#prohibitionstarter

Angus walked into The Cotton Club and requested a table for two further away from the hustle and bustle than he would have normally liked. The woman who'd greeted him warmly at the door quickly lead him to a booth near the back of the room. Angus sat down and was greeted by an eager waiter who placed two menus neatly on the table. Angus ordered two Manhattan's and the waiter left. Angus looked up to see Miss Holiday standing before him.

Though they shared a wall, a hall, and a bathroom, Reva and Leon's personal spaces were miles apart aesthetically. Where the Brit's was modern, severe, dark, masculine, the dancer's apartment had a decidedly light, feminine air that bordered on the old-fashioned. Walls had been left their original cream, portraits of movie stars and fashion plates - obviously taken from magazines yet rather artistically arranged given their humble origins - breaking the monotony of neutral color. The main living space housed second-hand furniture: A fainting couch covered in a white satin, back and legs a pale pink, and a pair of armchairs upholstered in a minty green that looked better suited to a spinster aunt's drawing room. A radio stood in one corner, framed family pictures perched atop, and on a coffee table between the armchairs and couch could be found a gramophone and accompanying records, lifestyle and fashion magazines mixed amongst the vinyl.

All this was taken in as soon as the front door was opened, allowing both the apartment's occupant and her guest entrance. They were returning from an evening at the Peabody, Reva as entertainer and Leon as audience member. The dancer's spirits were high, infectious, her laughter ringing through the apartment's halls as they made their way up the stairs. Her show had been a success, earning her enthusiastic applause and a small arrangement of gifts - most noticably bouquets of flowers which were now cradeled in the crook of one arm - as she left the building, breaking hearts in her wake.

Leon's presence at the show, though she had only spotted him after, had been another boon to her spirits. Since their first real meeting, the girl had taken quite the unexpected shine to her neighbor and she was truly pleased that he had kept his word on seeing her perform.

"Make yourself at home," she called, voice trailing as she moved to the kitchen where the flowers were rather uncerimoniously dumped on the counter. "Feel free to put on some music or something if you'd like!"

A li'l shave couldn't hurt.

Angus put the final punctuation on a case file he was working on. It was well past his typical work day, but he had been forced to stay later and later since his secretary Miss Lazos had left Montford to pursue other options. He reached into his pocket procuring the key to his file cabinet. He twisted the key and opened his bottom right drawer putting the file in the correct alphabetical order before closing it. He carefully closed it before opening the drawer directly opposite from it and producing a bottle of Whiskey and a tumbler. He didn’t like to drink while he worked, but he wasn’t opposed to it when he was officially off the clock. He poured two fingers of whiskey into the glass before placing the bottle back in his desk drawer. He took a sip, allowing the warm sensation to wash over him.

Suddenly, he heard the door to his waiting area open.

Jessie huffed as he placed down the last crate of their shipment, his shoulders gleaming with a light sheen of sweat though his undershirt remained unsoaked. 

"Daisy!" He called, waving off their delivery man before heading in from the back room. "Dais?" He called again, his voice turning her name into a question. Maybe she'd gone up into the office in hopes of avoiding helping him put the load away. 

Drinking had become habit for Luis these days. A habit that was quite expensive. His last glass cost him his last buck, but he knew he would get more money soon to feed his habit. He had to. It was the only way he could deal with himself any longer.

The crowd began to dissipate in The Stroll, and Luis found himself wishing he had more time to ogle the singer that had been on stage that evening. He’d seen her around before, but never caught her name. She also had a familiar air about her. As if he’d actually spent time with her once, but in his drunken stupor Luis couldn’t seem to place the time and date, much less her name.

that I don't have a big ol' man to walk me home.

Woody had been out for too long the night before, forgetting to bundle up while he walked home so he was paying for it the next day. Sitting in his office and rubbing his throat, he found his throat scratching just as he breathed and a roaring cough came from him and his eyes watered from the pain. "Fuck..." He breathed out, reaching for the water in his office and pouring himself a glass. Pouring it into a glass and chugging it down, his eyes fluttered open after shutting tight and sighed heavily afterwards. Digging for an ice cube, he placed it to his forehead and rubbed it across the skin there before popping it into his mouth. Was it getting hot in here or was it just him?