(Under Control) Can I Speak to Your Manager?

[Dillon Connery]

It isn't but the span of a few moments, that finds Dillon back up on the Nox' public floor. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled down and the cuffs straightened to align with his jacket. The shirt's collar is still being tugged from under the press of the blazer's lapels as he slips out around the couches, toward a bar.

Whether it's there, or the interim space, the Gangrel Reeve stops the first employee that gets within range to inquire "Have you seen Nika around?"

She is an adept manager, after all. And there's no guarantee that she's going to confide herself to an office all night.

[Nika]

It doesn't take long for Dillon to be re-directed. He might even find the parting advice amusing -- she doesn't like her first name being used. Where could she ever have picked that up from?

When Dillon does find her, he realizes that he might have seen her already, but not recognized the ghoul. The long, dark hair has been sheared off into a short, spiky do which highlight her Epic Eyebrows. Whatever the ghoul had been saying to one of the waitresses, she breaks off an approaches the Reeve.

Asa's ghouls are night and day. Where Cozette is soft deference, Nika is bold confidence. Eyes firmly meet his, after a nod.

"How's the Shire, Mr. Connery?"

Worst. Crassus. Ever.

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon does find it amusing, the preference that Nika enforces even upon the kine around her. While he personally would never address a ghoul by their given name, he assumed that the ignorant mortals around them would be used to more lax terminology.

The amused grin is still playing at the corners of his mouth when he locates the woman, and picks back up again, at her words.

He shrugs, lightly. "The road to Dublin is still a rocky one, Miss Crassus."

Shire reeve. Sheriff. Smartypants.

As with Dillon's reference, anyone who gets anal about the division between Scots and Irishmen is just being pretentious. Blood has been mixed and spilled in both directions for centuries. Neither of them are usually broken up about any confusion beyond the dialect. It's the English that you don't want to confuse them with.

A finger lifts to twirl in the space by Dillon's cheek, indicating his hair, and by that, hers. "Love what you've done with your hair."

Politeness. Small talk. After a moment's pause, allowing for Nika's return banter, he lets the silence mark that he's about to address the reason he sought her out.

"We've had a name come up, as a person of interest. Miss Star says she recognizes the name from the VIP list, and I'm wondering if there's any chance that the customer is regular enough for you to know of her. Chantay Jones?"

His eyebrow quirks at the end of the question, not unlike the more famous Connery that people know of. Dillon's favorite great-great-great-great grand nephew, as the joke goes.

[Nika]

The eyebrows bounce at the rocky comment. There's just enough of a hint at a smile that it's not a look of surprise but more of an 'oh shit did you see that'. Court. The triple X informal gathering. Some had found the shire rockier than others. Even if she hadn't been there, she'd know. Someone has to make sure the cleaning crew gets out the tough stains.

And dusts new office decorations.

"Thanks. I'm still getting used to it, but it's a lot easier to take care of," she answers in factual agreement.

She knows it looks good. She also skips going on about how much cooler --albeit strange-- her neck feels. Going on about your neck? It's kind of tacky. Maybe dangerous.

Epic Eyebrows slice down and eyes half-close as she considers the the name. On someone else, those v'ed brows might look menacing, or even Vulcan. On her, it treads the line between aquiline elegance and Just Fucking Cute.

"I don't know the name. At all. She's not a regular here, but I can check."

There's an app for that.

She's an iPhone girl. Aren't most? It's a plain, unadorned bar of white and silver. There's no tacky bedazzled case, or bomb shelter surrounding it. Elegant, functional. An echo of it's owner. The demeanor that's classy confidence rather than sassy attitude? Dillon can't see the wallpaper. Taps and swipes summon the digital oracle.

Lips purse, and pull to the side. "She's an Asylum VIP. We share the lists, as a courtesy, but that's where she leveled up."

Achievement Unlocked: Kink Queen.

"Hmmm. She's never been here. Or if she was, she was under the radar." Nika looked back up. "That help at all?"

[Chris Wooding]

At some point, Dillon's phone rings, but since we had to drive to Ember where he only had to walk upstairs... it is probably after this conversation.

[Dillon Connery]

"Right," Dillon nods to confirm his knowledge of shared VIP lists between the clubs, and isn't terribly surprised to find out that this Chantay Jones person doesn't frequent Nox. Or, the Avalon that it was previously. But it would have been foolishly remiss not to check while they were all already here.

"Leveled up," he echoes softly, with a small huff of a chuckle. "That helps immensely, thank you."

It's a wonder that Dillon hasn't run into the woman in question himself, if she's a frequent enough patron of Asylum. But timing is what it is, he supposes. There's a lot of people there whose name he doesn't know. It's not really the kind of place he visits to network with folks.

He doesn't mention this. Or his own thoughts on her bare neck. It could be considered an invitation. And Dillon doesn't intend to flirt with someone else's ghoul, no matter how interesting or attractive she is.

"Well, as much as I would enjoy boring you with more banter and small talk, I'm afraid matters of the Shire come first."

The Reeve flashes a friendly smile. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss."

He will not hurry to dismiss or walk away from Nika, if she has anything else on her mind. But his own phone is already being fished absently from a pocket. Similar to her, his iPhone also reflects its user. It is wrapped in armor, and seemingly for good reason. The black steel case has seen much abuse. Most notably along the longer side edges. Both have a pair of grooves gouged into them, as though the device is regularly carried between the teeth of some large animal, which is trying very hard not to crush it.

[Nika]

"OK, good. Sure thing, Mr. Connery," Nika answers.

It's a slightly distracted answer, and she gives her phone another thoughtful look. A non-Kindred person of interest? Interesting. She'll memorize the name, and maybe some day it'll come in handy. She tucks the phone away and offers Dillon a winning smile.

It's not an invitation, and might even remind Dillon of her Regnant's mannerisms.

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "Want to know what boring is? Figuring out who's lying about end of the night tip-outs. Anyway. Good hunting. Enjoy the rest of yours, too."

There's a slight apologetic shrug, but she's offered up all the information she has.

Feel free to call it a close!

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon grins, and laughs, at Nika's personal definition of boring. He offers her a "Touche," and a casual lift of his hand to wave in parting.

Good to know he isn't as boring as all that, anyway.

Somewhere on the way out, as he considers which number to contact Cozette by, the phone in his hand surprises him by ringing first...

Fun scene!