out of place // cohen

[dylan]

Dylan was late, she was so late. She was stupid to think she could take a thirty minute nap. Her uniform was folded on the edge of her bed and she quickly stripped, putting on the itchy fabric and deteriorating shoes. Her hair was... a mess. She ran a hand through it, checked her watch and cursed loudly. Her wallet tucked away in her jacket pocket and she ran out of the apartment building. Immediately she looked for any potential stalkers, and slipped through the back of the apartment building, crossing through a couple sketchy alleyways. That actually weren't so sketchy anymore, in fact- they were her route nearly daily now. Nothing's happened, which was something she was very grateful for. Dyl crossed over a few streets, nearly at a run now. God, what a night. Her last job ran late, because someone called from out of district again. She stood in front of the night club and pulled her shirt lower, her short skirt up, and flopped her hair scantily to one side. She smiled breathlessly at the bouncer and he let her pass.

"Thanks." she murmered, and walked around the crowds to the back room. She came in face with her manager, "I know. I am so sorry." She said, removing her jacket and hanging it in the employee closet, taking out her apron. "It won't happen again, you know that." She was one of the hardest workers this joint probably had, she couldn't let herself worry about this sort of thing. Besides, the more he lectured her, the less tips, the more secure she'd be. She gave a guilty smile and saluted, exiting out into the loud and busy club. Walking over she served two tables, balancing the tray expertly in one hand as she weaved through the drunkards and dancers. She set the tray down at the bar and told the bartender the orders. Dylan's eyes wandered over the crowd as she waited for the drinks, smiling at the dancers. They were all having so much fun. She hasn't had a night to herself in... well, a while. But, no matter.

She was on.

Taking the tray she weaved once more through the people, placing the drinks back in their spots confidently. Dylan was a good worker, and once she'd be on her feet for hours longer, she would take over the cleaning shift. Change into the janitor's uniform and help make a few extra bucks an hour. It was her life and she wasn't complaining. It just... grew tired after a while. Turning away from a table with an empty tray she bumped into someone. Wide -eyed she yelled, "I'm so sorry!" Just to go over the music. For a while when she started working here, she took to wearing earplugs. Orders were harder to take that way, but Dylan got used to it. Since then, the earplugs were gone, and her tolerance raised impeccably. Dylan just hoped she didn't spill his drink, the policy is if the waitress spills, knocks, or breaks- they pay for it. And she couldn't afford that. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

[cohen]

Cohen's shower-soaked hand reach out, snatching the stereo remote off his bathroom counter and turning down the music. He draped a towel around his waist and one around his shoulders - that he'd previously used to shake dry his hair. He was going out tonight, and he'd be damned if he wasn't so fresh and so clean - literally. He swiped his hand across the fogged up mirror, clearing a spot where he could see his face, and clicked his tongue. If his trademark Sweeney smirk was any indication, tonight would be a success.

Stepping into his bedroom, letting out a deep breath and accepting the temperature change, Cohen stepped over to his bed and picked up the button down laid out. He slid the dubbed hair towel from around his neck and used to to dry his arms completely, before slipping on the dress shirt. The next step was pulling on his boxer briefs, followed by his chinos and then, he completed his look with a bowtie and fedora. Honestly, he'd probably looked to dressed up and outdated for the club he was venturing into, tonight. But, he hoped it wouldn't be too much of an issue. The vintage, suave gentleman look was making a comeback, you know.

The club wasn't too far from his apartment, and he'd heard great reviews about it. Mostly because he knew some guys who worked there - which was another Cohen Sweeney advantage - no line. He rapped his fist on the metal door of the back, took one last drag of his cigarette, and greated the man who answered with a smile, "How's it swingin'?"

The place was packed - which was a good sign. He wasn't the biggest fan of the bumping music, but he was willing to brave it for a sort of one night engagement. He'd navigated his way through a hot, sweaty and dancing (see: jumping and fist pumping) crowd, one hand on his hat and a smile on his face. Honestly, Cohen loved this scene. He'd never openly admit just how much he wanted to join the dancing masses - he was too cool for that, had an image to maintain. But, he would tell you it looked like fun. Seconds after he thought that, there was a girl on his arm begging him to dance. He smiled down at her - she was attractive enough, but Cohen wanted to aim higher - and patted her hands off of him, "Not now, doll. I've got places to be."

Then, he turned. Too quickly, maybe, and collided with someone else. She looked terrified, her eyes wide. But, Cohen only raised his hands and said, "No harm done, babydoll." Then, he gestured to his body, looking down with a laugh, "I'm alright. You good?"

Then, he offered a hand and a smirk, "Names' Cohen."

[dylan]

The turn, the boy, the dance became a blur very quickly. Though she knew little of any brand of clothing, she knew by looking what was expensive, or at least for her, and what wasn't. Part of an old retail job, she supposed she had from a while ago. But it wasn't even that which caught her attention first. Holy shit- that body. He was obviously in excellent shape, young, dashing, her knees nearly buckled for a second time at the sight of his eyes and his hair made her want to reach to touch it. But she held her cool, she just worried about how much a shirt like that would cost her, so she looked purposefully so that maybe, there was no spill. Dylan blinked and shook her head. Hot damn, though.

She was about to retreat when she heard the word, babydoll. What a charming phrase, she hadn't heard it in years, her mother was a big fan of those vintage sayings. Something Dylan would have liked to pick up from her, but... time wouldn't have allowed it. His laugh made her want to squeal but she listened intently. Dylan was far from boy crazy, but there was something about this kid that made her want to just know him. It was strange, especially for her. She never met anyone at work, perhaps because she was obviously the wait staff and the only ones she got hitting on her was a too-old for comfort male gentlemen who think pinching her ass is a good way of getting their way.

Unfortunately her life ran on tips, and as she had no money otherwise, she put up with these intruders of privacy. The guy didn't seem like a high-roller with an obnoxious attitude problem, or someone coming to drink their problems away. "Peach perfect." She replied, grinning at him. Perhaps that was a bit of a nerdy thing for her to do, but at this point in her life, Dylan really couldn't care less. Shifting her tray so it was tucked delicately under her arm she nodded and shook his hand. "Dylan." She replied, his hospitality was more than nice, anyone else would have cursed her and shed' be fired before she knew what happened. But he seemed genuinely nice, it was such a pity she'd have to walk away now. Dylan lifted her tray and said with a smile, "Is there anything I can get for you?" Then laughed, " I promise I'm more coordinated than I let on, your drink would get here in one piece."