As a pianist, Ryan made maybe an eighth of the amount of money he made now. Of course his old lounge didn't give me a paycheck - it was purely tips people were willing to drop into a pitcher atop his instrument, and they were downtown, not a particularly nice place, so he got the short end of the stick every single night. He understood, really, poor people looking for a good night didn't anticipate having to pay for entertainment that could just come via gramophone, but it was hard then. Having to save up every cent for bills (he, Spencer, and another partner, Jon, were all crammed into a teeny shoebox apartment in those days, throwing up curtains to make walls in such a little space), Ryan had taken to ridiculous measures to survive - he'd lurk near the kitchen doors during closing hours, wait for every vaguely saveable food item being thrown out, call that groceries; he'd scam cab drivers by claiming to have to retrieve his money clip from inside for a free ride; oftentimes he'd wander off to the meager dressing room the lounge offered for artists and have a look to see whether they had new clothes with no holes in it. 

Maybe a life of crime - though those were all laughable offenses, really - was what he was meant for. It felt unfamiliar to think of anything he was doing, even now, committing one of the nation's most troubling crimes for the time, as an unlawful thing. He was just serving the public. And he never acted like some shady dealer during any of it, which made the idea of any of this being illegal even more strange: what was wrong with something he could do so comfortably? Ryan had never been busted before. He came close, sometimes, like just outside when he had only arrived in time to watch a cop get bribed into silence - if Dallon hadn't been there to ration out the guy a drink, he might've questioned Ryan, might've figured something out. Not that Ryan even looked the part, for anything he did. As a pianist, he'd looked too young, and for his youth carried himself too formally, too careful and conscious. Now he retained all of those qualities, and it was less of an oddity as it was then, more of a perk. For all his boyish features, he looked easy to scam; for customers with good intentions he had an easy countenance. All this just made it simpler to weed out bad business.

He rose to this position fucking fast. Ryan's best guess that it was the broke desperation - living off a handful of nickels a week was no way to live, and he was naturally ambitious, but fuck, a rough living situation kicked him into high gear. Here he was now, sat with a casual $200 in his pocket, and that was from a small deal. Maybe dwelling on the shift in situation turned him cocky, because he had the confidence - he [i]always[/i] had the confidence as of late, scratch that - he had the [i]inclination[/i] to flirt, just to test the waters, see what happened. This was Dallon's place, and he knew Dallon well enough that, though he wasn't quite part of the 'community' that Ryan was himself, he'd never had a bad word to say about it. Usually, that was enough to get more people looking for acceptance flooding in, news of the place spreading by word of mouth. (Poor Dallon, come to think of it. He wasn't a gay club now, but just by not being an asshole, he sort of permitted himself to turn into one. Maybe Ryan should let him know...)

Anyway. The man Ryan was speaking to nodded, and when Ryan lifted his gaze from the glasses being poured for them, he studied him a little closer. There was something, there. Half his face concealed, Ryan's gaze naturally fell to his lips, curious, but... it probably would have anyway. For one thing, he was familiar. For another, that smirk could very easily send someone into cardiac arrest. Ryan was so sure. He pursed his lips, looked away to watch the maybe-stranger's cocktail circle his glass. [i]Illegal activities.[/i] Ryan blinked in recognition at the sound of his voice, watching him lean closer and smiling without any conscious thought behind it, suddenly straightening up. [b]"Yeah?"[/b] he asked interestedly, quiet, studying Brendon a little more closely and re-remembering every tiny detail he'd mentally bookmarked just some days ago. [i]I'm undercover, y’know.[/i] [b]"Some cover."[/b] Ryan reached out - because having limitless social boundaries thanks to sheer power had led him to forget what was and wasn't appropriate, apparently - and straightened Brendon's golden mask gently by the edge, looking impressed. [b]"Almost didn't recognise you, Mr. Blake."[/b] His voice dropped dramatically upon announcing his name, and he tipped his head forward as if telling a secret.

Realistically he should have noticed at first sight. Ryan had been at one of Brendon's lavish parties just two days ago - his first deal with Brendon, actually. Brendon made a huge order, if he recalled correctly, and make no mistake, that would be a hard night not to remember. Nothing totally unforgettable or scandalous, like some drunk found dead by a pool, or a police raid, or [i]anything[/i] you'd usually hear of to keep the memory of a party alive. Apparently Brendon's celebrations were just... like that. To be invited to such an exclusive occasion, Ryan felt way too fucking lucky - and then he'd misused that luck by just observing the entire night. Had a bad habit of doing that, sometimes. Brendon was quick during deals, knew what he wanted and what a reasonable price was, didn't try to negotiate just to con Ryan and get cheaper drinks. Maybe that's where Ryan was initially drawn to him from. In any case, after the shipment was delivered and Ryan was allowed to spend the night enjoying the fruits of the transaction, he mostly tried to find out more about Brendon.

Hard part of that: Brendon barely did much at his [i]own[/i] party, seemed more interested on watching, listening. He was interesting, that's for sure. Ryan did know that he lived in the public eye. He was a singer, and maybe if he wasn't as good as he was he'd have played in Ryan's old bar. Fun thought to entertain. But he was seriously, incredibly talented... and openly gay. That had to be the only reason he wasn't world renowned; prejudice. Otherwise the only thing people would hear was the fact that he genuinely had a gift. It worked out for Ryan, though, because he could pursue all he wanted and not have to worry about anything but himself. Seriously, after a few hours occasionally catching Brendon's gleaming smile and wondering how he kept his hair in such perfect condition, he was up to some pursuit. He never got to tell him any of this, about him, about the party, nothing. Convenient they should find one another again. Ryan rested his elbow on the bar, chin propped in that hand, and regarded Brendon with interest. [b]"Never got to catch up with you, after that soirée. It was just incredible. You were tellin' me you host every weekend? Thinking of keeping me as your supplier?"[/b]