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There are a couple young men at a table, the two of them drunk and somewhat disorderly -- one from Nipoor, and the other looking like a local giant of a noble -- but other than that, most of the crowd is older, boring, puffing and drinking and watching the girls in a much too-focused sort of way. If any of them would recognize him, it would be through his family: friends of his father, perhaps.

Not that they will. Not with him behind the lights. He can see them much better than they can see him.

"You don't like girls." It comes out slow, lazy, from behind him -- Ever still slouching against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles and his head tipped to the side. And it's not an accusation, just said with a shocking amount of certainty.

Zac is, in this, certainly the more common one; more men certainly compromise themselves for their family than run off to live on their own, giving up the allowance and title, the way Ever have. And perhaps he is also the wiser of the two. After all, right now Ever's vest hangs open and the shirt beneath is more cream than white, with one carefully stitched line near the hem of his pants. Worn and repaired.

He looks away, finally, eyes settled on the dancers again. "That's your choice, I'd say, but I'm sure there's those that would disagree with me. I'm not the best role model in the area of duty and respectability..."

It is something of a daring question -- from Zac, anyway. Others have tossed it out carelessly, either to dig at his pride or without thought somewhere between the sheets.There, Ever makes up lies. There he tells them that he told his father to go ******** himself, or that he dumped an heiress in public at a party.

Today, he fidgets. He shifts. He can't quite bring himself to like to Zac about it. "...somewhere between."

But that's not enough, is it. His eyes flick upward, ignoring everything now, hair tumbling down into his eyes, surprisingly still. "I had a choice, and I decided that a pretty girl and forcing myself to do my duty of an heir wasn't worth the rest of it."

Here, though, he licks his lips, still looking upward -- but a smile twitches across his mouth. "And maybe I thought I could do well enough without him, anyway."

"Mm, better than a year ago." Lazy and somewhat self-effacing, this is Ever back to himself. Straightening, he reached out to catch Zac's arm again, to draw him back out of the way as the number came to a close and a handful of barely-dressed girls come brushing past them, close enough that the feathers hit skin, brush against Zac's cheek.

Ever himself steps past, the curtains closed, to gather up a handful of sheddings, moving at a trot across the stage and back again. He leaves it clear, hauling a chair back with him as he comes, prepared for whatever will come next.

"I'm not starving on the streets, at least." A raised eyebrow, but before Zac can reply another handful of breathless girls comes out. These are wearing more in the back, but less in the front, bosoms barely restrained by their tops. They give the two boys wings and looks before taking their places on the stage to wait for their cues. "...it's not bad."

"They went through." He looks amused, eyebrows raised as he points through the alley, toward retreating voices. New girls on stage, now, and he rolls his shoulder in a shrug.

"It's their job, and I guess that's worse than what I do. Cleaning up after. Fetch and carry..." It's not embarrassed in the slightest, only touched with a hint of something self-mocking. Carelessly so. It's how Ever lives his life now. "They've only got one number, after, and then the place...well, it won't clear out, but I can."

"Now, or with the tattered remains of my life?" The words themselves are depressing, hold a sorrowful possibility to them -- but it is entirely countered by his tone, which is laughing, his head cocked and eyes on Zac's face without straying. Let the girls begin their dance, this one more of a bunny-hop, full of pleasant jiggle that seems to please the crowds, behind him.

He knows every step, anyway.

"Easier to answer 'now', I think. So. If it were up to me, we would go upstairs. I have a bottle of something under the bed."

The answer kindles a slow flame of genuine interest behind Ever's expression, drags a sudden smile across his face -- and he looks away, toward the dancing girls, to the mess back stage, to his job, and tries to decide if it's worth getting in a bit of trouble for immediate gratification. A year ago, two years ago, maybe, but now...

"Then I need twenty minutes. You want to wander while I finish up here? Or should I lock you in a trunk to keep you from changing your mind and running off?"