<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">original</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Mm, yeah, Lindsay said something was going on in there. Jasper and Dean have the keys, but Dean's up in Eugene, and I haven't seen Jasper." Sam waited until he had a moment to spare, then grabbed a radio clipped to his belt and spoke into it. "Yeah, one of the girls is freaking out or something. I dunno, it happens. Just a bad night for it, I guess." A little bit later, one of the other bouncers came outside.<br/><br/>"No private dances right now. Hurry up before one of the girls needs me back in there."<br/><br/>Sammy nodded to his coworker, then gestured for Tyson to follow him. As the two headed inside the building, Mike finally replied to Tyson. "just figure out what is going on. try and get her to stick around at least for tonight see if you can patch things up, whatever her probem is"<br/><br/>"Keep it, you work for Magic. Just don't go stabbing anybody." He led the way over to the door near the bar, marked with STAFF in blocky white letters, and disappeared inside. The place had a decent crowd for a Tuesday. It was never going to be <em>packed</em> on a Tuesday, but this was a decent showing. There was even a table with some women at it, which could be either great for one of the dancers, or just a complete black hole that she could pour effort into and get no tips out of.<br/><br/>At the bar, Lindsay slid a glass and a menu across the counter to a guy, who took off back for his group of friends and their table. Finished with her customer, she strolled over to Tyson and leaned up against the counter. "What're you doing here, Ty-dy? Anything to drink?" She gestured down her counter, first to the soda, then to the taps, which were currently covered with a hood, with a conspiratorial look.<br/><br/>After a minute, Sammy came back to collect Tyson. "It's all you now. She's, uh, a bit of a wreck." The dressing room was down the hall to the right behind the door, with its own small bathroom and showers. Just inside the door marked DANCERS - STAGE was a row of makeup tables and mirrors, a complete mess of chairs, racks, and discarded accessories, and a long bench running in front of a row of lockers. Seated on the bench were a pair of women, both still in their street clothes. One had clearly been crying recently, and her makeup was smeared all down her face. It looked like she had been covering up a pretty nasty bruise on the side of her face, before the effort had been ruined. The other had her arm over the first's shoulder, and looked up at Tyson with a slightly hostile expression.</div></div><br/>As he passed Lindsay, he replied to the drink request, "Yeah thanks. I'll have my usual, with an apple. So apparently, tonight I'm Ruler Supreme." Fun fact: Lindsay doesn't know what "his usual" is, to his knowledge anyway. Just a fun mind game for him to play since he's here on an off day. To see either how observant or how creative she is. There's not too many things that go well with apple. If there are any served here. It's not his club, so he doesn't really know.<br/><br/>He looks around, seeing a rather excited girl at an all-female table, although the rest didn't seem too amused. Blaring music, Cinnamon showing off her "rolls." A bunch of rowdy college bros chugging down...beer? Soda?<em>Remind me to send Sam over there to check their cards...</em><br/><br/>Sam poked out from the "Staff" sign behind the bar, motioning for him to head to the back. Tyson then waved the barkeep off, telling her to "Hang on to it 'til I get back. Gotta play Mr. Fix-It or Dr. Phil or something. Hey, make those ladies feel welcome, only one of them is having fun. Send'em a shot of your choice, tell'em it's on 'Management.' He leaned in over the counter a bit as he got up from the bar table's edge. "Pssst, I'm 'Management,'" as he followed Sam to the back. Poking his head from behind the doors, he saw the distraught young girl, still in her casuals, along with (hopefully) a friend.<em>Time to turn on that mystic charm... Don't fuck this up...</em><br/><br/>"...Anything we can do for you? A drink? A hug? An ear?... A warning shot?" Tyson offered, with a bit of jest, but still used to feel out the situation. He grabbed a nearby chair, one with a back but no arms, turned it around and sat down a few feet away from the two, keeping an intimate tone while keeping his distance. "Hey, you gotta talk to me. Unfortunately, you know the 'First Rule of Magic: Never show'em your hand,' which is compounded with the 'Second Rule: If you clock in, you're on duty.' Magic Mike and a few sayings, most of which explained either his business practice, others for his work ethic.<br/><br/>Waiting for a response, hopefully making some progress, he quickly tapped his fingers along the back of the chair. "Hey, I do a bit of art myself, and dancing is an art, even with bras flying everywhere. I find music gets me in the right mood. So, tell me what's wrong, and we can fire up the song that'll set you free. But you gotta let me know the situation."