have her in cuffs so fast her gyros couldn't compensate for the g-force spinning. Well, really, it's not /that/ bad. But, Monet's never been one for understating herself. Rather the opposite.     "How did you get in here?" she asks in a flat voice, though her expression is one of genuine curiosity. "Are you a member of this place? Or, someone's guest?" she presses, inadvertantly giving Molly some options for explanations to grab onto. Monet's eyes are locked on the cyborg girl, and her jaw is partially dropped in that "Oh, my god, Becky" expression.
Rose Kolodny	There's... talking. From next to her. It's not that Molly doesn't hear Monet, she does. It's just that it takes a second for her to decide if it's any kind of relevance to her,"Mind your own business." are the four words she chooses to utter. Her accent is... Tri-state... but not? The tone indifferent. The motion of her head back towards Monet is slow punctuation to her point. The whiskey thrown back with unflustered precision as she straightens to her feet properly at a nod.     Her critic is left, temporarily, as the lean woman prowls over to the table. Like... seriously? Working girl? But no. One hand's briefly raised to the back of her head like she's... scratching, only to pass off something small and square to the guy in the expensive grey suit wordlessly before turning back towards the bar. If it wasn't salt in the wound, that she appears to be heading back to the same exact spot must itself be a A-class level of social felony.
Penance	Monet's perfectly shaped brows lift in indignant surprise as the tacky older woman tells her to mind her own business. Who she is forced to share space with in a place of which she is a prized member /is/ her business. Still, so shocked is she by the older woman's remark that she doesn't say anything. Yet. AND, Molly has the /audacity/ to just walk away from her! Just like that! Monet's eyes narrow as she tosses her own drink back -- a very expensive spiced rum, imported, naturally.     It's worth noting that Monet's voice is noticeably accented -- French. More specifically, Monégasque (from Monaco), if Molly's knowledge runs that deep. The sixteen-year-old entitled girl watches as Molly makes her way over to the table and leaves something behind. Though Monet is not being especially careful, she does at least wait until Molly's turned her back on the table to access her telekinesis powers, lifting the card from the table and bringing it zooming toward her open hand. It's entirely possible that Molly sees this happening, even though she's not necessarily expecting this to happen!
Rose Kolodny	It's not that Molly see's it happen, or really, has any idea what happened at all specifically, there's a sound from the guy in the grey suit as suddenly the tiny object; a microSD card, goes flitting from his hand. For the cyborg there's just that split second of motion in the corner of her eye and out the window pretense at normality goes. With a speed and precision that's definitely not human the small card is snapped out of the air as it passes her, the older woman pivoting back towards the table.     The guy in the grey suit is already on his feet, though his sense of decorum at least forestalls him from making more noise to draw attention to himself. The guy across the way frowning distinctly at his table companion and Molly in equal measure. The empty hand is spread in the universal gesture of 'I'm unarmed' as she endeavors to repeat the process of carrying it back to the red-faced guy in grey. An easy snatch for Monet the second time, if she hasn't already managed to ruin the other womans night with the disruption already.
Penance	Monet's ire rises exponentially as the object is grabbed out of the air by the older woman -- it's enough to make the teen stand up in the universal gesture of 'I'm about to stamp my foot!' She watches, fuming, as the microSD card is carted back to the table by Molly. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, she observes the silent exchanges between the woman-who-is-probably-a-streetwalker and the guys at the table who are definitely johns to some prostitute, if not this one.     With a mean little smile, Monet crosses her arms over her chest, cocks a hip, and 'yanks' the microSD card from Molly's grasp as she holds up her open palms, and sends it flying toward the first guy's companion, letting it smack him in the face. Monet is almost unable to keep herself from laughing at the expression on the man's face, but she bites down hard on her tongue and holds her breath. She sits back down on her seat and lets whatever happens...happen.     While Lux is a place where many shady things occur, muder is not one of them. The second the man in the suit stood up with the angry expression, security for the establishment were on alert and they're moving surreptitiously closer. Not directly confronting the gentlemen at the table, but definitely making their presence known, should the men decide to make an issue of things.
Rose Kolodny	Molly will probably wonder for the rest of her life what has possessed the sliver of plastic. She presents it to the guy in grey, it goes flying and smacks another in the face. And all she can do is arch her brows and spread her hands. Nope. She's not getting involved with the possessed card of doom. Heeeellllll no. Especially because she knows that the owner doesn't tolerate violence and where the security guards are. There's definitely at least one displeased man at the table... not including the one that almost swallowed the stupid thing. And the older woman? She's not exactly smiling, either.     Perhaps surprisingly, under the circumstances, or maybe simply because Molly's very much showing nope, no violence here, she doesn't end up rousted. Grey suit and his friend are none too happy and end up hustled towards the door, while the companion of his 'friend' pauses to say something to the cyborg before they find somewhere else to be. Somewhere less... attention grabbing.     That leaves the cyborg heading back towards the bar, noting absently that the pretty girl now sort of resembles the cat that ate the canary,"Give me another whiskey, with legs." offered to the bartender,"And my bag, please." added on afterwards with that frown still etched on her face. Behind her lenses she's attempting to review, but there's no... obvious force! There's a Japanese invective uttered under her breath as the bartender dumps both her bag and the whiskey on the bar,"Last one." is what he has to offer her in a flat voice. He doesn't care, one way or another, but someone does.
Penance	Monet is smiling in a smug way as Molly makes her way back up to the bar. She doesn't look directly at the woman, at first. She's too concerned she'll burst out laughing and spoil the game. Still. She can't just let it /go/, no. That would be the adult, responsible, mature thing to do. And, while Monet is capable of being all three of those things, when she feels slighted...she tends to choose /not/ to be.     Molly's ordered her whiskey with legs, whatever that means, and Monet clears her throat. "Butterfingers," she murmurs in that snotty French-accented way of hers. As she hears Molly ask for her bag, she adds, "I don't know if leaving right now would be zee smartest idea." She crosses her legs and gestures for a refill on her drink. How is she drinking? She doesn't look old enough, no matter how prettily she's dressed. "Zose men looked ready to hurt you," she says, still not looking at the woman, trying to keep the grin off of her face.
Rose Kolodny	Oooh that got a reaction. It's in the speed with which Molly's head comes around, even if her eyes can't be seen to be narrowing at Monet. The bag, a clutch really, is collected from the bar before she throws back the whiskey like it was water, dredging a couple of neatly folded bills from the clutch to cover the cost,"Thank you for your concern." she doesn't sound at all thankful, really, and that smug smile on Monet's face doesn't exactly help, either. Of course, at Money's angle, that there's a gun in that clutch is probably obvious in the glimpse before she closes it. The addition seems to bring a smile to the older womans face, slow and unpleasant,"Isn't it past your curfew, child?"
Penance	Monet, if she does indeed see the gun, does not appear to be concerned by it -- perhaps she didn't see it, after all. Wouldn't snotty little teens with too much money to burn and therefore far too much to live for...tend to shut their mouths when they catch sight of such things? Most of them, yes -- even while in the safe haven of Lux, with its top notch security. "You're welcome," she says, smiling again. At the question, though, she laughs and meets eyes with Molly's strange silver-lensed ones, "I don't have a curfew, but I'm sure the shelter must be missing you by now. Do they hold your bed open for you, or is it first come, first serve?" Then, she's turning away, again, making it clear she was just being a bitch and heavily insinuating that Molly's homeless.
Rose Kolodny	"I didn't realize we were talking about your bedroom." Molly onto takes a moment to retort with the maturity of someone half her age, tucking the clutch up under her arm and flicking a look over the room. It's not that she's hesitating about going outside, at all, she just... well, knows the owner's policy on violence and has enough respect for him not to want to break it. She turns to prowl in the direction of the door. It's not the walk of a streetwalker. No sway to those hips, no slow stroll to catch attention, but the ground-eating stalk of someone who's probably planning violence if there is anyone lurking for her outside.