Club Mojo

March 21, 2014: A couple of X-Folk spend some time in a rare mutant-friendly nightclub.

Club Mojo

A nightclub based within New York City which, while underground, caters to metahumans.



  • The Bamfs
  • Quirt

Mood Music:

Mojo's only opened up last year, deep into the party district of New York City. It created quite a splash when it arrived, the first explicitly 'mutant-friendly' club, designed to make supers and metas feel comfortable and at home, even if they didn't fit in with the normal crowd. Humans weren't prohibited, but the door policy was known to be selective enough that the humans who did get in were either rich, beautiful or both. The Club is a massive, sprawling thing, with a large circular dancefloor surrounded by raised platforms with tables aplenty. A massive bar is backlit in with a neon panel that flickers from color to color, a strobe effect that goes well with the lasers flicking over the dancers grinding. There's a DJ up in the booth (DJ Twister, it says, a four-armed man backlit as he works multiple machines). Dupstep, house, trance and the occasional bit of old school metal at the owner's request. If you want country, you're in the wrong part of town.

Sebastian Shaw looks out over the place from a high catwalk, the VIP rooms separated off from the hoi polloi by staircases leading upstairs. Doors off of the catwalks lead to private areas and suites for the use and enjoyment of select clientele. Those who earn the honor of entry are generally sworn to secrecy…or too afraid of Shaw to tell. Shaw himself grins a predatory grin as he gazes downward, his dirty blonde hair slightly spiked. He wears a white button-down, open at the throat and showing a bit of chest hair, a black leather jacket and leather pants to go with it. "You call this a party? TURN IT UP!" he yells at the DJ, the billionaire laughing and taking a sip of an artisan beer he has brewed in the basement.(redone for Remy)


Not Kurt Wagner's usual venue, by any stretch of the imagination. But curiosity killed the fuzzy elf, as the saying -should- go, and he's dressed in neat casual; pressed pants, button-down shirt, tail-showing but not too obvious, and he's not wearing the 'usual' cap to hide a good deal of his rather remarkable features.

He's been told over and over.. a good place to pick up chicks, and all one truly needs is a good wingman!

With beer in hand, Kurt is wandering back from the bar to a table, doing a couple little dance steps on the way as the music is turned waaaay up. How could one NOT dance, what with the lights, the sound, and the flowing alcohol? Everyone needs a moment to breathe, after all.


Since acquiring a miniature army of Bamfs, life..has not been boring. Talia was having a pleasant evening of watching TV after band practice when word got through, a Bamf has gone missing. Searching for Kurt, in fact. Since the little teleporting blue rats are kind of their responsibility and all, she's had to abort her own plans in favor of tracking down the renegade.

This also means bringing another Bamf with her.

The two have leapfrogged all over the city in hot pursuit of the fuzzy troublemaker until, lo and behold, they find the Bamf that had very nearly found Kurt. 'Nearly found' because he appears upon the bar counter and stops short, staring in wonderment at all of the drink offerings the place happens to sell.

"Baaaaaammmf…" (Translation: "Oooooooh…")

Appearing in another, notably larger cloud of magenta-hued sulfur, a rivethead-dressed Talia Wagner and a shoulder-Bamf teleport in out of nowhere, landing upon the errant critter in a four-point crouch atop of the bar.

"GOTCHA, you little—holy mother of loud, haven't heard music at this volume since they rigged the alarm clock to my amp..!" Backlit golden eyes go wide as she looks around the club, taking in all that they see.



Cal doesn't hit this club often since the choice of music isn't really to his taste. What is to his taste though is the clientelle. Mutants being open and accepted is just like being home. Having no other plans, he figured he'd pull Hank from his lab and once they both got changed, they BLINKed to a nearby alley and walked the block or two the club. Of course, Cal doesn't look like a mutant but there was an easy way to get past the bouncer at the door without having to prove his bona fides. Taking Hank's arm possessively, he notes "I'm with him." and leans in to give Hank a kiss on the cheek. "I just love blue." he confides. Once inside, he gives Hank a grin and they head toward the bar.


Frequenting night clubs isn't something Dr. Hank McCoy tends to do lately. In fact, it's not anything he's really done…ever. He might have gone to a few bars with friends in school, but those were very few and far-between and mostly due to celebrations. The last time was when he got his Ph.D and well before he looked the way that he currently looks. Maybe the bars and clubs are different at MIT because he seems surprised that they're coming up to a clup that has a bouncer. "Are you sure we're going to get in?" He looks down at his khakis and very…classic style of dress without his lab coat. It's not really the club style.

When Cal takes his arm and kisses him on the cheek, he's really just too surprised to do much of anything except allow himself to be led to the bar. "I never thought -I'd- be the one to get someone into a nightclub. Does the music have to be so loud? And no offense, I don't think you're my type."


A club? Remy has been here for hours now. He's already acquired a new watch and several phone numbers, the watch belonging to a rotund foul mannered man who scuffed the Cajun's new dress shoe about 20 minutes ago. Nice glossy black ones now had an ugly grey smudge. It irritated him but it is what it is right? LeBeau still looks the handsome devil he always does in the button up long sleeved maroon shirt and black slacks. Adaptive shades worn over those red on black eyes. An unlit cigarette bouncing up and down between his lips as he watches /X-Men/ make entry.

It's not completely unexpected seeing sevral of them arrive this club is skirting M-Town after all and everyone likes to live a little. Especially those embroiled in a life long guerilla war near every day.


Shaw makes his way down the VIP stairs, the securitymen parting for him almost reflexively as he draws near. He sees the more prominently mutant individuals arriving, noting especially Talia's dramatic teleportation. Hmmmmmmmm…might have to see about doing something to prevent that sort of thing. He doesn't mind it here, but privacy is important, especially in certain regions of the property. A few scantily clad girls run up to him, one with a pair of literal bunny ears jutting up out of her hair. Shaw casually kisses her on the mouth and pats her on the rump, nodding to security as they let her go upstairs after he murmurs in her ear.

He makes his way to the bar, merely rapping his knuckles on it. The bartender's arms appear capable of extending far beyond the length of normal, responding almost instantaneously by pulling the owner's special scotch reserve and pouring a tumbler. "Thanks, Quirm. I appreciate it," he smiles.


Kurt doesn't quite make it back to his table when he first catches 'wind' of an incoming teleport. (Of his type, even!) Spinning around, he has to balance the beer so it doesn't fall, his own gleaming, featureless yellow eyes widening to catch the sight.

"Talia!" And..

"What are you two doing?"

Beginning to walk quickly back to the bar, it seems that if anyone was waiting for the elf at the table, she is no longer there. The lure of dancing was too great, or.. the fact that someone just yelled 'Dad' at the top of her little blue-fuzz-covered lungs might have had a hand in it?

"Zum Teufel! What is he doing— "

Oh great. He's going to get thrown out before he's had a chance to spend more than an hour or so here.

And to make things a little more difficult? A quick wave is given to the pair of familiar-looking mutants before he steps a little livlier, a hissed whisper comes as he's reaching out for an errant bamf, to grab it by the tail if necessary. An indignant yelp of 'Bamf!' is given even as Kurt has his attention on Talia. "What are you— "

Great. The owner… or at least someone who looks the part! "I'm sorry," comes out almost as quickly as everything else the fuzzy elf has to say. "This won't happen.."


"Stop it."



"What am -I- doing?" Talia asks Kurt right back with eyes kept wide open. "What are -you- doing?!"

Little does she know that she's crouched on the bar counter right next to where the club's owner happens to be catching a drink. ('Quirt,' really?)

The 'missing' Bamf gets peeled out from beneath her grasp, though before she can plunk the guy onto her other shoulder Kurt's got hold of him by the tail. Talia slowly crawls down from the counter, looking perhaps a little embarrassed by her unexpected arrival. "The guy decided to go looking for you, and since I can't cross-city port like the rest of you I had to hire a tracker and catch a ride out here. Having said that..where in the heck -are- we? And why are you -here?!- Decide that Hell wasn't loud and obnoxious enough for your delicate tastes?"

For that matter, what in the heck are Beast and Mimic doing here? And that's just who she can readily identify!

'Bamf?' "No one asked you," she almost automatically replies to the caught critter.


Hank holds one hand to his ear as if that will help filter out some of the noise and he leans in to hear Cal better over the music. "Just a beer is fine, thanks," he starts until Kurt and Talia and a little blue creature are pointed out. A wave of relief rushes over him upon seeing the others…even though he knew Calvin, seeing others who aren't quite human-looking here helps a great deal. He follows the other and seems fairly content to just be present in the company of the others for now.


Remy's drift towards the bar is casual and smooth, this is his kind of element; he moves through the crowd like they're gentle waves. All the while managing to keep his hands to himself too. The sulfur smell is stronger as one gets closer, why on Earth did they have to smell like sulfur when they teleported? Close enough now to peel free of the crowd he slumps on to an elbow near the gathering X-'ers.


Sebastian Shaw grins at Talia, waving a hand as he watches the little bit of commotion, "No worries, doll. Please, if I didn't want a little bit of ruckus, I'd have opened a Starbucks. Well, I take that back, I'd never open a Starbucks. Wretched, soulless crapholes, the lot of them. But, still, I suppose they're quiet. Low stress. Me? I kind of like stress," he says, taking a long swallow of his scotch. He doesn't seem to wince at the burn as he knocks on the bar, the elastic bartender adding another draught to his sculpted glass. "Did I hear you call that fellow, Dad? Seems like he's pretty well held together…" he says.


As the fuzzy blue miniature version of Kurt is held upside down by it's little spade-tipped tail, Kurt is trying to act casually as if this happens ALL THE TIME. For those who can read the expressions beneath that blue fur, he's pretty much mortified. "I was just— "

This whole 'being a parent to a grown young woman' isn't going well, and there's a moment when Kurt flounders for a response. He hasn't yet learned the fine art of turning such questions back at the inquisitor quite yet. "I.. uh.. was meeting Hank here."

That's it!

"Und Calvin.. Calvin! Hank.. I got us a table." The one that someone of the female persuasion has vacated.

Lifting the little bamf up such that they're virtually nose to nose, the elf quietly but deliberately enunciates. "Go. Home."


"Then stay here und be quiet.. but one word out of— "


A thick finger from the three-digit hand rises to point at the little blue nose of his captured 'prey'. "No. Not a word."

Remy's approach signals that yes, they did make a little commotion, and … oh geez..

A yellow-eyed gaze moves towards the assumed owner, and Kurt lowers his hand, allowing the bamf to climb onto his shoulder and rest there as a perch, the little spade-tail dangling free behind. "It's.. a long story."


For being the sort to hide in the shadows, the Wagners do have a tendency of causing a scene. The response that Talia gets is kinda peculiar, but how can she press the issue -now?- Hank and Cal are here! (And the club owner!) She'll give Kurt a hard time about all of this later. For now, she gives an entirely disbelieving "Uh huh."

When Kurt has a little talk with a little Bamf, TJ turns to glance at the one yet resting on her shoulder. No words are exchanged, the second critter canting its head to the side and giving her a blank shrug as if to say 'your guess is as good as mine!'

Then there's the matter of their relationship. She probably should have been a little more careful about throwing the D-Word around, but catch her off guard enough… "Long, convoluted, and fairly sorta insane," she seconds while sheepishly rubbing at the back of her neck around a small spiked collar left over from the evening's earlier practice sessions. "I'd reassure you that no laws had been broken, but I get the feeling that would make the story remarkably less interesting for you."

It's a mutant nightclub owner wearing half a dead cow's worth of leather, c'mon now.

Turning toward the others with a smile, she greets the fellow X-ers with a "Hank, Cal!" Then, "Did you set him up to this?" she asks Cal while thumbing towards Hank.


"Two Guiness on tap." Cal tells the bartender then glances over at Hank when TJ points. "Set him up sounds so underhanded. I just dragged him kicking and screaming out of his lab. How you doing, TJ?" Kurt gets a one armed hug once he's done disciplining his… thing. Then his gaze turns to Shaw and he extends a hand. "Mr. Shaw. So pleased to meet you. Calvin Rankin." He makes a habit of keeping track of all open mutants.


Hank's going to need that beer and quickly. Shrugging out of his wool coat he's wearing a tweed jacket and button-down underneath. He may still be under thirty years old, but he still dresses like Mr. Rogers Goes to Harvard. He just sort of watches Kurt and the…smurf-like creature he's talking to before wiggles clawed fingers in a somewhat stunned greeting.

Turning to Talia, he gives a sigh, "And next time, I'll fight back more." Gold eyes then flick to Shaw, "This place is your's? I don't mean any offense, I'm just not…used to the…noise. And lights. And…" and he's a little distracted as a scantily clad young woman passes by. Where's that beer again?


Sebastian Shaw takes the proferred hand from Calvin, giving the requisite masculine squeeze as required, "Sebastian Shaw. A pleasure to meet you all. And yes, this is mine, as are the buildings on either side. Important to have some leeway, in case anything gets out of hand. Property damage lawsuits can be such a pest," he says. Of course, given that Forbes last estimated Shaw's personal net worth at somewhere between 7 and 8 billion dollars it's unlikely he's too concerned. A large, cut ruby sparkles in his wring, tiny matchines ones gleaming in the eyes of his devil's head cufflinks. "Quirm, don't leave these people waiting," he says. He doesn't raise his voice, it's merely the slightest change in tone, but the bartender snaps to it, abandoning all other tasks to make sure that Hank, Kurt, Cal, and Talia are all served in rapid fashion, their table cleaned and wiped up swiftly by another outstretched limb. "McCoy…that name strikes a chord. I admit, without my assistant around to nudge me, I can barely recall the names of my own employees, much less others. Mind like a sieve, I'm afraid."


With the bamf safely upon his shoulder, Kurt can address other concerns, such as making it look as if all this was planned, if only for Talia's benefit. He returns the one-armed hug briefly and remembers the drink that has, up until now, been largely ignored but not spilled. His attention swings back around to Talia, and brows rise. Now for the 'attack'.

"What is that you're wearing?" and a thick finger points to the leather studded collar. "At least take that off."


Shaw.. Shaw?

"Mr. Shaw. Kurt— " and for a moment, he has to push a tail away from his drink before continuing, "— Wagner. This is Talia Wagner." The bit about Hank, well, he'll let his friend handle that one.

"I'm glad you're not bothered by the little misunderstanding. I assure you it won't happen again." Repeating himself in the face of, effectively, a billionaire. -Little- out of his league here.


"Aw c'mon Hank, you look adorable!" Talia encourages the other fuzzy blue guy. With a friendly ol' hug, if he doesn't try to stop her. "It's good to see you out of your natural environment once in a while, come forth and see the crazy world that continues to evolve!"

And try not to bump into the SRD when you do so.

"You get used to the music," she adds with a grin and a dip of her head. "It's more about ..freedom of the soul. Just let the vibrations of the bass carry you away." She's even willing to demonstrate, now with a drink in her hand. Though, a moment later and she's also nonchalantly bapping her ShoulderLurker across the back of its head with a tail when it takes an interest in that big ruby on display upon Shaw's person. "Behave, Bamfster."

And then: The nagging. Maybe TJ's still struggling along with a garage band, but at least they've got fancy duds! She's rocking more than enough leather and chrome to fit right in around here. Naturally..Kurt would have a problem with it. Yellow eyes open then narrow, hissing through her teeth over the thunder of the music. "What does it look like I'm wearing? Man, lighten up some! Three more beers and you won't even remember it's there."

The point is driven home with a hip-check to the other Wagner, a silly looking smirk on her face.

"Wait—Like, Shaw-Shaw? -The- Shaw..? Okay, that's just far-out."


"The collar looks very good on her." Cal protests, giving TJ a quick grin. "Very bondage chic." Which is perhaps not the best thing to have said around her 'dad'. Which is perhaps why he said it. It's a night for entertainment after all. When the beers arrive, he hands one to Hank before taking a large swallow of his. "You need to relax, Hank. Let your hair down and bang you head a bit. Raise the dead."


"It's a fairly common name," Hank points out, his attention pulled back by the names being tossed around; his own and Shaw's. "It's of Scottish origin and adopted later by the Irish…" and he starts to go on about the etymology of the name until he realizes he's rambling and just sort of lets his words fade. Instead, he clears his throat and tries again, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shaw. I've heard quite a bit about you…that article in Forbes was quite fascinating. And now you've added 'Nightclub proprietor' to your curriculum vitae. Not many would invest into something so risky, especially when you seem to encourage mutant patronage."

Right. "Kurt…Talia…what, uh, -who- are those?" he nods to the creatures on their shoulders. He doesn't pull away from the offered hug and he sort of half-way returns it. At least with the Wagners, he knows that he's not getting the affection out of pity. Once the beer arrives he takes a long, careful swig before pulling the glass away. "I -am- relaxed," although he's really not so much relaxed at all. "And I'm not a necromancer." It's not said grumpily, however. He's not upset that he was dragged out as the surprise of it all is fading.


Sebastian Shaw doesn't ask about the Bamfs. He can make the necessary inquiries another time, but he presumes they're some sort of manifestation. Anyway, McCoy's already asked the question, allowing him to seem as personally unaffected as he likes to seem. "Shaw, too, is a very common name, but I'm quite pleased to discover that I'm a 'The'. Quirt, allow these fine people to use my tab this evening. I'm always glad to meet new members of the Kind. I admit, the music can be quite loud, especially from those of us with enhanced senses and the like. We do offer earplugs at a very reasonable charge at the hatcheck, though, quite discreet and still allowing for normal conversation while filtering out those pesky dropped beats." he says, casually nodding to a snake-skinned man who slithers past, clad in a PVC vest and pants, his scaly nipples pierced, "Scales, drop by the VIP later, I have some things to discuss," he says, getting a hiss in response.


"Talia— " comes in warning before Calvin comes to her defense, such as it is. "Bondage chic?" Kurt stares for a long moment at his teammate before closing those featureless yellow eyes for a long moment, and dipping his head for a three-fingered facepalm.

That doesn't last long, however, before the elder Wagner gently elbows Hank before he gets too deep into the discussion of the surname 'McCoy', a name which is probably held by most of the country of Scotland.. or Ireland.. or even Canada. Yup.. he actually called it! Though now, Kurt is put into a position where he has to explain the bamfs. "They are…" what are they? "… Well, I call them 'bamfs'."

The moment the one on his shoulder realizes they're talking about him? A little toothy smile rises, fangs explosed, and he 'strikes a pose' on Kurt's shoulder, tail flicking with dramatic flair. "Bamf."

"That is Dr. McCoy," Kurt explains to the his 'mini-me'. "I told you not to go into his labs. He's the one."


"I know you— " Kurt pauses again, but now refuses to be seemingly drawn into an argument with the little blue gremlin. Instead, he shrugs his shoulder in a 'what can you do' gesture at both Hank and Calvin.

Though as the good 'professor' starts in pleasant conversation with the proprietor, Kurt has to nod his agreement. "It is remarkable, und I would like to thank you for it." Though now, there's another kindness offered. "That is quite kind of you. Danke." Though now, a warning glance is given to Talia. No abusing the hospitality!


"Cal likes it," Talia presses with a toothy, small-fanged grin back at Kurt. To Cal himself, she responds with a goofy sweeping bow, flourish of a hand and all. Then she pats Kurt on the back of a shoulder, as if that would reassure the poor guy!

It doesn't take her long to slooowly cease all motion, staring at Hank with a widened, blankened stare. Once the scientist catches himself in the act she blinks once and brings the smile back around. "Relax, Mister McCoy. Oh — uuh…" What are they? Riiiight.

"We uh..imported them. From somewhere." Head-dip. "Cute, right?" she adds with a sidelong glance, quickly frowning at the one on her shoulder who then gets a small flick to the back of an ear when he starts leaning toward the drink in her other hand.

'The' Shaw. "Word gets around the community," Talia admits with a slight grin. "I'm the main singer of Azure Decline, we're small label but we play in meta-friendly joints. I've heard of this place of yours before." And now she gets to drink on his tab. That gets him a drink-salute!

And Kurt gets a roll of solid-hued eyes.


"I'm going to guess extra-dimensional beings similar to Magik's demons." Cal surmises. He's fairly familiar with other realities and dimensions. "Though I couldn't begin to guess which." Other than whichever one is responsible for Kurt and TJ. "Thank you, Mr. Shaw. That's very generous of you. I'll have to think of earplugs next time."
Hank McCoy starts to give Kurt a glare which comes with a snarl as he still can't quite control that impulse, but something else that is said snaps him out of it. "Wait, these…they've been in my lab?" He hasn't seen anything broken, but that could be bad. Really bad. He looks between Kurt and Talia before blinking at the smaller blue creatures. "You can understand them?" He's going to go nurse some more of his Guinness now.


Hank McCoy starts to give Kurt a glare which comes with a snarl as he still can't quite control that impulse, but something else that is said snaps him out of it. "Wait, these…they've been in my lab?" He hasn't seen anything broken, but that could be bad. Really bad. He looks between Kurt and Talia before blinking at the smaller blue creatures. "You can understand them?" He's going to go nurse some more of his Guinness now.

"Thanks, Mr. Shaw…although I've a feeling I'm the Designated Driver tonight." He might have a second beer at some point, however. "Earplugs…it's a good idea." Maybe he'll have to make some himself. It can't be too hard to filter out the vocalization of human(oid) conversation against club music 'noise'. Sharp teeth are then shown in something of a smile as he peers over the rims of his glasses, "It's just 'Hank', Talia. 'Mister McCoy' is my dad."

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