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Post by Dylan Miller on Aug 24, 2009 6:56:13 GMT
Dylan would admit to nervousness. He'd been without a job an uncomfortable length of time now, and the bit of cash he'd squirrelled away from his last position was almost gone. He really didn't want to get to be so low class as to be a bum, though he had no aspirations of greatness, either.
Dylan took a deep breath, fishing the scrap of paper he'd scribbled the address on from his pocket. His clothes were somewhat worn, bought second hand like most of his things, but clean and serviceable, and reasonably nice. He'd learned surprisingly quickly that, not only was his kind not uncommon, but that they were relatively easy to find, once you knew to look a bit. It was from another vampire, who knew he'd worked at a bar before, that he'd gotten the tip about a new speak-easy in town, looking for people.
He was at the right place, at least. The front didn't look like much of anything, but then again, he hadn't expected it to be much - after all, it hid an illegal operation. It ought to be inconspicuous. He'd nearly walked right by it, the first time. Dylan scratched the back of his neck, checked to make sure his clothes were in order, and stepped into the door, his eyes flicking about the room as a soft jingle of bells tied to the other side of the door made no secret of his entry.
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Post by Mister Fletcher on Aug 25, 2009 21:44:48 GMT
Mister Fletcher sauntered over to the door of his office. Apparently there was a young vampire waiting for him, enquiring upon the barman position at the Cabaret. How very exciting indeed. Mister Fletcher always enjoyed new blood upon the premises. Of course vampires didn't quite have blood that was new, but it was just a turn a phrase. Grinning from ear to ear, the Master of Ceremonies entered his office with a grand flourish.
"Ahh," he said, making his entrance known to the man who was standing rather uncomfortably in the middle of his office. "You must be the young Dylan Miller." He made his way towards the man with a skip in his step. When he was about a foot away he took a deep bow, the tip of his greasy head almost touching the floor. "Willkommen to my fine establishment."
Straightening himself up Mister Fletcher twirled his way around Dylan and headed towards his desk. He wasn't really one for the formalities of interviews. Really all that a person required to qualify for the position was to not really be a person at all, or at least not be one any more. This Dylan boy ticked all the necessary boxes. However he could tell that Mr Miller was quite new to the idea of being damned. He would learn soon enough.
"Je m'appelle le Monsieur Fletcher," he sung with a wave of his hand. "Or Mister Fletcher as they prefer to call me in this fair land."
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Post by Dylan Miller on Aug 26, 2009 19:10:14 GMT
Dylan had given his name and explained the nature of his call to someone who met him at the door, and had been escorted into a singularly odd office. He stood in the middle, somewhat uncomfortable in the prosperous and strange scenery - where the expensive mingled with the simply odd. He was so distracted looking at what appeared to be... an tiny circus? Filled with bugs?
Dylan was so distracted, he didn't even hear the door open behind him, and started a bit when the man spoke, whirling around.
Naturally, another dandy. What was it with Dylan and dandies? This one seemed particularly odd though - was he wearing make up? Oh, to be sure, and much too much of it. The man was down right garish. Dylan checked a grimace, but couldn't hide a muscle twitch that squinted his eye momentarily, betraying his first impression.
The french took him completely off guard, which made to for two in Mister Fletcher's favor. (Three, if you included his weird office).
"I... See. Mister Fletcher, then...? My name is Dylan Miller... A friend told me you were looking for a new bartender." Dylan stuck his hand out to shake, not exactly sure he wanted to touch the man. But it seemed like the right thing to do. "I have some experience. I worked at a speakeasy on Willour Way, till it got shut down last month. You know the one? It was in the papers when they got us..." Dylan trailed off into silence, not sure what else to say. He was beginning to think, by the looks of the place and the owner, that this cabaret may be a little too upscale for his tastes, but that didn't mean he'd walk out on the chance, or say no to a job. He just wasn't sure what else to do.
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Post by Mister Fletcher on Aug 29, 2009 9:33:53 GMT
Mister Fletcher took Dylan's outstretched hand and shook it with exceptional enthusiasm before reaching into the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a wad of paper. He rifled through it, only half listening to Dylan's chattering about past work experience.
"Oh it got shut down did it? How lovely," Mister Fletcher said absentmindedly. Of course he had not heard of the speakeasy on Willour Way, it sounded far too human for his liking. Although if it had shut down it could mean that its lost patrons would find their way towards the Midnight Cabaret... possibly more souls for him to harvest. Very good news indeed.
Mister Fletcher continued to flick through the sheets of paper, mumbling to himself as he did so and taking a few sheets out of the wad every now and then to look upon their contents, his face wrinkling with happy nostalgia. "Poor fellow," he whispered to himself as he looked upon one particular set of papers.
Finally he found what he was looking for. Letting out a joyous cry of "Oh là vous êtes, you slippery devil!" Mister Fletcher handed the sheets of paper over to Dylan. It was a contract, the words of upon it written in such fine print that one could never be able to read it through normal eyes.
"You have the job my boy," Mister Fletcher said, his voice laced with something akin to joy but not quite. "I was simply blown away by your fantastisch resume." The fact that Dylan hadn't given him a resume did not seem to dissuade the Master of Ceremonies as he handed a particularly ornate fountain pen over to the man.
"Don't worry about what it says," Mister Fletcher instructed. "Legal aspects you know... all that."
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Post by Dylan Miller on Aug 30, 2009 4:20:27 GMT
"Yeah, it... I wasn't there; it was my night off... They hauled in a bunch of people..." Dylan trailed into silence after a few moments as Mr. Fletcher didn't seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to him anyway. In fact it WASN'T lovely, because Dylan had enjoyed working there, but, oh well. Life (such as it was) went on, and Dylan had to find a new place to work.
Dylan frowned a bit, raising a brow at Mr. Fletcher's speech and commiserations, wondering what in the world he was looking for, when, at last, said Mr. appeared to have found it. Dylan started a bit at the sudden pronouncement, deciding Mr. Fletcher was far too exuberant for his taste, his eyes going between Mr. Fletcher's face and the papers held out to him, which he accepted after a moment, glancing over and squinting at.
"Oh? Great. Thanks," Dylan said, sounding puzzled, and wondering whether or not he should be glad. He squinted at the papers again, and then faced Mr. Fletcher with an uneasy grin at the comment about not reading it over. He wouldn't have bothered, but now he was a bit... worried. "Hah, right. It's not like I'm signing my life or my soul away... right?" Dylan confirmed, holding the pen and paper uncertainly, not yet making a move to sign it - not till Mr. Fletcher answered his 'joke'.
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Post by Amore on Sept 4, 2009 10:31:32 GMT
"Signing away your life?" Mister Fletcher repeated, letting of a guffaw of laughter of such intensity that it seemed to shake the very walls of the room. It was the sort of guffaw that sounded truly genuine. It ought to after all. Mister Fletcher had practised for the century or so to create a guffaw of reasonable believability.
"How very silly," he said, waving his hand in as nonchalant a way as he could possibly manage. Mister Fletcher made a mental note to keep keep an eye on the boy, but of course he had always made it his duty to keep an eye on all of his employees.
"I can tell you are a bright young man," he continued, a wide smile fixed firmly upon his face as he circled his way around the area where Dylan. Compliments, Mister Fletcher had learnt over the years, were always the best way to win the hearts and mind of the people, both in the figurative and the literal sense. "So I shall hide it from you no more." He stopped a placed a spindly-fingered hand upon Dylan's shoulder. "Tis but some health and safety issues. 'In case of fire' and all that whatnot."
On those last words Mister Fletcher was reminded of the dragon he currently housed in the Cabaret's basement. A lovely creature she was, one that was rarely ever inclined to arson. But of course a dragon was a dragon, and one must always note the various hazards of keeping one in employment. Turning his beady black eyes to Dylan once more, Mister Fletcher gave the young man what he hoped was a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. But, knowing Mister Fletcher, it probably ended up seeming rather menacing, for appearing menacing was what the Master of Ceremonies excelled at.
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Post by Dylan Miller on Sept 7, 2009 4:09:27 GMT
Dylan's grin widened a bit, but somehow, Mr. Fletcher's laughter was not the least bit comforting. It seemed genuine enough - just, excessive. Then again, everything Mr. Fletcher had done so far seemed excessive, so perhaps it didn't mean anything. Nevertheless, Dylan couldn't help but feel that he was missing something - that the joke Mr. Fletcher bellowed such laughter at was not what he'd said, but himself. "Of course. Well, you know how it is. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that."
"In case of fire? What kind of safety stuff?" After working in mills and coal mines, Dylan knew there were all kinds of awful things that could happen to a person at work, but he'd assumed bar tending would be a fairly safe job. Aside from getting into a fight or two, what could happen? And Dylan didn't look for fights.
Actually, he was thinking the biggest safety issue would be Mr. Fletcher himself. Was the man drunk right now[/]? Was that why he was acting so... strange...? Should Dylan take advantage of the no-questions-asked chance at a decent job? "Well, I'm sure it doesn't matter that much," Dylan shrugged, bending over a bit to lay the contract on the desk and sign it. "What kind of hours do I work then?"
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