To Measure Gods

A light rain had started, dotting the pavement in the hours that had passed sunset. Despite the brief, soft fall that was hardly any worry to the nightlife that ventured out after dark, the grey clouds overhead were threatening to pour. Such things didn?t bode well for the thousands that waited in line outside various nightclubs in the downtown core, held back from liquor and music by red velvet ropes. While the burly men that played bouncers claimed that each establishment was at max capacity an occasional celebrity face would waltz by, name on famed list or hundred dollar bill neatly slipped to grease palms. Even known names and expensive bribes might not have gained entrance to Midas; the nightclub was the place to be in all of New York.

Such things didn?t bother Dallas Chatzi. The twenty-something male was already inside, sliding his way through the multitudes of sweaty, bouncing figures. A charming smile, pristine white, was spread across lips. His hand, holding an empty cup like a chalice, was raised high over head as he slipped his way through the crows and towards the bar. Victory was in his grasp, it seemed, as an elbow quickly landed on marble countertops. Hard body leaned forward, hand outstretched with a platinum card extending to gain attention. A busty blonde behind the counter was quick to make way to him. He leaned forward, yelling something in her ear that was lost to the music but made her laugh and blush. A months salary would bet that topic wasn?t polite.

?Gin, tonic. Hold the lime!? He yelled over the pounding tunes and the bartender was quick to oblige. Despite the show of limitless card such extravagance wasn?t needed. His face was recognized by staff on sight, name a permanent fixture on any and all guest lists. With a bottomless bank account and an endless appetite for women, liquor and all things fun, there was rarely a night where Dallas was not among the patrons of the club.

The tanned male bobbed his head in time to the music, bright eyes turning to the DJ as the song began to come to close. At six-foot-five he could clearly see over the many heads that swarmed about, jumping to the tempo of the house remixed song. Dark hair was freshly cut, fading in length from top to bottom, and spiked in that just-rolled-out-of-bed-but-still-damn-fine kind of way that always seemed to be in style. Despite obvious wealth his body was clad in jeans and a tight fit t-shirt, neither of which boasted any big name brand but seemed good quality all the same.

The previous song faded into a newer, faster on. Eyes a lit, his hand shooting into the air with a holler of excitement. He turned, leaning to the young woman beside him, yelling at her. ?I fucking love this song!?

Not moments later his hi-ball arrived. He thanked the barkeep, handing her his plastic card, and promptly yelled at her; ?Shots on me for everyone!? The crowd around him cheered, those in reach patting him on the back. Several bartenders leaped to help pour away his money, passing out shots. Shots, nameless though smelling sweet and strong, were handed out.

?For you.? He smiled, handing a shot to the closest person to him and taking another for himself. Glass raised, cheers-ing the crowd before downing it himself. Now that was a way to start the night right.

Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/26A2CMnEQpk/viewtopic.php

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