For once at a party, Clay isn’t security. He’s in the crowd, not sure what number drink he’s on. Maybe 10? He wasn’t counting as he cracked open another can of cheap beer. He could definitely be more drunk.
He stumbles through the crowd up to the front, eyeing over the DJ, or at least as best he can with the lighting.
“Hey!!” He slurs out, nearly throwing up on himself, swallowing it down. “You’re hot!” He calls, a stupid drunken smirk on his face.
The night was flying by for the fashionable DJ, starting off the night with loud foreign beats to get the folks within the club in the mood- before entering into his newer albums. It was a science to Niko, a perfected strategy to make sure his protection was cast upon the entire space. Magic came to him easily in this place, the bright lights bathing the abandoned building in blues and greens. It was natural, guided via neons.
During one of his newest songs, an interesting voice caught his attention. Icy blue eyes flicking toward the cause of his distraction. And there he was, a handsome, incredibly plastered, man. A devilish grin played onto his lips, slipping off one side of his over-the-ear headphones.
Beginning the next loop, Nikolas Minin leaned into the mike, eyeing the stranger. "Get me a drink and I let you up here, yes?"
