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The gentrified climes of the Upper West Side ooze money and class conscious importance. It's everywhere, the privacy fences and the posh saloon cars rolling down well-paved streets when two boroughs could be on fire for all that the enclaves of exorbitant wealth care. Here newspapers sell and ladies-who-lunch captain philanthropic efforts for selected matters from their little exclusive social groups. It's not the sort of place for a mere bartender, no matter how great his craft. Not unless they're paying, and it's a social event, in which seen and not heard is the rule of the hour.
Now, identifying Lucian as the bartender at Lux requires them to head into East Village. It means looking for something not present now, a gentleman on the prowl with shining golden hair and a proper suit rather than his often avant garde fashion. A very expensive roadster purrs on the roadside as he steps out in front of another of the plush, properly posh places transformed for the next iteration of swanky.
Ne had not always 'oozed' money. Oddity? Sure! But funds were something she hadn't grown up with. She'd come from little, and her aquisition had been from doing not nice things and stealing from worse people. Outside of the walls of Hotel Elysium? She was just another strange little mutant. Within it though? Well…this was the icecream-colored young woman's paradise.
She'd been in the Penthouse, an idea in itself that was still strange to her. From the Orphanage to the gutter and now looking out from her own tower in one of the wealthiest parts of the city. Ironic for the woman who could weave illusions to be left questioning if all this was really real. Even so, there was things to be done and she was not so comfortable yet as to not be keeping a close eye on the running of her refuge.
Stepping out of the elevator Ne was wrapped in her white and black clothing, no illusion covering that pink and brown hair or those odd-colored eyes. This was the place to be herself after all! Parasol closed and in hand the small-statured mutant moves into the lobby proper, turning her eyes over the space once more and taking in the movements of staff and potential patrons in all.
Lucian knows luxury. It's perhaps an unfair advantage where he is involved, having witnessed so much in his inordinately long life. A slab of marble pressed into a pretty floor or used as the basis for the Mausoleum of Halikarnassos are simply projects of varied scale. His smile passes slightly from the aspect of neutrally polite to vaguely curious. Hands hold no briefcase and hint at a life of relative leisure, and he negotiates his way through the lobby in no real rush.
The world bends to powerful men and not the other way around, when luck is with them. This gives him ample opportunity to turn his focus upon everything in granular detail, from the marble welcome to whether there is - or isn't - any bar. It's all masked in mild remove, and he nods to the woman of unusually different hair colours. He's the leonine ideal, golden haired and eyes blue as a summer sky, and the pause in his gaze has a weight to it.
There's a bar, but it's a small one. A 'taste' as it were for the promises of the restaurant and bar deeper in, one was obligated to travel beyond the front door if they truely wanted to experience what the place had to offer. This place wasn't intended to 'tempt' but 'offer' a piece of paradise, although perhaps the words were merely opposite sides of the same coin. Whatever the reasoning, the place was there for those who wished to experience it.
With both of them looking over the environment and those within it? It wouldn't take them long for eyes to fall on each other. Ne herself tilts her head, curiousity inevitably drawn in as those heterochromic eyes of hers fall on the man who'd ventured in and she returns the nod after a moment, silent questioning on her features of his intentions. There was 'something' about him that suggested he was intending more that simply chasing a bed for the night.
Her assessment is likely correct. There's too much riding on the measured indolence with which he decompiles the interior. "Fascinating," the word tips off the tongue and lands in a water drop of sound. He diverts away from the desk for the bar, out to test its stuff. Not that he wouldn't be out of place there, for how many such locations in the city have gentlemen loitering about at every hour? "You rather coordinate with the decor, madame. By intention or happy circumstance, I wonder?"
English curls around his accent, unmistakably posh as posh goes. He's probably the sort of man who went to a boarding school and learned how to eat privilege with a silver spoon. Nonetheless, the statement is fairly meant.
Posh accent and questions alike are met with silence. Not ignored however, but no sound leaves the woman's lips. A smile, a raise of the hand not holding her parasol palm up and a slight shrug of her shoulders. Could the answer, strangely enough, be both? Regardless, she sweeps that same hand outward now in gesture to the room around them before returning it to herself, tapping lightly with two fingers on the center of her chest. It wasn't classic sign-language, more a game of charades, but the seemingly mute woman was still trying to give explination. This place was hers, a dream made real. Perhaps it was only fitting that one matched the other?
A questioning tilt of her head now, she gestures with the handle of the parasol held upside-down in a 'cane-like' fashion towards the concierge. Did he wish for a room? It was only right that she asked after all!
The blonde halts, raising an eyebrow at the mute response. He takes but a moment to interpret the possibilities of that, and nods to Ne. He shakes his head slightly, golden hair shining slightly. "No, I'm quite good. It's been delightful to have a look about. Best to you." With that, he turns back on the general path he came that leads back towards the street.