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Fingers clutching an empty shot glass as wide brown eyes surveyed the rowdy crowd, the taste of her liquid courage still burning at the back of her throat, Astrid reached up to fiddle absently with the flower adorning her hair—part of her uniform for the evening. With her shift drawing to a close, a night of serving customers in her usual place of work behind her, she debated getting out on the dancefloor and joining in on the festivities for once. You'd think for someone that danced for a living (and much more scantily clad than she currently was), Astrid would be a little more comfortable with the idea of dancing to country music with strangers. But that was exactly her issue... they were strangers. And even though the brunette felt a vague sense of comfort, being in the club that she largely considered her home away from home, she was still horribly out of her comfort zone. Though she projected an easy confidence on stage, the picture of grace and charisma during her act, this was different. She didn't have a flashy stage persona to hide behind. There was no space between performer and audience to protect her. No, this was something she had to do as herself, not as Scarlet, a thought almost as horrifying as the recent string of misfortune that had befallen her. Because she didn't want to think about all the things that had gone horribly wrong lately—her unfortunate run-in with the law, a missing family friend, and a penchant for stumbling across body parts. She wanted a reprieve, even if it was something as trivial as dancing with the locals. So, with a steeling breath, the former ballerina slammed down her shot glass, marching right towards the dance floor, determined to approach the first available dance partner she found. That is, until she bumped into someone crossing her path, she shoulder colliding with them. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I was just hoping to join in. Are you okay?" came her automatic apology, nearly lost among the sound of lively fiddles, a flush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks.

the glitter gulch, 30th of may

Matevos Hakobyan had ridden the bull four times already. He nursed a bruised shoulder, a split lip - very unfortunate altercation between his face and the bull’s head -, and more small bruises along his legs and arms. Didn’t matter though, he was hyped up and grinning. He’d lasted longer and longer every time he got on. He was planning on breaking his own record of a stellar fifteen seconds. After he had a drink to renew his energies.

“Really, you should try it. It gives you such an adrenaline rush! The falling is just part of the game, but as far as I know nobody has broken anything yet! Aside from some fingers and a toe. But hey, that’s part of what makes it funny, isn’t it? The danger of getting hurt doesn’t overshadow the sensation of being weightless for a moment when you crash on that bull!” Matevos assured his conversation partner. He gently touched his lip. Oh, was he getting a bruise on his jaw too?

“I look handsome even rugged up, right? I have a date later tonight with a pyromaniac.” Lie, this time it was a horse girl.

the glitter gulch, 30th of may

Zakir had never even seen a bull. Well, not a mechanical that was. He’d seen plenty cows and bulls back home. The idea of riding one had always felt a bit odd and out of the question given his Hindu/Islamic upbringing. No pigs, no cows, was his Mother’s slogan.

But this wasn’t a real bull.

So he’d, with his thrown-together cowboy outfit including boots and a hat, entered the ring and sat atop the bull, knowing full well that he wouldn’t last that long.

They’d barely given him time to secure himself ontop of the thing before it started and he was thrown off... well, basically in the first second it felt.

Then ushered out of the ring for the next person.

His hat had gone flying - so much for looking dashing while riding a mechanical bull - and disorientated after the fall, he simply walked up to the first person hoping to retrieve it. "You wouldn't happen to have see a cowboy hat flying this way, would you?"

She's beaming by the time she bounces off the make shift stage, giggling and letting her friends know she'd be back after getting a drink, stopping at the karaoke sign up list again to see if there were any other songs that stood out. Eyes dart to the side, her body shuffling over a bit so the person next to her could read teh book.

"Please, if you know what you wanna sing go ahead, I'm not sure I'm gonna go again." She smiles, handing the pen over to her new counterpart. Were they here for karaoke? Who knows, she can't hear much, but she does know one of the bands is going to go on soon, and the host would probably be wrapping up. But if they wanted to be brave beforehand, she wasn't going to stop anyone.

"Betcha' I can stay on the mechanical bull longer than you," Ace said with a grin, a taunt if it was anything else. "Twenty bucks to see which one of us can ride it longer? Although I think I already know the outcome, but you can try."

In all honesty, Ace doesn't even know if he's going to win. But, it was always fun to make these kinds of bets. He likes the thrill of things and adding money to it doesn't hurt. It's also to make the stakes higher or just plain entice the other person to take up his challenge.

Ace is a local, has been going to this event for a majority of his life. He's had his fair share of riding that bull and has definitely lasted in riding it for at least eight seconds. He's going to try and break his record and having someone go against him is getting him excited.

"Would you prefer a higher amount? I don't mind it." he says before looking over to the mechanical bull. The person who was riding it is barely three seconds in and they're already slipping, then falls off of it. Ace laughs, amused at the person who fell and couldn't last a mere three-seconds on it.

the glitter gulch, midnight, 30th of may

@boneyardstarters

Nikitha had her arms crossed, letting the sounds and sensations wash over her as if in doing so she could stretch her awareness to encompass everything within the boxed in space. She counted up to a hundred, sifting through memories and impressions. Then when she had, she let out a long breath. For good measure she breathed in again, held it there for four seconds, and then let it all out, emptying her lungs of anything that could hold her back.

It didn't truly happen, but it felt like her vision cleared, like everything was brought back into hyper focus. She did this once every time she entered a new space, centering her to the present. Because the past was a heavy cloak that needed to be lifted off her shoulders and dropped, only to be donned as soon as she left for a new place.

"Are there bets going on on the bull riders?" she asked, face remaining still as she turned to the hyped up audience. "Or is it over so quickly that nobody has the time." She slipped both hands into the pockets of her bomberjacket and started counting again, a hit for every criminal she saw. Tonight was not the night she found intell, but it was hard to break this new habit. She knew how to bide her time, she'd learned patience from the best. "We could bet between the two of us?"

where: glitter gulch lounge

jibril stares at the mechanical bull in front of him, watching as other patrons try and fail to stay on it. they've never seen this sort of ride in person, only ever heard of it, so this was new to them. from what they could tell, the objective was staying on for a certain period of time. jibril had never considered himself one to back down from a challenge, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity.

he looks at one of the people in the crowd, making sure he understands the purpose of the ride. "so...is there some kind of prize for if you don't get thrown off?" they ask, voice soft with a little hesitance. "have you ever ridden one of these before? is it hard?"

while the rest of the city had dressed itself in imitation—cowboys, rhinestones, and other borrowed mythologies the strip sold back to them at markup—the warehouse continued as it always did. unremarkable. untheatrical. functioning regardless. even if he had intended to take the night off, and had nearly been persuaded otherwise by one flower-named roller-skating variable of chaos, he could not ignore what the crowd became when half of the city was otherwise occupied by spectacle above ground. less restrained. less interested in pretending otherwise.

instead, he remained beneath flickering warehouse light that never fully committed to illumination. someone nearby coughed into a towel already too used to be called clean. the irony, at least, was consistent.

the third fight ends the way most of them do—loud enough to convince the room it mattered, abrupt enough to suggest it never did.

the ring is already dissolving into its aftermath. one fighter sits half-folded against the corner post while gauze is wound around skin that is too weak to hold itself closed. another is being guided off with an arm slung over shoulders, weight dragging behind them. someone wipes the canvas down with a towel, even more blood and grime within its fibers.

the crowd has already begun to forget it happened.

then, finally, toward the newest arrival. a pause. “if you were going to take anything tonight,” he adds flatly, “that would’ve been the one to bet on.”

The loss of the territory didn't keep Dominic out of the club. Though the recent peace treaty left his old hangout back open without consequence. Even if it hadn't, he was unlikely to catch anyone's attention tonight.

Dim lights highlighted sweat-slick skin, smoke sticking to those places on contact, shoes sticking to the split liquor on the floor as it dried. He liked grittier places. Something about well put-together people caused an irrational irritation to rumble behind his ears. Nothing quite felt like home the way blood and stale smoke did. Even tonight, with the stupid country theme draping every dancer and drunk girl on the bull, it was more comfortable than most places.

Dom wouldn't be caught dead playing dress up, not that his lack of costume made him stick out. Faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt blended in anywhere.

"I bet the next round your dumb ass can't last two minutes on that fucking thing." He was drunk already, eyes beginning to glaze as he tried to escape the shit show that was his job here lately. He was starting to worry he wouldn't have one soon. At the rate the Vitelli's were going, he'd be out of employees.

With the gesture of his hand, he called over the bartender. It would take her probably another ten minutes to get to him, but that wasn't her fault, and he wasn't about to make his empty glass her problem.

"Shit, a shot just to see you try."

The rodeo always brought in a huge crowd to the Cupid's Arrow. Wolfgang was celebrating his third year of working at the bar, and regulars, friends, and co-workers had all turned out to celebrate. While usually a server, floating around the bar, the owners had him stationed behind bar tonight, dishing out the signature drink - the rodeo clown - as a guest tender. Wolf had dressed the part, more or less; he was wearing his brown boots, a pair of dark blue jeans, a matching cowboy hat, and - of course - a brown leather harness across his otherwise bare chest.

The bar was packed, the music was high and energetic, and a large, muscle-bound bartender named Spike was waving from his seat in the dunk tank. Wolf looked up as another patron approached him at the bar. "Why, hello there!" he said with a bright smile. "Happy rodeo days. Can I get you anything? If you get a 'rodeo clown,' you get to ring the bell. But I won't tell you what's in the drink or what happens when you ring the bell."

rodeos weren’t a thing lauryn attended. in fact, she’d never been to a rodeo before, but it reminded her of the times when she would go to coney island. or just to central park to spend a day there. sure, it was a big city like vegas, but it felt like a small town, seeing these businesses come together and make something unique and fun. she was dressed her very best for the occasion, an all denim ensemble with cowboy boots and the hat to match. but something she knew, was dancing. sunday morning clean ups in the nears home made for a family bonding that always seemed to end up in dancing around the living room and singing into brooms. she had music in her life again, but in a different way. cosmix was something she loved, let's be real. she loved coming up with melodies and figuring out slant rhymes that would make jay-z proud. but at times, she missed just singing and dancing for the fun of it. she had those moments with the girls, but they were few and far between. she found herself in the burlesque club, sipping on a homemade lemonade and watching the dancers, trying to maneuver her feet the same way the more competent dancers did. these cowboy, west coast line dances were something that lauryn wasn’t used to. sure, it had been a few years since she properly danced, but she wasn’t afraid to try. settling down her lemonade, she turns to a person sitting at a nearby table. “join me for a dance? or are you one of the ones with two left feet who can’t keep a tune?” her tone is playful as she tips her hat towards them and extends a hand.

"I DUNNO WHAT'S WORSE, the possibility of goin' home and having goddamn country stuck in my head for who knows how long or how many cowboy boots have almost stepped on my feet. Think maybe there shoulda been a bit more practicin' for some people before confidently joined a line dance." Quite the line coming from someone who had only recently recovered in the last few years from a bad case of lifelong two feet on a dance floor herself, but if there was one thing that hadn't changed since her last name did, it was her ability to boast hypocrisy when it supported her complaints. As if on cue, ironically considering her complaints implied she hadn't thought anyone on the floor was capable of hitting a cue with accuracy, she took a step back to narrowly avoid a couple left one half of the pair was dipped into her. Eyebrows rose as if in a silent see, an elbow jutting out in front of her holding the possibility of turning the jamboree into a brawl were someone to get too close again. Credit due where it was deserved, not a single yawn had left her mouth since being she was in the midst of the western-themed antics around her, a true success, even if there was no lack of complaints that did, as she wasn't exactly picturing her first evening truly out of the house and with a babysitter like this. "One more time and you better take this lemonade before it ends up on someone. Isn't there supposed to be a mechanical bull 'round here somewhere, or is that at one of the other places? 'Cause watchin' people getting thrown around sounds a lot more fun. Y'think they'd let me get my hands on the controls if I bribed 'em so I can really send 'em flying?"

wylder + ??? : may 30, mid - evening @ glitter gulch lounge @boneyardstarters

kenny + ??? : may 30, mid afternoon @ cupid's arrow @boneyardstarters

location: random cafe

Harsh hadn't picked an occupation as an actor because he wanted fame and fortune, neither because he'd grown up thinking he was made to be a star. He'd wanted to prove to himself that all the things his mother had said about him were untrue, he wanted a life away from everything she'd build. He didn't just audition for every role he could find, he picked the ones where he could make people fall in love with him. The charmers, the bad-boys, the love-interest.

When he landed a guest role on Las Vegas Emergency, a hit series about a local hospital that dealt with all matter of unbelievable cases, led by the amazing and wonderful Jane Masters as Dr. Emmy Roberts, he threw all his boyish charms into the game.

Yet, three years later and now with his name appearing in the opening title sequence, he was faced with the very real danger that he couldn't walk the streets of Las Vegas without being spotted and recognised.

Out of breath and unsure if he was still followed, Harsh barged through the doors of a cafe and sat down at the table next to the window, quickly looking in his bag to produce a cap and throw it over his long brown hair. He bit down on his lip as he checked the street through the window, then turned to the occupant of the table with an apologetic smile, hoping that they were unfamiliar with him and he was safe from writing authographs.

"I'll buy you anything off the menu if I can hang out here for a bit." Hide out was more the term.