Owner	Pose
Buttercup	If there's anything more depressing than going to Port-Lee's at midnight, it's going to Port-Lee's at noon. The neon lights are dimmed by the light of day, the grime and mold is better on display, the men are all the more desperate and none of the girls look quite as hot as they did the night before. In fact, the music's all been turned down, one of the dancers is just flat out asleep on top of a table in one of the booths, and the other is taking a lunch break, herself, availing herself of the fresh batch of mac 'n' cheese that's just been set out. She's kicked off her heels and is sitting with an anient-looking driver, one of her little feet resting on his lap as she chats flirtatiously with him over the cheesy delicacy.
Vanya	Bright daylight streams in through the blacked-out double doors as a new patron arrives at Port-Lee's. Briefly silhouetted by the light, a gust of cool November air drags her unkempt hair forward across her face as her bronze eyes sweep around the establishment. The wingspan of her arms is thick, her core solid, and the woman's femininity is muffled by cords of sinew from head to toe - all ten of which are countable as she steps inside barefoot. The woman's tattered red pants might be the latest in Cuisinart fashion, though equally eye-catching is the black runic brand across her face. This might not be one to brag about to mother.     A bushy brown brow furrows as Vanya takes stock of the establishment's occupants, lingering for a moment on the passed-out figure on the table.
Buttercup	Buttercup listens with kind, engaged interest to the old trucker's tales of yore, her foot subtly shimmering with a solar-speckled glow below the table and imparting a feeling of warmth and being loved directly to the elderly gent's lappers as she slowly runs her toes along the top of his thigh. She asks a few gentle probing questions as he goes, more to demonstrate that she's litening than for any other reason. Sometimes people just want to be heard. And to have a pretty yong lady rub her feet on their lap. To each his own. When the door opens, Buttercup lifts one hand againt the bright noontide glare. And when Vanya seems to be coming in looking for Isabel, Buttercup lifts her voice. "She's just taking fifteen, she's OK," she calls, chipper enough. "Want to hit the buffet while you're waiting?"
Vanya	Vanya looks over as the doors shut behind her, returning the mild indoor lighting to supremacy. "It smells good. All-you-can-eat buffet?" the tattooed woman asks, betraying a Slavic origin in the way she clips and stresses vowels.
Buttercup	"All you can eat!" Buttercup bubbles up, "You look like you could give the buffet a run for its money, though. We just gotout a fresh pot of Port-Lee's famous mac 'n' cheese, though, so no worries about running out," she assures the visitor. "What about you, G, can I top off your bowl for you?" she asks, sliding a foot back down to the floor and suppressing the sunstuff therein as she leans forward and gives the old man a shoulder snug while he chickes and demurs. "OK, if yo say so," she grins, nd goe to fill up her own, at least, before the new customer can descend upon it.
Buttercup	"All you can eat!" Buttercup bubbles up, "You look like you could give the buffet a run for its money, though. We just gotout a fresh pot of Port-Lee's famous mac 'n' cheese, though, so no worries about running out," she assures the visitor. "What about you, G, can I top off your bowl for you?" she asks, sliding a foot back down to the floor and suppressing the sunstuff therein as she leans forward and gives the old man a shoulder snug while he chuckles and demurs. "OK, if you say so," she grins, and goes to fill up her own, at least, before the new customer can descend upon it.
Vanya	Buttercup may be right to worry as a wide smile spreads across Vanya's face and the Russian brawler licks her lips. Tucking her hands lazily behind her head, she ambles over towards the food and eyes each tray in turn, as if expecting them to flee from her shadow. "What do you have that's vegetarian?" she probs while skimming the salad and mashed potatoes.
Buttercup	Buttercup slides her feet back into her heels, adding about a half a foot to her sum total-- she's almost ridiculouly good at getting around on top of the, trot-hoping on over to the buffet and giving the guy behind the bar a nod before she takes another scoop. "Uh, well, the mac, sure, and the salad-- the cole slaw, probably," she grins, "Some green beans out, too," she points. "It is kinda meat heavy, isn't it? We don't get a lot of people coming in looking for veg. Oh, and there's pudding for dessert!"
Vanya	"Vegetarian pudding?" Vanya guesses hopefully, looking more emboldened the longer Buttercup makes her list. Without bothering to ask for the price, she grabs a plate and begins building a meal - and going straight for two large scoops of macaroni. "Mashed potatoes?" she adds, ready to make a meal out of sides.
Buttercup	"Hey, MaaAARK?" Buttercup lifts her voice to catch the bartender's attention in a manner that might suggest he's hard of hearing or at least tough to rouse from his daydreaming. The man snorts awake and, "Mh?" he grunts, to which Buttercup replies, "Can you see if Lee's got any mash coming out?" she pleads on behalf of the customer before she smiles back over her shoulder, showing her bowl, "For me, just the orange stuff's enough to keep me going," she chuckles, while Mark goes off behind into the kitchen and office to look for Lee himself. "You ever been here before?" Buttercup thinks she'd remember seeing someone like this around here.
Vanya	"That is all? It is a miracle you do not shrivel into a twig," Vanya retorts as she sets down her plate, then flexes an arm and gives her bicep a slap. "This body needs a little more fuel," she smirks, though her eyes stray approvingly over the now-taller woman's physique. The brawler smirks confidently as she picks her plate back up and resumes piling on food.
Buttercup	"Well, you make it up in quantity," Buttercup titters, topping off her bowl and heading to the end of the buffet to let Vanya make her way down it. She draws her fork up out of the dish and nomfs some cheey noodles from the end. "Mmm, that's the stuff," she murmurs, eyes closing in bliss beore flickering back open and grinning at Vanya's display of brawn. "You're very impressive," she grins. "Are you an athlete?" she wonders. "A boxer or something?"
Vanya	"Da, good guess," Vanya replies brashly, smirking a little wider as she makes her way to the end of the row. The mingled pile of foods she's created is an affront to architecture and the culinary arts, but its unrepentant bulk suits the brawler well. Not bothering to find a seat either, she digs into the top of the stack with her own fork and shoves in a large bite.     "I punff people for money," she continues before swallowing after eerily few bites. "Or if you need to move something heavy, heh..."
Buttercup	"In a safe and consentual environment, I can only hope," Buttercup grins, leaning a shoulder against a wall at the end of the buffet and watching Vanya approach with her pile of food. "If there's anything else you need, you just let me know, OK? I'm called Buttercup," she introduces herself with a lively spark to her eye.
Vanya	"One of two," the tattooed Russian chuckles as she steadily devours the contents of her plate while standing.     "Vanya," she adds. "What do you do, Buttercup?"
Buttercup	Buttercup glances down to her, well, rather scandalous garb, then back up to Vanya, brows arcing as she comes to realize Vanya might be a little more foreign than she'd originally assumed. "I'm a dancer," she pipes up gently by way of explanation. "Here," she angles her head toward the stage, "In fact."
Vanya	Vanya follows the performer's gaze down then to the side and slowly quirks an eyebrow of her own before turning back. "Ah, ya ponimayu, you dance for the men," she concludes with an entertained chuckle. "But what is the pole for?"
Buttercup	"Mhm!" Buttercup is glad that Vanya's gotten the gist of things, at least. But she's never seen a pole dance before? "Why not have a seat? I'll show you. And let Bel have a little longer for her nap?" she adds with a playful smile, strolling backward and setting her bowl into a table with the aforementioned G. Then she's turning away to the 'audio' table, which is really just an ipod hooked up to a couple of speakers. Which she scrolls through, picking a song.
Vanya	"Okay," the Russian accepts readily, wandering over to a table front and center to the T-shaped dancing platform and making herself comfortable, which for the brawler involves kicking her bare feet up over the arm of the chair beside her and leaning her seat back onto two legs. One arm lazily drapes across her lap while the other continues ravaging the ever-shrinking plate.