Brendon knew the owner of the club well enough that he received a loyalty discount, but not well enough that they would ever disclose anything about business to eachother, more specifically the identity of their suppliers. Both of them employed the services of bootleggers but it was generally known but not spoken that the one thing they didn’t talk about was business ventures- it was just safer that way. Even if it wasn’t as dangerous as everyone had at first made it out to be, with most of the police force corrupt anyways and the rest left to deal with crime empires and an illegal trade of an unmanageable scale, there were still some righteous officers out there and every so often there was an incident where a speakeasy would be charged and everyone inside would be arrested that kept the rest of the underground community less complacent, on their toes, cautious. It paid off to be wary. To be honest, it was probably more of an issue for vendors like Dallon, who ran a reasonably fancy relatively secret establishment but was at full risk from being caught by someone sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, whereas Brendon, a near-household name, had the privilege and fame and the immunity that came with it. He was no national superstar but he was rising up on his way to becoming the revered prince amongst men in state-specific music scenes. This more or less granted him guaranteed protection but there were always people who hated his guts enough to want him going under.

It’s not like he ran any speakeasies like Dallon did, acting all hush-hush and his business only being advertised by word of mouth- he was, arguably, playing a much more dangerous game in that everything he did was public and infamous- namely, his parties, thrown often and each time more lavishly than the last; they were invite-only and guests were carefully selected but he was taking a gamble every time as he hid the gallons and gallons of alcohol he offered at the party in plain sight.

These events weren’t a new thing or an act of rebellion against the Act on Brendon’s part- these parties had been a regular thing even beforehand. The only thing was that, hilariously, prohibition had popularised drinking even more, taboo becoming sought after in a period of rowdiness and overindulgence and rebellion against what was considered social norms. Brendon’s parties were of even more interest since prohibition and for this reason, he actually supported the ban- controversy and rumours about his supposed ‘illegal drunken escapades’ were publicity, and any publicity was good publicity, especially when the image Brendon was going for wasn’t exactly straightedge and traditional. He was openly gay, for god’s sake- and this was another reason that many didn’t care as much about the very suspicious secrecy of his house parties, they were more obsessed with who he fucked and why. Brendon thought it was hilarious- the most old-fashioned, traditional people were the ones that thought about gay people and gay sex the most and in an increasingly accepting society it became easier to laugh at them than to be afraid. Especially when Brendon was in that strange position of immunity as a public figure.

Even still, it wasn’t like he could just drop into normal bars and flirt with whoever he saw fit, because he could still end up dead. Many wouldn’t care if he was famous or the goddamn president, it was a dangerous lifestyle Brendon was leading in many ways and most of these were by choice, but this was a way he wished he didn’t have to. He figured they’d probably peaked as far as liberalism went- there was nothing to do but to get on with it.

Luckily, he wasn’t yet instantly recognisable and what he liked about Dallon’s place was that there was a fancy- if slightly ridiculous- dress code, which highlighted the necessity of a burlesque-style mask. He wasn’t sure where Dallon got that idea because he tended to be the only one who didn’t wear one- everyone there knew who he was anyway, and he knew who everyone was because he asked every new mask to show him their identity before he ever relaxed. By that way Dallon had recognised Brendon and was incidentally a fan of his music, and they immediately got on- they were in similar business and Dallon was a decent enough man that he didn’t care about Brendon’s sexuality. It wasn’t like they’d had a direct conversation, but Brendon had often risked his neck trying it with who he presumed to be like-minded at this very establishment and Dallon had never even thrown him a second glance. He appreciated that. Brendon knew it wasn’t [i]normal[/i], but people really didn’t need to be assholes about it.

Brendon had come to O’Leary’s tonight for no particular reason other than maybe encounter some new people he liked enough to invite to his parties (the ones that he rarely actually attended, much to the new guest’s usual surprise. He much preferred to remain alone and simply watch what was happening like observing animals in a zoo, or something). Due to his friendliness with the owner he managed to get in early before the next increase in the surge of customers and take a seat at the bar, and for about twenty minutes he’d just been talking to Dallon- until, from the side door, he heard and then saw activity, turning his head and automatically pulling his gold-accented mask over his eyes as who he identified immediately as bootleggers move another keg in and behind the bar. From his peripheral he saw somebody sit down but wasn’t interested enough to look properly, instead looking out at the costumed people drifting in. Over the noise he heard a voice but paid little attention once he realised it was just some business transaction. He’d heard a thousand beforehand, nothing interesting.

However, thought the speakeasy scene quickly bored him and he chanced a look over at who he presumed was the leader of the operation, interested. He wondered if he knew this one- but the mask made it difficult to tell, until... [i]Whiskey with Mint?[/i] Huh. He met his eyes and identified from this and his voice that this was who he worked with for his own supply- Ryan Rowe, he recalled. Was he propositioning him, or just being polite to a client? He didn’t see any recognition in his eyes and was admittedly slightly offended. He nodded, though, watched as Ryan’s business partner poured them drinks, and caught his glass when it was slid down the bar to him, shifting in his stool slightly when Ryan moved into the one next to him. [i]You look like you belong in West 58th[/i] Brendon smirked, because he knew he did- he upstaged this whole place just by sitting at the bar. [i]What brings you here?[/i]

Brendon picked up his drink and took a sip, then flicked his wrist slightly in a circle and watched the liquid move in the glass. He placed it back down and clicked his tongue. [b]”Illegal activities,”[/b] He said in a hushed, secretive voice, leaning in closer to Ryan as if it was classified information. [b]”I’m undercover, y’know.”[/b]