Fives actually likes this job: the energy, the noise, the pounding beat of the music and the bodies writhing in time on the dance floor. Even the smell of booze and sweat and lust has its appeal. It makes him feel keyed up and alive in a way very few things have since they were decommissioned. His brothers all think he's crazy, but that's okay, he thinks he makes more money than almost all of them and comes home energized at the end of a shift.
He's even learned how to make small talk with the people in line, which bands are popular, where they go for late night (or early morning) food after a night spent drinking and dancing, and he likes knowing he's keeping people safe. Kicking out unruly patrons, or just doing some overt intimidating to get an asshole on the straight and narrow. He's big enough and intimidating enough that even this place's clientele doesn't want to mess with him... which is the only thing that got him the job in the first place. He's also one of the few on staff with a keen enough sense of smell to sniff out the assholes who are stupid enough to think they can bring date rape drugs into a supernatural bar.
He's friendly and animated when he works the receiving line, chatting with regulars, moving absently to the beat of the music that comes blaring out every time the door opens to let someone in or out. He's turning away a surly teenager with a very low quality fake ID when a familiar scent catches his attention, but he has to finish moving the guy along, and by the time that's handled he's looking up into a pair of unfamiliar eyes above a flash of teeth in an irresistible smile. The combination gets him just wrong-footed enough that he waves the man through with a slightly fuddled smile, still trying to match the scent to the definitely unfamiliar face.
The line's busy, though, and he stops wondering about it after just a couple minutes as he deals with a couple more fake IDs, an asshole who's been banned trying to talk his way back in, and two belligerent human tourists who are already so tanked he's amazed they managed to find the door and sure have no business getting through it. By the time he rotates inside to work the floor he's almost forgotten the brief encounter, except every so often he'll catch that scent again from somewhere on the dance floor, or near the bar, and it sets his metaphorical hackles up as he never quite seems to catch sight of the scent's owner.
When he finally does he freezes for a breathless instant, the connection he'd been trying to make coming instantly clear now that the Fox General is wearing his own face, or at least the one he's familiar with. Fives can't seem to look away as the music carries him closer, and it doesn't take long to recognize those looks, always on the beat of the music, always managing to catch his eyes no matter what the surging crowd of bodies is doing. To figure out that the General's slow approach is very deliberate, no matter how casual it looks.
It sets his hackles up in an entirely different way. Makes him want to edge onto the dance floor instead of working its perimeter. Makes him want to step in close and see if he can match the General's movements any better than his many obvious admirers... and reminds him of the man times Rex had chastised him back in the day for his 'inappropriate interest' in one of their commanding officers. Not to mention a free being with infinitely more power than any of them could properly comprehend. He doesn't pay any more attention to the memory of Rex's lectures than he had to the real thing, and he grins (appropriately) wolfishly the next time one of those glances come his way.
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He's even learned how to make small talk with the people in line, which bands are popular, where they go for late night (or early morning) food after a night spent drinking and dancing, and he likes knowing he's keeping people safe. Kicking out unruly patrons, or just doing some overt intimidating to get an asshole on the straight and narrow. He's big enough and intimidating enough that even this place's clientele doesn't want to mess with him... which is the only thing that got him the job in the first place. He's also one of the few on staff with a keen enough sense of smell to sniff out the assholes who are stupid enough to think they can bring date rape drugs into a supernatural bar.
He's friendly and animated when he works the receiving line, chatting with regulars, moving absently to the beat of the music that comes blaring out every time the door opens to let someone in or out. He's turning away a surly teenager with a very low quality fake ID when a familiar scent catches his attention, but he has to finish moving the guy along, and by the time that's handled he's looking up into a pair of unfamiliar eyes above a flash of teeth in an irresistible smile. The combination gets him just wrong-footed enough that he waves the man through with a slightly fuddled smile, still trying to match the scent to the definitely unfamiliar face.
The line's busy, though, and he stops wondering about it after just a couple minutes as he deals with a couple more fake IDs, an asshole who's been banned trying to talk his way back in, and two belligerent human tourists who are already so tanked he's amazed they managed to find the door and sure have no business getting through it. By the time he rotates inside to work the floor he's almost forgotten the brief encounter, except every so often he'll catch that scent again from somewhere on the dance floor, or near the bar, and it sets his metaphorical hackles up as he never quite seems to catch sight of the scent's owner.
When he finally does he freezes for a breathless instant, the connection he'd been trying to make coming instantly clear now that the Fox General is wearing his own face, or at least the one he's familiar with. Fives can't seem to look away as the music carries him closer, and it doesn't take long to recognize those looks, always on the beat of the music, always managing to catch his eyes no matter what the surging crowd of bodies is doing. To figure out that the General's slow approach is very deliberate, no matter how casual it looks.
It sets his hackles up in an entirely different way. Makes him want to edge onto the dance floor instead of working its perimeter. Makes him want to step in close and see if he can match the General's movements any better than his many obvious admirers... and reminds him of the man times Rex had chastised him back in the day for his 'inappropriate interest' in one of their commanding officers. Not to mention a free being with infinitely more power than any of them could properly comprehend. He doesn't pay any more attention to the memory of Rex's lectures than he had to the real thing, and he grins (appropriately) wolfishly the next time one of those glances come his way.