<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"Michael it is then," </span>Yassine purred, nodding his understanding of Mave--Michael's wishes. It made enough sense to him. Michael was a performer, first and foremost. While working, it wasn't unusual for an entirely different persona to take a dancer's body over completely. He had seen it a thousand times before. On stage, wallflowers bloomed into the most extravagantly beautiful blossoms, all wild color and flair. On stage, Michael was something explosive, exciting, demanding attention and crisp bills, both of which Yassine was more than happy to provide. He grinned, champagne flute hovering at the edges of his lips as he listened to Michael speak about himself, if only momentarily. He noted the familiar hard Staten Island cadence.<i>Ah, a native. A rough-and-tumble Irish-American boy. </i>Yassine had seen plenty of those, as well. Milky complexion with a penchant for ruddy color beneath the skin whenever fired up. It was charming in its way, and blatantly apparent even in the dim lighting when Yassine gifted him some approving words. It was appealing to see a normally ethereal performer express such involuntary humanity.<br/><br/>Despite the opportunity to divulge precious information to his employer, Michael was reticent. Yassine didn't necessarily blame him for this; the streets were dark and mysterious places, where a pair of loose lips could get you in trouble with just the wrong kind of people. Whether Yassine was the<i>wrong</i>kind of person, he genuinely couldn't say, but he understood that even in this little haven, closed away from the outside world with its prying eyes and twitching ears, a kind of careful skepticism needed to be employed. Perhaps Michael wasn't willing to spill his life story, but Yassine wasn't necessarily asking for it. Michael's response to his open-ended questioned gave him all the information he required.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"Fair enough,"</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#80ff00"> </span>Yassine expressed, setting his glass down on the small side table next to the couch.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300"> "You have revealed your origins to me. I'll return the favor. I was born in Iran. This is the accent which you hear, subtle though it may be these days. It has been a long time since I have returned to my place of birth and I do not plan on going back anytime soon. I have few fond memories of the place."</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#80ff00"> </span>And with that, Yassine believed his debt paid. Like Michael, he had little desire to spread his cards out on the table for all to see. There was something comforting, even necessary, about keeping things close to the chest, and Yassine kept much of his identity wrapped up tightly in a collection of finely tailors suits and walls of rotating cash.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300"> "And no, I am not related to the gentleman from <i>Lost</i>. His ancestry is English and Indian, if I recall correctly. I'm not quite sure where that rumor came from, but if it comes up again you're more than welcome to let the others know that Mr. Mohsen confirmed its invalidity it himself." </span><br/><br/>Yassine's eyes and ears were scattered all over Abyss, taking the form of hidden cameras, microphones, and specific employees who related the goings-on to Yassine on an almost daily basis. That specific rumor seemed to be floating around for a while. Funny as it was, Yassine had never seen much of a reason to deny it up until that point, if only to satisfy Michael's burgeoning curiosity.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"For the record, I don't handle terminations myself. I prefer to leave that up to Katya. She's quite good at softening the blow. I, unfortunately, don't have the same kind of comforting aura she seems to exude. One of the many reasons she's been such a mainstay at Abyss. So no, you most certainly are not getting fired. As far as I'm aware, there's no reason to do so. Unless, of course, you'd like to make a confession?" </span>Yassine was teasing, but his naturally aloof tone left much to be desired in confirming his facetiousness. Whether Michael had ever done anything meriting termination, Yassine didn't care so much. He knew the boy wasn't stealing from him, and aside from that, few crimes went severely punished around the club. The unspoken rule of Abyss was<i>take care of the club and the club will take care of you. </i>As long as you paid your dues, you were relatively safe.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"Though I quite enjoy this little chat, it isn't why I brought you in here, is it?" </span>Another sip from the champagne flute.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"Why don't you begin. Show me what you do for those special clients who wish to enjoy you sans company."</span>