#abigail.

It was far, far too loud. This club was nothing like her own, with far too many people standing and dancing, but not in the performance way that her business specialized in. People were just dancing for the fun of it, an activity that Abigail couldn't fathom doing for fun in front of others. She liked dancing but performing required preparation, quiet, and people who had specifically come to see her. This wasn't that. It was just a horde of warm, sweaty bodies jostling against one another to music that shook the walls angrily.

Abigail had come to check on the competition, but she'd found none here. This club was vastly different compared to her own, a fact that both disappointed and relieved her. Like she was trying to navigate shark-infested waters, she began making her way through the crowd of dancing strangers toward the bar, before sliding a small thin card to the bartender.

"Please serve me a vodka cranberry, and don't talk to me."

It was a bit impolite to most people, especially to the bartender, but she planned on leaving a tip that would more than make up for her strange request. Just as Abigail received her drink and slipped a small star into the glass, her eyes spotted a familiar face from behind her mask, a face that was friendly enough that she decided to make her way over, drink in hand.

The club was full of life. Inge wasn’t entirely sure if this was her scene, but then she had made a habit years and years ago of attempting to make any scene hers. Besides, it was a good way to dull the senses, to occupy the mind with sounds and lights and other people. She didn’t think herself an escapist, truly, but even she had her moments. 

She’d come alone, half-intending to meet up with a Hinge date, half-intending to ditch them and just go her own merry way. From where she stood, caught in conversation with a complete stranger with only half-interesting conversation to offer, she found herself distracted enough. The drink in her hand - a sweet white wine - helped. 

Salvation came in the form of a rabbit mask, though, and Inge was quick to wrap up her conversation, fingers tickling the air to greet her friend. She smiled brightly at Abigail, gave a little wave as she started moving, as if to say follow me. Away from the semi-interesting man, away from the thick crowds and onto somewhere with more room and more privacy. She slid into a booth with ease, taking a sip from her drink before taking in the other. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Where most would see a mask that caused the crowd to part as Abigail approached, Inge managed to see a familiar face. Once she met with Inge, following her to a private booth, she couldn't help but feel much more comfortable. It was quieter here, and the space gave her the space she needed to feel safe speaking to her friend. "I didn't expect to be here. I decided after my shift ended to come and check out the… competition."

As Abigail spoke, her eyes scanned across the room once more, her hand lifting to allow a sip of her drink to flow effortlessly between her lips. The club wasn't unique, it didn't stand out among the many others in town, nor would she remember it coming the next day. It was a relief, but not surprising to her. As self-righteous as it may have seemed, she found most of the establishments that rivaled her own to be bland and uninspired. By the time she'd returned her drink to the table across from her, she'd seen all she needed, so she returned her attention to the woman beside her.

"You look stunning tonight, Inge. Would it be wrong of me to assume that you came here to meet somebody?" A light smirk reflexively met her lips as she attempted to come off as teasing rather than presumptive, not that it was a visible expression due to her constant choice in attire. "I do hope I'm not stealing you from anybody."

The timbre of Abigail’s voice was welcomed with a small smile, Inge glad that the other felt at ease. It wasn’t her first instinct to care for others in such ways, but even she could bend her natural ways. Maybe it was a remnant of the woman she might have grown into as a human, a member of the church community with a daughter and a husband, spending Fridays at the soup kitchen and growing fiercely invested in the lives of her friends, all bored and repressed women like here. But she had grown selfish and flighty in the past decades of undeadness, and people like Abigail were more exception than rule.

“I wouldn’t call this competition for you. This is where the rejects go. Different level.” Which was to say below. Creature Comforts was a fine and well-managed establishment. This was a club, just another one. It was fine, it had good drinks and pretty solid music. Inge wasn’t particularly picky when it came to these things anyway, though bright flashing lights were always a nice distraction from her own glowing eyes.

She smirked, “I was to meet someone from Hinge, but I was having second thoughts. I dressed for myself, though, but I’m glad you’re here to appreciate it.” Her hand waved, as if to say that it didn’t matter. “You make much better and more beautiful company than that man. He’ll survive being stood up, I think.”

“I prefer to think that my establishment is where rejects go. This place feels more like where people go when they’ve always been accepted.” Abigail had felt like an outcast all her life. To her understanding, that was how most people also felt, but she knew that she was the real deal compared to others. That was her sweet spot, the niche of the world that she’d been made to fill, and she couldn’t be more pleased with that fact, especially in this place. For a moment, her eyes scanned the room once more, this time scanning the clientele who chose to spend their night here. They were remarkable in their normality, in their sheer humanity, smiling and dancing as if none of them knew of the world that hid just under their noses. It was a little funny, and a little sad.

For a few moments longer, Abigail found herself distracted by her thoughts, as judgemental as they may have been. Only when her drinking partner spoke once more was she reminded of the wonderful coincidence she’d found herself in, prompting her attention to return to the conversation at hand. “You do know how to make a lady feel special, don’t you?” She chuckled softly under her breath, a quaint sound that was snuffed out by the loud music that hid the two of them in plain sight.

“I do appreciate it, how you dressed, I mean. I’d say I more than appreciate it, even… if that were appropriate.” There it was. A chip in the flirtatious armor that Abigail had tried so hard to use to her advantage, in the form of a slight stumble in her words. It was her job to be good at this, but that was with her body, and this was with her most blunted tool, her words. All she could do was recover, or at the very least try her best to do so. “I’m not so sure he will survive. I know I wouldn’t be able to if I was in his position.”

One of the corners of her mouth lifted at that statement. Her own had been something offhand, hardly thought through, but Abigail said something so much more real, something quite endearing. “You’re right, actually. Your place is better for it. Like I said, on another level.” Inge supposed she had felt like an outcast herself, though perhaps not all her life. For a large chunk of her human times she had fit in awfully well, to a depressing degree. What had changed that had been the nightmares, the rumors that started swirling after she had been committed to a mental hospital and returned hollow-eyed. Straying from the norm in a town as small as her hometown had been enough to mark her as odd, and once she was dead and gone from that place, she’d embraced her alternative sides.

At this point, with her decades of experience, she figured that there was somewhere to fit in most of the time. With Abigail, she fit. In her club, in Dance Macabre, even in the UMWR staffroom and with some of the local artists, she fit. It wasn’t really her goal to fit in any more, but moments like these, with friends? They were nice. Distantly warm. She sometimes wished she could enjoy them more, that these were things she could find inspiration in. But most of the time it just felt like a way to pass the monotone time.

“I only do for special ladies,” she said in return, smiling at Abigail. Inge didn’t mind the slight fumble, found it endearing. While she had figured that the other wasn’t exactly mortal, she wasn’t sure what she was exactly — but it gave her more leeway and made her all the more appealing to Ingeborg. “It’s more than appropriate. And he’ll just have to cope, won’t he? I’ve made my choice.” The man she wanted to forget, her interest now piqued by the woman in front of her. She leaned her head on one hand. “How have you been?”

"Special ladies? I’m honored, truly.” Abigail couldn’t help but chuckle warmly. With each person, she found that she interacted differently, but Inge was one of the few people that let her get rather close to a natural state of being, and it left her feeling rather comfortable. In interactions like these, it felt less like having to put a mask on, and more like applying makeup. They allowed her to feel slightly closer to the people she wanted to be closer to, even if she’d never actually feel close enough. She’d settle for just barely there. “I can’t argue with your decision-making. I’d do the same in your shoes.”

Then came another question, one of the hardest ones for Abigail to answer. As difficult as it was to tell what other people were thinking, it was even harder for her to tell what she herself was feeling. After a few short seconds spent looking at the liquid in her glass as she swirled it delicately in a circular motion, she articulated the answer as best as she could. “My love life is complicated, business is good, and I’ve been dealing with an irritatingly pesky intruder lately.”

Abigail still had yet to realize that when most people asked how she was, they hoped for a short, sweet, and optimistic answer. Even if she did know, it wouldn’t change her answer, she’d just feel slightly worse about speaking about it. She didn’t like talking about herself in the first place, but for a small few people, she was willing to. “But I’ve got the night free for renovations, and I’d rather spend it hearing you talk; so, how have you been, Inge?”

Lips spread with such ease, a smile growing on her face as the back and forth continued. She sometimes wondered if she should try harder, to keep up her friendships with those similar to her — immortal, that was. Inge tended to fly through life with little tying her down, but moments like these made her question her flighty ways. Abigail would roam this plane of existence forevermore and so would she: perhaps their bond should remain even when she were to leave Wicked’s Rest. “Glad to know we’re both of sound mind and good at decision making.”

The answer to her question was honest and Inge’s features fell a little, the smile no longer appropriate. With plenty of others she might find this kind of honesty grating, but exceptions were made for friends and fellow undead. Besides, it was refreshing, wasn’t it? To hear something other than I’m fine. “Do you want to tell me more about either the pesky intruder or the love life?” Consider her curiosity peaked. Or maybe this was also just what she did for a friend out of instinct.

She leaned back in her seat a little, taking a sip from her drink. “Well, the semester is done so I’ve been spending a lot more time on escapades like these and my art. I’m working on a new project, which is nice. Rented a little studio space. I’m really getting somewhere.” Bird after bird crafted by her hands. She failed to mention the role some of her regulars played in it, the way she haunted her victims with pesky and pecking birds with a regular rhythm, “It’s promising. I like my job, but it’s nice not to have to deal with students for a bit.”

"I don't know if I can speak of the intruder. I know hardly anything about it, or them, they're just a passenger I suppose. It's a supernatural thing." Abigail shrugged and took another sip from her drink. She was just as clueless as anybody else would be, despite the thing living inside the same skin that she did. It was infuriating, and terrifying, yet there was no apparent solution. Before she knew it, she'd emptied her glass during her prolonged moment of self-reflection, so she simply sat it down on the table, emitting a delicate clinking sound that was swiftly snuffed out by the hustle and bustle of the club.

No matter how hard she tried, Abigail never seemed to know what to do with her hands when there wasn't something to hold or touch. After a few moments or hesitation and contemplation, she settled on just clasping them together in her lap, straightening her posture as she did so. It certainly looked awkward, but that was the best she could offer. "I guess my love life isn't complicated anymore, now that I think about it. It's become painfully simple, so I'm going to start putting myself out there more often." In reality, Abigail had no idea what 'putting herself out there' actually entailed, but it was something people said and did, so it had to be something she could figure out.

"It's always good to have time to focus on creative efforts. If you're ever open to it, I'd love to watch your process. As a fellow artist, I'm quite curious." A small smile met Abigail's lips, though it was hidden by her mask, just as all other expressions were. It was easier this way, nothing she did voluntarily or involuntarily could be misunderstood or misconstrued. With her face hidden, people could just assume what she looked like and how she was reacting, even when her voice betrayed her. "I'm sure it is. No offense to your students, but your profession sounds like my personal hell. You must have quite the fortitude."

Eyebrows creased. “Passenger? Are they bothering the club? Like a poltergeist, or something like that?” Despite having ran around in supernatural circles for a few decades, Inge still found herself ignorant plenty of times. There was so much out there she didn’t know, and despite her interest in all of it, it wasn’t always easy to figure out without revealing her own immortality. Even Abigail and herself hadn’t discussed the fine particulars of their natures. “I hope that whoever or whatever they are, they’re a benevolent one.”

Something had happened, in the area of Abigail’s love life. Inge wasn’t one to press on the bruises of her friends (those of strangers and foes were, of course, pressed with abandon), so she just offered a look of sympathy and stretched her body out to gesture to an employee that another round was needed. “The world is lucky, then, that you’re going to put yourself out there more.” Maybe this was where she was supposed to express empathy, and though she knew plenty about heartbreak, she found herself pretty incapable of it. She drank from her own glass in stead. “To it becoming gloriously simple in stead, hm?” It was better to have few romantic ties. Maybe Abigail could realize this, too.