Likes: visiting art galleries, the feeling of a physical newspaper between his fingers, good whiskey and fine wines, cigarette smoke, winning
Dislikes: being out of control, people who chew with their mouths open, being idle, the texture of pears, being told no, losing
Hobbies: listening to records, playing piano, swimming, collecting art, scheming
Habits: Smoking,
Allergies: None
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Height: 5'9
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Colour: Dark brown
Tattoos/Scars: A simple cross tattooed over his heart, ‘misneach’ (the irish word for courage) tattooed on his left bicep), a small scar under his bottom lip from taking a hit, a small collection of scars on his right forearm from falling into glass,
Piercings/Mods: None
A SHORT(ER) SUMMARY
Trigger Warnings: mentions of gambling, alcoholism, childhood abuse, knives, drug trafficking, murder & death.
LONDON
Born in London, third sibling of six. Father was abusive and sunk the family into extreme debt with his drinking and gambling habits while mother tried desperately to keep a roof over their heads. As a result, Nathan spent a lot of his early years helping take care of his younger siblings and skipping out on school with his two older brothers to run errands and odd jobs for questionable locals to earn a bit of extra cash.
Father got worse as the years went on. Seemed to have a special hatred for Nathan. When Nathan was 13 and had finally had enough, he ended up stabbing his father in self-defense. He was acquitted due to the history of domestic violence and a sympathetic jury.
After his father’s death, the load lightened for the family significantly. Mother got a new job working for Ralph Crane, an American businessman, and fell in love. Within a year they were married and by the time Nathan was 15 the family was relocating to Ralph’s home in New York.
NEW YORK
Stepping from a world of relative poverty into that of the Upper East Side social elite was a jarring change. Doors that had never even seemed like a possibility before opened for Nathan and, though he resented the privilege that those around him had grown up with, he forced himself to learn how to talk, act, and charm his way into belonging. Ralph helped him with the legal and medical aspects of his transition, so the move became an all-around fresh start.
Attended Monmouth Academy, a boarding school just outside the city and Ralph’s Alma Mater, where his natural brightness could actually be nurtured without interruption from unfortunate family affairs. He became driven by ambition and a desire to never return to the struggle he’d grown up in, doing everything he could to gain a bit of power and control.
Got into Columbia, where he majored in business (with a minor in economics). Began to create a network of useful contacts, including several high-end drug dealers and a variety of other shady folk.
After graduation, he went on to work for Ralph at the Asphodel Tobacco Company. Quickly worked his way up through the ranks, but hungered for more. Eventually decided to open Crane Bros. Distilleries with his brother, Freddie, which also fronted a thriving drug trafficking ring.
Everything was moving perfectly, he had everything he’d wanted, until the tragic death of an employee as a result of his drug exploits sent him into a tailspin. The announcement of his decision to step away from the company came as a surprise to everyone, not least himself.
BLUE HARBOR
Blue Harbor seemed like the perfect place to retreat to. It was small, quiet, and had none of New York’s dangerous allure. He could retire peacefully without the risk of temptation to get back in the game. Unfortunately, there were two things he hadn’t banked on;
1) His family and friends. Concerned about his sudden departure and choice to pull back on what he’d built, they would not leave him alone. Call after call. Even changing his number did little to persuade them to stop.
2) Blue Harbor proved to be a little too quiet.
Boredom struck him quickly. Ever the workaholic, Nathan found that sitting idly by and playing golf didn’t suit him. After a few months of growing agitation over the matter, he finally caved in and decided to open the Harlem St. Cafe, a cabaret lounge in Cardinal Hill, in an attempt to bring his own personal slice of New York into the sleepy town.
The lounge opened at the beginning of October, 2024, and has become the one thing to keep Nathan clinging to sanity.
HEADCANONS
Closest with his sister Ivy. They're only a year apart and shared a room growing up before Ralph came into their life. She understands him better than anybody.
Spent a lot of his youth sneaking away to the galleries in London because hey! they were free and it was something to do, which is where he fell in love with art. He now has a growing collection that he’s very proud of. Likes supporting lesser known artists.
With too much money (and what he considers far too much time on his hands) now, he’s decided to channel his energy into local charities and projects. This is driven partially by genuine generosity, but mostly by a retained and unwanted feeling of guilt that he doesn’t know how to deal with.
The 'too much money' thing is also apparent in how he pays his employees. Unusually good rates all around. He remembers what it was like to struggle and how he watched his mother fight tooth and nail for every penny she earned. He refuses to let people in his employ suffer like that.
𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 — Earthwave
𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 — closed for @nathancrvne
First, it was embarrassment that washed over her. Spencer, who was usually dressed like she was ready for some occasion, had been caught in her worst look of the season: pajamas. Nike joggers and all. Her face turned pale as the desire to dry heave began stirring within. "Mr. Crane," she greeted, just barely deciding to stop herself from apologizing for her disheveled appearance. It felt almost disrespectful to appear so unkempt, when she had waited on him through so many flight between to and fro New York then and again now from their shared Chicago base — when she had received so many kind gifts from the gentleman before her. He, of course, was dressed in his typical higher-end garb. Even if he were dressed in sweats, she was sure the label on the back of it would have read something widely unattainable for her — like Balenciaga or Cucinelli. "Didn't know someone of your caliber did their own grocery shopping." It wasn't a strong opener for conversation but it was at the very least honest. "Nice to see you among us common folk, though." Her misfortune seemed to bother her less as she spoke, allowing for a little more room for her usual playful remarks.
There were few things on the long list of things Nate hated that he detested more than going to the supermarket. It was overly bright, often crowded, and he loathed stopping to make pleasantries with friendly locals, all of whom seemed far too eager to make conversation regardless of how early it was. None of this was made easier by the closeness of the holidays. At the first sound of his name, he drew in a breath and forcibly withheld a sigh, but when he turned to see Spencer his exasperation melted away into surprise. "Miss Santiago, fancy meeting you here." How strange it was to see her out of uniform, a regular member of society rather than a perfectly made-up cog in the proverbial machine. It felt a little like it had when he was a kid and spotted a teacher outside of school. He let out a quiet laugh and gestured to his basket. "Yes, well I was out of eggs and even for people of my, ahem, calibre-," gentle mocking laced itself around the word. "-it's rather hard to make pie without them and I suspect my nieces wouldn't respond especially well to a pie-less Thanksgiving. It's nice to see you, I didn't realise you were local. Or are you just in town visiting?"
who: @nathancrvne
where: harlem st. cafe
what: audition attempt
The afternoon daylight snuffed out like a candle as the door closed behind her. Warm and dark, the lounge smelled of smoke and perfume, and a dozen other women were already here who fit the scene's composition much better than she did. They all seemed to be the right kind of elegant, all jewels and velvet and perfectly curled hair, whereas Shambles had shambled in in sweatpants and a backwards cap with her skateboard under her arm.
She was used to standing out, but just now she thought maybe her old self would have fit in better here.
A man in a suit came over and asked her name, and she hesitated. Harmony was probably the correct answer, but it always felt like a lie, now. She'd left Harmony behind when she'd left home. But if she told this man (who was already looking at her like she was shit he'd just stepped in) the name she went by now, would he turn her away?
"Shambles," she answered.
"How fitting," he said, rolling his eyes. "We don't currently have any roles available that are behind-the-scenes enough for you. Perhaps in the spring."
He pointed her to the door, and she sighed. She should have said Harmony.
Nathan was starting to regret making the decision to stay for auditions. One would think that it would be entertaining watching a slew of performances by people whose job it was to be entertaining, and yet... His desire to retain a firm grip on the helm at lounge rarely wavered, but in the face of such incredible boredom he found himself, for the first time in a long time, wishing to be literally anywhere else. They were all the same. Same attitudes, same outfits, same dances, same hair. Perfect for a coordinated lineup and outstanding at driving Nate up the wall.
When he returned from a much needed cigarette break (taken mostly to escape the droning voices of the so-called ‘talent scouts’ that were supposed to be helping him), it was to find what at first appeared to be a lost stoner lurking in the lounge.
So far, it was the most interesting thing that'd happened all day.
“Hold on a moment, Hal.” Hal shut up, looking a little indignant. He ought to fire him later, really. The man wasn't good for much other than getting on his nerves. Nate ignored him and gave the girl a once over, raising his eyebrows. Amusement began to creep in. “Are you here to audition or deliver a pizza?”
𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 — Harlem St. Cafe
𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 — open, capped at 3 (0/3) @bluestarters
Although Safiye didn't typically enjoy being away from home, she often found herself at local establishments at the end of her shifts. After a long workday, having her dinner plated and a glass poured for her held significant appeal to her. Beyond a warm meal and a place to rest her feet, she enjoyed the maturity and sophistication of the crowd of places like Harlem St. Cafe. She nearly waited for a table, so she could really kick off her shoes beneath the tablecloth but the completely empty bar seemed like the better place for peace that evening. But as she was about to slide into the seat, she felt an elbow brush right along hers. "I'm so sorry," she apologized instinctively, withdrawing herself into a bar seat one further down, "I wasn't paying attention." Her eyes had been drawn toward the stage, where the curtains had just begun to peel back. She pointed a finger to where her mind had been stolen and shrugged her shoulders.
The sharp jump of the pen against paper sends a slash of ink across the line above and Nathan works to hold back a sigh of irritation. “It's no problem,” he lies. Rolling his eyes at a paying customer isn't going to win him any favours now, is it? If anything her distraction is good. At the very least it means guests are interested in watching the show. He pastes on his most winning ‘I'm definitely not annoyed and just tolerating everything around me’ smile and nods to the small gaggle of acrobats appearing one by one on the stage—tonight's opening act. “Our performers have a habit of distracting people. It's what we pay them to do. I'd be more concerned if you'd seen me.” It's laying it on a bit thick, but he doesn't care. The front of house manager has been badgering him about being ‘less of a looming presence waiting to scare people off’ lately. The cheek of it, honestly.
It was comments like this where Madisyn didn’t know whether there was genuine flirting, or if he was just humoring her. She didn’t mind either way — flattery was flattery regardless of intent — but it was just that bit harder to know where she stood with the club owner, to know what she could or couldn’t get away with. “Apart from my amazing, show stopping Halloween costume, the only one you’d ever get me in is if this place did like…a speakeasy night. There is just something about that 1920’s aesthetic. Would really fit this place too.” Why the hell did she choose to buy a farm when her calling was clearly some sort of event management at niche clubs?
The fact he took her talent scouting suggestion seriously had her confidence boosted, for a second. It wasn’t often that serious people regarded her on their level, after all. Shallow and vapid influencer, you don’t know how to make serious decisions…“Oh I can. I ended up trapped at some Open Mic night at one of the bars in Weaver Ridge not too long ago —,” The influencer pulled a face, conveying everything she felt about that night without words. “But I suppose, different clientele.” A polite way to put it. “So, when is the next round of auditions?”
A smirk curved his lips and he tilted his head in consideration. “That was the inspiration for the bar, actually.” The flapper get-up would be just as pleasant on her as the dancers' costumes, he was sure of it. “Maybe we'll make it the theme of our Christmas bash. The plan is to go all Gatsby with it, champagne towers and the like, you know.” It really wasn't a bad idea. He could already see the adverts. BLUE HARBOR'S OWN ROARING 20S. Lose yourself in a night of moonshine, jazz, and decadence. It would get people in the door at least.
Nathan made a face at the words ‘open mic night.’ “God, I can't think of anything more tragic.” It was the kind of thing Falvey would like, he was sure of it. You couldn't pay him enough to spend an evening wanting to rip off his own ears like that. “We've got some coming up next week. Monday. I want to keep the lineup from getting stale, but that's going to prove difficult if every act that shows up puts our audience to sleep.”
➥ location: the sandwich establishment
➥ timestamp: lunchtime
➥ status: closed starter for @graham-oswald
Perhaps he ought to have cut his losses and headed right back out the door the second he heard raised voices, but, quite frankly, Nathan was starved for entertainment and a sandwich shop bust-up was about the closest thing to any real action he'd seen in weeks. It seemed he wasn't the only one intrigued by the escalating chaos. Of the entire queue waiting—a lunch rush in full swing—only a handful had left when the two men at the front started arguing. One woman in front of Nathan was actually craning her neck to see what was going on, much to his amusement.
Behind the counter, an anxious teenager hovered uncertainly, obviously not sure what to do. He had no idea what had started it, only that the idiots involved were creating much more of a scene than necessary. Somebody else tried to step in and was quickly rebuffed. It wasn't much of a surprise when it came to blows, though the sheer impetus with which the pair of men went careening into one of the few small tables was.
It was more out of instinct than generosity that Nathan's hand shot out, seizing a handful of the coat in front of him, and tugged its owner out of the path of destruction. He regretted it instantly. The two of them went stumbling sideways and the cappuccino he'd acquired from next door met an untimely death, drenching his previously spotless shirt in lukewarm coffee and spilling across both their feet. “Jesus wept,” he cursed, caught halfway between annoyance and amusement. “If I'd known I was entering a fight club I'd have warned my dry-cleaner ahead of time. My apologies,” he added to the man as an afterthought.
“What do you think-” Nathan says, nodding towards a table in the far corner. “-first date or the middle of a breakup?”
Awkwardness radiates from the couple seated there, their conversation obviously stiff and stilted, with two menus half raised like shields between them. Whichever answer proves true, it's obvious the evening isn't going well for them.
It's a game he likes to play every time he and Grace go out to dinner, finding the most likely source of drama and turning it into free entertainment for the night. The wine list lays forgotten in front of him. He turns back to her, one eyebrow raised playfully. “How much do you want to bet she'll walk out before the main course even makes it to their table?”
Alec had been warned about this before. He was as subtle as a brick through a window about everything ever, and that included buying drugs right here in the middle of the street. For fuck sake, they'd at least picked a little shadowy spot, right? Everyone was usually good at minding their own business.
Except, apparently, this guy.
He'd snuck up behind Alec, and he whirled around, pocketing his coke and giving the man a once over. "Hey, buddy. If you're trying to knock on the back door, then you're either going to have to pay or take me to dinner first. I like a nice juicy steak, for the record." Again, he looked him up and down, taking the time to really take him in. He was dressed sharp, like one of those fancy businessmen downtown. Alec narrowed his eyes. "If you're a cop, you have to tell me."
Well, that was a first. Nathan's brows shot up and he stared at the kid for a moment, deciding whether he should dignify any of that with a response. His eyes flicked up and down the boy's form and finally he said dryly, “Don't flatter yourself. Slumming it really isn't my style.” Good grief. Perhaps he'd been wrong in his assessment of him. His attitude screamed 'trouble' where Nathan preferred his contacts to have a bit more subtlety. Unfortunately, it wasn't like he had many choices here.
His hands slid into his pocket and he rocked back on his heels, letting out a sigh. “I'm not a cop, but if I were you'd be screwed. Bit of a cliche, buying drugs in an alleyway. And a well lit one at that.”
Moving to Blue Harbor had been a wrench in more ways than one, particularly in terms of missing contacts. In New York he'd had an entire network of useful people to get him in doors, acquire impossible tickets, and sell him the best of the best. Here that network was next to non-existent. He'd assumed that wouldn't be much of an issue, but with the boredom setting in the lack of any local dealers in his phone was bordering on desperate. Hence the conversation at hand. “That gear any good?” He asked, nodding to where Alex's baggie had disappeared into his pocket.
Whilst Nathan didn’t exactly ask more about Madi’s costume for the rave, she still found herself feeling surprisingly bashful to answer. Suddenly a witch — chosen with purpose because classics were classics for a reason — seemed too basic, too juvenile. The club owner had this air of authority “I do. Suppose you’ll see it splashed on the front pages when I inevitably win the costume contest.” The bravado wasn’t necessarily needed in this current moment, but she didn’t doubt with her resources she’d outshine the entire rave.
She scoffed at the comment of influencers pivoting to show business, even if it was moreso a fact of life at this point. And how Madisyn did indeed spend the early days of her career trying to transition to the silver screen. “Please, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.” The influencer proclaimed. “Ooh, maybe I can help you with the auditions though? I’ve been told I’m a mega judgmental bitch, and I hate magicians.” Really, a perfect job for her would be to examine the talent on offer.
Her confidence pulled a genial laugh from him. No doubt she had something showstopping up her sleeve. Knowing Madisyn she probably would win, even if it was out of sheer determination to do so. He liked that about her. Her draw to the spotlight reminded him of himself sometimes. “Keeping things mysterious, eh? Hm. Well, I'll make sure to keep an eye on the paper then.”
A hand came to his chest and he clutched it, a mockingly wounded expression on his face over her dismissal. “That's a shame. You'd look rather fetching in some of the costumes. Then again, we wouldn't want the other dancers feeling outshone.” It was laying it on a bit thick, but the amusement twinkled in his eyes at the thought. The mischief leaked away after a second though, replaced by serious consideration. “That's not a bad idea actually.” Without his sister there to pass judgements, Nathan felt rather bereft of the opinions of those whom he actually valued. Madisyn certainly had the eye for it. “You wouldn't believe some of the ‘talent’ we get trying out.” The magician had been the least of it.
It was funny to be called a ‘businesswoman’. Anyone who knew Madisyn would know her dealings with the farm was very hands off — unless, of course, it came to the llamas — and the term itself left a bad taste in her mouth, as she thought of a very specific blonde who, as far as she was aware, was still lurking about in town somewhere. But she smiled nonetheless, grin widening as her usual drink of choice seemed to have appeared as if by magic not too long after settling in her seat, angling to face Nate as he joined her. She decided that, after her all-but-assured win at the costume contest on Thursday with the advertised first prize win of VIP access to Aurora, Madi would never step foot in that club again. Not now she had somewhere that valued her custom.
“It gets so boring so quickly,” She all but whined, “If I see one more pumpkin I…” She trailed off, the unfinished threat dying in mid-air, deciding to take a sip of her cocktail instead, shrugging with flourish. “Apparently we do Christmas Trees as well. So can’t wait for that holiday…”
Though perhaps small-town Illinois would make her Hallmark dreams come true.
“It’s different in LA. There’s like parties, and networking, and like…people make a real effort. This kind of place just… turns their noses up at fun.” Another sip. “Though, there is a rave this Thursday, with a costume contest, so we’ll see. How’s business?” There weren't many other people Madi cared about hearing them talk about themselves, but Nathan was an exception.
She couldn't be blamed. Halloween was never much more than an excuse to drink for Nathan; none of the nostalgia others seemed to hold for it lingered within him. “I know what you mean,” he mused. New York was in the same vein. His sister threw an annual masquerade ball for the holiday, ‘the afterlife of the party’. A raucous affair made up of hypnotising lights, music, and themed cocktails filled with expensive liquor. He had fond memories of getting lost in dark corners with illicit company. Missing it sparked a twinge of regret. It was hard to imagine anything coming close in a dinky little town like this, though he supposed a rave was a start.
But she was right. Christmas would be worse, no doubt.
“A costume contest, eh? I suppose you have something lined up then?” He swirled his glass around, then leaned back with a sigh. “Business is good. We're auditioning for more acts though and frankly it's beginning to make me question my sanity. If I have to sit through one more shit magician...” He shook his head despairingly. “Maybe you should drop in, bring us some of that LA sparkle. Isn't it law out there that you all have to get involved in show business at some point in your career?”
Antonio’s mildly surprised the path from his house to Roman’s hasn’t somehow imprinted itself as footprints on the sidewalk, despite the impossibility of such a feat. They’ve both taken the very same route to and from each other’s homes multiple times since Antonio’s arrived in Blue Harbor, a fact that he’s now sure hasn’t escaped the neighbor situated comfortably between them. Nathan’s good people — from what he can tell, anyway. Antonio hasn’t gone sniffing into much of his personal life, so he could very well be mistaken, but for the most part he minds his own business and is content to snark with Toni about the HOA and some of their other neighbors once in a while, which happens to be the bare minimum in Antonio’s ‘He’s An Okay Guy, Roman’ book.
It’s during one of his usual treks to Roman’s house that he spots Nathan sorting through his mail, and before he knows it he’s standing beside the other man, frowning distastefully at the Halloween decorations being set up over the house across the street. He’s less concerned about the decorations themselves and more concerned about the way their neighbors seem to be speaking to the workers, as if they weren’t the ones doing all the fucking work. God, he hates some of these people.
Glancing at Nathan when he asks his question, Antonio shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. “Fucking beats me,” he admits. “I’ve never spent Halloween in Oak Gardens.” Halloweens in Blue Harbor back in his youth were mostly confined to the university, and truth be told, he does not remember them. He gestures over to their fantastically loud, fantastically pompous neighbors across the street. “But if they speak to everyone that way, I’m sure they have more reason to be worried than any of us.”
He kind of hopes someone does egg their house, actually. For the laughs. At the mention of Linda, Antonio can’t help the exasperated sigh that escapes him. It’s like a Pavlovian response — he thinks he’s a patient person, for the most part, but Linda sure likes to test that theory often.
“Linda could use a new hobby,” Antonio says, his voice tinged with a wry amusement. “Like minding her own business. But hey,” he smirks, giving his neighbor a mock-serious look. “Don’t forget the approved pumpkin-to-gourd ratio. You’re allowed two pumpkins max, but they have to be perfectly round and orange — no ‘mutant varieties’ or white pumpkins.” Antonio hums, skimming through the email they’d received in his head. “Oh, and the scarecrows,” he adds, grinning lazily. “You’re required to use only HOA-sanctioned hay stuffing — too much straw, and you’re ‘creating a fire hazard,’ too little straw, and you’re ruining the aesthetic.” A beat. “I heard last year someone had the nerve to dress theirs in a flannel shirt that wasn’t HOA-approved plaid,” he nods seriously. “Bet Linda had a field day with that one.”
“Hm. Perhaps if her husband wasn't so busy browsing for newer models she'd have less time to bother the rest of us.” It doesn't matter that two thirds of his life have been spent steeped in luxury and privilege, the ghost of a youthful Nathan rises up defiant and resentful all the same. A smirk creeps onto his face, Antonio's words conjuring a satisfying image of the look on Linda's face in the aftermath of Halloween revenge. The concept of HOAs has never been anything short of bizarre to him and having a committee of control freaks policing what he does with his own property only inspires a deeply immature desire to see how far over the line he can toe. “Pity the poor sod who had to deal with her. Who on earth cared about scarecrows that much?”
It's a small blessing that his house sits between the only two neighbours that actually appear to be sane on the street. With Antonio on one side and Roman on the other he's been left in relative peace the past few months. No rousing arguments, no drama, or none that he's noticed at least. And if the two of them wander between houses on a slightly more regular basis than he'd expect, well. None of his business, is it?
Linda's grating voice inspires an eye roll and as they watch her tear a set of bat-shaped lights from a worker's hand he can't help but think of his younger brothers, both of whom would see this kind of behaviour as a challenge to cause as many problems for the woman as possible. His fingers itch to take out his phone and text them. He pushes them further into his pockets.
“I never understood the point of those groups anyway. Fascists.” He huffs, searching for a cigarette to replace the urge to reach out. Nathan considers Antonio appraisingly as he slips it between his lips and lights it. “Where did you live before, then?” It makes sense to him that he's not an Oak Gardens native, if only for the fact that the man doesn't walk around with the air of someone who has a stick rammed up their arse.
Nilay hadn't been able to stop her girls once they walked through the front door, the two squealing with excitement as they ran towards Nathan. Part of the woman was still in disbelief over him being in Blue Harbor. With a man like him, a larger city seemed more his speed. Plus, she wasn't sure why he wasn't associated with the distillery anymore; He wouldn't tell her anything about it. But, nonetheless, maybe a smaller place like Blue Harbor would be good for him. And, selfishly, it meant being able to see him more frequently now than before. "I tried and I tried, but I couldn't stop them. They were much too excited." Scanning his light blue eyes, her smile grew. "Can't blame them," she chuckled, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "How are you? How's the cabaret doing? I've been meaning to see it, but I've been busy. Clearly." She laughed once more as she gestured towards her daughters, though with her other responsibilities, she knew he'd understand.
If there was one upside to the whole dreary retirement affair it was actually having time to spend with his family, especially his nieces and nephews (though it might be a touch more pleasant were he not on the outs with his older brother, since that made seeing half of them significantly more difficult). Nilay's family might not be blood relations, but they were close enough.
A rare grin graced his face as the girls called out his name and he let them barrel into him, pretending to stagger back in exaggerated surprise. “Nilay, who are these lovely ladies? They can't possibly be Hattie and Rhia, they're far too grown up.”
When he straightened up he offered a shrug of reassurance to her, indicating it was fine—nice, even—and allowed her to hug him. As pleasant as it was to be able to have her visit more often, it was a thing of dread too. The quick fire questions came as expected and his mask slipped into place.
‘How are you?’ Once such an insignificant and every day question, now it was a reminder that he rarely had much else to report other than 'fine'. Though the lounge had certainly livened things up it was still a far cry from the hustle of his life back home. “Not bad. The cabaret's fine. Opening night was a success and we've already got regulars.” It wasn't perfect yet, though. He would work himself into the ground until it was. His brows rose minutely and he tried to keep his tone neutral as he asked, “Falvey not around much, then? I'd have thought he'd be helping out.”
Seeing comes before words. Such was Berger’s sentiments—true fifty years ago and truer now, especially now, amid the warm strobes of the deftly placed light fixtures and women bathed in a kaleidoscope of color. In truth, the display rang a bit garish and displaced against the gray-blue of Blue Harbor. Still, Terry couldn’t look away, and the words had drifted to the edge of their mind. They let them linger there.
They could appreciate it on an intellectual level. (Purely intellectual.) Architecture, after all, was the process of building and unbuilding—and they worked with space, first and foremost, didn’t they? Space set the stage for human activity. The lilt of voices, the cadence of movement, the pauses and plays of experiences, the ways bodies moved in the nothingness that was present. The way light also moved through form and flesh, way too much flesh—
Movement next to them, now. A man’s voice broke into their thoughts, words almost like a pick up-line: I feel like I should be surprised to see you here. Terry fought the urge to sigh at this man’s disruption, but their annoyance departed as quickly as it came as they placed a name to the voice.
The muscles of their lips involuntarily curled upward at the sight of him. Blue Harbor had pulled another ghost from their memory, then, but at least Nathan’s wasn’t colored by complication. They would venture to say it was even welcome. “Nathan,” they slumped back slightly on the lightly cushioned seat, welcoming an old friend’s company, “Do you want me to flatter you, or do you want me to be honest?” It wasn’t a terribly hasty conclusion to assume that a cabaret lounge in this little town would be his doing. “You know I can be a tough critic.”
They were just how he remembered. Sharp as a tack and straight to the point. A small smirk settled on his lips as he nodded, indicating for them to go on. "How else will I achieve perfection if not through honest reviews?" It was what drove him, after all, the all-consuming pursuit of flawlessness. Terry had a good eye and his trust. If there was anybody's opinion Nathan might actually value outside of that of his family's, it would be theirs. "Though a little flattery wouldn't go amiss."
And after that, you can tell me what you're doing here.
He draped himself lazily across the back of the circular booth and kicked a foot up onto his knee, crossing his legs with an expectant look on his face. Had they come here for this, to celebrate a friend's new venture? Unlikely. They'd seemed genuinely surprised to see him and it wasn't as though Nathan had advertised the cabaret's opening to the New York crowd. The thought alone made him want to grimace. An odd coincidence then, that they should both wind up here in this tiny town. The workings of fate he might have said, if he'd believed in that sort of thing.
The number on stage was winding down and soon the dancers would scatter to the sides, disappearing backstage for their break, replaced by a sweet moment of reprieve as set up for the next act began. A burlesque performance, were he not mistaken, as they crept into the more risqué hours of the evening. It was usually at this point that he retired to his office, feeling it would be imprudent to earn himself a reputation for hanging around to watch every night. "I'm trying to keep it classy. Unfortunately, I get the impression my director and I have different definitions of the word."
— harlem st. cafe. ft. nathan crane ( @nathancrvne )
The minute the lounge had opened, Madisyn had been a regular customer. Harlem St. Cafe was everything she was looking for; great ambience, fun drinks, entertainment and bartenders who weren’t total assholes to her. It was a place that respected its patronage, and thus Madi found herself there more often than not. At some point in her visits, she had become acquainted with the owner, Nate Crane, who seemed more like someone who belonged in a gangster movie than a small town in Illinois, but she decided that the mystery was what increased his attractiveness, so tried not to pry on his reasoning behind living in Blue Harbor. And, well, he seemed to enjoy her being there, letting her talk about whatever she wanted in the moment.
She had found herself in the cabaret bar due to wanting a respite from the Halloween shenanigans happening in the rest of the town, finding herself sorely disappointed in being ambushed with spooky decor; no matter how tasteful it was. “Ugh, the one place I was expecting it not to be…festive.” She grumbled as she made her way to her usual seat, nodding over at Nathan as she did so, not expecting to see him, but glad anyway. “You, like, definitely don’t strike me as the type to celebrate Halloween.”
“Pandering to the masses makes money. A businesswoman like yourself should know that, surely.” A single brow arched and amusement curled wryly at the edge of Nathan's lips as he watched Madisyn swan in, admiring the sight of her. There was something so Pavlovian about it; her very presence sparked satisfaction, for each time she returned it signalled success. To already have regulars this early on in the game hadn't been something he'd counted on—hoped for, sure, but never counted on.
He peeled himself away from the wall and came to join her, sliding into the next seat over and signalling to Jason, the bartender. From its very conception the lounge had become akin to a second home—Nathan didn't believe in being hands-off, and it was for that reason he'd had an office built for himself upstairs—thus somewhat of an understanding had developed between himself and the bar staff. At first his presence had been greeted with an air of tension, skittish behaviour and nervous looks, but after a couple of weeks they'd all grown used to him being there. He might as well be one of the furnishings now... unless he wanted a drink, in which case he was a priority. Madisyn too had earned herself a place in their regards it seemed. A French 75, her usual, was set down on the bar besides his scotch a moment later. "So what is it you have against Halloween? I would've thought a girl like you would be thrilled. Instagrammable costumes. Plenty of photo ops. Isn't that your element?"
- Age: 43
- Height: 5'9"
- Weight: 154lbs
- Voice: Deep and drawling. General received pronunciation accent. Growing up he spoke in a cockney accent and forced himself to change it when he moved to New York, on occasion when he's around his brothers or exceptionally tired a hint of it may slip through.
- Eye Colour: Ice blue
- Hair Colour: Dark brown
- Skin Tone & Complexion: Pale skin and complexion, a light brushing of freckles.
- Hair Type & Style: Hair is cropped short around the sides and back, slightly longer and floppier on top. Usually kept neat.
- Build & Posture: Average build, lean. Walks with a straight and confident posture, chin up, a little imperious.
- Fitness Level: Medium.
- Scars/Birthmarks: A thin scar under his bottom lip from taking a hit in a bar fight, a small collection of marks on his right forearm from falling into glass, and a myriad of others around his body courtesy of his father. A couple of moles dotted across his back.
- Tattoos: A simple cross tattooed over his heart, ‘misneach’ (the irish word for courage) tattooed on his left bicep).
- Piercings: None.
- Typical Style of Dress: Can usually be found in a suit while at work, considers it an important professional and status symbol. Alone at home he is more prone to wearing t-shirts, sweaters, and comfortable trousers, though he will rarely wear them around other people. Button downs and slacks are typical for him otherwise.
- Jewellery/Accessories: A Rolex, one of the first things he bought when he went into business for himself. A thin chain he wears around his neck, which he's had since before moving to the States, and his brothers all possess similar necklaces. A prized silver lighter with his initials engraved. A small hip flask, which lives in his jacket pocket to be taken out during particularly boring events.
-Glasses/Contacts: Has reading glasses, but often fails to wear them.
