"Drake, I insist you come out and party for a little bit. I mean seriously, all you've been doing the whole night is been sitting here. Where is your life?" Juanita couldn't help it. All night, for three hours, Drake, the nightclub's manager, had been sitting on the stool. Doing nothing. To her, that was unthinkable. Juanita's wild, flirty, and exotic, personality didn't fit at all with Drake's shady and dark nature. Yet somehow, the two were close, in a weird way. Like, one wouldn't go without the other. She took another swig of pina colada, and looked him in the eyes. "Come on, please. Just once." The Jamaican woman was getting more and more flustered. What was up with him? Ever since she could remember, guys had a 'thing' for her. Juanita could get them to do whatever she wanted with a couple blinks of her full, lengthy, gold, mascara and a flirty body swing. Why didn't Drake fall for it to? Oh, right. Because he was Drake. "Listen, Juanita Maria Shalamar. How many times do I have to tell you? I don't like it. You know I've never liked anything close to what you enjoy. And I'm not just sitting here. I'm observing." Drake talked in that quiet, creepy-ish, voice of his. It should've scared anyone. Anyone but Juanita. The woman snorted, or attempted to. "Fine. You go and observe or what ever people with no life do. I need a cocktail." With that, Juanita walked away, her extremely short minidress swinging. Drake rolled his eyes - or should we say, eye - but the man couldn't help but give a smile. He loved Juanita, in the non-romantic way. Like as a friend, but something more important than that. Maybe a sibling would fit more. He watched the Jamaican woman chug the cocktail, ask for seconds, and they go and dance like crazy. Anybody would admire her, and he could see why all those men where so crazy about her. She was exotic - not to many people are half Jamaican and half French. And her heritage gave her that impossible-to-ignore accent and the beautiful dark skin. Drake couldn't help but observe some more. Today, she was wearing that gold minidress, in this case, 'extra-mini' would have fit better. The dress was as low as a large t-shirt. So inappropriate. So Juanita. She also had large gold hoop earings with a big hawaiian flower pinned to the side of her hair. Her wild, curly, brown hair was bouncing around everywhere. That was weird, she normally wore it up. Right now, she was dancing with three guys, all who seemed drunk, which didn't seem to bother Juanita in the least. She had her cocktail in hand, and her brown-green eyes were eyeing the men up and down. Drake could tell she was getting a little drunk herself. He ran his hand through his ponytail, and stopped watching Juanita. If he watched her anymore people might notice his staring, and, anyways, nobody wanted to watch her drunk with men - it was rated R. Drake hosted himself up off his stool, he should probably get to work. "Hey, Drake! Yeah, Drake Hargate! Juanita wants you to know that the 'r' of Stripe light went out." The man walked away, without any sort of greeting or such. Drake shrugged, typical for people to be wary around him. He should probably get to work on that, or force someone to. As manager of this nightclub, The Red Stripe Chicken, he should be used to these things. It's just that Juanita never did anything, after all, she was the owner. He sighed, he couldn't expect much from her. She partied and got loads of customers to come to her Jamaican nightclub, and was pretty rich with this, too. And Drake, well, Drake got plenty of money taking care of anything Juanita didn't care to do. Or in other words - everything. Drake took slow steps towards the door, his one pale-grey eye cautious for any crazy dancers. He made sure to stay as un-noticeable as possible, it didn't work out to well though. A rather large woman crashed into him, spilling her drink (cocktail, maybe?) all over him. "Great." Drake muttered with a few swear words mixed in. He glared at the lady, and while she tried to apologize, he spun around and stalked to the back of the club. There he hung his black leather jacket up, and was pretty angry that it was ruined, for now. Drake wore that nearly everyday after a good washing. It was his favorite, after all, and he did his best to not get it ruined. Well, now he'd have to walk around in his black jeans and a plain white t-shirt. That is, if he walked around at all. Drake took that back entrance out of the Red Stripe Chicken to go view the front. The back of the club was... pretty boring, actually. He was surprised Juanita hadn't told him to go 'make it fun' yet. Drake stepped out of his sandals and let the black sand soak in his feet for a moment. It felt amazing. He finally got on and moved himself to the front of the building. The Red Stripe Chicken was actually quite elegant looking, despite it's name. It's Jamaican style showed the most and completely 'clicked' with Sa'fir's black sand. Flourescent lighting had completed the look. Everything just seemed to 'fit' there, thanks to Juanita's skill and his planning. Well, Drake better get that 'r' fixed. He knew Juanita wouldn't be very happy if it didn't get fixed by the next day. The man got to work.
Meanwhile Juanita was having the most fun of her life, of course, she said that everyday. But live in the moment, right? As new people walked in, she went to greet them, and possibly, dance if they were males. This made her old 'group' quite jealous and stalk of for something to drink - most likely, something that would get them even more drunk. She made sure to offer the newcomers some cocktails or something, for it was more fun when both parties were drunk. This group was especially outgoing, if you know what outgoing means in a nightclub. Although some of the men came with girls, which were getting pretty jealous and angry with Juanita, who kept flirting and dancing with their boyfriends. "Be right back." Juanita whispered in that irresistible tone. "Don't go anywhere without me." She winked her gold, huge, mascara and walked with a modeling attitude to go get another cocktail. The woman definitely had a 'thing' for cocktails. "Cocktail please." She asked the bartender. Looking around she added, "Oh, and where'd Drake go?" The guy shrugged but pointed to the front of the club. He then left but immediately returned with a cocktail in hand. All of her hired hands were male, and all of them did whatever Juanita asked - instantly (Well, of course. Not counting Drake Hargate.). Oh! He was fixing that 'r' that Juanita had some man ask him to fix it for her. Good, she didn't want her club having any less quality. With her best friend (a cocktail) in hand, she went back to the dance floor, ready to dance the night away.