Owner	Pose
Felicia Hardy	What better way for one of New York's socialites to spend her free time than socializing? Well, better stated as mingle with the hoi-polloi. Miss Felicia Hardy doesn't deign to travel by simple taxi, so a hired sleek and black Rolls-Royce pulls up the curb outside of the Blue Lady. It's one of the premiere places to see and be seen in the city. One long leg, smooth and bare, extends from the back seat followed by another. The black heels are sky-high, but Felicia's poise upon them is practiced as she fully emerges. Her dress is a thing of Art Nouveau beauty in patterning; each rhinestone is certainly not simple faux-jewels embedded on the clinging black fabric. It hits above her knee in a pencil-skirt hemming and sits comfortably below her collarbone. Curves? Accentuated. About Felicia's neck, a necklace of what appear to be aurora borealis stones with a bracelet to match over her black wrist-gloves. She tucks her black clutch beneath her arm and strides purposefully towards the front door and its bouncer. She bypasses him with ease and after rewarding him with a wink of one jade-green eye, the blonde travels into the establishment. It's to the bar first after crossing the floor at an indolent pace, allowing appreciation of the way she minces from in front and from behind. Seating herself on a bar chair and crossing her ankles primly, she then looks to the bartender. "Cosmopolitan, please."
Thomas Raith	The bartender who rather resembles Bruce Willis from RED only with an eyepatch, nods to her and begins casually mixing her drink with practiced efficiency. "You'll have to forgive Yosa, he doesn't talk much. But if I had a quarter for every time he messed up a drink, I would have to take out a loan to buy a pack of gum." The man who speaks to her is... pretty. More beautiful then handsome really, dressed in a white suit that is obviously custom tailored for his frame.
Felicia Hardy	Glancing idly in the direction of the new voice, Felicia's eyebrows rise a visible touch. She straightens in her seat as she lets her eyes brazenly rove down the suited man. "I'll be sure to tip him well then," she replies with a fetching little smile. "You speak like you manage the place. Are you the manager then?" Draping an arm along half of the bar-chair's backing, she taps her glove-muted French-tipped nails along the vertical line of its supportive structure. The subtle surprise from earlier melts into a confident touch of slouch now as she leans an elbow on the bartop and her chin against her closed fist, looking at him expectantly.
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith offers that same wicked smile, "Nothing quite so mundane, I actully own the place." He says with an easy charming smile, taking the barstool next to her with a confident air. The bartender sets her drink in front of her first, then without prompting reaches under the bar retrieving a crystal decanter about half full of amber liquid and a highball glass, setting them in front of his boss. The man in the suit reaches out, offering his hand. "I'm Thomas Raith. It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Hardy.
Felicia Hardy	"Oh-ho," the platinum-blonde chuckles to herself, pleasantly surprised by the identification. She swipes an errant fall of her loosely-curled hair behind her shoulder as to fully reveal the decolletage and sparkling of the aurora stones before she reaches out to take his hand. Felicia shakes it with a precise amount of force well-practiced in high society: enough poise to show grace, enough strength to show presence. "Mister Raith -- I've heard of you then. Only good things," she promises sweetly as she reaches for her Cosmo. A sip at it and she licks at her lips. "That //is// good. I promise to tip well." The assurance aimed at Yosa is accompanied by another wink.
Thomas Raith	There is something...strange...in shaking the man's hand. It feels...nice. Really nice. Put frankly, most men can't kiss as well as Thomas Raith shakes hands. His grin grows wider at her comment, "Only good things?" he asks sounding almost offended, "And here I am under the mistaken delusion that my biggest virtues are all of my execptional vices. he offers with a wicked gleam in his eyes. At being praised for the drink Yosa says nothing, though he seems to puff up a bit under the praise.
Felicia Hardy	"Well...you do know how society likes to twist words," replies Felicia with a note of breathlessness. She side-eyes him again as she sips at her drink. Her lipstick is serious business, carmine and sturdy enough to leave no prints upon the glassware itself. Setting the Cosmo down, she looks to Thomas once more. "Are you one of those gentlemen who subscribes to the notion that good is good, but bad is better then...? Or a hedonist? How would you classify yourself, Mister Raith?" she asks with a gestured spread of fingertips in a lazy arc in his direction.
Thomas Raith	THe man sips his drink, giving her that slow grin as he listens to her melodic tones. "Oh, I wouldn't define myself at all. To do that would be to ascribe myself limits, and I'm not entirely sure I fancy that idea." He smirks slightly, "I chose to live in the moment as it were. The future is unpromised. THe past merely the prologue. Now though is a gift. Now will never come again. So I chose savor it for all it is worth.
Felicia Hardy	The corners of the woman's lips lift in a mirrored smile. Felicia listens, sipping at her drink once more with no more intake than a bird, and then lifts the glass to him in silent salute. "I think you have an excellent outlook upon life. I ascribe to a...hedonism of sorts," she allows. Her jade-green eyes lined in ink and artfully darkened in a smokey-purple fall to the bracelet on her wrist again. The contented sigh draws appropriate attention to the rise and fall of her chest, no doubt. "Who do we have but ourselves in the end? But listen to me, waxing morose." She laughs softly again. "I am not here to be morose. Tell me more about yourself then, Mister Raith. Why...this?" Her eyes briefly travel from the back of the bar and around the room before returning to him.
Thomas Raith	Thomas Raith grins a little bit, tilting his head. "WOuld you believe me if I told you that I opened this place because I didn't want to get into porn?" he asks with mild playfulness in his voice. He gives her a moment to digest the question before explaining "MY family own Silverlight entertainment. I didn't want to be a part of that, so I basically sold my inheritance in the company and used the money to open a place that I wasn't ashamed to put on a business card.
Felicia Hardy	Those carefully manicured brows slowly rise, one moreso than the other. It's an open eyebrowing at the man in his pristine, well-fitted white suit, but Felicia waits to hear the rest of the story rather than responding right off the bat. She's rewarded with the rest of it and then nods thoughtfully, her lips pursed for a second. "I believe you. It's a far more classy avenue to take. Your family should be proud of you for...diverting from the norm. Silverlight, hmm. I know of them. Then again, who doesn't?" The woman eyes the stage in particular and smiles to herself. "It really is a lovely place with lovely views." The compliment is offered with a coy side-glance towards Thomas.