Teach Me Tonight

Bass Clef Club

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Bass Clef is a fair sized Jazz club with the lighting dimmed so that the booths and tables along the back and side walls of the cafe area are slightly shadowed and more private. Eight booths line the bricked walls, four on each side of the club. To get up into the booths there is a single step so that they are not on the same level as the rest of the floor. The walls are decorated with posters from past and upcoming events and entertainers. Several cafe-style tables have been set up in the center of the club with two to four chairs surrounding each. Closer to the bar there are taller tables, being close to forty-four inches in height so that someone could stand next to it and rest their elbows upon them as they leaned in against them.
Across from the large wooden door that is the entrance, there is a very short stage comprised of black marble. In the center of the stage is a grand piano, and enough room for the remainder of the jazz-band to set up. The stage is normally lit up with a spotlight, making it the most illuminated area in the entire club.
Settled on the right wall is the bar. The lights around the bar don't seem to be as dim as those in the rest of the club, but the lighting is still very low in order to keep the atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Behind the bar the wall is done up in aqua-colored tile before the shelving for the various types of beverages; including soda. A door behind the bar presumably leads to the kitchen and storage areas.

Tuesday nights aren't exactly the busiest of times for the Bass Clef Club, but good food coupled with a great atmosphere guarantees the restaurant traffic regardless. The local jazz ensemble on the stage, fairly well reputed within the Dallas area, is another great draw. A draw one Ivan Fontane could not resist.

Ivan is not sitting at a table, like the majority of the other clients around. He didn't come here to eat. Rather, the man can be found at the bar, sitting with his back to the counter and his drink in his hand as he watches the musical act almost somberly. Even the sultry rendition of 'Teach Me Tonight' isn't enough to lighten the man's mood, who seems weary at best. Every once in a while, he lifts his glass to his lips, taking little, calculated sips.

Dressed up - but alone - Ella swings through the front entrance and passes by a couple of people she recognizes with quick smiles and fleeting finger-wiggle-waves. She just barely dodges out of the way of an older man's drink, his arm flailing out to the tune of the music. She arrives at the bar with a small sigh of relief, leaning forward against the counter to order her drink. It just so happens that she has landed right next to Ivan. Once her martini is mixed, she turns to face away from the bar and toward the stage. Lightly swirling the drink around in her hand, she glances toward Ivan out the corner of her eye with a small, almost shy grin. "I really wish they would bring these guys in on Friday. They're so much better than the band they usually have."

Ivan is well dressed, but then again, that's hardly a surprise. As a public figure, he must always look his best. His suit, professional, and perfectly tailored, only show signs of casualness around the man's neck, where his tie has been loosened and the button-up shirt's topmost buttons have been undone. He looks every bit the successful professional, the silver-tongued politician that he happens to be. Except for that blankness that covers his expression, that is.

"Mhmm?" He hums out, listlessly, when Ella first addresses him. A few moments are taken to accommodate the way his attention swivels over to her, and his brain reviewing what she had said, before he nods once. It's small. But a remnant of what was once an undoubtedly vivacious smile is hinted at in the corner of his lips. "Yeah. They're something, aren't they? I think that's at the band's discretion, though. I've been following them for a while, and they tend to prefer the smaller, more…intimate crowds."

"Ahh. Well, as long as the management isn't holding out on them." Ella looks satisfied with that explanation, and a bigger smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. As one of the empty stools is vacated, she slides on up with very little effort. It's worth it, though - she's a tad bit shorter than the average woman, so extra height for conversation is always welcome on her end. "They really are. Unfortunately, I've only seen them here. Do they play a lot elsewhere around town?" Her eyes widen in genuine curiosity over her drink, slowly taking a long sip to give Ivan an opportunity to respond.

Ivan pauses, taking advantage of the lull to sip at the scotch he's nursing, before allowing his attention to fly back to the band at question, currently being applauded as they switch to their next song. "Here and there, I suppose. I've seen them at a couple of coffeeshops. Some other restaurants. Really, I think you just have to be out and about, and just happen upon them. Think of them as…as a spontaneous reward for living or something." He pauses here, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, before he seems to recall the etiquette of conversation and returns his attention to the woman. "You're a jazz fan, I take it?"

"I'll try and be luckier, then, and stumble across them randomly," Ella laughs brightly into her martini, nose crinkling in amusement. "I was obsessed with Frank Sinatra as a kid. You know Guys and Dolls? My heart still melts when I hear Adelaide. Aside from that, I don't follow anyone, exactly, but I really like it here. It's so mellow and relaxing." Rolling her shoulders back, she then straightens up and smiles sheepishly. "You are, I assume? I'm Ella," she pushes a blonde curl out of her face before politely extending her hand toward Ivan to shake.

"Hey," Ivan calls out, faintly amused, "wearing a rabbit's foot goes a long way sometimes. That's all I'm saying. And, yeah. I hear you on that. My grandfather…an avid fan. I guess I picked it up from him." His scotch is swirled once, twice in his hand, before all caution is thrown to the wind and he downs the rest of it without remorse. The glass is deposited onto the counter behind him before he turns to face the blonde woman entirely, taking her hand in his larger mitts in a strong, professional and confident shake. "I'm Ivan. Ivan Fontane. It's a pleasure."

"I'm sure it does. Smuggling a collection under your jacket?" Ella laughs, quirking a brow. As he turns, she does too, angling herself on the stool to face him straight-on. "Likewise, Ivan." It appears she's trying to place him despite the dim lighting, checking to see if she's seen him before. The result? It doesn't seem that she recognizes him. Her shake in return is firm - she might be petite, but her arms are toned. "So, what do you enjoy doing - aside from listening to some of the best jazz in the Dallas area?" With one more sip, the rest of her martini is drained.

"I wish." Ivan murmurs, his eyes sliding away from the new woman just as his hand does. "But perhaps I should start wearing a collection of good luck charms. Lord knows I could use better luck." He moves to his feet then, abandoning the stool in favor of leaning his elbows on the table, brows furrowed, with one hand up in order to summon the bartender. Almost as an afterthought, he glances back towards Ella. "Ah, would you like something? On me, I suppose. And, what am I doing here? Drinking. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get my mind off things." Pause. "… and drink. What do you enjoy doing? Elsewhere included." Ella repeats and then clarifies, a wry smile curling at her lips. "Don't feel like you need to, I can cover for my own," she brushes it off, waving a hand dismissively - but her expression is suddenly shy. "Another martini, please," she quietly requests of the bartender, slipping both the cash she owed for her first drink, and now the second.

It's slow, and it's deliberate, but the hike of Ivan's eyebrows are a definite sign of a rather wry sense of humor, complemented perfectly by the asymmetrical quirk of his lips. "It's just a drink. And you're awfully curious, aren't you? I feel like I'm filling out a singles profile." Ordering his scotch with the proficiency of a closeted drunkard, the beverage is put on Ivan's tab as the man eagerly awaits it. "But, I'll bite, I suppose. I like doing whatever I feel like doing at the time." Not helpful, and he knows this. "What things are you getting your mind off of?"

"It's bar conversation." Ella protests with a grin, arching one brow. "Hey, you talk to me or I'll go chat up the bartender. She might give me a discount if I compliment her hair enough. Whatever," she rolls her eyes, but in a good-natured, amused way. "Well, work. The fact that rent is due tomorrow. I'm treating myself to one last night out before I live essentially broke until my next pay day," she laughs softly, bobbing her head in thanks as the martini is made and presented.

"My dear, is that a threat or a promise?" Ivan inquires, however the tease isn't malicious if one judges by his expression. "Though, hitting on the bartenders probably would be a more productive use of your time. I suppose I can talk, though. It's not like I really have anything better to do. Ah - thank you." The arrival of his drink produces a faintly pleased smile. "Mhm…ah. Time to pay the bills, right? Yeah…I remember those days, all too well."

"Well. Not hit on. Bribe? I mean, I /do/ love her hair, but I don't swing that way." Ella comments, casually glancing over to eye the readhead bartender's fancy braids. "Say the word and I'll split," she teases right back, winking. "I'm glad my company is a step above nothing." Cracking a dimpled grin, she half-empties her martini before setting it down on the counter. "Yeah, yeah. It's all sorts of fun. My practically minimum wage job barely pays for my apartment in the projects." Her nose wrinkles, and she idly flicks a piece of fuzz off the strap of her black dress.

"Whether you swing that way or not is irrelevant. You should take the opportunity if it presents itself to you. Think of it this way…just a bit of harmless flirting, and you get free drinks. And you also boost someone else's self esteem. It's a philanthropic act, practically." Ivan reasons with a wry grin, watching Ella out of the corner of his eyes. Another drink is taken, followed by a sigh. "You know, it's not all that bad, to be poor as dirt and young. You've got opportunities that the rest of us…well, I don't know if we have them anymore."

"Mm. I suppose you have a point there. I'll test this theory out sometime." Ella smirks, quickly switching which leg is crossed over the other. "Funny how no one says that when they're poor as dirt and young," she quips, though a smile quickly appears. "I'm not complaining. I love my life - though less gunshots and muggings outside my window would be nice. But so it goes," she shrugs a shoulder, lightly twirling her drink around on the counter. "My life is my own, and I embrace every second I have to the fullest. That's all one can do, right?"

Ivan can't help it. Ella's smirk and wit produce a laugh from the weary man. "Touche. But, seriously. The less you have, the less you have to hold you down, you know? You get…soft when you get older." Licking his lips, he dips his head forward slightly, staring into the liquid within his cup. "That's the best philosophy one could have, Ella. Keep at it, and you won't be disappointed."

"I'm sure." Ella murmurs, leaning forward and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "You can't even be thirty yet, from the looks of you, and you're talking like a guy who just had his fiftieth. What gives? Did someone dent your Volvo?" Her prompt grin indicates her sarcasm. "What, you don't take time to live for yourself too? That's crazy. You need a break," she says, decisively.

There is a quirk of Ivan's lips, but the man seems more likely to play the coy card than anything else. Watching her, slowly, he lifts the cup to his lips. When he decides that he is going to speak, it's rather non-chalant. "I'm not going to lie to you. I do feel old, right now. And you know about all those sayings? About how valuable experience is, and how wonderful it is to come into your own, etc? Well…it's bullshit. The lot of it."

"Ugh." Ella waves both hands, shaking her head vigorously. "That's not acceptable. You should go do the crap everyone does while we're still young. Go skinny dipping. Stand on top of a building and watch the people walk by on the sidewalk below. Discuss their clothing choices. Get wasted, make a bad decision. Do /something/. Don't let the crap get to you," is the blonde's ever-sage advice. "I need another drink," she decides, promptly, waving another one over.

It's almost fond, the way Ivan watches Ella as she asserts to him what behavior he should indulge in. And without once removing his eyes from her, he slowly finds himself slinking back into his stool, imbibing more of the alcohol. "Maybe," he grants to her, casual and dismissive. "But I've a duty to uphold. First and foremost."

Now on her third martini, Ella is muuuch more relaxed now. Drunk, no, but definitely in tipsy-good-spirits. She watches him silently for a moment, tapping a finger against her lips. "I'm sure you do, but - come on. Live a little. Take a night off. Do you really want to look at your live fifty years from now and wish you had enjoyed being young while you could? I'm not saying you have to do anything scandalous or illegal, but - I 'dunno. Take a break."

"What do you want to do. With yourself, with your life? What are your ambitions?" It's out of the blue, Ivan's most recent line of questioning. It's curious, his tone. And it's entirely evasive of her earlier subject, something he clearly doesn't feel up to the task of discussing any further. It'd take to long, be too depressing, and generally divulge too much personal information for the man to feel comfortable with.

Ella has to think about that question, pondering it very carefully. Straightening up against the back of her stool, her smile is a slow one. "I started nursing school with this dream that I'd be able to help people. Turns out nursing school didn't like me - well, not my lack of ability to pay for it anymore, anyway. So I volunteer, so on and so forth. I don't — I don't know where I want to go in life, because where I am now isn't where I expected to be. Predictions never work, so I'm not going to make any. All I want from life is to maybe make a difference, bring a little piece of harmony here to Dallas." There's a pause and her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as she awkwardly rubs the back of her neck. "Sorry, that's the yoga-hippie-mumbo-jumbo in me. Short answer: I have no idea."

Ivan quirks his head to the side, inspecting her with a lazy sort of curiosity. After taking her response in silence, after mulling it over, he finally opens his mouth to speak. "I believe," he begins, only to pause for dramatic effect, "That you have a better idea than most. That's a better answer than 'I want to be a nurse'. It speaks more to you as a person, Ella." There is another pause, as the man throws back the remainder of his drink in a way quite similar to the first time. "Ah god, that burns so good."

"Well, I'm glad you approve," Ella gives Ivan a one-sided, dimpled grin. "At least /someone/ approves." Her fingernails lightly tap on the counter to the rhythm of the music, head swaying ever so slightly along. "What about you?" she returns the question, before draining the very rest of her martini. She leans toward him, both brows lifting inquisitively.

Ivan glances over to the woman, eyeing for a moment her slightly closer proximity, before sighing. "I wanted alot," he admits without reservation, though his voice is lower than it was before. So that only she can hear him. "I wanted success and fame. Influence and affluence. Happiness. Love. But I've had to let some of them go - I suppose my standards were too high. Now?" he pauses, mulling over his response. "Now, I have a job to do. I hold myself personally responsible for shaping as many lives as I can, in as positive a manner I can manage."

Ella promptly leans back and away, head nodding a little. She listens silently, but intently. "You don't always have to give everything up," she offers, quietly. "Sometimes things just don't all come at the same time. If they did, what would there be to look forward to tomorrow?" With her drink emptied, she spins the empty glass around but doesn't order another one just yet. "It's great that you take your job so seriously. I'm sure - whatever it is - is really important and helpful. I just hope for you that you get to step back every so often and enjoy yourself." With a sheepish smile, she briefly glances away toward.. the band!

Silence. Ivan is thrust into utter silence, as he considers her words. "Perhaps," he murmurs under his breath, though he doesn't sound thoroughly convinced. "I could have it all, I think. I'd know how to manipulate myself into the situation that I'd want. But then it begs the question, doesn't it? If it wasn't natural, then can it be considered real? Is there something inherently wrong with tricking someone you care for, even if its for their benefit?" Beat. "Sorry about that."

Briefly pressing her lips together, Ella passes off her empty glass as she listens. "You're right," she murmurs, lowering her head a little, eyeing the counter surface. "Manipulation should never be part of it. Hard work is one thing, trying is one thing, pushing is one thing - but manipulation is a whole different ball game that should be left alone. If the truth doesn't work, it's not meant to work. That's my take on it, anyway." With a shy smile, her foot taps lightly in the air to the beat of the song played valiently by the band. "It's alright. It's my fault, sorry, I didn't mean to drag you into such a philosophical conversation. I've enjoyed it though," she clarifies, smile growing a tiny bit wider.

"You know," Ivan begins, licking his lips. "I don't know if I believe that. That manipulation is wrong. That'd be condemning the entire world of a wrong-doing, as that behavior is inherent. It's what we do, as humans. It's a game. And for that matter, is there a right and a wrong to begin with." It's not so much him posting these questions to her, more like him airing out the thoughts that have been haunting him. A hefty round of applause as the band finishes up a particularly lively number shakes him from his reverie, though. "You didn't drag me into anything. I went there, because I wanted to go there. But these are thoughts for another time, I guess." Gingerly, he lifts a hand to run through his curls, frowning in a rather uncertain manner.

Ella doesn't exactly reply to that first bit - she keeps her opinion to herself, now, clearly mulling it all over. But there's a slight nod of her head, acknowledging his words. Joining in the clapping, she lowers her hands to rest on her knee. She takes a deep, calming breath, now very at ease thanks to the alcohol and conversation. "Well I'm glad you did, with me. I can't say that I've ever had such an interesting conversation at the bar before. Generally it's me bobbing my head as some leggy sorority girl shares tales of her latest exploits with all the eagerly listening champs around her." Glancing from Ivan, then nodding toward the bartender, "You need another one?" Crooking a finger, she - at the very least - orders herself one more.

"I probably shouldn't," Ivan comments mildly, "But that which does not kill me only makes me stronger. I'll bite. On the condition that you let me buy. You're a poor college kid, right? Or nix the college part. I can afford it, and I owe you something for distracting you from the music." This is offered with a smile that looks more wry than genuine.

A soft laugh escapes Ella's lips, her fingers curling around the black clutch she brought in with her. "Fair enough. I'm a drop-out. I couldn't afford it anymore," she explains. "So now I run the desk at Fitness World and teach yoga classes there until I can't lift my arms over my head anymore." A hand lifts to tuck a loose curl behind an ear. "Well thank you, Ivan," she returns with a sheepish grin.

With her consent, Ivan promptly signals the 'tender over with one imperial finger, relaying the message to the employee with haste. Only then does he turn to peer at Ella. "No shame in dropping out due to money issues. Or any issues, really. I'm not sure if I learned anything specific while I was in school. But I did have one hell of a good time." Conversationally, he ends up quirking a brow to her. "Yoga, eh? You must be…flexible, then. That's good."

Tadaaaa. Martini. Ella looks totally stoked to have one more. Lifting her glass in a salute of sorts to Ivan, she takes a quick drink before setting it back down. "Yeah, I never did get much of the 'good time' in school. I enjoyed life a lot more afterward, even though I am as broke as joke." Biting her lip, her eyes shift from side to side and she pulls off the 'sheepishly guilty' expression. "I am. That's the one thing I've got going for me. I couldn't sit still in class or write an inspiring essay, but at least I can turn myself into a pretzel." Her tone is definitely sarcastic and self-depreciating. But, she shrugs and takes another drink!

"Ahuh…well, that's a shame. School's pretty much only good for that. You're young, though. You've got plenty of time. How old are you, twenty, twenty-one?" Ivan is curious as his eyes follow her person, trying to determine her age from the clues in her physical appearance. "I know it's not that hard to get a fake if you need one…ah-huh." Suddenly, he looks rather devilishly amused. "I'm sure that's a talent that could make you quite popular, huh?"

"I'm twenty-two, thank you very much," Ella feigns being offended, tossing her hair back. She promptly laughs it off. "I wouldn't even know how to make a fake ID. I wouldn't even know where to buy one. Let alone have the guts to /use/ one. Still, it's irrelevant. I'm twenty-two." Her nose wrinkles in amusement, and she looks Ivan over. "Twenty-five?" she asks, peering over her drink.

"Twenty-seven," Ivan corrects with a faint grin, "But I'll take twenty-five too. Doesn't make that much of a difference in the long run." His drink is handled, but he stops, right before placing the cup up to his lips. Then he holds it out to the woman, as though proposing a toast. "This is to you, Ella. College drop out and flexible yoga instructor extraordinaire."

"Nah, not much." Ella agrees. Beaming a smile, she lifts her glass and lightly clinks it against his. "And to you, Ivan-who-needs-to-relax." Winking playfully after the toast is completed, she leans back and takes a long swig. Shaking her hair out, she grins, cheeks dimpling. "That hits the spot. I feel so much better. You? If you're still feeling down I might have to drag you into a dance."

"You're going to drag me into a dance whether I feel better or not," Ivan protests, bemused. After a moment, he decides that the scotch must go down. Not entirely, but a good portion of the liquid has been imbibed, rather quickly at that. "And fuck, I might just let you drag me. Might, though. Maybe. I've my stick-in-the-mud reputation I need to protect, apparently." If Ella had known Ivan before, then perhaps she'd understand just why that comment amuses Ivan so.

"Probably," Ella shrugs helplessly, though there's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "They're playing one of their best songs, you know. If you're going to dance, it might as well be know. Besides - I won't step on your feet, so no harm, right? Everyone's got to loosen up every once in a while. Everyone." Her martini is downed entirely, though she lets out a quick, sharp breath afterward. "As for your reputation, I don't really have one at all, so if it's harmful for you to dance with some random woman no one knows then I won't be /completely/ offended. Just a little."

Ivan lets out a long-suffered, theatrical sigh, as though this is some sort of burden for him. But it's clear by his smile that he is just jesting. One final sip of the alcohol is thrown back, until he finds himself holding his hand out for Ella's. "You're in luck. I'm a good dancer. Freaking horrible singer - but I can move. And it's whatever. Let's go before the song ends."

"I took singing lessons once. As in, literally, once. Never went back," Ella commiserates. With their drinks emptied, she lightly accepts the hand offered and slides on off of the stool. "Good. Then neither of us will be embarrassed." Despite her heels and the number of martinis she has had, she manages to stay (almost) perfectly balanced and poised as they head onto the dance floor.

"My god, you must have been terrible," Ivan teases as he maneuvers his way through the sparse crowd over to the wooden dance floor. They're not the only ones out there, so when Ivan picks a suitable location, directly in front of the band, he turns to smile faintly at Ella, waiting. "You're pretty steady on your feet," he compliments her, stepping into an acceptable distance before her as his other hand lifts to rest, circumspect, upon her waist. Innocent. "My…nevermind. That's good, though. I'd feel a little guilty to leave you here falling down drunk."

"I was quiet. I couldn't project," Ella needlessly elaborates. "And I was terrified of my tutor. She would sit there staring at me with googly eyes and crunch on carrot sticks while I tried. It was horrible." Shuddering, she shakes her head, clearly relieved that the experience is now long past. "Thanks. I swear yoga is good for something. Like precariously sitting on a wobbly bar stool, or stumbling home drunk. It makes it less of a stumble. But thanks." Her other hand lifts to lightly rest on his shoulder - now they are all balanced. She sways easily to the tune - being so close to the music brings a quick, huge dimpled grin to her features. "My what?" she inquires, quirking a brow and eyeing him curiously. "Such a gentleman," she half-teases lightly - her tone is mildly sarcastic, but there's a soft smile that indicates she at least appreciates the sentiment.

True to Ivan's word, he is good. He sways along with her, in time with the music, with complete and total confidence. "Googly eyes? Ha! I mean, I'm sorry. It certainly sounds traumatic." He allows, grinning slightly. "Heh. Yeah, I bet. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that yoga's good for a few other things, too. Your what?" He knew what she meant. But it doesn't mean she has to know he knew. "Ah, don't be fooled by my dashing good looks and charm. I'm not always a gentleman. And I said a little guilty. Very little, since I paid for only one drink and you wanted it."

"Yes. Googly eyes. She had these glasses that made her eyes look huge." Ella says, before she lightly taps his shoulder and sticks her tongue out briefly. "It was. And - yes, it is. Breathing, stress, and anything physical. I can't imagine what I'd be like without it," she muses, staring up at the ceiling over his shoulder as she ponders for a few moments. It doesn't last long. Back to dancing: "Mm. Well, you bought me the /last/ one, so that pushes your guilt a little over.. a little. But luckily for you, I've done the walk home alone more times than I care to admit - these heels will practically walk themselves home."

"I imagine you'd be much the same, except considerably less flexible," Ivan points out with a laugh, due mostly to her tongue sticking out at him. "So buying you the last drink is worse than buying you the first? Why? And…huh." The man looks contrived for a moment, thoughtful as he sways there. "How far away do you live? The projects, you said?"

"You're probably right. Except poorer, because I wouldn't have a job," Ella murmurs with a straight face at first, before bursting into another grin. She's very grin-y when under the influence. "Because you uh — it made more sense in my head." she admits with a sigh and a light shrug of her shoulders. "West Dallas. Something tells me you don't spend much time there," she teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Wrong," Ivan buzzes her out with a wry grin. "My sister owns a studio out there, where she sells her art. I drop by more than you'd expect. And yeah, I bet it did make more sense in your head, kiddo." With a chuckle, Ivan ends up shaking his head slightly. "I could drop you off, if you want to head home when I do. Won't be a big deal, unless you're iffy about being in a car with a complete, slightly drunk stranger."

"Well. You learn something new every night," Ella says, clearly surprised - even though it has /all/ been new this evening. "Huh.." Pausing, she wrinkles her nose. "Kiddo?" she repeats, apparently not liking the nickname. "If it's not totally out of your way, that would be great. I think I have a higher risk of being mugged if I walk back, so - risk seems comparable." With a teasing wink, she joins the sudden applause as the song fades out and the band takes a break.

And just like that, the dance is over with. Looking towards the band, Ivan does not hesitate to remove his hands from her person, automatically falling into a rather casually slouch. "Mhmm. Yeah, kiddo. You got a problem with that?" He prompts and jokingly threatens. After throwing her a look, he thn decides to head back to the bar. "Sure. It's no problem at all. I don't mind."

"It's not generally a nickname a woman likes to get from a charming man. But, story of my life." Ella waves a hand in disdain. Shuffling on over to the bar too, she lifts a finger and gives the bartender a big ol' charming smile. "One more for the road, yeah?" she requests, leaning up against the counter and placing her hands on its surface. Her fingers tap like she's suddenly full extra energy that needs to be expelled. With one foot parallel on the ground, she points her other foot and settles only the toe against the floor. "Thanks," she adds quickly to Ivan, before ruffling through her purse.

"Is it a nickname you'd like from a not so charming man?" Ivan prompts, just to be difficult. "Don't say it's the story of your life, though." There is still a bit of scotch that needs to be put away. And put it away he does, and though he peers at her when she orders her fourth, he doesn't mimic the movement, nor does he offer anything with is. "What're you looking for? Money?"

"Not particularly," Ella notes, smiling only vaguely this time. A wave of cash gets the bartender's attention, and in exchange she gets one more martini. Her face lights up as it arrives. "Ah, but it is. And that's alright. At least it's some sort of life." Her purse is closed, and she never really did get around to answering the question - actions speak louder, after all. And down the hatch half of her drink goes.

There is nothing but silence. Silence as Ivan observes Ella, his lips pursed with slight consideration. But there is something pensive about the way he looks, and particularly the way his voice sounds. "Mhmm. Well, you can change it still, if that is your life. I need to get going soon, so if you're going to bunk a ride, we'll head off after you finish that martini."

It doesn't take long - the drink is finished, and Ella looks ready to head home too. "Sure, yeah. Thanks." With a quick, gentle smile, she bids adieu to the bartender and gathers up her stuff. Well, just her purse. Nodding to Ivan, her gaze shifts toward the door and the way there. Although she doesn't appear to be at risk of falling on her face, she does move more slowly and carefully now.

Ivan slows to accommodate her pace, because for all his posturing, he is rather gentlemanly at the end of the day. Calmly, coolly, he leads the young woman to his red hybrid Civic, which he then drives to her home. There is no walking her to the door, not this time. There is just a slightly drunk individual, paying extra attention to the road to compensate for his inebriation. And when the parting comes, Ella is given a smile and a wave, before he is off. Zoom!

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